Chip
By Greg Bowden
Chapter Seven
************
Once he started
school we fell into a comfortable weekday routine. He was at school a good part
of the day and my muse sat on my shoulder for a lot of it, happy I guess for my
attention and ease. The book was going well.
Chip, being the guy
he was, made friends easily and soon found himself in an after school study
group. The other kids at the school were evidentially fairly serious about both
their art and their academics. Chip just naturally fell into the same mind set.
We went to the gym on
most Saturdays, Chip having gotten special dispensation from Bernie. After Chip
talked him into it Bernie said to me, “Well, I guess he’s mature enough to
handle anything he might see or hear.” Little did he know.
Jack and Carlos invited
us for dinner a couple of weeks after Chip started school. Carlos was
experimenting with Saturday morning hours, presumably to make up for taking
Mondays off so we went directly from the gym to his office.
The ride out to Jack
and Carlos’ was more relaxed than the last time, partly because traffic was
lighter and partly because Carlos let Chip play with the navigation system. As
we approached the house Carlos said to Chip, “Your biggest admirer will be with
us for dinner again tonight.”
Chip looked blank. “My what?”
Carlos laughed. “Deloris, Jack’s mom. She was so impressed meeting such a
well mannered and handsome young man—her words—that she hasn’t stopped talking
about it. When Jack told her you were having dinner with us tonight nothing
would have it but she had to be included. I think she broke a bridge date to be
here.”
“Uh oh,” I said to
Chip. “She’ll want to know more about your idyllic childhood in Hustledick.”
“What’s that?” he
said, turning to look at me.
“That’s the place you
told her you were from, remember?”
“No,
that other thing. Idilk.”
“Idyllic? It means
peaceful and happy.”
He gave me a look.
“Well it wasn’t. It was more like miserable and
nasty.”
Carlos put his hand
on Chip’s shoulder. “Well, don’t tell her that, please. She likes you and wants
to think of you as a perfect young man with a perfect childhood. When you get
old like she is you don’t want to think about all the bad things so you make
them out to be nice. Let her have her illusions.”
Chip sat quietly for
a while, thinking it out. Finally he nodded to himself and asked Carlos what we
were having for dinner. Carlos, of course, had no idea.
At the house Chip
hugged Jack like he had known him all his life. After my hug Jack sent us all
out to the patio, asking if we were hungry. Naturally Chip said he was.
“Light snack coming
up. Then you’ll have at least an hour to swim before Carlos has to go and get
mother.” While we arranged ourselves around the umbrella table he disappeared
into the kitchen and was back before we were settled. He brought ice cold beers
for us, a Coke and a plate of sandwiches for Chip.
Before we knew it
Chip had eaten, drunk, stripped and was in the pool, pretending, I think, he
was a seal. The rest of us caught up on each other’s lives but I noticed that
Jack’s eyes were often on Chip.
“Do they all grow
this fast?” he asked. “Look at him, I swear his muscles are noticeably bigger than when he was here last.” He
looked at me. “What do you do, make him scrub floors and move furniture?”
I laughed. “No, he’s
quite enamored with one of the trainers at the gym and the guy’s making him
work very hard to get him over it. It’s backfiring though.”
Jack’s eyes went back
to Chip who was doing backstroke laps but he said to me, “How’s that?”
“Well, Chip insists
the guy show him how to do it and then do it with him. Bob—the trainer—has put
on almost as much muscle as Chip and is—to all the guys—looking marvelous. He
now has a following.”
Carlos smiled. “Kids
often have a way of doing that, making us adults better than we were. Is it
working on you, Dan?”
For a moment I didn’t
understand the question. When it sank in I nodded. “I think so, actually. He’s
got me going to the gym fairly often, made me lead a more regular life, and
even concentrate better to some degree. Yeah, I think he has made me better
than I was. I don’t drink as much, either.”
“Well, I hope you can
still make a mean martini,” Jack said, not looking at me. “Mother would be so
disappointed if she had to drink one of Carlos’s.”
“It’s all psychological,”
Carlos said. “I make a martini exactly as you do but it isn’t the same
according to her. You seem to have the magic touch.”
We shot the breeze
for another hour before Jack decided it was time to get his mother. “Why don’t
you and Carlos go,” he said. “I have things to do here and I’ll keep an eye on
the young man.”
Carlos laughed.
“That’s for sure! If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were quite taken with
our Chip.”
