Nandanas mark, p.6
Credo's Fire, page 6
“Most of them. Those were the first calls I made after I tried his cell. Nobody’s seen him.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know if I find him.” I hung up and returned to the living room, sorry I had to break up all the fun. Fortunately, they’d just finished the last game and it seemed like everyone was getting ready to call it a night.
Casey walked over to my desk where all the jackets were piled and retrieved her brown suede coat. She shrugged it on before finding Terri’s jeans jacket and helping her into it. “Everything okay?”
I knew Marcos wouldn’t mind if I told everyone what was going on since we were all friends and generally didn’t keep secrets from each other. Well, all of us except Tony who didn’t know Marcos and therefore wouldn’t care what I had to say one way or the other. I filled them in on what Maddie had told me.
When I finished, Casey was quiet for a moment. I saw the muscles in her jaw ripple, a sure sign that something was bothering her. She turned to look at Terri, who smiled. “I know you’re dying to go with her. I’ll drive the car home and maybe Alex can drive you home when you’re done.”
I shook my head, “No, that’s okay. You live an hour away from here and it’d just be easier if the two of you went home together. I can—”
Megan put her hands on her hips. “Go by yourself? No way am I gonna let you have all the fun.” Megan grabbed Tony’s dark brown Carhartt jacket and cowboy hat and threw them to him. As he caught both and juggled his hat to his head, she unceremoniously pushed him toward the door. “I’m a woman on a mission, Lover, so you’re gonna have to get home on your own tonight.”
To his credit, Tony showed his pearly whites in a playful smile before tipping his cowboy hat in a gentlemanly gesture of goodwill. “Much obliged for the evening, ladies.” He winked at me. “You take care of my little sugar britches, now, ya hear?” He pulled Megan into his arms and the two of them kissed so long I thought I’d have to get some type of debonder to pry them apart.
When they finally came up for air, Tony nodded at everyone once more before letting himself out the door. I watched him go, then turned back to Megan. “Sugar Britches?” I stuck my fingers down my throat and pretended to gag.
Megan reached into her pocket, pulled out a stick of gum, unwrapped it and threw it into her mouth. “Jealous?”
I shrugged. “He is kinda cute. Not too bright, but cute.”
“I know what you mean. The other day he told me ‘A rolling stone is worth two in the bush.’ So, I said, ‘A bird in the hand,’ and he just looked at me like he was waiting for me to finish my sentence.” She laughed and wiggled her eyebrows. “But you know, that ain’t what I’m keepin’ him around for…”
“So, you’re using him for his cowboy parts. I’ll bet he hates that.”
“Well, he’s not complaining, if that’s what you mean. In fact, when he was talking about the rolling stone, he wanted to make sure I knew he’s not the marrying type. He says traveling the rodeo circuit isn’t good for serious relationships. That was right before we….” The blood rushed to her face and she fanned herself with the palm of her hand. “Well, let me just say I’m definitely going to miss him when he leaves to ride some other lady bronc.”
As I started collecting dirty plates from the table, Megan motioned to her dog, Sugar. “Get the napkins, Shug.” I watched her brown lab methodically walk from place to place gathering the used napkins and walking them one by one to the trash. My metal can has a pedal at the base and when someone steps on the pedal, the lid pops open. Each time she brought a napkin to the can, she stepped on the pedal and deposited the napkins into the open garbage pail.
“That dog is absolutely amazing. Do you think I can train Tessa to do stuff like that?”
“Alex, Tessa is smart enough to learn anything anyone wants to teach her. You’re the one I’d have problems with. Ninety percent of dog training is trying to get the owner to do what they’re supposed to do. The dogs are super eager to learn. But the owners…” She stepped over and knocked on my head with her knuckles. “The owners not so easy.”
When Sugar had deposited the last napkin into the receptacle, Megan called her back over to the table. “Watch this. It’s something new we’ve been working on.” She pointed to one of the plates. “Stack ‘em, Sugar.” The dog’s chocolate brown eyes stared at Megan for a second. She looked at the plate, then back at Megan who gently pushed the plate across the table toward another plate. “Stack ‘em.”
