A Sticky End (16 page)

I almost said “thank you,” but I didn't think this was meant as a compliment.

Sean Durran was better looking than Morgan had led me to believe—but then his idea of beauty was well biased toward the feminine, and he would never have thought of a man in terms of his looks, only in terms of what he could do for him. Morgan had never told me he found me attractive, only that he liked how my dick, ass, mouth, or hands were making him feel. Durran was no movie star, true, but
he had the kind of man-boy looks that I find irresistible. He was sitting on his own, his hands clasped between his knees, looking around expectantly—in fact, he looked as nervous as a kitten. This was not the swaggering cocksman I'd been led to expect. He had dark rings around his eyes—which, on closer inspection, were bloodshot. He looked like a man who hadn't gotten much sleep. He looked like a man with something on his conscience.

“Sean Durran?” We shook hands. “I'm Edward Mitchell. Dr. Edward Mitchell.” There was a certain amount of back-straightening from Bert and Sean; that title does come in useful now and again.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Plenty, from what I've heard.”

He relaxed, slouched back in his seat, and opened his legs. “What's Bert been telling you?”

“He says you're a good fuck.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“In fact, everyone I speak to tells me you're a good fuck.”

His brows contracted, and he looked suspicious. “Who's been talking? Who's this?” He nodded toward Stan, who

was standing behind me.

“Don't worry. We're friends. I hope we're going to be good friends.”

“He's all right, Sean,” said Bert, pulling up a tiny stool and planting his huge, solid backside on it; I expected it to be reduced to matchwood. “We've been…chatting.”

“Where were you last night, Sean?” No point in beating around the bush; I needed to get this investigation back on track.

“With some pals.”

“Where?”

“Here and there.”

“Do you ever take a walk on Wimbledon Common, Sean?”

“Maybe.”

I took my wallet out of my jacket; fortunately, I was well provided with cash. I pulled out a pound note. Durran's eyes widened.

“Yes. I was on the Common last night.”

I put the money on the table and set a beer glass on top of it. “There's more where that came from if you want it,” I said. “It all depends on whether you tell me the truth.”

“He's an honest boy, is Sean,” said Bert, eager to get his hands on some of the loot as well—though possibly not as eager as he was to get his hands on my dick.

“Can we talk somewhere in private?”

Bert and Sean exchanged a glance, and Bert nodded. “Upstairs,” he said.

“Ah. The famous upper story. Okay. Lead the way. But remember: I want answers, and I want the truth.”

Bert had a quick, muttered conversation with the landlord, who gave him a candle. The stairs were dark, the carpet worn and torn, and it was hard, by that guttering light, not to trip and fall. We ascended to an
L
-shaped landing, the floor covered in dirty brown linoleum; it may not have originally been brown, but it certainly was now. There were six doors, all of them a sickly green.

“Number four is the biggest,” said Bert. “Two beds. We should manage.”

“There will plenty of time for that,” I said, “if I get the answers I'm looking for.”

“I'll vouch for Sean,” said Bert. “He's honest.”

An honest whore—the oldest cliché in the book. Well, we'd see. Lucky for me that the big man was so eager to get fucked; perhaps we would ensure that his protégé gave me what I wanted first.

The room was long, with low ceilings and two windows that presumably looked onto the street, but had long since been covered over with sacking that was tacked to the
frames. Daylight and a view, even of Tooting Broadway, were obviously not important to the many hundreds of men who had been in this room before us.

We sat on the beds, Stan and I on one, Sean and Bert on the other. The springs were predictably creaky, the mattress lumpy as hell, but that would not matter; there was plenty of room on the floor, and enough old rugs to protect our elbows, knees, and backsides from splinters.

“Can't we just—” began Bert.

“No.” My voice sounded harsh in that drab room. I softened it. “Sean, tell me about last night.”

He looked to Bert for permission.

“Go on, son. He's all right.”

“I met a couple of gents in the White Bear.” So far, so truthful, I thought.

“Did you get their names?”

“Ah, come on now, sir. We don't give names.”

“Then I'm sorry.” I stood up. Bert glared at Sean.

“Frank, one of them was. The other was something like… I dunno. What was it? Morden.”

“Morgan?”

“That's it. Morgan. Or Harry, he called him.”

“How did you meet them?”

“I was out walking on the Common earlier and I noticed them. They kind of…looked at me. You know the way some gents do? So when I saw them later in the pub, well, I thought I'd go over and have a chat.”

“You thought they'd be interested?”

“Yes. And they were.”

“Is it usual for men of that kind to hunt in pairs?”

“Not particularly, but I've had it before. You know, them that wants to add a bit of variety. Posh blokes, mostly, like them two. They like a bit of rough.”

“And where did you go?”

“House just off the Common. Nice place. Couldn't tell
you the address, honest I couldn't.”

“All right, Sean. I believe you. And you're absolutely sure that you'd never seen either of them before?”

“Only like I said, on the Common.”

“You didn't know anything about them?”

“No.”

“The one named Frank—you'd never met him before?”

“I swear, sir. He was just another gentleman.”

“He's telling the truth, Doc,” said Bert. “Honest he is.”

You'd swear black was white if it would get a cock up your ass, I thought.

“Right. So you and the two men had—”

“A bit of how's your father. Yeah.” Durran smiled for the first time; obviously it had been every bit as wild as Morgan had described it. “In the bath. All sorts of monkey business.”

“Anything unusual?”

“Yeah. He shaved me.”

The story matched in every particular.

“And you liked that?”

“Very much.” He stroked his chin. “Did a good job, too. Better than I can do it.”

“And then you left?”

