Talking to Angels: Book One

By Shannon K. Murphy

Andy Quinn is a shy twenty-one-year old college student studying to be a teacher. For most of his life, hed suspected that he was gay, but being raised in the Bible belt kept him firmly in the closetuntil he met Matt.

Matt is an out and proud Boston attorney whose strength and confidence finally win Andy over. Deeply in love despite their differences, the two men make plans to marry.

However, there is a dark shadow on their happy horizon in the form of a serial killer who is stalking young gay men in Boston. Even more terrifying is the fact that Andy begins having horrific nightmares in which he is experiencing each victims death.

As a child, Andys mother told him he used to talk to the angels. Does that mean he is psychic? Or is he just going crazy?

Matt is a diehard skeptic who refuses to accept a paranormal explanation. The only one who believes Andy is the relentless police detective in charge of the case. But he is battling his own homophobic feelings in his pursuit of the killer, and Andy cant help but wonder if he will soon be under suspicion himself.

The answer hits closer to home than anyone suspects, and Andy must find his strength or lose his very life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499095463

Shannon K. Murphy

This is the second book in the Talking to Angels trilogy. It was written when Shannon Murphy was in a very dark place in her life, and both Andy’s actions and emotions in this installment tend to come out of that time. Shannon truly believes that God has, and does, intervene in people’s lives, but it’s not always a supernatural event. To answer that age-old, painful question: how can there be a God to allow such suffering in the world? God is here. He is present is every single person who reaches out to protect another, no matter what it costs them. God can’t stop suffering for us. He can only do it through us. The final installment of Talking to Angels, Little Boy Lost, is coming soon.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Faggot!

The harsh name came from the darkness, followed immediately by a roar of attack. Andy Quinn spun around and gasped in shock as he saw the flash of a knife blade. The steel plunged into his chest, parted his flesh and struck his collarbone. There was only numbness for a moment, then the knife was pulled from him with a horrible sucking noise. It went above his head to strike again…

*     *     *

Andy turned over in bed, his expression pained. He was lost in the throes of the nightmare.

*     *     *

He fell to the ground, hitting the cold cement. He turned over and scrambled away from his attacker. He could feel a warm stream of blood running down his chest. Then the pain hit him, ripping through him. Panic surged into him as he staggered to his feet and bolted. There were heavy footsteps running close behind him. He was going to die. Terror became a physical force that crashed into him and brought everything in the world to a screeching halt…

*     *     *

Andy’s eyes came open and he awoke with a start. He reared up in bed, his heart thudding, breathing heavily. He was sweating and-Christ!-trembling. He waited for the dream to slip away into dim subconscious memory, but it didn’t. The fear still wrapped around him and possessed him. Never in his life had a dream been so real, an emotion so vivid, as if he himself had been in mortal danger.

Shit.

What the hell was that about?

Pushing the thought out of his mind, Andy threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He stumbled to the kitchen of his small apartment and clicked on the light. It was almost six p.m. He hadn’t wanted to sleep the whole day away, but working late nights took its toll. He found a glass in the cupboard, rummaged through the pantry until he saw the familiar square bottle and poured himself a double shot of Jack Daniels. It burned going down, but he didn’t care and poured another.

Slowly, his hands stopped trembling.

He sat down at the table. It was an octagon-shaped dinette piece left behind by the previous tenant, which he’d surrounded by cheap plastic chairs. Such was the life of a starving college student. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and brushed his fingers back through his light blond hair as the dream buzz finally faded away. Then he pushed aside the whiskey and got up to make a pot of strong black coffee.

A loose-fitting UMass tee-shirt and a pair of gray boxer briefs covered his body, which was thin but not skinny. He didn’t have a streamlined swimmer’s build, but he was neither muscular nor fat. He considered his body just average. He was twenty-one years old with blue eyes that could put Paul Newman to shame and a face that turned heads wherever he went. However, this fact was lost on him. His small town Midwestern upbringing had filled him with far too much humility to ever truly know the effect he had on people.

