Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The evening came to a close at around eleven o'clock. As they made their way out of the ballroom and down the stairs towards the front door of the hotel, Charlie heard footsteps quickly approaching from behind. He turned, expecting he'd have to fend off Roger Honeyfield. Instead it was an attractive Asian man in a nicely tailored charcoal-grey suit. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and had a strong square jaw. Charlie thought he looked like a manga comic book version of Clark Kent.

"Mr Hunt. May I have a word with you?" he asked as he caught up with them at the front door.

"Sure," Declan replied.

"This may take a while. Can I buy the two of you a drink?"

"Sure," Declan answered, like it was the only word he had left in his vocabulary. It was clear he was tired and that the stress of the event had taken a toll on him. Charlie suspected that, if the man who had approached them hadn't been so attractive, they would be heading out of the door instead of having drinks with him.

"By the way," Charlie said, extending his hand, "I'm Charlie Watts."

"Like the drummer! Nice to meet you, Charlie," he said without offering his name back.

The man led them to the lobby bar. As they wound their way to a table in the far corner, Charlie whispered to Declan, "What's this guy want to say to you that he couldn't have said at the party?"

Declan shrugged. "I guess we're going to find out."

"I hope this is comfortable enough for you," the man said as they sat. "Now, I was watching the two of you and I don't think you've had anything to eat all night. Shall we order some food?"

Charlie had already begun to look at the menu. "That would be great. Thanks."

The man motioned the waiter over. Once their order was taken and the waiter had departed, the man looked around, then turned back to face them. "Now, I should introduce myself. My name is Sinclair Yamada."

Charlie recognized the name. "You called earlier this week."

"Yes, and I received your return message. Thanks for getting back to me." He turned to Declan. "I already had my ticket for the event tonight, so when I heard that you would be here, I thought I might just as well approach you in person. I hope you don't mind."

"No problem," Declan said.

Charlie was concerned. Declan seemed to be just a shell of his usual self. He wished this Yamada guy would just get to the point so Charlie could get Declan home. Charlie decided he would have to take charge.

"If I remember right," Charlie said, "you work for Mount Temple Press."

"Yes. Are you familiar with the company?"

Declan's face remained blank.

"They're an important Canadian publisher," Charlie explained.

"Ah," Declan grunted.

Charlie turned back to Mr Yamada. "So, how exactly can we help you?"

"Mount Temple Press operates a charitable trust. Through it we provide a retreat at Hoodoo House near Rosebud with full support services, as well as a stipend to worthy writers who generate novels for the publisher."

"Generate novels?" Declan echoed. "That's an odd way to put it."

Mr Yamada's face flushed. "I'll have you know that we give them a safe creative space and promise them all the support that they need on their road to publication."

Charlie stammered "I think…what Declan meant to say was—"

"Forgive me," Yamada interrupted. "I didn't mean to sound defensive, it's just that we've been under a great deal of stress lately. You see, last week Malcolm Tull, our latest writer-in-residence, was found dead at Hoodoo House."

"So, not such a safe creative space after all," Declan said.

"The coroner is still looking into it, but apparently Mr Tull had more than the usual amount of his medication in his system."

"Suicide?" Charlie asked.

Mr Yamada leaned in. "According to the coroner, there was also some bruising on his neck. They're treating the death as suspicious."

Declan shrugged. "That sounds like something the police should deal with."

"His death, yes, but there's something else I need your help with," Mr Yamada said. "Mr Tull's computer is missing and it's essential that I get it back. The only known copy of his latest manuscript is on it."

Yamada stopped suddenly as the waiter appeared, placing two scotches, an imported beer and a fourteen-dollar basket of salted fries on the table. Mr Yamada waited until the server had departed before knocking back his scotch and asking, "So can you help me?"

Declan swirled the scotch in his glass. "A missing computer? That's still a job for the cops."

"That is precisely what I am trying to avoid," Yamada whispered.

"What are you trying to avoid?" Charlie asked.

"The police finding the computer first."

Declan cocked his head. "Go on."

"Malcolm Tull could be very charismatic when he wanted to be," Mr Yamada said as he signalled the waiter.

"Would you care for another, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Make it a double," he said, tapping his fingers on the table.

He turned to Declan and Charlie. "Malcolm and I, we…had sex. Just once! I swear it. It was highly inappropriate given our relationship."

"And your relationship was?" Declan asked.

"I was unlucky enough to be his editor."

"Why do you say unlucky?" Declan asked.

"Malcolm Tull was a nasty son of a bitch to most people. He was self-centred, verging on narcissistic, never admitted to being wrong and he treated all others as inferiors. I don't know anyone who got along with him."

"Yet you still chose to sleep with him," Declan said.

"Have you never done anything, Mr Hunt, that you have regretted?"

"Point taken," Declan said, nodding.

Charlie munched on the French fries and watched the show.

"Yet, in spite of his vast personality flaws," Yamada continued, "there was something—an attraction. I mean, he was a good-looking man. And fit. And he was very good at sex."

