The Hired Man (22 page)

“Hughie's is fine.” I figured I'd be ready for a beer about that time. “I'll see you there.”

“Okay,” Phil said. “So long.”

As I hung up, I thought of his mentioning meeting his client at the El Cordoba. That had really surprised me—the El Cordoba defined the word “sleazy,” a hotel that would definitely have been “on the other side of the tracks” if there were any tracks around. It was not at all the kind of place I'd expect a guy who could afford a ModelMen escort to even know about, let alone frequent.

I did some paperwork, made a few phone calls, and did some filing until 3:30, then headed for Hughie's. Bud, the bartender, noticed me coming through the door and had my dark draft waiting when I reached the bar. There were maybe four or five hustlers standing around, and no discernable johns, but it was early yet.

One of the hustlers I didn't recognize came directly over and pulled out the stool beside me to sit down.

“How's it goin'?” he asked, not smiling. Not a bad looking guy, a little skinny, needed a haircut.

“Fine, thanks,” I said. “How about you?”

I noticed his beer was nearly gone and assumed he'd probably been nursing it for quite a while.

“Just lookin' for a little action,” he said, eyeing me closely but without expression. “You lookin', too?”

“Just waiting for a friend,” I said.

He gave a slight shrug. “I'm a friendly guy,” he said, his free hand dropping down to grab his crotch.

“I have no doubt,” I said, “but I'm…” An increase in the light level announced the opening of the door, and I looked around to see Phil coming in. “Speak of the devil.”

Phil walked over to stand beside me. The hustler got up without a word and moved off, and while Phil signaled Bud for a beer, I had a chance to really look at him. He was wearing a black, form-fitting sleeveless T-shirt, a wide belt, and faded jeans just beginning to fray at the knees.

“You're lookin' good,” I said. Phil was the kind of guy who would look hot no matter what he happened to have on.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

Bud brought the beer, and I pushed one of the bills I'd left on the bar from my change toward him. He nodded and took it.

“Thanks again,” Phil said.

“What's with the El Cordoba?” I asked after we'd both taken a drink.

He pulled out a stool and sat down, his back to the bar.

“The client gets turned on by games,” he said. “Sort of like that Japanese businessman Billy and I used to see.”

I noticed with some relief that he was able to say Billy's name conversationally, without any pause or evidence that it hurt to do so.

“He really digs hustlers,” Phil continued, “but I think he's leery of them, too, so he uses ModelMen because he can afford to. Sometimes he'll meet me in here, and I'll pretend we've never seen each other before, and we'll go through the whole courting ritual. Or, like today, I'll stand on the corner near the El Cordoba, and he'll come strolling by and pick me up, and then we'll walk in to the El Cordoba and get a room.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said, truthfully.

Phil took another drink and nodded.

“Yeah, it's different. There was a little variation today, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know the El Cordoba at all?”

As a matter of fact, I did, from my visit there during an earlier case I'd worked on.

“You know Brad, the day manager?”

Oh, my, yes!
I thought. A hot-looking hulk with muscles for days, every one of them covered in tattoos, but with a really nice face. I nodded.

“Well,” Phil said “the client is toying with the idea of having me approach Brad for a three-way. I don't think Brad hustles, but if he'd be willing to go along with it, I sure wouldn't mind.”

Neither would I!
I thought.

He grinned. “I'll keep you posted.”

I returned the grin. “Do that.” I then had to force myself back to the reason I'd wanted to see Phil.

“I was wondering, Phil. Are any of ModelMen's escorts bi?”

He looked mildly puzzled and thought a moment before answering. “Steve,” he said. “He's married and has a son.”

Steve! The Botticelli Man? I guess I was right about his androgyny, but it still caught me by surprise, somehow. “Any of the others?” I asked.

“Good question,” he said, then knit his brows a moment. “You know, Dick, I honestly don't know! Steve's wide open about it. I'd assume Matt was, since Billy told me he had a couple of kids, but I've never heard the other guys say anything at all about it. Why do you ask?”

Suddenly, his eyes widened slightly, and he pulled his head back. “Jeezus!” he said. “The prostitute who was found in the Dumpster! Do you think Steve or Matt…? You can't mean…?”

I raised my hand to try to slow him down.

“I don't think or mean anything,” I said. “But I have to consider every possibility, and this is one of them. Did you ever sense anything between Steve and Billy?”

Phil shook his head. “No. Like I said, Billy really dug butch guys and he always said Steve was just too pretty for him.”

It occurred to me that the Glicks have gone out of their way to select escorts with the widest possible range of…experience, and it wouldn't be out of the question for some bi clients to want a bi escort—for a bi three-way, say.”

Phil shook his head. “You're right, I suppose, but I've honestly never heard it mentioned. The Glicks keep a lot of things to themselves when it comes to who they select for what specific…specialties. I remember when I first talked with them, they asked me if I was bi, and I told them no, but that was just one question among many. One of the rules is that we're not supposed to discuss among ourselves what we do with our tricks—there's no reason to, usually. Probably you should ask the Glicks.”

“I think I'll do that,” I said. “Just thought I'd check with you first.”

“Got any plans for tonight?”

“Not really, no. You want to do something?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'd really like to. Maybe grab dinner somewhere and go to a movie? God, I haven't done that since…in a long time.”

“You got it.”

*

A nice night. We went for pizza then to see the latest James Bond movie; then I drove Phil back to his car, parked near Hughie's. He was pretty quiet the last couple blocks, and I wondered if anything were bothering him. I figured the best way to find out was to ask.

