Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 28

"So we're over, just like that?" Oth.e.l.lo asked.

"It was a h.e.l.luva run." Jasper came up and patted him on the back. "Give yourself a hand. Go back to making music and music videos. You said your manager's on you to pay some attention to your career anyway."

"Are we going to remain friends?"

Silence from the other two Wis.e.m.e.n until Jasper finally spoke: "We need to keep a low profile. That's not a good idea."

Oth.e.l.lo then turned to Deon. "D.A.?"

Deon hesitated, then Charlie called to him from the verandah, his words lost in the wind. "Maybe in the future," said Deon, "some day way off." He stepped off the gazebo and jogged toward Charlie, who ran to meet him halfway.

"It's easier for you two because you have things in your life," Oth.e.l.lo said, watching Deon running away, "lovers, boys, healthy immune systems."

"You've got your blond jock now," Jasper said, trying to sound comforting.

If I could only bank on that, Oth.e.l.lo thought.

"I guess I can admit to you now I had him checked out," said Jasper. "When you said he knew about Joe, I couldn't take any chances."

"I told you I already did that," Oth.e.l.lo said. In the plain between the gazebo and the verandah, Deon and Charlie reached one another and they hugged and kissed. Then Deon picked Charlie up and began spinning him around, causing Charlie to laugh and scream.

"Then you know he was once involved in gay bas.h.i.+ng in college," Jasper went on.

"He told me about it himself," Oth.e.l.lo said vacantly, still focused on Deon and Charlie.

"Earlier I asked him about the other guy who was involved," said Jasper. "The Beckwith name. Said he didn't remember."

"Why would he want to?" Oth.e.l.lo mumbled, a bit confused. The other guy who was involved? Raider had said more than one guy beat the c.r.a.p out of him that night at a college near Dartmouth. It didn't matter though; what did Jasper know?

"I've heard about guys like him," said Jasper, "so phobic and full of self-hate they take it out on the very guys they want to f.u.c.k them up the a.s.s. He must have really done a number on that Dane Beckwith. The guy was too frightened to talk to my P.I. even after all these years, said Raider's Dartmouth buddies scared him into not pressing charges while he was in the hospital and he still saw a couple of them in pa.s.sing around Concord where he lives now."

"Jasper, what are you talking about?" Oth.e.l.lo asked, still distracted by the sight of Deon and Charlie.

"What I found on your jockboy, if you would listen for a second. I guess he gay-bashed this Beckwith guy back at Dartmouth because he wasn't ready to own up to his s.e.xuality. But I take it, for your sake, he's been cured of that and now only goes around counter-bas.h.i.+ng the bashers. Quite a one-eighty, I must say."

"The Dartmouth bas.h.i.+ng," Oth.e.l.lo said flatly, regarding Raider, who was laughing and having a good time with Sasha on the verandah. "That was the only incident your P.I. dug up?"

"You mean there were others?"

"I guess not," Oth.e.l.lo mumbled so low he was sure Jasper hadn't heard him.

It was all starting to make too much sense. Freedom's words. The Nantucket lie. The uneasiness when it came to touching and being touched by the man he claimed to be in love with. And now, the news that the only gay bas.h.i.+ng incident in his youth hadn't been against Raider at some neighboring college, rather, it had been perpetrated by Raider at Dartmouth. Sure, he could ask Raider about it, and sure as h.e.l.l he'd receive some perfectly logical explanation for this latest discrepancy in the life of the man from Nantucket.

But it was the time for the denial to end. No more pretending. No more rationalizing. No more not seeing what had been obvious for, oh, so long.

Your boyfriend's not your boyfriend.

I'm alone in the war, Oth.e.l.lo thought, watching Raider pretend to have the time of his life. Alone with two deserters and one traitor.

OTh.e.l.lO'S JET IDLED on the runway of the private airport twenty miles outside Virginia Beach, a few minutes away from a clearance to taxi. In the main compartment, which resembled a living room with plush sofas, big screen television and a wet bar, Oth.e.l.lo and Raider sat at opposite ends of the same leather sofa. Using fatigue as an excuse, Oth.e.l.lo sat stoically silent while Raider played some kind of Sega game on the television.

If only I'd hired Jasper's investigator instead of mine, Oth.e.l.lo thought, regarding Raider's profile.

The co-pilota"a Pakistani in his early fortiesa"entered through the curtain. As instructed.

"Mr. Hardaway, sir," he said in an English accent, "there's an urgent phone call from your manager Sweeney. He said something about a record meeting."

"Thank you, Eli." Oth.e.l.lo unfurled himself from the couch as his co-pilot disappeared. "I'd better get this up front," he told Raider. "The phone in here has been acting up."

