Beef Matson Chapter 9

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Beef Matson Archive - Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - Faithful Friends Who Are Dear To Us Gather Near To Us Once More

"You look pretty much alive to me."

“Dead…dead?” asked Brett. “You think you’re dead? You look pretty much alive to me.” Brett began to poke and tickle Randy. Randy jerked his body around like a marionette having a seizure, laughing. “Brett…” Randy gasped, “If I’m not dead and not having a dream…” Brett reached out and pinched Randy, who yelped in pain. “See, I pinched you and you didn’t wake up…” teased Brett, “so you’re wide awake.”
Randy looked back at the bedside table. “But the whiskey and the sleeping pills…”
“Did you actually have any whiskey or take any sleeping pills?”
“Well, I took a sip of the whiskey and then I remembered how much I hate booze straight up without soda…then I thought if I took a nap first…I might wake up in a better mood.”
”Yeah, I didn’t think you would go through with it. You were always the levelheaded one…no matter how hard things got, you tried to think things through. I was watching you and don’t worry, kid, if you even tried taking any of those pills…I would have sent that bottle flying across the room and pulverized every last one of those pills. That would have snapped you out of your funk.”
“Yeah…that brings me to another point,” protested Randy, “how can this be? You’re…you’re…dead.” Brett spoke the word dead along with Randy.
“Yep…” Brett grabbed Randy’s arm and pulled his hand onto his chest. “But I’m pretty solid, though.”
“What in the heck is going on then? What are you…a…ghost?”
“Kind of, sort of…don’t really care for the word ghost…that sort of implies you just run around saying boo or something. Actually, what’s really going on is sort of something special.”
“Like what do you mean by that?”
“Well, Lucy,” replied Brett feigning a Cuban accent, “That would take too much ‘splanin’. Like I don’t even understand it all.”
“This is really creepy, Brett.”
Brett pulled Randy close and put his arms around him. “Hope you don’t think I’m creepy…speaking of solid…don’t I feel nice? You sure do.”
“You’re…just what I need,” Randy sighed and sank into Brett’s embrace. Brett smiled warmly and nuzzled his face into Randy’s hair.
“Just put your trust in me, we’re together again, at least for a little while…that should be all that matters for now. Let’s go out and have a nice dinner and I’ll try to explain what I can. It’s important that we get out of your apartment for a while and we got to do something to get you into a better mood. Let’s go…let’s go dancing, let’s go have some fun!”

Randy looked over to see a figure standing in the doorway of his bedroom. It was a young man, African American, dressed smartly but in the style of the late 1970s.
”You two do make an awesome couple,” said the young man, “truly awesome.”
“Who are you?” asked Randy.
“He used to live here,” said Brett with his eyes pointing to the ceiling, “he comes back to visit once in awhile.”
“Franklin Bedford,” said the young black man, bowing, “at your service.”
“Franklin Bedford…Bedford…” muttered Randy, “Why does that name sound familiar? Oh, I remember…the notices from the IRS I get once in awhile in my mailbox, they’re all addressed to a Franklin Bedford.”
“That’s me…” replied the young man, “Isn’t that nice, after all these years, the Internal Revenue Service hasn’t forgotten me.

Franklin

I remember telling the agent from the IRS that I was dying…and I probably wouldn’t be able to pay my remaining tax bill…but if she really wanted to, she could try to follow me over to the other side. Oh…those people have absolutely no sense of humor.”
“When you were dying?” Randy tightened his embrace around Brett.
”Yeah…” the young man sighed, “Of AIDS. Had to give up my apartment and live with my Granma in Oakland. Poor Granma, having to take care of a grown-up grandson and watch me get so sick. She deserved so much better…grand kids are supposed to take care of their grandparents, not the other way around. I didn’t last that much longer, though ending up dying at a hospital and not grandma’s house.”
An expression of serious concern came over Randy’s face and he remained glued to Brett.

“Oh, not to worry, my man,” continued the young black, “I just come back here to visit. This was my old pad…I had it fixed up real nice. Brings back a lot of good memories. I was young, I had just come out and this was my very first apartment I had on my own. So that’s why I come back to visit…I had some of the best memories of my life in this apartment. Watched it get run down over the years. Then you moved in and you fixed it up real nice, reminded me a lot when I had it. You even like the old school music, too. Course, I grooved more to Bobbi Humphrey and such, but that disco you play…that melts my soul, that’s some powerful tunes.”

Randy still held onto Brett, blinking his eyes a couple of times. Franklin gently smiled. “That’s enough about me…aren’t we suppose to get your man out of this place?”
Brett winked back at Franklin. “We got to get my Shugabug out to party and put him in a better mood.” Brett cupped his hand around the back of Randy’s neck and gently shook it. “We got to get a little holiday spirit going.”
Randy leaned his head into Brett’s shoulder and embraced him tightly. “I don’t know what in the heck is going on here…but this is awful good. So if you guys want to go out to party…let’s go.”

Randy views the souls stuck in limbo.

“They won’t listen to a word you say…I don’t think they even listen to each other.”

Randy began to hear mumbled voices coming from the direction of his living room, suggesting a roomful of people. “Who’s that…who else is in my apartment? You guys having a party here?” he asked and pulled from Brett, wanting to investigate. Randy made the short distance to the source of the voices, his living room. As he walked around the corner, Randy found that his living room was occupied by a group of strangers who ignored his stare; some of the people were busy chattering to each other, still others seemed to be reenacting a traumatic scene from their lives.
“Hey…” Randy finally yelled out, “What the hell are you people doing here?” The crowd ignored him.
“This is my place…I’m the one who pays the rent here.”
A dark haired young woman suddenly turned towards Randy and flashed an angry look at him. She displayed her arms to him.
”I sat in the bathtub and slashed my wrists and watched my blood go down the drain until I passed out!”
Randy looked down at the woman’s up turned arms; her wrists were bruised and covered in dried blood. He stepped back quickly in shock. Another person spoke, a bald middle-aged man. “I found out my own brother had stole money from me and sold my company’s proprietary information to my competitors. Just so he could ruin me and take control of the company I spent decades building up from scratch. My own brother. Since everything had collapsed around me and there was no honor in my own family, I decided the best thing I could do was dispatch myself.”

A young, beautiful woman in an expensive low cut dress spoke next, “I did all the drugs I wanted to because I was rich and I could get whatever I wanted. I overdosed all the time and there was always somebody around to get me to the hospital in time. The last time nobody found me until it was too late. I guess somebody really screwed up.”

A big, burly young black man spoke up. “It was an accident, man. I used to put a gun to my head all the time…but I never pulled the trigger. The last time though…my finger must have twitched or something. That’s all she wrote, that’s all she wrote. It was just an accident, man.” A young woman with flowing dark hair and her hands in a praying position spoke in a pleading voice. “I was just bad. I never took drugs or swore or had sex…but I knew I was bad. My mother was sharp; she knew I was bad from the start. She always told me when I was a little girl how bad I was…she couldn’t tell me why, just that she knew I was bad. I just couldn’t take it anymore…knowing how horrible I was. I made the world a better place by taking myself out of it.”

A young man appearing to be in his early twenties and wearing a sport coat with a sweater and jeans spoke next. “My old man always told me he rather have a dead son than a gay son. All the time. My parents knew I had tried to off myself a couple of times and I was on medication. But the old man had to have another one of his dramas about how he’d rather have a dead son than a gay son. Guess his routine found me at just the right time, so I went to my favorite park, took all my meds at the same time and went to lie down under some bushes. They found my body on Christmas Eve day. That must have been the best Christmas present ever for my dad.”

Brett put his arms around Randy’s waist, pulling him back from the group of strangers who immediately returned to their self-absorbed behavior. “It’s pointless to even talk to them…” Brett told him, “They won’t listen to a word you say…I don’t think they even listen to each other.”
“That’s right,” added Franklin Bedford, “the best way to describe these folks is the word crazy. Girl, there ain’t nobody at home upstairs.”
“This isn’t right,” protested Randy, “My living room looks larger. I don’t even have chairs like the ones they’re sitting on. This must be a dream.”
”No,” explained Brett, “these are the spirits of people who committed suicide. Not a real good idea to commit suicide because the people who do wind up not being in this world or the next, they’re sort of stuck in a limbo in between. Whenever they appear, they cause doors between the two sides to open. As a result, when they’re around they sort of…bend space a little. They also project their own reality to some extent, you could say they brought their own furniture with them.”
”But why are they here, in my place?”
“When people die, spirits who are close to them come to retrieve them. When people commit suicide, they attract the spirits of those who also committed suicide, like this group.”
“But I didn’t commit suicide.”
“No…but you were considering it…and that was enough to bring them here.”
“O.k., but how do I get them to leave?”
“Don’t worry about them, they just don’t have their act together and they’re harmless for the most part and they’ll eventually leave anyway. Besides, we’re going out to party…remember? I’m going to get you a shirt from your closet, you can’t go out wearing just your jeans…too cold outside for that.”
Randy looked confused and frustrated, “I just can’t just let them sit here in my living room.”
Franklin Bedford smiled and gently a sided to Randy, “I know a few ways to move up their departure time. They don’t like their blue funk thing to be disturbed. So if we put on your Christmas lights and some music, you know, make things a little up tempo…they gonna be packing up their bags and movin’ on.” Franklin walked over to Randy’s little kitchenette table and plugged in his Christmas lights. He then put one hand on his chest and struck a pose. “I love Christmas decorations, so did my mother and grandma. When you unplugged your lights and then they got plugged back in…that was me, honey. I wasn’t gonna let nobody mess up your little Christmas.” Franklin then brushed aside the other spirits and made his way to Randy’s stereo and shuffled through some CD’s. “These shiny, little rainbow things are pretty cool, but I prefer my old records…the album covers were so much better than these little things. Oh…let’s turn this one out. It’s got my old disco grooves and it has almost thirty tracks…that should be enough to persuade our friends to leave.” Franklin then inserted the CD and hit the play button, filling the room with classic disco.

