A Mann's World

For David

Thanks to cousin Cuz Carol for her creative assistance.

The Arikara Indians met with Louis & Clark and scouted for Custer nonetheless, they were treated as inhumanly as most of the Americas' indigenous people.

Dedicated to Robby Kirkland dead of hate and intolerance, forever 14.

Emett Till, forever 14, killed by the hatred of small men

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Prologue:

Robert Mann is about to graduate from the police academy in Quantico. Little does he know, he's already been selected for his first assignment as he finishes training.

Soon Robert Mann will join the Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police and his first assignment will take him deep undercover in the gay back alleys of D.C. in the shadows of the Capitol.

A Mann's World is set in 1970s Washington D.C. at the time when I was coming out. It takes place in the bars and restaurants I knew. Even people I met while coming out have made their way into this story.

The story itself is pure fiction but I always saw James Earl Jones as Commander Brown.

RB

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Chapter 1

Mann At Work

“Morning Connell.”

“Morning, sir.”

“What have you got on this deal you’re cooking up for me?”

“Commander Brown, I told you he’d be here this morning.”

“What time?”

“As soon as he comes up from the academy. His orders are to report directly here.”

“I’m not as sure about this deal as you seem to be. Where the hell is my coffee machine? What have you done now, Connell? What the hell did I need with an aide? My Goddamn wife can piss me off all I need.”

“What’s she done now, sir?”

“She wants a goddamn station wagon. Those things eat gas like pouring water down a rat hole. We can’t afford a big boat.”

“What kind of car do you want, sir?”

“I was thinking a Corvette. The kids are all gone. I’ve got a nice raise coming up. I’d sure look fine in a Corvette and they have great resale value.”

“Commander Brown, you wouldn’t fit in a Corvette.”

“The whole worlds a critic. What’s it to you if I fit or not? I want it.”

“Then there’s your wife, sir.”

“Damn it, where’s my coffee, Connell? You know neither one of us is any good without our coffee. I can’t work without a coffee machine. I hope you know what I’m doing with this deal. I don’t like working with rookies. Rookie’s are pains in my butt and working with them just makes me feel old.”

“His name is Robert Mann. He’s part Indian. Interesting history. He’s the guy we’re looking for.”

“Another minority? Jesus Christ, what’s this goddamn police force coming to? All we got is minorities.”

“He graduated third in his class. Deadly on the pistol range. He was an A student in high school and a B student in college. He took a lot of Police Science courses. The guy is right. He lives to be a cop.”

“Let me get this straight, you're telling me I’m getting number three? Look Connell, I ain’t all that happy working with a rookie. If I’m going to work with one I want number one. Hell, give me two. Three? Why the hell can’t I have one if I got to take one? You're trying to piss me off, aren't you?”

“Two women were at the top of the class, sir. First time ever two women have topped the class.”

“Goddamn minorities are going to be the death of us. They'll end up glorified meter maids or clerks. They can't be put in the line of fire.”

“Yes, but women aren’t a minority, sir.”

“You telling me? My wife thinks I signed on to listen to her complain. Hell, if I wanted to listen to complaining I’d come in here and talk to you,” the big black man said working his way down the long hall toward his office.

“I never complain, sir. In fact I’m pretty grateful for what I’ve got. I’m a lucky man and a happy one.”

“Yeah, and don't think I haven't noticed that. Nobody’s happy. I’m not happy. Why should you be happy? It pisses me off seeing happy cops. Makes me wonder if they’re on the dole. You on the dole, Connell?”

“No, sir. I’m just happy and I don’t have a thing to complain about.”

“Yeah, I never trust someone that don’t complain. Ain’t natural. I wonder about you sometimes, Connell. I got my eye on you… I got my eye on you.”

Commander Brown didn’t bother to look back as he spoke. His voice echoed through the entire upper floor and down the dark hall as he walked to the last office, but Connell had no trouble hearing every word. Brown was from the old school. He thought cases were solved by good old-fashioned police work.

Commander John Washington Brown had started on the force back in the ‘40’s. It was late in World War II and the severe manpower shortage made it possible for a black man to ease himself on to the DC Metropolitan Police Force. There were already rumors that President Truman was going to integrate the military and DC was the blackest city in the country.

Black cops walked the beats but they were never expected to do much more than to keep other “coloreds” in line. Brown had stuck it out in spite of the never-ending racial slurs and the pressures applied by bigoted cops. Then times started to change and he moved up in the department. He had become one of the few black men who rose through the ranks to a command position. His progress had started as tokenism and it was never easy. Even now, twenty something years later, there were still the bigots and those who expected him to fail.

While Commander Brown had considered retirement as an option, he was a “black” commander and as long as he was on the force, people saw him there and that was more important than his tired old bones. The new taskforce was set up to be his swan song. He was sure of it. It was an investigation that no one cared about and he had been selected to head it because failure would impact no one but him. He'd seen the detectives that were being assigned to him, and none of them worked well together.

They'd tried to force him into retirement before to no avail and this was just their latest attempt to make him look and feel ineffective. Being assigned misfits that no one else wanted to work with was just headquarters way of letting him know how they felt. It wouldn't do him any good to complain and so he'd have to work with what he had. That's why Connell's idea seemed so appealing, but the closer he got to implementing their secret plan, the more doubts Brown was having.

Officer Mike Connell had been severely injured during a shoot-out in Foggy Bottom. Much decorated and touted as a hero, the word came down he would be retired on disability because his new physical limitations were perceived as a liability. However, Commander Brown had met Connell and liked him and had asked for him to be his aide. Connell wanted to stay a cop and was quick to accept the only offer he had. Headquarters reluctantly agreed.

He had extra short, curly blonde hair and a baby face that made Commander Brown feel very old. They looked like the odd couple. They both had limps but their similarities ended there. Mike was new school and Commander Brown definitely was not, but this was a blend that worked well for both of them. Neither man took himself too seriously.

If Commander Brown could save a good cop's career that's what he did. He'd been assigned enough bad cops to know the difference. Taking Connell on had been one of his better decisions. The kid was okay. Actually he was a hell of a lot better than okay because he cared about the job.

Mike Connell knew, if not for the big gruff man in the back office, he’d be crying in his beer in some corner bar, living on a disability pension. He’d always wanted to be a cop. What else would he do if he couldn’t do that?

All of this created a loyalty that joined the two men, odd as they might look to outsiders.

Commander Brown found the steaming coffee in a 7-ll cup that Connell had placed there for him five minutes before his predictable arrival.

“Thanks for the coffee,” a sheepish voice came from the intercom.

“Yes, sir. I have a Bunn coming.”

“Buns? You know I’m trying to lose weight, Connell,” the voice bellowed. "What kind? Any jelly? I like those raspberry jobs."

“It’s a coffee maker. That damn machine was older than you are and so was the coffee in it.”

“Wait a minute. I ain’t that old. What the hell is a Bunn, Connell?”

“It’s a new type of coffee maker, sir. I can keep a fresh pot going all day. I got a nice deal on it. It makes good coffee.”

“I don’t pay you to be making coffee. What did that set us back, Connell? You know I got a budget. That damn machine might have been old but it was always ready with the coffee if I had a dime to put in it. It was dependable and I didn’t have to wait for someone to decide to make me a cup.”

“You don’t pay me at all, sir. The mayor pays me. I work at his pleasure. I'm only assigned to this office because you asked for me and I paid for the Bunn out of my pocket.”

“He must be paying you too much if you’re springing for a new coffee maker.”

“Well, sir, I figure what I give you in change each day will pay for it in about two weeks. It’s all gravy after that, sir. So I'll come out ahead and the coffee will be drinkable for a change.”

“Really! So, you got this all figured out and you don't even bother consulting me. Sounds a lot like this rookie deal you’ve sprung on me. I think you better come down here and square me away on this thing one more time. Find me something out on this kid so I don’t look like a complete fool while I’m in here intimidating the little shit.”

“Yes, sir.”

"Connell!"

"Yes, sir."

"Didn't I tell you to call me John up here?"

"Yes, sir."

“What’s in this crap? You know I only take a touch of sugar. I miss the playing cards on the cup. I could pick me up some spare change now and again.”

“You always lost, sir. Besides, you never had change for the machine. You had kicked it so many times it was lopsided. That coffee tasted like something that came out of someone’s shoe.”

“Ah, the good old days,” Commander Brown said. “Post come yet?”

“Yes, sir. I’m hiding it until you calm down a little.”

“That bad?”

“It’s the Post, sir. We're the cops.”

“Come down here, Connell. I’m tired of talking to this damn box. When did 7-11 start making coffee anyway?”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

“Oh!”

Connell collected a file, some papers, and the Washington Post to take to Commander Brown’s office. He passed three empty offices before he stopped in front of the last one and tapped gently.

“In.”

He moved toward the huge desk, placing the papers and file in front of the man behind it, who somehow made the very large desk seem small.

“Sit.”

“That Mann’s file? He’s half Indian you say? He isn't some kind of a hippie activist is he, just off the reservation to finally kick the white man's ass? We don't need no activists. You know they like to work on the inside."

"He’s had a rough past. Mother died and he ended up here. He was raised on a reservation in North Dakota for the most part. As I said, he’s smart but a bit hot tempered and impulsive. A little experience should help. He’s just the man we need, Commander. He looks the part and he'll fit right in."

Connell pulled a photograph from the file and placed it on top.

"Nice looking. I hate nice looking cops. He's young too. You trying to make me feel old bringing these young kids in here to work with me?"

"I tried to find someone your age, but not many of those, sir. We'll have to settle for Mann."

"Mother died?" He picked up the picture to stare at the wide blue eyes. "Looks like another honky to me," he finally said.

"Yeah, he'll fit in fine. He went to Hayfield High and has no connection in town. Most of his class will be spread out around the city, thirty-three in all. I briefed the class about undercover work and how important it is not to recognize classmates that might be on an undercover assignment. It's the best I could come up with on short notice. I don't think it's a big risk."

"Why this one, Connell?"

"He's a looker, an Indian, a loner, hard nosed, temperamental, and he doesn't look anything like a cop. And, he’s ours before he becomes regimented.”

"Means nothing to me."

"He might be able to relate to being an outcast. Indian cultures have a slightly different slant on gay men. He’s unconventional because of how he was raised. He's not a trusting soul. He’ll fit without much effort once he gets used to the idea. That's where you come in.”

“Mike, I’m still not able to get into this the way you are. Why can't we just do a regular investigation?"

"Whoever is killing these men knows the scene. The bodies are all found close to bars or places where gay men gather. Someone must know him. We don't have what you could exactly call cordial communication with the gay community. Having a man inside will give us eyes and ears we need."

"Rookies are disasters waiting to happen. You know that. What makes you think he'll play the game the way you want? What if he hates fags like everyone else does?”

“Commander!”

"I know! I know! I'm projecting my own homophobia. Some things are difficult to get beyond. So there’s no risk to him? He’s just a loose cannon out there looking to go off, Lord knows when?”

“You’re looking at this negatively sir.”

“Mike, just once, call me John. You’ve been working for me six months. It's just the two of us up here most of the time. You can dispense with the formalities for a few minutes to humor me. I know you’re a good cop and believe me, I've been called a lot worse things than John.”

“I bet, sir. Yes, sir… John.”

“Great! Now I've graduated to Sir John. Does have a certain ring to it. You think the mucky mucks down at headquarters would call me Sir John?”

“Yes sir, if that got you out of their hair, they just might.”

“As I was saying,” Mike returned to the discussion of his plan, “he’ll be able to roam free. No one will take him for a cop. He won’t be there to do anything but keep his eyes and ears open. That way we'll know what the real buzz is on the street. You know these people aren’t going to open up to anyone in a uniform or with a badge. We're the enemy.”

“So this guy has to be going into queer bars and places queers go? That's your theory?”

“Commander Brown, gay is the preferred word.”

“Sorry, old habits…. Nothing personal, Mike. I'm set in my ways. What’s our boy supposed to do? He’s not….”

“Gay? No, sir, we couldn't be that lucky. I’ve checked him out. He’s no socialite but he dated routinely and there was some talk about him and one of the female cadets. Just a rumor according to some of his classmates.”

“You checked him out with his classmates?"

"Yes, sir. I've looked him over and I think he'll work if we give him a little time to adjust."

"How many women in this class?"

“Five. The best crop of women yet.”

“What’s this world coming to? Women cops! What male cop is going to work with a woman? All that training for clerks and meter maids, seems like a waste. We keep appeasing everybody by making them cops, everybody’ll be a cop and what happens then?”

“It’s the kind of thing they once said about blacks, sir. Women bring another dimension to the table. They think differently. It’s bound to make a difference if we bust up the good old boys.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m a good old boy.”

“You’re black, sir. Good old boys are middle aged, bigoted white men.”

"That's why I never get invited to their parties. I knew there had to be a reason. I'm good and I'm certainly getting old."

"He's going to be here any time, sir."

“You know I’m not sold on this. I don’t like it. We don't know if he can cut the mustard and we've got him going under in a murder investigation. I don't like it, Connell.”

"What else have we got, sir? You asked me to come up with something. This is it. It can't hurt as long as he doesn't bend over in the shower with one of them."

"Not funny, Connell. Get the hell out of here so I can finish my coffee and think of how to browbeat this poor kid into doing what I want, what you want. It's your ass if he fucks this up."

"Yes, sir, but what if it works?"

"I hope!"

“Commander, how are we going to know anything if we don’t have someone on the street people will talk to? That's all this is about. Having eyes and ears on the street. He's going to be okay once you convince him to do it.”

“We have plenty of experienced cops to do the leg work.”

“Gay men aren’t going to tell cops anything, and the ones assigned to this case are going to be like bulls in a china shop in queer bars. That's why they’re scared of us. They’ve been harassed, beaten up, and intimidated as a regular course of business. They don’t trust us, and you can’t blame them. Mann will be just another pretty face. They'll love him, and just maybe we'll get lucky and he'll find something out that will lead us to the killer.”

“Mike, I’ve been a cop closing in on thirty years, and you can get into trouble doing just about anything and a rookie can get into trouble doing nothing at all. You’re smart but you're young. You haven't seen it all yet.”

“Trust me, John. I've seen enough to know we aren't being effective because we're too far from the street. It's up to you to get Mann down there where the action is.”

"He can't turn… you know? Being around those people can't make you… like them, can it? I'd hate to be responsible for a thing like that."

"No more than I'm likely to turn black hanging around you, sir."

"You better say sir when you say a thing like that to a man like me."

"Yes, sir. I'm only trying to help. You asked me to get involved, and that's it. It's what will work. I don't think there is any other way to get the information we need. I think if you got behind it you'd be a lot more convincing when you talk to him."

“Yeah, well, you know more about these people than I do. I think we make them all criminals again and we don’t worry so much about them.”

“Yes, sir, and then we’ll make blacks slaves again, and take the women’s shoes away from them and keep them in the kitchen and the bedroom, preferably the bedroom. Right, sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, so call me old fashioned. I know rookies and if there’s a way for this guy to get into the shit, he’ll do it, and I’m going to look like the big black buffoon they accuse me of being. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

"Because you know I'm right, sir?"

“A redskin? Damn minorities! What makes you think he’s going to want this turkey?”

“That’s where you come in, Commander, but don’t steam roll him. Mellow out and talk him into it. You’re the commander. He's the rookie. Make a believer out of him. It is his duty to obey your orders.”

“Yeah, about time you’re noticing who's in charge here. I’m supposed to come up with the plan and you’re supposed to implement it. I hope this works. I’ll take it easy on him.”

“What’s in the Post you’re keeping from me? I know he hasn’t hit again.”

“No, sir. Just the usual criticism of the police force for its inaction. They do mention your name. Three times in fact. I wouldn't cut it out for the scrapbook.”

“Flattering I’m sure.”

“Questioning your credentials for placement as lead on the taskforce. You've never headed a major investigation before. There aren’t any clues and you are baffled, according to them. They say you're on the spot.”

“You think I’m on the spot, son?”

“Yes, sir. No matter what you do you aren’t going to win. Gays aren’t too popular. Murderers aren’t too popular. Cops aren’t all that popular these days. You’re on the spot because no one else wanted the gig. Better you than them, I think they're thinking.”

“You do have a way with words, Connell. You know if I screw this up bad enough they’ll force my retirement. They’ve been trying to get me to retire since I got my twenty. No man walks away from this kind of an investigation without it impacting his future.”

“You’re a pain in their asses, sir. It’s a natural response, but you can look on the bright side, if you retire no one will keep me around, so I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t believe in it.”

“Don’t you ever have anything mean to say?”

“Not if I can help it, sir. I try to see things from all angles and I try not to jump to conclusions.”

“Well, Mike, don’t let my insecurities rub off on you. You did what I asked. We've got to do something.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know things are changing and I’ll move over when it’s time. I just don’t feel like it is time. It’s just that climbing up hill all these years, I thought once I finally got up here, I’d like the view better, but I’m still just looking up at bigger boy's behinds. There’s always someone above you looking down.”

“You could run for mayor, sir. There'll be an election soon. You'd look good in a three-piece suit.”

“Jesus, I’ve worked all my life. I’m not ready to sit around waiting for photo oops. Show this kid in when he comes. I’ll go easy on him but he better not piss me off. I’m really not in the mood. You’re going to handle him. I’ll give him his orders and then it’s up to you to keep him straight, and that's not a pun.”

“I think he’s okay. He’s a free spirit and he’ll look good out there. He’s the kind of guy that'll tell you to kiss his ass if you piss him off. I have a good feeling about it.”

“Get out of here and leave me alone and bring me another one of these." He held up the 7-11 cup while looking down at Robert Mann's file.

Mike left the office, knowing the coffee was optional. He had high hopes for his plan. While there were certainly questions about Mann, he thought it was worth a shot since the case was going nowhere fast.

*****

Shortly after eleven Connell walked Mann down the hall. He made an effort to set the rookie at ease. He wanted him to make a good impression.

"Who is this guy?" Mann asked.

"Commander John Brown," Mike answered.

"I can read. What's he want with me? Why am I here? How come I didn't get assigned like everyone else? I was third in my class."

"That's why you're here and I wouldn't mention you being third in your class. He wanted number one but technical difficulties made that unfeasible. He'll tell you why. Listen, don't speak unless he asks you a direct question. That's really important for you to remember. He's a bit overpowering at first but he's an honest up front guy. You shoot straight with him and he'll do the same."

Robert Mann knocked on the glass after Mike led him to the door. He waited nervously until the delayed response came. “In,” the husky voice ordered.

Robert found the office too dark. Only faint light leaked in through the slats of the closed green blinds. One small desk lamp with a dark green shade offered limited light except for on the desk where the commander did his work. Robert's sunglasses made the man almost invisible.

He stood just inside the door, waiting. The big black man leaned over the huge mahogany desk, jotting quick slashes down on the folder open in front of him. He finished what he was writing, closed the folder, scooted back in his chair, intertwining his fat fingers on the top of his ample stomach, and stared at the rookie.

Robert followed Officer Connell’s suggestion and said nothing while Commander Brown gave him the once over. Brown had read and reread the file. He knew the details. But here was the person behind all the forms and evaluations. He still wasn’t convinced that this was the way to go with what was becoming a hot potato investigation. He also knew there was nothing else.

“You’re out of uniform.”

"I was told not to wear my uniform."

“I see why he selected you,” Brown mused when he got to the young unmarked face. “You’ll do, I suppose.”

“Pardon, sir.”

“Not important,” Brown growled in a dismissive tone with a slight wave of one hand. “Has anyone said anything to you about why you’re here?”

“No, sir."

"What have you been told?"

"Shut up and listen, sir." Mann replied.

Commander Brown couldn't hold back the smile. It didn't last long.

"No one has told me anything about anything. I was told to report to you immediately. The officer out there said speak when spoken to and you'd tell me what I need to know.”

“That was good advice.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You graduated the academy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It wasn’t a question, Mann. I’ll be looking at you if I’m asking you a question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Third in your class. What happened? I asked for the best.”

“I can't answer that, sir.”

“I’m used to getting number one is all. I’m a commander in case you don't recognize this insignia. I feel slighted because one and two got away from me.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“No, that’s because I haven’t told you anything yet. Tell me about one and two,” Commander Brown ordered. “Why would they send me three?”

“Both women. Sharp in everything. They beat me out in tactics and regulations. Damn near got perfect scores on the written exam. I aced most everything else.”

"Could they kick your ass, Mann?"

"No sir!"

"That's good to know or otherwise you might be better suited to this assignment then I thought. At least you've managed to explain why they sent me number three. It's a start.” Brown let out a loud laugh as though there was some inside joke to which Mann wasn't privy. His hands jiggled on his stomach.

Mann was left feeling awkward. He did his best to get in front of the conversation. “I’m the best man. They’re women. You need a man. It’s obvious,” Robert said, confident in his deductive reasoning, but he found no humor in it.

“Brilliant. I'm impressed Sherlock. In a manner of speaking you’re correct but that's merely half the picture."

“Mann, what do you think of this desk? I just got it last week. Fine piece of furniture. Took six of my best men to get it in here. As soon as I saw it I had to have it. Isn’t it beautiful? Do you appreciate craftsmanship?”

“It’s fine for a desk,” Robert said, waiting.

“No, I didn’t think so. I can see you’re the impatient type. You’ll learn patience if you last long enough. Do you plan to last, Mann?”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said, trying hard not to appear disinterested.

“We’ll see, son. Mahogany stands the test of time. Come look at it. Get close so you can see the grain. Smell it. Yes, it has a smell. The finish is flawless,” he said, caressing the wood. "You don’t see workmanship like this any more. It’s hand crafted. A desk like this is a find.”

Robert looked down at the legs that curled out from beneath the heavy piece of wood. They looked like animal feet with the toes carved as thin lines. The wood was dark and he had just been told it was mahogany. He wasn’t interested in the desk but he looked anyway when he wasn't looking at the man behind it.

“There isn’t the appreciation for good furniture there once was. Every table and desk in my house was like this when I was a boy. My mother spent hours every week keeping the shine on each piece. I didn't appreciate wood either back then.”

Robert Mann thought that must have been a long time ago. He’d grown up with chrome and Formica. The only real wood in his house was the wood they burned in the fireplace. What any of it had to do with why he was here and his first assignment as a DC cop, Robert didn’t have a clue. He would just have to wait for the old boy to tell him.

He had burned to be a cop ever since Morgan Swift Deer let him ride in his jeep. They'd spent a lot of time talking about how Morgan had become the reservation deputy.

He was one of the few men that Robert knew who had a regular job. Even his own father had gone from job to job while hunting and fishing to keep his family fed. Breaking horses didn’t provide a steady income. Until his mother got sick, she had kept a fine garden and canned things for the winter months. That’s how they got by when his father had no work.

Robert had come east to live with his mother’s brother after she died. It proved to be a difficult transition. His reservation ways clashed with suburban living. Academically he'd done well, but he had never felt secure in his new environment. No one knew his past and that was fine with him.

In spite of his difficult adjustment to this new life he had never forgotten Morgan or the desire to be in law enforcement. He’d attended several years of college before applying to the Washington D.C. Police Department once he had turned twenty-one. He had completed training at the academy and now found himself face to face with an old time cop who had asked for him.

“I’m like the desk,” Commander Brown observed. “I'm old, I'm seasoned, and I have but one purpose. I’ve lasted as long as I have because I listened and kept my eyes open and my mouth shut.” The commander dropped himself back into his chair. “Sit. You’re going to need to be sitting down, when I tell you what I have in mind for you. You’re curious? Of course you are. You were right. You’re here because I need a man. Not just any man, a certain kind of man, a man like yourself.

"You’re from Springfield area?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Before that?”

“Do we need to get into that? From high school on I was in Virginia.”

“South Dakota, am I right?”

“North.” Robert corrected.

Commander Brown leaned over the open file as though he was checking his facts. “What’s that about? You hiding something back there I should know?”

“I thought the point was for us to all be white. I’m white. I came off the res a long time ago."

“You sound angry.”

“It’s a long story,” Robert said, tensing.

“Yes. What... is it proper to ask what tribe?”

“Arikara.”

“Enemy to the Sioux and the Crow.”

“They stole our land.”

“Our Land? You talk like an Indian. You do know your history. Lot of that went on back then. Didn’t someone steal their land as I recall?”

“Whites took it all. We fought over what was left. The Arikara enjoy a good fight.”

“I thought you were white,” Commander Brown said. "We say Europeans back East. Causes less friction with the white folks.”

“How do you know about the Arikara?” asked Robert as he connected to the conversation for the first time.

“I’m a commander. I know everything. I’m paid to know everything. I also have an aide who looks up these kinds of details. You met him. He’s paid to do what I tell him and when he's trying to sell me something, he dresses it up. Napoleon used to do that, you know. His aides would look up information on one man, maybe two. The battles he’d been in and where he was from. Old Napoleon would call him out of ranks as though he remembered him. His men loved him for that. That's what made him great. His men loving him enough to die for him.”

