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.
CHAPTER 22
Stanton drove to Playland with the windows down, enjoying the breeze coming over him. He thought about the charred remains of what had once been a family. They didn’t appear human. It reminded him of the ashen shells he’d seen at Vesuvius when he travelled to Italy as a graduate student for a summer.
He waited in his car a while and read the Brichard file that Gunn had uploaded onto the SDPD server. There were no outstanding debts other than some student loans Jesse Brichard still had with UNLV for his bachelor’s degree. Neither Jesse nor his wife Darlene had a criminal record and neither one had ever called the police on the other.
Stanton flipped through the preliminary report written by the Medical Examiner’s Office. The bodies had been so fragile they crumbled when an attempt was made to move them. Almost no physical evidence was gathered; everything biological had been burned away in the fire, except their teeth. Stanton regretted that they wouldn’t be able to tell if Darlene had been sexually assaulted; there was a massive difference between the motivations of someone that raped her before her death and someone that just lit them on fire to watch their suffering. He also couldn’t rule out a crime of opportunity: someone breaks in for a routine burglary, discovers the family’s still home, and has to deal with them. Based on that assumption, this would be a person they had to get off the street as quickly as possible.
A slight tinge of resentment tugged at his gut. This is the case he should be working right now, not Cisneros. He had a feeling that the person that killed Michael Cisneros was not as dangerous as the man who lit this fire. Gunn should’ve been at this club following up.
Stanton closed the file and stepped out of the car. He walked down to the main entrance and the large black door. Half of the door was open. There was a large man with tattoos on his neck and arms standing in front of the door and a line had formed behind a velvet rope in front of him. Another bouncer was sitting on a stool with a list in his hand, letting in the VIPs.
Stanton flashed his badge and they let him through without a word. The interior of the club was beautifully decorated in silvers and reds and blacks. The dance floor wasn’t far from the entrance and though it wasn’t yet late, it was packed with drunks and those on ecstasy and other stimulants. Many of them would be dancing until five or six in the morning when they would go home to sleep, wake up in the evening, and head out to the clubs again for Saturday night.