Читать книгу Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Jeffrey Round - Страница 11

The house was dark and still with the sound that empty houses make. Dan looked for the telltale blink of the answering machine from the end of the hall, but found none. He flicked on a light and set his laptop down with the mail. In the kitchen, Ralph’s tail wagged a hesitant welcome, as though waiting to see what kind of mood Dan had arrived in before going all out. At least there were no messy presents, despite his having been gone most of the day. Usually the dog behaved for a few days after being yelled at. More proof he knew what he was doing.

“Good boy,” Dan said.

The tail thumped harder, but Ralph stayed put.

“We talked about you today,” Dan said. “Martin and I, I mean. I assured him you were a very smart guy. He’s not so sure about me.”

He draped his coat over the back of a chair. With Ked at his mother’s, he could afford to be lax. These days Kendra had him almost as much as Dan did. Maybe she was afraid he’d grow up thinking she didn’t care about him. It wasn’t true. She loved Ked as much as Dan did but with a detached edge, the way she loved all things. It was as though he’d never really been a part of her body, whereas Dan felt Ked had always been inside him, waiting to emerge.

So far Ked hadn’t shown any signs of troubled behaviour that children of divorced parents exhibited, perhaps because his parents had never been together, either in memory or before. He was a happy accident rather than the spoils of war. And since his parents got along, Ked seemed to think it fine that he had two homes to go to, two bedrooms to mess. No one fought over Christmas or other holidays. Double birthday celebrations at two different addresses guaranteed double gifts and two cakes. No complaints there.

Dan cast his eyes around. The house was in reasonable shape. When Bill got around to returning his call, Dan would entice him over with a promised romp. A few softly murmured dirty words were usually all it took. Dan didn’t mind if Ked was home when Bill came by for his infrequent visits, but he preferred he wasn’t. At first he’d fooled himself into thinking he didn’t want Ked to overhear the crescendos of their sweaty sex romps — and Bill certainly liked to vocalize his pleasure — but in fact Dan didn’t want Ked there because Ked looked down on him for dating Bill. He should have found that amusing, but it made him uncomfortable knowing his son thought less of him for his choice of romantic partners. Though admittedly there was really nothing romantic about Bill.

He went upstairs with his laptop and emptied his inbox with a few quick replies. Done, he tossed some ice in a glass and poured a tumblerful of Scotch, priding himself on having waited that long. When Ked was around he stuck to beer, but tonight he was alone. He sat in the living room and looked out at the street. The birch in the front yard hid the window from view but allowed a bird’s eye view of anyone passing. He flicked on Jazz FM and caught something dark and rhythmically complex. He had no idea who it was. Donny would, of course.

His second glass had less ice, more Scotch. He returned to the chair. Outside, the street was empty apart from an occasional car stirring up leaves before passing from view. The program switched over to Jeff Healey’s My Kind of Jazz and his archive of treasures from the twenties and thirties. The old, growly blues records — wonderful stuff — bringing to life voices and musicians from nearly a century ago. And then it was time for another drink.

In the kitchen, the dog stared as Dan cracked the ice tray and filled his glass. He tried to recall if he’d let Ralph out when he came home. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. The room turned blurry for a moment then cleared again.

He remembered Ked’s injunction on speaking to Ralph. “What do you want?” he said, opening his arms wide the way Ked had done.

The dog whimpered but didn’t move.

“What do you want? Show me what you want.” I’m talking to a dog, Dan thought. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Ralphie?” he said in exaggerated tones.

The dog scampered up, racing to the front door.

“I guess you do.”

Ralph whimpered worriedly as Dan fumbled with the leash and struggled with his windbreaker. Outside, it was a cloudy, moonless night. Leaves littered the sidewalks. The dog lunged down the walk. Caught off guard, Dan lurched into the fence. He heard a loud crack as his knee connected with a fencepost.

“Goddamn it!” he bellowed.

