Tell-Tale Signs

Over the years The Plaza Hotel had become quite adept at ridding itself of unsavory characters. Guests needed to feel comfortable and secure, and as far as Tony was concerned, providing such services was up to management. Police involvement meant bad publicity, and bad publicity was bad for business. The same could be said for the patrons of Babylon. Riffraff at a night club spelled trouble, especially at a gay night club where city commissioners were always on the lookout for any opportunity to exploit a situation that might assist them in closing the den of inequity down. Hence Tony's decision to handle the foiled robbery attempt with "discretionary measures". The hardest part about covering up the incident at Babylon was keeping the area clear until the evidence was wiped clean. A crowded dance floor of sweaty, half naked men proved to be the perfect distraction. No one noticed the tall man in jeans, and a black tee being escorted out. After that it only took one phone call. By the end of the night Brian's office looked as if nothing had taken place there. The shattered glass was removed. The blood stained walls were scrubbed clean, and the broken furniture was repaired. It's amazing what "Super Glue" can do in a pinch.

Justin looked at the bandage strip on the side of Brian's head. "You really should have gone to the hospital last night. Did you suddenly become dizzy? You may have suffered a mini stroke. People don't just fall for no reason," he fretted.

"I told you, it was just a freak accident. I tripped," Brian lied.

"Tripped on what?" Justin asked.

Brian was quick to change the subject. "Shouldn't you be retouching the photograph for the "Ingénue" perfume campaign? Marlon Goldstein will be here tomorrow morning for his presentation," he said.

Justin held up the photograph. "An ingénue is a naive, innocent girl. This model looks like a old hag," he said.

"That "old hag" is the daughter of the CEO of the company. It's your job to make her look fresh, and new. Now get to work. I have a meeting to go to," Brian said.

Brian watched as Justin left the room. It was now nearly 24hrs after the incident at Babylon, and he was starting to regret how it was handled. Perhaps calling the police would have brought bad publicity to the club, but taking the law into your own hands is a crime. Unlike Brian, Tony was no stranger to what he called "matters of discretion". One only had to ask Brian's old gym teacher, Kevin McLauren. It was Tony who fabricated the story of a simple fight between two men over a woman, when in reality Tony left Kevin cuffed to a table leg, and allowed Brian to take out his aggression on the man who raped Justin. The police report eventually read that Kevin McLauren sustained his injuries due to a mutual altercation that required Brian Kinney to defend himself with extreme prejudice. Thankfully Brian didn't kill him. According to Tony, it gets complicated after that. Not impossible, not horrific, not tragic, or dangerous, just complicated. Tony's urgent call, and insistence on meeting Brian alone was making him wonder if the handling of the would-be robber had become "complicated".

"I'm going to be out of the office for a few minutes," Brian informed his assistant Cynthia in passing.

"How long will you be?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." Brian headed to his car.

The drive to the secret meeting place was a short one, in an area that was quite familiar to Brian. One could say that the obscure back alley where men still came to hook-up for random sex was the last untouched area near Liberty Avenue, and an ideal place to dump a body. The police didn't care about any real crimes like murder in that area. Their only concern was catching men fucking. The robber would be brushed aside as just another queer "Jane Doe" who got what he deserved for being in the vicinity. Brian parked his car, and waited. He had seen enough old mysteries to know that the murderer always returned to the scene of the crime. In fact, that's often how they got caught. Why the hell was Tony requesting to meet here? Oh, if Brian had only insisted on making out a police report. So what if nothing would come of it? Tony shouldn't have taken matters into his own hands without at least discussing it first. Instead he waited until Brian went to the washroom to tend his wound. When Brian returned, the robber, and the two guards were gone. Accessory to murder, tampering with the scene of a crime, removing evidence, the list of offenses went on and on. Brian closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the headrest. Dear god, there was no way he was going to survive in prison.

"Brian, are you awake?" Tony tapped on the window.

"Yeah, I'm awake." Brian opened his eyes with a start.

"Let's go. I only have a few minutes," Tony said.

Brian opened the car door. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"In here." Tony pointed to what appeared to be some sort of empty warehouse.

"What's in there?" Brian asked.

"It's too cold to stand out here. We'll talk inside," Tony said.

Brian followed Tony inside a building that he had seen so many times, but never really paid attention to. It was indeed a vacant warehouse. The two stepped onto an industrial elevator similar to the one in Brian's building. "What's that smell? It smells like chemicals," Brian noted.

"Don't pay any attention to the smell. We can take care of that," Tony said.

