Murder Above Fourth
Author	J.P. Bowie
ISBN#	978-1-60820-120-4 (ebook)
	978-1-60820-119-8 (print)
Release Date	December 2009
Cover Artist	Deana C. Jamroz
Paperback:	228 pages

http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Above-Fourth-J-P-Bowie/dp/1608201198/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1261781439&sr=1-2
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/e/9781608201198/?itm=2&usri=mlr+press

Nick Fallon always knew there would be a day of reckoning between himself and Harold Forsythe, a millionaire who headed a secret group paying big bucks to watch young men and women have sex-sometimes dangerous sex, that had resulted in the deaths of two young men.

When one of the owners of ‘Above Fourth’, a popular San Diego nightclub, is needlessly murdered, Nick vows to take Forsythe down, but in his determination to see the man behind bars, Nick throws caution to the wind. In a reckless and ultimately dangerous move, he not only puts his own life in jeopardy, but also the future of his relationship with his lover.

*******************************

Eric Jamieson looked down the length of the art gallery, at the polished wood floor, at the paintings hanging in neat rows on both walls, at the green fern plants strategically placed here and there among the pieces of sculpture. He swiped a hand over his short brown hair, his light blue eyes gleamed, and he exhaled a long, satisfied breath of completion. Yes, he had done it, given the gallery the facelift he’d promised Peter Brandon, the gallery owner, and all before Peter was due back from his vacation. Actually, he’d been due back this morning, but he’d called to say he and Jeff Stevens, his lover, were running just a tad late and he’d see Eric in the afternoon.

Perfect, Eric had thought, that’d give him time to take lunch over to Nick’s office so they could spend the hour together—something they hadn’t had enough of recently, what with Jeff and Peter away on a two week vacation. Jeff was Nick’s business partner in the investigative business—Stevens and Fallon. Their office was within easy walking distance of the gallery. Eric could be there and back within the space of an hour or so. He picked up his cell phone from the desk at the back of the gallery and speed- dialed Nick’s number.

“Stevens and Fallon, Private Investigations. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Monica, it’s Eric. Is he there?”

“He sure is.” Monica sounded edgy. “And I sure hope you can put him in a better mood than I can. He is Mr. Grump today.”

“Sorry.” Eric knew a bad-tempered Nick could be worse than a threat of weapons of mass destruction—and just as loud. “What’s he mad about?”

“Heck if I know. He arrived this way and hasn’t snapped out of it so far. His door is closed, and that’s always a bad sign. Did you cut him off or something?”

Eric chuckled. “No, but we’ve been real busy with both Peter and Jeff away. Maybe he just found the pressure too much.”

“Well, thank goodness Jeff’s back today,” Monica said with a sigh. “Maybe he can straighten Nick out—oh sorry…” She giggled. “Wrong terminology.”

“Tell me.” Eric laughed. “A grumpy and straight Nick would send me running for the hills.”

Laughing, Monica said, “I’ll put you through.”

After a few beeping sounds, Eric was greeted by an almost churlish, “Nick Fallon.”

“Hi. You sound mad.”

“Hey, Eric…” Nick blew out a long sigh of frustration. “Not mad at you, just some asshole trying to make my life more difficult than it need be.”

“Who’s that?”

“Remember that LAPD cop I had a run in with some time back—Bob Morales?”

“Yeah, I remember. What about him?”

“He’s tryin’ to get my license pulled. The son-of-a-bitch filed a complaint against me.”

“After all this time?” Eric frowned. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds I withheld evidence in the John Hammond case. He’s saying they could have solved the case with no loose ends still attached if I had been ‘more forthcoming.’ My guess is the jerk’s in trouble with the bosses and he’s looking for a scapegoat—me.”

“How serious is this?”

“Serious enough. Jeff’s not going to be too pleased when I give him the news. I got a call in to Joe French to see if he can help any.”

“Good idea. Listen, I was going to bring you lunch.”

“Sounds good, babe. How about a meat sandwich?”

“A meat sandwich. What kind of meat?”

“You, between my thighs.”

Eric roared. Nick might be in a bad mood, but he could still come up with some good ideas. “I’m flattered,” Eric purred. “After six years together you still want me at lunchtime.”

“Want you all the time,” Nick growled. “When you comin’ over?”

“Let’s see…” Eric looked at his watch. “In about an hour.”

“Terrific. See you then.”

“Bye, lover. Keep those thighs warm for me.” Oops. He hadn’t seen the man enter the gallery, and there was no doubt he’d heard Eric’s last comment. “Good morning,” Eric sang out, trying not to look embarrassed. “If you have any questions, just let me know.”

