Murder at Willow Slough

by Josh Thomas

  “Not at all. You took command and kept it. First time in a Gay bar but no one out-commits you. Kent, that’s what the cases needed. I damn near swooned.”

  “Go on, then. Tell me the whole story, you little schemer.”

  “It didn’t ultimately take a Gay cop; it took an open-minded, committed one. It took you. I could only help for a day, from my knowledge of the cases and the Gay community; a cop had to command. And here was one who didn’t shirk from leadership. Finally, after 14 long years, a cop who refused to make excuses.” Jamie’s voice intensified. “Seeing you in action, I knew you wouldn’t stop. I admired you for it. How could I not, as manly and decisive as you are? We finally had someone who would solve these cases, even if it took dressing up like the Queen of England. You decided, you acted, you ordered, you solved. Kent, I loved you for making that commitment. This hot stud would go after the killers of Gay men and never stop.

  “Bulldog couldn’t do that; he wouldn’t enter into the victims’ experience. And he’s better than Hickman. How can you solve a murder if you won’t even get to know the victim? They didn’t solve it, either, did they?

  You did. As I knew from that moment you would. Kent, think of this, it’s the ultimate level for what you’ve achieved—a dozen future victims will never know you saved their lives.”

  Kent blinked. “Jamie, you make me feel so much.”

  “I’d like to go back to Chez Nous someday and just look at people. Pick out a dozen guys and think, ‘Enjoy that dance, that conversation, that beer. You’re alive right now because of what Kent did.’ And not say a word to them. I’d get a lot of satisfaction out of that. You saved those people’s lives.”

  “I loved you for putting me in that bar, pushing me to grow and learn. Jamie, I respect people who challenge me. You helped me get to know the victim, by your reporting, your visits with Gary. You reconstructed Glenn’s habits, what went wrong the night of the murder. You came up with the psychology of this whole case. But I can’t get over you manipulating it for years to get it done. Man! You’re an even bigger stud than I thought. And you were ten feet tall before. Sure, I tease you, Shortstop—know why? ’Cause you’re tall as the stars to me.”

  “I want to be. I like my size, I’m proud to be this tall.”

  “You ain’t short, buddy. It’s just that with you, I feel big and macho, a dumb jock with a smart, beautiful little guy to protect. A retro-caveman thing.” Kent ate, a little pissed, kinda pleased. He wondered if the major knew he was Gay before he did. “I want to be masculine with you.”

  “You are, Hero. I’ll be Sundance if you’ll be Butch.”

  “I will be.” But Kent knew he had a softer side; which Jamie loved. “Man, you were so sick, I cried my eyes out. The Wabash was at flood stage.”

  “It’s over, don’t hurt. I hate that my buddy hurt.”

  “Know my favorite word in the English language? Buddy.”

  It contained all their pain, all their happiness, their punches, their cranes, their basketball, their singing together, their hopes. “Don’t make me more important than I am. I’m just a mouth. I talk, and I write, and that’s all. I talk; you act. There’s a world of difference. You got my ass out of a sling.”

  “Seems to me you acted. Traded your life for Daveyboy’s. That wasn’t talk, that was action.”

  “Kent, you got the takedown or I’d have bled to death.”

  The whole situation was more than Kent could put together. He was ashamed and proud, a tangle of emotions; stunned, ticked off, turned on.

  But what he focused on, couldn’t help but think about since it was explicit, was Jamie’s bleeding to death. He reached for his lover, held him. “I had a little nervous breakdown, Jamie. They had to restrain me and everything. Man, that coma ripped me apart. Then it dragged on and on, and meanwhile I’m supposed to act like an investigator. Oh honey, thank God you made it. Now I get to hold you and love on you like I dreamed of.”

  It is always hardest on the caregiver.

  Kent didn’t do it out of altruism, but because it fulfilled him, enabled him to become himself. What looked like noble self-sacrifice was a selfish experience of intimacy.

  The softer side excels at caregiving; that’s why Gay men are here. Jamie took care of his mother, took care of Rick. To Jamie, wiping his lover’s ass wasn’t a whole lot different from kissing it.

  Then Kent took care of Jamie; it’s nature’s way.

  “At times I wanted you to crawl in bed with me.”

