by Gregory Ashe
A bed with a sagging mattress. A closet with mirrored doors. A vanity table that had been painted white poorly, with drips and streaks frozen in the satin gloss. From the top of the dresser, a teddy bear in a tuxedo, with top hat and cane, oversaw the proceedings. Jem stripped. The house was old enough that the only bathroom was in the hall. He washed up; in the morning, he’d wipe out the sink and tub just in case. The house had been on the market for three weeks, almost a record with how fast homes were moving, but so far nobody wanted to deal with an as-is home being sold by out-of-state relatives who had no interest in clearing out the junk.
Stretched out on the bed, he closed his eyes, but the Campfire made his mouth taste like smoke, made his mouth taste like the blond, and then he opened his eyes and grabbed his phone—he had the vague idea of jerking off, just to get to sleep.
Instead, he saw a missed call and voicemail from Brigitte Fitzpatrick. She must have called when he’d had the blond’s ankles behind the headrests; there’s an image for mommy dearest. She’d sent a text as well, but reading was too much work in general, and definitely too much work when he was wasted. He played the voicemail.
Her voice was brittle; that was the first thing he’d noticed when they met the first time. It wasn’t the voice he remembered from childhood. “Jeremiah.” She cleared her throat. “Hello, Jeremiah, this is your—this is Brigitte. I hope I’m not bothering you. I’m sure you’re very busy.” A nervous titter. “I just wanted to see if everything was ok. Gerald says you haven’t cashed any of the checks.”
“No duh,” Jem told the phone. “Because I don’t fucking need you, and I definitely don’t need Gerald and his fucking Wells Fargo account.”
“—wondering if you’re getting them, that’s all. And I—I wanted to make sure everything is all right. Gerald says he thinks it would be all right for you to come meet your—meet the children. If you’re still interested, that is. We’re having a party on Pioneer Day.”
“Right,” Jem told the phone. “Right.”
“Once we’ve got everything hammered out, I’ll send you the details. I know Gerald would love to meet you as well.”
“Right,” Jem told the phone, and then he threw it across the room.
Brigitte was still talking in her thin, high voice.
On the wall, above where the phone had fallen, vinyl letters spelled out FAMILIES ARE FOREVER.
5
On Thursday after work, Tean invited Ammon to take Scipio on a walk with him. When Ammon met them downstairs, Scipio did his usual growling and whuffing. Tean barely noticed.
“What happened to your face?”
Ammon touched a faint bruise along his jawline. “A few months ago, I would have lied to you about this, but I’m trying really hard to be honest. This was some father-son bonding time.”
“Ammon, oh my gosh. Your father hit you? What happened?”
“We hugged. We went fishing. He bought me a chocolate malt.”
Tean stared.
Tapping the bruise again, Ammon cut his eyes to the left and shrugged. “Don’t make me talk about it.”
Tean scrambled for what to say and settled on: “I’ve never heard you be a smart aleck before.”
“One night of trying to be Jem’s friend.”
Tean’s grin grew slowly.
“Let’s walk,” Ammon said, “before you remember you don’t like me.”
“I like you,” Tean said.
Ammon squeezed his arm, laughed, and shook his head.
The late July sun ricocheted off the glass, turning the streets into shooting galleries, the light blinding no matter how Tean squinted. They kept to the shaded side of the street, where the cement wouldn’t burn Scipio’s paws. It was a relief to get to Liberty Park, the grass still lush from daily watering, the cottonwoods offering a canopy against the sun. The smell of the pond on the south side of the park filled the air; two girls were chasing the ducks toward the water and then running away, screaming, when the ducks turned on them.
“I don’t think it’s going anywhere,” Tean said. “With Ragnar, I mean. I don’t know if that matters to you or not, but I figured I’d tell you.”
Ammon was silent for the next ten yards. Then he said, “It matters to me. I thought you knew how much this mattered to me.”
“I don’t want us to be pressured, though. I want to figure out how to be friends again first. We did everything wrong the first time, and if there is something real between us, I want it to have a solid foundation.”
“I know, Tean. You’ve told me. At length. And I’ve told you that I’ll do whatever you want me to do because I want you in my life, however you’ll have me.”
Tean opened his mouth.
“Nope,” Ammon said. “We’re not going to do this all over again. A hundred times, give or take, is enough. Tell me why it wasn’t a love connection.”
“Gosh, I can’t even imagine what Jem would say if he heard that.”
“Quit stalling.”
“I don’t know. Things seemed like they were fine. We had a good time. He laughed a few times when I wasn’t telling a joke, but that almost always happens, so it didn’t seem like a big deal. He said he wanted to see me again. But he hasn’t answered any of my messages since.”
“It’s probably because you’re undatable.”
“Ammon!”
“Sorry, it’s the truth. You’re too smart, hot, and good for all those guys. They know you’re out of their league. You’re just going to have to settle for me. You’re out of my league too, of course, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice because I’m crazy about you.”
“Scipio, make him stop. Attack. Bite. Kill.”
Tail wagging furiously, Scipio was too busy trying to sniff out whatever was hiding under a cracked slab of sidewalk.
“Traitor,” Tean said.