The dog looked back, straining to keep as far from Dan as he could. “Stop pulling!” Dan yelled.

He felt around with his fingers. No pain. It had been the fence post rather than his leg he’d heard cracking. They continued to the street, Ralph dragging him along.

“Stop it!” he commanded. The dog stopped and waited, then sprang forward as soon as Dan moved. Dan yanked on the leash and Ralph yelped. He cowered as Dan came toward him. “No, it’s okay,” Dan said gently. “Just stop pulling.”

They continued at a slower pace. Ralph seemed to like to lead, so Dan gave him some distance. He trotted proudly, looking back once in a while as though checking in or encouraging Dan to walk faster. You can do this, Dan told himself. You can walk the dog without getting angry.

They reached Danforth Avenue and turned left. Outside various halal shops, bearded men in white thobe robes sat looking otherworldly, smoking mysterious-smelling herbs and muttering strange syllables, as though they knew secrets they shared only among themselves. In a Greek butcher’s window, trussed lamb and goat carcasses hung down, skinned and venous. Ralph sniffed at the doorstep, a biblical angel checking for smeared lambs’ blood, and lapped at a dark spot on the sidewalk.

Dan’s head was losing its fuzziness. He thought of the drink he’d poured and forgotten. They turned back at the borders of Riverdale and headed south again. Arriving back at the house, Ralph trotted up the walk and curled up on the rug in the living room.

The ice had melted in Dan’s glass where it sat perched on the arm of the chair. He had no idea why he’d placed it there. Maybe the idea of balancing it on the arm had appealed to him. In any case, Scotch was for drinking, not for balancing on chair arms.

He took a slug, waiting for the slow burn in his throat. His father had been an angry, frustrated man most of his life. The irony was he was nicest when he drank, as though alcohol allowed him a bit of headroom on the tight leash on which he kept his emotions. But nothing ever brought his father closer. Dan had filled the mantle with athletic trophies from school, but his father hadn’t cared. He’d done the housework, but his father seldom noticed. Even when his Aunt Marge pointed it out, praising Dan in front of him, his father only grunted in his usual incoherent manner, as though it made no difference to him whether dishes got washed and beds made, whether the garbage was put out on the curb or left to stink up the house.

Dan took another swallow and felt the warm release, wondering if this was what his father had felt when he drank. And this was always, always when he thought about Bill. The images jutted like a loose floorboard he’d tripped over and couldn’t resist pulling up to see what lay beneath. Only with Bill there was never really much there.

They’d met at Sailor’s on a Saturday night when the bar was crammed. Dan seldom went out to bars and, if he did, almost never on a Saturday. Crowds made him claustrophobic, but mostly he disliked being jostled and touched. There were also too many slight, pimple-faced youngsters who reminded him not a little of Ked a few years on — boys who tried too hard to be desirable when in truth they were simply awkward, thin and insecure.

Dan knew boys like that. They wanted Jake Gyllenhaal, but they’d settle for a guy like Dan who could make their hormones twitch with a glance. Especially once the bar lights came up and they found themselves alone again. But those boys required work once you got them home, made them feel safe, fucked them till they grinned, and then hoped they’d leave so you could get some sleep and forget you’d just bedded another twenty-year-old who had pleaded for your number but would never call. The next time they saw him in a club, they turned their heads and pretended not to notice him for fear he’d assume there was anything between them.

That particular Saturday, he’d been about to leave when a nicely built guy in jeans and a sweat-top caught his eye. The man pushed himself off the railing, tumbler in hand, and lurched in Dan’s direction. Blue eyes and brown hair. Toothy gash for a mouth. Casual and assured. He might have been handsome except for the squat nose that brought out the petulant teenager in him, the one who always yelled “It sucks!” louder than anyone else.

His new acquaintance was quick to be physical, running a hand over Dan’s chest and sizing up his biceps with a practiced grip. Another guy wanting a weekend rough-up, Dan thought. The more they talked the more Dan expected him to lose interest, but in fact the opposite was true. If the guy thought he’d met trouble, he was pleased to discover it had a mind.