  “I almost did, the day of the hospital tree. But you were too sick. It was all so innocent, which made it beautiful; but that’s the moment we first made love.”

  “I fell for you so hard. When I got back to my mother’s, I gave myself permission to fantasize. As long as this stud wants to come by, I want him. My body’s healing, I jack off over you three times a day now. Special K’s real tasty, it’s my favorite.”

  “You eat Special K three times a day? What a great way to get all your vitamins.”

  “And protein! There’s so much come on my workout machine it’s been tested for VD.”

  They laughed, then Jamie said softly, “And now we’re together, and I know the man you are; and this impossible dream comes true. Hear me: I worship the ground you walk on.” His words were tender; his look was hard as a rock. “I’ll get aggressive at times. But always, with my body, I thee worship.”

  Kent knew it would take months to figure all this out. Meanwhile his little guy said magical words. Kent’s scrotum tingled like never before. It was sacreligous, an issue he’d never sorted out. But he wanted it in the worst way; deserved it almost, needed it. He closed his eyes and saw The Picture.

  Of his athletic body being worshipped, by a naked blond Oliver on his knees.

  The Picture’s gonna come true! His spine tingled, wave after wave of mammoth excitement. “I know you’ll get aggressive. You always are. So am I.”

  “How do cowboys do it? We take turns.”

  “Jamie, I worship you too.” Kent held him close. “Don’t leave me tomorrow. Give us a week to be together as a couple. Then when you have to go, okay, as long as you come back. Or I can come to you.”

  Time as a couple made perfect sense. “Then I won’t go tomorrow. I do need time alone in my own home. After that we’ll weigh our options and live together. Kent, I’ll never leave you.”

  Happiness radiated from Kent’s face. “You are so beautiful. Not just your looks, Jamie—the inside of you.”

  Kent finished his Beef Wellington and wiped his mouth with satisfaction. He ate in great gulps, but he knew which fork was which and cut down the wolf factor. “That was excellent. You really know your food.”

  Jamie, with some linguine before him but no lobster, was getting full. Kent decided not to hammer him over leaving a little pasta on his plate. With the bread and salad,Jamie had eaten well.“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Would you like dessert?”

  Brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “I sure would, but it’s nothing they sell at Costanza’s.”

  Jamie purred. Kent put his arm around him and pulled him in for a kiss. With their lips only inches apart Kent’s beeper went off, Deet, Deet, Deet!

  He pulled it off his belt, glanced at the number. Jamie snatched the pager, swore a blue streak and smashed the goddamn thing into the mahogany.

  Kent grinned down at the little pieces, “Pager killed in the line of duty.”

  Then he blinked in shock. He didn’t remember the citizen’s name, just the anomalous evidence they’d overlooked. “There was a woman security guard there—a member of the State Police! Come on.”

  He commandeered the manager’s office, put the call on the speakerphone and dialed headquarters. He got the chief, outlined his suspicions and Jamie’s memory. The major had news, too, phone records—“Someone in Lafayette Post 9 made repeated calls to Ford’s house, and later from the task force room here at headquarters. Starting a few days after the Walkers, every time you made a move there
was a warning. The last call was placed an hour after the bigwigs’ meeting. Brazen about it, figuring no one would look there.” As if George Slaughter, human bulldozer, ever failed to turn over the smallest stone. “Records show she was on the premises every time.”

  “She betrayed her oath; she betrayed everyone on the task force. Suppose we’d all gotten shot. Dammit, she almost got my boyfriend killed!”

  So George’s two favorites were finally together; he blessed his gods. “This is all circumstantial. But there’s no justification for calls to a murder suspect.”

  “Subpoena her phone records. Lash is eager for a deal, he’d have to know they had a mole on the task force. Crum too, but I don’t want this dependent on him. That man’s going to the electric company.”

  “She had opportunity, sure, but what motive? Greed?”

  Jamie asked, “Are there calls to or from Carson?”

  Slaughter checked. “His house to hers.The timing is perfect.What do you make of that?”

