Infected: Freefall (22 page)

“That’s not very Buddhist.” Dylan paused briefly. “Yes.” He gave him a pained smile, his fingertips stroking the back of Roan’s neck, a ghostly feeling that raised goose bumps along his spine. His fingers were cold, whatever that meant. “Just get me out of here, and consider yourself forgiven.”

There was too much concern in Dylan’s one good eye. Roan knew, with a sinking feeling, what that was about. So now it was his turn to suck it up and be brave. As soon as he was sure he could do it, he looked down at Dylan and said, “I’m going to lay off the pills, okay? I can’t promise that I’ll stop cold, ’cause I’m still going to need them come transition time, but I promise that I’ll stop taking them for no reason other than to get numb.”

Dylan stroked his hair, his look somewhat doubting, but he nodded faintly. “I guess that’s all I can ask right now. Will you let me help you? Will you open up to me?”

He nodded, not sure if that was a promise he could actually keep. But he would try, so maybe that was worth something. “I’ll try. You know I’m no good at this shit.”

“Hey, you’re Batman. You’re great at everything.”

He scowled at him while Dylan grinned, revealing old blood on his teeth. Before he could say anything, a doctor came in and chased Roan out, which was fair enough. He talked to another doctor about releasing Dylan, but they wanted to keep him overnight. They were waiting for some test results to come back, and besides, they were always cautious about head injuries, and he had been unconscious for a long time.

Roan was wondering how to break the news to Dylan that he had to suffer through another night here when his phone hummed in his pocket. He thought it might be Dee calling to cuss him out, but a check of the number display revealed it to be Murphy. He supposed it was her turn to have a go at him, so he answered. “Hey, Dropkick.”

“Hey Angus,” she replied just as casually. “You get up to some shit last night at the church?”

“I’m taking the Fifth.”

“That’s what I thought.” She sighed wearily. “Well, beyond that, I thought you’d want to know about Roland Chesney.”

“What about him?” But even as he asked, he thought he knew. If he was a bust, she’d have told him without preamble.

“I think we found something.”

18

Imitation of Life

R
OAN
sank down into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that it seemed you could only find in hospitals or DMVs and asked, “Found what exactly?”

“I did some digging, just for the hell of it, and it turned out Roland Chesney’s uncle, Michael Chesney, owned a big piece of land out around the Sun Valley build. Roland lived there for a few years, supposedly taking care of the place while his uncle died of cancer. The place went to Mike’s daughter after his death and Roland found himself kicked out, but the place has been abandoned ever since.”

“That’s coincidental. It’s just a confirmation of Rocco’s story.”

“Here’s the interesting bit. A year ago, a dog in the area apparently unearthed a Human arm bone. They never discovered where the dog dug it up, but the sheriff of the town really didn’t like it. He was sure there was a body out there that they were somehow missing. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection. Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Does my opinion matter here? You talk to the sheriff?”

“Yeah, I did. He talked to Mike Chesney’s daughter about looking around the place, and she told him he could burn it down if he wanted. She doesn’t give a fuck what they do with it. She can’t sell it because it’s downwind from Sun Valley.”

He lolled back in the chair, his throat still raw from last night’s stomach pumping, the weariness settling on him like a heavy, wet blanket. “That’s not exactly finding something. I thought you were talking about a dead body or something.”

“We’re workin’ on it. Jesus, Mr. Impatient.” After huffing an irritated sigh, she added, “I’m getting a feeling about this, Roan. I think you’ve stumbled upon something.”

His stomach growled, reminding him he still felt empty. He wasn’t going to scoff at her intuition, because it was something that good detectives developed along the way, and Murphy was a good detective. “I usually only stumble on things lately.”

“Hey, no self-pitying bullshit right now. I’m in no mood for it. I’m feelin’ too good.”

He was glad for her, so he thought he ought to go as soon as possible before he got her down. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“Sure. How’s Dylan?”

“Conscious and talking. I think he’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m glad. You keep him safe now, yeah? There’s been a resurgence in gay bashing for no apparent reason. Get him a Taser and teach him how to use it.”

“He’s a Buddhist. He’s opposed to violence.”

“Tell him the bad guys aren’t. Gotta go. Don’t kill anyone unless you hafta.”

