“You mentioned gutter punks. Were there other social issues Noah was concerned with?”
She took off her readers, tapped them on the counter. “The kid cared a lot about women’s issues. That’s what I mean about rejoining the human race. Came from those early days with Buffy and Jessica Jones, I guess.”
“He ever talk about water rights? Environmental issues, maybe?”
Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t remember anything like that.”
I picked up one of Dana’s business cards, slid it into the pocket of my jacket. “Was Noah gay?”
Her new glare surpassed the earlier one. “What the hell does that matter?”
“It might have played a role in his death.”
She held on to the glare another three seconds, and then her face sagged. “Fucking world sometimes, you know?”
“I do.”
The man and his son approached the register. Clyde and I stepped aside while they bought three Archie Comics and Dana slid them into a paper bag. She watched the pair as they headed out the door.
“That father brings his son in every month,” she said. “The kid has his allowance money, and he wants to spend it on comics. Sweet kid. He still thinks life is about ice cream and hanging out with your friends.” She shook her head. “But pretty soon he’ll graduate to all those noir Archie shows. Right around the time he decides that life is a tragedy and he’s Hamlet.”
I sensed a kindred spirit. But then she turned back to me and summoned up a smile. “Where were we?”
“I asked if Noah might be gay.”
“Ah, right. Well, speaking as an old lesbian, Noah was straight as they come. In fact, he wanted to be the ladies’ man. Nice dresser, smooth talker. Always smelled like a bank. As in R-I-C-H rich. He had an opening he’d use in a bar. He’d make a little sketch of the woman he was interested in. Talk about how good the woman’s bone structure was and how he could tell just by drawing her that she had a good heart.” Dana laughed. “He used to practice it on me. He was good enough that if I wasn’t happily married, hell, I might have given him a go. Even if I am almost twice his age and gay to boot. The sad thing is, good a routine as it seemed to me, he said it didn’t usually work. He said the other PUAs were better.”
“PUAs?”
“I know. Alphabet soup. Pickup artists. That’s what Noah called them. Guys who supposedly have a proven system for attracting and seducing women.”
“He ever mention names?”
“Sorry, no.” She shrugged. “I never asked.”
I recalled the cardboard box of worn, discarded T-shirts in Noah’s closet. “When did he get into the pickup-artist scene?”
“Hmm.” She pressed her index finger to her chin. “Four months ago, maybe?”
“Any idea how seducing women for casual sex fits in with being an SJW concerned with women’s issues?”
“If you’re trying to understand men”—she snorted—“I’m not the person to ask.”
“You ever hear of something called the Superior Gentlemen?”
A faint spark appeared in her eyes. She scratched her chin for a moment, then shook her head. “Seems kind of familiar. But I can’t pull up anything.”
I showed her the copy of the photo I’d taken from Noah’s mantel. The one with the five men. “You know any of these guys?”
She put her readers back on. “Well, Noah, of course. And the guy with his arm over Noah’s shoulders might be his brother.” She set down the photo. “I don’t know the others.”
“You ever know Noah to be involved in anything illegal?”
“You mean like drugs?”
I sensed a new lead. “Was he involved in drugs?”
A small headshake. “Nah. Nothing I ever noticed.”
“Anything else? Anything that seemed shady?”
Her look turned cool and assessing. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re digging for. ’Cause I sure can’t think of anything.”
“That’s okay. I have to ask.”
She dropped the chilly gaze. “I get it. I’m firmly on the side of no. But you might sound out his students. They’re in the back now. Rivero and Markey.”
“I’ll talk to them.” I tapped one of the pictures of the Milkshake Lady. “You ever see a woman like this with Noah?”
Another laugh, but this one carried pain. “I never saw any woman with Noah. It’s his brother who’s the real ladies’ man. Noah told me Todd could walk into any bar, zero in on the best-looking woman there, and walk out five minutes later with her on his arm. A real pickup artist, that one.”
“Todd is the brother?”
“Right.”
“Is he part of the pickup-artist community?”
“Doubt it. But I haven’t seen him years. Todd’s not into comics.” Her look was contemptuous. “He’s like their dad, or at least that’s what Noah told me. Into business. Into making money. Not so much about the arts. Good-looking guy, though, if that’s him in the photo.”
I touched the drawing of the woman again. “You don’t think she’s real?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say no.”
“She seems so realistic. Not like a—” I stumbled.
“Not like Mystique? Or Black Cat? But that’s a trend, too, and about time. Especially with the SJW types, who tend to create characters who are more realistic. Real women don’t look like Barbie. And most of them don’t want to.” She looked at the drawing again and pointed at the milkshake. “You get the significance of that?”
“The drink?”
“It’s another reason I don’t think this woman is real. You heard of Comicsgate?”
“Enlighten me.”
“A few years ago, the big comics companies like DC and Marvel started hiring women and minority artists and writers as part of a diversity campaign. Some of these newcomers are reimagining old superheroes as women or trans or minority. That got a lot of pushback from the traditionalists. Then came the day when a group of women staffers from Marvel went to have a milkshake in honor of their hero, a woman publisher named Flo Steinberg.”
“Okay.”
“One of the women posted their photo online. And all hell
