Whore
I watch
as the fire makes slow work of the wax surrounding it. The candle accentuates
the red table cloth and the pair perfectly mirror my emotions. The passion of a
new story and the blood of the victim haunting my day dreams. It wasn’t the
first crime scene I’ve ever been to and it won’t be the last, but they always
stick with me. A person who’s candle was lit, now extinguished in an instant. I
look around at the other guests, tables of two to four, mainly couples
celebrating an event of some sort. The straight couple celebrating the year
that they first mashed their bits together and became a single entity to all of
their friends. The gay couple celebrating the day that they deleted their
dating apps and decided to give love a shot. All of them here because they felt
the day merited something slightly more expensive than a night out at
Chili’s.
This
was good, the somber crowd could make the perfect setting for my guest. Quiet
enough so he doesn’t make a scene, expensive enough so he will want to see the
meal through to its end. I look towards the Maître d’ just in time to see him
escorting my guest towards our table. Joel. He looks like he is dressed for a
night of hard drinking with his friends. A polo shirt, dark jeans, running
shoes, a simple watch... at least he put on some make up. Our host sits him at
our table and Joel smiles a halfhearted smile towards me, I return it with more
exuberance to try making him feel more at ease. It works to a degree. His
shoulders slump and he sinks a bit more into the seat. Our waiter shows up with
lemon wedged waters after the maître d’ exits.
“Can I start the gentlemen off with something to drink?” The
waiter says grinning ear to ear, as if every one of his teeth was another
dollar on his tip.
“Yes,” I begin “can you start us off with a bottle of this?”
I point to a medium priced white zinfandel. The waiter acts shocked for my
benefit and nods. He’s good, knows the game enough to not let on.
My date smiles at
the encounter and gets a bit more familiar. He starts to move the lemon wedge
around the rim of his glass and says “decided to treat me nice today?”
“Why would I do anything else?” I said, pretending to not
know the answer.
“Most of your kind has been treating me pretty nasty… trying
to pin blame before all the facts are straight.”
“Well I’m not most journalists.”
“No, you’re not are you?” He pauses and sensually bites his
lemon. I play into his act by loosening my necktie to make him feel more in
control. “You’re the one looking out for all of us, right?”
“I look out for everyone I can, yes.”
“What was that one article? The indifference of gay men in a straight world.” He cites an
article of mine that was given an award, showing me that he did a google search
before he came here. Probably why he agreed to the meeting, he might have even
got past the first page of results.
“Yes, I was proud of that article. I treated it with the
same care I intend to treat this one.”
“To bad you’re just a blurb on the of a side newspaper. I’m
half tempted to call you a low rent Ask
Amy.” He stole that comment from a dissenting blogger, he most likely found
that on his google search and is now trying to get a rise out of me.
“Always shoot for the moon, even if you miss you’ll land
among the stars.”
“Or you’ll crash and burn.”
I nod and snicker to give him the victory. Our waiter
returns with our bottle and pours it, leaving the bottle in ice, then exits. We
cheers and drink. At the end of the drink I bring out my recorder and he steels
up. I put my hand out in a stopping motion before he gets too far ahead of me.
“No, no. No need for any of that. I’m just getting ready.” I
take a big, showy, gulp of wine in order to make him feel at ease. It works and
he relaxes.
“Sorry, there have just been a slew of reporters at my
apartment lately. I guess the recorder made this a little too real.”
I reach across the table and grab his hand. “You have
nothing to worry about from me darling.”
He blushes and turns away. For a moment I feel a real sense
of character from him, but only for a moment as he turns back towards me and
takes a big swig from the wine. He tilts the glass down looking over it
slightly and says “I hope not.”
“Are you both ready to order?” Joel looks flustered as he
hasn’t even looked at his menu yet so I try something daring in an attempt to
make the waiter go away.
I look at him, close his menu and say “Do you trust me?” He
smiles as if I’ve saved him from unwarranted embarrassment and nods. I turn to
the waiter and point again, the items I point to are in the medium price range
again. He nods, smiles to the table and moves on. I hope that is the last we
will hear from him for a while and turn back to my target, switching on the
recorder in the process. He doesn’t notice that I turn it on, but so I can
remain above reproach I inform him “So, you are now on the record.”
His tone shifts, but I’ve done enough damage control to make
sure it doesn’t shift too much. “ok,” he says it nervously but with a slight grandiosity.
As if he is ready to tell his tale. This is good. This is space where I want
his mind to linger.
“So, can I have your name?”
He smiles and makes a show of speaking into the recorder
“Joel Shamus Ringer.”
I laugh for his benefit and say “is that your given name?”
“Yes, I go by Daniel on the stage.”
“Alright, and what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a dancer for “Our Little Secret” Monday through Thursday
and I’m actually taking bartending classes.”
“Oh that’s interesting. Trying to move up in the world?” I
snicker as if it’s a joke and he returns my snicker and says “yeah.”
“So, if you don’t mind I would like to just dive right into
it.” He steels himself but his demeanor is more determined this time and he
nods. “Ok, so on the night in question. Can you describe it to me?”
“Yes, I was dancing at the club, and I saw Miguel.” I put my
hand up before he gets too far ahead.
