Murder in Alphabet City - 4. Chapter 4

Since Tom and George came to live with Joe Vincente, they led a pampered life. They had servants, who were happy to do things for them, especially because they were not exceptionally demanding, and they were generally well-liked by the staff. A cook made and served their meals. When they ate out, it was either at Vincent’s Copper Kettle, or Joe’s City Club, and now that it was summer, it was often at Joe’s Country Club in Westchester County. Joe even enrolled his boys in tennis and golf lessons at the Country Club. That meant that their pampering had gone way over the hill.

As a result of living like rich kids for the past few months, when they had their first taste of hard, manual labour at Burger King, they were so exhausted they fell into a deep sleep. Tom was naked as always. Sometime in the early morning hours, he became aware that someone was giving him a blow job. He was certain that it wasn’t George. The technique was all different, so he struggled to see who it was. When he identified his lover, he smiled broadly.

“Mr. Hamm, Gustav,” he begged, “don’t stop, please. I’m very close.”

He had a delicious orgasm, which woke him up immediately. He had been dreaming and whacking off in his sleep. He had cum all over his hand, in his pubic hairs, and on the bed linen.

“Shit,” he yelled, and he jumped out of bed to get a towel to clean up as best he could. When he jumped out of bed, he woke George.

“What’s wrong?” George asked.

“Nothing. I was whacking off in my sleep, and I dreamed you were down on me,” Tom lied.

“Too bad you wasted an orgasm. I’m going back to sleep.”

“That dream was no dream,” Tom protested. “It was too real.”

“Do you want me to make it more real?” George asked.

“You can’t.” Tom admitted. “I lied. It wasn’t you giving me head. It was Gustav Hamm.”

“I always knew that you were hot for him. If he wasn’t dead, I’d be worried.”

“What if it was his ghost trying to tell me something?”

George broke out laughing. “There’s no such thing as ghosts or an afterlife,” he stated adamantly. “When you’re gone, you’re gone. You know, the big sleep. Anyhow, what could he possibly be trying to tell you by giving you a blow job?”

“Maybe that I should pay more attention to you.” Tom laughed to relieve the temporary tension between them.

“I’ll tell you what to pay attention to. Clean up and go to sleep. Maybe your question will be answered in your next dream.”

******

Ken got to the station house early. He placed a call to The Treasury Department in Washington, D.C., and asked for any supervisor. He was shocked. Instead of being put on hold for an hour, the party he was talking to said, “I am a supervisor; my name is Karen Burns. What can I do for you?”

Ken identified himself right down to giving Karen his badge number. I need the latest address of a person of interest in a murder investigation, Bart Pearl. His social security number is: XXX-XX-7787.

“Just a minute,” she said, and put Ken on hold. Ken braced himself for another long wait, but she was back in less than two minutes.

“The address on his most recent tax return, received on March 20th, was 95 C Street in New York City, Apartment B2.”

Where did he work?” Ken asked.

“He reported three W-2s, but I can’t tell which one was the most recent.

Karen then gave Ken the three employers for whom Bart had worked and might still be working for.

Ken thanked Karen for all her help, and after he hung up, he gave out a little shout. Bart lived in the same apartment building as Theresa. Not only did he live in the same building, but he was also just one story directly below her.

He rushed to the squad room and picked up three cops just coming on duty. He assigned one of them to call Bart’s three employers to see if he was still working there. He wasn’t at any of them.

The other two climbed into Ken’s unmarked car, and they headed for C Street. As soon as they got there, they rushed up to B2, and started pounding on the door. There was no response.

Ken ran to get the super to open the door.

“Who ya looking’ fer?” the super asked.

“Bart Pearl,” Ken said curtly.

“Then your shit outta luck. Pearl moved out two months ago.”

“Fuck,” Ken yelled. “This guy is more slippery than an eel. Did he leave a forwarding address?”

“Nobody has ever moved out of this building and left me a forwarding address. Why don’t you check with the post office?”

“I intend to. Where’s your local post office; the one that delivers your mail?”

“On Second Avenue and East Fourth Street.”

When Ken interviewed the postmaster at the post office, he informed him that he had never received a change of address from Bart Pearl. He gave him the name of the postman who delivered mail to that address.

“He should be very helpful,” the postmaster said, “He’s had that route for fourteen years.”

The postman was out delivering mail, so Ken returned later in the day.

