"I need to talk to this man, so you can leave us."
"He's hardly in any shape for a police interrogation."
"Leave. That's an order."
She stormed out. He ignored her anger. Approaching the bed, he noted the tubes going into Kevin's body, the purpling bruises and swelling around both eyes. His nose didn't look broken but the jaw looked battered. The bandage around his head covered one ear and his forehead. It was impossible to see how much damage was hidden by it.
Kevin's eyes fluttered open, but they remained unfocused when they landed on Ben.
Looking around to make sure no one watched them, Ben picked up one of Kevin's hands off the blanket.
"Hey, Kev. It's me. Ben. Can you hear me?"
Kevin muttered something, but it might have been nothing more than the exhalation of breath over broken lips. He blinked and his eyes cleared.
"B-Ben? I was looking for you last night. I never thought the p-police were coming."
Shit, last night had been Friday. The night he usually went to Johnny's to meet up with Kevin. He hadn't even thought of the man in his fever to get to Dylan. He hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
"No one told me about the raid." He gently stroked Kevin's hand. Liar. He hadn't been around to hear about it. He'd been too busy beating up his own faggot and trying to rape a woman to know what was going on to people he cared about. "I wish they had. I'm so sorry, Kev."
"G-glad you came. P-parents are coming," Kevin's voice was barely above a whisper. "Going home for a w-while."
That was probably best, wasn't it? Better for Kevin at least. Probably better for him, too. Kevin was a problem he couldn't deal with right now. He wasn't going to be any good for the man. His family could give him what Ben couldn't.
"They'll take care of you." Ben brushed Kevin's cheek with the back of his hand. "Be good to yourself. I'll try to stop by tomorrow if I can. I'm working day watch, so I'm not sure when I can get here, but I promise I will--"
"N-no. Don't come. Need to stay away. Parents can't know... "
"I would never let them know anything." Ben abruptly let Kevin's hand go and he straightened. "Is there anything you want? I can bring it."
"No, I'm fine."
Ben wasn't sorry to leave. The sight of Kevin trussed up like some Egyptian mummy unsettled him. He remembered Roach gloating over the damage he and his goons had inflicted.
And what would have happened if he had gone on the raid? He had been all too willing to beat the shit out of one man, would a bar full of them have brought out the beast in him even more? Christ, maybe
he
would have killed someone. Would his rage really spiral out of control that much?
He realized his fury was misdirected. It wasn't Dylan or Kevin he needed to be pissed at, or even himself. All any of them wanted was to live their lives, not hurting anyone. Who were assholes like Roach who delighted in sending innocent men to jail or blowing their heads off? Vicious losers.
He recalled Roach talking this morning. Tonight. The Black Kat. His rage grew focused. "Guess we'll see about that, won't we?"
He ignored the nurse coming through the door. Sweeping past her, he grabbed a cab outside the hospital. He wasn't going to bother with the Red Car. He needed to find Roach. Fast.
Roach wasn't at Central. A word with the watch commander and Ben knew he and three others had left less than fifteen minutes before. They'd be reaching the Black Kat by now. Ben signed out a car and broke a few speed limits getting there.
The streets around the club were lined with cars, none immediately in front of the flower shop that fronted the basement speakeasy. Very few people strolled in this area that marked the border between residential and business. He saw a couple of furtive men slink through the shadows. Watching them glide past his car, he considered warning them, but held back. Their entrance would distract Roach and his bulls. Distract them enough to let Ben slip inside.
When Roach saw him, he would assume Ben was there to take part in the evening's fun. By the time he found out otherwise, he hoped to have disabled at least a couple of them. He had his sap out when he hit the door before it could close. The men who had just arrived realized fast something was wrong and tried to back out, finding Ben in their way. He shoved them forward and barked, "Hit the floor. Now!"
They went down and Ben stepped over them. By now Roach had spotted him. He had a spray of blood on his forehead and Ben doubted it was his own. The floor of the club was already littered with broken chairs and pools of sticky drinks and more blood. Low groans and the thwack of wood and leather on flesh told him the fight was still going on. Several shots went off in rapid succession. A light exploded.
