who stepped on the land mine, as unfinished as the new kid who took a bullet in the head from a jungle sniper on his first picket duty, as fresh and naive as the one who got knifed by a Saigon whore. As stupid and trusting as the asshole who went out there because he thought it was his duty and came back with tombstones in his heart.
Finally pulled their pictures down and shoved them into a folder so I wouldn't have to look at their faces and the unanswered questions behind their eyes.
Didn't know much about queers. Didn't really want to. But I was starting to figure it out. Everything I knew was wrong.
Resumed surveillance of the vies. I had the first six now. Charting their habits, their patterns, their movements. Most of it was legwork. Confirmation of what I already knew. Thursday, vie number one shows up in the parking lot. Brad-boy. On his motorcycle. He rolls it right up behind Mame, playfully goosing her with the front wheel. Without even turning around, Mame wriggles her ass and says, 'Wanna lose it?' Mame has a blond streak in her black hair now. The others are gushing over it. Brad grins, relaxes on the bike, eventually offers a ride to eager Lane, and roars off with him to catch the crabs.
A few nights later, Jeremy Weiss shows up at Gino's. Bingo. The connection. Georgia was right. Gay. Twinks. Horny.
Faded into shadow. Watched. He was smitten with a little blond twink who couldn't be bothered. Was this the Jerry that Mame was talking about? A crush on Dave who had a lover? Tailed him for the rest of the evening. He ended up at a featureless yellow building, a few blocks east. A very small sign on the door. You had to walk up close to read it. Y.M.A.C. Young Men's Athletic Club. Hmm. I had a feeling it was not a gymnasium. Observed for a while. Thinking.
I had three weeks left until the first vie disappeared. I was getting a good sense of the killing ground-this was the land of one-night stands. The perp didn't know the vies. He was hunting, just like everybody else, but hunting for a different kind of thrill. My guess, the vies didn't know him. They met him and disappeared. I wasn't going to find any other connectivity.
Had to think about this. How to ID the bastard. Mr. Death. That's what I was calling him now. How to stop him? Talked it over with Georgia. She made suggestions, most of them hands-on. But the way things work, the onsite agent is independent, has complete authority. Translation: It's your call.
Later. Past midnight.
Matt Vogel. Slightly built. Round face, round eyes, puppy eyes. Sweet-natured. In the parking lot at Gino's, sitting alone against the wall, between two cars, where no one can see him. Hands wrapped around his knees, head almost buried. Almost missed him. Stepped backward, took a second look. Yes, Matt. Just graduated from high school. Works as a busboy in a local coffee shop. Disappears in two months. Victim number two.
'What do you want?' He looks at me with wide eyes. Terrified.
'Are you all right?'
'What do you care?'
'You look like you're hurting.'
'My parents found out. My dad threw me out of the house.'
Couldn't think of anything to say. Scratched my neck. Finally. 'How'd he find out?'
'He went through my underwear drawer.'
'Found your magazines?'
He hesitates. 'He found my panties. I like to wear panties. They feel softer. He ripped them all up.'
'I knew a lieutenant who liked to wear panties. It's no big deal.'
'Really?'
No, not really. But it was a game we played. Whenever anybody heard a horror story about anybody or anything, somebody always knew a lieutenant who did the same thing. Or worse. 'Yeah, really. Listen, you can't stay here all night. Do you have a place to go?'
He shook his head. 'I was waiting-to see if anyone I knew showed up -maybe I could crash with someone.'
I noticed he didn't use the word 'friend.' That was the problem with this little war zone. Nobody made friends. I remembered foxholes and trenches where we clung to each other like brothers, like lovers, while the night exploded around us. But here, if two of these manboys clung to each other, it wasn't bombs that were exploding. I wondered if they had the same fear of dying alone -maybe even more so.
He'd given up waiting for Prince Charming. Mr. Right wasn't coming. And even Mr. Right Now hadn't shown up.
'Look, it's late. I live a couple blocks, close enough to walk.' To his suspicious glance, I said, 'You can sleep on the couch.'
'No, it's all right. I can sleep at the tubs.'
'The tubs?'
'Y-Mac. You been there?'
Shook my head.
'It's only two bucks. And I can shower in the morning before going to work. Scotty might even wash my clothes.'
'You sure?'
'No.'
At least, he's honest.
'Okay. As long as you have a place to go. It's not safe to hang out here - ' And what if Mr. Death started early? But I didn't want to say that. Didn't want to scare the shit out of the kid.
'It's as safe here as anywhere - '
Something about the way he said it. 'Somebody hurt you?'
'Sometimes people shout things as they drive by. Once, a couple of guys chased me for a block or so, then gave up and went back to their car.' Started to turn away, turned back. Didn't want to leave him alone. Damnit. 'Look- you can come with me. I won't-I got meat loaf in the fridge. And ice cream. You want to talk, I'll listen. You don't want to talk, I won't bug you. You can crash for a couple of days, until you sort things out with your folks. All right?'
Matt thinks about it. He might look sweet and innocent, but he's learned how to be suspicious. That's how life works. First it beats you up, then it beats you down.
His posture is wary. 'You sure?'
Oh hell, of course I'm not sure. And this is going to fuck up the timeline. Or is it? A thought occurs to me. An ugly thought. I don't like it, but maybe… bait? I dunno. But what the fuck, I can't leave him out here in a dirty parking lot. 'Yeah, come on.'
He levers himself to his feet, brushes off his jeans. 'I wouldn't do this, but-'
'Yeah, I know.'
' - I've seen you around. Gino says you're okay.'
'Gino doesn't know me.'
'You were in Vietnam.' A statement, not a question. I should have realized. I'm not invisible here. Some of the gossip is about me.
'Yeah,' I admit. I was in Nam. I point him toward the street. 'My pad is that way.'
'Did you see any-'
'More than I wanted to.' My reply is a little too gruff. He falls silent.
Why am I doing this? Why not? It's a chance to pry open the scab and look at the wound.
'I'm Matt.'
'Yeah, I know.'
'You got a name?'
'Oh, right. I'm… Mike.'
'Mike? I thought your name was Hand. Hand Solo. But that's like a… a handle, isn't it. 'Cause everybody knows what a hand solo is, right?'
'Yeah. Right. It's a handle.'
'Well. Glad to meet you, Mike.'
We shake hands, there on the street. It changes the dynamic. Now we know each other. More than before
