Scott Sherman - Third You Die

“Kevin…”

“Let me preface this,” I announced, “by pointing out that whatever I’ve ‘gotten myself into’ is a good thing.” The wrath of an angry Tony was no fun. Especially when he was kind of right.

“I mean, this helps you now, right? I’ve been looking for Brent, too. So, it’s like a, uh, happy coincidence. The best kind. I know who he is, and you know where he is. Now, we put the name with the face and case solved! You get to talk to him about whatever you need him for, and I get to find out why he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Tony wasn’t smiling. Stupidly, I reached the belated realization that if Tony was looking for Brent, it probably meant Brent was in trouble. Or was involved with someone who was. Which might explain why he’d run.

Tony pulled me closer against his chest, resting a hand over my heart. “How well did you know this kid, Kevvy? Was he a close friend?”

“No, not really. He was a guest on the show. When I tried to call to follow up with him, I found out no one had seen him for weeks. I’ve been curious.”

“Babe.” Tony held me closer still. He picked up the copy of the Advocate that he’d put next to him and pointed at the picture of Brent. “This kid’s in the morgue. He’s my floater.”

I’d gotten increasingly nervous as Tony’s tone grew more serious. Now, I let out a sigh of relief.

“No he isn’t,” I said. I was glad I remembered the details of the case Tony’d shared with me. “You told me the body you found was of a Hispanic guy in his thirties. Brent’s in his early twenties, and he’s whiter than Wonder Bread.”

Tony’s voice was one I hadn’t heard before. It had a forced calmness to it, a practiced sympathy. I realized it was probably a manner he affected on the job, when he had to give bad news to family members.

“That was the first body we found. Three nights later, I got another call, remember? A second body. If we hadn’t been down there looking for clues related to the first case, we probably wouldn’t have found him for months.

“As it was, we were able to do a pretty accurate facial reconstruction.” He tapped the magazine. “It’s a match, honey. Believe me, I know. When I saw that first sketch-up, for one terrible moment, I thought it was you. It was crazy-I’d just left you here that morning, so I knew it couldn’t be you. But the resemblance is so strong…”

“I’ve heard that before,” I said mechanically, part of me still thinking-hoping-he’d made a mistake.

“I saw that picture and thought if something like that ever happened to you…” His voice cracked.

We were quiet for a few moments. I was trying to think of something I could say that would prove Tony wrong. Brent couldn’t be dead. Could he?

I put my hand over Tony’s. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“It’d better not.” Tony ruffled my hair, trying to lighten the mood.

“Are you sure the body is Brent’s?” I asked. I thought of Lucas’s brother. “Apparently, there are a lot more guys who look like me than I knew.”

Tony nodded back toward the shirtless image of Brent on the magazine. “That tattoo on his shoulder? Our victim has the same one. And matching ones-”

“Around his ankle.” I finished his sentence. I remembered them from the videos Freddy and I had watched.

Tony nodded his agreement, and then froze. “Hey, just how well did you know this guy?”

“I watched a few of his videos.” Tony stiffened behind me. Not in the good way.

“What, I’m not enough for you?”

“Research, Tony. For the show.”

“Sure, sure.”

“So,” I asked him, “what happened to Brent? How did he wind up in the river?”

“We don’t know. It could have been accidental. Blood tests showed high levels of Ecstasy, Valium, and Viagra. There’s some cutting and bruising, but nothing inconsistent with falling into a river and scraping along the bottom. Maybe he was partying and took a tumble on his way home?”

“He wasn’t that kind of person.”

“He was a porn actor, Kevvy.”

“So? That doesn’t mean he was a drug-abusing sex addict.”

“It doesn’t make him a model citizen, either.”

This wouldn’t be the first time we fought about the moral implications of working in the sex industry. Since I was still earning my living as an escort when Tony and I reunited, it wasn’t a theoretical discussion, either. Nor was it one I was in the mood to have again tonight.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

“Probably a good idea,” Tony agreed. He scooted me off his lap and pulled a slim reporter’s notebook from his pocket. “But let me just get his full name and employer’s contact info from you. Anyone else you know who knew him, too.”

“Actually, I just got his parents’ number. I was going to call and see if they knew where he was, but I guess I won’t be needing it now.”

Tony frowned. “Catching the bad guys-that’s why I became I cop, Kevvy. I still love the feeling that comes with bringing justice. But notifying parents that their child’s dead? That part’s tough.”

I turned around and kissed him. “You’ll be very kind, I know. But there are some things you should know…”

I filled Tony in on the broad strokes of what I’d learned about Brent’s severed relationship with his parents. I also gave him Charlie’s and Lucas’s numbers. Not as suspects, but as lovers who needed to be notified. I supposed I could have called them, but I figured it’d be better coming from Tony. He knew how to put things like this. I’d follow with my condolences later.

“Do you need to go now?” I asked when I was done.

“To work on the case? No, it’ll wait till morning. It’s late. Might as well let his parents have their last good night’s sleep for a while.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “From what I heard, his parents won’t be too broken up about it. They tossed him aside years ago.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, “but I bet they never stopped hoping he’d change and come back to them.”

“If they wanted him in their lives, they wouldn’t have kicked him into the streets because of who he was, ” I snapped, the words coming out with more bitterness than I’d intended. “That’s not tough love. That’s hate.”

Tony knew he’d pushed another button. “I’m not saying they had any right to do what they did,” he said, using his calm-the-horses voice. “I’m just saying that, when you have children, it’s not that easy to stop caring about what happens to them. Even if you try to. If you were a parent, you’d understand.”

If I were a parent, huh? So much for Rafi Has Two Daddies.

Who did he think has been spending every other weekend with him and Rafi? Whose apartment was Rafi sleeping in? Who was taking the kid to school? What was I, the nanny? I may have been half-Jewish, but that didn’t make me Fran Drescher.

Another conversation I didn’t feel like having tonight. More land mines to tiptoe around.

Was it possible Tony and I just weren’t meant to be?

Or was I feeling unusually pessimistic having just heard about Brent’s death?

“Well,” I said, wondering if we could fast-forward to the make-up sex without having to have the fight, “I’m glad you don’t have to run out again. I’ve missed you.” I ducked my head and regarded him through my bangs. My patented do-me look.

“Besides,” Tony said, ignoring the do-me look for what possibly might have been the first time, “I have to figure out how to ID the vic at the station.”

“What do you mean?” I pointed at the Advocate. “Just show them this.”

“And how would I explain that I was looking at porn ads in a gay magazine?” he asked. “Or should I just say my ‘boyfriend’ gave it to me?”