Raider played on. Ten minutes later Oth.e.l.lo re-emerged.

"Raider, you'll forgive me. There's some sort of snafu with a contract in LA. I need to go into the airport and use their teleconferencing setup to straighten it out."

"Fine," said Raider. "Let's go."

"You stay," Oth.e.l.lo said abruptly. "It's been a long day and I might get a little nasty with these execs. No need for you to see me being ugly."

Raider paused, not sure if he bought it, then said: "If that's the way you want it."

"That's the way I want it. Help yourself to whatever: keep playing, take a nap, have some food. I'll be back as soon as I've set some soon-to-be fired lackeys straight."

With that, Oth.e.l.lo disappeared through the curtain again, this time heading for the plane's exit.

For an hour, Raider waited patiently, wondering if Oth.e.l.lo's departure had anything to do with the breakup of the Three Wis.e.m.e.n. But an hour turned into two, then three, and the suspicion that started as a small nagging tick in the back of Raider's mind exploded into a full-fledged monster called reality.

He's not coming back.

And if he's not coming back that means one thing: that short black man with the ripped-up body and devious mind knows exactly who I am. Somehow, some way, he knows.

He racked his brain, trying to think about what had happened at Jasper's ranch, then realized: It was Jasper, asking me about Dane Beckwith. Who is Dane Beckwith?

His thoughts on rapid-fire now, he searched his past. Then it hit him: the f.u.c.king f.a.g from Dartmouth.

At that instant, Raider half expected the plane to explode, or take off with him in tow and plunge into the Atlantic. Then, he calmed himself and thought: I know this guy. Okay, so he's on to me. What would he do next? What else does he know?

A few minutes later, it came to him. With newfound determination, he grabbed his bag off the sofa, and just as Oth.e.l.lo had done hours earlier, he disappeared through the curtain and headed for the plane's exit.

EIGHTEEN.

A SMALL BANKER'S lamp resting on the wooden table next to the door was the only light illuminating the condo's living room. No need to draw the neighbors' attention, Oth.e.l.lo had decided. Even though it was past midnight now, maybe some old biddy on estrogen overdrive would think Raider had returned home to DC and come traipsing over with starry eyes and a freshly baked apple pie.

Having gone through both bedrooms twice already, he made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, cringing at the sight of a blackened, half-eaten sandwich and a green loaf of bread. He surveyed the room. Kitchen items were in short supply, as was any evidence Raider Kincaide had ever cooked a meal in his life save the pasta dish at the Big House. He closed the refrigerator door, killing another source of light, and walked back into the living room. The furniture was modern and modest, dark wood and green leather, better than Raider's place in West Hollywood, but then again, this was his real home, not far from the J. Edgar Hoover Building and FBI headquarters. Briefly, he wondered if the man from Nantucket knew that Hoover was one of the biggest queens this side of Richard Simmons.

Across from the sofa was a fireplace. In a straw basket on the hearth was a pile of CDs. He sat on the coffee table and started rummaging through the pile. The CDs were mostly rock bands: Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Van Halen. There were no more Oth.e.l.lo alb.u.ms to go along with the copy of One Nation that was stashed among some straight p.o.r.no tapes in the dresser drawer in the bedroom. Must have bought mine for research, Oth.e.l.lo figured. He was still going through the CDs when he realized there was another presence in the room, behind him in the vicinity of the doorway.

"I guess Hollinquest hired a better P.I. than you." It was Raider's voice, calm and collected. Oth.e.l.lo looked up from the CDs but didn't turn around.

"Not really," he said. "Your office did a good job covering your tracks. He still has no idea you're.... I just decided to stop being a complete fool and take you for what you really are. He did know you came to LA from here, not Nantucket."

"And based on Jasper's tip, you found my condo."

Oth.e.l.lo heard the front door close and took it to mean they were alone. No arresting officers just yet.

"How'd you get in?" Raider asked.

"When you're as rich as I am, you learn very quickly how to buy the little people, locksmiths included."

"I'll remember that next time I'm rich."

"I wanted a glimpse of the real man behind the man I fell in love with." He played with the CDs in his hand, still unable to look at Raider. "To see if he was anything like the Raider I knew. I figured this was the only way to find out."

"And am I? Like the man who lives here?"

"Not too different, I supposed. With some very glaring and heartbreaking exceptions." His voice cracked. He tossed the CDs back into the basket, then stood up and flung an arm in the direction of the row of bronzed lacrosse statuettes on the fireplace mantle. "You should have brought your trophies out. They would have been a nice addition, made me fall even more, if that's even possible."

"I care about you, Oth.e.l.lo," Raider said, his voice drawing closer. Another light came on, the lamp on the end table beside the sofa, Oth.e.l.lo guessed.