“Oh, but I am. In the
same way I’m taken with that young movie star, what’s
his name, and that Bernini fountain we saw in
Chip waved from the
deep end where he was practicing floating on his back.
“Well, get him out
and dressed pretty soon,” Carlos said. “I know your mother wants to see him but
I doubt she wants to see all of him.”
When we got back with
Deloris, Chip, handsome in his cowboy clothes, opened the car door for her and
helped her out of the car. “It’s very nice to see you again Ma’am,” he said as
though he said ma’am all the time.
“Well, it’s nice to
see you too,” she said as he escorted her into the house. “And I hope your
father is making sure you don’t go all scruffy like so many young men today.”
We went out to the
patio where Jack had set up a small bar and laid out some canapés. As I began
the martini mixing ritual Deloris said to Chip, “You know, I’ve talked to
several old friends and none have heard of
Chip cocked his head.
“Excuse me, Ma’am?”
I wondered how he was
going to get out of this and so did Jack and Carlos. Each of us stopped what he
was doing to listen.
“Hustledick. The town you came from. Last time you told me…”
“Oh Ma’am, I am
sorry,” Chip said with great sincerity. “I must have misspoken. No, the town is
called Hedrick. But I wouldn’t be surprised if your friends haven’t heard of
it. It’s a very small town in
“Oh, no dear,”
Deloris said, patting him on the arm, “it’s more likely that I misheard. Our
ears sometimes fail us as we get older.”
Carlos, accepting one
of my martinis, shook his head and said, very quietly, “The boy is fast on his
feet, I’ll say that for him.”
I served the rest of
the drinks and conversation turned to other subjects. Chip stood by Jack,
helping him with the steaks he was grilling and Jack, bless his heart, kept up
a running commentary that amounted to a class on grilling.
I couldn’t help
wondering where Chip came up with Hedrick. It occurred to me that maybe he
really did come from
After dinner Carlos
and I took Deloris home while Chip stayed to help Jack with the dishes, just as
he’d done the first time we’d stayed with them. After seeing Deloris safely
inside her condo Carlos got back in the car and looked at me quizzically. I
shook my head. “We may never know, Carlos.”
Carlos sighed and
started the car. “No, I suppose you’re right. But how the hell did he come up
with
“I figured there must
be. He’s smart enough to know that if she checked once, she’ll check again.
What I don’t know is if he worked this out before we came or if it was just off
the top of his head.”
Carlos smiled.
“Either way it speaks well for him. You two doing okay?”
I thought about it.
“You know Carlos, I think we are. I guess it’s too soon to say for certain but
we seem to be functioning as a family, a fairly functional one. He has some
little habits that drive me up the wall sometimes and I’m sure I have some that
drive him nuts. But we cope.”
“How’s he like
school?”
“Pretty well, I
think. He grumbles about the math and English a lot but, on the other hand, he’s
working hard at it. But it’s only been a couple of weeks. This one’s going to
take some time.”
Carlos started to say
something then seemed to think better of it.
“No, that’s all
right. Ask away.”
Carlos looked at me.
“You two still sleeping together? You don’t have to
say if you don’t want to. I know it’s none of my business.”
I laughed. “Hey, my life, Chip’s life, both are your business. Never lie to your
doctor. And in answer to your question, yes, we’re sleeping together. But
that’s all it is, sleeping. It was one of his conditions for staying on with
me, you know, after that crazy guy was killed.”
“Conditions?”
I explained to him
how we had worked out our living together. He said he thought we were being
pretty adult about it, both of us.
Jack and Chip had
finished the dishes by the time we returned and I turned down the offer of a
nightcap. They both looked relieved and we all went to bed.
Just before we went
to sleep Chip put his hand on my arm and said, “Thanks Dad. For
Jack and Carlos, and Deloris, too. They’re good.”
In the morning I
awoke to find Chip watching me and grinning. He greeted me with
, “You know Dad, you gotta get out more.”
I yawned and
stretched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look at yourself.
You definitely need… well, something.”
I looked down. My
erection was clearly visible under the sheet. I resisted the impulse to cover
it, knowing that if I did Chip would never let me live it down. “You don’t wake
up that way?”
He laughed. “Of
course I do, all guys do, but most of us also do something about it. Look, I
got to go to the bathroom and then I think I’ll have a shower. Plenty of time for you to, uh, do what ever you need to do.”
He threw the sheet
back, uncovering both of us, and hopped out of bed. “Wow,” he said, looking at
me, “you got a nice one. Really grows too. I never would have guessed.”
