The Museum of Desire

Chapter 34

As she drove away, I called Milo.

Straight to voicemail at work and home.

I said, “Learned some interesting things about Okash,” and got out of there.

Robin was in the kitchen, hair toweled, wearing her Japanese robe and reading Cook’s magazine. Blanche stretched a few feet away, attending to a jerky stick. Both of them looked up and smiled. Robin got up, fetched a couple of plates and two bottles of Grolsch from the fridge, set them on the table.

Turkey sandwiches, potato salad, Greek olives, apple slices.

I said, “Impressive leftovers.”

“Easy when you start with good stuff. So how were the nuns?”

“One nun, nice person.”

I summed up what Emeline Beaumont had told me.

She said, “Two lose their freedom and the one who’s left chooses self-restriction.”

“Interesting way to look at it.” I popped the bottles.

Robin said, “So now you know this woman’s capable of calculated violence and has a brother with anger problems. That must’ve been some family.”

We were clearing the table when Milo called.

He said, “You’ll never believe who I’ve got sitting in an interview room.”

“Okash.”

“Her brother.”

“Dugong.”

A beat. “There goes my punch line. How the hell did you find that out?”

“I left you a message explaining.”

“Saw it but didn’t read it, yet. Too busy with Geoffrey. You have time to bop over?”

I looked at Robin.

She said, “He’s coming over? Sure, I’ll make more sandwiches.”

“He wants me at the station. The angry brother showed up.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to go. Civic duty and all that.”

“I can tell him no.”

She stroked my cheek. “Naysaying’s not your strong point, darling.”

Milo had placed Geoffrey Dugong in a room he rarely used because it flanked a small observation area with a one-way mirror and he didn’t like being observed. Dugong was on his feet, pacing. A gray wheelie bag and a green duffel sat in a corner.

Medina Okash’s half brother wore a black leather jacket, red T-shirt, black jeans, orange sneakers. Tattoos wriggled from under his cuffs and ivied the sides of his neck. The rings sausaging his beard were gone, leaving a coarse fan of dark hair that reached his pectorals.

His circuits were slow, a bent-over trudge that traced the walls of the room. Dispirited, none of the anger we’d seen at the gallery. Younger than Medina Okash but he looked older.

I said, “Different Geoffrey.”

Milo said, “He’s been hitting the sauce hard, fear of flying. His story is he had a flight three hours ago back to Florida, Ubered to the gallery where Okash was supposed to meet him and drive him but she didn’t show up.”

“Why not go straight to the airport?”

“Money. She was gonna pay him for the two paintings he sold, said she needed to get a business check. He shows up, the place is dark, he hangs around, walks to the back, finds her car there and knocks on the back door, nada. He tries to call her, no connection, returns to the front, waits some more, gets antsy, tries the back again. At that point Binchy, who’s been observing all this, follows him, ready for a confrontation. Instead, he finds a scared drunk guy who asks for help.”

“What’s so scary about a no-show?”

“Maybe it’s the booze talking or whatever personality issues he’s got. But what he claims is Okash is big on punctuality, it just didn’t feel right.” He eyed the mirror. “You wanna watch him go ’round in circles a few more times?”

“No, enough entertainment.”

The moment we cracked the door, Dugong stopped, stared, and tottered toward a table in the center of the room.

I shook his hand.

“Yeah, I saw you the first time.” Sharp gust of grain alcohol. He burped. “Sorry, I fill the tank before I fly. Scares the shit out of me, I like boats.” Slurred voice, red eyes, cracked lips. In a few years he could hang with the likes of Mary Jane Huralnik.

We sat down across from him.

Milo said, “So you were saying Medina’s never late.”

“I mean, she didn’t used to be.”

I said, “Back when you were kids.”

“Yuh.”

“You guys grew up together?”

“No, no, my dad — our dad — he moved around.” Head shake. “He was a dog and a total asshole. Our mothers hated each other.” A beat. “So we also did.”

I said, “Fighting your mothers’ battles.”

