“I told them,” Kerry said. “I checked to make sure.”
“And one of my book contacts back east found the issues,” Neal said.
“They must’ve cost a small fortune. So scarce and expensive I didn’t even put them on the want list I gave you...”
McCone waved that away. “What they cost doesn’t matter. You’ve been a friend for a long time. It’s the season of sharing with friends, too.”
I just sat there.
Kerry said, “Aren’t you going to say something?”
Sure, right. But what can you say to friends and loved ones who treat you better than you deserve, that doesn’t sound woefully inadequate?
18
Jake Runyon
Joshua was late. No surprise there. Wouldn’t be a surprise if he didn’t show at all.
The restaurant was off 18th Street, on the fringe of the predominantly gay Castro district. Noisy, dark, crowded. Joshua’s choice; his brief message on the answering machine had given the name and address of the place and the time, Saturday noon. Nearly all of the customers were male and some had inventoried Runyon when he came in, cataloged and dismissed him. He looked like what he was — straight, and a member of the law enforcement establishment — and they didn’t want anything to do with him. He’d been ignored ever since, except by a waiter who looked elsewhere while he quickly unloaded a menu and a glass of water.
Runyon sat waiting with his hands palms-up on the table. When he thought about anything, it was the Spook case. He hadn’t found Big Dog last night; and as of this morning, the authorities hadn’t picked him up yet either. Buried somewhere, but not deep enough. Wouldn’t matter to the agency’s investigation whether he got flushed out and chained or not, as long as the identity question could be answered in Mono County. He’d done his part, would keep on hunting if Big Dog was still at large when he got back, but the extra effort was for himself, not for the agency or the law or to see justice done. He’d quit believing in justice, man’s and God’s both, when he was told Colleen’s cancer was terminal.
Mostly, sitting alone in the noisy restaurant, he kept his mind cranked down to basic awareness. There’d been a time when he was not good at waiting, but that was long ago and far away. He’d learned. His years as a cop and a private investigator, all the stakeouts and travel time and downtime reports, had been partly responsible. But it hadn’t been until the past few months that he’d really learned how to do it. In doctors’ offices and hospital lobbies, at home during all the sleepless nights with the phone close beside him. Nothing taught you patience, the art of shutting yourself down for extended periods of time, like waiting for someone you loved to leave you forever.
He’d been there nearly half an hour when his son finally showed. He knew how long it had been because he was facing the entrance and when Joshua walked in, he glanced automatically at his watch. Joshua scanned the room; then his shoulders squared and he approached in measured steps. His whole demeanor said: Get it over with.
His mouth said, “Are you Jake Runyon?” in the same cold, formal tone he’d used on the phone.
“You know I am. Sit down, son.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“Why not? You’re not that late.”
“I almost didn’t come at all.”
“What you almost didn’t do isn’t important.”
Joshua sat down. They studied each other, like stray dogs coming together for the first time — a kind of sniffing and keening. His mother’s eyes, all right. Bright, smoky blue, and raddled with emotion. Discomfort: he didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. Hostility, defiance: his unblinking stare was a challenge. Righteousness: he was dealing with somebody he’d been told all his life was evil.
The waiter appeared. Joshua said without shifting his gaze, “I don’t want anything.”
Runyon said, “Grilled cheese sandwich and tea, any kind.”
“Tea? I thought people like you drank beer or whiskey for lunch.”
“You sure you don’t want to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
The waiter went away. Joshua shifted position, hid his hands in his lap. He said, “I suppose you’ve been wondering why I picked this place.”
“Not really. You don’t live far away.”
“You know what this neighborhood is, don’t you?”
“I’ve got eyes.”
“That’s why I live here.” Harsh, confrontationaclass="underline" “I’m gay.”
Runyon was silent.
“You understand? Gay, homosexual. Your only child is a fag.”
Silent.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What do you expect me to say?”
“Don’t tell me you’re not shocked.”
“I’m not.”
“You already knew, is that it?”
“I didn’t know. Until you just told me.”
“Suspected it, then.”
“I never gave it any thought.”
“For God’s sake, you don’t even act surprised.”
“I suppose I am, a little.”
“Disappointed? Angry? Disgusted?”
“None of the above,” Runyon said. “Your sexual orientation isn’t important to me. None of my business.”
Joshua seemed nonplussed; it wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated, prepared for, and it seemed to have pitched him partway off his high horse. In less harsh tones he said, “Just what is important to you?”
“Where you’re concerned? That you’re happy, healthy, secure.”
“Oh, come off it.”
“You asked, I told you.”
“Well, I don’t have AIDS yet. Does that make you feel better?”
“What would make me feel better is less hostility and more civility.”
“Civility, no less. Such a big word.”
“There’s not enough in the world. Not enough of a lot of things — honesty, integrity, compassion, understanding.”
“Christ. Liberal sentiments from a cop.”
“Not all law officers are fascist homophobes, you know. Besides, I’m not a cop any longer.”
“Private eye. Same damn thing.”
“No it isn’t. You don’t know my profession.”
“I don’t care about your profession.”
“You don’t know me, I don’t know you. That’s why we’re here.”
“Establish a father-son bond?” Joshua said bitterly. “It’s about twenty years too late for that.”
“Not too late for you to hear my side of the story.”
“I don’t want to hear any of your lies.”
“I told you on the phone, I don’t lie.”
“I’ve known liars who said the same thing. Dammit, why couldn’t you have stayed in Seattle? Why did you have to move down here?”
“You know the answer to that,” Runyon said. “You’re all I have left now.”
“And I told you, you don’t have me, any part of me. You may be my biological father, but that’s all you are or ever will be. Why can’t you get it through your head that I don’t want anything to do with you?”
“I understand it, all right. I understand the reasons too.”
“After what you did to my mother—”
“It’s what she did to herself and to you that you don’t understand yet.”
“She didn’t do anything to me except love me and raise me! Alone! After you abandoned us for that bitch—”
Runyon caught Joshua’s wrist and pinned it hard against the table, fingers digging like metal into the flesh, bringing a grimace and a low cry of pain. He leaned forward. “Let’s get one thing straight right now. Say or think anything you want about me, but if I hear you call Colleen any more names or slander her memory in any way, I’ll knock you down and step on your face. Understood?”
“For God’s sake—”
“I’m not kidding. Understood?”