While the coffee brewed, he went to the living room and spotted an envelope that had been pushed under the door. He went to it, picked it up and opened it. It was the landlord’s letterhead. Andy was two months behind in rent. He had ten days to pay up or legal action would be taken, blah, blah, blah. Andy made a face, crumpled the letter and threw it away on his way to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, he was showered and dressed. He’d thrown on a pair of blue jeans and a charcoal v-neck Henley. He was sipping on a mug of coffee when there was a knock at the door.

He opened it to find Tom Casey standing there. Tom was a friend from work. Grinning widely, he stepped inside without waiting to be invited. The jubilant dark haired man took off his coat. Hey, man, thought maybe you’d like to get something to eat since we’re both off tonight.

Andy shut the door and shook his head. Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. A night off and you with no date? That’s unbelievable.

Tom shrugged. It’s been a slow week. It’ll pass. You got a beer?

Andy went to the kitchen, got a beer out of the fridge and brought it back to Tom. Tom twisted the cap off and took a deep drink. So what do you have planned? Another exciting night of studying?

Andy sighed sadly. No, I didn’t go back to school this semester.

Why?

Because I can’t afford it. My parent’s money, what they were able to give me, is gone. My student loan has run out. I’ve applied for another one, but I haven’t heard back yet. I have to ask Christine for some extra hours at work just so I can keep this apartment. It’s either that, or get a second job. Andy shrugged.

Tom made a face. Geez, there’s nothing worse than having to work your way through school. That’s why I never went. He chuckled as he took another drink.

Actually, there is something worse: having to go home, to Indiana, a failure. The frustration in his voice came through loud and clear.

Come on, it’s not that bad yet. Tom playfully punched his shoulder. Listen, we need to cheer you up. The perfect solution to any problem is to go out, get drunk and get laid. What do you say?

Andy shook his head. I don’t think so. I’m really not up to it.

Arrrgghh! Tom threw his hands up in mock exasperation. You are such a stick in the mud! Don’t you ever have any fun?

Sure, but-

When’s the last time you were with a woman?

Andy laughed softly. I don’t remember.

Exactly. Tom put his bottle down and started to put his coat back on. You’re twenty-one years old and a thousand miles from home. You’re allowed to have a life.

I have a life.

Tom snorted. If you’re not careful, it’ll be the life of a monk.

Andy laughed, shook his head and opened the door. Bye, Tom. I’ll see you tomorrow night at work.

When he was gone, Andy sat back down and logged onto his laptop. He browsed online Boston Globe to get a current event update. Sometimes, he felt like he couldn’t start the day unless he was sufficiently saddened by tragedy or outraged by corruption. Looking out at the world was a whole lot easier than looking inward at himself. Then, he saw a small byline as he scrolled down local news:

Second Gay Man Murdered;

Deaths Similar, Possibly Connected

Andy read the article and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He got goose bumps. Something about it seemed so familiar. A raging case of déjà vu moved through him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like a lost dream.

A dream. Fuck.

It couldn’t possibly have been…

To freaked to even consider it, Andy closed his browser. At that second, there was another knock at the door. It was like night and day the way Andy’s eyes lit up when he went to answer it.

A strikingly handsome man in a white silk shirt and black pants stood there. He carried a brown leather bomber jacket over one arm. His half-Italian heritage showed in his black hair and dark eyes. Hi, he said.

Andy stepped back and let him in. Shutting the door, Andy grabbed the older man, pressed him against the wall and kissed him heatedly.

The man laughed through the enthusiastic kiss, then gently pushed Andy back. I’m happy to see you, too, but slow down. We have all night.

God, I miss being gay when you’re not here. Andy ran his hands around the man’s torso and up his back.

I told you to drop the straight act. It’s not necessary.

Matt, Andy kissed him again. I’m starving. Take me out.

*     *     *

David DiMarco hated fags with a passion. How could they even call themselves men? The very thought of them putting their hands and mouths and dicks all over each other-inside each other-filled DiMarco with disgust and rage. They all deserved to die. Knowing that some of them were wasting away on AIDS was sweet-a Godsend-but it wasn’t enough. They needed more. They needed to be taught a lesson about spreading filth.

