A Murder In P'town

             Billy Boy was pulling his shirt over his head before I had the door to our hotel room fully opened.  He grinned at me as he stepped into the room and shoved his bathing costume over his backside.  "Shut the door, old man!" he growled as he toe-ed off his Reeboks.  "I want to work off all the calories I just ate."

            "You're insatiable," I groaned as I shut the door and smiled at the growing erection between his legs as he turned to face me. 

            "I'm just health conscious, Phil - that's all.  Sex is the best exercise and, with you around, I've got the best equipment in the world for a work out."  His lips formed a pout.  "Come on, old man - get naked!"

            He snaked across the room, dancing to music only he could hear, as I pulled my shirt over my head.  "Shit!  You're as slow as molasses in Vermont in January!" he growled as his fingers found the waistband of my swimcostume and began to slip inside it.  "But, then, what you've got is worth waiting for."  The costume eased over my arse as his lips found mine and he ground his body against mine.

            Breaking the kiss, he grinned and pulled me toward the bed.  He pushed me and I was falling onto the bed behind us.  He was right behind me, falling against me and straddling my waist.  "I love you, Phil Goode," he mumbled against my ear as his teeth began to nibble at its lobe.  His dick and balls ground against my abdomen as his lips explored my face.  "Want me yet?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

            "Why not, love?" I answered and managed a shrug.  "I'm hard enough and my dick's not very particular about which hole it invades."

       "Asshole!" he yelped and grabbed my nine inch pole.  His grip tightened.  "You want it, you gotta ask for it - nicely!"

            I groaned as his grip tightened further.  "May I please fuck you, sir?" I asked finally and watched him smile triumphantly.

            His grip loosened and he began to slide down my abdomen.  He sat up and smiled at me as I felt my knob find the entrance to him.  "You really want me?" he muttered with us suspended at that pregnant moment that separates foreplay from real sex.

            "Now and always, love."  I smiled up at him and felt the pressure of his lovemuscle resisting my dick's entry through it.

            "Do you really love me, Phil?" he grunted between clinched teeth as my John Bull headed toward his lovegland and his sphincter was left to grip the shaft sliding through it.

            "I do love you, Billy Boy," I allowed as his arsecheeks spread across my groin and he was impaled completely.  The feel of his smooth, firm upper thighs against my thatch was a feeling I would never get enough of.

            He was hard - seven thick inches of trimmed US prime pointing directly between my eyes as he began to ride me.   "Oh, Jesus, baby," he mewed in appreciation and smiled beatifically.

            I gripped his cheeks to give him direction as he rode my dick.

            "Sweet Jesus!" he growled.  "Knead those cheeks, Phil!  Oh, God, this feels so fuckin' good!"

            The bed creaked beneath us, becoming louder as Billy Boy lost the last of his inhibitions.  I didn't care; I speeded up his movement, pulling him down on me and lifting him up along my shaft.  I wanted him to come; it was suddenly necessary for him to gain the orgasm growing inside the eggs slapping my stomach with his every descent.  "Come on, love," I told at him.  "Give it to me."

            "I'm close!"

            I reached between his legs for his pole, my hand slipping familiarly around its shaft and beginning to wank it.  "I'm gonna come!" he yelped.  "Oh, shit!  I can't - it's ... Jesus!"

            I felt the first volley of warm jizz splatter against my chest and smiled.  The muscles in his arse clutched at me as he continued to ride me, his meat still hard between his legs.  "Come with me this time, baby," he pleaded and slowed down his movements.  "Coat my guts this time and make me feel good."

* * *

It was past tea time when we finally stepped out of the Guilford and walked down the hill to Commerce Street.  Billy Boy'd been quiet and almost withdrawn after he came back from his shower; but I hadn't thought much about it, laying the change in his behaviour to his new environment. 

            "Where are you taking me?" he asked, pulling himself back to reality as we reached the street that ran beside the bay.

            "The Crown and Anchor, love.  A friend of mine is appearing there."

            "You know one of the actors?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. 

            We walked into the bar and found a table near the stage.  Billy Boy glanced over at me as I told the cute waitron to bring us both Cape Cods.  When the lad left with our order, Billy Boy leant toward me.  "I thought you only drank scotch," he mumbled.

            "When in Rome do as the Romans do," I answered smiling.  "Besides, scotch is too heavy for the beach."

            "Yeah."

            A blond man with a hooked nose, taller than myself as well as slimmer, came out of the lounge's dressing room and stepped onto the stage.  He glanced across at us as he adjusted the mike and started.

            He stepped off the stage then and came toward us.  "I thought it was you, Phil!" he greeted as he reached the table.  "God!  It's been so long - where the hell have you been hiding yourself?"

            "In Atlanta ... Michael Suede, I'd like you to meet Billy Boy Sharpe, my better half."

            Michael turned to look squarely at my lover, his eyes growing into a grin.  "Phil Goode was always able to get the most beautiful men - leaving the rest of us with the leftovers."

            I laughed.  "Don't believe him, love.  He's the only man older than myself I've had the hots for - he turned me down and, then, proceeded to steal the sweet young thing I was vying for and carried him away to that misty land on the bay across the continent."

            "Touché, Phil."  He turned back to me.  " But I am serious about your companion here - he's a fine piece of manhood."

            "What about you, Michael - have you settled down?"

