Death and Pride centers on the frantic search for a serial killer in the weeks prior to the annual Gay Pride Parade in Greenwich Village, NY. All the victims, attractive, young men were found naked and thrown in dumpsters or in alley-ways in the Village. Police have only one clue to go on; fibers found in the beard stubble of the victims. Lead investigator, Alan Barlow's fears intensify as the body count rises and the date of the parade nears. He is no closer to finding the killer than at the beginning of the investigation. At the same time, Todd Winslow meets and falls for Stephan Vogel, a hot leather man he met while serving on the Pride Committee. Todd's ex, Joe warns him to be careful while in the city and with Stephan. At first Todd laughs it off, but when he sees the posters of the suspect he knows he has cause for concern, but not for what he thinks. With only days to the parade, a young man enters the Police Station and relates a horrifying story about a bondage encounter he'd recently had with a man who closely resembled the police composite. After staking out the bars and gym mentioned by the witness, Barlow narrows his search. With a photo from the gym Barlow and his men locate and try to apprehend the suspect, but he disappears in the crowds in the Village. The climax of this twisted tale occurs during the parade, not with an arrest on the street, not with gunfire, not even with the suspect surrendering, but by means that no one could have predicted. The reason for the murders? Just as shocking as the murders themselves.

Death and Pride

A NovelBy Gil Burgess

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Gil Burgess
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-9986-9

Contents

Chapter 1 - Thursday, April 24th......................1Chapter 2 - Friday, April 25th........................9Chapter 3 - Monday, April 28th........................16Chapter 4 - Wednesday, April 30th.....................22Chapter 5 - Friday, May 2nd...........................30Chapter 6 - Wednesday, May 7th........................36Chapter 7 - Thursday, May 8th.........................43Chapter 8 - Friday, May 9th...........................47Chapter 9 - Saturday, May 10th........................56Chapter 10 - Monday, May 12th.........................60Chapter 11 - Tuesday, May 13th........................64Chapter 12 - Thursday, May 15th.......................75Chapter 13 - Friday, May 16th.........................87Chapter 14 - Wednesday, May 21st......................90Chapter 15 - Thursday, May 22nd.......................93Chapter 16 - Saturday, May 24th.......................101Chapter 17 - Thursday, May 29th.......................112Chapter 18 - Friday, May 30th.........................119Chapter 19 - Monday, June 3rd.........................124Chapter 20 - Friday, June 15th........................132Chapter 21 - Monday, June 18th........................139Chapter 22 - Wednesday, June 20th.....................150Chapter 23 - Friday, June 22nd........................159Chapter 24 - Monday, June 25th........................168Chapter 25 - Tuesday, June 26th.......................175Chapter 26 - Saturday, June 28th......................182Chapter 27 - Sunday June 29th.........................198

Chapter One

Thursday, April 24th

Todd Winslow wearily slumped into a seat on the last New Jersey Transit North East Corridor train to leave New York's Penn Station. He was tired and upset. The Pride Day Organizational meeting had been long and heated; too many factions of the small group developing a 'me first' agenda over the past few weeks.

"Why did I ever volunteer for this?" he asked himself as he rubbed his irritated, bloodshot eyes. The meetings had begun in January, and he comforted himself by thinking, 'it'll be over in another six weeks.' He checked his watch for what had to be the hundredth time; 12:24. Finally the train jolted forward and pulled out of the station. "It's about time!" he mumbled aloud. It would take about an hour before his stop in Matawan, and then another twenty minute drive before he arrived home in Freehold.

Fumbling through his black canvas backpack for his notes on tonight's meeting he came across the paper with Stephan's phone number on it and smiled, "At least one good thing came from tonight's otherwise frustrating meeting."

Stephan Vogel had come onto the steering committee several weeks ago replacing Jon Aarons. He represented the leather men and true to form had shown up at every meeting dressed in at least some leather. Todd had been instantly attracted to him and at first spent more time fantasizing about Stephan then paying attention to the meeting and recording the minutes. He checked Stephan out from head to toe every week. He was gorgeous. Hidden beneath the black bikers' cap was thick, close cropped dark hair. His gray eyes, hooded and mysterious, peered out from below thick brows and sparked with flashes of blue and hazel when he smiled. Under his black leather vest a white T-shirt strained and rippled like a second skin over his taut chest and shoulders when he moved, and his just-tight-enough jeans were faded and worn to a sensuous softness, conforming to the firm thighs and butt they caressed.

