The Dream Ender (11 page)

But when Jake excused himself to go to the bathroom while we were finishing our coffee, Jared reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a piece of paper.

“The phone numbers you asked for,” he said.

I took it without a word and put it into my own pocket.

I’m paid to get information. I have no control over what that information might be or what the person hiring me might do with it once I give it to him. Contrary to what Brewer had suspected, I hadn’t found any indication of a direct tie-in to Pete Reardon or anyone from the Spike as being instrumental in spreading the rumors. But every bit of information I had gathered thus far on who might be deliberately spreading AIDS pointed directly at Cal Hysong.

I was more than a little conflicted. I felt Brewer had a right to know what I’d found out so far, but I still had some other leads I wanted to follow—specifically, talking to the guys on the list Jared had given me at brunch. But, I reasoned, at least I could give Brewer a heads up.

I waited, again, until ten thirty Monday morning before dialing his number.

“Brewer.”

“Mr. Brewer, Dick Hardesty. I’ll be writing up a full report later but wanted to give you a quick rundown on what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering.”

“Would you like to get together for a few minutes today?” I could as easily do it over the phone, though I really always prefer to talk to clients face to face.

“I’ve got a busy day today. Can we just do it over the phone?”

“Sure.”

“So, what have you got?”

“I’ve still got several leads to follow,” I said, “but there’s one constant in everything I’ve found out so far, which is why I’m mentioning it now.”

I then laid out for him what I’d been doing, to whom I’d talked, what they’d told me and what I’d deduced from it. I pointed out again that there were still paths to follow, but that I could find no evidence Reardon or anyone from the Spike was engaged in a concerted effort to put the Male Call out of business. More important, I told him, at this point, everything centered on the strong probability that Cal Hysong had AIDS and was knowingly giving it to the men with whom he had sex.

I did not tell him about my conversation with Stan Jacobson, but I did mention the fact of Hysong’s insistence on sex in the dark and on wearing at least a towel in the baths.

When I finished, there was a long pause—to the point where I was beginning to wonder if he was still on the line. Then, just before I spoke, Brewer said, “Okay. I’ll take it from here. You can send me your bill.”

Send him my bill? Whoa, there, cowboy!

“Uh,” I said. (I hate saying “uh,” it makes me look like I’ve been caught by surprise. Well, I had been.) “We still don’t know without question that it’s Hysong. It’s your decision, of course, and I’m certainly not out to pad my bill, but…”

“No,” Brewer said, “You only confirmed what I suspected.”

“Can I ask what you plan to do?” I said, wishing to hell I hadn’t even called him until I’d at least checked with the guys on Jared’s list.

“I’m not sure. But the first thing I’m going to do is to permanently eighty-six Hysong and tell him that if I ever catch him within two hundred feet of the Male Call, I’ll blow his fucking head off.”

His voice was calm, but I could sense the anger under the calm. I hoped to God he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid. And if he was serious about my sending him my bill, that meant I’d just managed to talk myself out of a client.

I’d give it a couple of days to see if he might call. In the meantime, though, I wouldn’t pass up any other offers.

*

When Brewer hadn’t called back by Thursday, I finished writing up my report to him—most of which I’d told him on the phone already—and prepared my bill. I still felt a little—what? Guilty? No, more ill at ease—over the idea that I hadn’t taken the case as far as it could possibly have gone if Brewer hadn’t chopped it off. I really hadn’t expected him to do that, but I should have learned by now that people don’t always do what I expect them to do.

Friday night, just as we were finishing dinner Bob called to invite us—Joshua included—to a barbecue at their place on Sunday, and we accepted with thanks.

“Oh,” he said after we’d gotten the what-time-and-what-can-we-bring (I volunteered potato salad) details out of the way, “have you heard the latest rumor going around?”

“Great,” I said. “That’s all we need, another rumor going around. What’s this one about?”

“About a guy named Cal Hysong. He got eighty-sixed from the Male Call for spreading AIDS.”

