Stan
I asked Hank Kellerman about Stan and got an odd answer. Kellerman portrayed Stan as an opportunist, a user. He also said that Stan and Ted had been ‘friends.’ The emphasis on the word had been Kellerman’s. He warned me to watch how I talked to Stan about Ted. Kellerman suggested that Stan could be violent when it came to the memory of Ted. I wondered why.
From Kellerman’s initial story, about Ted and Phil Fischer in the tool room, I assumed Stan had sent Kellerman into the tool room to get a laugh out of Ted and Phil’s predicament. That idea didn’t mesh with the description of a man who would become violent if someone were to malign the young man who he’d gotten into trouble. I wondered about the opposing nature of Stan’s attitude and his actions, but I didn’t get anywhere with my musings. I assumed I’d find out when I spoke to the ‘smug so and so,’ as Kellerman had described him.
Because I was the most curious about Stan, I decided to question him last. I wanted to get the other men out of the way and give Stan more time to drink. When I finished with Kellerman, I asked him to send the third man back to me, the mechanic who hadn’t yet been mentioned. His name turned out to be Glen Prescott.
Glen was a stolid, middle-aged man, who held himself above the doings of his coworkers. He hadn’t much liked Ted. He considered Ted too young, too small, and too arrogant to be a good mechanic. The fact that Hank Kellerman liked Ted, only proved to Glen that Kellerman was a poor businessman without enough sense to know a good employee from a bad one.
I dismissed Glen after I found he couldn’t tell me anything of interest. Prigs like him were never very observant. I was glad to be rid of him.
Next came Phil Fischer. He was as Kellerman had said, an ox of a man. Phil was shorter than me, but he was built like a hogshead keg with arms and legs. In spite of his size, he was as bashful and shy as an altar boy at a stag party. He was also very drunk.
Phil didn’t have much to tell me. He said he’d liked Ted and wished he hadn’t been killed. He claimed he only accepted sexual favors from Ted on the one occasion when Kellerman caught them together.
I didn’t believe Phil’s claim about the frequency of the sexual favors, but I didn’t see how it mattered. Phil was too innocent to be a good source of information. He was also the last person I would suspect of having anything to do with the murder. I thanked him for his time and sent him away.
Last came Stan. My first impression of the smug so and so was that he was pretty. He walked the length of the bar like the trip was for the expressed purpose of letting everyone look at him while he did it. He moved on muscular legs which flexed inside tight, dark-blue denim jeans. On his broad upper body, he wore a matching denim jacket, open over a plain white t-shirt. His face boasted a prominent, masculine jawline and full lips that smirked around a smoldering cigarette. His black hair was oiled and worked into a rakish pompadour.
Stan put a mug of beer on the table next to a shot of whiskey. He pulled his chair out and spun it around to straddle it. He spat his half-smoked cigarette on the floor and didn’t bother to stamp it out. “They call me Stan the Man, or Stan Steam.” He said without bothering to offer his hand. “The ‘Steam’ is from a Model A coupe I used to own. It had a Merc flathead in it that ran like hot snot, but it always overheated. They don’t call me Steam much anymore. My Olds Rocket don’t ever run hot.”
I introduced myself and asked Stan to tell me about Ted. Stan plucked his shot glass from the table and dropped it into his mug of beer. He kept his eyes on me while he did it like he wanted me to be impressed. He sipped his beer and set it aside.
“Ted was a good mechanic. He was an even better lay.” Stan explained, again with his eyes on me as he searched my face for a reaction.
“Oh yeah?” I asked to coax more story out of him.
“Yeah.” Stan confirmed. “Look mister, I’m no fag, but I know a good thing when I see one. Ted was a good thing. I love women, but women make you work too damn hard for it. You gotta take ‘em out and sweet talk ‘em. You gotta tell ‘em they’re the only one. Even when they let you, all they do is lay there. Then you gotta worry about pullin’ out.
“Ted was different. He begged me. He’d polish my knob anytime I wanted. When I got tired of his blow jobs, he let me rail his tight little ass. God damn but his ass felt good, and I never had to pull out. Every day after work we’d drive a couple of blocks down to where they got all them empty lots by the new bridge. I’d fuck him and paint his guts with my ball juice. When I was done, I’d make him walk home to his boyfriend with my fat load inside him. Funny thing was, he fuckin loved it!”
Stan laughed at his own smug story and took another little sip of his beer. “You got a smoke, mister?” He asked.
I brought my pack out and let Stan take a cigarette from it. He put it between his lips and grunted around it. “Light.”
I struck a match and held it for Stan. He lit his cigarette and puffed the waste smoke across the table into my face. He leaned back to smile at me while I waved his smoke away.
I quickly decided I hated the man who my brain had dubbed ‘Smug Stanley.’ I was sorely tempted to smash his face on general principles, but it didn’t seem wise to punch a potential witness to the crime I was investigating. My better judgement didn’t stop me from needling him a little. I tried the same tactic I’d used on Kellerman. “I heard Ted was a slut.” I sneered at Smug Stanley.