Todd couldn't keep his eyes off him but couldn't figure out how to approach him either. In addition to his intense sensuality, Stephan possessed an aura of confidence and self-assuredness. It was becoming frustratingly apparent to Todd that he was a loner. Still, he was growing more and more angry at his inability to make contact, to just say hello to this man. He had to find out what was behind those intense eyes.

Tonight's meeting had unexpectedly provided Todd with the opportunity to do what he'd wanted to do for so long; talk to Stephan. A disagreement developed when Heather, representing the Transsexual Lesbian Group questioned their placement in the parade line up. "I know we're new to the parade, but we're dead last! We were hoping to have better placement to bring attention to our group, to let others like us know there's a place for them, a group that can help. Putting us last is like saying, 'Yeah, you're in the parade, but we really don't want to acknowledge you.' It's prejudice!"

Todd had listened patiently and even sympathetically up to that last comment. Everyone in the room was stunned by it, but Todd was the first to speak. "Wait a minute, Heather! How can you even think, let alone say something like that? No one in this room harbors any prejudice to any group."

"The parade line up is determined by many factors and length of time participating is one of them, an important one," continued Alan Bordman, this year's chairperson. "This is your group's first parade, your placement will improve over the years as new groups emerge and old ones drop out. It's been done this way for years now."

"Well then maybe it's time for a change," she replied, her voice deepening and her eyes glaring. "Just because it's always been so doesn't make it right, or mean it has to stay so."

Leaning forward, Alan asked, "Do you have a suggestion?"

"As a matter of fact I do." Heather sat back and folded her long arms. "By a lottery system. Each representative here draws a number and that's their placement in the line up. Any group that doesn't have a representative present when the drawing is done has their placement determined by the chair. It's fair and it gives every group a chance to have a better or worse placement."

The angry barrage of comments that followed was deafening.

"Dykes on Bikes has always led the parade. Are you suggesting they be last?"

"The Stonewall Group started the movement!"

"P.W.A. needs high visibility!"

"The NAMES Project is too important!"

"What about all the other minority groups?"

Todd put his head in his hands as voices swirled around him. He couldn't believe this nonsense. Alan frantically tried to regain control of the group and as people quieted down and order was restored Todd looked up, directly at Stephan. He was leaning back in his chair, a wry smile on his face, staring directly at Todd. An embarrassed smile broke across Todd's face and he felt himself blush. Stephan's smile broadened in response and he winked at Todd.

The meeting droned on. Todd took notes as compromises were achieved and frayed nerves were soothed, the whole time glancing up at Stephan who calmly maintained his smile and stare.

When the meeting finally ended Todd packed up, watching Stephan out of the corner of his eye, and made his way to the exit. Stephan was just outside the building, leaning against it, waiting for him. "Hey," he said as Todd emerged still shoving papers into his backpack.

"Oh, hi."

"What a bunch of bull in there!"

Todd rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it!" he commented as he fumbled to zip his pack, "but you can't blame her for wanting her group to be closer to the front of the parade. You do get better visibility in the community."

"Maybe some groups shouldn't be that visible."

Todd looked up at him. "What?" he asked, a confused look on his face. "I don't believe you just said that! What if it was your group that got shoved to the end of the line up? You'd be pretty upset, wouldn't you?"

Stephan shrugged, "Maybe, but I don't think I'd whine about it, or say it was prejudice. She's lucky one of those dykes didn't punch her!"

Todd couldn't help but laugh. "That would have been something to see. I'm just glad Alan was able to get things back under control." He stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. "All I know is that I am tired!"

"Too tired to grab a cup of coffee?"

Todd glanced at his watch. "Sorry, I can't. I've got to catch a train."

"Maybe next week?" Stephan asked, pushing himself away from the building. "Let me give you my number."

Todd quickly unzipped his pack and fished out a pad and pen. He watched as Stephan's large hands wrote. "Call me. Maybe we could grab dinner before next week's meeting."

Reading the number to himself, Todd absently said aloud, "I'd love to."

"Good. Then I'll talk to you soon."

