Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (23 page)

"Must
be our friend," I said quietly, as if I thought I might disturb Joanie
Burr.

"Can
you slide the drawer all the way out, so I can see her face?" Callie
asked.

I
complied, hoping that I wouldn't get to the end of the drawer and have her tilt
forward on me. I slid her out slowly. It was weird to think of being dead and
being in a drawer like a pair of socks or kitchen utensils. Her once gorgeously
made-up face was now flaccid, gray, and rubbery. It was a face someone once
kissed. A face that laughed and ate and drank and now just sagged sadly back
against the drawer floor.

"Bruises
on her neck," I whispered. I wondered why people whispered around dead
people. It was the one time you could shout if you wanted to, but mostly people
whispered.

"Check
that out." I pointed to a wide expanse of bruising. "Looks like
someone with large hands had them around her throat before she 'slipped and
fell,'" I said.

"They
say she was alone," Callie said.

"Now
that's a trick.. .choking yourself until you slip and fall over dead." I
tried to humor her, the morgue being a particularly humorless place. I wondered
if guys sat around working on bodies, having a doughnut or candy bar and
shooting the shit. Actually, I didn't really want to know.

"She's
important enough to be on the ghoul pool list, but not important enough for
anyone to claim," Callie said.

"Nobody's
talking about the bruising: not the medical examiner, not the police, not the
news. Doesn't seem like anyone wants this to be anything more than an
accident," I remarked.

I
slid the drawer closed and silently said,
Rest in peace, Joanie Burr.
Callie
and I walked back out into the lobby. Two gay men were there, obviously
distraught.

"His
name is Joanie—" the younger man whimpered, and his friend interrupted
him.

"His
name is Johnathon Burr. We're here from the hotel to have him sent to the
mortuary for the funeral."

"Yeah,"
the skinny kid said, "we got him."

The
front door opened and Sophia slipped into the morgue lobby. We glanced at her
but made no outward sign of recognition.
So Rose got word to her that we
wanted to talk.
Sophia made her way to the ladies' room. We gave it a few
beats and then Callie said that she needed to use the ladies' room before we
left. We entered the gray metal bathroom where Sophia had her back to the wall
facing us as we came in the door.

"Joanie
had bruises on her neck. The kind that come from strangulation." Callie
cut to the chase.

"Maybe
she liked rough sex," Sophia said. "You've got to leave Rose alone.
That's what I'm here to tell you. You keep trying to talk to her, and you'll
get her killed just like they killed Mo," Sophia said. "You get her
killed and I'll have you killed, so help me God." She tried to appear
tough, but I could tell from the way her whole body went rigid that she was
scared to death.

"Tell
us what you know." I ignored her threats. "The three of us are Rose's
best chance, and I think you know that or you wouldn't be here."

She
paused, perhaps trying to decide if she could trust us. Finally, her voice
barely audible, she said, "The porn ring has its roots in the theater. And
the theater is a huge moneymaker in its own right. So Karla doesn't want to
lose the legit side of the business. One of the boys had sex with Traugh when
he was drunk, and Traugh kept mumbling about the church and its money, so the
church is in on it. I think that's how they launder the take, but I can't prove
it. But you figure this out without Rose."

"Was
Joanie alive when you got there?" I asked, surprising her and watching all
the blood drain from her face. "Did she tell you who did it?"

"It's
hard to be strangled by someone shorter than you are," Sophia said.

The
door opened, and a female worker entered. I dove into one of the stalls, Callie
washed her hands, and Sophia exited.

Minutes
later, safely back in our car, we analyzed the conversation.

"Joanie
was killed and Sophia knows who did it, so I'd say Sophia's in danger,"
Callie said.

"Joanie
was a big gal. Who's taller than Joanie?"

"A
man, most likely," Callie mused.

"Or
another drag queen. Let's go see what our dear, close personal friend Karla has
to say about all this," I said, and headed our car in that direction.