“Anything wrong, Phil?”

He shook his head. “Nah, not really. I just really miss not having somebody around to spend time with like…I used to.”

“Well, all you have to do is call,” I said.

He smiled and reached over to put his hand on my leg.

“Thanks a lot, Dick,” he said. “I had a really nice time.” There was a long pause as we approached his car. “Would you…” He stopped.

“Would I what?”

“Would you come spend the night with me?” he asked. “I don't mean to have sex, necessarily…”

Damn,
my crotch said.

“I'd just really kind of like to be with somebody
I
wanted to be with. It's really selfish, but you know, just for me.”

And suddenly, for the first time, I understood exactly what Phil's life must really be like.

I pulled up beside his car.

“I'll follow you,” I said, and he smiled again, then looked serious.

“You're sure you don't mind?”

“I'm sure.”

*

I can remember only one other time since Chris and I broke up that I actually
slept
with a guy without having sex. It was quite a revelation. I sensed that even my crotch understood this wasn't the time or the place, that this was as Phil wanted and needed it to be…just for him. And I was pleasantly surprised to realize as we drifted off to sleep, Phil's head on my shoulder and arm across my chest, that it was kind of just for me, too.

*

After a quick run home to change clothes, I made a stop at the diner on the ground floor for a large black coffee to go, paused at the newsstand in the lobby to pick up the morning paper, then went up to the office. I once again wondered, as the elevator creaked and groaned and shuddered as it rose, if it was going to make it.

No messages, either at home or at the office, from Tim or Lt. Richman about the discovery of another body, so I was fairly confident I could look through the paper without finding any unpleasant surprises.

After taking my time drinking my coffee and doing the crossword puzzle, I decided to try the Glicks at home; I preferred not to call the ModelMen offices unless I absolutely had to. To my surprise, the phone was answered by a male voice not Mr. Glick's—”Glick residence.” I vaguely recognized it.

“Good morning, this is Dick Hardesty. Is either Mr. or Mrs. Glick in?”

“Oh, hi, Dick. This is Gary. I just came by to use the pool. You want to come join me?”

Remembering Gary stretched out on top of my desk, his pants around his ankles and his shirt pushed up almost to his neck, made me very much want to join him. But business before, etc.

“Sounds great, Gary,” I said, “but I'll have to take a rain check. Are either of the Glicks at home?”

“Yeah, Iris is…hold a second, and I'll get her for you.”

I heard the sound of the receiver being set down, then a long silence, and finally a click and Iris Glick's voice.

“Mr. Hardesty! How nice of you to call. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if we might get together briefly. I have a question that can best be answered in person.”

There was a slight pause. “Why, of course. Mr. Glick is meeting with his stock analyst this morning, but he'll be home for lunch. Could you join us? Say around eleven-thirty?”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you for asking me. I look forward to seeing you.”

“We'll be eating by the pool, so if you'd like to come in through the side gate, it will save you a walk to the front of the house.”

It wasn't until we'd hung up that it occurred to me Gary might still be there for lunch. I didn't know how much he knew of the Glicks' business, but he
was
Iris Glick's brother. And if he was there, I could simply ask if any of the escorts was bisexual without pushing for a name if they were reluctant to talk about it in front of him.

I was, of course, early getting to the Glicks so decided to drive around the golf course. I'd never been anywhere near the Birchwood Country Club before, but I wasn't surprised to see that the clubhouse was a fairly good replica of Mt. Vernon—only bigger. And not being a golfer, I'd never realized just how long it takes to drive around an 18-hole golf course.

I pulled into the Glicks' drive at exactly 11:30, drove to the parking area and pulled in between a black BMW and a silver Porsche so new it still had the dealer's sticker. My car sitting between them gave the impression of a dogfood sandwich.

The side gate was open just far enough to let me know it wasn't locked, and I walked toward the pool house. An umbrella table beside the pool was set for four, but no one was in evidence until I approached the front of the pool house. Inside, the little bar arrangement was still set up. Gary, fully clothed, was sitting on one of the four stools talking with Mrs. Glick.

“Mr. Hardesty,” she said brightly when she saw me. “Do come have a glass of wine. Mr. Glick is changing, and Johnnie Mae is putting the finishing touches on lunch.”

Gary got up for an exchange of greetings and a handshake then moved behind the bar for a wine glass and a half-full bottle of something pink. (I'm afraid I flunked my Wine Snob course rather badly.) Whatever it was, I knew it had to be very expensive.

He handed it to me with a telegraphed-message smile.

“Did you see Gary's new toy?” Mrs. Glick asked, nodding toward the parking area.

“Uh, yes, I did,” I said. “Very nice, indeed.”

“It's a birthday present” she said in the “precious” tone of a matron talking to her poodle, leaning forward to pinch Gary's cheek.

I immediately wanted to mention that my birthday is November 14 but thought better of it.

“Happy Birthday, Gary,” I said. “Just think…now you can vote.”

“Thank you.” He gave me a quick grin while at the same time backing away somewhat awkwardly from Mrs. Glick's attentions. “Sis is very generous,” he said with a slow smile for her. “Oh, and Arnold, too, of course,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily, I thought.

I would really have preferred that Gary weren't there, not that he didn't provide a welcome supply of eye candy and erotic fantasy. I wasn't sure how open I should be about the case in front of him.