GUS RAMONE SAT IN Leo’s, drinking a Beck’s, his notebook on the bar. It was unusual for him to go anywhere but back to his family after work. He liked this place and the off-beat neighborhood crowd. That was part of why he’d come. The other part was, he just didn’t feel like going home. He knew he’d have to talk to Diego. But he wasn’t ready to tell him about Asa just yet.
Two men were beside him, talking about the song that was coming from the juke. They stopped to sing the chorus, and when the verse came they resumed their discussion.
“‘Closed for the Season,’” said the first man. “Brenda Holloway.”
“That’s Bettye Swann,” said the second. “Brenda Holloway did that song that Blood, Sweat and Tears made famous.”
“I don’t care if she did one for Pacific Gas and Electric. This is Brenda singin right here.”
“Bettye Swann. And if I’m wrong, I’ll kiss the star on your dog’s ass.”
“How ’bout you kiss mines?”
Ramone drank from the bottle and swallowed cold beer. Asa’s journal occupied his thoughts.
There was no question now concerning the cause of death. Asa’s last entry in the journal had been made on the day of his passing and was a veritable suicide note. He couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations. He hated his father and loved him. He was certain that he had been born gay and equally certain that his desires would never change. He couldn’t bear the thought of his father’s reaction if he were to find out. He didn’t want to think about facing his friends. Asa could no longer live with who he was. He prayed that God would give him the courage to pull the trigger when the time came. He knew a quiet place were he could do it. He knew where he could get a gun. Death would be a relief.
The passages in the journal detailing Asa’s homosexual experiences had unsettled Ramone. Asa had experimented first with phone sex and then, through the Internet and ads placed in local alternative papers, he had met men at predetermined locations near his home. At the end, he was seeing a partner, considerably older than he, whom he identified only as RoboMan. Asa wrote that this man was infatuated with him. For his part, Asa did not speak of his emotional feelings but rather the physical aspect of their relationship. They had engaged in oral and anal sex. There was no indication of rape or coercion. Ramone had to assume that the sex had been consensual. Consensual, perhaps. But not legal, given Asa’s age.
Ramone opened his notebook on the bar. He began to read through the pertinent remarks he had recorded during his interviews.
RoboMan.
RoboCop. That was the first thought that came to Ramone. Could Asa’s lover have been Dunne, the police officer he’d met at the crime scene? The same officer Holiday had seen driving by the garden the night he’d discovered Asa’s body?
Then Ramone read something that he’d written just yesterday.
“Defensive,” said Ramone, his voice unheard under the Bettye Swann vocal and sweet horns filling the room.
He raised one finger, caught the attention of the bartender, and ordered another beer.
He’d sit here at Leo’s and drink this one slow. The next order of business was the gun.
Thirty-Five
RAYMOND BENJAMIN PULLED over behind the Maxima on Hill Road and waited for Michael Tate and Ernest Henderson to come to him. He had phoned Henderson, told him he was nearby, and told him and Tate to bring their guns and get in his car when he arrived. He watched as they approached, Henderson with confidence in his step, ready to put work in. Tate looking more like a young man about to go clubbing or attend a fashion show than an enforcer.
Benjamin had been tight with Tate’s older brother, a man named William who went by Dink, when both of them were full in the game. Dink had stood tall at Benjamin’s trial, and because of that Benjamin had drawn a light sentence. Someone had rolled on Dink, so he took the full federal jolt, his lack of cooperation on the stand an added negative factor at his sentencing. Benjamin would never forget what Dink had done for him. He sent a little money to Dink’s mother regularly and had put his younger brother Mikey on, even though he was unsuited for this type of work. He used Tate mainly in the car business. He took Tate with him to auction up in Jersey and allowed him to detail the vehicles before delivery. He had never used him for anything like this.
Tate and Henderson got into the backseat of Benjamin’s S500. It was an immaculate, roomy, black-over-tan Mercedes with two DVD screens, well appointed with real wood and fine leather. Benjamin needed the space, as he was a very tall, broad-shouldered man.
“Talk about it,” said Benjamin.
“Girl took that gravel road on foot,” said Henderson. “Mikey went up there through the woods. He can tell you what he saw.”
“Two houses,” said Tate. “One at the head of the road, one far back. She went into the house at the back.”
“Anyone in that first house?”
“Not that I could see. Wasn’t no cars there.”
“Looks like they all park out here, anyway,” said Benjamin.
“ ’Cause there ain’t no way out back there,” said Tate. “It dead-ends.”
“Man’s bein careful,” said Benjamin, his eyes in the rearview on Tate. “Can you get there through the woods?”
“Either side is trees, all the way to the second house. Behind it, too.”
“I’m not about steppin through those woods in the evening,” said Benjamin. He feared no man but was frightened of snakes.
“We can wait,” said Henderson. “Another hour it’ll be full dark; we can walk right up the road.”
“We need to do this now,” said Benjamin. “I don’t want to be sittin out here with guns in the car. Y’all are tooled up, right?”
“We’re ready,” said Henderson, lifting up his blue shirt and showing the checkered grip of a nine-millimeter Beretta holstered under his jeans. Tate nodded but did not feel the need to show Benjamin his gun.
“Okay, then,” said Benjamin, still looking at Tate. “Mikey, you go on in. I’m gonna have you cover the back of the house.”
“I can do that.”
“That girl or anyone else comes out back, you know what needs to be done.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Ray.”
“Go on, then. When it’s over, buck and run. We’ll meet back here at the cars.”
Benjamin and Henderson watched as Tate jogged down Hill Road and then cut right into the woods.
“He don’t have it,” said Henderson.
“But you do,” said Benjamin.
Henderson burned with pride. “I’m hyped, Ray. For real.”
“These motherfuckers took me off and shot my nephew.”
“Said I was ready.”
“Hold that attitude for ten minutes,” said Benjamin. “Let youngun get to his position. Then we’ll go in.”