I looked at him and
deliberately ran my eyes up and down his body. “You don’t.”
He looked down at
himself. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t grow a whole
lot. But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, it’s still bigger
than mine. Now go shower.”
He went into the
bathroom and ostentatiously closed the door.
Although I was a
little afraid that he’d jump out of the bathroom right in the middle of it, I
took his advice. I guess he was right about not getting out enough because it
took no time at all and I couldn’t control it. I just went up to the top and
fell over, not the way I usually do, keeping myself just at the edge for as
long as I can. By the time the shower shut off I was finished, wiped up and out
of bed.
I knocked on the
bathroom door. “May I come in? I need to pee. Bad.”
He threw the door
open, still dripping wet. “Sure,” he said, “jump in the shower. If you want to
shave I left my razor in there too.”
After my shower and
dressed, I wandered out to the patio to find Chip naked in the pool and Carlos
drinking coffee, watching him. When he saw me Carlos pointed to a thermos and
some cups.
“Coffee there, help yourself.” He looked back at Chip. “Is it difficult having
such a beautiful young man around the house all the time?”
“I’m getting used to
it,” I said, taking my coffee to sit next to him. “But you don’t know the half
of it. He’s that way nearly all the time. Naked I mean. He does put something
on when someone’s there, like Mickey or you guys. I even talked him into
wearing some sort of shirt at the dinner table but otherwise, nothing.” I
shrugged. “I guess it’s like having a really wonderful painting in your home.
You get great pleasure out of really looking at it but you take it for granted
most of the time.”
Carlos laughed.
“You’re learning from him. You just shrugged exactly the way he does. It’s
rather charming. Ah, here comes Jack with some food.”
After breakfast we
helped Jack in the garden, weeding and cultivating. It was a bore for him but I
think both Chip and I really enjoyed it. It’s not often we get to get our hands
in the soil and enjoy the sun on our backs.
Three hours later
Jack pronounced himself happy with the results so Chip washed his hands and
went back to the pool. I took another shower. After that they drove us back to
the city and we took them to a late lunch at one of the better gay café’s.
The next couple of
weeks passed pretty much as we wanted them to. Chip woke every morning at
exactly the same time so we dispensed with the alarm clock. I prepared
breakfast and made him eat it. He went to school and I went to my study where
my book was coming along well. Chip came home around three, foraged in the
refrigerator and did his homework. We had dinner—sometimes delivered pizza when
my muse wouldn’t let me go on time—read, watched TV and went to bed. On
weekends we went to the gym and always went out to breakfast on Sunday. It was
a good, comfortable life and we enjoyed it and each other.
*****************************************
The
man was on the very edge. He couldn’t eat much and snapped at everyone. He had
night sweats and awful dreams that afterward he couldn’t remember. He endured
it for as long as he could before he laid his head on the
alter and pled with God.
God
said okay.
*****************************************
One Thursday while we
were doing the dishes Chip said he’d probably come home later than usual the
next day. One of his friends at school wanted to learn to play video games and Chip
had promised to take her to the J.P. I told him to have a good time and be home
by
He was home right on time.
“You have fun?”
He ignored the
question with, “Women can’t do anything!”
“They can have
babies. You can’t do that.”
He waived that away
as irrelevant. “Well, they sure can’t do video games. She was so terrible. Her
highest score on Space Slime was four hundred thousand points.” He made a face, not a pretty
one. “I can do that in the first two minutes. BJ can do it in the first thirty
seconds. Geeze!”
“See anyone you
know?”
He thought for a
moment. “Not really. I guess they all went to
I pulled him into a
hug. “Yes, I know. But that’s behind us. Behind you.”
We decided to go out
for Chinese food which for Chip is an entire cuisine of comfort food.
The next day, when we
came home from the gym there was a message on the answering machine. “It’s from
that reporter guy. He wants you to call him. Right away,” he said looking in
the freezer for ice cream. He turned and grinned at me. “He sounded horny.”
Hoping Chip was right
I called him right back. He wasn’t horny.
“Chip
there?”
“Yeah,
why?”
“I’m coming right
over. Don’t let him go out. You either.” He hung up.
Chip was on the
kitchen stool eating ice cream out of the carton. “You might want to put
something on. Brian’s on his way over.”
He grinned again.
“Boy, he must be really horny. I’ll just make myself scarce and you guys can
have the bedroom.”
“He’s not horny Chip.
