The Butcher's Son (24 page)

“Do you really think I should?”

“Don’t
you
think so?”

“Kevin isn’t ready. He can’t face me. Kevin puts on a pretty white-bread face, but there’s so much more going on in there you can’t even begin to imagine! I will talk to him, though. There
are
a few things we have to say to one another.”

Patrick leaned forward in his chair, put his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him, much as Kevin did. He looked at me soberly for a moment, then his face broke into a slow, wicked grin.

“
Now
can we fuck?”

We could.

Chapter 17

Patrick woke me around five by kissing me hard and slipping his tongue into my mouth. Despite our having been at it nonstop for more than three hours, I was instantly ready to go again, but he pushed me away.

“Gotta go,” he said, getting out of bed to put his clothes on.

I started to get up to drive him…where?…but he pushed me back onto the pillow.

“I called a cab.”

“Will you leave me your phone number?”

He had his back to me, putting on his pants, but I saw him shake his head.

“No. I’ll see you at the bar.”

“But you
will
talk to Kevin? And try not to upset him this time?”

He turned to look at me, buttoning his shirt.

“You’ve really got the hots for Kevin, haven’t you?”

I shook my head.

“It’s not a matter of the hots. I’d just like to see the two of you make peace with one another.”

He looked at me rather strangely and once again a look of sadness crossed his face.

“It’s a little late for that now, I’m afraid.”

“It’s never too late.”

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 than 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.