Date: Fri, 12 Apr 2002 15:27:14 EDT
From: MystryAuthr@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 11 of The Truth of Yesterday

I apologize for the long wait for Chapter 11 of The Truth of Yesterday. I
got a surprise vacation last week when one of my best friends in the world
surprised me with a visit. Needless to say, I didn't get much writing
done. I'm back on schedule now and I hope the chapter was worth the
wait. Visit my website at http://www.steliko.com/bleedinghearts


Chapter 11

	Visions of medieval battles filled my dreams that night-horrible
scenes of unkempt, empty-eyed men slashing, chopping, and clubbing each
other on a bloody battlefield. Needless to say, I awoke the next morning
less than refreshed. I rolled out of bed with a groan and stumbled for the
bathroom. It was not an auspicious beginning to the first day of my
investigation into the death of Micah's ex.

	I had been planning on driving up to DC that morning to meet my new
partner in crime, Christina. The way I was feeling, though, I was wondering
if that was the wisest course of action. I felt as if I had been fighting
in the battle myself; and judging by the state of my head, I'd been hit by
a flying flail.

	I felt a little better after a shower, enough so that I decided to
go ahead with the original plan. I forced myself to eat a slice of toast
even though I wasn't hungry and set off in my little black mustang that I
affectionately called Shadow. The drive up Route 50 could never be
described as exciting or even interesting. The land on the Eastern Shore is
amazingly flat. The highlight, as usual, was the huge span of bridge that
crossed the Chesapeake Bay. I arrived at New Carrolton Station, the Metro
station I was parking at, in late morning. I got my fare card and found a
seat on the train. It wasn't too crowded yet since this was the first stop.

	I let my mind wander while I waited for my stop. I thought about my
responsibility to my gifts. I still wasn't all that happy about it, but I
knew now that I had to face and accept them the best I could, whatever they
may be. I owed that much to Steve and Adam if for no other reason. So I
guess that meant I was going to get to meet up with my old pal Amalie
again. I could think of a few things I'd rather do, like have all my teeth
extracted without painkillers. I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to
do. Talk to her? How did I do that? Did I ask her to sit down over a cup of
coffee? Would it be like it was with Seth? My heart started racing just
thinking about it. As the train rumbled into the underground tunnel system
of the Metro and the bright sunlight was suddenly cut off, the scene from
Ghost when Patrick Swayze is chasing the other dead guy through the cars of
the subway suddenly came to mind and I decided to think about something
else.

	Of course, the first thing my mind went to was Micah. What was I
going to do there? I was pretty sure I wanted to make things work with
him. He was a great guy. So what if he had a checkered past. I'd known that
from the beginning. So why was this still bothering me so much? The bigger
question was why the hell was I looking into the murder of his
ex-boyfriend? It occurred to me for the first time that maybe I was doing
this because I wanted to know more about the guy Micah used to be in love
with, and maybe on some level, would always love.

	I didn't like the way that was going so I decided to run over my
game plan for the day. I wanted to find Razi and talk to him first. He'd
given Micah his business card. It was minimalist to say the least, baring
only his first name in large, bold letter and his phone number under it. I
was planning on calling him, reminding him who I was, and hopefully, I
could get him to either meet me or tell me how to find his apartment. After
that, I wanted to take a look at Paul's apartment. I had Micah's old key in
my pocket and I could only hope it would still fit the lock. If not, I
wasn't sure what I would do, but I was sure I could come up with
something. I just hoped Christina would be willing to go along with
whatever I said and not try to run the show herself.

	I was supposed to get off the Metro at the Smithsonian Station and
meet her at the base of the Washington Monument. I was supposed to
recognize her by the fact that she would be dressed all in black. How
cheery. Now all I had to do was hope there wasn't a convention of Goths
taking a tour of the city's monuments today.