I think he’s worried. He wants to talk to us both.”
He kept his cool but
I did see him gulp. “What about?”
“I don’t know. Just
go put some pants on and we’ll see.”
Chip was hardly
dressed when the door bell rang. Chip looked through the peep hole, the first
time he’d done that in weeks, and opened the door.
We shook hands and
when I offered him coffee or a drink he shook his head. “None of the
hospitality bull-shit,” he said. “Just sit down.”
Chip sat on the couch
and something told me to sit next to him.
“Well,” Brian said,
“Yesterday they finally identified that guy. The one we thought killed those
kids? He turned out to be a sick old homeless guy, just passing through. They
finally identified him from some fingerprints and records at the
Chip turned pale.
“Then he wasn’t… Wasn’t…”
Brian looked sadly at
him. “No. And worse. There was a kid, a hustler called
Pretty Boy. He was killed last night, same M.O. as those others. Stabbed and
his dick and balls cut off.”
I put my arm around
Chip. He was shaking. “Do the police have any leads?”
Brian shook his head.
He turned back to Chip. “You know this guy, this Pretty Boy?”
Chip shook his head
but then stopped, thinking. I could see it was all Brian could do not to prod
him but he gritted his teeth and kept silent.
Finally: “There was a
guy who sometimes hung out with BJ and Fuzzy. Mostly Fuzzy.”
He stopped and looked up at the corner where the ceiling and the walls met.
“Short. Not fat but…”
Brian offered,
“Stocky?”
Chip didn’t look at
him. “Stocky. Sort of long hair. Light brown. I think
he always wore boots. At least whenever I saw him.”
“Hair’s a kind of
catsup red now but the rest is accurate. When did you see him
last?”
“Before. Before I came here.”
He wasn’t shaking anymore but he seemed to be slipping into a trance, his voice
even and devoid of and emotion.
“Did he hang out at
the J.P?” I asked quietly.
He started to shake
his head and then whispered, “Oh my God.”
Brian leapt out of
his chair and kneeled in front of Chip. “What?”
“He was there.” His
voice began to take on some color and seemed stronger. “At the J.P. Yesterday when I was…” He stood up. “Wait,” he threw over
his shoulder as he left the room.
Brian looked at me.
“What’s…”
“I don’t know,” I
said, “but he’s obviously on to something. You want that coffee now?”
He nodded. “What I
really want is a drink but I guess it’ll have to be coffee for now. Can I
help?”
He followed me into
the kitchen and watched as I measured out the coffee and put the water on the
stove. I told him about Chip’s visit to the J.P, skipping the part about the
girl. Just as the water came to a boil Chip came into the room with a piece of
paper.
“This
him? Pretty
Boy?” He handed the paper to Brian who nodded. “He’s lost weight, grown
some. I didn’t recognize him with the red hair.”
I poured the coffee
and Chip went to the refrigerator and took out a Coke, his second for the day.
Back in the living room we sat and stared at each other. Finally Brian pointed
at the drawing and asked Chip if Pretty Boy had been with anyone.
There was a long
silence before Chip gave a slow, tentative nod. “Maybe.
There was this guy sort of hanging around, looking at guys. I don’t know.”
Brian looked at his
watch and stood. “Got to go. Got a
meeting down at police headquarters. You stay here. I’ll be back.”
Once he’d left Chip
pulled my arm back around himself. “What now?”
I didn’t have the
vaguest notion what now and said so. Then it struck me. “Chip?
Could you make a drawing of this guy, the one who was hanging around?”
Chip gave that
unconscious shrug of the shoulders and left the room, going down to his study.
I picked up the coffee things, took them to the kitchen and washed them. After
that I was at loose ends. Finally I went down to Chip’s room and, since the
door was open, asked if I could come in. He waved me in with a gesture that
reminded me of a boss I’d once had; the way he’d invited you in when he was
concentrating on something else.
I sat on his couch
and watched him draw.
Several hours later,
around seven, the door bell rang. It was Brian, bearing two large pizzas,
garlic bread and a six-pack of cold beer. “I didn’t know what kind you like,”
he said carrying the food into the kitchen, “so I got a pepperoni and a
combination. Hope that’s alright.”
Chip must have
smelled the pizza because he immediately appeared at the door. “I’m starved,”
he said. “What kind?”
It turned out that it
really didn’t matter because if it was pizza Chip liked it. We sat around the
kitchen table and had pizza and beer. I even let Chip have a beer but he didn’t
drink much of it. I don’t think he even liked it—for all of his earlier
bravado.
