dontravis.com blog post #476
On July 7, I posted part of Chapter 1 of my new novel now making its way through the Dreamspinner publication process. Inasmuch as I received the 3rd Edit for my review today, we’re getting closer to a release date. Since this is fresh on my mind, I’d like to give you more of the novel.
****
I swung my feet off the corner
of the desk and sat up straight. “Called him on the way back from Santa Fe
yesterday.”
Hazel frowned. “Any relation
to Zancon Zapata?” Hazel had taught alongside my parents in the Albuquerque
public school system and had been my mom’s best friend. When I lost my parents
to a car wreck, she’d appropriated the job of surrogate mother. Fortunately,
her late-life marriage to my business partner Charlie Weeks eased that burden. Even
though Hazel didn’t totally understand my lifestyle, she’d grown as protective
of Paul as she was of me, and she knew every detail of what the Saints had done
to him.
“Somebody killed Juan Zapata’s
boy. He’s entitled to the same respect as any other paying customer.” The word paying
would get to her faster than any other explanation. She nodded and disappeared.
A moment later, she ushered a
younger, healthier version of Zancon into my inner office. The man’s overcoat
was damp from scattered snowflakes falling outside. Thank goodness my trip to
Santa Fe came yesterday. Today’s snowfall didn’t amount to much in the city,
but if it was flurrying here, it was likely heavier in the mountains. I stood
and gripped the man’s outstretched hand.
“I’m Juan Zapata. I understand
my brother filled you in on my problem yesterday.”
“B. J. Vinson. Everyone calls
me BJ. Zancon told me about your son’s death but gave me no details. Said you’d
explain it.”
Juan flushed and took the seat
I indicated. “Sounds like something he’d do. My son was gay, Mr…. uh, BJ. And
that’s something Zancon can’t deal with.”
“Why don’t you fill me in?”
The man on the other side of
my desk blew through his nostrils in exasperation. “I don’t know a hell of a
lot. I misspoke saying Matt was gay. He was probably bisexual. He’s had a couple
of girlfriends over the years, but I suspect he’s had a few boyfriends, as well.”
Score another one for Zancon.
He not only wanted me to kill his gay nephew’s murderer, but he’d come to a gay
investigator with the request. Probably figured it took one to know one. Some
things never change.
“Let’s start with the basics,”
I said. “Tell me about Mateo. I understand he was eighteen. Was he still in
school? Live at home? Have his own place? Show me the young man before you tell
me about his murder.”
Juan took me literally,
dragging out his billfold and handing over a snapshot. The kid almost took my
breath away. Beautiful eyes the color of rich humus. Curly hair so dark it was barely
short of black. Thin nose, broad sensual lips. This guy was movie star handsome
with enough irregularity to his features to render him sexy.
Juan sighed before starting
down the road of his son’s short life. “Mateo… Matt… finished high school last
year, a year ahead of most of his classmates and enrolled at the University of
New Mexico. He wanted to be a commercial photographer. But I think that was
just so he understood the camera. His real ambition was to be a professional
model.”
“He had the looks for it. Did
he live on campus?”
Juan shook his head. “Had a
small one-bedroom apartment on Princeton. Half a block south of Central. Easy
walk to his classes.”
I learned a lot about Matt
Zapata while his father worked around to something obviously difficult to face,
the thing Zancon hadn’t wanted to discuss yesterday. Matt was a swimmer. A
tennis player. A whiz at poker. Popular with girls and guys alike. Played a
mean guitar and had a decent singing voice. Finally, Juan hesitated. He’d
arrived at his destination.
“Although I provided for his
needs, Matt was always independent. He’d recently taken a job. I discouraged
the idea, saying he ought to enjoy these college years, but he wouldn’t listen.”
He was dragging his feet
again, so I cut straight to the chase. “What kind of job.”
Juan averted his eyes. “He
never actually told me, but from what I can gather, he was an escort. He… ah,
he was an amazing kid. He fit in any social circle you could imagine. And when
he dressed up in a suit or tux, he was really something.”
“Who did he work for?”
Juan tapped the arm of his
chair, a nervous gesture. “Best I can figure, he was freelance. He booked his
calls through a phone service. He was new to it. Only had a few assignments
before… before….”
“Did he die on one of those
assignments?”
Juan Zapata dropped his head
to his chest. “I don’t know. He… he was found on the West Mesa.”
He swallowed hard, but I could
see he had more to say. “And?”
“My son was naked. At least
that’s what they tell me. And….”
I spared him the agony of
continuing. “Let me get a copy of the police report and talk to a couple of
people, then we’ll discuss this again.”
“So you’ll take the case?”
“At the moment, I don’t see
why not. Is there a question in your mind about it?”
He lifted anguished eyes. “My
brother is someone you shot and put behind bars. My son might have been a call
boy. So—”
Mr. Zapata… Juan, was Matt a
good man?”
“To me he was.”
“And his life was taken from
him. Tell me, are you looking for justice for your son or revenge?”
A startled look passed over
his face before understanding dawned. “I am seeking justice, BJ. Find the bastard
who killed Matt and get him tried, convicted, and locked up for the rest of his
life.”
I thought for a moment.
“Locked up in Santa Fe where Zancon is waiting.”
“Send him somewhere else, I
don’t care. Just so he can’t slaughter someone else’s son.”
“The police can do that for
you.”
Juan dry washed his face.
“Zancon and I agree on one thing. The cops will take one look and consider it simply
as some gang killing a queer. I want someone fighting for me. For Matt.”
“I need to clear this with a
couple of people first, but who your brother is and what you think your son
might have been will have nothing to do with my answer. I should be able to
call you by Monday afternoon.”
“You haven’t mentioned your
fees. Please rest assured I’m willing to meet them. And the funds will be mine,
not Zancon’s.” He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of
paper. “I’ve taken the liberty of writing a retainer check. Please let me know
if it’s adequate.
I glanced at the amount. “This
will do just fine.”
After he took his leave, I talked
to the two people who had to be consulted, Charlie and Hazel Weeks, the retired
cop who happened to be my partner in Vinson and Weeks, Confidential Investigations,
and my office manager. They expressed no reservations about the case. Hazel
even smiled when I laid the retainer in front of her.
****
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