“If I’m honest,” Ammon began.
“No more pretending to insult me while secretly hitting on me. We’re not there yet, and I don’t like feeling rushed.”
“I was going to say, I think you’re reading too much into a few dates. You’re a great guy. If they can’t see that, it’s their loss, and you’re better off without them. You’ve got to give it some time before you can call it quits.”
“If I don’t get sexually cannibalized before then.”
Ammon grimaced. “Right. I forgot.”
They completed their loop of the park. A cat got too close, and Scipio barked wildly at it. When the cat came closer, Scipio backed up until he crashed into Tean’s knees, his whole body shaking. By the time they’d gone another fifteen yards, Scipio was prancing again and lunging at squirrels.
“How was Daniel’s game?” Tean asked.
Ammon made a noncommittal noise.
“Is it ok for me to ask about stuff like that? You invited me, so I thought maybe I was allowed, but—but I wasn’t sure.”
“Tean, you can talk to me about anything. It wasn’t great. I mean, I sat on the topmost bleacher, and I wore a hat and sunglasses because the poor kid can’t even stand to look at me. He’s going through a really bad time, probably the worst time in his life, and I’m making it harder. Lucy caught him hoarding pills. He bought a shirt that says I HATE FAGS, God knows where. And then I look at his cell phone data, and he’s visiting myshirtlessboyfriend.com every afternoon. I don’t know what to do.”
“I know I was part of that. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to make it better, but if there is, I want you to tell me.”
“Part of what? Me being gay and closeted?”
“No, the rest of it.”
“Me cheating on my wife, lying to my family, picking up anonymous guys and risking my relationships and my career? That part?” Ammon rubbed a hand over his cropped blond hair. “Tean, you were the first guy I was ever willing to be myself with. That means everything to me. And I blew it because I wasn’t brave enough to take a risk with you. I’d be lying if I told
you Lucy and the kids don’t have some really hard feelings toward you, but the truth is, I made those choices because I’m a sex addict and because I’m a coward. The nights it wasn’t you, it was someone else. You mean the world to me, but you weren’t the cause. And you definitely weren’t the problem.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“If I am,” Ammon said, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “it’s been a long time coming.”
They walked the rest of the way home in silence.
“Come over,” Tean said. “Let me take a look at your face and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“They’re bruises. Unless you’ve got a magic potion up your sleeve, you can’t do anything except give them time.” His eyes were very blue then, catching the light. “All I’m doing these days is giving things time to heal, it seems.”
“Come over anyway,” Tean said. “I’ll make dinner.”
Something that might have been a smile twitched at the corner of Ammon’s mouth, but before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He answered: “Young. Yes. Ok, I’m on my way.” He listened to a longer stretch of information, swore, and hammered his fist against the apartment’s bulletin board. It rattled. A shower of thumbtacks hit the ground, and flyers, now released from the board, fluttered down. One was for HEAL YOURSELF WITH TAHITIAN NONI JUICE – CANCER, DIABETES, HEART DISEASE.
When Ammon disconnected, Tean said, “What happened?”
“It’s a murder. The killer ran into traffic and got hit by a car while trying to escape; I’ve got to go. Do you know where Jem is?”
“What? Why?”
“Do you know, Tean?”
“No. He doesn’t like to tell me—no, I don’t know. I can find him, though.”
“Collar him. Then call me.”
“Why?”
“Because the killer has been asking for Jem Berger since they put him in the ambulance.”
6
Jem sat in the hospital lobby, waiting. Tean’s phone call had made him drive across town to the University of Utah Hospital, where a uniformed officer had finally tracked him down and told him to sit and wait. Tean had showed up a while later, but since neither man knew anything, all they could do was sit in silence. At first, the lobby was busy, an early evening rush of men and women leaving work to go home, and another crowd arriving for visiting hours before going home themselves.
Hours passed. By then, the summer sky was purple, twilight softening the valley in every direction, and the lobby was almost empty. A white lady with frizzy hair was scrubbing makeup off her face with a wipe, examining herself in a compact mirror, tugging up her blouse as though trying to compensate for the plunging neckline. An older black man was reading The Economist and chewing piece after piece of Juicy Fruit gum. A pair of white boys, both in sagging jeans and too-big t-shirts, sulked in chairs at the far end of the lobby, obviously feeling very put upon.
“Mr. Berger?”
The officer was young, her face fresh, and she smiled as she motioned for Jem to follow her. When Tean stood, she shook her head.
“I need to go with him,” Tean said.
“I’m sorry, but only Mr. Berger.”
“I want to talk to Detective Young.”
“No,” Jem said. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Tean grabbed his arm, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have no idea what you’re walking into. You have no idea who wants to talk to you. This is weird, and I don’t want you doing it on your own.”
“Tean, it’s fine. It’s a hospital. It’s going to be fine.” Jem slowly pried the doc’s fingers loose. “You didn’t have to come.
“Of course I had to come. The whole thing is so strange that it’s making me sick to my stomach.” Turning to the young officer, he said, “If Detective Young allows me to—”
Sighing, Jem took Tean by the shoulders, turned him back toward the lobby, and gave him a gentle push. “Go home, please. Give Scipio extra treats for me.”
