The hero strode—limped, actually—over to his beloved and awakened him with a kiss. Zach stirred and rubbed his head.
"Holy Hollywood, Bradford! I dreamed we were fighting a dragon and you were almost winning when Renée Zellweger came in and stole the scene."
Brad smiled and tousled Zach's hair. Cute kid, he thought. Maybe I'll keep him.
38
Grace called twice before ten o'clock and then again at the crack of two before Brad finally managed to open his bruised eyes. Zach passed the phone up to the loft where he lay sprawled, wings fully revealed to sky and dune.
"Good work, Red. We're all very proud of you. The Dalai Lama should rest easy now, if he even experienced a moment of doubt or dread. When I met with him last week he seemed to think there wasn't a worry in the world. Do you think he really is omniscient?"
"You met with the Dalai Lama? When?"
"Right before Rosengarten's murder. That's why I wasn't able to call you back. We'd set up a security meeting to discuss alternate plans for his talk in case his would-be assassin hadn't been captured, but he wouldn't hear of it. He would speak in Central Park on Sunday, come hell or high water. He's almost as stubborn as you."
"At least he's safe," said Brad, grinning at the thought of the colossal forces brought together. Hurricane Isabel probably had nothing on those two.
"In fact, I believe he's about to begirt his talk any minute."
Brad looked over at the clock, noting the time with a start.
"As for the others, I understand the local authorities are dealing with them. Your Officer Nava had a particular zeal to bust Johnny K. for impersonating an officer while causing bodily harm to a certain drug dealer in his jurisdiction."
"Poor Fred," Brad said. "What about Jeremiah Jones?"
"No crime in growing flowers, as far as I know. That's all he's guilty of, unless he admits to contemplating blackmail. Halle, as you so skillfully figured out, was Rosengarten's daughter. Apparently
Ruby bought the gun to protect them from him. It's ironic it ended up being the weapon that killed him, but by someone else's hand."
Bradford cleared his throat. "Well, I guess that's nearly everybody..."
"Oh—that missing houseboy turned up in Key West. He got frightened when Johnny K. knocked you out and he simply ran away."
Just one person left, Brad thought. But I'll get to him later.
"We have more precise theories on the who, what, when, and how much of it, but that can wait till you get back. How are you feeling, by the way?"
Brad rubbed the back of his head. "Alive—mostly."
"Zach tells me you didn't sustain any major injuries. And apparently you're responding well to his healing techniques. Not that we won't ante up for the medical bills, if need be. But it must be nice to be in the hands of a genuine healer."
Brad wasn't sure what to say. "He's good, I guess."
"Good?" Grace snorted. "That boy's the best thing that's happened to you in a long time. And don't you forget it." She paused. "Just an opinion, mind."
Brad handed the phone back to Zach, who climbed onto the ladder, looking down at Bradford lying before him.
"See something you like?" Brad asked.
"Oh, yeah," the boy said, running his hand over Brad's tattoo.
"Is that your hot hand or your cold hand?"
"You tell me."
"Feels pretty hot. Wanna make like the winged stallion?"
"Oh, yeah!"
Brad made a quick stop at Purgatory later in the afternoon. He just needed to confirm one thing with the handsome barkeep, now that he knew Perry wasn't the killer.
"G and T?" Perry asked when he entered.
"Not today," Brad said. "But a little information would be appreciated."
Perry gave him a wary look. "Shoot," he said at last.
"I saw you leave the Ice House yesterday."
Perry waited, expressionless.
"Did you by any chance leave with some videotapes?"
After a moment, Perry nodded. "Yes."
"Have you destroyed them?"
Perry nodded again. "I was in them. So was Ross."
Brad thought for a moment. "They've already got Rosengarten's killer," he said. "So I guess the tapes aren't necessary now."
"I had nothing to do with his murder," Perry interjected.
"I know that now, but you'll forgive me for having wondered. Ruby told me you claimed you'd kill him if you ever got sick."
"I've said a lot of stupid things, but the truth is I'd just swim out to sea till I disappeared beneath the waves."
"I hope you won't ever have to do that," Brad said. "Were you and Ross...?"
"Lovers," Perry said, nodding.
"You tried to claim Ross's body at the morgue."
Perry smiled sadly. "They wouldn't even give me that much," he said.
"I'm glad to know he found someone like you before he died."
"I wish I could've saved him," Perry said.
"So do I." Brad extended his hand. "I hope things work out for you."
As Brad and Zach made their way out to Race Point, they passed a gaggle of younger boys. One turned and whistled after Zach.
"Hey, cutie! Dump your father and come with us to Tea Dance," he called out.
"Never," Zach called out, grabbing Brad's arm as they trudged over the sand.
"I guess you must haveIt," Brad said, mildly miffed.
Zach smiled. "I may haveIt, but you've got me."
They walked barefoot, the sand cool between their toes. Brad was thinking about all that had happened in the past week.
"Grace tells me you think my injuries aren't lethal," he said.
Zach smiled. "You'll live, but it probably hurts right here." He pressed the back of Bradford's neck.
