Free The Hired Man by Dorien Grey Page B

asked. Good waiters and good bartenders share a lot of traits; remembering names is one of them.
    I slid Anderson’s picture along the bar so it was in front of him.
    “Would you happen to remember seeing this guy around here? Especially last Sunday night?” I asked.
    Glancing in Kent’s direction to check his progress, Tod picked the photo up and studied it closely, as Kent had done.
    “Well, I was working Sunday, and he wasn’t here then,” he said. “I recognize him, though. He’s been in a couple times, but not for a long while, now—maybe two, three months.”
    Well, that was a mixed bag of news.
    “Do you remember anything special about him?”
    “He was a damned good tipper,” Tod said with a quick grin. “But other than that, no.”
    “He usually pick someone up?”
    Tod pursed his lips.
    “Usually, yeah. Guys like him don’t just come in for the food, you know.” He grinned again then noticed Kent setting the drinks on his tray at the waiter’s station. “Gotta go,” he said and hurried to pick up the tray and head off toward a group of four guys at one of the farther tables.
    Okay, I thought , so we’ve established Anderson wasn’t a total stranger to town . That he hadn’t been in lately might have been linked to when he started seeing Phil. I’d have to remember to ask the Glicks when Anderson had become a client. I’d also have to take his photo down to Hughie’s. ModelMen was the top of the hired-man ladder, Faces just a couple rungs below. I wondered just how far down the ladder Anderson had climbed.
    I had a couple more questions for Tod, so I sat nursing my drink until he returned with an order from another table. I picked up my glass and moved a couple stools closer to where he stood waiting.
    “A couple more things, Tod, if you don’t mind,” I said.
    He smiled. “Sure.”
    “Do you happen to remember anyone the guy in the photo I showed you went home with? I know it’s been a long time, but…”
    Tod chewed the corner of his lower lip for a moment then looked toward the far end of the bar where most of the…younger gentlemen…were sprinkled.
    “Paul,” he said. “The one in the tan jacket and white shirt.” He gave an almost imperceptible nod to indicate a very nice-looking guy about two-thirds of the way down the bar. “I know he left with Paul one night. The others…I’m not sure about.”
    At that point, Kent set the drinks on his tray.
    “Thanks again, Tod,” I said. He just smiled, picked up his tray, and left.
    I fixed my eyes on the guy Tod had pointed out and stared at him until I caught his eye. He glanced at me, looked away then brought his eyes back. His face broke into a small but definite grin, and he nodded an acknowledgment. The universal language of cruising.
    I had to take a moment to explain carefully to my crotch that I was going to be in control of the situation this time, not it. I smiled at Paul, who got up off his stool and came down to take a seat beside me.
    “Hi,” he said, as though we’d known each other for years. “What’s up?”
    “You’re Paul, right?”
    He looked at me with just the slightest trace of suspicion on his face.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Do we know each other?”
    “I’m sorry to say we don’t,” I told him sincerely.
    Up close, he was pretty typical of Faces’ younger clientele, which is to say pretty damned attractive. Dark-brown hair, eyes so dark brown they were nearly black, just the hint of freckles—Irish heritage, I guessed.
    I reached into my shirt pocket and took out my business card and Anderson’s photo, giving him my card first. He looked at it then up at me with a raised eyebrow.
    “And…?”
    I laid Anderson’s photo in front of him.
    “I understand you went home with this guy a couple months ago,” I said, “and I’d just like to see if I can find out a little more about him.”
    Paul shook his head.
    “Sorry,” he said, “I don’t talk about people I meet.”
    “That’s