The Butcher's Son (14 page)

“I knocked,” I said, “but when you didn’t answer, I used my key. I gather they were not expecting me.”

“I’m really sorry about the mix-up. I’d assumed Mr. Carlson had made all the arrangements.”

Well, that certainly explains it
, I thought.

Kevin stepped over to the bed for his clothes, and as he leaned over to pick up his shorts, his towel came loose and fell to the floor. Again, I couldn’t help but notice that little Kevin was a big boy. No wonder Sue-Lynn was always smiling.

He muttered an embarrassed “Sorry,” and quickly bent down to pick up his towel. Then, towel held before him in one hand, shorts in the other, he looked confused as to what he should do next.

“No problem,” I said, and very deliberately turned back to my suitcase.

I managed to find room in the closet to hang up my suit, shirts, and extra pants, and by that time, Kevin was dressed.

“I’ve got to meet my father in about half an hour,” he said. “Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me before I go?”

“Thanks, Kevin, but I’ve got a lot of stuff in the car that has to be brought in, and I have to figure out where to put it all.”

“Well, let me help you, then.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

*

Except for a few items, including a stack of “Rourke for Governor Rourke for Law” bumper stickers and a large box of campaign buttons to be left on a table just inside the door of the reception hall, most of the materials were put in a storeroom off the smaller room to be used the next day for the press conference. Media coverage of the dinner and the chief’s speech to the gathering was limited by the Association’s rules. C.C. had tried to bend them, of course, but to no avail.

When Kevin left to meet with the chief—and, presumeably, with C.C., whom I’d not yet seen—I contacted the hotel’s services department to make sure they’d received my earlier phoned request for coffee and rolls to be provided for the press conference, which was set for three-thirty Sunday afternoon.

I left a message for C.C. at the desk telling him I’d arrived, where the materials were should he need them, and how to get someone to let him into the locked storeroom. I added that I had no idea what he wanted me to do next, and that I would await word from him.

That pretty much did it for me for the day. I was still perfectly well aware I had not been, was not, and probably would not be needed, and wondered again what I was doing here. But, I told myself, if I weren’t here I’d be home, wandering around the apartment, thinking of Chris and feeling sorry for myself.

Back in our room, I went through the registration packet and noted that the press release I’d prepared on Chief Rourke’s professional background, complete with photo, was included. On glancing at the program, however, I was surprised to see that the two-day meeting was to end at three p.m. on Sunday. That meant the press conference was scheduled for after the formal close of the meeting. I was puzzled as to why, and then wondered whether I would be spending Sunday night here as well.

I was lying on the bed watching the news on TV when Kevin came in on his way to the reception. He seemed, once again, to be mildly surprised to see me there.

“Aren’t you coming to the reception?” he asked as he stepped into the bathroom.

“No,” I said, not adding that I had not been invited and was just as glad not to have been.

“Well, you should come,” he said as he appeared in the bathroom doorway with a bottle of after-shave in his hand. “We could have a drink together.”

That was a surprise,

He smiled. “I’m not a prude, you know. I’ve been known to have an occasional glass of wine—though I’m sure my father disapproves. It’s my one little form of rebellion, I guess. Some of Patrick must have rubbed off on me after all. And even Jesus drank wine now and then. And if you were with me, Father couldn’t say anything.”

Wanna bet?
I thought.
Old C.C. would be all over my ass for leading you into sin.

“Thanks anyway, Kevin, but I think I’ll pass.”

He looked disappointed but just shrugged, splashing after-shave into his palm and spreading it on his chin and neck.

“Okay.”

“I see the meeting is over at three tomorrow, and the press conference shouldn’t last more than an hour—two, with cleanup after,” I said as he retreated to the bathroom to finish whatever preparations he was making. “There’d be plenty of time for me to get back to the city tomorrow evening.”

“That’s what Mr. Carlson had apparently originally intended. But I told him you deserved a little free time, since you’d given up your weekend, and he agreed. And since my father will be having informal meetings with the other chiefs most of the night, and I have to be here for a Monday morning prayer breakfast with Americans for Morality, I figured you might as well spend the night with me.”

