Date: Wed, 18 Aug 1999 19:23:12 -0700
From: MM <rd3b@traveller.com>
Subject: Browning Incident/Chapters 1-3

When you think about a larger picture, we are truly an amalgamation of
man. We are everywhere all the time. We are all races, religions, colors,
and professions. If there was ever a chosen people, it is gay men and
lesbian woman. We cross all boundaries man creates to keep us separated,
and to top it all off, we have the most powerful weapon known to man, love,
and by God, we aren't afraid to use it.

A Martin M comment
rd3b@traveller.com
http://models.badpuppy.com/cstories/
 
Browning Incident
A Martin M Story
By: 
Rick Beck

Chapter 1
The News

The phone call came at 8 o'clock in the evening. It was an event destined
to become forever imprinted upon my psyche, although at the time there was
no way for me to understand that my life was about to be forever
altered. This wasn't an ordinary phone call and the sequence of events that
had been set into motion seemed surreal and only a quirk of fate prevented
them from becoming fatal.

I was a young man trying to figure out the ways of the world when I met Big
Mike. He'd been the positive roll model I needed, but it ran deeper than
that. He had proved to be a good friend that I could trust and depended
upon when I needed help. He'd been there for me during my most difficult
moments, but this time it wasn't me needing his help but him needing mine.

His voice had been different, haunting, troubling. It wasn't what he said
but how he said it as well as what he had left out. He spoke two short
sentences and hung up.

"I need you. Can you come over?"

There was only one answer but he was gone before I could say the word. He
left me to stare at a phone that had gone dumb and with no idea what was
going on. I was sure this couldn't be good. It was the chill on my spine
and the slow halting words that at first had me straining to recognize the
voice, and once I recognized it was Big Mike, there was that annoying hum
from the broken connection.

Big Mike was intelligent but uncomplicated and mostly predictable until
now. We'd lived together several times during the eight years we'd known
one another. We'd laughed together, loved some of the same people, and he
knew me better than anyone ever had. I liked to think I knew him but he was
nine years older than I was, being more worldly and much more sophisticated
than I ever hoped to be.  I was more the student and he the teacher,
introducing me to such things as Greek dining at the Astor and foreign and
art movies at Janus 1 & 2, not to mention the incredible world of
satellites and computer technology. My steady diet of burgers and the Ranch
Drive-Inn Theater were augmented on occasion with foreign cuisine and the
Seven Samurai.

He'd taken me to see my favorite movie, "Harold & Maude", two months
earlier after lobster tale and Feta cheese salad. Everything had been
fine. Our time together fit in with the same light hearted times we'd often
shared. It was relaxing and without intensity or tight schedules. Big Mike
was the most predictable person I'd ever known. For the first time I didn't
have a clue to what was going on or why he needed me.

I must admit I was disturbed by what that call made me feel. My first
thought was he wasn't well. He didn't sound well. Maybe he had cancer or
heart trouble? My mind raced through the too many combinations of ills that
could so swiftly inflict someone?

Little did I know that heart trouble would be the least of it. I ran other
complicated scenarios through my brain; rather they raced through the
conduits of my mind uncontrolled as I drove the thirty miles to his
apartment in Riverdale. Had it not been for a chance meeting at a local
mall a few weeks before, I wouldn't have known where he had moved. Up until
now it had always been nice to be with Big Mike, but I dreaded what I would
find this time. Not one of the many complicated combinations I'd considered
was remotely close to the truth of the matter that would too swiftly be
placed before me.

Big Mike was a rock of stability but the phone call came from a shaken
man. It seemed to me, it was as if he were hanging on the edge and could
easily plunge into the abyss at any second. That's what was so
unnerving. He was the most in control person I knew. I replayed the voice
in my brain over and over again as I drove. There was a distinct
nervousness in the sound, and I detected a quivering quality that might or
might not have been there. He spoke haltingly in what seemed to be an
attempt to maintain what little bit of control he had left?

That made sense and it would also explain why the call was so short. He
couldn't talk about what was wrong, but why? Why would he be so close to
losing it? Having a lot of time to think and very little information wasn't
a healthy combination for me. I kept running the call and all the
possibilities through my brain over and over. The one thing I knew was,
this was as far out of character as Big Mike had ever been and it made for
one apprehensive friend.

The scene when I arrived was right out of a bad Stephen King movie. It was
pitch black against the woods where I parked. Every drape in every
apartment was drawn closed with no light escaping to illuminate the
grounds, leaving the area in deep shadow. Big Mike's apartment was easy to
find. It was the end unit in the rear.

The only thing missing was a slight mist or fog and a cold wind suddenly
picking up to blow newspapers and cats about as I came out of the car. What
wasn't missing was someone near the sliding glass doors of Big Mike's
apartment. He was standing in the shadows close to the corner of the
building. The figure didn't move.

I stood there not moving and wondering, what comes next? I searched for
some other sign of life that would make my safety more likely. I was alone
in the back parking lot, except for the shadowy figure that I thought might
be facing me.

Mike's apartment was full of light behind the curtains but there wasn't
enough light escaping to help me put an identity to the immobilized figure
standing too near the sliding glass doors where I would enter. Big Mike
would have come to greet me or at least called to me, and so who was this
standing there and why didn't he move or acknowledge my presence? The
mysterious phone call, the long drive, and now this was more than I needed
for one night. We stared at each other before I decided to lock my car
door. Big help, I thought. If he's a car thief, he can get in and be gone
faster than I can with the key. Why didn't he say something or at least
move?

I felt a chill coming from the thick woods behind me and then I noticed the
slight breeze that blew the front page of the Post across the driveway in
front of me; maybe the fog would come next. I could hear the traffic on BW
Parkway on the other side of the trees a short mile away. I moved across
the parking lot to the sidewalk rather than walking directly to the
apartment and confronting the shadowy figure. We did keep facing one
another, I think. In this way I could glance at him as I walked to see if
he posed any threat.

There was still no movement I could detect. Mike knew my car. I knew,
ordinarily he'd have come over to greet me when he was expecting me. This
just wasn't ordinarily. Who was this guy? I turned to walk toward the
apartment with trepidation, having had too much time to think about why I
was there. There was no avoiding the shadow man showdown. It was past the
time when I needed answers. I'd take my chances.

As uncomfortable as I'd been during my journey that night, nothing could
have prepare me for what was to come. My life was mostly full of routine
because that kept me in control without needing to work at it. The fewer
curves the better it was for me. Routine was key to keeping up my optimum
daily performance level. Routine was about to be turned upside down and
inside out in little more than an instant.

I'd had enough tragedy over the previous four years. My lover left me on
New Years Eve four years earlier, and the following year my girlfriend and
closest confidant was almost killed, ending up permanently injured in a
automobile accident, and my father died a slow death of lung cancer a year
later. Each time I took a life altering hit, routine became key to keeping
my life in order.

During my senior year in high school, one of my childhood friends was
killed in an automobile accident, the only gay guy I had ever known hung
himself, two of my classmates drowned the week of graduation, and my
grandfather died a short time later. Predictability and continuity were
king with me. Consistency was good. I liked my routine. I didn't like
people coming and going from my life, especially when the going was
forever. I didn't like the shadow man or the mystery he stood in front of.

I had a bad feeling that nothing was going to prepare me for what I'd find
out there. No matter what I set up around myself to protect me, it couldn't
possibly change the nature of the call that had brought me there. With just
those few words Mike spoke, in just those couple of seconds it took him to
speak them, I already knew whatever it was, it was bad. Big Mike would
never have called me like that if it weren't something he couldn't handle
alone, and I'd yet to find anything he couldn't deal with on his own. That
meant if the most stable person I knew couldn't deal with it, how would I
handle it?

As I closed the distance to the shadowy figure, I reasoned he was about Big
Mike's size. I could tell by the shoulder slump that his hands were jammed
down into his pants pockets, which made him look less threatening. It was a
cold night, probably in the thirties by now, but I could see he wore no
coat. Why hadn't he spoken or come out to meet me? Why stand out in
freezing temperatures in bare feet and an insubstantial cotton shirt? What
was it all about?  "Rick," he said, grabbing me and hugging me like he was
a drowning man in an angry sea.

His voice was weak and straining when he said my name. I could feel him
shaking as he held on to me as though I was the only thing keeping him from
falling off the face of the earth. I think there was a sob as we stood
there holding on to one another. My heart sunk and I didn't want to know
what it was that could have driven him so low. I longed for the strength of
the man I knew to help me keep control of myself.

"Kevin!"