Most of the lights were destroyed in the next few minutes. A few groans turned to screams abruptly silenced. The odor of gunpowder lingered. In the near darkness it was next to impossible to tell copper from queen. Ben had no trouble finding Roach.
He pulled out his nightstick in place of the sap. Roach shoved his back in his belt and grinned as Ben approached. "You missed it--"
Roach didn't see the first one coming. Ben heard the satisfying crack of his baton on bone. Then everyone was yelling and someone laid a sap upside his head. New lights exploded out of the darkness and he tasted blood. It didn't diminish his rage. He didn't quit swinging until blackness dragged him down into a red tinged pit. Pain followed him.
The pain stayed and returned with him. So did the darkness. It took him several labored heartbeats before he realized he was still in a dark place. The darkness stank of blood and gunpowder. Silence told him he was alone.
He did inventory. Nothing was broken, but everything hurt. At first he thought he was in a dark cave, then he realized he was in the basement of the Black Kat. He climbed to his feet with the help of a broken chair leg and turned slowly in a circle to orient himself.
A light flared off to his right. Startled, he spun around and lost his balance in the darkness. He wasn't alone after all. The light blinded him, preventing him from seeing who was behind it. But he had his suspicions even before the voice spoke. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.
"I come into a basement expecting to clean up some trash," said Roach. "Sure never expected to find a rat."
Ben didn't speak. He squinted against the glare, ignoring the tears the brightness brought to his eyes. The light shifted off his face and traveled down his body.
"Gotta wonder what a man's thinking when he does that."
"I'm thinking you're an asshole, Roach. Fact, I don't think it anymore, I know it."
"Yeah, well you're finished."
Ben forced himself not to shrink away from the deadly gaze he couldn't see. The light shifted and steadied. Roach had set it down. His will almost failed when he heard the sound of a rifle being racked, knowing without seeing it that it would be a BAR.
"When d'you go soft on pansies? Or maybe you're a pansy. That it? That's what Bulldog thinks. He thinks we shoulda put you in the hospital like the others. Me, I think it's a better mercy to plant a bullet between a rat's eyes."
"So why didn't you?"
Boots hit the floor. Roach had been sitting on the bar counter. Now that he was moving, Ben could make out his shape, backlit by the flashlight. He could also see the rifle held with deceptive casualness against his hip.
Ben eased his hand over his holster, only to find it empty.
"Why did you come here? I don't get it. What d'you think was gonna happen?"
"Stop you sending any more men to the hospital and morgue."
"Men... they're not men." Roach spat on the floor. He sounded hoarse; Ben hoped he'd nailed the asshole's larynx. "They're fucking deviants."
"Define deviant. I tend to think a man who goes around killing kids is a deviant. What about you?"
"You talking about that commie perv? He was probably a faggot, too. They're the worst kind of people tryin' to get in to our city. Look what they done to us already. Look what they done to the whole fucking country!"
Ben's eyes were adapting to the low light now that the flashlight beam was off him. A metallic glint on the bar a yard from Roach turned out to be his .45. The black shape beside it would be his nightstick. Both might as well be on the moon for all the use they were.
He already knew he wasn't getting out of here alive if he didn't change the balance between them. Roach had sent the boys away so there'd be no witnesses. The only reason he wasn't dead already was Roach really was curious.
Roach fixed his stance, making it easier for him to make a kill shot. Ben made himself go slack, like his fear had taken the strength out of him. He sank to the floor, onto his knees. Sagging, his shoulders dropped him lower. It also created more shadow under him. Shadow he now used to grope around on the floor for the wood he had utilized earlier to help him stand. His hand closed over the end of it.
"Come on, man. We're both cops. Why you gotta do this?"
He secured his grip on the curved chair leg. Thank God it was solid wood.
"Get up. You're not a fucking dog--"
"You're right. I'm not."
Ben threw himself forward, swinging the chair leg and releasing it before Roach could react. The leg spun, clipped the armed man and swept the light off the bar where he had set it when he picked up his rifle.