Brett was aggressively putting a shirt on Randy, pulling one of his arms through a shirtsleeve. “Geez Brett, I can dress myself.” Randy began to put his arm through the other sleeve and began buttoning his shirt. He turned with a look that told that he was beginning to grasp the reality of the situation. “Brett…this is exactly how things were. You pulling on my shirt and rushing me. I don’t know what’s going on here or how you managed to do this but…but…thank you! Thank you! Randy grabbed Brett in an embrace. “My God…it is really you, isn’t it?" Brett pulled Randy’s arms from his body and began to put a coat on his old lover. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, Shugabug, right now we got to get you out of here,” said Brett, making sure Randy’s coat fit properly and then began pulling his partner towards the door.

“Wait,” said Randy and pulled away from Brett and walked to the group of spirits in the living room, addressing them. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything in the apartment to offer you…I just wasn’t expecting to have company. Otherwise, we could have had a pretty good party.” The group suddenly stopped their compulsive behavior and directed their attention to the young man. “All of you are welcome to come with us and party.”

Randy’s last statement seemed to have a profound effect on the group, the distant, removed expressions and were replaced by slight, relieved smiles. Still, the individuals politely shook their heads in negative response to Randy’s invitation. The bald, middle aged man even turned and looked directly at Randy. “You sir, are a very noble and good man.”
Brett grabbed Randy’s arm again and began pulling him towards the door with Franklin following behind. Randy lifted his other arm and waved back at the spirits, “Merry Christmas or whatever!” The spirits quietly and individually wished Randy a Merry Christmas in return. As Brett continued to hustle him out the door, Randy fumbled in his coat pocket, “My keys…do I have my keys…oh…ok, here they are.” Finally, Brett pushed Randy out the door and it closed behind the trio, leaving the group of spirits behind sitting in the glow of the twinkling Christmas lights and bathed in the sound of the vintage disco music. Instead of resuming their mindless chatter, the members of the group looked at each other, smiling and gently rocking to the music.

Tightly grasping Randy’s arm, Brett rushed his partner through the short apartment hallway and down the flights of stairs to the lobby. “What are we doing,” protested Randy, “the forty yard dash?”
“Just in a hurry to go out and party. Remember, we’ve got to keep the yuletide…”
“Gay…” answered Randy, as he bounced down the stairs. Behind them the sounds of pounding, thumping and popping resounded through the old building. Once outside the building, Brett and Franklin stood on both sides of Randy, scanning the street around them. They quickly ushered him to a parked car. “Will you two ease up,” complained Randy, “What are we late for a reservation or something?”
“No, not really…” answered Brett, “just thought you needed to get out of your apartment for awhile.”

“From what I understand, you pray one mean little prayer.”

Continuing to rush Randy along, the trio got into a car, with Franklin sitting in the back seat, Brett pushing Randy into one of the front bucket seats and then Brett occupying the driver’s seat.
“Brett,” observed Randy, “this is the old car you used to have…except it’s brand new.”
“It’s my old car all right, but the way I wanted it to be…like it was just driven off the showroom floor. Where I come from, we can project our thoughts so they become reality. People in the…real world do the same thing, but they have to work at making their thoughts become reality.”
Randy sunk back into his seat as Brett steered the car out of the parking space.
”This is all way too weird. I’m just going to have to think of all this as a dream until I get used to this. The most real dream I’ve ever had. When I have a very real feeling dream I can test it to see if it’s real. Usually if I try to focus on something in a dream, like look closely at the detail of something or read a newspaper, I’ll find that there’s no detail, like I can’t make out the words, but I can see all the detail in this car, including reading the little lettering on the radio. I can even smell the new car smell”.
“Like my cologne?” asked Brett.
“Yeah…really. It’s just like the cologne that you used…Oh God…” Randy sunk down further into his seat, “This is real.” Randy reached over, holding tightly onto Brett’s leg. Franklin chuckled.
“Brett…” asked Randy, “How did you manage to do this?”
“Me…?” responded Brett, “It was my Shugabug that did this.”
”I didn’t do anything,” replied Randy, “How could I possibly do this?”
“From what I understand, you pray one mean little prayer.”
“What…?”
“This is in answer to one of your prayers. You asked for a little help…so in return you’re going to get a LOT of help. The main thing is to guarantee that you and your friends have one exceptional Christmas. This is sort of like God’s Christmas present to you.”
“Nah…”
“Yes, it is Shugabug,” Brett reached over and grabbed the hair on the back of Randy’s head and shook his head gently. “Get used to it. This is just the start…a whole lot of other things are going to happen before the night is over, it can’t be stopped now. Just kick back and enjoy the show.”
“This ain’t all a free ride, either,” added Franklin, “We spirit types have to do something while we are visiting…it gotta be more than just the ghost thing and saying ‘Boo’ or something…we’re all supposed to do some good deed or give a present to somebody. So we gotta work some good deeds when we…partay!” Franklin snapped his fingers. “Turn on the radio, I want to hear some music to get me in a party mood.” Brett turned on the radio and tuned it until he found a station that Franklin liked. “That’s old school disco,” observed Randy, “…and I know that station went off the air years ago.”
“You’re right, it did. Time and space…” explained Brett, “are all getting a little distorted tonight. Just enjoy. Where do you want to go to eat?”
“The Cozy Cup, “ responded Randy, “it’s just a little hole in the wall on Castro. It’s probably dead…er…not very busy this time of night.”
“The Cozy Cup it is,” affirmed Brett.

*********
"Why, shoot you, of course."

CD confronts Beef Matson in his office.

Beef Matson stared at the woman standing in his dimly lit office. She was backlit by the twinkling Christmas lights hanging over the doorway that led to the outer office where Randy’s desk was. She continued to point the shiny object in her hand towards Matson, “I’ve got something for you,” she repeated again.
“Well,” replied the detective, “just put it on my desk.”
The woman did not move.
“You might as well just put it on my desk, I’m not coming over there to get it.”
”Somebody sounds a little testy tonight,” replied C.D.
“I had a long day…running around downtown, then I had to run a video tape down to a TV station.”
”Making the trip back her from Illinois was no picnic either.”
“Well then…grab a chair and sit yourself down instead of standing there like some sort of frumpy mannequin.”

C.D. marched over to Beef’s desk and put the shiny object, a plastic container of pills on his desk.
“Those are some of the pills, that Sharon person wanted me to poison my…uh…wicked stepmother with. I trust you got the other pills I sent you.” Beef nodded agreement.
“Damn…” said C.D. reaching up and grabbing her hair and pulling off a wig, “I swear this thing was starting to give me wig rash. C.D. walked over to one of the big leather chairs near Beef’s desk and picked over a pile of clothes lying on it. “What’s the deal here…did a homeless person melt in this chair?”
“Just leftovers from a disguise I wore earlier today when I did some video taping.”
“You as a homeless guy?”
“How’s this…” Matson cleared his throat and then spoke again, altering his voice, “Left a good home in the city…workin’ for the man every night and day.”
“That’ll work.”
“If I can just retrieve that suitcase I left here in your office closet, you don’t mind if I change in here, do you? I don’t think anyone followed me, but if someone was, all they will know is that C.D. walked into this building and the poor girl was never seen again.” Matson, his attention still focused on a video camera on this desk muttered his agreement and C.D. fetched a suitcase from the detective’s office closet and began to change. The frumpy C.D. gradually disappeared and a young, shorthaired young man named Tommy Morton began to appear in her place, as the young man discarded women’s clothing and padding material.
“Oh man…so much for my time in trailer park hell, it’s so good to be back in the city. That Sharon woman…whoa, talk about one freaky, scary individual. I mean, if there really was a C.D., a poor woman like that would have probably ended up being buried in Sharon’s basement. When you coached me and told me what kind of personality to expect and how to play her…all her little revelations still came as a surprise.”
“You think Sharon ever suspected?”
“No…once I thought maybe she had caught on, but I guess she never really suspected. Just too much into her plotting and greed to notice anything, I suppose. I even once volunteered to tell her what the initials C.D. meant, but she told me she just didn’t want to know…couldn’t care less.”
”What does C.D. stand for?” asked Beef.
“Why, cross-dresser, of course.”
Matson laughed.
Tommy continued, “I covered my tracks like you suggested. Using that house of your friends as my house, even playing my own stepmother for the benefit of Sharon’s stepson slash loverboy. Purposely made a slow trip down to that house just to give dear Rocky a chance to follow me. I didn’t even feel guilty taping our conversations…the more she told me, the scarier she got. What an everlovin’ predator. Poor Randy…must have been a nightmare growing up in the same house as that woman.”

“What’s the business with the video camera and taking a tape to a TV station? Dare I ask what that’s about?” inquired Tommy, who was now naked except for a pair of briefs and was now pulling on a pair of jeans. Beef responded. "I’ve been keeping Randy under surveillance as best as I could the past couple of weeks as well as having a couple of other people keep an eye on him. When I found out a woman named Gloria seemed to be at the center of the harassment that was aimed at Randy I began to run some checks of this Gloria. It turned out that wherever in the country there was a controversy about gay issues, this Gloria would coincidentally appear on the scene, and then just as coincidentally, there would be harassment, threats and violence directed against the gay folk involved. I was positive that the same thing was going on here when Randy started experiencing some harassment and especially when Randy’s lawyer Berry started getting the same sort of treatment. I kind of dropped the ball when somebody tried to bash Randy’s head in…can’t tell you how bad I felt about that…so I was more than determined to catch these slimy perpetrators in the act by keeping a close as possible eye on my blond assistant.”

“Randy is an independent little cuss, so that wasn’t always easy. I finally decided to hide him away for a while just to be on the safe side, but that didn’t work out either. However, I lucked out earlier today when Randy decided to go shopping.” The detective told the story about the little girl crudely propositioning Randy to Tommy, who plopped into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of Beef’s desk and began removing the last vestiges of makeup from his face with a cleaning pad. “That has got to be the lowest of the low,” commented Tommy, “having a little girl play the role of slut in the name of morality.”
”Yeah,” replied Matson, “That’s one way of describing it. Anyway, I captured the scene very up close and personal with the trusty video camera. Picked up the audio crystal clear, too.”
“Just how did you do this again?” asked Tommy, wiping the corner of an eye with the cleaning pad.
“I was a homeless guy…” said Beef, pointing to the pile of clothes in the other chair, “had the camera in my bundle of what everyone thought were my possessions. People prefer to ignore the homeless, so that allowed me to get up close to the action without influencing anything. I dropped off a copy of the tape at a TV studio where it will be distributed and by tomorrow, the entire country will also be witness to the little girl’s performance and our little friend Gloria’s involvement with it. That, along with the information you’ve provided about Sharon and Rocky’s extracurricular activities should be enough to put a serious damper on any accusations about Randy. I think Randy will end up having an excellent Christmas after all.”

