The Death of Friends by Michael Nava Read Free Book Online Page A

letting the bat fall. “Sorry, Henry. We had looters during the riots. You find Zack?”
    “I couldn’t even get near his apartment building,” I said. “It was across the street from the one that collapsed.”
    “Yeah, I saw the picture in the Times.”
    “I was hoping you could tell me who might know where he is, like family or something.”
    He squinted at me. “You look familiar, Henry. You eat here?”
    “Once or twice,” I said. “I’m sort of in the neighborhood. I’m surprised you remember.”
    “A memory for customers is essential in this business. I have some coffee in the bar, and about a thousand dollars’ worth of broken cocktail glasses. Come on, I’ll pour you a cup. Of the coffee, I mean.”
    I followed him into the bar. A big pile of broken glass had been swept up against the wall. He poured two cups of coffee and sat down at the bar with me.
    “Why are you looking for Zack?” he asked.
    “Did you know Zack had a boyfriend?”
    “The way you say boyfriend you must be gay,” he said. “Straight guys choke on the word, if they can bring themselves to use it at all. Yeah, I knew he had a boyfriend. Older guy named Chris. He came in a couple of times.”
    I tasted the coffee. It was spicy but good. Sort of like Milt Harriman, I thought, deciding to level with him.
    “Chris Chandler was a Superior Court judge,” I said. “Night before last, someone murdered him. Zack showed up at my door to tell me because Chris and I were friends, then Zack split before I could get the whole story out of him. I’d like to find him before the cops do and hear the rest of it.”
    “Wow,” Milt said. “You think Zack did it?”
    “I never met Zack before yesterday. You know him. Do you?”
    “No way, Jose,” he said decisively. “Zack’s a nice kid who’s had a rough life. The only person he ever hurt was himself.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Look, all I care about is that my waiters show up for their shifts, smile pretty at the customers and do their job. Zack’s great that way. I never asked him about what he did before he came to work for me, but after a while you get to know people’s stories.”
    “What’s his?”
    “He was a street kid. I guess he hustled on the boulevard a little.”
    “How did he end up here?”
    “Sam Bligh,” he said, pouring me another cup of coffee. “You know him?”
    “Nope.”
    “Maybe you aren’t gay,” he said, grinning. “Sam Bligh runs Wilde Ride Productions, purveyor of fine gay porn. Somehow Zack got hooked up with him, made a couple of videos, I guess, but didn’t like the life. Sam asked me to give him a job. I started him out as a busboy and promoted him in no time. He’s been working here a couple of years.”
    “Are you saying Zack did blue movies?”
    He did a slow double-take. “Blue movies? Hello, it’s the nineties, Henry. Porn’s big business and Sam’s like, I don’t know, the Spielberg of gay porn. If Zack did work for him, it was definitely a step up from selling himself on the streets.”
    “The Spielberg of porn,” I said, turning that notion over in my head. “Okay. And you hired Zack on his say-so. Why would a respectable guy like you be doing favors for a pornographer?”
    “Sam brings me a lot of business,” he said. “I cater most of his shoots. And why the attitude about porn, girlfriend?”
    “I’m old-fashioned, I guess. So what about Zack? You know where I can find him?”
    “No, he doesn’t have family around that I know of. But Sam might know. They stayed pretty tight. I’ll give you his number.”
    He went behind the bar and took out a Rolodex crammed with cards. He wrote out Bligh’s name and number and gave it to me.
    “Thanks, Milt, and if Zack does show up, will you tell him I need to see him? Tell him it’s either me or the cops.”
    “Will do, Henry,” he said, accepting the business card I handed him. “And if you’re gonna see Sam, watch what you say about porn. He’s kind of a