The next morning, curled up and shivering on the grass between the junipers and rhododendron, his back against the house, Leo awoke to the rumbling Vette engine.  He rubbed an eye then quickly flattened when he saw the car speed by with Brian at the wheel.  Alone.

Inside, Justin cleared the breakfast dishes, ran water for a wash.  Thought he heard the front door chime and turned the water off.  Another chime.  Brian forget something?  I didn’t hear him come back.  Must be the running water.  And why’s he ringing the bell?

Justin traipsed to the front door, mumbled, “How’d you forget your house key,” unlocked the door and threw it wide.  “Leo!” Of all the fucking… “What’re you doing here!”

“I came to see YOU.”

“How the fuck did you GET here!”

“Hitchhiked.”

“Well you’ll just hafta hitchhike back.” Justin swung the door a foot, rubbed his temple from a flash memory of standing outside the Loft door with Brian telling him to get lost.  And it wasn’t like Leo lived down the block.  “Wait.”  He stood aside, grumbled,  “Come on,” paced to the couch, glanced back, “Shut the door.”  Another flash hit.  Tension, anxiety.  He waited for Leo to turn back and saw only the same stony stare.  If he was scared, he hid it well.   Justin crossed his arms, stood rigid.  “So.  Why exactly are you here?”

“I got your note.  The one you left in the back cover of my binder.  You said we had to talk.”

“When I got back?” Justin refreshed, “I’m sure I wrote that, too.”

“I figured you’d forget by then.”

Justin took a breath and let it out.  “I’m sure someone’s wondering where you are.  Isn’t there someone you should call?” - who will convince you to Go.  Home.

“I told my Mom I was goin’ on a camping trip upstate with a bunch o’ guys from work.  I think she likes it better when I’m not around anyway.”

Justin caught Leo’s tiny side-glance.  Like a sad pinhole in the armor.   “Is it because she knows you’re gay?”

“She knows I got a girl,” Leo shrugged.  A weak defense at best.

Justin could see something fragile showing through the art class tough-guy image and realized Leo was revealing a private glimpse inside.  “So you’re bi-sex?”

“That’s what I thought we were gonna talk about.”

Justin lowered his arms, waved to the couch.  “Sit down.”  He knew the most traumatic thing for too many kids was coming out.  He sat on the armchair seat edge, watched Leo drop his pack and plop down.  “Why me?  Don’t you have a friend, or minister…or…” Teacher.  Shit.

Leo straightened and point-blanked, “How did you know?  I mean, about YOU.”

THAT’S a stumper.  Justin fidgeted, shook his head.  “I guess…I just knew.”  He looked straight at Leo.  “I can’t explain it.  It’s just something I knew.  When I looked at other guys…” he glanced to the side, scratched his neck.  Should I even go there.

“My Mom said it’s prob’ly just a stage.”

That sparked Justin’s attention, possibly explained the girls.  “I guess a lot of parents think that sometimes.  What doYOU think?”

“I dunno.”  Leo looked off.

“I think you do,” Justin ventured easy.

“What you said before?  About when you looked at other guys.  To me, the girls are the same.  But the guys all look different, you know what I mean?”

Justin nodded, “Yeah.  A lot more interest.  I know.  Have you ever been with another guy?”

 “Just girls.  I checked out The Stroll once,” fired, “But not last Sunday,” then recovered with, “The Stroll is -”

“The hustler hang-out in West Village.  There are better places than that.”

“When you know,” Leo finished.  “I thought I’d try goin’ with somebody.  But none of ‘em looked good.  I need to know somethin’ else.  And there’s nobody I seen or met I could ask this except you.”

Here it comes – how did I tell my folks or my friends.  “Sure.”

“When you get back to New York…would’ya go out with me?”

 “You mean…take you to some places to meet other guys?”

“No,” Leo flinched.  “I was thinkin’ more jus’ you n’ me.”

Justin froze, edged back into the chair, looked off and parked his chin on a raised hand.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Leo countered with a  bewildered, “Why?  ‘Cause I don’t have a lotta bread?  Is it what I look like?” and a stronger, “Why’d you cover for me when I kissed ya?”

