One Dead Drag Queen (18 page)

I said, “And we just happened to park our explosive-filled truck in this alley, and we accidentally almost killed one of us?”

“This wouldn’t be the first time the bombers killed one of their own.”

“Sounds far-fetched,” I said.

“Homophobia can make people pretty blind,” Wolf said.

This obscure warning was all he knew. I began to suspect he’d traded his bit of knowledge for a chance to do some celebrity jock-sniffing.

Afterward, outside the restaurant, Scott said, “He didn’t know shit.”

I said, “It’s time to see Pulver.” The tac-team officer had agreed to meet with us in a coffee shop on Milwaukee Avenue just north of Belmont. “We’ve also got to resolve the McCutcheon issue. I think we should fire him. It might even be safer not having anything to do with Pulver.”

“And then we get no inside information and no protection,” Scott said.

“Unless the two of them are in on something together.”

“I think you’re starting to go off the deep end with this paranoia.”

“Going off the deep end is one of the important charms of being paranoid.”

Scott frowned.

I continued, “Let’s just tell McCutcheon the problem. Why make it a big secret? What do we have to hide from him?”

“You can’t just tell your security guard you think he might be in a conspiracy against you.”

“Sure I can. Why not? What do we lose?”

Scott began another protest, but my mind was made up. I felt no need to hide my suspicions. Nor was I going to start lying to save McCutcheon’s feelings or his job as Scott’s security guard. I walked over to McCutcheon. “We’ve been warned that you might be homophobic and a danger to us. I can’t think of a way to get rid of you, and Scott won’t fire you. We want to talk to Pulver without you, but we’re not sure how to do that. Scott still wants you as security guard.”

“Who told you to be suspicious of me?”

Avoiding a direct answer, I said, “We heard you beat up a gay guy who came on to you in Bosnia.”

“Which version of that story did you get?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There are generally three versions. The heart of all of them is I beat somebody up. One, after I let an army sergeant screw me, I beat him up in a psychotic homophobic reaction. Another, I let a reporter screw me and crushed his skull for the same reason I smashed the sergeant. The third, that I tried to give a blow job to a reporter and he threatened to out me, and I killed him to stop him.”

I said, “So many stories must mean there’s plausibility involved somewhere.”

“I doubt if the truth would convince you.”

“We’ve been given a number of someone to call.”

“Call them.”

“What is the real story?” Scott asked.

McCutcheon said, “I won’t work at cross-purposes with you. Obviously, someone has convinced you that I’m a threat. I still want to help you be safe. If you’re going to continue investigating, you’re going to be in more danger, not less.” His handsome face was creased in a worried frown. “I told Clay that I would vouch for both of you. I’ll make sure he will continue to talk to you and give you information.”

Scott said, “I don’t think you’re a threat.”

“I do,” I added immediately.

McCutcheon said, “No matter. You need to feel safe. I don’t make you feel that way. I don’t see a point in forcing you to change that opinion. I’m going to bow out of your lives. At the same time, you should have some kind of protection. I can recommend another firm, or if you don’t trust me to do that, you can check any other contacts you may have. If you want, I’ll hang around until you can find someone else. Or if you want me to walk out right now, I will. It is up to you guys.” He looked from one to the other of us.

Scott said, “Give us a minute, would you?”

We moved up the street in front of a currency exchange.

Scott said, “We’re in over our heads on this one. We’re disagreeing over something pretty fundamental. I don’t want to fight over this. I’m afraid our disagreement is going to get in the way of what is best for us.”

Scott’s calm and reasonableness in a crisis could drive a saint nuts. It’s also one of the many reasons I love him.

He continued, “You’re only hours out of a hospital. I think we need to step back for a minute and think. We’re both emotionally vulnerable because of what we’ve been through. You’re angry about what happened to yourself and to your friend. That certainly justifies self-righteous anger. Does it justify spewing it out at every turn? Maybe you’ll direct it at someone disposed to be on our side, and they’ll be turned off instead of motivated to help.”

I couldn’t deny the sensibleness of his reasoning. “I don’t want to give up trying to find things out.”

“Okay, but can we pause right now, just for a minute? There’s no immediate danger this second. We need to think and plan.”

I drew a deep breath and leaned back against the building.

Scott said, “First of all, I’d say McCutcheon’s reaction is pretty much exactly what I would like someone I trust to say at a moment like this.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I want to keep him. There isn’t going to be a way to be sure we can trust him until we do a lot more checking. Remember, I tried to do that when we hired him.”

“We’ve got that contact from Angus Thieme,” I said. “This goes beyond the mystery-man image McCutcheon tries to portray. Everybody’s got secrets, but usually a time comes when it’s important or necessary to tell.”

“We can work on discovering the truth. Until we find out more, I think we should keep him on. He’s had innumerable chances to do us genuine harm. Why he would have waited this long to act is unfathomable to me. Isn’t it unreasonable to just dismiss him?”

