Chasing Justice (Gay Detective Romance Novella) (4 page)

“We’re looking for this guy. You might have seen him,” Eddie said to Brody, pulling out Thayer’s mug shot and sliding it across the bar top.

Brody picked up the photo and stared at it. “Yeah, I know this guy. Real asshole. Low tipper. Entitled Upper West Side daddy’s boy.”

“That describes him perfectly. When’s the last time you saw him?”

“I’d say it was about…oh, two weekends ago. I work the bar Fridays for the drag show, and then Saturdays when the twink club kids show up. He’s here a lot.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives or any of his friends we could talk to?”

“I don’t talk to the guy. Like I said, he’s an asshole, always treating servers like they’re beneath him. He had words with our bouncer a few weeks ago. If it were up to me I would ban him, but y’know, whatever.”

“He likes to party, but he’s into hard stuff now. Do you know who he might be buying from?”

“The club doesn’t allow drugs—”

“Now, c’mon, Brody,” Eddie said, touching the bartender’s arm, “you and I both know attendance goes up when there’s good stuff being sold.”

“Look, I’m not into—”

“I’m not saying you’re involved at all. Or the club for that matter. I could give a shit. That’s not what we’re here for. This guy is dangerous and we’re trying to track him down.”

“What’d he do?”

“He killed a man here in New York and a man in L.A. And he tried to kill a third,” Luke said, his voice flat.

“
Shit
,” Brody cursed softly.

“Which is why I need your help, Brody. We don’t want him doing this again.”

“Well,” Brody said, taking a sip of his drink, “you could try Chedda.”

“Chedda?”

“Yeah, y’know, because he makes so much money. That’s what I’ve heard the kids call him. He’s always here on club nights. Apparently he’s the one everyone goes to, whether it’s for Molly or meth.”

“Why hasn’t anyone stopped him?” Luke asked.

Brody shrugged. “Eddie already explained it. I don’t run the place. I only work here. Our club nights are packed.”

“How are we going to find this guy?” Eddie asked Luke.

“He’s not hard to find,” Brody said. “He hangs out outside the barber shop on Twenty-Fourth and Ninth. Short Hispanic guy with dreads. You can’t miss him. He dresses like a pimp, always wearing designer brands in matching colors, shit like that.”

“Thanks, we owe you one,” Eddie said, patting Brody’s arm.

“Why don’t you come back some night, have a drink on me. We can talk more about that mustache and your dangerous job.”

“I just might,” Eddie said, grinning. He picked up his badge off the bar, and when he did, Brody slipped him his number. Eddie winked at him.

When they were back on the street Luke turned to Eddie.

“You were pretty friendly with that bartender back there.”

“Would you rather I had busted his head against the edge of the bar or something?”

“Just making an observation,” Luke said.

“You know how the saying goes, Detective. You catch more bartenders with fifty dollar bills and a smirk than you do being an asshole.”

“I was trying to be patient with him, but I suppose I have a short fuse. I’m more used to head-busting.”

“Then I guess we’re lucky I’m as Zen as fuck,” Eddie laughed.

“That’ll only get you so far in New York. Let’s see how forthcoming our boy Chedda is.”

They decided to walk the few short blocks to where Brody told them Chedda would be hanging out. The avenues in Chelsea were a combination of high- and mid-rises, where the majority of businesses were located within the buildings at street level. Farther south the roads narrowed, forming quaint residential areas in which old brownstones on tree-canopied streets mixed with newer, more modern mid-rises of glass and steel.

“It’s beautiful here,” Eddie remarked as they walked down one street lined with picture-perfect brownstones.

“Thayer’s mother owned the one I was telling you about not too far from here.”

“Then she sold it, and that’s when our trouble started. Thanks, Mom.”

Walking up Ninth, they were able to see Chedda from at least two blocks away, thanks to his outfit. He was wearing lime green sneakers with matching laces, black jeans and shirt, a green puffed vest, and a Yankees cap, also in green.

“I’m going to walk around the block and come up from the other direction,” Luke said. “I don’t want him running on us.”

When they were both in position, with Eddie walking down the street in front of him and Luke from behind, they both converged on Chedda and hooked their hands under his arms, pulling him off the middle of the block and over to a side street. He was cursing and screaming at them before Luke was able to flash his badge, and then Chedda went sullen and quiet.

“You and I both know what you do for a living, Chedda. I’m not here to hassle you about it, because I have more important shit to talk about, you understand?” Luke said. “We need information, and for your sake, I’d like to make this as easy as possible.”

“What kinda information?” Chedda mumbled.

“We’re looking for this kid,” Eddie said, showing him the mugshot.

“I don’t know him.”

Eddie grabbed the photo and shoved it at Chedda’s nose. “Take a better look.”

“
Damn
, man.” Chedda pulled away. “I don’t know that homie.”

Luke took a fifty dollar bill out of his money clip and handed it to Chedda.

“Think harder.”

Chedda snatched the mugshot from Eddie’s hand. “Yeah, all right, fine, I know this dude. He’s a tweaker.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Luke asked.

“At the
Tingle
, last weekend.”

“Did you sell him anything?” Eddie asked.

“I ain’t gonna answer that.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“How would I know that, man?” Chedda asked.

“All right, does he come to you alone to score or with friends?” Luke asked him.

“I don’t know.”

Luke could tell Eddie was losing his patience, and he put a hand up to calm him. “Give me something I can use, homes, and you can take a walk. This guy’s a murderer.”

“I don’t know, man. I seen lots of faces at them clubs.”

