One Dead Drag Queen (15 page)

“You want us to just parade ourselves around the countryside?” Scott asked.

“Which we’ve done a lot of. We both willingly went on all those talk shows. I don’t regret that decision. I’m going to be part of finding out what the hell is going on. Whether or not the threats against us are mixed up in the bombing, I’m going to work on it. This is going to stop.”

“How?”

“You already said my school doesn’t expect me back this week. I’m going to spend the time figuring things out.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You want to help?”

“I’m not feeling like I have a lot of choices here. If I let you go by yourself, I’ll feel guilt about not helping. I’d be worried every minute you’re gone.”

“Here I am awake only a few hours and inflicting guilt on the one I love the best. I must be close to one hundred percent better.”

“Joke if you like. I’m really worried.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, I said, “I’m sorry about my levity. Maybe it’s just nervous relief.” I shifted in the bed. My butt was sore. “We both know we probably can do little, if anything, to help solve the major crime here. By doing something proactive, I think we can at least give ourselves some peace of mind about the personal threats.”

“Do you think you can stop them?”

“The more we can find out the better.”

We looked at each other brown eyes to blue. I’m a sucker for that puppy-dog look of his. Have been since the day I met him. It also turns me on. So, I’m afraid at that moment, memories of him naked mingled with less pornographic love and affection.

At last he nodded slightly. “Okay, I’ll help. What do we do first?”

“We could start with that typed note that was found here. We should be able to get a list of who’s working on this floor. Would a criminal be fortunate enough to have a job in the exact spot I happen to be brought to? Unlikely. It was probably somebody from outside, but we’ll keep the list handy for cross-reference. We can check if Borini and Faslo found anything out. Although if they’re homophobic, maybe they won’t do all that much.”

“I offered them an awful lot of money, and they turned it down. That’s got to be a positive sign.”

“I hope so. I also think we should work on the explosion.”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t do any good to investigate that.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll be able to solve it,” I said, “but I think we can nose around the edges and with any luck find out something that relates to our problem.”

“That doesn’t sound plausible.”

“It’s more plausible than running to an island or trying to hide in a lead-lined bunker.”

“You’re the one who mentioned the lead-lined bunker,” Scott pointed out.

“No bunker, no island. We find out what we can about the threats and the explosion. If the two meet in the middle, I’d be stunned, but I want to try both. I know we can’t interview every suspect, but we do have connections.”

Scott nodded and touched my hand. “If you promise to be very careful, and keep guards around and not take any risks.”

“What about your guards and Kearn’s news about McCutcheon?”

“I still trust him,” Scott said.

“I don’t think we can trust anybody at this point.”

After a few moments, he said, “Look, we are not alone against the world. We have friends. We have people who care about us. We can’t do this by ourselves. We’ve got to trust someone at some point.”

“For now I’m suggesting a healthy skepticism about everybody until we find out incontrovertibly that they can be trusted.”

“I suppose we really don’t have much choice.”

“I agree.” I sat up a little straighter in the bed. “The first thing we need to do is find out the name and background of every fatality and those who survived, what they did before, who they’re related to, everything.”

“How do you plan to get that?”

“That guy Pulver from the Chicago police seems like a good possibility.”

“I’ll talk to McCutcheon about setting up an appointment.”

“Please do. We’ll start there in the morning.”

The nurse entered again. She insisted that I get some sleep. Although I was keyed up to take some action in our defense, once Scott had left and the lights were turned off, I felt myself getting drowsy. As I drifted off, I recalled the image of the guard standing outside my door.

14

The next morning I only felt a trifle woozy. I got to the bathroom myself. The shave and shower felt great. Getting out of the hospital gown and dressed in the clothes Scott had brought felt terrific. Eating a decent meal felt even better. I think hospital food is okay. I figure if I don’t have to cook it or clean up afterward, it’s gourmet.

Then I got annoyed waiting for the appropriate hospital personnel to show up so I could officially leave. While waiting, I tracked down Alan Redpath. He was in the same hospital, in pediatric intensive care. They didn’t know if he would survive. I managed to look in on him. He seemed to be hooked up to far more machines than I had been. Watching the poor kid sleep made me more determined than ever to find out who had blown up the clinic.

Scott arrived before nine. He looked as if he’d been through the explosion. I hugged him. “You look awful,” I said.

“If I get to sleep, I start to have nightmares about the victims I helped.”

“You were almost one yourself.”

“I know. That scares me a little too.”

I tried to reassure him. “It’s going to take time. It’s not easy to get used to what you saw.”

“I wish it would be sooner rather than later. I just want to be at peace.” I told him about Alan Redpath.

“Poor kid,” Scott said.

