The Butcher's Son (20 page)

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said, and Don reached over and took my hand, moving it down to his crotch.

“Then let me put something back in.”

Chapter 15

Kevin had called the office before I got there Monday morning and left a message for me to call. I’d been able to pretty well avoid thinking about him for much of Sunday, but seeing his message pulled me right back in. I wasn’t sure whether I hoped he’d had another call from Patrick, or if I hoped he hadn’t.

“Kev,” I said when I heard his voice. “What’s up? Any more…calls?”

“Two. Can you come over? We have to talk.”

“Sure. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

C.C. entered just as I was hanging up. He’d been pretty subdued since the shelter explosion, and while he was still all business, some of the arrogant bluster seemed to be missing. But there was still enough of the old C.C. for him to manage to pretend I didn’t exist. He marched past me without a word and went into his office.

Without bothering to notify C.C., I told the secretary I’d be at the shelter, and left.

*

Workmen had rebuilt the blown-out wall, and the
dining room had been completely repainted; it looked good. R&D Contractors had mysteriously gone from the scene, the insurance company preferring to recommend another firm for the work. The kitchen was still a work in progress, but it would have all new appliances and a larger service capacity.

Kevin was overseeing the installation of the new sinks and countertops when I arrived; he quickly excused himself and led me upstairs to his office.

There were a few very large cracks in the wall, some missing tiles in the ceiling, and some obviously warped floorboards from the force of the explosion in the kitchen below. The bulletin board was on the floor, propped against the cracked wall, and the photo of Kevin, Sue-Lynn and Sean had lost its glass. The door to the office had been removed, I assumed because the door frame had probably shifted.

We took our customary seats, but Kevin turned his chair slightly to better keep an eye on the doorway, should someone come up the stairs.

Leaning forward, he said in a semi-whisper, “Twice. Patrick called twice. Once yesterday morning, just after services, and once last night, just before I began my prayers and meditation. I think he may have called once after that, but the phone downstairs is not to be answered after nine-thirty at night. It’s for incoming calls only because it’s in the hallway and could easily be abused by some of our flock. The only outgoing phone is the one on my desk. And I let nothing disturb my prayers and meditation.”

“What did he have to say?”

Kevin looked flustered and embarrassed.

“It was disgusting. He said he was calling right while he was being…while he was…engaging in a disgusting and depraved act! He was laughing and making disgusting noises. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing, little brother,’ he said. I wanted to hang up, but I couldn’t. Finally, he started breathing heavily and said, ‘Too close to talk now. I’ll call you back!’”

I didn’t say a word. What in hell could I say? But Kevin was so obviously distraught, I felt really sorry for him.

“And the second call?” I hoped for Kevin’s sake it wasn’t a repeat of the first.

“As I said, it was just before nine. I’d just been up to the dormitories talking with the night attendants, and had come down to lock the front doors. Just as I passed the phone, it rang. Normally, I would not have answered it, but somehow I knew who it was.”

He had his head bowed down, and his hands were clasped as if in prayer, but he wasn’t praying.

He raised his head up just enough to look at me.

“He was very nice,” Kevin said, his voice softer and reflective. “He didn’t mention the earlier call, and I just couldn’t. He asked how I was, and how Sue-Lynn and the baby were doing, and said he’d heard about the explosion and was glad no one was hurt, and he sounded as though he really, really meant it. We talked just like brothers. He was so normal and happy and…”

I noticed his eyes were misting, and he quickly wiped them with the back of his hand.

“And do you know what, Dick?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“That hurt me as much as the first call had. That was my brother! That was the Patrick I want, that my parents want.”

“Did you ask him where he was?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t tell me. He’s here in the city, though. I can
feel
it. He did say he had a very good job that he liked a lot, but didn’t say what it was or where. I told him I wanted to see him, but he said no. ‘We’ll see each other soon enough,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’re ready yet.’ I asked him what he meant by that, but he just said ‘I’ve got to go, little brother. I’ll call again soon.’ And he hung up. I called the operator to see if she could trace the call, but she said she couldn’t.”

