Chapter 71
“Oh, I’ve seen him,” Tiffany assured me. When I raised an eyebrow, she explained, “Down in the Castro.” Ah yes, ‘Frisco’s famous queer quarter. She saw the look on my face and nodded, triumphant. “Yes, there. Corner of 18th and Castro, last Saturday night. It was the first time I’ve seen him in years, and you can just imagine what’s been running through my mind ever since, seeing my own brother on the street like a common hooker. Did Geoffrey put him up to it? Is this the only way he can make ends meet now?”
I took down her questions in shorthand under Goderich’s name. Tiffany frowned at the squiggles and added, “He has a trust fund, Mr. Guy. Quarter of a million dollars, half the family fortune, saved away in his name. Once he turned eighteen, he was granted full access to the account. And has he touched it? No, not one penny. I don’t even want to thinkabout how he’s making a living. I don’t want to know—”
I interrupted her. “But you do.” At her quizzical expression, I noted, “You’re here, aren’t you? Hiring me to find him, though it sounds like you already know where he is.”
“I want to know where he’s staying,” Tiffany said, ticking off each demand on her long, perfectly manicured fingers. “I want to know that he’s alright. That he’s not being forcedto do…whatever it is he’s doing now. I want him to know he’s welcome home whenever he wants to come back, no matter what Father’s said to the contrary.” Her voice softened, and she told me, “I want him to know that I care. Can you find him and tell him that for me?”
I stared at Tommy’s photograph. If he was turning tricks down in the Castro…well, it was his own life, right? He was old enough to call the shots. But if he was half as sexy as his twin sister, and liked to hustle to boot… I used the head in my pants to make up my mind. “Five hundred up front,” I told her, and Tiffany pulled out a checkbook from the pocket of her raincoat without blinking an eye. “I’ll find him, talk to him, see if I can answer your questions. I don’t guarantee that he’ll come running home with open arms or anything like that. I can’t even promise that he’ll call you.” Tiffany nodded as she wrote out the check. I glanced at Tommy’s picture again and shifted in my seat to relieve the sudden pressure in my groin. “It’s another five hundred when we meet again. I’ll have a full report for you then.”
“When?” she wanted to know.
“Give me a week,” I said. “I’ll call you when I have something. And I keep the photo.”
Now Tiffany’s pout pulled into a slow, sultry smile. Too late,I thought—I’d already seen it, already fell for it on someone else. In a low voice, she purred, “A thousand dollars is a small price to pay to have my brother back. How else can I thank you?”
I held the photograph up between us and gave her a curt grin. “This is payment enough,” I assured her. I plucked the check from her hand and added, “I’ll be in touch.”
* * * *
My first stop was DJ Danny’s, a gay club in the Castro that catered to a wild bunch. DJ was an old-school player, one of those fat black guys that make you wonder why they have no trouble getting laid. He lounged at a low table in the back, watching the dance floor through a thick haze of smoke. As I approached, he patted the seat beside him. I took it and slid the photograph his way. “You seen this kid?” I wanted to know.
DJ tapped the photo with one blunt finger. “That’s Tommy,” he said. Bingo. “Comes in here every now and then, meets one of his clients at the bar. Why, what’s up?”
With a shrug, I took the photo back and tucked it safely into my jacket. “Not much. Tommy, eh? Think you can introduce us?”
“Hey,” DJ told me, “I ain’t his pimp.”
I leaned closer. “Who is?”
“No one, far as I know.” DJ made a vague gesture into the air. “He’s in this for himself, yo. Doesn’t even do walk-ups anymore, he’s that good. Takes yearsto get into his little black book, what I heard. His clients keep him booked solid.” He gave me a once-over look and shook his head. “I know you, Dick. You’re a pee-eye. What d’you want Tommy for—business, or pleasure?”
“Little of both,” I admitted. From the same pocket where the picture was stashed, I extracted a business card and set it on the table. “Next time you see him, give him that, will you? Tell him I’ll make it worth his while.”
As I got up to leave, DJ glared at my card. “What’s in it for me?” he asked. I dug out my wallet and threw a fifty down on the table. Part of Tiffany’s payment—I had anticipated this. DJ frowned at the money, one hand easing under the table to rub between his legs. “Aw, man,” he started.