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by
Mike Dolan couldn't keep from staring at the man sitting across the table from him. It was hard to believe that Rudy had changed so much over the years. Physically he still looked in his mid twenties, but his outlook and attitude had changed for the most part. Being the sheriff of the island town of Glory had forced him to take on responsibilities usually reserved for men ten or twenty years older than him. The close personal friend Mike had known from his high school days was gone. The easy-going blond man who liked to play practical jokes on him was gone. Only a quiet, angry and disciplined man in uniform remained.
Rudy motioned for Hazel, the owner and only waitress of the diner, to bring coffee. Closing time was hours away, but an ominous silence hovered in the air. The place was deserted of any signs of human life, except for a watchful Hazel and a woman sipping coffee in one of the window booths further down the aisle.
"Admit it," Mike said.
Rudy waited until Hazel walked out of hearing range before he spoke. "I'm not gay."
A surprised Mike elaborated. "Admit that I was helpful in solving the case."
"Not a bad day's work," Rudy said. "For an imbecile sheriff and a hack writer."
"A gay sheriff and a hack writer," Mike said, grinning as he raised the steaming cup to his lips.
Rudy turned his cup in a circle several times, watching the reflections of the harsh overhead lights play across the shifting dark surface of the liquid. "I cried after that pilot died in Top Gun. That was it, wasn't it?" He looked to Mike for confirmation, but the man who got everyone thinking he was gay didn't say anything. "I know what it's like being an oppressed minority. The odd looks. People always whispering behind your back." Still nothing from the dark-haired, blue-eyed man he once called his friend. "I can't get a date - with a woman. They won't come within fifty feet of me. They think I'm a friend of Dorothy's, for godsake."
"Friends like that," Mike said, "are usually very popular with the ladies. As friends, anyway." He sipped. "What about buff and blond Ron at the bait shop. Word has it he's been very persistent, but he hasn't even gotten a nibble from you yet."
Rudy glared at the offending pun. He replied in precisely enunciated words."Ron is not my type."
Mike swirled the coffee in his mouth and swallowed. "Mmm- that explains the deputies. The dark hair. The goatees. I'm onto you. Admit it, I am your fantasy."
"You're wrong," Rudy said, squirming in his green Sheriff's Department coat.
"About the fantasy? Or the liking goatees on your men?"
Rudy felt his face become hot and the eyes of the diner upon him. He put his elbow on the table and hid the side of his face with his hand so that only Mike could look him in the eye. Mike reached across the table and pressed a consoling hand against Rudy's elbow.
"I made a mistake.," Mike said.
Rudy pulled away from Mike's touch. "I have to live with the consequences of your mistake every day. Do you even know what you put me through by writing those things." He cradled the cup of coffee between his hands. "Sometimes I wonder if you didn't have some reason behind it." Mike focused on a fog cloud drifting through the parking lot. "That's it, isn't it Dolan?"
"Jealousy," Mike said. "Revenge. Money. Power. Those are the usual motives in a mystery."
"It isn't jealousy," Rudy said.
"Or revenge. Or power." Mike turned to his friend. "And the money-"
"Flown away,' Rudy said, gesturing with his hand. "You told me."
Something was there, floating just out of reach - Rudy could feel it. He watched Mike's reactions like a hawk. "Premeditated... The jury is still out." He voiced his suspicions. "Of course, anything that's not premeditated falls under the category of a Crime of Passion." Mike averted his eyes and concentrated on the parking lot again. Rudy leaned back in the seat. "When were you going to enlighten this village simpleton," he said.
Mike scratched the side of his nose. "They say enlightenment comes from within oneself. I'm still waiting for it to make an appearance."
"Don't go metaphysical on me," Rudy said. "You could have said something to me about... you know. Without having dragged me through it in you book."
"Such as," Mike said, confronting the sheriff's gaze.
Rudy thought for a moment. "Point taken. But still..."
The conversation died.
