Sociopath?

by Vicki Williams

  “I’m glad you did this,” Rafe told them. “I’ve just been using Raven’s old collar but I think he deserves one of his own.”

  Then his present, which turned out to be a small gold bullion bar, smaller but a little thicker than a credit card, rounded on the corners, with the words engraved in tiny letters, “love and luck”.

  “It’s a good luck piece, Rafe, to keep you safe. We both held it and infused our love into it.” Vic explained.

  “And it’s a little thing so it’s convenient to carry in your pocket. We know you don’t like ostentation.”

  “It’s the coolest gift I’ve ever been given,” he told them.” I’ll always keep it with me.”

  They had roast pork and potatoes in the bright yellow kitchen and he hugged them both before he left. “I have something for you guys too but it’s not quite finished. Everything got too frantic there at the last. I’ll probably send it. I’m leaving early in the morning, probably before you’re up. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  His card said, “To Rafe with love from your “godfathers”, Chas & Vic.” He propped it up on the mantel beside the Christmas tree.

  *

  When he did get home, he ended up convincing Laney to confide in him, pulling her onto his lap, saying, “come on, Honey, you can talk to me.”

  So she told him about the four boys and held her breath to see if he was going to be upset with her but he wasn’t, which she should have figured, really, because Rafe was the most non-judgmental person she knew.

  “It’s no big deal, Lane. You tried something. It didn’t work. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Sex doesn’t change you. You’re still exactly the same person you were before, no better and no worse.” He stroked her hair, “but, Honey, I do think you’re rushing things. Remember me telling you lots of girls need to be in love before they can reach a climax?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I expect you’re like that and I don’t think it’s something you can force, Sweetie. You’re only 17 and you have no idea who or what the future is going to bring you. Why don’t you just take it easy and not worry about it quite yet. If it is going to happen, it will be when it’s meant to. If you try too hard, you’ll just get more and more stressed and make it worse, like those women who don’t get pregnant until they finally give up.”

  She put her head on his shoulder, “Oh, Rafe, I feel so much better talking to you. I wasn’t going to tell you but I’m glad I did.”

  “Well, sure you were going to tell me, Lane. You always do.”

  He breathed his warm breath into her ear, sliding his hand up under her shirt. “In the meantime, there’s one thing I can fix for you, Lane, since it seems that no one else can.”

  She felt that familiar tingle shoot from her groin up into her belly, the same one she’d been feeling since she was seven years old.

  *

  Shasta attached herself to Rafe. It made Laney a little jealous although she was used to that way he had with animals that seemed to attract them to him. In a way, she guessed it was good because she’d not been having much luck with housebreaking but Rafe took Shasta in hand and within a few days, she had it down pat and no more accidents. He’d convinced Magdelene to let Hawk stay in the house when he was there too.

  “Are you getting soft in your old age, Maggie?” her husband asked. “Your rule about pets inside used to be absolute and now you’ve allowed two of them.”

  “Well, Rafe said he keeps Hawk in his apartment so he’s not used to being in a kennel and you know, his dogs are always so well behaved….”

  He patted her hand affectionately, “I don’t care, Darlin’, I’m only teasing you.”

  The puppies loved having a playmate too. You could hear them chasing one another down the hall. Hawk, in that awkward gallop of a 9 month old German Shepherd, with paws still too big for his body, and Shasta, pattering along behind, trying to keep up, a gnat to his bumblebee. When he couldn’t stand the racket anymore, Rafe snapped his fingers, telling them “cool it” and they’d flop down on the floor beside him and go to sleep, the Yorkie curled up beside Hawk’s belly.

  *

  Rafe was surprised to be summonsed to Renny’s study. Usually Renny had a reason to call him in and there was no reason he could think of that his father would want to talk to him.

  “So, Rafe, how’s it going at school so far this year?”

  “Good, Dad. Being in the apartment is like being in heaven after the the dorm.”

  “I’m glad it’s working out for you so well. And school itself, that’s all right too? Your classes are okay?”

