The Hired Man
The Hired Man: A Dick Hardesty Mystery
By Dorien Grey
Copyright 2015 by Dorien Grey
Cover Copyright 2015 by Untreed Reads Publishing
Cover Design by Ginny Glass
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
Previously published in print, 2002.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental
Also by Dorien Grey and Untreed Reads Publishing
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1956)
Short Circuits: A Life in Blogs (Volume 1)
The Butcher's Son: A Dick Hardesty Mystery
The Ninth Man: A Dick Hardesty Mystery
The Bar Watcher: A Dick Hardesty Mystery
The Hired Man
A Dick Hardesty Mystery
Dorien Grey
To those for whom a closet is just a place for hanging clothes.
Have you ever noticed that when people talk about “the oldest profession,” they never seem to include, or even realize that there is, a sizable male contingent of the group? Sexism, pure and simple, that's what it is. Any gay male who lives in or has even visited a place with a halfway decent-sized gay community knows that hustlers are part of the landscape, like the Boston ferns in upscale bars and restaurants.
Hustlers are most often individual entrepreneurs who stand on street corners and wait for a car to pull up with an offer, or lounge around specific bars that always remind me of the shark tank in an aquarium. But just as there are considerable differences between hookers and call girls, so there are differences between hustlers and male escorts. Not more than one straight guy in ten can afford a call girl, and few gays have the money (or, let's face it, the inclination) to indulge their whims on the high-quality talent discreetly available through a growing number of businesses providing the services of a male escort.
But for those who can afford it, they can give a whole fun new meaning to the term “hired man.”
Chapter 1
I was sitting at the bar at Napoleon, early as usual, waiting to have dinner with a brand-new client. Napoleon is a very nice, quiet gay restaurant in a former private home on the edge of The Central, the city's rapidly growing gay business district in the heart of what some still called “the gay ghetto.”
The client, Stuart Anderson, was from out of townâthe CEO of an expanding chain of trendy retail stores that was opening two new ones here. He'd called me from Buffalo the week before to set up an appointment. While I was dutifully impressed to think that my fame had spread beyond my local area code, he'd been really vague when I asked him how he had heard of me, or who had referred him. He'd just said “a business acquaintance” had made the referral, and I didn't press it any further, although I was curious.
Also, although the subject of sexual orientation never entered the conversation, I automatically assumed he was gay (hey, I automatically assume
everyone
is gay) since I have had very few straight clients.
Part of the mystery of his secretiveness was solved within two minutes of his walking into my office for his four-thirty appointment. Stuart Anderson was an average-height, average-looking, pleasant enough man in his mid-forties, dressed casually but expensively and carrying a slim briefcase. He had no sooner taken the seat in front of my desk when I noticed that, although he had a healthy tan, the third finger of his left hand had a wide, untanned circle where he had obviously taken off a wedding ring.
Oh, great,
I thought,
one of those
.
Rather than just sit back and wait for the expected pass, I thought I'd nip in the bud any little game he might be intending to play.
“I appreciate your calling me, Mr. Anderson,” I said, “but I think we should clarify something before we proceed. I assume you know that I'm gay and generally specialize in gay clients?”
His only response was a small smile and almost imperceptible nod.
“I mention this only because it
is
an issue for some people, and I don't want there to be any misunderstandings or awkwardness between my clients and me.”
He never lost the small smile, but his right hand unconsciously found his left, and his right thumb and index finger covered the telltale untanned circle.
“Not a problem,” he said. “My business here has nothing whateverâ¦directlyâ¦to do withâ¦anyone'sâ¦sexual orientation. I was simply told you were very good at getting information.”
He slowly twisted the missing wedding ring. I wondered why in hell he'd bothered to take it off in the first place if he was going to make it so obvious he wore one.
It turned out he wanted me to do background checks on the prospective managers and assistant managers for the new stores, which was apparently something he did routinely and was probably a good idea, given he himself wouldn't be around every day to check on things. I estimated it would take only a couple of days to do the checking. Hardly the most exciting of assignments, and certainly not one that any other private investigator in the city couldn't handle in his sleep, but I wasn't in a position to turn away any source of income. I had a couple other minor assignments I was working on, but they could be put on hold for the few days it would take to complete this one.
