by Mark Zubro
“Kyle paid them?”
Dave nodded.
“Why didn’t they just beat Kyle up when he made the suggestion the first time?”
“I guess some of the guys tried, but Kyle was tricky. He usually waited until some guy was alone, or it was only two or three guys, or they were regulars.”
“Frank Boyer?” I asked.
“I don’t know about him,” Dave said.
“You mentioned two other times.”
“It was last summer.” After another searching glance up and down the hall, he told the story.
For two straight weekends in July last summer, he and two cousins visiting from back east went out drinking. They’d gotten really plastered and suddenly a voice came out of the night. They were too drunk to be startled or scared, and then the voice offered them blowjobs. “Mostly we laughed about it,” Dave said. “Nobody took it seriously at first. Then we started daring each other, and finally my cousins let him. I didn’t. I won’t do that kind of stuff with guys. My cousins wanted to go back the next week. We did. Turned out Kyle was around again.”
“Was the first place the same as the second?”
“No, the first was way out near where Washington and Bradley Street intersect. The other was at the end of Myers Street past Dufferin Avenue.”
“What did you see this past Sunday night?” I asked.
He sighed. “Frank Boyer’s truck. You know he’s got an all-black one with the big yellow eagle painted on the hood?”
I nodded.
“We were out near Mockingbird Canyon Lake around ten. Frank drove up, shot the breeze for a while, and left.”
“Was he by himself?” I asked.
“Some older woman was with him,” Dave said.
I described the woman from the night before. Dave thought it might be the same person.
“But you didn’t see him near Victoria and Jackson?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, sort of. It was kind of funny. I took Jackson Street back from the lake. At Dufferin Avenue I had to stop because these two sets of headlights were rushing toward me from the southwest. I guessed it was two kids drag racing. At Jackson one of them was in the lead by maybe two car lengths. The lead guy suddenly made a left, practically in front of the other car. In my headlights I could see the yellow eagle. That car took off down Jackson. The other guy went half in the ditch. We almost got out to help, but after two tries the guy got his car out by himself. Funny thing, when I looked, Frank’s truck was about halfway down the street, but he had his brake lights on, like he was waiting for the other guy.”
“Could you see who was in the other car?” I asked.
“No. It was a Porsche. I remember that.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wednesday 3:30 P.M.
After talking to Dave, I joined Jack in the workout room. I’d taken another Ibuprofen and my ankle didn’t feel too bad.
I told Jack all that I’d found out, leaving out the part about Dave and sex. Avoiding putting stress on my ankle, I managed to work up a good sweat with arm, chest, abs, and thigh exercises. Baseball season was months away so I figured any lingering ankle problems would be gone by then. I wanted to be in as best shape as possible.
After the workout, we went to the locker room. We took showers and while we were dressing, I decided it was time to say it. When telling the original story in the workout room, I’d hesitated and not told Jack about why I was so angry at Boyer the night before. A last residue of cowardice, I guess. I checked after we showered. No one else was around. Finished dressing, I sat on the bench and leaned back against the lockers. I sighed and carefully looked around the locker room one last time. Jack gave me an odd stare as he pulled on his gray boxer briefs.
Jack said, “I’m worried about you. You’re getting obsessed with this suicide.”
“I think it was murder.”
“Whatever. You’ve got the nastiest bully in town after you. I’ve always got your back no matter who it is. You know that?”
“Yeah.”
“Then last night three guys tried to take you apart for whatever mysterious reason.”
“I want to find out why he died, and if it was murder, who killed him. Because he was gay, and I think he lived a miserable life, and it’s not fair that he died like that. I want whoever did it punished. I want to make the world a little safer for gay people.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s dumb. We don’t know any gay people.”
I pulled together all the courage I could muster. “I’m gay.”
First Jack glanced at me, then he pulled on his pants and zipped them up, took his shirt out of his locker, pulled it over his head, tucked it into his pants and sat down. He stared at the floor for a minute then looked up at me.
“You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. I felt a surge of relief at having told him and a rush of fear at what reaction he was going to have.
He tried, “You’re kidding,” a couple more times. Then said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d you want to be gay?”
“It’s not something a guy wants. It’s something I am. You grew up getting turned on by girls. I grew up getting turned on by guys.”
He shook his head. “Dude, this is something I’m going to have to think about. I don’t believe it. You’re a regular guy.”
“Thanks.” But my tone was sarcastic, and I was starting to get annoyed.
“Are you still going to play baseball?” he asked.
“Of course I’m going to play baseball. Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugged. “You planning on telling everybody?”
“What difference does that make?”
“We’ve been friends for years. People might think I’m gay.”
This ticked me off, but I understood I needed to be patient. If it had taken me years to get up the nerve to tell him, I owed it to him to let him have time to get used to my orientation. Still his last comment irritated me. “You know being gay isn’t catching.”
He hesitated, then asked, “You don’t have it?”
“What it?” I guessed he meant AIDS, and now I was really pissed.
“You know, getting sick.”