Well, Brewer certainly hadn’t wasted any time. I hadn’t a doubt in the world about the source of this tidbit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been handing out fliers.

“No, I hadn’t,” I said. “But guilty or not, I wouldn’t want to be in Hysong’s shoes. People will be avoiding him like the plague—no pun intended—and he probably won’t be able to walk into any bar in town.”

“Yeah, but if he is guilty, at least when he shows up anywhere, people will know the fox is in the henhouse.”

“So much for innocent until proven guilty,” I said.

“You think he’s innocent?” Bob asked, sounding incredulous.

“Frankly, no, I don’t. But I’d just like to be absolutely sure before we start forming a lynch mob.”

“Agreed, but under the circumstances, better safe now than maybe sorry later.”

“Yeah, but that’s the tragic part—no one’s safe.”

*

Saturday afternoon we made a family project of making potato salad to take to Bob and Mario’s barbecue. While I’ve never been on Julia Childs’ Christmas card list, I do make a mean potato salad—a throwback to my single days when I’d make a huge batch and eat it all week long, and I learned that the flavor is always better if you make it the day before you start eating it. We let Joshua “help” by mixing the chopped onions, celery, and olives with a long wooden spoon in a deep pot to keep spillage to a minimum. Then, when we had it in the bowl and sprinkled with paprika, we let him arrange egg slices and whole olives on top.

We got to Bob and Mario’s at around two, to find Jake and Jared already there. Tim and Phil pulled into the drive right behind us. Joshua insisted on carrying in the potato salad. Mario held the screen door open for the five of us as we entered the kitchen.

“Look what I made!” Joshua announced to the others sitting around the kitchen table, then marched it over to Bob, who stood at the kitchen counter making hamburger patties.

Bob wiped his hands on a towel and took the bowl. “This looks great, Joshua,” he said. “And you made it yourself?”

Joshua nodded. “Yep,” he said, then looking quickly at Jonathan and me, added, “Almost.”

At that point, one of their two cats—I couldn’t tell if it was Butch or Pancake (long story)—made the mistake of walking into the room, and Joshua was off like a shot.

“Joshua!” Jonathan cautioned. “Take it easy!”

“That’s okay,” Mario said with a grin. “They can take care of themselves.” He put the potato salad into the fridge and took out beers for Tim, Phil, and me and a Coke for Jonathan. “I’ve got lemonade when Joshua’s ready.”

When Bob had finished making the hamburgers, we all moved out into the fenced-in backyard. I noticed the grill and the picnic table were already set up. Joshua had been reluctant to leave the cats, who were not allowed outside, but he soon became engaged in looking for the box tortoise that Mario assured him was somewhere in the yard.

*

As always, a great afternoon. A lot of catching up and laughing and stories and good food. Tim had made one of his Bavarian tortes that, as usual, disappeared in a matter of minutes. Everyone was in good spirits, and I noticed again with some relief that Jake appeared totally recovered from his bout with pneumonia.

While we’d been visiting him in the hospital, he had mentioned that he and his brother Stan were setting up a hunting trip. Jared, it seemed, had reluctantly agreed to go along, so they could all stay at his cabin.

“Why don’t we make it a group outing?” Jake suggested. “Any of the rest of you hunt?”

“I used to,” Bob said, “but I haven’t in years. I don’t even have a rifle anymore.”

“That’s okay,” Jake said. “Stan and I just bought two new Winchester 94s, so we’ve still got the old ones any of you would be welcome to use.”

“Well, thanks, but I don’t know…” Bob said.

“Hey, you wouldn’t even have to hunt. It would just be great for all of us to get out of the city for a weekend. Think about it.”

“It sounds like fun,” Jonathan agreed, “but I’d feel funny about leaving Joshua with someone for a whole weekend.”

“Ah, the joys of parenthood,” Jake teased, then said, “You can bring him along. It would do him good to get out into nature for a couple days.”

I didn’t know if he had any real idea of what he was suggesting. The guys were all used to being around Joshua for relatively short periods of time, but for an entire weekend? And the prospect of eight guys being cooped up with a hell-on-wheels five-year-old…

“We’ll think about it,” I said.

