The Dream Ender

by Dorien Grey

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You need anything else, just let me know,” she said pleasantly but without smiling, and then returned to her station behind the counter.

  When she’d gone, I got to the business at hand. “You heard an arrest was made in the Hysong shooting?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Well,” I said, “Jake didn’t do it, that’s for sure. I’ve been hired to find out who really did it.”

  “Isn’t that what the police are for?”

  “The D.A. has pretty much tied the police’s hands. He’s more interested in chalking up another conviction than in making sure they arrested the right guy. And when it comes to a dead gay guy, one fag’s as good as another to pin it on. No point wasting the taxpayers’ money on trying to make sure you have the right one.”

  “So, how did you find out about the meeting?” he asked after washing down a forkful of pie with a large swig of coffee.

  “I’ve been contacting guys from the Male Call, and Jared and Jake are good friends of mine,” I explained. “They mentioned it. One of those seemingly insignificant facts I like to collect. I understand everybody there had it in for Hysong.”

  “You could say that,” he acknowledged.

  “Anybody there with a particularly strong grudge?”

  He set down his fork and looked at me. “That’s all pretty relative,” he said. “Every guy there had damned good reason to kill that bastard.”

  “Including you.”

  “Including me,” he agreed. “But I didn’t. And I can’t imagine that any of the other guys did, either.”

  “But you did talk about killing him,” I said.

  He picked up his fork to scoop another bite of pie into his mouth then followed up with more coffee.

  “The subject did come up, sure,” he said. “How couldn’t it? Hysong deserved what he got. But that’s all it was—just talk. Don Gleason said that if Hysong gave AIDS to others, that meant he had it himself and it was a lot more fitting for him to die the way the guys he infected had died, and he was right.

  “What we mostly talked about was our forming up teams of two guys to take turns following Hysong everywhere he went and not giving him the chance to give it to anybody else.”

  “And what happened with that idea?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not much, I’m afraid. We talked about getting together again that weekend, but Jake and Jared were going out of town and Cal was killed that following Monday. That sort of settled the matter.”

  Although I knew the answer before I asked the question, it was an obvious one.

  “And what, precisely, did you have against Hysong?”

  “I had sex with him,” he said.

  I looked at him. “So did a lot of guys, apparently. They weren’t all at the meeting.”

  He shrugged, but I sensed there was something he wasn’t saying.

  “Something you’re not telling me?” I pursued. “Did you have sex with him more than once?”

  He shook his head strongly. “No way, and I wouldn’t have had sex with him the one time I did if…”

  The waitress appeared with more coffee, and Reed said nothing more. When she left he didn’t pick up where he’d left off until I said, “If what?”

  “I’d known Cal for a long time,” he said. “We got along okay, and sex was never an issue. He knew me well enough to know he wasn’t my type, physically. But that one night he made it clear it was time we got it on—without actually coming out and saying anything.

  “I just sort of shined him on, so he started buying me drinks. That should have been a clue right there—Cal never bought drinks for anybody but himself. And he didn’t start doing it until he saw I had my eye on somebody else. Then, he deliberately stood so he was blocking my view. I’d edge over a bit, and Cal’d edge over a bit. All very subtle.

  “And all the time Cal’s talking to me. He bought me that drink, and then every time I’d start to make a move toward the other guy, he would buy me another drink and keep on talking. Finally, somebody else moved in on the other guy, and not more than two minutes later they left together.

  “So, there I am, getting progressively more drunk and more frustrated—not to mention horny, since booze does that to me—by the minute, so when Cal told me to follow him into the back room, I did. He knew damned well what he was doing every minute, and I was too damned drunk and stupid enough not to realize it. He knew I never would have gone with him sober.”

  As he talked, it occurred to me that being in effect taken advantage of was bad enough, but the realization that Hysong undoubtedly knew he had AIDS when he did it was totally unconscionable—and a damned good motive to kill the sonofabitch. And I was sure every other guy who Hysong had used at the Male Call felt exactly the same way.

  “Were you in the service, by any chance?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Navy.”

  “Do you know much about guns?”

  He gave me a small smile. “A little. I did a lot of skeet shooting when I was a teenager, and I’ve got a Colt .38 police pistol around somewhere. It belonged to my dad, and I haven’t seen it in years. Why? Am I a suspect?”

  I shook my head. “In my job, everybody’s a potential suspect, but I wouldn’t worry about it. So, when you were at the meeting at Jake’s and talking…hypothetically…about killing Hysong, did anybody mention shooting him?”

  “No. Like I said, the conversation never really got that far. Besides, I don’t know of anybody there who has a gun, other than me…and Jake, of course. He’s got a whole display case full of them.”

  “Antiques,” I said, just to see if he might mention the Winchester.

  Sure enough. “I know he just spent a fortune on a new hunting rifle not too long ago. I didn’t see it, though, and Jake didn’t mention it at the meeting.”

  So, he knew about Jake’s rifle. But so, probably, did everyone else there. Jake had said he’d talked about it at the Male Call when he first got it.