	The train pulled into the station and I joined the throng moving
toward the door. I stepped off the Metro and into the cavernous underground
station, the arched ceiling honeycombed to muffle the roar of the trains
and the crowds. I allowed the flow of the crowd to carry me toward the
escalator that led to the street level. Once above ground, I found myself
in the center of the Mall. The Capitol building sat at one end and my goal,
the Washington Monument, sat at the other. Museums lined the sides, the
buildings of the Smithsonian, the National Gallery and many more. I
wondered why it had been so long since I'd been here. It really wasn't that
far from where I lived. I guess I just took it for granted.

	I turned and faced the towering obelisk in the distance and started
walking in that direction. The last time I'd actually been up to the
monument I'd been in third grade. I made my way to its base and started
around its perimeter looking for a girl dressed all in black. It didn't
take long to find her. I stopped before she noticed me and looked her
over. She was about my height and thin, but wiry looking. She was wearing a
loose-fitting, long-sleeved black T-shirt, baggy black cargo pants, and
black combat boots. Her black hair was cut short and worn spiked. All that
black made her skin look even paler than it really was, and that was pretty
pale to start with. It didn't help that she didn't appear to be wearing a
scrap of make-up. She looked like one of the dead people with whom I was
supposed to be able to talk. She did not inspire confidence.

	I sighed a purely mental sigh and approached her. As soon as she
saw me moving in her direction she locked a pair of steely gray eyes on me.

	"Are you Killian?" she asked as soon as I was close enough to hear
her without raising her voice.

	I nodded. "You must be Christina," I said.

	"You can call me Chris," she said.

	"Hi, Chris," I smiled my biggest smile but her sober expression
didn't waver. "I'm impressed you recognized me."

	"Well your boss said to watch for a pretty little blonde boy. He
didn't mention you were gay but if he had it would have made it even
easier."

	I blinked in surprise. "I'm gay?" I said stupidly.

	Her blinked back at me. "You didn't know?"

	I fought the urge to let loose with a hysterical giggle. "Um, yeah
I knew. I meant how did you know?"

	She shrugged. "I have a good sense about people."

	"Do I act gay?"

	She frowned. "How does one 'act gay'?"

	We were not getting off to a good start. I gathered my wits about
me and started over. "Forget I asked that. I'm glad you're helping me out
on this case. I really appreciate it."

	"No problem. My dad thinks this will make me change my mind about
becoming a cop, among other things."

	I wondered at the other things, but thought it best not to ask at
that time.

	"I'm old enough to make my own decisions, though," she continued,
"and I've wanted to be a cop as long as I can remember." She shrugged
again. "How old are you anyway? You look younger than me."

	"I'm eighteen," I told her.

	"We're the same age then. You in college?"

	"Freshmen year."

	"Me too. Where at?"

	"Pemberton U. You?"

	"George Mason."

	Thoughts of Asher swept through my mind, that was where he'd ended
up going, but I tamped them down quickly. This wasn't the time, and
besides, what were the chances that she's know him?

	"Ok, enough chit-chat," she announced suddenly, pushing away from
the wall of the monument where she'd been leaning. "Time to get to
work. You're the boss, what's the plan?"

	I gave another mental sigh, this time of relief. At least she was
willing to let me keep control of the investigation and follow my lead. I
had been worried that she'd be the controlling type.

	I need to try this number and see if I can get him to meet with
me," I said, producing the card. She looked it over and gave me a look with
a raised eyebrow.

	"Let me guess. Judging by the lack of specified business, this Razi
Akiba must be in the sex-for-hire business."

	I was impressed. The girl was sharp. "Escort," I said.

	"Close enough," she said flippantly. "And before you get too
impressed, Dad told me the case had something to do with a dead prostitute,
so it was an obvious deduction. That's pretty much all I know though, so
why don't you give me a quick run-down of exactly what you're trying to
do?"

	I did, giving her a quick history of Micah's involvement with Paul
and how he'd found out about his murder, adding everything I knew about
Paul from what Micah had told me. I was about to tell her how the police
were refusing to do more than a cursory investigation before I remembered
that her father was on the police force in the city. I stopped in mid-word
as her expression darkened.