“What’s happened to me is beyond unreasonable, but I guess you’re right. For now, I’m willing to go with your instinct. At the least, though, he should wait outside while we do all our interviews.”

“Okay.”

We walked back to McCutcheon and told him what we had decided. He nodded. “That’ll be fine until you get a new security firm.”

“We’re not asking you to quit,” Scott said.

McCutcheon said, “As soon as this mess is resolved, I think it would be best.”

Scott looked annoyed, but kept quiet. We left it at that.

17

The coffee shop was in a neighborhood changing from run-down ethnic to rehabbed overpriced. The vinyl on the booths was ripped, the floor had specks of dust probably there since the Depression, and the walls had pictures that Norman Rockwell would have thought were too treacly.

As we walked in, Scott pointed to a man in a back booth and said, “That’s him.”

Pulver waved us over.

Pulver wore sunglasses, a brown and white western shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. He looked like a lean cowboy ready to go out and rope a few steers or punch a few cows. He wasn’t handsome, but whippet thin, a panther down on the range. He could be a poster boy for what rugged and tough should look like.

Pulver smiled at us as Scott did the introductions. “You feeling better?” Pulver asked. The accent was South Side of Chicago, but soft and deep. You could almost picture a cowboy around the campfire murmuring to his buddies after a
long day in the saddle. He gave meaning to the concept I’ve heard some gay men express that if there were reincarnation, they’d like to come back as a cowboy’s saddle.

I said, “Just about a hundred percent.” Actually, I still felt a bit light-headed. Scott looked as if he could use several nights’ sleep.

Scott and I ordered soft drinks. Pulver asked for tea. McCutcheon said, “Clay, I’m going to sit at the counter, but I want you to give them as much information as you can.”

“What’s up?” Pulver asked.

“We’re having paranoia problems,” I said.

McCutcheon said, “It’s important, Clay. They can explain it as well as I can. They need you.” McCutcheon walked away.

Pulver shook his head. “Kenny really likes you both. I trust him and I owe him. Although, when I’m done with you guys, I’ll have paid him back twice over. It’ll be nice to have him owe me for a change.”

I said, “I’m working from the assumption that we shouldn’t trust anyone. Until we get some definitive answers, we trust nobody, including you and McCutcheon.”

“Why would I give you information if I’m out to get you?”

“I don’t think Tom’s being logical,” Scott said.

“Someone told us to be suspicious of McCutcheon. You came to us through him. Therefore, I’m suspicious of you.”

Pulver frowned. “I’m not the one who was in the middle of a bombing, nor am I the one who keeps getting threats, so I’ve got a lot of sympathy for your fear. But if you don’t trust me, why would you be trusting what I have to say to you?”

“Exactly,” Scott said.

That logic had me stumped. I went back to my question. “What’s the deal between you and McCutcheon? Are you lovers?”

Pulver rubbed his chin the way the aged, grizzled prospector
always does in old movie westerns. “I’d rather you trusted me. I’m willing to go a little way to earn your trust because I think you need help.”

“I’m sorry I’m being so paranoid,” I said. “I just figure it’s best to be cautious.”

Pulver nodded. “I was born and raised on the far south-west side of Chicago. I am not as prejudiced and bigoted as most people think that makes me. Kenny and I went through kindergarten to tenth grade together. Kenny and me are tied to the old neighborhood and to each other, but we are not and have never been lovers. As far as I know, he doesn’t have anyone special now.”

“We heard that he punched a guy in Bosnia after he had sex with him.”

“Lots of crazy rumors can start for any number of reasons. Do you guys think he’s a threat to you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Stop,” Scott ordered. “I for one appreciate Pulver’s and McCutcheon’s help and patience.” Scott placed his hand on my arm. “We can play the ‘who’s more paranoid’ version of ‘who do you trust’ and ‘who’s a threat’ until we all bore each other to tears. Let’s get on with it.” He looked at Pulver. “You tell us stuff. We find out over time if it’s believable or not. If the information you give us is false and gets us killed, we won’t be able to come back and say I told you so. With luck we’ll come out alive and with a solution at the end.”

“Eminently sensible,” Pulver said.

I kept my mouth shut. I was beginning to feel a bit foolish. I could never be a right-wing preacher. Self-righteous posturing, as I’d been doing, gets old very quickly. I realized my unreasonableness was approaching the level of irrationality. I decided to give it a rest. I just had to hope backing off didn’t get us killed.

“You still aren’t part of the team working on the investigation?” Scott asked.

“No. The rest of the criminals of Chicago have not used the explosion as an excuse to call a moratorium on their criminal activities. In fact my partner and I helped bust a small heroin operation last night.”

“What can you tell us about the bombing?” Scott asked.

“Couple things. You know the Fattatuchis, the owner of the deli that was destroyed?”

We nodded.

“Their son is a member of a right-wing militia group. He dined in their restaurant earlier that evening. We’re looking for him, but haven’t been able to contact him.”