“Why stories about Napoleon and looking up my history? I'm going to do whatever it is you tell me to do. I’m already impressed. You’re a commander and you asked for me. I can't guarantee I'm going to love you, but I'll follow your orders.”

“Yeah, there is that. I can see you've had enough of the chit chat. You’ve heard about our little problem here?”

“Which one?”

“Good point. This is the police problem. We’ve got us a mad dog killer on the loose in town and people are starting to get nervous. His potential victims anyway. He’s a specialist.”

“Murders?” Robert’s interest increased.

“We found the fifth body Monday. We're sure they’re all connected. There is a complication in the case and that's where you come in. Actually, that’s where it gets more complicated.” Commander Brown looked up over his glasses and smiled.

Robert was hooked but the smile made him nervous. “Why me? I’m green as grass. What's the catch?"

“And that's why you're here. I’m speaking off the record now. We'll be doing that from time to time if I like you for this. You repeat anything to anyone about what I tell you, I’ll tell them you’re a lying sack of shit. You get the picture?”

“Got it.”

“There hasn’t been much said about the deaths because the victims aren’t exactly society’s cup of tea. It’s only starting to come together for us but the press will figure it out soon enough.”

“Prostitutes?” Robert guessed.

“No, even more complicated than the world’s oldest profession. Homosexuals! While we can’t prove all the victims are homosexuals, the last three have definite ties to that community. All the victims have been found in or near highly frequented homosexual haunts; clubs, theaters, parks, etc.”

“I see. So you think all five have been killed by the same person?"

“Yes! We’ve created a taskforce for the investigation. The cause of death and the way the bodies have been left are all similar. The homosexual angle is fairly recent. Investigative legwork has turned that up.”

“Are you going to tell me what all this has to do with me?”

“Yes, and still speaking off the record, the taskforce is all made up of veteran cops. Like racism, there is a homophobia that runs through the department. Hasn’t been that long ago it was a crime, being que… ah… homosexual, and cops, hating crime as we do, well we've never been very kind to our gay cousins. That complicates the investigation because the motivation may not be there to solve these crimes. I'm not saying my detectives won't do their job but they might not put their hearts into it.”

“And Homophobia is?”

“In layman’s terms, there are a lot of pigs who hate queers, and that’s just the way it is. I’m no expert on all this you understand but even homosexuals have rights. Right to live being right up there.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Robert squirmed in his chair as he spoke

“They still asking that “queer” question on the app?”

“Which one is that?”

“The one about being homosexual or having known associates that are homosexual.”

“Yes, sir. It’s still on there. Right up near the top as I recall.”

“That’s part of our difficulty. We say you can’t be like that for whatever reason, and then we’ve got to investigate people who are like that. You can see how it complicates the effort once you’ve labeled these folks unacceptable. Even that question suggests people who don't deserve full protection under the law.

"Homosexuals are often hassled by the cops and so they fear cops. Now we are in a position where we need to protect them, only you can see how they might not trust us. A difficult assignment for anyone.”

“We investigate crime against prostitutes and that's unacceptable,” Robert said.

“Good point, but even knowing that, some cops might find themselves calling on prostitutes from time to time. Those cops are seen by their cohorts as being somehow manly. That’s just my opinion, by the way. I suspect some cops are homosexual or at least know homosexuals and failed to answer that question on the application honestly. There is a percentage of people who are that way, you know.”

“I don’t know anything about prostitutes or queers,” Robert said. “I’ll trust what you tell me. What do you want me to do?”

“I think we call them gay now. That’s how they refer to one another. It's probably best we try not to offend them if it isn't necessary.”

“I try to respect everyone.”

“That's a good attitude, Mann. We’re getting around to why you're here. This has all the earmarks of being a major investigation. It’s the kind of case that makes and breaks careers.”

“I’m not following you,” Robert said, leaning forward.

“The taskforce is set up so we look like we care. I’m not convinced we do care, but I am sure we don’t like murderers more than we don’t like queers. What I need is someone inside of this case that I can trust to tell me the buzz from the street, the gay street in this case. He can’t be known to other cops or to anyone else. Do you know anything about DC?”

“I went to all the museums and the monuments when I was a junior in high school.”

“You’re slated to go into upper Northwest. It’s a great neighborhood. It would be some of the easier duty in DC. Lots of ambassadors and congressmen who need pampering. If you say no to me that’s where you’ll end up. I’m interrupting that flow on my own and no one knows you are here. I’ve got your file and the assurances of the people at the academy. I’ve got all your records in fact. As far as anyone else knows, there is no Robert Mann in DC.

“You’re young, attractive, and naïve enough to pull this thing off. You’d fit right into the street and no one is the wiser. No one will know you’re there but me and my aide, Connell. You’d answer to me but take orders from him. Believe me, he’s better situated to explain things to you.”

The two men leaned toward one another as the conversation took on a serious and confidential tone.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me to do. I mean what good can I be?”

“It’s not necessary for you to know anything right now. Your assignment is to get familiar with the street. Get your face seen up around Dupont Circle and down in Southeast. You’ll need a place and we've arranged for that. We’ll see to your needs and start with you living just outside of town in Bladensburg, Maryland, a small apartment on 54th Avenue. Once you've gotten your feet wet, we'll move you into a place closer to where the action is.”

“There’s something you aren’t telling me. I can feel that much. Just being seen and looking good isn’t much of an assignment. I signed up to do police work and this doesn't sound much like it.”

“Just follow my instructions and when it is all said and done, I’ll put in a good word for you no matter where you end up. I can see to it your next assignment is to your liking. Besides that, I’ll forever be in your debt and you can read into that what you will. But, I’m making you no promises about advancement."

"I get the picture. I want to do what you're asking. I just don't know what you're asking."

"You take it one step at a time. Mike Connell will direct you. You'll have numbers to call if anything comes up. That's all you do for now. The man we're looking for is circulating inside the areas where you'll be hanging out. Once people are accustomed to you being around, you might pick up on something important. Cops aren't going to pick up on anything. If we can figure out how he gets the victims to go with him or where he finds them, we might be able to catch him. Right now we have few clues and no leads."

"That's all? I don't have to get too chummy with these types? I mean that's not what you're asking? I'm just there to hang around?" Mann's concern was obvious in the way he sat and watched the commander.

"You're a cop. You've been trained. I'm asking you to put those skills to work outside the uniform. You will be working undercover in the hopes you'll find out something we don't know. You get as chummy as you think is required but I'm not asking you to do anything outside your own moral beliefs. Judgment is what police work is all about and that's what you'll be using.”

“Dupont Circle area and Southeast have gay clubs. And there’s one right down across from the FBI building if you can believe that. That’s a white-collar crowd. Southeast gives you drag queens and cowboys. Then there are clubs that attract the college crowd. Connell will give you those details.”

“I don’t know how to act around those people. What do I do if one of them touches me? I’m not sure what I'd do.”

“I’m not asking you to bump uglies with these folks. Whoever is doing this knows where they hang and where they circulate. We don't. He’s been able to take them off without anyone noticing so far."

“Are you telling me there are no leads at all?”

"None. With you we can keep an eye on the street but a cop gets within twenty feet of one of their hangouts and they know. Past experience has taught them what it means when the cops show up. That's where you come in."

"I want to do this. I'm not sure I can. I don't like the thought of the things they do. Can I have some time to give this some thought?" Robert asked apprehensively, not sure he would be given any time.

“Tell you what, you had lunch?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ve got a meeting in just a few minutes that will take about an hour. It's close to lunch time and there's a place down on Wisconsin, Georgetown Grill. Connell can give you directions. They serve sandwiches and beer for the lunch bunch. Lunch is on me but you got to eat there, son. Take two hours and do your thinking. We're depending on you to do this, so you can think about that as well.”

Commander Brown rolled in his seat and it rocked back as he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket. He tossed the bill out on his desk for Robert to take.

“There’s no pressure on you to take the job. I’ll find someone that'll do it simply because they think doing it will buy them favor with me. I don’t care about the reason, just so someone does it. I want to get this animal off my streets. We think you are our man. Enjoy lunch! Be back around one.”

“Yes, sir.”

*****

The Georgetown Grill had a fake dark wood front and big glass windows that looked out on to Wisconsin Avenue. Two men sat in one window with beer glasses in front of them. The other window was empty. Another two men sat at the bar four seats apart. A pretty blond woman followed him until he seated himself in the booth furthest from the bar and near the front windows. She stood at the corner of the table as he arranged himself on the bench seat.

“What do you want, Sweet Pea?”

“What do you have in the way of sandwiches?”

“Anything you like if you like ham, ham & Swiss, or Swiss. We have rye bread or dark bread. Mustard or mayo. Onion or no. Tomato or no.”

“Ham & cheese on rye, mustard.”

“What kind of cheese do you want?” the woman asked.

“Swiss is fine.”

“Good! That’s all we have today. Drink?”

“Soda?”

“Sprite or Cola?”

“Sprite.”

A man in a leather jacket with a chain hanging almost to his knee came through the door and walked toward the bar.

“Hi Gil,” the waitress said. “Eagle today?”

“How’d you guess?” Gil lisped and flipped his wrist. He leaned forward to kiss her on the lips before sliding onto one of the stools. A dark draft was set in front of him without him asking for it. He pushed his hat back on his head as he drank half the draft straight down, resting one arm on the bar.

The two men at the booth near the window leaned toward one another talking secretively. Robert listened closely but heard only mumbling as the cars rushed by just twenty feet away on Wisconsin. He imagined they were making a drug deal. He was put off that the street noise was so loud he couldn’t overhear them.

Another man in a light suit sat with his jacket and the top of his shirt open under his tie. He read his paper through silver rimmed glasses and sipped coffee each time he turned to a different page. Three more men jostled into the bar in the middle of a joke. They all had on suits and seemed delighted to be there, like they'd come in out of the rain, only it was sunny out there. Robert examined them carefully as they stood in front of the bar.

“Refill. On the house,” the waitress said as she leaned on the booth to slide a new drink in front of him. “You’re new? You sure you’re in the right place, handsome?”

“I was told this was the place to eat,” Robert said, looking her over carefully for the first time. She was nice.

“I guess you are then. I’m Judy. If you need anything just whistle,” she said, sweeping away from the booth. "You do know how to whistle, don't you?" she said seductively over her shoulder, but it was a playful jest.

“Thanks, I will,” Robert checked out the back of her short black skirt.

“Judy dearest,” sang out one of the new arrivals, breaking away from the two men he had entered with and giving her a hug.

Another man hugged her as she raised one leg and reached around his neck. The third man kissed her and hugged her. She was obviously popular, Robert thought as he sipped his new soda, like everyone's big sister.

“Oh, dear, did you hear Ricky Nelson’s in town,” the first man blurted out.

“Sure. He’s staying across the street at the Georgetown Inn. One of you girls saw him last night after his performance,” Judy said, as she leaned on the bar.

“Oh mercy,” one of them said. “I’d love to go to his Garden Party.”

"No weeds need apply, dear," another guy added. They all laughed and Robert knew they were obviously talking about things he didn’t understand.

He finished the second half of his sandwich and paid the check, giving her the five and telling her to keep the change.

“You come again now, sailor,” Judy said as he opened the front door. He waved and thought he might come again just to see her. There was laughter and loud voices as he stepped down onto the sidewalk. The lunch crowd was increasing, Robert thought.

He returned to the substation and went back to the second floor. Brown’s aide nodded him back to the commander’s office. He was invited in and took a seat. The big man finished reading from the papers in front of him before looking up over his glasses.

“You look fine,” Commander Brown said after examining him carefully. "No worse for wear."

“I only went to lunch. The food was okay. Wouldn't write home about it."

“No, I meant you look fine after visiting the Grill. I wasn’t sending you there to critique the menu.”

“The food was okay. The waitress was nice. What am I missing?”

“You are naive. You’ve just taken your first journey into the homosexual world. Georgetown Grill is a gay bar, eatery, hangout.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Get your feet wet, son. It was to give you something to think about. Look Mann, none of them are what they seem to be. They’ve lied all their lives about who they are and it isn’t always easy to sort out the truth. A place like the Grill is where they go to be themselves.”

"I’m not sending you out there to like anyone, but no one will let you know them unless you take the time to let them know you. Be honest except about being a cop. You won’t be so different from them when it comes down to it. You too will appear to be something you aren’t. You’ve got to actually get inside their world, make acquaintances, observe and most especially, listen to what's going on so we have some idea what gays on the street are thinking.”

“I don't know if I'm throwing you into the deep end of the pool with no lifeguard or not, Mann. We need to get on top of this case and having you in the mix is a way of doing it."

“Like I told you, it’s my job and I’ll do what you tell me to do.”

"Mann, what I'm asking you to do is well beyond the duties normally assigned to a rookie on probation. While I can tell you what I want, you've got to understand that you are responsible to figure out how to accomplish it. You'll have some help. Connell is making arrangements to get you in the door with a popular entertainer at one of the clubs. The rest will be up to you. We need to know anything that sounds suspicious or that might give us any clue to how this guy ticks. It's going to require a kind of skill that it takes most police officers years to acquire, and some never do. You don't have years, son. We need to stop this guy now before he kills anyone else."

"I'll do whatever you tell me. I can do it. You know, I wondered about a couple of those guys. One flipped his wrist at the waitress, you know, funny like, but he was dressed like a motorcycle gang member. That's confusing.”

“Well, flipping his wrist doesn’t necessarily mean he's a gay boy. If that's all you have to go on I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. You can’t really tell a gay man from a regular guy, if they don’t want you to know. Any thoughts you have that you can recognize one on sight at this juncture are probably incorrect.”

“Yeah, but I still think I can tell them when I see them,” Robert said, thinking it over as he spoke with confidence.

“Obviously,” Commander Brown said, shaking his head and reconsidering the possible consequences should things go wrong.

“The clothes," Mann observed. "I was wondering why I didn’t hear the motorcycle. I was sitting next to the street. That guy looked like he just got off his Harley.”

“Well, you’re close. That’s a leather boy. They have costumes, not motorcycles. Some might have motorcycles too. I’m not geared up to explain the subtleties. I'm just learning those myself. Connell will brief you on what you should know. He has a list of places where you should get yourself seen. Things like that. You need to pay attention and don't think you know more than you do at this point.”

“You’re asking me to do a job and I’m going to do it, sir, just like you tell me.”

“That means you are in this all the way to the end? Once I take you off the duty roster, you're mine and I'm committed to this operation. That means my big black ass is hung out there as far as it goes. You're a rookie. The chiefs are going to say I should have known better if this goes wrong, but it's not going to go wrong, is it Mann?”

“I’m being picked for an important assignment by a police commander on my first day on the job. I'll do exactly what you tell me.”

“Good! See Connell. He’ll clue you in with more detail. That’s it,” Commander Brown said, dismissing him with a wave as he went back to the papers on his desk.

As Robert emerged from the office and started down the hall, he could hear the commander’s voice echoing from in front of him, which confused him until he saw Officer Connell listening to the intercom.

"This piano player isn’t one of them sissy boys is he? I don’t want you hooking him up with one of them sissy boys. He needs someone that's smart enough to keep him out of trouble and dumb enough to want to."

"It’s all taken care of. We're not all sissy boys, sir."

"Yeah, well, you just don't be fixin' him up with one those."

"Yes, sir."

Mann waited until the conversation had concluded before stepping out of the

hall. "Officer Connell, he said to see you."

"Call me Mike. When we meet from now on we meet somewhere else. You're not to come here. If you've got to come here we're in trouble. Undercover means no one knows your status with the police department. Got that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Mike, Mann. Mike!"

"Mike," Mann said for him.

"The quickest way to blow your cover is to call me sir or officer."

"Right!" Mann said, paying close attention to the intense police officer.

"I'll try to be in civvies if possible when I meet you, but at times my disguise won't be any more than my top coat to cover up my uniform.

"Here's the address in Bladensburg. It's right next to the Baltimore Washington Parkway and that makes it easy for you to get downtown. There's also a place we've secured near Dupont Circle, where the action is. You'll move down there once you get a foot in the door. It would be the kind of thing that anyone new to town might do. You're living outside of town because you don't know your way around and that part is true. Once you feel comfortable and know the places to go, we'll move you to the downtown place. We aren't going to rush you."

"Why not just move into the place in town right off? Wouldn't I learn what I need to know faster that way?"

"I don't want you too accessible. You're the mysterious stranger, new in town. I'll do my best to promote that and no one will know you're a cop. Nobody but me and the commander, you got that?"

"Yes, sure. You've thought of everything," Robert picked up the apartment keys and the paper with the details Mike slid across the desk toward him.

"This is my operation, Mann. I thought it up and Commander Brown is halfway on board at the moment. It's up to me to make sure he doesn't end up looking bad. I'm going to do that and that means you're going to do it. We're beyond negotiating at this point. Once you leave here, your career is in my hands. You got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Mike. Get used to that, Mann. It might never be a problem but it could be. Let's make sure it isn't. We'll meet whenever necessary. The more often we meet the more trouble we're in, so don't look forward to seeing my face. I've set it up so a friend of mine will show you around the gay community in town."

"A friend of yours?"

"Don't let yourself be distracted, Mann, this isn't twenty questions. He won't know anything except that you are my friend from out of town. You can make it up as you go along. Phil Sharper is a good guy and he'll be more than happy to do me this favor. He's a bit flamboyant, but he's an entertainer, so I assume you can take it in stride."

"Things will move slowly at first and that is the plan. Once I move you into town, you'll be ready to move around the gay community without being noticed any more than any other attractive gay man is noticed."

"Gay man?"

"Get accustomed to being around gay men, how they act, what they expect, how you respond, and how to keep yourself out of trouble. You've got to get to know people so you can circulate without raising suspicion. Practice your social skills and pretend these are people you want to like you. I won't insist that you like them, but they are just men, Mann. They might not do things the way you do, but they're not much different than you are."

"What if this guy doesn't want to move slow and natural."

"What guy?" Connell said, seeming surprised at the question.

"The killer."

Chapter 2

The Taskforce

“Number Six is up. They’ve just found him over off “P” Street next to the bridge. Probably been there since last night,” Jim Bland handed his partner the cup of coffee he'd just purchased.

Bland's thin fingers tangled with Tom Pollard's fat version. He had the car started before he adroitly popped the top off the coffee with one hand, letting it float down to Pollard's side of the car and onto the floor to join the other tops, crumpled paper and cups while he was pulling out into traffic.

“How do they know it’s ours?” Pollard asked, bracing himself as Bland dodged cars like he thought the DC Strangler would still be on the scene if they hurried.

“All I need to know. Ligature still around the neck, plain gray clothesline with a square knot decorating it. You dumb son of a…," Bland yelled as an unaware driver changed lanes in front of the fast charging car. Horns blared. "Coroner says he's been there ten to fifteen hours.”

“Sounds like our man. That’s near one of those queer bars, isn’t it? Hay Loft? College Club?”

“Fraternity House. Quarter of a mile west. There’s also some college housing right there near the Circle," Bland said.

"I hope this one’s not from the housing. It would be easy for the Strangler to make a mistake like that. Kill some innocent kid."

"It’s our man, though. The press doesn't have the rope yet. I hope they've kept them away from the body until they bag it." Bland dodged more cars as he spoke.

"Will you slow down. He's dead, Jimmy. He ain't going nowhere," Pollard held his coffee up to protect it from the next sudden move. He always wore his coffee after a trip to a crime scene.

“You want to drive? This isn't my favorite part of the job, you know.”

"Obviously, Mario," Pollard jabbed, leaning back, realizing he hadn't been killed yet by his partner's driving and it was better to let him drive than to listen to him complain.

“Yeah,” Pollard said to the window. “We want to get right on top of this. We might find something this time. This guy doesn’t give up much."

"He's very good. Five until today and I still don't see him. Just the rope and the body. I don't even feel him yet. I know he's there though. Have we ever had someone that did six before? Can't be a copycat. We haven't released the rope. It's him all right.”

“Nope. Never seen this many by one dude. We did that domestic a couple years back. I think he did four but all in the same house. Sick bastard killed his own kids. I hope this isn’t some innocent kid. That college housing makes me nervous,” Pollard talked on as the car sped up and then slowed down as they reached another group of cars.

"He enjoys it. This one gets close. He might be one of 'them'. They say some of them hate themselves. How far is it from hating yourself to hating others? I bet he's a fag," Pollard said as he looked around, giving up on trying to drink from the cup. "Why are they like that Jimmy? Makes me sick thinking about it."

"There's lots of perverts in the world, Pollard. Get use to it," Bland said, jerking the car over to the curb after making a U-turn in front of an on-coming vehicle that had just come off the “P” Street Bridge.

Bland parked his green sedan behind three DC police cruisers. He stood in the street as traffic brushed past, looking over top of the sedan at uniformed officers standing across the field. They were grouped at its furthest corner, by the edge of the woods fifty or sixty yards from the street. “P” Street Bridge passed over Rock Creek Parkway and the woods ran down to within a few yards of that road.

As he walked behind Pollard toward the uniforms he could see the way the trees sloped downhill. He saw the heads of two plainclothes homicide detectives who were standing just beyond a steep slope that fell away a few yards from the body. They all nodded. Bland recognized Sam, the senior of the two detectives.

He measured with his eyes. The body was five or six yards inside the tree line where the woods were fairly flat. Bland looked at the rope still around the victim's neck. There were purple abrasions under the rope. The face was almost blue, the eyes were open and fixed in a far away stare. The victim was neatly dressed in a dark blue shirt that had black soil on one arm and on the collar near the instrument of death. The slacks were black and sharply pressed.

Bland stooped for a closer look at the victim. “Looks like mine,” he stated, glancing directly at Sam as he said it. He removed a pencil from his jacket pocket using it to turn over leaves. Bland knew they'd already turned these leaves before going down that slope but this was his case and he left no doubt who was working it.

“Yeah, looks like the one we found in Rock Creek Park three weeks ago. That would have been number two. This is the second one up here, right?”

Sam wore a rumpled gray suit and looked at Bland when he spoke. He was pudgy like Pollard, but older, and graying at the temples. He stepped gingerly as he ran his hand through some leaves, holding onto a tree so he didn't roll down the hill. “Number one was under White Hurst Freeway, right?" He went on, glancing up at Bland. "There were two weeks between that one and number two in Rock Creek.”

“Yeah, that was one. Rock Creek was two. One in Southeast makes three."

"There have been two since then, another in Southeast and the one near those fag joints on New York Avenue, right?”

"You interviewing for the taskforce? You're talking to the wrong cowboy. That old black fart runs the show from over in Georgetown as of last week. He's too fat to get out here and do the leg work," Bland complained, kicking at a clump of dirt.

"Good god, Jimmy, he's a commander," Pollard said as he approached. “You telling me you want John Brown out here on his hands and knees like us white boys? Get over that idea."

"Nah, just a joke. He's a good old boy as boys go. He'll let us do the work and he'll take the credit."

"They're waiting to bag the body. They knew you'd want to see it. You ready for them?” continued Pollard.

“Second in a week,” a younger detective said, kicking at a pile of trash. “You want I should go through this crap? It’s nowhere near the body. He wouldn't come down here if they was up there.”

“Nah, he don’t leave nothing behind him," Bland agreed, wanting to get rid of them. "He don’t bring nothing to the dance but that rope."

"Funny he leaves that though," Pollard said looking down the slope at Sam. "Why not just snip, and take it along. No butts, no gum wrappers, nothing but that rope."

"He brings them to where he snuffs them. The victim probably thinks he's about to get lucky," the younger cop said with a happy face.

"Next thing he knows he ain’t thinkin’ nothin’,” Sam replied. "The rope’s his calling card, you know. I been reading about these birds. They take 'trophies' and leave a little something to sweeten the pot, but nothing you can trace, you see. Just to toy with us."

"Quit selling it, Sam. I told you to see the big nigger if you want on this case so bad. Until then it's my case, so quit busting my chops with your wit and wisdom. I read the book. I could have written that book."

“Or he snuffs them and brings them to the drop. Hence no evidence,” Sam went on undeterred.

“Could be like that Sam. You might be onto something. He could drive them to where he drops them after they're dead. It’s a long way to the street though. He’d be big,” the younger cop imagined as he thought about the distance between the body and the street.

“Or has some way of rolling them?” Sam said, thinking about the distances as well. "He's too careful to be lugging a body around. Nah, he snuffs on the spot.”

"This guy died right here." Bland had no doubt.

“Yeah, fags pick each other up all over the place,” the younger detective said. "I hear tell they'll do it anywhere. I hear tell…."

"You wouldn't do it anywhere, junior? If you could get it, that is," Pollard said annoyed.

"I get plenty."

"Yeah, I can see the hair growing on your hand," Pollard said and the younger man looked at his hand. "Told you. He don't get none."

“I wouldn’t know what fags do, sonny. I leave that up to you to find out. You seem to know plenty though,” Sam said. “We have some experience in this area, do we?”