	"Don't stop," she growled. "Not that it matters, I can figure out
the rest. The police don't have any interest in catching whoever killed the
fag, right?"

	"Something like that," I muttered.

	"Figures. That's why I want to be a cop, to stop shit like that
from happening. It's disgusting."

	I was startled by the vehemence in her voice, but tried not to let
it show. I just pulled out the cell phone Novak had given me before I left
and punched in Razi's number. I was just about to end the connection when
someone finally answered.

	"'ullo," someone mumbled, sounding as if I'd woken them up.

	"Is this Razi?" I asked.

	"No," the voice said.

	I waited a beat. "May I speak to him?"

	"He's not here."

	The voice was vaguely familiar and I realized that it must have
been the kid from the club. What was his name? "Is this Tad?" I asked.

	A pause. "Who is this?" the voice suddenly sounded more awake, and
more than a little startled.

	"Do remember last week at Michelangelo's? I was with the guy that
Razi knew. You talked to me in the lounge."

	"Um...it's a little hazy."

	It looked like I was going to have to work for this.

	"My name is Killian, my friend's name is Micah."

	Another pause and then, "What do you look like?"

	"Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little taller than you."

	"Still nothing."

	I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. "You told me that my
boyfriend used to be an escort."

	"Oh. Yeah. Now I remember. You were cute."

	I bit back a sharp retort and took another deep breath
instead. "Thanks," I managed. "Look, it's really important that I talk to
Razi. Do you know when he'll be back?"

	"Not really. He's on a job. What do you need to talk to him about?"

	"It's kind of personal. I'd rather talk to him about it."

	"Does it have to do with your boy? What's his name? Mikey?"

	"Micah, and no, not exactly."

	"Oh. Well, does it have anything to do with Paul?"

	"You knew Paul?"

	"Kinda. I wasn't around that long before he was killed, but I met
him a few times."

	Novak always told me being flexible was the most important
attribute of a good investigator. It would probably be a useful attribute
for an escort also, but that was beside the point. The point was it was
time to change my plans slightly.

	"Could I talk to you?"

	He was quiet for a minute. "I dunno," he said finally.

	"I'm not going to cause trouble, I promise. It's really important."

	"Why?"

	"Micah wants to know what happened to Paul."

	"He was killed."

	"We know that. He wants to know why and by who."

	"I don't know that."

	"But you might be able to help me figure it out."

	"You? Shouldn't that be up to the-Shit! You're not the cops are
you?"

	"Me?" I laughed. It was a little forced, but I didn't think it was
noticeable, especially to someone who didn't know me. "No way. I'm a
private investigator."

	"Aren't you a little young?"

	"Well, I'm technically still in training, but I've already helped
solve three murders." I saw Chris' head snap up at that remark. Her eyes
lit up with a new respect for me. "Besides, the cops don't give a damn
about Paul. To them, he's just another gay escort and as far as they're
concerned, the city's better off without him. If I don't find out who did
this, it's possible no one ever will."

	There was dead silence on the other end of the line and, for a
minute, I thought he'd hung up. Then, finally, he spoke. "Ok. If I give you
directions can you find me here?"

	"Yes," I said without hesitation. I signaled to Chris to get her
attention. "I'm going to repeat the address back to you so I'm sure I have
it right, ok?" I spoke for both of their benefits. I wanted Chris to pay
attention so that she could tell me if she knew where the address was and I
wanted Tad to know why I was repeating everything. Chris nodded her
understanding. I was beginning to think that we might work well together
after all.

	"Ok," Tad agreed and rattled off an address that I repeated right
back. "Yeah, that's it," he agreed.

	Chris nodded. She knew where it was.

	"Got it," I said. "You'll be there for a while?"

	"I'm not going anywhere."

	"Ok, see you soon then. And thanks."

