by Dorien Grey
He shrugged, blew me a kiss, and left.
The thought occurred to me that I should get up and follow him. I still had no idea where he lived, or how I could reach him outside Bacchus’s Lair. But I was just too damned tired to move, so I didn’t.
*
C.C., on Monday, was almost giddy with smugness and self-importance. The polls in the wake of the chief’s bus tour—which of course, as he broadcasted throughout the office, had been his idea from the beginning, but for which he magnanimously let McNearny take the credit—showed the chief had pulled substantially ahead of Senator Evans. This was hardly surprising, since the senator’s campaign coffers were nowhere near as big as the chief’s, and the primaries, now only two weeks away, were almost sure to give the chief the victory.
The chief was so confident of winning he had even considered submitting his resignation to the Police Commission prior to the outcome of the primaries, but cooler heads on his team prevailed. I rather wished they hadn’t, since if he stepped down as chief and was then blown out of the water by whatever Patrick had in mind, he’d be neither governor nor police chief. The best of all possible worlds.
Kevin’s speaking schedule continued unabated, and he was out of town with Sue-Lynn and Sean both Monday and Tuesday. I hoped Patrick would keep his word and not only call Kevin but keep from baiting him any further. I agreed with Patrick’s assessment there was a lot more going on inside Kevin than met the eye, and I was concerned the incredible pressure he was under from all sides might crack him.
When Wednesday passed with no word from Kevin I began to become concerned. It also occurred to me Wednesday night when I got home from work that I’d not heard from either Tom or Don since our dinner at Rasputin’s. I’d considered calling them earlier but decided that could be interpreted as prying, so I held off.
However, in an effort to take my mind off the Rourkes, I decided to call Tom to check in for any new information on the fires, which seemed to have pretty much reached a standstill on all fronts.
I waited until after dinner before dialing his number. He answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Tom.”
There was a brief pause before he responded.
“Dick? Oh, hi. When the phone rang, I thought it might be Don.”
“Aha! Are you two becoming an item?”
A momentary pause, and then a rather sheepish “Yeah. I guess you could say that. I’m really sorry we haven’t talked to you since we all had dinner that night, but I guess we’ve been kind of…busy.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Dick, and how grateful Don is, too, I’m sure, for your having introduced us. He’s fantastic! And he seems to like me, too.”
“Well, don’t act so surprised.” I was genuinely pleased for both of them. “I really hope it works out for the two of you—you’ll make a great couple.”
“Don wasn’t too sure at first whether he wanted to get into anything serious so soon after having lost his ex. But we’ve spent just about every night together since we met, and we haven’t gotten tired of one another yet.”
“Well, I probably should let you go if you’re waiting for his call. Are you supposed to meet him later?”
“Not tonight. He was called out of town yesterday to help identify some remains they found up north somewhere. They needed a forensics expert rather than just the local coroner. Hopefully he won’t be gone too long.”
“Well, again, I’m really glad for you. But don’t go forgetting your other friends just because you found each other.”
“We won’t. As a matter of fact, we’ll probably be having a party before too long, and you’re for sure invited!”
“Thanks. Oh, and before I forget, any news on the fires?”
“Afraid not. If we could find out who stole that file from the chief’s office, we’d be one hell of a lot closer than we are. But all of a sudden, the lines of communication between the fire and police departments seem to have broken down.
“I think the police are really pretty unhappy with the realization that not only was someone able to steal something right out of the chief’s office but that it very well may have been one of their own. Whatever investigating they’re doing, they’re keeping it pretty much to themselves.”
At that point, my doorbell rang, and I excused myself, telling Tom I’d give him a call in a couple of days.
I hadn’t ordered a pizza and wasn’t expecting any visitors, so made sure I checked the little peephole in the door. It was Kevin. Or was it Patrick? God, I would never be able to tell them apart!
But when I opened the door, I was pretty sure it was Kevin, even before I glanced down to see the wedding ring. The expression on his face left little doubt as to which one of the brothers it was.
“Kev! What’s going on?”
“Can I come in?”
I immediately stepped back to let him pass.
“What’s wrong?” I needn’t have asked, of course. I knew he’d spoken with Patrick.
We went into the living room, and he sat on the edge of the sofa. I swung one of the fireplace chairs around to sit opposite him.
“You talked to Patrick,” I said rather than asked.
He searched my face, his brows knit in confusion.
“Patrick says you’re a…a homosexual. A deviant. A pervert. A faggot! He said that…that you and he…”
God damn it, Patrick!
Kevin was shaking his head in disbelief. Then he reached out and took my hand tightly. When he spoke, his voice had the pontificating tone of his father’s.
“Homosexuals burn in hell, Dick. Homosexuals are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. They do not deserve to exist in God’s world. They are condemned to eternal fire, Dick.”
I felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head. Oh, God! Please don’t let him be saying what I think he’s saying! Please!
Kevin’s grip on my hand tightened.