What’s wrong with this picture?
I asked myself. I knew damned well C.C. would much prefer me to get the hell out of here at the earliest possible moment—as, as a matter of fact, would I.

But Kevin was the chief’s son, and whatever Kevin wanted, Kevin was to get.

He emerged from the bathroom, looking wholesome as all hell, and put on his suit jacket.

“See you later, then,” he said with a smile, and left.

Who the hell is this guy?
I wondered. The guy who had just walked out the door was not the Salvation’s Door Kevin I’d become used to. Even his way of speaking was a lot less formal. And he drank! The Reverend Kevin Rourke was an odd onion, indeed, I decided, and I had the definite feeling there were a lot more layers in there than I could possibly know.

I had to resist the temptation around six o’clock to call Chris’s hotel in New Jersey to see if he’d arrived all right. I knew full well he had, but I also missed him already. I’d told him where I’d be, but he knew I’d be rooming with Kevin and wouldn’t call unless it were an absolute emergency.

About six-thirty, I went downstairs to the main bar just off the lobby. Because the entire hotel had been taken over by the meeting and everyone was at the reception and dinner, the bar was practically deserted. I had one drink at the bar then moved into the equally deserted restaurant. I deliberately chose the most expensive dinner on the menu, knowing old C.C. would have a fit but not really giving a shit. I charged it to the room.

I went for a walk after dinner and was back in the room by nine. I decided to take a shower before Kevin got back, which I didn’t expect to be much before ten-thirty.

As usual, once I got into the shower I lost all track of time. Showers to me are a form of meditation. I just stand there and let the water drain all the tension and the bullshit of the day away.

I finally came back to reality and turned off the water, sliding the glass door wide open to grab for a towel. Kevin stood in the bathroom doorway, watching me. I didn’t have to guess where his eyes were focused.

“Kevin! You startled the sh—the stuffing out of me!” I stepped partly out of the shower to reach the towel.

He held his gaze where it was for just a fraction of a second longer then broke it, a look of embarrassment flashing over his face.

“I had a slight headache and decided to get to bed early. I…I came in to look for some aspirin. I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re all guys here. How did it go?” I asked, making no effort to cover myself, toweling off as if he weren’t five feet away.

“Fine,” he said, reaching tentatively past me to get his dopp kit from the edge of the sink. “My father’s speech went well, I thought. He’s got a lot of support out there.”

He made no effort to leave, although I could sense a conscious determination to keep his eyes on my face. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I started toward the bedroom, necessitating he move backward to let me pass.

“Want to watch a little TV before bed?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. But you go ahead if you’d like.”

He was still standing there holding his dopp kit.

“Did you find your aspirin?” I asked, and once again saw the look of embarrassment as he quickly set the kit on the dresser and opened it. He rummaged around for a moment then came up with a bottle of aspirin, making a point of holding it up so I could see it.

While he returned to the bathroom for some water, I put on a pair of shorts and pulled the covers back. I was about halfway into bed when he emerged. Without a word, he went to one of his suitcases and removed a neatly folded pair of pajamas. He went back into the bathroom and closed the door.

The shower had done it for me, and I was nodding off when Kevin emerged in his pajamas and hung up his clothes. I remembered his telling me once that he always meditated and prayed between ten o’clock and midnight. I wondered if he did it in his pajamas.

He got into bed.

“No TV?” he asked.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I’m about out.”

“Okay.” He reached over to turn out the light between the beds. “Good night, Dick.”

“Good night, Kevin.”

I was just about asleep when I heard a soft sound, a sort of
mmmm
. I swam back to consciousness and tuned my ears to the sound without moving my head, which was facing away from the other bed. A moment later, it came again: “
Mmmm…mmmmmmm…ahh
.”

I was sure as hell wide awake now.

