dontravis.com blog post #587
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BJ is in
Farmington, New Mexico with a young man named Aggie Alfano (son of a California
wine mogul) trying to locate his gay brother Lando and Lando’s lover Dana, who
have disappeared while traveling the state. BJ picks up a hint of trouble
between the two young men that might involve someone named Jazz Penrod.
He checks
with his Farmington Police contact Sgt. Dixie Lee to see if she knows the kid:
The kid had first come to the department’s
attention the day he turned thirteen when he broke a bottle over his father’s
head during a drunken domestic brawl. The prosecutors decided he was acting in
defense of his mother, so no juvie charges were filed. Within a month, he was
back in their sights when a cop caught a twenty-two-year-old man in a
compromising position with him. Since Jazz was a minor, the entire weight of
the law fell upon the adult, who was charged with child sexual abuse. The next
time it was a high school senior basketball player who suffered the consequences.
“There’s not much here except for sexual
liaisons and the beer bottle incident with his father,” I said. “Just a
shoplifting charge last year that was dismissed.”
“Yeah. We looked into it, and it was clear
the accusation was payback when Jazz spurned some guy’s advances.”
“No fighting. Nothing like that,” I
continued. “That’s unusual, especially the lack of fighting. I’d think an
obvious gay would be in scrapes all the time around here.”
“Probably would be except for his older
brother and his uncle. He’s got protectors on both sides of the family. Henry
Secatero, his half-brother, is more of a father than Louie Secatero ever was.
Henry’s a tough guy, and if anybody plows into Jazz….” Dix faltered, apparently
tripping over on her choice of words. “That is, if anybody attacks Jazz, they
have him to deal with. Henry’s been in trouble more than once over situations
like that, but it’s never anything serious enough for more than a night in
jail.”
“How old is Henry?”
“Around twenty-eight or so.”
“Native American, I take it,” Aggie
interjected.
“You take it right.”
“You said something about protection from
the other side of the family, too,” I said.
“His mother’s brother, Riley Penrod has
always been protective of his nephew. Riley’s been in a few fistfights over
Jazz. Not as much and not as violently as Henry, but enough so you’d sit up and
take notice. So word got around pretty quick not to lean on Jazz.”
She did that thing with the curl of hair
at her shoulder. “Of course, Jazz does all right on his own. He looks like an
angel, but he fights like a devil.”
I tapped the folder in her hand. “Nothing
about that in there from the quick glance I saw.”
“No, he’s always been the victim. That is
to say, the other guy threw the first punch, but Jazz gets in his quota. You
wouldn’t think it from looking at the kid. He’s long and lanky, but he’s got a
set of muscles hidden under his shirt. Here, take a look for yourself.”
Even the kid’s mug shot, taken for the
bogus shoplifting charge, was something. A spectacularly handsome adolescent
peered out from the image through dark, smoky eyes. Full, blushed lips. High,
smooth cheeks. Gracefully arched brows that ended in a slight, upward twist,
giving the teen an impish look. Raven hair spilled down on his neck in an ebony
halo, slightly wavy and looking silky to the touch. Jazz Penrod was saved from
androgyny by an Adam’s apple and the defined, definitely male slope of his
shoulders. I got the feeling that in person, the kid was graceful, maybe even
excessively so, but not a mama’s boy. I could understand how he came by his
reputation. With those sultry, exotic looks, he’d get plenty of action by just
crooking his little finger—or better yet, lifting one of those eyebrows. There
was little of his mother in the image; he probably resembled Louis, his father.
He
and Aggie find Jazz the next day. BJ is speaking.
“Look across the street. The kid walking
west.”
“It’s him. It’s the Penrod kid, isn’t it?”
“Think so, but I can’t be sure.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
I pulled out and turned back toward our
rooms. “We will. But I don’t want to spook him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The kid’s gay. He’s receptive to the
attention of presentable men, so—”
“Hell, we’re presentable. Let’s go.”