I told him my rates, and when he didn't bat an eye, I reached into my desk and handed him a standard contract, which he signed without reading. I signed below his signature, and as I went to my new Xerox machine to make him a copy, he opened his briefcase. When I returned, he gave me the resumes of the four men and two women he was considering for the managerial positions, I glanced at them briefly to be sure they had all the necessary information and put them in the top drawer of my desk.
Business over.
Well, that was easy,
I told myself.
Anderson made no move to get up.
“I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner?” he asked.
Ta-Dah!
I thought.
“That's very nice of you, Mr. Anderson,” I began, “but⦔
“It's Stuart, please,” he said with a smile. “And please don't misunderstandâI'm not trying to come on to you. It's just that we have a mutualâ¦friendâ¦whom I'm meeting for dinner this evening, and I thought you might like to join us. I know he's looking forward to seeing you.”
He had me. I still suspected there might be a hook in there somewhere but decided I didn't really have too much to loseâ¦except a client, of course.
“Well, sure,” I said. “That would be nice.” I didn't ask who the mystery friend might be but got the distinct impression Anderson was giving me a little test to see how curious this detective he'd just hired was.
He stood, still smiling, and reached across the desk as I got up to shake hands.
“Seven-thirty, then? At Napoleon. You know it, don't you?”
“Of course,” I said. “I'll see you there. And thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and I had a sudden mental picture of a cat and a mouse.
And with that, he picked up his briefcase and left.
*
At exactly 7:25, Stuart Anderson walked into the restaurantâ¦alone.
Uh-huh. Here we go,
I thought. He came over and took the stool next to me. Noticing my drink was still about three-quarters full, he nonetheless asked “Ready for another?”
I shook my head. “I'm fine, thanks,” I said as the bartender came over.
“Tanqueray with a twist,” he said, reaching into his pocket to extract a roll of bills large enough to choke a pony, if not a horse. He peeled a twenty off the top, laid it on the bar in front of him, and stuck the wad back in his pocket.
“And our mutual friend?” I couldn't resist asking.
Anderson smiled. “He'll be along in a moment,” he said. “Actually, I made the reservations for eight o'clock, to give us a few minutes to get to know one another.”
Sigh.
“I don't normally mix business with pleasure,” he continued, “but I so seldom have the chance to just relax, it's nice to be among kindred spirits when I can.”
Kindred spirits,
I thought, listening for the imaginary sound of hairpins hitting the floor.
“Yes,” I said. “I noticed you're married.”
He glanced at his left hand, splayed his fingers, and grinned.
“Yeah,” he said. “Fifteen years, three kidsâa different world. And a totally separate world,” he added.
Indeed,
I thought.
“Any problem juggling them?” I asked.
Bisexuals have always been a puzzle to me. Like the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, I wasn't really sure I believed in them, but what other people did or thought was none of my business.
The bartender came with Anderson's drink, took his money and went to the register to ring up the sale and make change.
“Not at all,” Anderson said, jumping me back to where the conversation had left off. “When I'm in the straight world, I'm straight. When I'm in the gay world I'mâ¦not straight. Obviously, most of my life is strictly heterosexual, but I've always enjoyed the things gay men can do that women can't.”
Well, that was certainly cryptic,
I thought, but didn't choose to follow up on it. If he expected me to ask “Such asâ¦?” he'd just have to wait. I still wasn't convinced this wasn't all part of some game he enjoyed playing, and if he thought for one minute I wasn't aware he was playing itâ¦
“Fortunately,” he went on, “I get to travel quite a bit, and when I do, I like to indulge myself a little.” He took a sip of his drink then turned to look full at me. “How about you?” he asked. “Totally gay?”
I took another drink from my Manhattan before answering.
“About as gay as they come,” I said.
“Hmm,” he said. “How old were you when you knew?”
I sat back on my stool.
“I was really a late bloomer,” I said. “I think I was five before I was absolutely sure.”
Anderson looked a bit surprised.
“And you've neverâ¦?”
I grinned and shook my head.
“Never the slightest interest,” I said, rather hoping we could drop this whole line of conversation pretty soon.
Luckily, at that moment I noticed someone coming into the small barâabout 6â²3â³, black wavy hair, incredibly handsome. When he saw me he smiled, revealing about seventy-two of the whitest, most perfect teeth I've ever seen.