  “Yes, my classes are going fine.”

  “And football?”

  “Yes, fine too.” He was becoming cautious now. Something must be up. Renny wasn’t usually one for wasting time on small talk.

  Renny sensed the guard coming down although there was no perceptible change in his son’s posture.

  “Well, Rafe, I’ve been given a homework assignment too. I was asked to feel you out about something but I guess I’d just as soon ask you directly and I expect an honest answer.”

  “What’s this about, Dad?”

  “The business about you and Professor Barnes and whatever happened between you.”

  Jesus, how did Renny know about that? He was silent, trying to decide how to respond.

  “Don’t be figuring how to con me, Rafe,” Renny said sharply, “just tell it to me straight.”

  “I’m not trying to con you, I was just trying to think where to start.”

  “The beginning usually works the best,” Renny responded dryly.

  Rafe took a deep breath. “She called me to her office at the start of last year. She had no reason to do that because I wasn’t taking any of her classes. She didn’t even know me except what some of her students had told her. She was especially upset about some of the girls calling themselves Rafe’s Riders because sometimes when I went out in the car, I took a woman with me and we stayed at a hotel overnight. But, Dad, that wasn’t my idea. I’ve never told anyone the name of any girl I’ve ever had sex with, ever. If anyone talks about it, it’s them, and I can’t control that. Anyway, she told me I was a sexual predator. It pissed me off because it isn’t true. I don’t deny sleeping with lots of girls but they are always free and willing and I don’t pretend I’m going to marry them or anything. She fucked with me, Dad, and I decided I was going to fuck back with her.”

  “And how did you do that?”

  “I found out she had a girlfriend who was bi. I joined the gym where she worked in order to meet her. We started having an affair. Ms Barnes caught us in bed together.”

  “You set that up on purpose?”

  Black eyes held black eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “That was pretty cold, Rafe.”

  “I was just going along minding my own business, not bothering her at all. She’s the one who decided to jump into my life. If she’s paying a price for it now, it’s her own fault.”

  “I gather she’s paying a rather steep price. I hear she’s leaving Women’s Studies altogether.”

  The smile was there and then it was gone. “She was a hypocrite. Lots of posters on her wall glorifying choice, but treating her girls like innocent maidens taken advantage of by an evil male. It was bullshit.” The tone of his voice was unyielding. “She should have thought twice before she tried to screw me over, Dad.”

  “Yes, it sounds like she didn’t know what she was dealing with, but then, I doubt very many people know what they’re dealing with when it comes to you, Rafe.“

  “But you do, Dad?”

  “Yes, Rafe, I do.”

  They stared each other down. Rafe’s eyes dropped first.

  “Dad, I…..”

  “That’s all I wanted to know, Rafe. You can go now.”

  *

  “So, Gil, that’s the story.”

  “Wow, I hope Rafe never decides to turn to criminal activities or we’re probably all in trouble.
I can understand him being angry and maybe striking out in some way but such a calculated cruelty is sort of breathtaking. He homed right in on Helene’s biggest vulnerability.”

  “I don’t think Rafe is one for striking out impulsively. Anything he does will always be carefully planned.”

  “Scary, Ren, because he’s so fucking brilliant. Poor Helene. She really loves that girl. What she did was stupid but I don’t think she deserved to be punished so severely.”

  “He’s always been the way he is, Gil, even when he was a little boy. I doubt he’s going to change. So, I just wanted to share the information with you, like I said I would.”

  “Okay, Ren, thanks.”

  *

  The drawing was delivered while he was still in Maryland. He’d done it mostly at the art building on campus since he couldn’t hide it from them in the carriage house. It was the size of a poster, a collage of them in various activities - Vic standing over the stove tasting from a big spoon, Chas arranging a vase of flowers, Vic opening the door of his Jaguar, Chas at the piano, both of them kissing with their arms around one another. At the very bottom, he’d written - “thank God for family, Rafe”.

  Vic had tears in his eyes. “Oh, my God, Chas, isn’t it marvelous? Did you have any idea he could do this?”

