by Gregory Ashe
“I’m sorry.”
Wesley made a little noise in his throat. Then he walked the chair across the room on two legs, moving it into position in front of the desk. He was still limping, Hazard noticed. Still favoring a tender spot on his side.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I’m forgiven, and that God loves me, and I can be a better person?” Hazard asked.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’m working on it.” Wesley touched his ginger quiff, checking it. He sighed. “I was out of line the other day. When you came here, I didn’t even let you talk. I just launched right into it.” A blush crept into his cheeks. “That was wrong of me.”
“So we’re both assholes. I assume God already knew that too.”
“Oh yes, She’s very well aware that I am a raging asshole.”
“Must make all that forgiveness pretty easy.”
Wesley grinned. “You’d think so, right? But no, I’m a pretty vengeful asshole. I think it comes from putting up with so much shit when I was a kid.”
Hazard shifted his weight in the doorway; he knew that this was the part of his job where he was weakest, the moments when he needed a connection with a witness or a suspect, the moments when he had relied on Somers. He tried to think of what Somers would do. Something witty and charming, of course. And Hazard’s mind went blank when he searched the files for witty and charming.
So instead, he said, “I know something about that.”
“Yeah. I—” Wesley blushed harder. “I know. I’ve been asking about you. Why don’t you come in and shut the door? I’ll try to keep my mouth shut long enough for you to ask some questions.”
Hazard shut the door; he sat. “Have you been a pastor long?”
“No. I graduated the seminary a few years ago, and I bounced around on temporary positions, leaves of absence, sickness and maternity replacements, that kind of thing. This is my first real position.”
“How long have you been in Wahredua?”
“A few months. I got here a little bit after Fourth of July, so I . . . I heard about what happened. Some of it.”
“And? The town, I mean.”
“I love it.”
“Really?”
“I grew up in a suburb of Cincinnati. Then I went to college in Toronto. I worked for a while in Toronto, then in Chicago. Then I had a total nervous breakdown. Corporate burnout, and on top of that, I just couldn’t handle the dysphoria any longer. I started transitioning. Then I ran out of money. Then things got worse.” He shrugged. “I was living on the street for a while. Drugs were a big part of it for me, back then. A way of keeping everything at arm’s length. Some friends got me back on my feet. God got me back on my feet. I found a little seminary in Concord, and I moved there. Drop of a hat. I just knew, and I packed up and moved. I’d always thought God was for crazy, right-wing nutjobs. Then She called me, and I couldn’t pretend it was anything else.”
Hazard knew he should let it go. He knew he should just shrug it off, let the bullshit slide. But that wasn’t in his nature, and his mouth was moving before he could rein himself in.
“Recent research shows that the areas of the brain activated by religion are the same areas activated by cocaine.”
Wesley’s smile exploded; it was huge. He nodded.
“So the most likely explanation isn’t supernatural. It’s biochemical. You found another way to score your high.”
“That’s a fair analysis,” Wesley said, still wearing that huge smile. “Although coke wasn’t my drug of choice. I’m an opioid baby. God pulled me out of the fire before I was shooting up with heroin, but it got close at the end.”
“I’ll have to do some more research, but I imagine it’s the same area.”
Wesley nodded slowly. “You really are who they say you are, aren’t you?”
“I’m a major fucking shit, if that’s what you mean.”
For a moment, Wesley didn’t answer. He just studied Hazard as though seeing him for the first time. “What did you want to talk about?”
“What happened between you and Officer Hoffmeister at the Christmas tree lighting?”
“I don’t know who Officer Hoffmeister is.”
Hazard settled into the old chair, and the smell of mildewed fabric wafted up.
Wesley tried to hold his gaze. Then he broke, glancing down at the desk, shuffling a few papers.
“If that’s all—”
“Don’t do that. We were doing so well for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, so I can’t answer your question.”
“All right. Let’s try it another way: what happened at the Christmas tree lighting?”
“Nothing. A few friends and I were there, demonstrating for peace. Christ is the Prince of Peace, and we truly believe that all war and conflict opposes the divine law of love and grace.”
Hazard nodded. “And this town needs peace?”
“This town?” Wesley snorted. “The whole world. But yes, Wahredua needs peace. Where have you been for the last year? Where have you been as politics changed across the whole country? Elections have always gotten nasty, with both sides trying to woo the center while placating the extremes, but we’re entering a whole new level of aggression, radicalization, the weaponization of hate and race and gender so that a small, privileged group can hold on to its privilege.”
Snorting, Hazard shook his head.
“What? You agree with the things they’re doing? You think it’s ok, to run a campaign that way, to drag our candidates down into the mud and see who can fight the dirtiest? We used to be a nation with values. We used to be a nation that honored civility, duty, intelligence—”
“Bullshit.”
Wesley blinked, off balance from the interruption. “Look back at the Greatest Generation, and you’ll see how far we’ve fallen from the values that—”
“Bullshit. Double bullshit, actually.”
Color mounted in Wesley’s thin face. “The Christian values that made our country great are built around tolerance, kindness, respect, compassion, mercy—”
“Triple bullshit.” Hazard leaned forward, ticking items off on his fingers. “One: presidential campaigns have always been dirty, nasty, lowdown fights. 1828. John Quincy Adams versus Andrew Jackson.”
