Read Online Murder in the Rue St. Ann by Greg Herren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Greg Herren
Tags: Suspense
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you get this message and let me know how you want me to proceed. I’ll go ahead and fax my report to you.” I hung up and did just that.
As the pages passed through the fax machine, I patted myself on the back. Hired this afternoon, case solved by late afternoon.
Damn, I’m good at my job.
Chapter Four
It was almost six when I finished faxing my report to Dominique. I put my copies of everything into a binder labeled DUPRE, DOMINIQUE and tossed it into my Out tray. I stood up and stretched. My back cracked from being hunched over the keyboard. If I was meeting Paul at seven, I was going to have to hurry.
It took me roughly about half an hour to shower, shave, and get dressed. The whole time I kept thinking about this situation with Paul. By the time I walked out my front door, I had worked myself into a knot of tension. Juan’s Flying Burrito was on Magazine—about four blocks from my apartment. There was no point in risking taking the car, and besides, it was a nice autumn night. I started walking up Camp Street. Coliseum Square was filled with people and their dogs.
I felt a little tightness in my stomach. In the six months Paul and I had been seeing each other, we’d never had a disagreement until this thing today. We got along so well it was almost eerie. Yeah, maybe it was because I just went along with whatever he wanted, but it wasn’t like anything had ever been unpleasant. I didn’t mind changing my eating habits or working out harder at the gym. Quitting smoking wasn’t a bad thing, and I already felt a difference in my lungs. I felt healthier and looked better than I had since I was a teenager.
So why did it bother me so much to have Paul pose for a magazine cover? It’s not like it was Genre or another magazine distributed nationally. For Christ’s sake, it was just a little local glossy bar rag, really. It was kind of stupid to react so intensely. Paul was a great looking guy. Yeah, it kind of bothered me that so many guys stared at him, wanted him, flirted with him, tried to make eye contact and all the other annoying things guys will do to try to get into someone’s pants. And to be completely honest, most of the time I liked the fact Paul was such a turn-on for other guys. It felt great to have someone that everyone else wanted. You might like him, you might want him, but he’s going home with me . But every once in a while it made me wonder “why is he with me?” And he did hurt my feelings every once in a while with his casual, off the cuff remarks about the way I looked.
But being on a magazine cover was different. Guys didn’t see Paul in bars and then run home and jack off remembering what he looked like. In the pages of a magazine, he was there to be objectified. The whole point of the photos would be to arouse the viewer, to get him hard, and beat off to the pictures. That bothered me. Maybe I was being irrational, but regardless, if it bothered me, Paul would just have to just accept my discomfort and not pose. It just seemed, well, intrusive to me.
Juan’s wasn’t crowded yet. It was a small place—long and narrow. Heavy metal music I didn’t recognize blared through their sound system. Juan’s was a hip place, popular with college students and that age group. I could do without the loud music, but I liked their food. I grabbed a booth in the front and sat facing the front door. I instantly wished I had a cigarette. I was about ten minutes early, and Paul was always at least ten minutes late. I picked up a Gambit Weekly and started paging through it. I was in the midst of another article about the juvenile detention facility at Tallulah when I looked up with a start.
When and where had he posed nude, and why?
That question had gone right past me in all the fuss about the Attitude cover.
And just why exactly was I only finding out about that now?
I should know things like that about my boyfriend.
We’d met about six months ago at Oz. I’d seen him earlier
As the pages passed through the fax machine, I patted myself on the back. Hired this afternoon, case solved by late afternoon.
Damn, I’m good at my job.
Chapter Four
It was almost six when I finished faxing my report to Dominique. I put my copies of everything into a binder labeled DUPRE, DOMINIQUE and tossed it into my Out tray. I stood up and stretched. My back cracked from being hunched over the keyboard. If I was meeting Paul at seven, I was going to have to hurry.
It took me roughly about half an hour to shower, shave, and get dressed. The whole time I kept thinking about this situation with Paul. By the time I walked out my front door, I had worked myself into a knot of tension. Juan’s Flying Burrito was on Magazine—about four blocks from my apartment. There was no point in risking taking the car, and besides, it was a nice autumn night. I started walking up Camp Street. Coliseum Square was filled with people and their dogs.
I felt a little tightness in my stomach. In the six months Paul and I had been seeing each other, we’d never had a disagreement until this thing today. We got along so well it was almost eerie. Yeah, maybe it was because I just went along with whatever he wanted, but it wasn’t like anything had ever been unpleasant. I didn’t mind changing my eating habits or working out harder at the gym. Quitting smoking wasn’t a bad thing, and I already felt a difference in my lungs. I felt healthier and looked better than I had since I was a teenager.
So why did it bother me so much to have Paul pose for a magazine cover? It’s not like it was Genre or another magazine distributed nationally. For Christ’s sake, it was just a little local glossy bar rag, really. It was kind of stupid to react so intensely. Paul was a great looking guy. Yeah, it kind of bothered me that so many guys stared at him, wanted him, flirted with him, tried to make eye contact and all the other annoying things guys will do to try to get into someone’s pants. And to be completely honest, most of the time I liked the fact Paul was such a turn-on for other guys. It felt great to have someone that everyone else wanted. You might like him, you might want him, but he’s going home with me . But every once in a while it made me wonder “why is he with me?” And he did hurt my feelings every once in a while with his casual, off the cuff remarks about the way I looked.
But being on a magazine cover was different. Guys didn’t see Paul in bars and then run home and jack off remembering what he looked like. In the pages of a magazine, he was there to be objectified. The whole point of the photos would be to arouse the viewer, to get him hard, and beat off to the pictures. That bothered me. Maybe I was being irrational, but regardless, if it bothered me, Paul would just have to just accept my discomfort and not pose. It just seemed, well, intrusive to me.
Juan’s wasn’t crowded yet. It was a small place—long and narrow. Heavy metal music I didn’t recognize blared through their sound system. Juan’s was a hip place, popular with college students and that age group. I could do without the loud music, but I liked their food. I grabbed a booth in the front and sat facing the front door. I instantly wished I had a cigarette. I was about ten minutes early, and Paul was always at least ten minutes late. I picked up a Gambit Weekly and started paging through it. I was in the midst of another article about the juvenile detention facility at Tallulah when I looked up with a start.
When and where had he posed nude, and why?
That question had gone right past me in all the fuss about the Attitude cover.
And just why exactly was I only finding out about that now?
I should know things like that about my boyfriend.
We’d met about six months ago at Oz. I’d seen him earlier
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