The bar was called the Rainbow Palace. It was a small, unassuming place tucked in between an all-night diner and a body piercing parlor. It was windowless, but when the door opened every few minutes to admit patrons, DiMarco could hear the loud techno music and laughter from inside, and his blood boiled. Perverts! Dirty, fucking perverts!

Unafraid, he walked up to the door and pulled it open. His eyes were hit with strobe and swirling colored lights, and he squinted and went inside. Men were gyrating together on the dance floor, and DiMarco turned away from the disgusting spectacle and approached the bar. It, too, was crowded with men, laughing, drinking and holding hands. Couples had their arms around each other and kissed without shame. Holding back his revulsion, DiMarco found an empty spot and slipped into it. The man next to him brushed up against him, and DiMarco jerked back angrily. The man said sorry and moved over to give him some room.

DiMarco felt himself losing control.

Then someone touched his shoulder. He turned to find a young, dark-haired man smiling at him. He leaned in to be heard above the music. Buy you a drink?

DiMarco forced himself to return the smile. A beer.

The young man signaled the bartender. I’m Ryan. He stepped into the now empty space next to DiMarco.

David.

The bartender delivered two beers and Ryan paid for them. I haven’t seen you here before.

DiMarco took a drink. I’m new.

Ryan leaned closer. New to Boston? New to the scene? He smiled flirtatiously. New to being gay? DiMarco didn’t answer, and Ryan tried again. Wanna dance?

DiMarco faced him bluntly. No.

Ryan chuckled. Oh, I get it, you’re one of those.

One of what?

You won’t dance with guys. You probably won’t kiss a guy. But you’ll fuck guys, am I right?

DiMarco shook his head. You are a pushy little fag, aren’t you?

Ryan smiled, unoffended. I like real men.

DiMarco hesitated, then looked Ryan up and down. You want to get out of here?

Lead the way, Ryan put his beer down and followed DiMarco to the door.

*     *     *

The restaurant was candle-lit and softly playing romantic music. It was peopled for the most part by straight couples who had the privilege of displaying affection in public without the constant fear of whom they might offend. For himself, Matt Holford wouldn’t have cared. He was thirty-two and well beyond worrying about dirty looks or cruel insults.

But Andy wasn’t.

It had taken until their third date for Andy to admit that he’d never been with a man. And Matt didn’t take lightly what it meant for Andy to let him be his first. Matt had never been with a virgin before, but he discovered that he loved playing the role of seducer.

Now Andy was telling him the true depth of his financial problems and Matt was listening in disbelief. When he finished, he took a sip of wine. Why didn’t you tell me all this before now?

Andy shrugged. Because it’s not your problem. What could you do about it? He took a hesitant bite of penne in cream sauce.

Matt sighed impatiently. Andy had a way of shutting down that drove him nuts. He was more guarded than Fort Knox. He started to reach a hand out, then stopped. Look, if you need money-

Andy laughed. What are you, my sugar daddy? I don’t want your money.

I’m offering to help you.

Why?

Matt put his fork down. Because I don’t want you to give up on college, or your future!

Andy nodded, sitting back. Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t want your rich lawyer friends to find out you’re dating a broke, part-time bartender.

Andy, that is not what I meant! Matt reached out and tried to take Andy’s hand, but Andy pulled away, dropping his hands to his lap.

What did you mean?

Matt sighed in frustration. I wish you would stop doing that. You always think of yourself as less than you are. I just want to help. I want to be…something to you. He softened his voice. Something more than forbidden sex.

Andy gave him a confused, troubled look for his use of the word forbidden, then he took a sip of wine and shook his head. You already are, he assured him. We’ve been together four months. I think we’re past the you’re so cute stage. He smiled shyly, and Matt returned it warmly. But I’m not taking your money. I stand on my own two feet or I don’t have any right to stand at all.

We’ll figure something out, Matt promised. But you know this is Boston, not Wyoming, right? Nobody is going to beat you to death for touching me. Andy looked at him, then at his extended hand. Finding courage, he hesitantly reached across the table and put his hand in Matt’s. Matt smiled and closed his hand over his gently.

And the world didn’t end.

