Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (top 5 ebook reader .txt) 📗

She eyed me curiously. “I guess that’s true at that.”

Voices made her turn and look. They were men’s voices, young, laughing, speaking Chinese. They came walking along a concrete pathway among the trees, from the entrance to the block. Their clothes had the vulgar elegance of Italian designers. A Lexus parked across from us flashed and bleeped as they approached it. They stepped into the glow of a streetlight, and I recognized one of them as Zak Zhu, Chen’s younger brother. They all climbed into the car and took off. I let them get ahead of us a way and followed. I had a pretty good idea where they were going, so I could afford to give them space.

They turned right onto West Ninety-Seventh and then left at the end of the block onto Columbus. I settled back and said, “If I’m right, it’ll now be a straight line all the way to West Fifth-Second.”

I was. We cruised for five or ten minutes along Columbus and onto Ninth. On Ninth I turned right into West Fifty-Third and parked. Then we walked through the drizzle to West Fifty-Second and found the Therapy Bar, a well-known gay nightclub. I’d been told it was a regular hangout for him and, as I’d expected, he was there. The Lexus was parked with its hazards flashing, and he was leaning in through the driver’s window. I figured his friend was going to find somewhere to park. I smiled at Dehan and said, “Come on, darling, let me get a picture of you.”

She struck a pose, and I took a picture of Zak.

It was midweek, so it wasn’t very crowded, and we pushed inside. Red and blue flashing lights made the visibility poor, but I figured it would be good enough. We made our way to the bar and ordered two beers. I stood with my back to the door, and Dehan kept a watch on who came in. The thumping was so loud, conversation and thought were practically impossible. But this wasn’t a place you came to think or talk. After a moment, she leaned into me and said, “He’s just come in.”

I threw back my head and laughed like she’d said something hilarious. She laughed too and picked up her cell. I struck a pose, and she took another picture of Zak. I turned and surveyed the scene. Zak and his pals were sitting at a corner table. Since they’d walked through the door, their gestures and mannerisms had become exaggerated. They managed to be more effeminate than any woman I had ever seen. They left their things at the table and ran with little steps to the dance floor. Zak was wearing torn jeans and a string vest, which he removed while he danced. After that he and his friends proceeded to display their sexual proclivities in an unequivocal and unabashed fashion, while Dehan and I made a video record of their unrestrained social statements.

So far the evening had gone without a hitch, exactly as I had hoped. It was as I was paying and we were about to head for the door that things started to turn problematic. I noticed a large presence at my elbow. I looked and the guy must have been six foot seven if he was an inch. He had a bald head and a Freddy Mercury moustache. To complete the stereotype, he had chosen a T-shirt with black-and-white horizontal stripes. His voice was big enough to drown out the thumping of the music. Oddly, his accent was South African.

“You bin filming a lot, mate.”

I gave him a friendly grin and said, “Yuh, ve are from Nor-vey. Ve loff de crazy New York scene.” I held out my hand. “I am Rune, and zis is my vife, Inga.”

His face said he thought I was a clown and not a very funny one. He ignored my hand and nodded at my cell. “All your pictures and movies are of the sem guy.”

“Yuh! He is vild, yuh?”

“Your exent is not Norwegian… Who are you? Why are you stalking Zek?”

I nodded vigorously like I hadn’t heard him, but I was being polite, and I took Dehan’s hand in mine and began to push past him.

“Yah, yah! Vee moost goink now!”

He put a hand like a small cow on my chest and said, “Why heff you bin filming Zek?”

Dehan came in real close to him and crooked her finger. He bent down to listen to her, and I saw his eyes bulge. I heard her shout in his ear. “Zis is fot vee are callingk zee Norwegian nut cruncher. Sit down unt drinking zee visky or vee are blowingk you fuckingk head off. Vee are makingk ourselves understood, yuh?”

I smiled at the barkeep while Dehan eased our Seth Efrikan friend onto a stool. I pointed at him, mouthed, “Double Scotch,” and showed with my fingers it should be a big one. I put ten bucks on the bar. Least I could do was pay for his drink. We moved toward the door while the Veldt Wonder wept into his whiskey. As we pushed out, we heard a shout and made off at a run toward Ninth Avenue. I glanced back as we dodged through the traffic and saw a small plume of angry, half-dressed young men explode into the street.

We made it to Fifty-Third and climbed into my car. Nobody was following us, but I didn’t waste time. I fired up the engine and turned onto Tenth Avenue, and headed north toward the Bronx and the 43rd precinct.

“I’m going to download the pictures onto my laptop and print them,” I said. “You want me to drop you at your apartment?”

She shrugged. “I could crash on your couch and we could make an early start in the morning.”

I didn’t