Brad winced. "Ow!"
"Don't worry, I have a cure for that."
"Is that so?"
"I have the cure for nearly everything. Just put yourself in my hands."
"I'd like to."
"Then do it. It requires no thinking."
"That's where you're wrong. Everything in my life requires thinking..."
"Brad..."
"For instance, I was just thinking about my late partner. Work partner, I mean. Two years ago he was knifed to death ten feet away from me. I couldn't get to him in time."
"Brad..."
"It wasn't my fault, but I still feel if I'd been thinking it might have been prevented. Only how can you think about something before it happens?"
"Brad..."
"For instance, if I'd been thinking I would have realized the 'Reluctant' Rinpoche was too young to have left Tibet with the Dalai Lama in 1959, as Ruby claimed."
"We could think for each other," Zach replied.
Brad was silent for a moment. "And I hate New York," he said. "I'm probably the only gay man who does, but I'd never go there willingly."
"New York's okay," Zach told him. "You just have to learn to pace yourself. I could teach you."
"I'm a whiner and a complainer..."
Don't settle for me. I'm far too much trouble, he seemed to be saying, like the seller who tried to lower his cost when the buyer accepted at too high a price.
"Take this sand, for instance. As much as I love this place and its beauty, all I can think right now is that it's rubbing my feet completely raw."
"It is pretty coarse," Zach agreed. "But things can't always be perfect. You have to take that leap of faith."
"Faith?"
"I'm talking about the L-word."
Brad was silent. The L-word was not something he was comfortable with. He stooped to pick up a shiny stone, rolling it between his fingers as they walked.
"Every time I come here I like to bring back something to remind me of my trip," he said. "I have a whole collection on a shelf at home. Sometimes it's a shell, sometimes a colorful rock..."
Zach stopped and turned to him. "What are we to each other?"
"Huh?"
"Yo
u and me. Who are we?"
"Why, I'm your Man of Steel..."
"Uh-huh. And what am I to you?"
"Robin to my Batman?"
"OK. Anything else?"
Bradford turned the stone in his fingers, letting the light catch on its gleaming surface.
"Sometimes you just have to go with it and see what happens," Zach said.
Brad walked on. "I've seen what happens and I don't approve," he said over his shoulder.
"It's not something you approve or disapprove of," Zach said, following behind. "It's just something you accept and learn to appreciate over time."
"Like good wine?"
"Like good wine."
They trudged to the top of a dune and stopped, looking out over the ocean as though their walking had taken them to this spot where conclusions might be drawn. There was an unspoken peace about it all, standing at the edge of the world looking backwards into history, the Where-We-Came-From of this once-Brave New World.
"Ross used to come here," Brad began. "It was his favorite place in the world..."
"I almost forgot!" Zach exclaimed. "I dreamed about Ross last night! I'm sure it was him!"
Brad looked over.
"Boy, was he handsome! He was tall and dark haired, with this gangly smile that could just about break your heart..."
"That sounds like Ross, all right," Brad said. A look came over him. "Why did he visit you instead of me?"
Zach shrugged. "Probably because I'm easier to get through to. While he was visiting he said something odd. I didn't understand it."
Brad was watching the waves. "What did he say?"
"I'm trying to remember. It was like, 'Tell Brad thanks
Brad turned to him.
"...for the fireflies.'"
Bradford's eyes misted over. He rubbed a hand across his face.
"You really loved each other, didn't you?" Zach said.
"Yeah," he said. "We really did."
Zach leaned close and hugged him as the wind blew past.
"Did he say anything else?" Brad asked after a while.
"Just one other thing."
Brad waited.
"He said, 'I hope you'll be happy together.'"
"Did he really say that?"
Zach nodded. "Scout's honor."
"You're a Buddhist, not a Boy Scout."
Zach smiled. "I know. And I can't wait to take you home to meet the folks. 'Hello, Mom, Dad? This is my husband, the spy.'"
Bradford turned and looked into those calming eyes that were like looking into the depths of the ocean. He was thinking about Zach's blue hair and the way his lips curled optimistically upward at the corners. He stood watching Zach a long time, as though weighing something invisible between them.
The sun was setting over the water. If they started walking now, the sparks would soon be flying up with their footsteps. He looked at Zach, and then down at the stone in his hand. He raised his arm and threw it out across the waves where it skipped once, twice, three times, before it sank.
"I guess I'll need another souvenir of my trip," he said finally. "Got any suggestions?"
Zach smiled. "Just one."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeffrey Round is an award-winning writer and director and the author of the international bestseller A Cage of Bones. He was a 2005 nominee for the KM Hunter Artists' Awards. His short film, My Heart Belongs To Daddy, premiered at the Directors' View Film Festival, and won several awards, including Best Director. His fiction and poetry have been published worldwide. He was founding editor of The Church-Wellesley Review and its online quarterly (1990-2001). He regularly writes and produces for film and television. Visit Jeffrey's Web site: http://www.jeffreyround.com.
P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery Page 22
