"Midnight Clear" 43
The loft.
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, December 2005
Brian waited until they were halfway to the loft to ask the question that had been playing on his mind.
"So, Michael said you were out looking for the guy who did it. He says you saw him. You know who it is. Is that true?"
Carl nodded, his eyes on the road. "I was sitting in the diner, keeping Deb company on Christmas Eve, when Justin came in. He just got off work. He wanted a couple of lemon squares to take home. That's when I told him about Kenny Rikert being suspended."
Brian frowned at Carl. "Who?"
"A cop. Jim Stockwell's ex-partner. The guy... he was a bad cop. He'd been harassing gay men on Liberty Avenue. Justin says he stopped you two on Halloween."
"Shit," Brian breathed. "I remember him. He'd stopped Justin before and asked for his ID. That's the guy who did it? Are you certain?"
"I'm certain," said Carl. "Justin left the diner without his lemon squares, so Deb sent me after him. I... I heard someone yelling for help from the alley. I started running and a man nearly knocked me over. It was Rikert. I tried to hold onto him, but I couldn't. I knew immediately that he'd done something to Justin. He'd been stalking him. Justin fit the profile -- young, slender, blond. Just what Rikert liked."
"Wait!" Brian's head was spinning. "This guy was stalking Justin? How do you know?"
"Justin told me when I saw him on the street a few weeks ago," Carl explained. "Rikert had been warned away from Liberty Avenue, but I saw him there. Then I saw Justin and he told me about the guy stopping him more than once. Like I say, Justin fit the profile of what Rikert liked. He was known for picking up hustlers, all of them young blonds. And... this is hard to say, but he was suspected in the murder of a young hustler a few years ago. The one who was found in the dumpster down the street. I was investigating that murder when I met Deb. But Stockwell, who was the Chief back then, killed the investigation. Rikert was forced into retirement, but when Stockwell became mayor he brought him back and put him on the street."
"Goddamn!" Brian swore. "And this is the police force that's supposed to protect us? This is Stockwell's Family Friendly Pittsburgh? It's bullshit, Carl! The cops are rounding up queers for kissing on the street, while other cops are fucking and then killing other queers? Do you know how fucked up that is?"
"I agree," said Carl. "And I'm sorry."
"Why didn't Justin tell me he was being stalked?" Brian's voice rose. "Or more to the point -- why the fuck didn't YOU tell me?"
"I thought you knew," Carl replied. "I thought Justin told you everything. What can I say? Justin obviously didn't want you to worry about him. He thought he could take care of himself. But Rikert... he was a psychopath. I know I'm at fault. The whole police force -- and that includes Stockwell -- is at fault. What can I do? It won't change what's happened."
Brian slammed his hand against the dashboard in frustration. "And I suppose that murdering bastard will get off again! That fucking Stockwell will come to his rescue! That's bullshit, Carl! Total bullshit!"
Carl pulled his car up in front of Brian's building. "Rikert won't get away. He didn't get away. We went to his house this morning to arrest him. He was dead. Shot himself in the head with his service revolver."
"Dead," Brian repeated. "That saves me the trouble of killing him."
"Listen," Carl warned. "The department is going to take care of this. Stockwell isn't going to get off on this one. He allowed Rikert to run loose and he's as responsible as anyone for what happened to Justin. I'm ready to retire, Brian, but I'm not leaving the force until this matter is settled. It's my last duty as an officer of the law in the Pittsburgh PD. I promise you that. And I promise Justin."
"Yeah!" Brian coughed. "I take a lot of fucking comfort in that! The law and the Pittsburgh PD!"
"I give you my word," said Carl. "That's all I can do."
Carl went into the building with Brian and they rode up the elevator in silence. Brian was still digesting everything Carl had told him. It was unbelievable! But he knew Carl had told him the truth. And that truth was too painful for him to accept.
Justin wanted to be a man. To pull his own weight and take care of himself. He and Brian -- equals. He was too brave for his own good. Too fucking brave!
But at what cost? His life? His health? And if he got better, would he ever be the same? Because Brian knew that he would never be the same. Never.
Brian unlocked the door and pulled it back. The first thing he saw was a scraggly little Christmas tree, sitting on top of his fucking Mies van der Rohe coffee table. Brian walked over to it and fingered one of the branches, a strand of tinsel hanging from it.
"Go home, Carl," said Brian. "Debbie must be waiting for you. You don't want to ruin her Christmas dinner."
"Come with me," Carl urged. "Don't stay here alone."