“Not we. Me. You look too much like your
brother. You wait in my room while I try to pick him up. If I can, I’ll bring
him back for a chat.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I let Aggie into my room and drove out
onto Main. For a moment, I thought I’d lost Penrod, but then I spotted him far
down the street. That long-legged gait ate up the distance.
I drove past, confirming it was Jazz.
Pulling a U in full view of him, I approached at a crawl. His stride shortened
as he eyed the car. I halted ten paces in front of him and leaned across the
seat so he could get a good look at me.
The “stare” is a standard move for a lot
of gays on the make, but in New Mexico it is a complicated maneuver. Many
Native American cultures have an eye avoidance custom, considering it rude.
Gangbangers take it as dissing, a challenge to their machismo. A lot of
straights feel it’s an invasion of their space; it makes them uncomfortable.
Jazz Penrod didn’t have a problem with it; his gaze locked onto mine.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” His smile displayed a row of
straight, sparkling white teeth. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe you can. I’m new in town. Just here
for a couple of days. You look like a fellow who can tell me where the action
is.”
“Depends on what kind of action you’re
looking for.”
“Why don’t you get in the car, and we’ll
discuss it. Maybe we can go back to my motel room to talk at leisure.”
“Where you staying?”
I motioned with my head. “Down the street.
Trail’s End.”
He did a half turn and looked toward the
motel. “Don’t see why not.” He stepped off the curb, grasped the door handle,
and slid into the passenger’s seat. “My name’s Jazz.”
I accepted the handshake, noting the
strength of his grip, which argued Jazz Penrod worked for his living, although
exactly what kind of work seemed to be a mystery.
“BJ. Up from Albuquerque for a visit.”
“BJ. Like the initials?”
I nodded.
“Here on business?”
“In a way.”
As I pulled out onto the street, his eyes
raked me. “Go in the back way,” he directed. “I know the girl who works in the
office there.”
“You mean Melissa? She seems like a decent
sort.”
“She is, but….” He left the rest unsaid.
I turned away from the office and circled
around behind the building in order to reach my room. Jazz got out of the car
and waited until I unlocked the door. As I moved aside, he stepped into the
room where he abruptly halted.
“What is this?” He backed up, bumping into
me. “I don’t do threesomes.”
“Not asking you to.” I applied pressure to
his broad shoulders. “Just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“No, thanks. I gotta be someplace.”
I managed to close the door and lean
against it, blocking his way. “Hear me out, and then you can leave if you want.
Won’t take but a minute.”
Jazz stepped forward, giving me some room.
He motioned toward Aggie sitting on the edge of the bed. “I know you. Well, I
mean….”
“Looks just like his brother, doesn’t he?”
“You’re Lando’s brother?”
“I’m Aggie Alfano.”
“Look, man, Lando and Dana came on to me.
I didn’t—”
“Nobody’s pissed, Jazz,” I assured him.
“We just need some answers. Dana and Lando are missing, and we’re trying to
find out what happened to them.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, and their car went over the Rio
Grande Gorge near Taos the other day, although neither of them was in it.”
“No shit? That Porsche? Man, that was a
bitchin’ ride.”
“Sit down,” I indicated one of the two
chairs at a small table. “Let’s see if we can figure out a couple of things.”
I examined the young man as he strolled to
the table and settled into a seat. Although the photo Dix Lee had shown us
looked vaguely androgynous, the flesh and blood Jazz Penrod exuded a powerful
masculinity. But there was something else at work, too. Some sense of
vulnerability, approachability. This guy could probably raise the pulse rate of
half the men and women in town. He tossed his head, throwing his
shoulder-length hair back. Seductive as hell, and he wasn’t even trying.
“When did you meet Lando and Dana?” I
asked.
“I don’t remember the exact date, but I
know it was a Sunday night a couple of weeks ago.” His voice was a light
baritone with a husky quality. The inflection on some of his words was
different—he almost swallowed the final syllables. Yet, he came across loud and
clear.