They exchanged names. Talk came around to work.

“I cut out hearts for a living,” Bill said.

“I can beat that,” Dan boasted. “I resurrect the dead.”

Explanations ensued: Heart Surgeon meet Missing Persons Investigator. They clinked brews right there, leaning against the railing over the john. It never occurred to Dan there was a reason Bill had planted himself there.

Bill leaned in for a kiss wreathed in alcohol. Dan let it happen, playful at first. A hand reached out, massaging his nascent erection. Bill pulled back. His face said “impressed.”

On-stage, a drag queen pantomimed giving head to some lucky eighteen-year-old. The boy looked anything but amused, though his expression fell short of frightened. Even the suburban kids were jaded these days.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Bill suggested.

In another minute they were outside and on the way to Bill’s car. When Dan mentioned his address, Bill gave him a toothy grin.

“Really? You live in Leslieville? We’d better go to my place then.”

“Why? Are you closer?”

“No. That’s just a bit low-rent for me. I don’t have a visa to go past Riverdale.”

Dan stopped. “Since when is it acceptable to insult someone’s neighbourhood?”

Bill’s mood shifted to surprised innocence. “Sorry — I wasn’t insulting you.”

“No? What were you doing?”

Bill grabbed Dan’s arm. “I was trying to be funny. C’mon.”

Dan stood there, not moving.

“C’mon,” Bill urged in pacifying tones. “I’m a little drunk. Forget what I said. Here — this is me.” He pointed to an Audi R8. He dangled the keys. “You know you want to.”

Dan relented. “All right, but I’m driving.” He snatched Bill’s keys and slid behind the wheel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your neighbourhood,” Bill said, leaning against the headrest.

“I live in Leslieville by choice,” Dan said. “Chances are I wouldn’t like your neighbourhood either.”

“I live in an expensive part of town….”

“Case closed,” Dan snapped. “I generally don’t like rich people.”

Bill made a face. “Okay, I get your point.”

They drove in silence for a while. Bill put a hand on Dan’s chest, tweaking his nipple through the soft cotton. “Do you like your neighbourhood? I’ve heard good things about it.”

Dan turned his head toward him. “Drop it, okay?”

They slid up Mount Pleasant and along St. Clair to a four-storey townhouse complex that made Dan think of ornate birdcages. He wanted to ask if they had a dress code but realized he’d be the one forcing the issue. The car slid underground and inside the building.

Bill took Dan on a tour of his house. In the living room, the skyline stretched before them like a giant mural. Bill waited a beat before turning on the lights to give Dan the full effect. A Persian carpet rolled across the floor like a miniature sea, dotted here and there by chic aluminum furniture with translucent frames and rare wood finishings. They were the kind of pieces people bought to impress others as much as themselves. Bill suddenly seemed a lot less drunk than he had in the bar as he related tales of buying sprees and exorbitant prices. He tossed designer names casually about — Paola Lenti, Herman Miller, Breuer Wassily — as though he knew them personally, and gave the impression he did. Dan was clearly supposed to be impressed by the show, so he purposely kept his face impassive.

Dan followed him to a bedroom where a four-poster bed took centre stage. A water feature trickled in a corner. The walls were hung with pictures arranged to catch the viewer’s eye from every angle. Bill had obviously paid a great deal for his taste.

Bill had them both undressed in seconds, pushing pillows and linens onto the floor. Dan had been right: Bill liked it rough. He was all slither and slink, posing in positions that suggested submissiveness-to-order copied from the best porn videos.

“Get you rich boys out of your clothes and you’re all the same underneath,” Dan said.

For the most part, he went along with Bill’s fantasy, though he refused to bareback when Bill asked.

“C’mon — I can tell you’re healthy,” Bill pleaded.

“Uh-uh,” Dan said, his cock see-sawing between Bill’s legs. “This little traveller doesn’t go underground without a protection suit.”

