The Butcher's Son (26 page)

“We will be keeping a close watch on Kevin’s treatment,” I said, still staring directly at the chief, “and you
did
understand what I was referring to when I used the word
non-judgmentally
in selecting a facility for his care?”

The chief nodded again.

I got up from my chair, followed by Bob, who gave me a puzzled look.

“Then we’ll be leaving. Mr. McNearny, if you could unlock the door for us?”

McNearny got out of his chair, expressionless, and led us from the office to the front door, which he unlocked and pushed open for us.

Neither Bob nor I spoke until we got into the car.

“Was it just me, or was that too easy?” Bob asked.

“Not really,” I said, waiting until a truck went by before pulling out into traffic. “He really didn’t have a choice. Either way, his political career is over, and he knows it.

“The chief is a bigot, a bully, and a loathsome human being, but he is not stupid. I doubt he knew, or knows, everything. But he knows enough, and he’s probably known all along, that Kevin was in serious need of help but just refused to face it. As long as Kevin was the good little breeder son he always wanted, he could probably overlook a lot.

“I’m still not sure he knows about Patrick, and in a way, I hope he doesn’t. Patrick belongs to Kevin. He always has. I just hope that some day Patrick and Kevin can come to terms with one another and realize that love doesn’t end with death.” I looked at Bob, and reached out to pat his leg. “As if I had to tell you.”

*

Chief Rourke withdrew from the race for governor
the next day, citing family obligations relating to the discovery of his one son’s remains and the subsequent emotional breakdown of his oldest surviving son. Kevin was never charged with any of the arsons or the deaths, and although his involvement came to be widespread knowledge, the exact details and circumstances were never made public. Everyone seemed satisfied the issue was resolved.

I mailed my resignation to Carlton Carlson & Associates on Saturday and never looked back.

*

A month or so later, Bob, Tom, Don and I got to
gether
for dinner at Rasputin’s. I had apologized to Don for hanging up on him after he’d told me about Patrick, but he understood.

He and Tom were planning on moving in together, and Tom was considering an offer from a large insurance company to serve as their arson investigator/arbitrator. Bob was busy preparing for the reopening of his bar, which he had decided would have a new name: Ramón’s.

I’d given quite a bit of thought, in the intervening weeks, to exactly where I wanted to take my life, now that my halcyon days with old C.C. were over, and I’d made a decision. I had just been waiting for tonight to run it past my friends, hoping they’d agree it was a good idea but intending to pursue it whether they did or didn’t.

But before I had a chance to bring it up, the three of them exchanged glances.

“We’ve got the perfect job for you.” Bob said. “I was talking with other members of the Bar Guild, and they agree.”

“What? I should open a bar?”

“No,” Tom said. “We all think you should seriously think about becoming a private investigator. I always told you you’re a nosy bastard, and this way you could be nosy and get paid for it.”

Don nodded. “If it hadn’t been for you, Chief Rourke might have been our next governor, and God only knows what would have happened with the fires.”

“I’m sure the Guild members will be able to keep you supplied with referrals,” Bob added. “Will you think about it?”

I took another quick mental inventory of the current situation.

Chris was happy and well in New York.

Bacchus’s Lair had closed.

T/T had moved to New Orleans to take a job at a world-famous drag club.

Salvation’s Door was closed, its flock transferred to a new city-run shelter three blocks down on Boyle.

Construction had begun on a drive-through dry-cleaners on the site where the Dog Collar had stood.

The times
, I thought,
they
are
a’changin’.

I smiled at Don, Tom, and Bob in turn.

“Funny you should mention that…”

Author’s Note

On Tuesday, June 27, 1967, New York City police conducted a routine raid on a popular Greenwich Village gay bar, the Stonewall Inn. Gays were easy targets and a source of income for cities, which engaged in active harassment. But this time, for the first time, the gays refused to submit to the raid, and fought back. A crowd of two thousand gathered on the street outside the bar, and police reinforcements were called in.

The next night, even more gays and lesbians gathered at and in front of the Stonewall, necessitating that the police call in the riot squad.

On Wednesday, July 5, one thousand protesters met in front of the Stonewall and began a protest march.

With those actions, gays and lesbians across the nation realized that they did not have to be submissive anymore. The battle for gay rights had begun.

The Butcher’s Son
, as do the rest of the first five books of the Dick Hardesty series, reflects the hostile relationship and struggle between the gay community and the majority of local law enforcement agencies across the nation, which upheld laws and attitudes that saw homosexuals as little more than criminals deserving of punishment. The gay community’s smoldering resentment of these attitudes and actions committed by police, whose job is to “protect and serve” all citizens, finally burst into flame with Stonewall.

The fire is nearly out, but burning embers remain.

—Dorien Grey

About the Author

If it is possible to have a split personality without being schizophrenic,
Dorien Grey
qualifies.

When long-time book and magazine editor Roger Margason chose the pseudonym “Dorien Grey” for his first novel, it set off a chain of circumstances that has led to a comfortable division of labor and responsibility. Roger has charge of day-to-day existence, freeing Dorien―with the help of Roger’s fingers―to write. It has reached the point where Roger merely sits back and reads the stories Dorien brings forth on the computer screen.

It’s not as though Roger has not had an uninteresting life of his own. Two years into college, he left to join the Naval Aviation Cadet program. Washing out after a year, he spent the rest of his brief military career on an aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean at the height of the Cold War.

Returning to Northern Illinois University after service, he graduated with a BA in English and embarked on a series of jobs that worked him into the editing field.

While working for a Los Angeles publishing house, he was instrumental in establishing a division exclusively for the publication of gay paperbacks and magazines, of which he became editor. He moved on to edit a leading LA-based international gay men’s magazine.

Tiring of earthquakes, brush fires, mud slides, and riots, he returned to the Midwest, where Dorien emerged, full-blown, like Venus from the sea. They’ve been inseparable (and interchangeable) ever since.

Roger—and Dorien, of course—moved back to Chicago in 2006, where they now devote full time to writing.