“Was it a busy night or slow?”
“Pretty slow, it was Tuesday after all.”
“Ok continue.“
So Miguel showed up. Same day as always, same time as always
and I go over to him before he gets too tanked.” He pauses, “Miguel had a habit
of drinking too much and getting too handsy with the staff.”
“Ok, and why did you approach him if that was the case?”
“Well I felt bad for him. He always seemed like such a nice
guy before alcohol got involved.”
“I see, continue.”
“So I do my dances in front of him and he starts to tip me
while drinking his drink. After a while I get off the bar counter and come down
to talk to him. I can get away with this on slow nights. He still seems sober for the most part. He
starts to touch my thigh and get close but it’s only natural… I mean our
uniform is underwear and shoes.”
I nod as I look into his eyes and drink.
“Eventually I find that he’s actually a pretty nice guy. A
little misunderstood maybe but sweet for the most part.”
“Is that the point that you decide to take him to The Alley?” I stress the two words so he
knows the alley I’m talking about.
“You’re familiar with The
Alley I assume?”
“If that street could talk…” I trail off.
“Yeah, that’s the moment I decided to take him.”
“Ok continue.”
“Well we start to... well we start to do what that alley is
infamous for.”
“Can you be a tad more specific please.”
He blushes and I try to figure out if the shame he’s
portraying is legitimate or not. “I kiss him for a few minutes and then go down
on him.”
“ok continue.”
“It’s a few minutes before I start feeling something wet on
my head.”
“On?”
“Yes ON my head. I think it’s just some drops from the roof
or something and continue. It becomes a steady stream and gets in my eye. All I
can see is red out of that eye which I think is strange so I look up.” He pauses
trying to choke back his stomach from turning, and I get the feeling that this
is actually a legitimate response. “It’s blood,” he continues “ It’s blood
coming from his head. I had been blowing a dead man for the past few minutes.”
He stops and I make a show to turn off the recorder. I hold
his hand and he grabs mine. That would be traumatic for anyone, even if some of
what he was saying wasn’t true I got the feeling that this part was. “Are you
ok?” I say with general concern lacing my words. He nods and I turn the
recorder back on. “Then what happened?”
“I screamed and ran inside. I yelled for someone to call the
police and they all just looked at me with this dumb looks on their face.” He pauses to take a
drink of wine. “I run into the bathroom to figure out what they are looking at
and see myself in the mirror for the first time. It looked like I was the one
who was murdered. His blood was covering my entire upper half.”
“Jesus, that sounds awful.”
“It was-“ He’s cut off by our food making it to our table. A
noodle dish sits in front of him and a steak in front of me. The waiter smiles
at us and says “will the gentlemen be needing anything else from me this
evening?”
I take a good look at my date as he seems visibly sick. I
motion to the waiter to come to my level and whisper into his ear. “My date
seems to have become slightly ill can I get a box for his meal please.” The
waiter looks at me and nods. It’s in bad taste to ask for a box at a restaurant
like this, but I can tell that he isn’t going to be doing much eating given the
topic.
He twirls the pasta around his dish, lost in thought. “I
came back out,” he continues, as if reliving the entire night in his head. “the
bartender was on the phone with the police and the few patrons we had tried to help clean me up.”
I pushed my food aside thinking it would be inconsiderate
for me to eat while he was reliving a trauma. Plus my questions were about to
require me to have nothing impeding my speech.
“I’m truly sorry that this happened to you,” I pause to take
a sip of wine “but it seems as though you are leaving some information out of
your story.” He looks at me, awestruck. He’s unable to fully comprehend what I
mean, then he pieces together my words and gets an angry look on his face. I
can understand, after all, who would have audacity to question a person’s
traumatic event?
“Excuse me?!” he whispers in a harsh tone. “Are you calling
me a liar.”
I hold my hand up, “No, no, no. I’m saying you’re knowingly
leaving some information out of your story. I think everything you said was
true…to a degree, but I need to be thorough.”
“Like what?! What could I have left out?!”
I finish off my glass of wine and begin to pour another, “you
have a reputation at this club, don’t you?” He starts getting red, whether from
anger or embarrassment.
“Maybe, what’s it to you?”
“Well, not to mince words but I need to know if Miguel was a
client when you took him out.”
A long silence falls over the table. “What does that have to
do with anything?”
“I just need to be thorough.”
“I don’t want to get arrested for soliciting, asshole.”
“You won’t. Trust me.” I was being honest. I didn’t want to
make a criminal out of someone unless
they had blood on their hands.
“Fine,” He finishes off his glass of wine and begins to pour
another for himself. He kills off the
bottle. “Yes, he was.”
“Is the head all he paid for?”
“No we were going to do everything in The Alley.”
“Was this the first time he had paid for your services?”
He hesitates but I get the feeling that his inhibitions are
starting to waver. “No.” he says with some finality in his tone.
“How many times were you to together?”
“I lost count.”
“Every week.”
“No. Sometimes he got too drunk and left before
propositioning me.”
“I see.” I move my steak back in front of me since all
pretenses were officially gone. He actually manages to eat some of his food.