Sugar obligingly put her nose to the side of the plate and pushed it in the same direction Megan had. A chair blocked her way so that she couldn’t move the plate as far as she needed to. When I stepped over to shove it out of her way, Megan put her hand on my arm. “Give her credit, Alex. She’s smart enough to know how to move a chair out of the way.” As though she understood what her mom had said, Sugar put a paw on the side of the chair and pushed it until it hit the kitchen wall. Returning to her assigned task, Sugar stretched up and put both paws on the table. One paw blocked the second plate from moving while the other rested on the table. Looking over at Megan, her eyes almost seemed to ask what she was supposed to do now.
Megan pointed to the first plate. “Slide it, Shug. You can do it. Slide it.” Sugar nudged the plate with her nose until the rims of the two plates were touching. Then, to my astonishment, she popped the edge of the first plate up with her left paw and Megan pushed the other plate under it. When the first crashed down onto the second, Megan bent down and hugged her girl. “Aren’t you the good girl! Look at that! You’re such a good girl.” Picking up the plate, she examined it carefully. “No cracks.” She grinned at me. “We’re working on finesse. Not quite there yet, but at least I don’t have to buy you an expensive new plate for your collection.”
“Yeah, these are genuine Wedgewood bought with stamps from the local grocery store.” I caught Tessa staring at me and leaned down to stroke her soft white ears. “We could do that, couldn’t we girl?” When she didn’t answer, I walked over to the hall closet to get my jacket. “Anyway, let’s leave the dishes until we get back. I’m kinda anxious to find Marcos. It’s not like him to miss work without calling in.”
We walked out the door and Megan turned to the three dogs. “You three stay here, we’ll be back.” My white Jeep wrangler was parked in front of my house and we climbed in and zipped up the windows. The weather had turned unseasonably cold and since we were both Arizona born and bred, the mid fifties tended to chill us to the bone. Megan buttoned up her denim jacket while I tried several times to start my cranky engine, which roared to life on the third try. I patted the dashboard before shifting into drive and heading off down the street.
Chapter 6
The first two bars we stopped at only welcomed men, and we felt out of place and under-dressed at both. When we entered a place called The Backdoor, we hit the jackpot. This particular bar catered to both the gay and lesbian crowd. People of all shapes and sizes from all walks of life were sitting around tables drinking beer or hanging out at the mahogany bar that stretched the entire length of the back wall. Megan and I slipped into an opening at the far end, careful not to jostle anyone out of their place. The bartender, a beefy tattooed man with two hoop earrings in his left ear, checked us out before setting a Bloody Mary down in front of a patron. When he looked up again, I caught his eye. He held up one finger telling me to wait while he took several more orders and mixed a variety of drinks.
After handing the last glass to a waiter, he walked over and laid both of his huge hands on the bar in front of us. The ring on his right index finger had an oversized ruby cut into a two-tiered, flat-bottomed triangle, but what really piqued my interest was the coiled tension that lived just behind his calm exterior. Megan pointed to the blue concoction he’d just given to the waiter. “I’d like one of those, please.”
The bartender studied her a minute. “That’s an Alaskan Iced Tea. I always put some extra Cointreau in to add a kick. You sure that’s what you want?”
Megan and I both answered at the same time.
“Yes.”
“No.” I jabbed her in the arm with my elbow. “No. We might have a long night ahead of us and I don’t want to have to carry you around everywhere we go.”
She jabbed me back. “Yes. I’m a big girl who happens to be able to hold her liquor.”
The bartender nodded, then looked at me expectantly. I shook my head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
I knew there was no arguing with Megan without causing a major scene, so I swiveled around to survey the room. There was a live band playing in the corner and I watched several couples slow dancing around the dance floor. By the time Megan’s drink arrived I’d figured out two things; one, Marcos wasn’t there and two, there are plenty of gay people with two left feet. Bowing to the inevitable, I swiveled back around, pinged Megan’s glass with my fingernail and asked the bartender, “So what’s in these things anyway?”
