Microsoft Word - Talkers_Redemption_Lane.docx

decent guy—or maybe he just really
    didn’t want his shoes puked on—but he backed off.
    “See,” Tate said nakedly, looking at Melville and thinking, I bet
    he has kids. I bet he has a son, and he’s wondering what it takes to
    make a good kid into a pathetic fuck up who would puke on a cop’s
    shoes and ink his face like a freak. Take a good look, Detective. I’m
    all I can be.
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    “See,” he said again, jerking himself out of his own head, “I
    couldn’t have faced Trev again. I couldn’t have. Now maybe. I
    couldn’t face him tonight, but….” That was before I puked on the bad
    cop’s shoes. “Now, maybe I could see him and not just… just check
    out and panic dive into my own head and never come out. But not
    then. So, I’m going to guess….”
    “Guess?”
    “I don’t remember. I was… I was so far down the fucking rabbit
    hole, I barely even remember seeing the scars on his hands. But
    Brian doesn’t go looking for trouble, right? And he was dropping me
    off at the club every day. And if it happened at the club, I’m going to
    bet Trev was there, and Brian… just wanted to keep me safe.”
    “He couldn’t have gone to the police?” Melville asked, trying to
    be all tough.
    “And tell them what?” Talker asked bitterly. “That his freakish
    gay roommate had a suicidally bad date?” His smile was all acid.
    “And that’s not even on you guys. I couldn’t have said the word ‘rape’
    to save my life back then. I couldn’t even say it to save Brian’s.”
    Melville blew out a breath. “We understand that Mr. Gaines
    was not hurt nearly as bad as Brian—”
    “Brian was one on one—ask Jed. He’ll tell you.”
    “Mr. Roberts said he didn’t know,” Melville said mildly, and
    Talker glared at him.
    “He was protecting Brian. But I don’t think Trev will leave it at
    this, so I’m protecting him too.”
    Melville sighed and nodded, conceding, apparently, that he
    was going to have to ask Jed for particulars of the fight. Talker
    wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he told himself stoutly that when
    he was ready for the details, he’d ask Brian himself.
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    “So,” Melville said, when Talker wasn’t filling in the silence.
    “Tonight?”
    “Tonight? Tonight we walked outside to our car, and Trev and
    two other guys were there with chains.”
    “You were unhurt?”
    The accusation was implicit. And deserved.
    “Brian made me run,” Talker said, back in taupe-land again. He
    remembered then, the sick terror of seeing Trevor, of seeing the
    chain, of thinking, I can’t fucking do this again.
    “Made you?” And the accusation was still there.
    Talker nodded, though. He didn’t have an answer for the
    accusation. What? Did this guy think Talker didn’t feel the same
    way?
    “I froze,” he whispered. “Just… just fucking froze. I….” His eyes
    blurred, and suddenly Doc Sutherland’s hand was holding his, and
    he just grabbed it for dear life, wishing like anything that it was
    Brian’s hand instead. “I couldn’t do it again, and Brian… he grabbed
    my shoulders and shoved me to the bar and told me to get Jed,
    and… and one of the guys got him in the back with a pipe and Trev
    got in there and swung….”
    And it had happened. Just hours ago it had happened, and it
    wasn’t months ago, because Brian was still not all right.
    And now, neither was Talker.
    He didn’t throw up, or fugue, or disappear. But the blurring in
    his eyes wouldn’t stop, and now, instead of Aunt Lyndie, it was Doc
    Sutherland, pulling him in and letting him cry on the funky
    homemade gray cardigan, and Talker had no more words, not for
    the nice detective who seemed to have backed off, not for Doc
    Sutherland, not for Aunt Lyndie, not even in his head.
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    He made himself stop after a while, and when he looked up,
    Melville was still there, being patient. God, I bet this guy really does
    have kids. No one can be that patient.
    “I need to check with our ADA,” Melville said when he knew he
    had Talker’s attention. “But I don’t think Brian has to worry. We may
    need you to swear out a deposition, and then we can get Gaines on
    assault. We—” Melville grimaced. “If you could talk to Mr. Roberts?
    Let him know that he wouldn’t be betraying a trust to tell us what
    happened? That would be very helpful.”
    Talker scowled at him. “You’re not