The
mmmm
s became just a little louder and faster, and it sure didn’t sound like prayer and meditation to me. I was aware of movement in the next bed. Then the
mmmms
were mixed with short gasps of breath, coming faster and faster and then a sharp “
Uh! Uh! Uhhhhh
!!”

Kevin was jacking off, and the bastard knew damned well I knew it!

Chapter 11

I awoke to the sound of the shower and glanced at my watch on the nightstand. It was six-forty-five. I lay there for a while thinking about the previous night. I wasn’t sure yet just what game Kevin thought he was playing, but I wanted to be sure he knew I was aware of it.

A few minutes after the shower turned off, Kevin entered the room, towel wrapped around his waist. Noticing I was awake, he gave me a smile and a cheerful “Good morning, Dick.”

“‘Morning, Kevin. Sleep well?”

“I only wish Sean slept as well. You?”

“Great,” I said, then added, “Have any trouble getting to sleep?”

Not a flicker of embarrassment or any other reaction as he removed shorts and socks from his suitcase and prepared to return to the bathroom.

“None at all,” he said nonchalantly. “I dropped right off as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

Uh-huh.

*

About five minutes after Kevin left to meet his
father
for breakfast and church, the phone rang. It was C.C., at his usual bubbly-good-mood best.

“Hardesty!”

“Good morning, Mr. Carlson,” I replied in my best lackey voice.

“You spent all yesterday sitting on your duff, and today it’s time you earned your keep. I want you in that meeting room from one o’clock on. You see anybody with a reporter’s badge, or carrying TV equipment, you bust your ass to find out if they need anything, and if they do, make sure they get it. Is that clear?”

“Of course.” I knew damned well he expected me to add a “Mr. Carlson” or “sir” but I wasn’t going to play along.

“The conference is at three-thirty. I want the coffee there by two-forty-five. Did you arrange for the coffee?”

“Last week. And rolls, as you told me at the time. And I checked with Guest Services when I got in yesterday. Everything is ready.”

“Well, you’d just better be damned sure it is!” And he hung up.

*

The press conference went without a hitch. The cof
fee was there, the rolls were there, the reporters were there—although considerably fewer than C.C. had apparently anticipated from the number of contacts we’d made and the amount of PR material I’d brought along. I was sure he’d blame me for not doing my job properly.

The chief’s speech had been scripted and rehearsed and polished until it glittered, and I tried very hard not to hear a single word of it. Whenever I did catch a sentence or two, it was the usual call for a new era in government with greatly expanded law enforcement powers to protect the citizenry from those who flaunt with impunity, etc.,
ad nauseam
.

He even made it through the question period relatively unscathed. There were far fewer questions about the fire—partly because this was a statewide representation of the media, with, I believe, two reporters from the networks and a couple stringers for papers outside the state. A few of the questions alluded to the chief’s right-wing attitudes, but he had been prepared for them and managed to sidestep or obscure the answers in ambiguity.

And that was it. The reporters left, the chief left, C.C. left (without even a nod of acknowledgment that I was in the room), Kevin and the chief’s handlers and cronies left, and I was, again, left to clean up the mess.

As I was carrying a box of unused publicity materials back to the car, Kevin stopped me in the lobby.

“I think that went very well,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for your help getting everything set up.”

Thanks
. Now there’s a word I don’t think I’d ever heard before in the term of my employment with Carlton Carlson & Associates.

“I’ve got to run,” Kevin said, “but wondered if you might do me a favor?”

“Sure. What?”

“I’ve got to join my father and Mr. Carlson and some of the chiefs for dinner, but I thought that, when I get back to the room, it might be nice to relax for a while and celebrate with a small bottle of wine. Would you mind picking one up? And I hope you’ll consider sharing it with me.”

“What kind would you like?” I asked, hoping my bafflement wasn’t too obvious.

“I really don’t know, I seldom drink. But perhaps a cabernet?”

“Sure.”

And with a smile and a small wave, he moved off in one direction while I continued in the other, wondering for the hundredth time what in hell was going on.