“Actually, I do have a few questions.” The man approached Eric, smiling. He was about forty, in good shape, wearing cream-colored slacks and a navy blazer Eric guessed was an Armani. A receding hairline did nothing to detract from his overall good looks. “Are you the owner?” the man asked.

“No, that would be Peter Brandon, the owner and the artist.” Eric held out his hand. “Eric Jamieson. I manage the gallery for Peter.”

“Chad Glover.” His handshake was warm and firm. “I own a nightclub and restaurant in San Diego, and I’m looking for some nice art pieces for the reception area. A couple of these New York cityscapes look interesting.”

“Yes, that one looking across Central Park Lake in winter is a favorite of mine,” Eric said.

Glover nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied the painting. “I also like the one of Brooklyn Bridge. He’s got an incredible talent, hasn’t he? I mean, that looks like real metal.”

“Yes, Peter has an eye for detail, Mr. Glover, and he has a photographic memory.”

“Chad, please. Gene, one of my partners, and myself are originally from New York,” Glover remarked. “We’ve given the club a kind of New York feel—you know, a bit more formal than Californians are used to. So far it’s paid off in the amount of return clients we’ve had. I’d like to continue the theme in the artwork.”

“Both of these are good choices,” Eric murmured, stepping back slightly so as not to crowd the other man. Eric had always believed in the ‘soft sell’ approach. He hated it when sales people were too pushy, especially on a high end item, like one of Peter Brandon’s paintings. If he bought just one, Eric would have made his commission for the week—two, and Nick was going to get much more than a meat sandwich.

“You’re right. It’s hard to choose between them.” Chad’s eyes skimmed over the two framed canvases. “So much strength in the one, and serenity in the other. I guess I’ll just have to take them both.

Yippee! Eric gave a silent cheer. Peter would love this news when he got back.

“Will you take a check, and can you deliver? I’d take them with me, but I’m driving a two-seater, so space is limited.”

Eric smiled. “Yes, on both counts. We have this new fangled machine that will clear your check immediately, and I can drive down to San Diego tomorrow, if that’s all right?”

“Excellent.” Chad pulled his checkbook from his blazer’s inside pocket. “There should be enough in the business account to cover this,” he said as he formed the final zero then signed his name. “Here’s the address.” He handed Eric a business card.

“Above Fourth,” Eric read aloud. “Great name—presuming you are above Fourth Street?”

“We are. The outside bar for the smokers overlooks Fourth.” He smiled at Eric. “Bring a friend with you, stay for lunch. We have an excellent menu, and a chef to do it justice.”

“Thanks, Chad.” Eric returned the man’s smile. “If I can drag my boyfriend away from work, I might be able to bring him with me.”

Eric fed Chad’s check into the machine and tried to not hold his breath as he waited for confirmation of funds. No problem. The check went straight through, the machine sliding out a printed receipt.

“There you are,” he said, handing over the receipt. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow about one o’clock. Is that all right?”

“That’s great.” Chad held out his hand. “Nice doing business with you.”

“Here are some of Peter’s business cards. Perhaps you could put some near where the paintings will hang.”

“Sure.” Chad pocketed the cards after looking at them briefly. “See you tomorrow.”

Eric watched him go, then went over to the desk and pulled out two “Sold” cards. Smiling as he affixed the cards to the frames, he wondered how long it would take Peter to notice them. Not too long, he figured. Nothing much escaped Peter’s attention.

§ § § §

“So how worried should I be about this?” Nick asked his friend Joe French, a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. “I mean, is Morales getting any backing on the complaint he filed?”

“More than he should,” Joe replied. “My question is, why did he wait so long? What triggered this self-righteous outburst?”

“Or who.”

“Yeah, or who.”

“Wanna know what I think?” Nick asked.

“Absolutely.”

“The big cheese, Chief Robertson, doesn’t like me too well, especially after the John Hammond debacle. He practically burst a blood vessel when I asked Morales to set up a sting operation to catch those bastards involved in the ‘snuff’ killings.”

“You know, Nick, I never heard a word about that until you told me. I figured something was up, ‘cause Morales was going around the department like he’d been well and truly chewed out.”

“Well, I don’t want to think that Robertson’s protecting that asshole Forsythe, but the way he went off when I mentioned Harold Forsythe’s name, gave me pause.”

Joe chuckled. “I can believe it, what with Forsythe campaigning against McCain for the Republican nomination.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t it strange when he suddenly announced he’d changed his mind? Right out of the blue, and with the feeblest excuse I’ve ever heard. Family pressure, my ass.” Nick snorted in disgust. “I betcha anything his wife and daughter would have loved to redecorate the White House. I think Robertson put the wind up him, and he realized he wouldn’t get to third base if the news ever got out.” Nick was quiet for a moment, thinking, then said, “You know, this is probably some kind of vendetta. Robertson warned Forsythe, Forsythe got pissed, and he’s been festering over it ever since he backed out of the race. I bet he told Robertson to put me out of business, and Robertson’s using Morales as the one to do the dirty deed.”

