right?”
“You must be mistaken,” said Passion. “There is only one Passion Faust.” He performed a double snap and point, bringing his fingers to point toward his crotch.
“I’m thinking Gill didn’t tell his manager the whole truth about his sexcapades,” said Shay. “Mr. Faust, you want to sit down so we can talk?”
“Preferably in a dark corner,” I said. “Somewhere you might get lost in the gloom.”
“Or not,” said Shay with a bit of a grin and a moony look in her eyes. “You know, whatever.”
“Follow me,” he said, bringing his hand out gracefully.
We settled for a mood-lit ring of sofa chairs in the back. Passion’s glistening caramel skin shone in the low light, but at least I couldn’t make out the bulge of his man parts against his sparkling thong anymore.
“So,” said Shay. “I don’t know what Fanny told you, but we’re investigating the murder of one of your clients. Darryl Gill?”
“Yes. Extremely sad,” said Passion, drawing an index finger and thumb across his smooth cheeks. “I liked Darryl very much. He was one of my favorite clients. Very gentle hands. Coarse, but tender.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night,” said Passion.
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes,” said Passion. “He came in at his usual time, around eight. We spent a passionate few hours together, and he left around eleven.”
“Did Darryl seem nervous or agitated at all?” asked Shay.
“Not especially,” said Passion, shifting in his seat. “He’d had a bit of a rough day—endured some verbal abuse from one of his work encounters—but nothing out of the ordinary. If he’d carried any tension in his shoulders, it was long gone by the time I was done with him.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Did Gill confide in you much?”
“Of course,” said Passion. “We were lovers, in every sense of the word.”
Except in the sense that didn’t involve payment, I thought to myself. “So did Gill mention to you any trouble he might’ve been in? Did he ever talk to you about anyone who he thought might be out to get him? Or hurt him?”
Passion shook his head. “We took part in some rather imaginative role-playing on occasion, some involving compromising situations, including, dare I say it, one involving naughty police officers—” He lifted a high-arching eyebrow. “—but no, he never mentioned anything like that to me.”
“Can you think of anything about Mr. Gill that might’ve seemed odd or unusual?” asked Shay. “Even small details may be helpful to us in solving his murder.”
Passion tapped his chin as he stared at the paneled ceiling. “Hmm. I’m not sure, detectives. Gill was a sweet man. Lonely, and a little misunderstood—he mentioned on several occasions how his heart wasn’t in his profession. It caused too much strife in his life. But apparently the money was good. He never lacked funds to pay me, that’s for certain.” Passion flicked his hand in the air. “And that’s about it, I suppose. I’m not sure what else to say.”
I sat there, rubbing my hands together and wondering if there was a reason Passion wasn’t making eye contact when Rodgers and Quinto returned.
“Hey guys,” said Rodgers. “Looks like we might’ve caught a break.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“One of the bouncers at the door was working last night,” said Quinto. “Said he noticed a creeper hanging outside the front. Bouncer said he knows the type. Dirt poor, loveless, sullen. Says some of them walk up and down the street, hoping to catch glimpses of naughty stuff through the windows. But this guy wasn’t walking. Just hung around the club.”
“The bouncer didn’t think anything of it,” said Rodgers, “until we mentioned Gill’s name. Then the bouncer remembered—the guy who was hanging out disappeared around the same time Gill left.”
I smiled. “Well…that’s an unlikely coincidence.”
“Did the bouncer
“You must be mistaken,” said Passion. “There is only one Passion Faust.” He performed a double snap and point, bringing his fingers to point toward his crotch.
“I’m thinking Gill didn’t tell his manager the whole truth about his sexcapades,” said Shay. “Mr. Faust, you want to sit down so we can talk?”
“Preferably in a dark corner,” I said. “Somewhere you might get lost in the gloom.”
“Or not,” said Shay with a bit of a grin and a moony look in her eyes. “You know, whatever.”
“Follow me,” he said, bringing his hand out gracefully.
We settled for a mood-lit ring of sofa chairs in the back. Passion’s glistening caramel skin shone in the low light, but at least I couldn’t make out the bulge of his man parts against his sparkling thong anymore.
“So,” said Shay. “I don’t know what Fanny told you, but we’re investigating the murder of one of your clients. Darryl Gill?”
“Yes. Extremely sad,” said Passion, drawing an index finger and thumb across his smooth cheeks. “I liked Darryl very much. He was one of my favorite clients. Very gentle hands. Coarse, but tender.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night,” said Passion.
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes,” said Passion. “He came in at his usual time, around eight. We spent a passionate few hours together, and he left around eleven.”
“Did Darryl seem nervous or agitated at all?” asked Shay.
“Not especially,” said Passion, shifting in his seat. “He’d had a bit of a rough day—endured some verbal abuse from one of his work encounters—but nothing out of the ordinary. If he’d carried any tension in his shoulders, it was long gone by the time I was done with him.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Did Gill confide in you much?”
“Of course,” said Passion. “We were lovers, in every sense of the word.”
Except in the sense that didn’t involve payment, I thought to myself. “So did Gill mention to you any trouble he might’ve been in? Did he ever talk to you about anyone who he thought might be out to get him? Or hurt him?”
Passion shook his head. “We took part in some rather imaginative role-playing on occasion, some involving compromising situations, including, dare I say it, one involving naughty police officers—” He lifted a high-arching eyebrow. “—but no, he never mentioned anything like that to me.”
“Can you think of anything about Mr. Gill that might’ve seemed odd or unusual?” asked Shay. “Even small details may be helpful to us in solving his murder.”
Passion tapped his chin as he stared at the paneled ceiling. “Hmm. I’m not sure, detectives. Gill was a sweet man. Lonely, and a little misunderstood—he mentioned on several occasions how his heart wasn’t in his profession. It caused too much strife in his life. But apparently the money was good. He never lacked funds to pay me, that’s for certain.” Passion flicked his hand in the air. “And that’s about it, I suppose. I’m not sure what else to say.”
I sat there, rubbing my hands together and wondering if there was a reason Passion wasn’t making eye contact when Rodgers and Quinto returned.
“Hey guys,” said Rodgers. “Looks like we might’ve caught a break.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“One of the bouncers at the door was working last night,” said Quinto. “Said he noticed a creeper hanging outside the front. Bouncer said he knows the type. Dirt poor, loveless, sullen. Says some of them walk up and down the street, hoping to catch glimpses of naughty stuff through the windows. But this guy wasn’t walking. Just hung around the club.”
“The bouncer didn’t think anything of it,” said Rodgers, “until we mentioned Gill’s name. Then the bouncer remembered—the guy who was hanging out disappeared around the same time Gill left.”
I smiled. “Well…that’s an unlikely coincidence.”
“Did the bouncer
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