            "I did.  You just mentioned him."

            "Him?  He was a really nice lad - what little I got to know of him."

            "You got to know just enough of him - and not too much.  But he-"

            "What happened?" I asked becoming serious as I realised the man's pain.

            "He had an accident - his car hit a tree."  Michael shrugged.  "It was instanteous - he didn't feel a thing."

            "I'm sorry, Michael - I really am.  Perhaps, we can get together some this next fortnight while we're here."

            "I'd like that, Phil."  He smiled his appreciation.  "I need the feel of some old fashioned homelife.  Sometimes, being on the road all the time leaves a lot to be desired."

            "You wouldn't give it up for a minute," I shot back and he nodded with a grin.

            "You're probably right," he chuckled.  "You're going to have to forgive me but I've got to finish setting up."

            Billy Boy watched the man as he returned to the stage.  "He's beautiful, Phil."

            "He's somewhere in his early fifties, love."

            "He sure as shit doesn't look it ... Jesus!  I'd bet every guy around would go for a roll in the hay with him - all he'd have to do is crook his finger."

            "Does that include you?"

            "I've got you," he answered smiling.  "Besides, I wouldn't tell you if it did.  I don't want to find out how jealous you'd get."

            I stared at him and wondered just how seriously I should take him when I felt a new presence at my side.  I glanced up quickly and was looking at one ever more attractive blond man not much older than Billy Boy.  He was decked out in the latest beachwear from Brooks Brothers and his blue eyes were smiling down at me.

            "Don't you remember me, Phil?" he asked in his soft middle American accent.  And, against my will, I did remember him.  It had been five years since I saw Mark Edwards.  He was twenty-one then, a senior at Georgia Tech.  He had also been the one man I had loved since I found out the lad I followed to America was getting married to a woman - before Billy Boy moved into my life.

            "Hello, Mark," I offered.  "What brings you to Provincetown?"

            "You."  Even without looking across the table, I knew my lover had stiffened.  "You always sang the praises of this place - so, I decided I'd check it out."

            "And what're you doing now?" I asked, keeping calm and surprising myself by doing so.

            "I'm national sales director for National Computer."

            "Congratulations," I told him and tried to mean it.  "I'm surprised though - I thought they were a bit upper lip and that promotions only came when somebody died."

            Mark laughed.  "That helped, Phil.  Of course, my sleeping with the president probably put me ahead of ten older guys in line for the slot."

            I stared at him in surprise.  When I knew him, Mark Edwards was about as staid as the company he worked for - on the surface and for public consumption.  Admitting to sleeping with anybody, much less the president of the company, would have caused serious heart palpitations, if not a fatal heart attack.

            "I've matured some since you saw me last - and I've opened up too," he answered my unspoken question, reading me now as well as he had five years ago.

            Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Billy Boy watching our exchange with interest.  He had read our previous relationship correctly and was aware of how well Mark was still reading me.  Michael had been a fun exchange to him; but Mark wasn't.  And it wasn't just because he hadn't been introduced to him yet.

            "Mark, I want you to meet my better half Billy Boy ... Billy Boy, this is Mark."  I smiled over at my lover nervously.  "We used to have something many years ago."

            Mark chuckled.  "Not that long ago, Phil."  He turned to Billy Boy.  "Does he call you “love” and does his accent get thicker just after he's made love?"

            Billy Boy was a trooper if he was anything.  "I haven't noticed.  But, then, I'm pretty well satisfied afterwards."

            I was suddenly dreading my return to the Guilford; I suspected I was staring at a long night of explanations ahead of me.

            Mark frowned but held his tongue.  "Well, it's nice to meet you, Billy Boy - and seeing you again, Phil.  If you're in town for long, maybe you can join us out at the boat."

            I didn't bite and, thank God, neither did Billy Boy.  Mark knew I was a water person and loved boats and the sea more than I ever had him.  "Perhaps," I responded, knowing full well I'd move down to Yarmouth before I would willingly see Mark Edwards on a boat - or let him near Billy Boy to poison our relationship any further than he had already.

            I heard my lad breathe a ‘Meee‑ooow’ under his breath as Mark moved out of earshot.  I glanced over to him and his inquisitive eyes on mine.  "This P'town sure is fun, honey.  Is there anybody here you haven't fucked until their eyes turned brown?"

* * *

We reached the landing and were beginning to walk along the hallway toward our room the next afternoon.  "I need to get my circulation moving, Phil."  He grinned broadly.  "A long bout of love-making should do it - in spite of that cold bath that probably shrunk me so small you're going to have to use a magnifying glass to find me and tweezers to jerk me off."

            "I don't think one dip in the North Atlantic is going to reshape your anatomy that much-"  I stopped as I recognised Michael Suede waiting for us at the door of our room.

            "You guys took your sweet time in getting home," he greeted us. 

            I chuckled.  "I've partied with you, Michael.  You're doing well if you wake up before four - you looking for breakfast companions?"

            He grinned back.  "He's crazy, Billy Boy.  I'm always up and about by twelve at the latest - and I've drunk my lunch by one."  His face turned serious as he turned back to me.  "Let's get inside.  I've got a juicy piece of gossip to share with you."

            He took the room's one chair, forcing Billy Boy and myself onto the bed facing him.  "Okay, what's up?" I demanded.

