One Dead Drag Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

almost clownish if I hadn’t been so spooked. He never asked questions or talked to anyone else. The first time I noticed him, he gave me the creeps. The second time he showed up, I also saw him afterward in the parking lot. He was walking toward my car. That’s when I hired McCutcheon. When the guy showed up for the third time, McCutcheon cornered him in the parking lot next to my car. I was too far away to hear what was said, but after that, whoever he was, he stayed away.
    I once asked McCutcheon what he had said to the guy. “I reasoned with him” was all he ever told me. If people began to crowd around me after a talk, McCutcheon placed himself between them and me. He didn’t threaten or push or shove. People just seemed to give him space. He had a sense of presence that always seemed to work.
    When he drove me places, he seldom spoke, rarely engaged in idle conversation, and never used more words than necessary. I’d hired him for his presence, not his personality, so his not talking much didn’t bother me. Tom sometimes said McCutcheon gave him the creeps. McCutcheon was quiet, unobtrusive, and efficient. The others in his firm, mostly guys his age or slightly older, had either copied hisdemeanor or were similarly trained. I felt safe with them around.
    The friends who’d recommended him to me told exotic stories about McCutcheon, each stranger than the last. They speculated wildly about an erratic and erotic life with James Bond-type adventures including male and female lovers around the globe. The rumors included murky tales of connections to the CIA; that he’d done time in a Turkish prison; that he’d been part of assassination plots against a variety of foreign leaders; that he’d been part of any number of well-known terrorist organizations; that he was the leader of a gay death squad; that he was a straight hit man for various wealthy gay clients. I hired him because two people I trusted implicitly swore by him and his firm’s expertise and willingness to sacrifice themselves at moments of danger. When I asked for a résumé, he said, “Either you trust the people who recommended me or you don’t. If you don’t trust them, I’d rather you didn’t hire me.”
    Another time I asked if he wasn’t kind of young to have his own agency. All he’d said in return was “How old should I be?” After that I stopped asking questions.
    That morning I stood next to him in the hall. He said, “One of my employees saw your picture on the late news. He called me. Thought I should check out what happened.”
    “How’d you know Tom was hurt?”
    “I didn’t. I knew that you were out in public and that nobody from my firm was with you. I got the answering service to put a call directly through, but there was no answer. I know Tom works at that clinic. We’ve picked him up there once or twice after an event of yours. I figured I better stop by—you had been recognized at the scene and lots of people knew you were there. I couldn’t find you and I didn’t knowwhere you were, so I tried calling the hospitals until I got to this one.”
    “I was threatened.” I told him what had happened.
    “I’ll stay close. Bombers often come back to help at the scene to see their handiwork and revel in the chaos. If I can find you, so can anyone.”
    I introduced him to the family. They showed little curiosity about his being there. They were aware of the security measures Tom and I had taken in the past few years.
    Around five they told us that Tom had been moved to the intensive care unit on the third floor. We moved our vigil up there.
    By six in the morning there had been no change in Tom’s condition. The doctor told me that the good news was no bones were broken. The bad news was that they couldn’t tell the extent of his internal injuries. They were most worried about head trauma. The doctor had ordered more tests. Tom might wake up, or he might not, but we would not do ourselves any good staying awake and