Chapter 8
Dominique was in a trance-like state as I led her back to her car. Fearing she was in no condition to drive, I offered to chauffeur her anywhere she wanted to go, especially if it was to the nearest psychiatrist’s office. But quickly snapping out of it, she assured me she was feeling better, and before I could convince her otherwise, she was back behind the wheel of her rented Mazda, and merging into the heavy traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. She definitely had no desire to open up anymore to a complete stranger.
So I was left standing on the dusty, dirt shoulder of the highway, secure in the knowledge that Juan Carlos was at least faithful. That still didn’t leave him off the hook as a murder suspect.
I got back into the Beamer, and headed east on the 10 Freeway, exiting the commuter-clogged La Brea Avenue north, which led me straight to the Hollywood Hills, and finally home.
As I wound up to the English Tudor–style house I shared with Charlie, I saw his Volvo parked out front. He was home early. Definitely a welcome surprise. Snickers was running in circles when I entered the kitchen from the garage, and I scooped her up and followed Charlie’s voice into the den, which was my favorite room in the house. The walls were covered with Hitchcock and Wilder movie posters and an impressive DVD collection, all positioned around the wide-screen TV. In other words, heaven. Charlie sat on the couch, talking on the phone. He winked at me as I ambled in, and patted the cushion next to him. I plopped down, sinking deep into the soft, intoxicating lushness of the cushions (we spare no expense when it comes to comfort). He slipped a muscular arm around my neck, pulling me closer, and I closed my eyes, nestling my head against his chest as he talked.
“So man, how long has it been?” he said, smiling. “Jesus, that long? No, things here are good. I’ve got a boyfriend now, going on three years.” He gently kissed the top of my head and I couldn’t help but smile.
“No, seriously. What, you think I was going to wait for you?” Charlie said.
My eyes popped open. Who the hell was he talking to? Going to wait for whom?
“Very happy. He’s an actor,” Charlie said. And then, after a moment, Charlie laughed. “I know, I know, but I love him anyway.”
Charlie tousled my hair, and gave me another wink. I wasn’t as receptive anymore. I shot up, and stared at him as he wound up his conversation.
“You too, man, and thanks. You’ve been a huge help.”
He clicked off the phone.
“Hey,” he said, as he leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.
“Hey,” I said flatly. “Who was that?”
“Friend of mine in Miami.”
“I don’t remember you ever mentioning a friend in Miami.” I knew I was being the unreasonably suspicious boyfriend, but after snooping around after Juan Carlos all day, it was in my blood.
“We met in Michigan. At the Police Academy. Good guy.”
There was a long silence as I considered dropping the whole subject. But a lot of people have learned not to bet on me dropping anything. “So were you just friends, or were you, you know, more than just friends?”
“Yeah, there was a flirtation for a while. Pretty innocent though. Never got past the groping stage. But then he dropped out of the Academy and joined the military. We kind of lost touch.”
“So what brought about this big reunion?” I said, my eyes boring into him.
Charlie was so used to my drama, he never flinched or blinked or lost his cool. He just chuckled to himself, and took my hand.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You’ve been so caught up in finding out if Laurette’s husband had anything to do with that Teboe guy getting poisoned, I decided to make a few calls. I heard this guy was living in Miami, doing some side work for the police, so I got his number from the South Beach precinct, and rang him up to see if he knew anything about the victim.”
I perked up. “Did he?”
“Did he ever.” Charlie snaked his hand behind my back, and yanked me across the couch until our faces were inches apart.
“Well, what does he know?” I asked.
“Later,” he said, and lowered me down on my back. He lifted my head in the crook of his elbow, and jammed his lips over mine. Our tongues danced and probed together, and he wrapped his legs around mine and locked them into place. Charlie didn’t demand much from me, but when he got hot and horny, he hated to wait. We weren’t going anywhere.
He was the best lover I had ever known, and if I had been smart, I would have just gone with the flow, and put my curiosity into neutral, but once my mind starts racing, there’s no turning back, and I just couldn’t help myself.
I reached up, kissing his cheek, his forehead, making my way over to his right ear. Charlie’s anticipation was building. This was always the part where I talked dirty.
“So what exactly did your friend know about Teboe?” I said.
Charlie let out a sigh, but chose to ignore me. He ripped open my shirt, and started caressing my chest with his hands. I slipped mine up underneath his sweater and did the same. Then, he grabbed ahold of my zipper and yanked it down, cupped a hand below my genitals, and rubbed furiously. I gasped, lost in the pleasure of his touch. Charlie was certain this would do the trick. No more questions until we were through.
“Did your friend know whether Teboe and Juan Carlos worked at the same restaurant?” I said.
Charlie stopped and pulled away. I could see the frustration on his pained face. But he knew it was a hopeless cause.
“Yes,” Charlie said. “He confirmed it. The two met working at the Nexxt Café. Teboe was a chef. Juan Carlos a waiter. My friend was keeping tabs on Teboe because he was investigating Javier Martinez.”
I had no clue who that was, so Charlie enlightened me. “Big head of a Miami-based crime family. Into money laundering, extortion, weapons smuggling, you name it. They’re bigger than some multinational corporations. Teboe’s last gig was working as a personal chef on Martinez’s yacht. He left under mysterious circumstances, though no one knows why.”
I sat up. “What about Juan Carlos? Did your friend say he was connected with the family too?”
“No. Juan Carlos never worked for them. But Martinez sure as hell knows who Juan Carlos is, and isn’t a fan, to put it mildly. There was a rumor that Martinez put a hit out on Juan Carlos, which might explain why he left Florida in such a hurry.”
“Why would a bad soap actor piss off a big-time crime czar? And why would Juan Carlos lie about knowing Austin Teboe?”
Charlie shrugged.
“Anything else?” I said.
“Nope. That was it.”
To Charlie’s chagrin, I started buttoning up my shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Going over to Laurette’s.”
“Now?”
“Don’t you think she ought to know that her husband is mixed up with the Tony Soprano of South Florida?”
He couldn’t argue with my logic. But that didn’t make him any less perturbed.
I jumped up, zipped my pants back up, and grabbed my car keys out of my pants pocket. I halted, then turned back, leaned down, and kissed Charlie hard on the mouth. “I know I’m insane, and obsessive, and really hard to handle, but just know that I love you, and I really hope you’re here when I get back.”
Charlie saw right through my quick fix. He wasn’t going to let me off so easily this time. “Maybe,” he said. “Depends on whether or not I can get a flight to Florida tonight or in the morning.”
This floored me. My mouth dropped open and we stared each other down. And finally, after an agonizing thirty seconds, he gave me another one of his adorable trademark winks. “Don’t be late.”
“I love you,” I said, as I raced for the garage.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.”