            "Only if you give me the dregs from your jug you always carry to the beach with you."

            I glanced over at Billy Boy.  "Do we have anything left in it?" I asked and watched him hop off the bed and cross the room to find out.

            "Maybe enough for one drink," he answered and, finding a glass, began to pour the performer the last of the vodka and cranberry juice concoction that New England had named the Cape Cod.

            "You've got your transfusion, Michael," I told him as Billy Boy gave him the glass.  "Now, give us the gossip."

            "You remember that cute little blond from last night?"  He saw the blankness in my face.  "The one who came over to your table just before I went on-?"

            "Mark?"

            "Yeah.  He was with a real troll - at least, he was during the show."  Michael knew he had both of us hooked and probably guessed at my previous relationship with Mark.  He sipped at his drink slowly.

            "Okay," Billy Boy exploded finally.  "What about him?"

            Michael grinned.  There was nothing wrong with the actor’s sense of timing.  "He bit the bullet last night."

            "What?" I demanded.

            "Somebody shoved a Luger in his mouth and pulled the trigger ... Boom!  No more pretty face."  He glanced down at the drink in his hand.  "Not too much pretty anything from the neck up from what the local gendarmes said."

            "Mark Edwards dead!" I groaned, trying hard to believe it.

            "Very.  They found what was left of him floating under the wharf this morning."  He shook his head slowly.  "Apparently, one of the locals found him when he was getting his boat ready to take out."

            "I'll bet he decided not to fish today," I allowed.

            "Here's the good part, Phil.  I told the local guys you were a very well known detective."

            "Not that well known, Michael but-"  I stared at him as his words sank in.  "What kind of little surprise have you cooked up for me with the local constabulary?"

            "I just thought you having known the kid, you'd like to help out.  Besides, I understand they've got to use the state cops down in Barnstable on a murder investigation.  And we all know how dumb bigtime cops can be anyway."

            "You've volunteered me!" I grunted.

            "I only suggested you might be able to help out a little."

            "Who's going to pay my fee?"

            "Fee?"

            "Sure.  I don't stick my nose in other people's business for nothing - any more than you get up on that bloody stage and do your Mona Lisa skit for free."  I stared at him - both anger and curiosity vying for control of my head.  I could feel my curiosity gaining the upper hand already.  It wasn't even a contest.

            Michael grinned broadly.  "I imagine I could pass the hat around.  People around here make money off tourism - and the tourists don't come if they think crime and murder are rampant in their holiday paradise.  How much do you normally command?"

            "A minimum retainer of five thousand dollars," Billy Boy interjected quickly.

            Michael whistled and stared at me in surprise.  "You're an expensive son of a bitch, aren't you?"

            I shrugged.  "Talk it over with my agent there," I countered and pointed at Billy Boy.

            "I'll try to round up some cash, Phil - but that's a lot to round up in a day or two."

            "Thanks, Michael.  With friends like you I definitely don't need enemies.  What time is this command performance of mine?"

            "Nine o'clock tomorrow morning with Formoso."

            I groaned.  "Bloody hell!  Okay, who's this Formoso character?"

            "He's the police chief in P'town.  Anything else you need to know?"

            "Not really, I guess.  Although, as you're going about to raise my fee, you might get two tickets to each and every show at the same time - Billy Boy and I can catch them all."

            "You don't want much, do you?"

            "Everything I can get."  I frowned.  "Just remember, I'm the one giving up his holiday."

* * *

I met with Chief Formoso the next morning.  I thought my face appeared to have been a roost for a flock of crows the night before but I was on time and I was even alert. 

            "Mr. Goode, it's kind of you to offer to help us out with this murder."

            "Chief, I didn't offer - Michael volunteered me.  Now he's out rounding up the cash to pay my fee.  Still, I'm interested enough to wonder what happened."  I glanced down at my lap.  "I knew Mark Edwards some years ago - and this wasn't exactly the promise I felt the lad held."

            "His parents are pretty devastated."

            "That swill fucked them over - along with everybody else he came into contact with!"  I forced my anger back under wraps.  "Still, finding out he got his head blown off would probably knock the wind out a lot of people's sails.  What do you know at this point?"

            "Not too much.  He'd had sexual relations within a few hours of his death-"

            "How do you know that?"

            Blood spread across the chief’s round face.  "The coroner found traces of semen up his ass."

            "Sounds like the tart.  Do you know who the last person was to be seen with him?"

            He grinned slightly.  "So far, you seem to have a piece of that honor."

            "Me?" I yelped.  "I saw him in the Crown and Anchor just before Michael Suede's show - and the boy returned to a table and an older chap after he left us."

            "Us?"

            "My lover and myself - we live in Atlanta and this is his first holiday here in P'town."

            "I've already checked you out after Mr. Suede started pushing you on us."  He chuckled. "Atlanta says you're clean - both you and Mr. Sharpe."

            "Thank God for little favors."  I looked at him with new respect.  "What have you found out?"

            The Chief sighed.  "Mr. Edwards arrived here three days ago and was joined the next morning by his company's high powered attorney.  The attorney sailed in and is tied up at the wharf; he also isn't very happy about having to stay in our town now that his boy's not here to share the delights of his boat."  He grimaced at the thought and looked back at me.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Goode - I'm a straight family man.  I also have a fourteen year old son who thinks he can skateboard up and down Commerce Street until all hours."