The anger at me most likely made him forget his turning stomach.
“Did it ever
get rough?”
“What?” He looked as if I was about to accuse him of
something. He wasn’t wrong, but I tried to choose my words carefully.
“You aren’t the only one with a reputation there. I’ve been
told he’s had to be escorted out on more than one occasion.”
“No, he never got more rough than the situation called for.”
“Was he special to you? More special than the rest?”
“I don’t get very many regulars. So, in a way, yes.”
“Did you have deeper feelings for him though. Did he ever
offer you anything more than just the
night?”
“What” he snickered and took another drink “Like did he ever
try to Pretty Woman me. Promise to
take me away from my life of sucking and fucking for money?” his snicker turned
into a laugh. “Fuck no. No one gives a shit after they are done with you.”
“Ahh so he didn’t offer you anything but you didn’t answer
my first question.”
“Did I fall for an overweight Mexican who constantly paid to
have sex with me?” he looked at me to see if there was a joke coming. I stared
him down to assure him there was not. “No, all he was to me was assurance for a
roof over my head. More than dancing on the slow nights of a mediocre gay bar could
ever do”
“I see.” I take some more bites of steak and wash it down
with more wine. “How many other clients did you have besides him?”
“Couple of dozen. Could never really get anymore.”
“Were any of them jealous?”
I gave him the chance for the blame to be shifted and he said
“No, but I never really paid attention.”
“You never noticed if any of them had feelings for you?”
“Well I mean a couple said ‘I love you’ as they finished,
but that’s pretty common.”
“You never got gifts from any of them? No one ever tried to
make the situation out to be more than
what it was.”
“As I said. No one gives a shit after they are done.”
That was weird. I figured he would have tried to get the
blame off of him as soon as possible. Was he protecting someone or being
honest? Whatever the case it was done, couldn’t pump that topic without
accusing him of fabrication again.
“Ok, did you know he was married?”
“No.”
“He never told you anything about his home life?”
“We never talked beyond pricing.”
“Interesting.” I took a few more bites. “Here’s the only
thing left that’s really hanging over the entire story.”
His stature shifted as he was about to get angry again. “And
that is?”
“How did you not hear the shot?”
His stance shifted again, instead of getting angry he looked
as if he was getting nervous. He looked at me with doe eyes and for the first
time I felt like I really saw him. He was a kid. Not in age but in spirit. He
didn’t fully understand that his actions now could have consequences later
until he saw a man die. It takes a great trauma for someone to reevaluate their
entire life.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.” He finished off his wine “maybe I
finally lost enough of my hearing that I couldn’t make it out. Maybe the guy
used a silencer. Maybe I was too focused on getting him off. Maybe it was the
music from the club… you know you can still hear it pretty well out there. Maybe
I was too fucked up to notice. I don’t know. I just didn’t.”
The shot should have been loud
enough for someone to hear, but the music from the club can still drown out
most noise in that alley. That’s why it’s a favorite for some of the patrons to
use. It gives them slightly more privacy in a public setting. He also could
have had massive hearing loss from having to work that club four days out of
the week.
“You say you were fucked up. Was alcohol the only thing
impairing you?”
He hesitates again, “No, I snorted some coke that night too.”
That’s the last end I need to tie up. Anything more and I would be badgering
him and he’ll shell up. I’m surprised that my unsaid accusations didn’t merit a
similar response, but maybe the atmosphere of the restaurant helped me.
Our
waiter returns with a box and the check. He ate more than I thought he could.
Maybe that shows more indifference towards the situation, or maybe he just eats
when he’s mad. I pay for the outing and never let him see the cost, keeping the
illusion alive that I spent a good amount of money for the chance to talk to
the only person with a firsthand knowledge of the incident. I just wish it
could have been more rewarding. The cops surrounding this investigation are
doing their best to find the culprit, but they are underfunded and have a more
specific rule set to follow. I am bound by no such rules. Sure they could haul
me in for interfering with a police investigation but it was worth it to find
the truth. My mind already left to the next interview I had lined up, and my
current interview wasn’t even finished getting out of his seat.
“So,” he said “are we done or is there something more you
want from me?” He grabs my hand and moves it to his backside. He smiles at me
turning on all the charm he gives his customers.
“That depends.” I say removing my hand from his ass. “how
much is it going to cost me.”
“Oh, no money you already spent enough on some young whore
for the evening. I just want to make sure that I come off more or less clean in
your article.” He takes my hand again and sticks my finger in his mouth, then slowly
removes it. “Even though I’m so dirty.”
I take my hand back and use it to grab his box of food. I
shove it in his chest and smile. “Have a good night Joel, thank you for your
time.”
His smile changes abruptly to a frown. He storms away in a
fit and flips me off. He draws some attention and I sigh. The maître d’ comes
over and escorts me out after the incident, to avoid any fallout that may
happen. “rough night sir?”
“It would appear so.” I exit the restaurant “thank you for a
lovely evening.
“Of course sir. We look forward to hearing again from you
soon.”
There
isn’t a whole lot of love missing from the incident. I got what I needed out of
him, and I would get what I needed out of my next interview. The loving wife.
Rebeca.