“I won’t, Mother,” he replied, stressing the last word sarcastically. He heard her laughing as she hung up.

He slumped down in the uncomfortable chair and closed his eyes for a moment, as they were hot and itchy for no obvious reason. He must have fallen asleep, though, as he woke up to find Dee leaning over him, looking down at him with an equal mix of curiosity and sternness. “You haven’t returned a single one of my phone calls,” he pointed out.

Luckily, Dee was on duty and was now inclined to be kind to him. He took Roan to the café across the street from the hospital—he was on a break—and bought him lunch. He didn’t lecture him, just told him if he ever did anything as stupid as overdose again, he’d get some muscle queens he knew to wrap him in a straightjacket and throw him in an aggressively Christian rehab center, where he would undoubtedly kill and eat at least half the staff and end up in prison. That was a devious plan, and Roan respected him for it. Having a steady boyfriend was doing Dee a world of good.

Even though Dee warned him his digestive system might revolt so soon after having his stomach pumped, Roan was ravenous and ended up eating two bacon cheeseburgers (fuck the calories and cholesterol. Transition burned lots of calories, and he’d probably lost two pounds since yesterday—his pants actually felt looser) and a plate of chili-cheese fries, which led Dee to proclaim him a “closet straight,” since no self-respecting gay man would actually eat chili-cheese fries. Roan accused him of trafficking in stereotypes because Roan would eat chili fries, and in fact had actually eaten poutine up in Canada. (Roan wasn’t sure he would eat it again, but at least he had tried it.)

To be fair, the chili fries were gross, but he was so hungry he didn’t care.

As soon as Dee left to go back to work, Roan returned some phone calls. Fiona had called to check in on him and Dylan, and he let her know they’d both survived. She offered to find the culprits and give them the bullwhipping of a lifetime—again, she reminded him she could take the skin off a grape with her whips. And she had a selection of them—god, he was starting to feel like the John Waters of the detective set, surrounding himself with this cadre of the strangest people you could ever meet. But was that so bad? He actually liked John.… But he had been truthful when he said the cops had gotten Dylan’s assailants. After getting one at the scene, he caved pretty quickly and named his partner, showing that Dave Harvey hadn’t found volunteers known for their smarts or loyalty. What a shock.

He left a message for Holden, thanking him for last night. He wanted to ask again what he had done to Dave, but he knew he’d never get a straight answer, and besides, he was probably better off not knowing. If he knew, he was an accessory after the fact. Roan had done enough bad things that he didn’t need to add one more thing to them.

Because he had asked him to, Roan dropped by Dylan’s apartment to water his plants. He had two bonsai trees, a juniper and a cypress, both in glazed ceramic pots with gravel and sand bases like little Zen gardens, and a passion fruit vine that he had started from a seed packet but was now about ten feet tall and sprawled all over an impromptu trellis. It was in the living room beside the window, where he had replaced the blinds with curtains because the passion fruit kept sending out tendrils and tangling itself in the blind slats. While there, De’Andra, the bald lesbian from downstairs who still looked at Roan like he might explode at any second, came upstairs to ask how Dylan was doing. He invited her in, but she just stood in the doorway, giving him a look that suggested she knew damn well that Dylan was way too good for his pasty ass.

Roan saw that the picture Dylan had painted of him with his half-Human, half-lion face was still in the living room on an easel, covered with a drop cloth. Roan asked De’Andra if she knew the people running the gallery show Dylan was doing—it was a hunch—and she said yes, which was no shock at all. He said that Dylan had wanted to add a painting, but since he was now in the hospital, he couldn’t. Could she make sure it got in? Of course she could, so Roan handed her the lion painting, still concealed by the drop cloth, and thanked her for doing this for him. Roan wondered if she would be retroactively mad at him for making her an accessory, assuming Dylan ever told her that he’d never put the painting in his show.

After watering his plants, Roan sat down on the couch and just absorbed the silence and the scent of Dylan—and paint, paint thinner, charcoal—that permeated the place. Roan vowed to treat him better and learn to allow himself to feel like a real person again. It just terrified him. Physical pain he could take—he’d better be able to by now. But emotional pain… there was no building up a tolerance to that.