  “Which one of the guys there would you say might have had a particularly strong grudge against Hysong?”

  He shook his head. “Jeezus, we all did! That’s why we got together. Who can say who hated him more? Don lost his brother, Art just lost his best friend, Steve and Chuck have good buddies who are dying. Any of us who had sex with Cal could be next.”

  No argument there. The thing was, somebody’s hatred was stronger, or Hysong would still be alive.

  This was not, I realized again, going to be an easy case to solve.

  Chapter 18

  I don’t know which is worse—working on a case where the murderer is like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe, or on a case where I actually empathize with the killer. I’ve had both, and this one definitely was the latter.

  On my way back to the office I thought about Don Gleason and Butch Reed and their stories, and I really could understand how good, decent people might be moved to murder. But I also know that murder is never excusable. I empathized totally with both of these guys and was pretty sure I’d empathize equally strongly with everyone I interviewed on this case. And I know from experience that having to turn in someone I knew and liked was probably the hardest part of this job.

  There were still no messages waiting for me at the office so I wrote up some notes for Glen and tried to think of who else I would want to talk to after I’d gotten in touch with the other four guys from the meeting. I’d want to talk to Carl Brewer again, since he knew just about everything that went on at the Male Call and I was sure that whatever had led to Hysong’s death had originated there. I also made a note to talk to the guys Hysong worked with at the construction company and maybe check with some of his neighbors. From what little I knew of him, I sincerely doubted anyone would have anything helpful to contribute.

  We were just finishing dinner when the phone rang. Joshua slid off his chair and raced for the living room.

  “I’ll get it!” he called, but Jonathan got up
quickly for an interception, scooping him up in mid-run.

  “Thank you, Joshua, but I’ll get it this time,” he said, holding the boy in one arm while reaching for the phone with the other.

  A slight pause after his “Hello?” then, “Dick, it’s for you.”

  Joshua raced back into the kitchen as I got up.

  “It’s for you!” he said.

  I tousled his hair as I passed on my way to the phone.

  “Hi, this is Dick,” I said, after Jonathan handed me the receiver and headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah. This is Chuck Fells. I got your message. What did you want?” The voice was one I’d associate with a Male Call hardcore regular—no-nonsense butch.

  “I’m looking into Cal Hysong’s death,” I said, “and was hoping I could meet with you for a few minutes to talk about it.”

  “Hysong was a worthless piece of shit, and I’m not going to waste a minute of my time meeting with anybody about him. Anything you want to know, ask me now.”

  Nice guy.

  “I understand you were at a meeting to talk about Hysong’s spreading AIDS to guys at the Male Call.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “Well, the guys at the meeting all seemed to have a special grudge against Hysong. I was wondering what yours was.” I knew he had a friend or friends Hysong had probably infected but wanted to see what he’d say.

  “That’s none of your business. They arrested the guy who shot him. What difference does it make?”

  “For one thing, I don’t think they arrested the right guy.”

  There was only a slight pause before, “And you think I’m the right guy?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I don’t think either one of us wants to see someone go to prison for something he didn’t do, and I can use your help in finding out who did.”

  Another pause, a bit longer, then, “So, what do you want from me?”

  “You know what goes on at the Male Call. Who would you think would have the best reason for killing Hysong?”

  “There is no best reason. Hysong was an asshole who deserved to die. I’m just sorry he died so quick—he deserved to suffer.”

  “Did you ever hear anyone talk about killing him?”

  “Shit, yeah. Just about everybody after they found out what he was doing.”

  “And how did they find out?” Another question to which I already knew the answer but wanted to see what he said.

  “Carl eighty-sixed him.”

  “That isn’t solid evidence it was Hysong,” I observed.

  “Who the hell’s side are you on, anyway?” he demanded.

  “I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m just trying to do my job. A guy was murdered. I’m trying to find out who did it. Period. I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way.”

  When Fells said nothing, I continued. “Do you know any of the guys who were infected through the Male Call?”

  “Yeah. We all do.”

  “Did they specifically say they’d gotten it from Hysong?”

  “Every one of them had sex with him, that much I know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do the math.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But even though it isn’t any of my business, why were you at that meeting?”

  Again a pause, and I was afraid he wasn’t going to say anything. But finally he said, “I’ve got two buddies I ride with from the Spike. They hung out there more than at the Male Call. Both of them are sick now, and both of them had sex with Hysong in the Male Call’s back room. They’re gonna die soon. They know it and I know it. Johnny’s back in the hospital now, and they don’t think he’ll make it out. I went to the meeting because I owed it to them to do whatever I could to see to it that bastard paid for what he did before they died.”

  “Well, he paid,” I said.

  “Not enough.”

  We hung up shortly thereafter, and I returned to the kitchen.

  *

  After dinner, while Jonathan studied for his horticulture class, Joshua and I had a little quality roughhouse time until I begged off to try to call Art Manners and Steve Morse. There was no answer at Manners’, but Morse’s phone was picked up on the second ring. I introduced myself and explained the reason for the call.