*     *     *

The violence of the attack took Ryan Mitchell off guard. The first punch that DiMarco threw knocked him off his feet. He hit the snow-covered ground hard and didn’t even have time to recover before the next succession of blows came one after another. Ryan couldn’t utter a word. He could only cry out in pain as he reeled and struggled away. He covered his face with his arms, only to have feet smash into his ribs. Then, he covered his stomach only to have a fist pound his face.

All the time, DiMarco shouted, You want me, faggot? You want to fuck me? Well, fuck this, you little cocksucker!

After an eternity, the blows finally stopped. Ryan was bloody and woozy, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His entire body was in agony. He seemed to lay there forever. He heard people arguing and shouting. Someone from the bar must have seen the attack. After that, he saw spinning blue lights and police uniforms. A paramedic leaned down and shined a penlight into his eyes. He vaguely heard a voice ask, Can you tell me your name? What’s your name? But he couldn’t answer.

He finally closed his eyes and everything went away.

*     *     *

Andy lay back on his bed, pulling Matt with him. They met in a passionate kiss that immediately sent waves of desire through him. Matt’s kisses were hot and sexy and made Andy feel like his blood was turning to warm butter. His hands were strong but touched him so gently that Andy moaned in anticipation because he knew that the tenderness would soon become more and more urgent, rougher. Matt moved down, kissing Andy’s neck, using teeth and tongue as well as lips, and Andy felt himself harden in painful need. The firm flesh pressing between his legs told him that Matt was getting excited, too.

In the middle of it all, before things went too far, Matt suddenly stopped. He pulled back, looked at Andy, stroked his hair and said, Have you ever thought about living with someone?

Breathless, Andy blinked at him. What?

I mean, living with a roommate, to share expenses.

In disbelief, Andy looked at him. You want to talk about this now?

Matt rose up on his hands, then turned over and sat on the bed. If you prefer, we can wait until you get evicted.

Andy sat up next to him. I can handle it, okay? Don’t worry.

Maybe you could live on campus in the dorm.

Andy scoffed. Yeah, that’s just what I need: to live with a bunch of trust fund brats who only go to college to have a place to get drunk and screw every girl in sight.

Matt looked offended. Hey, I was one of those trust fund brats. We’re not all monsters, you know.

Andy regretted his harsh words. You know what I mean. I just wouldn’t fit in there.

Matt sighed. Andy, you can’t use the gay excuse for the rest of your life. Sooner or later, you have to connect with people as yourself.

Andy’s mind went back to his horrifying dream earlier this evening. The blood, the violence, the absolute terror. Yeah, he said softly. Tell that to Eddie Mann.

Who?

Andy shook his head. Nobody. Eddie Mann was the second victim of the unknown killer. The first one still hadn’t been identified. Matt started to reach for Andy in concern, but his smart phone trilled. Andy leaned over to the nightstand to get it. He picked it up and pressed talk. Hello?

Sweetheart? A tinny female voice said cheerfully. How are you?

Hi, mom, Andy answered. Matt smiled and scooted closer. As Andy tried to listen to his mother, Matt wrapped his arms around Andy’s bare stomach, hugging him from behind. He began to kiss Andy’s neck and shoulders. Distracted, Andy struggled to pull away. He pushed Matt’s arm off of him as he said into the phone, No, mom, I’m not busy.

Matt chuckled playfully and ran his fingertips lightly up Andy’s back to tickle him. Andy squirmed, turned and glared at a laughing Matt. No, I’m alone.

Sweetheart, your dad and I want you to come home for Christmas, Andy’s mother said. We’ll wire you the money for a plane ticket.

Mom, you can’t afford that-stop it! He mouthed angrily at Matt.

Matt whispered in Andy’s other ear, You’re not alone. You can tell her I’m here. Let me talk to her. He reached for the phone.

Andy jerked away, covered the speaker and snapped at Matt, Would you please be quiet and leave me alone for a minute!

Matt reared back in disbelief. Andy turned back to the phone and continued his call. With a sigh, Matt pulled away from Andy. He climbed off the bed and retrieved his shirt. He slipped it on and began to button it up. His pants went on next. By the time he was reaching for his coat, Andy was saying goodbye. He clicked the phone off and looked at Matt. What are you doing? Where are you going?

