Full Release by Marshall Thornton (free novel 24 TXT) 📗

stood up, finished with the pull down machine, he turned and saw me coming. Instantly, he turned away and headed for the leg press. He climbed onto the machine and tried not to look at me, even when I stopped right next to him.

“I’m gonna do three sets and then I’ll be done.” He still didn’t look at me.

I gaped at him. He was pretending not to know me. “Um...I think you remember me,” I said.

He turned and looked right at me. “No, I don’t think so.”

I lowered my voice. “Last week. In the shower.”

He climbed off the machine after having done only a half dozen reps. “Here you go. It’s all yours.”

I stood there fuming, then followed him. He was out on the track jogging. Falling in behind him, I trailed him by about fifteen feet. Most of the outer walls were covered with mirrors, and as we turned a corner, I caught his eye in the mirror. His face reddened with anger.

As we came around again, he veered off the track and made a beeline for the stairs. Slowing to a walk, I stayed right behind him. He hurried down the stairs to the locker room. When he got to his locker, he turned and saw that I’d followed him.

Quickly, he spun his lock and put in his combination. Opening his locker, he grabbed his gym bag and shoved his street clothes into it. I couldn’t believe it. That was how much the guy wanted to get away from me. He wasn’t even going to take a shower, though he obviously needed one. I opened my locker and, like Stripes, shoved my clothes into my gym bag. I was after him moments later.

Catching him in the parking structure, I called out, “Excuse me? Why are you being like this?”

He spun around, angry. “Look. That’s it. That’s all I do, okay? I’m not gay. I just do a friendly little jack off now and then. We’re not gonna go on a date. We’re not gonna hook up some place else. And we’re not gonna end up in some fag marriage. Okay? You got it?”

“I’m not trying to have sex with you,” I explained.

“Great. Have a nice day.” He turned and tried to storm off again. I stayed with him.

“Let me explain. That day, while we were doing what we did, a friend of mine killed himself in my house, except he didn’t kill himself, it just looked like he did. The police think he was murdered and they think I had something to do with it. I need you to tell them you saw me here.”

“I have a wife. I have kids. Sorry.” He took out a set of keys and opened the door to a minivan.

“You don’t have to tell them what we did. You can tell them something else. Tell them we talked in the hot tub, tell them we worked out together, I don’t care as long as you tell them I was here.”

“I don’t even remember what day that was. Sorry.”

He slammed the door of the minivan shut and started it up. As he pulled out, it occurred to me to try and memorize his license plate. But what would be the point? If I told the police this guy had seen me at the gym, he’d tell them he hadn’t. He’d made that clear. That would only make me look worse.

It was dark by the time I drove home from the gym. I couldn’t believe Stripes had turned me down. What kind of person did that? He knew I was at the gym that night. I didn’t believe for a minute he didn’t remember. But he wouldn’t tell the truth, wouldn’t even tell a convenient lie. I couldn’t believe it. Then I start laughing. This was a guy, a married guy, a “straight” guy who liked to jack off in the shower at the gym, and I’m wondering why he doesn’t have what...integrity? What kind of an idiot am I?

That was it, though. My one big idea for solving the whole mess. I had no idea what to do next. I was about to get out of the car when my new phone rang. Unfamiliar with the new phone’s ring, I jumped. Then I snatched it off the console and answered.

“For Heaven’s sake, what happened now?” Peter practically screamed into the phone, as though I was doing this all on purpose just to annoy him.

“The police think Eddie was murdered.”

“Murdered? You said he hung himself in the garage.”

“Actually, he was strangled in my bed then hung in the garage,” I explained.

“Clearly, he was killed by an over-achiever,” Peter said.

“I’ll make that suggestion to the police.”

“You have my keys don’t you? Go stay at my apartment.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to leave my house.” Not to mention Peter lived in a squalid, tiny apartment filled with nothing but a mattress, a television, a DVD player, and his wardrobe. It was a little too much like prison for my current situation.

“Someone was killed at your house, though. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. God, who do they think did it?”

“Me.”

“Are they stupid!?”

“Thank you for saying that, Peter.”

“Oh, well it’s not just loyalty. I mean, you’re an accountant. Accountants don’t kill people. Don’t they know that?”

Chapter Twelve

Walking into my house, I decided I needed to do one of two things. I either needed to figure out who killed Eddie or prove it wasn’t me. There were just too many possibilities for who might have killed him. A client. There could be hundreds. Someone he was seeing. I had no idea how many guys he’d dated the way he dated me. He could have an old boyfriend. He could have a dozen old boyfriends.

It would be easier to prove it wasn’t me. Somehow, I needed to find an alibi. Other than Stripes. As near as I could tell, since I didn’t have access to the autopsy, Eddie was killed some time between two in the afternoon when he