	"Yeah. You might want to hold your thanks until after you talk to
me. I told you, I didn't know him that well."

	"Every little bit helps."

	"We'll see." And he broke the connection.

	I turned to Chris as I put the phone away. "And we're off."

	"We'll take the Metro," she said, pushing away from the wall of the
monument, where she'd been leaning, and stalking off purposefully in the
direction I'd come from. I practically had to run to keep up with
her. "It's not a great neighborhood," she said when I caught up to her.

	"Dangerous?" I asked.

	She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "Everywhere in the
city is dangerous, or it can be. Where we're going is only dangerous in a
different way. Keep your eyes open and stay near me."

	I must have given her a startled look because she smiled the first
genuine smile I'd seen. "My dad's a cop. I've had every type of
self-defense training you can imagine. I may not look all that dangerous,
but trust me, I am."

	Something in the tone of her voice made me inclined to believe her.

	We got our fare cards figured out and boarded the train. We would
have to backtrack to L'Enfant Station and switch from the orange line to
the green line. The trip wasn't really that far and we didn't talk much. I
was preoccupied, thinking about how Chris had known I was gay right
away. Did I really act so stereotypically gay that people knew just by
looking at me? I'd never thought about it before, but for some reason that
bothered me. For one thing, it made me less effective as an
investigator. It made me more memorable if someone happened to notice me.

	"Gaydar," Chris said suddenly. I gave her a blank look.

	"That's how I knew you were gay when I saw you."

	I eyed her warily. I had the eerie feeling she'd been reading my
mind.

	"I've been sitting here thinking about it," she went on, "and I
decided that if we're going to be working together we need to trust each
other, right?"

	I nodded.

	"I'm gay too," she said.

	"Oh," I said. I wondered if my gaydar was malfunctioning.

	"I don't usually tell people, not that I'm in the closet or
anything. I just don't advertise it. That's the other reason I think Dad
wanted me to work with you on this. He thinks if I see the dark side of the
gay culture, as he puts it, then I'll decide to be straight. I've tried to
tell him it doesn't work like that, but he's older, you know? Set in his
ways. Besides, it's not like I don't know all about this stuff anyway. You
can only be sheltered so much when you grow up gay in the city."  With that
she hopped up and started towards the door. "This is our stop," she called
over her shoulder.

	I jumped up and joined her just as the train pulled to a stop. We
exited the station and Chris took her bearings.

	"Where do we go now?" I asked.

	"I'm not sure," she said.

	"But I thought..."

	"I know it's this general area," she said. "Don't worry, I'll find
it." She headed back into the Metro station, leaving me gaping after
her. She reappeared a minute later and headed off confidently down the
street. I scrambled after her with a feeling I'd be doing a lot of this.

	"I got directions," she said when I fell into step next to her.

	"Yeah, I figured that," I said dryly.

	She walked through the unfamiliar streets as if she knew exactly
where she was going, her ground-eating stride causing me to trot along. I
felt like I had to take two steps for every one of hers. At that rate, it
didn't take too long to find the address Tad had given me. Like most of the
buildings in this area, it was run-down and a little shabby. Chris stopped
at the door.

	"He's on the second floor?" she asked.

	"Yeah."

	"Ok, so what's the plan now? Do I go in with you or do I stand
guard?"

	I shrugged. I hadn't really thought that far ahead.

	"There're advantages to both. If I go in with you, I might pick up
on something you would miss, but if I stay outside, then I can get help if
something goes wrong."

	I didn't even want to think about the sort of things that might go
wrong, but I'd been in situations without back-up before and I knew how
important it could be. "Maybe you should be back-up," I suggested, a little
worried that she wouldn't be happy with that, but she just nodded.

	"I'll follow you up to the second floor and stay out of sight until
you're in the room, then I'll stay near the door. If anything goes wrong,
you just scream like a banshee and I'll get help."