“Fuck you. You know plenty. You just don’t tell is all.”

"You’re damn right I wouldn't if I was a cornholer or a dick licker. I'd keep damn quiet about it, junior. Listening is what you ought to be doing."

“You guys cool it. Come on up. We’ll zip this guy up and let the coroner have him. Let the uniforms do the hill again just in case. Tell them not to let anyone know about that damn rope. No press back here until he’s bagged." Pollard was walking away from Bland even before he finished his instructions.

“Nice clean looking kid,” the young detective said, stopping to look down at the body with some sympathy. “Good dresser. Not cheap either. That didn't come from the National Shirt Shop.”

“Yeah, you’d notice that. I tell you this kid knows about fags,” Sam said, shaking his head and breathing heavy after struggling back up the slope. “These young guys! I don’t know about them,” he muttered.

“Fuck you, you old fart. You're the one who spends all the time in the bathrooms around town. You're one to talk. Don’t think I don’t notice. No one stops at every other toilet if they ain’t doing something weird.”

“Son, I can’t even do my duty for the old lady any more. I sure don’t need no faggots whistling on my Willy. You get my age and you’ll have to piss every fifteen minutes too. That’s why you should only speak when you're spoken to. You might learn something if you do.”

“That’s what they all say,” Pollard said. “Keep an eye on him kid. Don’t let him in that john across from the White House at Lafayette Park. It’s a homo heaven from way back.”

“The White House?” The young detective sounded stunned. “Yeah, he's been in that one. A lot!”

“That’s where that Johnson aide got himself busted for that shit. I’m sure Nixon didn't know anything about it. That son-of-a-bitch would have called in close air support to run ‘em off there, if he'd gotten wind that they were that close to his position.” Pollard laughed at the imagery of jets bombing across from the White House. "Better keep Sam out of that one for sure."

“Whose side you on, detective?” Sam asked, offended that it seemed as though he was siding with the young cop. In reality Pollard never sided with anyone. He always felt safer playing the middle of the road.

“I’d be on the Strangler’s, only I’m a cop and I've got to side with the fags on this one,” Pollard said. “A few fewer fags ain't going to hurt my feelings none. I don't want to be getting on no first name basis with any of 'em, that's for sure.”

They all laughed as they stared at the corpse one last time. Jim Bland was already sitting back in the car drinking what remained of his cold coffee, watching the college students that walked on the next block up.

*****

“Connell, come on in here. Tell Mann to wait.”

“Yes, sir,” Connell pushed the button on the intercom as Mann came up to the desk. “Take a seat.” Connell moved down the hallway and opened the door to the commander’s office without knocking. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know if he can keep his cool. He didn’t know the Grill was a gay bar. He spent an hour there and didn’t pick up that the place was gay.”

“He lived all his life on the reservation until he was sixteen. I don’t think they had many gay bars on the reservation."

"You told me that gays are seen as special by some Indians, and that book you gave me said the same thing, but Mann doesn’t seem to be aware of it. The Sioux and Crow deal got his attention. I’m going to read some more.” Commander Brown said. “Send him on his way. Give him the list of places. Introduce him to that piano player. You think that’s the kind of guy Mann will respond to?”

“I don’t think he will respond to anyone in particular. Phil's harmless and a very nice man. He was happy to do me a favor. He's nice enough that I hated lying to him.”

“They still got the bar over by the FBI?”

“Yeah, that’s the Hideaway. Corner of 9th, downstairs.”

"J. Edgar would be rolling over in his grave."

"From what I hear, Hoover would have been right at home, although he probably preferred Johnny's."

“I don't want you telling me that shit. Go on with the plan as we’ve discussed it. You keep an eye on this kid.”

“Yes, sir,” Connell said.

Chapter 3

The Unassignment

Mann, here’s a list of places where you’ll eat. You know about the Grill; Hubbard House by Dupont Circle; Henry’s a bit dressier. That’s on the Hill.”

“The Hill?”

“Yeah, Capitol Hill.”

"Then there’s the Hideaway, it’s mostly a bar, near The Hill on Pennsylvania, also dressier. Eagle has a buffet on Sundays. You’ll fit right in there. It’s up 9th from the Hideaway. Make an effort to mingle and you'll find places I don't even know about. These places have been there for a reasonable amount of time.”

“Eagle. I’ve heard of it,” Robert said.

“Leather-cowboy crowd. Carroll’s is down the street. A rougher crowd, hustlers, and their clientele. They have dancers now I believe. We could be dealing with a latent homosexual and in that case he might feel more comfortable on the fringe. We aren’t discounting anything at this point. That's because we don't know anything.”

“Latent homosexual? What’s that?” asked Mann, watching Connell's face for clues.

“They might be homosexual and in denial about it. Hate themselves because they feel hated. Hate everyone else because they are hated. It’s a complicated psychiatric deal but everything is in play. They’d do best around people who pretend they aren't gay most of the time but then the urge becomes so strong they've got to satisfy it. It gives a level of permission because there is a money exchange for services rendered. Then they go home and pretend they aren't gay. It's complicated, Mann.”

“You telling me? You’ve been to college?” Robert asked. “How do you know about all this stuff?”

“Two years in police science. Then the academy,” Mike replied. "You don't learn this at the police academy. I read books to fill in the blanks. I've read about this a lot."

“How long have you been on the force?”

“Two years and some months. Two months on my back after I was shot last year. Brown saved me from disability retirement. So you see how I owe him my career. No matter what, Mann, the commander comes out clean. It's you and me from here on out.”

“How’d you get this gig? You like being an aide? Sounds like office work to me.”

“Better than sitting home. I'm a cop to the core.”

"Yeah, I know how you feel."

“Listen up! You need to pay attention. The Brass Rail is just around the corner from Eagle and Carroll's. The Rail also has hustlers and some military types. Many of the hustlers are military. Once again they feel cleaner selling it and pretending they do it for the money and not for the sex. Military guys can be dangerous. We might be looking at something like that. No shortage of places. The Rail is right across from the bus station. They hang around bus stations waiting for new arrivals to town. Catch them before they know anyone or anything.”

“Bus station?”

“These are all places where I figure you’ll do well. It gives you somewhere to start. Georgetown Grill is also a more manly crowd. Just take “P” Street off the Circle and head west, it dead ends at Wisconsin and the Grill’s just to the right, and you know where we are from there because you've been to the Grill.”

“I didn’t know it was gay,” Robert said.

“Yeah, well, it’s early. They aren’t as obvious as you might think. Let’s see. There’s Johnny’s on the Hill, Plus One, and Joanne's. They're all together and near Henry's. These are places where the victims have been seen before they were killed. We figure the killer knows his way around the bars.”

“Do you think he’s gay?”

“Can’t say. Not enough information. He gets them to go with him. There's never a sign of a struggle. We don't know how he does it. Most have been smaller guys, not too big, but one was an athlete, so he's not afraid of big guys.

“None of the victims were known to be gay at their employment or where they lived. There is no pattern we've nailed down.”

Mike continued with his instructions. “You’ll check in with me periodically. We’ll meet at different places at different times. I expect you’ll have questions as you get into it. If you come up with any good information contact me right away.

“I'm hooking you up with a friend, Phil Sharper. He plays the piano at the Frat House. It’s a college hangout, loud but a good place for you to start. You’ll need some upscale clothing to fit in. Here’s a credit card for your expenses. No high living. Your expenditures will be monitored. Anything we don’t like comes out of your check, the check you won’t be getting until this is over. You’ll draw one hundred dollars in cash a week when we meet, to cover other expenses. Do you have any questions about this part?”

“No,” Robert said, watching Connell and noticing while he looked young he was confident and in charge.

“Here are the car keys. It has been registered in your name at the Bladensburg address. It’s a ’62 Pontiac convertible and is parked right in front.” Connell handed Robert several sheets of paper with the information that he'd just explained to him.

He was in the car and on his way before he knew it. He drove to Dupont Circle, then straight out New York Avenue to the Baltimore Washington Parkway, following the instructions on one of Connell’s sheets.

He took the Route 450 exit and went one block, making the right turn on to 54th Avenue. It had taken him twenty-three minutes. He noted the Safeway as he drove up the hill and past the high school to the apartments. There was a parking place at his front door. He'd never had a convertible before but it drove fine.

He looked around his new apartment and wondered who had lived there last. It was a nice enough place, adequate for the job he was expected to do. It was furnished, but not well. He picked up the phone and ordered pizza, needing to read the address off his directions, once he realized he didn't know where he was. He had gotten there by doing nothing but follow the directions on the paper. That left him with no conscious memory for most of his route. He'd remedy that right away. He had to get in touch with his new life and he was still mulling it over. What am I supposed to do, he wondered?

He turned on the television to watch Walter Cronkite and some national news on WTOP. The weather forecast said it would be cool in the evening but warm during the day. The local broadcaster announced “the sixth victim in what now appears to be a series of killings was found today off “P” Street in a wooded area above Rock Creek Park and near the Dupont Circle area. No further details have been released.”

After eating pizza, he went to the Safeway and bought things he thought he might need. He drove down past the Cheverly theater, down the hill past the small shops on either side of the street until he reached Peace Cross and a huge monument in the middle of a circle. He noticed the connecting streets, especially the ones that led in or out of the community. He circled the Cross and headed back up the hill until he reached the BW Parkway, then returned to the apartment.

*****

Driving in Washington DC was something like a thrill ride to Mann. Once he got to Dupont Circle, it took him three trips around to decide which street to take to find a parking place.

He had no trouble finding the Hubbard House because it sat right on the Circle and he had passed it each time he went around. It was after the lunch rush and only a couple of the tables were occupied as the waitresses stood around the cash register exchanging gossip as he entered.

He immediately looked around for someone that looked like a piano player, only he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Since there was only one guy sitting alone in the rear, he thought that might be his man.

As he glanced towards him the third time, the man stuck his hand straight up in the air and with a single motion of his ringed fingers indicated for Mann to come to his table. He was in a turquoise shirt with a silver bracelet around the wrist of the motioning hand. A heavy silver chain hung on the outside of the shirt.

"I'm Robert Mann. You Phil?" He asked while trying not to seem too uncomfortable.

"That's me. Have a seat. Coffee? I've got to play tonight and I'm just getting the cobwebs out. Don't mind me if I don't make any sense."

"Coffee is fine. Mike said, that you'd…."

"Yes, tell me you aren't into S&M."

"S&M?"

"He said you were new. It's a game some of the girls play. If you don't lose the black look the nice boys won't want to play with you."

"I don't really want anyone playing with me. I mean no offense, but I just want to know what it's all about. I don't know much."

"Well, you're here, and that's half of it. You don't know how many take a lifetime getting here, Robert. That's so stiff."

"Pardon," Robert said, feeling out of step.

“Your name. Robert. Sounds certified correct and official but…. You need something softer. Too hard is too hard, dear. In this case, if not in all."

Robert swallowed and suddenly felt like he had jumped into the deep end of the pool.

"Now, some guys might go for that but most want a teddy bear, you know. Someone you can cuddle up to. Something sweet. Not that it's what you want, you understand, but it's what they want, and if you want to fit in, you've got to fit their idea of Prince Charming."

"Prince Charming? I’m just here for information."

"I'm just trying to help. Mike said you were new. I don't know what that means any more. Stick with me and we'll get you on the right track."

"What do you think I need to know?" Robert asked, hoping to figure it out for himself as he went along.

"Let's try Bob. Maybe Rob. Robbie! No…. Bobby. Of course. You're a Bobby. No doubt about it. Why don't you go as Bobby?"

"We're talking about my name?"

"Yes, what did you think…. Oh never mind. I like Bobby. What do you think?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Like I was saying, most guys take a long time accepting who they are. Some never do. You're starting young and that's in your favor. Believe me, mother knows youth is in."

Phil fluffed his reddish blond hair.

"Mother?"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting. We tend to speak of ourselves in the feminine third person. You'll get used to that. It's sort of a joke connected to the sexual contradiction we live. Some of us live. Some of us don't."

"Yes," Robert said, not sure what he was agreeing too.

"The clothes have to go, you know."

"My clothes? What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Black is only for the Eagle and the Grill, maybe the Plus One. Too fifties and fifties are passé. We should take you shopping before we show you off," Phil said, working his way up to Robert's well arranged face and penetrating eyes.

"Would you help me find something more appropriate?"

"If I were a few years younger…," Phil mused before sipping more coffee. "Yes, of course. My motto is, shop till you drop and then shop a little more."

"Well, a shirt and maybe a pair of jeans," Robert said.

"Oh no, not jeans," Phil corrected, placing his hand on Robert's forearm and feeling the tension it created. “Hon… Bobby, we’re all friends here. Mother’s not looking for a boyfriend. Lord knows I’ve been down that road enough times to fill up this place. I'm just doing a favor for a friend.”

"I'm just not accustomed to…."

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting. It's the hour. It's the coffee. There are places just around the corner and I'll be glad to offer my opinion. I buy my shirts at one. I'm sure we can find you something within your budget. They all know me and won't mind helping you. They'll be jealous though."

"Jealous?"

"Don't mind me, Bobby. Mother runs on and says nothing, but I'm harmless. I shouldn't drink this stuff but it's the only thing between me and a face full of floor in the morning, you know." He held the cup up, looking into its depths before draining it dry.

“Yeah, sure.”

Phil led Robert to the shops that lined Connecticut Avenue just beyond the Circle. He noticed that Janus 1 & 2 were both playing the same movie, something called "Harold and Maude.”

They went into the shop next door and bought a print shirt that Robert thought was a bit loud but Phil said was perfect for him. The slacks were a nice shade of tan and Robert liked the firm fit. He was a jeans and T-shirt guy most of the time, but considering the circumstances, the clothes were fine. He used the cash Mike had given him and felt a bit guilty about the prices.

Phil told him to go home and relax and to meet him that evening at the club that was just beyond the Circle. Robert’s eyes followed the gesturing hand.

Robert was in his car going back out New York Avenue toward the BW Parkway when he reached over to turn on the news. It took a minute for him to find something beyond Smokey Robinson, Tammy Wynette, and the Jefferson Airplane. He settled on WLMD and some obnoxious talk jock named Dennis Richards, who was billed as, "erudite." Whatever that was. He wasn't in the mood for tunes, but the news came on almost immediately.

“The body found yesterday off “P” Street has been identified as Paul Smith of Anacostia. The police are fairly certain that this is the sixth victim in a series of slayings that have plagued the city for the past month. No other details are available except for this statement released by police spokesman, Officer Stanley Kramer.”

A different voice started speaking. “It seems to be the work of the killer, whom the news media has dubbed, ‘The DC Strangler.’ We have no further comments at this time. Thank you.”

"Commander John Brown, newly appointed to head the taskforce investigation of the DC Strangler murders had this to say while leaving his office," the announcer went on. A gruff voice that Robert Mann recognized brought a smile to his face. "No comment. Get that damn thing out of my face."

The announcer continued without pause. “Four of the previous five bodies have been identified as allegedly homosexual males who were known to frequent various gay underground locations in the city. There is some speculation that this common link might be consistent with all the victims in this investigation.”

“When asked, Frank Kaminy, the spokesman and president of the local branch of Mattachine Society, a homosexual organization, had this to say.” "We are hoping for a quick resolution so that gay men can feel safe going out on the street again. I am confident that the Metropolitan Police will do their best to see to it that these killings stop. That's all I want to say at this time."

The announcer went on, "The local homosexual community is terrorized and staying behind closed doors. Our investigation indicates that attendance at the homosexual hangouts has drastically been reduced by the murders. Now to the weather…." Robert clicked off the radio having learned little or nothing about the latest murder.

As he ran through a huge pothole while passing the sign that announced the beginning of the BW Parkway, he thought back to a rusty red Jeep as it bounced across the unyielding North Dakota high plains. He remembered that first time he had ridden with Morgan Swift Deer. It was to help find a drunk, who's wife wanted him home. Henry Dark Cloud had gone on one of his infrequent binges and Robert had seen him while rabbit hunting that morning. Robert had led Morgan right to Henry, after Morgan had spent most of the day searching.

Morgan took him for a soda at the general store once Henry was safe and sound at home…, except for his wife. Morgan had bragged to Robert’s father about Robert when he drove him home. Robert saw it like it was yesterday. It was the first time someone from outside his family had bragged about him. He went with Swift Deer every chance he got after that, even when his father didn’t approve, but then, his father never seemed to approve of him.

He thought it was the white skin. As soon as his mother was in the ground, he was put on a bus to Virginia to live with ‘her people.’ A million miles from anything he knew. All he had ever wanted was for his old man to like him and he'd never felt at home anywhere since.

*****

That night he had no difficulty finding a parking place. He walked across the Circle to the Fraternity house, but he had to follow the crowd around back to find the entrance and then he had to walk up some stairs. He followed some chattering guys who looked ordinary enough, until they burst through into the bar.

There were screams and howls and hellos, as Robert slipped past the people he had followed. The noise was incredible and they were packed shoulder to shoulder. Phil had told him to come early but he had decided later would be better, mainly because it meant he'd spend less time in there. Perhaps he could adjust to being around this type of people but for now he wanted small doses, hoping the case would be solved quickly. It took him five minutes to hear the piano playing somewhere barely within earshot.

He found an alcove with the piano, twenty tables, and a few diners still eating and listening to the piano player, Phil. Around his piano sat a dozen guys, listening intently to music Robert had never heard before.

He stood and listened, finding fewer people inside the restaurant area and enjoying that. Just as he was relaxing, the music stopped and Phil's arm hung in the air. He recognized the single silent order of the hand, commanding him to come forward.

"Okay, honey, you make a little room for Bobby," Phil ordered, motioning with his hand to clear a seat. Robert reluctantly sat in front of the piano, hoping that would get the eyes off him. The music started anew. Twenty minutes later Phil stood, dismissed his audience, and there was no one inside the area but him, Phil, and two bus boys who clanged and banged loud enough to drown out the din from the bar. In no time at all, Led Zeppelin burst from every pore of the establishment.

"Mother's hungry. Have you eaten?"

"A sandwich earlier. I was too nervous to eat," Robert admitted in a weak moment.

"Come! We shall dine on me. I know just the place. The dinner crowd is done and the after bar crowd hasn't arrived yet."

"Sounds good. This place is crazy," Robert said, never having seen such a mob jammed in so tightly.

It took five minutes for them to walk to the Hubbard House, taking the same table in the back. There were no more people than earlier in the afternoon.

“How do you know Mike?”

“Mike? Long story,” Phil’s demeanor changed and he got silent as the waitress broke free of her other customer and walked back to where the two sat.

“Who you bringing me, Philip? He your date or what? What a cutie you are. Your love life’s improving, I can see.”

“Franny, we don’t even know each other. He’s a favor I'm doing for a friend.”

"I bet you are. I'd do him in a New York minute," Franny exhaled. "Why are all the best ones gay? It's criminal, you know. Almost every guy I'm attracted to is a fag."

"At ease, girl. He's just been to the Frat House for the first time," Phil said. "I think he's still in the undecided camp."

"Isn't it great! All those beautiful guys and they all dance."

"I guess," Robert said, checking out her very white cleavage and then her bleached blond hair.

“Excuse me. I forget myself sometimes. It’s been a long day," she sighed. "Can I help you? What would you like?”

The waitress chewed gum while she talked and when she didn’t talk. It cracked when she didn't. There was a number two yellow pencil tucked in behind her ear that was a few shades darker than her hair.

"I feel so trussed up I don't know if I can eat," Phil said, rearranging himself in his seat and staring into the menu he knew by heart.

"Here, give me your coat and tie, honey. I'll hang them up while you make up your mind. Unbutton that top button and you'll feel better," Fran said.

"You're a prize, Fran," Phil took off his jacket and handed it to her.

"Okay, now that we've taken care of that, what's for dinner?" Fran asked.

"I'm Robert," Robert said without being asked.

"Bobby," Phil corrected.

"Yeah, I'm Bobby."

"Are you sure or are we going to vote on this later?" Fran asked, letting her eyes linger on Robert's dark glasses. Her voice was a bit grating but other than that, she looked just fine even with too much blue eye shadow.

Robert felt there was definitely a meeting of the minds and he'd be coming back to the Hubbard House on a regular basis. He'd been at the academy for months and he hadn't been on a real date since his second year of junior college. Fran wasn't the best looking woman he'd seen but she was the kind of woman he'd found himself with before.

“Burger, extra onions, extra pickle, mustard, no mayo and no votes,” Robert announced.

“You obviously ain’t lookin’ for intimacy,” Franny said.

“Yeah, well, haven’t eaten since earlier and I'm starved now. Fries or onion rings?” Robert questioned her.

“Hey, you’re going to eat it,” she said, holding the pencil to her lips as they both thought about it, or something. “What’s behind the sun glasses. You a fugitive or what?”

“No, just new in town, and the light hurts my eyes.” Robert usually forgot when he had dark glasses on. He felt safer behind the shades when he went into new places. He didn’t like people following his eyes while he examined them.

“Both come drowned in oil, Bobby. And my vote is still Bobby. Onion rings wear it but it mostly runs off the fries,” Phil said. “I’d go with those.” He looked at Robert carefully, watching him talk to Fran. He remembered the touch earlier in the day. He analyzed clues about people all the time. He was a good judge of character and there was something about Robert that puzzled him.

“Doesn’t either run off,” Fran said. “Our oil adheres. I vote for Bobby too.”

“Adheres?” Phil said. “You been reading the dictionary again?”

“I always try to learn new words. Heard that one on a commercial. Tires adhere to the road, I think. Adhere - cling to. I looked it up in Funk & Wagnals. Our oil don’t run off nothin’, babe. It adheres big time.”

“There, straight from the source. The fries don’t get saturated the onion rings do. We’ll try to slip that one past her,” Phil said, looking over top of his glasses. “I have a feeling she hasn’t gotten to the S’s yet.”

“Yeah, fries. Coke. Water. That’s it,” Robert said. “Oh, yeah, ketchup in the bottle not on the burger. Just mustard on the meat, babe.”

“No problem at all, babe,” Phil said, smiling broadly while looking at no one and thinking these two liked each other.

“You were going to say how you met Mike? It’ll be a while before the burger’s done. You said it was a long story.”

Phil looked up from what Robert could see was sheet music. He looked at Robert’s sunglasses. “It’s never long enough,” Phil said coolly, "but one works with what one has doesn't one?"

“I’m not asking for any family secrets. How did you meet him?” Robert persisted.

"What did he tell you?"

"He didn't."

"Why isn't he showing you the ropes? He knows all the places."

"I don't know. He thought I should meet people and he isn't comfortable with that, I guess."

"You're cousins, right?"

Robert heard the way Phil asked the question and it tipped him off to the answer. "You know we're not. I asked him for a favor. He suggested I meet you. Here we are. I don't know much about the gay scene."

"Yeah, just you and me… and Fran. I'm not sure what you want."

"Fran?" Robert said, back pedaling while he thought.

“You a cop?” Phil shot back. “You're a fucking cop aren't you? I'm going to scratch Mike's eyes out for doing this to me. I should have known right off. No self respecting gay man dresses in black and wears shades everywhere. You’re a cop.”

“Do I look like a cop?”

“Yes. You look like an oddball to me. You smell like a cop. You look just like a cop would look if he was trying to look like a gay guy.”

"You dressed me. I was happy in my clothes."

"That's not the look I'm referring to. Your clothes are stunning, your posture is all cocky cop."

For the first time since leaving the academy Robert's police savvy took hold. There was a strange relief. He felt in control now that he had been challenged to sell his assignment.

“A cop must carry his weapon and badge at all times, right? You want to frisk me? …Pass on that," Robert said, leaving no time for Phil to accept. "I'm just a guy, Phil. I'd appreciate your help. If you don't want to help, that's cool. I'm Robert… Bobby, and I want to fit in is all. Will you help me?”

"I don't know. I guess you're harmless, whether or not you are a cop, but I still think you are. I'll do what I can. You're going to take some work. You're quite overpowering."

"I'll work on it."

"If you think you're gay, Bobby, don't be toying with Fran's heart, okay. She doesn't need you waltzing her around the block. Don't be trying to figure out who you are by fucking her up."

"I don't waltz people around the block."

"Just don't waltz her is all. If we have that understanding, I'll help you."

"Okay," Robert said, watching Fran through his glasses as she set down the drinks.

"I dated a cop for two years. My last big love and I met Mike through Todd. He wasn't out but he did hang with Todd some of the time. Mike's sweet."

"You went with a cop?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him."

"Went back to his wife and 2.5 kids."

"Waltzed you around the block?"

"More waltzed himself around the block. He just can't go into the locker room and slap his cop buddies on the butt without feeling like a fraud. He's all cop and he can't get beyond it."

"I see," Robert said. "You stayed friends with Mike though?"

"Not really. I haven’t seen him since Todd left me. He called about the DC Strangler a few times. Asked me to be careful."

"I sent him flowers when he was in the hospital. I didn't go by because mother has a big mouth and I was sure his buddies would be hanging around. Hero cop and all."

