Payback (3 page)

At the corner we turned left onto the boulevard. This was our favorite place to stroll. The street was sprinkled with trees that spread their wings above the traffic, in some places reaching all the way across and holding hands over the center line. Now, in the summer, the trees were so heavily foliaged the streetlamps barely lit the sidewalk, giving Spence and me a hushed, shadowy place to once again bump shoulders and brush hands and bandy affectionate words back and forth without the Catholic in me feeling uncomfortable.

Three blocks farther on, we left the boulevard and entered a residential district perhaps half a mile away from our own street. Here, too, the older homes were well cared for, the lawns exquisitely tended, and of all the cars on the street, we didn’t see a single clunker. Money had found its way here as well.

Ahead, we could see a split-rail fence beneath a stand of pepper trees, and Franklin began flapping his tail and tugging on the leash. He knew where we were going now, and his eager whimper made that fact crystal clear.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Franklin seemed to be saying as he dragged us forward into Doggie Park, his favorite place in all the world.

With a final excited leap, he tore the leash from Spence’s hand and took off running.

Spence laughed. “Well, there he goes. No sense of restraint whatsoever.”

“Yep,” I grinned. “That’s our boy.”

Spence and I climbed the fence and plopped our asses down on the top rail like a couple of cowpokes, watching Franklin tear around in ever-widening circles over the clipped grass, trailing his leash behind him. He bowled over two Chihuahuas, who were just standing there having a chat, then dove between the legs of a young woman with a Pomeranian. The woman yelped in surprise.

“Sorry!” I called out, but she smiled and waved her hand, letting me know it was okay.

Dog owners are a forgiving breed.

Franklin sniffed the ass of a German shepherd, who didn’t seem to mind, then tried to hump a beagle, who did. The beagle snapped at his crotch, and if Franklin hadn’t moved when he did, his humping days would have been over forever.

With night having completely fallen and dew settling on the grass, several of the dog owners gathered up their pets, snapped on their leashes, and headed for home. Cars grumbled to life behind us, their headlights stabbing across the lawn. With tires crunching over the gravel parking lot, the owners, with their dogs safely tucked into backseats, took off up the street and disappeared into the night.

Doggie Park was dimly lit by a full moon and one lone security light situated back by the public bathrooms. Since the park was fenced in, we didn’t worry too much about Franklin running off. The only way he could escape was through the gate right beside where Spence and I sat perched on the fence.

In the shadows, and with almost everyone gone now, I felt secure enough to take Spence’s hand.

“I love the rings,” I said, and we both looked down at our hands to admire them again. The diamonds reflected sparks of fire in the moonlight, the bands of gold shone with a softer flame. We had spoken of wedding rings for months, but I had never found a style I liked. As he did with so many other aspects of our life together, Spence took the initiative and found the perfect solution.

His fingers tightened around mine. “I knew they were right the minute I saw them.”

“You know me well.”

He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed my ring. “Tyler, I know you better than I know myself. I wouldn’t much care about this old life if you weren’t here to share it with me. You believe that, don’t you?”

No matter how long we had been together, Spence could still melt my heart with a look or a phrase. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and murmured, “Yes. And ditto.”

He smiled a wicked smile, his teeth flashing in the dark. “You always did have a way with words.”

We both jumped when the young lady with the Pomeranian stepped through the gate at our side and said, “Good night, boys.”

“Good night,” we said. And Spence added, “Cute dog.”

She laughed and scooped the Pom into her arms. “He’s the only male in my life who ever made me happy.”

Spence pulled me close, as always wearing his heart on his sleeve, for friend or stranger alike. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I know
exactly
what you mean.”

I elbowed him in the ribs while the woman giggled. Again she said, “Good night,” and setting the Pom on the ground, she took off up the street with her little dog leading the way.

We turned back around to see what Franklin was up to, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I whistled. “Franklin! Here, boy.”

The park appeared totally deserted. There was not a dog or a human in sight.

Spence cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Franklin, come here, boy! Time to go home!”