	I smiled weakly and hoped like hell that we wouldn't have to put
that plan into action. I led the way up the dingy stairwell. According to
the plan, Chris stopped just out of sight and I approached the door
alone. I knocked on the metal door using the door-knocker and waited for an
answer.

	"Yeah?" came a muffled response from the other side of the door.

	"Tad? It's Killian Kendall, we talked on the phone?" There was a
pause long enough to allow him to peer through the peephole and then the
sounds of locks unlocking. The door opened a few inches, still attached to
the frame by a thick chain.

	"Are you alone?" the boy asked. From the two inches of him that
were in view, he was bare-chested and tousle-headed.

	"Um, yes," I fibbed.

	The door shut for a second, followed by the sound of the chain
being unhooked, and then reopened just wide enough to allow me to slide
in. Tad quickly slid the chain back in place and shot the locks home. I
began to feel a little trapped and fought a rising sense of panic. Was he
going to do something to me? Would I have time to scream? Would Chris be
able to get in here before anything happened? He turned to catch my
uncomfortable expression.

	"I've lived here less than a month and I've been mugged twice, beat
up three times, and almost raped once," he said in a carefully casual
voice. "I'm a little concerned with security. I hope you don't mind."

	"I, uh, guess I can't blame you," I said. He was wearing only a
pair of denim cut-off shorts and I got the impression that he had only
pulled those on to be polite. His body was pale, slender, and taunt with
just the slightest hint of definition. His reddish-blonde curls were even
springier than the last time I'd seen him and the halo effect was even more
striking. Once again, I was struck by his ethereal beauty.

	"You can sit down," he said, heading towards the couch in the
center of the room. He folded himself onto the cushions with a cat-like
grace that I envied. I felt like a Neanderthal plodding along after him. I
sat self-consciously in an overstuffed leather chair to the right of the
couch he had claimed. I tore my attention away from him to look around at
the room. It was elegantly sparse with lots of black and chrome. Not much
to offer in the knick-knack department. In fact, there was very little real
personality to the room. It occurred to me that Razi had either rented or
bought the apartment already decorated or he'd hired a decorator and given
them free reign. I turned my attention back to Tad to find he was studying
me with the same care I'd given him and the room.

	"You don't look like a detective," he said.

	"I'm a private investigator," I replied, playing the semantics
game. "What did you think a detective should look like?"

	He grinned. "Fatter, older, and uglier."

	I laughed. "Then I guess I should be flattered that I don't look
like what you expected."

	His eyes sparkled with humor. "Do you go to Michel's very often?"

	"Last week was my first time."

	"What did you think?"

	"It was fun, but it kinda got ruined."

	The sparkle faded. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."

	I shrugged. "Well, that's what I'm here to talk about."

	"So shoot."

	"You said you met Paul?"

	"A couple times."

	"What was he like?"

	Tad thought a moment before answering. "Quiet. He was friends with
Razi, but they're really different. Razi is loud and likes to be the center
of attention. Paul would rather sit in a corner and just watch
everything. You'd forget he was there sometimes. But everybody seemed to
like him."

	"Somebody didn't," I commented before I could stop myself. He
frowned. "Sorry," I apologized. "What did he look like? I never met him."
The question wasn't really relevant to anything, but I was curious. It
would also help Tad loosen up if I asked questions that were relatively
easy to answer to start with.

	"Cute. He has blonde hair, blue eyes, real small, and...I
dunno...quiet somehow. He was really cute if you took time to look at him,
but most of the time, if there were a lot of people around, you just kind
of missed him somehow."

	I was struck by how much his physical description could have fit
me. Apparently, Micah liked a type. "Do you have any pictures of him?" I
asked.

	"I don't think so."

	"Can you tell me anything about him besides that he was quiet? What
kind of a person was he?"

