The Next To Die Part 1

THE NEXT TO DIE.

by Kevin O'Brien

Prologue.

Without having to wait, Jim Gelder secured a cozy window table in one of Portland's sw.a.n.kiest restaurants that Thursday night. If only the maitre d' had sat Jim somewhere else, the thirty-two-year-old salesman from Seattle might not have met such a gruesome death.

Jim was good-looking, and he kept in great shape. He still weighed the same as he had in college: 170 pounds, perfect for his six-foot frame. His hair was usually slicked back with gel that made the straw color appear a shade darker. He had blue eyes, a strong jaw, and the kind of self-a.s.sured smile that drew people to him.

He felt lucky that Thursday night. His waitress was cute and friendly, a redhead in her early twenties. Amid the white tablecloths, candlelight, and polished silverware, she seemed like the only waitperson there without a snooty att.i.tude. She even flirted a little when she delivered his tangueray and tonic. Jim had never been unfaithful to his wife, but he wasn't opposed to some innocent flirting-especially during lonely business trips like this one.

He poured on the charm every time the waitress returned to his table. After the meal, when she came by with his decaf, she brushed her hip against his shoulder. "You've been my favorite customer tonight-just thought you should know. Be right back with your check."

Smiling, Jim watched her retreat toward the kitchen, Just then, someone strode into the restaurant. Nearly everybody noticed him, but no one gawked; this was much too ritzy a place for the late dinner crowd to fuss over a movie star.

Tony Katz seemed smaller in person, not quite as brawny as he appeared on the screen, but every bit as handsome. Women just loved his wavy, chestnut-colored hair and those sleepy, s.e.xy aquamarine eyes. Jim had heard that Tony Katz was in Portland, shooting a new movie.

He tried not to stare as the maitre d' led Tony to a table next to his. Tony threw him a smile. Jim kept his cool and smiled back. Very nonchalant.

The maitre d' left a menu at the place setting across from the film star. Jim hoped he'd get to see Tony's wife, Linda Zane, a model, whose appearance in a Victoria's Secret Victoria's Secret catalog last year was still etched in his brain. But Tony was joined by a balding, middle-aged man who must have been parking the car. He staggered up to the table, all out of breath, then plopped down in the chair. He wore a suit and tie. In contrast, Tony Katz had on a black turtleneck and jeans. He looked annoyed with the guy. "I'm having one drink with you, Benny, that's all," he grumbled. catalog last year was still etched in his brain. But Tony was joined by a balding, middle-aged man who must have been parking the car. He staggered up to the table, all out of breath, then plopped down in the chair. He wore a suit and tie. In contrast, Tony Katz had on a black turtleneck and jeans. He looked annoyed with the guy. "I'm having one drink with you, Benny, that's all," he grumbled.

"Okay, okay." The man took off his gla.s.ses and wiped them with the napkin. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe I was calling you a sc.u.m-sucking weasel," Tony Katz said.

Jim couldn't stifle a laugh, and this caught Tony's eye. The movie star smiled at him again. "Excuse me," he said to Jim. "Can I ask you something?"

Dumbstruck, Jim nodded. Tony Katz was actually talking to him.

"If you were a serious actor, what would you think of an agent who wanted you to star in a c.r.a.ppy movie sequel instead of a Tennessee Williams revival on Broadway?"

Jim shrugged. "I'd say he was a sc.u.m-sucking weasel."

"Benny, I think I love this guy." Tony gave Jim an appreciative grin.

Benny studiously ignored Jim and glanced at his menu. The waitress approached their table and told Tony how much she absolutely adored absolutely adored his latest movie. Tony politely thanked her and ordered a mineral water. His agent ordered scotch. For the next few minutes, the two of them argued quietly. Jim made it a point not to stare. his latest movie. Tony politely thanked her and ordered a mineral water. His agent ordered scotch. For the next few minutes, the two of them argued quietly. Jim made it a point not to stare.

"Excuse me again, what's your name?"

Jim blinked at Tony Katz. "Who, me?"

"Tone, please," his agent whispered. "Listen to me for a sec-"

"I'm talking to my buddy here," Tony said. Then he smiled at Jim. "I didn't get your name."

"Um, I'm Jim Gelder."

"Mind if I join you, Jim?"

"Oh, now really, Tone," his agent was saying. "Don't be this way-"

But Tony Katz switched chairs and sat down across from Jim. He toasted him with his mineral water. "Thanks, Jim. I owe you."

Dazed, Jim laughed. "G.o.d, my wife isn't going to believe this."

Tony glanced over his shoulder at his agent friend. "Bye, Benny. I'm with my buddy Jim here. Take the car. I don't need it. Adios."