"What was that about? How was he shot?"

"Oh, lord. It was a nightmare. I figured you'd know all about it."

"He doesn't talk about it," Robert said.

"Imagine mother's surprise, I turned on WTTG to catch the news before work. I'm ironing my shirt and listening to James Taylor on my tape deck. There's a picture of Mike. God he's so handsome in his uniform. That sweet face and those sexy eyes. "Officer Michael Connell wounded in shoot out with local crime syndicate," or something such as that. You get the idea."

"When Mike called, he said he'd been thinking about me. He thanked me for the flowers and card. He was concerned for me. Nice man. Nice, attractive, young man, but mother gets over you handsome types pretty fast these days. She only needs to take a gander in the mirror and is reminded of the story of the wicked old witch and the stunning stud."

"I don't know that one. You're exaggerating by a ways," Robert said. "You're a nice man and I'm not sure about all of this. I'm not looking to date anyone. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I don't waltz people, Phil."

"Is that some kind of a proposal, Bobby?"

"So what did you tell him when he called?" Robert asked, ignoring him.

"I knew them. I mean, I'd seen them. Most I'd seen around the time they were killed. Some the same night."

"They found one yesterday just over across the street."

“Oh my god, I know. I always hope I don’t know them. I don't even turn the news on any more. I just listen to Carole King and Cat Stevens and let the world go on by itself."

"So the victims come to the Frat House?"

"Everyone comes to the Frat House while they're making the rounds. Mostly they're just faces, but seeing them in the newspaper… it's pretty scary. It probably means the guy who is doing this is there too, you know. He is in there with us. The fox is in the hen house." Phil's voice tapered off as the thought passed.

"A gay guy?"

"I didn't say that. Could be. Gay guys are just guys. Killers are just guys that kill. I don't know. I've thought of it," Phil said as he drummed his fingers and looked around.

Fran came with the food and quickly went back for the ketchup. Robert took the bottle from her and their fingers lingered for an instant.

“It’s a shame a cow had to die for that,” Phil said.

“Lots of cows die all the time. We hunted them on the res when one wandered away from somebody’s ranch.”

“What res is that?” Phil asked.

“Just a place in North Dakota.”

“North Dakota,” Phil said, "You did come a long way. I'm from the Jersey Shore. Tom's River."

"My mother was from Olympia, Washington. That's a long way," Robert said. "North Dakota isn't so far."

“That would qualify. You always wear sunglasses at night? While you eat?”

Robert stopped as he got his burger to his lips. “In new places. I don't like harsh light. My eyes are sensitive.”

"She's not married?” Robert asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

“Had a boyfriend. Had a lot of bruises, and a few black eyes came with the jerk. I think she finally got shed of him.”

"She’s nice isn’t she? Somebody ought to kick her boy friend's ass."

“You play for both teams or what?” Phil said, looking toward Fran.

“Old habits....”

“Nothing says you need to break with a habit if it belongs to you. You certainly aren’t what I expected,” Phil said, trying to see behind the glasses as Robert picked up his burger.

“Yeah, I’m not what I expected either.”

Chapter 4

Long Nights

“We’ve got the tentative report from the coroner,” Mike Connell said, leaning in through the Commander's door.

"Why are you still here, Mike?"

"I was waiting for the reports, sir. You're still here."

"Coroner’s working late."

"A lot of that going around, sir."

Commander Brown went back to staring at the file that was in front of him. “You know Bland or Pollard?"

"I've crossed paths with Bland. I think Pollard is his pudgy partner?"

"Yeah, but he's fat. I'm fat. Pudgy is a guy that ate an extra donut after breakfast, Mike.” Brown looked up, “Come on in. Sit down. How long do you have to work for me before you relax a little? You don’t have to stay because I stay, Mike. You have a life.”

“You have a life.”

The big man leaned back in his chair placing his hands on his belly and smiling as he thought about his aide's loyalty. It was something he had seldom found in his career.

“This is my life, son. It’s your job.”

“Yes, sir."

"I want to stay with this case. My wife knows I'm coming down the home stretch. She lets me do what I want for the time being."

"I want to stay with this case too. I want to handle Mann. We need someone on the street."

"You've already sold me on that.” Brown paused, “This kid isn't that great of an idea. I'm still not sure about him."

"It is a good idea. It's the best we've got. We don't have anyone else, sir. We've got to use Mann."

“Mike, why can't you call me John? I mean, during regular work hours call me Commander or Commander Brown Sir. At... damn, didn't wind my watch. What the hell time is it any way?”

“Just after ten thirty, Commander.”

“Yeah, after 6p.m., call me John. Make me feel like I do have a life, even if I don’t. Humor the old man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a hard case, Connell.”

"My father was in the military. I was raised on respecting authority and the chain of command if I knew what was good for me. It's difficult calling my boss John."

"Yeah, I understand that. Your old man tough on you, Mike?"

"No more than usual. I was no angel.”

"He beat you if you got out of line?"

"Yeah! I got my share of hidings. I wasn't a bad kid but I was curious."

"Yeah, respect can be hell when it isn't earned."

“Your wife? How does she deal with the hours? Doesn't she worry?”

“She knows the job. She knows I’m on this case and riding this damn desk.”

“You think they’ll pull you off this if they think you want it?”

“Yeah, that’s the way it works. I'm positioned to deal with cops who don't care about queers getting killed."

"Gays."

"Sorry! I don't mean any offense, son. I'm an old man and that word has always been there. I might call them a name they don't like but I don't want them dead or hurt or even inconvenienced if I can do something about it. I know what it's like being seen as something other than human. I know what it's like and I know it's wrong."

"They don’t want me to be too visible and this is the kind of case that can breed visibility. They're sure I'll fuck it up because I'm just a nigger and what do I know, but I know I care."

"Yes, sir. I know that. And I know I want some room with Mann. I want him in the clubs and the gay hangouts."

"You know any of the victims?"

"Yes, I knew one. He went to DeMatha.”

"Another good Catholic boy. How do you square this with your God, son?"

"My God is a lot more loving and forgiving than my religion, sir."

"You still go to church?"

"Yes, sir. I'm not giving up my soul because a lot of ignorant people hate me for no reason.”

“At least they can't see the reason.”

“I wish they could. I wish it was impossible to hide it."

"Why's that?" Commander Brown asked.

"We'd have to deal with it. We'd have to deal with the people that would hurt us. We'd get tougher if we weren't able to hide. Keeping the secret sucks the energy out of your life. It alters who you really are. I've known guys that never found themselves after growing up with the secret."

"I'll try to hang in there with this Mann thing for as long as I can. You know I'm sticking my neck out."

"I know every gay man in DC is sticking his neck out every time he leaves home. I think it calls for a best effort."

"We're going to fix that. He's getting bolder. I've seen it before. The ones that like it have an appetite for it. They need more and more to get them to where the killing takes them. He's going to make a mistake, get careless, and we'll be waiting, and then I'll be done."

“I don’t understand. You’ve got over twenty. You’re the only black commander. The men all respect you. They can’t hurt you any more. You could be chief one day.”

“No, son. I can’t be chief.” The smile was gone from Commander Brown’s face. His deep thoughts took him inside the workings of the police department. He knew how things worked and change came hard.

“He’s taunting us with the rope. He leaves it to show us he isn’t scared of us. He's in control. It’s cut from ordinary clothesline that hangs in every backyard in DC. He keeps it somewhere safe, somewhere not connected to him, his mother's house maybe. The rope is a dead end. We’ll never get anywhere on the rope.”

“What then?”

“How does he get them to go with him is what I want to know?”

“Talk?”

“It doesn’t add up. There's no sign of struggle. No resistance,” Commander Brown puzzled. “They go with him and then let him kill them. Now I know queer men are supposed to be pansies but survival kicks in somewhere along the line. That football player? No bruises on his knuckles? No skin under his nails?”

"Drugs them?"

"Get the blood reports if we don't have them. See if there's anything there. Not tonight. You go home now."

"Why did you fight for me? Nobody else fought for me, John. They were going to hang me out on disability."

John Brown smiled as though he'd won some temporary victory. "You put yourself in front of a bad guy's bullet so he didn't take out your partner or some poor innocent slob walking past. You're the kind of cop I want near me."

"I've got half a stomach, no spleen, and there's still a bullet in my back. All I can do is ride a desk now."

"Then I want you riding a desk for me. Besides, look at us. You're running a case that's right up your alley. I don't know the first thing about pickle packers. Few cops do. You have insight. If you believe in that sort of thing. It's why we're both here."

*****

It was after the seventh body was found that Mike called Robert and arranged a meeting.

"Yeah, what's up?" Robert asked.

"They've found number seven last night. I want to move you into town. Do you know where Hyattsville is coming from your place? You cross over a big old concrete bridge to get down onto Route 1."

"Yeah, I can find that."

"As you come off that bridge look to the left back to the first street you see on Route 1 going back south. Make a left and then turn right on Gallatin Street. You'll see the flagpole and a big American flag in front of the post office. Go up to the end of the street and you'll see St. Jerome’s. I'll be there at noon. You can meet me at one o’clock and I'll buy you lunch while I brief you on the next step."

"Why wait for an hour? If you're going to be there at noon, I'll meet you at noon. It's only ten now. I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"I'm going to confession. It's been a while. I need an hour with the priest if it doesn't upset your tight schedule. I'll ask him to hurry."

"Damn, an hour, it has been a while. You look so clean cut. One it is. I won't eat breakfast and you can feed me up."

*****

"Winnie's Chuck Wagon! Give me a break. This ain't fine dining, Mike."

"Yeah, but it's cheap and quick and we can sit in my car and talk while we eat. Stay away from the egg salad. That shit’s deadly." The silver truck had stopped directly in front of St. Jerome’s and two nuns, a priest, and several other people clad in routine garb lined up to buy drinks and sandwiches from the food coach.

They ended up in Robert's car, ripping the cellophane off their sandwiches.

"You know where all these trucks stop?" Robert asked.

"No, just this one. I used to deliver milk. Harvey Dairy. I delivered milk here on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday at about one o'clock. It was my last stop before going back to the dairy. Winnie's Chuck Wagon Caterers were always here and if I was early, I waited, except Saturday."

"You were a milkman?"

"Yeah, Hyattsville was my route. I did it for a year until I went to the academy. I was going to school. Getting some police science courses. Maryland University is just up the street."

"What's up, Mike?"

"What are you doing?"

"Eating this lousy dried out sandwich you bought me."

"You somehow don't look to me like you are a gourmet.”

“Yeah, well, I've been hanging around Phil."

"How's that working?"

"He's okay for a fag."

"You use that word to me again and I'm pulling you out. I'll find someone that learns a little faster than you do. He's not a fag. He's a fine man. He's an excellent piano player and a hell of a nice guy."

"I can't help it. I keep forgetting."

"Well, remember. You're doing a job. You might want to try to remember that." Robert was a bit shocked by Mike's intensity. He'd been lulled into an easy routine that was more like a vacation than a job.

"I've spent a lot of time with Phil at the Frat House. Being seen like you said. I've been to The Grill. I've been to the Brass Rail. Lots of military type guys there. I'm going over to the Eagle, Sunday. They have a brunch or something one guy thought I'd like. I get to wear jeans anyway.”

"Yeah, the Rail and Eagle are the places I figure this guy might hang. That doesn't mean the other bars are a waste of time. The more you circulate the more likely you'll cross paths with this creep. It's not like you have anything else to do but play the role."

Robert had also spent his share of time at the Hubbard House. Most often he went there with Phil before or after he played, but he also found himself stopping there when he thought Fran might be on or when he needed to feel more like a man, which was all the time now.

He was adjusting to being around gay men. The comments and obscene suggestions that came disguised as conversation no longer upset him if he didn't think about the intent. For the most part gay men seemed to be all mouth and no one had touched him in any way that he couldn't handle after more than a week of mingling with them.

While it was a surprise, it was also a relief that fighting off advances wasn't necessary. There were some men that made his skin crawl when they verbalized their interest in him, but there had been those men who almost made him feel flattered when they indicated how damn attractive they found him. He wasn't sure what this was about but he knew there was a difference. Losing sleep over it wasn't in the cards as long as they all kept their hands to themselves.

"There are some roles this boy isn't going to play. I will hang around and gather as much information as I can, but I'm not going to get up close and intimate, if you catch my drift?"

"There's no reason to. You're just there to fit in and keep your eyes open and that's all. If you get wind of anything that smells like the Strangler, you call me immediately. You don't do anything. You don't try to handle it yourself. This is an investigation and not a playground for amateurs. You catch my drift?"

"Why are you pissed off at me? I thought we were on the same side here," Robert questioned.

"I’m not pissed off, I’m concerned. I just want you to know how important this is. Commander Brown still thinks this might be a bad idea, but I know how necessary it is that we have you on the inside looking for this guy. If you screw up Brown pays and I don't want him hurt."

"You won't hurt him. I've got everything under control."

"I find that hard to believe. Just do what I say and nothing more."

"Yes, sir."

"I've got a place for you on 19th Street. It's just off the Circle. You can't miss it. It's painted bright green and has a low wrought iron fence out front. It's the bottom apartment on the right as you go in the front door."

"Sounds absolutely lovely," Robert said.

"Have you gotten over to Southeast? Johnny's and Plus 1 has their share of characters. The Lost & Found is popular and the newest ‘in spot’ is Pier 9. Big gaudy restaurant and dance hall. You can find anything in there."

"I've been sticking with Phil. Listening to him. Getting to know a few of the guys that come up there."

"Yes, well it's time to spread your wings and fly solo. You spend time in Southeast for the next few days. I think Phil can take care of himself. That's it. Here's the keys and the directions. Don't leave anything where you're at. You won't go back there."

*****

Robert pulled on the heavy, thigh-high, black wrought iron gate several times before pushing on it to get it to open. He waited for Fran to enter first. He moved past her to open the door of the building, and then stopped at the first door and opened it with the key that was now on his ring.

The light from the street lit the room just enough for them to be able to see one another. Robert kissed her quickly as the door closed behind them. He'd been waiting to kiss her since they'd met. It was a nice kiss. The gum was nowhere he could find.

“It’s nice of you to invite me up. I can’t stay too long. I’ve got a breakfast shift at seven. I’m covering for Ella. Her little girl’s sick again and I can't be late.”

“You could stay here, tonight,” Robert suggested. "A mere five minute walk to work."

“Really? I need a shower if I’m going to stay. I have my makeup, and there are clean uniforms at work.”

“See, there’s a reason for everything,” Robert said, kissing her again. “You won’t have to drive all the way to Adelphi and then back and that gives us plenty of time.”

The kiss lingered and all resistance had gone out of Fran. All her worries were addressed. She had wondered what it would be like inside of Bobby's strong arms, and she wasn't disappointed.

“Let me get that shower. It will make both of us feel better,” Fran said as they both took air.

Robert sat on the couch with his head back as he listened to the water running. He hadn’t been with a girl in over a year. He had only been able to think about it while he was at the academy.

Once he’d taken the assignment that day the thought had come to a boil in his brain. He needed a woman to reassure him that he wouldn’t lose contact with what he was. He felt every bit as lustful as the last time he’d got lucky. It was reassuring that he hadn't been changed by the assignment or by the men that wanted him more than any woman ever had.

He listened to the water until it stopped running. It was a few more minutes before the door to the bathroom opened. He found himself excited by the light behind her. She was just a shadow in front of it when she walked deliberately toward him. There was a towel around her small body and one on her hair. She came and sat straddling his lap.

The wait and the wondering was over for both of them. Fran made Robert feel like a man and he made her feel like a woman. There was more lust than love and even without the drive, Fran wasn't going to get much sleep. It was nobody's fault. They had found something they both needed far more than sleep.

Fran woke up with the early morning light and dressed quietly while her partner slept. She slipped out the door without letting it make a sound. She was at work early and had time to put on her makeup and get into a fresh uniform.

Chapter 5

Spread Your Wings

On Sunday Robert had the brunch at the Eagle. There was more leather and more bluster but he didn't mind it. It was like a busy Grill with more costumes. After a few hours he drove to just past the Capitol on Pennsylvania Avenue. He went into Johnny's. It was full of characters with a bizarre mixture of drag queens and cowboys with a seashore motif. It was the strangest bar yet.

It was too loud to think inside so he walked across the street to the Plus 1. A guy in a cowboy hat followed him and offered to buy him a beer. Robert froze and turned down the offer, then returned to his car. He had the sudden urge to go over to the Hubbard House to see Fran. He asked her to spend the night. He told her he'd leave the door open and she was delighted. Robert needed to get his arms around a woman and Fran was fine, making no demands and having the same desire as he did.

The next few days Robert ate at the Hubbard House and the Grill as often as possible. It was during one of his visits to the Grill that he overheard two men talking about the ‘meat rack.’

He followed them out, leaving his half eaten ham and Swiss on pumpernickel and almost fresh chips. He did grab the pickle because the ones Judy served him crunched and made his mouth water when he thought about eating one. The pickles made the sandwiches worthwhile, but then again, so did Judy.

The two guys led him on a walk around the block. It wasn't what he expected. Just before they were ready to take the turn that would take them back to Wisconsin Avenue the pace slowed and Robert noticed two boys sitting on a wall looking back over their shoulders at the men as they approached the corner. Exchanging glances, the four were obviously engaged in some kind of silent communication. He ran the words ‘meat rack’ through his brain and got the picture.

They continued these glances after turning the corner and walking passed the boys. They looked back over their shoulders at them, not staring but indicating some interest. As Robert approached he was hardly noticed at first. The boys were sitting on a four-foot high concrete wall with their backs to Robert as they 'cruised' the most recent passersby. Robert looked up and saw the big red church that was confined behind the wall. It stood high above him as he walked and it ran back to the previous corner. He thought this to be an odd setting for a 'meat rack.'

He had an interest in the boys but he wasn't sure what it was. While they seemed apprehensive, Robert could find no sign of fear or of any danger. In fact they seemed anxious to make contact as the two men were passing. Only after the men were starting to put distance between themselves and their observers did anyone speak.

"Nice day," one boy said and more glances were exchanged but there was no connection beyond the two words.

Robert wasn’t sure of what he was seeing but there was an interaction between the four obvious strangers. The interest of the wall sitters quickly shifted to him as he reached the corner. Both boys smiled and seemed eager to be acknowledged. He returned the smile and noted they were in their late teens but not old enough to be out of school, though they obviously were. He wondered what the penalty was for truancy. He knew the penalty for careless gay men could be death.

Robert thought nothing of the scene beyond the obvious and he continued on his way. Nodding as he passed, the idea of conversation seemed awkward. They could take it wrong and that was still a worry. While he contemplated turning back to have a chat, their interest shifted yet again to a car stopping in front of them. The opportunity for Robert to learn anything from them was lost in a sudden shuffle of activity.

Looking back, he saw a scramble for the car door and a clearer picture of what was going on started to develop. The winner mocked the loser as he shut the door on him. Robert tried to see the driver's face when the car passed but he was looking at his new passenger. Robert's apprehension about the 'meat rack' and 'cruising' were replaced by fear for the boy who had just gotten into the car with an absolute stranger.

The age of the kids and the man who picked one of them up was of less interest than the event itself. How many gay men got into cars with strangers and let themselves be casually driven away? It was startling to Robert that anyone would get in a car with a stranger while the DC Strangler ran rampant. His unease chipped away at him as he finished his walk.

He passed the Grill on the return trip, walked to the corner and found the line of phones beside the Little Tavern, he stepped into one of the booths and dropped his coins in the slot. Mike picked up on the second ring.

"Commander Brown's office, Connell speaking."

"Mike! I found something."

"Mann? What did you find?"

"I'm over at the Grill. I've just been around the 'meat rack'. Do you know that kids get into cars with strangers? They're out here trying to get themselves picked up."

"You called me to tell me that?"

"Yes! How many gay guys get into strange cars?"

"I'd bet that most of the men who walk the ‘meat rack’ have done it one time or another."

"Why would they do that with a madman running loose? Don't they know the danger?"

"Mann, there are some things I can’t explain. The urge to merge is sometimes greater than the idea of being safe."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Guys want to screw more than they want to worry. Gay men tend to relate to sex as a connection to happiness. Some just like it because they aren't alone while they're doing it."

"How are we going to catch this guy if the victims are jumping off the curb into his car?"

"There's no evidence that that's the case. Cool down and put things into perspective. You've started to discover that there is a lot more to the gay scene than men in bars chasing other men in bars. Use your knowledge to help you manage your time. You're out there to discover things like you have just discovered. No one thing is going to lead to the guy we're looking for, but a lot of little details might give us a clearer picture of how he operates. Keep doing what you're doing. At least I know you are taking it seriously. I've got some work to do, so if that’s all you have, call me in a few days. Just be out there with your eyes open. You're the best tool we have at the moment."

The dial tone jolted Robert's ear. He placed the phone down firmly into the receptacle, holding onto it as he pictured that boy getting into the car. He cringed and thought the odds of catching this guy had just gotten a lot longer.

*****

There were a few more days of making the rounds and meeting up with Phil for meals. On Phil's night off they went to a place called the Astor and Robert was introduced to Greek food but it was all Greek to him if it went beyond meat and potatoes. The food was good and the people were sedate compared to some of the places Phil introduced him to. Robert liked the food enough that he checked as they left so he remembered where it was.

Robert was feeling less stress around Phil and that was an improvement. Gay men in general still left him feeling uncomfortable but he'd never been comfortable around most people, so the feelings weren't unfamiliar. He still didn't like the thoughts about what they did, although his fear of being touched by one had passed. No one had touched him in anything but a casual way. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but most of them seemed harmless.

It was on the weekend when Phil invited Robert to dinner at the Fraternity House on Tuesday evening with a dozen or so of his most intimate friends. There was an article being done for the Style section of the Post for Thursday's edition and they insisted on pictures with people crowded around the piano listening to him perform.

Since there was no way to control the bar crowd and with so many men wanting to hide their homosexuality, Phil thought an early evening meal and pictures afterward would work best.

Eyes were opened wide as he was introduced around. "So this is Bobby," one man observed, standing to shake his hand. "Every bit as lovely as advertised."

Robert exchanged glances with Phil and Phil blushed. He had mentioned to a few friends that someone quite special would be sharing the meal without going into detail. He would let them imagine who Bobby was, knowing the conclusion they were most likely to draw.

Several of them held the handshakes for longer than necessary, creating their own images. He smiled and tried to take it in stride but the eyes never left him. All of it reinforced his discomfort around men who looked at him like he was the blue plate special.

He was placed next to Phil and found the pop-up photographer annoying. There was no way to know when he was going to strike and so it was always a surprise and too late at the same time when the flash blinded everyone.

Phil took it all in stride as he sipped from his fancy umbrella decorated drink while waiting for his Steak Diane, which sounded a bit suspect to Robert. He settled for the T-bone, and the waiter knew by then he wanted it burnt.

The drinks and conversation flowed; another flash, and the photographer was over here and then over there. One of the guests at the table was a former Washington Redskin's tight end and Robert recognized his name. There was a banker and the owner of an auto body shop. These all seemed like regular guys and Robert was somewhat more comfortable in conversation with them.

There was also an English hairdresser and a professional drag queen, not practicing his profession, thank heavens. Robert didn't have a clue how a tall skinny blond guy with a huge Adams apple could pull that one off, but some things are best left unknown.

Everyone was asked to gather around the piano after having enough time to finish a drink and before the meal arrived. Phil arranged Robert on one of the corners closest to him and there were three, four, and five shots while they discussed "Send In The Clowns" vs. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" as favorite tunes.

Robert mentioned that he liked "I Fall To Pieces", and Phil immediately played it while Lady Melanie sang the words. It did not do Patsy Cline justice but maybe he sang better when he was a woman. Everyone laughed and there were more drinks for the needy and dinner was served. Robert stuck with the draft beer. He limited himself to two glasses, because in reality he was here on business, and he thought he could still do business on two beers. They also helped to loosen him up but not too loose.

There were the inevitable questions about where he came from, how long he would be in town, and how he came to know an ‘old queen’ like Phil. Robert knew the answers by now and even expected these questions. He was from the mid-west and came to DC to sample city living. A friend of a friend had asked Phil to show him around.

All the men were approximately Phil's age, except for one who was younger than Robert. He was quiet and quite good looking. They all came well dressed and even well mannered, but he noticed a distinct demeanor change when they talked to each other as opposed to when they were talking to him. They called one another ‘dearie’ and ‘miss’ and that had a way of confusing whatever issue came up.

It was a relief by the time Phil finished his meal and moved back to the piano. The music made it possible for him to disregard the table talk as he took an unusual interest in it. Phil patted the seat at the corner of the piano when he caught Bobby's eye.

By then more people were gathering around the piano. The entire bar was suddenly writhing with people. There was a background buzz that never ceased and the crowd grew to a point where you could hardly move once you left the confines of the dining area and the piano bar.