	"I didn't know him that well. I know Razi thought a lot of
him. Razi doesn't have many guy friends. I think he feels threatened by
them, like he sees them as competition. He didn't feel that way about
Paul." He fell silent and allowed him a minute to think. "He was always
really nice to me," he continued. "He was all concerned about me, always
asking how I was doing and telling me if I ever needed any place to go I
could stay with him. And it wasn't in a creepy sort of way, you know? It
wasn't like he was hitting on me. It was like he genuinely cared. I think
him and Razi might have even fought about me." He stopped as if he'd said
more than he'd intended.

	That caught my attention. "Fought about what?"

	"Um..." I could tell he was searching for something to tell me,
probably a lie. I decided to head him off.

	"How do you know Razi? Is he your boyfriend?"

	"I guess you could say that."

	"What would you say?"

	He shrugged. "Razi took me in when I didn't have anywhere else to
go. I was living on the street, sick, hungry...He took me to the doctor,
fed me and let me stay here."

	"He sounds like a saint."

	Tad made a face. "Not exactly. In exchange, he gets sex whenever he
wants it."

	I raised an eyebrow. "You ok with that arrangement?"

	"It's better than the streets. And let me tell you, Razi knows what
he's doing. So I guess it's not all that bad."

	"Are you gay?"

	He seemed surprised by the question. "What?"

	"Are you even gay?"

	"Yeah." I could tell he was still so surprised by the blunt
question that he'd answered truthfully.

	"How'd you end up on the street?"

	He looked away. "Does that matter?"

	"Maybe. You never know what will matter."

	I didn't think he was going to answer at first, but then he turned
back to face me and began to talk in low voice. Once he started, it was
like a dam had burst and the words just kept flowing out of him until he'd
spilled the whole story. "I grew up in this little dinky town in
Virginia. My mom died when I was born so it was always just my dad and
me. I think in some ways he always blamed me for her death; we weren't very
close. I've known I was gay for a while now, probably since I was 12 or
13. I used to fool around with my best friend whenever he spent the night
at my house or I stayed with him. I don't know if he was gay too or if he
just liked to fool around; we never really talked about it. That all
stopped when we got a little older, but I still liked guys. I met a guy
online; he was a little older than I was and lived here in DC. We started
dating but I was keeping it all a secret. He would drive to see me while my
dad was at work or we'd meet somewhere and spend some time together when my
dad thought I was with friends. Then one night my dad came home from work
early, I don't even know why, and he caught us...well, you know. It was
bad. I thought he was going to kill us. My boyfriend, and I use the term
loosely, bolted so fast I barely even saw him go. He left me to face my dad
alone and I never saw him again. My dad beat the shit out of me. He never
touched me again after that night, but I could tell he hated me. He hardly
ever spoke to me and it was horrible living there. Finally, I just couldn't
take it anymore. I left. I stayed a few nights with this girl I was friends
with, but her parents said I couldn't stay. I didn't know where else to go,
but I knew the guy I had been dating lived here so I hitch-hiked to the
city. It was stupid. I didn't even know where to look for him once I was
here. I've never been so scared in my life. Every night I thought I was
going to be killed and I was half-hoping I would be. And then one night, I
was begging for money outside a restaurant over on the Circle, you know,
Dupont Circle? There are a lot of gay people around there. Sometimes some
of the guys would give me a little money if I did certain things for them,
or let them do certain things to me. The next thing I know there's this guy
telling me to come on. I figured he thought I was a hustler, which I guess
I pretty much was, and he was taking me home for the night. I decided not
to argue since a warm place to sleep sounded pretty good about then, no
matter what I had to do to get it. It was Razi; he brought me here and told
me to sleep on the couch and if anything was missing when he got up, he'd
hunt me down and cut off my dick. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't
sleep at all that night I was so scared. He got up the next morning, cooked
me breakfast, and then took me to the doctor and shopping for clothes. I've
been here ever since."

	"He just took you in?"

	"Yeah. Just like that. For a few days I kept thinking I'd wake up
and it would all just be a dream, but then the payments started and I knew
it wasn't."

	"Did he hurt you?"

	Tad blushed. "Not so that I minded."

	"Did you feel forced?"