The sheriff turned his half-full cup in circles again. "So when did you know?"
"Top Gun," Mike said in a deep confident voice.
"I knew it," Rudy said in a too loud voice. He lowered it. "You know whose fault this is? Tom Cruise, for making that movie."
"A film," Mike said. "About two men discovering the special relationship between them and coming to terms with it. Considered by many to be a classic of gay cinema. Appropriate, don't you think."
"And I cried," Rudy said gently banging his forehead on the table.
Mike cracked a wry grin at this endearing trait which he had not seen in too many years. "You're doing it again," he said. "The emotional thing. In public."
Rudy looked up. "You're not helping."
"Buck up," Mike said. "One day that knight in shining armor will drive up and take you away from all this." He corrected himself. "Wait. This is Glory, so he'll probably be a psychopath or something."
"You know I hate you."
"I know."
* * * * *
Rudy stood in the parking lot, the arms of his former friend wrapped tightly around him. He didn't bother to return the hug. "Mike..."
"Closure," Mike said. "From my Top Gun days."
Mike felt a pat on the back and Rudy pushing him away. He let his hands slide down Rudy's arms. He could feel the large biceps hidden beneath the insulated sheriff's coat. He put his hands around Rudy's hand and pulled him closer. In the dim light of the diner's road sign, Mike studied every feature of the other man's face.
"I'm straight Mike."
"I know," Mike said. He leaned forward, underneath the sheriff's hat, and pressed his lips against Rudy's lips. He kissed several times, but met with no reciprocation from his friend. After the fourth or fifth attempt, he slowly pulled away. Rudy leaned forward. Their lips met. Rudy's stiff, regulation kiss melted into a sensual interplay of oral caresses. Steamy white wisps of breath escaped from between their lips into the cold night air. Rudy stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two people staring at them from inside the diner. He backed away from Mike and glared at him with a pissed off expression.
"By lunchtime tomorrow," Rudy said. "It'll be all over town. Everyone will be saying I'm gay."
Mike scratched his forehead at the obviousness of the observation. "They already do."
"Wise ass," Rudy said. He put his hands on his waist and surveyed the asphalt at his feet, trying to think of what to do. "And they'll be talking about you too."
Mike showed no signs of worry. Since he was already the town pariah and the townspeople talked about him anyway, the only thing left for them to do would be to tar and feather him. Being called Rudy's boyfriend? That would probably improve his standing among the townspeople a little. "I can already see it in tomorrow's headline," Mike said. "Lonesome sheriff likes handsome bad boys." He shook his head. "Nah. Sounds like a singles ad, doesn't it?" Rudy tried to stare an incinerating hole through him.
"All right," Mike said. "That's the hack writer talking again. You really want to know what they'll say. What they ARE saying." The sheriff crossed his arms and stood firm. Mike continued. "Rudy Dunlop is a good sheriff. If he was an imbecile, or the whole gay thing bothered-"
Rudy cleared his throat.
Mike backtracked. "-the whole ALLEGED gay thing bothered us, we would have asked him to resign a long time ago. He's a good sheriff."
Rudy's expression did not change. "You said 'good' twice," he said.
Mike gestured with open arms. "It's a writer's thing: repetition to drive the point home. It's not important. The point being... They like you. They stand behind you."
"...because they think, as a gay man, I like having someone behind me?"
Mike flashed a bashful grin at Rudy's joke and dead pan delivery of it. "Good to see it doesn't bother you too much."
Rudy's emotions flared. "Bother? It bothers me every day of my life... Four years of it... I just want the whispering and the looks to stop." Mike showed genuine concern for his friend's pain.
"It's late," Rudy said, noticing Hazel closing up the diner. "Guess we'll see each other again in tomorrow's gossip column: Imbecile gay sheriff sucks up to town pariah." He used air quotes around the words 'sucks up'. His anger partially vented, he turned and headed across the damp asphalt to his patrol SUV.
