Page 38 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“No clue.” Chan shrugs, lifting his hands. “I mean, I’m not going mad, am I? That is weird?”

“Very weird,” Tristan agrees. “And very expensive. I know several florists through work, and I have to say, black roses are specialist items. Why would someone go to all the trouble of buying something that pricey, and how did they get them all into your flat?”

Tristan turns to look at me with worried eyes. I’m not going to say anything yet, but I have a sneaky suspicion as to who might be responsible.

“Did you check all your windows and doors were locked?” I ask anyway.

“That was the first thing I did.” Chan cocks his hip and tilts his head thoughtfully. “Seriously, the only way they could’ve got them into the flat was to shove them through the letterbox and even then, they would’ve needed a key to the building.”

“Do you feel unsafe at all?” I ask.

“No.” He shakes his head, causing his glossy hair to sway. “Like I said, it was probably just some stupid prank. Anyway”—Chan waves a hand airily, as if erasing the negative thoughts—“I brought my iPad. I’ve bookmarked several listings which I think might be a good fit. There’s not much going on in Hackney at the moment, but there are a couple of really nice two bed places in Whitechapel. I mean, you’d both have to commute to work, but it’s not that far. One of the properties is within walking distance of Spitalfields, which is a really vibrant place, and there’s Brick Lane if you want a decent curry, tons of amazing street art, quirky shops, and trendy bars and restaurants.”

I have to admit, I’m really impressed with Chan’s efficiency. Maybe this move won’t be as difficult as I thought with him in charge.

“Thanks, Chan.” Tris smiles and it’s a real smile, not the half-arsed, exhausted one he’s been dishing out for the past couple of days.

“Oh, they’ve given me access to the Facebook group for Blue Thunder,” Sam announces from where he’s once again planted in front of his laptop. “There’s loads more photos in the private group,” he muses as he scrolls through. “People have been sharing their own memories and photos of the place.”

“Wait!” Chan gasps suddenly from where he’s standing over Sam’s shoulder. “Back up,” he demands, and then, “Holy shit, that’s Ari!” He punctuates the last word with a little giggle.

“Ari?” Tristan leans forward and pulls Sam’s laptop toward us, spinning it around so we can see. Sure enough, someone has shared a picture of himself and his boyfriend back in the day, but once you look beyond the smiling couple in the foreground you see that behind them, lit by neon blue and pink bar lights as he serves drinks, is Ari. “That’s Bruce working behind the bar next to him.”

“Really?” Chan gasps in delight, shuffling over to us and leaning in closer to see the man Dusty spends most of her time with. “He’s hot,” Chan decides.

“Who’s Ari?” Sam asks.

“His name is Roberto Caligliari,” I explain. “But he goes by Ari. He owns and runs The Rainbow Room, a drag club in Shoreditch where Chan works. It also happens to be the place where Dusty was murdered.”

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Sam mutters as he drags his laptop back in front of him. “So, this Ari obviously knew Bruce if he worked with him at Blue Thunder. Maybe we should start there.”

“We’ll need to talk to his parents too,” I add, determined to get out of the flat even if I am hobbling around on crutches. “But now we have a place to start. I guess we’re taking another trip to The Rainbow Room.”

“Hopefully no one will be shooting at me and Chan this time.” Tris chuckles and Sam’s brows rise slowly.

“I’ll bet that’s a fascinating story.” Sam’s mouth curves.

“Put the kettle on,” Tris says with a grin, “and we’ll tell you all about it.”

9

“Holy fucking Christ on a cracker!” Dusty gasps loudly. “What the fuck is going on with Ruby’s lips? She looks like a blowfish.”

“Chan says she had an anti-aging facial,” I reply.

“Anti-aging facials don’t give you lips that look like you’ve caught your mouth in an industrial-strength vacuum cleaner,” Dusty smirks. “They look like Donatella Versace’s castoffs.”

“Chan thinks she’s had fillers.” My voice is low, but I know Dusty can hear me over the blast of music coming from the stage. I’m getting so used to trying to talk discreetly out of the side of my mouth that I’m in serious danger of starting to resemble Popeye.

My attention is caught on the mesmerising form of Ruby giving a Tina Turner-esque performance ofDisco Infernoin a very tight, very sequined, very tasselled leotard…with gigantic shoulder pads. She’s so far beyond the Thunderdome right now that I expect Mel Gibson to show up any minute.

“No kidding.” Dusty gives a loud snort. “Her lips are so big they probably walk into the room an hour before she does.”

“I’d be more concerned with the leotard. It’s cut so high I’m surprised it’s not giving Ruby haemorrhoids.” I wince involuntarily. “I don’t even want to imagine how much tape that took. My balls are clenching in sympathy.”

I hear Sam snort loudly behind me, but I don’t turn around even though I know he’s listening in to our conversation.

“Oh my god, Tris.” Dusty cackles in bawdy delight. “You’re actually starting to sound like me. We’ll make a drag queen of you yet.”