“Being gay doesn’t mean you’ve got AIDS.”
“Does anybody else know?”
“Darlene on the paper. I haven’t told my parents.”
“You trust Darlene not to tell?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated a few more moments, then said, “This is, I don’t know. I never thought I’d meet somebody who was…What do you want me to say? Why’d you tell me?”
“I want to be honest with the people I feel comfortable with. Living a secret is no way to be. Look at Kyle. He spent a life hiding.”
“My dad hates queers,” Jack said.
“I didn’t tell your dad. I told you, and it’s gay, not queer.”
He got up, took a comb out of the top of his locker, and pulled it through his still damp hair. He checked the small mirror he keeps attached to the back of his locker door. He shoved the comb back onto the top shelf, grabbed his physics textbook and his letterman’s jacket from the locker, closed the door, and turned to me.
“I won’t tell anybody,” he said, “even if they ask me, I’ll lie for you. I don’t want anybody to think I knew.”
I had no idea what to do with his reaction. They ought to give you a blueprint about coming out, what to say to whom, and what to do with their response.
I didn’t know if Jack’s reaction was normal, and if I should wait for him to come around. I thought maybe he’d ask me more about what it was like being gay, but he hadn’t. I felt rotten and angry. I guess I was expecting a warm response like from Darlene earlier in the day. I didn’t expect Jack to hug me in the locker room or declare that he was gay too. I wasn’t in love with Jack, and so didn’t expect reciprocation for something I didn’t feel towards him. But as my best friend I thought he’d be more understanding.
&
nbsp; Jack and I walked out of the locker room in silence. At the school entrance, he said, “Hey, I forgot a book. I’ll run back to my locker. You don’t have to give me a ride. I’ll walk home by myself.”
That about did it. I figured he was lying. He was gone before I could think of something to say.
Head down, I trudged through the early evening California smog to my car. I was depressed and angry with no idea what to do.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wednesday 4:36 P.M.
Because I wasn’t paying attention, I walked into Boyer’s trap. Actually saying trap is probably giving Boyer too much credit. It was him sitting on my car and two of his buddies sneaking up behind me. I saw all this too late to run or to summon help. A couple seconds before the action started, I noticed Frank’s truck in the parking lot about twenty feet away. I thought I saw someone with blond hair in the front passenger seat.
I counted maybe three other cars in the lot but with no people in them to come rescue me. That morning I’d parked in my usual spot near the baseball field side of the school, which happened to be farthest from the street. No passing motorist could see this far away. No lights shone from inside any of the classrooms that faced this direction.
Frank’s buddies grabbed me by the arms. They were big guys wearing short sleeve black T-shirts. Tattoos climbed from their wrists to the folds of the shirts. One guy had a snake twined around a woman with enormous breasts. The other had the word Satan in Germanic script.
I tried struggling violently. I barely moved them an inch. I opened my mouth to shout for help, and got a hand clamped to the underside of my jaw. The grip felt strong enough to rip my face off. For the moment, I gave up on fighting my way free.
“I liked you when you were my tutor,” Frank said.
The guy relaxed his grip on my jaw so I could respond. “Let’s just make this you and me, fair fight.”
He laughed at this. He walked up to me. I misjudged the distance. A foot before I was going to kick out and battle madly, Frank’s foot lashed out. I managed to flinch a little so I didn’t take the full brunt of a direct hit. Still, I nearly passed out from the pain in my nuts.
His two buddies kept their grips tight as I sagged to the ground. My knees thunked onto the pavement. Unlike last night, Boyer didn’t get close enough for me to try a sneak attack. For the next couple minutes, I spent most of my time trying to breathe and get past the pain.
He waited until my breathing returned to just about normal then he kicked me in the head.
I thought, “This is how I’m going to die.” I was on my knees, bent over, head almost on the ground.
I opened my eyes, saw blood on the pavement, and guessed vaguely that it was mine. I shook my head, but that increased the pain. The two guys knelt next to me and held on tight. I’d gotten most of the flat of Frank’s boot between my ear and eye. The whole side of my face felt swollen.
Frank patiently waited for me to recover from this blow. Not one of them said a word. That was the spookiest part. If they’d laughed or sneered, or Boyer had bullied or bragged, I could’ve at least thought they were human.
I tried to consider my options clearly, or find a logical argument that would stop them, or a way of escape, meanwhile hoping that someone would come by and rescue me. I felt close to blacking out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a kid walking to his car. I tried shouting but only a mild yelp came out. My attackers paused. The kid glanced in our direction, scuttled to his car, hopped in, started the engine, and took off out of the parking lot.
The three of them laughed.
But they’d been distracted. While still on my knees, I straightened up. This time I got out a bellow. For that I got a punch in the solar plexus.
I lay on my side on the ground, clutching my midsection. I wondered if I’d ever be able to take another breath again.
Boyer kicked my sore ankle. I’d have howled in pain if I could have drawn enough air into my lungs.
