“Be a good idea to get some rest yourself. How’d you get here? Bus?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll wait for you, give you a ride home.”
“No, thanks. I’ll stay until visiting hours are over.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Suit yourself,” Runyon said. “Couple of quick questions before you go. You spend much time at The Dark Spot?”
“What does that… No, not a lot of time. Now and then, but Kenneth isn’t comfortable with me around while he’s working. It makes him nervous.”
“You know a guy named Troy? Early twenties, blond, angelic face?”
“Troy? I don’t think so. Why?”
“Roundabout lead I’m pursuing.”
“Did you ask Kenneth? He knows all the Dark Spot regulars.”
“I asked him,” Runyon said. “He doesn’t know Troy.”
Gene Zalesky was home tonight, but not as friendly as he’d been on Monday. He left the chain on when he answered the door, said through the opening, “I have company. Can’t you come back tomorrow?”
“I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“What is it? I told you everything I know Monday night.”
“Not everything. Not about you and Troy.”
Thick silence this time.
“Better let me in,” Runyon said.
Reluctantly Zalesky complied. Nervous concern showed on his bruised and bandaged face, and his cynicism seemed tempered with resignation. No bluster or defiance, though, which meant he was going to be cooperative. The Gene Zaleskys of the world were usually cooperative when push came to shove: survival mechanism of the intelligent and downtrodden misfit.
They went into the antiques-strewn living room. It was empty; not even the Angora cat was in evidence. If Zalesky really did have company, the guest had been installed in another room. Zalesky preferred not to stand tonight; Runyon watched him lower his battered body onto a Victorian love seat, half turned to his left so that his weight rested on his nonbruised buttock, one leg splayed out in front of him. An awkward position that gave him a vulnerable aspect. Calculated, maybe, so Runyon wouldn’t be too hard on him.
He sighed before he said, “I guess I should have expected this.”
“Chickens and lies, Mr. Zalesky.” Runyon sat on another piece of Victoriana facing him. “They both come home to roost.”
“Homilies from a detective. I’m impressed.” The sarcasm was thin and bleak. “But I don’t see what difference it makes in your investigation, my relationship with Troy.”
“You lied about it.”
“For personal reasons that have nothing to do with the beatings.”
“I don’t know that. Neither do you.”
Zalesky gave him an analytical look. “You’re good at your job, aren’t you. The manhunter type. I don’t think I’d want you coming after me.”
“Then tell me why you lied about Troy.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“You know about him, about us…”
“Not as much as I need to know.”
“I was trying to protect myself, that’s all. You can understand that.”
“Protect yourself from what?”
“Well, my God, possible criminal charges, of course. My company is fairly conservative-they tolerate gay employees, but they take a dim view of negative publicity involving one of us. This beating I suffered is bad enough, but the other… if that came out and charges were filed, I’d be fired in a New York minute.”
“What kind of criminal charges?”
“Troy is underage,” Zalesky said. “You didn’t know that?”
“No, I didn’t. If The Dark Spot serves minors, that’s their problem-”
“I don’t mean drinking age, I mean the legal age of consent. He’s seventeen.”
“So that’s it. A molestation charge, that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“I don’t mess around with underage kids.”
“Neither do I,” Zalesky said miserably. “If I’d known his real age, I wouldn’t have had anything to do with him. I swear it, I wouldn’t have. But he doesn’t look that young, even with that sweet face he looks twenty-one and he claimed to be twenty-one.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “You don’t ask to see someone’s driver’s license in a crowded bar.”
“Bartenders are supposed to. Didn’t Kenneth Hitchcock or one of the others card him?”
“Evidently not. I told you, Troy looks twenty-one, acts twenty-one
… I’ve never seen any seventeen-year-old as outwardly mature as he is.”
“How’d you find out his real age?”
“He told me. One night after we… he let it slip while we were talking. My God, I’ve never gotten out of a bed faster in my life.”
“His bed or yours?”
“Mine. Of course I threw him out immediately. I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid.”
“When was this?”
“Three weeks ago. A Friday night.”
“Seen him since?”
“Once, at The Dark Spot. A few days later. We didn’t speak.”
Runyon asked, “What’s his last name?”
“He said it was Scott, Troy Scott.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, I don’t. I can’t say why… I just had the impression he was lying.”
“And you didn’t ask.”
“Why should I? Not everyone in my world uses his right name.” Wry quirk of his mouth. “It’s the nature of the beast.”
“You know where he lives?”
“He has… had… a room in a house on Hattie Street.”
“Had?”
“I heard he’d moved out. Somebody mentioned that… I don’t remember who. And I don’t know where he went.”
“Where’s Hattie Street?”
“Off Upper Market. A few blocks from here.”
“Number of the house?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s a large Victorian, three or four shades of blue, with a rainbow fanlight over the door. There’s no other like it in the block.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“He said he wanted to be an engineer.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I… don’t think he has a regular job.”
“Hustles? You give him money?”
Zalesky chewed his lip. He said, embarrassment in his voice, “I was afraid you’d ask that. Yes, I gave him money. We called it a loan but we both knew it was nothing of the kind.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars over a period of time.”
“How much time?”
“A week or so.”
Two hundred. Troy hadn’t gotten anywhere near that much from Exeter, not for a one-night stand, but he’d got something, probably. How much from Kenneth? Others? Pretty good living if Troy was as promiscuous as advertised.
“What about his background?” Runyon asked. “He tell you anything about himself when you were together?”
“Not very much, no. He was reticent about that. Every time I asked him a personal question, he said, ‘I’d rather not talk about the past. Now’s what I’m interested in.’ ”
“Any hint as to where he’s from?”
“The Bay Area. He wouldn’t say where, but… I think it might have been South San Francisco.”
“Yes?”
“I mentioned South City once, in some context or other, and he made a face and said something about it being an armpit.”
“Where’d you first meet him? The Dark Spot?”
“Yes.”
“And he picked up others there besides you.”
“Oh, yes,” Zalesky said. “Variety was what Troy was after, not any kind of couples thing. God, he was a horny little bastard. Couldn’t get enough-” He broke off, words and eye contact both. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear the details of my sex life or his.”
“Who else did he sleep with?”
“Does it matter?”
“Names, Mr. Zalesky. As many as you’re sure of.”
“You won’t say where you got them?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“All right. Jerry Butterfield is one I’m sure of. And… Paul Venner. That’s all I can think of at the moment.”
“Kenneth Hitchcock?”
“Kenneth? No… no, I don’t think so.”
“You’re not a very good liar,” Runyon said. “I already know about Kenneth and Troy. And no, I haven’t told my son. I’m not going to and neither are you.”