The Next to Die Page 0,1
any kids. To Jim’s utter surprise, even after the agent defeatedly stomped out of the restaurant, Tony remained at the table. It was as if he genuinely cared. “No kids, huh?” Tony said, finishing his drink. “Me neither. Linda and I are thinking about adopting. But there’s a lot to consider, y’know?”
Jim nodded emphatically.
“I mean, look at how everyone’s staring at us. It’s life in a fishbowl, and that’s no way to raise a kid. Plus there are some real nutcases out there. Lately, I’ve been getting these strange phone calls—on my private line, no less. Death threats, real nasty stuff. Makes me think twice about bringing a kid into this world.” He shrugged and sat back. “Anyway, it’s nothing to dump on you. So—what are your plans for the night?”
“I don’t really have any plans,” Jim said.
“Great. Because I’d like to buy you a drink for being such a good sport. Only not here. It’s too stuffy here. I know a place you might like.”
The place was called Vogue Vertigo, at least that was where Tony told the driver to go once they climbed into the taxi. They settled back, and Tony slung his arm around Jim’s shoulder—as though they were old pals. Jim was still in a stupor over this instant bond with the movie star. “I think you’ll dig Vogue Vertigo,” Tony said. “I hear this straight crowd is starting to take over. But that’s mostly on weekends. I don’t think we’ll have to put up with them tonight. We’ll see.”
The driver studied them in the rearview mirror. Jim caught his stare, and he suddenly became aware of how the two of them must have looked together, huddled in the backseat, one guy with his arm around the other.
Chuckling, Jim grinned at those disapproving eyes in the rearview mirror. “Hey, bub, what are you staring at?” he asked. “Think we’re queer or something? Do you know who you’ve got back here? This is Tony—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Tony whispered.
Jim fell into a stunned silence. He recognized the cold, deadly tone. Tony spoke that way to characters in the movies seconds before blowing them away. He frowned at Jim, then slid over closer to the window.
They went on for three more blocks without saying a word. All the while, Jim tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. It seemed as if his instant friendship with the movie star had just as instantly expired.
“This is good right here, driver,” Tony said, pulling out his wallet.
The taxi pulled up to the curb. Jim warily surveyed the neighborhood. He’d seen worse areas, but had never been dropped in the heart of one this bad—this late at night. Half of the stores looked as if they’d been shut down years ago, and the others didn’t look long for this world. The cab stopped near a dark, cheesy little grocery store.
Climbing out of the taxi, Jim could barely make out the green neon VOGUE VERTIGO sign in the window of a squat brick building farther down the block. “Why didn’t you let him take us right up to the place?” he asked as the taxi pulled away.
“Because you don’t want to go in there,” Tony replied. He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Listen, Jim. I made a mistake. I’ll get you a cab—another cab, and pay for your ride back. Our plans for tonight are kaput.”
Tony switched on his phone, punched in some numbers, then cradled it to his ear. Apparently, he wasn’t getting a dial tone. Frowning, he rattled the phone in his fist. “Damn it,” he grumbled. “Battery’s dead. You don’t have a cell phone on you, do you?”
Jim shook his head. “Sorry. Listen, what’s happening here? What’s going on?”
“We’ll have to use a pay phone in the bar,” Tony said. “I didn’t want to take you in there, because you’ll probably freak out. It’s a gay bar, Jim. I was wrong earlier. I don’t think you’d like Vogue Vertigo after all.”
“This place is a gay bar?”
“Bingo. Go to the head of the class.” Tony started to walk toward the end of the block.
Jim grabbed his arm. “I don’t get this. You’re married to Linda Zane, for chrissakes, and you’re gay? How could you be gay?”
“I’ll tell you what James Dean said when someone asked him the same question. He said, ‘I’m not about to go through life with one hand tied behind my back.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jim stepped in front of him.