There was a difference in the crowds. The people in the main bar were for the most part Robert’s age, although they ran the spectrum. The bar crowd tended to stay on the outside of the dining area.

Robert located the exit and the easiest escape route long before he was ready to excuse himself. He liked knowing his surroundings, especially in crowds, and he always planned his exit a head of time. It was even more important in places like this.

It was while leaning on the piano and planning his departure that the evening changed. He thought he would go to his Dupont Circle apartment and change into jeans and flannel and ‘cruise’ Southeast for a few hours. A place like Frat House was way too jammed for any close scrutiny, although there was a lot of scrutinizing going on as the booze flowed and the music from the jukebox in the bar pounded in the background.

Robert’s back was turned to the cry. It was more a scream. The voice was distinctively feminine, but there was a hint of masculinity just below the falsetto soprano screech. The message was clear, and Robert immediately picked out the danger.

“He’s killing him. He’s going to kill him. Someone... help!”

Not only was it possible that Robert had walked into the break the police were hoping for but it was a perfect opportunity for him to escape the company that surrounded him. Of course he would need to get through the crowd that had stationed itself between him and the only public exit.

“Please! Someone help,” came the plea again.

Robert charged towards the voice. The crowd around the man was a beehive of activity. No one was venturing out to where the mayhem was taking place but people were still coming in and there was a tight circle around the distraught queen.

“Where?” Robert yelled over the heads of her attendants.

The short red-haired man whirled with one hand up to his throat. His eyes showed appreciation as he sensed help was on the way. “In the alley,” he/she said. “He jumped us. He’s beating him. He’ll kill him!”

Robert didn’t wait for any more chit chat. He leaped down the stairs two and three at a time as people were spilling in through the double doors.

"Far out," one leather clad dude quipped as Robert leaped past him. People were rushing up the stairs but they cleared a path for the man on a mission. "He's so butch," another man lisped with his hand on his lips.

Once he burst through the door, he found another crowd. This was quite different from the upstairs version. These men were all pressed back against the building as far from the action as they could get but they weren't scrambling away.

There were two men on the ground and a third much larger man, circling and bellowing insults at his audience. "You fucking fags. Come on. Let's see what you got. You bunch of pussy mother fuckers."

Robert surveyed the situation, keeping his distance from the assailant.

"You better watch it. He's quick for a big guy," a man attending one of the fallen said, looking up and seeing Robert's demeanor and realizing he was about to take on the bully boy.

"Fucking fag," the man screamed, with spittle flying on his next intended victim. He swung wide with his punch and it gave his target a chance to slip beneath the blow. The crowd parted to let the enraged bull of a man have all the room he liked.

He circled, keeping his eyes on the crowd that had gathered around his mayhem. No one else retreated but no one was about to engage him either. There was that police instinct and the reality of protect and defend that moved Robert the last step or two that separated him from the threat.

"They called the cops. They don't respond too quick for us," the same man said, dabbing the nose of his fallen friend with a handkerchief. "He circles right. He's got a vicious hook."

"Thanks," Robert took the last step that separated him from the enemy. He found himself wondering if the DC Strangler could be this crazy? This was more the work of a homophobic drunk; any drunk he'd ever known in fact. There was one instant when he thought he shouldn't do this and then there was the cop who was dying to get out.

“You want some of this you little faggot?” the man bellowed.

"Why don't we just be nice and walk away before the police come?"

"They don't scare me. You don't scare me," he said, taking one unsure step backward as his wide open eyes locked on his next intended victim. "You're all faggots."

Robert moved deeper into the alley, keeping an arms length between him and the huge dude. Robert circled to the left so the man had to move left to follow him and this seemed to annoy the bully more than a little.

“Come on you little cock sucker. Let’s have a go or are you too nellie for a good fight?”

Robert wasn't listening to what the guy said, but the word nellie did slip through. He could feel the anger rise when he needed to stay calm. He continued circling left, letting the big man make the first move.

The shrieking and screaming crowd had gone completely silent. Once Robert moved within the arms length he'd been keeping between them, the man lunged forward. Robert stepped to the side as the guy slid on his belly. The crowd roared it’s approval. "Right on!" One happy man yelled. "Hit that sack of shit."

“You bastard,” the hulk spat as he rose from hands and knees.

There was a wild swing that exposed the man's chin, and Robert placed a fist on it, sending him back down on hands and knees.

There was more approving applause and cheers that went up from the home team. This time the guy got up more carefully, keeping his eyes on Robert. There would be no more conversation. He knew he was in a fight and this was no one- punch wonder to be cowed.

He rested his hands on his knees, keeping Robert in his view, calculating his next move a bit more carefully. There was another lunge as Robert moved to within three feet of him, and this time Robert exploded a punch into the man’s abdomen, forcing the air out of him. He went back down on his knees, holding his stomach, fighting for a breath of fresh evening air.

Robert stood over him with both fists ready if he made the slightest offensive move. “You had enough?” Robert asked, now sure this wasn't his man.

He wasn't even a good fighter, just a big one who used bluster to get his way. A blond with way too much hair piled on his head and way too much chest for any man, lurched out of the crowd screaming, “Stanley, you quit acting the fool. You done enough damage for one night. You tell this nice man you're sorry or I'm not coming back this time.”

Stanley apparently wasn’t quite ready to say uncle and words failed him just then as everyone looked at the spokes-personage. He lunged at Robert, throwing a diminished punch to his jaw that stung without doing more than superficial damage. Robert cursed the distraction and hammered Stanley three good punches, just like a prize fighter might do.

"A fag fight! Can you believe it. Give me that," Jim Bland said before yelling, "Break it up or I'll break you."

Robert was in mid-punch and Stanley was crumpling when without warning the world moved out from under him. There was cheering and applauding and then a dull thud that echoed inside Robert’s head. The silence took hold as the overhead lights brightened to the intensity of a super nova, becoming so bright it scalded his eyes as his sunglasses broke, falling away from his face in slow motion. He was left to wonder what the hell he was doing down there, and then everything went black as pitch.

Rookie Robert Mann meet Detective Jim Bland.

Chapter 6

Over Exposure

“In,” Commander Brown said after hearing the knock.

“There’s something you need to see,” Mike Connell entered.

“I was wondering where the rest of my paper was. At least you left me the sports page, not that it’s any damn good now that the Senators aren’t playing.”

“I didn’t want you to see it right off. I knew it would ruin your day.”

“Shit!” Brown said, knowing it had to be bad if Mike was holding out until after he had his first cup of coffee.

Mike carefully placed the front page of the Washington Post in front of the Commander.

DC STRANGLER 7 DC COPS 1

“What is this crap?”

“Don’t ask. Picture down at the bottom. At the corner of the piano.”

“Jesus Christ. Get him in here,” Commander Brown growled. "What's he think he's doing?"

“That's only half of it,” Mike said. “Read the article.”

“While the DC Strangler roams the city killing at will, the police force took time out last night to assault a citizen who was trying to stop a man from beating up patrons of a local Dupont Circle bar.

This reporter had the good fortune to be on the scene and witnessed the Metropolitan Police at their best. A patron of the bar came to the rescue of several other patrons who were being assaulted by one Stanley Lubenivich who has three previous arrests for assault and battery. Once the police arrived on the scene, they proceeded to knock the hero of the day unconscious. Of course, they offered an apology once they realized their mistake. Is it no wonder Mr. Strangler is still on the prowl."

“Don’t tell me,” Commander Brown moaned. "So much for this plan."

“Yeah, our one and only. He was trying to help,” Mike said.

"You talked to him?"

"No. No, he didn't answer the phone. I went by his place but he wasn't home."

"You check the hospitals?"

"No, sir.”

"Why me? I want to talk to him as soon as he's available. Was he hurt badly? Who hit him?"

"Jim Bland."

"Jesus! It just keeps getting better doesn't it? Get Bland’s ass in here too. Goddamn redneck."

"Yes, sir. He's not going to like it. You know how he feels about being assigned to you."

"I don't give a damn about his feelings."

"What do we do about Mann?"

"He was undercover. Now he’s on the front page of the goddamn Washington Post. Didn’t one of us tell him not to do anything? Tell me we told him. Tell me he's just a fuck-up.”

“He’s a good kid, Commander. He was trying to do the right thing. He is a cop. I'd a done the same thing. Hell, you'd a done the same thing.”

“Do you know cops used to go into suspected ‘gay bars’, select someone, beat the hell out of them and then just walk away?"

"You never did that." Connell stated.

"No, only white cops got to have all the fun."

"That's not funny, sir."

"No, it wasn't funny then either. It was acceptable to do that. You know, making people subhuman justifies cruelty.”

"Yeah, unless you’re the subhuman, sir."

"I should have known something like this could happen."

"We were taking a risk, sir."

“Yeah, yeah, well, I got to do the right thing now. Why didn’t you tell me this was a lousy idea when you came up with it? There was always too much that could go wrong. Rookie's are a disaster waiting to happen. I told you that.”

“Progress doesn’t come without risk, sir. We can salvage it. He's in now. This is about as bad as it gets when you're running an undercover operation. What's it going to hurt to leave him out?"

"From your lips to God's ears. Get his jacket and papers ready just in case. He might be going to Northwest sooner than we thought. What else does the Post have to say this morning?”

“Nothing that will give you a warm fuzzy feeling. You've got the worst of it for today.”

"Let's get ahead of this thing just in case. I want you to contact all of the members of Mann's academy class. Remind them of what you told them about undercover work. Mention to them that their asses are going to belong to me if they so much as mention any knowledge of Robert Mann to anyone at any time. No notes! No memos! Talk to each of them and make the message clear. Most Rookies don't want to screw with a commander if they can help. The instructors and staff at the academy might take a little more finesse. You better take a run down there and talk to them in person. Let them know we're depending on them to play this information close to the vest. They should play ball if you convince them that we're between the proverbial rock and the hard place. Time for you to turn on the charm. It's why I pay you the big bucks, huh, son?"

"The mayor pays me sir."

"Yeah, well, I'm depending on you, Connell. Sell this thing. It's your plan. I just don't want it getting away from us. Now you can get out of here while I contemplate if I should slashing one of my wrists or two."

Connell had already considered contacting Mann's classmates. He hadn't thought about the instructors or the staff at the academy but he could see where that was a base that might be worth touching if Mann was to stay effective.

*****

Robert slowly came back to the world. He wasn't sure where he was once he got both of his eyes open. His head pounded and it took a moment for him to remember the events of the night before. He lay there for a long time not thinking about anything in particular. It was uncharacteristic for him to linger in bed. He usually sprang up to grab hold of the new day. It was a new day but there was no spring in him.

He stepped across the hall to the bathroom and washed his face. He examined the lump on his head and the colorful and painful bruise ranging from his temple to his cheek bone. He dried his face on the towel beside the sink and tried not to glance at his reflection again.

On the back of the toilet he noticed various makeup products and an assortment of moisturizers and skin toners. He shook his head and thought of his Speed Stick and Brut, his only concession to the world of cosmetics.

The smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. Robert knew immediately that it was exactly what he needed to jump-start his day. He wandered out, following the smell, and found Phil sitting at the table in the dining room. His feet were propped up on one of the other seven chairs.

There was the urge to laugh as soon as he surveyed the scene. Phil wore extra large pink fuzzy slippers that had long white rabbit ears that hung down. The white rabbit eyes, black rabbit nose, and white cotton ball tail finished the outrageous rabbit slippers.

"Morning, Dear," Phil quipped without looking away from the paper. "Coffee's in the pot. There's a cup over there with pink flamingos on it. I put it out especially for you. You’re going to need a cup before you see the paper."

"Thanks," Robert said. “The paper? What about the paper?”

“Oh yeah! You’re going to simply love the paper. How long you been in town, Bobby?”

“Not long enough,” Robert said.

“Usually takes a girl awhile to make the front page of the Post. I knew you were faster than the average bear when I first saw you,” Phil said as Robert listened carefully without understanding the banter.

Phil handed him the front page with the headlines that were difficult to miss. Robert looked at the article and cringed when he got down to the part that gave the name of the brutalized hero as Bobby Mann. His face was circled and enlarged as the photograph showed him leaning on Phil's piano.

There was no way for him to know what it meant but he knew it wasn't good. Now he regretted doing what he had done. At the time it seemed right and there was the thought that it could have been the Strangler. Now it was all for naught. The game was over.

He was used to Phil calling him Bobby but seeing it in print caused him to cringe again. He read the article twice, ignoring the photo. He thought of Commander Brown and reached for his temple as the cringe became painful.

He didn’t show his reaction as he tossed the paper back down on Phil’s outstretched legs. He didn’t remember being hit or the apology but he accepted the story as an explanation for lights out. Even the fight had grown fuzzy. He did remember ‘Stanley’ and his queen, but how could you forget a thing like that? The guy was plenty big enough to do serious damage to the unsuspecting but he knew now that he should have left well enough alone.

“Why did you do it, Bobby? Self-respecting queers don’t need to resort to fisticuffs. Most of us anyway. We call the cops.”

“I’m not a self-respecting anything. I wasn’t going to let that guy hurt anyone. I may not be skilled or well spoken, but I am a man, Phil. No matter what else you are, you don't stop being a man.”

“Yeah, a good cop wouldn’t standby and watch. I had you pegged until your buddies came up to lay you out like a pig on a platter. I really thought you were a cop. I guess Mother’s hunches aren’t what they used to be. I’m sorry my invitation got you hurt. Are you okay?”

“Life isn’t always what it appears,” Robert said. “Besides, your invitation had nothing to do with the fight. Shit happens.”

“You’ll be a hero around town, you know. All the girls will be talking,” Phil was thrilled about that aspect of the situation. “We don’t have many heroes to talk about.”

“You mean guys,” Robert corrected. “I’m no hero. I'm just a guy that had a fight.”

“Yes, of course, guys. Why does it bother you? It’s only words.”

“It’s insulting to me. I’m not used to it and I don’t like it. I wasn't raised that way.”

“Remind me never to get you pissed off, Bobby. You were doing all right until the reinforcements showed up. Where’d you learn to fight?”

“It’s a natural talent. I came from a rough neighborhood you might say. I’ve been fighting all my life. Last night wasn’t even a fight. He was drunk. We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

"Nasty looking face you got there stud," Phil commiserated.

"Thanks! Looks bad does it?"

"Yeah. Gives new meaning to black and blue. Colors I've never seen before.”

Robert touched the sensitive right temple. He knew pain and he knew this pain would pass. It was bad enough but not serious.

"Jerry called. He's got Redskins tickets. Wants you to go to this weekend’s game. Wanted to know if you were okay. Brad and William called about you. All from last night. You are a hot number now. Mother won't be able to keep you for herself any more."

"Will you cut it out? I hate that," Robert ranted, holding the side of his face as pain shot through it.

"Sorry! You should stop by the hospital and get that looked at."

"I will if it bothers me."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn’t take any chances with a face like that."

"I hope I didn't bleed on the sheets," Robert said apologetically. "I didn't mean what I said."

"Mothers got plenty of sheets, hon. Besides, there’s been a lot worse shit on them sheets and you get to say anything you want around here.”

"I've got to go. There's some business I've got to see to."

"Would you like breakfast. I've got plenty of eggs, bacon, whatever. I thought perhaps you might want something to eat. There’s scrapple if you like it. Mother keeps her ice box filled, you know. Any time you need a meal or a bed, come on by."

"No. Thanks. I need to move on. Get some fresh air. Clear my head. I've got to get another pair of sunglasses. This light is killing my eyes,"

"Peoples Drug Store. It's right off the circle down about a half a block. Can't miss it."

"Thanks, I'll stock up. I'm always losing them."

*****

Bland slid into the seat of the car that was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps in front of his house. Pollard shook his head, remembering the evening before.

Just about the time they were giving up on the latest stakeout, the call came in that there was a disturbance at the entrance of the Fraternity House. They had only been five blocks away and arrived on the scene at the same time as two squad cars. They both thought or hoped it was a break in the Strangler case so they could get on with something else.

It was just a brawl but the long days and nights and the frustration of getting nowhere was taking its toll. Jim Bland was no one to fool around with. Pollard had seen him in action too many times. He wasn't surprised when he grabbed the billy club and he wasn't surprised at the viciousness of the blow. Bland wasn't hitting a fag or breaking up a brawl. He was striking out at frustration.

Pollard had been a cop too long. What it meant to be a cop in the fifties was nothing like what it meant in the seventies. Now there would be fallout, and both men knew that.

“See the paper?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ Post. A bunch of candy ass commie sympathizers over there. My luck one of them would be on scene.”

“Anyone call you?”

“No, we’re going in to headquarters. I'll hear from the big nigger. No doubt about that."

"He's a commander, Jim."

"Yeah, well that don't change what he is."

"It might help if you'd change your attitude."

"They’re setting this fag up to be some kind of a hero. That makes us look worse, you know. Picking on the poor helpless fags. I told him to stop. He didn't listen is all."

“You see the size of that dude? Biggest fucking faggot I ever saw. What did that fairy call him? ‘Stanley, you stop it!’ ” Pollard squealed for Bland in a falsetto voice and they both howled remembering the incident.

“I figured him for a redneck. You know, someone said something to him he didn't like,” Bland said. “What’s the punch line? I don't get it, do you?”

"Yeah, who'd figure a guy that size would be a…."

“Well it was obvious neither one of them were clever enough to be the guy we want. It was just a street fight. Judgment call in my book. Tie goes to the runner. I’m not worried. You back me up and Internal Affairs won’t have leg to stand on.”

"You don't think Brown is going to let IA get within a mile of this, do you?" Pollard asked. "He stands by his men, Jim. He'll probably take a bite out of your ass but he won't sell you out."

"I don't know. He's a tough old bird. He might need to toss someone to those fags over at the Post. If they hadn't written it up, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

*****

It was three in the afternoon when Detective Bland finally got around to reporting to Commander Brown's office.

"I’ll let him know you're out here." Connell said as Bland appeared at the top of the steps.

"I'll let him know. Don't bother yourself," replied Bland as he sauntered down the corridor.

He could hear the intercom before he got to the door. He was going to just barge in, show Brown he wasn't scared of him, but he hesitated and knocked two short raps with his knuckle.

"In!" Came the reply.

Jim Bland dropped into the chair, cocking his leg up over the arm and resting his head on the back. "You want to talk to me?"

The silence permeated the room as Brown stared down the detective. Their eyes stayed locked until Bland blinked.

"You’re not going to be here long enough to sit down, boy."

Bland flinched. He pushed himself up.

"This incident last night. You know I should toss you to IA and let them sort it out?"

"Wouldn't look good."

"You've got two of these on your record. One in ‘65 and one in ‘67," Brown said, looking into the jacket on his desk.

"You know how it was, Brown. They were asking for it. Getting together in their bars to flaunt their queer goings on. We had to keep them in their place. You can't let a thing like that get out’a control. You know how it was.”

"Yeah, I'm aware of things like that. But it’s not like that anymore, times have changed,” Brown stated.

“I wouldn't pull your ass out of the fire on a beef like this ordinarily. Your days are numbered. You and those like you. These boys are the last ones you can intimidate. You can't even beat your wives any more."

"Are we going to make a point here or should I sit back down until you get around to it?"

"I wouldn't care if you weren't a good cop. I need all the good cops I can get on this thing. They threw me you and Pollard, Stevens, and Boyd because no body else will work with you. So, yeah, you've figured out my ass is on the line, but I'm here to let you know, you're on your way down that long lonesome highway in this department. Assigning you to me is one step away from your feet hitting the street.”

"So I got to figure, you being a smart fellow and all, you're going to play ball with me even if it torque’s your jaws to do it. If you play ball and we crack this, you'll be right back in the cat bird seat. So we can go at each other or we can get this guy before they take it away from us."

There was no cute reply or comeback that Bland could think of, because he knew every word was true. "What do I do to make this go away? If you can square me with IA I'll do it your way."

"What do you have on the Strangler?"

"Nothing. He leaves nothing. You've seen the reports."

"There's an office down the hall. I'm having you, Boyd, Stevens, and Pollard assigned here. No more playing in the field like you're unassigned. I want to know what's going on. You can run your own schedule and do your own investigating, but I want to know the results. It's the only way we're going to finish this."

"This assault beef?"

"I'm working on it. I think we can talk to this guy. Make him see pressing charges isn't in his best interest," Commander Brown said, looking at the Post on the corner of his desk. "Mann."

"He's a fag," Bland was venomous.

"He's a citizen and he deserves our protection. His personal habits don't interest me if he hasn't broken any laws."

"We'll play it your way Commander."

Brown's eyes were once more tightly fixed to Bland. He flipped his fingers outward from the fat palm that was pointed down and he went back to the folder in front of him. Bland had been dismissed.

He didn't waste any time going out. He climbed into the passenger seat of the car. Pollard had already moved behind the wheel, knowing his partner and knowing as bad as his partner drove, it became worse when he was angry.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Okay, boss. You put him in his place?"

"He'll be fine. We're assigned here now."

"What?"

"Nothing has changed. We do daily reports," Bland said, exchanging glances with his partner. "I had to give him something. We'll still do it our way. We're all he's got. Boyd and Stevens don't know shit about shit."

"What have we here?" Pollard stared. "That's the guy from last night. What's he doing here?"

"Yeah, Brown’s going to take care of it."

Pollard looked at Bland and then watched Robert entering the building.

"You think the Post is going to drop it?"

"I don't care about the Post."

"This guy could do you a lot of harm, buddy. You know they're out to be treated like normal people. He might be one of those activist characters. He stood toe to toe with a guy that out weighed him by fifty pounds. They’re making queers different than when I was young."

"He's a fag," Bland said. "He'll do what he's told. Brown said he'll make sure he knows it would be a lot healthier for him to drop this thing."

"His health might have a lot more serious problems than worrying about cops busting his ass."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's on the goddamn front of the fucking Washington fucking Post. There's a guy out there whose favorite past time is killing fags. You don't think he don't read the goddamn Washington fucking Post?"

"Yeah, he reads it. He reads it every day. Tell you what, old buddy, you get me the goods on this Mann. Go tickle that honey you’re always meeting. I want to know whether he uses three sheets or four when he wipes his ass after taking a dump. Can you handle that?"

"We might should stay away from this Mann character, Jimmy."

“Yeah, that would be the easy thing. Like you say, he's got a bulls eye on his back. I just want to know a little more about Mr. Mann."

"You got it. I don't like it but you got it."

*****

"Mann, sir."

"Send him on back."

Robert found himself standing in front of the commander's desk and he felt more than a little bit nervous. He was even more nervous than the first time he had been there.

"Take off the damn glasses! Damn! He laid your ass out."

"I'm still a little woozy. I never even saw it."

"What were you thinking?" Commander Brown growled.

"That it might be him… I didn't think… I mean, when I got there this guy was laying out guys and I went on automatic. I laid him out."

"Yes, and look what you got for your trouble. What am I going to do with you?"

"Do?"

"You're on the front page of the Post. Your usefulness as an undercover cop is shot. I've got to pull you off this thing."

"They don't know I'm cop. I'm just a guy who hit another guy."

"Yeah, but my instincts tell me that I never should have put you out there in the first place. I'm getting a chance to undo that mistake, and I'm not going to pass on it. You can't report up to Northwest looking like that. Just you keep a low profile and I'll figure out what I'm going to do with you. Can you do that without getting in the papers?"

"Yes, sir," Mann said, having the urge to grin but knowing better. So he just nodded as Commander Brown stared at him.

"Get out of here. You might want to look up the meanings of both undercover and subtle."

"Yes, sir."

Mann stopped at Connell’s desk.

“Nice face!”

“I think he’s pulling me off this.”

“Let me worry about Commander Brown. You keep on with what I have instructed you to do. I’ll take care of this end.”

As Robert headed towards the stairs, Connell added, “And stay out of the papers.”

Chapter 7

Henry’s Indians

Henry’s was an upscale Hubbard House and went through similar personality changes each day. It was mostly straight with a conservative clientele during the day. Being located on Capital Hill and having excellent food and good service brought congressional staff and government workers from the nearby offices. By the middle of dinner gay men were occupying as many tables as straight men and couples. By the time the dinner hour was winding down, the majority of the crowd was gay.

Robert enjoyed the food and in spite of the creaking wood floors, he found the place to his liking. He'd only been in once before for a quick sandwich but he had passed it a dozen times on the way to Southeast and the more bizarre and outrageous bars. Henry's was the last stop before entering the fringe of safety provided for the Hill and the new residents that were buying up the old rundown rowhouses and converting them to upscale townhouses one by one.

He asked to be seated in the room furthest to the rear. It wasn't very crowded and there was no cross traffic. He could relax and enjoy his meal while observing the people around him. There was one more thing that drew him to Henry’s. While most of the bodies the DC Strangler scattered around were left elsewhere, Robert felt closest to him here.

The first time he had been in Henry’s, the feeling that the killer was close had never left him. He had looked into each face for some clue but nothing was revealed. It occurred to him that when the Strangler was caught this would be an area he frequented.