Dugong chewed his lip. His eyes narrowed in concentration; weighing a novel concept. “Guess so.”

“So when did you and Medina start talking again?”

“Last year. I... okay, I’ll be straight, I had a meth problem, got out of rehab but couldn’t find a job on a boat, you know? So I started painting again. I always done it. Drawing, painting, doing collage, anything art. In rehab they said I was good. So I went to Art Basel, it’s this big winter thing in Miami.”

I said, “Showing your stuff there is huge, Geoff.”

Dugong looked at the table. “I wasn’t showing, I got hired to move stuff around.”

“Like a grip?”

“What’s that?”

“Guys who move stuff on movie sets.”

“Yeah, like that. It was shit work for thirteen an hour with faggots ordering you around. But I figured get close to the art, see what’s selling. That’s when Medina saw me. I’m pushing a hand truck, she’s with these rich assholes, dressed in white like a cruise ship, speaking European. We knew each other right away, had saw each other ten years before. His funeral. I wouldn’ta said anything but she did this.”

He held up a wait-a-second finger.

I said, “Wanting you to stick around.”

“Yeah. She finished with the Europeans, it was almost my break so we had coffee. I was like, what do you want, we never got along. But turned out to be a good deal, she’s mellow, we talk, she finds out I paint, she just got her own gallery in L.A., if I come up with something she can use, she’ll look at it. So I walked out on that shit job, got back to the Keys, and went crazy painting. Did a couple of water scenes and sent her a photo and she said great but she needed something more conceptual. I’m like what? She’s like an idea — a concept. Then she tells me about the candles, I say sure, that’s easier than water. I do a candle, send her a photo, she says great, now we’re in business, do a bunch more. She pays to have everything sent here, pays to fly me out. Round-trip.”

“She handled everything.”

“She’s good at that. Organized, you know? So when she’s not there, it feels wrong. ’Cause yeah, she is big on time. Doing things organized. Then your redhead dude shows up — what was he doing there, anyway? Cool guy, though. For one a your — he was okay to me.”

I said, “What’s behind the back door?”

“Huh?”

“The door that leads to the parking lot.”

“The back room.”

“We saw a small storage room but there’s something behind that.”

“Another back room, empty,” said Dugong.

Milo said, “So you got worried.”

“Fuck, yeah, you think?” Sharp glints livened Dugong’s eyes, jagged, like fissures in overheated glass. The spade of beard quivered, large, inked hands rolled naturally into fists. His knuckles were glossy, heaped with keloid scarring.

Souvenirs of the red zone. Which was where he was edging now, without warning.

Milo sat taller and stared him down.

Dugong forced his hands open, rubbed the side of his neck, tried, without success, to smile. “Sorry, sometimes I get inpatient.”

“No prob, Geoff. You’re under stress.”

“Zactly. Makes no sense, like at the show, she gave me shit for being ten minutes late and it wasn’t even my fault, driver was some Armenian asshole, got messed up by one-way streets. Ten minutes and she reams me. Like really reams me. It put me in a shit mood. That’s why you saw me being in a shit mood.”

He cracked his knuckles. “I’m working on it. Keeping it even... maybe I’m making a big fucking deal but it feels off, that’s all I can say. I don’t want problems with you guys so when Redhead Dude says he’s calling the boss, I say sure, flight’s already gone, what the fuck.”

Milo said, “Where’ve you been staying in L.A., Geoff?”

“Caribbean Motel in Hollywood. I been in worse.”

“You never stayed at Medina’s place.”

“No way, we both like our space. We never lived together, he just went back and forth depending on who he wanted to fu— He was a dog and an asshole and now we agree on that.”

I said, “You and your sister are used to living separately.”

“I never thought of her as my sister,” said Dugong. “Even now, with the show, it wasn’t a family thing, more like... we had something we could both do. She hung my stuff, threw the party, we sold a couple, we both made out. So are you gonna look for her?”

Milo said, “Definitely, Geoff. Have you checked to see if she went back home? Maybe left her car at the gallery and took her own Uber?”