"And what part of that makes you think I can help you?" Declan asked. "I can't turn back time and make your romp with him disappear."

"No. But I'm hoping you can find his computer that also contains the video of the encounter."

"Oh shit." The words slipped out of Charlie's mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh shit indeed," Yamada said. "Needless to say, I need to ensure nobody else gets their hands on that computer."

"You let him record the encounter?" Declan asked.

"No, I most certainly did not. I didn't find out about it until recently when he sent me an email with screen captures of the video's kinkier moments. He informed me that it would remain hidden if I—"

"He was blackmailing you?" Charlie interrupted.

"What did he want?" Declan asked.

"He told me that my employer would not see the video if I pushed through his latest novel as written. ‘Verbatim ac litteratim' as he put it, the arrogant shit."

"Word for word and letter for letter," Charlie recited.

"Correct," Yamada said, nodding towards Charlie.

Declan continued, "Now, I assume that just printing what the writer gives you, without editing the content, is out of the ordinary."

"More than that—it isn't done! And the manuscript has to be approved by the publisher. Those are the rules. I couldn't do it if I wanted to. You see, the novel he was proposing was…not on brand."

"I assume you told him that," Declan said.

"I most certainly did. And from what he intimated about the contents of the book, I told him it was definitely not suitable for Mount Temple Press and would never be approved by the publisher."

"And how did he react?"

"He just laughed and said ‘Find a way, bright boy.'"

"And he told you he kept the video on his computer?" Declan asked.

"When I last saw him, he said the files were on his computer, which was someplace safe."

"And now both the computer and Mr Tull are gone," Declan pondered aloud.

"I'm not sure if it's stolen or hidden, but wherever it is, it is essential that I get that computer back with the manuscript…and any video. My reputation and career are at stake."

The waiter brought Mr Yamada's double scotch to the table. Before the server could leave, Mr Yamada swigged the entire drink back in one swallow, then indicated the waiter should bring the bill.

"So will you take the case? After all, gay sex and blackmail seem right up your alley. And I need complete discretion."

Declan nodded. "Let us do a bit of checking first, but sure, we're interested. We'll be in touch with you on Monday."

As Charlie took down Sinclair's contact information, the waiter approached Declan carrying a silver platter on which lay a perfect red rose. "A gift from a gentleman, sir."

Declan looked at Charlie.

"It wasn't me," Charlie said. I wish it was.

Sinclair smiled. "It seems that you have an admirer."

Declan looked around to see if he was being watched, but aside from the waiter, they were the only ones remaining in the bar. There was, however, a business card tucked under the rose. It was Roger Honeyfield's.

* * * *

The limo ride home was quiet. Declan stared out of the window. Charlie assumed he was thinking about their new client. As the car pulled up to Charlie's place, he turned to Declan and said, "Well, that was an interesting night. Thanks for taking me as your date. And we got a new case."

He reached for the door handle but Declan stopped him. "Wait. I want you to know that I couldn't have made it through the ceremony tonight without you."

"Oh, it was nothing, really. It's all part of the job," Charlie said.

"No. It was more than that. If it wasn't for you, I would have made a run for it before the evening got started."

Charlie smiled. "Thanks."

"And you surprised me," Declan said. "You're not a bad dancer."

"Neither are you."

Declan picked up the rose from the seat beside him and handed it to Charlie. "I want you to have this," he said, staring into Charlie's eyes, a gentle smile on his face.

Charlie took the rose then leaned in, intending to give Declan a gentle kiss on the lips, but once he'd started he found himself unable to pull away. A mechanical whir came out of nowhere. The screen which separated the driver from the passenger compartment was rising to give them privacy.

Charlie dropped the rose on the floor and launched himself at Declan, pinning him into the far corner of the bench seat, holding him by the wrists. Charlie kissed him more deeply, tasting the smokiness of the scotch that lingered in Declan's mouth.

Charlie drew his knees up until he was straddling Declan.

Declan gently pushed Charlie back and looked him in the eyes. "If we do this, there's no going back."

"I don't care," Charlie replied then moved in again.

Declan began to kiss Charlie, then stopped and pushed Charlie to the other side of the seat. "I'm sorry. I can't. I don't want to screw this up. We had an amazing time tonight, but we've both had a lot to drink, and I'm not thinking clearly. You're just swept up in the moment."

Charlie gritted his teeth. In the moment? It's been a whole evening. It's been months. You started this!

"What's wrong with you? I thought this was what you wanted," Charlie said.

"I do but…I've been thinking a lot about this and I just can't. Not tonight. Not this way."

"Fine!"

Charlie straightened himself up, opened the car door and said, "I guess I'll see you at work on Monday. It's all business from now on."

As Charlie got out of the limo, Declan held the flower out to him and said, "Charlie, I'm sorry."

"You can keep your fucking rose," Charlie said, then slammed the car door and ran up the walk and into the house.