“Wel , maybe it’s a war between pimps? Or some mob shakedown thing?”
That didn’t seem entirely impossible. But Randy worked for Mrs. Cherry, like I did. If she thought there was any real danger, she’d tel me. Wouldn’t she?
This was al getting to be too much for me to think about. Fuck my body-fat ratio. I took another spoonful of dessert. “This is giving me a headache,” I admitted.
“That’s just a brain freeze from your ice cream,”
Freddy said. He reached over and grabbed my bowl. “Luckily, I’m immune. Let me finish it for you, darling. Wouldn’t want you to suffer.”
Great. An hour of brainstorming and stil no leads.
And now, I didn’t even get to finish my ice cream.
This was shaping up to be a very depressing investigation.
22
Remembering
After Freddy and I finished our servings of sugar and fat, I went home and crashed. I woke up the next morning feeling tired and bloated.
Even though Freddy stole half my ice cream last night, I stil had to pay the price for eating the other half. So, despite being sore from yesterday’s torture session with the Marquis de Personal Training, I hit the gym and did forty-five excruciating minutes on the StairMaster. Not my favorite exercise machine, but it burns calories like a forest fire and gives you an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. Which is about the most you can do with a quarter these days, anyway.
Then it was back to my place for a protein drink, an Adderal , and a shower. I threw on a pair of baggy khaki pants, a tight long-sleeved Transformers Tshirt, and my white Keds. I wore a Levi’s jean jacket over the whole mess.
It was a volunteer day for me at The Stuff of Life. I got there a little early for my shift, so I stopped off to say hi to my friend Vicki, the volunteer coordinator there. Vicki was a smokin’ little dykette, with the looks and slicked-back pompadour of a pretty Elvis Presley. In her tight Lee jeans and untucked cowboy shirt, Vicki had the hot swagger of the sexy town mechanic who wipes the grease from her hands on her pants before she feels you up.
I always had to remind myself around her that I liked boys.
“Hey, cutie,” she said. “I like the T-shirt. ‘More than meets the eye,’ huh?”
“I hope so,” I answered. “How’re things here?”
“Business as usual. Money’s a little tight, but more people are coming in to volunteer. I guess they give how they can.”
“Who’s my crew today?”
Vicki checked a roster on her desk. “OK, this one may be a little tricky.”
“Shoot.”
“Work release candidates.”
Work release candidates were guys incarcerated for nonviolent crimes at one of the city’s many prisons. They were eligible to work nine-to-five jobs outside of the jail, but first they had to prove themselves under supervised conditions, like here.
This wouldn’t be my first time working with one of these groups.
“I can handle it,” I said.
“You with a bunch of guys locked up with only their right hands and each other for comfort on those dark and lonely nights? You’re gonna be like chum in the water, cupcake.”
“Naw, they’re mostly white-col ar criminals or first-time drug offenders. It’s not like Oz. ”
“The Wizard of?”
“The HBO adults-only series. It’s a soap opera about male rape in prison. Stayed on the air for six years, so I guess there’s a bigger audience for situational homosexuality than you’d think.”
“Please, don’t al straight boys want to be held down and fucked ‘against their wil ’? I’ve pegged enough guys in col ege to know what I’m talking about.”
“‘Pegged’? Is that some lesbian thing?”
“You don’t know what ‘pegging’ is?” I shook my head. “It’s when a girl wears a strap-on and fucks a guy up the ass. It’s hot.”
“You fuck guys?”
“I’ve been known to dabble. Equal opportunity penetrator, if you know what I mean. But don’t spread it around. The Lesbo Police get kind of uppity about that kind of thing. I could lose my membership card. You’ve never been pegged?”
“Wel ,” I said, blushing, “I’ve never needed to. I mean, the guys I’m with don’t real y need the strap-on, right?”
“I’d peg you right here, right now.” Vicki winked.
“Cute little thing like you. Bet I could give it to you better than half the guys you’re with.”
“OK, ewww,” I said. “No offense.”
I actual y thought it could be kind of hot, but my life was complicated enough, thank you.
Vicki was too cool and confident to even acknowledge the rejection. “That show Oz, it sounds like Bad Girls. You know it?”
“No.”
“It’s an English show about a women’s prison.
Same basic thing, lots of wild prison action, but without the blokes. ‘Blokes.’ That’s English for ‘guys,’
you know.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Heh. And they say you can’t learn anything from watching TV.”
“That where you learned about pegging?”
“No, I learned about that on Dan Savage’s podcast. And, boy, am I grateful to him.”
My lunch shift with the work release candidates went smooth and easy. They were an amiable group, just happy to be out of prison. No flirting whatsoever, but some of the guys locked up on drug charges were cute in a stoner kind of way.
BTW, it freaks me out that we imprison bright young people with their whole lives ahead of them for smoking weed. Real y? What’s wrong with this country?
After my shift, I headed to the hospital to check on Randy. Cody was back at his desk, and he smiled from one jumbo ear to the other.
“Hey, Kevin,” he cal ed. “It’s good to see you again.” An elaborate basket of fresh fruit sat at the nurses’ station courtesy of Mrs. Cherry.