While we ate Brian
told us about the meeting and how for all the talk there wasn’t much action.
He’d suggested they keep a watch on the J.P. and a guy from Vice said they
already did and he’d tell his men to keep a sharper eye out. “I don’t know why
Vice was even at the meeting and I’m not sure why they’re watching the J.P. If
anyone it should be the Narc squad.” He turned to
Chip. “You come up with anything else?”
“Maybe.” He pushed his chair back and left the table.
Brian looked
quizzically at me and I shrugged. “It’s his way. Just wait.”
Chip came back and
handed Brian a piece of paper. “That’s the guy. The one
hanging around.”
Brian stared at the
paper for a minute and said, “I know this guy. In fact I just had a meeting
with him. It’s Barkin, the guy from Vice. He must
have drawn the ‘keeping-an-eye-out’ duty.”
Chip went around
behind Brian and studied the drawing for a bit. “Wait,” he said and left the
room.
He came back, armed
with a pencil. He picked up the pizza boxes and put them on the counter. Then,
sitting right next to Brian, he began to draw on the figure, adding a
moustache, thick glasses, bushy eyebrow, a goatee.
When he was finished he sat back and looked expectantly at Brian.
Brian stared at the
picture for fully half a minute before the light dawned. “Oh, shit. It’s him. The first one, the guy who got you.”
I went around the
table and looked. It was him alright. The man in the picture Chip had drawn of
his attacker.
Brian looked at his
watch. “Too late for tonight, for the guy I want.” He turned to Chip, “Could
you do this drawing again, without the glasses and stuff?” Chip nodded. “Okay,
if you can make several of them. Then, tomorrow, I want to bring a couple of
guys around to see you do what you just did.”
“Cops?”
Brian looked him
square in the eye. “One. A good guy.
Won’t even ask your name, I guarantee it. The other’s my editor. He’ll bring a
copy of your original drawing.”
Chip looked at me.
“I think we have to,
this time,” I said.
Chip gave a dubious
nod.
“Yes, you have to,”
Brian said. “If we can convince these people we should be able to get a warrant
sworn out; a warrant to search Barkin’s home and car.
If we do, there’ll be something, some clue that’ll point to him. And then we’ll
have him.” He looked at Chip with sad eyes, “And those young guys, they’ll be a
little safer.” He paused for it to sink in. “So yes, you have to.”
After Brian had gone
Chip went into his study and sat working at his drawing table. I left him alone
and went into my study to try and read. After ten minutes or so Chip came in
and asked me if I would come and read in his room. I did but didn’t get much
reading done. Mostly I just sat there on his couch, watching him concentrate on
drawing. About eleven he stood up and stretched.
“It’s late,” I said, “time
for bed.”
He nodded and pointed
at the drawings. “I made four of them. Is that okay?”
I told him it was and
we went into the bedroom. “You need a shower,” I said. He sniffed his armpit
and nodded. Then he came up to me and made a big production of sniffing me.
“So do you.” He
turned on his heel and went into the bathroom.
I sniffed my own
armpit and agreed with him. We both smelled… of fear. I undressed and waited my
turn in the shower.
Once in bed he put
his hand on my arm and pretended to go right to sleep, but I knew better. He
was thinking about the crazy and about meeting with a cop tomorrow. I became
drowsy, beginning to slip into sleep when I realized something was wrong. Chip
was beginning to shake.
When I realized he
was silently crying I pulled up on my side and gathered him into my arms. “It’s
going to be all right,” I whispered. “All right?” He
clung to me, pressing himself against me and burying his head in my pillow. I
rubbed his back and made what I hoped were calming noises.
When his breathing
evened out he made no move to pull away from me, rather he put his arm around
me and pulled himself closer, if that was possible. He gave a deep sigh and
seemed to go to sleep.
I held him that way
for most of the night. It was around five I think when I woke up to find one
arm, the one under him, numb. When I moved it out so the blood could flow again
he mumbled something and humped me a couple of times before he settled back
into sleep. It was then that I realized we were both rigidly erect. I found the
feel of his hard dick pressed against mine mildly sensual but at the same time
not particularly erotic. It was Chip, a boy I loved deeply, a boy I would give
up my life for but nonetheless a boy.
Chip awoke around
seven. He opened his eyes, looked in my eyes and kissed me on the mouth.
“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered but made no move to pull away.
