The Definitive Albert J. Sterne

by Julie Bozza

  But Albert asked, “Why do you find it tempting to never bring this man to justice? To never save the lives he would otherwise take? To never use your abilities for the greatest good? To never again respect yourself?”

  Fletcher unwound himself from the table and began transferring his washing to the drier. “I’ve done my time in hell, Albert.”

  “You’re being incredibly selfish.”

  “Just once in my life,” Fletch pleaded, “can’t I be incredibly selfish? Maybe I’m bargaining for my soul, too.”

  “If you give up on the serial killer, you won’t want to live with the results.”

  A long silence, before Fletcher set the drier going. “What is this?” he asked. “You’re practicing forensic psychology on me? I’m not dead yet, Albert.”

  “Obviously you have no reasonable arguments to reply with.”

  “So I’m using your favorite tactic,” Fletcher said spitefully, “and being nasty instead.”

  Again, Albert had difficulty saying the words: “Admit that, in this instance, resorting to my tactics is an admission of defeat.”

  Fletcher thought some more while he threw another load of clothes into the washing machine. “One of the reasons I love you,” he finally said slowly, “is that you always insist on me doing my best. We both know how often I fall short of the mark but on the important things, you insist and I try.”

  “Then try now.”

  “Is that why you love me? Because I do try to do my best, I mean. Is that one of the reasons?”

  Silence again. Then, in a painfully tight voice, “I do not love you, Ash.”

  “Have it your way,” Fletch said easily, not believing it for a minute. “It’s just that I think your expectations of me are unrealistically high. Flattering but impossible.”

  “Whether they are my expectations or your own, they should be high. The effort to live up to them is as important as setting the right goals in the first place.”

  “But I get so tired of failing, Albert, so tired that I don’t want to try anymore. And now I’ve told you that, you won’t love me.”

  Albert said dryly, “Whether I love you or not is surely the least of your worries.”

  “I wish you didn’t believe that.” Fletcher hauled himself up onto the sorting table again. “All right, I’ll tell you one of my most urgent worries. I’m doing these security clearances on federal employees right now. What if I find out one of them is gay or lesbian? If I report the fact, they’ll lose their jobs for no good reason. But if I don’t report it, I’ll lose my job somewhere down the line and all for nothing because they’ll lose theirs as well. I don’t want to sort my way through that dilemma.”

  “You’re missing the point, Ash,” Albert informed him. “If any of these people are homosexual and the Bureau thinks it can use them, either now or in the future, it will let them keep their jobs.”

  Fletcher frowned over this for a moment, then exclaimed, “Blackmail? Albert, it’s not in your interests, or mine, for you to make me dislike the FBI anymore than I already do.”

  “You must have encountered similar situations in the past, working for the Bureau.”

  “I guess I’ve been lucky, because nothing’s touched me quite this personally before.”

  “It seems more likely that they’ve kept you away from moral dilemmas.”

  Fletcher was about to dispute this, but then thought of Caroline. She had faced exactly the dilemma he’d described, and had proposed a compromise she could live with. But Fletcher found it harder to live with half-truths and white lies, and she knew it. Had she avoided placing him in difficult situations before now? And, if so, wasn’t she taking a great risk by not passing her suspicions on to the Special Agent in Charge? Fletcher sighed deeply. “I feel like eliminating the middle man and quitting anyway. Save everyone the trouble. It’s not just that, or the serial killer, it’s the boring old financial cases as well, infinitely boring. All the bureaucracy and the paperwork. I don’t feel I’m doing good anymore.”

  “What would you do instead?”

  A silence. Albert had asked the question easily enough, perhaps intending to make the point there are few good career options for retired law enforcement officers. But Fletcher’s unwillingness to respond prompted the answer.

  “Let me guess,” Albert said, dripping sarcasm. “Personal assistant to your pet politician.”

  “Is that so ridiculous?”

  “Yes!” Furious.

  “Why? I want to do good. This seems like a better way for me to do something useful.”

  “Obviously you have not only taken leave of your instincts, you’ve abandoned all common sense as well.”

  Fletcher took a breath. “Is this tirade motivated by jealousy?”

  “No, you imbecile. Not everything relates to Councilor Lachance, except from your perspective.”

  “That’s untrue and unfair, Albert.”

  A heavy silence. Then, “As McIntyre so quaintly puts it, you’re people-smart. Look at these people without the influence of your -” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “- lust for Lachance. What do you see? Anything noble or worthy? Anything at all other than self-interest? They’re politicians, Ash.”

  “Xavier is ambitious for his own sake but he also wants to do good with the power he’s seeking. Equality for gays, for instance - you won’t argue with that, surely. Equality of opportunity for everyone.”