The word spoken as though it was the entire explanation, a name spoken as
though it were a volume in and of itself. There was desperation to the way
we held one another. My mind shut down and I waited for an eternity for him
to continue. There would be a lot of waiting that night.

"Kevin is dead."

He whispered in my ear softly, like he didn't want to say the words loud
enough for his own ears to pick up.

Kevin and Big Mike had been together for five years. Mike brought him to my
apartment the first night they met. He wanted to talk to me about it and
get my advice on a delicate situation. Kevin was under age. He had run away
-from a foster home after being placed there by the courts because he was
out of control at home. Big Mike wanted to take him back to the foster
home, be his friend, and help him in general so he didn't get in any more
trouble. It was the kind of thing Big Mike did.

I could easily remember the first time I saw him because Kevin was such a
presence even at sixteen. It was easy to see how Big Mike became involved
with him. As I remember that first night, Kevin became incredibly agitated
each time the subject of him returning to foster care came up. Mike would
either take him in or take him to the Interstate.

The trouble with Kevin was, he was gloriously handsome with auburn hair and
green penetrating eyes. He had Howdy Dowdy freckles and narrow shoulders
hung above a tiny waist. He was over six feet tall but he had a thin
build. He didn't look like much at first glance but he wasn't small at
all. When you studied him, and everyone eventually did, he was perfectly
proportioned with incredibly well defined muscles you could only see when
he was dressed down. Kevin stood straight as an arrow and walked like a
man. He wasn't someone you could ignore if you became aware of his
presence. When he said he wasn't going back, you could believe that's what
he intended.

We never did get the entire story out of him, or if we did I no longer
remember the details, but something had happened to him at the foster home,
and he'd left and no amount of talking was going to get him to go back. It
seemed logical that we could reason with him later, but letting him stay
that first night meant he couldn't return without being faced with more
trouble.

The decision was made for them to stay the night at my apartment so we
could sleep on it. Our thinking was that maybe we could talk some sense
into him the next morning. Of course, we didn't know Kevin then. His idea
of good sense had nothing in common with our idea of good sense. Each time
the subject of returning him to foster care came up, he'd say, "Take me to
the highway."

I don't know what Kevin had done to get himself thrown out of his house but
we spent a lot of time with him over the next few days, and except for
being disagreeable about returning to the foster home, he was otherwise a
perfect gentlemen. I do recall that he made every effort to eat me out of
house and home. We were constantly getting groceries in a futile effort to
keep him full.

If he was psychotic, neurotic, or if he had some invisible neurosis or
psychosis, or if he simply had a problem with authority, we never saw
it. After being around him a day, we stopped looking if the truth be
known. We simply had a good time and Kevin fit right in with the things we
normally did. He was a happy go lucky sixteen-year-old with a sense of
humor that was disarming.

When Big Mike was around, Kevin was glued to him, although he kept his
distance from me the first few days. They developed a bond you couldn't
miss. Big Mike was someone Kevin came to trust. It's not the kind of thing
you can try to develop with someone. I knew to violate that trust would
have done more harm to him than we were doing by offering him sanctuary
from whatever demons, imagined or real, were chasing him. Kevin was a boy
that obviously needed someone to care about him, and Big Mike did care, and
in turn, Kevin cared about him without conditions.

Big Mike never said he had decided to keep Kevin. He never had to tell
me. I knew after a couple days that Kevin wasn't going anywhere. I could
tell they both furnished the other with something important. The answer had
come with no one needing to ask the question. Some things are just right no
matter how unconventional they seem.

At times Kevin was capable of becoming quite a handful. He wasn't a bad kid
but he was an active one. He had more energy than should be legally
allowed. He was also delightful, funny, and charming when he wanted to
be. He was never purposely difficult and I was in a position to know since
they stayed with me for several weeks, and over the course of several
years, when we weren't living together, we lived near one another as Big
Mike and I often since we'd met.

If Kevin was handsome at sixteen, he got even more so as he matured. He was
one of the most stunning people I've ever encountered. When we were out in
public, you could see the heads turn when we passed. I always enjoyed being
around him if only because he was someone nice to look at. He was stunning
when he was at his best and too attractive for words at all other
times. Kevin seemed bold as brass at times but at the same time there was a
naivete to him that added to his charm. He feared nothing and had an
insatiable curiosity which led to him getting in over his head at times,
but he never again got into any real trouble that I know of.

I don't know that the trouble that led him to foster care and subsequently
to Big Mike was his trouble or someone else's. Except for that youthful
energy, there was seldom anything unpleasant or disagreeable that came out
of him. I would imagine this had to be one of the more successful rescues
of a teenager in trouble in this age of social services and government
intervention.

For me, thinking of Kevin being dead was an obscenity. He had only just
begun to live. He had incredible potential but now it was over; his
indomitable energy terminated; his wit and charm silenced; his curiosity
stilled, and his beauty left to wane and wither. I did not want to be a
believer. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps he was still out there
somewhere.

Mike fought back a sob as he held me away from him by my shoulders so he
could look at me as he repeated, almost like he was trying out the words,
"Kevin is dead."

He apologized quietly in my ear as the words forced us to hug each other
again. When he realized he was upsetting me, he made every effort to regain
his composure. He said he was sorry twice while the reality of it hung over
me like some dark apparition as I considered the emptiness in the very thin
air around us. The chill turned to ice and the night was suddenly hollow
and bleak.

Mike was speaking to me about Kevin but his words were only spurs used to
dig the truth into me. I was no longer completely there; hanging on some
fragile ledge of life that seemed to be trembling under me. Consciously
nothing Mike said registered. I saw his lips moving and heard him speaking
to me, but I didn't understand anything he said. My mind did a rapid
chronology of all the times I could remember seeing Kevin. It seemed
important for me to picture him to be sure he once existed. Perhaps if the
pictures became vivid enough, he'd appear to let us know he was okay and
how the nonsense about his death was some big misunderstanding.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have anyone else to call that would understand," Mike
said, sliding the glass door to one side, which brought my mind partially
back to that place and time.

Big Mike stood back for me to enter first, his dark glassy eyes shinned in
the light that poured out, causing him to look like a deer caught in the
headlights of an onrushing truck. I forced myself forward, making every
effort to regain control of some part of my mind. The numbness was
pervasive but I made every effort to hide it while trying to reconnect to
some logical behavior.

"What happened?" I asked, knowing twenty-one year olds don't just die.

Standing up straight as though he were gathering in some reserved strength
he'd been saving, his chest heaved once, taking in a large gasp of air as
he made some effort to answer me. His mouth moved as though there was an
imminent reply on the way to address the inquiry I'd made, but instead, he
turned to close the sliding glass door we'd just stepped through.

He became his usual meticulous self, locking the door, setting the bar
carefully on the track before smoothing out the curtains until they hung
straight before turning back to look at me. My mind was still whirling
around what he'd said, and I was unable to focus on anything but the three
words that made me sick. I felt like the deer in the headlights must feel
at the moment of truth. Mike forgot my question and did not go back to
it. I didn't want to ask again. I knew the answers would come in time and I
wasn't really sure I wanted to know, or what it would change when I did
know.

He pulled out a chair from the table so I could sit across from where he
sat. His eyes were hollow and his face lined with ten years aging since I'd
seen him last, only a few weeks ago. I wondered if all of it came on him
that afternoon. He looked tired and empty. I could hardly hold back the
tears for him, but to cry would mean I believed him and I wasn't ready to
be a believer yet. Maybe there was still a chance I could wake up. I didn't
want to know any more. It was all too painful to believe.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get you something to drink," he said, jumping up to
fix something for both of us.

His motions seemed to be without purpose as he pulled out the ice trays,
banging the ice into two glasses before he turned to look around the
apartment with one long sweeping glance before his eyes settled on me. It
was as though he'd just noticed I'd arrived and he wasn't sure why I was
there. The blank stare gave him away before he looked to see what he was
doing. He leaned on the sink, letting his head drop down below his
shoulders with an exhaustion that suddenly seemed to come on him.

"What was I doing?" he asked me, after a long time, seeming distant and
confused.

"Drinks," I said.

"You want a beer?" he asked. "I know you don't drink liquor. I don't know
why I'm getting ice. Did you want ice?"

"Yeah, beer would be fine," I said, hurting for him as he took two
Budweiser from the refrigerator and brought them to the table.

"Remember that first night I met him?"

"Sure," I said. "How could I forget the first time I saw him."

"How long ago was it?"

"Exactly Five years, Mike. What happened to Kevin?" I said, finally needing
the answer to the final question.

