Second shot, p.12
Second Shot, page 12
Joey laughed again.
Jimmy hadn’t even heard the door open, footsteps were quiet on the carpet.
“Oh, that old story,” Meaghan said. “I was there, too. Rocky was the pitcher. And he drilled you with the pitch because he thought you were gay.”
“Look where that got all of us,” Jimmy said. Rocky was gay but also Joey’s father.
Then he bent down and kissed Joey’s head. He smelled of sweet innocence.
“There’s a car downstairs. A black stretch limo,” Meaghan said. “That for you?”
“A private eye sometimes gets perks. Gonna be a late-night. Don’t wait up.”
Jimmy put Joey in his crib, then gave his sister a peck on the cheek. She snapped her gum.
“How was walk-in?”
“A bitch ripped a Playbill out of my hand.”
“So just a regular night on the aisle.”
Meaghan pushed him away, an eye roll accompanying it. “Leave. Do your job. And thanks. Joey loves his time with you.”
Jimmy had a response but it got caught in his throat. He grabbed his jacket and headed out of the apartment and down the five flights of stairs to 10th Avenue. Indeed, not only was there that car waiting for him, a man was leaning against it with a most seductive pose.
“Shouldn’t you already be at the Portnoy’s?”
“Streb’s there, he’s witnessing the notary. Dinner’s on hold till we get there. They eat late anyway.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?”
Brenden smiled broadly. “Can you just get in the damn car? I’ll explain everything on the ride, but not before I get to have a heavy make-out session with you.”
Jimmy was both reticent and turned on. Brenden had this infectious way of infecting his ability to not be affected by spurious advances. One day Jimmy would have to see him operate in a courtroom. He doubted the prosecution team would feel the same way. For now, their chariot awaited, with Brenden holding open the back door. Jimmy slipped into the soft comfort of the roomy seats in the limousine, put his feet up. Brenden joined him.
“Tony, we’re ready to head to the Portnoy’s.”
The driver signaled his okay, and as he drove off, he hit a button that hid them from him. Or him from them. It depended on your perspective. Jimmy for one felt this was all for show. Brenden’s way of seducing Jimmy into avoiding the discussion they’d only scratched the surface of on that late-night call. This wasn’t just a business meeting for Brenden. This was family drama.
Finally, settled and hitting the West Side highway, Brenden turned to Jimmy. “Hi.”
“Really? That’s all you’ve got?”
“You seem pissed. Thought I’d break the ice.”
“Okay. Um, hi.”
“Mine wasn’t so hesitant.”
Jimmy was rarely uncomfortable. But now, when Brenden reached out and caressed his hand, Jimmy shifted in his seat. Stared out tinted windows before realizing there was nothing to look at out there. He turned back, watching as Brenden performed stage two of his seduction. He had good hands. Really good hands. Which made him look up. Found Brenden’s eyes zoned in on his.
He was expecting a compliment. A move. Maybe a kiss. Brenden surprised him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. You know, about Becs.”
“You mean your mother?”
He paused for too long, but Jimmy kept silent. Brenden finally said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you. Streb forbid it. I’m being used as a pawn between the firm and the family.”
“And the fortune.”
“Just so you know, what happened between us? That was honest and true and unexpected. I had no idea who you were. Hell, I barely know Mallory. But at that lunch, Jimmy, I could barely think straight. So to speak. While Streb was there, I had to play the dutiful, subservient associate attorney, focused on the case.”
“And then he left.”
“And I wanted nothing more than to rip your clothes off.”
“Which you did a few nights later.”
“You let me.”
“Yeah. Not tonight. Let’s focus on the case.”
The limo continued to head north. Riverdale was history, hello Westchester. Gone soon was Yonkers, a change of roads sending them over toward Harrison. It was borderline Connecticut, less Hudson River, and soon Jimmy could see the twin houses around the bend, lit up for the night like a celebration was in progress. Further silence had enveloped the car, Brenden checking his phone. “Just got a message from Streb wondering where the hell we are.” The light on his phone was bright.