  “You’re missing the point again. Look at how these people operate, Ash. If you’re finding you can’t compromise your ideals for the sake of working for the FBI, then how do you expect to work for a politician?”

  “I don’t accept what you’re saying, Albert. Politicians aren’t all corrupt and they aren’t all in it for their own egos.”

  “And now you are being naïve. The whole political system is based on favors and bribes. You ask Lachance how he got this far and what he’ll have to do to get to Washington.”

  “Perhaps I will. And perhaps the answer won’t horrify me as much as you anticipate.”

  “You’re too honest and idealistic, Ash. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  “I seem to have survived ten days, anyway. One of the things I like about him is how he translates ideals into reality. And so what if I’m honest and naïve? He finds that attractive and interesting.”

  “You mean, he finds that unusual.”

  “At least that’s an improvement on you - you just get impatient with me.”

  “Really.”

  “Really.” Fletcher let the silence stretch, let his annoyance ease, before offering, “There’s no point in talking about it further. Is there? We’re not going to agree right now. We probably can’t even agree to disagree.” No reply. “Albert, this call will cost you a fortune.”

  “That is of no consequence. If you wish to end the call, then say so directly.”

  “Yes, it’s getting late. I’m exhausted.” He eased off the bench and checked on his second load of washing; it was about to enter the spin cycle.

  “Consider one thing, Ash, for your own sake. Think about the consequences of letting this killer remain free. No one else will catch him for you.”

  “I’ll think about it, Albert, that’s all I’m promising.”

  “You’re uncomfortable with the part of you that understands the serial killer -”

  “You don’t believe in that.”

  “But you do. If you turn away from it, if you ignore or suppress that part of you, then that will have a far worse effect on you in the long term. If you live with it and use it for good, that will be healthier than if you shut it away and let it fester.”

  Strange for Albert to be that smart about Fletcher, but be unable to apply the principle to himself. “I’ll think about it,” Fletch repeated, frowning.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m due to arrive.”

  Fletcher sighed, prevented himself from groaning. “I was serious about needing a little time, Albert. If I agree to do this, can we
make it next weekend or the weekend after, instead of this one? Let me mull a few things over, all right?”

  “Procrastination, Ash?”

  “Give me a break, will you? You never know, I might come around to your way of thinking.”

  “All right,” was the brusque reply.

  “I’ll call you soon, love. And thanks for spending half the night talking. I appreciate it.”

  “Do you,” Albert said flatly.

  “Yes. Goodnight, love.” And Fletch hung up, knowing it was pointless to wait for a farewell from Albert. He had just enough energy to throw his washing into the drier with the first lot before climbing the stairs to his apartment and his bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  COLORADO

  APRIL 1985

  “Xavier,” Fletch murmured into the dimness of the bedroom.

  The man stirred, tugging the sheets out of the way as he moved to take Fletcher into his arms, grinning beautifully. “What, lover man? You want to talk some more? Or fuck some more?”

  “Both, of course,” Fletch said with a laugh. “But this time I was thinking of talking. If you don’t mind missing a little more sleep.”

  “What would I need sleep for? We’re on the last leg of the campaign, the election’s in three days.” Lazy puzzlement. The pause was filled by slow exploration of Fletcher’s face with Xavier’s, in a skin-to-skin kiss. “Did I apologize for not being able to see you this week? Other than tonight, of course.”

  “You did, very graciously. I understand you have other priorities.”

  “You’ve been more than understanding, sweet lover man. More fair than smart.”

  “No - what did you call me before? More honest than smart. They’re going to carve that on my tombstone.”

  “You don’t have to think about epitaphs and eulogies yet, Fletcher. Plenty of life left in you.” Xavier leaned closer to kiss him on the mouth, a nice unhurried loving kiss. When they were done, Xavier settled himself comfortably beside Fletch, facing him, an arm companionable around his waist. “Now, what did you want to talk about? I’ll tell you, it’s rare for me to find someone who enjoys conversing as much as I do. Though these last couple of weeks have taken their toll.” It was true: the rich brocade voice had grown noticeably hoarser, which added a not unattractive rough note.

  Fletcher let a silence grow, doubting again how he should approach this. But he had always tackled personal matters head on, and this should ideally be no different. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he began. “I’m due for a change - I need a massive change in my life. I’ve been trying to look into the future, trying to work out what I want to do. Every aspect of my life - work, relationships - is troubled right now.”

  A pause, into which Xavier said, “Go on.”

  “Well, in the middle of all this hard thinking, I had a day dream. I have a dream,” Fletcher quoted whimsically.

  “What’s your dream?”