  The individual illustrations were so intricately detailed- each key of the piano, the pan on the stove, the trim on the Jag, the petals of the flowers - and they themselves were so unstudied, not in the least like they were posing, but just them unselfconsciously being Chas and Vic.

  “No, no clue, Vic. Our Rafe is a boy of many talents.”

  It was matted and framed in walnut. They gave it the place of honor in the foyer.

  Everyone who saw it wanted to hire him to do one for them but drawing was only something he did for fun. He had no desire to turn it into a job.

  * *

  “Rafe!” Chas’ voice was verging on hysterical.

  “What’s the matter, Chas?”

  “It’s Vic. He’s in the hospital. He got beaten up. They’re taking him into surgery. I’m so worried, Rafe, I’m just wrecked. Can you come?”

  “I’m heading for the garage now. Hang on, Chas. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He sped even more than usual getting to the hospital. He found Chas in the small waiting room outside surgery, holding a paper cup of coffee with shaking hands.

  “God, I’m glad to see you, Rafe. I stayed with him in E.R. until they brought him here. He looks like a villain in a horror movie. His face is swollen like a black balloon. His nose and, they think, his cheekbone is broken, some teeth gone. The doc also suspects he has some broken ribs and his hand is fractured. The cops said it looked like his attacker hit him over and over in the face and then, after he fell, kicked him in the side and stepped on his hand, grinding it into the concrete.

  “Was he conscious?” Rafe asked.

  “Barely. The officers tried to take a preliminary report but he wasn’t able to tell them much. They said they’d come back later when he was more coherent.”

  Rafe kept Chas company until Vic was taken to the recovery room.

  “I’m going to leave now, Chas. I don’t want to be here when the cops come back because I don’t want them to associate me with Vic. But Chas, I want to know every detail. If they know who did it and who it was and any other information they’ll give you about him. If you don’t think you can remember, write it down so you can tell me later. Call me when you’re ready to come home and I’ll come and get you. You’re not in any shape to drive. Tell Vic when he wakes up, I’ll be back after the police have gone.”

  “Why don’t you want to be here, Rafe? You’d be more likely to ask sensible questions than me right now.”

  “I’ve got my reasons. Trust me, Chas. It’s better this way.”

  “You’re not in any trouble with the law yourself are you?”

  A smile flickered across Rafe’s face, “no, and I don’t plan to be.”

  *

  Chas called him later and he went back to the hospital. Vic was awake by then but groaning with pain.

  “I talked to the officers, Rafe,” Chas told him. “There was a witness and they arrested the guy. His name is Bob Bolover. They charged him with Battery but they said he’s probably bonded out by now. They would only say he’s from around the neighborhood. They said he came out of Granger’s Bar. That a few blocks down from Vic’s office.”

  “He just kept saying he hated fucking faggots, Rafe,” Vic mumbled through his broken mouth. “Every time he hit me he said it was for being a faggot queer.”

  Rafe’s eyes got colder and blacker as they talked.

  *

  Rafe slipped into one of the back benches of the courtroom when Bob Bolover was arraigned. He pleaded not guilty, of course. His attorney was with him. Battery, if it caused bodily injury, was a Class A misdemeanor, with the maximum penalty being a year and/or a $5,000 fine but, realistically, a plea bargain would probably result in the A being knocked down to a B which carried 180 days in jail and up to a $1,000 but Bob Bolover was a first offender so he likely wouldn’t even get any jail time, just a pre-trial diversion or probation. They could have made it harder on him if they’d charged him with a hate crime, since he’d obviously beaten up Vic for no other reason than that he was homosexual, but the prosecutor chose not to file those charges, too much of a hassle to prove.

  Didn’t matter anyway. Rafe was only there to get a look at the guy. Bob had worn a suit for the occasion but it didn’t fit him very well and he didn’t look very comfortable in it, like wearing a suit was something he didn’t do often. It was a little tight across his paunch. He was tall and while he’d obviously been muscular once, he was starting to run to fat now. His brown hair was worn in a buzzcut. Rafe was too far away to see the color of his eyes but he’d remember the falsely humble smile and remorseful voice Bolover had displayed for the judge’s sake.

