Even the Wicked

"What do you do when you fall in love with somebody and he's HIV-positive?" She didn't wait for an answer, which was just as well, because I didn't have one. "Gay men have to face that all the time, don't they? I guess they practice safe sex, or else they just don't date across HIV lines. If they're virus-free they don't let themselves get involved with anybody who's not." She was silent for a moment. "Or they just go ahead and take chances."

"Is that what you did?"

"Oh no. Me? What makes you say that?"

"Something in your voice."

"It's probably envy. Sometimes I wish I were the kind of person who can act on that kind of impulse. I never was, not even in the bad old days. I liked Byron a lot and I had this kind of yearning for him, but his status put each of us off-limits for the other. We had one conversation about it, how if things were different we'd do something about it. But things weren't different, things were the way they were. So we stayed friends. Just friends, as the saying goes, but what's the word 'just' doing in there? Friendship's pretty rare, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"I learned so much from him. He treasured each day. Do you think they'll get the man who killed him?"

"It sounds likely," I said. "He was killed in a public place with witnesses around. And that's the Sixth Precinct, it's not a high-crime area, so it won't get written off as drug-related. The odds are they'll have somebody in custody by the end of the week."

"They might think it's drug-related."

"Why?"

"He used to be a junkie. It'll be on his record, won't it?"

"If he was ever arrested."

"A couple of times. He never had to go to prison, but he told me he'd been arrested a few times."

"Then it'd be on his record, yes."

"And there's drug dealing that goes on in that park. It's not swarming with dealers like Washington Square, but Byron told me how he would sit in the window and looked out at the street and watch people cop."

After a moment I said, "He didn't go back to using dope, did he, Ginnie?"

"No."

"Then they won't think the killing was drug-related, unless they figure it for a case of mistaken identity, and maybe that's what it was. It doesn't matter. Either way they'll handle it by the book and run down whatever leads they've got. My guess is they'll find the shooter and close the case."

"I hope so. Matt? Why should it matter to me? It's not going to bring him back."

"No."

"And it's not like I've got this thirst for revenge. I don't hate the man who killed Byron. For all I know he did him a favor. He was at peace, Matt. He treasured each day, but I already said that, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"He was still able to get out of the house. He could still go to meetings. He had to use a cane, but he would walk the few blocks to Perry Street, and there was always somebody who would give him a seat.

That was the other good thing about AIDS, he said. No worries about skin cancer, and you didn't have to get to Perry Street an hour early to get a good seat. He could joke about it, all of it. I guess it's bad when you can't."

"I guess so."

"There was a friend of mine at work. When he couldn't come to work anymore I used to visit him. Until I couldn't take it anymore. It destroyed his mind, but not all at once. He would go in and out of dementia.

I couldn't bear to be around him. It's not as though I was deserting him, he had a lover who was taking care of him, and dozens of friends. I just knew him casually, from the office. Listen to me, will you?

Always having to explain myself." She stopped to draw a breath. "I found myself looking for signs of dementia with Byron. But he was spared that."

* * *

I read the coverage in the newspapers, and I was watching New York One, the local news channel, when Melissa Mikawa did a stand-up in Jackson Square in front of the very bench where Byron Leopold was shot to death. The cameraman provided a shot of his apartment building directly across the street, and Mikawa pointed as the camera panned to indicate the killer's escape route.

Then she went on to something else, and I hit the Mute button and answered the phone. It was Adrian, with a couple of new jokes and the wistful report that, once Will had you in his sights, everybody else wanted to draw a bead on you. "The Fourth Estate is hot for me," he said. "If I had the stomach for it, I could be on the tube eighteen hours a day and spend the rest of my time talking to print reporters. Of course everybody wants to marry a virgin."

"How's that?"

"They want an exclusive. Remember what the fellow said after they tarred and feathered him and rode him out of town on a rail?"

"Something about honor, wasn't it?"

" 'But for the honor of it, I'd have preferred to leave town in the usual manner.' I may not have it word for word, but since it's an apocryphal story, how could anybody have it word for word? It's nice to be wanted, but I'm finding it easier and easier to say no. Except for McGraw."

"What did he want?"

"What they all want. An interview."