Double Coverage

Chapter 4: He Only Has Eyes for You

Chapter 4: He Only Has Eyes for You

I sat at the bar and ordered a tuna on rye and a Long Island iced tea for lunch. Francine gave me an extra pickle on the side. While serving the food to me, she leaned across the bar and giggled. “All the beefcakes in here think you want their pickle.”

I rolled my eyes, grinned, and said, “None of them will have me.”

“That’s not true, Johnny, and you know it.”

“I’ve been single for three months. I’m used goods. No one wants to share their pickle with me.”

We laughed together. She took a sip of my strong drink, swallowed it down, and said, “Beckley Roarke wants to share his pickle with you.”

“I know. We took a jog in Talon Park together this morning. He relentlessly flirts with me.”

“He’s in love with you, Johnny. When are you going to realize that?”

“He simply wants in my skinny jeans. Once he has my d**k he’ll move on to the next guy.”

She shook her head, pursed her lips together, and said, “That’s wrong. Beckley hasn’t had a boyfriend in years. He only has eyes for you. I don’t know how many times he is in here asking me about you. The guy thinks you’re God, his soul mate, and someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with.”

I took a bite of my sandwich, relished it, and eventually said, “I don’t feel that way about Beckley. Yes, he’s sexy as hell and has a body from heaven. Plus, he’s a professional and does a great job on the field. That doesn’t mean he would make a good boyfriend.”

“You’re being difficult,” she said, waving a finger at me, scolding me. “The man adores you and you pay no attention to him. You’re out of your mind, young man. You’re creating a crime of the heart.”

“And you’re being overdramatic, Francine. Broadway calls for you.”

She waited on two customers at the bar, Joey Fratrano and Ridge Marlin. Both played for the Vipers at one time in their athletic careers but were now retired and almost fifty. They were good looking men who were still fit and aging well. Joey nodded and winked at me, queer as Tinker Bell. His blue gaze said he wanted to accomplish something naughty with my naked body. I ignored him, having no interest in ex-football players and their unfaithful behaviors. Plus, I was hungry and parched, and just wanted to enjoy my lunch.

Francine returned to my side and asked, “Is it true that you were on Landon Street last night, inside Tad Dossner’s apartment, taking photographs?”

“Yes. It was around two o’clock this morning.”

“And a helmet was used to bash his head in?” She scrunched her nose with disgust and scowled.

I nodded. “The newspaper won’t even print a photograph because they are all too graphic. I spent this morning going through the pics and couldn’t believe all the blood.”

“Who killed him, photography boy?” Francine liked to cut to the chase regarding her questions, which I respected.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Was it another official or a Vipers football player?”

“If you find out, you can let me know.”

Perhaps that comment or request was serendipity playing a sick and obtrusive game with me. Because in a matter of twelve hours I was head over heels involved in Tad Dossner’s murder.