Jimmy stared out the window at the darkening night. So much had changed in his life, but the sky still sparkled with hope. He gave a glance at Brenden.
Did he like Brenden?
Did it matter?
Finish the case. Move on. He had other things on his mind. In his heart.
A flash of Frisano kissing him rocked him.
Then came a voice over the intercom between front and back seats. “Almost there.”
That’s when the kiss in the back seat of the limo happened. Not at Brenden’s urging. But Jimmy just grabbed him and planted one on him, holding him, touching him, his tongue dancing with surprise excitement. He’d caught Brenden unaware but there was no resistance. It was still another half mile till they arrived at the house. Brenden ran his hands over Jimmy’s cheeks and he unbuttoned much of Jimmy’s shirt. Indulging himself. Jimmy allowing it, just as he had the other night. He rubbed at Brenden’s crotch, felt it grow excited.
“I wish you could fuck me right now,” Brenden said.
“I think our driver might blush.”
“He’s seen worse. He works for lawyers.”
It was a funny line and Jimmy laughed, all while in a state of undress.
That’s when the car came to a halt. They’d pulled into the driveway.
“More than almost there. We’re here,” Tony said. “Better button up.”
Guess Brenden was right. The man knew his shit. Jimmy and Brenden put themselves back together. Staring at each other with the regret of interrupted opportunity.
“I hope you’re like that after this dinner. Breakfast is on me if you fuck me like you did the other night.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what came over me,” Jimmy said. “That was a reaction.”
“Whatever it was, I’m fine with it. If you meant it.”
“I…I did.”
The hesitation was what ruined the moment. Brenden looked down, like he wanted to be anywhere other than here, there…hell, anywhere. Quiet held the space between them. When his eyes returned upward, they were somber, and what he said sent a shiver through Jimmy. He hated that he’d been that obvious. Because what Brenden said was, “Okay, who is he?”
* * * *
The answer would have to wait. The arrival of the limo—which the law firm was paying for, or more factually billing its client—had drawn the annoyed and abrupt attention of Byron Streb, the portly partner who had dragged Jimmy into this morass. He ripped open the back door and told them both to get out with the authority of a man who signed paychecks.
Jimmy went first, Brenden adjusting his clothing before hitting the dark night.
“You’re fucking late,” Streb said.
“My fault,” Jimmy replied. “I had to care for my nephew for a couple hours. His mom was working.”
“Ever hear of a babysitter?”
“Yeah. Me.”
Don’t fuck with Jimmy when it came to his family, and his tone indicated that. Streb shut up and just escorted the two of them into the house. The odors of a simmering dinner dominated throughout the first floor. Brenden had said they’d hold dinner until their arrival. Saturday night, nine o’clock, it was almost civilized in a European way. His stomach grumbled noticeably. He was on a different time zone.
“Now you know how we all feel,” Streb stated.
Jimmy really didn’t like this man. Rothschild, his predecessor, had been more dignified.
To the table the three men went, where another three people were seated, wine glasses half full. He wondered how many had been refilled before they’d gotten here. At the head of the table was the man who had come to see Jimmy at Paddy’s, the maybe-Chaz. At the other end was Becs. She was dressed in pearls and gold earrings and too much make-up, a black dress hugging her frail figure. Her lips ruby red. Made only more obvious by the lack of attention to accoutrements by the other woman sitting at the table. One Dr. Amanda Morgan and it was a surprise to see her.
Jimmy shot a look at Brenden but was instructed by Streb to just take his seat. He did. He was directed to a chair between the two lawyers. Sort of like being between a rock and a rock-hard man.
“Hello, Jimmy. I’m glad you could join us tonight,” Becs said.
“Yes, McSwain, nice of you to accept my offer.”
“It seemed more than an offer,” Jimmy said. “I apologize for the delay. Family matters.”
“Indeed it does,” said Chaz.