I thought in silence for a good long moment, with Kevin’s eyes on my face, waiting for me to say something.

“The next time he calls,” I said, “ask him if he would be willing to meet with me. Tell him I won’t betray him to anyone, but that I really want to hear his side of the story. Maybe I can help.”

Kevin shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dick. Patrick is playing with me. I know that. Those two calls…he knew exactly what he was doing in both of them. The devil lures with honey, and you have no idea of the power of evil.”

This time I reached out for his hand. He looked truly startled and almost pulled back. I only gave him a brief, reassuring pat then withdrew.

“Kevin, you have got to get to the bottom of this thing. We have to find out exactly what Patrick is up to and what he hopes to achieve. I suspect you’re right that his ultimate goal is to ruin your father’s chances for election.

“But he hasn’t done anything yet, and we won’t know for sure until we talk to him. You’re under too much pressure as it is. I can be a little more objective. Will you do this for me? When he calls again, will you try to find out if he really is in the city and if he’ll meet with me?”

Kevin sighed and searched my face. Then he nodded.

At that moment, the phone rang. He jumped up and reached over the desk to get to it.

“Salvation’s Door,”

There was a pause, and I saw his body sag as his muscles relaxed.

“Yes, it arrived this morning, and I want to thank you for your wonderful generosity. It will mean so much to our flock… Yes, thank you again. May God bless you. Goodbye.”

He hung up, turned, shrugged, and sighed. He was about to sit down again when someone called from the bottom of the stairs, “Reverend Rourke? Could you come down to the kitchen, please?”

“Yes…yes, I’ll be right there.” He turned again to me with a sad little smile. “We never do seem to finish what we start, do we, Dick?”

“No, Kev,” I said, “we don’t.”

We walked downstairs together, and just as Kevin started into the dining room, I stopped him.

“You’ll ask, right?”

He nodded, and I left.

*

I had tried to stay in regular contact with Tom, but we kept playing telephone tag and didn’t have a chance to talk in person all that much. I finally managed to reach him Monday evening.

There had been a minor fire at Ruth’s, a lesbian bar, but it happened in the early afternoon and was quickly traced to an electrical problem. The arson squad had been informed of it but didn’t investigate.

Knowing that the gallon jar used in the Dog Collar fire originally held jumbo olives wasn’t as big a clue as they had hoped. There were just too many bars and restaurants in the city, more than a few within a two-mile radius of the Dog Collar. Empty gallon jars of that kind were in pretty big demand for a lot of storage uses, and it was almost impossible for those places that didn’t break up their glass containers after use to keep track of what happened to them.

One bartender at a straight restaurant was found to have had a previous arson arrest and was questioned extensively but had what proved to be a watertight alibi for the night of the fire. Gas stations were checked to see if anyone had been seen filling, or attempting to fill, a gallon glass jar, but since it was a violation of state law to sell gasoline in any container other than red cans meeting state regulations, if anyone
had
seen—or sold gas to—someone filling a gallon glass jar, they weren’t going to admit to it.

I thanked Tom and invited him to go out for dinner the following Saturday. He agreed.

On Wednesday, Don Yosling, Bob, and I got together for an early dinner, where I passed on the information Tom had given me. After dinner, Don and I went to my place for a little horizontal recreation. We both seemed to realize we had lucked out in finding a sex partner with no danger of the relationship going any further for either one of us.

Thursday came, and still no word from Kevin. I knew he had been out of town on speaking assignments both Tuesday and Wednesday, but still…

The chief, with nothing substantial going on in the Dog Collar investigation and, therefore, no valid reason for him to remain holed up in his office, was forced to begin accepting carefully monitored and scripted public appearances, with the primary emphasis on “appearances” and as little “public” as could be gotten away with. That wouldn’t take much pressure off Kevin, of course, since he had become the designated human contact in the chief’s campaign.