Matt shook his head sadly. Andy, you haven’t even told your parents that you’re gay, have you? You haven’t told anyone!

Look, you don’t understand-

No, I do, Matt interrupted. I understand that I am always going to be nothing but your dirty little secret. I will never be allowed to be a part of your real life, will I? Andy looked at him painfully, but didn’t answer. Matt sighed and went down on his haunches in front of Andy. I know it’s hard to come out. Believe me, I know. Part of you feels like being gay makes you less than a man because of the way you were raised. I get that. I do. Matt raked his dark hair in frustration. The sad irony of it is that it’s not being gay that’s making you less than a man. It’s the crippling fear.

Andy hesitated, then said, You don’t know what I’m afraid of.

I think I have some idea. Matt stood up. Maybe I’m just making you move too fast. I mean, I want to be with you, very badly. But maybe you’re not ready for this. I hate ultimatums, Andy. I hate getting them and I hate giving them, but maybe you need some time to figure out who you are…

Andy reached out and took Matt’s hand, pulling him back to him. No, I don’t need any time. I don’t, please. I need you. Please don’t go. He looked up at Matt with an expression that nearly turned him to liquid. How? He thought to himself. How could Andy have no clue how irresistible he was? Andy was maddeningly irresistible. I’ll tell my parents, I swear, he pleaded. I’ll tell everyone. Just stay with me tonight. When Andy reached up and unbuttoned Matt’s fly, taking his pants back off, Matt knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

*     *     *

From the time he hit puberty, Andy had suspected he was gay. When he thought about sex, his mind filled with images of hard, muscular male bodies. When friends from school would sneak their fathers’ Playboys out of the house, he pretended to understand their excited, breathless exclamations at the sight of soft breasts and open vaginas. Inside, he felt absolutely nothing looking at a naked woman, except for a vague sense of unease. The unease came from the fear that he was gay. For a corn-fed boy raised in the heart of the Bible belt, that was not a welcome suspicion. Despite everything he did to suppress the urge, his fantasies about strong masculine bodies only grew more intense.

Being a quiet boy with few friends and his nose most often stuck in a book, he was almost inevitably a bully target. After all, what kind of boy preferred reading and had no interest in football? His home town had invented a rousing, fun-loving, boys-will-be-boys game called Smear the Queer, and Andy ate dirt under their jackboots almost regularly, until in self-defense, he joined the track team and began to date girls. Although studious, he wasn’t a total geek, and he did posses the social capacity to charm quite a few girls through high school. He even slept with his senior prom date because he had to know the truth once and for all.

When he had to fantasize about penises and five o’clock shadow to make himself come, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Being accepted to UMass had been a dream come true. It was his ticket out of an oppressive blue collar future among shit-kicking rednecks. Going to a Northeastern college, with its sublime, ivy-covered traditions had appealed to Andy’s nature. He was more suited to it than to some sports-centered West coast party school.

However, living in the dorm as a freshman had been an eye-opening experience. The students here were no different than the thickheaded jocks of UCLA. It was still all about partying, getting laid, and spreading the latest fag jokes. Although UMass had its own gay student organization, Andy still hadn’t been ready to come out. He moved off campus into a small one bedroom apartment in Boston, took a night job tending bar at a chain restaurant and kept mostly to himself.

That was the way his life went for most of the next two years. He worked towards a degree in education with plans to be a teacher, made a few casual friends among other outsiders, went on group dates to concerts and festivals, but made sure to avoid real intimacy. And he wasn’t too terribly lonely. Being in Boston was reward enough for surviving Indiana.

At the end of the summer, he was forced to make a quick trip to the courthouse to pay a speeding ticket. He’d borrowed a friend’s car and couldn’t help but open it up on the JFK Expressway. Climbing the wide front steps, he hadn’t been paying attention and he collided with someone. A quick oh, sorry, brought him face to face with a gorgeous, black-haired man in a stylish suit. The man had returned a smile that went straight through Andy and a deep, sexy voice replied, No problem. They’d parted and walked on. Andy had taken a glance back to find the man still looking at him, still smiling.