“That’s no ‘little’ traveller,” Bill said, wriggling into position. “Please! I want to feel you in me.”

There were condoms on the bedside table. Dan picked one up. “You’ll feel me. I promise.”

Bill grabbed his hand. “Just put it inside me for a second,” he said. “Just one second!”

Dan gave what he hoped was a reprehensible stare. “What kind of attitude is that for a doctor? Besides, I’m a responsible dad. I can’t get sick — I’ve got a kid to take care of.”

“What?” Bill’s mouth was agape. “You mean your sperm has fathered a child?”

“That’s right.”

“A real live daddy? Now I really want you inside me!” Bill exclaimed, gripping Dan’s erection.

Dan slapped the hand aside and unpeeled the condom over his cock. “If you want this to happen, you’d better behave. And I need extra large next time.”

Bill gasped as Dan wedged himself in with no niceties. “Oh, yeah!” he exclaimed. “You wonderful beast!”

It was over the top, but at least Bill hadn’t made him feel like a mercy fuck for being the victim of a radiation leak, the way others had. The sex always went fine, but usually that was the end of it. Dan could tell by the looks on their faces. The more satisfied they were during, the sooner they hoped he’d pack up and leave afterwards. Somehow, covering up his prizefighter’s body always brought attention back to that face.

It’s not that it was ugly, and it’s not that it wasn’t. In school, Dan had been taunted by the other kids. A cruel scrawl on a washroom wall claimed he’d been the victim of a nuclear attack, conjuring images of holocausts and radiation mutation. He had a brooding quality, an intensity that scared people. The eyes were what held you — grey-blue, ghostly. Like they’d seen too much. There were fine features — the broad cheekbones, sharp brow, and long lashes — but the overall effect didn’t add up to a pretty picture. The broken nose and red scallop racing from his right cheek up to his eye told part of the story. It begged wariness on the viewer’s part. So did the rough skin that bore the traces of a memorable battle with acne, the permanent outline of a beard and the jaw that was rugged at one angle but menacing at another. It was the face of a man you might enjoy being roughed up by — a well-aimed slap, a welt or two — and then escape before one or both of you took the fantasy too far. It was a face you might expect to see inset in the tabloid coverage of sex crimes, with an earnest police report warning area residents to lock their doors at night and to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. It was a face your mother would tell you to stay away from.

Bill’s mother must have been an exception.

Dan sat up and reached for his jeans. Bill lay against the pillows, running a hand over his belly. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Dan said without looking over. “It’s late. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Oh no, you’re not!” Bill rolled over, wrapping his arms around Dan, his fingers toying with the cum-smeared, sweat-matted hair on his chest. “More, please,” he whispered, pulling Dan’s face down for a kiss that was unexpectedly genuine.

Even more unexpectedly, Dan stayed.

Dan woke to a still house. He was sprawled in the living room chair next to the fireplace, his feet extended, an empty tumbler on the floor beside him. He dragged his tongue across his teeth and felt the resinous coating. He stumbled to the kitchen for a drink of water. It was five thirty. Ralph lay in the corner on his bed, a paw tucked over his eyes.

Ked’s shoes were on the front mat. Obviously he’d returned at some point and gone off to bed without waking him. On the way back to the living room Dan saw the red flash.

“Hey, lover boy! Guess I missed you.” There were party noises in the background. “We’ll figure out the driving thing, don’t worry. I’ll call you at work tomorrow.”

The time on the message was 4:43. It was Donny who’d suggested that Bill’s almost inhuman ability to go without sleep was pharmaceutically related. Dan had never seen any trace of it other than the drugs Bill preferred to beer at parties, but it would be easy for a doctor to disguise such things.

The message ended. Dan stood and waited, as if expecting more. Ralph raised his head and whimpered a question. Dan played the tape a second time then pressed erase. He waited while the machine made its satisfied clicking noises as it ate up the recording before continuing up to bed.