Benny pleaded, but Tony Katz ignored him. He was too busy asking Jim where he was from, what he did for a living, and if he had any kids. To Jim's utter surprise, even after the agent defeatedly stomped out of the restaurant, Tony remained at the table. It was as if he genuinely cared. "No kids, huh?" Tony said, finis.h.i.+ng his drink. "Me neither. Linda and I are thinking about adopting. But there's a lot to consider, y'know?"

Jim nodded emphatically.

"I mean, look at how everyone's staring at us. It's life in a fishbowl, and that's no way to raise a kid. Plus there are some real nutcases out there. Lately, I've been getting these strange phone calls-on my private line, no less. Death threats, real nasty stuff. Makes me think twice about bringing a kid into this world." He shrugged and sat back. "Anyway, it's nothing to dump on you. So-what are your plans for the night?"

"I don't really have any plans," Jim said.

"Great. Because I'd like to buy you a drink for being such a good sport. Only not here. It's too stuffy here. I know a place you might like."

The place was called Vogue Vertigo, at least that was where Tony told the driver to go once they climbed into the taxi. They settled back, and Tony slung his arm around Jim's shoulder-as though they were old pals. Jim was still in a stupor over this instant bond with the movie star. "I think you'll dig Vogue Vertigo," Tony said. "I hear this straight crowd is starting to take over. But that's mostly on weekends. I don't think we'll have to put up with them tonight. We'll see."

The driver studied them in the rearview mirror. Jim caught his stare, and he suddenly became aware of how the two of them must have looked together, huddled in the backseat, one guy with his arm around the other.

Chuckling, Jim grinned at those disapproving eyes in the rearview mirror. "Hey, bub, what are you staring at?" he asked. "Think we're queer or something? Do you know who you've got back here? This is Tony-"

"Shut the f.u.c.k up," Tony whispered.

Jim fell into a stunned silence. He recognized the cold, deadly tone. Tony spoke that way to characters in the movies seconds before blowing them away. He frowned at Jim, then slid over closer to the window.

They went on for three more blocks without saying a word. All the while, Jim tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. It seemed as if his instant friends.h.i.+p with the movie star had just as instantly expired.

"This is good right here, driver," Tony said, pulling out his wallet.

The taxi pulled up to the curb. Jim warily surveyed the neighborhood. He'd seen worse areas, but had never been dropped in the heart of one this bad-this late at night. Half of the stores looked as if they'd been shut down years ago, and the others didn't look long for this world. The cab stopped near a dark, cheesy little grocery store.

Climbing out of the taxi, Jim could barely make out the green neon VOGUE VERTIGO VOGUE VERTIGO sign in the window of a squat brick building farther down the block. "Why didn't you let him take us right up to the place?" he asked as the taxi pulled away. sign in the window of a squat brick building farther down the block. "Why didn't you let him take us right up to the place?" he asked as the taxi pulled away.

"Because you don't want to go in there," Tony replied. He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. "Listen, Jim. I made a mistake. I'll get you a cab-another cab, and pay for your ride back. Our plans for tonight are kaput." cab, and pay for your ride back. Our plans for tonight are kaput."

Tony switched on his phone, punched in some numbers, then cradled it to his ear. Apparently, he wasn't getting a dial tone. Frowning, he rattled the phone in his fist. "d.a.m.n it," he grumbled. "Battery's dead. You don't have a cell phone on you, do you?"

Jim shook his head. "Sorry. Listen, what's happening here? What's going on?"

"We'll have to use a pay phone in the bar," Tony said. "I didn't want to take you in there, because you'll probably freak out. It's a gay gay bar, Jim. I was wrong earlier. I don't think you'd like Vogue Vertigo after all." bar, Jim. I was wrong earlier. I don't think you'd like Vogue Vertigo after all."

"This place is a gay bar?"

"Bingo. Go to the head of the cla.s.s." Tony started to walk toward the end of the block.

Jim grabbed his arm. "I don't get this. You're married to Linda Zane, for chrissakes, and you're gay? How could you be gay?"

"I'll tell you what James Dean said when someone asked him the same question. He said, 'I'm not about to go through life with one hand tied behind my back.'"

"What's that that supposed to mean?" Jim stepped in front of him. "I still don't understand. What made you think I was gay?" supposed to mean?" Jim stepped in front of him. "I still don't understand. What made you think I was gay?"

Tony sighed. "I thought you were good-looking. Seemed worth a shot. I was wrong. I'm sorry, okay?"

"But I told you, I'm married."

"There are lots of married gay guys, Jim," he replied. "I'm a movie star. Sounds callous, but married men are my safest bet. They don't talk. Now, I've already apologized, and I mean it, I'm sorry to have taken you out of your way." He gave Jim's arm a little punch. "So how about it? Do you think you can relax and be cool in this bar while I call you a cab? Or do you want to go on acting like an a.s.shole?"