“Could be, and Morales is no fan of yours.”

“And he should be after I handed him that case on a plate.”

“Well, if you want me for a character witness, you only have to say ‘please’.”

“Thanks, Joe, appreciate it.” Nick sighed. “I still have to break this to Jeff when he gets back from his vacation.”

“Don’t sweat it too much, Nick. Morales is basing his case on the fact you didn’t hand over that tape right away, but you did give it up eventually. I was a witness to that, and you did practically solve the Hammond case all by yourself. So, unless he wants to look stupid…”

“Which he does frequently, and with great skill,” Nick said, chuckling. “I don’t know if that would stop him, quite frankly.”

“Well, like I said, don’t sweat it. I’ll poke around this end and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Take it easy, Nick.”

“Thanks again, Joe. Talk to you later.” Nick sank back in his chair and stared moodily out the office window. Somehow, he’d always known the whole mess from a year ago would come back to bite him in the ass one day. What had started out as a fairly straightforward case of ‘whose body is this?’ had turned into a nightmare of murder, deception, and police ineptitude. Or rather, one detective’s ineptitude—Bob Morales, the jerk who was now trying to get Nick’s license pulled. Or so it seemed. The more he thought about it, the more Nick was convinced that Morales was just the dumb puppet in all this. After he’d gotten chewed out by Robertson, Morales had probably never wanted to hear Nick’s name again.

The investigation John Hammond had started when he came to Nick’s office with a newspaper article about a body found in Laurel Canyon had led Nick to uncover a sordid collection of well-heeled people who hired young men and women for sexual purposes. But what had angered Nick most was the realization that some of those wealthy people, their sexual appetites sharpened by violence, were involved in ‘snuff’ movies. As one man had told Nick, “They pay more to see the kids struggle.”

Arrogance and a taste for revenge, had led John Hammond to set up a duped and drugged Detective Morales for a ‘snuff’ movie starring the detective himself. Nick and his partner, Jeff Stevens, had thwarted that plan, their intervention leading to the arrest of those involved and the breakup of the organization—for a time. When Nick discovered that among the rich and famous was Harold Forsythe, currently campaigning as a Presidential hopeful, he decided the man’s murderous tendencies should be exposed. That decision had caused him to be the object of Forsythe’s and Chief Robertson’s rage—and now Morales’ move to pull Nick’s license.

There was, however, one small item Robertson and Forsythe had overlooked. Not overlooked, exactly. They didn’t know about it. At least, not yet.

When Nick had spoken to Harold Forsythe on the phone, in the guise of Nick Lamont, pretending to be a procurer of young men and women who’d be up for just about anything Forsythe’s perverted little mind could envision, he’d taped the conversation. Of course, he’d have to prove it was Forsythe on the tape, but that Southern twang was, in Nick’s estimation, a dead giveaway, and might just be enough to have Robertson back off.

And then there had been the whole personal side of last year’s situation that had seen he and Jeff almost come to blows, and Jeff and Peter’s relationship come close to falling apart. Jeff had made a wrong turn thinking that Peter and he were drifting away from one another due to the pressure of Peter’s work, and his celebrity status in the art world. Feeling lonely one night he had picked up a guy in a bar, but had changed his mind, apologizing to the man for not being able to go through with what they had planned. Unfortunately that man was John Hammond, Nick’s lying client, who threw a fit right here in their office in front of Peter. It was proof positive of their love for one another that Jeff and Peter were able to work things out and get on with their lives and their relationship.

Nick had to admit he hadn’t helped things by asking Peter to accompany him to the crime scene and use his psychic ability in determining just what had happened to the man whose body had been found buried there. Jeff’s protective nature had made him lash out in anger at Nick, accusing him of putting Peter’s fragile psyche at risk by bringing to his mind terrifying visions of rape and murder. Again, there had been resolution, but the threat of losing Jeff as a friend and partner had a sobering effect on Nick’s at times brash behavior.

And then he’d had to contend with Eric’s disapproval, and that had hurt—a lot. He’d seen the flicker of real anger in Eric’s normally gentle, light blue eyes that told him he’d overstepped the bounds of friendship. Nick knew he could be egotistical, domineering, and demanding at times, but he was also loyal to a fault—and he loved Eric so much that sometimes he ached from it. He’d come close to losing him a couple of years back when a madman from Nick’s past had held them both at gunpoint. In the resulting struggle Eric had been severely injured, and for a time it had been touch and go. Nick still went cold when he remembered those terrible days sitting by Eric’s bedside in the hospital, praying for his recovery…

His thoughts were interrupted by Monica’s voice on the intercom. “Eric’s here, Nick.”