I took out the calendar I’d worked up for
Lando’s trip and made a notation. “That would have been August 12, right?”
He shrugged. “I guess. I know they’d gone
to the Aztec Ruins that day because they talked about it.”
“You met them at the Sidewinder?”
“Yeah. We got to talking, and they bought
me a drink or two.”
“We understand Lando and Dana got into an
argument at the bar. Was that over you?”
Jazz smiled. “Nope. They were arguing
about where to go the next day. Lando wanted to go see the Bisti Badlands, but
Dana wanted to try the Salmon Ruins.”
“That was it? That caused an argument?”
“Not really an argument, but,” Jazz cut
his eyes to where Aggie sat on the bed, “Lando did this Italian thing. You
know, getting earnest when he talked.”
Aggie chuckled aloud. “You got him down
pat, Jazz. That’s my brother. Italian.”
“So did you go back to the motel with them
when they left the bar?” I asked.
Jazz shook his head. “No.”
“Look, we need the truth, okay?”
“Uh-uh, I didn’t go to the motel with
them, but they gave me a ride back to town and dropped me off at my place. It
was their decision, not mine,” he added. “They were pretty much into each
other—that night, anyway.”
“But you saw them again and decided to get
between them.”
“Not exactly. I mean, I saw them again. I
went to the Salmon Ruins with them the next day, but I wasn’t trying to cause
trouble.”
“But that’s the way it turned out, right?”
I asked. The skin around those expressive black eyes tightened; I recognized
stubbornness when I saw it. “Jazz, those guys might be in real trouble. We need
to know everything that happened. Some trivial little detail might turn out to
be important. You caused some trouble between them—right or wrong?”
“Okay. Yeah, Lando caught me flirting with
Dana at the pueblo. Pissed him off, but he got mad at Dana, not me.”
I decided to push. “Come on, Lando was a
good-looking guy. He owned the car, and he was the guy with the money.”
Jazz came halfway out of his seat. “Hey,
man, I’m no whore. I only go with guys I like.”
I nodded at Aggie. “What’s not to like?
And from the picture I’ve seen, Lando’s even better looking than his brother.”
“Yeah,” the kid said, settling back in his
chair again. “He was fucking beautiful. But Dana was, too. And I like guys who
don’t look like me. You know, with the same dark hair, dark eyes—like me.” With
a sideways look at Aggie, he gave a grin. “I’d go for you before him. That’s
cool hair. Brown, but not really brown either. Reminds me of coffee with cream
in it. And I like green eyes—you know, like emeralds.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I understand
how it went now. So Lando got steamed?”
“Yeah. They got in an argument—a real one
this time. I guess I shoulda felt bad, but I didn’t.”
“You like two good-looking guys fighting
over you?”
“Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? But it wasn’t
like that. Lando didn’t get his nose outa joint because I didn’t come on to
him; he just didn’t want Dana to get with me. They argued all the way back to
town. But you know after awhile, I got the feeling they weren’t really arguing
about me. Something was bothering them, all right, but it wasn’t me.”
“They never said what it was?” He shook
his head. “But you went back to the motel with them, didn’t you?” I said.
“Yeah. I got out in front of the motel to
walk home, but I heard Lando say he was going down the street to take care of
some business at a gallery. Something about a painting he wanted to buy.”
“And he left you alone with Dana.”
“Not really. Like I said, I got out in
front of the motel and started up the street, but when Lando pulled out alone,
I went back—you know, to apologize to Dana. He invited me inside.”
“So you got together with Dana?” Aggie’s
voice held a trace of anger.
The insolent grin returned. “Yeah, we did
it.”
“And Lando caught you?” Aggie pressed.
“No, but it took longer then we planned,
and I was just walking up the street when the Porsche came back. Lando might
have seen me on the sidewalk, but I’m not really sure.”
Aggie and I exchanged glances. That
explained the fight that almost came to blows Melissa had described.
Next week,
Jazz in Abaddon’s Locusts. Has he changed?
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Don
