The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(11)

He frowned, remembering.

I said, “You’re careful but Ricky wasn’t.”

“Ricky liked everyone,” Briggs repeated. “Now look what happened.”

Milo said, “You’re thinking he got friendly with the wrong person.”

“It’s possible, no?” Briggs recrossed his legs. “I guess what I’m saying is the guy had no walls around him and sometimes you need walls.”

His hands clasped on his knees and he rocked a couple of times. “He was my friend, I don’t want talk smack about him.”

“Of course not,” said Milo. “But if you know something that helps find his killer, you need to tell us.”

“Yeah…it’s just, all this me-too shit going around. You know?”

“Ricky didn’t always treat women right.”

“He’d say he did. Because they had fun, too.”

We waited.

Look,” said Briggs, “I’m not saying he ever roofied anyone. Did a Harvey or a Cosby, that kind of thing.”

Long arms folded across his bare chest.

I said, “But…”

“But he…oh, man, don’t take this the wrong way. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” said Briggs. “He didn’t need to be a perv, chicks liked him.”

As if that mattered. Milo and I waited.

Briggs said, “I’m just saying his way wouldn’t be mine.” His cheeks ballooned. He let the air out slowly. “He liked to get them a little…relaxed. Then, once they were in the mood…already doing it…he liked to stand them up. Sometimes in…both ways, you know?”

I said, “Anal sex by surprise.”

“That makes it sound twisted, he never really forced anyone, they were already in the groove.” Briggs unlaced his hands and waved them. “It was more like…he called it shifting gears.”

“How’d his dates react?”

“He never said they had problems with it.”

“Not your thing,” said Milo.

“I mean…I like to know where I’m going so I assume a chick does, too.” Small smile. “Not that I been doing much. Between the job and hitting the waves. Also I try to do some volleyball.”

I said, “Ricky’s sport was women.”

Emphatic nod. “In school, he was never a jock, so I guess for him…”

Milo said, “What did he use to relax his dates?”

“Nothing weird,” said Briggs. “Sweet drinks, he said chicks always went for the sugar, liked to pretend they were doing 7UP or something.”

“He mixed them sweet cocktails.”

“No, he’d buy them. Getting them to try stuff during dinner. Or at the bar.”

I said, “Stuff with parasols.”

“He said little paper things.”

“He didn’t party here?”

“He brought a few home but I can’t tell you who. I’d only know the next day, I’d come home he’d be washing sheets, giving me the V-sign. Like I said, I work nights. Even on the weekend.”

Milo said, “Seven-day job.”

“Professor Van Ness needs me. Also, I need the money, got loans.” Briggs’s head dropped. “I didn’t want to talk smack about Ricky like he’s some sort of freak. He was just a friendly dude who liked to have fun.”

“Sure,” said Milo. “Okay, tell us what else you know, Jay.”

“Nothing,” said Briggs. “A couple of times, he bragged. Like the few times when we were both home. I’d be in my room, Ricky would have the door closed. I’d be getting ready to leave and he opens it, does this.”

Hushing himself with a finger on his lips.

“Someone’s sleeping.”

“Exactly. But not him. He’d open his robe and peel off his rubber and give this big smile.”

“Mission accomplished,” said Milo.

“What can I say, it made him happy,” said Briggs. “Nothing wrong with happy, right?”

“Ever see who he was with?”

“Never.”

“Deep sleepers.”

“I guess.”

“Think they were unconscious?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. I don’t want you to think of Ricky as a bad person. ’Specially now that he’s—this is freaking me out. This is the last thing I expected to hear.”

Milo said, “You okay with us seeing Ricky’s room?”

“Sure.” Briggs pushed himself upright. “You need my permission?”

“You’re the sole occupant now.”

“Yeah. That sucks.”



* * *



—

First door up the hall.

Moderate bedroom, small en-suite bathroom with a tub-shower combo. The walls of Rick Gurnsey’s sleeping quarters were painted maroon, the ceiling, white, the floors faded oak laminate partially covered by an imitation Persian rug. Bare-topped wicker nightstand, king bed with a white spread tucked tight, both facing a sixty-inch streaming-compatible flat-screen.

In the skimpy closet two navy suits with a Saks Fifth Avenue Men’s Store label shared space with a charcoal suit from Neiman Marcus, a black leather jacket with no label, three pairs of black, Diesel slim-cut jeans, same number of dress slacks: black, navy, cream linen. Dress shirts in blue, pink, and white. On the floor, two pairs of Nike runners, black and brown calfskin loafers, intentionally scuffed brown suede boots, red rubber beach sandals. The top shelf held a Dodgers cap, a gray knit stocking cap, and a cheap-looking panama.