Jimmy was going to go on the assumption that’s who this was. He stole a quick look at the man’s eyes. They were dark in color but wide open. Hadn’t Becs said Baz had eyes that held a certain darkness in them. The brother he’d seen in the hospital had had his eyes closed. Hard to read when sleeping. “The Portnoys understand the importance of a family sticking together.”
Yes, perhaps a bit too closely in the case of twin brothers.
“Well, let’s cut this idle chatter. How about dinner?” Streb said.
Chaz snapped his fingers and from a door that led, presumably to the kitchen, out stepped a woman in a maid’s outfit. Like old school. Summoned from the downstairs to the upstairs. A tray in her arms. Plates were set down in front of them. Salads of arugula and goat cheese, a light vinaigrette, or so Becs explained.
“And then Cornish game hen with assorted vegetables. Bon Appetite.”
Jimmy smiled at her mangled attempt at French. He stole a look at Brenden, who had said nothing since sitting down. Perhaps at an earlier instruction by Streb. The other guest at the table had yet to speak as well. The mysterious Dr. Morgan. What was she doing here while her patient, the host’s family, lay near death?
“Dr. Morgan, I have to say I’m surprised to see you here. But I’m surprised to see myself here, too.”
“I came over to give an update on Mr. Portnoy. Mrs. Portnoy insisted I stay for dinner.”
Except she was nicely dressed, like her presence was expected.
“Very kind. I hope you don’t think my remark was rude.”
“You made your style perfectly clear at Hammondsworth the other day.”
“Amanda, that was an unnecessary way to speak to our guest,” Becs said.
Now Jimmy felt even more awkward within this setting. The old house, the maybe husband and his wife, her secret son and the son’s boss, who had hired Jimmy, and then toss in the doctor assigned to the comatose case of the other maybe husband. Jimmy felt he was the only one at the dinner table who knew who he claimed to be.
“My apologies, Mrs. Portnoy.”
“Your apology should be directed at Mr. McSwain.”
“My apologies, Mr. McSwain.”
“Enough of this antagonism,” Chaz said. “Let’s eat.”
Becs appeared not to like the direction of the night. She reached for her wine and missed it, knocking it onto the floor. Red wine and splintered glass littered the carpet.
“For God’s sake, Becs.”
Chaz snapped his fingers and help arrived. Problem averted, and soon, with another snap, it was like the Cornish game hens flew in. Plates served, wine glasses refilled, Jimmy choosing to remain silent because he was curious what kind of conversation would accompany the meal. Would it be tasty like the hen, or bitter like the root vegetables?
Small talk ensued. The weather. Beck’s love of the coming autumn and all its rich colors. Amanda agreeing. She loved how Hammondsworth would soon be awash with browns and yellows and orange. There was talk about Baz’s condition—no change—and there was talk of Becs and Chaz and the way they had reconnected, just two short years ago. Jimmy listened to it all, trying to decide what was truth, what was a lie, and why he’d even been brought into this strange witches’ brew.
Something wasn’t adding up. Someone wasn’t adding up.
“McSwain, you’ve been quiet,” Chaz said.
“Just enjoying my meal. As you can imagine, with my job I eat on the run a lot.”
“Must be an interesting career. Ever consider going professional?”
“Chaz! Jimmy’s quite professional.”
“I meant, you know, uniform. A cop. Like your father.”
Jimmy wondered what Chaz had learned about him since their encounter at Paddy’s. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait.
“I like what I do. I bring criminals out of the dark. My rules.”
“Tough talk for a gay guy.”
Well that silenced the table. Forks were dropped onto plates, quiet scrapes. The gentle clink of a wine glass hitting a utensil. Becs stood and said dinner was over. Perhaps Chaz should think about going to the deck to clear his mind. Accused him of too much wine. Chaz got up from his seat and he didn’t look happy about being reprimanded. If he was really Chaz, wasn’t he supposed to be the good twin? Right now, Jimmy saw pure evil in his eyes. For a moment.
Then it passed and his mood lightened.
“What say, a fine idea. Shall we retire to the yard? I do enjoy a cigar after a good meal, and Becs’ rule is smoking is not allowed inside the house. You’d think a husband would hold dominion over his property but there you have it. The witch. Streb?”