Shoving the pad and pen into his pack and rezipping it, Todd smiled widely. "You bet." Looking at his watch again he began backing away towards 8th Avenue. "I really have to go."

"Sure."

"I'll call," Todd said as he turned to hail a cab.

"I hope so," Stephan thought aloud. "I really hope so." He smiled and stared until Todd's cab was out of sight.

A sudden pain causes him to wince. He knew he needed his pills. He steadied himself by leaning on the building waiting for the episode to pass. Shortly it did. He turned and made his way back past the Center, past J's Hangout, the Lure and towards home, anxious to take the medication, the pain subsiding to a dull throb.

* * *

Darkness envelopes the city like a shroud; arching street lamps barley illuminating the inky black asphalt roads below. A chilling fog rolls in, distorting all images within its grasp. Through this murky night the Lure emerges, dark and foreboding. The men who frequent this shadowy environment personify the night; moody and mysterious. This eerie environment is their world. The bar, although well known, does not identify itself; men who hunt here know it and it silently calls to them.

Tonight, a dark brooding man, dressed mostly in leather, stands at the corner, staring down the silent street waiting, his mind aflame, body tense, eyes fixed on the large, black doors. Over the past several days, desires had been growing inside of him, angry desires that needed to be satisfied. These overpowering urges had drawn him here to this place. He pulls the leather jacket closer around him against the chilled air. There was only silence surrounding him; no cars, no people, just elongated shadows. Time passes and still he waits. Entering the bar was usually not an option for him, he liked to wait outside, searching the growing crowd of men as they exited to find the right one, but this night the urge was so powerful and the night so chilled that he could wait no longer. In the late night hour he starts walking through the mist, his footfalls echoing loudly on the cobblestone street. He moves deliberately, each step calculated and measured. He stares straight ahead unblinking as he nears the large, unmarked door. He can feel the tension in his body; hear it in his rapid breathing. His large hands flex and his lips curl as the anger and desire meld into one emotion. He grasps the handle on the oversized door and it squeaks open.

Once inside, he moves unblinking through the dark hall past the leather shop and smoke filled pool room into the large main bar, his eyes darting from side to side, a predator searching for prey. He inhales deeply. The air, heavy with the erotic scent of leather, elevates his passion and deepens his need. Unlike other such bars, nudity is not allowed, but there were a few men stripped down to jock straps, their firm butts clenching as they walk, frequently being fondled. 'Yes,' he hisses to himself as he takes it all in; every sight, sound and smell heightening his wanton desires.

He orders a beer and leans on the bar, facing the back wall scanning the men, selecting his prey. As his eyes grow more accustomed to the cave like darkness they become riveted on one man in particular. He was tall, near or slightly over 6', light hair, athletic build and somewhat aloof. A crooked grin creases his rugged face; he's the one.

With eyes locked on this man, his mind flashes with images of him naked on his bed bound and blindfolded, his body writhing with pleasure as he teases and torments him, bringing him to higher and higher reaches of ecstasy, but refusing to let him climax, threatening him with severe punishment if he comes too soon. He could see the welts forming on his taut torso from the cat-of-nine-tails whip; could hear his guttural moans as hot wax drips onto his hard erection and feels the shaft in his hand as he rubs cool lube on it. He could even taste the saltiness of his sweat as he licks it from his hard nipples. His mental images cause him to become aroused; and he begins rubbing his own erection. Other men notice and approach him, grabbing or groping at him. Annoyed, he roughly grasps and pushes their eager hands away, his desires fixated on this one individual. He moves his hand up to his chest and pinches his erect nipple hard, wincing as nerve endings shoot shocks of painful pleasure throughout his body.

Finally the young man sees him and nods. He waits, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he makes his move. The urgency of his desire intensifies and he glances down at his crotch then back at the stranger who finally begins walking his way. His body was more muscular than he'd originally thought. His white tank top strains from well defined pecs and the flimsy cotton clings to his tight abs like a second skin, defining each muscular ripple. Shadows outline large, firm biceps. As he nears, each muscle of his quads stand out as they flex then release under the tight, worn fabric of his jeans. 'Better, much better.'