Luke handed him another fifty. “You see him hang out with anyone? Maybe someone who’s been to the club with him more than once?”

“Uh, well…I seen him with this flashy dude Julio a couple of times. He’s like, a performer, or something.”

“Julio? Julio Ortiz, the dancer?” Luke asked, surprised.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“I do,” Luke said, patting Eddie to signal they were done. “You better not be here next time we roll by, Chedda man. Or I
will
snatch you up.”

“It’s cool, dude. I was just leavin’ anyways.
Mierda
.”

With that, Chedda straightened his cap where it had been knocked sideways on his head, puffed his chest, and skulked off around the corner.

“That was easier than I expected,” Eddie said.

“What happened to ‘Zen as fuck’?” Luke asked, grinning.

“I’m bad when it comes to drug dealers. I can’t help it. They get under my skin.”

“You know what they say, Marshal. You catch more drug dealers with fifty dollar bills than you do being an asshole.”

“I think I get a pass when we know this guy is spreading that shit around to the kids in the clubs.”

“I’ll give a call to one of my buddies in Narcotics. Chedda will be in Rikers before the end of the day, if that’ll make you feel better,” Luke said.

“Yeah, I think it will. I like talking to bartenders better.”

“That one sure liked you.”

“I get that a lot,” Eddie smirked, smoothing his mustache. “Now how are we going to find this Julio?”

“I know exactly where he lives. It shouldn’t take us long.”

Chapter 4

They drove uptown, a few blocks closer to the river, and near where the abandoned elevated West Side Line of the old New York Central Railroad had been turned into High Line Park. Luke parked along the street and pointed to where a narrow three-story brick building sat near a train trestle that bloomed with plants and trees.

“I remember when that used to be just train tracks and we were in the middle of the grungy Meatpacking District. Now it’s a tourist attraction, and it’s all luxury rentals and Citi Bikes.”

“And graffiti has turned into street art,” Eddie said. “It’s the same in L.A.”

“Are you from L.A. originally?”

Eddie laughed. “I don’t think anyone would voluntarily say they were born in L.A. In my case, I’m from a farm town in northern California called Gilroy.”

“I think I’ve heard of it. Don’t they have some kind of famous festival there every year? What is it, beets or turnips or something?”

“It’s garlic, actually, and the whole town smells of it around harvest time. It hangs in the air.”

“Kind of like piss on the subway here,” Luke said.

Eddie made a face. “If that’s what you want to compare it to.”

“Well, neither of them sound very appealing to be smelling all day long. Is that why you left?”

“It’s one of those classic stories, I guess. The town got too small for me, and I wanted the challenge of policing in a city. It wasn’t a hard decision. After that I moved on to the Marshals Service.”

“My father was a cop,” Luke said, “and of course I wanted to be just like him. He made sergeant before he died, and I went from the beat, to undercover in Transit, to Vice, and then on to Homicide.”

“You like being a murder police?”

“It’s frustrating at times. Long hours, bad coffee.”

“But it’s the thrill of the chase that keeps you coming back, right?” Eddie asked.

“I could stay out here all night,” Luke admitted. “Stakeouts are like the calm before the storm. I love it.”

“Well I don’t. How are we going to do this? Is Julio going to be home?”

“It should be dark soon, so I’d say he’s still sleeping. He works at night. Maybe we can catch him off guard.”

The two of them exited the car and walked across the street to Julio’s building. The windows on street level were covered in protective iron bars. When they entered the vestibule of the building, Luke motioned for Eddie to follow him up the stairs. Luke knew Julio lived on the second floor.

“How do we know Julio still lives here?” Eddie asked, his voice lowered.

“It’s rent-controlled. He claimed succession on the apartment from his grandmother. He would never leave this place unless he was leaving New York.”

“Shit, you did your homework, didn’t you?” Eddie asked, impressed.

“Julio dated Thayer for almost eight months. It was the longest relationship he’d had up until that point. I went at him hard about the murder, but they’d broken up and he wasn’t much help. He hadn’t seen Thayer in weeks.”

Luke knocked loudly on the apartment door.

“Who is it?” a voice yelled.

“NYPD, Julio. Open the door.”

They had to wait a few moments for Julio to make it to the door and unlatch a number of locks, and when he opened it he was clad only in a damp towel he was holding around his waist. Drops of water clung to his hair and neatly trimmed mustache and beard.

“Yeah?” he said to them. “I’m getting ready for work. What you want?”

“Do you remember me, Julio? Detective Luke Everett, I talked to you about your boyfriend Neils about two years ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, angry detective who kept asking me the same questions over and over. Who this?”

“Eddie Brock, U.S. Marshal,” Eddie said, extending a hand. “We’re looking for Neils.”

Julio looked down at Eddie’s hand and sucked air through his teeth. “Oh yeah? Well, good for you, Mister U.S. Marshal. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Julio, he’s dangerous. We need to know if you’ve seen him.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Julio, he killed two people and tried to do a third in L.A. He could hurt you,” Luke said.

“He would never hurt me.”

“Then you
have
seen him?” Eddie asked.

“No.”

“Julio—”

“I don’t know where he is!”

“We’re only asking—”

“Y’all is harassing me!” Julio yelled, waving one hand while clutching the towel around his waist with the other.

“Where you working now, Julio?” Luke asked.

“I don’t gotta say
nada
to you. I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Julio, if you’d just—”

“Neils never did nothing wrong,
puta
! You coming around here asking questions, your big mouth all up in my business! I don’t got nothing to say to you. I haven’t talked to him in, like, almost two years.
Chupa mi pinga
, detective!”