A look of serious professionalism came over his face. “There’s definitely an art to mixing it just right. I mix Rum, Gin, Vodka, and some Blue Curacao, along with about two ounces of sweet and sour mix. All that gets poured over ice and I top that with a lemon lime soda.” He leaned in close and whispered. “What makes mine so good is the real lime juice I squeeze on top.” He nodded at me. “An entire lime. I ain’t kiddin’ you.” He spoke with an odd mixture of educated man about town versus leather garbed biker dude. “And, like I said, I add extra Cointreau just before I set it out.”
His hands rested on the bar top again while he checked me out. Staring at me with half closed eyes, he crossed his arms and announced, “You’re a cop.”
It wasn’t a question, so I just raised my eyebrows. “So?”
“So, why’re you here? Nothin’ funny goin’ on and some of these people, maybe some judges, maybe some politicians or Indian chiefs, don’t need their names drug through the blender, if you know what I mean.”
It seemed a lot of people were mixing their colloquialisms these days and it took me a minute to sort out what he’d just said. “Oh, right. I’m not here to make trouble for anybody. I’m trying to find a friend of mine, Marcos Quiroz.” He continued to stare at me, so I thought I’d take a stab at breaking the ice that had apparently formed between us. “So, how did you know I was a cop? What gave it away?”
He snorted while shaking his head as though it was obvious. “You haven’t stopped looking around since you got here. Nobody walks behind you without you watchin’ out of the corner of your eye and you always turn your head to the other side to make sure they’ve kept walking and didn’t stop behind you where you can’t see ‘em.” He made a fist and held it up for me to see. “You checked out my ring and I could tell you were looking at it as a potential weapon instead of as just a nice piece of jewelry since I got it so conveniently situated on my pointin’ knuckle.”
I smiled at him, impressed with his observation skills. I decided to give him back what he’d just given me. “What’s your name?”
“Gus.”
“Well Gus, turnabout’s fair play. You were in the military. Your hair’s down to your shoulders but your bearing is straight and strong. You act like you’re just pouring drinks, but actually I’ve watched you catalogue every person in this room and take note of when they move to a new location. Your tattoo says .338 Lapua Magnum, which tells me you were a sniper either in Iraq or Afghanistan. And,” I raised my right eyebrow and nodded toward his hand. “you know as well as I do why you wear that big ass ring on your index finger.”
He glared at me for a minute longer, but eventually a big smile slowly spread across his face.
I smiled back. “And…I’m gonna go out on a limb on this one, but my guess would be you were assigned to the 28th Infantry Division since your ring looks like it’s the shape of a red keystone.”
From the way his mouth dropped open I knew I couldn’t have surprised him any more if I’d actually told him the name of his drill sergeant in boot camp. He closed his mouth, shaking his head in wonder. “How hell did you figure that out?”
I allowed myself a small, triumphant grin. “When I was in patrol, my partner was obsessed with military trivia. When we were on mids and things got slow, he’d start reeling off all kinds of trivia about weapons and bombs, military history, and certain characteristics of individual units.” I pointed to his ring. “like knowin’ that rock you’re wearing was designed specifically for the 28th. I studied up a little bit and eventually got good enough to trip him up every now and then.” I shrugged. “It helped pass the time.”
The guy on the stool next to me chimed in. “Hey, I got one for ya. What did an enemy have to be for a U.S. soldier to call him a “believer” in ‘Nam?”
Surprised, I turned and really looked at the man. Up to that point, he’d just been a body taking up space. Physically, he had the build of a forty or fifty-year-old casual weight lifter, but the crags in his face and full head of Gray hair told a different story. He held out his hand to shake. “Name’s Single, Single Darden. I was eavesdropping on your conversation.” He shrugged and looked a bit sheepish. “Kinda hard not to.”
I shook hands, then answered his question. “Dead.”
He laughed. “Bingo!”