Karla
greeted Callie and me like an Irish setter who hadn't seen its owners in a
month. She literally draped herself over us and gave us big kisses on the
cheeks. She kept chucking us under the chin and grinning at us, and saying what
a hot little couple we were, and how sexy Callie was. I knew something was up,
but I couldn't decide what, until she opened a drawer in the hall table.

"Have
a little gift for you," she said. It was a flat, slender clear case
housing a DVD. On the cover someone had written in black marker Room 1250 Sex
Scene. Callie's and my lovemaking had been reduced to Room 1250 Sex Scene. I
asked Karla how she'd gotten the tape. She let out a long sigh and braced
herself against the entry table, as if talking to people this stupid was
sapping all of her strength.

"Kiddos,
this is a town built on money and sex. You got sex going for you, you can get
money. You got money, you can get sex. Tapes like this happen a lot, but not in
my hotel," she said proudly. "I don't tolerate that stuff. My guests
have to feel as safe as if they're stayin' at their mama's house. When Loomis called
me and told me what happened, I called the chief of police. He listens to me.
Schmuck better listen to me. I got him outta a lot of jams. I told him top
priority, get this goddamned tape. So he did."

"Who
had it?" I asked.

"Some
punk kid who tips the maids to let him in. He rigs hotel rooms and shoots the
tape and then blackmails the people, or just sells it on foreign markets. Gotta
give him an A for smarts."

"I
want to see him, and I want to pursue charges," I said.

"Not
part of the deal. Deal is you got your tape back, the kid gets turned into his
rich parents—nothin' more. Guys down at the precinct loved this tape."
Karla smirked. "Two hot women gettin' it on. Every boy in blue musta had a
hard-on."

I
was getting red faced I was so mad. Perhaps because I'd been a cop, I figured
she could be right—a whole bunch of cops had probably gathered 'round someone's
computer screen and watched it again and again, slowing it down, rewinding and
shouting. I cared for Callie. I was incensed for Callie. I wanted to kill
someone or something for this indignity.

"Keep
your shirt on, sugar," Karla said, sensing my anger. "It's sex. We
all do it. We all act like we don't do it. We all point and whistle when we see
someone else do it. Get over it."

Karla
was a lot of things, but she wasn't a fool.
So why did she fork over the
disc?
I wondered.
Maybe it's to show us how she controls the police and
that it would be useless for us to ever go to them for help. Or maybe it’s to
make us worry that she’s kept a copy and could use it against us if we ever
crossed her. Or maybe she’s trying to befriend us mob style: she does something
for us and we go away and forget everything we've seen.

"Elliot's
here. You know Elliot. He always makes me laugh. You look like you could use a
good laugh," Karla said, disrupting my thoughts.

"Elliot,
the guy who tried to kill us with the flying dummy?" I said.

"Sweetheart,
you think one of us is tryin' to kill ya?" Karla gave me an acidic grin.
"If I was tryin' to kill ya, you woulda already been dead. Those kinda
things ain't that hard. It's all who you know. Now you need to lighten up;
somethin's got your knickers in a twist. The sex tape, huh?"

Callie
took my clenched fist, unwrapped my fingers slowly, and laced them in hers. Karla
led us into the living room where Elliot had his shoes off and his feet curled
up under him like a swami, seated on the couch munching grapes, looking a bit
more on the feminine side. He leaned as far forward as his body would allow and
extended his hand. We took it in turn as if greeting an elderly Queen Mother.
At least we were half right.

"This
time you are safe," he said. "I can only drop grapes on your head. We
were just dishing Gio." Elliot grinned.

"Gio
prays all the time at San Hidalgo. If he's not partying, he's prayin'. Makes
you think that whatever happened at the party requires forgiveness, don't
it?" Karla burst out laughing at her own joke.

"Well,
for my money, nothing happens. The man is lacking in the man department,"
Elliot said.

