Date: Tue, 14 Dec 2004 15:51:29 -0700 From: Joseph Farrin Subject: A BOY AND HIS MEN - 3 A BOY AND HIS MEN - PART 3 1. DECTIVE LAWSON THE INITIAL SHOCK HADN'T EVEN STARTED TO SUBSIDE BUT I SOMEHOW HAD THE SENSE TO FOLD THE TOWEL TIED AROUND RONNIE'S WAIST SO THAT HIS GENITALS WOULD BE COVERED. I knew Mrs. Patterson would be coming back as soon as she'd called 911. She stood at the door and said, "I don't think you should be in there doing things." "He's bleeding, there were clean T-shirts folded and stacked on the sofa. I'm using them to press against the wound trying to stop the bleeding." "Do you know what you're doing?" "Not for sure." It was a mute point; the paramedics and the police were soon filing in the open, front door. The paramedics breifly examined Ronnie and moved him onto a stretcher. One of the policemen asked me, my name. "Joey Michaels." "Were you the first one at the scene?" "Yes." "Where do you live?" "1126 South Twelfth Street." He took me and sat me in his patrol car and called the police station on his radio. "Sorry, you'll have to stay here awhile." He moved me to the back seat, caged off from the front seat and locked the fucking doors. I wouldn't have tried to get out, but the first thing I noticed was that there were no handles on the doors - I couldn't get out if I wanted to. It seemed like forever until I saw the policeman coming around the side of the building and another policeman pulling up in a car, he got out, walked around the car, opened the rear, passenger door and helped my mom out of the car. What the fuck was going on? They let me out of their dog cage. Mom wrapped her arms around me, bent down and kissed the top of my head and said, "Oh, Joey, how awful for you that you had to find him. The policemen told us to walk around the side of the building with them and took us in the back door of Ronnie's apartment. The policemen that had driven my mom here introduced himself as Detective Lawson and seated us at the kitchen table. "Joey, I'm going to have to take a statement from you and Mrs. Carpenter. I want to start with you as you were the first to see the victim." (I wondered why he didn't call Ronnie by his name instad of calling him the victim." The detective explained the procedure and how I should answer - speak clearly, directly into the microphone, using "yes" or "no" if a one-word answer is sufficient and asked my mom to not interupt or make any comments. Before we started though, he told my mom to stay in the kitchen as I had told one of the policemen that arrived first on the scene that I was a friend of the victim and had been in the apartment before. He wanted to tour the apartment with me and see if I thought it looked as it looks as it normally does. Joey, I'm going to write down on a pad all the questions I ask as we go through the place and read them back to you when we return, but I want your initial impression as we walk through. Do you understand?" (He was treating me like a child.) We first, briefly looked at all rooms, including the Bathroom then returned to the Living Room. The entry door from the hall was hall door was still open and taped off with yellow plastic tape. "Tell me your impression of the folded clothing and bed linen stacked on the sofa?" "There are washers and dryers in the basement. I've seen Ronnie bring his laundry back in a hamper, sit on the couch and fold it while sitting there. "Joey, my initial impression of the apartment is that it is very clean and neat unusually so, especially for a bachelor. We found out that Mr. Chavez lived alone from the apartment manager." "It's always that way. Ronnie is very neat and tidy about everything - his apartment, his pickup truck, his clothes, his person, everything." In the Bedroom he asked me if I knew why, when everything was so neat and orderly, was the bed unmade. I told him that Ronnie worked nights and slept until about 3 in the afternoon. Back in the Kitchen Detective Lawson asked if either of us had any questions before the interview started. My mom asked if we should have a lawyer present. Lawson answered that was our right but explained that I was not being charged with anything, I was not even a suspect, the interview was just to help the police gather information to assist in their investigation into an attempted murder. Mom decided against gettng an attorney. I asked Mr. Lawson if Ronnie was doing OK? Didn't he think the automatic coffee maker should be turned off before the coffee burned dry and maybe started a fire? Could I have a glass of water before we started. He smiled. He had a policeman call the hospital and inquire about Ronnie, unplugged the coffee pot and opened a case of bottled water on the counter, saying it would be unlikely to have finger prints of interest to them. He also gave a bottle of water to my mom. "Allright, I'm ready to begin. I want you to know that you must answer all questions truthfully. Not to do so is an offense if it is proven otherwise." "I will. I want to help Ronnie all I can." First, so they were on the tape, he asked me the same questions he had asked as we walked around the apartment. Then he asked the first new