“Speaking of Randy,” added Beef, “I want him to be out of sight for the next day or two until all of this, well…plays itself out. I’ve arranged with some friends of mine to have Randy stay with them right through the holidays. They have a lot of company staying with them as well, so there should be safety in numbers. I’ve also got a new apartment for Randy. Some guys I know have an apartment coming available in their house. Right in the Castro, sunny, top floor with a nice balcony…Randy can have all the potted plants he wants…he’ll love the place. Should be some deserved good news for him…that incident with the little girl seemed to really hurt him. Right after I met with you I wanted to head down to his apartment and take him over to my friends place. He’s going if he wants to or not…going kicking and screaming if need be. Hey…you want to come along and get a pizza?”
Nah…” replied Tommy, “Got to head down to the Robes Roses and pick up my payroll check…still need to do my Christmas shopping, you know. Plus, I want to make sure I still have a job there after my little sojourn in Illinois.”
“Oh…don’t worry about that,” said Matson gently, “I talked to Myles today, and I’m not supposed to tell you this, but he’s got a bonus check for you as well for your performance above and beyond the call of duty…for your performance as C.D.”
“Well…call me one delighted drag performer…do I get a plaque as well?” responded Tommy, shaking his head like a movie star, “I shall record all this for my memoirs. I am so glad I didn’t do what Sharon told me to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, shoot you, of course.”

Beef Matson arched his eyebrows in a disapproving frown as his phone rang. “Yeah…Matson here,” he answered. Beef covered the speaker of the headset and spoke to Tommy. “Speak of the devil…it’s Randy. Randy, where are you? Sounds like you’re in a car. What? What friends? I’ve got a place for you to stay. Well, I guess that’ll be all right. Wait a minute…let me talk with your buddy.”
Matson paused a second and began conversing with someone else on the phone for a few moments then asked to speak to Randy again.
“Okay Randy, I guess going out to party a little won’t be a bad thing…just make sure you stay with your friends. I want to let you know you’ve been totally vindicated, I expect all the charges against you will just be bad memories in a few days. But you need to keep yourself safe and be extra careful until then. If anything happens give me a call right away. Well, all right then. Bye.”

Beef leaned back into his chair; his puzzled face lit by the glow of the Christmas lights in the dim office. “That was…strange,” he commented. “My little assistant seems to have made a total emotional about face…Randy sounds like he’s in the best mood he’s been in for weeks. He told me that an old friend dropped by and they and some other guy are going out to party. And that he’s got a group of people watching his apartment for him. When I talked to his friend…it sounds like his friend has taken charge of the whole situation for Randy. Randy’s friend made it sound like he was an old boyfriend or something…that he was going to make sure Randy was kept out of harm’s way. Then…the guy thanked me for all that I’ve done for Randy, especially for the video I made this afternoon. Like…how could he…or Randy have known about that? I didn’t tell him anything about what was going on. That little guy must be a whole lot smarter than I thought. I’m really going to have to sit down and have a little chat with that boy.”

*********
"Trying to hurt someone by ruining their life, by driving them to despair…suicide…will leave a terrible stain on your soul."

Larry Doolan stood across the street from Randy’s apartment building hesitating until he felt that the street was properly deserted to make his crossing. He then crossed the street in quick, quiet little steps like some large rodent. He slowed his pace upon arriving at the entrance to the building, pausing to make it look like he was fumbling for keys, when in actuality he was picking the lock of the entrance. The lock was old, and in disrepair, so it didn’t take much effort to make it open and Larry was soon in the lobby. Looking at the mailboxes and the number of Randy’s apartment, Larry concluded that Randy’s apartment must be on an upper floor. Finding the door that led to the stairwell the man swung the metal pipe he carried, tapping it against the palm of this gloved hand and smiled. He opened the door and headed up the stairs.

Walking silently up the stairs to the next floor, Larry realized from the numbering scheme that Randy Hardwicke’s apartment must be on the top floor. He thought about what he would do when he entered Randy’s apartment. Maybe he would not plant the bug. He thought that Randy would probably still be in his bedroom, since he had seen Beef Matson’s assistant through the bedroom window getting ready for bed. If Randy were in his bed sleeping, it would be a simple matter of bringing the metal pipe down on the sleeper’s head, the assault would be over quickly, no sound, no struggle. When Randy’s murder would be reported, Larry would simply tell his superiors that he had not been able to make it to the apartment to plant the bug. Besides, his superiors would probably tacitly approve of Randy’s violent demise. In the worse case scenario, if Larry were to even be traced to the murder, he would simply say he was under the influence of drugs. After all, he did have a past history of drug use, he could simply say it was not a hate crime, he didn’t hate gay men…it was just the drugs. Besides, the media had led him to believe that Randy Hardwicke was a child molester…so that would make it all right, Larry could even envision himself being acquitted, being a hero. That is, if anyone even found out that he was the perpetrator…they most likely would not. No one was even suppose to know he was in San Francisco.

Making it to the top floor, finding Randy’s apartment was very easy. His was the only door with an apartment number, even in the dimly lit hallway, it was easy to see the other doors probably just led to storage rooms or closets. Larry silently approached Randy’s door and paused to listen. He could hear some old disco music playing within, but no other sounds or voices. This would be good. The music would cover the sound of him working the lock and opening the door. Even if Randy were awake, Larry could stealth fully catch his victim by surprise. The door popped open. The music filled the hallway and Larry quickly stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. The door hinges did not even make a sound and Larry made his entrance to the apartment in stone silence.

The intruder paused a few seconds, trying to decide his next move. The apartment was dim, except for some twinkling Christmas lights hanging in a window off to the side of the galley kitchen. The small size of the apartment allowed for a quick examination just by standing near the hallway entrance. There was no one in the living room or kitchen area, just a pile of boxes of packed belongings. A smile of quiet assurance came across Larry’s face as he made his way to the bedroom and towards a dim light shining from it. The word, jackpot, flashed into Larry mind as he entered the bedroom. There was his quarry, a pile under a layer of blankets and bedspread. The pile was not moving; assuring him that Randy was sound asleep. Then Larry spotted the bottles of whiskey and sleeping pills on the nightstand. He smiled again. This would be too easy. If Randy were already under the influence of alcohol and pills, there would be no resistance to any attack, what was more, if an autopsy showed that Randy had enough pills and alcohol in him, it would certainly muddle the issue of what actually killed the young man. Larry could have not have hoped for more.

Randy's "guests" observe Larry's attack.

Larry positioned himself next to the bed, placing his tool kit on the floor next to him, he lifted the pipe up in the air and then brought it down quickly onto the bedspread where he thought his victim’s head was. He quickly brought the pipe up again and swung it down with a harder impact bringing up a cloud of dust and lint. Something was wrong. The pipe didn’t seem to impact anything of substance. Larry quickly used the end of the pipe to lift up the bedspread. There was nothing there, just a couple of pillows and wadded up blanket. He realized that the only thing he could have possibly murdered were a few dozen dust mites.

Larry quickly picked up his toolkit and made a couple steps backward. Could Randy possible be somewhere else in the apartment? He suddenly realized that there was a closet behind him. He stepped away from the bed and quickly turned around. Then he quickly snatched the knob on the sliding door and flung it open. There was nothing in the closet except a few clothes and some small items on shelves. Larry was puzzled, just a few minutes before he had seen Beef Matson’s assistant in this very room taking off his shirt and looking like he was getting into bed. He must still be around somewhere.

Then Larry began to hear what he thought were whispered voices. He froze. He could hear the voices just above the sound of the stereo in the next room. No other sounds. Maybe interference in the stereo speakers…or maybe Randy was hiding in the next room. Larry quickly left the bedroom and in a few short steps was viewing the living room. There were only the boxes and a few pieces of furniture. No one could be hiding there. Around the corner was the galley kitchen. Larry made his way quietly through the dim light of the flashing Christmas lights to the narrow galley kitchen. He made his way through the galley, carefully avoiding pots hanging from the ceiling, including one large cooking pot. He made his way to a door at the other end of the galley. He was confident that he would find his quarry hiding in there. He raised the metal pipe in one hand and reached out to open the door with his other hand. He quickly swung the door open. The door only concealed a number of shelves, which held can goods.

Larry gently swung the door closed and turned around, slowly walking out of the galley, again carefully avoiding the hanging pots. He paused a second looking out of the window where the Christmas lights were strung. Had Randy suddenly and quickly left the building before he arrived? Perhaps he was in another area of the building…a laundry room perhaps. Larry began to wonder if he should wait in the apartment for Randy to return. Behind Larry, the largest cooking pot was being slowly lifted up into the air. It suddenly reversed course and swiftly swung down, hitting the side of Larry’s head with a heavy glancing blow and making the sound of a large gong. Larry almost fell to the floor, instinctively grabbing his head and quickly turning around to face his attacker. He saw no one, just the pot swinging in the air.

The pain was reverberating across his head as if it were a bell. “Oww…damn, damn…” he muttered to himself aloud. He thought he had carefully avoided the pot, apparently not. Collecting his wits, Larry decided to leave the apartment and do a quick search of the building before either leaving or returning to plant a bug in Randy’s apartment. His head throbbing, Larry cautiously entered the hallway again. This time, the hallway in the rickety old building was darker than before; the light bulb near the stairway had burned out.