Jim stared at him for a moment, and realized he was arguing with Tony Katz-who was gay Tony Katz-who was gay. His wife wasn't going to believe this. "I think I'll go on acting like an a.s.shole," he replied, chuckling. "It's all right, I'll be cool. Still, can you blame me for being p.i.s.sed? I mean, my one big chance to get it on with a movie star, and it's another guy. Just my luck."

Tony laughed, but suddenly he froze up and his smile disappeared. He stared at something beyond Jim's shoulder, and those famous aquamarine eyes filled with dread. The color left his face. "My G.o.d," he whispered. "Run...."

"What?" Jim turned around. His heart stopped.

It happened so quickly. Jim hadn't even heard the minivan pull up behind him. Two men sprang out of the back. Both of them wore nylon stockings over their heads, the faces hideously distorted-like something out of a nightmare. One of the men had a gun.

Jim wanted to yell out, but he could barely breathe. As if paralyzed, he helplessly watched the two men descend on him. The one with the gun grabbed him by the scalp and jammed the .38 alongside his head. Jim felt the barrel sc.r.a.pe against his cheek, then dig into his ear. It hurt like h.e.l.l, and he cried out with what little breath he had. Clenching a fistful of hair, the thug yanked his head back, until Jim thought his neck would snap. The guy ground the gun barrel into his ear. Jim felt blood drip down the side of his neck. He could barely hear his attacker barking at Tony: "Get in the van or I'll blow your boyfriend's brains out! Hurry!"

"Leave him alone!" Tony demanded. "If it's me you're after, I hardly know this guy. Let him go-"

The thug swung Jim around and threw him into the backseat of the van. Toppling onto the floor, Jim blindly reached for the door handle, then realized there was no door on the driver's side. No escape. Suddenly, Tony fell against him. He was unconscious.

Jim began to shake uncontrollably. He'd never been so scared.

Somebody climbed into the bench seat in back, then someone else jumped in front. Doors slammed, and the car started moving.

Wendy Lockett ran along the same trail through St. Helens Forest Preserve every morning before going to work at the bank. She had a Walkman blasting the Eurythmics' greatest hits and Cushman, her black Labrador retriever, keeping her company on that lonely path. It was a cold, drizzly Friday, and still quite dark in the heart of the forest.

Sweat rolled off her forehead, and Wendy's long brown ponytail slapped against the windbreaker on her back. She approached the halfway point, a little clearing in the woods, where she usually turned around.

"Cushman, stick with me!" she called. The dog bolted ahead of her, then disappeared behind some bushes. "Cushman?" she called again, catching her breath. Annie Lennox still wailed in her ears. "Cush? Come here, buddy...."

The Labrador was there for her protection. The thirty-three-year-old divorcee didn't go jogging in the forest at five-thirty in the morning without her dog-and a small canister of mace in the pocket of her track pants. Cushman had pulled this vanis.h.i.+ng act a few times in the past-running after a squirrel or a deer-and Wendy hated it.

She slowed down to a trot, then pulled off the earphones. "Cush? Come here, boy!" she called. She felt so alone and vulnerable without her dog. She approached the clearing, then stopped suddenly. She thought she heard twigs snap, rustling noises. "Cushman?" she called in a shaky voice.

The dog answered with an odd, abbreviated bark.

"Where are you, boy?" As Wendy came into the clearing, she noticed several tire tracks in the mud. Then she realized why Cushman's response had been nothing more than a distracted grunt. He was too busy sniffing at something by the shrubs. From where she stood, it looked like a dead deer. "Cush, get away from there!" she called. "You heard me...."

As Wendy stepped closer, she saw that bits of the animal's white flesh had been nibbled away by hungry forest creatures. Whimpering, Cushman repositioned himself to poke his snout at the poor thing from another vantage point. "Stop it, Cus.h.!.+ Stop that right now! Stop-"

Wendy choked on her words. The dead thing was a naked young man. He had flaxen blond hair, and his eyes were fixed open in a horrified grimace. Her dog lapped at the blood from a slash across his throat.

She couldn't scream, she couldn't even breathe.

Cushman backed away from the body. He let out a couple of barks. Something else had caught his interest. Wendy tried to call to him, but no words came out. She stood paralyzed in the forest clearing.

The dog trotted over to an oak tree and started sniffing. Tied to the trunk was another corpse, slouching against the ropes, now slack from hours of holding his deadweight. He'd been tortured and mutilated beyond recognition.

Wendy Lockett didn't know she was staring at someone she'd seen several times before-in the movies.

