Going to the Bad (20 page)

“You said Bogdanich left early. Do you know where he went?”

“You're barking up the wrong tree.” I hadn't heard the woman
approach over the music. She set down an overnight bag and a purse on a bar stool near me.

“Why's that?” I said.

The young woman wore skintight jeans with high-heel boots and a bright red winter coat. Her blond hair had been teased and cemented in place with buckets of hairspray—just like that of the dancer currently onstage.

“You're not his type.”

At first I thought she might be an ex-girlfriend acting jealous, but then I noticed the bartender.

He smirked. “Bogdanich is gay.”

The dancer took a handful of coins from her coat pocket and placed them on the bar along with a pile of bills. “Can you change these for me?”

I guessed she was swapping her tips for higher bills, but wondered about the change. I leaned in as the bartender counted them out, and I recognized Sacagawea dollars. “Did a guy actually tip you in coins?”

“Idiot threw them up on the stage.” She rubbed her thigh. “I'm going to have big welts where he hit me.”

The bartender deposited the money in the cash register and returned with larger bills.

She placed the money in her purse. Before leaving she said, “If Bogdanich had been inside instead of on the door, I never would have gotten hit with coins. He may be gay, but he's chivalrous as all get-out. Best bouncer we've ever had.”

When we were alone again, I gave the bartender another twenty. He wouldn't give me the bouncer's home address, but he did let slip that he'd left work early to attend a Christmas party at Bakersfield University, where he took classes.

I left the club as quickly as I could. Back in the van, I took out my smartphone and opened the Internet browser. The temperature had dropped even more, so I turned on the van's engine and cranked up the heat.

Bakersfield University campus was closed for the winter break, but I did find one club hosting a Christmas party tonight. Bakersfield Pride invited all LGBT students whose families were hostile or prejudiced to celebrate the holiday together. The address listed belonged to the only gay fraternity on campus.

I fastened my seat belt and put the van in drive.

That's when I heard the high-pitched bark. I'd been so wound up since leaving Rod's that I'd forgotten about Thing. He gleefully played underneath the tarp in the back. I was going to have to take him back to the station, but since the Pride party was on the way, I decided to go there first.

While en route, my cell phone rang. The area code was for Lake Elizabeth, but with a different number than before.

I pulled over and answered, “Hello.”

“Is this Bud's niece?” The voice was low, as though whispering, but I thought I recognized it.

“Yes. My name's Lilly. I think we met last summer at the doughnut shop. Are you Mrs. Paik's granddaughter?”

“That's right.” She still spoke quietly. “I heard my mom talking to you on the phone earlier. Is it true Bud got shot?”

Someone called in the background and then the girl yelled, “I'll be there in a minute. . . . No, I'm watching TV.”

There was silence for a moment, then I heard the TV switch on.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I don't want my mom to know I'm calling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because Grandma doesn't want her to know the truth.”

Maybe I was still bristling from Rod's lying to me, but this bugged me. “Your mother is a grown woman. She doesn't need protecting like she's a little girl.”

“Grandma's not protecting her. Grandma's ashamed.”

In my business shame usually equals newsworthy, so even without the issue of Bud, I would have been curious.

But before I could ask what there was to be ashamed of, the girl
jumped in. “Can you come meet me? My parents will be asleep by midnight and I can sneak out.”

“You shouldn't be sneaking out. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Her voice rose. “Don't act all judgmental. Bud said you used to do all kinds of bad stuff when you were my age.”

I had no answer for that. She was right.

A voice called in the background, “Who are you talking to?”

“I have to go,” the girl rushed to say. “Meet me at the
THINK SAFETY
signs at one thirty.” She hung up.

Driving up to the mountains, although only a forty-minute trip, was an unattractive prospect. Not only did I want to be near the hospital in case Bud's condition changed, but I was tired and didn't think this lead was important. Mrs. Paik's granddaughter might be able to tell me new things about Bud, but I doubted she'd be able to tell me why he'd been shot and by whom.

I decided to go for one reason: Bud owned a mobile home at the lake. His girlfriend, Annette, even suggested he might have stayed there last night, since he hadn't come home to her house. He might have left evidence behind or even the gold brooch he'd bought at the pawnshop. At the least, Bud's mobile home would give me a free place to spend the night.

I reached the address for the Bakersfield Pride party near the BU campus. I left my unwanted passenger in the van and knocked on the house's front door. No one answered so I tried the handle. It was unlocked.

Inside the air was warm and smelled of cinnamon and ham. Michael Bublé singing jazzy Christmas standards played. The party was in full swing with young men and women talking, sipping drinks, and munching on food. Nobody asked who I was, but I got enough curious glances to make it clear I stood out from the crowd.

I made a full circle of the house and stopped in the dining room. A potluck of holiday food covered the table, and people were filling plates. I took a closer look and saw the KJAY logo
disappearing under a helping of potato salad. All the paper plates and cups were from KJAY.

“Lilly, dude, what are you doing here?”

I turned. Freddy had come up behind me.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“I've been pretty active in Bakersfield Pride since I enrolled at BU last spring. I was going to run for club treasurer next semester, but now that Callum's offering me work on the assignment desk, I may not have time for that and classes.”

“But, how long have you been gay?”

Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Michael Bublé's singing was the only sound.

“Since I was born.” Freddy's voice turned cold. “It's totally not a choice.”

“I know.” I looked around the room. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

Freddy crossed his arms. “Then what did you mean?”

“How long have you been out of the closet?”

“I've never been in it.” Freddy stared at me, then realization flashed across his face. “You didn't know I was gay?”

He started laughing. Between snorts he pointed at me and said to the others, “I've known her for, like, five years. I even told her I liked dudes.”

The others joined his laughter.

