Page 100 of Torch Songs

“Kenny Wilson?” he muttered. “I thought you got out?”

Kenny Wilson had been his one friend in high school. Sweet, scrawny, and bookish, Kenny had been a year below Guthrie in school. Guthrie remembered a couple of fights keeping the older kids away from Kenny as a kid, and when hehadbeen in town, Kenny had been something of a shadow.

Guthrie hadn’t minded. Thinking on it, Kenny reminded him a lot of April—quiet, sarcastic, kind. He’d been one of the reasons Guthrie hadn’t grown up in Butch’s shitkickers. When someone gazed at you like you were something, you tried not to disappoint them.

Guthrie squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, taking in his surroundings. Tan painted bars, tan painted cement floor, hard cot with a clean, sanitized plastic cushion on it underneath him, and a surprisingly warm and cozy wool blanket surrounding him as though he’d been asked to sit up and the blanket had pooled around his hips.

He squinted at Kenny, who was sitting next to him, doctoring his arm, wearing a set of pressed khakis and a baseball hat that proclaimed him a Monterey County Deputy. Kenny had grown up handsome, Guthrie thought muzzily, with a square jaw, a long face, and thick brown hair that had once been stringy. No acne now, and no uncertainty in his plain brown eyes as he stitched up Guthrie’s arm.

“I did get out,” Kenny said, sounding like he was concentrating. “I got my EMT’s license, and then the Monterey County Sheriff’s department wanted me to come work for them, and then they found out I was a Sand Cut native and thought I should run the branch. So I’m back, but, you know. Got a badge. Got my certificate. I’m all-purpose law enforcement, and you got me for the day.”

Guthrie grunted and shifted on the cot, wincing wheneverything hurt. “It’s nice to see you, boy, but I really wish I wasn’t in jail.”

“Well, even the witnesses who hate you say Dwight picked the fight and his buddies dogpiled on.”

“Why aren’ttheyin jail?” Guthrie asked grumpily.

“Becausetheyheard the siren and ran, sir,” Kenny said, sounding almost cheerful. “You, on the other hand, were about to be used as a rag mop, so you had no such option. Here, take these.”

“So I get jail?” Guthrie asked. He didn’t even question the painkillers and probably antibiotics Kenny thrust into his hand with a cup of water. Jesus, was his head aching.

“Only because the hospital’s a ways out,” Kenny told him. “But don’t worry—I got the names and locations of your assailants. They’ll be arrested and taken to Salinas foractualjail, and you get to sit in here for your own protection. Good enough for you?”

Guthrie groaned. “Can’t I just go back home?” There was only one image behind his eyes when he said that, and it wasn’t Sand Cut or San Rafael or even Sacramento.

“Nope,” Kenny murmured, finishing with his patch job and soaking Guthrie’s arm with antibiotics. “For one thing, you’ve probably got a concussion, so I want to keep an eye on you until someone I trust can take care of you, and for another, your boyfriend’s on his way here to get you.”

Guthrie’s head gave a giant throb, and he had to struggle to think. “I’m sorry, what was that last part?” he asked.

“That last part,” Kenny said, taking his time to tape a gauze pad to the wound, “is that I unlocked your phone with your face while you were out in my jail, and I called one Detective Tad Hawkins of SAC PD. He said he and his work wife will be here around noon.”

“Oh God,” Guthrie mumbled. “How long have I been here?”

“Well, we broke up the fight around nine last night, and I had the doc come check you out and irrigate your wound—he left the stitching station here so I could stitch it if it didn’t stop bleeding, and it hasn’t. You may not remember him checking you out, but I was here. You were KO’d somewhere in there, it’s true, but he said you were mostly sleeping.” Kenny’s voice dropped, and he shucked off his gloves and started cleaning up the stainless steel “stitching station” he’d been using to clean Guthrie up. “Apparently, Dwight picked on a tired guy who—according to your uncle Jock—had just had a shitty fight with his shitty father and had tried to get the hell out of Dodge so he could have a drink and cool off.” Kenny’s gave him a gentle,rueful pat on the thigh, like friends. “So we agreed to let you sleep it off here. Nobody to beat you up, and you got a bed and some shuteye under a roof. How’s that?”

Guthrie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cinder block wall some more.Oh, cinder block wall, you and me are friends. “You called my boyfriend?” he complained.

Kenny’s eyes went soft. “Yeah, Guthrie. My friend was hurt and needed backup, so I called his boyfriend. You gonna fightmenow?”

“No,” Guthrie moaned, feeling plaintive. “Nice to see you, boy,” he said belatedly, but he meant it. “You, uh, gonna bring me some coffee?”

“Nope,” Kenny said cheerfully. “I’m going to have you sleep for another two hours.ThenI’m going to bring you some coffee and let you get cleaned up. Jock came by to get your truck moved in front of the station so it wouldn’t get ripped off. He brought in your shaving kit and your knapsack. I guess he did some laundry ’cause all your clothes are clean. Told me to give you a day or two off, and yes, he knows you’re leaving on the fifth to do a gig at a wedding, but he says you need the break. So here we are. Your pit crew. Making sure you don’t drive yourself too hard. Now go to sleep, Guthrie. I’ll tell you all about the wife and the new baby when you wake up.”

Guthrie settled his head down and smiled a little. “New baby,” he murmured. “That’s good news. Proud to see you again, Kenny.”

“Same here,” Kenny said, and in spite of the fact that Guthrie wasin jail, he got the feeling Kenny meant that. That was nice. Guthrie’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he dreamed of Tad.

Softly You Whisper

“SO THISis how we meet again,” Tad said, his voice dry, although he was feeling pissed off and achy. He didn’t want Guthrie to see that, though. The guy looked shitty enough as it was.

Guthrie, who was curled under a wool blanket on the metal cot that extended from the concrete wall, swung his legs over the edge, his movements jerky and uncoordinated with his recently vacated sleep.

“Kenny!” he hollered. “You promised!”

“Sorry, Guthrie,” said the young deputy, hustling in from behind the greeting desk in the tiny department building. “I was filling out your paperwork, and your guy drove like the wind.”

“My partner drove like the wind,” Tad said grimly. “I think I left my eyebrows back in Sacramento.”

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