The conversation segued into Mario and Bob telling bar stories, and Mario—I’m sure without thinking—brought up the subject of the rumors.

“What do you think of the latest about the Male Call?” he asked.

“What’s that?” Jared asked. “We haven’t been out in a while, both of us have been so damned busy.”

“About Cal Hysong getting eighty-sixed.”

I was glad he caught himself before adding “for spreading AIDS.”

I shot a quick glance at Jake and saw just the flicker of something I definitely did not like.

I decided I’d better jump in before we started down the slippery slope.

“I suspect this particular rumor is Carl Brewer’s attempt at damage control. Rumors have been killing him and to eighty-six someone for being behind them, whether it’s true or not, is a good way of saying ‘Okay, guys, you can all come back now. The bogeyman’s gone away.’”

“But why Hysong?” Phil asked.

Having set off on a little journey of evasions and half-truths, I thought I’d better just keep on going.

“Probably because the guy is an arrogant prick and has always been something of a recruiting poster for the Male Call. I’d imagine he’s probably the first person anyone thinks of when they think of the place.”

“What’s an ‘arrogant prick’?” Joshua, who I hadn’t seen come up behind me for a refill of lemonade, asked.

“That’s a not-nice man,” Jonathan said as he shot me a dirty look. “And you should never call anyone that, okay?”

“Uncle Dick did,” Joshua pointed out logically.

“Well,” Jonathan said, reaching for the pitcher of lemonade, “grown-ups sometimes say things they shouldn’t.”

“Okay.” Joshua held out his glass.

*

To counterbalance the great weather of the weekend, we had three solid days of unrelenting drizzle with a downright chill wind. Wednesday night, just as we were getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I do not like telephone calls at that hour of the night. Nine times out of ten, they portend bad news.

The minute I heard Jared’s voice, my heart sank.

“Jake’s in the hospital again,” he said. “And if Stan hadn’t called me, I never would have known. I’m so fucking mad at Jake I could kill him! He never fucking learns! He went to work every single day this week, in all this rain. He knew damned well what was going to happen and then acts surprised that it did.”

“Jeez, Jared, I’m sorry,” I said. “I can understand your being worried, but…”

Jonathan had come over to stand beside me, and I tipped the phone so we could both hear what was being said.

“That’s not the worst part,” Jared said.

“What do you mean?”

There was a very long, almost palpable pause.

“He had sex with Cal Hysong.”

Chapter 11

Jeezus!

“When?”

“A couple of months ago. You know our arrangement—we can screw around with anyone we want to and I knew he was hot for Cal, so I probably shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“How do you know for sure?” I asked.

“He told me. After Bob and Mario’s barbecue. He hadn’t heard about Cal being eighty-sixed, and he swore he had no idea Cal was a carrier.”

“And Cal didn’t use a condom.”

“No. The good thing—if it’s possible for there to be a ‘good thing’ in all this—is that Jake wouldn’t let Cal screw him without one. But he blew him.”

I was mildly ill. Not by picturing what went on—jeez, no gay man would find that the least bit strange. On the contrary, it would be a turn-on for most. What disturbed me was knowing what Cal might have passed on to Jake in the course of it. Nobody knew for sure the exact details of transmission, but there was a lot of talk about what they euphemistically referred to as “exchanging bodily fluids.” Well, oral sex certainly exchanged bodily fluids.

“I told Stan,” Jared continued. “He’s been doing his best to have Mercy Memorial be one of the hospitals on the viral test trials list and he thinks he can do it—he’s expecting to hear from the CDC any day now. Jesus, Dick! If he does have it, I… What the hell are we going to do?”

“Look, Jared,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I know you’ve got every right to be upset, but we both also know jumping to conclusions is the quickest way to drive yourself crazy. It won’t do anybody any good. Nobody knows for sure if Cal even has it or not—it’s all just rumors at this point. And even if he does, that doesn’t automatically mean he gave it to Jake. Jake’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. Just take it easy.”