Shit. “That was a mistake, Leo.  It’s not your fault…it’s mine.  I should’ve got that straightened out right away.  And I was gonna do it Monday, but when you didn’t show up…”  Justin winced.  Don’t put this on him.  “…I should’ve called, not just leave a note.”  You were just as important as Richard.  Why did I miss that.

“Not even just to go out like, to an art show or somethin’?”

Justin shook his head with a sincere, “No.  I already have a partner.  And yours is still out there somewhere.”  He watched Leo slowly nod without looking up, recalled that deep pain of rejection.  And Brian coming out of the Loft. “We can still talk, though.”

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged.

“You want something to eat?”

“Yeah.  Sure.”

Justin left for the kitchen with a glance back.  It was a major step – asking another guy out.  Not like with Brian, who just happened along and made it easy.  And that first kiss had so much power. 

Justin pressed his palm to a temple, went to the fridge and took out an egg carton.  A move toward where to go from here.

By the time Justin rustled up a decent omelet, he found Leo slumped in the corner of the couch, asleep.

At Kinnetik, Brian had his cell in hand and ready to make a call when Cynthia opened the door.  She back-glanced, “Over this way,” before turning to Brian.  “Brian, the techs are here with your new computer.”

Brian eyed the Two Guys and full dolly behind Cynthia.  They looked geeky enough.  Fuck.  Now EVERYBODY’S suspect.  Fuck this. “Send them in.”  As they wheeled their load, Brian headed out past Cynthia with a casual low,  “Stay here and keep an eye on them.  In case they have any questions.  You know how I want it set up.”  Then he disappeared.

At Britin, Justin sat at the kitchen table jotting on a notepad and in thought so deep, his ringing cell phone made him jump.  He grabbed and flipped it open, saw the caller ID and answered, “Brian.”

Standing on Kinnetik’s roof and gazing at the hazy city, Brian brushed wind blown hair from his eyes.  “I have to cancel our dinner plans because of a late meeting so you might want to stop at the Diner before you head to the Loft.  And make sure the door’s locked if you go to bed before I get back.”

“I was gonna call you anyway.  I can’t make it over tonight.”

“Hot idea in progress?” Brian smiled.

“Hot student in house,” Justin exhaled, stood up paced to the living room and peeked in.  “Leo’s here.”

Brian pressed a hand to his free ear and faced the entry door to block the wind. “Leo the Lion?” Amusing.  Disquieting.  “How did he find you?”

Keeping low and moving back to the kitchen, Justin answered, “You know that.  Same way I found YOU.  The problem is getting him back to New York.  I won’t let him hitchhike or take a bus and the first flight I could get him on isn’t till noon tomorrow.  I’m not leaving him here alone or bringing him to the Loft.”

“Where is he now?”

“Sleeping on the couch.  He must’ve hitched all night.  Probably didn’t eat either.”  Justin looked down with a serious, “The bad part is…I think he was ready to come out when I left.  He really trusted me and I didn’t take it serious.  Now I keep remembering how I felt.  How tough it was back then.”

Brian closed his eyes, recalling his own role in those times.  “You survived.  I’m sure he will, too.”

“It’s just…I’m more used to being on HIS side of this kinda thing,” Justin exhaled.

“If you’re staying up late, I can stop by after the meeting.” 

“No, by the time you get here, you’ll hafta turn around and go back to work.  We’ll be okay.  I’ll drop him at the Airport…probably just hang around town and hook up with you tomorrow.  Unless you have other plans.”

“No plans.” …that can’t be changed.

“See you later then.”  Justin set the phone down, lifted the notepad to recheck a list of ideas.

Brian shut his phone and stood almost touching the door.  What was it Justin had said – Leo Ruggieri.  Hot in a subversive, gang-leader way.  His friends called him Ruger.  Off his last name?  Or his property?  Also visualized himself as the King of Beasts.  Macho image?  Or moral attitude.

Brian shook it off and opened the door, headed back inside.  Justin would have said something if he had any reservations about the kid.  Fucking have to get out of this stalker mindset.

Justin sat at the kitchen table sketching, realized the light had faded.  He got up, flicked the over-sink light on, turned and startled when he saw Leo standing in the doorway.  “You just get up?”