Big Mike sipped from his beer and looked around the room. His eyes settled
on Kevin's bed up under the staircase. They hadn't slept together in some
time because Kevin turned and twisted so much at night. They had bought the
bed to put downstairs for Kevin to sleep in whenever he decided it was
something he needed to do, which was seldom. He would start the night out
upstairs and end up downstairs.

There had always been a restless nature to Kevin. He only needed a few
hours sleep a night. He mostly went to bed because people expected it. He
preferred to read and listen to music while everyone else was down for the
count. Had he known there wasn't much time? Was he getting all he could out
of twenty-one too short years?

"I need a cup of coffee. You want some coffee?" Mike said, setting down the
almost full beer.

"Sure, Mike," I said, feeling helpless.

He pushed his beer aside and went back to the sink, dumping out the ice
cubes before filling up the same tired green percolator he'd been using
since I'd known him. He scooped two huge scoops of coffee into the basket
and stopped, staring into the sink for a time. He scooped two more large
scoops into the basket, bringing the pot to the table and plugged it in.

"A few days ago I had a nightmare,"

He went to the cabinet to get out cups and he brought back the sugar and
milk, collecting some spoons on the way. The percolator belched out its
rhythm as the aroma of the coffee strengthened in the room. He sat back
down and watched his hands as he spoke to them.

"I woke up in a cold sweat a couple of nights ago. Kevin was calling my
name and I couldn't find him. I didn't know where he was but he kept
calling to me, "Mike, help me." When I found him I knew he was dead but I
couldn't see his face. I don't know how I knew he was dead, I just did. I
was so scared by the dream that it woke me up and I ran downstairs
shaking. I had to look for him. There he was fast asleep. I was
hysterical. It scared me so bad, Rick. It seemed so real. I grabbed him and
hugged him and I held him tight enough to wake him up. You know how deep he
sleeps when he finally does go to sleep.

"He asked me what was wrong. He could see how upset I was. I think I was
crying the dream was so real. I told him I had a bad dream and it scared me
and I just needed to hold him close for awhile. He didn't ask any more
questions and he went back to sleep in my arms. I went back to bed after I
calmed down, being grateful that he was okay.

"Last night... I had that same dream. He kept calling to me, "Mike, help
me" but I couldn't find him. When I found him he was dead. I still couldn't
make out his face I could never see his face. I just knew it was him and I
knew he was dead without checking. I came down stairs and found Kevin in
his bed as before, only this time I knew it was a dream and I knew he would
be there when I got to the bottom of the steps. I stood and looked at him
for awhile, thinking how lucky I was to have him in my life.

"I was grateful I had him and now he's gone. I didn't know what it meant. I
just thought... anyway, I went back to bed. This morning I got up and went
to work, I didn't even notice him except I knew Kevin was sleeping there in
his bed.

"I came home from work this afternoon, leaving there about four which is
important for the police. Two plainclothes police officers were parked in a
car near where you parked. I noticed them but didn't pay any
attention. They watched as I came into the apartment. Five minutes later
they knocked. I opened the door and the only thing unusual was the P-coat
one of them held out toward me. It looked like any P-coat. You can't tell
them apart without looking closely.

"He said my name and then asked if that's who I was. I told him, yes. He
held out the P-coat. He said I should look at it. I did. It was my P-coat,
but I thought it was in the downstairs closet, so I went and looked, but it
wasn't there. Then I thought to look at the nametag on the inside of the
lapel and my name was written on it. I told them, yes, it is mine. They
said they knew it was because of the nametag. That's how they identified
me, found me. Looked me up in the Riverdale section of the Prince George's
phone book. Topflight police work don't you know. They're probably
sergeants or something by now.

"I didn't know what they were doing with my coat. I tried to figure out
where I might have left it, and then I realized these were two Prince
George's County cops standing in my doorway, and they don't do delivery
service on lost and found. A simple phone call would suffice."

Mike's words were evenly paced. He seemed to be recounting from memory each
detail of the story as he was telling it to me. There was no emotion and it
was as though he was merely recalling a series of facts for me as though
they were of no more importance than giving directions to the
Interstate. He waited for the coffee to finish perking as though he could
hold off the ending of the story if he just avoided saying any more
words. He carefully added milk and sugar to my coffee as he'd done for me a
thousand times before. He sipped from his cup and looked toward the door as
though he'd find the rest of the story there. He seemed to be in a trance,
no longer aware of my presence. Then, the story continued.

"Do you know a Kevin Browning, the big cop asked me? Yes, I said, only
realizing then that Kevin would have had the coat. Then, I thought, what
would they be doing with it if Kevin had worn it out that day? I told them
Kevin lives here. He's my roommate. He asked me if Kevin would have cause
to be wearing this coat, and he took the coat from me while we talked about
it. I told him that it was in the closet and Kevin had access to it and
could wear it any time he wanted, including today.

"They both stared at me, I suppose they were waiting for me to ask the
twenty-four dollar question. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe I was
afraid to ask. I don't know. Then I did ask, is Kevin okay? Had he gotten
into some kind of trouble? Did he have an accident or something? I still
couldn't figure out what they were doing there with my coat. It made no
sense at all to me. I was scared by then and didn't want it to make sense,
I guess. Why wouldn't they just come out and tell me what their purpose
was?  What did any of it have to do with me? It was totally unclear what
they wanted from me and they stared at me, just stared like I should read
their minds or something."

Big Mike took a long sip from his cup, holding it with both hands as though
it was warming him on a freezing night. He took a couple of deep breaths
before looking at me across the top of the cup, making eye contact for the
first time. My coffee was still too hot to drink. He spoke even more slowly
as he continued. I had to lean forward to hear all the words. There was a
weakness as he looked for the strength to get it out. His eyes focused on
the spot where he learned the news of Kevin's death.

"At two thirty seven this afternoon Kevin Browning's body was found on a
path in a wooded area near the old Glendale hospital. The shots were heard
and reported about two fifteen, give or take five minutes or so and two
Prince George's County police cars responded. This coat was found on his
body. We traced it to you. I need to know where you were between one and
three o'clock this afternoon?" he said, like it didn't mean anything at all
for me to hear it like that. I told them I was at work. They said it could
easily be checked. I gave them the home phone number of the man I was
working with, figuring they already knew my work number.

"They said they would call him. I asked if I could have my coat. They said
I could not. It was evidence in a murder investigation now. They asked me
would I take a lie detector test. I said that I would do anything they
wanted if it would help. I followed them to the police station where they
questioned me further, checking out my alibi while they kept me there. I
was told not to leave the area and they would be in touch with me as the
investigation was conducted. I came home and called you. I didn't know who
else to call."

"I'm sorry, Mike. But I'm glad you did call me. I can't believe Kevin is
dead. He was so alive. Who would kill him? He didn't have any enemies. I
don't know anyone that disliked him," I said, searching my mind for an
answer that might ease the pain.

"I don't know who did it but I intend to find out. When I do, they'll wish
I hadn't," he said slowly and calmly with a resolve in his voice that was
unmistakable.

Chapter 2
Just The Facts

"I don't think you should be here alone. Why don't I stay as long as you
need me," I said.

"Thanks, Rick. I didn't know how to ask you. I should have known you'd know
what I needed. I don't think I can be alone right now. Everything is so
damn confusing. Why is this happening? Kevin never hurt anyone. He was so
beautiful. Who'd want to hurt him? I saw it coming and didn't have enough
sense to warn him to be careful."

"The world is a cruel place, Mike. You can't protect anyone all the
time. Sooner or later you run into evil and that's what happened to
Kevin. That's all."

We were all friends and ran with a group of people that was constantly in
the process of change. Some people would come into the group and some
people would leave, but Big Mike, Kevin, and I had been at the center since
Kevin came on the scene. There were a few people that never completely
disappeared and on big party nights they would show up and than go back to
whatever it was they were doing the rest of the time. Big Mike was the kind
of guy that anchored everyone. Just knowing he was there was a comfort of
sorts. He had a real feeling for family and friends. It was a quality that
I always admired since I had none of that.

While our friendship was always in place, even Big Mike and I didn't see as
much of each other as we once did, but we lived in different areas now. My
father had died the year before and I moved in with my mother so she
wouldn't be in the house alone. I didn't give up my life or my friends for
her but at least there was a warm body in my mother's home some of the
time. This had changed the orbit of my life somewhat and that's why I
wasn't seeing my oldest friends as often. There simply wasn't enough time
in a day.

