The Hardest Thing

settled himself on an expensive contraption of brown leather and tubular steel, while Jack Rendell sat on his desk. On a low chair, I was at a distinct disadvantage. I recognized the technique. I’ve used it myself often enough. Always remind them who’s boss. Hell, with the state my ass was in I hardly needed reminding. I was just grateful for the cushions.
    We started at the beginning yet again—Enrico Ferrari’s first visit to 109th Street, the safe-deposit box with its deadly contents, the delivery of Stirling McMahon at Penn Station.
    “Do you by any chance still have the letter that Ferrari gave you?”
    “I guess it’s back at my apartment.”
    Rendell took a note. “And you’d be able to identify him, would you?”
    “Sure.” I thought of that handsome, movie-star mug. “He kind of stands out.”
    “Indeed.” Rendell rubbed his chin; I wondered if he, like Martin, fucked men in steam rooms. “And this Stirling McMahon…”

    “That’s not his real name.”
    “Correct.” He consulted a piece of paper. “Which one did he give you?”
    “Jody Miller.” Rendell nodded slowly. “Although it’s really Muller.”
    He consulted a piece of paper. “Well, he’s used Miller before. Now let me see. Jody.” He scanned a list. “Hmm. No. That appears to be a new one.” He made another note. “Go on.”
    “Wait a minute. You mean…”
    “Your Jody Miller has been known by quite a number of aliases. Stirling McMahon, or sometimes McMasters, was his—what shall we say?—business name.”
    “As a hustler, right?”
    “Indeed. And on a couple of adult websites.”
    “Oh.” I felt sick. This was the guy I thought I was in love with. A hooker and a porn “star.”
    I still think it’s better than killing people for a living…
    “As far as we know, his real name is Brian Cooper.”
    “Where’s he from?”
    “His first criminal record is from Michigan.”
    “Well, that was true, at least.” I carried on with the story—our road trip, the daily check-ins, the encounter with the police in New Hampshire.
    “Can I just stop you for a moment?” Rendell flicked through some notes. “Could you give me an accurate date for that?”
    I worked it out. Rendell nodded.
    “That was the day after Cooper was meant to be interviewed by the NYPD in connection with the Trey Peters case.”

    “Is that why the New Hampshire cops were looking for him?”
    “Yes. He was reported as a missing person, wanted in connection with a serious criminal investigation. A photograph had been sent out. Usual procedure.”
    “Shit.” It’s a fool who can’t distinguish between friend and foe. I thought the New Hampshire police were in Marshall’s pay. “Why didn’t they just pick him up?”
    “You tell me.” Rendell put a photograph in my hands—a young man with short dark hair, staring vacantly into the camera. Even I, who had been fucking and kissing that face for a week, had to look twice to recognize Jody. “This was taken from a gay dating site on which Cooper was advertising his services as a masseur.”
    “He told me he’d taken his profiles down.”
    “He had. But these things never really go away. Has he changed much?”
    “Yeah. He’s blond now. Longer hair.”
    Rendell looked over at Martin and caught his eye. They both nodded slightly. “And does it suit him?”
    “I guess,” I said. “But I’d prefer him the way nature intended.” There was one detail of the story that I hadn’t yet told Rendell, although he’d have to be stupid not to figure it out.
    “I take it that you and Mr. Cooper were…” He held his hand out, waggled it from side to side.
    “Dan said he was the best piece of ass in the eastern United States,” said Martin. “Although I’d have to question that.”
    Rendell laughed, and for a moment I wondered if
the Financial District was going to get a window view of Major Dan Stagg being double-fucked on the Parker-Rendell carpet.
    “When Cooper was picked up in Buffalo,” asked Rendell, “did he struggle?”
    “Yeah.” I tried to remember the scene. “A bit.”
    “A bit.” Rendell nodded. “I see.”
    “You think it was a setup?”
    “I don’t rule out the possibility.”
    “How will we find out?”
    “The police are treating it as abduction. That’s all you need to know.”
    “Yeah, but one hustler more or less…”
    “One hustler who may just enable us to break one of the nastiest criminal networks in New York City,” said Rendell.