“Couple minutes,” Leo shrugged, eyed straight on. “Look.  I thought…” then shook his head at the floor.  “I dunno WHAT I thought.”

“We’ll talk about it over a ham sandwich.  That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You got a bathroom I can use?”

“This way.”  Justin moved past Leo, led him through the living room into the foyer and pointed at the Den.  “Past the stairs.  First door on your right.”

Justin headed back to the kitchen.  He threw together a couple sandwiches, a can of pop, set them on the table.  Lifted and rechecked the notepad then set it down and waited.

At nine PM, Brian stood on Michael and Ben’s porch.  Cloudy overcast brought darkness faster than usual, making it more difficult to spot detail in surroundings.

Brian glanced at the lit windows of Michael and Ben’s home and scanned the quiet street, parked cars.  Fuck this shit.

As Brian turned to knock, Horvath opened the door.  “Brian.  Come on in.”

Brian followed, shut the door behind him,  “Let’s cut to the chase.  I’m fucking sick of looking over my shoulder, and I don’t want this shit near Justin.  What can I do about it?”

and trailed Horvath into the kitchen.

Horvath unlocked, relocked the back door deadbolt, the knob lock.  “Has he showed up lately?”

“I haven’t seen him.  Maybe he’s being more careful.”  Brian casually looked around the neat, homey kitchen, scribbled drawings and pictures hung with magnets on the fridge.  Stopped eyes on Gus and felt a pang.  That’s my kid.  My son.

Horvath moved to the over-sink window, lifted the shade and tested the lock. “Maybe he’s finished and doesn’t need to hang around anymore.”

Brian stayed close as Horvath tracked through the living room for the stairs. “Is that your expert opinion?  Or something you know that I don’t?”  He climbed after Horvath with hopes of more talk than movement. “Because I know where he lives and if I have to, I’ll get the fucking answers myself.”

Horvath cleared the top step, “I’m telling you.  Leave him alone.  He’s done.”  He went into Michael and Ben’s bedroom, turned on a small dresser lamp and headed for the window, parted the drapes and looked out.  “Looks okay from here.”

Brian stopped inside the doorway, panned the room.  Twin nightstands, two clocks, all the twos that reminded him how half-empty the Loft seemed since Justin moved away.  Enough to flame his racing mind over Horvath’s obvious avoidance.  “Don’t I have a right to know who’s after me and why?  Fucking CHRIST, Carl.  My place was bombed six months ago.  What the fuck have you been doing?”

Horvath spun with bare control.  “I’ll TELL you what the fuck I’ve been doing.  I got men out chasing dead leads every day.  And that doesn’t include the extras.  You know, crime doesn’t stop in Pittsburgh just because Babylon took a hit.  There were two other events going on besides the rally.  People from ten different states were in town, and that’s a helluva lotta territory to case for witnesses.”  He drifted closer, eyes hard, voice on low boil.  “I get phone calls every day.  One from the GLBT and one from Victims’ Rights.  And some from victims’ relatives who are half-dead scared to go to the grocery store.  Every day.  Wanting to know what the fuck I’m doing.  And if you want to know the truth?”

Brian watched Horvath’s eyes drop like he’d caught himself and went back on guard. “Yeah.  With all respect to your position, I would.”

Horvath took a deep breath, backed off as he let it out and diverted to pictures on the dresser, on the walls.  Friends, kids, family.  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe any of the victims could’ve hired some help…or maybe a Civil Rights group…” He paused then shrugged, “Or maybe an insurance company.”

Reading the pause, Brian stiffened, swallowed.  “You’re saying -”

“I’m saying -” Horvath stared strong, “- it’s standard procedure for a police investigation to start at home before fanning out. That means working all the angles and using whatever we get.” He picked up a photo of the house.  “A guy buys a rundown business…takes out an air-tight expensive policy…the place starts losing money…”

“You think -”

“I THINK…” Horvath cut in, “…it’s my responsibility to consider all the evidence and not discount the common motives,” then set the photo down, selected another of Michael and Ben.  “Like the guy’s girl dumps him, moves out in such a rush she has to hole up at a friend’s -”

“That’s fucking WRONG!”