Larry began to check the other doors in the hallway; they were all locked. As he walked back to the entrance to Randy’s apartment, he heard sound coming from the door directly across from Randy’s door. It was music. He checked again at Randy’s door. The music from the other door sounded different from the music coming from Randy’s apartment. Larry decided this needed checking out. As he knelt down before the door to jimmy the lock, he suddenly heard a voice behind him. He turned to see a dimly lit figure of a dark haired, angry looking young woman standing near the stairway, underneath the burnt out bulb. She had a distant look of disapproval on her face and Larry could make out what appeared to be scars on the wrists of her shadowy arms.
”Trying to hurt someone by ruining their life, by driving them to despair…suicide…will leave a terrible stain on your soul.”
Larry looked down and quickly moved his toolkit out of view. When he looked back again the woman was gone and Larry assumed that she was making her way down the stairs. Larry could still hear faint music behind the door and began to work on the lock again and again he heard another voice behind him. This time he turned around to see a burly, young black man watching him.
“A man’s home is his castle. Breakin’ into a man’s home shows him disrespect. But you don’t have no respect for anybody, do you.”
Larry quickly looked back at the tool he had sticking into the door lock. He turned back towards the man to rebuke him, but found that the man had also disappeared. Larry stood up and walked to the other end of the short hallway, and finding no one, walked back and restarted his work on the door lock. The young woman spoke again.
”Not respecting the property of others, is like how you disrespect your wife…you know, cheating on her.”
Larry quickly turned to look at the angry young woman with dark hair, and then dropping a tool he looked down to quickly retrieve it. When he looked up, the young woman had disappeared again. This time Larry stood up and walked over to the stairs. He heard some thumping noise from the dark stairway and concluded the noise was that of the two people going down the stairs.

“Hey lice heads…” Larry yelled down the stairway, “am I disturbing your shooting gallery or your…flop house? You’ll be better off doing some dumpster diving…if I catch you in this building again, I’m calling the police.” Confident he had scared off the intruders, Larry finally got the lock of the door opened. Throwing his tools back into his bag and still holding the metal pipe, Larry entered the room. It was totally black, but the music was a bit louder. Larry fumbled inside his toolkit for a small flashlight, not too much bigger than a penlight. He flashed the light around the room, which appeared to be nothing more than a small storeroom with shelves on both sides. However, he found there to be another antique looking door on the other end. It appeared the music was coming from the other side of this door and he proceeded to work on the lock, it quickly clicked, indicating it was now unlocked. Larry quickly threw his tools into his kit and prepared to open the door with his toolkit in one hand and the metal pipe in the other.

As Larry opened the door, he suddenly felt very dizzy, nauseous, like being on a boat on a rough sea. The blow to his head, he thought, it’s the effect of the cooking pan hitting him in the head. He fell to his knees. Larry closed his eyes, hoping that the sensation would pass. It quickly did. Larry opened his eyes to see light pouring from the open doorway and he could hear loud dance music and voices. The doorway beyond was full of colorful lighting where as his surroundings seemed to be black and white. Larry was startled when he walked through the doorway; he had walked into a bar. It was a very colorful complete tavern, tables and chairs, a jukebox, and a bar, which extended the length of the room. Behind the bar was a large mirror, lots of liquor bottles and the entire place was lavishly covered with Yule decorations for the holidays. There was a doorway with a sign above it that said disco and where he could hear the dance music coming from. This was amazing, thought Larry, how could anyone hide a bar like this on the top floor of a small apartment building. The bar even seemed to be too large for the building as well. Larry assumed that the bar must be some sort of modern speakeasy, that there must be something illegal going on. He discreetly placed a listening device under one of the tables.

There were only three other people in the bar, the bartender and two patrons. The patron were two men who sat at the bar and were obviously gay, with one of the men straddling the others leg. The bartender was quietly talking to the two men and then left for a break, leaving the two men alone at the bar. Larry decided to confront the two men.
“Does anybody else know about your secret little club?” he demanded.
“Well, we know about it…and our friends know…” said one man.
“And now you do…” said his companion.
“What I mean is…” said Larry, menacingly, “do the police know about this place? What kind of license does this place have? Though probably a place hidden on the top floor of an apartment building doesn’t have a license.”
“Somebody’s getting awfully bitchy…don’t ya think?” said one of the men as he snuggled against his companion.
“I think someone really needs to mellow out with a hot toddy,” said the other man.
The replies only served to make Larry more angry.
“Well, well, well…maybe if you can’t give me an answer, maybe I can make some suggestions. This is where you come to buy your drugs…or maybe you rape little boys here.”
The two men shook their heads at each other and began to ignore Larry, which only infuriated him more. Larry offered a few more epithets which the men also ignored and finally Larry hit the shoulder of one of the men with his hand.
“I’m not going to be ignored by some worthless faggot!” he screamed.
The man Larry hit gave him marginal attention. “Sorry, no drugs here…no little boys. Is there anything else you're looking for?”
“Don’t smart off to me…why is it then that this place has to be hidden away in an apartment building?”
“This isn’t in an apartment building…you’re just confused because that’s how you got here.”
“I told you not to smart off to me. I don’t care for fags to begin with…and even less when they smart off to me.”
“There’s quite a bit you don’t care for…that you’re not tolerant of, isn't there…Larry?”
Larry involuntarily jerked his head.
”What is going on here…how do you know my name?” Larry demanded, “You’ve picked the wrong guy to mess with, fag. I want to know what is going on here, or maybe explaining things is something way too difficult for you gay boys to handle.”

Larry gets a kick out of the mysterious gay bar.

“You know,” replied the man, “I think I just decided I just don’t want to explain things to you. It might even be that I might consider myself to be in a class above you.”
Larry began to shake with rage. “Oh yeah…sure…well then. Why don’t you do something you’re more capable of…like bending over your partner here and massaging his hemorrhoids.”
The other two men remained expressionless.
“Or maybe…” continued Larry, “One way to loosen up a sissy boy’s tongue is a couple of punches. Oh, sissy boys are so afraid of getting their faces messed up.”
The man slid his companion off his leg and stood to face Larry. “I want to spend as little of this wonderful evening with some…jerk like you as possible. So take your best shot, Precious.”
“Oh, a news bulletin…the fairy’s going to stand up to me!” taunted Larry, “This is going to be so easy.”
Larry assumed a boxing position and danced about the man who was slightly shorter than him and who barely showed much attention to Larry. Finally, Larry shot out a jab to the other man’s jaw. Like lightning, the other man blocked Larry’s punch with his arm and Larry was pushed to the side, momentarily losing his balance and almost falling to the floor.
“Like I said…” replied the other man, “I don’t want to waste a whole lot of time with you. So now it’s my turn.” The man smiled, jerked Larry into position in front of him and landed several incredibly fast, unrelenting punches to Larry’s face. Larry found the effect much to be like having a door slammed into his face several times. When the punching stopped, Larry waddled backwards a few steps and stood, weaving from side to side. "Oh gosh and golly," said the man, "I suspect you don't like being on the receiving end. Larry likes to be such the sneak when he dishes out punishment." The other man observed Larry for a second or two and then said, “Oh what the hell…you said you didn’t like fags anyway, so no big loss here.” The man then gave an energetic kick to Larry’s crotch, so energetic that Larry felt like his testicles were banging against the back of his eyeballs. Larry sailed backwards, falling.

Everything became black, and Larry felt himself falling for a few seconds and then landing against something solid, like being in a corner. He opened his eyes again and looked around. He was laying at the base of the stairway on the ground floor of Randy’s apartment building, wedged up against the first step, his toolkit firmly under his arm. He heard a metallic sound coming from the stairway above him and it was getting louder. It was the metal pipe. It bounced from three steps above him and then bounced off his forehead, making a clanking noise as it bounced around the lobby. An elderly man, one of the tenants in the building, looked down at Larry and began kicking him. “Get up and get out, get up and get out,” screamed the old man, “We don’t want no crack heads in this building, get out and crash somewhere else!”

*********
"You need to do a lot better ‘splanin’ than that, Ricky."

A half hour after the last customer had left; the evening was promising to be a slow, uneventful night for the two waitresses, Blanche and Dorothy. Dorothy found herself leaning against the counter near the cash register, staring out the window at the few passersby. Blanche was in a sullen mood, which seemed to be growing worse with boredom. She sat in one of the booths, randomly tapping a spoon on the tabletop in the booth. The sound of a cheery, jazzy "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" by Ella Fitzgerald that was playing on the jukebox was coming out of the speakers in the restaurant. As Ella sang, “Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more", Blanche snapped out a comment.
“Doesn’t that jukebox ever shut off?” complained Blanche, “I swear it’s been an hour since anyone has put money in that damned thing, and it’s still playing.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s been that long since someone put some money into it,” responded Dorothy sweetly, “the last customers were putting a lot of money into it. Besides, listening to the music helps pass the time when it’s slow like this.”
“Well, I personally think it’s getting monotonous. There’s nobody in here anyway…doesn’t that thing have an off switch?”
“Blanche…there’s only a few more hours to go, why don’t you take off early. I can handle things until the after hours shift comes in. You know, head for home, fix yourself a nice drink and kick off your shoes and relax. Or, better still, just stop in at some watering hole where there are a lot of people and get distracted for awhile.”
“Hmmm…no. I'll stick it out for the rest of the night. It might get busy; I wouldn’t want you to be here all by yourself. Besides, why would I want to go to a bar with a lot of noisy people?”
Dorothy turned her face away from Blanche, rolling her eyes. Then she got an idea.
”What are you doing?” asked Blanche.
“I’m turning off the fluorescent lights. We’ve got plenty of light in here from the spots and the Christmas decorations. Makes the place seem cheerier…might even bring in some customers.”
“Just makes the place look like a stupid bar.” Blanche continued to rap on the table top with a spoon, and when the jukebox began to play, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by Johnny Mathis, she suddenly got up, marched over to the jukebox and unplugged it. She then went back and sat in the booth.
“Oh Blanche…” squawked Dorothy, “If you’re bored, there’s something that needs to be done. I’ll be right back.” Dorothy went to the restaurant storeroom and brought back a bag of sugar and brought it back to the booth where Blanche sat.
“Here…I noticed that most of the sugar containers are almost empty. Why don’t you start filling them up.”
Blanche was rubbing her eyes. “Okay, but leave the jukebox unplugged. I don’t think I can handle hearing anymore of those stupid Christmas songs.”
Dorothy walked back to the front of the restaurant and the cashier’s station. She knew Blanche’s grumpiness and depression was due to her being alone at Christmas with her kids living over a thousand miles away and the fact that Blanche missed her brother who had passed away many years earlier. From knowing Blanche over the years, Dorothy knew that the Christmas season sent Blanche into a gradual downward spiral and that trying to cheer her up would be an exercise in futility. The best she could do was nursing her coworker through the season and above all, never mention her brother.