question. "How long have you known Ronnie Chavez?" "Seven months, roughly." "How did you meet him?" "Through a mutual friend." (I was thankful he didn't ask me about the mutual friend.) "What do you know about his background?" "Only what he's told me. Before he was born his parents lived in Agua Purieta, Mexico, I think that is the way it's pronounced. It is directly across the border from Douglas, Arizona. They moved to Tucumcari, New Mexico and his dad worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Ronnie had two brothers and one sister. He was the youngest. He worked for Asian Imports at night as shift supervisor of their shipping department. He said he he was computer literate and that is why he got the job. The term Computer Literate amused me, that's why I remember it." "Did you see any cars leaving from the next door parking lot when you were on yout bicycle coming here?" "No, the only car in the vicinity was half-block away; I only saw the back of it." "Can you describe it?" "The lower body was copper brown and the upper was creme colored. It might have been vinyl adhered to metal. It was an Oldsmobile." "How can you make a positive statement about a car half a block away - by the taillights or some other distinctive feature?" "Kids notice cars more than adults I think - they're interested in cars. I don't identify cars by lights, fenders or other details. I don't know how to explain it. I guess its looking at a car and recognizing it as a whole not a collection of details. Same as everything else, you don't look at the signage or wheels on an Amtrack train - your eye sees the whole thing at once." Lawson kept switching back and forth and introducing different questions and he was asking them faster. It was hard to keep up with him and kinda frightening, as if he was trying to trip me up. "Would 'total peception' fit the method you use to identiy an object?" "Yes." "Back to his work at Asian Imports, did he ever talk to you about it?" "In what way?" "Liked it or didn't like it. Had problems. The people he worked with that he liked or didn't like." "He liked his work and he only mentioned three people he didn't like. I dont know if he said he didn't like them or not. He mentioned three he had a problem with. "Do you know their names?" "They were all women. He used names but I only remember one because it was a funny name. It sounded like the letter "M", he said it was a nickname." "Maybe like Emma or Emily?" "I don't know?" "Why didn't he like them or why was he having a problem with them?" "I don't know how to tell you what he said." "Just use the same words as he used as far as you can remember." "He said they were always looking at his crotch and always asking him for dates and stuff. He thoght they wanted to get into his pants." "And he didn't like that." "He was the shift supervisor and he thought it was kind of like harassement from the bottom up rather than from the top down.?" I no sooner got the words out of my mouth that he shot back with his next question. "Was Mr. Chavez gay?" "Yes." "Are you gay?" "Yes." I'd fucking forgot that my mom was sitting at the table. I was now so fucking rattled that I reached over to the corner of the table on my side, took a cigarette out of a pack Ronnie had left there, used his lighter, lit it and inhaled, pulling the half empty bottle of water over to use as an ashtray. I didn't even realize at first what I'd done. I'd just fucked myself two times in a row. "Is that why you visit him? Do you have sex together?" "I need to know somthing from you before I answer?" "What is your question." "You said I wasn't a suspect. I don't think Ronnie is suspected of anything, either. What I want to know is if he can be charged for something without being accused by someone." "in this instance, you are mostly correct." "Yes, we have sex together." (I decided I'd supply no specific details even if he asked.) I was already fucked. There was no way of it. I prayed I was helping Ronnie more than I was hurting him. This concludes the interview and I want to thank Joey Michaels for his cooperation. "The policeman who had called the hospital said that Ronnie was out of surgery and in Intensive Care. The bullet had been removed and his vital signs were improving. On the way home mom sat in the front seat and I sat in the dog cage. Nobody exchanged one word until we got out in front of the house. Mom said, "Thank you" to the policeman. I would have liked to said "Fuck you!". 