  Jamie grabbed the phone and shouted, “Jealousy, you idiot! She and Kent used to date. Carson recruited her when Kent was spending too much time with me. He’s only the sexiest dude on the planet, who wouldn’t kill for him? So the ex-girlfriend gets herself assigned to the new boyfriend. I couldn’t die fast enough for her. But if you ever beep him again when he’s kissing me, so help me God, I’ll…”

  Kent snatched the phone. “A bit of advice when he gets like this,” George said calmly. “Cuff him and stuff a sock in his mouth. Or something that rhymes with sock.”

  Kent considered the possibilities. “I’m on it!” ***

  Several things were memorable about the arrest, two days later, of Trooper Campbell; she was wearing a Pioneer Hi-Bred cap when Kent arrived. She was delighted to see him and invited him to hit the pizza joint like a cheap date. Instead he pointed his Glock and told her to “Start screaming bloody murder.”

  The dead homosexual scooped the mainstream hacks once and for all, reporting it exclusively for the CBS Evening News; after she was

  loaded into the squad car, Kent kissed his crimefighting Oliver right in front of her face.

  ***

  But that was two days later; she wasn’t allowed to steal this night. They returned to their table, the waiter came, Jamie asked for “Two Grand Marniers and our check, please. The wait staff can have the rest of the champagne.”

  Kent said, “Then no more booze for me, I’m driving.”

  Soon the waiter was back with generous brandies and a small styrofoam box. This he placed near Jamie, the bill he centered between them. Jamie took the bill, pulled out his wallet. “No!” yelped Kent. “Let me pay for it.” He snatched the check.

  “But Kent, I always pay in fine restaurants, it’s a privilege for me to buy your food.”

  “I said no!” Kent produced a green plastic card. “Not on our first date, I want to remember this forever. Next time, sure. But not this time. Please.”

  “You’re not the only man here, Butch.”

  Kent’s face softened. “I know I’m not. But Jamie, today’s my birthday. Every year I give my parents a present, and myself one too. Know what I wanted this year? A date with Jamie. I wanted to take you to Mackey Arena in my shiny red truck; and watch your face light up like my own private fireworks when the Right School won. Then to gain your heart with one little kiss, this is the greatest birthday I’ll ever have.”

  “Then I’ll feed you that dessert. A little whipped cream, some chocolate sauce, a birthday spanking…”

  “That’s nice, but can I also get a free autographed nude poster?”

  Jamie pummeled him, after which Kent sought advice on the tip. Jamie calculated twenty-five percent for a great waiter and offered to cover it in honor of his mother. Kent, oblivious and proud, fished in his wallet, laid twenty more dollars on the table and tried not to think about the hundred bucks he’d just shelled out for one dinner with Jamie Foster, consisting of three-quarters of a plate of pasta and seafood. “‘Dining out is wonderful. All I have to do is give them money!’ We better live at the cabin or I’ll go broke. Gosh, you’re the cutest thing alive.”

  They stood and Jamie snatched up his leather jacket before Kent could get it. Then Pavarotti began to sing “Nessun Dorma” and Jamie felt it like a blow to the head. Why now?

  He hadn’t heard it since Rick died. Rick and Thelma both loved opera. The first Christmas he and Jamie were together, Rick gave Thelma the “Three Tenors” video and she gave him the CD. They sat on Jamie’s couch and watched the video together with the volume cranked. The last Christmas they were together, with a new performance out, they sat in La-Z-Boys and a Quickie wheelchair in West Lafayette. Transfixed, Jamie left the take-home box where it lay.

  He headed toward the back door and a waterfall. Kent, ready to lead them out the front, turned to follow. Jamie reached into his jeans, found some coins. “I need to linger a minute.” He watched the water circulate noisily, an endless cycle; then he knew why now.

  I love you, Mom. I’m glad we came here all those times. How beautiful you always looked. I tried to bring elegance to your life. You deserved the best.

  He felt her answer, “We always had such good times here. I love you, James.”

  Goodbye, Mom. I love you!

  He dropped a coin and gasped as it died.

  Another image came. Rick, I love you. I wish you hadn’t gone, man. But I’m glad you’re not in pain anymore. I hated losing you. You’re not coming back.

  I love Kent now. He’s incredible. I worship him.

  “Do it, pops. Make him as happy as you made me.”

  Goodbye, sweetness. I love you, Ricky! Goodbye.

