The Hired Man (16 page)

I was listening intently to every word, and when Phil paused, I had to hold myself back from jumping in immediately with an “And…?”

“I think,” he continued at last, “that maybe Billy had a date with somebody he thought I wouldn't want him to be with.”

Aha!

“Any ideas?” I asked.

Another pause, much longer this time.

“No. I really can't think of who it might be.”

Maybe I could.

“Billy knew Matt Rushmore, didn't he?”

Yet another pause.

“Yeah, Matt left ModelMen just a week or so after Billy joined. Why?”

“Do you know why Matt left ModelMen?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “The Glicks only said he'd decided he could make enough money just modeling. What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” I hastened to assure him while lying through my teeth. “Nothing. What did you know about Matt?”

“Uh…not all that much, I guess. I knew his specialty was light S and M, but…”

There was complete silence until finally I had to ask: “Are you there?”

Finally: “Yeah, I'm here. Jeezus, Dick! I remember that Billy thought Matt was really, really hot, and I caught Matt eying Billy several times. But when I got Billy on at ModelMen, I told him I didn't think it was a good idea to fuck around with any of the other escorts except in the line of business. I never did, and as far as I know, he didn't, either. Do you suppose…?”

“Well,” I said, again trying not to get him too worked up, “Matt stopped being an escort, so the no-fraternization rule wouldn't have applied. Did you have any reason to dislike Matt, or to make Billy think you did?”

Phil's voice returned to its regular volume.

“No, not at all. Matt was pretty hot, and he seemed like a nice guy. I figured the S and M thing was just part of his act for the clients. I don't think he was serious about it. Billy was always attracted to guys who came across as really butch, but he was way too smart to ever get into an S and M scene with anyone he didn't know he could trust.”

I thought,
Maybe Billy thought Matt's S and M image was just an act, too.

What was obvious was that the Glicks had tried to protect Matt, and I could understand their not wanting to let the other escorts know the real reason he left ModelMen.

“So, if Billy did have a date with Matt, you think he would have told you?” I asked.

“I can't imagine why not. But we—at least I—haven't seen Matt since he left, and I'm sure if Billy had, he'd have mentioned it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I was mainly just curious. Thanks for the info. And if you come up with anything else you think might help—anything at all—please give me a call.”

“I will.”

“Okay, well, you'd better hop back in the pool. Tell Gary hello for me.”

We exchanged goodbyes and hung up.

*

I found Phil's comment about why Billy might not have told him who he was going out with very interesting. It occurred to me that maybe Billy didn't follow Phil's rule about not dating the other escorts and didn't want Phil to know. However, since going out with Matt wouldn't have been a particular problem, and Phil had liked Matt, if Billy had run into Matt, why wouldn't he have mentioned it?

If Billy
had
been playing around with one of the other escorts, the one who popped immediately into mind, only because of his specialty, was Aaron, Matt's replacement. If Billy liked ‘em butch, Aaron certainly would qualify. Of course, I still hadn't met the last two of ModelMen's stable—Mark and Steve.

I was just getting ready to run downstairs for lunch when the phone rang.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“Hi,” a very warm, very masculine voice said. “This is Matt Rushmore. I got your message. What can I do for you?”

From the sound of your voice, buddy, I can think of several things,
my mind said, and I realized with mild surprise that I was starting to think about sex again, which I hadn't done since Billy's death.

“Thanks for calling,” I said aloud. “I have some questions you might be able to help me with. It wouldn't take long.”

“Questions about…?”

“About your time with the ModelMen Agency.”

“I'm not sure I—” he began, but I decided there was little to gain by beating around the bush and interrupted him.

“You know Billy Steiner, don't you?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Something's happened to him,” I said, “and I need to talk to everyone who knew him, especially everyone associated with ModelMen.”

“
Knew
him?” Rushmore asked, his tone not quite hiding the tension. “What are you talking about?”

“It's a long story,” I said, “and I really think it would be better if we could talk face-to-face.”

There was a long silence and then, suddenly, Rushmore blurted, “The Dumpster murder? You think Billy was the guy in the Dumpster? Holy shit!”

“Can we get together?” I pushed.

“Yeah. Sure. Whenever.”

“Are you working today?”

“Just got back. You want me to come down to your office?”

“If you could.” I gave him the address.

*

The minute Matt Rushmore walked in the door I recognized him—the guy I'd been eying at Faces, sitting at the table near me. Chalk another one up in the “small world” column.

The last thing you'd ever think by looking at him would be that he'd get a kick out of S&M—or even that he was gay. He reminded me in a way of Lieutenant Richman—very outwardly hetero, very discreetly butch. He was wearing a short-sleeved pullover shirt, and extending below his tight-fitting left sleeve (which molded a very impressive bicep), I could see the tattooed letters “U.S.M.C.”

We exchanged introductions, and I motioned him to a seat.

“So, what's going on?” he asked. “What happened to Billy?”

I told him. He sat there, silent, for a minute, staring at me, then gave a small shrug and a sigh.

“That sucks,” he said. “I really liked Billy. He was one hot little fucker.”

And that was that.

I waited for another moment, giving him time to add something, and when he didn't I moved ahead.

“Did you know Stuart Anderson?” I asked: “One of ModelMen's clients?”