“It’s what family
does, Son.” I kissed him and asked if he knew what time it was.
“Seven-thirteen,
why?”
“Well, I don’t know
what time Brian and his editor will get here but I’m willing to bet it’ll be
early. We should probably be ready for them.”
He slowly moved away
enough to stretch and yawn. “I guess. I got to pee anyway.”
He got out of bed, completely
heedless of the fact that he was still more than half erect. As I watched him
disappear into the bathroom my own words echoed in my mind: It’s what family
does.
Dressed—well I was
dressed, he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans—and in the kitchen he went
to the refrigerator and got a Coke while I was pouring my coffee. He looked at
the Coke, shook his head and put it back. “Can I have some coffee?” he asked,
getting a cup from the shelf.
“Sure.” I poured and
he took it over to the counter where the sugar is. He reached for the sugar and
then stopped, looking at me. “I guess that’s why Bob doesn’t think I should
drink so much Coke. The sugar.”
“And
the caffeine. There’s a
lot more of it in that can of Coke than in that cup of coffee. Put some milk in
it if it’s too bitter.”
He shook his head.
“I’ll drink it this way. Like guys do. What’s to eat?”
He had some cold
cereal and milk but didn’t get to finish it before the door bell rang.
It was Brian and two
other men, one older and dressed in a suit and tie, one looking to be around
twenty-five and dressed in Western boots, tight jeans and a tee shirt
celebrating Pablo Picasso. Brian introduced the older one as Mr. Wilds, his
editor. The younger one introduced himself as Joe.
Chip came out of the
bedroom where he’d gone to put on a shirt. His body language said frightened
and his facial expression said defiant. Again, Brian introduced his editor and
Joe introduced himself, holding out his hand for a shake. To my surprise Chip
shook it. Then he looked him up and down.
“You
the cop?”
Joe nodded. “Detective Joseph Miller, Jr.” He saluted Chip. “At your service.”
“You got a gun?”
The cop grinned and
held his arms out from his body. “You see any gun?”
Chip looked squarely
at the man’s crotch. “I guess not.”
Joe let his arms fall
to his side and managed to look disappointed. “Not even a little one?”
Chip cocked his head
and smiled. “Well, maybe a little one.”
Mr. Wilds, who
probably didn’t see the point of Joe’s little exercise, said, “Let’s get on
with it. We don’t have all day.
Brian took charge.
“Okay. Mr. Wilds, you brought the original drawing this man made of his
attacker?”
Mr. Wilds produced a
sheet of paper and handed it to Joe who studied it for a moment and then looked
up expectantly.
Brian held up one of
the sheets I’d given him when he came in. “This is a drawing of the man seen at
the J.P, hanging around Pretty Boy.” He passed the drawing to Mr. Wilds who
looked and passed it to Joe.”
“Hey, this is…” He
stopped himself and looked at Chip and then at Brian. “He saw this man with
that boy?”
Brian nodded and took
the drawing from Joe and handed it to Chip. “Can you show us what your attacker
looked like?”
Chip nodded and
kneeled down at the coffee table. He took a pencil and began to draw on the
sheet of paper, Joe standing over him and watching every pencil stroke. Before
he was even finished Joe muttered, “Well I’ll be damned. I never would have…”
Mr. Wilds went over
and looked. “It is. It’s Barkin. And we’ve been
feeding him… Jesus!”
Joe straightened up.
“Okay. I’m convinced. Now we have to convince Judge Harris.” He looked at Chip
who was just finishing. “Can you do that again? For the
judge?”
“In
a court? At that justice place?” He stopped,
a look of panic on his face. “No.”
Joe put his hand on
Chip’s shoulder. “That place scare you? It’s all
right. It scares me, too. A lot.” He paused, thinking.
“Okay, I tell you what. I know Judge Harris pretty well. Maybe, just maybe I
can get him to come here. Could you do it for him here?”
Chip got himself
under control and looked at me. I smiled and nodded.
“Okay. Yeah, I could
do it that way.”
Joe asked for the
phone and I put him in my study. Then I made more coffee and dug out of the freezer
some cookies that Chip hadn’t found yet. Conversation was strained and quickly
drained away. Mr. Wilds kept looking at his watch and finally wondered what was
taking so long.
When Joe reappeared
he was smiling. “Took some doing but I convinced the old bird. I’m going over
to get him now.” He looked at Chip. “Keep those drawing fingers limber, young man.”