            "Most of the men here on holiday make it a habit to leave the local scenery alone, Chief."

            "Yeah."  He sighed.  "I know it here."  He pointed to his skull.  "But it's my heart where all my fears end up."

            "I think I can understand, Chief," I offered as kindly as I could, knowing most of the local color did like to get their horns blown as soon as they learnt the damn things had more than one purpose.  It was a rite of passage for the kids of Provincetown, Massachusetts, and had been since the first artsy‑craftsy crowd came ashore during the Depression.

            He smiled his thanks.  "It's just that, looking at Mr. Edwards, I can see my son - anyone's son.  He was a handsome young man."  He shuddered.  "I'd hate to see my son end up like that."

            "Mark was a wheedling thing early on, Chief.  I first met him when he was eighteen and he was already a pro then."

            "You didn't like him?"

            "I loved him once and was burnt.  Five years ago we broke up because he was playing around with one of my friends.  It turned out the bastard had been playing musical beds since the night I met him."

            "How do you feel now, Mr. Goode?"

            I chuckled.  "I should have expected that question, Chief.  It's been a long time and I finally forgot him.  Plus, for the past year, I've had someone I've come to love very much - and I have no reason to believe he runs around."

            "I can't say I understand the gay world - but the way you describe what you've got, it sounds like what us straights spend our lives searching for."

            "We gays do too, Chief.  Back to Mark, though - what are the facts to date?"

            The chief smiled wryly.  "I'm sorry.  I guess I was trying to understand Phil Goode.  He was shot one time with a large caliber handgun.  The shot entered the roof of his mouth and exited the back of his skull.  The body was found in several feet of water and we haven't found the weapon yet."

            "Sounds almost like a suicide."

            "That crossed our minds."

            "Or it could have been made up to look that way.  How are you lads reading it?"

            "The State lab in Barnstable has both our report and that of the coroner - it'll take them a couple of days to read through them and get up here to nose around."

            "What's your gut feeling on this one."

            His face became unreadable.  "I haven't been trained in homicide."

            "But you're a better than average psychologist, Chief."

            He smiled.  "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it wasn't self‑inflicted."

            I grinned.  "Thanks.  Was there any sign of struggle?"

            "No, but remember the tide'd come in - any evidence like that would've been washed away."

            "Pretty bloody convenient," I growled.  The chief smiled again.  "Is there any kind of indication Mark knew somebody already here?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "You don't seem ready to put the corporate lawyer in jail as a murderer - and he's the most obvious suspect.  His boat’s tied up where Mark’s body was found.  He was here with Mark ... That leaves us with somebody else having sex with Mark and, then, sticking a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger."  I cleared my throat.  "Mark was fast - and he wasn't very nice.  But it would still take him more than a few hours to find somebody he could make hate him enough to kill him."

            "That's interesting, Mr. Goode - almost a leap of intuition, I'd say.  No, I don't know of anyone he met here."

            "What about the lawyer?"  The police chief glanced at me questioningly.  "If there wasn't anybody else, he's your most logical choice."

            "He would be - only, he had three overnight guests on his boat.  They were - uh - intimately involved."

            I saw the smile playing over his lips and chuckled.  "He looked like a troll to us."

            "You saw him?"

            "We watched Mark return to him and their table.  I guess his guests were rentboys?"

            "Rentboys?"

            "Hustlers," I translated.

            "That's a good guess."  He grinned.

            "Chief, if I find out anything, I'll get back with you."

            With my hands deep in the pockets of my trousers, I strolled slowly up the nearly deserted street.  At ten o'clock in the morning, it was too early to be up for those who had reveled the night away and the beach bums were already out on the hot sand browning themselves.  Ruefully, I told myself that the beach was where I belonged too - with Billy Boy.  Even in death, Mark Edwards had me by the bloody balls.

            I forced Billy Boy from my mind.  Him and everything else.  And I began to tick off what I knew about Mark Edwards and his murder.

            He had apparently come into town the day before I did and was dead in less than three days.  He apparently didn't know anybody here.  He had gone to Michael's show with his company's lawyer.  And he was dead within several hours of that.  Unfortunately, the most logical suspect, the solicitor had been entertaining three rentboys while Mark was buying a one‑way ticket to eternity.

            The problem was that none of it sounded like Mark.

            Mark Edwards was the most manipulating bitch I could imagine.  He always had a purpose behind everything he did.  No purpose, no ulterior plan - no action.  He had been like that at Georgia Tech and men don't make drastic personality changes without high‑powered mind‑altering drugs or brain surgery.

            He told me he came to P'town because I used to talk about it.  It sounded good.  But it wasn't him.  He'd go to the Waldorf Astoria because it would benefit him to be seen there; but he wouldn't come to P'town just for the bucolic sights.  There was something here he wanted.

            The lawyer's presence was a dead give‑away to Mark's ulterior motives.  The lad had probably known the man was queerer than a three dollar bill even before he met him.  He had probably even slept with him.  But it would all have been for something he was planning - something that concerned Provincetown.  Something that would benefit Mark Edwards.

            He came into town ahead of his troll on the forty foot ocean class boat tied up at the wharf.  But why?