His heart pounding in his ears, he once again rubs himself; the young man watches and smiles, obviously aroused himself. He stops inches away and hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, outlining his own erection, then leans on the bar, facing him. They were playing the game now; posing, subtly moving ever so slightly flexing to accentuate one muscle or another enticing and heightening each other's arousal and desire. Slowly turning towards the young man, he smiles and nods, then motions to the bartender for another drink. When it arrives, the young man tells the bartender, "That's on me."

The game was over, he had won. His eyes spark as he realizes he'll be able to finally satisfy his raging desires tonight. Without a word being spoken, they drain their beers and leave together.

Along the short walk to his apartment, a blinding flash of light pierces his head. He moans and stumbles a bit, but manages to maintain control. He looks over at his latest conquest and grins. 'Nice, very nice,' he thinks as his fevered mind fills with scenes of their bodies naked and intertwined, him dominating the young man, bending him to his every whim of desire.

The young man notices his grin and can feel his palms begin to sweat, but the guy is too damned hot not to go home with. He grins at him and tries to relax, but his stomach is beginning to knot up and he can feel his breath coming in short gasps. He was about to change his mind when they arrive at his apartment house.

Chapter Two

Friday, April 25th

The 10th Precinct on 10th Street in Greenwich Village was quiet, too quiet. Detective Alan Barlow sat at his desk, grateful for the peace and quiet, but anxiously waiting for all hell to break loose. His wait was a short one. A call came in mid afternoon; the body of a young man had been discovered in a dumpster by sanitation workers on Horatio Street as they conducted their pick ups.

By the time Barlow got to the scene the area, including the dumpster and sanitation truck had been cordoned off, the yellow crime scene tape chattering in the cool afternoon breeze. Uniformed officers either fought to control the growing crowd of onlookers or tried to keep traffic flowing. The crime scene unit carefully combed the area for evidence; the pungent odor of rotting garbage mixed with the stench of the nearby meat packing plants filled the air and choked the investigators who gagged continually as they poked and prodded through the dumpster and back of the truck for possible evidence.

Barlow scanned the area trying to acclimate himself, then exhaling ducked under the tape and sought out the officers who were first to respond. Finding them near the apartment building, interviewing the superintendent, he waited. When the super turned and entered the building he approached them.

"What do you have?"

Shaking his head, Officer Ortiz sighed, "Not much I'm afraid. The victim wasn't a resident here, The super never saw him before. No one heard any commotion. From all accounts everything was as usual last night."

"No ID on the victim?"

Ortiz chuckled, "He was naked."

"Where is he now?"

Ortiz pointed. The coroner's black van stood outside the cordoned off area, its back doors open revealing a stretcher holding a black body bag. Barlow found John Clayton, the coroner, leaning on the front of the van, smoking.

"Those will kill you," he mocked as he took out and lit a cigarette of his own. "Were you able to determine anything?"

"Yeah, come on back, I'll show you."

Clayton unzipped the body bag and flapped it down. The rotting smell of garbage, now warm from being contained inside the heavy plastic sack assaulted Barlow's nose and he recoiled, "God!"

"I know. Here, put these on." Clayton handed him a mask and a pair of latex gloves. The mask diminished the odor somewhat, but it was too strong to be totally eliminated.

Clayton extracted one arm from the bag. "Look here," he pointed to the victim's wrist. "These same marks are on the other wrist as well and both ankles."

"He was bound?"

Clayton nodded. "From the look of the bruising and the few superficial cuts and abrasions there wasn't much struggling. The marks appear to have been made by straps, probably leather or rope."

"Any other marks on the body?"

"A few, some old and a few fresh ones. These on his chest are from some sort of paddle I'd say."

"He was involved in some sort of bondage then."

"Uh-huh."

Barlow looked into the face of the dead young man. His skin was blue-white, lips dark, almost purple. The face looked calm despite the apparent means of death. "He was a good looking kid. Nice build too. What a shame." He backed away from the van, "How long do you think he was in the dumpster?"

Snapping off his examining gloves and rezipping the bag, Clayton shrugged, "At least 24 hours, maybe a little longer."

"What about a cause of death?"

"Hard to tell. From the fibers stuck in the stubble on his face it could have been suffocation."

"If it was suffocation what do you think was used?"

"Could have been a pillow, or a heavy towel. We'll have to have the fibers analyzed and try to find a match."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Death and Prideby Gil Burgess Copyright © 2009 by Gil Burgess. Excerpted by permission.
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