Chapter 2

“Why do you put up with my moods?” I said.

“Because I love you like the brother I never had, just like you love me. Because we’ve been best friends since Christ was a corporal. Because I want you to be happy. Because—”

I cut him off, saying, “Point made, point taken. Now get in the shower.”

Without waiting for an answer, I went to my closet, selected a pair of chinos and a knit shirt, and carried them into the master bedroom. I dressed quickly, gave myself a brief squirt of Tiffany for Men, stepped into a pair of deck shoes, and made my way to the den, where I settled into my favorite chair to wait for Mike. He walked into the room a few minutes later, dressed in 501s and a muscle tee.

“Ready?” he said.

“As I’ll ever be.”

I stood up, and he looked me up and down, then bent over and pulled my right pants leg up, exposing an ankle holster.

“I thought I saw a bulge down there. Do you have to wear that thing?”

“Mike, you know I have to wear it even when I’m off duty. As they say, ‘You never really need a gun until you reallyneed one’.”

“Your status as the youngest lieutenant ever to grace the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office doesn’t give you some leeway?”

“You know it doesn’t. We’ve been through this…. Besides, doesn’t it make you feel safer knowing that you’re going out with one of Jacksonville’s finest?”

He ignored my rhetorical question and said, “Your car or mine?”

“Your idea, your car.”

“Let’s go, then.”

My house was a fifty-year-old bungalow in Avondale, which I’d spent the better part of five years renovating and restoring, mostly with my own two hands. The Avondale neighborhood had begun to be developed in the twenties, as people moved out and away from downtown after the great fire of 1901 had destroyed very nearly all of the downtown area. Avondale and the adjacent neighborhood of Riverside were home to a large gay population. This fact always surprised some people, given that Jacksonville boasted the second or third largest Southern Baptist congregation in the country, which congregation dominated local politics in many ways.

Most of Riverside and parts of Avondale had declined over the years, but in the seventies or thereabouts, the Riverside Avondale Preservation society had been formed. RAP, as it was universally known, aggressively promoted the neighborhood, as well as restoration of its homes. It had all begun because the city had announced plans to four-lane a thoroughfare through the length of the area that would have meant the demolition of dozens of historic buildings. RAP had put a stop to that project and was still going strong after more than thirty years. Mike drove quickly down a couple of cross streets and turned toward The Metro, a gay entertainment mecca that had been around for more than a decade.

“Why here instead of Brothers?” I said. Brothers, situated in the shadow of the Blue Cross Tower, was a popular afterwork watering hole.

“Because there’s a visiting entertainer I want to hear.”

“You mean a famous drag queen is coming to River City?”

“Not a drag queen. At least not in the usual sense of the word. This one does his own singing—like Jim Bailey used to do.”

“Well, that at least will be different. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to sit through yet another lip-synched rendition of ‘I Will Survive’.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. There’ll be a bit of that sort of thing before the featured attraction performs.”

“Does this attraction have a name?”

“His stage name is Monique, but his real name is Bob Jones, if you can believe that.”

“Bob Jones, as in the well-known fundamentalist Southern Baptist college?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, the guy certainly has a sense of humor.”

Mike parked, and we walked up to the entrance, paid our fee, and had our hands stamped with a symbol indicating we’d paid. I followed him to the main bar, where he ordered for both of us.

“You didn’t ask what I wanted,” I said, raising my voice above the not inconsiderable background chatter.

“Puhleeze. You don’t like the swill that passes for wine here, and you don’t like beer, so I ordered a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. That way you can nurse it all evening as usual.”

“Thanks.”

I took the proffered glass and stood there, nursing my drink and surveying the room for a minute or three. Spotting a couple of familiar faces at a nearby table, I ambled over in that direction, took a vacant chair, and spent some time catching up with friends and acquaintances. Finally, Mike came over and parked himself beside me.