“I see Mama’s been good to your crew again.” I pointed to the basket.
“She’s making sure we’re keeping a sharp eye on your friend,” he said. “Not that we wouldn’t anyway.
Practical y every nurse here is a straight woman or a gay guy. I couldn’t keep them out of Randy’s room with barbed wire. He sure is a fine-looking fel ow.”
“That he is.” I grinned back. “It’s nice to see Mrs.
Cherry watching out for him, though. And how about you? Any hot dates?”
“You kidding?” he said. “There are a mil ion incredible-looking men in New York. Sure, someone like you has a boyfriend. . . .”
“Semi-boyfriend,” I corrected.
“I’m sure your friend Randy has them lined up like bad singers at an American Idol audition. Me? Not hardly.”
“Don’t put yourself down,” I said.
“Plus, when would I meet someone, anyway? I work about a mil ion hours a week.”
“So? I thought you said there were a bunch of gay male nurses here.”
“No, I said all the male nurses here were gay.
There’s only five. And they’re al in their fifties or older, not to mention married—two of them to each other.”
“So, go out after work.”
“What, so I can be ignored there, too? Please, I get enough rejection from credit card companies; I don’t need any more. I think it’s cool that you’re encouraging me, but I’m not exactly hot stuff.”
We were going to have to do something about Cody’s self-esteem problem. I thought I had an idea.
“Excuse me,” I said to him. I sent a quick text message.
I decided to change the subject. “Any more visits from Patchy?”
“No, not that I’ve seen, and there’s a note on the nurses’ station warning everyone to watch out for him.”
“Good. Now, let’s go see the object of everyone’s desire.”
Randy looked better. He had some color in his face and his eyes were open. I said hel o but he didn’t respond.
&n
bsp; “We think he hears you,” Cody said. “That’s why we leave the TV on.” He pointed to the wal , where a soap opera played on a flat-panel screen. Speakers on either side of Randy’s bed relayed the audio to him, but it was only barely audible from where Cody and I stood. “The stimulation might do him good.”
“He looks a little more alive,” I told Cody.
“Yeah, he’s definitely on the mend. Being in such great shape helped him. He had a lot of hard padding to cushion the impact. There’s no sign of permanent brain damage, either. Al in al , he was lucky.”
He’s probably indestructible, I thought. After the bomb falls, it’s going to be the cockroaches and Randy left.
Cody turned to the TV. “Hey, check that out.”
I looked at the screen. Two boys, one an adorable boyish blond and the other an equal y cute brunette, were passionately making out.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Is this pay per view?
Because this is not my mother’s daytime TV.”
Cody laughed. “No, this is a total y mainstream soap opera, believe it or not. That’s Luke and Noah; the show is As the World Turns. ”
The dark-haired guy looked kind of like Cody.
“Why didn’t they have this on when I was thirteen?” I asked. “I would never have gone to school.”
“That’s why.” Cody laughed again. “They were looking out for your education.”
“Scope that,” I said, pointing out the screen to Randy. “Those two cuties are going at it like they just invented hot.” Randy remained unfazed.
“Wel , if he’s not responding to this,” I said to Cody, “we’re screwed.”
“He may not be talking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t responding. Look.” Cody arched his eyebrows and nodded toward the prodigious and slowly rising tent under Randy’s sheet.
“You think?”
“It could be a coincidence. But maybe not. If he’s an especial y sexual person, that scene could be reaching some part of his brain that’s particularly responsive to stimuli.”
That sounded about right.
“Maybe,” I said, “you should reach under and give him a hand with that? Don’t you have a responsibility to serve your patient’s needs? Maybe it’d wake him up.”
Cody scowled playful y. “I have professional ethics to uphold,” he said. “But I could leave you two alone if you’d like.”
“Naw, stay around. With my luck, I’d kil him.”
Luke and Noah’s romantic kiss ended and the scene faded to black.
“You have rewind on that thing?” I asked.
“Sorry,” Cody said.
Even through the tinny sound of Randy’s bedside speaker, I heard the familiar sound of a children’s choir singing “God Bless America.” Oh no, I thought, another Jacob Locke commercial.
“I hate this tool,” Cody said.
“Who doesn’t?” I agreed.
The droning narrator ran through his string of dul clichés and the now-familiar image of Jacob Locke stepped onscreen. “I believe in an America that tolerates everyone, but that maintains its core values. Good people can get along without giving in.
One woman, one man, one marriage . . .”
Cody stuck a finger down his throat and pretended to gag. Then he said, “Hey, that’s him.”
How was he talking with a finger down his throat?
“That’s who?” Cody asked me.
“I didn’t say anything. I thought that was you.”
We turned around. Randy was sitting up, his eyes not just open but seeing, and he was looking at Jacob Locke.
“That’s the guy I was tel ing you about, Kevin,”
Randy said. “The guy with the hard-boiled eggs!”
I couldn’t believe Randy was talking. Cody’s mouth was open.
He looked pretty good that way. Cody real y was adorable. I bet he . . .
Focus, Kevin, focus.
I ran to Randy’s side.
“Randy!” I said. “You’re talking!”