“I’m not going home. I’m going to wait here until I know they’re not trying to do something to you.”
“Like probe me anally,” Jem said.
“Like—no, not like that. What in the world is wrong with you?”
“Come on,” Jem said to the officer, whose name tag said Marina. “That one will keep him busy for a while.”
They rode the elevator up. Muzak played over hidden speakers. It sounded like a jazzy, synthesized rendering of “The Piano Man.” Officer Marina clasped her hands, her eyes locked on the digital display.
“What’s this guy’s name?” Jem asked. “Who are we going to see?”
“You’ll have to talk to Detective Young about that.”
“I thought he wouldn’t be allowed any visitors until he was processed into the jail.”
“You’ll have to talk to Detective Young about that too.”
“Why’s he still here?”
Nothing this time, just a polite smile.
“Does Detective Young always have the same stick up his ass, or does he rotate the sticks daily?”
A slightly bigger smile.
When they got off the elevator, Officer Marina steered them to the right, and they followed a long hallway. At the end of it, Ammon and his partner, Kat, sat in tubular chairs. Ammon looked like someone had given him a love tap, with faint bruising along his jaw. Jem found himself humming the theme song for The Price is Right. Kat glared at Jem.
“Did your perp do that to you?” Jem said to Ammon.
“What? Oh, no. Thank you, Officer Marina. Give us a minute, would you?”
“Who do I send the ice-cream cake to?” Jem asked as Officer Marina retreated. “Do they like pistachio-flavored ice cream? Do they like fudge cookie layers?”
“I told you this was a mistake,” Ammon said to Kat.
Kat just grunted.
“So who the fuck did you drag me up here to see?” Jem’s eyes shot to the closed door. “What’s this all about?”
“A suspect in a murder, for a start.”
“Doesn’t this guy have some sort of rights?” Jem asked. “Even a couple of stormtroopers like you two ought to remember that. Or is this some weird legal limbo that you’re going to use to cornhole him? If you think I’m going to help you screw him over, you’re in a for a surprise.” He smiled. “And it’s not an ice-cream cake.”
“Deal with him,” Kat said, standing. She began to pace a short stretch of vinyl tile. “Before I run out of patience.”
“Mr. Hidalgo has been arrested and charged with murder. He knows his rights. He’s choosing to waive his right to have an attorney present for this conversation with you.”
“Why isn’t he in jail? Why aren’t we having this conversation in an interview room, the whole thing recorded?”
“We are going to record it, dumbass,” Kat said. “I’m going to record the whole thing.”
“Mr. Hidalgo is staying overnight because he has some internal bleeding. He’s not doped up on painkillers, before you try to accuse us of anything. They gave him extra-strength Tylenol; that’s it.”
“And you want me to get him to confess? Fuck both of you pigs.”
“Jesus Christ.” Kat stopped pacing long enough to put her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I watch a lot of TV,” Jem said.
“We want you to talk to him,” Ammon said. “He’s been asking for you since they picked him up off the asphalt. Figure out what he wants. If he confesses, well, that’s great. If not, no big deal. This is an open-and-shut case.”
Jem eyed him. “Bullshit.”
“Think what you want.”
“I think that’s bullshit. If it were an open-and-shut case, you wouldn’t be bothering with this. You’ve got something hinky, and you want me to flush it out for you.”
“Are you going to talk to him or not?” Kat said.
“I don’t know any Mr. Hidalgo.”
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“He knows you.”
“Fuck, fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Kat opened the door and went inside. Jem followed. He was two steps into the room when he stopped.
“Motherfucker,” he said, breaking the word in half. “No fucking way.”
Jem had met the man in the bed over ten years before. Antonio Hidalgo—although Jem had always just thought of him as Antonio. He had the same coarse hair, although now it was bleached orange, and he’d ditched the textured cut that Jem had once compared to a crinkle-cut french fry. That comparison had gotten Jem a busted nose. Antonio had put on some pounds since Decker, and he’d gotten tattoo sleeves—roses twined around pistols, skulls, a ROSA inside a flaming heart, a character that looked like the Joker from the Batman movies.
For a moment, Jem was back in Decker, back in the dorm, with Blake and Antonio pinning him to the bunk. Antonio had been the one to yank the jumpsuit down, forcing it below Jem’s waist. The air had been cold. The bunk’s steel frame, cold. Jem, cold, shaking so hard his teeth chattered. And the hands holding him were hot. Tanner’s knee between his legs, forcing them apart, hot.
“Fuck you,” Jem said, “you fucking son of a bitch. If these cops weren’t here, I’d kill you myself. I’m out of here.”
“Hold on,” Ammon said, trying to grab his arm.
Jem shoved him and kept going.
“Jem, wait,” Antonio said, his voice hoarse.
Jem caught the door and flung it open.
“It’s Andi,” Antonio shouted.
Jem took a step.
“Andi Fontella.”
Jem hesitated. He looked back.
“Tanner did this to her, not me. Come on. Please. Please, man.”
Ammon had recovered from his stumble, and now his gaze darted back and forth between Jem and Antonio.