There were not many people outdoors on the chilly, breezy night and Brett was able to find a parking space easily on Castro Street. The three young occupants got out of the car with Randy pausing a second to gently pound on the surface of the car. “Feels mighty real…” Randy mused.
“For all intents and purposes it is,” said Brett, pulling Randy away from the car, “and you’re smudging the finish.”
The trio walked down the sidewalk towards the Cozy Cup, Randy and Brett with their arms around each other. Oddly enough, Randy noticed that people on the street seemed not to notice them, some individuals almost walking into them. Randy stopped in front of the Cozy Cup. “This is the place,” he announced, “not much to look at but its got good food, great atmosphere and a good selection on the jukebox.”
“Knowing you,” Brett grinned, “that means the jukebox is loaded with old music, from 1940 to 1990.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Randy smiled back.
“I remember this place…” observed Franklin, “it just opened back when I was, uh…in the neighborhood.”
Well, come on…” said Randy, motioning to his friends. Brett looked over to Franklin, cocking his head to one side in apprehension. Randy pushed the door open and his companions followed him in. “Look…” Randy spoke again, “they’ve turned off the overhead fluorescent lights. It looks better this way, more festive, even sort of intimate.” Randy turned to Dorothy. “Hi Dorothy, place is kind of empty tonight.”
Instead of answering Randy, Dorothy looked over at the door.
“Blanche…did you see that? The door opened by itself…must be getting really windy outside.”
Randy turned to Brett, “They like to kid around here. We opened the door, Dorothy. Like it or not, you’re going to have take our order.”
Dorothy turned away from Randy and totally ignored him, staring out the window.
“Dorothy…Dorothy!” Randy yelled and neither Dorothy nor Blanche seemed to be able to hear him. Randy then turned to Brett with a pleading panic in his eyes. “Brett…what’s going on?”
“Randy,” Brett pulled his partner close to him, “they aren’t aware of us because we’re slightly out of phase, that means we’re sort of vibrating at a slightly different frequency than they are.”
“You need to do a lot better ‘splanin’ than that, Ricky”
“When you left with Franklin and me, you were shifted into our…well…frequency so that you could travel with us and you could be hidden and protected.”
“Protected?”
“Yeah, tonight…even in your own apartment, somebody was going to try to hurt you. It’s only temporary, you’ll be back to your normal self later tonight.”
Randy shook his head. “Is this even real then…are we real?”
“I’m real all right,” said Brett embracing Randy, “You make me feel, mighty real.”
“Then I guess it’s sort of pointless to even have come here,” complained Randy. “If they can’t see us, they can’t wait on us. Are there any more surprises that I should know about?
“Nope, it gets better from here on out…I promise.”
“Oh look…” interrupted Franklin, “That guy sitting in that booth with that other waitress, I know him. I know the waitress too. She used to work here years ago, too.”
“That’s Blanche,” answered Randy.

Franklin approached the man sitting in the booth with Blanche. Blanche seemed to unaware of the man; she occupied herself by filling tabletop containers with sugar from a paper sack. “I know you,” Franklin announced to the bearded man, who had a hefty torso covered in a flannel shirt, “I think you’re name is Jimmy.”
“That’s right,” replied the man, “I remember you too. I think your name is…Frank.”
“Franklin. What you doing here?”
“This is my sister, Blanche, “explained Jimmy, “I try to keep her company at Christmas time. I passed away just before Christmas, so I guess I left her with some bad memories. Christmas just makes her sad. Little good it does for me to hang around though…she doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Hon,” smiled Franklin, “I guess you didn’t get the memo…that sort of stuff isn’t supposed to be a problem for folks like us tonight.”
“This place is so quiet,” Brett said to Randy, “where’s the atmosphere you told me this place had?”
“Nothing’s playing on the jukebox,” replied Randy, “If I put some money in the jukebox, will it work?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“This is so confusing…confusing,” muttered Randy as he headed to the jukebox. “Here’s the problem,” he yelled back, “the jukebox is turned off. Oh, I see, it’s been unplugged.” Randy reached down and plugged the jukebox back in. The machine woke up with a flashing of lights; a whirring sound and then music began to come from the speakers in the restaurant. Blanche jumped in her seat with a start. She quickly looked up and saw Dorothy was still standing by the cash register.
“How did that start up again?” Blanche squawked, “I unplugged the thing.”
“Apparently, not all way…” theorized Dorothy, “the plug must’ve slid back into the socket.”
“When I unplugged it, I threw the cord on the floor. How could it possibly slide back into the socket when the cord is lying on the floor?
“I don’t know, Blanche. Maybe we got ghosts. Let the music play…don’t take away the music, it’ll help pass the time.”
Blanch frowned and began to screw back the top on one of the sugar containers.

Randy walked back from the jukebox, waving his hands in the air. “Oooo…you’ve got ghosts! I’ve only been a ghost for a few minutes and I think I’m enjoying it. Am I the ghost of Christmas past, present or future?”
“You’re no ghost…you’re a real man, “Brett embraced Randy, grabbing the hair on the back of his head and planting a delicate kiss on Randy’s nose, “My Shugabug can be such the little shit sometimes.”
“How was he able to plug in the jukebox?” asked Jimmy, “I can’t affect anything in this world.”
“Well, first off…” explained Franklin, assuming a campy pose, “He not really one of us…he’s just been loaned some of our attributes. Besides, tonight supposed to be special…I don’t see why you can’t do something.” Franklin looked over the tabletop for a few seconds. “I got an idea…watch this.” Franklin then reached down and grabbled the paper sack of sugar and suddenly threw it forward, causing sugar to fly all over the table top and even cascading onto the floor. Both Blanche and Jimmy jumped with Blanche letting out a yelp.
“What are you doing back there?” Dorothy yelled from the front of the restaurant.
“The sack of sugar fell over and now there’s sugar all over the table, the seats and the floor.”
“Blanche…will you just calm down and be more careful.”
“I wasn’t even touching it, it just fell over by itself.”
Dorothy marched back to the booth. “Blanche…dear. It looks like that sack was tossed rather than just falling over.”
“Honest…it just fell over by itself.”
“I’ll get the vacuum cleaner. That’s the best way to pick all of it up, otherwise, we’ll have little critters crawling all over the place.” Dorothy walked back towards the storeroom.

Franklin put his hands on his hips assuming a pose like a schoolteacher. “O.k., Mr. Jimmy…now take your finger and write something in the sugar.”
“But, how do I…”
“Just get in your mind that the sugar has to move when you touch it…it will and it has to. Just think back when you were alive and moved things without even thinking about it.”
“But what should I write?”
“Oh, for gosh…anything…wish your sister a Merry Christmas.”
Blanche sat in the booth limply, waiting for Dorothy to bring the vacuum cleaner and staring at the pile of sugar on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught some movement in the sugar, perhaps a little bug that had gotten caught in the avalanche of the sweetener. However, the sugar began to part and move out of the way, as if there were a miniature invisible snowplow moving it. Blanche stiffened in her seat and took in a quick breath. The lines in the sugar began to grow more quickly and form letters.
”See, you can do it,” encouraged Franklin, waving his arm in the air above his head, “it’s just like but-tah!”

Jimmy smiled and continued writing in the sugar. Blanche’s mouth opened and her eyes widened. The letters being drawn in the sugar soon said “MERRY”, followed by “XMAS” below it, and below that Blanche’s name was beginning to be spelled out. Blanche began shaking with tears forming in her eyes and she began to make a squealing sound. “Dorothy…Dorothy!” she gasped, taking in short breaths, “Come here, come here, quick!”
“Good grief, what now…” grumbled Dorothy, wheeling the vacuum cleaner towards Blanche’s booth, “is the stuffing flying of the seats or something?”
Dorothy arrived just in time to witness the c, h and e in the last part of Blanche’s name spell out in the sugar.
“Good dear Lord…” exclaimed Dorothy, releasing the vacuum cleaner and putting her hands to her throat, “if this is a practical joke, this is a pretty good one, Blanche!”
“I…I…” stammered Blanche, tears streaming from her eyes, “if it’s a joke…it’s on me too. I…I…didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t see how you could, Blanche,” Dorothy put hand to her mouth and bent over to examine the underside of the table top, “Oh dear, dear, dear. Somebody wished you a Merry Christmas.”
“You know…” Blanche tried regaining her composure, “It’s Jimmy…my brother Jimmy. I’m sure of it. He’s here. I can almost feel that he’s here.”
“Well…whatever happened,” said Dorothy still examining the table, “it appears to be harmless.”
Blanche looked up at Dorothy with defiant smile. “This has suddenly become the best Christmas ever.” Tears began to stream down Blanche’s face in full force. “I am very, very happy!”
“I’ll Be Home For Christmas” by the Carpenters began playing on the jukebox.

“See,” said Franklin, pointing his finger at Jimmy, “You did good…that was your good deed for the evening.”
Dorothy suddenly screamed with everyone turning to look at her. “Good God, Randy,” exclaimed Dorothy, staring directly at Randy, “Do you have to sneak up on someone like that? When did you come in?”
“Just now.”
“Sorry, we have a little confusion going on here. Do you and your two friends want a booth?”
Startled, Randy quickly looked at Brett who hugged him and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Not only could Dorothy and Blanche now see him, they could also see Brett and Franklin. Jimmy, however, remained invisible to them. He brought his arms up in an expression of “who knows?”

Randy, Brett and Franklin seated themselves in a booth while Dorothy cleaned up the sugar around the booth Blanche had been seated in, leaving the pile of sugar with the greeting spelled in it for Blanche to enjoy. Blanche was now in an astoundingly good mood and eventually cleaned off the sugar from the table top, after taking one last long look at it. She declined to even discuss the incident with Randy and his friends, not knowing they had observed it, describing it only as a “something personal” and even dismissing it as nothing.