“Of course I’m talking,” Randy said. Then he looked around. “Hey, where am I? Weren’t we just . .
.” His eyes rol ed back in his head and he fel back onto the pil ow.
“Press that,” Cody told me, indicating a button by the side of Randy’s bed. I did.
“The doctor wil be here soon,” he said. “Don’t worry, this is a good thing.”
“But he didn’t stay awake,” I said, concerned.
“People don’t come out of comas al at once. This is typical. He’s getting better.”
I felt relieved but stil concerned.
“And it’s perfectly normal that he wasn’t making sense,” Cody added. “What did he say? That Jacob Locke gave him eggs?”
If Randy meant what I thought he did, what he said might have been true. I was about to explain it to Cody when the door slammed open. I turned, expecting to see the doctor, but it was the other person I’d cal ed in to consult.
“Hey,” Freddy said, “what’s the emergency? Your text said I had to get here right away and . . .”
Freddy saw Cody and stopped in his tracks. “Wel , hel loooo.”
“Cody,” I said, “my friend, Freddy. Freddy, Cody.
Cody’s the emergency.”
“What?” Cody said.
“Is he on fire?” Freddy asked lasciviously. “
’Cause I got just the hose to put it out.”
“OK,” I said, “that’s gross.”
Cody beamed. “I don’t mind.”
Freddy slipped an arm around him. “I hope not.”
I was about to explain Cody’s crisis of self-esteem when the real doctor came through the door. Cody quickly slipped out of Freddy’s grasp. “How about you two wait outside while I fil the doctor in on what happened?” Cody asked. “I’l be out in a few.”
“I wil definitely be waiting,” Freddy said.
Cody blushed again.
I couldn’t wait to get outside and tel Freddy what Randy woke up to say.
23
Just Leave Everything to Me
Seated in a waiting area outside Randy’s room, I told Freddy about Randy’s recognition of Jacob Locke.
“Wow,” Freddy said, “and I care about that why?
Let’s talk about Cody. Is he available? Is he as edible as he looks?”
“Can we hold off on that for one minute, Sluttyanna? Remember your theory—that maybe the boys who’ve been attacked had a closeted client in common? Someone with a lot to lose? Now we know that Randy, for one, was with Jacob Locke—a conservative
presidential
candidate
whose
campaign would not be helped by revelations that’s he’s been screwing with male prostitutes.”
“Again,” Freddy replied, “topic for later. Did you see those ears on Cody? Like Dumbo. You know, sometimes big ears on a guy correspond with . . .”
“They do in this case, but that’s not the point right now, you oversexed horror show—”
Freddy cut me off. “How do you know he’s hung?
Are you doing him? Did you bring me here to boast?
Because that’s real y immature, Kevin.”
“Oh my God, would you stop making this about Cody?”
“I thought you cal ed me here to meet Cody.”
“I did, but that was before Randy revealed the Big Bad.”
“Yeah, and what I want to know is when Cody revealed his ‘big bad’ to you!”
At least Freddy’s pissiness about this topic made it clear he was interested in Cody, which had been my plan al along.
“It came up in conversation,” I assured him. “Total y innocent.”
Freddy gave me a disbelieving look.
“It’s a long story, but I promise you, I haven’t touched the boy. He’s my gift to you, al right?”
Freddy wiped a mock tear from his eye. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. But, if I may approach the bench, why?”
/> I told him that I real y liked Cody, but that Cody had self-esteem lower than the success rate of abstinence-only programs (Hi, Bristol!).
“I thought that if a guy like you showed interest, he might feel better about himself.”
“And what made you so sure I’d be interested?”
Freddy asked, deciding whether or not to be insulted.
I gave him my best you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me look. “Do you real y want me to answer that?”
“I don’t, thank you for asking.” Freddy put his hands over his heart. “I accept this award on behalf of the Academy. And al the little people. Like you, darling.”
“OK, now that we have that out of the way, can we get back to topic number one?”
“Absolutely,” Freddy said. “You’re right, there’s way more important stuff to discuss. So, how big exactly did Cody say he was? Are we talking Eight Is Enough, Deep Space Nine, Ten Little Indians, or, God help us, Ocean’s Eleven?”
I shook my head at his relentlessness.
“No,” Freddy whispered. “Cheaper by the Dozen?”
“I didn’t ask for exact measurements. Can we please discuss the life-or-death issues, now?”
“Believe me,” Freddy said, “Cheaper by the Dozen is a life-or-death issue. Have you never heard of a punctured colon?”
“I’m gonna puncture your head if you don’t . . .”
“OK, OK,” Freddy said. “Angels mode it is. So, Randy wakes up to tel us he tricked with Jacob Locke, right?”
I nodded.
“Only, who knows if Randy was tel ing the truth?
He’s not exactly sane in the membrane yet, is he?”
I conceded that could be correct.
“And even if he was, we have nothing to connect the other boys to Locke.”
“True.”
“So, we’re going to have to investigate. You know I love to investigate, right?”
“I think I have an idea where to start.”
“Good. What do you have in—” Freddy stopped midsentence as Cody walked over.
“So, good news,” Cody said, sitting next to me.
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