He sat speechless and the entire night was spent in the difficult silence
of despair interrupted by reminiscences about Kevin. We sat in the shadow
cast upon the table by the staircase that was in-between the light in the
kitchen and us, after all the other lights were turned off. There was no
thought of sleep or fatigue, only the weight of our loss could be felt and
that weight canceled out time and space. The silence became eerie and the
apartment seemed oddly out of balance with the universe.

The dawn was slow to light the room. I don't know where the night
went. Perhaps it was mercifully shortened. There was nothing to do and no
where to go as we listened to the car doors and the occasional conversation
as people went off to work. It was like things were suspended inside the
apartment walls. Natural laws and the mundane didn't apply to us that
morning. Kevin's death had canceled all of those things without our knowing
it. In keeping with that mood I canceled work.

I thought enough of Kevin, more precisely Big Mike, to get him a job at the
construction company where I was working. While he was his usual light
hearted and carefree self when he worked there, he made me
uncomfortable. There was something about mixing friendship with work that
made me uncomfortable. Kevin worked for my boss, as did another friend,
Mike Wallace, he was glad to have them during our busy season.

They were adequate in their work but Kevin always made me uneasy. I knew he
was capable of doing things innocently that would raise the ire of most of
my superiors, but luckily not our boss, Mike Rawlins. Mike and I had gone
to high school together, though we hardly knew one another. He was cool and
I always knew what was going on. Mike appreciate both Kevin and Mike
Wallace, so it worked okay for the months they were needed. I must admit I
was relieved when they were gone.

When I called work that morning, I dialed right into Mike Rawlin's line. He
recognized my voice immediately. He sensed there was something wrong by the
sound in my voice and the fact I was always there and always on time for
work. Only I wasn't there, I was on the phone.

"What's wrong, Rick."

"You remember Kevin Browning?"

"Sure! Good worker. Does he need a job? You know it's okay by me."

"He's dead, Mike."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone as I knew he was
measuring my words. He was waiting for me to say more, and I waited for him
to respond.

"I can't come in. I'm with some friends of Kevin's and we've been up all
night. We're still in shock."

"What happened?"

"He was murdered yesterday afternoon. Shot. That's all we know. We're
waiting for more news now."

"Oh my god," Mike Rawlins said, still adjusting to my words, "Who would do
such a thing. He was such a good kid. Do you know who did it?"

"No! We don't know anything but what I told you. We will probably find out
more today when we talk to the police. I'll let you know if there is any
news. I just can't come in this morning. We're pretty upset."

"Don't worry about it. I'll cover for you. Let me know when you find
something out. I'll just put you on vacation until you say you're coming
back."

"Thanks. I'll let you know what we find out."

Mike Rawlins was a good boss. I liked him as a person because he was a good
guy. He always cut me more slack than I'd had on the job before. He never
failed to be there when there was any reasonable request. I doubted if
anyone would realize I wasn't there if they didn't need me for something
special. I spent most of my time out of the shop and my boss was the only
person I answered to and he didn't let anyone mess with me because he knew
he could depend on me.

I confess that I didn't fully understand the activities that followed my
phone call to work. I assumed my inability to rationalize what was taking
place was part of my state of confusion and shock. The rational of Big
Mike's activities never made sense to me then, and don't really make a lot
of sense now. Why he was doing what he was doing baffled me, but in my
respect for him I remained silent. I listened to a series of phone calls
without commenting. Did he know what he was doing? He dialed each number
from memory and I recognized some of the names as he talked.

I had no idea how close the murderer was. It was inconceivable that I knew
anyone capable of snuffing out Kevin's life. As I listened to the phone
calls, I started to hope the murderer was long gone, but I now realize that
I am lucky to be alive. Kevin's murderer was so close that it was hard for
me to believe it could be true when his identity was revealed to us. It was
then that the waste took on an even more senseless quality. The unthinkable
became reality we were forced to accept.

Big Mike's first call went to Rose. She and Fred were once neighbors and
later friends, but Big Mike befriended everyone in need or that just
happened to wander into range. Rose was alone with Fred and Fred was at the
age he could be a handful when he wasn't being too charming for words. Big
Mike helped to ease the strain on Rose and they were close from that time
forward. Kevin and Fred got along well, so it worked out great.

The conversation started with a slow build up to Kevin's death. I could
tell Rose took it hard because Kevin was like another son to her. Big Mike
tried to console her as best he could, but it was still difficult for him
to maintain any poise when he was saying the words. He then told her, he
would find out who killed Kevin and that person would not live for long
after that.

I knew Big Mike was Sicilian Italian and I knew the strength of family in
his life. I knew he loved Kevin and that made him family. It was one of the
things I admired about him, but I was questioning the logic of the
statement he made. I also thought it was strongly possible the police were
listening as well. When I mentioned this to him in-between calls, he knew
that truth as well as I, he said. It didn't concern him because he had
nothing to hide. He went from one call to the next, leaving little time for
us to talk about his words. After telling of Kevin's death, it was always
the threat that followed. Each call until he called his own mother ended
with his pronouncement that Kevin's murderer would die at his hands as soon
as possible.

He was far gentler with his mother. He first prepared her and then gave her
the news. His mother had known Kevin since our first visit to Tom's River
five years before. Kevin was part of the family by this time, and all of
Big Mike's brothers and other relatives would call during that longest
day. They each wanted to express their feelings of lose and their shock at
the terrible news. The entire day was spent with the phone and the coffee
and then the terrible silence. I never saw Big Mike lose control again. He
was on a mission now. His life had a new purpose and only one. I could see
a plan, but I didn't know what that plan was.

"You might want to go, Rick," he would tell me late in the day. "I'm glad
you stayed last night. I couldn't have made it through without you, but
I'll be okay now."

"Why would I go. You asked me to come. I plan to stay with you until there
is some resolution, Mike. I'm not going anywhere."

"It might be dangerous here now," he said, knowing I had sat listening to
each call.

"I'm not sure I follow you," I said, wanting to know his thoughts.  It was
during this exchange that the two policemen showed up at the door. I would
learn that they were the same ones that brought the news of Kevin's death
the day before. I listened intently to their conversation when it was loud
enough for me to hear the words.

"We've confirmed your alibi. That is not to say it removes you completely
from suspicion. We know you weren't the triggerman. We wanted to come by to
advise you and thank you for your co-operation. We often find the closest
person to the victim is the perp and that's as far as we need look."

They didn't seem to want to come in and Big Mike didn't invite them. They
inquired as to my identity and Big Mike said we were old friends. I was
asked about my whereabouts from the afternoon before. I told them I was at
work and told them where I worked and that Mike Rawlins could verify my
location at any given time during the day. They seemed unimpressed as they
wrote down his name and number before turning their attention back to Big
Mike.

"We know he was killed by someone he knew. Maybe even trusted."

Big Mike didn't seem at all surprised. He listened as the officer said they
were working on several clues, and had some evidence from the scene that
they were processing but they wouldn't discuss it. Big Mike asked about the
circumstances of the shooting. The two officers looked at each other, both
nodding at the same time. The big cop turned back to Big Mike.

"He was led into or walked into the woods. He was directly in front of his
killer a few feet when the first shot was fired directly into his back. The
scene would tend to indicate he didn't feel threatened at the time of the
first shot. . Because of the large caliber of the weapon it knocked him
right off his feet. After being shot once in the back, he fell face down,
another indication he didn't know what hit him. He was then shot in the
back of the head and left for dead. It's how we both see it. The shooter
didn't have the balls to look him in the eye when he killed him, and we
don't think Kevin had any idea it was coming. The two shots were spaced a
matter of a few seconds apart according to several groups of people that
heard and reported them.

"He was found a short ways from the Outlaw's Glendale branch hangout. Local
motorcycle gang if you aren't familiar with P.G. County's underbelly. We
need to know if he knew any of the Outlaws or if he was involved with drugs
in any way that might have him going to their clubhouse?"

"No! Absolutely Not! Kevin was a good kid, officer. Strictly a Budweiser
man all the way. He may have taken a few puffs from a funny cigarette a few
times, but he didn't need drugs and I don't know of him taking any or
acting like he might be taking any. He didn't run with anyone like that. I
found something missing from the apartment. Should I discuss this with you
or someone in robbery," Mike added.

"Could it have a bearing on his murder?"

"Yes, I believe it could."

"You tell us. What's missing."

"It is an antique book that was left in my safe keeping by a friend. It was
dated from the mid-nineteenth century, 1855 or 1858 as I recall. Someone
uneducated might believe it to be of considerable value."

"What was its value?"