Robert remembered thinking, “if I had more experience I could catch him.” He shook his head at his own naiveté, not knowing that's what it was. He thought, he must have seen about a million faces since the last time he was at Henry's, and he didn't know if he had seen the killer’s or not.

Even more disturbing, Robert didn't have that feeling at all now. The only time he thought about the killer was when he realized he hadn't thought about him. Had the Strangler actually been there on his first visit?

Well, tonight he was here for the food and he remembered the words undercover and subtle. He wasn't sure why Commander Brown hadn't sent him packing right off. It wasn't his bruised face, because if he wanted him off the case, he'd have dismissed him.

Robert became aware that he didn’t want to be off the case. He knew something, but he knew it wasn't nearly enough. It was the kind of thing that got into him and it wasn't going to get out. In spite of his discomfort, the case was a part of him. He was invested in it and the furthest thought from his mind was quitting. He wasn't a quitter and he wouldn't quit now. He'd play it cool and with Mike’s persistence there was a good probability he could stay on. He wondered if he would continue coming to the bars and gay haunts even if he was reassigned?

Right now he was going to eat, and Mr. Strangler could do whatever he wanted until he was finished. Robert sat looking at the menu for several minutes, not sure about the strength in his sore jaw. He couldn’t decide and so he just ordered the Porterhouse steak charred and a Black Jack and Ginger Ale while he waited. He liked dark beer with his meal but he thought the whiskey might ease the discomfort near his temple. The pain ran into the hinge of his jaw. He found himself rubbing his head as he thought about the ugly bruise. He wondered if there would be a remnant that might mar his face. He rubbed the back of his neck and waited for the liquor.

"Hey, babe, would you have an aspirin you could spare?" He asked as the waitress set down the drink.

She took a close look at him for the first time and her dispassionate demeanor turned to one of concern. "Oh, baby, you stood up when you should have shut up?"

"Something like that," Robert chuckled.

"Yeah, mama's got a bottle in her purse. Don't leave home with out it. I'll bring a few back."

Robert immediately saw Phil's face on the waitress when she called herself mama. Why would Phil demean himself like that? It was all too confusing.

There was no flirtatious interaction after she brought back the aspirin. Her demeanor slowly turned back to the detached server who knew her place, even after she observed something about a customer that alarmed her and called for extra attention to set right.

She was efficient and even knew to bring the A-1 sauce before he asked for it. The onion rings were cold and she replaced them in short order. The room was not even ten feet across, so the waitress was always near. He watched her as she waited on another man a few tables away. He noticed she was trim and attractive for her age. He calculated thirty-five to forty. She never once pretended she didn't realize Robert was there. She knew and she let him know she knew in passing, but he didn't need anything else. She had left two extra aspirin after dinner came.

As his mind wandered, the waitress came to his elbow, speaking softly into his ear, "Sir… sir," the waitress repeated herself when there was no immediate reply.

"Yes," he said absently.

"The gentleman at the table just there," she indicated with her head that she was speaking about the man by the opposite wall he’d watched her serve.

"He asked that I serve you this wine.” She held it gingerly for him to inspect. “I’m to say it is a particular favorite of his and he thought you would find it goes excellently with steak."

The first instinct as a red blooded American boy was to laugh and decline the offer, but he caught himself. He remembered what he was doing and why. He took her wrist the way he had seen it done in the movies and turned it gently until he could read the label without moving his head closer to the bottle.

“Fine,” he said.

He nodded at the smiling little man, who then tipped his wineglass toward Robert’s table. He wore silver rimmed glasses and a three-piece charcoal gray suit. His hair was just starting to gray. The waitress, who was now blocking the view of the man broke the contact.

"You may pour, and thank the gentlemen for his kindness."

"I'd have bet no every time," she said, letting down her guard for only the few moments it took her to open and pour the wine. "Mama's slipping."

Robert was no gentleman and he knew he couldn’t pass for a gentleman even if he tried but he had no doubts that his benefactor was. The small man was too small to be the man he wanted to find. Perhaps he knew something or someone who might know something. He'd leaned on Phil for contacts long enough. All of those kept him in Northwest and he needed to branch out.

As the waitress moved off he checked to see if the man was still interested. He nodded approval with a smile as he sipped from the glass. It was mellow and enhanced the flavor of the charred steak. He broke off the smile and went back to his meal, not wanting to appear too receptive.

The thought crossed his mind that this is how a woman might act if receiving wine from a strange man. How much interest without showing too much? Who made up the rules, Robert wondered, while cutting more steak?

A few minutes passed before the waitress returned to his table and once more leaned close to his ear. "The gentlemen's card, sir. He asks that you not think him forward, but he would like to join you for an after dinner drink, nothing more. He specified that I be sure to add that, nothing more… and if you believe that one, hon, I got some swamp property I can let you have cheap."

Robert tried not to smile at that last bit. He looked at the card, studying it for a clue about the man.

Albert Forestall III

Antiques - buy & sell

Estate Liquidations

There were home and business numbers. It was obvious to him that he was on the up end of a pick-up. He reasoned the man to be no threat and he could be a valuable source of information. There was also something exciting about the contact.

"I would be pleased to have him join me." He felt self-conscious because he knew what the waitress was thinking. He might have asked her name and perhaps spoken of having a drink some time, but not now.

"Fool me twice, shame on me," the waitress muttered as she stood. "I'm really losing my touch. He's out’a your league hon."

Robert watched the man carefully gather up his belongings after hearing the answer he was looking for. There was an umbrella, a topcoat that he folded over his arm, a fancy dark hat, and a briefcase. He glided over and placed the items on the only vacant chair, all without making any eye contact. The man was five foot eight and no more than a hundred and fifty pounds. He was immaculately dressed and looked elegant. He seated himself directly across from Robert, arranged his things and himself completely, folded his hands in front of him and stared. He then extended his hand across the table.

Robert adjusted the intensity of his grip to match the delicacy in the stranger's handshake then sat back and waited.

"Excuse the accoutrements." He sat straight up as he spoke and gave one hundred percent of his attention to his new companion. "You have mine. May I have yours?" Albert asked, staring into the black lenses.

Robert thought for a second before remembering that the card had given him Albert’s name and he had yet to give his.

"Ro.... Bobby... Mann."

"Well, Ro... Bobby Mann, I suppose you're wondering why this old man has interrupted your lovely meal with wine and then has seated himself at your table?"

"Yes," Robert answered, looking at the wine and then into the man's face. He tried to be casual. He let a slight smile crack his lips as he looked away from the wine.

"Eyes," the man said uncomfortably looking away. "I can't talk if I can't see your eyes." The stress was obvious in Albert's voice.

Robert let the smile come back to his lips. He removed the glasses and set them beside his plate.

Albert looked into his face for several seconds. "Magnificent. Now, the picture is complete," the man said. “And it is as I suspected.”

“Suspected?”

"Mid-central tribe, not Crow, certainly not Sioux. You may help me if you wish. I've gone as far as I can go without you."

Robert lost his composure and the image he was attempting to project was lost. There was a certain amount of amazement at the man's knowledge. "How in hell did you know that? No one knows that. No one has ever asked."

"I am a student of all beautiful things, not simply bobbles and gems but people. I wasn't sure without seeing your eyes. It was then I was sure of your Indian nature. The skin is all wrong," Albert shook his head, almost disapproving. "But the cheeks and hair left little doubt, and once I saw you up close, it left no doubt. Native American, yes. And then there is the complication that mixed blood brings to the picture.”

“Amazing, and I’m rarely amazed,” Robert said.

"You may call me, Albert, and I shall call you Bobby.”

“That’s fine.”

"You see, I'm a humble student of your people. I am a collector of original Native artifacts. Not for keeping, you understand, but for safekeeping, and for my own pleasure. Such wonderful people and their culture! Far superior to this, but of course you know that. Such a shame that Europeans are so arrogant. There was so much to learn and all they knew how to do was destroy. It's the threat of newness and their need for total control. It's the curse of the white man. It will do us in one day.”

“Life goes on,” Robert said, not wanting to go there.

"So many Indian boys leave the ancestral homes, never to return. Tell me you haven’t forsaken who you are, Bobby. Tell me you will go home again.”

“Nothing on the res. You’ve got to get on with your life. There is no great culture left that provides for you. You’ve got to leave to find a way to make a living.”

“The children represent that which was; that which could be again one day," Albert spoke pensively.

"You’re here. If you find the reservation so great, you could live there. My mother was white. She lived there."

"Oh mercy! I couldn't make it on the plains. My stock is not hardy enough for the rigors of teepee life. Could you, is the question?"

“Never lived in a teepee. We’ve all got houses, some have trailers. We weren't teepee Indians. Mud huts, mostly, back then.”

“It’s all about time,” Albert said.

“How do you measure time? I never knew about the old ways.”

“It’s been almost a hundred years since Custer. That’s where the Indian was beaten for the final time.”

“The Sioux kicked his ass,” Robert said. “We scouted for Custer. The Sioux weren’t our favorite people at that time.”

“Yes, but it was only a moral victory, that event ended any chance the Indian had to somehow coexist. They were exiles in their own land once they killed Custer.”

"Where does the skin come from," Albert quizzed.

"Irish mother, Katy Kelly."

"Irish, Native American," the man said thoughtfully. "You are a walking advertisement for mixing the races. You must have gotten the best of both worlds. Can I know the tribe? I can only guess."

"Arikara."

"Ah, celebration of corn! Language? Don't tell me. Caddoan, I believe. Do you speak it?"

"A few words. The old guys still talk the lingo but we learn English right away. I think it was a law way back when. If they spoke Caddoan in front of whites, they got in deep shit."

"Yes, it's shameful. Fort Berthold? Mandan and Hidatsa also reside there. I believe it is found along the Missouri River beyond the Platte, is it not? North Dakota?"

"Albert, you scare me. Where did you learn this stuff?"

"Ah, I am fascinated by anything Indian. I have a researcher near Pine Ridge. He researches pieces of interest that have come into my possession from that region. You are cousins to the Pawnee and Skidi, are you not?"

"Amazing! You are good. I haven't talked to anyone about this since I came here."

"Yes, a shame."

"You do know your shit," Robert said, letting down the façade somewhat.

"And why did you leave the reservation? I find it hard to understand how native peoples can live among the whites after what we did to you."

"Didn't belong actually. I was never all that welcome on the res."

"How could you not belong? You are magnificent. They are magnificent. You belong."

"My color isn’t beautiful to everyone. You see.... Native American's are bigots too, many of them. They have no use for whites for some reason or other. I think my father was ashamed of me. Once my mother died he shipped me back East. I’m white now. All that's ancient history.”

“I’m sorry about your mother. Bigotry can’t change who you are. Skin color has little to do with character. There's still time.”

"I am white. I didn’t fit. Here I am,” Robert said, wondering how they had gotten so deeply involved in a past he had left behind.

"It’s obvious this is quite painful for you. You have much to resolve in your heart. You did look a bit lonely and I only thought I might be able to brighten what appears to have been a tough day. I see I have failed miserably in this pursuit and you have my profound apology." Albert studied the bruise on the side of Robert's face as he spoke.

“It was nice of you to try. I’ve enjoyed the wine. Why don’t you have a glass,” Robert said, waving the waitress over for another glass.

"I'm a photographer," Albert said.

"Uh huh!" The waitress said as she was walking away.

"The card says antiques," Robert reminded him.

"Oh yes! But photography is part of a bigger picture. I’ve often been called on to photograph the individual pieces in a collection or estate. That way they can be sold any number of ways. People see the photograph and can inquire about an item that interests them.”

"I meant what I said about being interested in your culture. I have quite a collection of Indian artifacts at my home. I have gathered photographs of Indian peoples for some years. I don’t sell those. They are part of my personal collection. You might be interested in seeing them," Albert said. “Perhaps you can find some of what you’ve lost.”

“I’ve lost nothing.”

“You are so young," Albert said with disapproval in his voice. "Then there’s no reason for me to invite you. If you should ever change your mind you have my numbers. I do have many Indian pieces at the house, but I assume those are of no interest in your current state of mind.”

"All in all I’d say this has been quite a failure on my part. Reminding you of a past you seek only to forget. At least the wine was a hit and I didn’t bat zero.”

“I suppose you’re right about forgetting. It's easier just forgetting.” Robert looked around the small room as he spoke.

Albert waited to see if Robert might finish the thought and hence leave an opening which he might slip through. He didn't meet many people who interested him any longer and that was especially true in Washington DC.

“My father forced me to leave. He didn't want me there once momma died. To spite him I cut off all my hair. That’s the one thing about his son he had always bragged about. That damn long black Indian hair, and so I left it in the middle of the floor. He wasn't even there when I left. Morgan Swift Deer drove me to the bus station nearest the res.”

“That must have been quite painful for him to see,” Albert said. "It is quite sad for me to hear. I wish there were some words that might reduce the pain for you."

“He never said goodbye. He wasn’t there and I was gone when he came back. He knew when he found the hair… he knew what it meant. I’m sure he knew why I did it. It was my break with a past that had no future for me. That hair had caught me hell all my life. I wore it as a badge of honor when I was a kid because it was the only part of me that was Indian.”

“Your heart? Your soul… Sishu I believe? These were not Indian? You may say no, but I hear it in your voice.”

“The only part you could see. My father obviously never knew what was in my heart. I would never have left if he hadn’t forced me out.”

“Maybe he did what he thought was best for you. Maybe he did it for you and you were too young… are too young, to understand.”

“He was ashamed of me. He didn’t have to hear any more crap about the half breed living in his house.”

“Albert has done it again? I’m sorry that my nature has me trying to help when my help has neither been asked for nor is needed. Of course you have every right to feel as you do. This is the life you have chosen.”

"Perhaps we can do some business though. I want to photograph you. I must photograph you if you’ll tolerate such a thing." Albert spoke decisively and moved items around the table as he looked at them.

"Why?"

"Because you are you, totally unique to all others."

"I don't know," Robert said.

"Might I inquire if you are employed at present?"

"No. I'm between."

"You see, there is a way I can make up for my impertinence. I will pay handsomely, and if anything comes of the pictures, I will sign over all rights to you. I merely want you as part of my collection, a representation of what couldn’t be accomplished in the last century, the perfect harmony between the European and the Indian. Humor me. You are too lovely a boy for me to leave behind. I’d be so pleased if you said yes.”

“You are a strange bird, Albert. You believe this, don’t you?”

“I’m not a man given to folly. I’m passionate about the things I do. I know what you think. Dirty old man sees handsome young man and moves in for the kill. My days of thinking I can sweep some beautiful boy off his feet are long past. I have no illusions about who it is I am or what it is we are doing. Certainly I would find your company enjoyable, whether or not you want to sit for my camera. I’m not looking for a meaningless encounter that leaves me empty and alone once you’ve departed. I can quell my loneliness any time I wish to purchase the services of one of the many boys who sit still for such a thing if the price is right. You are not such a boy and not for a second did I think you were. Everything I’ve said has been as I’ve said it. There are no ulterior motives or contemplation of conquest here. What you see is what you get in spite of our waitress’s doubt.”

Robert chuckled, remembering her swamp property. “I do believe you, Albert. You are quite a gentleman, and I will confess that I know little about gentlemen, except I know you are one. It's not hard to see.”

“Your spirit sees true,” Albert said with an admiring smile. "I'm glad. I would never want someone I admire to think ill of my motives. While this may not have always been true, it is the truth now."

"Ah, I suspect there is some past in your life that we haven't uncovered yet," Robert said, leaning on the table and smiling.

"If you only knew. I may be a gentlemen now, but it was not always so. Age does have a way of tempering the steel. So, will you sit for me?"

"I'm not gay. I would never pose nude. Never!"

“Understood and was never considered.”

"Where does this photography take place?" Robert asked. “Will you destroy any pictures you take if I don't like them?”

“You do have such a right. I will merely be the custodian of your image. The pictures will always belong to you. I can have that written up.”

“I’m not saying yes, I’m saying if. I've never been photographed.”

"I have a house in Georgetown, “O” Street. I am comfortable working there. I've not had any complaints. That should be an endorsement of sorts."

"When? When would you do this… this photography?"

"Certainly not tonight. I couldn't do you justice tonight. In fact I'm about ready for a relaxing sit in the hot Jacuzzi, and most certainly a few drinks stronger than the wine. It'll take the edge off of what proved to be an absolutely horrid trip, which completed an equally horrible week. I just returned from Seattle a few hours ago. Rain. Rain. Rain. Wind. Ghastly week! Nothing went as scheduled."

"When, Albert? I have your address."

"I'll be going there after dinner. Car?"

"Yes."

"Something racy I'm assuming. Black with red interior and four on the floor no doubt.”

“Blue convertible with a rip in the roof, an automatic.”

“I see. If you would like, and have no other engagements, you may take me to my house. You can see where it is. You can come in and see it and see if you would be comfortable there, or you can view it from your vehicle and move on.

"You have my card and my numbers and if you wish to part company here, I do understand. Though you do look rather like you could use a hot Jacuzzi about now. I’m not the only one that had an absolutely horrid week, and I’m sure you have no fear of little Albert."

"Albert. Shame on you. We've just met, and you are taking me home with you? What if I am a highwayman and I decide to bust you in the head or worse?" Robert said with a touch of humor in his voice.

Albert studied Robert for a moment before saying, "Like you, I'm a keen judge of character. If you were capable of such acts, you wouldn’t hesitate in taking up an invitation into my home. A criminal is an opportunist. You aren’t a robber. In fact I feel quite safe with you for some reason. You have an aura of safety around you.”

"We are both alone and obviously going nowhere. By the looks of you, you might need company as well, and that's why you are out instead of home nursing a serious bruise. I won’t pry. Albert does not go where he is not wanted.”

"The Strangler is no common criminal. He must be pretty smart to have stayed in the shadows all this time," Robert observed.

"You see, you don't even like criminals. You are angry about his success. He takes innocent victims and you detest that as we all do."

“Okay, Albert, that’s enough of the mind reading. No one likes cold-blooded killers. Let’s leave it at that. It makes me nervous.”

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. With that disposed of, if you wish to come to check out my story, you will find that I am just as I say, and with that knowledge we can rest easy in one another's company, enjoy the hot Jacuzzi, a cold drink, or two or…, some quiet conversation. I have so much enjoyed talking to you.

"The photography is secondary tonight. You may come back to it if you so desire, or you may not. There is still the ride and the hot Jacuzzi to be considered."

"Hot Jacuzzi?" Robert said. "And conversation."

"Hot Jacuzzi and conversation only."

"As you wish."

"Done."

Chapter 8

Coming Clean

"Connell, you out there?"

"When am I not out here when you're here, sir?"

"Yeah, come on back. Any coffee in that Bunn?"

"Yes, sir. It's a little late for coffee, sir."

"Talk to my wife about it and bring me a damn cup."

"Yes, sir."

Connell prepared the cup as usual and carried it back with him, careful not to spill any on his uniform.

"Sit," Commander Brown said, leaning back in his chair and looking at his aide. "You know how damn young you look, son?"

"No, sir, and I don't feel that young. This time of day I feel pretty old."

"I was shot back in ‘51. Got caught in a crossfire at a liquor store robbery. Want to compare scars?"

"No, sir."

"What makes you tick, son? Why all this time and attention for a spent old war horse that they've stuck over here so far from the action that I've got to get my information by smoke signals?"

"The buzz I get is that you're moving the detectives in here."

"Yeah, well, no one has moved in yet, and I expect at least one of them to complain to headquarters. So it’s anyone’s guess.”

“You ever wonder why we're over here?"

"No, sir. That's not my job."

"Yeah, well, we're out of the line of fire. We're so damn far out of the line that no one knows I'm in charge of this deal."

"What's your stake in this, Mike?" Commander Brown was puzzled. He had found himself thinking about it more and more, and he wanted to know what motivated the young cop. He was playing a hunch.

"I don't understand, sir."

"I've worked with a lot officers… for a lot, I should say. There's something about you and this case. You seem to have quite a bit riding on getting this guy. There’s more going on with you in this case than you have let on.“

"Number three. Preston Stroud. We… lived together for awhile."

"Is that the good Catholic boy from DeMatha? He was married," Commander Brown knew the facts and didn't need the case file to cite them. "Securities & Exchange Commission. He had a daughter."

"I'm married," Connell replied. "I have a daughter. We actually matched up quite well together in most areas. He was very nervous about it. I was the first man he lived with. He said he fooled around some in college before he met his wife. He was sure a good woman was all he needed to straighten him out."

"He should have stuck with that. My son, Kenneth, he never told me anything about being in trouble. We knew there was something wrong of course. He died the same year as that white Blue's singer, Joplin. I remember her because of Scott Joplin. Same cause, you know, they found him with the needle." Commander Brown became uneasy. "So we didn't get to deny it as much as we wanted to. I mean, there it was in black and white. Our little boy was a junkie and his daddy was a cop that couldn't see for looking. I never thought it was that. I'm a cop and I never thought it was that." He cleared his throat with a cough. "You go to this fellow’s funeral… Preston? I don't remember you being off."

"No! His family requested that I didn't. I went by the funeral home in the evening. It was all quite respectable."

"His wife?"

"She wasn't in the picture any longer. He tried to go back but he couldn't. It was too powerful in him. It ate on him all the time."

"But not you?"

"But not me. He needed more as in quantity of contacts. It's difficult to explain to someone who hasn't struggled with it all his life. I couldn't give him what he needed and I couldn't watch him do what he was doing."

"Does your father know, Mike?"

Commander Brown leaned back in his chair as he listened and formed his questions carefully before speaking.

"My father? No way. First he'd blame himself and then he'd drag me to church to save my immortal soul. No, I wouldn't ever do that to my father. The church has high standards when it comes to the gay thing."

"How can you keep a secret like that from your family? I wonder why a good looking fellow like you leaves his wife for…. Mike, you know I'm trying to understand, not to disrespect you."

"Commander, I was living a lie. I was with my wife because it made me look good. I was going to lie to my daughter about who her father really was, and I couldn't. That beautiful little child isn't going to grow up thinking her father is someone he isn't. I guess having my daughter was what made me face who I was. I'm not a liar and I resented having to lie about that all my life. I don't lie any more."

"Still, the logistics kind of throw me, and I have no desire to know what it is you guys do, but a man and woman, that's pretty clear to me. Why would you prefer a guy to that?"

"Do you mind if I ask what position you like best with your wife, sir? And how is it you decided on that particular position? Something in your childhood maybe?"

"Yeah, exactly. Why is it so damn important then? What is it that makes them worry so much about what other men are doing with their knobs? Maybe they've got nothing going on with their wives? When I was a kid I don't remember ever hearing a damn thing about fags or queers or even homosexuals. When did it become so important for us to know about a thing like that? What has changed that has some whacko out there killing guys?"

"We're more visible now, easier to find and less willing to keep the secret. We have bars and places to go to meet. The preachers have made it even more of an issue. So you might say it's about God, sir."

"How the hell did God get into it?"

"Once you put Him in the argument, well, there is no argument for a lot of people that listen to preachers who claim they are plugged into God. You claim God says gay men are wicked and going to hell, and that's the way it is. Makes it easy to hate and want to hurt someone not as good as you. There's a lot of hate out there."

"God said a lot of things, Mike, but we don't persecute liars and adulterers the way we go after gays. I think it was meant to be an object lesson. You don’t stone kids that lie to their parents, even though the Bible tells you to. I don't think the bible is about hate."

"When they've got God on their side, that’s what it amounts to. When you stand up and fight the hatred, they claim you're attacking the family. We are their sons and daughters and we come from their families, but they can't explain that. That part isn't in the bible."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't? Were you close to your father? I'm sorry! I guess it's none of my business, but I'm trying to understand."

"Yes! We still are close. We go to ball games, and catch a movie now and then. I go home on holidays and birthdays. My wife calls and they're close to our daughter. My wife still sees them but it's painful for her."

"I thought it was boys that didn't have fathers or their mothers are bossy. What's that about? You sound pretty normal. I mean your family sounds fine."

"I don't know about any of that. My family was all I could ask for. They encouraged me all my life. I went to good schools. Even when I decided to become a cop they helped me. My mother hated the idea but she never said so to me. She said she knew I was going to get hurt after I was shot. My parents love me and what I am has nothing to do with them. I'm sure of that."

"Nothing?"

"Not a thing. I've always had the feelings as far back as I can remember. I still don't understand them but I had them when I was real young. I was in love with my next door neighbor when I was seven."

"A boy?"

"Nathaniel Crump. Natty they called him."

"Seven?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've sat here looking at these names and wondering why they're dead. You know it's never for the reason we think. It's never that simple. Some guy who hates fags. That won't be it."

"What then?"

"I don't know. I'm swimming up stream."

"You know, sir. I've been thinking," Connell said, leaning forward and clasping his hands in between his knees. "Mann, he's inside now. Pulling him out won't solve anything."

