Read Online Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) by Scott Sherman - Free Book Online Page B

for a hook-up, which was just as well.
    “Of course, if I do help you two lovebirds connect, I must insist you let me film it. If only for my own enjoyment, no?”
    I didn’t know what to say to that.
    “Only teasing,” Kristen reassured me. “Although . . . if you wanted a souvenir of your time together, I’d make myself available.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, smiling.
    “And I will pass your message along to Brent when I see him next. If I see him, I should say.”
    Another pause. In this one, I heard background noise. What sounded like grunts and slaps. Someone said something. “Could you make it a little tiger?”
    What?
    No, not “tiger.”
    Tighter.
    I tried not to be distracted.
    Focus, Kevin, focus.
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “He’s dropped off the map for a bit,” Kristen explained. “Didn’t show for the most recent two shoots he’d signed up for. Didn’t call, either, at least not as far as I know.”
    “You wouldn’t know?”
    “I’m the creative on the team. Mason and his people handle the business end of things. Scheduling, booking the boys, finding locations. Brent may have called him to say he couldn’t make it, but normally that would have led to Mason arranging for a replacement. Didn’t happen either time. We had to do solo scenes, as I recall.” I heard a shudder in his voice. “They bore the shit out me, to be honest. There’s only so many ways you can shoot a guy whacking off. From an artistic perspective, masturbation is not a terribly satisfying subject.”
    “You take your work seriously.”
    “Dead seriously,” Kristen assured me. “I know people view any movie with explicit sex as pornography, and thus of no artistic merit, but why? Why is it we believe ‘serious’ cinema can explore any genre, whether it’s romance, or comedy, or drama, but only as long as everyone keeps his pants on? What’s more real than sex or death? Films are supposed to move you. If you laugh, or cry, or find yourself rooting for the hero, the movie is considered successful. But if it turns you on? Somehow, that’s wrong. Why the double standard?”
    I had to admit, he had a point. But I’d seen some of the movies he’d directed—well, fast-forwarded through most of them—and they were hardly works of genius. Better than most, perhaps, but I didn’t remember seeing anything particularly ambitious in them, either.
    He answered my question without my even asking it.
    “Of course, the work I do for the mainstream companies, like SwordFight, has to follow certain conventions. There isn’t much room for artistic expression. But my smaller films, my art movies, are my true passions.”
    “I don’t think I’ve seen any of the them,” I said.
    “Well, then, you’ll have to come by for a private viewing sometime,” he said. The invitation was flirty, but not sleazy.
    “Still”—I thought it best to avoid the “private viewing” discussion—“you’ve been successful even within those limitations, right?”
    “It’s rude to extol one’s accomplishments. But, yes, I have been able to do as much as I can with my studio work. I’ve been nominated for Best Director every year for the past five by the Gay Video Awards. Won twice, too.”
    Was everyone obsessed with winning awards? We’re all so insecure.
    I liked Kristen, but this review of his résumé wasn’t going to help me with the job at hand. I switched topics abruptly. “How long has Brent been off the grid?”
    “Oh.” Kristen thought for a moment. “It’s probably been three or four weeks since that first time Brent didn’t show.”
    “No contact at all?” I asked.
    He paused again.
    “Oh yeah,” I heard a voice from somewhere not far from him. “Like that. But harder. And faster. And just a little to the left.”
    Sounded like someone was topping from the bottom.
    “Not that I know,” Kristen answered.
    “Do you think he’s okay?” I asked. “I mean, if Brent’s never disappeared