"I have no idea. Like I said, it was left with me for safe keeping by a
friend. He indicated it was virtually worthless without a companion book,
and the companion book was of great value and the two together would have
been even more valuable to a collector. I believe he wanted to keep anyone
from knowing he had this book until he could obtain its companion."

"Anything else."

"Yes! Not stolen, but the phone book was in the middle of the kitchen
table. It is how I knew to look for the book. The phone book was turned to
antique book dealers. There were notes in Kevin's handwriting on the
borders. I searched for the book but it's not here. It was here under my
bed the last time I saw it."

"The book is now missing, and Kevin is dead. Can I see the phone book? Did
you touch it? We might be able to get prints off it. There is a chance the
killer was here with him when he made those phone calls," the big policeman
said.

"Sure!" Mike retrieved the phone book with a bookmark where the notes
appeared. "I didn't touch the pages. I just put the marker in and closed it
when I found the book was missing. I thought it was information you'd like
to have," Big Mike said.

"Is it your contention that Kevin was trying to sell the book in question?"

"No! I think he was pricing the book. He was curious about it from the time
John left it here. I don't believe he would have sold it, but I think he
wanted to know the value."

"Does Kevin have anyway to get where he could price the book? Would he have
bused or taken a cab down to these book dealers."

"No! Kevin wanted to know but not bad enough to go through a lot of
trouble. He'd look for someone to give him a ride. He wouldn't have carried
it on the bus, not Kevin. It was a big bulky thing."

"You don't know the value of the book?" the little policeman said.

"I have no idea."

"You could identify this particular book if we found it?"

"I'm sure I would know it if I saw it again. It was red, gold writing on
the cover and maybe four or five inches thick. It's a big old book with a
lot of prints in it."

"Thanks. This could be important. We figure out who he called for that
ride, and we probably have the killer and the killer probably has the book,
and that could be important in getting a conviction."

They left and Big Mike closed the sliding door after watching them walk
away. It was the first news I heard about the book. The phone book was on
the credenza near the door when I arrived. Big Mike fixed us some grilled
cheese sandwiches and soup. He didn't speak and was obviously lost in deep
thought. We ate and I washed the dishes while he was in the shower. He made
more phone calls and received some. He put down the phone to answer the
door.

"High Mike. I heard about Kevin. Man, what a bummer."

I knew the voice immediately. It was Mike Wallace. He hugged Big Mike as he
entered the room and seemed surprise that I was there. We knew each other
well but there was an uneasiness, nervousness, when he saw me. Perhaps it
was Kevin's death that had us all on edge. He smiled and offered his
hand. When I stood up to take it, he hugged me instead; saying how terrible
the news was about Kevin.

His eyes were misty as he stepped back saying, "I heard you intend to do
the killer, Big Mike."

"Who told you that?" Big Mike asked, as though someone had said he might be
interested in going up to the mall.

"Word gets around," Wallace said. "I brought you something just in case."

Mike Wallace removed what he called, protection, from the pocket of his
black trench coat, laying thirty-eight policemen's special in the middle of
the table. "You might need this if the killer decides to get you
first. It's one of my dad's old guns. Easy to use. Point and squeeze. Don't
jerk it when you pull the trigger and you'll hit what you point it at."

This had become an odd conversation to me. Talk of doing and getting done
was foreign to my world. Friends lived together they didn't die together or
for one another. It was like we were playing out a scene from the old west
as seen through the eyes of a Hollywood type director. Wallace had always
been a strange bird. At first he had seemed friendly, even loveable, but
he'd become increasingly distant over time. Now, he was downright off the
wall as far as I was concerned, like with supplying guns so Big Mike could
become a killer. My idea would be to keep guns out of his hands.

I didn't like the conversation or Mike Wallace's gun, but it was only going
to get worse. He excused himself to go to his car, returning this time with
a twelve-gauge shotgun in a leather case. He removed the rifle, leaning it
with pride next to the credenza. It shined like a newly polished car. Its
present there had yet to be explained. I became increasingly uneasy.

Strangely, Big Mike raised no objection at all to the guns being in his
apartment. I knew him to be totally nonviolent, but I also believed this
situation made all the difference to him. There was no doubt he had every
intention of killing Kevin's killer, now the tools of murder had been
provided to him. The guns may have been something he figured he needed to
do the job that he needed to do.

"Keep the shotgun upstairs," Mike Wallace instructed. "That will give you
an advantage should someone try to come in during the night. They'd come at
night. I'd keep the 38 on me if I were you, Big Mike. If the killer knows
you are gunning for him, well, I think he might do something about it
before you can get ready. I know you and I know you intend to kill him. I
believe that. These will make it easier. You'll be ready for him if he
shows up here."

"I'm ready. Don't you doubt that," Big Mike said in a low and surly tone.

Mike Wallace was a friend but one that came and went from our click. Yet he
knew what I knew. He knew Big Mike was planning on doing exactly what it
was he said he would do.

"If you want, I'll stay on with you. I can be your protection. I know guns
aren't your thing."

"Yeah! Wallace," Big Mike said softly, "That would be real nice of
you. Thanks. You stay with us. I appreciate the help."

"Us. You mean Rick is staying."

"Yeah! I can't get rid of him. No, he's helped me through this. He was the
first person I thought of calling. I knew he would come. I'm glad he's
here. You know how I am with guns though. Wouldn't want to hit any innocent
by-standers. You're probably right, I have talked too much. My anger has
overridden my brain in this thing. I guess if we do know the killer, he
might make a move before I know who it is. If the killer knows me, he'll
know I'll drop him in a heartbeat if I ever get that chance. If I know him,
I suspect he's heard I'm after him by now. You bringing the guns is good. I
feel safer already."

Mike spoke like he was talking about going grocery shopping. There was no
emotion in the matter of fact words. It was not something I wanted to think
about. It was the first time I thought we could be in danger, and I
remembered his words during each phone call. He was calling the killer
out. He wanted a show down. He thought the police were right. He thought
Kevin knew the killer, and if Kevin knew the killer than Big Mike did. I
was suddenly glad that Wallace and his armory had arrived. I wasn't
intending to leave until there was a resolution, but I was hoping there
could be a resolution before there was a revolution.

Mike Wallace took the shotgun and placed it upstairs against the high
railing that acted as a divider to hide the loft from view in the open
apartment. He removed a box of shells from one of his trench coat pockets
and placed them on the railing above the gun. When he came back down, he
placed a number of 38 cartridges he took from the other pocket in the
ashtray in the center of the table next to the thirty-eight policemen's
special. He had four shotgun shells in his hand and he placed them beside
the ashtray. Preparations for war, I thought. I had a hard time believing
it would come to that. I preferred to think the police could handle it. I
hoped they could anyway. For Big Mike's sake, I hoped they got to the guy
first. I had no desire to lose another friend.
 
It was about six that a friend called me. He lived in Baltimore and got the
number from my mother. Carl was not a close friend and he didn't know Kevin
at all but he insisted on coming down to act as moral support. He was a
good guy.

"The more the merrier," Big Mike said.

I told Carl that I couldn't come to get him. I didn't want to leave Big
Mike. Wallace said he was going to be there. Carl said he would come to us
and Big Mike took the phone to give him directions. He asked only I return
him to Baltimore when it was all over. The more the merrier was becoming a
lot of warm bodies in a space intended for one or two. Our army grew to
four and we waited.

If nothing else Carl lightened the mood. He didn't know Kevin and brought
none of the weight the three of us carried. Carl was a jokester and took
nothing too seriously. He immediately managed to aggravate Wallace causing
him to leave abruptly saying, there were enough of us to protect Big Mike
without him hanging around. Like I said a strange bird.

Carl was more than willing and even eager to get his hands on the guns. I
wasn't sure I wanted to be anywhere around where he could get his hands on
guns. He wasn't the maturest person I'd ever known and the thought this was
some kind of an adventure we could all have together wasn't the way I saw
it. Big Mike was smart enough to put the guns out of reach, hiding the
thirty-eight when Carl was in the bathroom. Out of sight and out of mine
was fine with me. They were still in the house however.

The following morning the police called with news. They not only had a
suspect but they thought they had found a witness that could place the
suspect with Kevin an hour before Kevin was killed. Big Mike was trying to
get more information by asking what on the surface sounded like innocuous
questions, but it was obvious by the quick responses he was getting that
they just weren't giving him anything more.