“But that was—”
“Two: the Greatest Generation was just a generation, and even if they accomplished a lot of good, they were also the same racist, homophobic assholes that tried to keep black kids from going to integrated schools.”
“Not all of them. In fact, many of the—”
“Three: Christian values didn’t make America great. America became great because of shady land deals, the decimation of indigenous populations, and an abundance of natural resources that allowed us to industrialize and innovate at a much higher pace than other parts of the world.”
Wesley was breathing through his nose, his whole face red. “If you’re finished—”
“I’m not. I don’t want a sermon. I don’t want whatever bullshit speeches you give from the pulpit or you deliver to the lonely old women who come to your knitting circle. I want you to answer my questions about the Christmas tree lighting. Facts, pure and simple. And then I’ll leave you alone.”
Struggle showed in Wesley’s face. After a moment, he snapped, “Fine. We showed up at the ceremony. We had requested the appropriate permits. We were fully within our rights to peacefully assemble and express our desire for peace: peace in this community, which is being slowly fractured by hate, and peace in the world at large.” Wesley seemed to gather himself for another speech. “Whatever else you might think, Wahredua is sick to its core. Hate has gone to the heart of this place like an axe through a living tree. If we don’t treat it now, the wound will kill our town. We—”
Hazard flicked a finger.
Judging by the frustrated noise Wesley made, he wasn’t used to being cut of
f. “Fine,” he snapped again. “Several of those police officers didn’t like our message. They came over to us and asked us to leave. No, that’s being too kind. They told us to leave. Right away. Or, as one of them told us, they’d ‘beat our pansy asses back to fairyland.’ Not a very bright thing to say in the age of political correctness, but there it was. The police continued to pressure us. Then that woman took the stage, and everything turned into chaos. When it all settled down, the ceremony was over, and we left.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s not the truth. Not all of it, anyway.”
“I thought maybe this was a mistake; I can see now that I was right. I don’t want to be impolite, but I think it would be better if you don’t come back again.”
Wesley stood, obviously hoping Hazard would follow; Hazard remained seated.
“You said earlier that you’re vengeful. You’ve got a lot of anger built up. Lots of rage.”
Wesley folded thin arms over his thin chest.
“Part of that is being trans, I imagine, but part of it—how did you say it? You put up with so much shit as a kid.”
“I think that’s enough, Mr. Hazard. I think you should leave.”
“I imagine, now that you’re an adult, you’ve decided you’re not going to let yourself get pushed around anymore. Even if it means taking some drastic steps.”
“If you don’t get out of that chair, I’ll—”
“Call the cops? I don’t think so. I think you hate police. You might not put it that way, but I’d lay money on it. You’re an addict, after all. I bet you got pushed around a lot by the police when you were using. I bet the combination, getting pushed around by a police officer again, I bet that could shove you right over the edge. Like at the demonstration on Sunday. Maybe one of those police officers was a little too vigorous when he was trying to clear you out. Maybe he even got a little rough. Maybe you didn’t like that at all.”
“You don’t have any proof.”
“Proof of what?” Hazard asked.
Breathing rapidly through his nose, Wesley extended an arm. “Get out. Right fucking now.”
“We’re in a church,” Hazard said, slowly rising, unkinking himself, a mental image of those elaborate stretches Somers did when he knew Hazard was in a hurry and just wanted to yank his chain. “Try to watch your language.”
“Fuck my fucking language.”
“Where were you last night?”
Wesley’s hand, still pointing at the door, dipped an inch. “What? You—” He licked his lips. “I don’t have to answer that.”
“An honest man wouldn’t have anything to hide. An innocent man would just say where he’d been.”
“I was at home. Alone.”
“Oh no. It’s too late for that. Where were you?”
“Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of here, right now. Jamie!”
The girl with the Irish Setter hair poked her head into the room, panting, eyes bright. “Yeah? Yes?”
“Call the police, please. This man is trespassing, and—”
Hazard strolled toward the door. “If you’re smart, you’ll cut it out right now. All of it. Before you make an even bigger mistake.”
He yanked the door shut behind him, and the handle came off in his grip.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DECEMBER 18
TUESDAY
2:47 PM
SOMERS WAS RIDING SHOTGUN as Dulac drove. He was praying Dulac would drive them into a ditch or a telephone pole. Or maybe right off the edge of the world.
“Fuck them and leave them, dude,” Dulac was saying. It had been his refrain all day. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. You get what I’m saying, right? I mean, what you and Emery have, that’s awesome. Great. Good for you guys. But, like, most of us? I mean, I’m a guy. I don’t want to get tied down. I want as much hot ass as I can get. Right? You get that right? I mean, I’m glad he didn’t call back. Honestly. He did me a favor.”
Somers opened the glove compartment and began sifting through: manuals, registration, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, a bottle of lube, eight condoms. A packet of green pills big enough to choke a horse.
“What are you looking for?”
“Tylenol.” Somers held up the packet of pills. “What are these?”