Nevertheless, Blanche remained in high spirits, now enjoying the music from the juke box and even humming along to “Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow” by Vaughn Monroe. She even insisted on treating everyone in Randy’s booth to desserts after they had their meal of burgers and fries. Brett still seemed to be in a hurry and rushed Randy to finish so they could leave to go somewhere else. All this time, Blanche’s brother Jimmy sat across the room in the other booth, apparently pleased with her attitude adjustment. Dorothy, returning to the cashier’s station noticed some flashes of light outside, making the comment that people were probably taking flash photos outdoors. Gradually, more customers began to flow into the place and filling up the booths.
“I guess the holidays must be bringing people out, “commented Blanche, refilling the coffees of Randy and company, “I haven’t seen some of these guys in years and years.”

Brett hustled Randy out of the booth and up to the cashier’s station, pulling Randy outside after the bill was paid, leaving Franklin to talk with Dorothy. Franklin looked back to Jimmy sitting by himself in the booth. “Y’all be taking care of yourself, now,” Franklin called to Jimmy, “talk to you later.” Jimmy waved back.
Dorothy gave a steely glance at Franklin, noticing that he was talking to an empty booth.

Outside, Brett blew into the air and watched his breath turn into visible steam. “Chilly outside…” he said, “not as chilly as back in the Midwest, but it’s got a nice end of the year feel to it.” Brett began singing “This Time Baby”. He grabbed a hold of Randy and began to dance with him on the sidewalk. The few pedestrians either smiled slightly or ignored them altogether.
“Our song,” Brett reminded, “That was me, you know…in your apartment, dancing with you.”
“I knew there was something going on…” recalled Randy, “I thought it was just my bump on the noggin.”
“This time baby…I’ve got love on my mind,” Brett began singing again and pulled Randy out onto Castro Street in a kind of lively waltz.
“Brett…” protested the ever sensible Randy, “we’ll get hit by a car.”
“No, we won’t, Shugabug,” assured Brett, “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re with me.”
Occupants of a passing car rolled down their windows, giving thumbs up signs and making approving whistles.
Brett continued singing, “Me for you and you for me, that’s the way it’s gonna be…I will be me for you and you for me. I promise to be true…only to you! Baby, you're my life, give me one more chance to prove my love!”

Inside the Cozy Cup, Dorothy and Franklin were watching Randy and Brett dance in the street. Franklin remarked what a good couple they made and Dorothy agreed.
“Brett was Randy’s boyfriend back in Illinois a few years ago,” remarked Franklin.
“Uh…” interjected Dorothy, “I remember Randy telling me once that he had a boyfriend name Brett back in Illinois, but he told me that Brett had passed away.”
“Yeah, that’s right…” said Franklin, “but just because Brett’s dead doesn’t mean they don’t make a nice couple.”
Dorothy gave Franklin an odd stare and decided not to reply to his last statement.

Back outside on the street Brett stopped his dance with Randy, putting his hands on his partner’s shoulders.
“I want to take you to one of the places I hang out at. Don’t get scared but it’s kind of on the other side. You’ll get back before the night’s over. Time doesn’t pass the same way there, so the night will be a whole lot longer while we are there. You want to go?”
Randy agreed and the couple walked back to the entrance of the Cozy Cup. Opening the door, Brett yelled in. “Come on, Franklin…you going with us or not? Shake your booty!”

While Randy, Brett and Franklin headed back to Brett’s car, more pedestrians began appearing on Castro Street and more and more customers arrived at the Cozy Cup. The booths in the Cozy Cup began filling up and Blanche and Dorothy were scurrying around on what would normally be a slow night. Blanche sent a group of customers to the booth where Jimmy was sitting. The customers immediately complained that someone was already sitting in the booth. Curious, Blanche walked over to the booth to check out the husky, bearded man in a red flannel shirt. An expression of cautious surprise came over her face.
“Sorry,” she explained to the man, “you look just like my brother”.
“That’s because I am your brother.”
Blanche tightened her lip with an angry expression of disbelief.
“Well, okay then…” said the man smiling, “If you don’t remember what I always used to order…I’ll just have to remind you. I want a hamburger with fried onions, a double helping of fried onions and make sure they are fresh and sweet.”

At the front of the restaurant, Dorothy was busy sorting out receipts, when a shrill scream from Blanche caused her to scatter the pieces of paper.
“Blanche dear…what on earth is it now?” Dorothy sighed, “That was loud enough to wake the dead.”

*********
"You want to give the poor man apoplexy?"

As Randy and Brett walked to Brett’s car on Castro street with Franklin lagging behind them, coming further behind them there was a thumping sound not unlike Randy had heard in his apartment followed by followed by a brilliant flash of light, like a powerful strobe light. Randy turned to see the silhouettes of figures against a fading after glow of pastel light. The figures called out to Franklin.
”Hey…where you going? The party’s not even close to starting yet.”
“Don’t worry,” answered Franklin, “I’m not going to miss this. See that nice guy over there? That’s Randy…he lives in my old apartment. Takin’ real good care of it, too. Randy’s boyfriend and me are going to take him party for a while. Not to worry though…this queen will make her appearance!”
Make sure…there’ll be some great entertainment, Sylvester, Steven Grossman, Liberace” yelled Franklin’s friends, “Hey Randy…know where we can get some speakers so we can string them up outside for the street party?”
Randy yelled back that he didn’t know. “Don’t bother us now,” yelled back Franklin, catching up with Randy and Brett, “Go be creative…you should be able to find something around here.”
“Street party?” asked Randy and he pulled the bucket seat forward so Franklin could get into the backseat, “When…where?”
“Tonight,” answered Franklin, “right on Castro”.
“I think they need a permit from the city for that.”
“Hon, this is what you call impromptu…we are writing our own permits tonight, issued by the homosexual city council. Now would you get your little tush inside the car so we can be on our way? Liberace…hmm? I don’t know if I can handle that.”

The thumping and bumping Randy initially heard in his apartment were now rapidly expanding beyond his apartment to the immediate neighborhood and throughout the city, especially in the traditionally gay neighborhoods. The sounds now were persistent and seem to come from certain distinct spots, which resulted in a visual distortion, like an imperfection in a window, though the distortions had no depth, it was visible from one side only. By walking around a distortion, it would simply appear to disappear. Additionally, some of these spots were now beginning to glow and have beams of light breaking from them.

Not far from Randy’s apartment on Divisadero street, a flash of light emitted from one of these distortions and three young men gradually formed out of stream of plasma that the light congealed into. The young men, in an obvious good mood, walked in a brisk pace southward towards Castro Street. Just past Oak Street, the young men decided to cross to the other side of the street and one of them totally disregarded an approaching car and stepped directly in front of it.

The surprised driver slammed on his brakes and even more to his surprise, the careless pedestrian was not impacted by the vehicle, but rather glided right though it, the driver seeing the young man’s body go through his hood, come through his windshield and dashboard, the young man's midsection going past him and out the back seat and window. The car lurched to a stop and the driver flung open his door, seeing the young man standing behind his car, smiling. One of the young man’s companions, chastised him. “You want to give the poor man apoplexy? We may not be totally solid yet, but they can see us!" The young man then approached the driver and apologized and showed him that he was totally unscathed. The young man patted the driver on the head and rejoined his companions in their lighthearted saunter towards the Castro. The driver remained in his car, a bit unnerved, sitting with the car door open, in the middle of Divisadero Street.

*********
"Gay? GAY!", shouted Norby, adding, "It's not such a bad word, you should try using it more."

Minerva was trying hard to keep a good attitude about this as the Christmas holiday approached. Business in her lotions and potions shop had shown a marked improvement for a few days along with he cash flow but then her partner Angela came down with a nasty respiratory infection, ended up in the hospital for a couple of days and had to quit her temporary job. This meant a loss of Angela's income; a cash outlay for Angela's visit to the hospital and prescriptions and whatever extra cash flow had come in had now mostly disappeared. Still, Minerva tried to put a positive spin on things. Angela was at home, still wheezing, but greatly improved and there were several more shopping days before Christmas arrived, so her shop could still have a few good days. However, this day had not been one of them and with the lack of people in the building and few pedestrians on the street, though it was still very early, the evening promised to just as lackluster, if not more. Minerva wondered if she would hear a little voice again telling her what she could do to bring in customers. She and Angela had decided that the little voice had probably been her unconscious self, or maybe at the outside, some overzealous guardian angel. Through the boredom of the slow business day, Minerva kept concentrating and meditating, hoping her subconscious would send her a little message, but it did not.

Finally, Minerva found herself standing in the middle of her store, bored and staring at nothing. Determined not to let herself get depressed again, Minerva suddenly let out a sigh, shook her head and walked to her storeroom and turned up the radio. She returned to the store, hoping that the music would fill some of the emptiness of the store. She stood for a minute trying to think of something else to do, then just folded her arms and leaned back against a counter with a bored, defeated expression on her face.

"Hey girlfriend…" said a voice close to Minerva, "Don't give up yet…we got plenty of the shopping season left."
Minerva lazily turned her head in the direction of the voice, not expecting to see anyone or be able to find the source. Instead she saw a handsome young man with a fresh looking face and shiny well coifed hair parted in the middle and dressed casually but nicely in jeans, athletic shoes and a well pressed shirt. Minerva paused a brief second, not reacting but then beginning to walk around the young man, doing a careful visual examination.
"Norby…? Norby…? Norby. NORBY!" finally exclaimed Minerva, "You can't be here. You're…You're…"
"Gay? GAY!", shouted Norby, adding, "It's not such a bad word, you should try using it more."
"No…" said Minerva with frustration in her voice, then adding in a gravely serious tone, "You're dead. I attended your funeral."
"Well, that too," responded Norby, "Isn't that absolutely scandalous? I won't tell anyone if you won't"
"But…how…how…" stammered Minerva.
"Girlfriend, you can be so anal retentive sometimes. What is important here is that we drum up some business and get your cash flow up to par so you and Angela can have a good Christmas dinner."
"But…"
"Honestly, I can't do my work if all you want to do is ask questions. I'm going to head outside and send in some customers. This way I don't have to whisper in their ears…I can physically drag them in here if necessary."
Norby walked out of Minerva's shop and headed out into the lobby of the building.

