”When you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend Just remember that death is not the end And all your dreams have vanished and you don't know what's up the bend Just remember that death is not the end Not the end, not the end Just remember that death is not the end” Bob Dylan There was no reading of Brian’s will. The lawyer simply informed the concerned parties of their inheritance. In addition to the insurance policy to secure Gus’s future, Brian had taken out a second million-dollar policy on himself naming Michael and Justin beneficiaries. A small trust fund with annual dividends set up by his grandparents when he graduated college was transferred to Claire. Everything else, the loft, the corvette, all his personal belongings, went to Michael. Three weeks after the funeral, Michael and Justin each received a letter from the insurance company with instructions on what to bring with them to claim their checks for half a million dollars. “Michael, I need to talk to you,” Justin said as soon as the lone customer in the comic book shop left. “Sure, what’s up?” Ever since the day of Brian’s funeral, when Michael had found Justin, their relationship had been different. Since then Michael had felt almost paternal towards the young man he had spent the last few years thinking of as a thorn in his side. He understood now how deep Justin’s feelings ran for Brian, and he knew that no matter what Brian had said, or more importantly not said, his feelings for Justin had been the same. “I talked to my mom and she says the loft would list at around four-hundred-thousand. I’ll sign over my half of the insurance money to you if you’ll let me have it.” “Brian wanted you to have that money.” “And he obviously wanted you to have the loft, but I hope you won’t let that stop you from considering my offer. I don’t care about the money, Michael…I need to live there, please.” “Justin, he made that will before he even knew you. As soon as Ryder hired him and he got his student loans paid off, he had a will made. Brian wanted to be sure his parents didn’t benefit if anything…happened to him.” Michael swallowed around the lump forming in his throat at the memory. He had made a decision about the loft before Justin came to him, had talked it over with Ben and had just been waiting for the right time to bring it up. “I think he would have changed it if he had thought…well, if he had known…you know.” He cleared his throat. “Even though things weren’t always perfect between you two, I know how much you loved one another. And let’s face it, from the first night he brought you back there, the loft has pretty much been your home, so…I don’t see why that should change now.” He dug something out from his messenger bag under the counter and came around to hand it to Justin. “What’s this?” “Read it,” Michael smiled. “It’s a deed…to the loft, in my name. Michael, I don’t understand. How did you know I wanted to buy it?” “I didn’t. And you’re not buying it. It’s a gift.” “That’s insane. Michael, you can’t just give me the loft.” “I told you I already thought of it as yours, this just makes it legal. I’ll be closing up pretty soon, why don’t you hang around and then we’ll go pick your stuff up from Daphne’s.” Justin bit his lip. “Are you sure you want to do this?” “I’m sure.” “I don’t know what to say.” “How about, ‘thank you’?” “Thank you. Really. You have no idea how much this means to me.” “I kinda think I do,” Michael said softly. Justin hugged him tightly. Michael pulled back and smiled a watery smile. “Do you remember the first time you hugged me?” “No,” Justin said, puzzled. He wiped at his own eyes and sniffled. “It was the day I found out Captain Astro was dead. You followed me out of the diner and gave me a hug. You were the first one to understand how I felt.” “It was also the day Jason Kemp’s body was found.” “Yeah. And now fucking Stockwell is mayor.” “Not for long. I’m not letting him get away with what he’s done. I’ll take him down if it’s the last thing I do, I swear.” “Justin…” Michael bit back what he was going to say and instead gave Justin’s arm a squeeze. “Be careful. Please.” “Stop worrying,” Justin grinned. “Two over-protective moms are more than enough, I don’t need a third.” * Stockwell was not happy. The little blonde fag, Kinney’s butt buddy, was snooping around again. He was going to have to find a way to stop the kid without raising suspicion. Kinney’s death was one thing, unfortunate, but necessary, but Stockwell knew he’d have to be extra careful from here on out. As mayor of Pittsburgh it was more important than ever that his reputation remain untarnished to the public…even if it meant making a deal or two with the devil himself. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he starred at the phone in front of him. No turning back, he reminded himself firmly. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number that no respectable public official should know. “Yeah?” “I have a job for you.” “Well, well, well. Another one, already?” The disembodied voice cackled into Stockwell’s ear. “And here I was thinking this day just couldn’t get any better. Just goes to show, you never know what’s around the corner in this crazy world.” “Cut the crap, Dutton. You want the job or not?” “Sure, boss man. What mess you need ‘ol Dutton to clean up now?” Another cackle came down the line. “I need you to deliver a message. A very important, very personal, very private message. Think you can handle it?” “No problem. You just tell me where you want this message delivered and I’m on it.” “Not over the phone. You know where. Be there in half an hour.” “Sure thing, boss man.” “Oh, and Dutton, one more thing…stop calling me that.” * Justin stood at the counter and made himself a turkey sandwich. The scent of Brian’s shampoo wafted from his wet hair. He carried the sandwich over to Brian’s desk and sat down in front of the computer. In the three weeks since