Private investigator Dan Sharp investigates the disappearance of three closeted gay men.
When a serial killer stalks downtown Toronto, private investigator Dan Sharp finds an unexpected link between the missing men that even the police are reluctant to investigate. A meeting with the chief of police confirms his suspicions, but does nothing to resolve the problem. Obsessed with uncovering the truth, Dan enlists a small group of friends to delve into illicit goings-on in the local sex industry. It’s only when the next man disappears, however, that Dan finds himself in a race against time to track down an elusive, manipulative killer who is a master of disguise.
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Jeffrey Round is the Lambda Award–winning writer of the Dan Sharp mystery series and the stand-alone mystery Endgame. He has been nominated twice for a ReLit Award and his first two books were listed on AfterElton’s Top 50 Best Gay Books. He lives in Toronto.
Jeffrey Round is the Lambda Award–winning writer of the Dan Sharp mystery series and the stand-alone mystery Endgame. He has been nominated twice for a ReLit Award and his first two books were listed on AfterElton’s Top 50 Best Gay Books. He lives in Toronto.
He felt like the world’s greatest puppet master. Nomatter who they were or where they came from, he couldmake them sing and dance. All it took was a little reassurance.With a gentle smile, he let them know he understoodtheir suffering. The shame and fear, the condemnation andhumiliation. Oh yes, all of that and more.
Best of all, he could make them weep.
That was when he felt most powerful, an avengingangel, as though he could scoop up their tears and washaway their sorrow. It was also when he felt closest to thelost lambs who followed him home and undressed for him,shedding their innocence along with their clothes. Givingup the purity that would take them to paradise. He strippedthem of all of that.
***
The man over in the corner had been eyeing him across thebar for the past ten minutes. Light-skinned, a hint of facialhair. Muscular, but not too big. Just the right hesitation in hisglance: Are you interested in me, brother?
Music pounded as video screens threw shadows acrossthe room. He glanced back, gave a gentle nod: Yes, I am interested.Then he turned away, not to let the other get too cocky.The time would come to spark his confidence, to let him thinkhe was in control. But not yet. Not right from the beginning,when his hands had deftly begun to pull the strings, bringingthe puppet to life with each twitch and flutter.
The song ended and a new beat edged in. The twoheaded for the bar at the same moment, random atomspropelled by chance. The bartender, in black leather, lookedup at the shaved-headed man.
“Dude?”
“A Molson Dry, please.”
He turned to the other. “For you?”
“Same, please.”
“Two Molson Dry coming up.”
As the bartender moved off, the larger man let his armbrush against the young man’s arm. The crowd was packedin so close there was no room to step aside, just the subtlewarmth of skin touching skin.
“Habibi.” They were facing each other now. “You likethis place?”
The younger man nodded shyly. The bartender returned,deftly clipped the caps off the bottles and pushed them forwardwhere they gleamed under the lights.
“I’ve got it.” The larger man passed a bill across thecounter and waved away the change.
The new acquaintances picked up their beers and madetheir way through the crowd to a pair of stools against thefar wall.
“Chokron.” The younger man lifted his glass and swallowedlong and hard.
“You like beer?”
“Yes. I like it.”
“That’s good. It relaxes you.” The shaved-headed manlaughed and clasped him around the back of his neck,feeling the smooth skin and warm flesh.
“Tell me, where are you from?”
“I am from Iran,” he said. His eyes skittered nervously,knowing what it meant to discuss such things openly.
“A great country.”
Talk ensued. The older man had lived in Toronto foralmost a decade; the younger had been there less than a year,he said. Do you get lonely? Yes, I miss my family all the time.All good men missed their families. They agreed and clinkedbottles. Of course, the families did not know they frequentedbars and drank alcohol and invited the devil into their beds.
“I am Joe. What’s your name?”
“Sam.”
“Good to meet you, Sam.”
“And you.”
“Back home I was a dentist,” the shaved-headed mansaid. But his certificate was useless in Canada. In a year ortwo, he said, he would go back to school and upgrade hispapers. But everyone said that, the dream easier spoken ofthan accomplished.
They talked of being immigrants, of the ridiculousnessof all things Western and the treacherous stranglehold theWest had on world affairs. Their bottles were empty now.The younger man bought another round. He was alreadyon his third, stumbling when he stood to use the bathroom.
“Let me help you.”
The older man took him by the arm and led him to theurinals. They stood side by side looking down, the olderman’s hands lingering, stretching and letting go with asnap before the stream of piss came with an impressivesplash.
He looked over. “We are friends, yes? Same-same? Youand I?” He rubbed two fingers together in case the otherhadn’t already got the message.
The younger man nodded, a lamb drawn to the slaughter.“Yes, brother. I like you.”
“Come, habibi. We’ve had enough drink. It is time forus to go and make ourselves better friends together, awayfrom this place.”
***
Their walk took them through quiet streets. Despite thehour, people lingered here and there. Two men togetherin that neighbourhood would not be noticed.
The moon was full, its light obscured by an oncomingstorm. High-rises towered above. A slate of new condosbeing erected showed how fast the city was growing. Rainbegan to fall, lightly at first then more heavily. The pavementglistened, the lights of passing cars picking up theirsilhouettes then sliding softly away.
Beware, they seemed to say.
The younger man stopped to lean against a street lamp,the silvery glare from above outlining his features. The olderman put a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him tillthey faced one another. He leaned in. Their lips met. Theyounger man shivered and turned away.
“Please, I cannot!”
“It’s okay. I know what you want. No one will everknow.”
The wind was picking up, the leaves thrashing andturning overhead like startled birds trying to escape thestorm that was nearly on them.
“Yes, it is true. No one will ever know.”
The younger man nodded, conquering his fears as thepair moved along.
The game was on again.
“Is it far?”
“Not far. Just another block.”
As they walked, the younger man spoke more openlyabout his family, how he’d grown up with goats, a backyardthat opened onto the desert, relatives who lived in tents.More than anything, he talked of his father, who did notunderstand his desire to remain in the land of Satan. Buta good father nonetheless, he conceded.
“I will be your father here,” the other claimed.
“You? But you are not old enough.”
“I am almost old enough. Or maybe just a big brotherthen. I will show you the sure way among the treacherouspaths of the city. Would you like that?”
“Yes, I would.”
They all wanted something: fathers, brothers, sons,loyal friends to love them forever. He wanted to be allthose things.
A walkway led to a three-storey affair recessed from thestreet. The light over the vestibule was burned out, all thewindows facing the street darkened except for a dim glowin an upper right-hand frame. They could barely make outthe building’s name: The Viking.
“Is this it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been here before.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Just a job I did once. It was nothing.”
Fingers manipulated the lock. The door snapped openonto a hallway that reeked of something gone off, like sourmilk. The walls were rough, but recently painted. The floortiled black-and-white harlequin.
A sign identified the superintendent’s apartment. Ahandwritten note had been pinned to the door — AWAYFOR THE WEEKEND — with an emergency numberscribbled beneath. No one to see, no one to hear.
On the right, at the end of the hallway, a heavy industrialdoor was padlocked and secured. The smaller man’sfootsteps scuffed drunkenly as they made their way to theapartment on the left.
A black...
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Zustand: Hervorragend. Zustand: Hervorragend | Seiten: 312 | Sprache: Englisch | Produktart: Bücher | A serial killer is preying on Toronto's Gay Village and police seem reluctant to take the case seriously. PI Dan Sharp starts investigating after three closeted gay Muslim men disappear. As the number of missing persons grows and the killer's pattern seems to change, Dan finds himself in a race against time. Artikel-Nr. 32122606/1
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