Stuart Woods: Choke

“So?” the man shouted.

Daryl leaned toward him. “Is there somewhere a little quieter where we can talk?”

The man wagged a finger at him. “Now why would I want to go somewhere quiet with a cop?” He waved an arm at the room. “Maybe there’s somebody you’d like to be introduced to?”

Daryl leaned in again. “Do you know a man named Merk Connor?”

“Sweetie,” the man said, “I know absolutely everybody who’s worth knowing. Is this Merk worth knowing?”

“Not anymore,” Daryl shouted. “This Merk is dead.”

The little man’s face went very white.

Tommy walked through the hotel slowly, looking for the two men. He found them in the restaurant, tearing into large steaks and starting a second bottle of an expensive-looking Italian wine. He ordered a club soda at the bar and watched them through the rest of their dinner. They said almost nothing to each other during the meal. Finally, the handsome one paid the check with cash, and they left the table and went up in the elevator. Tommy followed them to the lobby and watched the numbers stop at four.

He went to the front desk, which was manned by a short, middle-aged man with an extreme comb-over. “I need some information about two people who checked in earlier this evening,” he said.

“We don’t normally give out information about our guests,” the man said.

Tommy sighed and placed his badge on the counter, saying nothing.

“But for you I’ll make an exception,” the man said. “What is it you want to know?”

“The two men in question just left the dining room and went up to the fourth floor. I want to see their registration cards.”

The desk clerk riffled through a stack of cards and placed two on the counter.

“Mr. Oliver and Mr. Twist,” Tommy said aloud. “Somehow I didn’t expect literary allusions. Of Kansas City, Missouri. And I see they’re paying cash, no credit cards.”

“We get some funny names now and then,” the desk clerk said. “Usually it’s a couple of salesmen from Miami who aren’t out of the closet yet and think they’re being discreet. They always pay cash; they don’t want their wives checking the credit card bills.”

“What were your impressions of them?” Tommy asked.

“The nice-looking one did all the talking,” the clerk said. “I got the impression that the big one could only grunt.”

“Accent?”

“None that I could place.”

“Education?”

The man grinned slightly. “None that I could place. Funny, I expected him to sound New Yorky, but he didn’t. His grammar was less than perfect.” He picked up a clipboard and ran a finger down a list. “They left a wakeup call for nine A.M.”

“Late sleepers, huh?”

“He said something about jet lag.”

“Right. I want a room for the night, preferably on the ground floor, and I’d like your very best rate.”

“For you, it’s comped,” the man said. “Anything to help out our mighty men on the force.”

“You’re sweet,” Tommy said, accepting a key.

“Right down the hall there, on your left. You can see the elevators, if you peek through the little hole in the door. That’s what you fellows do, isn’t it? Peek through doors?”

“All the time,” Tommy replied. “Thanks.” He turned toward the room, and as he did, Daryl came through the front door, trying to look in-conspicuous. “What?” he said when the younger man approached.

“Let’s talk,” Daryl said.

“I just got a room; come on.” Tommy led the way down the hall, conscious of the gaze of the night clerk, opened the door, and showed Daryl in. It was one of the hotel’s better rooms, he suspected; it was large, had a seating area with a sofa and a pair of easy chairs, and sliding doors opened directly onto a small beach.

“Not bad,” Daryl said. “How’d you do it?”

“I think the desk clerk liked me,” Tommy said. “Have a seat; I’ve gotta call my wife.” He dialed the number.

“You didn’t show for dinner,” she said without preamble.

“I’m sorry about that, hon, but this case is heating up. I’m having to stay in a hotel over at the beach tonight; Daryl and I are following two out-of-towners.”

“Oh, is one of them the person on the phone in the middle of last night?”

“Rosie, baby, she was calling from L.A. Her information led us to these two guys. Now, I don’t have time to run it all down for you, but here’s where I am.” He gave her the phone and room numbers. “Daryl and I are both going to be here all night.”

“So now I have to worry about Daryl?”

“Sweetie, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He hung up. “I’m starving; you want something from room service?” He tossed a menu at Daryl.

“Who’s paying?”

“The hotel.”

“Caesar salad, prime rib, apple pie à la mode and a good red wine.”

“Same here.” Tommy called in their orders, then hung up. “I’m going to take a short walk on the beach,” he said, going to the sliding doors and slipping off his shoes and socks.

“Tommy, we have to talk.”

“We’ll talk over dinner. Right now I have to think some, and by myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Daryl said, opening the minibar and choosing a tiny bottle of good scotch.

They were into the roast beef before Tommy would allow any discussion.

“Now, what do we have to talk about?”

“We’re going to have to rethink the secret man theory,” Daryl said. “At least where Merk is concerned.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I got to thinking when I left here. You remember, I told you that the first time I followed Merk, he went in the front door of a bar and out the back door, and I thought he had gone to Clare’s house?”

“Yeah. So?”

“He went to the same place the night he was murdered, too, only he didn’t go out the back door. As a matter of fact, he didn’t go out the back door the first time, either.”

“So where did he go?”

“Upstairs with the owner.”

“To do what?”

“Tommy, it’s a gay bar.”

Tommy swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“He’s been seeing the owner, a guy named Wilson Pater, for several weeks on a regular basis.”

“I never would have figured him,” Tommy said.

“Seems Merk was not exactly out of the closet yet. Pater said he was a little hard to get the first time.”

“Well, that does seem to cast a slightly different light on his relationship with Clare, doesn’t it?”

“Pater said the reason she gave him such a hard time in the divorce was he admitted he liked guys. She apparently didn’t take it well.”

“She wouldn’t, would she?”

“You think she was so mad she would knock him off?”

“Maybe. I’m still more inclined to think he was involved somehow, and she knocked him off to keep us from connecting them.”

Daryl polished off his apple pie. “So where does that leave us?”

“Our two palookas left a nine o’clock call; I left one for eight. Let’s get some sleep and see where they lead us tomorrow.”

“Suits me,” Daryl said. “I’m bushed.”

They each took a double bed and were immediately asleep.

Clare Carras had just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to her bedroom and walked down the hall to the front door. A young man, rather handsome, dressed in a good Italian suit, stood at the door. He smiled.

“Mrs. Carras?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Parma. I was a business associate of your husband, kind of. I just heard about his… passing, and I happened to be in town, and I wanted to pay my respects.”

“Thank you,” she said. She had never heard of anybody named Parma, but he was very good-looking and quite charming.