Free The Hired Man by Dorien Grey

never got to do anything about and always kicked yourself because you hadn’t? Well, that guy, whoever he may have been, grew up to be Billy, and he fulfilled the fantasy in spades!
    He didn’t have to say a word, but his every action made it clear you were the one in control, and that was exactly what he wanted you to be, and that he’d be more than glad to follow your lead wherever you wanted to go. Think about it. That was Billy.
    I did end up joining him in the shower—by that time, we both needed one. God, he was an incredible mixture of sweetness and sex, and I’m sure he brought out the Me-Tarzan side of every guy lucky enough to go to bed with him. As I’d thought about Phil, the Glicks had found a gold mine when they found Billy. If Phil’s specialty was “whatever you want” and Aaron’s was “down and dirty,” Billy’s was definitely ego fluffing.
    *
    I took Phil’s photo to a local quick-service photo place a block from my office, had them enlarge it to a 4x6, then headed back for the Montero. I drove around the block looking for the entrance to their parking garage and, upon finding it on the street flanking the hotel, was interested to note the sign above the ramp said “Guest Parking Only.”
    I found a place to park about a block away then walked around to the side of the hotel and down the ramp to the garage. Both the entrance and exit lanes were blocked by those retractable railroad-crossing-type barriers, but about six feet inside was a small attendant’s booth between the two lanes. No one was in the booth or in evidence in the garage itself. I noted that entry was gained by punching numbers into a small keypad on a box on a pole about ten feet from the barricade, the one on the exit side must have triggered automatically when a car approached.
    I circled the barricade and checked the attendant’s booth. There were no signs of recent occupation, and it occurred to me they might not have a regular attendant.
    I continued through the main part of the relatively small garage, which had been added during the recent renovation as a convenience for guests. Visitors and those attending social functions at the hotel probably used the large public garage across the street and a few doors down.
    I reached the far wall at the end where there were two doors, one an elevator, the other a stairway. Instead of a button for the elevator door there was another keypad. The elevator could only be summoned by punching in some numbers, probably the same ones that provided access to the garage. So it would be difficult for anyone to gain access to the guest floors without having the keypad combination or being with someone who did, but not at all difficult to leave the hotel via the garage without being seen.
    I took the stairway and found myself, not surprisingly, in the lobby. Out of curiosity, I stopped at the registration desk to ask about the garage attendant. I was told they had one on duty between 10:00 p.m. and 7:00 a.m., largely to keep an eye on the visitors’ cars against late-night vandalism. I made a note to return after 10:00 to check whether he’d noticed anything unusual Sunday night.
    On my way back to the office, I stopped at the photo place to pick up Anderson’s photo.
    *
    I stayed at the office a little later than usual, planning to catch the tail end of the happy hour—if they had one—at Faces. I wanted to be there before the dinner rush really started but when I could be pretty sure all the waiters and bartenders would be on duty.
    Faces, as I’ve mentioned, was several steps above the usual hustler bars—considerably more discreet. The hustlers tended to be generally better-looking, better-groomed, and subtler than the guys, say, at Hughie’s, the hustler bar closest to my office. There was some crossover traffic, of course, but not much. The guys at Faces might deign to check Hughies out on a really slow night, but most of Hughie’s hustler clientele didn’t want to bother