One Dead Drag Queen Read Online Free PDF

hanging around the hospital.
    Tom’s parents and I agreed on rotating assignments for the vigil. I’d been awake and there the longest and I was exhausted. They would stay and call with any news.
    McCutcheon and I rode the elevator down to the first floor. The doors opened onto the hospital foyer. Television cameras and reporters were strewn about the room. A spokesman for the hospital was making a statement and seemed to be trying to organize the chaos the reporters were helping to accentuate. I was spotted. A wave of media people rushed toward me. A young couple, the woman significantly pregnant and being wheeled forward, were between us andthe reporters. The woman’s angry squawks as they massed behind her gurney gave them pause. Television lights focused on me. McCutcheon led me slowly to the right. They fired questions. I halted. I was used to the media’s need for something. I’d been brusque with Kearn at the scene and had refused all interviews in the emergency room, but I could give them something.
    The man and pregnant woman gazed at the chaos around them. “Aren’t you Scott Carpenter the baseball player?” the husband asked.
    I nodded and smiled. “Let’s make way for them, shall we?”
    The herd of media parted to form a path for the pregnant couple. When they were free, I focused on a reporter I recognized and nodded to her. She asked, “We heard your lover was in the explosion. How is he?”
    I said, “The doctors are doing all they can.”
    Someone shouted, “Is he getting special treatment because you’re famous?”
    “Everyone who knows someone caught in this catastrophe is concerned. I’m not special. I waited like everyone else. Tom is alive. My heart goes out to those who’ve lost a loved one.”
    I turned quickly. McCutcheon caught the movement. We forged a path through the mingling horde and out a side door. McCutcheon drove me back to my car under the el tracks near the scene. He drove a grayish black Hummer. I don’t get the attraction of those vehicles. Yeah, I know they’re supposed to be butcher than all get out, but they’re noisy, clunky, difficult to maneuver, and they can cost up to a hundred thousand dollars. I glanced around the seat and tried to figure out what it was that made it cost so much. A cursory inspection showed me nothing.
    As usual McCutcheon said little as he drove.
    We couldn’t get near the scene of the explosion. The entire area was cordoned off. We could see the muted chaos from several blocks away. I saw three fire hoses still pouring water on the remnants of the city block, although at the moment only whiffs of smoke oozed from a few spots. Police and fire department personnel hunted through parts of the wreckage that were sufficiently cooled. I doubted if there was much hope for any more survivors. The second blast and unchecked fire had eliminated any possibility of that.
    Ken drove past my car slowly. It was barely first light. Trails of mist floated over the scene. The square arches of the el tracks over the pavement created a twilight world during the brightest day. At the moment, each strut struck me more as menace than support. McCutcheon trained his spotlight on any dark corners. When he decided all was safe, he stopped opposite my car.
    “We should get Tom’s truck out of here too,” I said.
    “I can follow you home, then bring you back.”
    I began to open my door. It was early enough that traffic was still light. I had to wait for a van to pass, then together we slowly crossed the street toward my vehicle. McCutcheon didn’t look at me. Just like the Secret Service seldom looks at the president. They are on the alert for dangers as was McCutcheon now.
    I was tired, worried about Tom, and in need of sleep. I doubted if all McCutcheon’s precautions were necessary. I couldn’t imagine someone who’d seen me at the fire being able to figure out which of these cars was mine.
    Above, an el car thundered forward from the Loop. I paused. I