Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

bent the corner of the page, bookmarking it for later. "A couple of waiters who know him said he hasn't picked up the phone. Nobody's seen him since his last shift when he closed up. That was a day ago."

"We got an address?" Kelly asked.

"Yeah, and not too far from here." Barnes stuffed her notepad into her back pocket. "You think he's involved?"

"Only one way to find out."

24

Chaz Fazzino woke to a rapping on his door that felt like a jackhammer bouncing off the inside of his skull. Each bang more painful than the next. Fazzino was used to mornings like these. His late-night lifestyle had next-day consequences, some of those, like this morning, serving as a painful reminder to the disparaging difference between his big-city life and his childhood in the small town of Hookset, New Hampshire. Fazzino moved there at the age of three when his father got a job working as a meat packer in a poultry distribution plant.

He'd known he was different at an early age. And those differences forced him to leave a home that didn't understand. Running off to Boston after finishing high school had been the best decision of his life. Starting over meant change, beginning with his name. Dominic Fazzino didn't have the right ring to it, so he picked a new one.

He remembered watching the documentary Becoming Chaz when it aired ten years ago. Fazzino found strength in the story of Chaz Salvatore Bono. Born Chastity Sun Bono, he underwent female-to-male gender transition. The documentary became a rallying cry for Fazzino to accept himself. In seeking the acceptance of others, he realized the importance of finding a culturally diverse and accepting environment where he could release the new version of himself to the world. Fazzino hadn't gotten around to officially changing his name yet, but he did introduce himself as Chaz, and most people now only knew him by that name.

Chaz had the perfect flare he needed in the bar scene. In his social circles, his name and sexual preference were conversation starters, if nothing else. When he'd found himself in Boston a few years back, it had been a true awakening. No longer was he bound by the limiting, closed-minded views of others; Fazzino could be himself. Feeling a freedom from what had repressed him during his upbringing, he overcompensated by overindulging in drinks, drugs, and lovers. And it was a combination of the three that landed him in his current physical state.

Whoever the hell was banging on his door was ruining any chance he had of sleeping through this terrible hangover. He sat up and grunted. The movement caused his stomach to lurch. "I'll be there in a damn minute." He forced out the words. The projection of his voice sent a vibration rippling through his body. It rattled his brain and he nearly vomited. "What did I do to myself last night?" he mumbled to himself.

Fazzino had a unique taste in lovers. He was open to all possibilities and rarely said no when approached by any interested party, regardless of gender. At twenty-eight years old, he was extremely fit. Fazzino sought the attention of others and spent nearly two hours every day at the CrossFit gym perfecting his image. His body bore testament to those efforts. At 6'1" with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair, he was eye candy for many of the women and men who frequented his place of work.

Being a bartender in downtown Boston was almost like being invited into a secret club. There was an exclusive cult-like quality to the constant rotation of fresh faces and fresh bodies. He fell in love with the idea of it. Since he'd landed the gig at The Monkey Wrench two years ago, Fazzino had been in hog heaven. The establishment brought in a delicious variety of patrons over the years, and Fazzino had picked his way through many of them. It was a rarity for him to return home from a night of work without a companion.

He was somewhat picky when it came to the girls he chose, more so when it came to the men. Fazzino learned early in life that he liked to play both sides of the field. He thought he found that like-mindedness when he fell in love with David Tomlinson, his high school's star wide receiver. He thought their friendship had the potential to blossom into so much more. In a private moment, when Fazzino stole Tomlinson away from a post-graduation bonfire celebration, he leaned in for a kiss. It was supposed to be Fazzino's first kiss. Instead of feeling Tomlinson’s full lips, he got the full force of his fist. He knew now what he didn't know then: David Tomlinson lashed out because of fear. Not of Fazzino, but of himself. Had the star wide receiver and future college star given in to his innate desire, he would have been ostracized. Fazzino packed his bags that night and was gone before he kicked his hangover.

Fazzino's decision to leave was met with no resistance by his parents. His admitted sexual preferences didn't sit well with his family, and they turned their back on him when he refused to conform to their standard of normal. His father used his enormous meat-packing hands to try and beat it out of him while his mother showed indifference toward both his sexuality and the beatings he took for it. Each parent’s attitude had different but equally damaging results on the fissure it formed. Fazzino hadn't spoken to either of them in nearly a decade. He was sure they didn't even know if he was still alive, and he doubted they would care either way.

He found comfort in the close embrace of strangers. He found it last night in the man with whom he shared a drink at last call. It was against bar policy for Fazzino to drink while working, but he'd never been one to stick to the rules.

The knock started again. As he woozily sat on