Boystown 7: Bloodlines (18 page)

The intercom buzzed. I went over and pressed the talk button.
 

“Hello?” I let go of the button and pressed the listen button.
 

“Nick?” It was Joseph.

Rather than keep hitting buttons to talk, I pressed the button to let him into the building. I stepped back into the living room to make sure everything was the way I wanted. It looked just fine and the light from the little kitchen was actually plenty. I opened the front door and waited for Joseph to get out of the elevator. A minute or so later he appeared, looking in both directions trying to figure out which way to go. He saw me and I waved. He smiled, showing me his broken tooth.
Why did I like that tooth so much?
I wondered. I led him into the apartment and shut the door. He turned to look at me, questioning, but I pulled him into a kiss.

He pushed me away and asked, “Where am I?”

“This is my new apartment.”

“Oh.” He looked around again. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“I’ve had the keys for an hour.”

“I like it. That’s a great view.”

“The view got me. If they’d shown me a closet with a lumpy cot and that view I probably would have rented it.” And I could have lived on a lumpy cot. Had in a way for a long time. But now the person who’d done that seemed far away. Remote. For just a moment I wondered what I was I doing. Wanting things, the apartment, the man standing next to me, that was danger—

“Hello? Where’d you go?” Joseph asked.

“I’m right here,” I said. “Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

I picked up the bottle of wine and the corkscrew up off the tablecloth and began the process of getting the wine open.
 

“How did you find this place?”

“I interviewed someone in the building.”

“Oh, will that be awkward? Running into them on laundry day?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t a combative interview.”

“Is it expensive?”

“I don’t know. It’s more than my last apartment by a lot. But I think it’s probably less than a lot of what you find on Lake Shore Drive.”

He nodded like that mattered somehow.

“I think you’ll be very happy here.”

“I’m thinking of painting. But I don’t know what color. What do you think?” It felt like an important question and I tried not to think about why.

He looked around. “Well the carpet’s brown. So it has to be something that goes with brown.”

“Doesn’t everything go with brown?”

“Yes and no. It’s a dark brown so you don’t want to pick anything dark because then it might feel like a cave. Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about color.”

“You’re doing great. And I asked for an opinion. Not a decision.”

I’d gotten the bottle of wine open and poured us each a glass. After I handed him his, he raised it and said, “To your new place.”

“Thank you.”

We drank.
 

“Nothing too pastel,” he said. “You’re not an infant.”

“Thank you for noticing that.”

“Beige,” he suggested.

I didn’t think I’d like beige, but I said, “That’s an idea. I’ll have to go to The Great Ace and look at paint.”

I offered him some food and we sat down on the floor. Then I realized something rather important. “Shit. I didn’t buy a knife.” Or a cutting board. Or even a plate. Joseph pulled out his keys. As part of his key chain he had a tiny fold out knife.
 

“You were a Boy Scout, weren’t you?”

“Eagle Scout, yes.”

“I only made it to Webelos. Which explains why I’m not prepared.”

I didn’t bother using the knife on the bread; that ripped apart easily enough. It worked well enough on the cheese, but was practically useless when it came to the salami. It wasn’t long before we resorted to simply biting big chunks out of it. Laughing at each other each time we did.

“I hope this is okay to bring up,” Joseph began, seeming uncomfortable. “I’m not supposed to mention anything you said in confession. Even if it’s just you and me, but…well, since I may be setting all that aside, I’m going to fudge the rule. Are you doing better than you were?”

“Are you asking if I’ve forgiven myself?”

“I suppose, yes.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it much.”

He smiled. “Not thinking about it is probably a good thing.”
 

“I killed someone and I shouldn’t think about it. You want to leave the priesthood and you have to think about it all the time. That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it makes sense. You made a decision that can’t be undone, there’s nothing to think about anymore. I’m about to make a decision that will completely change my life. That needs to be thought through.”

“I guess I’m better. I mean things are going better, so I must be.”

“It’s okay to be happy.”