“But I know you are not a homosexual, Dick. I know that Patrick’s infinite evil made him tell those disgusting lies about you. You’re my friend, Dick. I know you would never take Patrick’s side against me.”
I somehow managed to free my hand.
“That’s okay, Kevin. I do want what is best for you—I know you know that. Whatever else has happened between you and Patrick, you are brothers, and I know you love one another.”
Kevin shook his head decisively.
“Do you know what Patrick does, Dick? He dresses up in women’s clothes and parades himself in front of a bunch of perverts and degenerates. And do you know what else?”
I just looked at him without daring to say anything.
“He does it in a pervert’s bar in a building that is owned by our father! And less than a block from Salvation’s Door! How can he do that, Dick? How can he?”
Kevin’s voice, and his face, softened.
“Patrick is evil, Dick,” he said softly. “He will destroy me.”
And yet again, even while he was scaring the shit out of me, I felt sorry for him. I could not, in a thousand years, imagine what he and Patrick must have gone through to become the totally fucked-up individuals they were. And Kevin’s references to gays burning in hell…
No. My over-sensitivity. He was just using standard fundamentalist rhetoric, that’s all. He couldn’t…
I forced myself back to the present.
“Kev, you’re under more pressure than any ten guys could hope to bear—the campaign, Patrick showing up, the explosion at the shelter. You can’t let it get to you. You’ve got to relax. No one can destroy you if you don’t let them. Now, why don’t you let me take you home, and you can get a good night’s sleep.”
He shook his head.
“I can’t, Dick. Not right now. I’m late for my prayers and meditation, and I very much need them tonight. I’ll go back to the shelter, and then later I’ll go home, I promise. And I’m sorry if I sound a little…irrational…at times. I’ll be fine. Really. God does not give us a larger burden t
han we can bear.”
He got up to leave.
“Can I drive you?”
“No, I have my car. But thank you for being here for me, and thank you for being my friend.”
He extended his hand, and I shook it.
“Goodnight, Kev,” I said.
“Goodnight, Dick.”
I stood staring at the door for a full minute after it closed, my stomach churning, my mind a Fourth-of-July fireworks display of thoughts and emotions. Kevin could not have been saying what I heard him say. I mean, he could not possibly have been implying…
Shit, Hardesty! Shit! How do you get into these things? And, more important, how did I get myself out?
*
Not five minutes later, the phone rang. I moved to it, feeling as though I were walking through molasses up to my knees.
“Hello?” I heard myself say.
“Dick?”
“Kevin?”
“No, not that sick bastard. It’s Patrick. We’ve got to talk. It’s serious, and you’re not going to like it.”
Why did that not surprise me?
Have you ever had a really bad cold and been all doped up on medication and felt like you were standing outside yourself watching everything you did in slow motion? That’s pretty much how I felt. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit. But I knew that wasn’t what Patrick was talking about.
“I’m sure I’m not, Patrick. What is it?”
“Not over the phone. Can I come over? I can be there in half an hour,”
“I guess,” I said, still in something of a daze. “Kevin just left,” I heard myself add,
“I figured as much from your voice. Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.
“I’ll be right over,” he said and hung up, leaving me staring at the telephone like some idiot who has no idea what a telephone is.
It seemed as though I had barely put the receiver back on the cradle when there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and Patrick strode into the room, obviously distraught,
“It’s Kevin,” he said.
“Kevin? But you just—”
“No, no, I’m Patrick—sorry, I keep forgetting nobody can tell us apart. What I was saying was that it’s Kevin who…” He paused. “I think we’d better sit down.”
I hadn’t moved the fireplace chair back yet, so I motioned Patrick to it; I sat on the sofa.
“Kevin is…Dick, Kevin is very, very sick. Even I had no idea of just how sick. He desperately needs help, and I’m here to beg you to help me get it for him.”
I was staring at him, listening to his words and not allowing myself to comprehend what he was telling me.
“What do you mean, Patrick?” But in my heart of hearts, I knew.
“Kevin set those fires, Dick. All of them. Kevin killed those men.”
I was glad we were sitting down—I felt dizzy and desperately sick. My immediate reaction, when I managed to regain a little control of myself, was that Patrick was lying, that Kevin was right and it was Patrick who was psychotic, and that he would do or say anything to…
To what?
“Why? Why would he do such a thing?”
“To get even with me for being gay. To get even with me for leaving him. To get even with himself.”
“How do you know?” I managed to ask. “How can you be sure?”
Patrick looked terribly sad.
“He told me. On the phone. He started screaming at me for being gay and for leaving him, and he said it was all my fault, and that all homosexuals deserved to die and…” He started to cry. “Oh, Jesus, Dick, you’ve got to help him! He’s my brother, and I love him. I didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t!”
I got off the sofa and knelt in front of him.
“It’ll be okay, Patrick. I promise.”
He stopped crying and tried to smile.
“You’re a good friend, Dick,” he said, and for some reason I got a chill down my spine.
As I got up, Patrick did also.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“You could stay if you wanted,” I said, and I wasn’t implying sex.