We both gave a worried start when we heard a whimper. It sounded like it came from the bathrooms beneath the security light.

I clapped my hands, which Franklin knew meant big trouble, but we heard nothing. Not even a whimper this time.

Spence and I dropped from the fence and headed across the dew-soaked grass, still whistling now and then, hoping to grab Franklin’s attention.

Twenty feet from the public restrooms, we heard voices and a laugh. We stopped in our tracks.

“I thought we were alone,” Spence whispered.

“So did I.”

I clapped my hands again. “Franklin! Get over here. Now.”

This time the whimper was unmistakable as Franklin emerged from the toilet doorway, but only enough for us to see his head. He gave a frightened bark, and it was then I noticed the leash holding him back.

Someone was controlling the leash!

Again we heard whispered voices. Then the flushing of a toilet.

“This isn’t good,” I mumbled.

“Don’t panic,” Spence whispered and strode off toward the bathroom door, calling out in his no-nonsense voice, the one he usually reserved for me when I was getting on his nerves.

“Okay, fun time’s over, kids. Let loose of my dog so we can all go home.” More laughter echoed from the public restrooms, and immediately after the laughter came a voice. And it wasn’t the voice of a kid.

“You want your dog, why don’t you come on in and get him?”

Spence didn’t hesitate. “That’s exactly what I intend to do!”

I reached out to stop him, but Spence was too far ahead. He disappeared through the doorway, and I raced to catch up, following along right on his heels.

The stygian blackness of the place took my breath away. The first sound I heard was Franklin growling; then the growl turned to a startled yelp of pain as I heard the unmistakable sound of a boot or a fist striking my dog.

I saw red. “You motherfucker! Let him go.”

I swept my hand through the air, trying to find a wall, a stall, Spence—anything to form a frame of reference as to what lay around me. The darkness was absolute but for the gray moonlit opening of the doorway, but even that didn’t cast a light inside. In fact it made the darkness more penetrating.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps and Franklin’s toenails tapping on the concrete floor. He sounded like he was doing a nervous dance, trying to get away. Franklin growled, but again it was cut short by the sound of a foot or a fist striking flesh. After that, Franklin remained silent but for an occasional whimper.

“Give me the dog!” Spence yelled from somewhere up ahead, and I wondered if he could see whom he was speaking to. I certainly couldn’t. But I did feel a body pass beside me from behind, and then another. They seemed to be converging on Spence. Then two hands came out of nowhere and pushed me hard. I landed on my hands and knees in a reeking toilet stall, my head colliding with the commode and making me see stars.

There was a ring of metal. What sounded like a metal rod striking the concrete wall brought me my very first flash of true fear. I struggled to my feet.

“Spence,” I cried out. “Run! Get out!”

I heard a scuffle, Spence grunting, and again Franklin yelped, as if in the midst of the battle someone had trod on his foot.

“Fucking mutt,” a sinister voice spat.

Someone flicked a cigarette lighter, and the toilet exploded in light. For the briefest of moments before the lighter was knocked from the man’s hand, I saw the tableau in perfect clarity. The man holding the light looked Mexican. I could see Franklin’s leash wrapped around the hand holding the lighter. The flame was jerking around because Franklin was straining at the leash, trying to get away, jarring the man’s hand. The man wore a stocking cap on his head and his face was round and fat, with a horrific black mole on his cheek which I would have made my mission in life to have removed at the earliest opportunity. But maybe psychotic dogsnatchers aren’t subject to such aesthetic considerations.

While the fat guy held the lighter aloft to illuminate the scene, three men, one of them Spence, wrestled against the far wall. A tall rangy dude with a straggly moustache clutched an iron bar in his hand like a baseball bat. He swung it with all his force at Spence, missing him completely but knocking a chip of concrete off the wall, which flew across the room and struck me in the cheek. I gasped in surprise and pain.

Still dizzy from striking my head on the toilet, I stumbled into the fray and tried to grab Spence and drag him toward the door. Again a cruel pair of hands shoved me to the floor, and a boot with silver chains on the side of it came out of nowhere, kicking me in the chest.