The diner's road sign went out, leaving Mike standing in darkened silence. He thought Hazel probably closed early to get a head start on spreading unflattering tales about him - the way he did to her in his book. A cool breeze from the bay nipped at his uncovered extremities. He put his hands into his coat pockets to ward off the chill. He watched as his boyhood friend and first crush walked away into the night. It hurt to see Rudy have so much anger for him. "Rudy," he said. The sheriff stopped, but wouldn't face Mike.
Mike spoke. "I thought it might read: After many years alone, much admired local law enforcement officer has new beau. Although the person he was seen kissing last night won't win any popularity contests here in Glory, maybe he sees something special we can't. After all, finding the truth beneath the surface and being a good judge of character are requirements in his line of work." Rudy shifted his weight onto his other foot. Mike tried humor. "We just hope that lying bastard he's seeing doesn't leave him a bitter, shattered shell of a man - like he did to the rest of us here in Glory." Rudy's body quaked with a silent laugh. "He's a good sheriff and we wish him well."
"You already said the good sheriff part."
"Just emphasizing a point," Mike said.
"Goodnight, Mr. Dolan."
* * * * *
Sheriff Dunlop started his SUV and drove out of the parking lot. Mike watched him drive up the small two lane road and off into the night. Fog rolled across the road, denying him a final look at the red taillights. He headed in the opposite direction, following the road back to his family's home. The lapping sound of the rising tides, somewhere behind him in the darkness, obscured the sound of his footfalls on the wet pavement. A sudden gust of soggy, freezing wind slapped his face - echoing the sentiments of the residents of Glory. He pulled the collar of his black seaman's coat up and tried to shield his face. Fog consumed him. He turned in every direction, but found no bearings. Only the asphalt road beneath his feet let him know he was still on the island.
As he walked, the fog began to glow around him. The roar of the tides increased. The natural forces of the island itself seemed to rise up against him and his presence there. The unseen tides crested behide him, threatening to engulf him. He spun around and faced blinding light. Instinct made him jump to the side. As he fell, something hit his lower leg with the force of a baseball bat, spinning him around. He landed face down in wet, pine-scented earth.
Mike felt along the length of his throbbing right leg. Nothing was broken. The glowing white fog had changed to the red of a car's taillights, which had stopped a few feet away. The realization hit him - he was almost run over. Someone must really want to see him dead. He wanted to believe it was just an ordinary hit-and-run, but the events of the last few days convinced him otherwise. Glory was not kind to those it did not like. Mike heard a car door slam. He pulled himself up and limped as fast as he could away from the scene of the attempted murder.
The footsteps paused somewhere behind him. He knew that when they didn't find his body, the killer would come after him. Hazel... She was the killer in his book, maybe his gross exaggeration of her character was not too far off. He hobbled off into the darkness on his aching right leg. The strained sound of his own breathing and the shuffling of his shoes were his only companions.
If he could get to the diner or the bait shop, he could call Rudy. Maybe Rudy would help. A big maybe. Another maybe surfaced: was he even heading in the direction of those places? He didn't care. He just wanted to get away from his very own killer.
He thought he heard footsteps. He quickened his already painful pace. The footsteps quickened. He hobbled faster. The footsteps ran. He ran. He couldn't breathe. His heart pounded in time with his feet. Faster and faster. The footsteps gained on him. He pushed himself harder. Pain spasmed through his leg, sending him down onto the cold pavement. Sharp gravel, with traces of road salt, cut into his hands. He wiped the gravel from his hands and tried to get up. His right leg gave out, sending him down hard onto his side. He sat up on the roadway and watched behind him.
A small light pierced the fog surrounding Mike Dolan. From the way it bobbed and periodically pointed off to each side, he knew someone wanted to meet him face to face. He dreaded the reason why. He had imagined that feeling many times when writing about the victims in his book. It paled in comparison to what he felt now that he was confronted with the real thing. He knew what that quivering feeling of piranha butterflies in his gut meant. He knew he was going to die.
