“What do you think happened?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Detective. To find out.”

“Look, don’t get upset with me. Blood tests showed not only that he had had a lot to drink but that he’d taken tranquilizers.”

“But what about the ’cause of death? The coroner’s report? I saw the body. I saw how they cut him up.”

“We’re still investigating that.”

“You don’t really care. What’s one more faggot dead? I’m glad Metro wasn’t black. Then you’d forget about the whole thing. But Metro was a white boy, Detective. He had family.”

The officer stood up from his desk. “We’ll call you when we have something.”

Jesse reached for my hand. “I’m not staying there anymore. I’m with Rooms.”

“Rooms?”

That’s when I cleared my throat, gave my teeth some air, I smiled and spoke my name with great precision. “Ru-el-la McPhee.”

Jesse was already pulling me toward the door.

“Please leave your number with the desk officer, and I’ll call you both if anything develops.”

“If?” asked Jesse.

“As things develop,” he said firmly and sat back down. It then occurred to me that he never shook Jesse’s hand. Nor mine.

I gave my telephone number and address and left with Jesse. He walked ahead of me again through the tiled hallway, the scuffed linoleum echoing our steps. Outside a chill was rustling the trees. I held Jesse’s hand, but he let go and put his hands in his pockets instead. At the corner of 7th Avenue he stopped, and I stopped, for the traffic going both ways fast. I held his hand, harder this time, until the veins showed through my skin.

We went into the IRT entrance, got tokens, and waited for the train. The smell of burning wires came through the tunnel and made me want to leave and take the bus. But there we were. We had paid our fare. We were trapped. The local howled in and I covered my ears. The bell rang. “Step in and watch the closing doors,” said the motorman. In twenty minutes we were back at my place.

Lonny

Lonny

Like I keep telling you. October is a bitch, a mean, red bitch. And you still don’t believe me. Shit, you got the red leaves, you got early nightfall and twisted chilly mornings freezing you back into bed. You got people in scarves and caps tilted to the side like Hollywood detectives. You got October. What more do you want? You want red leaves clogging the sewers? You want legs and arms splayed out like tree limbs after a storm? You really don’t believe in fall, huh, or how people can change too, just as fast? You want all this? Then you’re no better than that faggot who wanted me.