Second You Sin (40 page)

“Huh,” Jason said.

“With me around, Locke won’t need any more boys. That’s one less thing for you to worry about.” Jason’s face was starting to relax. So was his grip on the gun. I took another step forward, turning my palms upward, as if in supplication.

“Think about it, Jason. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d be right there, at your side. Together, we could keep Locke in line and ride him al the way to the White House!” Another step. I was at arm’s length from him now.

“You know”—Jason nodded—“you do kind of remind me of myself ten years ago. You’re smart, you’re devious. I bet you’d make a hel of a sidekick.” He smiled broadly, his white predator’s teeth bril iant and even.

I smiled back and extended my hand. “So, it’s a deal?”

Jason shook his head. “You kidding? Ten years ago I was a total shit. Same as I am now. I don’t even trust
myself.
Why the fuck would I trust you?”

“Because you’re tired of being alone?” I offered.

“Because you want someone who appreciates you and has your back? Because you need me?”

“The only thing I need you for,” he said, raising his pistol toward me, “is as the dead body to pin this on.”

43

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

When I was a kid, one of my favorite movies was
The Karate Kid.
The original one, with Ralph Macchio.

Remember, I was a little guy, and a bit of a girly boy. I couldn’t help but relate to Macchio’s character of Daniel, the skinny kid who gets picked on and beaten up by a gang of upper-class popular boys.

The only way Daniel can survive is by chal enging them to a karate match. The bul ies had been studying martial arts for years, but Daniel was a novice. The odds of him triumphing were pathetical y low.

But through his unexpected friendship with Mr.

Miyagi, played to perfection by the late, great Pat Morita, Daniel discovers more than just how to fight.

He learns about honor, principle, and that the best way to win a battle is to avoid it. (BTW, this is going to be relevant in a minute; hang in there.) If those things don’t work, though, he also gets the world’s fastest crash course in karate. And while al the skil s Mr. Miyagi taught him turn out to be useful, the most important, the crucial move that saves him in the end, is the crane kick.

Between the ages of ten and twelve, I must have practiced that kick at least once a day. Rewinding the DVD, I watched Daniel again and again.

First, he raised his arms and dropped his wrists, so that his fingers were pointing down at the floor. At the same time, he brought his left knee up as high it would go, while balancing on his right foot. Then, at the perfect moment, he switched his legs, dropping the left to the ground while bringing the right one up for an explosive kick.

I spent endless hours copying that move. I was pretty obsessed with it.

Mr. Miyagi, in the kind of pidgin English that I don’t think would work today, tel s Daniel, “If do right, no can defense.”

As I entered my teen years, I was becoming aware of the differences between me and the other boys. I didn’t want the same things they did. I didn’t have the same interests. I was different.

I knew it would make me a target. I was afraid.

In an increasingly scary and unpredictable world, what I wanted, more than anything else, was one thing that, if I do right, no can defense.

Who knew it’d be more than ten years before I needed it?

In the movie, Ralph Macchio drags out the crane kick for the most dramatic tension. It works. You’re at the edge of the seat as you watch Macchio’s intense, vulnerable face quiver as he teeters nervously on one leg, waiting to make his move.

Years later, when I final y took martial arts lessons, I learned there real y was such a maneuver, although its basis was kung fu rather than karate. I also learned the right way to do it, which is blindingly quick. With enough practice and skil , it’s over before you’ve even noticed it begin.

Which is how it was for Jason.

“What the fu—” he said, as my body seemed to turn fluid before him. Arms up, knee high, find my balance, jump, and kick. The whole thing took place in less than a second and my aim was true.

The gun went flying out of his hand before he even processed my movements. We both watched as it flew across the room, stopping, unfortunately, upon impact with the head of the stil unconscious Jacob Locke, hitting with enough momentum that we heard it thud against his skul .

Wow,
I thought,
this really isn’t his day.

While I executed my crane wel enough to achieve my primary objective, I didn’t nail the landing. As I stumbled backward after the kick, Jason charged forward furiously. If you were drawing the animated version of our encounter, he’d have steam coming out of his nostrils. In real life, he was a blur as he raced toward me, throwing his arms around my waist, and tackling me to the ground.

“You little bitch!” he screamed as he crashed into me.

The back of my head smashed hard against the floor. If the office hadn’t been so lushly carpeted, I’d probably have been knocked out. As it was, my vision went wonky and I saw stars. Jason straddled me. He probably had fifty pounds on me.

“I have to give it to you,” he said, al friendly now that he had the upper hand again. “You got some moves, chief.”

“Yeah,” I said, my own voice sounding foreign and a mil ion miles away. “That’s why you need me at your side.”

Jason slapped me hard against the cheek. The stars I saw were joined by comets and little tweety birds. I felt blood in my mouth.

“Give it up, Kevin. You can’t bul shit a bul shitter.”

“And you can’t get away with this forever,” I answered.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I can. I have every angle covered, little man. Like this one.” He reached behind and pul ed something from his back pocket.

He showed me the black handle before he pressed the button on its side that revealed a switchblade. “I always have a backup plan, chief.”

He pressed the cold metal against my neck. His mouth was slightly open and he panted with anticipation. His eyes were wide and dilated.

Whatever else he was in this for, I realized, he liked this. He liked kil ing. I’d bet money that whatever neighborhood he’d grown up in had experienced a lot of missing dogs and cats.

There was no way I was going to talk him out of murdering me. He was too far gone. Was the Jason I knew even left? Had he ever even existed? I had to try to reach him.

“Please,” I said to him, my eyes fil ing with tears.

