Scott Sherman - First You Fall

There were no cabs, so I walked over to a nearby hotel, where taxis always waited.

I turned on my phone and hooked up my Bluetooth headset. It always makes it look like I’m talking to myself, but in New York, that’s not uncommon. Even the crazies avoided me.

The first message, from my mother, I skipped.

That made three. I would cal her as soon as I got through the others.

The second was from the woman in the law office.

She told me she would be in her office late and that I should cal anytime.

I hit the cal back button.

“Susan Oliver here.”

“Yes, Ms. Oliver, this is Kevin Connor returning your cal.”

“Mr. Connor!” Ms. Oliver sounded very happy to hear from me. “Thank goodness. You were last on my list, and the reading is tomorrow.”

“The reading?”

“Of the wil.”

“What wil?”

“Al en Harrington’s wil,” she said as if explaining herself to a three-year-old. “He died, you know. Quite tragic.” Then, “Oh dear, I hope I wasn’t the one to break it to you.”

“Oh no, I was there the night he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” she sounded confused.

“It’s a long story.”

“In any case, there is a bequest to you in the wil, and you are required to be there.”

“Required?” I asked.

“Mr. Harrington left specific instructions as to whom he wanted in attendance.”

“Who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t release that information. May I count on your coming?”

Ms. Oliver gave me the time and place. I told her I’d be there.

I cal ed Freddy and told him about my problem: I wanted to honor Al en’s wishes, but I didn’t want to meet his homophobic sons, whom I was sure would be there. What if the crazy ex-wife showed? It sounded like a real freak show.

“Darling, you know I’m always there in your hour of need,” Freddy assured me.

“Yes, wel, it’s nice to have your support.”

“No, darling, literal y. I’m there. I’l be your bodyguard. Besides, it’s on my lunch hour.”

“It’s at ten o’clock in the morning.”

“I’l take an early lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, hoping he would.

“Darling, it’s no trouble at al. You know I love a good soap opera. Besides, there could be a sizable inheritance at stake.”

“I doubt it,” I said. But it would be nice.

“Did you solve his murder yet?”

I told Freddy what I remembered about Randy Bostinick, and about Roger Folds, the development director at The Stuff of Life.

“See, that’s two more leads than you had yesterday,” Freddy encouraged. “Now, you’re in luck with Randy because he works out at my gym. If that boy injects one more dose of steroids, I think he’s going to grow hair on his elbows. Although, I have to say, he does look fabulous. I’d do him.”

“Him and what army?” I ask. “Oh yeah, any army.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. In any case, he’s there every morning at around eight, so he won’t be hard to find.

“Plus,” Freddy continued, “we’l get a look at the family tomorrow. Maybe we can force a confession at the reading of the wil. You know, when they’re al emotional and everything.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’l start with an easy question to break the ice.

Something like: ‘which one of you bitches kil ed your father?’”

“Subtle.”

“Wel you know me, darling. The soul of discretion.”

“On second thought, maybe you should just stay at work. I’l fil you in later.”

“Don’t be sil y, lamb. I’l behave, I promise. Now, I have to pick out something appropriately funereal to wear. Do you think black sequins would work, or is that too Liza?”

I hung up on Freddy and was climbing into a cab when my cel rang again. “Hel o,” I answered.

“It’s Tony.”

I resented the surge of excitement I felt when I heard his voice. “Hi.”

“I need to show you something,” he said.

“OK,” I said. “What?”

“Show, not tel. Where are you? Can you meet me?”

I told him I was in a cab inching its way downtown.

“Fine,” Tony said. “Meet me in the lobby of Al en Harrington’s apartment building.”

I gave the taxi driver a new destination.

Even though our last meeting had ended pretty tragical y, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was kind of excited about seeing Tony again. And kind of hating myself for feeling that way, too.

Why did he want to see me? At Al en’s building no, less.

What did Tony want?

I’d find out soon enough.

Al the doormen at Al en’s place knew me by now.

“Kevin!” the cute young one who admitted me when I got there exclaimed, “how ya doing, buddy?” He smiled broadly, revealing perfectly white teeth against his dark Latino skin. Like many of the real y handsome young men working jobs like these in New York City, Ricky was an aspiring actor/model.

“I’m OK,” I said, not smiling back. “You heard about Al en.”

“Right, right.” Ricky’s expression turned to one of concern. “Aw, man, that’s too bad about your friend.

I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“So, I guess you’re not going to be coming around much anymore, huh?”

“Probably not.”

“Hey, I’m not supposed to be doing this but,” Ricky reached into his pocket for a notepad and pen, “why don’t you take my number. Maybe we can get together or something,” he said writing.

He handed me the paper.

I liked Ricky, but I wouldn’t be cal ing him. I had enough on my plate. Stil, I thought, looking at his striking features, maybe I could pass his number along to Freddy as an early Christmas present.

“Thanks,” I said, pocketing the note. “You take care.”

Tony was standing a few feet away with a glare on his face. “What was that al about?” he asked as I approached.

“He was expressing his condolences.”

“By giving you his number?”

“You could see what he wrote from here?”

“I’m a cop. I see everything. Besides, what else would he be giving you? A prayer card?”

Tony looked genuinely annoyed. He also looked extra-yummy in his navy suit, starched white shirt, and red-and-gold striped tie. The only concession to the day’s heat was the undone top button of his shirt.

Just that little suggestion of impending nudity was enough to fixate my attention on his bobbing Adam’s apple, which distractingly screamed “lick me, lick me!” Was Tony’s irritation at Ricky giving me his number a sign of jealousy? God, I hoped so.

“Why am I here?” I asked him.

“I want you to see something.” He showed me a key in his hand. “In Al en’s apartment.”

Walking into Al en’s apartment was an eerie experience. Although I had been there before when he wasn’t home, this felt entirely different. It was as if the wal s and floors and tables and chairs al knew their owner wasn’t coming back. His absence was a vacuum sucking out al the air. I felt lightheaded and took a deep breath.

“You OK?” Tony asked.

“Fine.” But I real y wasn’t.

“Look around,” Tony said. “What do you see?

I did as instructed. Al en’s place was, as always, immaculate. Even an alien, landing on Earth for the very first time, would have known that a man of wealth and good taste lived here.

On a smal table by two wingback chairs was the open bottle of wine Tony had told me about, along with two glasses.

On his smal antique desk, Al en’s reading glasses sat next to a pen and a scattered pile of papers. Some kind of financial forms. An uncapped fountain pen lay on top of a printed out Excel spreadsheet dense with numbers on which Al en had apparently jotted his last written words. “Cal T. S.”