2. BEING INTERROGATED AT HOME. WE WERE LATE AND IT WAS UNUSUAL FOR MY MOM NOT TO BE HOME AT THIS HOUR SO EVERYONE WAS WORRIED. Mon told Pete to order Pizza and she took my dad and me both into their bedroom and told him about the cigarette then that Ronnie and I were both gay and having sex. I didn't cry. What would have been the use; I was fucked, it wouldn't have swayed anyones' emotions. My dad asked me, "What do you have to say about this, Joey? "Well, I can say I am truthfully sorry that you discovered I was gay through the events that happened today. On the other hand, I can't say I'm sorry that I'm gay and I don't think anyone, including myself can change my sexuallity. To fill you in I started messing with Pete in his sleep last winter and he caught me. My point is that Ronnie didn't make me this way, I was gay before I met him. I like him very much, he is a kind and gentle person and treats me as an equal - like I'm an adult. (I thought - maybe I shouldn't have said that.) I know I have upset both of you terriby and I feel terrible about that; it would have been much better if, down the line somewhere, I could have just told it to you of my own free will. But, what happened has happened. I can't change it. I can't really apologize for being gay, either. It would be like apologizing for for living. Istill I love you and I pray that you stll love me. If it's allright, I'll hang around until you decide what you want to do with me. If you don't want me around, I'll try to cope with that, too, along with all the other stuff I'm trying to cope with. The bedside phone rang, my mom answered and after hanging up said: "That was the lady who manages Ronnie's apartmnt building. She wanted you to know that she put your bicycle in her apartment and it would be safe threre." "Dad and mom, so there will be no future surprises, Ronnie is going to need some time to recover and I intend to spend time with him after school on weekdays and weekends. Cook, do his laundry, clean the apartment, keep him company. You can't talk me out of it, so please don't try." I guess dad was going to play judge. He didn't say anything but gave a nod to my mom as if he wanted her to take the ball now. "Joey, I can't say I'm not hurt, because I am. But, at the same time, I was proud of you during that awlful interview. You held your own, you told the truth, you said things that must have been painful for you to admit. I don't understand what you meant by 'hanging around to see what we decide', after all, I'm your mother, I'd love you if you were in jail for murder. Why would I cease to love you after what happened today. Maybe I feel it was because of something that I did or failed to do, but please, Joey, know I still love you and always will." Then, mom was the one that started to cry. Dad asked me to leave the room for a while. I went upstairs, swiped two cigarettes and a book of matches beloning to Pete, put on a windbreaker, went back down to the Kitchen and told Pete and Carol I'd left my bicycle someplace, I was going to get it, I'd be right back and tell mom and dad where I'd gone. Both of them were dying of curiosity, I knew, but I walked out the back door and down the alley. I needed to be alone I guess, or to die, or to do someting - I wasn't sure just what. I was feeling sorry for myself, for mom and dad, but mostly for Ronnie; there was only one fucking thing I was sure of at the moment and that was that I still loved him. 3. BEING FORGIVEN AND BEING TORMENTED When I returned, mom and dad were in the kitchen eating pizza. Carol and Pete I guessed had gone to their rooms. I didn't feel like pizza and had milk and a few graham crackers instead. Dad told me me that, like mom, he loved me and love meant many things including acceptance and ended by telling me to keep my sails up. They both hugged and kissed me, which didn't happen often with my dad. Then they told me the disturbing part, to me at least. They felt as though they had to tell Pete and Carol and they had already told them while I was out. After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I went upstairs and immediately started undressing and putting on my pajamas (I'd given up sleeping naked at home.). Pete, however, sat at his desk smirking at me. Finally he came out with what had been eating at him: "Well my fairy brother finally got his queer little ass in a sling." "Fuck you. I don't need your shit right now." "But I'm smart enough not to get caught, queer boy." There was no use arguing with him. He was back being his old self again. I put my clothes back on, went downstairs, out the back door and slept in the car which was in the garage. In the morning Pete was grilled but he really didn't have any answers, he didn't know where I'd gone, but my dad guessed he'd been tormenting me and told him to lay off and remember that our car wreck could have been a lot more serious for him if I hadn't dragged him away from the crash. It wouldn't make a dimes worth of change for the better. He'd revered to his own sweet self and I was back to not being able to figure him out - now though it didn't worry me. I didn'give a shit. When my dad came for the car to go to work, I was still asleep and he had to wake me up. He asked me if Pete and I had a fight after I'd gone upstairs. I said we hadn't. He responded that I was being more noble than Pete deserved, he we'd had words spoken in anger between us and told me he'd given Pete strict orders to either ignore me or be nice. I knew he would ignore me and that suited me fine. I had to hurry to get to school on time. I didn't have time to worry about it right nowl After school, I rode my bike over to the hospital and asked about Ronnie. They said he was doing fine, and tomorrow he could have visitors. I wrote him a note and the lobby receptionist gave me an envelope to put it in and said