“Tell him to come in, then.”

Monica was trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “He says he’s scared. Wants to know if you’re still grumpy.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Nick pushed his tall, rangy frame away from his desk and strode to the office door, flinging it wide open, scowling at his secretary and his lover.

Eric ran behind Monica’s desk. “Don’t let him hurt me, please, Monica,” he wailed, clutching at the pretty Asian girl who collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“Cut it out, you two!” Nick tried to hold the scowl, but couldn’t. He chuckled, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Monica. I guess I’ve been a bit of a bear this morning. You…” He jerked his thumb at Eric. “Get in there and fix my sandwich. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

Eric grinned. “If you hear sobs of anguish, Monica—don’t come in.”

Monica sighed. “You guys. I’m going out to lunch, so you can make all the noise you want.” She held out a fistful of messages. “I suggest you answer these before Jeff gets back,” she sniffed. “Might be some new clients among them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nick gave her a winning smile as she picked up her purse and made for the exit. “Have a nice lunch.” He walked back into the office and closed the door. Eric was bent over his desk, laying out their sandwiches, his butt nicely defined under his beige slacks. Nick cupped said butt with his hands, stroking it firmly, then pulled Eric against his chest, his lips nuzzling the nape of Eric’s neck.

“Mmm…” Eric ground his ass into Nick’s groin. “That feels real nice.” He squirmed as Nick nibbled on his ear. “Even nicer…” He turned in Nick’s arms and smiled into his hazel eyes before delivering a searing kiss to his man’s lips. As their tongues meshed, both men felt a rising urgency of desire course through their blood.

The sound of voices outside the office had them groaning in frustration. “Damn,” Nick muttered, releasing Eric from his embrace and slipping behind his desk to hide the very obvious bulge in his pants. “It’s Jeff and Peter, by the sounds of it.”

“They’re early,” Eric grumbled, then whispered, “I was so into you doing me on this desk.”

“Ssh…” Nick shifted in his chair. “I’m trying to get rid of this hard on, and you’re not helping. ‘Sides, we’d have squished the sandwiches.”

Eric giggled, then held the sandwich bag in front of his crotch. They both affected welcoming smiles as Jeff and Peter pushed the door open and walked in.

“Hi, guys.” Eric beamed at them. “How was the trip? You both look great.”

And they did. Peter’s naturally fair hair was almost white-blond from his time in the sun, his tan lending a deeper blue to his eyes. Jeff, his wide-shouldered quarterback physique and smoky grey eyes, always reasons to turn heads, was even more stunning with the added tan.

Peter bounced over and gave Eric a hug. “We had the greatest time—oh, sorry, we’re interrupting your lunch.” he said, looking at the sandwiches spread out on the desk.

“No problem.” Nick eased himself carefully out of his chair to give Peter a hug. “Good to have you back.” He grinned at his partner. “So, Jeff, ready for the big grind again?”

Jeff shrugged. “Do I have a choice?” he chuckled, squeezing Nick’s shoulder. “So, what’s the damage report?”

“Would I have you come back to problems?” Nick said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, partner mine, all is well in the investigative business.”

“You both look terrific,” Eric said. “Must have got a lot of tanning time,” he added, admiring Peter and Jeff’s handsome, healthy, glowing faces. He beamed at Peter. “And I have some great news. I was going to save it ‘til we got over to the gallery, but what the hey. This morning I sold two paintings, Peter. Your two New York Cityscapes.”

“Wow.” Peter gave Eric another hug. “That’s fantastic.”

Nick pouted. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

“I was going to, but we got kinda distracted, if you remember.”

“Oh yeah, that—”

“Anyway,” Eric continued, “the guy who bought them owns a nightclub in San Diego. I have to deliver them tomorrow afternoon.”

“Great,” Peter said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh yeah, he’d love that—getting to meet the artist.” Eric looked at Nick and Jeff. “Why don’t you guys come too? We could make a day of it. Have dinner down there.”

Jeff shook his head. “I’ll have to take a rain-check. Got a lot of catching up to do from the looks of the messages in my inbox.”

“Me too, babe,” Nick said, thinking of what he had to tell Jeff once they were alone.

“Oh, okay. So, it’s just you and me, Peter.”

Peter smiled. “You and Nick have your lunch. I’ll see you over at the gallery when you’re done.” He gave Jeff a peck on the cheek. “And I’ll see you back home when you’re done here. Ciao, guys.”