Cody McFadyen - The Darker Side

"Hold that thought," AD Jones says. He turns to me. "Remember what I said. Keep me in the loop."

"Yes, sir."

One nod and he walks away without another word.

"We have a car waiting over there," I say. "Let's get inside and fire up the heater and then I'll brief you."

It's a big Crown Vic, a little battered but serviceable. Alan takes the driver's position, with me riding shotgun. James and Callie squeeze into the back.

"Heat, please," Callie says, rubbing her arms and giving off an overdramatic shiver.

Alan starts the car and puts the heater on high. The big engine rumbles on idle as the heated air blasts out from the vents like wind from the mouth of a cave.

"How's that?" Alan asks.

"Hmmmm," Callie purrs. "So much better."

Alan gestures to me. "Floor is yours, then."

WHEN I FINISH TALKING, EVERYONEis silent, thinking. James looks out the window in the back. Callie, next to him, taps her front teeth with a red-painted fingernail.

"Pretty theatrical," she says after a moment. "Killing that poor woman mid-flight."

"A little too theatrical," Alan replies.

"Yes," I muse, "but he pulled it off. He killed her on the plane-"

"Her?" Alan snorts.

I frown. "Legally, yes. It says 'female' on her driver's license. What's the problem?"

He reaches his hands up, grips the steering wheel on either side, and squeezes, once. Blows air out of his mouth, a noisy sigh.

"Look," he says, "I don't like transsexuals. I think it's unnatural."

He shrugs. "I can't help it. I dealt with a few tranny murders when I worked in the LAPD, and I did my job and I felt for the families-a person is a person-but it doesn't change the truth. They disgust me on some level. Sometimes it slips out."

I gape at my friend, shocked. Absolutely, one hundred percent poleaxed. Am I really hearing this from Alan? Outside of an interrogation room, Alan is the calmest, fairest, most tolerant person I know. At least I've always thought so.

"My, my, my, where have those clay feet been hiding?" Callie asks, echoing my own thoughts.

"He's a homophobe," James says, the venom in his voice surprising me. "Right? You don't like fags, do you, Alan?"

Alan rotates in his seat so he can look at James. "I'm not a fan of seeing guys kiss, but no, I'm not a homophobe. I don't care who you screw. There's a big difference between that and cutting off your breasts or chopping off your cock." He scowls. "This is my 'thing,'

okay? I'm not saying it's right or that it makes sense, and frankly, I don't want a bunch of crap about it. Elaina's given me a piece of her mind on the subject already, and it just doesn't seem to change. It won't affect how I do my job."

"Tell us the truth," Callie says, her voice solicitous. "Was it a woman you picked up one time? Lots of tongue-kissing and then you reached down and found sticks and berries?"

Alan groans. "Fuck this. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're right," I say. "You shouldn't have. If you let that kind of comment slip around the family. ."

He nods, chastened. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Not homophobic, huh?" James says.

I glance at him, surprised. His face is angry. He's not letting this go.

"I already said I wasn't."

"Bullshit."

Alan looks ready to get angry, but sighs instead.

"Fine. Don't take my word for it. Doesn't make it less true."

James stares at Alan. He's scowling and shaking. I have no idea what's going on here.

"Really? Then tell me. ." He stops, hesitating, breathing deeply, in and out. "Then tell me what you think about this: I'm gay."

Silence fills the car. I can hear the heater blowing and the sounds of breathing.

"Oh boy," Callie says. She mimes eating from a bag of popcorn.

"Go on, don't stop now, honey-love."

For myself, I'm speechless.

James, gay?

It's not the revelation itself that shocks me. It's the fact that he's revealing anything at all. It's just too personal. It would be as disconcerting if James told me what his favorite flavor of ice cream was. I am, on some level, surprised at how well he's managed to hide it. We've dealt with gay victims before. He's never let the slightest hint or opinion slip.

Of course, neither had Alan.

"Why are you telling us this now?" Alan asks.

"I don't know!" James snarls. "Stop stalling. Answer the fucking question."

Alan gives James a long once-over. The slightest smile tugs at his lips. "Then I'd say. . I still don't like you."

Callie snorts and begins to giggle. She sounds ridiculous. Some of the anger drains away from James's face. He scrutinizes Alan, looking for deception.

"And that's all you'd have to say?"

"That's it."

Something happens that rocks me. Alan reaches his arm out over the seat and places a hand on James's shoulder. It's a gentle gesture, full of reassurance. What shocks me though is James's reaction. No twitch or flinch or turning away. I see a hint of something else, a kind of. . what?

Relief, I realize, amazed. It's relief. What Alan thinks matters to him.

"Really, son," Alan says again, his voice as gentle as the gesture. The moment hangs. James shrugs off the hand. "Fine," he replies. He glares at Callie and me. "I don't want to hear anything more about it, okay?"

I hold my fingers up in the "scout's honor" salute. Callie nods, but slides herself across the seat, putting as much space between her and James as possible.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks, suspicious.

"Don't worry, honey-love," she says, "I have no problem with you being gay, really I don't. But I'm getting married soon, and, well-they say those gay cooties can be catching. Better safe than sorry."

I manage to keep the smile off my face. James gives her a speculative look before sighing and saying: "You're an idiot."

Again, there's a certain relief there. Callie is treating him the same as ever and this annoyance is comforting to James in the wake of his revelation.

What about me? I wonder. What did he expect from me?

I glance his way, but James is staring out the window again. He seems relaxed.

I realize he wasn't worried about how I'd react. James knew I'd accept him. This makes me feel good.

"Now that we've gotten the Jerry Springer moment out of the way," Callie says, "can we get back to the business at hand? Let's not forget our priority: planning my wedding."

"What does the business at hand have to do with that?" I ask, bemused.

Callie rolls her eyes at me. "Well, it looks like we have to catch a killer first. So, chop-chop."

I grin at her. She's not actually worried about her wedding. This is Callie's way; she lives to lift the somber, to light the dark.

"Let's head to Dulles," I say. "They're holding the plane for us. We can talk on the way."

Alan gets the car moving and I reflect that this is the thing about life that's so different from death. Life is in motion. It's always happen- ing, always going somewhere, forcing its way through the cracks, moment-opportune or not. Alan's unexpected ugliness regarding transsexuals, James's sudden reveal, good or bad, both mean alive, and the often uncomfortableness of living is always preferable to the always tidy peacefulness of dead.

IT TOOK US ABOUT FORTY-FIVE MINUTES TO NAVIGATE OURway to the airport. A local cop who'd been waiting got our car hurried through a security checkpoint and pointed us in the right direction. It's after midnight now, but like all international airports, Dulles lives off the clock. As Alan drives, I can see planes taking off, jumping from a sea of light into the night sky.

The plane Lisa was killed on had been moved to a maintenance hangar. The hangar is large, made of metal and concrete, which means it's cold. The temperature is continuing to drop and I realize I'm really not dressed for this weather.