God, he was such a pussy. And not the cat kind either.

He called Chris to let him know he had made some progress, although he was careful not to mention the police investigation into Roland Chesney. There was no sense in getting his hopes up when it could turn out to be nothing. He’d had enough heartbreak in his life.

Because Roan found he didn’t notice the urge for pills if he was doing something, he decided to go home and catch up on everything he was neglecting: laundry, paperwork, facing all his pain pills and not taking them. After everything he had been through in his life, Roan was sure he was strong enough to face that.

Considering how things had been going, he wasn’t too surprised to find an unmarked police car parked out in front of his house. He also wasn’t surprised to see Gordo get out of it as Roan parked in the driveway. Seb was in the car and waved at him but didn’t get out. He just put in his earbuds and started bobbing his head to music only he could hear.

As soon as Roan was out of the car, he only needed to point to Seb to get an answer from Gordo. Gordo rolled his eyes and said, “His daughter got him an iPod for his birthday, and he’s determined to prove he’s not an old fogy. The problem is, all he listens to is R.E.M.”

“R.E.M.?” Roan chuckled, looking back at Seb. Yes, he was completely ignoring them. “Really? I’d never have picked him as an R.E.M. type of guy.”

Gordo both nodded and shrugged, not getting it and agreeing with him at the same time. It was obvious he wanted to talk to him alone, so Roan simply went to unlock his door, and Gordo followed. “Yeah, well, you like that punk rock shit, right?” Gordo said, once they were inside. “Takes all kinds.”

“Not only punk. I try to keep my mind open, although I never appreciated electronica quite like Paris did.”

“Electronica? Is that that “thump thump thump” dance music?”

“Yep. It sounds best when you’re really high.” He tucked his keys in his pocket and hung up his coat on the coat rack before going to the kitchen and grabbing a Diet Pepsi out of the fridge. He tacitly offered Gordo one by holding up the can, but he shook his head.

“Is that true of rap?” Gordo wondered.

Roan shrugged. “Depends on the rap. So what can I help you with, Gordo?”

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, a pensive look on his weathered face, and Roan just knew he was in for something. “How are you doing, Ro?”

A cop asking you “how are you doing” was always a bad sign. “Well I got ninety-nine problems, but a bitch ain’t one.”

Roan grinned at his own joke, but Gordo just glowered. “Now even I know that’s a rap reference. Are you going to take me seriously?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t had enough caffeine today.”

“Try. I know it was you who caused havoc at the church last night.”

“Couldn’t have been me. I was at the hospital with Dylan last night.” He then took a swig of his pop so he didn’t accidentally smile.

The caustic glare Gordo was giving him let him know he wasn’t buying that. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Roan met his look with a stare of his own. “Do you think I am?”

Gordo huffed a sigh through his nose and shook his head like a disapproving father. “Fine, don’t admit anything and incriminate yourself, but I’m not here to arrest you. If I was, I’d have brought a SWAT team.”

“’Cause I’m Batman?”

“Will you cut the bullshit? You did some real damage. Are you even aware you almost ripped a guy’s arm off? I mean
off
, Roan, and not even from a joint. From what I understand, the strength needed to do something like that is inhuman.”

“And so am I, is that it?”

Gordo’s caterpillar eyebrows furrowed, dropping low over the bloodshot hollows of his pale blue eyes. “You know goddamn well I’d never say that. But I don’t know many people capable of that kind of strength. Hell, I actually don’t believe you’re that strong, but then again, I never would have guessed you were a long jumper, either. I worked with you for years, but now I have to admit I don’t know you at all. You know how shitty that makes me feel as a detective?”

That got to him and made him feel inexplicably bad. Gordo was always decent to him. Oh sure, he had been uncomfortable with him being gay and being infected for a long time, but he didn’t go out of his way to give him shit about it. Gordo was probably one of the more accepting of the old-timers. He’d gone out of his way to make sure Roan didn’t get into trouble when he stepped over the line helping him with cat cases. He was a decent guy. They’d never be best friends, but they weren’t enemies either, and he shouldn’t push it. He considered several possible replies and finally decided on the truth. “Under normal circumstances, I’m not capable of that kind of strength.”