“Oh, no man, don’t take those. They’re my emergency hangover meds. Take a couple of those, drink a few glasses of water, you’ll feel like fucking crackerjacks.”
With a sigh, Somers closed the glove compartment and dropped heavily against the back of the seat. They were driving through Wahredua, the buildings around them shifting in design: the old fieldstone construction dropping away, the newer style of glass and steel and stucco rising to meet them. So much of the new money in town had gone to Wroxall College, and that money had stayed near Wroxall, revitalizing neighborhoods, fueling expansion. On every block, at least one building was under construction. Many of them were teardowns, obviously making way for the enormous, mixed-use buildings that combined living and dining and shopping and working.
“He was annoying too,” Dulac said. “After we fucked, he kept asking me about what I liked to do, what my family was like, if I had a dog. I mean,” interrupting himself with a short laugh, Dulac shook his head, “he kept telling me he liked me. Kept saying how hard it was to meet a nice guy, and how lucky he felt to have found me. Really fucking annoying stuff like that.”
Somers rolled down the window a crack, and winter wind whipped past him, ruffling his hair.
“But, that’s what’s so weird about the whole thing,” Dulac said, wriggling in his seat, straightening up, hands clamping down on the wheel as he glanced at Somers. Somers recognized this part of the show; he’d seen the matinee. “I mean, that’s what’s so insane about this guy. Why would you tell someone how lucky you were to meet them, all that stuff about how hard it is to meet a great guy, why ask about their family and their dog and, like, say all this stuff to make the other guy think you might have this real connection after you’ve already gotten fucked. I mean, you already got what you wanted, so why say all that stuff and then not return any of the guy’s texts?”
“Hypothetically?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“I just think that’s crazy. Don’t you think it’s crazy? I mean, he didn’t have to say that stuff. And he obviously didn’t really like me. Otherwise he would have returned my texts. See, that’s where I think everything went wrong. I mean, I’m telling you, I could tell this guy was really into me, but when I—”
“Gray?”
“Yeah?”
Somers had to take a breath of the fresh air, smell the hops from the microbrewery up the street, the cold wetness of oil and asphalt. “It sucks to have somebody drop you like that. I know it does. It sucks when you really like someone, when you’re investing that first bit of yourself into something and it feels full of promise. It sucks when it doesn’t go the way you want. It hurts like hell. I’m really sorry about that.”
Dulac shifted his thumbs on the wheel; the low thrum of the car filled the silence. Then he said, “Dude, I am glad he didn’t call back. That’s my whole point. I am fucking lucky. I dodged a bullet, you know? I mean, yeah, it sucks that I worked on him for so long and just got one night. I mean, this guy is hot, and he knows how to operate in the Pretty Pretty. But he seemed like maybe he wanted to take things slow. I just didn’t peg him for a player.” Another laugh that sounded like it had a lot of potholes in it. “I mean, he was totally fucking nuts, it turns out, so I ought to be on my hands and knees thanking him for not dragging me into all his crazy.”
“What’s his name?”
“Huh?”
“This guy. The one you worked on for—how long?”
“Two months, dude. Buying him drinks. Chatting him up at the bar. Spitting my best fucking game of my life.”
“What was his
name?”
Dulac buzzed the window down and spat into the street. “It’s not like we called each other by name all the time.”
Somers tried to bury a sigh.
“I mean, we just talked, right? Like we’re talking right now, you and I. And I don’t keep saying, John-Henry, John-Henry. I just talk to you. It’s like that.”
“Oh. So you do know my name? Just not the guy of your dreams who broke your heart?”
“Honestly, I feel like you might not be listening to me. I’m trying to tell you he did me a fucking favor; he was nuts, totally psycho.”
Ahead, the old stone of Wroxall broke the skyline: North Quad, with its vaguely Oxonian look, turrets and buttresses and stained glass. Then, scattered around the original buildings like the architectural dumpings of the twentieth century, additions to campus showed examples of various designs. One particular building, which looked like a spaceship combined with a greenhouse, all glass and brass flashing, was their destination.
“I just think what really doesn’t make sense,” Dulac began again, “is why he kept telling me how much he liked me.”
Somers couldn’t quite stifle the groan this time; he tried to pretend he was stretching.
“And those questions, man. I mean, it was like he genuinely wanted to know. Like, I get it, ok? A guy like me, I get it. I want to fuck around as much as the next guy. I’m glad I’m not on a leash. I’m glad I get to run around and stamp as much dick in my passport as possible. That’s fucking awesome.”
“Right.”
“I mean, do I ask myself, sometimes, if it’d be nice to come home and talk to somebody? Sure. I’m not crazy, you know. Like, I get it. What you and Emery have, that’s fucking awesome. I mean, it’d be nice to have somebody to take to dinner, you know. Just dinner. And spitting game, Jesus, sometimes I’m so fucking sick of always being on, always trying to impress some guy, ok? Maybe I just want some fucking cheese fries and somebody who will eat on the couch so we can watch Community and laugh at all the same parts.”
“Ok, park the car. Right now.”
“What? I thought we were going to that big glass dildo building—ok, ok, I’m parking.”