He was waiting for Andy outside the clerk’s office. He began innocently, Something happened back there when you bumped into me.

Andy looked at him, confused. Sorry?

I got this flash…of you and me later tonight at this nice casual little Bistro. He was being so serious, so honest and direct that it threw Andy completely off.

He could only laugh awkwardly. You got what?

I think I just asked you out, the man said matter-of-factly.

Andy had never met a man so openly and aggressively gay. It was unheard of in Indiana. He could only stammer, How do you know I’m gay?

The man had smiled and laughed softly. You just told me. He leaned in and whispered, A straight guy would never say, how do you know I’m gay? How could Andy say no to that? Or to those beautiful, dark gypsy eyes?

Four months later, Andy was desperately in love with Matt. He couldn’t imagine life without him. Despite the wide gap in their ages and the even wider gap in their incomes, Andy was determined to hang onto him, no matter what it took. But that seemed to get harder the closer they got. Matt was out and proud with a long history of past boyfriends. His friends were rich and sophisticated. His job was exciting and dynamic. He was smarter than Andy.

Andy was starting to wonder if he was strong enough, or good enough to belong to Matt’s world. Would he ever be accepted? Or was he living on false hope?

CHAPTER TWO

Just off Congress Street in Boston’s financial district was an eighteen story office building. The twelfth floor contained the William and Hart Law Firm. On Monday morning, Matt Holford entered his office with a sense of dread. Somehow he knew instinctively that today was not going to be a good day. He set his briefcase on his desk and took off his coat. The incongruity of a weathered bomber over a nicely cut designer suit was part of Matt’s nature that he had his parents to thank for. His father had been a conservative businessman and his mother was a bohemian artist. Matt had also inherited his dad’s aloofness and his mom’s passion, so his emotions tended to run either hot or cold, which allowed him to intimidate and impress most people without much effort.

Both of his parents had died in a car crash while he was at Harvard. His only surviving immediate family was a sister who was nine years his senior. Whenever life delivered one of its crippling blows, it only made Matt push himself even harder. He graduated from law school with high honors and became, at thirty-two, the youngest junior partner in the history of the firm.

Matt’s thoughts were interrupted as his office door opened and his secretary, Donna Ferrell walked in smiling. Good morning, sir, she said cheerfully.

Morning, Donna, Matt took the cup of coffee that she held out to him. Thank you. He sipped at it. Donna was an attractive young woman of twenty-five with red hair and a slim build. She wore a white blouse and long flower print skirt. She was an intelligent woman with a warm personality. When she had first started, she’d had a major crush on her boss. The revelation that he was gay was initially embarrassing for her, but in the long run allowed her to develop a relationship with him free of sexual tension. Did you have a nice weekend? She asked him.

Matt smiled at her. Not nearly long enough.

She laughed. I know what you mean. She hesitated, then added gingerly. Mr. Hart would like to see you as soon as possible.

Inwardly, Matt cringed. A summons to one of the senior partner’s offices first thing Monday morning was never good. Outwardly, he said, Tell him I’ll be there in about ten minutes.

She nodded. Sure thing, Mr. Holford. She turned and left the office, closing the door behind her.

*     *     *

Malcolm Hart had a spacious corner office that overlooked Fort Point Channel. Beyond that was a spectacular view of Boston Harbor and the Waterfront. Hart himself was approaching sixty. He had a lean build and a full head of gray hair. When Matt was announced by his portly, no-nonsense secretary, the senior partner immediately ushered him inside, sat him down and handed him a case file. This is something that we’ve earmarked for you, Matt. We’d like you to start on it right away. All business, as usual. No small talk.

Matt nodded, took a deep breath and began to read. Hart sat at his desk and waited, watching him. Five minutes into it, Matt felt a severe headache coming on, confirming his fear about today. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at Hart. "Let me get this straight: you want me to defend a gay basher? Is this some kind of joke?"

Matt, you are the only one available, Hart explained. Everyone else has a full caseload. Besides, he added, utterly serious. I think it’d be good for you.