	He shrugged one shoulder. "I knew it was what I had to do if I
wanted to stay here. He never said so in so many words but I knew. And it's
not just sex you know. I also clean the apartment, wash the dishes if there
are any, do the laundry, make appointments and some other stuff."

	"Did Razi ever try to contact your father?"

	"He never even asked me my story."

	"What about Paul?"

	He seemed suddenly wary. "What about him?"

	"Did he ask you for your story?"

	He seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to trust me. He
made up his mind and nodded. "He's the only other person besides you that
I've even told. I don't even know why I told you."

	"Is that what Paul and Razi fought about?"

	He shrugged again. "Maybe. I don't really know."

	Obviously, that was as much as I was going to get out of him at the
moment. If Paul was the stand-up guy everyone kept telling me he was, then
he had probably disapproved of Razi payment arrangement. He may have even
wanted to contact Tad's father. I doubt Razi would have wanted to give up
his personal houseboy.

	"How old are you again? 15?"

	He nodded.

	"And how old is Razi?"

	His eyes snapped to mine and grew round with fear. "You can't turn
him in. Please! You can't do that. I know it's not great, but I'm
fine. Really. It's better than living on the street and I don't want to go
back to my dad. I know that's what they would do. I can't go back."

	"Maybe they'd put you in foster care," I said doubtfully.

	He sat up straight, his back rigid. "Like that would be so much
better. Look, I'm almost 16. That's the age of consent, right? So in just a
few more months, it won't even be illegal technically."

	The panic in his voice was wearing me down quickly. I hated to hear
him sounding like a terrified little kid.

	"Is Young even your real last name?"

	His startled look gave me all the answer I needed, but he answered
anyway. "What difference does it make? There's no way I'm telling you
now. You'd just go to my dad or turn me in. I swear, if I have to go back
I'll run away again, and maybe this time there won't be any Razi to take me
in. Or...or...I'll kill myself."

	"Tad!" I interrupted before he could go into full-scale
hysterics. "I won't turn him in, I promise. At least not until I know
what's going on. I have to admit I'm not really comfortable with the whole
situation though."

	"It's not really any of your business," he said stiffly.

	"I'm sorry," I said quickly. I'd done a great job of ruining any
sense of rapport we'd been building. I tried to reverse the damage. "You
know, my dad beat me up when he found out I was gay too, and then he threw
me out of the house."

	Tad relaxed the slightest bit and I could see the curiosity in his
eyes. "Where'd you go?"

	"I was lucky; I had someone to take me in. He was my friend's dad
and he's gay too."

	"Your friend or your friend's dad."

	"Both actually."

	"Oh wow. That's so cool. I wish I'd had somebody like that. It must
be really cool living with your friend and all."

	"Actually, my friend was murdered. That's kind of why I got into
this sort of thing."

	"Oh. I'm really sorry."

	It was my turn to shrug. "It's been a couple years now. It doesn't
hurt quite as much as it used to."

	"What about your mom?"

	"She left my dad not too long after that. She moved away but let me
stay with Adam, that's my friend's dad that took me in."

	"You still live with him?"

	I nodded. He'd almost relaxed completely now, curling himself back
into his feline pose. I was about to ask another question when a loud knock
came at the door. Tad apparently was not only like a cat in his movements,
but also as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs
as the old saying goes. At the sound of the knock, he almost leaped right
off the couch.

	"Tad? You in there?" a heavily accented voice called from the
hallway. "Let me in."

	"Shit," Tad hissed, giving me a startled glance. "I thought you'd
be gone before he got home."

	"Will he be mad that I'm here? After all, I did come to talk to
him."

	"I don't know," Tad said looking towards the door as another
pounding knock sounded.

	"Just go let him in," I said. "I won't tell him anything we talked
about." The boy cast me a grateful look and headed uncertainly towards the
door. In the best case scenario, it was time for the second interview of my
new case. In the worst, Chris and I would be testing out our emergency plan
very soon.