I didn’t want to think about that. I wasn’t sure I agreed but I also didn’t want to challenge him. I wanted to just let it be true. I changed the subject. “Now let me ask you a question. Are you going to miss listening to people’s secrets?”

“I wouldn’t miss the secrets. People’s secrets are much less interesting than you’d think. There’s a lot of coveting going on. In fact, that’s most of it. A lot of hoping family members die. Rarely does someone have an interesting secret. I do like absolving people though. They seemed so relieved, so pleased. I think I would miss that.”

I leaned over and kissed him. He kissed me back for just a brief moment and then pulled away. “I’m not sure I should be doing that.”

I nuzzled him. “You can go to confession tomorrow.”

“The certainty of absolution should not allow us to sin.”

I felt my face set into a scowl. “This is rather silly, don’t you think? We both know why you came here.”

“I—Nick, if I decide to remain a priest I don’t want to have to regret too much.”

“So that’s a real possibility? Remaining a priest?”

“I made the decision to become a priest, it’s possible that I might make the decision to stay one.”

“Earlier this week you sounded like thinking things over was just a formality.”

“I want my life to mean something. I’m thinking seriously of staying.”

“So then what are we doing?”

“Becoming friends. Maybe.”

That annoyed me. Mainly because I felt there had been some false advertizing. “The trouble with that is that I’ve fucked most of my friends. In fact, it’s kind of how I make friends.”

“Do most gay guys do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done a survey. And besides, what difference does it make. If you’re going to stay a priest then you don’t need to know anything about gay guys, do you? Except maybe which Bible verses to condemn us with.”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“I wanted to fuck you.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, if you were good at it, I’d want to fuck you again.”

“You’re being rude on purpose. I’ve hurt your feelings.”

I wasn’t hurt. He was right the first time, I was angry. Strangely, I felt safe wrapped in my anger. It felt like armor. With as much distain as I could muster, I said, “It’d take a lot more than you to hurt my feelings. It’s time for you to go.”

Chapter Sixteen

After Joseph left, I had a couple of options. I could sit down and drink the remaining bottle and a half of wine. Or, I could wander out to the bars and see if I could find someone to fuck. Neither option was particularly appealing. I didn’t want to drink all that wine because I didn’t feel like having a hangover in the morning since I would be going out Saturday night and likely have one on Sunday. Sometimes it’s good to plan hangovers in advance. I didn’t want to pick some guy up, not because I wasn’t horny, but the idea of actually having to talk to someone at that moment was not appealing. I was talked out.

Of course it was Friday night and, as a still almost young gay man living in the city, I should be out having a blast. Instead, I decided I’d move. I had a great parking place on Aldine just around the corner, but I decided it was worth giving up. I could shuttle a lot of my boxes and my clothes from my office to the apartment and be half moved in by midnight. Yeah, it would have made more sense to go out and look at paint to decide on a color and paint the place before I moved in, but after fantasizing that Joseph might help me I wasn’t up to doing it on my own.

I was going to be fine. I knew that. The only real upside of having a lot of big shitty things happen to you is that when little shitty things come along they’re kind of a breeze. I mean, all Joseph really did was tease me a little. Comparatively, it was not a big deal. And I knew better. All along I knew better. He was a priest. Never try to fuck a priest. Even if they’re talking about leaving the priesthood. That should be a rule somewhere. A former priest, maybe. And even then I don’t know. The thing is, your big competition is God. And if God wants your boyfriend he’s going to take him. Best to avoid the whole thing.

That night I was able to bring three loads of stuff over in my car. Dishes, books, linens, clothes. I felt like I’d accomplished something, which helped to make up for the evening’s disappointment. It also meant that I had a pillow and a couple of blankets so I could make myself reasonably comfortable sleeping on the living room floor. Before bed, I opened up one of the director’s chairs, put my feet up on the marble windowsill and finished the first bottle of wine while I studied the lights of Lake Shore Drive.