Excuse me?

Hart stood up, came around his desk and leaned against the edge in front of Matt. You are a lawyer. You are not in the business of justice. You are in the business of upholding the Constitution. Everyone has the right to be represented and defended.

Don’t quote that bullshit to me, Matt said. If he gets away with it once, he’ll do it again. The guy deserves serious jail time!

Damn it, Matt, Hart argued. Being a lawyer sometimes means defending the guilty. It’s a fact of life. You can’t take it personally. Besides, DiMarco claims the guy made a pass at him.

Matt laughed dryly. Of course, the gay panic defense; that’s my personal favorite. And that justifies putting someone in the hospital!

DiMarco is clean. He’s got no criminal record. He’s a family man with a wife and two kids to take care of. He’s a good guy who just overreacted in an awkward situation. And he spent the weekend in lockup for it. Any more jail time won’t serve any purpose.

Matt knew well what this was about: it was a test of his loyalty to the firm. A lawyer in Matt’s position could easily be lured to other prospects. A litigator with Matt’s record of courtroom victories was a hot commodity. Hart wanted to know if Matt was being wined and dined by other firms. Matt sighed. This is my call, right? I dispose of the case as I choose; no conditions?

Other than Mr. DiMarco does not go to jail, Hart said. Anything else is up to you.

*     *     *

Donna buzzed the intercom at two o’clock that afternoon and told Matt that the DiMarco’s were here. Send them in, Matt replied. He stood up and came around his desk.

David DiMarco was in his mid-thirties and ordinary enough. He looked like a blue collar man. He introduced his wife as Angie. She was modestly attractive, but seemed to be an overstressed and overworked wife and mother. DiMarco didn’t have a mark on him. Whatever happened, the victim obviously did not try to fight back. Matt extended his hand and they both shook it cordially. Good afternoon, I’m Matt Holford. I’ll be handling your case. Would either of you like some coffee?

No, thanks, They both declined.

Matt gestured them to the chairs in front of his desk, and the three of them sat. Matt opened DiMarco’s file in front of him. Now, after a weekend in lockup, the judge released you on OR and advised you to get a lawyer, correct? Both DiMarco’s nodded. What made you call us?

A buddy of mine was busted on DUI a couple years ago, DiMarco explained. And you guys did him right, kept him out of jail. So he recommended you.

Matt read through the highlights of the case again. I see that the assault took place at a bar called the Rainbow Palace, is that right? Nods again. Are you straight, Mr. DiMarco?

He scoffed. You bet your ass.

Then what were you doing in a gay bar?

DiMarco launched into a well-practiced blanket denial. I didn’t know it was a gay bar. I’m not familiar with that area. I’m a contractor, and I went up there to see about a job. Afterwards, I decided to stop for a beer. I realized my mistake when I walked in: there were no women there. But before I could leave, this fag grabs me and starts pawing me. I guess I just went a little crazy. Angie squeezed his hand and gave him a sympathetic look.

Define pawing, Matt said.

Sorry?

What exactly did he do to set you off?

DiMarco scoffed. He was a fag, wasn’t that enough?

Matt leaned forward. Legally: no, that wasn’t enough. What did he do?

For starters, he asked me if I like to fuck guys!

And what was your answer?

Isn’t it obvious? DiMarco exclaimed in growing anger.

Actually, no, it isn’t.

I called him a pushy little fag! I thought you were on my side!

I am on your side, Mr. DiMarco, Matt said calmly. But I have to look at every detail from a legal standpoint, you understand. This pushy little fag is going to have a lawyer of his own in court, and his lawyer is going to dissect every detail of what happened that night. So I need to know exactly what you said and what he did.

He wanted to buy me a drink. He asked me to dance, DiMarco shuddered in disgust. Then he asked me to fuck him! When I walked outside, he followed me, so I lost it. That’s what happened.

And where did the pawing come in? Matt asked.

What?

You did say that he started pawing at you. Was that inside the bar, or outside?

Out- or both, actually, DiMarco stumbled. "He did touch me inside, but when he followed me