the day Michael had helped him move back into the loft, none of his leads had turned up any evidence to link Stockwell to Brian’s death. He took a bite of the sandwich and logged in to check his email, or rather, to check Brian’s email. He deleted the slew of porn spam that had slipped through the filters and found he was left with one new message. It was a reply from one of the fifteen or so addresses Justin had not recognized in Brian’s address book. His heart beat faster and the turkey and bread turned to sawdust and glue in his suddenly dry mouth. He forced himself to calm down. Chances were the email was from some trick Brian had met in one of the local chat rooms he frequented, but something about this particular message gave Justin hope. Maybe it was because the address wasn’t pornographic, and included an actual name instead of a screen name. Whatever the reason, Justin’s hand shook as he clicked the mouse to open the email: From:mattylarner@mailbox.pitt.edu To:BK5469@yahoo.com Subject: RE:Any help would be greatly appreciated If you can make it worth my while, I have some information I’m sure you’d be interested in. I need $500 in cash and NO ONE else is to know of our meeting. If these terms are agreeable meet me outside the Pizza Hut on the corner of Liberty and 6th tonight at 11:00 p.m. Justin hit reply and typed a one line response: I’ll be there. He hit send and leaned back in the chair. Five hundred bucks was a lot to pay for another dead end, but he could afford it. It gave him a better feeling about the insurance money, since Michael had repeatedly refused any payment for the loft, to use it to help bring Stockwell down. He smiled at the thought. Bringing Brian’s killer to justice was what he lived for now. * The kid’s name is Taylor, Justin Taylor. Here’s a picture and the address where you’ll find him. But don’t do it there. Follow him a while, see what else the little shit is up to and then suggest he put a stop to it. Got me?” “Sure, sure. No problem,” Dutton said, taking the glossy picture and slip of paper from Stockwell’s gloved hand. “Mmm, pretty little piece, ain’t he?” “Jesus H. Christ! Am I the only straight guy left in this fucking city?” Stockwell asked in disgust. “Get it any way you can, that’s my motto. And don’t go knockin’ something you ain’t tried, boss man.” Dutton waggled his bushy eyebrows. “I told you not to call me that. Now get out of here before somebody sees us.” “I’m gone.” Dutton strutted off into the surrounding shadows. “Fucking fags,” muttered Stockwell as the retreating figure was swallowed up by the dark. * Justin buttoned up his coat to ward off the chill from the wind. Storm’s brewing, he thought with a frown as he waited for his newest lead to show. The night air was heavy with the mingled smells of spicy pizza and rotting garbage from the dumpster behind him. He hoped the guys showed soon, he hadn’t brought an umbrella and the impending rain was already creating moisture in the atmosphere. “Hey, you Taylor?” Justin turned to find a man about his own age and build with greasy dark hair and a face full of acne. “Yes, I’m Justin Taylor.” The young man looked skeptical until Justin pulled a brown envelope from his pocket and handed it over. The guy opened it and fingered the crisp bills with the tenderness of a lover. He nodded once and stuffed the envelope in his jeans. “Look, man, I don’t know how this is of any help to you, but I saw Brian Kinney on the night he was murdered. I used to work for the city, in the clerical department of the police station. Your man Kinney gave me…some money to find a piece of information for him.” “What kind of information?” Justin knew from the why the guy hesitated over the amount, Brian had given him far less than the five hundred he had extorted for this little meeting. “Results of an autopsy. On that retired cop, Reichert. The one who offed himself a couple months ago.” “Yeah, I know who he was. What did it say?” “Sorry, man, don’t know. I grabbed the shit, copied it and handed it over with as little actual contact as possible. It was a sealed file, man Figured the less I knew the better, all things considered. But I’ll tell you who else I saw that night…the esteemed mayor Stockwell.” “Fuck, I knew it!” Justin exclaimed. “Did you see him pull the trigger?” “No,” he blanched under the mask of reddish pimples. “I didn’t hang around for the meeting. Like I told you, I didn’t want to know what was going down. Fuck, I don’t even know why I agreed to meet you. I mean, first that cop eats his exhaust, then Kinney winds up dead…this don’t seem like the kinda situation that’s doing anyone’s health any good to be mixed up with.” “So that’s why you didn’t take you story to the police?” The guy laughed. “Stockwell owns this town now. He could be up to his fucking eyeballs in some shady shit…do you really think there’s anything he can’t get away with?” “He’s not getting away with murder,” Justin said passionately. “Well, good luck is all I can say, man.” “Two more questions,” Justin said when the guy started to take off. “Yeah?” “You said you used to work at the police station, what happened?” “The election happened, dude. No way was I sticking around looking over my shoulder with those two bodies in Stockwell’s closet.” “Three actually.” “Huh?” “Nothing. Second question, how much would it take for you to go to the police with what you know?” “You don’t have enough.” “Try me.” The sudden light of greed in the guy’s eyes made Justin feel a surge of triumph, until the greed turned to fear.” “No, man. I’m not that hard up for cash. I’ll figure out another, safer, way to pay for school. Look, as of this second I’m washing my hands of the whole thing. Do me a favor and don’t contact me again.” He took off in a lopping jog without looking back. Justin balled his fist and hit the brick wall of the pizza place in frustration as the guy turned the corner of the block and rain began to fall.