The officer said he would keep Big Mike appraised. Mike relayed the
information to me. He seemed happy about this news, and yet an uneasy
silence came between the two of us. I think we shared a mutual thought that
we soon might know the identity of the killer and it would be a name we
would both recognize. This would start another tragic chapter before the
first one had ended. It was something I wasn't looking forward to. There
were people that Big Mike and Kevin knew that I didn't know well or not at
all. I hoped it would be a name I wasn't familiar with. I was becoming
selfish as time went on. I didn't want any more pain.

There was no talk or speculation as Carl slept well into the third
day. There was no one we knew that we wanted to paint with that particular
brush at the moment. No matter who it might be it would come as another
blow for our circle of friends to endure. Big Mike said nothing about what
he was thinking on this. We had toast and coffee and he read the Post
before taking a half dozen phone calls, one right after the other.

Mike Wallace came by again during these calls. Carl was upstairs in the
extra bed and peered over the railing while standing right next to where
the shotgun was propped against the railing. Wallace kept glancing up at
him as though his presence made him uncomfortable. He paced and asked where
we would be and where we were going and how long Big Mike had been on the
phone.

Big Mike mostly stayed on the phone except for time to say hello to
Wallace, and I told him I didn't know if we were going anywhere. He once
more left in what seemed like a more agitated mood than when he took off
the night before. He cast an unpleasant glance over his shoulder at Carl as
he went out through the curtain, and Carl stuck his tongue out after
watching his every move.

He had seemed disheveled, his mousy brown hair was uncombed and greasy
looking, and he was wearing the very same clothes as though he might have
slept in them or not slept at all since the evening before. I wasn't sure
if it was that he hadn't slept or if he was doing drugs, but his actions
seemed even more strange than usual. I knew he and Kevin had been friends
of sorts but I didn't think they were all that close to have him in such a
state. He was young so I thought that perhaps the reality of Kevin's death
was only then sinking in. Big Mike had ignored his presence for the most
part and then he was gone again.

The night before I had written off his behavior as grief and feeling he
wasn't needed once Carl showed up. Today it was just bad manners and poor
hygiene. Big Mike never had a chance to carry on a conversation with him,
so whatever was on his mind would remain a mystery until he showed up
again, and I had no doubt he would be back. There was more talk of finding
the killer and putting him out of our misery. Big Mike never mentioned
Wallace once he finished taking calls.

Rose called and was concerned for Big Mike. He spent some time reassuring
her he would be fine. Fred wanted to come over to add to the confusion but
Big Mike finally put his foot down, saying it wasn't a good idea. She then
insisted on sending food over so that she could be sure he was getting
something to eat. He accepted her offer, thinking it would keep her
busy. Little did he know Rose had already organized friends and neighbors
in a food brigade that would fill the apartment with enough cover dish
meals to last until Spring. Big Mike's grief had seemingly subsided
somewhat, but it was etched into the lines of his face in an unmistakable
way, and he would carry his lose for the rest of his life, always being
visible in the loneliness you would find in his dark eyes.

The one name that was mentioned to Rose was John Gorely, owner of the now
infamous book, or caretaker if not owner. Big Mike wasn't sure to whom the
book really belonged. John had the charm of a cobra. He was quick,
intelligent, and would drop a dime on his mother for a buck or two. I had
known, but not seen him since the year I met Big Mike. It seemed like a
lifetime ago now, but I knew John played both ends against the
middle. There was little or nothing he wouldn't do but why the book? It was
his book. Why kill Kevin over something he could take by asking?

It didn't make any sense but none of it did. We talked about John, but I
could tell Big Mike didn't think he killed Kevin. In spite of John's
shortcomings I had always been fond of him. Big Mike cared for him but no
longer trusted him. I doubt he ever would again now that the book John
brought to their house might have played a role in Kevin's death.

It was getting toward evening when the police made yet another visit to the
apartment. The big police officer carried a thick red volume under his arm
that got Big Mike's attention immediately. He stepped through the sliding
glass doors this time, seeming to be there to stay. He put the book on the
credenza for Big Mike's inspection. It was the missing book. Big Mike
stared at it for the longest time. I have no idea what he was thinking. His
eyes filled up but he didn't cry. It was a link back to Kevin when he was
last alive, and perhaps the reason he was dead. There was a long silence
after he verified that it was, without question, the missing book.

The big officer stood with his hands clasped in front of him as his partner
stood just outside the door, with one foot inside the apartment and one
foot on the outside. It was obvious he wanted to talk this time and Big
Mike pulled a chair to the middle of the room and offered him a cup of
coffee. While preparing it the officer talked to him in soft even tones.

"We executed a search warrant late last night. Do you know a Jimmy Fields?"

"Yes! I do," Mike said, with the first appearance of any surprise and a not
Jimmy in his voice.

"No!" the big officer said anticipating the incorrect conclusion Mike was
jumping to. "Jimmy called us after hearing about the murder on
television. He left a message that he knew Kevin. I returned his call as
soon as I got back to the station. He first told me that he was working at
the BP gas station up on 450 the day Kevin was killed. He saw Kevin in the
car with a boy he knew. When they drove away from the station at one forty
five, they drove toward the beltway and toward Glendale. It is a
fifteen-minute drive from the station to where Kevin's body was found. I
drove it after talking with him.  That is conservative but it gives us a
narrow thirty-minute window we are looking at. The conclusion we've drawn
is that the driver of the car is likely to be the killer.

"Placing him with Kevin that late in the game is pressing pretty close to
the time of death. We couldn't ask for more since the only witness to the
crime is the murderer. We questioned Jimmy again for a time last night and
he gave us the name of someone that would be likely to have the book and
the murder weapon. We did not ask him why he gave us this information but
he sounded sure about it."

"How would Jimmy know that?" Big Mike asked, very concerned.

"Jimmy asked his friend where he went after he left the station.  Jimmy
said he told him he went to his brother's where he spent the night. We
executed a search warrant on the brother's residence with this information
as justification for the warrant. No murder weapon but the book turned up
as Jimmy suspected. We advised the brother of our suspect that the book was
evidence in a murder investigation and if he didn't turn it over pretty
damn quick, we would haul him in on obstruction and as an accessory to
murder after the fact.

"We have no reason to think the brother was involved at this point, and he
couldn't wait for us to take the book out of his apartment. He told us that
his brother had come to the apartment the night before and brought the book
with him. He told us that he knew his brother carried a 357 magnum under
his black trench coat, but he didn't actually see it the night he brought
the book. He also indicated where we could find several other guns that his
brother owned.

"Using this newly developed information, we executed a warrant on the
suspect's residence after watching him for awhile. He was arrested a couple
of hours ago after we staked out the residence. We didn't move on him
sooner because we didn't wanted to wait until he knew we were looking at
him. We weren't sure if the brother would notify him or not, and guys like
this rabbit in a second. We were hoping he'd try to get rid of the murder
weapon, after he found out we were looking at him.

"He didn't give us a problem but he wasn't carrying the gun we are looking
for. I'm not sure if we have a lead on the murder weapon at this point or
not. We didn't give you any of this before because we were in a difficult
situation in this case. While all the evidence points to our man, we didn't
have anything but circumstantial evidence. A smart lawyer would get him a
pass and that's not what we were looking to get, and a smart D.A. wouldn't
file on what we had."

"Who?" Big Mike said, in a voice that wasn't his and after his face turned
red. "What's the name. I want to know his name."

The officer sat silent and studied Big Mike for some time. It was as though
he didn't really want to tell him, but he knew he would find out that day
or the next, when the news broke.

"Mike, you know a Michael Wallace."

There was a uniform gasp in the room. Big Mike and I looked at each other
in disbelief. Carl stood in his underwear looking over the balcony at us,
listening.

"Yes! He was here several times," Big Mike said.

"He was here last night and again this morning. He brought you guns. His
friend Jimmy talked to him after we charged him. He was going to kill you,
Mike. Jimmy said he came over to kill you because he heard you would kill
him if you found out who it was that killed Kevin. He decided he wasn't
going to wait for you to make the first move. When your buddy was here he
was going to take both of you out. Two quick shots after you're asleep and
he would be over the fence and across the freeway, gone in the night.

"We would have been left thinking there was something you and Kevin were
involved in that got you murdered. He would have been as free as a bird but
he didn't figure on his friend busting him. When your third friend showed
up, he started to see how complicated it was getting. Wallace thought he
would just wait and catch you alone. He thought he might call you to meet
him, saying he had information about Kevin's murder so you'd be off
guard. He waits for you to show up at the appointed spot and ambushes you
from a distance and just walks away. He picks a spot that offers him the
most advantage for this kind of thing. He's not the kind of guy that likes
to see his victim's eyes.