"I'm used to being alone," Brian replied. "Remember? Brian Fucking Kinney! The Lone Wolf! The Cat Who Walks By Himself. It's my natural condition."
"Please," said Carl. "Come back home with me. Have something to eat. Emmett is helping Deb with dinner. And Ted'll be there, too, of course."
"You guys have fun." Brian walked Carl to the door. "I have big plans. Things to think about. Things to arrange."
"Stay away from that hospital," said Carl. "I don't want to have to spring you twice in one day."
"I'll take that under consideration." Brian opened the door. "Tell Deb 'Merry Christmas' from me."
"I almost forgot." Carl took something out of his pocket. "This was found on the sidewalk, next to the Jeep. It's still parked over on Liberty Avenue, by the way, so you might want to pick it up. And you'll need this."
Carl put the small object into Brian's hand. A 'Yellow Submarine' keyring.
Brian's fingers closed around it. "Oh, God! He's going to die, isn't he?"
"No," said Carl firmly. "I don't think so. Justin is a fighter -- and so are you. One thing I've learned from living with Debbie is that you fags are tough. Tougher than I'd ever have believed. You have to be in order to put up with the shit the world sends your way. What's that song Debbie is always playing? 'I Will Survive'?"
"Not that!" said Brian. "Anything but that fucking song! It's enough to turn me straight!"
Carl put his hand on Brian's shoulder. "I don't think so. But the song is right. I think you will survive. You both will. So keep strong, Brian. That kid is going to need you -- almost as much as you need him."
After Carl left Brian wandered around the loft. He turned on the white lights Justin had strung all over the room. And he plugged in the lights on the little tree on the coffee table. Then he sat and stared at it until it got dark outside.
He took off his clothes and carefully folded the Armani tux. Then he took a long, hot shower. Afterwards, he tried to eat a piece of toast, but his stomach was churning and he couldn't keep it down. So he downed a glass of milk, poured himself a tumbler of Jim Beam, and stood by the window, drinking and smoking and watching the snow begin to fall.
It was getting late and Christmas was almost over.
Justin loved the snow. He loved watching it fall. He loved the city when it turned white and quiet and beautiful in the middle of the night. He said that when he was a child the snowflakes reminded him of angel's wings.
"Angel's wings," Brian whispered. But then he couldn't whisper anymore. "Justin!" he called out as loudly as he could. "Justin!"
***
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, December 2005
Brian waited until they were halfway to the loft to ask the question that had been playing on his mind.
"So, Michael said you were out looking for the guy who did it. He says you saw him. You know who it is. Is that true?"
Carl nodded, his eyes on the road. "I was sitting in the diner, keeping Deb company on Christmas Eve, when Justin came in. He just got off work. He wanted a couple of lemon squares to take home. That's when I told him about Kenny Rikert being suspended."
Brian frowned at Carl. "Who?"
"A cop. Jim Stockwell's ex-partner. The guy... he was a bad cop. He'd been harassing gay men on Liberty Avenue. Justin says he stopped you two on Halloween."
"Shit," Brian breathed. "I remember him. He'd stopped Justin before and asked for his ID. That's the guy who did it? Are you certain?"
"I'm certain," said Carl. "Justin left the diner without his lemon squares, so Deb sent me after him. I... I heard someone yelling for help from the alley. I started running and a man nearly knocked me over. It was Rikert. I tried to hold onto him, but I couldn't. I knew immediately that he'd done something to Justin. He'd been stalking him. Justin fit the profile -- young, slender, blond. Just what Rikert liked."
"Wait!" Brian's head was spinning. "This guy was stalking Justin? How do you know?"
"Justin told me when I saw him on the street a few weeks ago," Carl explained. "Rikert had been warned away from Liberty Avenue, but I saw him there. Then I saw Justin and he told me about the guy stopping him more than once. Like I say, Justin fit the profile of what Rikert liked. He was known for picking up hustlers, all of them young blonds. And... this is hard to say, but he was suspected in the murder of a young hustler a few years ago. The one who was found in the dumpster down the street. I was investigating that murder when I met Deb. But Stockwell, who was the Chief back then, killed the investigation. Rikert was forced into retirement, but when Stockwell became mayor he brought him back and put him on the street."
"Goddamn!" Brian swore. "And this is the police force that's supposed to protect us? This is Stockwell's Family Friendly Pittsburgh? It's bullshit, Carl! The cops are rounding up queers for kissing on the street, while other cops are fucking and then killing other queers? Do you know how fucked up that is?"
"I agree," said Carl. "And I'm sorry."