            I smiled and glanced up at the blue white haze that was the New England sky.  This sounded a lot more like Mark Edwards than the frilly package I got at Michael's show.  Even the lawyer was ready to leave with Mark out of the picture.

            That probably meant he didn't know what Mark had in mind.  He had sailed up from New York for a holiday outing during which he was going to help a young colleague and playmate with a small legal matter.  I suspected Mark hadn't been very forthcoming about the particulars of his small legal matter with him, either.  Still, I did want to talk with the man and find out whatever he did know about Mark's enterprise here in P'town.

            It had taken me awhile to chew on what had been served me and find these tidbits.  I looked about and found myself closing in on the old Union cannon emplacements built to protect Boston during the Civil War and the cold waters of the Atlantic beyond.  My stomach was complaining too.  The weak coffee the police chief had served was insufficient to keep a middle-aged man going.  I also decided it would be a good idea to find out what Billy Boy was up to as the green goddess was serving me up some indigestible images of the lad on the streets of Provincetown and the trouble he could get himself into.

* * *

The solicitor was a short, bald man with a florid, moon‑shaped face.  His gut didn't appear to have seen the inside of a gym for the past forty something years, but the rings on his hand spoke garishly of the money that kept him in bed partners despite his appearance.

            He was civil as Chief Formoso and I stepped on his boat but didn't try to hide his displeasure either.  "Come aboard, gentlemen," he offered with a wave of his bejeweled hand and led us onto the canopied deck.  "How may I help you?"

            "Mr. Goode here has some questions he feels you may be able to answer," the chief offered as he sat down across from the lawyer.

            "Chief Formoso, I am sorry - but, as I've already told you, I don't know anything about Mark's horrible murder."

            "Actually, I was more interested in background, sir," I interjected quickly.

            "Background?"

            "It's pretty obvious Mark was up here for some kind of business - and had you join him to keep it all above board."

            "Why is that obvious, Mr. Goode?"  The man was watching me closely.  "There is nothing in evidence that would indicate that."

            "Perhaps not-"  I smiled depreciatingly.  "But, then, I knew Mark rather well for nearly four years."

            "You must not be the State police detective I've been expecting then."

            "No.  I'm a PI - and I was here on holiday before I was rather rudely rooked into this case."

            "I didn't know Mark'd been to England?"

            "I knew him when he was still a student at university in Georgia."

            "You don't sound like a Southerner, Mr. Goode."

            "I'm not.  I'm British.  But, with my particular knowledge of the way Mark thought, I have to believe he was here to benefit himself."

            "Very probably, Mr. Goode."  He shrugged.  "Unfortunately, I wasn't privy to his plans.  He prevailed on me to come up here from New York - and, when he made the suggestion, it sounded like it might be fun."

            "I didn't expect him to have included you in his plans - that wouldn't have been his cup of tea at all."

            "Then, how would I possibly be able to help you in this investigation?"

            I smiled and leaned back in my chair.  "Because you are a very smart man - and you would have demanded a bit of information at least - or you would know some of the people Mark was talking to."

            "Even if that were so, Mr. Goode, I couldn't possibly expose it."

            "There are ways of coming by things, of having things, other than through a court of law.  It's pretty obvious that someone didn't want Mark to get whatever it was he came to Provincetown for - and they didn't go through the judicial system to stop him."

            The man shivered, his belly quivering, as he allowed himself to understand what I was implying.

            "Apparently he was playing with someone a lot rougher than he bargained for - someone who played for keeps and didn't feel like taking on the expenses or the risks of a public court battle."

            "That still doesn't concern me."

            I shook my head with a lot more conviction than I felt.  "Perhaps it does.  If Mark's friend suspects you of knowing anything, he might decide to eliminate that knowledge."

            "Friend?"  He stared at me with disbelief.  "I wouldn't call what happened to Mark very friendly."

            "He'd had sex with someone before he opened his mouth that last time."

            The fat man shivered again.  His hooded eyes went from me to the police chief and back speculatively.  "You're suggesting there may be some danger because of my position?"  I nodded.  "That wouldn't be a problem if I could leave Provincetown."

            "We're investigating a murder," Chief Formoso said stepping into the conversation.  "And that means none of the people who knew the victim are leaving town until we say they can go."

            "That can be a long time, Chief."

            "Why don't you help us make it shorter then?" I offered, falling into the nice cop/bad cop scene the chief had set up for us.

            The solicitor sighed.  "What do you want to know?"

            "Why was Mark up here?"

            "I'm not really sure.  He got me up here to look over a real estate deal he was pursuing."

            "You know who with?" the chief demanded quietly.

            "No.  There were some guys from Soho - even some of the entertainers you've got up here for the summer.  They were going to try to pick up some properties along the bay here and really re-work it.  I saw some of their plans for the place they were going to build."  He smiled.  "Nice."

            "What kind of plans?" the chief asked, permitting his curiosity to get the better of him.

            "They were developing plans that reminded me a lot of North Miami Beach."

            "Jesus!" Formoso grunted.  "I would've killed the son of a bitch myself if I'd known about this!"

            "That's about all I know."

            "No locals were involved?" I asked.  He shook his head.  "How about these entertainers you mentioned?"

            "I never met them except the one last night.  He may have used names, but I don't remember them - and I wouldn't recognise anybody."