  Afterwards, he tailed (Rafe grinned at the word, it sounded so private eye official) Bob Bolover home to his small two-story frame house on Maple Street. Once he knew where Bolover lived, he rented an old white Chevy Cavalier from a Rent-a-Wreck agency (an ice-blue Corvette not being the best for unobtrusive surveillance) and followed him off and on until he got a feel for Bob’s schedule. He bowled on Tuesday nights and afterwards, he went to Granger’s. Once there, he could be relied upon to stay until closing time.

  *

  “What clothes of mine do you guys think are the gayest?”

  “The gayest, Rafe?”

  “Yeah, of anything I have, what would a gay guy like best?”

  “That black silk Ralph Lauren jogging suit. I’ve only seen you wear it once.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember. My sister, Annecy, got it for me for Christmas.”

  “You should wear it more often. You look gorgeous in it,” Chas told him.

  “What’s this all about?” asked Vic, home now but still looking considerably worse for wear.

  “An eye for an eye,” said Rafe

  *

  That night, he put on the black jogging suit along with black running shoes. He’d bought some make up at the drugstore. He brushed the merest drift of blush across his cheekbones, not enough to tell he had it on, just enough to add a faint rosy hue to his cheeks. He applied some barely pink lip gloss to his lips to give them the least suggestion of color. He thickened his long black curly lashes with enough mascara to make them appear even longer and curlier and blacker. He tousled his hair, which gave him a disarmingly boyish look. He put the switchblade in his pocket.

  Granger’s was a typical nondescript working man’s bar. There wasn’t anything special about it except to the customers who hung out there. You wouldn’t associate the word ambiance with Granger’s but people who think of a particular tavern as their second home develop a deep affection for the comfortable camaraderie their place offers them. Granger’s was like that. It had plank floors and a long back bar, featuring quarts of
various kinds of cheap bar alcohol. Most of them were rarely moved from their locations on the shelf because Granger’s regulars tended to drink beer, especially Budweiser because Bud was the beer on tap. There was a jukebox in one corner. Most of its offerings were country but with a little rock and roll thrown in as well, southern rock like the Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd and ZZ Top. There was a television on one wall, almost always turned to ESPN. A couple of pool tables took up space at the back and the rest of the room had booths along both sides (cracks in the red pseudo-leather patched with silver duck tape) and some black metal tables in the middle. You’d sometimes find a few women at Granger’s on Friday and Saturday nights but on week nights, it was usually only men, including lots of bowlers or soft ball players, depending on the season.

  *

  Rafe waited until he knew Bob Bolover had had plenty of time to settle into Granger’s with his bowling buddies and then he drove down to the neighborhood and parked the white Cavalier a couple of blocks away. When he entered the front door and walked up to the bar, he added just a hint of swish to his stride, something he’d learned by watching some of Chas and Vic’s friends.

  Bob Bolover was sitting, arms resting comfortably on the bar, with a mug of beer in front of him. Rafe minced over to him and ducked under one arm, snuggling his upper body against Bob’s neck and shoulder, in a loving and intimate way.

  “What are you doin’, Daddy?” he asked in a sweet, rather breathless tone, “are we going to be together again tonight?” He smiled adoringly at the older man.

  Bob pulled his arm back and jerked away violently. His face grew instantly flushed.

  “What the hell is going on? Who are you? I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

  “But, but,” Rafe’s voice quavered, “last night when I was sucking your cock, you said to call you Daddy. You called me your beautiful boy.” Tears began to trickle out of his big, dark eyes.

  The regulars could imagine how you might call this young fella’ a beautiful boy if you were, well, inclined that way.

  Bob Bolover had jumped off his stool. He was standing now, tensely, staring at Rafe with eyes dazed by anger and confusion. His normal reaction would have been to strike out with his fists but he was numbed into inaction by sheer disbelief about what was happening.