"We talked to him for a couple of hours after he left here. He wasn't
giving anything up. He was an arrogant little shit but dumb as a post. We
said, Jimmy saw you with Kevin the day he was murdered. You said you hadn't
seen him in weeks. He saw you half an hour before shots were heard and the
body was found only a few minutes later. We called him a liar and my
partner drops the book down on the table in front of him. We tell him his
brother calls him a liar too and he isn't taking a fall for murder to
protect him.

"Wallace turned green and his eyes got big as saucers. We told him he had
to take a lie detector but he was guilty as sin and we had enough to send
him away for life. He spilled his guts without us saying anything else. We
just let the little shit hang himself. What a pathetic piece of shit.

"We didn't have jack on him, Mike. A lot of circumstantial evidence, but
the D.A. couldn't make a case out of all those loose ends we couldn't tie
up without a confession. No! We would never have gotten the little creep on
the evidence we had. All he had to say was, Kevin gave me the book to hold
for him just before he dropped him up in Glendale. That would have bought
him a pass, but instead he gives us the confession. What a little shit.

"Anyway, I wanted to let you know what happened. I could see you really
cared for Kevin and I'm sorry about what happened to him, but at least we
got his killer before he could do anymore harm. We got him before he got
you. Just watch what you say you are going to do while you're on the phone,
Mike. It's against the law to make threats to kill someone. People could
get the wrong idea if they heard you say such a thing. Don't get yourself
in trouble over that worthless piece of garbage. He isn't worth it. You
should be more careful in the future. Kevin must have been quite a kid for
you to care that much for him."

"Yes, he was," Big Mike said. "Quite a kid."

The police officer stood and extended his hand to Big Mike. Big Mike tried
to smile but it wasn't possible under the circumstances.

"Thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to come by to give me those
details. I know you don't need to do that and I'm grateful."

"No problem," the officer said as he collected the book, "You take care of
yourself, Mike. You too guys, and get those guns out of here before someone
gets hurt," he said before turning his head toward us as he was halfway
through the drapes. "Frankly, if he'd done that to my buddy, I'd have been
gunning for that little creep too. Drop the body and the gun in the bay and
he'd just be another missing person. Don't quote me on that."

...And he was gone.

Chapter 3
Taking Kevin To His Final Rest

"You mean that little shit with the guns killed your friend?" Carl asked.

"Looks like," I said.

"What a jerk," Carl said. "I knew there was something wrong about him."

Rose came by with enough food to feed the starving children of China. Carl
was already talking about going back home. It took all of us two trips to
the car to bring everything inside. She dished each of us out a large
plate, with some still piping hot as she told us when and where the funeral
would be. Rose was a detail person and she had contacts everywhere. A
couple of phone calls and she had all the information we needed. There
wasn't anything she wouldn't do for Big Mike and she gave him a sheet of
paper with all the details already written down.

Big Mike proceeded to call his family and friends while I ate a little of
this and a little of that while I watched Rose as she was slicing an apple
pie. She was a hell of a cook and I'd hardly eaten since the night I came
over, but my appetite was returning after smelling all that food. Then,
having her thrust it upon me, well, a guys got to do what a guys got to do,
and I couldn't insult Rose by failing to eat everything she dished up for
me. There was difficulty in knowing the truth about Kevin's death, but
there was a relief that came in knowing his murderer was caught.

"They are having viewing at the funeral home, but I won't bother them
there. I won't interfere with his family, but we're going to that
funeral. They'll have to arrest me to keep me out. I've got to be there for
Kevin," Big Mike said, leaning back against the kitchen sink with a cup of
coffee as Rose charged him with a plate piled high with goodies, taking the
cup and replacing it with a plastic fork. She was like the proverbial
Jewish mother. "Eat already."

"Rose says it is private, Mike. How do we crash a funeral?" I naively
asked.

"Are you in or out, Rick. I'm going and I want you there for Kevin, not for
me. Friends don't let friends get buried alone. You may have a choice. I
don't."

"Mike, I'm in. You know that. I really don't want to get arrested if I can
help it. That's just personal preference."

"Me either. I'd prefer not to get arrested, but I will if that's what it
takes for me to be there."

It was a fairly mellow day but cloudy as all days when funerals are held
seem to be. We arrived in five cars. Rose and Fred came and people that
lived near us when we lived by Bladensburg High School followed Rose and
Fred to Oxen Hill to the Catholic Church on St. Barnabis Road. There were
twenty-five of us and then Mike's family showed up from New Jersey. There
were Mike's brothers and nephews that had been Kevin's friend, as well as
other relatives that knew him.

Mike Rawlins came from my work, as did several guys that worked with
Kevin. They neither knew of the private ceremony or our vow to crash the
funeral service. They were just coming to pay their respects after I passed
on the information about the murder and the funeral. There were well over
thirty of us in all.

As the family arrived they took long looks at the large group gathering on
the other side of the church. We knew the parents by the intense
expressions they wore. They studied us from the doorway, turning around to
peer into the driveway at us, wondering what it was we were doing
there. They disappeared and the father came with a priest to the doorway to
talk about the gathering they saw. The priest came immediately to where we
waited, wearing a stern and disapproving priestly look as he swept across
the parking lot in black robes that hid his feet, making him appear to be
capable of flight.

We had intended to proceed into the church to seat ourselves quietly in the
rear, after first waiting a respectful amount of time for the family to
taken their places before entering. Now, Big Mike was going out to meet the
priest as he approached. Big Mike was raised a Catholic and he wasn't
intimidated by the severe priestly posture. It appeared to be the beginning
of a battle that might rival the gunfight at OK Corral. We all stood on the
side of the driveway behind Big Mike and the father and several other men
stood facing us on the priest's side of the driveway.

"This is a closed service. I'm sorry, but you will have to leave. The
family has requested you leave. I'm requesting you leave. Have you no
decency? These people are burying their son today. Go and leave us to what
we must do here."

The priest spoke as though he were sent with a message directly from his
God. He turned abruptly in a flourish of cotton not waiting for a response,
heading back behind his own lines, gathering his waiting men with
outstretched robed arms without even slowing down or turning back to see if
we were obeying his pronouncement. They disappeared inside. We all closed
in to where Big Mike stood, while watching them disappear into the church,
with the priest closing the doors and only then did he glance to see if we
had left.

We decided we'd wait until five minutes before the service was to start
before we would enter through the main doors. Once again we all agreed to
sit in the rear pews of the large church so we didn't disrupt the services,
but we hadn't anticipated meeting Kevin's father as we entered the
lobby. Kevin could have been no one but this man's son, tall, handsome,
standing straight as an arrow. It was as though we were seeing what Kevin
would have grown to become in time.

The people from work were stunned by our persistence and by the fact we
were defying the request for privacy. They stayed at the rear of the group,
but they did stay, feeling somehow connected to us and to what we had to do
there. Once again we ran up against the resistance.

"You people aren't welcome here. Don't you have any sympathy? My wife and I
are burying our son. For God sake, please leave us alone. You have no
business here. We don't want you here."

"We have every business here. We were Kevin's friends. We were the people
that knew him. With all due respect Mr. Browning, just what do you know
about your son? Maybe, if you will allow us to join the service for him, we
can tell you just who your son was," Big Mike spoke as he stepped forward
taking charge.

"We'll see about this. I'm having the priest call the law. Either leave or
I'll have you arrested. I'm sorry, but you aren't welcome here," and with
that the man turned to move back to his family.

We stood near the doors between the lobby and the inside of the church
where we needed to go, and all eyes stared out of the church toward us. I
felt very uncomfortable as the priest came charging up the center isle
toward us, robes flowing, caught up in some ecumenical jet stream. I tried
to remember I was there for Kevin, but I wasn't used to ruffling so many
fine feathers all at one time, and a priest for christ sake. I wondered if
we did have any decency or if perhaps we were ill advised in our attempt to
honor our friend, unable to understand the stance the family was taking on
the people that inhabited Kevin's other life away from them.

"Please! Please!" the priest said as he pushed forward forcing us out of
the door with open arms. He turned, pulling the doors shut behind him and
he leaned back against them, protecting his church from the invading
hordes.

"These people have the right to bury their son in private. Family only
please! It isn't an unusual request. I'm sorry you had to come all this way
but you must respect the parents and leave now. We don't want a scene."

Big Mike once more pushed his was in to face off with the priest.

"Can I have a word with you, Father."

"If you are brief, I've a service to conduct and I'm running late as it
is," he said, checking his watch to make sure there was some accuracy in
his words.