The doctor showed up, spent less than five minutes, and told me I could go.

Once in the car, I said, “I want to go to the bomb site.”

“Why?”

“I want to look.” McCutcheon was with us. He raised no objections. I really didn’t want to talk with the guard around. I wasn’t about to ask him for permission to do anything, either.

On the way over, McCutcheon said, “I’ve made a few more calls on Borini and Faslo, like I promised. I heard nothing suspicious and couldn’t find anyone ready to bad-mouth them. As for that employee’s gay discrimination suit, the guy was supposed to be an incompetent dolt who got himself fired for being unable to run some software he claimed he’d had training in. He’s been fired from four other jobs. Three before and one after.”

We parked the car as near as possible to the site and strolled over. The temperature was above normal. The smell of damp and burning permeated the air. Crowds still gathered at the periphery of the scene. To keep from being recognized, we wore baseball caps pulled down over our eyes and cheap sunglasses. Many times this simple ensemble keeps the curious from recognizing us.

Among the onlookers, I saw Mrs. Fattatuchi clutching the arm of her oldest daughter. Periodically, I saw her raise a tissue to her eyes. She seemed to be just staring. I didn’t
know her personally, so I didn’t feel comfortable going up to her to talk.

After we’d made a complete circuit of the site, we stood at the viewpoint closest to the rear of what had been the clinic. Puddles of water reflected the scattered clouds. The aboveground remnants of the buildings were charred by fire. The air reeked of smoke and burned flesh. We could see rescue workers hunting for survivors and the dead in the unburned remnants of the health club across the street.

The police crime-scene tape kept us more than a block away, but from the various vantage points we gaped from, I could still see how massive the destruction had been. Seeing the reality of what had happened made the extent of my good fortune stunningly clear. Part of my survival had been due to solid masonry and concrete abutments used by the builders of a century ago. Perhaps my survival was also due to my tiny and cramped work space and that a little boy had dropped a ball. It had always seemed so confining and uncomfortable, designed more for hiding than working.

I was staggered at the enormity of not being among the dead amid so much destruction. Several unremoved burned-out cars reminded me of how close Scott had come to being immolated. That thought smote me most intensely at that moment.

Every once in a while I ruminate about the decisions I’ve made in my life. The moments of change, the moments when everything would have been different if I’d made another choice. There were lots of regrets and satisfactions mixed with big and little decisions. In retrospect, joining the marines had been a huge mistake. Some of the fortunate turnings had been blind luck. Hindsight said being in a monogamous relationship since before the AIDS epidemic had been fortuitous indeed. I’d had my share of hot one-night
stands, but before the plague. Luck and random chance rather than choice as ruling elements in my life were not an attractive thought. I like to believe that I am in control of my fate. I don’t like to face the fact that I’m not. Deep down I can’t imagine that there is some grand scheme for why things happen. I look at a universe consisting mostly of unimaginable vastnesses of indifference, and I can only see that we are born, live, and die more by random chance than most of us care to admit. Belief is nice as a concept and is reassuring to a lot of people. It just isn’t enough for me.

At the moment I felt overwhelmed by what I saw and felt. I became dizzy and staggered slightly. I leaned heavily on Scott’s arm.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be as brave and active as I said in the hospital.” I pointed at the scene in front of us. “This is too much.”

“You were in combat.”

“It’s not the same. That was far away and foreign. This is at home, where I live. There you live by chance and chaos is expected. I was young and stupid. It was easy to be oblivious at a moment’s notice. Here the world is supposed to be ordered. That was many years ago. This is too overwhelming.”

“You already knew it was bigger than us. I know you. You’re going to get involved. This is personal. Someone you know died in the explosion. You don’t give up that easy. If you didn’t work on it, you’d be miserable.”

Brandon Kearn emerged from behind a slew of television trucks from CNN, WGN, WBBM, WLS, WMAQ, CLTV, WFLD, and MCT.

“Good to see you out of the hospital,” he said to me.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” I replied. Scott had told
me about Kearn’s visits. “You’re still reporting from the scene?”

“Mostly getting some background shots for the continuing coverage. It would be great to do an interview with you guys. It would give me something to lead the news with.”

“Not right now,” I said.

“If the rest of the crews over there get a whiff that you’re here, you won’t have much choice.”

“We should move off,” Scott said.

“I wanted to talk to you anyway,” Kearn said. We strolled southward. At the next corner he drew us aside so McCutcheon could not hear. “My fire department contact called me again. He really wants to talk to you guys.”

“Good,” I said.

He gave us a slip of paper. “He’s expecting a call.”

“What does the fire department guy know?” Scott asked.

“Details.”

“You can’t just tell us?” Scott asked.

I said, “I’d like to get the information firsthand.”