            "Mark always did play his cards close to his chest," I muttered and rose from my chair.  "Thank you for your help," I told him.

            The fat man looked at the police chief.  "May I leave P'town now?" he asked.

            "Hang around till after the weekend," the chief answered. "The State Police may still want to talk with you."

* * *

Billy Boy sprang from the bed and was in my arms before the door closed.  He was naked of course.  And he was grinning broadly as his face approached mine. "You aren't getting away from me this time.  I'm not letting you out of this room before I get one hell of a good fuck out of you."

            I smiled and permitted him to pull my trousers open and push them down onto my legs.  He was already tugging at me, pulling me toward the bed. 

            I let him undress me.  I needed the mindlessness that was sex.  It would wash the very foul taste out of my mouth and free my mind of the headaches circulating through it from the conversation with the police chief and corporate solicitor.  What I needed right then was the mindless energy of body moving against body that Billy Boy was offering me in our bed.

            We were naked and I couldn't remember our getting that way.  Billy Boy was climbing along the length of the bed toward me and the sexual encounter that was waiting for us as soon as he reached me.  I grinned and reached down to him. "Come to papa, love," I called softly.  "I need you now."

            "Which way do you want it?" he asked from just beyond me, his eyes searching my face.

            "I'll leave it up to you - it'll feel good either way you want to take it."  I grinned, allowing myself to remember how good a top he could be when he got going.  My arse tingled at the memory in spite of myself.  "Bugger that!" I growled.  "Fuck me.  That's what I want - a bloody good fuck."

            I contented myself with humming as Billy Boy changed direction and came up between my spread legs.  "You sure?" he asked and I nodded emphatically. 

            His lips were tracing my cock upward from my balls toward its cowl which was already retreating down over the helmet that was my John Bull battering ram.  I could feel his lips coming toward its already oozing slit.  I was harder than I could remember being.

            My legs were hiked into the warm New England air as his mouth opened and began to descend down over that helmet onto my shaft.  "Fuck me!" I growled.

            "Do what?" he asked, his voice strangely lyrical as it hovered over me.  My arse was off the bed, paused half-way to the ecstacy I knew would be mine.

            "Fuck me good, damn it!" I growled as I opened my eyes and looked up between my legs at Billy Boy Sharpe.  "I want your dick up inside me, love."  My arsecheeks ground against his knees, wanting him to lean into me and give me all he had.

            The backs of my legs rode his chest as he shoved all seven inches of his tool into me.  it felt good.  But I needed him where he was now.  He moved against my lovegland and retreated, massaging it again on his retreat.  I climbed toward heaven, higher and higher, despite the unusual position I was in.

            "Fuck me!" I growled through clinched teeth.  I felt my eruption developing inside my family jewels as I climbed higher toward an orgasm.  "Yeah ... Give it to me, love - all of it."

            I grunted and squealing like a pig in its sty.  It was so mindless.  It felt so damn good.  I opened my eyes and saw Billy Boy looking down into my face, his concern apparent in his face.

            "Feels good, love," I managed.  "Give me all of it now - I'm open enough for anything you've got."

            He smiled and shoved against my arsecheeks none too gently.  "This is it, Phil - all of it.  Now, just get off on it, baby."

            "Yeah!"  I grinned up between my spread legs as his face descended closer and closer toward mine.  "Oh, yeah!"

            I erupted and I didn't care one bloody damn.  He felt that good inside me.

* * *

Michael Suede was grinning at me as I opened the door for him.  "I stopped by earlier," he offered as he stepped into the room.  "But, from what I could hear through the door and down the hallway, it sounded like you two weren't very interested in being disturbed."

            I looked away then, my face burning with sudden embarrassment.  Billy Boy just looked up at him from the bed like a well‑satisfied cat.

            The tall man grinned more broadly as he glanced from Billy Boy to me.  Then, he laughed.  "Sorry, Phil, I keep forgetting you well‑bred British boys don't like to be reminded you have the same plebeian needs the rest of us folks do."

            I waved his apology away airily.  "What's up, old boy?" I asked, knowing Michael Suede didn't make frequent personal trips without a reason.

            "I brought you your money - and some tickets.  I personally suggest you boys take in Kenny Sash and the Mad Dragoon - I'd say they're two of the very best of the shows here this summer."

            There was something different about the room with Michael Suede standing in its center.  And it wasn't just the addition of another person either.  There was a strain in the fabric of people having a good time in a resort far from home.  A resistance that crossed the border that separated camaraderie from something not quite right.  With my arse still tingling and my mind cleared of much of its baggage, I had to wonder if Michael himself wasn’t that strain.

            "You find out anything yet?" he asked suddenly, shifting from one foot to the other.

            I smiled and crossed the room.  He pulled a crumpled envelop from his jeans and handed it to me.  "There's five in there, Phil - in cash."

            I pocketed it without opening and counting it.  "I heard Mark came up to pursue some real estate plans, Michael."  I saw his eyes harden.

            "Who told you that?" he demanded.

            "The fancy solicitor from New York - the chap with the forty footer tied up at the wharf."  I knew what I was doing, that I was setting the fat, balding man up - if Michael was involved in the Soho coterie behind Mark Edwards' real estate deal.  I didn't think there was much risk for the lawyer; the element of ignorance was gone.  But there was a chance someone could get nervous; and that was what I wanted.  "What do you know about that deal, Michael?" I asked then, keeping my voice gentle.