“Not only did I never deliver any mail to Bart Pearl, but I also haven’t delivered any mail to B2 for three years, ergo there was nobody there to register a change of address. However, a newlywed couple is moving in next week. Until they do, they’re picking up their mail here at the post office. They get lots a mail, mostly bills.”

Frustration was really brewing big time in Ken. He needed quiet time to sit and think. What did he know about Bart that would help him figure out how to find him?

******

This day, Tom and George had the 11 AM to 4 PM shift at Burger King, the busiest shift of the day. They came home more beat than the day before. After dinner they watched TV for about an hour and then rushed off to bed. They were drugged with fatigue, but they managed to give each other blow jobs. George actually fell asleep while Tom was down on him.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Tom felt like he was being wrapped in a cape of pure erotic pleasure. He thought about what was making him feel so good and realized that George was fucking him. But the cock up his ass was bigger than George’s. Whoever was fucking him began to groan and shot his load up Tom’s guts. When Tom felt the warm fluid running up his intestines, he let loose and came also. His cum bathed the bed sheets, and he woke up. The cock which had brought him to rapture was still up his ass. He turned to look at who was fucking him, and it was Gustav Hamm. As soon as Tom recognized him, Gustav disappeared.

Tom jumped out of bed to get a towel, and he woke George once again. When George saw Tom wiping the sheets, he got angry.

“Why don’t you jerk off in the bathroom?” he scolded Tom. Then he saw that Tom was crying, and he grew concerned.

“What’s wrong,” he asked.

“I swear, George, I didn’t jerk off. I was being fucked, and when the guy came, I did too. Before he disappeared, I could see that it was Gustav Hamm. Are you sure it wasn’t you?”

“Tom, honey, I swear it wasn’t me. What’s going on?”

“I know you don’t believe in an afterlife, but Gustav is trying to give us clues where to find his murderer. The guy is driving Ken crazy. The bastard is always one step ahead of him.”

“Even if you’re right, what kind of a clue is Gustav sending us by going down on you, and fucking you?”

“I don’t know, but we better figure it out soon.”

“In the meantime,” George begged, “could we please not tell anyone about this. I don’t want to end up in the crazy house.”

******

Downstairs Ken and Joe had a similar conversation after the boys went to bed.

“I know that nobody is tipping that piece of shit off, but he’s always one step ahead of me,” Ken lamented.

“I have a theory,” Joe said.

“I’m all ears. I’ll take any idea from anybody.”

“Okay,” Joe began, “as I see it, all the evidence against Bart Pearl is circumstantial. What if it isn’t him, but it’s someone else?”

“That’s crazy.”

“Hear me out, Hon. I know it’s far-fetched, but the murderer seems to know how you’re thinking, and how you’re conducting your investigation, so he’s always one step ahead of you. He’s thinking like a cop. As he passes you by, he’s planting plenty of evidence against Bart Pearl, who may not be guilty at all. Bart Pearl doesn’t have a police background, but I’ll bet that the murderer does.”

“Are you suggesting that the murderer is a cop?”

“No, I’m suggesting that he has some sort of law enforcement background.”

Ken thought that was an interesting theory after all.

******

After being fucked by a succubus, whom Tom believed to be Gustav Hamm, he could not sleep. All he could concentrate on was Gustav’s motive for having sex with him. Sex, why sex? Gustav was straight, or was he? He had sex with him and Theresa. Maybe he was bi-sexual.

The poor boy’s musings started to pay off. Suddenly, he had a thought. Was Gustav trying to tell him that the murderer had sexually abused him before murdering him?

It was about 4 AM when Tom jumped out of bed and ran naked to Ken and Joe’s bedroom. He shook Ken awake. He wanted to make sure that his guardian was fully aware of what he was about to ask him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ken asked.

“Is Gustav Hamm’s body still at the police morgue?”

“Yes, nobody has claimed it. We have to keep the bodies for a period of time, if nobody claims them, then they get sent out for burial.”

“Do you know if the Medical Examiner tested Hamm’s body to see if he had been sexually abused?”

“There was nothing in the autopsy report that indicated rape had anything to do with the murder.”

“Could you get the ME to re-examine the body for sexual abuse?”

“Sure, but where is this coming from?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Tom said. “If he was sexually abused, I’ll reveal my source. If he wasn’t, please don’t ever ask me about it again.”

“Okay. Have it your way.”

“Ken,” Tom asked. “If nobody claims the two bodies, do you think Joe would mind if we gave them a proper burial?”

“I don’t think he’d mind at all.”