Big Mike and the big guy stepped into the church while we watched through
the windows on either side of the doors. Big Mike was animated. He used his
hands and arms in the best Italian expressionism. He was calm and appeared
to know exactly what he wanted this priest to know. They talked for several
minutes but mostly Big Mike talked. At first the priest was standing
sideways with only his ear for Mike to affect. He slowly rotated toward Big
Mike until they stood squarely chin to chin. The priest seemed to go from
tolerance, through curiosity, to concern, and finally he reached sincere
belief, and once he got there, he cut straight through the crap, listening
intently to every single word. Every eye in the church were on the two men,
except for the people from work who stood off to one side, segregating
themselves from our group, but they stayed.

The priest broke away, charging back down the center isle toward the front
of the church with as much gusto as he'd used to come at us. We watched as
the Father went directly to the father, leaning forward, bending into his
pew. Now the priest became animated as he slowly stood up to full size
while he talked. He must have been Italian too. The father didn't seem to
be buying any of it, shaking his head no, no, no, no and becoming more
emphatic as the priest implored him to yield.

The mother cried into a white lace handkerchief, and it didn't look good
for our side. The rest of the family watched the conversation with every
head turned toward the two men. The priest suddenly whirled with his robes
flowing in the breeze that he himself had only created that second,
rustling behind him as he swept back toward us with an appropriate scowl
upon his face. He swung both the doors open, propping each one wide with a
delicate flick of the toe of his shinny black shoe before it once more
disappeared.

"Please come in. Sit to the rear of this section if you please," he said,
pointing to the pews just inside the door. "The family will allow you to
remain. Michael, come to the front with me please. You are to give the
eulogy as you have requested. They would appreciate brevity and they would
like the graveside ceremony to remain private. Please grant them that since
they are allowing you to stay now. They are opening what was to be a
private service for you after all. I'll give you direction to the gravesite
if you wish, and you can come after their ceremony is over. I'll wait if
you like and we can pray together for your friend. Simply maintain a
respectful distance until the family leaves the gravesite. That's all I
ask."

Mike took the furthest left seat in the first row of the middle section of
the three. We were seated from twenty rows back behind him in the same
middle section. The family was seated in the front right hand sections. All
eyes followed the priest's every move until the service finally started,
only after he stood behind the lectern for several long moments trying to
recover from his ordeal while surveying all of those before him.

The prayers were said and the priest spoke about Kevin in an abstract
way. His introduction of Big Mike was brief but poignant.

"Apparently Kevin's best friend is here with us today. Kevin and Michael
have been friends for the past five years. He knew Kevin well and would
like to tell you about his friend and your son," he said directly to the
parents. "Perhaps, through him, we can come to understand something of the
young man we will bury today. Perhaps Michael brings a little piece of
Kevin to us in his words here today. For Kevin's sake, it is only fair we
hear from someone that knew him better than we did. Michael, please come
forward and speak of the Kevin Browning you knew better than anyone else."

Mike stood and moved to the podium, taking center stage. I had never seen
him more poised or focused. He stood tall and proud and he addressed his
comments directly to Kevin's parents.

"My name is Mike and Kevin was my friend. The people with me are also
Kevin's friends and I think it is safe to say, some of us became family to
Kevin. We were the people that knew him best, and it is my duty, our duty,
to be here for him today. We wish no disrespect for his biological
family. That's not why we're here, but you did not know your son and I want
you to know something about him. My friend. I want to tell you what a warm
and loving person he'd grown to be. I imagine you had a lot to do with the
good man your son became. I don't know what happened between you and Kevin,
and it's none of my business. That was between you and him, and it's
between you and your God now.

"What I can tell you is that Kevin was a good person. He did not deserve
this. He did nothing to cause this. He was a kind and gentle soul. I would
call him a free spirit and I never knew him to speak ill of anyone or
purposely cause anyone any harm. It was my pleasure to be his friend for
these past years and I will miss him very much.

"Part of my family came here from New Jersey to be here for Kevin and for
me. That's how much they thought of Kevin. He was part of our family. His
friends came here because Kevin meant something to each of them. I can't
speak for them, I can only speak for myself, but they are here for
him. Some people came from the place where Kevin worked for a time earlier
this year. They came here today because they thought something of him. We
did not come here to upset you or to make this day any more difficult than
it already is.

"We came here to honor a friend and see him too soon to his final rest and
to tell you something about who he was. I could do no less for my
friend. These people could do no less for Kevin. Just know that your son
was a good and decent person and the person that killed him was evil, and
some times, when good and evil cross paths, evil wins. There is no reason
for Kevin to be dead, but he is dead, and now we must honor him, and bury
him, and remember that for a time he touched each of our lives, and so we
have come here to be with our friend one last time.

"I have nothing else to say and I appreciate your kindness in allowing me
to speak. I hope in some small way my words have brought you some measure
of comfort at a time when we are all in pain. Thank you."

Big Mike never wavered or stumbled. He had no notes to read from. His
eulogy was eloquent and straight from his heart, and it didn't leave a dry
eye in the church. I had known Big Mike for almost ten years then, and he
never ceased to amaze me. His mourning had ceased for the moment and his
focus and inner strength had returned to him, revealing the character of
the man I was glad to call my friend. Kevin would have been proud of him
too. He would have been a little amazed at the turnout to bid him
farewell. In twenty-one short years he had touched a lot of people and we
all hated to see him go. I don't think Kevin knew how many people cared
about him.

There were more prayers and the services ended. The mother and father went
directly to Big Mike and spoke to him before he could leave his deserted
pew. They both shook his hand, seeming far more conciliatory than before.

"We are invited to the graveside ceremony. The parents want me to thank you
for coming. They are nice people. They just didn't know us. Let's be as non
intrusive as thirty people can be," Big Mike said as he joined us.

Life never ceases to amaze me. The world is truly a tiny speck of a
place. As we past through the gates of Resurrection Cemetery, I recognized
it as the place where we had buried my father exactly one year
before. Kevin's gravesite was directly behind my father's gravesite. I
stopped by to visit him for the first time since the day he was buried. I
said a small apology for the private ceremony we would hold over Kevin's
grave that night. It would be his send off from his friends. We would split
a six pack over his grave and toast him from this world and into the
next. It's the kind of thing Kevin would have loved, Budweiser only, of
course.

There is never an excuse for violence. Mike Wallace went to jail for life,
but it wasn't long enough. He shared our food and our drink and our
friendship while seated at our table. In the end none of us knew him. He
was the Judist in our midst. He stole from us.

There could only be speculation about why he had killed Kevin. The police
said that Mike Wallace was trying to endear himself to the Outlaws
motorcycle gang. He was dealing drugs with them and buying and selling
stolen goods. He wanted in, and the initiation was Kevin's body left close
enough to their clubhouse to be an unmistakable message for them.

Mike Wallace became a part of another gang. I suppose he is out of jail,
life in prison not being what it used to be. I wish him no ill, but a word
of caution for him no matter where he goes:

If you are out Wallace, beware of Sicilian Italians, for their memories run
deep and their promises they keep, especially those made to fallen
friends. If I were you I'd find out where Big Mike lives, and I'd be living
on the other side of the planet. There is no doubt in my mind that if he
ever finds you, he will kill you. I would suspect he would kill you with
his bare hands and take pleasure when you blow your last breath on his
face, and he'd whisper to you as your life ebbs away, "That's for Kevin. He
was my friend."

I hope Big Mike has put the vendetta behind him and he doesn't need to take
someone's life to finally find peace in his own, but I would understand if
he did find it necessary to avenge Kevin's senseless murder. A precious
gift was stolen from us and sometimes a debt owed must be paid in full. I
lost a friend when Kevin died. We weren't close but I always liked him
because he was one of a kind and we ran in the same circle of
friends. Kevin was Kevin and he did no one any harm.

Violence has its repercussions on us all. It cost me not only Kevin but Big
Mike as well. I only suspect that when I tried to contact him and his phone
was disconnected and his apartment empty, it was what he had to do. No one
we knew could tell me where Big Mike disappeared to, possibly Tom's River,
New Jersey.

It is my theory that anyone or anything that could remind him of Kevin was
lost to Big Mike after that. He had made a fragile peace within himself
that allowed him to go on, but he broke off with anyone or anything that
might evoke a memory of a good friendship lost.

Good luck Big Mike, wherever you are. This one is for you and for Kevin. We
shared something that can never die or be killed and I thank you both for
that. If there is a God, may he bless and keep you both until I get there.

Always,
Rick 
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