  He mainly verified what I’d learned from Gleason, Reed, and Fells until I asked him my usual question whether he knew of anyone at the Male Call who might have had a special grudge against Hysong.

  “Well, just between you and me, I can’t imagine anyone having more of a reason than Carl.”

  “Carl Brewer?” I’d more or less shifted him to a side burner as a serious suspect in my concentration on the guys at the meeting, mainly because I was trying to figure out who had stolen Jake’s gun—and Carl hadn’t attended. Besides, I’d talked to him, and while I recognized his right to be angry, he didn’t come across as it being a major issue.

  “Well, with the Male Call up for sale…”

  Now, that was something of a bombshell.

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked, hoping my surprise wasn’t reflected in my voice.

  “Art told me.”

  “Art Manners?” I asked, sounding, I’m sure, like a not-too-bright parrot.

  “Yeah. It might just be a rumor, but Art heard it from Pete Reardon at the Spike. Art and Pete are pretty close.”

  “But Art still hangs out at the Male Call? I thought the two bars were arch rivals.”

  “I know. Reardon and Carl hate each other, but a lot of guys go to both places. And I kind of suspect Art might just keep Pete posted on what’s going on at the Male Call. Art told me about the sale awhile ago but asked me not to say anything. I didn’t, until now.”

  “And why now?” I wondered aloud.

  “I’m not stupid,” he said. “There’s no way in hell you can call every single guy who goes to the Male Call, so that means you called me for a reason. You figure if I was at that meeting that makes me a prime suspect and I don’t want you wasting your time thinking I really had anything to with it, much as I hated Cal Hysong’s guts.”

  “Can I ask when you heard about the sale? Before or after Hysong was killed?”

  “Before, I’m pretty sure. Carl’s business really took a dive when the rumors started circulating. I know he tried to get a loan from the bank, but they turned him down because of the rumors.”

  “And how did you know that?” I asked. “Did Manners tell you?”

  “No, I got that from the loan officer at Carl’s bank. He goes to the Male Call sometimes, and we get together every now and then.”

  “So much for gays supporting gays,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, business trumps sexual orientation every time.”

  He was right, of course.

  “And what was your special grudge against Hysong? I assume you had one.”

  “One of my best friends, Danny Popko, died this past week.”

  I remembered Popko’s name from the list of the Male Call’s sick Brewer had given me.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, Cal killed him as sure as if he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger—only it would have been a lot better for Danny if he had. I guess you might call that a grudge. But I wouldn’t waste a bullet on that prick—I wanted to see Cal die like Danny and all the others did. Still, I’m glad he’s dead.”

  *

  By the time I’d finished talking with Morse, it was time to start getting Joshua ready for bed, so I put off trying to call Art Manners until the next day. He and Spinoza were the only two from the meeting at Jake’s I’d not talked to, and I determined to try to reach them from the office. I’d leave another message for Spinoza, if necessary, and if I hadn’t heard from him by evening, I’d call both of them from home

  Morse’s revelation that Carl Brewer had put the Male Call up for sale, assuming it wasn’t just a rumor—and I’d definitely check it out—would put Brewer back on the suspect list
…and pretty close to the top. When I’d talked with him Hysong was still alive; and while it was clear Carl was understandably unhappy with him and that the rumors about him spreading AIDS were responsible for the sharp decline in the Male Call’s business, I had no idea it might have driven him to sell the business he’d had for twenty-plus years.

  It then occurred to me—albeit belatedly—that while Brewer had not been at the meeting, he knew about it, and he’d known about Jake having the gun. Could he have taken advantage of the fact that suspicion for stealing the gun would logically fall on one of the guys at the meeting? Again, he could have used the one he took from Don Gleason, but that would have been a little too easy to trace.

  I didn’t really have a chance to go over my other conversations of the day until after Joshua was safely tucked in for the night. While Jonathan sat beside me on the sofa, still studying, and I ostensibly stared at the TV—I haven’t a clue what was on—I went back over my talk with Fells. I finally identified the muffled alarm bells that had gone off in my head while we’d talked.

  Fells had said he wanted his two sick friends to see Hysong pay before they died, and that’s exactly what happened. Despite both his and Morse’s protestations they wanted Hysong to suffer, it wasn’t inconceivable that either of them had chosen instead to give their friends the satisfaction of knowing Hysong had paid for what he’d done before they died.

  Okay, so Fells and Morse were definite suspects. Add Reed and Gleason, who had their own solid motives. I’d probably find out, when I talked to Spinoza and Manners, that they did, too. And if Carl Brewer did have the Male Call up for sale, he’d be right there with them. All of them were aware Jake had the gun, and any one of them could have stolen and used it.

  Momentarily distracted by a TV commercial featuring a shirtless hunk demonstrating a new 32-blade shaver—“For the closest shave ever!”—that got even Jonathan’s attention, my mind again sank back into speculation. Why did I always seem to get cases with multiple suspects? Two is fine. Maybe even three. But this one had at least seven that I knew of—and how many others that I didn’t?