He smiled. “I know. But I do have to go.”
“We’ll talk later?”
He nodded.
As I walked him to the door, the phone rang.
“You’d better get that,” he said. And with a wave, he left.
Something’s happening! I told myself. Something’s happening!
I caught the phone on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Dick? It’s Don. I have some news I think you might want to hear.”
I suddenly knew what it was but prayed I didn’t.
“Go ahead.” I sat down on the edge of the sofa.
“I was called in on a forensics ID of a skull found by a couple kids on the riverbank about ten miles south of Neelyville. Dental records confirmed the identification, down to the chipped front tooth. It’s Patrick Rourke.”
Chapter 18
“It can’t be,” I heard somebody using my voice say. “Patrick doesn’t have a chipped front too…”
Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! The beating the chief had given eight-year old Patrick while Kevin looked on and did nothing.
“The department notified the family earlier this evening. They—”
“Thank you, Don,” I heard myself say, and I hung up without even saying goodbye.
And then I cried.
*
When I finally pulled myself together, I called Bob Allen, waking him up.
“Bob,” I said, not apologizing for the lateness of the call, “we’ve got to talk. Now.”
My tone of voice must have startled him, because all he said was “I’ll be right down.”
*
I did not go to work Thursday morning, nor did I call in. I planned to hand C.C. my resignation Monday.
Bob called an emergency meeting of the owners of the six burned-out bars and officers of the Bar Guild for noon on Thursday at his apartment. I told them everything, in detail, and then outlined the plan Bob and I had sat up until dawn working on. Had I been in less of a state of semi-stupor, the fact that there was very little dissension from the group would have both relieved and pleased me.
With the group still in the room, I called the chief’s office to arrange an immediate appointment. I was informed the chief was in seclusion at home with his family, and that appointments had to be made through proper channels and might or might not be approved depending on the nature of the proposed meeting, the chief’s busy schedule, etc.. I then called the chief’s home; I still had his unlisted number from our Sunday Supplement contact. To my total surprise, Kevin answered the phone.
“Rourke residence.” He sounded very calm, very professional.
“Kev…it’s Dick. I…I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks so much, Dick. It’s very kind of you.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Don’t believe what you read in the papers, Dick. It’s all a mistake. Patrick is alive.”
Once again, I felt a tremendous wave of sadness.
“I know he is, Kev. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Take care of yourself, and we’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay. And thanks again for calling. It’s nice to know someone cares.”
Shit! If I hadn’t been in a room full of guys who couldn’t be expected to understand, I’d have started crying again.
If I couldn’t get to the chief directly, I’d try the next best thing. I called Charles McNearny’s office and told his secretary it was urgent that I talk with him. There was a moment’s pause, and then McNearny came on the line, sounding puzzled.
“Dick,” he said in his hale-fellow-well-met voice, “what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”
“Please excuse me if I sound a bit melodramatic, Mr. McNearny, but it is urgent—and I stress the word urgent—that I have a private meeting with the chief today.”
There was a lo
ng pause, then: “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible, Dick. The chief is with his family today. I don’t know whether you’ve heard the—”
“I’ve heard, and that’s exactly why I must speak with the chief. I have information that he cannot ignore.”
Another pause, and then a very suspicious: “That wouldn’t be some sort of threat, would it, Dick?”
“Not a threat, Mr. McNearny, but a fact. And there is far more at stake here than the chief’s political ambitions.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about? I can pass it on to the chief.”
“What I have to say to the chief you do not want to hear. Trust me.”
“Well, Dick, as the chief’s primary adviser, I’m afraid I would have to be present at any meeting with the chief…provided I can arrange one.”
“If you insist. How soon can you get back to me?”
“Today?”
“Today. You have my number. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” McNearny said, and hung up.
Since everyone had been in the room when I made the call, I only had to tell them McNearny’s response. I suggested that since McNearny would want to be present for any meeting, Bob should come with me as a representative of the Bar Guild. They agreed that both he and I should represent them. They all wanted to be there, of course, but understood the impracticality of having too many people present.
I thanked them all for their support and excused myself to return to my apartment and await McNearny’s call.
*
Kevin Rourke had set the fires that wiped out seven businesses and caused the deaths of twenty-nine innocent men, including Ramón, but there was not a jury in the civilized world that would convict him. Even if it would, what possible punishment could it mete out to equal the hell of his life?
No, the person ultimately responsible for everything that had happened was Police Chief Terrence Rourke, and it was he who should pay. Even Bob had agreed, and helped me convince the Bar Guild that more good could be gained from extracting some degree of justice from the chief than from prosecuting Kevin.
And as to Kevin, why did I have such strong feelings for him, and why couldn’t I put those feelings into words? Sadness? Compassion? Sympathy? Empathy? I’ve never been able to bear seeing anything or anyone suffer, and Kevin was the most truly pathetic human being I had ever encountered. That he was so totally lost and alone was bad enough, but that he believed I was his friend…