  Jamie heard the little plink, watched his dime sink.

  Then he flipped a quarter into the tank, made a big splash. And God bless Kent. He strode to his lover, smiled crookedly and motioned for him to lead them out.

  Kent knew that something had gone on; he gestured at the music overhead, “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s a secret lover. He will reveal his identity and win the one he loves with a kiss.”

  “Like you just did at the arena, Jamie.”

  “Man, you’ve got a nice, spankable birthday ass.”

  Kent was all athletic grace and Hoosier style, massive shoulders, a body completely in tune with itself. Kent in tight jeans was a sight Jamie could now openly savor. Kent held the door for him. The aria wished stars away. Jamie wandered into the dusk, leaving things behind.

  In the western sky, crimson rays from a dying sun mixed with low storm clouds. A brisk breeze stirred up off the prairie. Brown leaves rattled in a willow tree.

  He reached up to raise the collar of his leather jacket. A winter of cold was coming. Mental picture: the ice storm; but now tonight, a heart to burst, a baseball star—a civil rights enforcer to cherish. He closed his eyes, overcome with pride.

  Kent fumbled for keys, quickened his pace, headed for the big truck in the darkening lot. “Please,” he called over his shoulder. “Let me do this. Just once.”

  The waiter, doggy box in hand, pushed open the back door, ready to—then watching, not imposing. Puccini drifted out.

  Kent unlocked the passenger door, held it open. Jamie came and stood next to it, barely breathing. Then he looked up finally, into the eyes of one who knew him; another one who knew him.

  Curly black hair; high cheekbones, brown eyes that were the first to greet him when he woke up; a litany of Kent’s virtues tumbled into Jamie’s mind. Old-fashioned words, Midwestern ones; they all came down to Hero.

  Strong, sure arms wrapped around him in the night. A gentle hand pulled him to a shoulder, a head cradled next to his.

  Jamie stood on tiptoes and let himself be held. His arms stretched around Kent’s back, and finally he was home. This place, these arms were home. He nestled, surrendered to everything.

  Jamie’s touch, his strong, small hands, awakened every part of Kent. He pressed his thighs into his lover’s, ar
dent and gentle, bodylong.

  They were sexual at last, two men in love. Kent lowered his hand, as he’d wanted to do for months, and grasped Jamie’s tiny bottom; took a lover’s possession of him.

  Jamie’s nostrils filled with Kent’s sweet, distinctive smell, almost like baby powder—and clang! Jamie heard an organ chord at fortissimo.

  Suddenly he could see Kent reach inside him, searching flesh for tubes of spurting blood. He saw the desperation in Kent’s face, heard him shout commands. Jamie felt stabs of pain when fingers found arteries at last.

  He watched Kent squeeze him shut for sixteen grueling minutes; till clamps replaced his numb, stiff hands.

  This man exposed himself to homosexual blood. He didn’t ask if it was tainted, he had no time for gloves.

  He entered Jamie’s body as a lover. They had been one body ever since.

  What intimacy could Jamie ever return to him? Nothing could equal their first intercourse. But he guided Kent’s hands to the little scars.

  Kent touched gingerly, afraid of causing pain, but Jamie said, “There, touch me there.” So Kent went ahead and pressed a little harder, then harder, more confidently, all around the wounds.

  Jamie’s scars made love to him. Kent’s fingers finally healed; his mind, his heart.

  It was never his fault. It was Campbell’s.

  He held in his arms the body of his partner, his living partner; hard, muscular, all man. He lifted his lover’s chin. Jamie whispered, “Commander,” as Kent kissed him full and tenderly.

  They let go of all but man. It was over; they had won, and won each other. Pavarotti soared, “Vincero!”++

  MURDER AT WILLOW SLOUGH

  OR,THE CAREGIVER

  BY JOSH THOMAS

  About the Author

  Josh Thomas is an award-winning investigative reporter and a native of Basketball Land. The former editor of Gaybeat, Ohio’s Gay Newspaper, he has frequently appeared on radio and television. His writing has also been featured in Nuvo Newsweekly (Indianapolis) and non-fiction books on travel, religion and multiple homicide.

  Visit his website at www.joshtom.com.