Hush Money

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lee Farrell and I were drinking beer at a bar called The Limerick, near Broad Street.

“I figured you’d order a pink lady,” I said.

“I’m trying to pass,” Farrell said.

“It’s not working,” I said.

“Maybe if I wore my gun outside my coat,” Farrell said.

“Might help,” I said. “Long as it’s not color-coordinated.”

“Department issue drab,” Farrell said. “My off-duty gun is chartreuse.”

“Zowie.”

“Yeah. You invite me out to exercise your homophobia, or was there something you needed?”

“Mostly the homophobia,” I said. “But have you ever heard of a publication called OUTrageous?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What do you know about it?”

“It is an obscure journal published by some graduate students which outs prominent gay people.”

“You’re safe then,” I said.

“I’m also out.”

“Oh yeah. Is the paper legitimate?”

“I haven’t been able to prove that it isn’t,” Farrell said. “But its editor committed suicide a while ago.”

“I know. It’s the case I’m on.”

“Someone thinks it wasn’t suicide?”

“Me,” I said.

“So tell me.”

I told him why I thought it was murder.

“For obvious reasons, I catch most of the gay squeals,” Farrell said. “If you’ll pardon the expression. I caught this one. So as soon as you got something that won’t give giggle fits to an assistant DA, let me know.”

The bartender came down the bar and put a fresh bowl of peanuts in front of us. While he was handy, we ordered two more beers.

“You think there was something wrong with OUTrageous?” I said.

“Nothing I can prove,” Farrell said.

“But?”

“But there’s some blackmail involved.”

“There is,” I said.

“Got anyone that will testify to it?”

“No.”

“We don’t either,” Farrell said.

“So, what’s your take on ‘outing’?” I said.

“You start treating people as the means to an end, it’s a slippery slope.”

“That’s what I think. You sure you’re gay?”

“Gayer than laughter,” Farrell said.

“And younger than springtime.”

“You could of got all this from Belson, or Quirk,” Farrell said. “Probably did. The gay aspects of this case bothering you?”

“It’s a pleasure to watch the work of a trained investigator,” I said.

“Yeah, cops are us. What’s bothering you?”

I told him about the case.

When I finished, he said, “Guy made a move on Hawk?”

“When Hawk was a kid,” I said.

“I didn’t know Hawk was ever a kid,” Farrell said.

“I knew him when he was a kid,” I said. “And I find it hard to imagine.”

“You and Hawk were kids together?”

“We fought on the same card when we were eighteen. But Hawk isn’t what’s bothering me.”

“You straight guys are simple tools,” Farrell said. “Lemme tell you what’s bothering you. You’re chasing along after whatever it is that you can’t quite catch, and every gay person you encounter is sleazy, crooked, second rate, and generally unpleasant.”

“Or so it has seemed,” I said.

“And, being a basically decent guy, despite the smart mouth, you fear that maybe you are prejudiced and it’s clouding your judgment.”

“Also true, except for the smart mouth part.”

“Same thing happens to me with blacks,” Farrell said. “I spend two months on a drug-related homicide and everybody’s black, and everybody’s a vicious sleazebag, and I begin to wonder, is it me?”

“Neither one of us gets to deal with the best parts of a culture,” I said.

“No. We deal with the worst. You got a case involving murder and blackmail, most of the people you meet are going to be scumbags.”

“Regardless of race, creed, or color,” I said. “Or sexual orientation.”

“And not because of race, creed, color, or sexual orientation,” Farrell said.

“You mean homos aren’t any better than the rest of us?” I said.

“Most of us are,” Farrell said, “but not all of us.”

“How disappointing.”

“I know,” Farrell said.

There was a big picture window in the front of the bar. The sun was west of us now and throwing long shadows onto the street outside. Men in suits carrying briefcases sidled in for a few fast ones before they got the train to Dover. It wasn’t a place where women came much.

“Shall we have another beer?” I said.

Farrell grinned at me.

“We’d be fools not to,” he said.