boystown by marshall thornton Read Free Book Online Page B

Allan came onto the phone, “Nick! It’s so good to hear from you.” Allan was one of those politicians who couldn’t turn it off. The kind who, if he gave you a blowjob, would ask for your vote afterward. “What can I do for you?”
    “Did you recommend me to a guy named Walt Paddington?” I asked.
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “You don’t think so? You either did or you didn’t?”
    Boystown - 32

    “Hold on a second. I need to take this in the other room.”
    The receiver went crash on the table again. A moment or two later, another line was picked up.
    Then Allan and Juan yelled at each other until Juan reluctantly hung up the extension.
    “I don’t know why he’s like this. I go to a bar and he freaks out. But it is really part of my job. I have to know who’s who and what the latest trends--”
    “So, you recommended me to someone in a bar?”
    He sighed heavily, already realizing he’d screwed up. “Yeah, this guy was asking if anyone knew a gay private eye in Chicago. I was doing you a favor .”
    “By telling him my life story?”
    He paused. “I’d had a few drinks. I’m sorry.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Older. Balding. Little heavy around the middle, I guess. Really, he seemed like the most harmless guy.” He waited for me to agree. “Nick, what’s going on? Did I mess up?”
    “Anything weird about him? Anything you remember.”
    Allan thought for a moment. “He seemed out of place. Like he’d never been in a gay bar before and expected everyone to jump him.”
    “Closet case?”
    “That’s what I thought at first. But... I mean, now that you’re calling me, I don’t know. He left right after I gave him your info. Maybe he wasn’t gay.”
    I thanked him and hung up. I took out a scratch pad and wrote down what I’d just learned. The guy who hired me lived in Springfield, or somewhere in that area. He probably wasn’t gay, so the story he'd implied about Brian was crap. I figured there was a ninety-nine point nine percent chance his name wasn’t really Walt Paddington. I made a note on my to-do list to check that out
    -- though it wasn’t a high priority. If he didn’t want to give me his address, it seemed unlikely he’d given me his real name. The only two things I knew for sure were that he wanted Brian’s address and he didn’t want me to know who or where he was. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it all.
    Technically, I was finished with the job. I was supposed to respect my client’s privacy and stop investigating. I was supposed to move on and forget whatever I’d learned. After my call with Allan Grimley, there was no way I was doing that.

    * * *
Boystown - 33
    I took the El back up to my neighborhood and walked over to Newport. The Plymouth was buried so deep under the snow that you could barely tell it was blue. Using my hands, I pushed enough snow off the trunk so I could open it. I got out the brushes and the snow shovel I kept there. It wasn’t just the snow that had fallen on the car that was the problem. The plow had been by a few times and had packed a thick layer of snow along the driver’s side.
    The call from Paddington, or whatever his name was, had the faint, crackling sound long distance calls sometimes have. Chicago is a couple hundred miles from Springfield. In the summer it would take three, three and a half hours to drive it. The roads were clear, but leftover snow and a patch or two of ice along the way would slow the drive down a bit. Whatever Paddington was planning would take preparation. Yeah, I knew he might not be at home in Springfield, but my gut said he wasn’t in Chicago. He’d be here soon, though. I had to move and move quickly
    Thirty minutes later, I’d managed to get my car dug out of its spot. Thankfully, it started on the third try. I had to rock it back and forth a few times and finally resort to slipping an old piece of cardboard under the back tires. It tore up the cardboard, and I reminded myself to