she'd have it sent up to his room. When I got home I sent an e-mail to Kurt. The next day, after school, mom took me to the hospital to visit Ronnie. The guy was unbelievable. He was a as happy go lucky and carefree as always. From his attitude you would never have guessed that he was recovering from a bullet wound in his chest. I kissed him and, surprisingly, my mom did, too. The police told him what had happened and my part in it. He thanked me. I cried and told him how scared I was and about the way he looked at me with his eyes. While mom and I were still with him, Dectective Lawson came in and told us that Emily Naughton's car had had been spotted in front of a motel in Moline, Illinois and when the police began asking her questions she began crying and admitted to shooting Ronnie. Her excuse was that if she couldn't have him she didn't want anyone to have him. Dawson had send out an APB (all points bulletin) on her when the other two women Ronnie had trouble with checked out and Emily was missing. 4. RONNIE WAS GETTING BETTER. IT TOOK A WHILE BEFORE RONNIE EVEN FELT SOMEWHAT BETTER AND LONGER STILL BEFORE THE DOCTOR WOULD LET HIM RETURN TO WORK. Neither mom nor dad raised any ruckus about my spending extra time at Ronnie's helping him as best I could. It surprised me, however, that on Saturdays, when I spent the entire day with him my mom came along and worked side by side except when she went grocery shopping, gettng stuff for both Ronnie and ouselves, including things like roasted chickens and frozen dinners - things easy for him to fix when I wasn't there. One Sunday morning, about two weeks before his going back to work, I went over, picked his Denver Post up from the stoop in front of the building and went in - he had given me a key. I told him to stay in bed and I'd bring him breakfast. After he finished, he tossed the newspaper on the floor and patted the side of the bed saying, Come over here beside me. I did, but not under the covers. He turned and kissed me and said." "Chico, I dreamed of you last night." "Good or bad?" "Both. I was in a crowded room, it seemed to be a large party - people milling around when I saw you across the room. You looked right at me and I knew you were hot and wanted me as much as I wanted you. Then, everyone started moving at once, going into another room and I lost you and couldn't find you. I was so frustrated, so sad, I knew if I could just find you and get you away from the party you'd let me have some." "Some what?" "Oh, you know. I don't have to say it." "Oh, but I want you to say it. It makes my boy cock very hard when you talk diry to me." "Well you know, I thought we could go someplace and you'd give me some boy pussy." "Do you feel strong enough for that?" "Not really." "Then I guess your dream was mostly bad." "Maybe you could change the way the dream ended though?" I knew that he was feeling better and wanted sex. In fact, motherfucker was making a tent in the sheet. Ronnie didn't feel up to fucking, so I guessed Motherfucker was desperate for a blow job. But, first, I wanted Ronnie to carry on, get me all hot and bothered and make himself the same way during the process. "I'd like to, Ronnie, but I don't know how to change a dream." "I don't either." "Well, what can we do then?" "Let me finish the dream. Motherfucker, if you can believe it, was even more upset than I was. He got all hard and stuck straight up in my pants, I think he was hoping my zipper was down and he could look and try to find you, too. In fact he began to weep." "You mean like shed tears?" "Well kind of, but not quite. You know how he weeps when he's excited." "Oh, those kind of tears?" "Yes and I think if you were to take your clothes off and get in bed with me and let me kiss you and stick my tongue in you mouth and play with your little tits things might start to work the rest out by themselves." "Well, I think I should also kiss Motherfucker; he's pretty knowing about the kind of stuff we're talking about." I pulled the sheet up and crawled in beside Ronnie and he snuggled up close, putting his arm around me as if I was going to try to get away, kissed me with a passion born from abstinance and then pushed my head down under the sheets to be greeted by Motherfucker. Ronnie had spread his legs and Motherfucker was heads up waitng for his kiss; his balls, however, had alredy risen to snuggle the underside of his shaft. I knew it was going to be a qickie and that I certainly wouldn't pull on Ronnie's balls to speed things up. "I kissed Motherfucker, he jerked and squirmed around, I kissed him again and swallowed him, right down to the root. It was Sunday morning, Motherfucker was buried 8 inches deep into my mouth, slick with saliva and in the midst of receiving a warm, wet blowjob. With Motherfucker in my mouth, I was in cock heaven and Ronnie was about to climax and experience the joy of unleashing six weeks of sexual frustrtions and his lovejuice would pour out of motherfuckers cockhead into my waiting mouth. I felt like a newly hatched bird in a cosy nest about to receive a worm from its mother. What a beautiful way to spend a Sunday morning. TO BE CONTINUED