  “I don’t know if it’s even possible, but I was day dreaming about you being mayor and me staying around. On a long term basis. As your lover.”

  “Were you, sugar man?” Xavier murmured, smiling lazily. “That’s nice. So tempting to imagine such a delightful thing.” Then the smile quirked. “Do you always propose to your lovers so soon in a relationship?”

  “Soon? We’ve been together for over two weeks now. That’s almost a record for me. I’m so good at falling in love with the most impossible women, sometimes we don’t last through the first date. The number of desserts I’ve missed out on is tragic.”

  Xavier laughed. “You’re one of a kind, Fletcher.”

  “Let me tell you about this day dream, lover, and then I’ll let you think it over in peace.” Fletcher took a breath and continued, “There’s no way we could keep it secret, which is as it should be, so I’d have to leave the FBI, which I’m not overly sad about because the Bureau and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I thought I could work for you instead, as political staff or a personal assistant or whatever. If you can’t pay me at first, I’ll volunteer. I have some money that would last a while.”

  “Maybe you could do that, maybe that is possible. There’s certainly work you could do, or learn, and a smart guy like you could wing it in the meantime.” A pause for reflection. “We might be able to present you as my long term lover, my partner, package it nicely. You’re so cute, that helps, with your lovely cream skin and thick dark hair and those beautiful hot blue eyes. I bet the camera loves you. A fine upstanding honest intelligent gay ex-FBI agent, forced to resign his noble career in order to openly be with his lover. Oh yes, the queer black and the straight-as-an-arrow white liberal romantic, in love and unashamed of it … Beautiful copy. We’ll appeal to people across so many demographics, it’s ridiculous. And you’ll make a suitable First Lady if ever there was one.”

  “You make it sound prettier than I’d expected. Do we get to live happy ever after as well?”

  “I doubt it, lover man, other than in the media releases - but we can try.” A pause before Lachance warned, “You’d have to give up your man.”

  That hurt like a blow to the stomach, even though Fletcher had half expected it, half prepared for it. “I know.”

  “Can you give him up?” Xavier pursued.

  “Like you said, I’d have to.” Though the prospect of leaving Albert behind was far bleaker than the idea of turning his back on the Bureau. And Albert wouldn’t even believe Fletcher’s heart was breaking, too. “But he and I could remain friends.”

  “I don’t think so, lover man. If he values his job, and if you value your reputation as my faithful partner, then you’ll never see him again.”

  Worst case scenario, damn it. “I take your point.”

  “If you can do that, and if you’ll do one other thing for me, this day dream might translate into reality.”

  “What one other thing?”

  “I’d like to take you on, Fletcher, but I’d need a serious commitment from you. I need you to burn your bridges and tie yourself to my bandwagon. Because I can’t afford to be seen as fickle. If we do this, then it’s a political marriage, based on convenience as well as romance, and we can’t divorce.”

  Fletcher frowned at the wording, though he’d anticipated the intent behind it. “What would you want me to do?” he asked again.

  “One favor, while you’re still with the Bureau. I need information on a certain entrepreneur. I took a rather generous campaign donation from him and, once I’m in, he’ll expect me to give him the go-ahead for some pretty risky land development. I want something to hold over him, to cancel the favor.”

  “You don’t want the land developed?”

  Xavier shrugged. “I’ll probably give him the go-ahead anyway, but then he’ll owe me again.”

  “Why do you want him to owe you?”

  “You understand this already, Special Agent. He’s the one with the money, and therefore the power. I need him aligned to me.”

  “Aren’t you the one who’s going to be in power?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have my share of it, but the reality is that he has a bigger share and he’s here for the long haul.”

  Fletcher moved to lie on his back, and he stared at the ceiling, mind numb except for one thought: Albert, you bastard, why did you have to be right? He said lightly, “You really want me to do that, Xavier?”

  “Sure, lover man, if you want to deal into this game.”

  “And you think I’m the sort of person who could do it?”

  “Yeah. You’re honest but you believe in the same things I do, as passionately as I do. And we both know that the ends justify the means.”

  “Do we?” Fletch whispered to the distant ceiling.

  “You’re an idealist, sweet man, but you have to come down from that ivory tower to actually do anything about your dreams and principles. You’ve learned that already - you work with the FBI, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Again, I take your point.” Because that was
, in another person’s words, a fair summary of why he’d fallen out of love with the Bureau. Fletcher shifted uncomfortably, and sat up cross-legged.

  Xavier, turning to lie on his front but leaning up on his elbows to talk to Fletcher face to face, continued, “Revolution from within. Taking the system and then using it to progress what you believe in. That’s the only feasible way.”