The next morning I woke around eight. I went right to the window to look out. The sun was nowhere to be seen. The sky was a layer of gray clouds that looked like an overused, lumpy mattress bearing down on us. I didn’t have a shower curtain, so I took a bath in the shallow tub. I liked the idea of nine bathtubs and bathrooms directly below me. I even liked thinking of all the people nearby in their own little apartments. If you didn’t like high rises you could liken them to ant farms. The analogy didn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I kind of liked it. Ants are busy. They have too much to do to feel bad.

A half an hour later, I was dressed and eating breakfast at the Melrose. I had the
Daily Herald
in front of me and was reading about the bombing at Heathrow. Twenty-two people were injured but no one was killed. According to the article, no one had taken responsibility for the incident. I couldn’t help but remember my date with Joseph and being evacuated from the Broadway. Even with the threat of sudden death, it was a much more fun and much more “normal” a date than the one we’d had the night before. I told myself to stop thinking about it, and began to plan my day over bacon and eggs.

I needed to write my final reports for the Levine case and prepare my invoice. Something still nagged at me about the whole thing, so maybe I’d figure out what it was when I went back and summarized everything I did. But would it make a difference? That was the real question.
What could make a difference for Madeline at this point?
I wondered. I also wanted to do something more on Jimmy’s case. Although, what that was, I wasn’t entirely sure.

There were three messages waiting for me on my answering machine. Two were from Brian wondering where I was. That was a little shitty, I supposed. I’d just disappeared for the last two days. The third message was Joseph. Calling to say he was sorry. Again. I deleted his message before he was completely finished. Fuck him.
 

I got out my Smith Corona and typed out the reports on the Levine case. Unfortunately, no great revelation came to me. It took about an hour and a half, but I finished the reports, took them downstairs to make copies, and then put them in a manila envelop that I would deliver to Owen on Monday morning.
 

After that, I got out a pad and started thinking about Jimmy’s case. The files focused on the Perelli murders but they also contained information on Jimmy’s other operations. In interviews, restaurant owners described being shaken down by a bagman named Mickey Troccoli. I knew that name. He used to pick up a monthly payment from Davey Edwards when Paradise Isle was still in business. Following Mickey’s trail was what led me to Jimmy in the first place. It would be worth talking to Mickey. He might know something.

On the pad, I made the note: FIND MICKEY TROCCOLI. A quick glance at the phonebook told me he wasn’t going to be all that easy to find. I might need to go down to the main library and do a newspaper search. If Mickey had ever been arrested there would be an address in the newspaper.
 

Then I backtracked. If the Feds arrested Jimmy on the Perelli murders, one of the things the defense would want to do is show that others had motive to kill the couple. Better yet, that others had a more compelling motive to kill them than Jimmy did. I needed to look into the Perellis themselves. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to any remaining family members. I dug through the files until I found the police report on the Perelli murders. I figured it would have a lot of what I wanted. The report listed the Perelli’s address as Snowberry Court in Downer’s Grove. I assumed it wasn’t far from the restaurant parking lot where they were found. I took a chance and cracked open the phonebook again.

None of the current crop of eleven Perellis lived on Snowberry Court. In fact, none of them lived in Downer’s Grove. That didn’t mean some or all of them weren’t related to the Perillis, it just meant I didn’t score a bull’s-eye. I went back to the report and looked around until I found Josette Perelli’s maiden name: Delorte. I returned to the trusty phonebook and checked out all the Delortes. Now I scored a bull’s-eye. There was a Delorte on Snowberry Court. N. Delorte. I went ahead and dialed.

A woman answered the phone. She sounded mature. Like she’d been on Social Security since it was invented. “Is this Mrs. Delorte?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“I’m an old friend of Shady Perelli’s.”

“No you’re not. Shady didn’t have any friends.”

“Well, actually I was a friend of Josette’s.”

“That’s more likely. She had friends. She had lots of friends.” The woman didn’t make it sound like a good thing. “That was the kind of girl she was.”