“Don’t do this, Jason. Don’t kil me.” Jason’s mouth twisted into a shape that showed his teeth but yet was nothing like a smile. “Come on,” he said. “I told you that you remind me of me. Don’t go out begging like a pussy, man. These are your last words.” He lowered his face to mine. “Make them memorable.” A strand of spit dripped from his mouth and hit my chin.

His mouth was watering at the prospect of ending me.

I tried to say something, but al that came out was a choked sob.

Jason sat up again. He held the knife in his right hand and brought it to his left shoulder.

I bucked wildly under him. I knew he was about to slash my throat, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t budge him. I’d been counting on a last-minute surge of adrenaline, but instead, I felt just the opposite. I was drained, exhausted. It was as if my body had already absorbed the fact that I was dead.

Only my head hadn’t accepted it yet.

Oh, Tony,
I thought.
You’re going to be so sad. I’m
sorry. And Mom, and Freddy, and the world, I miss
you already.

I cursed the tears that ran down my face. I hated giving Jason that satisfaction.

I wished there was something I could say to him, some magic word that would destroy him.

He lifted the blade higher, building the momentum he needed to slash my throat.

As incredibly vivid as this al was, I felt a part of myself already drifting away, experiencing the whole thing as if in a dream. It was a kindness, real y, this unreality.

“Come on,” Jason taunted me. “You’re the Bright Young Thing around here. You said you wanted to be my partner, my right-hand man. Isn’t there one last thing you have for me, some final bit of ‘help’ to share? You know, so I don’t wind up as fucked up and dead as you’re about to be?”

My pulse was pounding so hard I could barely hear him. My eyes darted desperately around the room, landing at a place just beyond him.

“Just . . . one . . . thing . . .” I said, lifting my head to say the last word I’d ever tel him.

Jason’s grin was pure evil. “That’s my boy! What last wisdom do you have to share at death’s door?” I think he was actual y cackling.

He was having such a good time, I almost hated to spoil his fun.

“Duck,” I told him.

“Du—?” he began.

And then Jacob Locke blew Jason’s brains out.

44

I’m Still Here

If you’ve never been showered by blood and bits of brain, consider yourself lucky.

On the other hand, since the alternative to being covered in various pieces of Jason would have been for him to kil me, I was feeling pretty lucky. Almost giddy with relief.

Without his head, Jason was a lot lighter. Or maybe there was just no more conscious strength holding me down. I shifted my hips and he fel off me, landing on the carpet with a wet plop.

Locke was on his knees, mumbling. I couldn’t tel if he was praying or if he’d gone mad.

I sat beside him. “I had to do it,” he said. “I had to do it.”

I put an arm around him. “I know.”

“He was going to kil you,” he said, looking at me for absolution.

“You saved my life,” I told him. “You did the right thing.”

“What are we going to do now?” he asked me.

“We have to cal the police.”

Locke began to cry. “It’s al over, then, isn’t it?

They’l find out about my . . . indiscretions. About how Jason murdered those boys. In my name!” He grabbed my arm with surprising strength. “You know that I would never, I could never . . .” He took a deep breath. “If I’d have known what he was doing, I would have stopped him. Even if it meant losing everything.

You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said. I believed him. “But what I don’t understand is why you say al that stuff about

‘protecting the family’ and against gay rights when you have sex with other men. What’s that al about?”

“Jason made me say those things,” Locke answered. “Look at my record. I never used that kind of language. But once Jason found out about my . . .

needs, he started exerting more and more control.

He told me I had to talk tough to appeal to ‘the base.’

“He never came out and said it, but he always implied that unless I let him make the decisions, he’d expose me for what I am.” He buried his face in his hands.

Was it possible that Locke was just weak and not the vil ain I’d thought him to be? God knows I’ve met a lot of conflicted men in my life. I seemed to be a magnet for them, actual y. Could I have compassion for Locke, too?

“Listen,” I told him. “Maybe you deserve another chance to do some good in this world. I have a plan.” By the time the police arrived, Locke and I had our stories straight.

Jason had gone to Locke to confess his sins.

Specifical y, that he, Jason, had been hiring male prostitutes, having sex with them, and then kil ing them. When Locke told him that he had to go to the police, Jason shot him, meaning to kil him, too.

That’s where I came in. I had been by the office earlier to volunteer and left my phone. On the off chance there was someone there, I went by and found the door open. As I walked in, I heard the gunshot. I ran into Locke’s office, where Jason and I scuffled.

The rest of the story was pretty much the truth. We told the police that I was able to knock the gun from Jason’s hand, but that he was stil able to overpower me. Locke came to and found Jason about to slash my throat. He shouted a warning, but when Jason didn’t stop, Locke had no choice but to shoot him.

The weird thing is, when I was working the story out with Locke, he insisted that he real y
did
cal for Jason to stop or he’d shoot.

If so, I didn’t hear it. Neither did Jason, clear as I could tel .

In any case, it gave me just enough pause to wonder if maybe Locke wasn’t more calculating than I believed. While everything I witnessed between him and Jason made me believe that Jason was a manipulative, psychotic freak, I couldn’t deny that Locke al owed himself to be used.

If Locke
didn’t
shout a warning, was it because he wanted Jason dead? And if so, why? Revenge? Or a more pragmatic decision that with Jason dead, there was one less person who knew his secrets?

Locke said that he never meant to malign gay people, that Jason had forced him into it.

About eighty percent of me believed him.

The other twenty percent bought some insurance.

I told Locke that with Jason gone, I’d keep his secrets, too. We’d pin the whole thing on Jason. I expected that once the police investigated Jason’s home and belongings, there’d probably be physical evidence connecting him to the deaths of the boys we knew about.

I prayed there weren’t any more.