            He slumped.  His body was still close to ramrod straight as he continued to stand in the center of the hotel room but something seemed to have left it.  A strength that had held it above whatever anyone else might throw at it.

            He glanced around and found the chair.  Quickly, he had folded himself into it.  "I met Mark back in January, Phil - shortly after the holidays.  I was doing a jig down off Christopher Street - he was a good looking bastard."

            "He was that," I answered, smiling my acknowledgement.

            "Well - we started seeing each other.  I guess I talked about P'town a lot too - if I have my choice, I'll spend every summer of my life up here.  Anyway, we came up for a weekend back on St. Valentine's Day."  He sighed.  "Mark was a greedy son of a bitch-"  I nodded.  "He quickly started seeing some kind of entertainment complex that would run along the bay - something like what all those old farts go for down in Florida."

            "Did he talk about his plans?" I asked.

            "Not really, Phil.  What he discussed with me was just the idea of buying up all that beach property and making it into one continuous party place.  It sounded really-"  He smiled wryly.  "He suggested I could make a lot of money - me and some of the other guys who come up here every summer.  He'd find the money to buy it and we'd be partners with guaranteed contracts every summer.  You can't even imagine how good that sounded to us."

            "There were several of you?"

            "Yeah.  Vinnie - the mad dragoon - and some of the others who make their homes in the city like I do.  We know P'town, Phil.  We would be the grease that made it work.   Mark and the guys with the money would buy up the beach and finance the changes they wanted to make - and we'd run it.  It was our faces he needed - our faces and our names."

            "For the pull you lads have." I offered, nodding.  Then, I grinned.  "Sounds like it was a win/win situation for you."

            "Yeah - it was."

            "Who's paying for me?" I asked suddenly.

            "Does it matter?" he asked, looking up in surprise.

            "Yes, it does, Michael.  His plans for Provincetown seem to be the reason he was killed. None of the people who pay me to find the killer are probably going to be the guy who pulled the trigger."

            "The money comes from most of the bar owners - the business men and women here who don't want a murder scaring off their business."

            "How about the actors up here?"

            Michael laughed nervously.  "Us?  Shit, Phil!  None of us have money.  We rob Peter to pay Paul every month just to keep up our roach‑enfested flats in New York and Boston."

            "Did anybody know what his plans were for the properties he was buying up?"

            "We knew he wanted the beach from the 'slip down to the Wharf.  He'd get rid of the museum and that tacky little pottery joint.  It'd be an enclosed kind of thing with lots of bars, restaurants, and lounges - and a hotel too.  It sounded wonderful."

            "None of you guys had any idea of what his architectural ideas were - what it would look like?"

            He shook his head slowly.  "Phil, we were his contact people.  We opened the doors for him with the guys with the property.  In return, we were going to get a piece of the action and-" He grinned suddenly. "And our acts got tenure."

            "You really don't know what the plans for P'town were?"  He shook his head slowly and met my eyes.  "He wanted to do a high rise that'd block off the whole bay.  There were going to be bars, restaurants, and lounges along a promenade all right - but he was going to tear up the whole atmosphere that has been Commerce Street and Provincetown."

            He stared at me then, his eyes showing his disbelief.  "He what?" he finally managed to get out.

            "The plan was for a high rise, Michael - a super mall with a high rise hotel and taking up most of the shore line facing Boston.  From what Chief Formoso was saying, I get the idea that wouldn't have met with universal acclaim here in Provincetown."

            "It sure as shit wouldn't!"  He stared at me with continuing disbelief.  "Are you sure, Phil?"

            "That's what I got from the solicitor - and he was here to wrap everything up in pretty legal paper!"

            "Jesus!" he growled.  "I would've killed the fucking little bastard myself."

            "Michael-?"  I was watching him now.  I wanted to see his reactions.  "When was the last time you had sex with him?"

            He snorted.  "Phil, that was over by mid‑March.  I guess it never really was from what you're saying - he was just using me to get to the guys here!"

            "What about who he might've been seeing?" I asked, steering him back to the possible suspects I was interested in.

            "There were a couple of guys I introduced him to back in February and he seemed to hit it off with."  Michael Suede stood up and walked over to the window that faced Bradford Street.  "Jesus!"

            "What?"

            "I can't imagine Mark spreading those legs of his for any of them."

            "You should know him by now, Michael - if somebody could help him, he was available."

            "Yeah."   His face fell as he personalised that knowledge.

            "The same thing happened to me, old man," I told him, sharing it.

            "That doesn't really make me feel better," he answered ruefully.  "We didn't spend too much time with anybody that trip I made up here with him - and a lot of these guys don't live here year around, either.  They do stay open most of the year as sort of a get away for the community here in New England - but they've got a manager for that."

            Billy Boy studied me curiously as I closed the door behind us.  "You really do know all these people?" he asked finally.  "I mean, real actors and singers and people?"  I nodded slowly.

            "Just when I finally think I know you, Phil, you come out with a totally new face.  I was getting comfortable with who you are - were - down in Atlanta.  Then, we come up here on vacation and you're somebody totally different."

            "Love, I'm the same person.  These people are real people too - they just have different jobs from other people."   He continued to stare at me in disbelief.  "Not everybody owns a bar or works for a company.  Look at me - I don't fit the great American mould, but I'm just a man like everybody else is."

