*****
Sonya could see the flashing lights through the attic window. She had already heard Helga’s high pitched howl accompanying the sirens. When she came downstairs, she saw Helga, Bill, and Aron standing at the sliding glass doors in the dining area next to the small kitchen.
“Somebody probably got frostbite,” Bill said.
“Or hypothermia,” Aron said.
Sonya, through the blowing snow, the back light on, could make out two fire trucks, an ambulance, and two police cars in the distant power lines. Soon, a plain car arrived, along with a police van.
“That’s too many cops for frostbite,” Aron said. “Somebody died out there.”
“How can you be so sure?” Sonya asked.
“That plain car is Ben Garcia’s old Chevy. He only works in Homicide.”
Detective Ben Garcia of the Marine Police Department thought Winter Storm Bernice had taken him back in time; however, instead of a Blue Diamond getting shot off his Harley, Waylon Jennings Johnson was sprawled face down, covered in snow, surrounded by bloody slush.
His parents had grown worried when he didn’t return. Carrie, in spite of Donut’s objections, called the police. The officer at the scene had assumed Waylon hadn’t gone far on the snowmobile, with the temperature dropping and visibility getting worse. The officer didn’t have to search far, coming upon the Yamaha, engine still running, tiny frozen drops of blood on the dashboard and seat. Waylon was on the ground, several feet away.
The scene was secured, Waylon’s body taken away to the morgue. Several more officers, along with Garcia, searched the surrounding power lines for evidence. The weather was not on their side, and Garcia, overweight underneath his heavy coat, berated himself for not exercising more as he trudged through the knee-high snow. His hands were freezing underneath his gloves and his face was starting to feel numb, his nose running. However, his patient nature won out, and he kept going, gripping a lantern.
One bullet in the head could be random, he thought, but why out here? The shooter would have to be an excellent marksman because snow had been coming down all day.
“Hey, Garcia! Check out this tree!”
Garcia almost stumbled. He flashed his lantern at the old oak tree, pockmarked with bullet holes. “Target practice.”
The young officer, the one who found Waylon, pointed to the ground. “Shell casings! Forensics hasn’t left yet.”
“Go get ‘em.” Garcia tightened the thick winter cap around his head. He was going to be here for a while. He only hoped his car wouldn’t need to be towed out of the power lines.
Garcia was working all night, writing his report and waiting on Forensics and the Medical Examiner. He also had to deliver the bad news to Donut and Carrie. Waylon had been their only child, and Garcia knew, just by looking at James ‘Donut’ Johnson, that The Blue Diamond leader didn’t have long. Waylon had stayed in Marine for the winter to help look after his father, something any good son would do.
God forgives, outlaws don’t, Garcia thought. But if Waylon’s death is connected to the Diamonds and their criminal enterprises, which now only consist of small-time prostitution and drugs, who would have wanted him dead? He was the chapter president’s son, well-liked by his brothers. And anyone could have been target practicing out in the power lines. Those casings could have been there for months.
Garcia was saving his completed report on his PC to send to Captain Schultz when he saw Cal Whistler, the former crime reporter for the Marine Press, walking towards his desk. Garcia looked at his watch. Six o’clock already.
“Good morning, Ben,” Cal said.
“What brings you so early?”
Cal pulled the winter cap off his balding head, unzipping his wool coat. “I heard about the nasty homicide that happened a few blocks from my stepdaughter’s home.”
“How is Sonya?”
“She’s good. However, the whole neighborhood is wondering why someone was murdered in the power lines. Then I get a call from one of my old sources, who told me the victim was Waylon Johnson.”
Cal may have no longer worked for The Press, but Garcia heard he was putting together a book about The Blue Diamonds. Cal had covered The Diamonds for The Press for almost twenty years, making several friends in the club.
“And who would want Waylon dead?” Cal asked.
Garcia sighed. “He spent two years in jail. After that, he was never arrested again. Of course, that doesn’t mean he still wasn’t running girls and drugs. His old lady in Florida used to dance at Diamond Girls, their strip club downtown.”
“True. Waylon was never really a one-percenter. They’re all fat and lazy now.”
“But less psycho as well.”
Garcia and Cal enjoyed a friendly rapport, but Cal knew when Garcia wanted to keep the details of an investigation close to his chest. Garcia’s dark, steady gaze could be intimidating, but he was also a calm, gentle man who was counting the days until retirement.