The flashlight held him immobile in its' blinding beam. He heard the killer's footsteps coming closer. "Tell me why," he yelled to the unseen person advancing toward him. He already knew why - everyone in town was pissed off that he included thinly veiled versions of them in his book. He just wanted to see the killer's face before the inevitable happened.
"The streets aren't a safe place after dark," a familiar voice said through the fog.
Mike felt the need to delay his fate. "That why you tried to run me down, Rudy."
The sheriff squatted down in front of Mike and pointed the light on the asphalt between them. Slivers of lighted fog glided in front of their faces. "I finished my patrol on Wet Pine Road and was heading back this way. I slowed down when I hit that fog bank-"
"And hit me," Mike said, eyeing him cautiously. Maybe Rudy didn't try to kill him, but that feeling in his gut was slow to dissipate. Rudy examined Mike's leg. Satisfied that the injury was minor, he brushed pine roots and pieces of dirt from Mike's coat. He licked his thumb and wiped a dirt smudge from his friend's jaw. "Maybe I don't want you doing that," Mike said.
"And this," the sheriff said. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mike's. Nothing sweltering or passionate - just a short, comforting kiss that said everything will be OK. Their lips parted. "Let's get you to the coroner," Rudy said. He savored the wide-eyed look of the man who had put him through so much hell. "Relax, "he said. "Doctors are on the mainland and the ferry only runs on odd days. Remember? Ellie is the next best thing."
Rudy helped Mike up and provided him a shoulder to lean on as they walked back through the scattered patches of fog to the patrol SUV. Mike still had a few doubts. The sheriff could see them in his friend's eyes as he helped the man into the front of the SUV.
"How do I know it's safe to ride with you," Mike asked, wearing a cautious grin.
Rudy paraphrased from Mike's book, "Glory Days". "What's a ride between two friends burdened with the stigma of their repressed homosexual tendencies?"
Mike patted Rudy's forearm. "Everything it sounds like," he said. Rudy put the SUV in gear and headed up the road. A new feeling surged in Mike now that the piranha butterflies in his stomach had flown away. He felt full of energy. "After all that back there," he said, gesturing with great emphasis. "I fell so..."
"Glad to be alive," Rudy said. "Classic survivor reaction. And even though you're in some pain, you probably have this incredible urge to... you know."
Mike nodded. "A telepathic sheriff. Whoa." An amused Rudy shook his head at his friends imaginative flights of fantasy.
* * * * *
Mike laid awake in Rudy's bed unable to sleep. Ellie said he needed bed rest. Rudy obliged. They had used all five of Rudy's remaining condoms relieving Mike's own excitement and Rudy's pent-up frustrations. He couldn't remember who had used up more condoms, maybe Rudy. He wondered with whom Rudy had used the other seven condoms in the box with, but decided he didn't want to know. Maybe the persistent Ron or one of the deputies with a goatee. Maybe that was why Ron had become so persistent. He grinned.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He couldn't. The bed was too soft and his bruised right leg throbbed in time with his breathing. Nitemares of people repeatedly running over him then chasing him with sharp kitchen utensils didn't help. His only solace was the sound of Rudy's nasal breathing. It was comforting to know that someone was there with him in the darkness protecting him. He wondered how long that would last.
Maybe Rudy would bow to the pressure of the townsfolk and ask him to never darken his door again. He would know tomorrow, when the gossip column he phoned in appeared in print. He didn't care what Sara, his sister who owned the local newspaper, thought about it. This was something he needed to do for Rudy. It contained almost word for word what he had said to Rudy in the parking lot, with the exception of anything revealing Rudy's occupation. He meant what he had said. Only this time he was more careful about what got printed. He only hoped people didn't think Rudy and Ron were the ones getting together.
Rudy turned over in his sleep and rested his head on Mike's chest. He rubbed his hand across the hairy chest a few times and drifted back off to sleep. Mike closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He needed his strength for tomorrow.
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