I’d just finished dinner Thursday night and was debating whether the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink and stacked on the counters really needed attention when the phone rang. It was Kevin.

“He called?” I asked, without even saying hello.

“Yes. Just now.”

“And?”

“And he wouldn’t agree to meet you…or me. He asked me why you were ‘butting in,’ as he put it, and what you wanted and how I knew I could trust you, and then he started going off again.”

I had an idea what he meant, but wanted to be sure.

“How so ‘going off?’ Exactly what did he say?”

Kevin hesitated.

“When he first started talking, he was fine, but when I started answering his questions about you he started…well…I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this, Dick. It was disgusting and perverted, and he made all sorts of sickening accusations about…”

“About…?” I prompted.

“You…and me.” He paused again. “And I fell right into his trap. I started defending myself and denying his accusations and trying to reason with him, and…”

Another long pause, until at last I had to say, “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. And finally I asked him again to please at least talk with you, and assured him that he would find you as trustworthy as I did, and then he said something really strange, which I still don’t understand.”

“What was that?”

“He said ‘Oh, I know who…” Kevin paused “…he…is.’”

I didn’t miss the hesitation.

“Did he use the word
he
?”

I could almost hear him blush.

“No.”

“Exactly what did he say, Kev? It might be important.”

“I don’t know if I can even say it, Dick…it was so ugly and perverted.”

“Come on, Kev,” I said, a little impatiently. “It’s just me and you. Exactly what did he say?”

There was another hesitation and then he blurted it out.

“He said, ‘I know who your boyfriend is.’ What a disgusting thing to imply! Please don’t be insulted! But how could he know who you are?”

I wondered exactly the same thing.

“He probably just said that to get you upset. He might conceivably have found out I work for C.C. and your father,” I said, grasping at straws. “But more than likely he just said it to shake you…which apparently it did. I can assure you, if I had ever seen Patrick, I’d know it. Did he say anything else?”

“No, not really. He kept switching back and forth between being calm and conversational in one breath to being blasphemous and unspeakably perverted in the next. I hate to say it, Dick, but I truly suspect my brother is possessed by the Devil himself. You cannot imagine what filth he used when he talked about…us.”

Yes, in fact, I
could
imagine.

“So how did the conversation end?”

“He said it was time for him to go and…engage in his sexual perversions…and that he would call again soon. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this, Dick. I really don’t. I have prayed, and prayed, and…”

I really empathized with the guy but couldn’t let him fall apart now.

“Listen to me, Kev. I can imagine how hard this is for you—I really can.” I searched for something to say that might mean something to him. Feeling just a little bit hypocritical, I said, “You have the power of your faith to protect you. Patrick can’t harm you if you don’t let him. If he
is
trying to shake you, don’t let him. Don’t let him win.”

There was a long pause, and then a sigh.

“You’re right, of course. Thank you, Dick. You have no idea what your friendship means to me. But now I have to go to my prayers and meditation. Thank you again, and God bless you.”

“Goodbye, Kev.”

*

Well, now I felt like a real shit. Kevin Rourke—closeted, bigoted, narrow-minded, stupifyingly uptight Kevin Rourke—considered me a friend! Me, who was out to do everything I could to keep his father from being elected governor. And the pathetic thing was, I guess that from his standpoint, I was a friend.

As I said before, I felt in my bones that Kevin did not have many—if any—actual friends. Dominated by his father, stuck in a marriage I don’t think even he could convince himself that he wanted, living his entire life trying to be what others expected him to be. Our lifestyles could not conceivably be further apart. But he considered me his friend, and that made me very, strangely sad.

And again, when it came right down to it, I felt a great deal of empathy for the poor guy. I could only imagine what he’d had to go through in his life. I couldn’t help but feel some respect for his ability to carry all that mental, emotional, and psychological baggage and still survive. Against all my better judgment, I guess I really did like him.