“This is going to sound crazy,” Cal said, “but I don’t think Waylon’s death had anything to do The Diamonds. It feels...too random. My source feels the same way. Also, Donut has already chosen a new chapter president. Waylon had turned it down and the job was passed on to Nacho Clifton.”
“Nacho’s in Florida right now.”
“He’s coming up for the funeral. My source says there’s going to be a real turn-out for Waylon. Out of respect to Donut.”
“A biker funeral. Oh, joy.”
“Maybe we’ll have another storm. They can’t ride their bikes in a blizzard.”
“Why Nacho? I thought he got religion.”
“Not him, but his old lady Nicole started going to The Church of Mankind here and in Tampa. Said it helped her sober up.”
“You’re kidding me? Well, that might not be such a bad thing. Diamonds coming to Jesus...”
“A few of their old ladies, at least.”
“Those boys must be mellowing with age. Letting their women go to church...”
“Be prepared to hear a lot from Donut and Carrie.”
“I almost feel bad for them, losing Waylon, with Donut so ill. But I also remember every dead girl found in the lake, and the Diamonds had to know it was one of their own. Angela Kent. Kyle Stone–“
Cal almost shuddered. “Forget about them. But you know the old saying,’Our chickens always come home to roost.’”
“And Marine has its share of chickens.”
“Here’s another chicken; I’m trying to get an interview with the pastor at The Church of Mankind here in Marine. His name is Matthew Hawkins. His father is the leader of The Church. Matthew is considered the heir apparent.”
“I have to admit, I don’t know a lot about The Church and its politics.”
“Been around since the 1950s. Started out on the West Coast. Beliefs are Judeo-Christian, emphasis on The New Testament, with New Age thrown in. Known to be anti-gay and anti-war, but not anti-military. Believe in past lives and karma. I haven’t had a chance to read much of the literature, but the founder, Marshall Union, wrote many books. He died four years ago.”
“If you get your interview, get back to me.”
“Certainly, Ben. Be happy to. I might get invited to Waylon’s funeral.”
“If you do, let me know how that goes.”
“I’ve got an agent interested in my book.”
“About The Diamonds?”
“Uh-huh. I sent her an outline and she’s enthusiastic. I had to tell her that I’ve only written the first two chapters. But she told me to send what I have. I need to get started on the rest.”
“Are you covering all of The Diamonds’ history?”
“Mostly their Marine chapter because that’s what I know,” Cal said.
“Are your sources going to help with the book?” Garcia asked.
“Maybe. I was hoping I could get Donut to talk, but I think I’ll leave him alone.”
“When could you ever get Donut to talk to you?”
“Never. Not even T. Hanson. My sources are on the lower tier, happy for a few dollars to feed their drug habits. Different priorities nowadays.”
“Got hooked on their own supply.”
“There won’t be any Diamonds around here in another ten years. They’ll simply die off and there’ll be nothing left but stories.”
Bobby heard the knock at his door that evening. His mother was in the shower, tired after a long day at work. She and Bobby already had dinner, Bobby at his laptop on the couch.
He opened the door and found Archie standing there.
“Hi. You busy?” Archie asked.
“No.”
“You want to come over?”
Bobby left his mother a short note and followed Archie to his apartment. He caught the smell of cooking. “What did you have for dinner?”
“Frozen pot pies and mac and cheese.”
“Oh, my God! We had the same thing.”
“Mac and cheese in the red box?”
“The best.”
“You want a soda?” Archie asked. “We got Seven-Up and Pepsi.”
Bobby took a Pepsi and sat with Archie at the small kitchen table. “Where’s your dad?”
“Colin’s not my dad. He’s out.”
“How old are you, Archie?”
“Seventeen.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to school?” Bobby asked.
“Maybe alternative. My last school was bad. Bullying.”
Bobby shrugged. “I’ve been bullied all through school. Well, less with high school. But bullying isn’t always physical abuse. It’s rudeness. Dirty looks. I get so sick of it...”
“You don’t mind me asking–“
“I’m gay.”
“So am I, Bobby.”
“I thought so.”
Archie grinned. “You did?”
“Just kidding. I wasn’t really sure. My gaydar is currently covered in ice and snow.”
“Do you think we’re the only gays in Marine?” Archie asked.
