Browning Incident

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 Copyright Writers Realm 1999. All Rights Reserved.