"You don't love me."

"I never said I did."

"You said you were in love with me." Oth.e.l.lo turned and faced the real Raider for the very first time. They were five feet apart, their eyes locked together. "Was it all just one big one-hundred-percent lie? I know I'm a fool for even asking but I have to."

Raider looked toward the ceiling, then back to Oth.e.l.lo. "I'm just not that way, Oth.e.l.lo."

Oth.e.l.lo made a half turn away from him. "Well, you did an Oscar-worthy job pretending. And the nominees for this year's Best Straight Man Posing As A c.o.c.ksucker are...."

"Not really," said Raider. "I let you down an awful lot. I freaked out whenever anyone came near me. I about clubbed Freedom at least twice for trying to feel me up."

"Freedom," Oth.e.l.lo said wistfully. "He was a thousand times smarter than me. He had you figured out."

"Not necessarily. It was me who saw him crush that man's skull at the parade. I came clean and told him he was under arrest. He ran."

"That's why he tried to warn me," Oth.e.l.lo realized. "But I didn't want to listen. Guess I wanted my man even more than I wanted my uprising. And I sent me, Jasper, Deon, Travis, Trudy and everybody else straight up the river for it." He paused, thinking about how they'd soon find out how he'd let them all down. "So what happens now?"

"Some of that depends on you."

"Me? You hold all the cards."

"Oth.e.l.lo, we can make this as painless as possible."

"For this to be painless is impossible."

"I mean in terms of a big scene with the media or you and the Wis.e.m.e.n on the run like fugitives. This can be a lot more civilized than O.J.'s slow speed chase down the 405."

The very comparison rendered Oth.e.l.lo nauseous. He walked toward the fireplace and hung onto the mantle for stability as Raider went on: "We've gotta talk, O."

"Talk about what, for G.o.d's sake?"

Raider rubbed his head as if trying to clear it. His thoughts were jagged and jumbled. His stomach was even trying to get into the act. Normally, the routine was simple: cuff 'em, file the report, pick out a sharp suit to wear on the witness stand. Move on.

But this wasn't "normally."

He sighed. "Part of what happens may also be influenced by whether or not you told me the truth when you said the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt was called off."

"You saw the awkward way we all parted. They chickened out." Oth.e.l.lo swung around to Raider. "But not me." He checked himself, fearing further incrimination. "The Wis.e.m.e.n and Joe are as dead as Freedom. Even if I were to be a free man, I'm alone, just like I was the day I started this whole odyssey."

"What began it anyway? I mean, you have so much, wealth, career, fame."

"People grow older, mature, they confront their own mortality." They confront the prospect of a slow, agonizing death in their mid-thirties, he said to himself, walking along the length of the mantle, farther away from Raider. "I decided that, before I died, I wanted to make a difference in the thing that mattered most to me, the thing that was at the core of my soul. I wanted the power to change the face of gay rights. Almost as much as I wanted love."

"I'm sorry I had to play with your emotions. Really I am."

"You don't give a d.a.m.n about me, Raider." He turned and faced him again. "You're not capable. It was a job for you, a nothing job."

"You're wrong there and I think you know that."

"Then why is my next destination the nearest jail cell?"

Raider paused, then insisted: "I'm not a robot without feelings. You're a good person underneath all that anger. I was flattered that you were in love with me. You could have anybody in the world, male or female, and you wanted me."

"You don't know how much."

"Unfortunately sometimes that's what UCa"undercovera"work is all about, becoming the avenue to what the person wants so much, a goal, dream, a drug, becoming their drug. Only most of the time, it's guys who don't deserve to take up s.p.a.ce on the planet, child p.o.r.nographers, drug runners, Mafia types."

"And, what, I'm not as bad as your usual suspects?"

"Not even in the same ballpark, Oth.e.l.lo."

Oth.e.l.lo stood in silence, wondering if it were ever going to be possible to digest and fully understand what had taken place between them. "Weren't you ever curious though?" he asked. "Didn't you ever think about it? Me?"

"There were times I thought about it, sure. h.e.l.l, I'm surrounded by gay guys for three months; how am I not supposed to wonder? But I know it's only natural nowa"to wonder. Everybody wonders. And some gay guys are pretty cool. And buff, like you. And normal, like me. Sure there's the guysa"Freedom or that sissy Asian Garya"that I'll never understand, but then there's guys like you who I have no problem with. Now at least."

"So the kissing," Oth.e.l.lo said, still trying to decipher what was and wasn't real about his once and never-again boyfriend, "the kissing wasn't enjoyable?"

Raider laughed. "The kissing was pretty crazy. I will tell you this: I know some girls who could use a few lessons from you. A lot of them."