“When we'd finished, the bloke called Morgan went out for a while, and the other one gave me some money.”

“How much?”

“A couple of quid.”

“Not bad for an evening's work.”

“No more than I usually get. And I don't normally have to work so hard for it.”

“Sounds like it was more play than work.”

“I never said I didn't enjoy it.” Durran had a shifty look about his eyes, and kept glancing at Bert for reassurance.

“So,” I said, trying to lighten the tone, “you took the money and said good night and left.”

“Where's this going?” said Durran, still on the defensive.
“Has something happened?”

Ah—at last the light was dawning. Bert was so consumed with lust that he hadn't thought to question my interest in Sean Durran beyond the obvious; Durran, though younger, was obviously the more inquisitive.

“Yes,” I said. “Something has happened. Something bad.”

“I didn't do nothing.” Durran's face was set, his eyes hooded, hard to read.

“Nobody's accusing you. I'm just trying to figure out—”

“Who is this geezer, Bert?”

“Calm down,” said Bert, rubbing Sean's back. “He's a friend.”

“Just 'cos you want him to fuck you—”

“Oi,” said Bert, gripping Durran's neck. “That's enough. Answer the gentleman's questions. You've got nothing to worry about.”

Again—that sideways glance.

“You hiding something, boy?” Bert's grip on Durran's neck tightened.

“I done nothing!” Durran's voice was higher now, and he tried to knock Bert's hand away.

“You better be telling me the truth, Sean. I warned you—”

“All right!” Durran sprang to his feet, and for a moment I thought he was going to make a run for it. Stan thought likewise, and positioned himself in front of the door, his feet braced a yard apart. He couldn't have advertised his true profession any more clearly.

“Sit down, Mr. Durran,” I said. “If you have something on your mind, it would be much better if you told us.”

“Why should I?” Durran's arms hung by his side, his fists bunching, as if he were ready for a fight.

“Because it will be a lot easier than explaining yourself to the police.”

That took the wind out of his sails. His hands relaxed,
and he let out a great sigh. “If I tell you something,” he said, “do you promise that I won't get into trouble?”

“I promise nothing, Durran, except that if you don't tell me, you're in shit up to your eyes.”

He sat down, put his head in his hands, and grabbed his hair. Bert looked worried, stricken, almost paternal.

“What's up, Sean? What have you gone and done?”

“I don't know, exactly,” said Durran. “I was only doing what the other bloke told me.”

Bert put an arm around his shoulders.

Durran looked me steadily in the eye, took a deep breath, and started talking.

“I NEEDED THE MONEY,” SAID DURRAN, IN A PLEADING, self-pitying tone of voice. “You got to understand. The landlord's going to throw us out on the street. We're behind with the rent.”

“Just tell us what happened.”

“I don't know where to start.”

“What about the money?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and began. “I expect Bert's told you that I make a bit of a living out of…gentlemen like yourself.”

“Yes. I gather you're much in demand.”

“I wouldn't say that, exactly, but I have a few regulars that seem to like what I've got. It all helps. Money's hard to come by. I can work a full week on the roads and the building sites to make what a gent will give me for a couple of hours.”

“I can see that it's very tempting.”

“Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of them that makes it a way of life. Not like some that you see up in town, waltzing
up and down the Dilly in makeup and perfume and that.”

The only difference is the outfit, I thought, but I said nothing. If Durran wanted to play the man, let him.

“I've got responsibilities, see? I've got a wife and a kid and another on the way.”

“Expensive business, having a family.”

“Yeah, it is.” I wondered if Mrs. Durran knew how her resourceful husband was putting bread on the table.

“So, like I say, if a chap comes along and wants to have a bit of fun, and he's got money to burn, then I'm not going to turn it down.”

Like many men of his class, Durran would never have considered himself queer—what he did he did out of necessity, it meant nothing, he was doing it for his family, the usual justifications. This was better than going off with another woman. Sex with another man was just for laughs and money. I'd heard it all before.

“What happened this time? Was there something different?”

“The bloke… Well, it was a lot of money.”

“How much?”

“Ten quid.”

Bert whistled.

“Frank Bartlett gave you ten pounds?”

“No, not him. The other fellow.”

“Morgan?”

“No.”

“Then who? I think you'd better go back to the beginning.”

“All right. I was in here one night last week. Tuesday it must have been, when her mum came round for tea and I said I was slipping out for a pint. They don't mind. Glad to see the back of me, I expect. Her mum loves running me down. She doesn't know how bloody hard I work to look after her daughter and granddaughter.”

“You were in the Ship.” I had no desire to hear about Sean Durran's mother-in-law.

“Yeah. It was quiet, but I saw one of my regulars come in. He's the timid type, won't come straight over and buy you a drink, you have to get chatting to him first, talk about the weather and what's in the newspapers and so on, then he might suggest that you go for a walk. As if we haven't been through the same rigmarole a dozen times before. Anyway, he was standing at the bar, looking over at me, all nervous he was, and I was biding my time, finishing my pint. That's how it works with them types. Take it slow, reel 'em in. And I was just about to go over to him when in comes this other bloke. Never seen him before in my life. Walks in the pub, takes a look around, sees me sitting there, and comes right over. The other feller was right pissed off.”

“What did he look like, this stranger?”

“Tall. Let me think. Taller than me. Very handsome. Real Douglas Fairbanks type. Well dressed, suit and tie, shiny shoes. Every head in the place turned when he walked in, and they were all spitting tacks when he came over to me. Straight to me he came. Never looked at nobody else.”

Durran sounded so proud—much more so than a normal family man would be expected to.