Hugger Mugger

FIFTEEN

THE BATHHOUSE Bar and Grill had a Bud Light sign in its front window with a neon tube image of Spuds McKenzie looking raffish and thirsty. The room was air-conditioned. There was a bar the length of the room across the back. There were tables in front of the bar. Along the right wall there was a small dance floor, with a raised platform for live performances. At the moment the music, Bette Midler singing something I didn't recognize, was from a big old-fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox next to the door. Behind the bar was a chalkboard with the night's by-the-glass wine selections, and a list of bar food specials. In the late afternoon, the bar was about half occupied and there were people at several of the tables. It was like any other place where people went to avoid being alone, except that all the customers were men.

The bartender had a crew cut and a mustache and a tan. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt and chino pants. I ordered a draft beer.

"Tedy around?" I said.

"Tedy?"

"Tedy Sapp," I said.

"Table over there." The bartender nodded. "With the muscles."

Tedy was wearing the Bath House uniform-green polo shirt, chino pants, and a tan. His hair was colored the aggressively artificial blond color that musicians and ballplayers were affecting that year. It was cut very short. He was a flagrant bodybuilder. About my size, and probably about my weight. He was chiseled and cut and buffed like a piece of statuary. I picked up my beer.

"That'll be three and a quarter," the bartender said.

I put a five on the bar and carried my beer over to Tedy's table. He looked up, moving his eyes without moving his head. He had the easy manner of someone who was confident that he could knock you on your ass. He had a cup of coffee in front of him on the table, and a copy of the Atlanta Constitution was folded next to it.

"My name's Spenser," I said. "Dalton Becker mentioned you to me."

"Becker's a good guy," Sapp said.

His voice carried a whisper of hoarseness. He gestured at an empty chair, and I sat down.

"You used to work for Becker," I said.

"Used to work for Becker," he said. "Deputy sheriff. 'Fore that I was in the Army-airborne. Lifted weights. Karate. Married. Trying as hard as I could to be straight."

"And you weren't," I said.

"Nope. Wasn't, am not now. Doesn't look like I'm gonna be."

"And now you're not trying," I said.

"Nope. Got divorced, quit the cops."

"Becker fire you when you came out?"

"Nope. I coulda stayed on. I wanted to quit."

"Still pumping a little iron, though," I said.

"That works gay or straight," Sapp said.

"And now you're here?"

"Yep. Four to midnight six days a week."

"Hard work?" I said.

"No. Now and then a couple queens get into a hissy-fit fight, scratching and kicking, and I have to settle them down. But mostly I'm here so that a few good old boys won't get drunk and come in here to bash some fairies."

"That happen very often?" I said.

"Not as often as it used to," Sapp said.

"Because you're here."

"Yep."

"Most people don't anticipate a tough fairy," I said.

Sapp grinned. "You look like you might have swapped a couple punches in your life."

"You ever lose?" I said.

"What? A fight? In here? Naw."

"That why you quit the cops?" I said. "So you could work here?"

"Yep."

"So you could protect the people who come here?"

Sapp shrugged.

"Lot of gay guys never really learned how to fight," he said.

"Most straight guys too," I said.

Sapp nodded.

"Well, I know how," Sapp said. "And I figured I could maybe serve and protect…" He stopped and thought about how he wanted to say it. "With a little more focus, down here, than I could working out of the Columbia County Sheriff's substation."

I sipped some of my beer. He drank some coffee.

"What do you do?" Sapp said. "I know you're carrying a piece."

"Alert," I said. "Detective. Private. From Boston."

"I figured you wasn't from down heah in the old Confederacy," Sapp said.

"Lawzy me, no," I said.

My instinct told me I could level with Sapp. My instinct has been wrong before, but I decided to trust it this time.

"I'm down here working for Walter Clive," I said, "trying to find out who's been shooting his horses."

"Horses?"

"Yep, apparently at random, several of them. He's worried now about a two-year-old named Hugger Mugger, who's supposed to be on his way to the Triple Crown."

"And after that a lifetime of stud fees," Sapp said.

Without being asked, the bartender came over with coffee for Sapp and a beer for me. He put them down, picked up the empties, and went away.

"So why come talking to me?" Sapp said.

"You know the Clive family?"

"Un-huh. Everybody in Columbia County knows the Clives."

"I'm interested in the son-in-law, Cord Wyatt."

Sapp didn't say anything. He put sugar in his coffee, added some cream, and stirred slowly.

"I am told he is interested in young boys," I said.

Sapp stirred his coffee some more. I suspected he was consulting with his instincts.

"So what if he was?" Sapp said.

"I'm told he acts out that interest."

"And?"

"I think adults have no business scoring children, but that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The family is strange," I said. "The crime is strange. Does that mean the crime comes from the family? I don't know. I'm trying to find out."

Sapp drank some more coffee. He nodded.

"I see how you're thinking," he said. "I was a cop once."

"Me too," I said.

"Why'd you quit?"

"I got fired. Disobedience."

"I'll bet you're pretty good at disobedience," Sapp said.

"One of my best things," I said.

I drank some more beer. Sapp drank some more coffee. The jukebox played a song I'd never heard before, sung by a woman I didn't know. The lyrics had something to do with a barroom in Texas. Two guys got up and slow-danced to it on the dance floor.

"I know Wyatt," Sapp said.

"He come in here?"

"Not very much," Sapp said. "I do some counseling too, on, ah, gender identity issues."

"Wyatt came to you?"

"Yeah."

"What can you tell me?"

"Anything I want. I'm not licensed or anything. I know something about gender identity issues. I just talk to people."

"What do you want to tell me about Wyatt?" I said.

"He's fighting it," Sapp said. "Something I know a little about. He wants to be straight and rich and have nice teeth."

"Man's reach must exceed his grasp…" I said.

"So he sits on the feelings and sits on them and finally he can't sit on them anymore and he goes off the wagon, so to speak."

"Kids?" I said.

Sapp nodded.

"Prostitutes mostly," Sapp said. "In Augusta."

"He ever get in trouble about it?"

"Yeah. Augusta Vice got him in a street sweep once, Clive got him off. He moved on a kid here in Lamarr once. Kid's mother called the cops."

"Clive get it buried?" I said.

"Yep."

"Money?"

"And fear. Delroy does it for him."

"I don't see Becker taking a bribe."

"Nope, but his boss will."

"Delroy the bagman?"

"Yep."

"What about the fear?"

"Delroy offers money to the kid's family. They don't take it, he tells them that something bad will happen to the kid."

"Wyatt tell you this?" I said.

"No."

"You talked with the kid," I said.

"Couple years afterwards," he said.

"He came to you?"

"Yeah," Sapp said. "He was afraid he was gay. I told him I thought he'd been exploited by Wyatt. I told him if anyone threatened him again he was to come right straight to me and we'd see about it."

"Anyone threaten him again?"

"No."

"Is he gay?" I said.

"I don't think so," Sapp said.

"You tell him that?"

"I'm not looking for converts," Sapp said. "I told him it's not important to be straight or gay. It's important to be what you are."

"Like you," I said.

Sapp grinned at me.

"I'm queer, and I'm here," he said.

"Know anything else about the Clive family that would interest me?" I said.

"Not much. I got a friend might be able to help you out, though. She's done some business with the other son-in-law. Whatsisname, Pud."

"How's she know Pud?" I said.

"She's a madame."

"In Lamarr?"

"In Lamarr."

"And how does she know you?"

"She's a member of the gay community," Sapp said.