I saw the flash in
Chip’s eyes and wondered if we were in trouble. “My name is Chip, not young
man.”
Joe went to him and
offered his hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Chip. I’ll be right back.”
Brian went and sat
beside Chip. “Don’t be mad at him. Like I said I would, I told him he couldn’t
ask you anything, even your name. He respected that, that’s all.”
While we waited, Chip
went to sleep, Mr. Wilds read the paper and Brian amused himself by staring
intently at my crotch. I had no idea you could do that but, against my will, I
began to get hard. By the time the door bell rang I couldn’t get out of the
chair to answer the door. Brian grinned and answered it for me.
Judge Harris was introduced all around and by the time he got to me I was able to stand up without tenting my pants. The judge was an affable old guy who, I later found out, was Joe’s grand uncle. He was also very sharp eyed and shrewd. It didn’t take long for Chip to show him how the man in the drawing and the attacker were the same man. In thirty minutes the search warrants were signed and everyone had left, Brian to the paper, Mr. Wild to a luncheon party, Judge Harris to a golf game and Joe to the police building where he would supervise the search.
**********************************************
The
man awoke to the sounds of cars in the driveway. Instinctively he knew who it
was. He got out of bed, took his gun from its holster and crept up to the front
window. He didn’t bother to dress. He knew it was over and he wanted to go to
God as he had come.
The
men outside were pounding on the door. The man told them to stop or he’d kill
them.
The
phone rang. He answered and told them not to call back. When it rang again he
yanked it from the wall and threw it through one of the side windows.
He
went to the alter and prayed. God told him it was
over, he’d done the work well and now would be taken into God’s embrace. He
laid his head on the alter and without warning the
feeling came over him, the warmth in his gut. He looked down the barrel of the
gun and when the eruption of pleasure began he pulled the trigger.
*********************************************
When I asked Chip
what he wanted to do he had a one word answer, “Sleep.” He went into the
bedroom, took off his clothes and crawled into bed. He was asleep almost
instantly.
Left to my own
devices I tried to work on the book but couldn’t concentrate. I kept wondering
what was going on out there, what would the police find. I gave up on the book,
rejected the notion of going to bed and ended up in the kitchen where I spent
the rest of the day at the stove.
I watched the
It was Brian and he
sounded terrible. He asked if he could come over, tell us what happened. I said
yes.
A sleepy eyed Chip
came out of the bedroom. “Who was that?”
“Brian. He didn’t
tell me anything but he’s on his way over.”
Chip went back into
the bedroom and then I heard the shower running. When he came out he was in
this morning’s jeans but with a clean tee shirt. Brian arrived shortly
thereafter and looked as bad as he’d sounded on the phone.
I poured Brian a
scotch on the rocks and made one for myself, lighter and with soda. Chip, bless
his heart, went and got some grapefruit juice. We sat in the living room, Brian
and Chip on the couch and me in my wing chair. After Brian had swallowed fully
half his drink he told us the story.
“First of all,” he
said, “it was gruesome and horrible. I wasn’t there at the beginning but Joe
said it went pretty well. They figured Barkin was
home because his car was there but when they knocked nobody answered. I guess
they yelled out that they were the police or something. Anyway, Barkin was in there and he yelled through the door that
he’d kill any man who tried to come through.
“The cops going
through the car found a lot of poorly cleaned up blood stains especially under
the front seat, right where a knife could be concealed and the driver could
easily grab it.”
Chip nodded. “That’s
where it came from.”
Brian put his hand on
Chip’s shoulder. “This isn’t easy for you, is it? I’m sorry but it gets worse.”
He looked back at me. “I guess they surrounded the place and spent a lot of
time talking to him through the bullhorn. He wouldn’t answer the phone and
finally ripped it out of the wall and threw it through a window. Then, when
they were getting ready to storm the place they heard a gunshot from inside.
They kicked the front door in.
“I don’t know all of
what happened next but they finally went in. Joe said the place was a terrible
mess. Then they found him and that was the worst part. That’s the part I saw.”
I got up and freshened his drink.
“How did you get to
see it?” Chip asked.
“Joe called me, said
I had to see it before it was all taken apart. It was the most terrible thing
I’ve ever seen. The room was set up as a sort of chapel or shrine with lit candles
all over the place and an altar against one wall. There was even a big crucifix
and a photograph of some older guy who I guess was supposed to be God. The
altar was covered with cloth, like a runner on a table only this was white
silk. Not so white any more because it was covered with Barkin’s
blood. He’d knelt at that altar, with his chin on it I think, and shot himself squarely between the eyes. And, God help us, there
was fresh semen on the floor. He shot himself while he was having an orgasm.”