“Yes, that sounds find.”
“I’ll take a pass on that cigar,” Brenden said. “Perhaps I can show Jimmy the house.”
“Why ever would he need to see the house?”
“Remember, we did hire him to get to the bottom of our situation. Let him see the scene of the crime.”
“Accident,” Becs reminded him.
“This is all nonsense. McSwain, you seem like a fine fellow. To me, it’s a waste of money.”
“Chaz, that’s enough. Don’t you want to have this issue settled—legally?”
That was a word he couldn’t argue with. He scraped his chair against the floor and with a single finger, beckoned Streb to follow behind. The well-paid lap dog. Dr. Morgan excused herself and said she needed to call in to Hammondsworth. Before she left the room, she touched Becs’ shoulder, a rare bit of intimacy revealed within her. She’d been cold and distant all night. Jimmy would later have to review what she’d said, what she hadn’t said (she was good at that), and what it might all mean.
For now, Jimmy took Brenden’s lead and followed him toward the main entrance of the house. A foyer with a high ceiling, and a winding staircase of white stone, remnants of carpet on each step. The railing was shiny, polished brass. An elegant set-up, but not unlike the rest of the house, it seemed like mothballs kept it preserved. Brenden took a few steps eagerly, stopping when he noticed Jimmy remained behind.
“Is this such a good idea?” Jimmy asked.
“You’re on a case. Investigate.” He smiled. “Besides, I’d like to see you in action.”
Brenden was completely different when Streb wasn’t around.
Jimmy took the stairs one at a time, carefully examining all that was before him. Carpet fibers, discolorations, maybe a piece of jewelry or even a tooth. Someone falls down a flight of stairs, you never know what comes loose. He assumed the police had been called as a formality. But there was no pending case of suspicion of foul play. A terrible accident. Until Jimmy reached the top. Not on a step, but on the curved railing was a blood stain. Could be from anything, a cut on a finger. Could be from being slapped in the face and hitting one’s head against it with force.
Once again, this case had more questions than provided answers.
“You find something?”
“Maybe. But you know, I’m not licensed to perform forensic testing and I certainly don’t interfere in a potential crime scene. You may want the cops to swab the railing and find out who’s blood this is. Determine how long it’s been here even.” He paused, scrutinizing the carpeting at the top of the stairs. There was a scuff mark, a rip. Could Baz, or Chaz, have tripped accidentally? According to Becs, yes. But what if the rug had been compromised deliberately to ensure someone would trip. No one other than Becs and her supposed husband lived here.
Curious. Too curious. And again, too suspicious. He grabbed for his phone and opened the camera feature. Took several shots, just in case anyone got any ideas of re-examining where Baz had taken the potentially fatal fall.
Just then he felt his iPhone vibrate in his hand. Wrong time for anyone to be calling, unless it was his mother. Brenden was looking at him as he stared at the Caller ID on the screen. Jimmy’s first instinct was to decline the call. His second instinct was the same. Saturday night, nearing eleven o’clock, Jimmy doubted it was a personal call. Things happened in the dark of night. Usually not good things. His private investigative hunches made him answer on the third ring.
“This isn’t the best time, Frank.”
“It never is, but then again, neither is death.”
Shit. Jimmy mouthed a sorry at Brenden. The man stood quiet at the top of the stairs, listening to the words and reading the body language.
“What happened? I’m assuming this is related to our, uh, case.”
“Imperial Dragon in Flushing. Up in flames. The patrons escaped. The employees didn’t.”
Jimmy realized he was holding his breath, thinking of the people who had waited on him the other day. The young hostess, the older waitress, and then he wondered if the beefy thug who had threatened him was charred, too. Just what the hell was Wu-Tin up to? Jimmy found himself more confused than ever. Motive was missing. At least with the Portnoy case, it was all about money. Wu-Tin had much more going on and was proving to be a formidable enemy, with no one safe from such ruthlessness.
“Fire department is still putting out the last of the embers. I just got here.”