He pinned the memory of where Roach stood when the last light went out. The first burst of gunfire went where Ben had been crouched seconds ago. The bullets slammed into the floor while he threw himself into a roll. One whistled past his head. His ears rang. He finished his roll on his feet and dived toward where the gunshots came from.
His shoulder clipped Roach's legs and they both went down. Before he could recover, Ben slammed a fist into the other man's gut. Roach grunted but he didn't fold. They both scrabbled for the rifle. Roach stretched out for it. Ben's rage erupted. All his fury--at himself, at Dylan, the man he loved, at the whole fucking world that made what they had impossible, that made their love a sickness--boiled out of him.
Teeth bared, he threw his considerable weight into holding Roach still while he drove his knee into the man's groin. When he curled into a fetal position, Ben caught him under his jaw and he crumpled.
Under his feet, the ground rocked and there was a light tinkle of glass.
He swayed and almost went down. A distant groan startled him. He tried to straighten. At first he thought one of Roach's goons had returned, thundering down the stairs. He stepped away from the man at his feet. Glass shattered and the ground underfoot rocked. Not people. It was the earth. Things overhead squeaked and rattled and something cracked. More distant glass broke.
Ben stumbled and went down on one knee.
Roach wasn't moving. Breathing heavily, Ben located the BAR rifle and used it as a crutch. He found the flashlight, thankfully unbroken. It was easy then. He meant to cuff Roach but when he realized the whole shaking building might come down around him he abandoned the idea. By the time he escaped the basement and stood in the sun, the earth had stopped shaking. The sun was setting. In the dying light dust hung in the air. The streets were a kaleidoscope of panic. Cars stood at odd angles, some off the road, others simply stopped. Bricks from a collapsed building littered the street. Power lines tilted at crazy angles.
Ben moved through it all, dazed, aware of voices rising and falling, but not registering what anyone was saying. He stepped over a curb, stumbled and froze.
He ached. His eyes burned. It was easy to tell from the dazed looks on the faces around him that everyone shared his mental numbness. Making his way to his city car, he found the street around it blocked with debris and people. Abandoning the idea of driving home, he walked north barely conscious of where he was. When the ground swayed again, he froze, watching a palm tree rock gently in the aftershock. Swaying with the movement, he forced himself to keep moving. Darkness grew and belatedly he realized the power was out. Streetlights and stoplights alike were dead. Where neon normally glowed only darkness existed. Then he saw a familiar green and white sign. Liberty Drugs. He felt light-headed.
Then he blinked. And blinked again. Where was Roy's Men's Club? Where was Dylan's place? Mounds of broken concrete filled the street. But through it he could make out part of the front door. The dust here was thick enough to layer everything in grit and still hung in the air. Streetlights were out, too. Images of Dylan injured, under a pile of fallen building gave his feet urgency.
Scrambling over the debris, coughing out lungs filled with dust, he entered the building.
Had he meant to come here? Why hadn't he gone home? Packed? He knew his days in L.A. were done. Once Roach got out of that basement and rounded up his boys, his time left on this earth would be measured in hours. He should be going back to collect his gear and the cash he had saved so far.
So why was he
here
?
He knew why. He'd already given everything up. His attack on Roach meant the end of life as he'd known it. Strange, how he no longer felt afraid. At least not for himself. He had to know Dylan was safe. If he wasn't... Oh, God, if he'd been hurt...
He took the stairs two at a time and frantically pounded on the all-too-familiar door. He was about ready to pass out by the time Dylan opened it and stared at him, mouth agape.
A minute of silence past. A second one crawled by.
Ben stumbled on weary feet. He held Dylan's eyes, kept upright only by the depths of them.
"My God, what happened?"
"Are you going to invite me in?"
Ben was the last person I expected to come to my door again. When the floor had started shaking I thought for sure the whole building was going to collapse. The basin of water I kept on the sideboard sloshed over, dripping onto the yellowing linoleum floor. The rod holding my suits fell, dumping my clothes on the floor. The lights had gone out and it had taken me several minutes and a couple of badly bruised toes to dig out a pair of candles that now burned on the dresser top. Their light reflected in Ben's eyes.