Minerva remained standing, almost frozen, in her shop for a couple of minutes. She finally decided to call her partner Angela and report the incident. While she was punching her home number into the phone with a shaking hand, the first customers appeared in the shop, demanding attention. Minerva had to hang up the phone and attend to them and the numerous other customers that kept coming into the shop. Soon Minerva was swamped, forced to just stand at the cash register and ring up sales. Norby returned her store and approached Minerva, carrying a large box.
"I did good…didn't I? I even drummed up some business for those girls, Tic and Tac their names are…in that second hand clothing store and for Steve's Ruby Slipper restaurant. Speaking of which…since you haven't been eating regular lately…I brought you a really nice take out dinner from the Ruby Slipper." Norby placed the box containing the dinner on the counter.
"Now all I need is some help with all the customers," said Minerva, daintily reaching out to Norby and poking him with a finger, testing his solidity.
"I'm Norby, not the Pillsbury dough boy," he said, looking around the store, "You certainly could use some help, alright…you got a line of customers almost to the entrance. We could use some help here…" said Norby directing his speech to the walls. "I SAID MINERVA COULD USE SOME HELP!"
Minerva cringed slightly while she rung up a customer's purchase looking at Norby with an arched eyebrow, apprehensive look. A pounding sound started coming from the backroom and Minerva's two cats suddenly left the room with a hurried walk and came to Minerva for safety and much to the delight of the customers. Suddenly, a glowing light began to shine from the backroom, Minerva turned to see the light become brighter and then quickly dim. Pastel streams of light immediately and silently shot out of the back room, streaming across the ceiling of the store, in curving, swirling paths, shooting out quickly disappearing sparks as they zoomed out of the shop into the lobby. The crowd of customers cheered and applauded thinking that the display was part of the Christmas decorations. Minerva turned again to see a glowing glob of light swirl out of the storeroom and quickly congeal into a solid form of a young man. The man was about average height, very cute, clean cut with a well-groomed mustache, wearing jeans, very white athletic shoes and had a Santa hat on his head. He was also shirtless but wearing a red, glittering bow tie.

"Is that an entrance…or what?" announced the young man. Tapping his furry chest, he added, "Man, the way you solidify when you hit this dimension, it's like coming out of a mold."
"Kelly," said Norby, "Minerva needs help with the customers, not a floor show."
"Hi Minerva, " said Kelly.
"Kelly," gasped Minerva, "You're…you're…"
"GAY!" screamed Kelly.
"Girlfriend," reprimanded Norby, "You sit down and eat your din-din before it gets cold." Norby forced Minerva from out behind the cash register and before she sat down on a stool to eat her dinner she gently poked Kelly's chest with her finger. It was solid and hairy.
"Kelly," asked Norby, "would you please see if any customers need assistance?"
The customers were very pleased to get assistance from the pleasant, cute and shirtless young man in the Santa hat. While she ate her dinner, Minerva fired off a phone call to Angela and told her to hurry down to the shop. When Angela arrived with some friends, there seemed to be a party going on at Minerva's Lotions and Potions shop which seemed to be shared by the other businesses in the building. Somebody had brought in drinks from the Ruby Slipper restaurant which customers were sipping on while strolling the aisles and Minerva, with her cats observing, was giving board readings to people while the two young men were tending to the rest of the store. Sales had been fantastic, with some of the store shelves becoming bare. Outside, a pounding and thumping sound was coming from the surrounding area, like the gentle thunder of an approaching storm.

*********
"I have to admit my little spidey sense has been tingling more and more since this case started."

Beef Matson had managed to talk Tommy Morton, alias C.D., to have a pizza with him. Beef, as always, could be very persuasive, sometimes by the force of his presence though at other times the detective could be downright charming. This time Matson offered Tommy a deal, the detective would drive Tommy up to North Beach if he would share a pizza with Matson at a North Beach restaurant; then afterwards it would be a short walk for Tommy to the Robes Roses so he could pick up his check and get his performance schedule for the following week.

The two men were seated in a booth done up in a typical Italian restaurant fashion, a red and white checkered tablecloth and plastic grapes adorning the walls. Tommy told more about his adventures in Illinois and filled Beef in with more information about Sharon Ledbauer and her family. Though the restaurant was busy, their waiter was efficient and attentive and brought them some wine and along with the pizza soon afterward. Matson energetically feasted on the pizza, letting his companion do most of the talking. Finally, the detective leaned back into the seat, sipping on his glass of wine, his shiny, handsome face lit by the yellowish light of the restaurant. Tommy noticed a glassy eyed look coming over Matson’s face as the detective stared out into space.
“You doing o.k. over there, Beef?”
Matson shook his head slightly and smiled.
“Oh, it’s just getting a little sleepy outside. It’s been a long day and I guess it’s finally catching up to me. I guess I’m losing the race.”
“I’d like to head over to Robes Roses, if you want to break off,” said Tommy.
“Yeah…my bod’s telling me to make it a day. I guess I should head home and just jump into bed.”
Suddenly the detective cocked his head and became very attentive.
“Something wrong…?” asked Tommy.
“No…I’m listening to that song on the jukebox.”
“Some old disco song I guess.”
“That’s ‘This Time Baby’ by Jackie Moore,” informed Beef, “I remember that Randy told me that was his favorite song, or that he and his old boyfriend used to consider that to be their song.”
“Oh…you mean Randy’s Brett,” said Tommy, “Sharon told me about Brett. Really a handsome dude according to her. She hated him though…to her he was a nuisance…wanted to get him away from Randy. She was pretty happy when Brett died of AIDS, said more or less he was just another fag that deserved it.”
“Ah yes, Sharon,” observed Beef, “let’s hope she gets caught up on all the webs she’s been spinning over the years. Randy doesn’t talk too much about Brett, but from what he has told me about Brett…I think he and Brett would still be together if…well, if Brett were still around.”
Matson listened to the song for a few seconds and repeated some of lyrics, “Me for you and you for me…nice sentiment. You know, I’d really like to see Randy paired off with some guy…he’d make an awesome partner for somebody. I suspect he still hasn't gotten over Brett, in the way he seems to steer away from getting involved with anybody.”
“How ‘bout you and Randy? You two look really good together. Your jet black hair and his blond…you two would have excellent looking kids,” Tommy winked.
“Naw, we just don’t click on a personal level…but we do work well together,” Beef smiled warmly.
Matson stretched and yawned making a sound like a bear with laryngitis and then reached for the restaurant bill lying on the table.
“You know, the longer this case with Randy goes on, I keep getting more and more of a strange feeling about it. I tend to be kind of intuitive about my cases; I guess that’s what helps me be a good detective. I get a sense about people and things along with all the tangible things I can observe.”
”Is that your ‘spidey’ sense?’
“Yeah, well, whatever. It’s just that with Randy…I mean he’s such a boy scout, Mr. True Blue, Mr. Clean as it were. I kept getting these thoughts popping into my head that when I started learning that Sharon was contriving these charges against Randy and then when I learned this little right wing mafia was trying to set up Randy…that the guilty shouldn’t be throwing stones, especially against an innocent like Randy, since their own houses were made of glass. And now that seems to be the way things are going.”
“Yeah, but isn’t that the way things always are,” said Tommy, pulling on his coat, “people who like to point fingers usually forget about the skeletons in their own closets?”
“It’s a bit more than that. It’s hard to explain. First, Minerva of that gift shop in my building comes to my office to give me a reading on that board of hers and tells me of some sort of psychic event on the horizon. Well, then I started getting this thought in my head, like a little voice or something, that something or someone was getting pissed off big time with the people who were messing with Randy…someone other than me. I don’t know…hard to put my finger on. Like they were welcoming a mess of trouble into their lives because they were screwing with Randy…something way beyond any trouble I could cause for them. Like because of their stupid guerilla holy war they were waging against Randy's psyche, something had declared war on them. Am I going over the top with this?”
“It’s the old adage,” dismissed Tommy, “What goes around comes around.”
“I guess…” Matson paused, pulling on his coat, “Still, it’s more than that. I have to admit my little spidey sense has been tingling more and more since this case started. Little strange things. Like I saw this woman in the hallway outside my office. A younger woman dressed just like she was right out of the 1940s. Just saw her briefly, really didn’t talk to her. She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Then it began to dawn on me and I looked through some old photos I have…the woman looked just like my grandmother, Candi. She was a detective, too…back in the late 1940s. Just plain freaky. Weird stuff.”
Tommy laughed. “Listen to you talk! What happened to Mr. hardnosed, no-nonsense Beef Matson? What…have you suddenly developed a softer, psychic side?”
“No…” Matson joined in the laughter, “I think it's the wine, being stuffed on pizza and needing some sleep.”

*********
"He will be just like a little bug under the tires of our SUV."

Gloria sat at her desk with her coat on, looking at a small mirror she had pulled from her purse and dabbed a bit of makeup to side of her face.
”Amber!”, she called out to one of her associates, “have you got everything locked up?”
Amber called back in the affirmative and Gloria got up out of her chair and left her office. “You do have everything set to have Chantay sent back to her mother tomorrow?”
“Yes, Gloria. She's set to leave late tomorrow.”
“The airline tickets?”
“Of course.”
“I’m afraid our little Chantay just wasn’t the good enough actress to lure Mr. Randy Hardwicke. And she was expecting us to take her to Disneyland. It was probably pointless to bring her with us to begin with. Our dear Randy was probably on his guard anyway.”
Gloria paused at the front door of the office suite to look around.
“Oh…by the way. I’ve learned that our Mr. Larry Doolan is supposed to be placing a listening device in Randy’s apartment and he is supposed to be leaving a receiver here with us…maybe tomorrow…so we can document what goes on in Mr. Hardwicke’s apartment. That is, if Mr. Doolan can pull this off without any problems. I really don’t like the way he is allowed to play the lone wolf; it would be much better if he were under my direct supervision. Oh, how the powers that be just protest when I inquire about him. I just feel he’s nothing more than a loose cannon while he’s out running around on his own. Are Heidi and Chantay in the vehicle?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Good then. Yes, having Chantay here with us just turned out to be a waste of time. Just babysitting on our part. But…we have a wealth of resources to deal with Mr. Hardwicke and he has none, so it will be a small matter of time before we squash him. He will be just like a little bug under the tires of our SUV.” Gloria smiled a crinkly smile as she closed and locked the office door behind her.