"He's interacted with two of the taskforce. Leaving him in merely complicates what they're doing. It's not kosher to keep them in the dark now that they've discovered Mann."

"Think about it. He's out there. He could be close to something. He's been on the front page of the Post, sir. The Strangler reads the Post. I've got to figure that Robert Mann is of interest to him if only because he perceives that he's gay and now he knows his name. If I was this guy I'd have noticed him."

"He's not gay and what you're suggesting is we leave him out there because he might get the attention of the killer off of other men who are. Do you know you're risking his life if you're right?"

"We're cops. We risk our lives every day. I risked mine. You risked yours. Mann is going to have to risk his if he wants to be a good cop. Leave him out there. Let's see what happens. Do we want to catch this guy or not?"

There was a long pause before Commander Brown spoke, "…And if what we think can happen does happen?" Commander Brown leaned so far back in his chair as he contemplated the thought that Connell wondered if he might roll off the back, but his eyes never left the young cop.

"I haven't gotten that far. I don't know what the consequences might be, but what else do we have? He's where we want him to be. Let's use him is all I'm saying."

"He's a fucking kid. He's still wet behind the ears and you want to use him as bait? Coming from anyone else, I'd cut him off at the knees, Connell. I've thought about it. I haven’t pulled him out because I guess I'm a callused son of a bitch. I want to get this guy before he makes anyone else dead."

"Exactly, sir. We all want the same thing."

*****

HHHHHHBHHHH HThe house stood three levels above the street and had a two car garage at street level. Stairs went up either side of the front porch to meet at the front door one flight up. Albert had told Robert that he flew in to National Airport and took a cab to Henry's for dinner. He had a Mercedes but he had left it in the shop for routine maintenance while he was out of town.

Robert passed within two blocks of Albert’s when he was on his way home from Georgetown. It wasn’t an area he had explored beyond the few blocks behind the Georgetown Grill. There had been no cause for him to investigate any of the high dollar homes. He certainly didn’t expect to be visiting someone in one of them. He took time to admire the other houses while Albert unlocked a door between the front staircase and the garage doors.

He hesitated long enough to admire the old brick on Albert’s house. It really was old. Polished black wooden steps led up to the first floor of the house. The staircase was uneven and the steps creaked under foot but the wood was particularly beautiful and had received good care over the years. He wondered if some Revolutionary figure might have once climbed these stairs on his way to a meeting of patriots. At the top of the stairs they came out into a foyer.

Albert kicked off his shoes and put on the waiting slippers. “If you don’t mind Bobby. There are several pairs of cloth slippers hanging just inside the door, or your socks are fine if you prefer. I like to keep the carpets separated from the street grime.”

Robert pulled off one shoe and then the other. The light gray wall to wall carpet felt plush under his tube socks. He could see that it was immaculate. He remembered the hard wood floors of the cabin where he was raised and the dirt that gathered on it after his mother's death. He knew this was the other side of the world from the reservation.

Albert turned into the dinning area and flicked on the lights. He led Robert into the next room that had a television and a bar. There was a complimentary Miller's sign above the liquor cabinet. “Something to drink?”

“Coke, is fine.”

"Ever cautious," Albert mused with an English lilt in his voice. "You are safe Bobby. You will find no lechery here for Albert is an honorable man, but a bit of a drunkard when he's home alone late at night."

Robert sipped the Coke he was handed as he watched Albert preparing a pitcher of martinis. Albert carried the pitcher as he led the way into the kitchen to the side porch which held the Jacuzzi.

"Let me see what I have in the way of suits. I don't usually wear one but in your honor I shall." Albert's voice had taken on the French accent that Robert had recognized in it at Henry's. He wondered if Albert was from Europe originally or perhaps visited there often.

Albert returned wearing a pair of cotton trunks and handed Robert a pair.

"There's a bathroom at the back of the porch where you may change."

Albert was in the Jacuzzi when Robert came out. He held his martini up a safe six inches above the bubbling foam and watched his guest approach.

Robert took time to admire the decorative redwood that surrounded the tub. It felt incredibly smooth under his feet as he eased himself into the warm water. "Oh, that's so nice," Robert leaned his head back in a way that put the rounded redwood under his neck.

"It's real redwood. Quite a lovely texture. I enjoy fine things. It's my weakness. That and booze… and boys. You are even more lovely without the covering."

"Albert!"

"One mustn't mistake appreciation for lust, Bobby. There is a distinct difference between art and a picture."

"We aren't going there. ‘A hot Jacuzzi and conversation only.’"

"This is conversation. Why did you accept my invitation?"

"Not because I'm interested in anything but the Jacuzzi."

"That's not true. There is something you aren't saying."

The music in the background was sixties rock that sounded like it might be on reel to reel tape. Robert had figured Albert for an elevator music man but he continued to surprise him. He recognized each tune and couldn’t help singing along. Albert sang along as well.

He'd met a lot of gay men in the past few weeks and except for Phil, Albert was the first one he’d enjoyed being around, not for any reason other than he was good company and Robert was positive he was a good friend to the people that knew him. Albert was a nice person and that was the something Robert wasn't saying, and the something Albert had no ability to hide. It was a refreshing change from the artificial life he'd found in the gay bars.

"What was your occupation? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm actually in between right now. Whatever comes along."

“Yes, so you said. In-between would indicate leaving one field and perhaps going toward another. Is that a fair assumption?”

“Yes, I’m not sure where I might end up.”

“What was your occupation of choice while you were still living with your people?”

“You’ll laugh. Policeman. I wasn't one. I wanted to be one.”

“No, I shan’t laugh. There is a character of protectiveness that surrounds you. I feel quite safe in your company. I'm seldom wrong about people. It is my business.”

“How so?”

“You certainly have the physical attributes. You could be, you know, an officer of the law. It would take no imagination to see you as such.”

“Maybe one day.”

“Why that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We are in a hurry? The Jacuzzi is on a timer, but I can alter the cycle for as long as it takes. I'd like to know more. Could you not humor a lonely old man for a time?”

“The reservation deputy was always nice to me. He told me about the job. I wanted to do his job once he retired. That's what I thought then.”

“He was old?”

“I don’t know. I never thought of Swift Deer as old. Everyone was old when I was ten as I recall.”

“So, you are here. That’s a long way from a reservation deputy sheriff.”

“Tell me about it. Some things you can't do anything about.”

“Hasn’t it in some way stolen your identity? Being here so far from your dream?”

“That was there. This is here.”

“Yes, I know. You wanted a certain thing while you were there. Now you are here. Hasn’t that robbed you in some way?”

“There are no opportunities there. Most of the kids leave.”

“Yes, we’ve been quite efficient at destroying the native cultures but you said you didn't leave willingly. You might have stayed?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Robert said. "I didn't. I'm here. Why think about it?"

“Your father. What is it that your father does?”

“Breaks horses if a city slicker can believe that. He goes out after wild horses, breaks them, and sells them to townspeople, farmers, ranchers.”

“I see. He is following the old ways as best he can. What is the name the Indians call him?”

“Lone Eagle. Even as a kid he was a loner. That's what Grandma Mann told me.”

"The Indians called her what?"

"Sally Mann. She wouldn't use her Indian name. I never heard anyone call her anything but Sally, or mama, in dad's case. Odd, he was all Indian and his mother wasn't at all Indian except for where she lived."

"She was respected?"

"Oh, yes, she was highly thought of."

“Your father followed the traditional path. He didn’t want that for you?”

“No! You don't understand. I was white. He caught a lot of grief because I was white.”

"…And you? No grief?"

Robert turned up his Coke and emptied the glass, holding the ice cold container against the bruise that was suddenly boiling. The Jacuzzi bubbled and the sixties rock rolled and time stood still inside his head.

"Here!" Robert looked up to see Albert standing beside him. He was holding out an ice pack, standing a respectful distance from him in the tub.

"Oh, thank you." He took the pack and placed it on his face. He was dizzy and wasn't sure what he was doing there.

"I filled the Coke. It's behind you on the edge. Try not to knock it over. Maybe this is too hot. Perhaps we should get out for a while?"

Albert's voice had a more earthy tone to it, one of concern. Robert could no longer keep up with the many accents and textures in the sounds of his voice.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Albert asked as they sat at a small table next to the pool."

"No. It's just a bruise."

"Yes, but concussions can be quite disabling and I'd say that bruise ran deep enough for concern. I wouldn't advise any more Jacuzzi for tonight."

Robert held the ice to his temple and felt better. He set the ice down after a few minutes and grasped the Coke. "I'll be fine. Thank you. So you're an antiques dealer, a photographer, and a doctor too, Albert? You are a man of many talents."

"You don't know the half of it," Albert said plaintively. "My lover. Brandon. He was premed. I spent several years hearing about this illness and that. He certainly lived his profession."

"How long have you been alone?"

"Not alone, merely lonely. I have boys in from time to time. They're easy and I don't need to give up my life to see one."

"Boys?"

"Well in spite of your concerns for your safety, I've found that the young hustlers who have been abandoned to the streets appreciate Albert's attention and they're there when I really need them and not when I don't."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Isn't everything that men like more than a little? Society wants us all productive and obedient and so the little temptations and vices that have plagued man since time began are fun to make illegal.”

"There is risk and not just the law. What if they're bad guys, these hustlers?"

"I'm flattered you are worried about me. When it comes to the personal preferences I cultivate, I don't so much worry about the law and as I’ve said, I'm an excellent judge of character."

"The law can make this kind of thing tough on you."

"It was illegal for me to exist until just recently, so feeding a homeless waif and giving him a warm bed to sleep in for a day or two is of little concern. If the law has no more to do than that so be it. I think it would be better served if it found out why so many lads are on our streets and get them off, but what does poor Albert know after all?"

"Hardly poor, Albert."

"Ah, one must not mix up wealth with deficiencies of the spirit. I would not do harm to a soul. My heart is honorable and I can live with the consequences of my actions."

"I hope so."

"We've gotten far afoot from your past. How did we get so deeply into Albert’s foibles?"

"Your life is so much more interesting," Robert said. "I have no past. What's a foible anyway?"

"Ah, a foible is what makes us human. It's something you like that isn't necessarily what people like you to like."

"Oh!"

“Why shouldn’t you embrace your culture?”

“The culture didn't embrace me. I was sent away. I’m here. My future is here. That’s all behind me.”

“Yes, you are here and I can see you don’t like my questions. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m too curious for my own good.”

“There is no point in thinking of what might have been. I’ve had little to do with how I came to be here, Albert. When I was there I would have elected to stay. There was no election.”

“Yes, life frequently sets up many obstacles to keep us from discovering who we really are.” They sat silent for a few moments. “Albert is suddenly very tired. Before you leave I want to show you something. Let me dress first and I'll open up the room I want to show you while you dress.”

Albert was waiting as Robert came out of the bathroom drying his hair from a quick shower. They went back through the kitchen and towards the back of the house. They seemed to go in a circle. The light was shining ahead of them from the room they entered. Albert took the towel from him and hung it over a chair.

Robert stood amazed by the contents of the room. There were shields, spears, and different weapons and decorations. It brought back a flood of memories.

"Here! I've only recently acquired this. I've not let anyone put it on.” Albert said, going to a chest and removing a white and turquoise breast plate.

He returned and held it up to Robert's chest. Robert shied and resisted.

"Humor me, Bobby. It was made for a chest like yours. I'm sure of it."

"Stop Albert. You keep insisting but the answer stays the same. No noble savage here."

"I'm sorry. I've angered you. I sometimes don't know when enough is too much. Please accept my apology."

"There's nothing to apologize for. It's an interesting room. Now I think I should go."

Robert looked up at the house as he pulled away. It was something all right. He knew he would never return even after Albert extended an open invitation. "Drop by any time."

Albert and he came from different worlds and there was no reason for them to ever meet again. Whatever Robert hoped he'd learn by accepting the invitation to Albert's home hadn't materialized.

Chapter 9

On The Case

“You in a better mood this morning, sir?” Mike asked Commander Brown, easing himself through the door expecting the usual early morning frontal assault.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re going to ruin it.”

“Here! I picked this up on the way in. I thought they might have something to say.”

“Damn he’s pretty, ain't he? I guess all those gay boys,” he said, looking up over the top of his glasses to see Connell’s reaction to the use of gay, “...want to get to know our undercover plant.”

“I'm not believing this. You didn’t tell me you people had a paper. The Gay Blade, Connell? Give me a break. I'm working hard to get on the right side of this thing but you don't expect me to take this seriously? This is a joke right? No one takes this seriously, do they?”

“You might if you read the front page. Every gay establishment in the city and some in Baltimore and points north will have this paper by tomorrow.”

“It gets worse and worse,” Commander Brown moaned, dropping his head to read the story and examine the half page picture of "Bobby" Mann. “He’s a regular folk hero. He’s got no chance of making it in this goddamn police department now. No one will work with him, Connell. He’s a goddamn pin-up for all the goddamned queers in town. You got me into this thing. Get me out.”

“Commander Brown, I'd consider it a personal favor if you could say gays in place of queers."

"Connell, you're testing my patience on this thing."

"No, sir, I'm testing your sincerity. I know you saved my ass and I should be eternally grateful, but what good is it if you don't respect my point of view?"

"Mike, you know I respect you. I've stuck my neck out on this because of you. I just don't have a death wish and that word is hard not to use. It's all they've ever been called."

"Then not in front of me, sir. That's all I'm asking."

"No, Connell, that's not all you're asking. It's never all. There's always something else."

"No, sir.”

“Mike, remind me now and again when I slip up and use the wrong word. It’s not my intention to be a bigot.”

“You had something to say about this…," Brown continued, waving the paper. "Please feel free to give me a reason not to slash my wrists."

"They only publish on Thursdays? We have another week before they can print anything else."

"That's not what I was looking for. I’ve taken a perfectly good police cadet and turned him into the darling of the gay set. It ain’t going to play well at headquarters once they find it out. How can things get so complicated?”

“Well I don't guess we have anything to lose by leaving him out there so let's go with what we have. The damage has been done. How do we make the best of it?”

“Yeah, well, slap me a couple of times because I don’t see it, son. How do I get his damn face off the front of the newspapers?”

"The Post hasn't followed up. Catch the Strangler by next Wednesday and the Gay Blade will gladly put that on the front page with special appreciation for you personally."

Commander Brown threw the paper at the door and waved Connell out of his office. He was in no mood for further discussion.

"Connell," the intercom blurted, "Get Mann in here."

*****

"Looks worse," Connell said, as Mann appeared coming up the stairs. "How do you feel?"

"Not bad. It's just a bruise."

"You can say that again. Go on back but keep your distance, I've already pissed him off about all he can handle."

"Thanks a lot for the favor. He's a regular grizzly bear."

"Hell, you ought to see him when he's in a bad mood," Connell said as Robert looked back over his shoulder at him as he headed down the hall.

"Damn! That hurt, son?" Commander Brown asked as he came through the door.

"Not much," Robert said.

"Hurts me to look at it. Sit down. I'm trying to figure out what to do with you."

"Yes, sir. I thought my usefulness might have come to an end. I didn't mean to screw it up."

"You mean because of the papers? Oh, we can work around that. You are something of a celebrity among the gay boys."

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid so."

"Nice picture."

"I guess. I never thought it would be noticed. I was just doing it to fit in better. The other thing just happened and then all of this."

“Yeah, things happen for no reason some times. I know what you’re saying, Mann. When I was a boy, there was this kid named Clarence Pratt. He was just another kid. I been thinking about him just now. We went to the same school. Swam in the same mud hole. Hell, we both dated Prissy Baker as I recall. She had legs that went from here to….”

“Is this going to be another story like the one about your desk? I’m really not in the mood, Commander,” Robert said with a touch of insubordination.

Commander Brown swung forward in his seat, folding his hands together in front of him and staring at the alarmed Robert Mann.

“By god your entire future lies in these big black hands of mine. I’m the one that asked for you and I’ll by god be the one that decides when I’m finished with you. You understand me, boy?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir.”

“Not what I’m seeing, Mann. You’re full of disrespect. Police work isn’t a pick and choose kind of deal. You don’t like the job, move on down the road. Don’t interrupt me when I’m telling you something. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said, thinking he should have taken Connell's warning more seriously.

“In spite of everything you know, I suspect there are still some things you have to learn, son,” Command Brown's voice softened as he settled back into his chair.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where was I? Oh yeah, we both dated Prissy. She was a long slim girl with pigtails and bows and a dazzling smile,” Commander Brown leaned back as he spoke from a distance. “Prissy was my first love.”

“Clarence wasn’t a particularly bright boy, and we certainly had no love for each other then, but that ain’t the story I’m telling. You see, Clarence got himself hung down on the town square. They say he was dallying with a white girl. Someone had seen them together or said they did. Just talking and walking, maybe he held her hand, maybe he didn’t do anything. That's the kind of time it was down there.”

“Clarence was dumb enough to think some little white girl would like him even if he was a nigger. It didn’t take much to get things in motion where we were from. Not when that something was black and white. They took Clarence out of his bed one night. His mama cried, beggin’ for her little boy’s life, but they hung him anyway. Fear and intimidation was what they used to keep us in our place, you see.”

“They weren't really hanging Clarence, they were hanging all of us in a way. There was no one arrested. Hell, I don’t recall there ever being an investigation. Everyone knew who done it. No one dared say it out loud, none of us anyway, but we knew, and we knew to keep our distance from the white girls.”

“That’s when I knew I’d get out of there. That’s when I knew how dangerous life can get when people hate you, even when they hate you for something that's none of your doing. Don't matter none because hate is its own reason for killing.”

“The rope was still up that tree when I walked up to town with my little sister the day they hung him. It had been cut to get his body out of the tree before the noonday sun ripened him up. Wouldn’t do to offend the nostrils of respectable white folks, you know. There was a slight breeze that held the rope out at a strange angle as we stood there trying to understand why they’d done that to Clarence. Kids are like that. We were told they had performed surgery on him before hand.”

“I won’t describe what white men did to niggers down there. Pretty much whatever they wanted back then. The fact there was never an arrest or even the appearance that someone cared about a boy being murdered, well, it’s the way it was, but I never forgot it.”

“So, you see, when someone in my town, the town I’m responsible for, starts killing people that other people hate, I think of Clarence and how nothing was ever done for him. I’ll do what it takes to get this guy, and Officer Mann, that’s why you’re still here, because I think you are what it will take. It’s our job to do all we can without giving any thought to how we feel about the victims, or how they lived, or what they ate, or how they dressed. That isn’t our job. Keeping them alive is. This is just a part of something else," he said, holding up the paper with the picture.”

“Damn!” Robert said, touching the side of his face and feeling queasy. "I heard of lynching but I never knew anyone…."

“Mann, how’s that bruise? Looks plum nasty.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Why did he need to do that to you? Was there cause or not? Could he say he had some reasonable justification for hitting you?”

"Commander, I was a bit occupied when the guy showed up. I don't know who hit me. I suppose he must have had a reason. I don't want to hurt a cop. What's done is done. I'm fine."

"I suppose the guys who hung Clarence had a reason."

"There is no reason for that, sir."

“They identify themselves as cops?”

“I don't know.”

“I’ve talked to him. Some say he did. Some say he didn't. Some say he did and hit you at the same time. There's no clear picture."

"I have no beef, sir. This will heal."

"That's admirable. I'm glad you don't hold a grudge."

"Yes, sir."

“Now you know how my other detectives think, so I don’t want to hear about your sensibilities being damaged because I’ve asked you to hang around some... gay men. They’re people, Mann. They’re no longer criminals. They get the same protection as every other citizen. You understand where I'm going here or do I need to tell more stories?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Yes, I understand. No, no more stories.”

“You play your cards correctly and you’ll have some help on the backside of this deal, boy. You fuck up again and you’re history. I'll make that happen. Me, I’d go for the help every time, but you young guys all have minds of your own. One thing’s for sure, I don’t want you a kissin’ on my big black ass while we’re going down the porcelain fixture over this thing. I started it and now I aim to finish it. So, you best get your act together before you walk out of here. After all this press, no one else is going to want you in their precinct house anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I really am fine, sir. You can tell that to the cop who hit me.”

"No, we won't be discussing you with him. We'll put this little bump in the road behind us. Circulate when you feel up to it. Connell will keep you posted. I got work to do. We'll go back to meeting elsewhere. Get back to your… Bobby character and circulate. Let the gay boys handle their own fights from here on out. Low profile. Get outta here."

*****

Phil’s phone call woke Robert late in the afternoon. He'd applied ice to the side of his throbbing head and fallen asleep on the couch watching "Search For Tomorrow."

"How's the face?"

"Oh, it's still there."

"Come up for drinks later. I'll buy . My piano hasn't been the same since you left it."

"What time?"

"Make it nine. It shouldn't be too crowded tonight."

Robert showered and used alcohol and more ice on the bruise. He splashed on Brute, donned his new slacks and added a flannel shirt. It was cooling down and he didn't want to carry a jacket. He left his car parked in front of the apartment and walked up to the corner and to the Hubbard House so he could have a quiet dinner and perhaps look at Fran.

"Long time no see," she said, dropping the menu in front of him instead of handing it to him.

"What's up?"

"I saw the Post. Bobby, why did you do that to me? I liked you."

"Do what? What are you talking about?"

"Lead me on. I don't want a guy that wants other… It's not fair. I haven't enjoyed being with anyone in a long time and you were perfect. I don't understand how you can be that way."

"I'm not, Fran. I'm fine. I want to see you. I've been busy."

"Yeah, me too. Would you like to order."

The rest of the meal went no better. Robert left feeling sick at his stomach. Fran went on break so another waitress took his money. He walked across Dupont Circle wondering if he wanted to stay involved. He could just stay on the streets and out of the bars, but then he'd only be doing a half-hearted job.

There was a steady stream of people going in and coming out of the alley that led to the Frat House entrance. He climbed the stairs as people giggled and laughed. These people seemed to have such a good time. Robert wanted to have a good time. He felt the bruise as it started to throb again.

When he broke through the doors into the bar, the crowd seemed the same. There were guys everywhere, white T-shirts against black lights with lava lamps doing their thing as glasses and bottles clanged.

There was space to walk for a change and he didn't have to elbow his way through to the piano bar. The crowd seemed to part as he moved through it. The restaurant was almost empty. Phil looked up and smiled when he saw him. At least someone was glad he was around.

When he got to the piano Phil stopped the flourish he was delicately nursing and started playing and singing "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow." Then other people were singing and crowding around the entryway to the restaurant. They all sang, and Robert Mann was adrift in a sea of admiration as they applauded him. He blushed and half looked at the pleased crowd and half looked at the floor, feeling quite small for all the things he'd thought and the nasty things he'd said.

The music stopped and Phil sat with his hands in his lap looking quite pleased with himself. "I told them you'd hate it but they made me do it. They aren't used to someone that will stand up and fight for them. You're a novelty."

"I guess I just don't understand," Robert said, sitting down to face Phil. No one else sat at the seats around the piano and Blue Cheer playing in the background would have drowned out any other sound as the crowd went back to rocking and rolling and getting bombed.

"How is it?"

"What?"

"Your face. Looks horrible. Take off your glasses."

Robert looked around to make sure no one was paying attention. He pulled off the glasses and saw the alarm on Phil's face. He slipped the glasses back in place and decided he needed to get out of there.

"Just have a drink and you can go on your way."

There wasn't much conversation. Robert downed a draft then headed for the door. Before he made it half way the applause started anew. Robert blushed and tried not to meet anyone's eye. He still felt pretty small and the admiration of the crowded bar did nothing to make him feel any better about himself.

He drove to Southeast, parked and walked the blocks around the bars but was reluctant to go in. There were no contacts of note and no one looked like he could be the DC Strangler. In fact most of them looked far less frightening than Robert.

Seeing no one of interest, he decided to get a beer at the Plus 1. He didn't want to get into the scene at Johnny's. There was a steady step downward from the Frat House to the Plus 1 and finally to Johnny's. Each catered to a different crowd and Plus 1 was probably more his cup of tea while Johnny's was the bottom of the homosexual barrel.

He leaned on the bar and held the frosted glass against the bruise without removing the glasses that hid half of it. His hair covered some but his exposed cheek radiated a throbbing red, black, blue, and a host of other colors he couldn't identify.

"Haven't seen you before." The voice was husky. The man was in his thirties and wearing a heavy leather coat. He looked like he might have a motorcycle parked close. His beard and mustache were well trimmed and his gaze was persistent.

"I'm new," Robert said, drinking from the beer and curbing the urge to bolt. "You come here often?"

"Oh, now and then. I don't have a lot of time for queer bars." He turned his back to the bar, leaning on both elbows. He now looked at the other dozen or so patrons. The light was dim enough so no one could get a real good look at anyone else. Unlike Frat House, these patrons were guarded and seemed suspicious, standing with tight postures and a lot of space between each man. Every time the door opened all the heads turned to check out the new entrant into this derby of love. This was more what Bobby thought gay bars would be like. These were the men he thought he'd meet during his assignment.