That knocked me over.
The orgasm of death, the ultimate orgasm. I couldn’t
imagine it. “It must have been horrible, Brian, horrible.”
Brian shook his head.
“No, it was bad but nothing like what came next. That made me
run outside and lose my cookies. See, all around this room, this shrine,
were niches, lit from below. In the niches were… were these bottles of
preserved genitals. All the… all the things he’d cut
off of those boys.”
Chip left the room
and we heard him in the bathroom, throwing up. We were silent until he came
back, his face white as the wash cloth he was carrying. “How
many?”
Brian held his glass
out. “Please?” Then he turned to Chip. “Thirty. Maybe more.
I didn’t count. This had been going on for a long time.”
I poured and handed
him his drink. “Those poor young men. How could anyone
do something as terrible as that?”
“Someone
very sick. So sick that every bottle had a name on it. Dawgie, Sly, Buzz, all of them named. And empty ones too,
but with names, like he knew who the next ones were going to be. Joe showed
them to me. Rod. Meat. Dusty.”
Chip went back to the
bathroom. I went in and held his head. “It’s okay now, Chip. It’s okay. It’s
over and he’ll never be able to do it again.” Chip began to sob and I held him
close to me until his retching turned into hiccups. Then I got a wet towel and
wiped his face. When I helped him up he staggered and I had to support him. I
tried to put him to bed but he insisted on going back to the living room and
being with Brian and me.
We talked
intermittently but mostly we stared as the floor, each of us lost in his own thoughts. Finally Brian looked at Chip and asked if
he was hungry. Chip hesitated, probably thinking he shouldn’t be, and nodded.
It was then that I remembered the steaks that I had marinating and the special
sauce I’d prepared that afternoon. But it was too much just then. I went into
the kitchen, put everything in the refrigerator and dug around in the junk
drawer for the Chinese take-out menu.
Brian paid the
delivery man on the theory, he said, that he’d eventually get the steak dinner.
It broke some of the tension and we actually chuckled. Chip laughed, but like
he was on the verge of hysteria.
After dinner—and we
ate all of the food—there seemed little of consequence to say that hadn’t been said
before. I asked Chip if he didn’t want to go to bed. He nodded and left the
room like a zombie. Brian gave me a weak smile. “He needs you, Dan. You’d
better go with him.” He paused for a long time and I could tell he had more to
say. Finally, it came out. “Dan? Could I stay here tonight? I… I just don’t
want to be alone. On the couch?”
I told him he was
welcome to be with us and went to get him some sheets and a blanket. When the
couch was made up and he’d used the bathroom I kissed him goodnight.
When I got into bed
Chip sleepily asked if Brian had left.
“No. He’s on the
couch. Like us, he didn’t want to be alone just now. You mind?”
Chip settled into his
pillow and put his hand on my arm. “No. But I’m glad you’re here.” He drifted
off to sleep.
We both—actually all
three of us—slept well that night, I think because we knew that particular
danger was past. Chip was the first one up in the morning and both Brian and I
woke to the best alarm clock in the world, the smell of fresh coffee. When I
went out to the living room Brian was just getting out of bed. Chip looked him
up and down.
“You don’t have to do
that you know.”
Brian looked at him.
“What?”
“Wear your clothes to
bed.”
Brian looked down at
his stripped boxer shorts. “Well, I thought…”
Chip gave him that
you-don’t-know-anything look of his. “Look, guy, you don’t have anything he,”
nodding at me, “hasn’t seen before and I don’t care.” He dismissed the
subject and went into the kitchen.
Brian looked at me
and grinned. “Is he always like that in the morning?”
“Which do you mean? Naked or outspoken? Actually, most of the time around here
he’s both. It’s him. Bother you?”
Brian shook his head
and slipped his boxers off. “Not at all. It’s the way
I am most of the time around the house.”
“Not when I came
over. You were dressed quite nicely, at least for a minute there.”
He leaned in and
kissed me. “I thought if I answered the door naked you’d run like hell. I
thought I was going to have to seduce you. Turned out I was wrong.”
Chip saved him from
my retort by coming out of the kitchen eating toast with peanut butter and jam.
And that was the real
beginning, the tentative start of a family. In the end it worked out well for
all of us.
************************************************
The
End.
Greg Bowden