"He's
got big chalangas!" Karla said slyly.

"Oh
honey, he's got his gun, he just don't ever fire it!" Elliot roared.

"Well,
not at us!" Karla said, offering her lips to Elliot for a condolence kiss.
He complied as joyfully as a politician at a pig-kissing contest.

"Elliot
and I love the same flavor ice cream—pissedatgio!" Karla roared over her
play on words.

"We
came here to talk about Joanie Burr," I said, and the two of them stopped
laughing and stared at us. "We think she was murdered. Marks on her
neck."

"Joanie
was like every other performer in this town: wrong men, wrong meds," Karla
said quickly. "One makes you want the other."

"I
think she was strangled—by someone taller than she was. How tall was Joanie,
Elliot?" Callie asked.

"There
was no one taller than Joanie." Elliot teared up. "She was a mountain
of a human being." Karla put her arm around Elliot to console him. After a
few moments, he pulled himself together and ran his long, slender fingers
through his thick brunette and somewhat oily hair, and tossed his head back,
jutting out his jaw and striking a pose that seemed to be the trademark of
Boy
Review
performers. "You seem far more interested in dead performers
than live ones."

"On
the contrary, I'm very excited about coming to see you perform," Callie
said, and she told him she'd heard wonderful things about his work. Since
Callie felt lying was bad Karma, I knew she was referring to all the publicity
posted in the hotel lobby, and it made me smile that he was so flattered. She
asked him how he'd ended up in the show, a question that seemed to give him the
giggles again. He admitted that he'd "auditioned," and he strung out
the word, giving it a mischievous little twist. Karla handed Elliot a new drink
and then plopped down beside him, putting her hand in his crotch. He jumped,
but left her hand there.

He
kissed the fingers of her other hand and then stared up at us. "Why are
you here?"

"We
were invited in?" I suggested, and the two of them burst into laughter
again.

"Well,
then, out!" Elliot waggled his fingers at us jokingly, as if to say, if we
could be so easily summoned, then we could be just as easily dismissed. Then,
suddenly, Elliot Traugh noticed the time and jumped up saying he had to run
because he had a show to do. Karla blew him a kiss, and he said, "Bless
you, darling," as he headed for the door.

I
realized that I had only seen Elliot seated on a bar stool or a couch or
standing onstage. As he dashed past us and disappeared from sight, I realized
that Elliot Traugh was tall.

“Let's
drive up to San Hidalgo Chapel. Isn't that where a praying Italian might hang
out?" I said.

"If
he's smart. Imagine having Elliot and Karla both wanting your chalangas!"
Callie giggled. "Take a right," she said, correctly assessing the
situation. "I was undoubtedly sent to you to keep you from driving in
circles for the majority of your life."

"What
makes you think you were sent to me?"

"Because
all my parts fit exactly into yours." She pressed herself up against me
and kissed my ear.

"You
win. I am a disaster. I don't know where I am half the time, and I'll do
whatever you want, as long as you just keep kissing me."

"Never
say you're a disaster. You're not. And words have power."

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

We
stopped to grab a sandwich and gas up before wending our way through the sandy
hillside, away from the bright lights and slightly above the city. On a plateau
stood a Spanish mission with adobe arches and a small bell tower overlooking
the city below. Early Mass was in progress and the singing could be heard
through the huge wooden doors, one of which was ajar. The wind blew the bell
rope and our shirts and our hair, and it was a glorious feeling, as if God had
moved uptown to escape the cacophonous sounds of the casinos and to hear the
birds sing again.

A
man walked out of the church, then a woman and her son, and finally two dozen
people exited. Mass was over. They stood in the courtyard and waited for the
priest, a tall thin man in his black cassock and skullcap. Giovanni was the
last to exit the chapel, still bent over, looking prayerfully at the ground.
The priest put his hand on Giovanni's shoulder and thanked him for something.
Giovanni looked oddly shy and boyish in response, but obviously pleased.