            "Not like everybody, Phil!" he yelped.  "I fell in love with you because you were different - even unique."

            "Thanks, love, for that vote of confidence," I answered and grinned.  "Now, how about a different kind of vote of confidence?"

            He crossed the room then, a broad grin consuming his face, and came into my arms.  "I love you, Phil," he muttered as he pressed his face against my chest.  "I don't want to ever lose you."

            "You won't, love," I answered as I took his face in my hands and brought it up to mine.  "I've grown quite fond of you this past year."

            His fingers spread across the front of my trousers.

* * *

The second floor hallway of the Guilford House was strangely quiet as I made my way toward the bathroom and the shower that awaited me there.  I could hear the echo of my footsteps and the creaking of ancient floorboards beneath me.  There were no lithe young bodies passing me by and smiling as I walked to the end of the hall.  There was only me - and my thoughts.  The thoughts which had kept me awake most of the night as Billy Boy slept peacefully beside me.

            He was asleep still.  He hadn't heard the angry blasts of the small vessels making their way out into the bay at five o'clock or the mournful groans of the foghorn that had crept into our room only moments ago.  It was seven and the Guiford's guests were sleeping off their reveries.  I couldn't sleep.

            I was pretty sure I knew who killed Mark Edwards.  And I didn't like the knowledge.  There was only one question between my suspicion and knowledge.  It was a question I was going to have to ask Chief Formoso; and I was desperately hoping his answer to my question would make the suspicions I now had evaporate.  I wanted to be wrong - more than I ever had in my life.

            Only, I would bet Billy Boy's love for me that I wasn't - that was how sure I was.  I hated being this sure of myself - especially this time.  I also hated having stayed up all night with that knowledge - wrestling with it and, finally, losing to it.

            It had separated me from the resort that was Provincetown - even from Billy Boy beside me.  Forcing me into a loneliness I did not like.  Even as I opened the door to the bathroom, I could still feel my anger at having spent the hours of that long, dark night alone.  I had felt it in my soul, cold and clammy as I slowly came to understand why anyone would kill another human being. 

            I had felt the hate welling up out of my own past, those years I had spent with Mark Edwards and not knowing he was sleeping with other men.  An afternoon tryst.  A before‑class moment.  A good-looking face and a willingness to explore a new body.  I had known it all during the long night.  And I, too, had come to hate Mark Edwards for his lack of honesty.  For his manipulation of me.  For not loving me as I had loved him.

            I had come to understand.  But that still didn't make me like it.  Creatures like Mark Edwards needed to be squashed.  They needed to have been aborted so they would never be able to come into the world and destroy the people who would come to love them.  And I hated the law that didn't distinguish between good and bad people.

            After I had showered and shaved, I returned to our room and dressed.  Billy Boy was still enfolded in the sleep of the sated as I pulled the door to and started toward the police station and a question of Chief Formoso I didn't want to ask.

            "Mr. Goode, I didn't know you were going to be here," the Chief greeted me from behind a desk as I walked in.

            "I need to ask you one question, Chief," I answered without any preparation.

            "Sure - why don't you join me in my office for a cup of coffee?"  He came around the desk and took me by the elbow, leading me through the door of his office.  "You don't look well, Phil.  What's the matter?"

            "Tell me just one thing, Chief."

            He shrugged.  "Sure."

            "When did it get around what caliber gun killed Mark Edwards?"

            "Huh?"  He stared at me.  "I don't know.  Wait!  We didn't know that until the State lab boys told us - that was two days after the murder.  Why?"

            I had been hoping I was wrong.  I really had.  Unfortunately, that kind of luck never happens except in stupid soapy fiction.  "I was praying you would give me another answer," I mumbled and sipped at the coffee the policewoman put in my hand.

            "Why?" the Chief asked, pushing me as he sensed that I knew something.

            "I can't prove it, Chief.  The only thing I have is that the murderer told me what kind of handgun was used the afternoon after the murder - before you even knew."

            He stared at me.  His disbelief showed in his face.  "Who?" he finally managed.

            "Michael Suede."  I stood up.  I had done what I was paid to do.  I did it.  It didn't mean I had to enjoy having done it.

            "Why?" he gulped.

            "How would you like it, Chief, if your wife were sleeping around - had been sleeping around since you married her - and, then, right after you made love to her, told you it was over?"

            His eyes clouded as he forced himself to consider the situation I put before him.  "Mark was promiscuous, Chief.  He was incapable of loving anybody - but he certainly knew how to use his body and he had a cute innocence and the ability to use it that kept a guy going - until he was ready to drop the boom on him."

            "Jesus!"

            "I don't know how you're going to prove it, Chief.  You can get some of it from some of his friends here in town this summer - and you'll probably get more of it out of New York and his crowd down there."  I snorted.  "That isn't my bag - but, of course, I'm available if you need my testimony."

            "I wish it had been somebody else."

            "Me too."

            "Why did he want you on the case?  If you could nail him, why bring you on board?"

            I smiled and felt the lump in the pit of my stomach.  That answer hurt me more than anything else.  "Ever hear of ego, Chief?"  The man nodded.  "Well, Michael thinks he's hot shit as an actor, that he could fool anybody - even a friend."