Stan’s right hand flew across the table and seized the lapel of my jacket in a powerful grip. He tried to shake me to prove his strength, but he hadn’t realized how much heavier I was than him. He shook himself more than he shook me. “Who the fuck are you to say shit about Teddy?” Stan demanded from between clenched teeth.
I didn’t react to Stan’s hand on my lapel or his obvious rage. Stan’s anger had already told me what I needed to know. It told me that Stan was closer to Ted than he wanted known. From Stan’s reaction I surmised that he and Ted had more than just a relationship built on casual sex. Stan had feelings for Ted. I didn’t know if those feelings were love or if they had been reciprocated, but I could tell Stan felt strong affection for Ted.
I tried to diffuse the situation instead of escalating. If I escalated, I’d wind up kicking the shit out of Smug Stanley. If I did that, he wouldn’t help me find Ted’s murderer. “I’m just repeating what I was told.” I said.
“Oh yeah?” Stan demanded. “What shitheel said that about Teddy? Was it that fat fuck Kellerman?” He growled without loosening his grip on my suit.
“Nope.” I said, then I told a lie. “I heard it from the cops.”
Stan released me and turned his head to spit on the floor next to the table. “Fucking pigs.” He growled. “Fuck them and their horses.”
I was tempted to correct Stan. I almost announced that the phrase was ‘fuck him and the horse he rode in on.’ I restrained myself again because I didn’t want to escalate. I needed Stan. I needed him because Larry had said someone near the Oldsmobile Rocket was the last person he’d seen Ted with before Ted was killed. Stan was the necessary first step on the path to finding Ted’s murderer.
I didn’t think Stan was a likely suspect, but I didn’t rule him out. From the way he grabbed me, I judged he was strong enough to beat a man to death. As far as I knew, he didn’t have any reason to kill Ted. Stan obviously had feelings for Ted, and he didn’t seem to possess the savagery to beat a man in the manner that Ted was beaten. Also, with Ted gone, Stan was likely experiencing a dry spell. I didn’t think a guy like him would kill his free whore.
I hoped Stan could help us start the timeline from when Ted walked away from Larry at the races until later that night when he became the corpse which was found the next morning. I tried to change the subject and ask about the murder. I started with a small lie. “Larry says Ted was with you on February 6th, the Friday night when he was killed.”
Stan got his anger under control and answered my question with an evasion. “Could be.” He said. “What’s it matter?”
I ignored Stan’s question and stayed on topic. This time I told the complete truth. “Larry says Ted walked away from him toward your car.”
Stan agreed with the facts as I knew them. “Yeah, I saw him that night. I was having trouble with the four-barrel on the Olds. Ted dialed it in for me. He wanted me to pound his ass for him, but I wanted to make a couple runs. He hung around until he saw another guy he knew. Called him Mel, I think. He yelled, ‘hey Mel,’ and waved to the guy. He told me he’d see me later and went to catch up with Mel.”
Mel sounded like the lead we needed. I asked for more information. “Did you see this Mel? Can you describe him?”
“Big guy, real tall.” Stan said and waved his hands in the air to approximate a large man.
“Taller than my friend, David?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Stan agreed. “By a couple inches. Six-foot-seven or eight maybe. Looked like Frankenstein. Had a green coat on, like he was in the army, and a red scarf. He had a lazy eye and one of those fucked up jaws where his bottom teeth were in front of the top ones.”
“You’d know him if you saw him again?” I asked.
Stan nodded like he was completely certain. “I’d know that freak anywhere.”
“I want to try to find him.” I explained. “Would you help? Are you racing tomorrow night? Would you let us come with you and point the guy out if he’s there?”
Stan smirked at me like he knew something I didn’t. “Sounds like my help is important to ya. That right?”
I hedged my answer. “Your information would be a big help.”
Stan put his hand out, palm up. “Twenty bucks.” He said. “You want to hang around and gum up my night, you’re gonna have to pay for it. Twenty bucks, right now.”
I didn’t like being extorted, and twenty dollars was a hell of a lot of extortion. I didn’t see a choice in the matter. Stan knew I needed him, and he didn’t need me at all. I swallowed my anger and paid the money. “Where will we meet you?”
“Right here. Be out front tomorrow at eight. You can follow me to the drags.” Stan crushed the money in his fist and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. He stood from the table and dropped the cigarette he hadn’t smoked into the beer he hadn’t drunk. “See you.” He said and walked away.
I watched Stan’s firm, denim clad ass as he sauntered to the front of the tavern and out the door into the street. His ass was a good one, one I would have lusted over had it not been attached to Stan the smug so and so. I looked down at the table in front of me and saw both of my hands were balled into fists, one on either side of what was left of my short beer. I forced them open and lit a cigarette to soothe my anger.
“Now we have a plan anyway.” I reminded myself. “That makes this a success.” I put my cigarettes in my pocket and headed toward the front of the tavern to gather David so we could leave.
