Arsonist

CHAPTER 21

It had been two days since Stanton left the fire site of the Brichards’ home and he didn’t have anything more than he had when he’d arrived at the scene. He had spoken with a dozen neighbors and none of them had seen or heard anything. No family members could identify any trouble between the couple; no one hinted that it may have been a murder-suicide.

As he got on the freeway, he received a text from Gunn asking if he wanted to hit a couple of the clubs Cisneros had frequented when he had been alive. Spending his night at the city’s gay clubs wasn’t how he expected his Friday night to go, but he agreed.

He picked up Gunn at an apartment complex he hadn’t been to before. He was sitting on the steps, smoking, and he threw his cigarette on the ground when he saw him and then looked up and said something to a woman that was sitting on her balcony on the top floor.

“Who was that?” Stanton asked.

Gunn leaned the seat back and rolled down his window. “Just a piece of ass. I talked to Cisneros’ mom again. She gave me a list of the three clubs he most liked to go to.”

“He told his mom what gay clubs he liked to go to?”

“Hey, some parents are more progressive than others. My old man woulda put my head through a wall. Different strokes for different folks.”

Stanton put the name of the first club, Playland, into his GPS. It was on Fifth Avenue not far from where they were. The building itself looked like a warehouse surrounded by parking lots and Stanton saw the homeless shelter down the block. Though night had fallen, there was a line around the corner, people waiting for any amount of food that had been leftover from the five o’clock dinner. Many of them appeared young, no more than eighteen or nineteen.

“What d’ya think makes these kids wanna live on the streets?” Gunn asked.

“Some of them are drug addicts and it’s easier to live on the street than try to maintain a job. Some of them are mentally ill and the asylums are full…a lot of ‘em come from abusive homes and they think the streets are better.”

“Fuck, with all the sick fucks we got out here? These kids don’t know what they’re doin’. They need a good kick in the ass is what they need.”

Stanton pulled the car in front of the club and parked. They got out and Stanton had to look for the entrance; it wasn’t obvious exactly how you got into the building. He saw a ramp leading to what looked like an underground garage and they followed it until they got to a large black door. Stanton could hear voices inside and he pounded on it with his palm. After a few seconds, an Asian man in a tight black shirt answered.

“Yeah?”

Stanton flashed his badge. “We need to talk to the manager.”

“Which one?”

“Whoever is here the most and would recognize a regular.”

“I don’t have to let you in without a warrant.”

“Look,” Gunn said, “Slant-eyed Pete, don’t make me bust your fuckin’ head open and come in there. I’m sure I’m gonna find some coke, probably some illegal porn, maybe a gun or two though I know you fags don’t like the feel of a real man’s gun in your hand.”

“Fuck you.”

Before Stanton could stop him, Gunn had grabbed the man by the throat and slammed his head into the door. The man began to fight back and Gunn took out an extendable baton from his belt, opened it, and whacked the guy on the head twice before he grabbed his hand, pressed it on the door, and crushed two of his fingers with the baton. It happened so quickly Stanton couldn’t even respond in time.

The man was screaming as Stanton covered him with his body so Gunn couldn’t strike him again.

“What’s the matter with you?” Stanton shouted, pushing him away.

“Hey,” Gunn yelled, ignoring him, “Tommy Chang, you gonna have to fist your boyfriend with your left hand now.”

A woman stepped out from behind the door. She was wearing a sparkling tank-top and her long blond hair was pulled back. Her eyes went down to the badge clipped to Gunn’s hip. Then she called for someone to help her and they lifted the man off the floor and helped him inside.

“Take him to the emergency room,” she said calmly before stepping outside and shutting the door behind her. “I’m Shannon Gunther, the manager. Can I help you?” she said to Stanton.

“I’m sorry about your employee. We can pay for his ER visit and I’m sure the county can set him up for any lost wages.”

“I know how you cops are. If I were to sue the county next week my club would be raided and drugs would just happen to be found everywhere. So just tell me what the hell you want and be on your way.”

Gunn pulled out a photo of Cisneros. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah, that’s Mikey. I haven’t seen him in a long time, though.”

“He’s dead,” Gunn said. “His body was found with twenty air holes poked into it.”

Stanton said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Two weeks ago maybe. He was here every Friday night. It was hip-hop night and he liked coming then.”

“Did you see him leave with anybody that night?”

“Officer, everyone here leaves with somebody. I don’t keep track. I’m sorry he was killed. I liked him. But hundreds of people come through here on the weekends. I don’t think I can help you. Try the Trap Door, though. That’s where he was on Saturday nights. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a bouncer; looks like we’re gonna be one short tonight,” she said, looking at Gunn.

When she had gone back inside, Stanton turned to Gunn.

“You were out of line. You do that again and I’ll have to go to Childs.”

“Fuck him. My cousin died of AIDS and these queers were the ones that brought it here.”

“That man never did anything to you, and the manager knows more than she’s telling us but doesn’t want to help us now.”

He threw up his hands and turned to walk toward the car. Stanton followed and they drove in silence, heading down University Avenue and to the Trap Door.

The club also had a restaurant that was open until midnight. The restaurant was adjacent and the two shared a wall. Both were designed in blacks and golds. Couches and beds were throughout the space and the front wall was just glass, allowing those walking by to look in on what was happening.

Stanton went inside the restaurant. He looked to Gunn who appeared agitated. He was fidgeting as they sat down in the waiting area near the hostess podium.

“How many?” the hostess said to Stanton without looking up.

“I actually need to talk to the night manager of the restaurant and the manager of the club.”

“Can I ask him what you need?”

Stanton held up his badge. Without a word, the girl walked to the back of the room behind a bar where a man in a turtleneck with wire-frame glasses was doing an inventory of the liquor. He saw Stanton and swore under his breath as he walked over.

“What can I do for you, Officer? I promise our liquor license is in order and there’s no-”

“I’m not from the state.” He pulled out a picture of Cisneros. “Do you recognize this man?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture. Please take a look.”

He sighed and then looked at the photo. “No.”

“He was murdered,” Gunn said loudly. “You sure you don’t recognize him?”

“Don’t recognize him. Sorry. Can I go now?”

Gunn stood up and Stanton stepped in front of him. Their eyes met and for a moment neither one of them said anything.

“Get the fuck outta my way,” Gunn said.

“I can smell the whiskey on your breath. You shouldn’t be on duty.”

“I said, get the fuck outta my way.”

Stanton hesitated, and then stepped to the side. Gunn began walking toward the manager when Stanton said, “If you touch him, you’re under arrest.”

Gunn laughed. He turned to Stanton and the two squared off again. The manager quietly snuck away.

“You don’t have the balls.”

“Go home, Stephen. I’ll cover the rest of the night.”

Gunn lit a cigarette. He took a long puff and then blew smoke in Stanton’s face. “You know what? I’m gonna have dinner here and then I’m callin’ a cab. Why don’t you just go back to your empty apartment and read your damn books? No wonder your wife left you.” Gunn turned toward the waitress. “Party of one.”

Stanton watched as he was seated. He began flirting with a table full of middle-aged women next to him. Stanton left the restaurant. The night air was cool and the moon was a bright crescent in the sky. He pulled out his phone and got the address for Playland again before getting into his car and pulling away, glancing inside the restaurant one more time to see a waitress place a wine bottle on Gunn’s table.