"Why didn't Justin tell me he was being stalked?" Brian's voice rose. "Or more to the point -- why the fuck didn't YOU tell me?"
"I thought you knew," Carl replied. "I thought Justin told you everything. What can I say? Justin obviously didn't want you to worry about him. He thought he could take care of himself. But Rikert... he was a psychopath. I know I'm at fault. The whole police force -- and that includes Stockwell -- is at fault. What can I do? It won't change what's happened."
Brian slammed his hand against the dashboard in frustration. "And I suppose that murdering bastard will get off again! That fucking Stockwell will come to his rescue! That's bullshit, Carl! Total bullshit!"
Carl pulled his car up in front of Brian's building. "Rikert won't get away. He didn't get away. We went to his house this morning to arrest him. He was dead. Shot himself in the head with his service revolver."
"Dead," Brian repeated. "That saves me the trouble of killing him."
"Listen," Carl warned. "The department is going to take care of this. Stockwell isn't going to get off on this one. He allowed Rikert to run loose and he's as responsible as anyone for what happened to Justin. I'm ready to retire, Brian, but I'm not leaving the force until this matter is settled. It's my last duty as an officer of the law in the Pittsburgh PD. I promise you that. And I promise Justin."
"Yeah!" Brian coughed. "I take a lot of fucking comfort in that! The law and the Pittsburgh PD!"
"I give you my word," said Carl. "That's all I can do."
Carl went into the building with Brian and they rode up the elevator in silence. Brian was still digesting everything Carl had told him. It was unbelievable! But he knew Carl had told him the truth. And that truth was too painful for him to accept.
Justin wanted to be a man. To pull his own weight and take care of himself. He and Brian -- equals. He was too brave for his own good. Too fucking brave!
But at what cost? His life? His health? And if he got better, would he ever be the same? Because Brian knew that he would never be the same. Never.
Brian unlocked the door and pulled it back. The first thing he saw was a scraggly little Christmas tree, sitting on top of his fucking Mies van der Rohe coffee table. Brian walked over to it and fingered one of the branches, a strand of tinsel hanging from it.
"Go home, Carl," said Brian. "Debbie must be waiting for you. You don't want to ruin her Christmas dinner."
"Come with me," Carl urged. "Don't stay here alone."
"I'm used to being alone," Brian replied. "Remember? Brian Fucking Kinney! The Lone Wolf! The Cat Who Walks By Himself. It's my natural condition."
"Please," said Carl. "Come back home with me. Have something to eat. Emmett is helping Deb with dinner. And Ted'll be there, too, of course."
"You guys have fun." Brian walked Carl to the door. "I have big plans. Things to think about. Things to arrange."
"Stay away from that hospital," said Carl. "I don't want to have to spring you twice in one day."
"I'll take that under consideration." Brian opened the door. "Tell Deb 'Merry Christmas' from me."
"I almost forgot." Carl took something out of his pocket. "This was found on the sidewalk, next to the Jeep. It's still parked over on Liberty Avenue, by the way, so you might want to pick it up. And you'll need this."
Carl put the small object into Brian's hand. A 'Yellow Submarine' keyring.
Brian's fingers closed around it. "Oh, God! He's going to die, isn't he?"
"No," said Carl firmly. "I don't think so. Justin is a fighter -- and so are you. One thing I've learned from living with Debbie is that you fags are tough. Tougher than I'd ever have believed. You have to be in order to put up with the shit the world sends your way. What's that song Debbie is always playing? 'I Will Survive'?"
"Not that!" said Brian. "Anything but that fucking song! It's enough to turn me straight!"
Carl put his hand on Brian's shoulder. "I don't think so. But the song is right. I think you will survive. You both will. So keep strong, Brian. That kid is going to need you -- almost as much as you need him."
After Carl left Brian wandered around the loft. He turned on the white lights Justin had strung all over the room. And he plugged in the lights on the little tree on the coffee table. Then he sat and stared at it until it got dark outside.
He took off his clothes and carefully folded the Armani tux. Then he took a long, hot shower. Afterwards, he tried to eat a piece of toast, but his stomach was churning and he couldn't keep it down. So he downed a glass of milk, poured himself a tumbler of Jim Beam, and stood by the window, drinking and smoking and watching the snow begin to fall.
It was getting late and Christmas was almost over.
Justin loved the snow. He loved watching it fall. He loved the city when it turned white and quiet and beautiful in the middle of the night. He said that when he was a child the snowflakes reminded him of angel's wings.
"Angel's wings," Brian whispered. But then he couldn't whisper anymore. "Justin!" he called out as loudly as he could. "Justin!"
***