I concentrated on breathing. I opened my eyes a slit. I saw pavement and three sets of shoes. I was able to lift my head a few inches. I could make out the acne scars on Boyer’s face. He sneered at me.
A textbook bounced off his nose. Blood spurted.
Another book bounced off the guy on my left. Suddenly the guy on my right fell half over me. I dropped flat and squirmed out from under him.
When I staggered to my feet, I saw the guy on my left was in a vicious struggle with Jack. Because Jack is so thin, it’s easy to think he’s not wicked strong.
Holding his nose and whimpering, Boyer advanced on me. I tried flinging myself at him, but dizziness and my aching ankle wouldn’t let me get a firm footing. I backed up instead.
In three feet the back of my legs and my ass hit my car. I used it to brace myself.
Boyer swung his foot at me. I moved quickly enough so that his boot hit the side of the car. I managed a kick at the leg he was balancing on and got in a solid hit. He hopped back and glanced around for his buddies. Jack and the one were locked in a flailing embrace. The other guy was on the ground. He gasped for breath.
Frank closed in. I couldn’t possibly run away. I just needed to avoid a punch or kick or two, and then if he got in close, I might get in a decent punch. He made it easier by rushing forward, arms extended. Keeping my back against the side of the car, I ducked enough and butted the top of my head against his nose.
Boyer screamed. The guy still on his feet looked over to see what happened. Jack took the opportunity to swing a roundhouse punch that connected solidly with the guy’s jaw. Jack shook his knuckles as the guy slumped to the ground.
I was amazed to see Frank on his knees, holding his nose, and bawling like a two year old.
Jack put his arm around me and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
He took out his cell phone, I presumed to call for help.
I stopped him before he could hit any numbers. “I want to ask these guys a couple questions before the police get here.”
“You must be nuts!”
“They’re out of commission. I want answers. I gotta try.”
The other two guys were still on the ground. Leaning on Jack, I shuffled over to Boyer. His crying stopped, but blood still poured from his nose. He snorted snot up his nostrils then moaned. “You broke my nose.”
I said, “Good,” then asked, “did you see Kyle out in the orange groves Sunday night?”
“This isn’t over.” His voice sounded muffled as if he had a bad cold.
“How about I punch your nose again?” I asked.
Boyer shifted his eyes to see where his two buddies were. The first one to go down, lay quietly. The other made stirring motions, mostly to do with clutching his jaw.
“I’ll get you,” Boyer said.
I grabbed his hair and yanked his head back and forth. I waved my fist in front of his eyes. “Talk to me, Boyer, or your face is going to be rearranged some more.”
I was stunned to hear myself say such things. Jack gawked at me, but I didn’t care. I wanted some answers out of Boyer, and if I scared him some, maybe it would make up for all the times he had frightened Kyle.
Boyer didn’t look exactly frightened, but I think he decided that the odds were against him for the moment.
“Did you see Kyle any time Sunday evening?” I asked again.
“No,” he snarled.
“Who were you drag racing Sunday night?”
“Bert Blaire.”
Jack tapped my shoulder. He pointed to the right. Slowly and groggily the two guys were getting to their feet. I eyed them warily.
From the other direction, Boyer’s truck began moving toward us. When it arrived, the guys let the tailgate down and crawled aboard.
Wendy, the woman from the other night at the Burrito Palace Drive In, got out of the cab and walked to us.
First, she patted Boyer gingerly on the shoulder, then helped him into the passenger side of the truck. She strol
led around to the front, but instead of going straight for the driver’s side, she came over to us.
I could smell her leather and perfume. She gave me a kiss on the mouth, tongue snaking between my lips, stopping at my closed teeth. I drew back. She patted my crotch, squeezing the front of my jeans slightly.
I winced.
She drew back and said, “Good to see you.” She walked back to the truck, got in, gunned the engine, winked at me, and drove away in a swirl of dust.
“Thanks, Jack.” I was leaning against the car and him. Just about everything hurt.
He squeezed my shoulder. “Couldn’t let them hurt you.”
I asked, “Where’d you come from?”
“This is the closest school door for me to walk home from.”
Again, he took out his cell phone.
“Wait.” I put my hand over it to stop him.
“What? I was going to call paramedics. You need somebody to check you over.”
“I don’t want to wait here and risk Boyer coming back with reinforcements before the police get here.”
“I can drive you to the hospital.”
“I want to talk to Singleton.” I could breathe. I could bend right and left. If I didn’t put too much pressure on my left leg, I could stand.
“You should at least clean up and go home.”
“I don’t want to deal with Mom and Dad, yet. They’re going to go nuts.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“They’ll put up protection squads around me, probably a concrete fence. Kyle was murdered, and he’s got to be avenged.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gay, and he was gay, and his killer has got to be caught.”
“And you have to do it?”
“I have to try.”
Jack kept his eyes on mine. “You’re a brave son of a bitch, or you’re crazy.”
“Maybe both.”
I managed to limp into the school without having to lean on Jack too much. To my relief he didn’t flinch away. We didn’t run into anybody else.
