Ronald Tierney - Good To The Last Kiss - Crimes of the Depraved Mind Series

‘Christ, Chat, what do I do, someone’s coming over here,’ Paul said, knowing full well the cat would do nothing to protect him. ‘Why couldn’t you be a Rottweiler or something? Look at that?’

Earl’s body caught the soft light of the street lamp. He had a body that would have served Calvin Klein well. A body that bore firm muscles, narrowing down to a flat chiseled belly. As it crossed the street and came closer, the commercially pornographic image bore the face of Earl Falwell, more handsome, more frightening than his picture.

Rather than race away and blow any cover he might have, Paul decided to stay and talk his way out of it. Checking on his girlfriend, that was it. Wondering why she wasn’t home. Admit to a little jealousy. He rolled the window down.

‘Hi,’ Earl said.

‘Hello, what’s up?’ Paul said.

‘That’s what I was gonna ask,’ Earl said.

‘Just waiting here,’ Paul said, hoping the nervousness he felt wasn’t apparent in his voice.

‘For what?’

‘It’s kinda personal.’

‘Yeah,’ Earl nodded. ‘I think maybe it is kinda personal because somebody tells me on the phone that somebody is minding my business. Like scoping me out, you know?’

‘Well rest easy…’ Paul said, pausing. He’d almost said ‘Earl.’ He continued. ‘Rest easy, guy. I’m waiting for my girl to come home. I think she’s seeing someone else. Just playing private eye, you know?’

‘Funny, I get a call saying I might be watched and I come out here and sure enough someone’s parked out here.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Paul said. He wondered who’d be calling Earl. ‘Why do you think they’d say that?’

‘I don’t know. What’s her name? Your girl?’

‘Trish,’ Paul said. He wasn’t sure where he got the name. He never felt more white.

‘She lives around here, you say?’

‘Yeah.’ He wanted to change the subject before he got trapped. ‘You’re going to catch cold.’ Paul nodded toward Earl’s drizzle coated torso.

‘You could too. Why don’t you come over to my place.’

‘What?’ Paul was confused by the friendly attitude.

‘Couple of lonely guys, huh?’

Was it that obvious? Paul asked himself. ‘Just thought you were getting pretty wet out there. And cold. I’m fine. I really want to know who comes back with Trish. If it’s a girlfriend, hell, who cares? But if she’s seeing some other guy…’

‘Yeah?’ Falwell said, challenging Paul’s statement. ‘I like your sweatshirt.’

Paul Chang looked down. The shirt read: ‘Boys will do boys.’ Christ, Chang thought. His stomach pitched. He was so used to being gay, he gave no thought to what he put on for the evening.

‘My place is just over there,’ Falwell said. He reached in, put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘We can talk about your girl.’ Falwell smiled.

‘Uhhh…’ God, Paul thought. Was he actually thinking about doing it? About going with Earl? He’d played rough before. He’d taken some chances. The guy was coming on to him. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not tonight.’

‘What have you got to lose?’

Paul tried to disconnect his brain from his penis. It was difficult because there was a legitimate intellectual process going on. Well, one legitimate, one quasi-legitimate. One was the intimacy of strangers which was both an emotional need and an artistic pursuit. The other was his task to learn more about Earl Falwell. How better to find out about him than spend some time with him in his own environs. Paul had already blown his cover.

‘Don’t think so,’ Paul said, not quite losing the battle with his brain. Earl was bigger, tougher. What would happen to…

From Paul’s belt came the electronic beeps.

‘What’s that?’ Earl asked.

‘My beeper,’ Paul said, pulling it out. Looking at the number. It was Julia’s. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go.’

‘You can use my phone,’ Earl said, his fingers tightening on Paul’s shoulder.

Paul turned the ignition key. The engine engaged. ‘I gotta go. It’s an emergency.’

‘Just a few minutes,’ Earl said. His fingers clamped around the back of Paul’s neck, the other on the steering wheel.

‘Gotta go,’ Paul said, turning the wheel and accelerating, wrenching himself and the car free, spinning Earl’s body down on the wet pavement. As Paul drove from Stanyan to Haight and up Haight Street, Paul wondered who it was telling Earl Falwell he was being watched. Nobody knew about it except for Inspector Gratelli – and the inspector didn’t seem likely to broadcast it.

‘I wonder if I would have died tonight,’ Paul said to his cat. Whatever Earl did tonight or seemed likely to do, it didn’t necessarily connect him to the dead girls or to Julia Bateman.

T he phone was ringing when Earl got back inside.

‘What?’ he answered.

‘Where were you?’

‘Talking to the guy you sent over,’ Earl said.

‘Someone I sent over?’ the voice replied.

‘Fuck, you did. Don’t deny it.’

‘Earl, I didn’t.’

‘Chinese guy. A fag.’

‘Earl, listen. Don’t go crazy on me. I’m on your side. You do what you do because you have to. I understand it. It’s what you need. Like air or water. The world’s a tough place. You’ve got to survive. I know that. Everybody does what they have to do. I could go on for hours about all the stuff that people do to each other – all legal. Killers. Make things that get people addicted and kill them. And society thinks you’re bad. It’s what you get by with. That’s all that counts.’ There was a pause, then the caller continued: ‘You didn’t have it easy did you?’ Another long pause. ‘Who cared about you?’ Nothing. ‘Tell me.’ There was more silence. ‘Earl?’

‘What?’

‘Who cared about you?’

‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’

‘Who gives a shit about how you feel? Who understands how lonely you are? Who in the hell ever talked to you like you were a human being? Like you were a decent guy? Who ever held you, loved you, wanted to protect you? Who calmed you after your nightmares? Who cares about whether you live or die? That’s what I’m talking about.’

Earl thought about Grandma O. She was separate. He never talked about her to anyone. If he did, it would spoil it.

‘No one, I guess,’ Earl said.

‘See, that’s the point. The only one who cares about you is you. You have to protect yourself.’

‘Yeah? From who? You?’

‘No, Earl. I’m trying to help, remember? From this woman who saw you on the hill, above Haight, remember? She can identify you. She can identify your car.’

‘I’m tired,’ Earl said.

‘Go to bed, Earl. Get some sleep. I’ll let you rest, OK?’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, Earl. We’ll talk later.’

‘I just don’t know,’ she said to Paul after explaining what had happened. ‘Since I’ve been back, everything seems dark, more desperate. A nightmare. For a moment I thought that this guy up there in the window was him. Why not? It could have been. It’s like I’m waiting for the moment when he returns or when some other monster comes out of the dark.’

‘I know.’

‘I panicked. But I’m afraid I’m going to go from one panic to another. I’m scared. I’m scared of being scared.’

‘Don’t apologize, Jules.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I normally take these things in stride. Now I feel sorry for the poor pervert across the alley. Just lonely and screwed up.’

For a moment she looked as lost and forlorn as she had in the hospital. As she did then, Julia Bateman stared down at her hands.