The Oregonian, Sat.u.r.day, September 20 FILM STAR TONY KATZ MURDEREDThe nude bodies of film actor Tony Katz, 35, and a male companion were discovered in a forest preserve in St. Helens, Oregon, on Friday morning. Both men had been beaten and repeatedly stabbed. St. Helens police are still searching for clues in the double murder that has been described by one witness as "ritualistic."Katz's friend has been identified as James C. Gelder, 32, a salesman with Kingbee Diagnostics in Seattle. Katz and Gelder were last seen Thursday night outside a Portland gay bar, Vogue Vertigo. Katz had been shooting a film, "Gridlock Road," in Portland for the last three weeks.The two bodies were discovered along a popular nature trail by Wendy Lockett of St. Helens, OR. Lockett, 33, said that the murders appeared to have been "some kind of cult killing."They were tied up," Lockett said. "It reminded me of pictures I've seen of lynchings of black people back in the thirties. These two were tortured. It was gruesome, an absolute nightmare."Portland's Director of Citizens Against Hate Crimes, Vera Stutesman, announced her intentions to "thoroughly investigate if s.e.xual orientation of the victims was a factor in these brutal murders."In the quiet community of St. Helens, citizens expressed shock and outrage over the double homicide.Katz's wife actress-model Linda Zane, 26, was unavailable for comment, but the couple's publicist, Shannon O'Conner, issued the following statement: "Tony Katz was one of our finest, most talented actors. He was a loving, devoted husband, and a thoughtful humanitarian, who gave his time and talent to several charities. His terrible murder is a shock to us all..."

Linda Zane made only one public appearance in the wake of her husband's death. A bodyguard accompanied Linda to Tony's memorial service. Two hours later, she boarded a private jet to Greece, destined for the secluded villa of a millionaire friend.

Over two dozen "protesters" also showed up at the funeral. Picketing outside the church, they carried signs that declared TONY KATZ BURNS IN h.e.l.l TONY KATZ BURNS IN h.e.l.l, and G.o.d HATES f.a.gS G.o.d HATES f.a.gS. Some protesters bought their children along.

Jim Gelder's widow told reporters that her husband wasn't a h.o.m.os.e.xual. But everyone already had him labeled as the boyfriend of Tony Katz, so her claims fell on deaf ears. Tony's agent, Benny Gershon, insisted that the two men couldn't have been romantically involved, because they'd met for the first time just hours before the murders. No one believed him. After all, Benny also swore up and down that his famous client wasn't gay.

Several quickie paperback biographies of Tony Katz were thrown together in the wake of his death, and two networks announced different forthcoming TV movies about Tony and his "secret life."

Despite having earned two Academy Award nominations during his brief yet distinguished career, and despite his devotion to several charities, Tony would always be most remembered for the bizarre, shocking death that exposed him as a h.o.m.os.e.xual.

At 7:13 P.M. P.M., Sat.u.r.day, September 27, the following Internet dialogue appeared on the Dog Lover's chat line: COOKIE'S MOM: My 18 yr old schnauzer, Cookie, has bad arthritis & is now going blind. The vet sez I should think about putting her to sleep. Anyone else out there ever had to do that to their dog? Can't imagine killing Cookie.PAT: It's for the best...keeping her alive would be cruel.SPARKLE'S OWNER: i've had to say goodbye to 2 other doggies that way-it isn't easy-B brave.RICK: Sorry about Cookie...Request Private Chat w/Pat.

Dialogue from a private mailbox, between "Rick" and "Pat," at 7:15 P.M. P.M., Sat.u.r.day, September 27: PATRIOT: What's up?AMERICKAN: Re: Portland job last week...Congratulations to you & your team...Updating you on plans for L.S., like old Cookie, that black b.i.t.c.h needs to be put to sleep...Will B another Portland job...Details to follow...G.o.d Bless U...SAAMO Lieut. signing off.

One.

"Stay tuned for Common Sense Common Sense with Elsie and Drew Marshall!" with Elsie and Drew Marshall!"

The tiny portable television was propped up on the desktop of a young film executive. Dennis Walsh was thirty years old, chubby but handsome with dark blond hair, dimples, and a killer smile. Despite his girth, he wore clothes well and had an Ivy League look uncommon in southern California: oxford s.h.i.+rts, pleated pants, and penny loafers.

At the moment, Dennis paid little attention to the TV. Instead, he was updating his Franklin Planner and getting ready to see his boss. Helena, his a.s.sistant, wandered in and tossed a fax on his desk. "G.o.d, Dennis," she said, frowning at the TV. "How can you watch that garbage?"

"It's time for a little Common Sense! Common Sense!" the TV announcer boomed, over a swelling of patriotic music. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Mrs. Richard Marshall!"

He sighed. "Well, I don't have any pa.s.sion in my life. So I have to settle for hating Elsie Marshall."

"We need to find you a girlfriend soon." Helena slipped out of his office.