"We?" Brian looked at his husband.

"What's the matter, precious? You look pale. Are you sure you're alright? I knew we should have taken you to the hospital. You might have a concussion. Sometimes these things take 24hrs before you start to experience any symptoms," Tony said.

A concussion was the last thing on Brian's mind as the elevator clanged its way upward. "What's up here?" Brian asked.

"If I tell you it would ruin the surprise. We're here." Tony stopped the elevator, and pulled the overhead lever to hoist the door open.

"I'm still getting that smell. Is something burning?" Brian sniffed.

Tony retrieved a key from his coat pocket, and went to unlock one of the steel doors. "Shhh! There are others here. We don't want to disturb them," he said.

"Others? What others?" Brian was hesitant to leave the elevator. "Tony, I don't think I need to go inside."

"Why not? You're a part of this too. You need to know what's going on." Tony slid the steel door open, and disappeared through the entrance.

Brian stepped off of the elevator. Instantly its door closed, and the loud clanging of the lift began again as it made its descent back to the ground floor. Tony said there were others there, but you would never know it by the eerie stillness of the hallway. An overactive imagination conjured up bizarre images in Brian's mind. Maybe this was one of those places where rich people pay to torture people. In this case people who have crossed them, like the robber from Babylon. That would explain the strange smells. Maybe it was calcium oxide. Serial killers have been known to use lime to cover up the scent of their victim's rotting flesh. It was then that another horrific thought came to Brian's mind. What if the robber wasn't dead at all? What if he was still alive, and still being tortured?

"Brian, where are you?" Tony called out.

"I'm coming." Brian moved closer to the door. Cautiously, he peeked his head inside.

"How do you like it?" Tony stood with his arms outstretched in the middle of the spacious, bare area.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" Brian asked.

"It's an art studio, for Justin. Look at this view." Tony began his tour around the room. "You can see all the way to downtown Pittsburgh from these windows. The morning sun comes in over here, and you can actually see the lights from Babylon if you look over this way..."

"You said there were others," Brian interrupted him.

"There are," Tony stopped to say. "There are several young artists, many of them former PIFA grads who rent studio space in this building. Some work with metals, others work with oils and acrylics. That's the strange smells you've been talking about. The city codes would not allow me to build an art studio in your building. I thought this place would be the next best thing. Do you think Justin will like it?"

It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from Brian's shoulders. "Jesus, Tony. I thought..."

"You thought what?" Tony asked innocently.

Brian closed the door behind him, and walked over to where Tony stood. "I thought the robber was up here," he whispered.

"WHO?"

"Shh! The gunman, Tony. The guy who tried to rob Babylon." Brian tried to keep his voice down.

"Why would he be here?" Tony looked surprised.

"Because you had him hauled out of Babylon, and no one has seen him again," Brian said.

"That's not true," Tony disagreed.

"Then where is he?" Brian asked.

"How should I know?" Tony shrugged.

"Did you kill him?" Brian asked.

"That's silly. Why would I want him dead if I need him to spread the word? You've got the wrong Tony. My last name is Massey, not Soprano." Tony made light of the situation.

"Why did you answer my question with another question?" Brian asked.

"I can't believe this. You're serious, aren't you." Tony laughed.

"I'm dead serious. Humor me," Brian said.

"Alright, precious. I give you my word that the gunman is alive. He may be a little bruised, and he may walk with a permanent limp, but he is very much alive," Tony said, then quickly changed the subject. "Why are we talking about this? I brought you here to show you Justin's new studio. Do you think he'll like it?"

"Have you ever killed anyone, Tony?" Brian suddenly needed to know.

Tony paused for a moment, the way he always did when he was choosing his words carefully. "Brian, if I was going to dispose of someone, I would have disposed of Kevin for what he did to Justin, and I would have disposed of you for allowing it to happen," he said.

"You did take a shot at me," Brian reminded him.

"My aim isn't that bad. If I wanted to hit you, I would have," Tony said.

Brian had built a career on being able to read his clients' body language. He knew that using humor, becoming defensive, and abruptly changing the subject could all be indications of deception. But perhaps the single most definitive tell-tale sign of a liar was the avoidance of eye contact, because everybody knows that when you lie, your pupils dilate. Brian looked into the deepest brown eyes he'd ever seen. "You're still tap-dancing around my question," he said. "Tony, have you ever killed anyone? Yes or no?"

The pupils of Tony's eyes immediately expanded. "No, precious. I haven't killed anyone." He smiled.
 

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