"You ride?"

"Oh yeah. Not so much during the week usually. I keep my bike in the garage during the week. I just needed some fresh air tonight."

"You live in town?"

"Oh no. Chevy Chase. I'm an attorney out there. Andrew Parkson at your service," he said, handing Robert his card. "If someone has injured you we can get you a settlement. You probably won't even need to go to court on it. No fee until we get you paid."

"Right!" Robert reached for the bruise and resisted the urge to feel it. It was impossible to see the card. He put it in his shirt pocket out of courtesy but he didn't look at the guy again.

"I can show you," Andrew said.

"Show me what?"

"My house. It's only fifteen minutes this time of night. That's on motorcycle. You like speed?"

"No thank you. I'm really not feeling all that well this evening."

"Keep the card. You can never tell when it might come in handy."

Robert tossed the card on the dashboard and drove to Georgetown, pulling over when he spotted the Little Tavern. He came out with ten of their mini burgers in a bag and sat them next to him in the seat as the lights in the small restaurant all went out. He reached for a burger as he pulled up to the stop sign at Wisconsin Avenue and turned right, down past the Grill.

He took a tour of the block to see what could be seen after midnight. He tossed the first wrapper on the passenger side floor and grabbed another burger. It was half gone when he reached the wall and the three dark figures sitting on it. He leaned forward looking to see if he recognized any of the faces from his last turn around the ‘meat rack’. It was too dark.

After finishing his second burger, he pulled to the curb a half a block down and thought he'd watch to see what would happen. This felt more like police work but how would he know. He'd never done police work before and if this was police work then he was doing it but it didn't feel like what he thought it would feel like. He was on his fourth burger by the time one of the boys dropped down off the wall and came toward the car.

The knuckle rapped on the glass. Robert rolled down the window and looked at the boy from thighs to shoulders and waited for his face to appear. He finally leaned down so his face was even with the window, but he looked up and down the sidewalk and not into the car.

"Okay! We doing business or what?"

"Do what?"

"You just gave us the once over and you came down and stopped. I figure you was lonely and need some company." As he spoke he continued surveying the block.

"What makes your company so desirable?"

"I'm cool. Better looking than the rest a dose guys. I ain't no thief. I do good work."

"You telling me you are working?"

"Man's a freakin’ Einstein."

"So I still don't know what makes you such a bargain."

"Gee, I done let you see once. What I got to do, a show?"

At first Robert was left at a loss for what was going on but when the boy stood up and pulled his hands out of his pockets, it was only too obvious there was a growing concern in his trousers. He used one hand to make sure this aspect of his anatomy was properly positioned for easy viewing through the window.

"It's all very interesting, but I just came down here to eat my burgers."

"What?" the boy complained. "You ain't a cop are you?"

He finally took the time to lean over and look into the car at the guy he was bargaining with. The unhappy surly look turned into a bright smile.

"Hey, I'm Peanut. Where you from?"

"I'm just having a burger."

"Ah, man, come on and give me a break. I been out here for hours. How about one of them burgers? I'm starved. Ain’t et since this morning."

"Sure," Robert said and the boy's hand was immediately in the bag. "Oh man, this is tops. I love these. Thanks! You sure? You look lonely. I'm great company and I don't mind most stuff if the price is right."

"I'm sure you're all you say, but I'm just not in the market right now."

"That guy with you?"

He chewed the words along with the hamburger. He took another survey of the street and then stuck his head back in the window to look at Robert.

"What guy?"

"That car what followed you up here."

"No one was behind me. I checked before I turned past you guys."

"No, he didn't have his lights on. He was driving slow up next to the curb. Almost stopped to see where you was. Big green four door jobby. Figured him for the fuzz. That's why I didn't come over right off. That's why I asked you if you was one. Man I can't get myself locked up. No way."

"You sure about the car?"

"Honest. I don't lie, man. I ain't like some of the guys. I can be real nice to the right dudes. You sure we can't do business? You won't be sorry. I ain't doin’ no good out here anyway. The whole night for another burger and five bucks. Come on, man. I'm great company. You won't be sorry."

"Peanut, if I was in the mood for that, you'd be just what I wanted, but I'm not, and I don't want to waste your time."

"No problem. No waste. I come up here two or three nights a week. You change your mind, you look me up. Peanut. Don't forget. Okay?"

"Where do you live?" Robert felt a sudden curiosity about the wayward boy.

"Just 'round. I crash where I find a place."

"Where are your parents? Shouldn't you be home?"

"Tell them that. I'm on my way to hell and they says they can't be lettin' me get there through their house. So I split. I do okay. Well, see you 'round maybe. Peanut. Don't forget."

He started to walk back toward the wall when Robert relented.

"Hey, Peanut!"

"Yeah," the boy said with excitement in his voice as he turned back to the car.

"Take the rest of these. I'll make myself sick if I eat anymore."

"Wow! Far out. Later gator. Peanut," he yelled as he moved away with his hand stuffed into the Little Tavern bag.

Robert laughed and shook his head. He turned right and drove back toward Wisconsin. He slowed and stared into the rearview mirror, taking off the sunglasses to make sure he was seeing everything. There was nothing there except the cars parked bumper to bumper on either side of the street.

Chapter 10

Moving Forward

"We're supposed to be in Georgetown an hour ago. Where you been," Pollard said, slipping into the car. "You don't sleep any more? You look like death warmed over."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I told you I'd be checking things out at night. I'm not asking you to go along. I know you got a family life."

"Pam?"

Bland's fingers started drumming the steering wheel. His jaw set and he stared ahead as he weaved through traffic.

"At her mother’s. Took the kids. She's been gone a few weeks."

"I thought she said she was coming back?"

"She lied. She's not, okay? Just get off it. I don't need to hear it from you."

"Sorry, boss. Maybe if you talk about it…."

"No!"

"Fine. Fine."

"I called Brown and told him we were running late. You get me anything yet?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry,” said Pollard, “Robert Mann. His address is listed as 54th Avenue in Bladensburg but I've tried the number and there is no answer. I had Prince George cops go by for a routine check. No answer, no car. We can drive up that way but I have a hunch that's a dead end. You know how fags get around. There's a car registered to him. A sixty-two blue Pontiac convertible, but like I said, it wasn't there. That's it. He's clean as a hounds tooth. No wants, no warrants, no record of any kind. Has never even jaywalked. I'm doing Virginia now just to cover all the bases."

"Okay, we might need to chat with Mr. Mann to be sure he isn't going to be a problem. I can't afford any more trouble."

"Maybe you should let me handle it. That's not going to cut it with Brown. It might be seen as intimidation and he's a no nonsense kind of a guy. I don't know he'll back you any further."

"Did I say intimidation. I said chat. Why are you being so difficult? He's just another faggot, right? Get on the team, will you?"

"I know you Jimmy. I know how you get when you get your dander up. I'm saying you aren't the one to talk to him is all."

The car wove in and out of traffic as Pollard held the armrest so he wouldn't slide off the seat.

*****

Robert spent another restless night. He thought about Fran and then he thought about Peanut and how dangerous it was for him to be out there. He thought he could have brought him home and given him a place to sleep but then that would create more complications. That brought him to the green sedan that woke him up several times. He couldn't actually see the car or the driver, but he knew it was there, deep in his dream, chasing him.

He used more ice on his face and went down to Hubbard House to have breakfast once he was sure Fran would be there. She wasn't. He asked. She'd called in sick and he lost his appetite and was left with another open wound. He needed to talk to her and he wanted to explain. He wanted to tell her what he was doing. He thought it was a good thing she wasn't there because that too would have just complicated things more.

Later in the day he met up with Phil for another shopping trip and a late lunch. Phil had more energy than Robert ever had. He was amazed at how the guy never stopped. Phil wasn't playing that evening but he was meeting friends for dinner at the Flagship down on the waterfront. Robert declined the offer to go along. While Phil lightened things up for him, his friends didn't. A few were okay but most of them stared too much.

Once showered and dressed he headed out for another evening of roaming the streets. He'd lost his feeling of purpose. He wasn't sure what he was doing or how to do it. He was circulating and trying to keep his eyes and ears open but he didn't feel like the odds were in his favor. He still stared into every face he passed and only took time off to eat and to have a beer.

He was growing impatient. Would the Strangler be at home with the drag queens, the leather boys, or the closet cases? When he couldn't come up with anything that seemed right, he decided to go to Joanna’s. He felt comfortable around the lesbian's there. While they too stared at him, he knew it was for a different reason than when the guys stared. When a couple of the really big dykes gave him the hairy eyeball, he was sure they were sure they could kick his ass. Where did life get so complicated, he wondered, sipping his beer?

He left his car parked down on 8th and walked up to Henry's, sitting toward the rear and ordering a Ruben on black bread and a draft. Beer had been only window dressing in each of the previous bars during the evening, but he drank this one. He remembered meeting Albert and smiled. He was a nice man. Under different circumstances he could see being Albert's friend. In fact Albert reminded him of Swift Deer in some strange way

Robert went back to his car and drove the streets around the bars. He had no desire to go back into any of them. Three different times he looked into his rearview mirror to see a green sedan behind him. Each moved on past when he turned off. The kid was probably mistaken. Someone had merely left his house and forgotten to turn on their lights. He was sure that was it.

Another green car was behind him as he made the turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue but he lost it in traffic once he got back toward the middle of town. He slowed to see if he could find the car again but he couldn't.

"John Christopher, news director of WMOD, with a news bulletin. The body of a man discovered in the industrial section of southeast Washington earlier this afternoon has definitely been linked to the series of slayings that have come to be known as the work of the DC Strangler. This makes eight men who have died at the hands of this elusive killer. At the time of this news bulletin there has been no identification made of the body. Stay tuned to WMOD for further updates. We now return you to our regular programming."

"Mr. Lonely" played and Bobby Vinton searched his soul for the answer to his pain. Robert felt the words down inside. What was he doing and where was it leading, he wondered? "Love Train" played and he smiled, turning up the frothy song.

Robert shook his head as a series of commercials followed. He was tired. His head hurt and he was back in Northwest. The killer never struck two days in a row. He thought a good nights sleep was what he needed but he hadn't had one in a while. He let himself into the apartment and made the couch into the bed before he sat on it to hold his aching head.

*****

Officer James Bland eased to the curb immediately after turning off Dupont Circle and onto 19th Street. He watched the Pontiac pull over and park a half a block ahead of him. Robert Mann hadn't looked around and Bland was sure he didn't suspect he was being followed. Bland stood beside his car and watched for a light to come on in one of the nearby apartments. Once he knew which apartment his quarry was in, the rest would be easy. He now knew where to find Mann and he'd give him more attention when time allowed.

He whistled softly as he backed out of 19th Street and took the Circle until he turned off toward his own apartment.

*****

Robert's frustration was growing and he lay awake trying to figure out which way to go until he finally drifted off to sleep. After another restless night he woke up to a phone call from Mike Connell.

"Let's meet over at the Grill. Two o'clock if that's okay."

"What time is it?" Robert asked as he rubbed his eyes open.

"Ten thirty."

"Okay. Two o'clock."

It was noon by the time Robert showered and got dressed. He wandered down to Dupont Circle and sat on one of the concrete benches looking at the Hubbard House. He wanted to talk to Fran. He needed a connection to something he felt deeply and she had offered his only deep connection to anyone in some time. She was a bit of a flake but he didn't care.

He made a point of getting to the Grill at 1:30, ordering Liverwurst on rye with mustard, onion and an extra pickle. He was picking at the chips and watching Judy closely when Mike made his appearance. He had a jacket on over his uniform shirt and you couldn't tell he was a DC cop if he didn't lean over and let the badge reflect the little light. He sat with his back to the street and the window.

"How's it feel?" He asked with unusual concern in the words.

"Oh, great, I didn't even notice it this morning. It feels fine."

"Good. Looks terrible. It’ll take a few days for it to fade."

"Yeah, I suppose. What's up?"

"I don't know. I thought we should talk. I've given you a hard time, Mann. I want to say it isn't anything personal. You’re doing what we've asked. It's just that we aren't making much progress. You know there's another one confirmed?"

"Hey, sweetie pie. Haven't seen you in a while," Judy said, leaning across the booth to put her arm over Mike's shoulder.

"Hi, Judy. How are you?"

"Wonderful. This lovely man has come back for me to look at. You do have nice taste, Michael."

"I'm Robert," Robert said, smiling.

"You okay hon?" Judy said with a more serious tone.

"I'm fine," Robert replied.

"They ever get them all?" She questioned Mike.

"Nah, better to leave it alone. It doesn’t bother me. If they don’t catch them for shooting me, they’ll catch them for something else.”

"Well, you come more often. I worry about you. What can I get for you today. Bloody Mary?"

"No, I'm just passing through. I’m on duty, but maybe a Coke."

"Hardly call that crap Coke. Suit yourself. I could add a little Black Jack and no one would be any the wiser," she winked as she leaned fondly toward him, holding onto the coat rack that was attached to the booth. "He won't tell on you. He knows you're the boss, right?"

"Yeah, some days more than others. I've taken it out on him more than once."

"You should learn to duck, Bobby," Judy said while still looking at Mike. "They getting that asshole cop’s badge?"

"Nah, he's one of the good guys, just a bit of a bigot, but if we throw all the bigots off the force, there won't be anyone left but us fags. Educate them and pray for divine intervention."

"Yeah, but God ain't listening, Michael. One day you got to face up to what is and that's when you do something because it's the only way anything is going to get done." Judy pushed herself off the booth and whirled to make her return to the bar.

Robert turned to watch her move and felt a twitch of love/lust in his heart.

"Damn she's nice. I've never seen a woman that knows so many men. Everyone hugs her and kisses her. I'd love to…."

"Down boy. She's married, has a son your age."

"What? The way she treats guys? You mean she doesn't go out with any of them."

"The guys that come in here? Give me a break, Mann. You sure you're paying attention? We're all gay. Straight guys don't come in here except by accident or under protest. A few might peek in to see what a fag looks like."

"You mean she thinks I'm…."

"Get over yourself. Better guys than you, bud."

"I didn't say they weren't. I just didn't think she thought that. She's always friendly. What's with all the hugging and kissing then?" Robert said, giving up the view of Judy to look at Mike.

Mike took his hands out of his coat pockets and looked over at Judy and then back to Robert. "She's a very special lady. She takes a group of men who nobody likes and makes them feel special. She doesn't have to do that. I'm sure it improves her tips, but Judy is sincere. She loves everyone. She remembers the names and how long since you've been in here. She makes you feel welcome when you've had a rotten day, week, life. People come here just to be around someone like her. Do you know what it's like not feeling welcome to be yourself anywhere you go?"

Robert thought back to the reservation and how the other boys avoided him while their grandfathers stared at him with unending disdain.

"She's married?"

"She's married."

"I guess. She called me Bobby but I just told her my name is Robert."

"The Gay Blade is up on the counter. Your picture is on the front page. Shit, it is the front page."

"Oh, no! You mean people will see that thing?"

"Yes! That brings me to the point of this meeting."

"There's a point? I figured you were just here to hassle me."

"The Blade's not a problem. The Post is."

"What's the difference?”

Robert folded his hands in front of him and resisted the idea of finishing the second pickle while he was being lectured. Mike seemed uneasy. He looked around and waited for Judy to set down his Coke. She immediately withdrew, having seen them talking. There were smiles and a refocusing on a conversation Mike seemed reluctant to have.

"I'll just get it out here. Brown's worried about you."

"I'm fine. I told you it doesn't even hurt now."

"Mann, listen up and shut your mouth for long enough to hear me out."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not sir, although it is flattering. I'm a cop like you, nothing more. I'm worried too. You need to be where you are. I know being around gay men isn't easy for a man like you and this has gotten a lot more complicated then we figured. The picture, your status as a folk hero, it isn't what we planned, and I'm not blaming you, so don't think that. I just don't know if this should continue since people know who you are, or, think they know. It could be dangerous because we don’t have any idea who this guy is or what he's after. Brown wanted you off yesterday but I made him think about it. So, it's up to you now. I won't leave you hanging out there with no net. You ought to know that this picture thing has turned up the heat on you," Mike spoke seriously to Robert's eyes and the concern in his voice was real.

"Just tell me what you want me to do.?"

"Well, I was going to ask you to think about it, seeing as you're green and in over your head. What I know is that most guys would die for a chance to get in on the biggest murder investigation going on in the country right now, but yes, think about it and we'll look into having you reassigned if you want out. An assignment right now isn't going to be easy with people associating you with the gay community. That's why I wanted to talk."

"That's it? You just wanted to tell me how much more dangerous this had become? That I have an out if I want it and the big boss won't fall on me like a brick wall if I do? Cool!"

"Cool? Mann, are you on something. Your superiors don't hassle you, and police work is never cool," he shook his head as he spoke, impatient with the youth that wasn't much younger than him. “Carry on with what you're doing and be thinking about what I have just said. I won't ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

"Okay."

"How are you getting along with Phil?"

"Fine. He's cool."

"Some gay men can be overpowering but Phil's one of the nicest guys I know. He won't let you get into any trouble if he can help it. You can trust him."

"I know that. He's like someone's mother that way. Is that weird or what."

"Yeah, he is. That's a good description. I got to get back to work."

"He told me about you and some cop he went with," Robert said without any idea why.

"That's not something I bring to work and it's not something you talk about."

"How can you not? I mean what if people knew?"

"I'm careful that people don't know."

"Yeah, but what if they found out? I mean you're on this investigation. Don't you think someone might suspect?"

"You're on this investigation too. They suspect you a hell of a lot more than they suspect me. Give that some consideration."

Robert did give it some thought as Mike left him there with his pickle and Judy. People would think that because of the picture. He hadn't read the article in the Blade and he didn't have any desire to do so. He had noticed more recognition in Judy's eye when he came in and the warmer smile. He still couldn't help but look at her when she brought his check. She was a fine looking woman. "You don't get in too deep, honey. It's a dangerous world out there," she said, more friendly than she had been.

"You know?"

"I didn't until I saw Mike but it all makes perfect sense now. I don't miss much and I didn't think you were one of the boys. Some cross over to check it out but mostly, once they've gone gay, they go all the way, hon."

"I'm damn glad someone knows," Robert blurted out. "I'm starting to feel queer."

"Just be careful, hon. It's not a good time to be a gay boy, even if you're only pretending. That creep won't know the difference."

"No he won't. Thanks, though… Robert hesitated, “They really like you."

"Who?" Judy said, leaning on the booth with one leg off the floor bent up behind her.

"These guys really like you. You're a woman and they're gay but they really like you. Go figure."

"You ever seen a kicked puppy? How they'll nuzzle up to the first kind person they see? Don't much matter who as long as they ain't kicking 'em. You keep your money, honey. This one's on Judy."

Robert left the five on the table. He wondered about the world as he stepped out into the afternoon sun. It was a little hazy and cool but the air smelled fresh. He realized that all he had to do to get some real experience as a cop was to ask for reassignment. It seemed to lighten things up. Just the fact that Mike treated him halfway human was a nice change. He always seemed so angry.

Looking back at the black wood on the front of the Grill, he thought of the word refuge. Refuge in the storm, he thought to himself. It must be hard being gay. Walking back toward his car he saw a single boy sitting on the wall a hundred feet further up from where he had parked. He decided to walk up and see if it was Peanut. He didn't know why he was curious but he was.

As he approached the wall the young man sitting there gave him a long hard look. Bobby hopped up beside him at a respectful distance but close enough to talk. Before he could open the discussion the boy got right down to business.

"Man, I got this corner. Not enough business for two this time a day," his drawl was deep and it hung on each word like a road sign. He had long blond hair that touched the shoulder of his buckskin shirt. He was young and still had boyish looks but there was fire burning in his eyes as they were considering the trespasser.

He might have been eighteen or nineteen but the numbers sixteen or seventeen seemed to fit him better. He was anything but cordial and his annoyance with the new arrival was obvious.

"I'm not working, man," Bobby answered sarcastically with a bad imitation of the boy's easy drawl.

"Yeah, well why not move on down so’s you don't confuse my customers. They might be a thinkin' we come together or somethin’," the boy complained some more but with such charm in the hostility that it made Robert laugh.

"Look, man, I'll be moving on down when I’m good and ready to be moving on down. I'll pull you off this wall and make you shorter than you are if you don't watch the way you talk to me."

The words came out without anger or bravado. It was a simple statement of fact that immediately changed the boy's mind as he considered the much bigger man. He decided it would be much healthier to have this guy as an ally rather than an adversary. His need to eat overrode his need to stand his ground against a superior force. “Where you from? I’m from Anniston, Alabama.”

Robert took the Marlboro cigarette as a peace offering and he leaned to let the boy flip his Zippo until he could taste the smoke. "North Dakota," came the answer.

"Farm?" the boy asked.

"Farm what?" Robert said.

"You a farm boy? You look like it with all those shoulders you got on you. You a bad lookin' mother up close." The drawl held true as the boy continued the exchange. He considered the new arrival from the corner of his eye. He seemed way tall to a short boy and way big to a small boy. His attempt at establishing some kind of superiority by virtue of his early arrival had failed as it always had. There was no superiority when you were small.

"No. No farm."

The boy watched a car pass, leaning back on his elbows so the front of his pants were easy viewing for any interested driver. It was easy to tell which ones were on their way to some place else and which were on more urgent missions, looking for the company of some friendly boy who might still the empty ache that haunted their lonely lives. This was where his size was his biggest asset. No one saw him as a threat and they'd stop for him a lot quicker than they'd stop for one of his bigger friends. The trick was knowing which one of them didn't pose a threat to him.

"I'm Toby!" the boy announced, sticking out his hand as he took the opportunity to look Robert over. He'd seen the sunglasses and that he was handsome and big but that was all one glance was worth. Now he lost interest in the street and the cars and felt himself drawn to the tall dark stranger who had sat down beside him for no reason that was obvious yet. There was always a hope and Toby hoped for the best.

"There's some nut killing people around here. You better stay off the streets," Robert advised.

"I can take care of myself. I only asked your name for crimminy sakes. So, what is your name anyway?" Toby's words were more a plea as his eyes searched the bigger boy's face for some sign of kindness.

"Robert. You can call me Bobby."

"Your friends call you Bobby?"

"…Yeah, lately it seems like. Hey, do you know, Peanut?"

"Hell yeah! He's from New York. He's the one what told me to come to DC. He was here but he went to Richmond with a guy. That's what I heard, anyway."

"Okay. I was just wondering about him."

Robert was everything Toby wished he were. Robert was the kind of guy that Toby envisioned when someone took him off the street and home to a life of regular meals and a warm bed. He didn't much care if someone else was in the bed or not, but if Bobby was in it, it wouldn't hurt his feelings any. He looked good to Toby.

"Quit staring," Robert said, annoyed, remembering all the gay men that continually stared, then he relented. "Why do you keep looking at me? I mean… it makes me nervous."

"I'm sorry, is that a birthmark or what?" Toby looked down at his feet and realized he was hoping for something that wasn't ever going to happen. Once you went for a week without showering and your hair started to tangle, the odds against someone thinking you were worth a second look were slim. Usually it was just the old guys that wanted a pit stop before heading home to the little woman and the odds of seeing the inside of a house were even less than getting enough for a burger.

“Oh this, it’s just a bruise.” Robert reached out and mussed up his hair and Toby lit up. He gushed a smile but could no longer look directly at Robert. The boy laughed because someone had touched him and didn't want anything off him. "Don't take life so seriously. You got to be careful, kid. Some nut case is wasting dudes and he's not particular. You're too nice looking to get yourself murdered.”

"Really!" Toby blushed and felt a sudden surge of warmth as he went back to Robert's face. Maybe life wasn't all that bad. He sure could use a burger though. Toby wouldn’t mind asking most guys for a buck for a burger but he wouldn't ask this guy. He didn't want him to think he wanted anything from him, not anything he wanted to be paid for. There was something about Robert that he liked right off.

"Why aren't you home?" Robert asked, turning his head to speak.

"I got no home to be at."

"Where do you stay?"

"Where ever I am. Where do you stay?"

"At home where I belong. You got to be careful out here, kid."

"Yeah, well, I ain't a kid an’ I done all right so far. I was up in New York but that place is nuts. I did pretty well with eating regular and all, but them dudes is crazy. I'm not used to big party deals. I come down here after Peanut told me DC was cool. What's your bag, anyway?"

"My bag?" Robert asked.

"What do you like?"

"I like girls," Robert said, needing to let the big eyed boy know he was wasting his time.

It was a little like being slapped. Toby didn't know why Robert needed to say that except for the way he looked at Robert. Toby felt bad again and then he noticed the silver Mercedes easing up the block. The car almost came to a stop as the driver looked up through the windshield at the wall.

Toby immediately leaped down and headed for the car door. When he reached for the handle, a big hand clamped around his wrist and guided him out of the way without him ever knowing what the hell was happening. He felt a like a fool as Robert swung the door open and leaned into the car.