He thought a moment then said, “Yeah, I think I met him when the Glicks had one of their new-client dinners. He didn't impress me.”

Suddenly, he gave his head a slight backward jerk, and his eyes opened wide for a brief instant.

“
Whoa!
” he said. Then, he narrowed his eyes slightly, and his eyebrows moved imperceptibly toward one another. “I get it! The Glicks told you about that fuckin' perv who begged me to give him what he deserved, and then, when I did, he got me fired. You think just because I like it a little rough that I wouldn't know when to stop? You think I'd do something to Billy or that Anderson guy?” He shook his head. “Shit! What kind of a psycho do you think I am?”

I started to say something, but he cut me off.

“Yeah, I like it rough.” he continued. “I can take it, and I can give it out, and there are a hell of a lot of fuckin' pansies out there who haven't got the fuckin' guts to just go after a man when they want one. No, they hide in their fuckin' closets behind their wives' skirts and their wedding rings until they get so fucking sick of themselves can't stand it anymore, and then they come crawling out looking for somebody like me, who'll treat them the way they know they deserve to be treated for being the ball-less cowards they are!”

Yeah, but what do you
really
think of them?

He stopped abruptly and gave me a small, weak smile.

“Sorry,” he said, “I guess I get a little carried away at times.” He paused, aware of what he'd said. “
But not with sex.
”

We just looked at one another for a minute without speaking. Finally, he said, “You're bi, too, aren't you?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

He shrugged.

“Odd, I'd have thought you were. But it doesn't matter. I don't care what other people are or do, just as long as they know who the hell they are and what they want, and aren't ashamed of it.”

“Why did you go to work for ModelMen?” I asked.

He shrugged again then reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He offered me one, but I shook my head and reached into my desk drawer for an ashtray—a souvenir from my three-packs-a-day past.

He fished in his front pants pocket for a lighter, raising his ass off the chair and displaying a sizeable bulge in the process, and lit up before answering. I slid the ashtray across the desk, and he leaned forward to take it.

“I needed the money,” he said simply. “Gary and I had been in the Corps together. He said the Glicks were looking for a few good men, so I went along. It wasn't bad. To be honest, most of the clients I was assigned to were pretty decent guys, and most of them were bi. I like having sex with other bis, as long as they know what they want.

“Maybe only one in four would come looking for my specialty. The rest were just guys who like an occasional roll in the hay with other guys.”

“How did you get along with the Glicks?” I asked.

“Pretty well,” he said, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray to dislodge a nub of ash. “Really nice people, and they treat all their employees pretty well, though they do—well, Mrs. Glick does, anyway—tend to favor Gary. Only natural, I suppose.”

I was curious.

“What do you mean, favor Gary?”

Matt shrugged. “I don't know. Give him first crack at new clients, especially the richer ones. Little stuff.”

“You and Gary are pretty close, I understand,” I said.

He blew out a long stream of smoke.

“We don't see much of each other anymore.”

“Any reason?” I asked.

“Nothing special.”

I had the impression there was a little more to it than he was willing to volunteer but decided not to press it.

“Did you ever make it with Billy?” I asked.

“I got the idea Billy wanted it,” he said, “and I wouldn't have minded. But gay guys—guys who I know are strictly gay—don't turn me on much for some reason.”

Pity,
I thought.

He looked at the burning end of his cigarette for a moment then up at me with another small smile.

“You
sure
you're not bi?”

Sorry, Matt, Baby, not even for you,
I thought, reluctantly.

“Gay as they come,” I said, returning his smile.

“Well, what I said about gay guys wasn't written in stone,” he said, tamping his cigarette out in the ashtray.

What the fuck are you
doing,
Hardesty?
my mind demanded, truly shocked.
Here you are talking to some guy who digs S and M and who, for all you know, may have killed both Billy and Stuart Anderson, and you're
cruising
the guy? Get a grip, for Chrissakes!

My mind was right, of course, so with a great deal of effort, I whip-and-chaired my testosterone tigers back into their cages.

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said. Hey, if Matt Rushmore turned out
not
to be the killer…

You're hopeless,
my mind said, disgusted.

I asked Matt several more questions, mainly about anything he might have known about Billy, how Billy got along with the other escorts, if Billy had ever mentioned anything at all that might have a bearing on his murder. He really couldn't tell me anything, so after a while I thanked him for coming over and for his information, and he got up to go.

“Give me a call sometime,” he said as we shook hands at the door.

“As soon as I get this case finished, you can count on it,” my crotch said, using my voice.

Chapter 7

On the one hand, I'd found Matt Rushmore to be a rather likeable guy—an opinion I realized might be slightly influenced by my crotch and by the fact that, whether deliberately or not, he'd done some pretty shrewd ego-fluffing by coming on to me. He certainly didn't seem like the kind of guy who would brutally murder and mutilate anyone.

But then the paranoia kicked in.

Well, of course he doesn't, you stupid shit! That's the whole point! I'd imagine a lot of people thought Jack the Ripper seemed like a really nice guy, too. You and your fucking crotch!

Well, I definitely wasn't going to rule Matt out,
but there were a lot of other loose ends I had to pull together before zeroing in on him completely.