Megan sidled out from behind me, cocked her hip and gave the guy her “come hither” look I knew only too well. Give her a drink, especially a strong one like the Big Blue she currently held in her hand, and any man within striking distance was fair game. “Single? That’s your name? Your real name?”
The guy grinned. “Yup. After two sets of twins and one set of triplets, my parents were so happy when I popped out alone, they decided to name me Single.” His smile faded when Megan took a long, slow, sip from her Alaskan Iced Tea and then provocatively ran her tongue over wet lips, never taking her eyes off the guy during the whole process. Single shifted nervously. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for? You do know you’re in a gay bar, right?”
“How do you know I’m not the prettiest cross dresser you’ve ever seen?” She giggled and I rolled my eyes and pushed her back to my other side where she belonged.
I plucked the almost empty glass out of her hand and handed it to Gus. “Here, I think she’s had enough for now.” I turned back to Single, “Okay, since you’ve thrown down the gauntlet, what’s the oldest American military uniform item in continuous use?”
“Shoot, give me a hard one, will ya? That’s a gimme for an old jar head like me.”
“Well then, what’s the answer?”
He stuck out his chest and ran his fingers down the middle of his shirt. “The gold buttons on the Marine Corps Dress Blues.”
I thought a minute. “You want something hard, huh? Okay, who was the real-life sniper in Saving Private Ryan and what type of rifle did he use?”
Single ran one hand through his hair and punched me on the shoulder with the other. “Damn, you got me on that one.”
Gus had moved off to mix another drink, but he must have been listening to our banter because he gave the answer over his shoulder. “Don’t know the real guy’s name, but in the movie, he used a Springfield 1903, probably an A4.”
I nodded. “Good answer since the sniper wasn’t based on a real person.”
Single let out a guffaw. “A trick question! No fair.” He downed about a quarter of the beer in his mug, wiped the foam from his lips, and swiveled to face me. He studied me a minute, then seemed to make up his mind. “I heard you asking questions about Marcos. Whatcha want him for?”
“Are you a friend of his?”
“Maybe. Depends on your answer.” He took another sip and watched me over the rim of his glass.
“Some other friends have been worried about him, and they asked me to come find him to make sure he’s okay. Have you seen him?”
Single looked at Gus and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if Gus thought they could trust me. Gus studied me again, shrugged and nodded slightly. Single nodded back, set his beer on the counter and motioned for Megan and me to follow.
I grabbed Megan’s arm after she tripped and nearly did a face plant on one of the pool tables. She pulled out of my grasp and walked with exaggerated dignity behind Single, her back stiff with the concentration only an inebriated soul can muster. In her case, she was only tipsy, but I needed to remember to keep her away from any of Gus’ Alaskan Iced Teas in the future.
Single led us through a door in the back of the bar which in turn led us to a stairwell with stairs going up onto a well-lit second floor landing. Several pieces of very colorful, extremely erotic art hung at various intervals along the stairwell wall. The scenes grew more and more festive, and a lot more crowded, as we ascended. We paused at each painting, mesmerized by the bright colors and imagery depicted in each scene.
At the top of the stairs, as we stopped in front of an image of a human-animal orgy, Megan reached out a hesitant finger and lightly touched the glass. “These oils are incredible and look at how the artist used the matte glass to scatter the reflected light.” She moved her hand in a circle. “See how the images are kind of blurry? He did that with the glass. It’s a great technique a lot of artists use.” Shaking her head, she took a small step closer to try to read the signature that was scrawled along the bottom edge of the painting. “I can’t believe these paintings are hung in a back stairwell of a gay bar.”
Believe it or not, before she opened her own dog training school, Megan had earned her master’s degree in art history. Her mother happens to be one of the foremost experts on Medieval and Byzantine art, and she passed along her passion to her oldest daughter.
Single, who had continued walking down the hallway, stopped and came back to where we were standing. “Gus did those. Pretty good, huh?”
Megan turned to stare at our self-appointed guide. “Gus? No way.” She took a step back in order to be able to see all four paintings and mumbled quietly to herself. “No f’in way…”