Gasping for air, I clutched my body as a second kick connected with my hip, making me cry out.

“Leave him alone,” Spence screamed. “Goddammit, you’re hurting him!”

A mocking, guttural voice came from behind the still-burning lighter. “Look what we got here, boy. A goddamn chink Chinaman and his goddamn faggot boyfriend.”

“Leave him alone,” I bellowed, and at that precise moment, the flame from the lighter went out as it went flying through the air when Spence threw a roundhouse punch that caught the guy with the mole on the side of the head, knocking him backward into the toilet stall I had just vacated. The cigarette lighter clattered to the floor, sliding off into the darkness.

“Fucker!” someone yelled as I dove forward, trying to reach Spence and drag him away, but I must have grabbed the wrong person. A fist came out of the darkness and slammed into my face, sending me whirling against the wall. My head exploded in pain.

As I slid to the floor, I heard someone gasp, “Enough of this shit. Let’s kill these fuckers!”

“No,” I bellowed through my haze. “Spence, run! G-get out!”

And just as I tried to grip the wall and pull myself to my feet, I again saw a flash of light. This time it was reflected from the mirror on the bathroom wall as it caught the beam of headlights from a passing car stabbing through the bathroom door. A brief flash of hope it might be a cop was dashed when I heard the car travel on down the street, rap music thumping merrily in its wake.

I flinched when again the metal bar crashed into the concrete wall. Once. Twice. But on the third strike, the sound was different. It was a softer sound. A more brutal, frightening sound. It was the sound of metal on flesh—metal on bone.

A moan tore from Spence’s throat that I could never have imagined him making. I thought I knew every sound, every utterance, every whisper he had ever voiced. In anger, in joy, in lust. But this sound was different. It oozed from his body like a spilling of air. Like a loss of hope.

Like a weary acceptance of whatever the fates held in store.

Once more, the metal bar rang out as it struck the floor.

“You missed,” a voice sneered. It was the same guttural voice as before. Already I recognized it as coming from the fat guy with the leash.

The next time the metal bar came down, the sound was one I knew I would never, ever forget. It sang out joyfully with the crush of bone, the hammering of flesh. There was a weary release of air, and then the iron bar struck again. And again. A wet sound. A cruel sound.

But that horrible release of air! Was that Spence? Did that sound come from Spence?

“No,” I wept, just as another kick struck my forehead. Then another. And darkness swept in.

H
OURS
LATER
—or days—I tried to open my eyes but couldn’t. My waking senses were assaulted with the stench of feces, the acrid smell of old urine, or was it new? I vaguely remembered where I was and shuddered.

My cheek lay against the cold concrete floor. I tried to move, but my body would not respond. Was I paralyzed? Was I dead? My lips formed the word “Spence,” but no sound came out that I could hear.

As the night air chilled my skin, I reached out my hand to slide it over the floor in the only direction I could. My fingers ached with the movement, a dull pain that stuttered through my body, and I knew they were broken. There, in the still darkness and the growing cold, I felt the softness of Spence’s hair brush the tips of my shattered fingers.

And I felt something else—something sticky. It was a spill of blood, already cool to the touch. I don’t know how I knew it was blood. I just did. The silence around me was profound. I strained to hear Spence’s breathing but heard only the whispered footsteps of a tiny animal, a rat maybe, racing past my head. My body trembled with my own weak struggle for air, for life. I retched and a gout of vomit spilled from my lips. Its comforting liquid heat settled against my cheek.

Spence. Spence.

“No,” I pleaded inside my head to a God I didn’t believe in. “Not yet. Don’t take him from me yet.” But the darkness laughed, unheeding, claiming me yet again.

And I knew no more.

Loss

C
OOL
FINGERS
stroked my forehead. I thought I had never felt a more comforting touch. Somewhere beyond the touch, off in the distance, past the sensation of gentle flesh pressed to mine, I heard a beeping sound. It was like the sound of a truck backing up, the beep that warns pedestrians out of the way. But softer. Not as harsh.