“My best friend Piper thinks she might be gay. And, as far as I know, that’s it. I’d like more gay friends, but not too many kids my age are ‘out.’ They wait ‘til later.”
“After high school.”
“Is it any easier after that?”
“When I was a little kid,” Archie said, “my family was really into church. When I started thinking that I was gay, I panicked, because I knew my church would not accept me. I was told that being gay was wrong. There was a camp where the gay kids were sent to get straight.”
“God hates fags, right?”
“I don’t think God hates anyone. But some people use religion as an excuse to hate.”
“Why? How come it never stops?”
“Because people are afraid. Fear makes people really crazy.”
“But they make us afraid, so we’re the ones who have to drop out of school, quit jobs, or move away.”
“Do you hate yourself for being gay?” Archie asked.
“I hate myself for hating myself for being gay. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it sort of does. It’s hard to like or accept yourself when you get hate back. I don’t like feeling lonely. I’m glad I met you, Bobby.”
“Thanks. I’m glad to have met you, too.”
“What is your friend Piper like?”
“She is very pretty and smart. Both of her parents are attorneys. She’s on a Caribbean cruise right now.”
“I wish I was her.”
“So do I. She can hide behind being pretty and popular. No one thinks that Piper is really a lesbian, except me and our other friend Sonya. Maybe her mother. But Piper never gets insulted or bullied. She’s like a cute poodle. You ever seen that movie Clueless? Piper is like Shar. Everyone loves her. And she is a nice girl.”
“She has to be a little arrogant, though.”
“Sometimes.” Bobby chuckled. “But she can’t help it! She’s a force of nature. But she’d give me the designer blouse off her back.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Just my older brother Rick. He moved out.”
“I’m sort of an only child.”
“Where are you from?”
“Oregon.”
“What town?”
“Eugene.”
“You won’t like it here.”
“Probably not. Colin and I won’t be here for a long time.”
“If Colin isn’t your dad–“
“He’s more like an uncle. We’re not...anything else.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean–“
“It’s okay. I know it’s unconventional, but there’s nothing wrong going on. I can’t live with my parents and Colin offered to help. He’s known my family for years.”
“Does he have a job yet?”
“He gets a check every month. Some kind of trust fund. I’d like to find a job.”
“Me, too. I help some of the old ladies around here with their shopping and cleaning. They trust me. I’m that nice gay boy who lives with his mother.”
Archie smiled. “I know that kid. He’s okay. You want to watch a movie? I finally got everything hooked up.”
Bobby looked around, noticing there were still boxes unpacked, but two chairs and the TV were set up in the living area. The apartment was a replica of his own, and Bobby knew the two bedrooms could hold only a bed and dresser, the rest squeezed in corners. “Sure. What movies do you like?”
“Anything with Channing Tatum.”
“Magic Mike, it is.”
“Or Chris Hemsworth.”
“Channing and Chris need to be in a movie together.”
“Magic Joe.”
“Dear Magic John.”
“Thor will have to choose between Channing and that guy from Law and Order: SVU.”
“Do you have popcorn? If not, I can get some from my place.”
Delia was asleep in bed when Bobby returned. The time was after nine and he still needed to get started on his history paper.
The Puritans had left England for America because they wanted to be free to practice their religion, he thought. The First Amendment hadn’t been written yet. I could write about how the Puritans lived the First Amendment before it existed, not necessarily how oppressive any one religious group is. Of course, most of them hate gays, but I’ll try to stay away from that subject. Maybe I can use quotes from the First Amendment. I mean, it’s not a personal statement, just a paper. But if it was personal, I’d probably enjoy writing it more.
He pulled out his laptop, putting together his notes. The essay only had to be three pages long typewritten. Bobby managed to put together a rough first paragraph, stating his thesis.
He tried not to let his mind wander to Archie. He didn’t want to kiss Archie, but he liked having a friend who understood. There was something familiar about him; the way he smiled, used his hands.
“Finally getting to that paper?”
Bobby turned around. Delia was standing there in her robe and pajamas. “Yeah. I’m on a roll, Mom.”
“Good. Who’s Archie?”
“A new tenant. He’s seventeen. We were just hanging out.”
“Good. You need more friends, baby.”
“He’s gay, too.”
She turned, heading back to bed. “Even better. Good night.”
“Good night, Mom.”