warp. Hughie’s today was Hughie’s five years ago and Hughie’s five years from now. Different and Hughie’s didn’t belong in the same sentence.
One of the things I noticed as I walked to the bar—Bud had, as usual, seen me enter and reached into the cooler for a frosted mug—was that it was a little after four yet there was practically no one in the place. Usually, the hustlers started drifting in between three and four o’clock, anticipating the arrival of johns as soon as the offices started closing. Now, there were only two guys I could have spotted as hustlers from a block away and two or three regulars—the same guys who had been there the last time I was, sitting on the same stools.
Bud had my beer waiting when I reached the bar, and I dug a bill out of my pocket to hand him.
“How’s it goin’, Bud?” I asked, as I did every single time I came into the place.
“Pretty good, Dick. You?”
“Pretty good. Really busy, but otherwise pretty good.” I looked around the bar. “Where is everybody?”
He shrugged. “Business is off lately,” he said, and he didn’t have to explain why.
“I wanted to ask you about that,” I said. “You got a minute to talk?”
He slowly looked up and down the bar. “What do you think?”
I grinned.
“So, what do you want to know?” he asked, putting both hands on the bar.
“What do you know about these rumors of somebody deliberately infecting other guys?”
“I’ve heard stories,” he said noncommittally.
“Any specifics? People? Places?”
He lowered his head, thought a minute, then looked back up at me.
“You know how rumors are,” he said. “They’re all over hell, and they can be damned bad for business. The hustlers don’t talk about it—at least when the johns can hear. It’s bad for business. A lot of the johns who come in here, they’re straight, but even they’re becoming aware of AIDS and they’re getting skittish. And the minute they hear one story about somebody handing out AIDS like breath mints, they’re gone.
“You never hear definite names, though, which is typical with rumors. There’s hints that it’s this one or it’s that one.”
I nodded. “Well, could you do me a real favor and try to remember any specific names you might hear? I’m trying to track down the source of these rumors and to find out if there’s any truth to them.”
“Sure,” he said. “It does seem that I hear the Male Call come up more often than any other bar, though. Rumor has it a lot of guys from there have it.”
“Has Hughie’s lost any yet?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Only one that I know of. But it’s hard to tell. This place is pretty much a revolving door. Hustling’s a high-turnover and competitive business. Most of these guys are loners…I don’t know where they came from before they got here or where they go after they leave. It’s none of my business. I just serve beer.”
A thirty-something guy in a business suit walked in, and Bud left to take his order as one of the hustlers picked up his own beer and sidled over toward the newcomer.
Let the games begin!
I finished my beer, put another bill on the bar for Bud and left.
*
That evening, having talked with Jonathan and called Craig to verify that he’d be available Friday night—he and Bill were going to a dance for gay and lesbian teens at the MCC’s Haven House on Saturday—I called Jared in Carrington. Luckily, he was home.
We talked for a minute or two before I got to the main reason for my call.
“Carl Brewer’s hired me to check into all these rumors about someone from the Male Call spreading AIDS.” I’m not normally that open about discussing my business, not even with Jonathan, but I knew I could talk to Jared, especially about something which by extension involved both him and Jake. “He wants to find out if there’s any validity to them,” I continued, “and if there is, who might be responsible.”
“I sure as hell hope it’s only
One of the things I noticed as I walked to the bar—Bud had, as usual, seen me enter and reached into the cooler for a frosted mug—was that it was a little after four yet there was practically no one in the place. Usually, the hustlers started drifting in between three and four o’clock, anticipating the arrival of johns as soon as the offices started closing. Now, there were only two guys I could have spotted as hustlers from a block away and two or three regulars—the same guys who had been there the last time I was, sitting on the same stools.
Bud had my beer waiting when I reached the bar, and I dug a bill out of my pocket to hand him.
“How’s it goin’, Bud?” I asked, as I did every single time I came into the place.
“Pretty good, Dick. You?”
“Pretty good. Really busy, but otherwise pretty good.” I looked around the bar. “Where is everybody?”
He shrugged. “Business is off lately,” he said, and he didn’t have to explain why.
“I wanted to ask you about that,” I said. “You got a minute to talk?”
He slowly looked up and down the bar. “What do you think?”
I grinned.
“So, what do you want to know?” he asked, putting both hands on the bar.
“What do you know about these rumors of somebody deliberately infecting other guys?”
“I’ve heard stories,” he said noncommittally.
“Any specifics? People? Places?”
He lowered his head, thought a minute, then looked back up at me.
“You know how rumors are,” he said. “They’re all over hell, and they can be damned bad for business. The hustlers don’t talk about it—at least when the johns can hear. It’s bad for business. A lot of the johns who come in here, they’re straight, but even they’re becoming aware of AIDS and they’re getting skittish. And the minute they hear one story about somebody handing out AIDS like breath mints, they’re gone.
“You never hear definite names, though, which is typical with rumors. There’s hints that it’s this one or it’s that one.”
I nodded. “Well, could you do me a real favor and try to remember any specific names you might hear? I’m trying to track down the source of these rumors and to find out if there’s any truth to them.”
“Sure,” he said. “It does seem that I hear the Male Call come up more often than any other bar, though. Rumor has it a lot of guys from there have it.”
“Has Hughie’s lost any yet?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Only one that I know of. But it’s hard to tell. This place is pretty much a revolving door. Hustling’s a high-turnover and competitive business. Most of these guys are loners…I don’t know where they came from before they got here or where they go after they leave. It’s none of my business. I just serve beer.”
A thirty-something guy in a business suit walked in, and Bud left to take his order as one of the hustlers picked up his own beer and sidled over toward the newcomer.
Let the games begin!
I finished my beer, put another bill on the bar for Bud and left.
*
That evening, having talked with Jonathan and called Craig to verify that he’d be available Friday night—he and Bill were going to a dance for gay and lesbian teens at the MCC’s Haven House on Saturday—I called Jared in Carrington. Luckily, he was home.
We talked for a minute or two before I got to the main reason for my call.
“Carl Brewer’s hired me to check into all these rumors about someone from the Male Call spreading AIDS.” I’m not normally that open about discussing my business, not even with Jonathan, but I knew I could talk to Jared, especially about something which by extension involved both him and Jake. “He wants to find out if there’s any validity to them,” I continued, “and if there is, who might be responsible.”
“I sure as hell hope it’s only
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