“- and just happens to be in the building that gets torched.  I’m not saying what’s right or wrong.  Just speculating how it looks.”

Brian slammed his palm on the doorframe and leaned, ran the other through his hair.

Horvath softened with a steady gaze.  “Now suppose at the time of the incident, he’s on his way to Timbuktu.  A good alibi.”

Brian slumped against the doorframe, shook his head and turned quietly to Horvath. “So why isn’t a guy like that under arrest?”

“Because it’s all circumstantial.  Because even though we have a responsibility to protect our sources…our first priority is to protect the innocent.”

“Like not saying anything to the guy…or even calling him in for more questioning?”

“When the public wants somebody, Anybody, Now…it’s best not to feed the media.  Guilty or innocent, even the most stellar citizen could get burned real bad.”

Brian winced at the blunt insinuation.  His own spotty past on less egregious more localized charges was already well documented for any hungry abuser.  But there were counter-measures. “He could sue for slander.”

“If the basic facts are false.”  Horvath questioned with his eyes, saw Brian look away shaking his head.  I thought so. “Informants want the right guy as much as anybody else and know the consequences of being wrong.  That’s why it’s tough to get people to come forward.  Those that DO, do it for reasons from fear to vindication to recovering claim payments.”

“So where would the guy go from there?”

“If I had my way, he would have stayed fat, dumb and happy until further notice.  But since he may go out stirring up attention, I’d advise him to cool it.  Most likely, the Lead Investigator has already been doing a helluva balancing act for him.”

Brian stood up with a mix of thanks and sore recognition of Horvath’s bleak position. “I guess the guy would take the advice, and want the cop to know…how much he appreciates it,” then managed to smile, “Except for the fat-dumb-happy part.”

“Let’s move on,” Horvath smiled back, took Brian’s arm and turned him to the hall, reached out and switched off the lamp.  “I’d hate to have to tell Michael you and I got personal in his bedroom.”

Too preoccupied for snark, Brian led Horvath down the stairs, glanced back. “What about…the girl,” then hardened, “Let’s just drop the hetero shit.  What about Justin?”

“He’s safe,” Horvath reassured.  “As for the guy…he may want to think about any more facts that could come up, and maybe line up an attorney.  Just in case.”

“Do you think it will go that far?”

“Realistically?  Not the courts.  But public opinion is a different matter.”

Justin glanced at the window.  Getting darker out there.  Wonder what’s keeping Leo.

Justin hiked back to the closed bathroom and knocked on the door.  “Hey Leo?”  No answer. “Leo.”  He cracked the door open, “Leo, I’m coming in,” stepped inside and searched the lighted, empty room.  Where the fuck IS he.  Justin hurried out and yelled “Leo!” up the stairs.  Nothing.  He ran to the living room and checked beside the couch for his backpack.  Gone.  Justin raced to the front door.  It was loosely closed, not latched obviously to keep it quiet.  “jesus fucking…” Justin groaned.

He dashed up the walk to the road, shouted, “Leo!” and strained both ways but got no answer and saw nothing moving.  Then he barreled back into the house, grabbed his keys off the end table and flew out to the car.  Leo couldn’t have gotten far.  No need to worry about the camouflage.  A guy thumbing would surely try to be seen.  

In balmy darkness, Brian stopped on the walk in front of Michael and Ben’s, took two deep breaths to clear his mind.  Thought about Justin’s first night at the house alone.  With a seventeen-year-old gang leader named Ruger who travelled six-hundred miles…just to SEE him? 

Brian pulled his cell – just checking - called Justin’s number, let it ring three times and disconnected before the auto message picked up.  No answer but no big deal.  Three rings wasn’t much time.  He walked up the block to the car.  Tried calling again.  Same response.  He picked up pace, tried a third time and felt a gut-welling anxiety as he listened to the pre-recorded spiel and chopped,  “Call me as soon as you get this.”

Phone still in hand, he unlocked the car, swung in fast, turned the ignition and tried one more call.

No answer. 

On the kitchen table, Justin’s cell rings to an empty room.

Song: “Bullet” by Fluke

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