*********
"Twin Peaks does not have a drive-thru!"

Once Randy and Franklin were inside Brett's car, or at least what appeared to be Brett's old car, he drove away from the curb and headed down Castro Street, and gradually began increasing his speed. Soon Brett's car headed down the street at a pretty good clip. The increasing speed was unnerving to Randy, noticing that Brett was just missing pedestrians and other cars. Franklin seemed to be unconcerned and was sitting calmly in the back seat grooving to music on the car stereo. Randy, on the other hand, was now gripping the car seat. "Brett…sweetiepie, I think you need to slow down a bit."
"Just calm down, I know what I'm doing," reassured Brett.
The car kept increasing speed and Randy spoke again. "Brett, there's something I really need to tell you."
"What's that?"
"Twin Peaks does not have a drive-thru!"

Randy stared out the windshield and saw that they appeared to be headed for a collision with a couple of cars, a trolley, several pedestrians and a wall of buildings. He gripped the seat tighter, clenched his eyelids tightly closed and waited for the inevitable. As Brett's car appeared to be headed for certain disaster, the car appeared to cause a dent in its surroundings, like it was driving though a movie screen or plunging through a reflection in a pond. The front end of the car disappeared into the spatial distortion, with the distortion healing and finally covering over the car's taillights, much like a body of water swallowing something and the car had totally vanished. To the anxious pedestrians in front of the car, the vehicle appeared to go out of focus and disappear. A couple of seconds later when it became obvious nothing had happened Randy opened his eyes again. The car now was moving through a streams of colored lights and objects which looked liked brightly colored electrified rubber bands which bounced off the hood of the car and the windshield and moved past them. The car appeared to be moving forward very quickly and there was nothing but the colored lights in front of the car and behind it. Randy turned to Brett with a shocked look and said nothing.
"I told you not to worry," smiled Brett.
"Brett…" Randy said quietly, "Sweetiepie, Honeybunch, Lovey-dovey, Precious…if there's nothing to worry about, why do I have this overwhelming urge to scream?"
Franklin was now lying prone on the backseat, totally uninterested, apparently grooming lint from his jacket. Randy looked at him in disbelief.
"It's hard for me to get upset by somebody's driving after riding with my Aunt Lorraine," smiled Franklin, "That woman could terrorize an entire neighborhood with just one Buick."
"Just relax, Shugabug," rubbing Randy's leg with a reassuring pat, "we're almost there."
A sudden blackness enveloped the car and then light broke through the void. Randy saw that they were now driving on a freeway in some large city. The car radio suddenly changed to a station featuring a jovial disc jockey playing Christmas music. It was nighttime, and the lights from the city were reflected from a cloudy sky. It appeared to be cold outside; Randy could see snow on the ground and roofs of buildings. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, it was a wide freeway with three lanes of traffic in each direction. They drove leisurely, there wasn't much traffic.
"Welcome to the other side," said Brett.
"The other side…" replied Randy, "it looks like…nothing out of the ordinary to me."
"That's because we can project our reality and make things look the way we want it too. We want our surroundings to look like something we're comfortable with and this is sort of everyone's common consensus. It's actually pretty similar to what you folks in what you call the real world do, except that you have to use physical labor to build things."
As they continued along the freeway, the city looked much like any other city Randy had been in. There were houses, churches, business districts, shopping centers with classy lit signs on some of the stores, high rise buildings, parks, streetlights, crosswalks, bridges, all very much ordinary. Yet, there were some indications that things were slightly out of the ordinary. Some buildings seemed to be of an older architectural style than others, yet nothing appeared to be rundown or aged. The other cars on the freeway seemed to be a wild mix of styles and ages, yet they all looked brand new. Brett turned off the freeway onto a main street, which led into a factory district. The offices on some of the building had impressive signs announcing the names of the companies; the windows of the offices were lit with Christmas lights. The intersections had traffic lights; Randy could see an occasional snowflake in the headlights. It was all so normal looking, yet everything was gleaming new and so clean. They headed awhile down the street with Brett and Franklin chatting about the bar they were going to. Then Brett turned onto one street, then another. Franklin began pointing out different gay bars, apparently they were in a gay bar district. There was a curve in the street and they drove onto a bridge, which spanned a small river. The tires of the car made a whirring sound on the metal grating of the bridge. They then turned onto a side street and parked near an older style building across the street from a large warehouse.

"Here we are…this is it," announced Brett. The trio tumbled out of the car into the cold air. The building had no bar signs, just a little red light and a rainbow flag above the door along with some holiday lights and greenery. There were some other people walking to and fro from other bars and a romantically involved male couple was standing next to a nearby car. "Here we are…this is it," announced Brett. The trio tumbled out of the car into the cold air. The building had no bar signs, just a little red light and a rainbow flag above the door along with some holiday lights and greenery. There were some other people walking to and fro from other bars and a romantically involved male couple was standing next to a nearby car.

Randy, Brett and Franklin arrive at the bar on the other side.

"This is the bar?" asked Randy."It doesn't look like much on the outside, but it's a fun place," said Brett, "you'll like it."
Randy stopped to take in the surroundings. "So this city is where you live…er…are?"
Brett put his arm around Randy's waist and tightened against him. Randy could feel Brett's reassuring warmth against the cold air.
"Yeah, this be the place," Brett grinned. He described the city, its neighborhoods, and attractions. "We're in the port district, not far from downtown…see the skyscrapers over there? The city goes on for quite a bit more in each direction and beyond that there’s the suburbs, the metro area is really huge. Beyond the suburbs there's the country and some neat campgrounds.

"Remember that time when we went camping?" Brett smiled into Randy's face and then rubbed his eyebrows against Randy's eyebrows. "Remember?…yum-yum!" Brett then turned and began to walk towards the bar entrance. Randy remained standing, "This is really nice. It's looks so ordinary, yet it's so awesome. Even the air, it's so crisp and clean…" Brett suddenly jerked Randy into motion towards the bar entrance. "C'mon…don't dawdle."

The trio entered into a warm, cozy environment. The bar had a slightly rustic feel to it with a worn wooden floor and large barrels filled with peanuts in the shell. The place was strung with Christmas decorations and the walls decorated with funky memorabilia. There was no cigarette smell, instead the place smelled of the evergreen boughs which framed the bar and doorways. There was the friendly sound of singing as a group of men sang Christmas carols accompanied by a man playing an organ. A number of the men knew Franklin and greeted him and a few knew Brett as well.

The carolers sing as Brett leads Randy to another bar.

Randy was pleased with the place and wanted to stay and watch the carolers, but Brett hustled him to the back of the bar, to another doorway, which led to another bar. Franklin decided to stay. "There's some old friends of mine at the bar I want to chat with," he declined, "You boys have a good time now!" As Brett and Randy went through the doorway to another bar, Franklin smiled a melancholy smile and joined his friends at the bar. The doorway Randy and Brett left through disappeared and became a blank wall.

The carolers finished their song and then dispersed, some to chat at the bar, others leaving the tavern. Franklin too decided to leave, taking some of his friends back to San Francisco. An older woman with a beautiful voice now replaced the carolers at the organ; she led a new group in singing. This group would stay at the bar, awaiting another visitor.

*********
"For a man who sleeps with a teddy bear, you're very aggressive."

When Beef Matson reached his apartment, he was effectively wasted. It really had been a long day for him and he was now feeling the physical drain and in addition, the detective was beginning to relax, feeling an emotional release and satisfaction. Matson could be a driven man when he was on a case, not feeling at ease or sleeping well until he felt he had a handle on things or had solved a mystery, especially involving someone close to him, as in this case with Randy. Since Beef now believed that he had uncovered information, which would not only clear Randy, but also give his assistant's accusers a substantial amount of problems, the driven part of him was now letting him relax.

Securing the door behind him, Matson immediately untied his athletic shoes and slipped them off, muttering relief at the same time. He tossed the shoes one at a time, down the hallway into his bedroom where they both landed, nearly side by side, under a chair. After putting his coat in the hall closet, went into his small kitchen and put some coffee and water into the coffee maker and set the timer so a pot would be ready when he woke up in the morning. Beef began to remove his shirt and walked into his bedroom, throwing his shirt into a hamper. Removing his wallet, keys and coins from his jeans pockets, the jeans followed the shirt into the hamper, as well as his briefs and socks. Matson then took a shower. The shower felt good, with the water, the soap and the shampoo removing not only the scent of the Italian restaurant from his hair and body, but if felt like he was washing the entire day away. Leaving the steamy bathroom, Beef marched naked back into his bedroom, vigorously rubbing his jet-black hair with a towel.

"Damn, that felt good!" Matson exclaimed out loud. He hung the towel on the back of the chair at his desk so it would dry and then putting his arms in the air, stretched and turned from side to side. He then approached his bed and pulled back the bedspread and blanket. He looked at his teddy bear, Fred, sitting as always in one of the chairs near the bed and its perky, optimistic expression. Matson paused a second. "Aw, I know, Fred. I keep promising to get you a bear friend and a boyfriend for myself. I think I've spotted a nice bear to bring home to you, so you've got someone to share that chair with. And I promise right after Christmas, I start working on finding a boyfriend. Right now though, you have to cuddle with me just one more night."

Fred the teddy bear

Matson shook his head and smiled. "Maybe once I get a boyfriend, I stop talking to a teddy bear." Fred seemed to smile a bit more as Beef lifted him from his chair and crawled into bed with the stuffed animal. Matson reached up turned off the bedside lamp, pulled the covers over himself and Fred and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Matson awoke to the sound of someone calling his name. Groggy at first, the detective immediately became fully awake when he realized that the voice was coming from someone in his room. He looked about the room and in the dim grayish blue light coming in through the windows. He could see a dimly lit figure of a man sitting in one of the chairs near his bed. "Mr. Matson…" asked the figure, "are you awake? I need you to