“That's not fair,” I said. “You call everybody dude, even me. How was I to know that this one time you were using it in a gender-specific way?”

They laughed even more.

Freddy put a hand on my shoulder. “Lilly, dude, I totally love you. You're one of my favoritest people, like, on the entire planet, but you do not know what you do not know.”

“I know you're my friend.” I couldn't help but feeling a little defensive. “I couldn't care less what your sexual preferences are.”

This was not a calculated move on my part, but the room's attitude toward me softened and the party resumed.

Freddy walked me back out to the van so we could talk privately. Standing on the curb, my coat zipped up to fight the cold and Freddy stubbornly still in his shorts, I explained I was looking for the bouncer from Stallions and why.

Freddy didn't know the man well, but thought Bouncer—I'd started dropping the
the
by then—had been at the party earlier. Freddy offered to ask around and text me if anyone knew where he lived.

“There's something else.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Are there any students at BU who are good with computers? I'd be willing to pay.”

“What do you want them to do?”

I looked over my shoulder to make sure the block was empty. “There's a bank account I want to hack into. It may have to do with why my uncle got shot.”

I hoped to trace the origin of Mida's pension by gaining access to her financial information, but Freddy actually laughed at me. “That's mondo-serious stuff, Lilly. You're not going to find that at BU, or probably anywhere in Bakersfield. You'd be better off trying to get the log-in and password.”

I thanked Freddy and started to say good-bye, but he had other ideas. “Dude, I have a favor to ask.”

“What's that?”

“Put me on the clock as a shooter tonight. I'm jonesing real bad to ask questions down at the sludge spill. The city is totally covering something up. I've heard a ton of rumors about toxic waste and—”

I cut him off. “You also heard rumors about a giant snake, and three weeks ago it was aliens landing down by Weedpatch. How about the time you were convinced flu shots were designed to make marijuana less potent?”

“This is a totally different dealio. I drove by the crash on my
way to the party and they've still got the streets blocked off. You can't get within five blocks of the sludge spill.”

That gave me pause. When I'd been running the assignment desk that morning, authorities had said it would be cleared by the afternoon.

Freddy pointed. “See, your news sonar just pinged. It is suspicious.”

I could have been in a Cold War sub the pinging was so loud, but I still hesitated. When Freddy had been a shooter, he'd been irresponsible and childish. Was this just more of the same?

“It's not like you're hiring me as a new employee,” he continued. “Callum's already offered me part-time work on the assignment desk. Giving me a couple hours as a shooter tonight is no big deal.”

He was right, and it was odd they hadn't finished cleaning the sludge spill. “Okay. Go on the clock and check it out. I'm driving up to my uncle's house in Elizabeth and spending the night there. I'll have my cell on if you need me.”

I waited while he whooped with excitement. “I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, but if you're going to work on the assignment desk, you have to give up all these weird conspiracy theories. You can't be hours late to work or come in hungover. Callum's going to look bad.”

Freddy retreated into his usual, snarky posture, but then seemed to make a conscious decision to lower his guard. “I get it. The desk is Callum's baby and he's trusting me with it.” He paused. “I totally haven't had to live up to anyone's expectations since my dad figured out I was gay and kicked me out. Now Callum believes in me and I don't want to disappoint him.”

I remembered now that the Pride party was for people who didn't have family welcoming them home for the holidays. I'd shrugged off my not knowing Freddy was gay because it simply didn't matter. What that attitude ignored was the prejudice that one felt when being gay. I'd never supported him through any of it because I'd never even known he might be hurting.

I reached out and hugged Freddy. The suddenness of it took him by surprise, but after an initial awkward moment he hugged me back.

“That was totally cool what you said in there about not caring if I'm gay or straight, but you know, all the same . . .”

“Say it.” I pulled back. “I have it coming.”

“You might try and get to know your friends a little better.”

“Is Teddy . . .”

“Gay?” Freddy laughed. “He's dating his coanchor.”

“What?” I shouted, but then lowered my voice. “The tenthousand-year-old demon?”

“For two months. They're trying to cruise under the radar.” Freddy paused to laugh at my agony. “She's not that bad if you get to know her, which you haven't. Maybe after the holidays . . .” Something caught Freddy's attention behind me. “Dude, is something moving in the back of your van?”

“That little dog that pees snuck into my gear bag.” I opened the rear hatch and pulled back the tarp. Thing was batting around an empty Mountain Dew container. “And now that you're on the clock, guess who gets to take him back to the station.”

I handed the dog to Freddy, who held it at arm's length waiting for the inevitable urination. Nothing happened.

Freddy shrugged. “Little dude must be dehydrated.”

Christmas Day, Midnight

I
drove east out of town toward the Terrill Mountains. The
black horizon ahead of me gave nothing of the geography away. The farmland, the peaks rising from it, and the sky above both formed a single dark monolith. It seemed to be a visual representation of something Freddy had said.

You don't know what you don't know.

I'd worked hard over the previous year to make friends and know people better, but I clearly had more work to do. What else was I clueless about? Was I missing something obvious about Bud's shooting?

I reached the entrance to the canyon road and began my ascent. The temperature dropped as I climbed. Half an hour later, when I'd neared the top, snow lined the side of the road. It reminded me that it was after midnight and officially Christmas.

I'd made good time on the way up, so I had almost an hour before the meeting. Bud's mobile home is in one of the many parks near the lake catering to middle-class retirees or people looking for cheap vacation homes. I'd actually lived here when I was nineteen and in the middle of a downward spiral begun after my father's death. I hadn't hit bottom yet. Mostly I was drinking and partying with strangers.

Winter is the low season, so only the hardscrabble year-rounders were in residence. Judging from the number of mobile homes decorated for the holiday, I guessed the park was about a quarter full.