Dugong thought. Slow-breathed with effort that creased his forehead. A man fated to battle emotion. Maybe neural pathways disrupted by meth. Maybe he’d gone for speed because something had always been wrong.

Milo said, “I’m not trying to stress you, Geoff.”

“I know, I know.” Dugong took hold of his beard, squeezed, let go. “Sorry, it’s just the questions, it’s like a storm in my head... I told you her phone doesn’t answer, how can I check?”

“Good point, Geoff. Sorry, I’m just used to asking questions.”

“She had my money and she promised to take me — I’m not making this up in my head.”

Convincing himself.

Milo said, “Of course not, Geoff.”

Yank of the beard. “Good, good — sometimes I need to know I’m making sense.” Dugong licked his lips.

Milo said, “Want some water or coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Change your mind, let me know, Geoff. Now I’d like to show you some pictures and you tell me if you’ve ever seen any of these people with Medina.”

“What kind of people?” said Dugong.

“Possible social contacts. Maybe folks who were at the show.”

“Why?”

“If we’re gonna do a good search, Geoff, we need to know as much as we can about her social life.”

Flimsy premise. Dugong said, “Sure, go for it.”

No reactions to any of the victims until he saw Benny Alvarez’s photo.

“That’s the retarded dude, worked at the gallery.” Red eyes slitted. “Why you showing me that? He got killed.”

“Medina told you?”

“She said that’s why you were there. She was pretty freaked out.”

“That he was killed or that we were there?”

“Both. I guess. This was later, after the show. She was pissed off and not talking to me. I say okay, here goes, own your shit, asshole, like they tell you in rehab. So I say sor-ree. She shines me on, I say it again. She says I couldn’ta picked a worse time, she’s trying to run a show and sell my stuff and I’m acting like a big baby and on top of it you guys just showed up and told her the retarded dude got killed.”

I said, “His name’s Benny.”

“She said that, too.”

“What was Benny like?”

“Like? He was retarded, didn’t talk much. Little dude, didn’t seem like he’d get in anyone’s face. So who killed him?”

Milo said, “We’re trying to find out.”

Dugong’s eyes bugged. “Oh, shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Geoff?”

Red eyes rose. “I see what you’re getting at. Oh, fuck.”

“What, Geoff?”

“He works there, she works there, you think the same could happen to her as him. Something about that place? Bad karma, whatever? Oh, shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Geoff.”

Dugong pouted. Curiously vulnerable moue, out of place on a grizzled face. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no reason to connect Medina to Benny.”

“Really? You’re not shitting me?”

“Absolutely not, Geoff. First thing we’ll do is head over to Medina’s place, for all we know she came down with something and decided to go to bed.”

“We? You and me?”

Milo smiled. “No, just us, Geoff.”

“She’s sick why wouldn’t she call me? She knew when my flight was leaving because she’d boughten the ticket — oh, fuck, I need to buy another — you think maybe they’d give it to me free ’cause it’s not my fault? Oh, fuck, I need to find out when there are other flights.”

He held the sides of his head. Murmured, “All this shit to do.”

Milo said, “No guarantees, Geoff, but we’ll talk to the airlines, tell them it was an emergency. Why don’t you find out first if there is another flight.”

“Yeah...” Dugong reached into a pocket and pulled out an older Android with a cracked screen.

Milo glanced at me. Not a burner.

He clicked for a while, made errors, cursed, finally connected. “Okay... there’s another in... like five hours. I got to get over there. So you’ll write me a note or something?”

“We’ll do better, Geoff. We’ll drive you over and talk to the airline personally. What’s your cell number?”

Dugong told him. His fingers waved wildly. “I need to get my cats from the dude I left them with.”

I said, “You’re a cat person, huh?”

“Got three strays, they love me.”

“No dogs?”

“Cats are better, do their own thing.”

“Medina into dogs?”

“Not that she said. Can we go? I need to go?”

“Anything else you want to tell us, Geoff?”

Dugong tapped a foot, blinked, played with his beard. “I hope she’s okay. I want to sell more art.”