Lacey, Marc's Villano's sheltie, scratched at the living room door three times. It's time for him to be home. Where is he? Lacey looked out the window, but there was no sign of her owner. Then she looked at her water bowl. It, along with her food bowl, was empty.

Although Lacey had been left alone before, she'd never been left this long. The sky was dark and all the streetlights were blazing with ever widening halos of light. It's time for action. It's time I did something. Lacey ran to the window, trying to get her head in the eight-inch gap. She grunted as she forced her head into the opening and felt the window rise a scintilla of a fraction of an inch, but after a few moments, her head hurt and she returned to the front door, scratching on the cold metal frame

"It's that damned dog again," Cynthia said as she walked down the apartment building hallway. "I wish that man would take care of her."

Lacey didn't understand Cynthia's words but she understood the emotion behind them. Another one of the humans is angry at my master.

Lacey raced to the kitchen, but the back door was bolted. She backtracked to the bathroom, drank from the toilet bowl and headed back toward the partially opened window in the living room. She was long overdue for her walk and she scratched and barked the moment she saw Cynthia Morrison walking down the sidewalk.

"I'm going to report that dog to the front office. There's no reason to leave her alone like that."

Lacey barked, but Cynthia had already made up her mind to report the dog to Willie Walker, the ninety-one year old World War II veteran who worked part time at the resident manager's office. Willie hates dogs. He'll back me up.

Lacey shoved her head inside the window, prying it open a bit higher, squeezing until she was half free and her front feet hung out the window barely a foot above the ground as she used her back a final time to push her way to freedom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bobby Jenkins had dressed so hurriedly that he had forgotten to change his cum stained Valentine's Day boxer shorts, which still smelled of late night sex with his sister, and now, while sitting in the waiting room wrapped in Barb's arms, wondering if his father would live or die, his penis erupted, filling his trousers, as he lusted after the only woman he ever loved.

Hopefully Dad'll die before he discovers our secret love. Bobby thought as he began whistling an old Doris Day song from the Fifties:

Once I had a Secret Love that lived within the heart of me.
All too soon my secret love became impatient to be free.
So I told a friendly star the way that dreamers often do,
Just how wonderful you are and why I'm so in love with you.
Now I shout it from the highest hills,
Even told the golden daffodils,
At last my heart's an open door
And my secret love's no secret anymore.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins?" Doctor Wilson asked. The lovers sat taller, as if they were listening to the clamoring of wedding bells. "Your father's in excellent condition. He's shaken up a bit and has a slight bump on his head, but the car accident wasn't as severe as we thought. I'm going to release him as soon as we finish the paper work."

Bobby felt as if Sisyphus had dropped his big ugly rolling stone on his head.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jason Brown's clothing lay scattered all over Camilla Peterson's bedroom, his underwear comingled with hers, as he humped her to the sound of throbbing sound of his favorite rap song, I Be Crying, rumbled and beat in the background.

If you be crying, you know what I do
I slam you 'n beat your sorry ass blue.
Then when we finish, I'd make your mouth scream
Break you, n' take you, with my Nigger machine.

Camilla wasn't sure if the bed was rocking because of the vibrations from the music or from the movement between Jason's hips, but she screamed out his name over and over again, "Do it Jazzman, sweet Jesus; fuck me harder."

Jason, AKA, Jazzman, thrust on every downbeat as he sang his own rendition of the rap music playing in the background, envisioning his own sweet words, Jazzman, Sweet Jesus, I love that name. I be using it whenever we plays games. I be your man, cause you'll be my ho' and I be giving you enough thrusts to make you know: Jazzman be my name and after fucking me you won't never be the same."

Camilla moaned, delighted she'd renamed the only man she ever loved, loving his jazz.

"I'll be making your blues turn to jazz," Jason said, as he withdrew for the third time and covered Camilla with his delicious warm sweat-salty kisses.

Later, as Camilla dreamed about hand-washing Jason's boxer shorts and having his babies, Jazzman, AKA Jason Brown, rolled over, revealing his massive erection, letting Camilla know he was ready to go another couple of rounds as the rap music morphed into jazz and Camilla fell into the arms of her jabbing Jazzman.

After the fifth round, Jason, felt on top of her and slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alejandro wanted to stay at the hospital with Carlos all day, but his lover urged him to leave. "The Pride Committee's meeting now, isn't it?"

Alejandro avoided Carlos's eyes, which, like Medusa's delved deeply into his soul.

"Go on, I'll be fine . . . and for God's sakes, don't give me that look." Carlos took Alejandro's hand, gently touching each of his fingertips to his own. When he got to the last one, he felt like ET bidding Eliot 'ouch'. "I said I'd be fine. Please, go!"

Alejandro could almost feel Carlos slapping his naked butt, like he did each morning when he got out of the shower.

"You know the world couldn't be gay without you. I'll be fine. Go . . . go", Carlos winked.

Alejandro walked the eight blocks to his Gay Pride Day meeting at Dupont; vowing to keep Carlos' condition private. I'm too upset to go into details right now. I need to clear my mind.

The meeting was well under way by the time Alejandro arrived and he heard Eloy speaking about his pet project, "The Gay Pride Abstinence Booth will be on the corner of Constitution and Pennsylvania and," Eloy paused, wanting to lighten up the group, "I'm sending an invitation to the President to come on down and learn about abstinence." Eloy paused again, "If he stops fucking us, we won't have to fuck with him!"

Everyone left on a light note. The Gay Pride Day events are going to be a major success, Alejandro thought, and with ten million gays and Lesbians fighting for the cause and another twenty million friends and supporters, we'll end discrimination come hell or high water.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the other side of town, Jason dreamt of an America free of homosexuals. Soon as we start drowning the fags, the world will be safe.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Noah and Jus latched onto Ed Lynch's leg the moment he opening the door, giggling and carrying on like long lost boys in Never Never Land when Peter Pan flew home.

"Look, Dad, I just got a new pen," Noah said. "It writes in four different colors and I'm going to take it to school for Show and Tell."

"Awesome," Ed rubbed his son's head. It seems like he grows an inch a day now. I'll have to take them back to the Goodwin again next week.

Ed's phone rang to the tune of: She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah and he answered it on the second "yeah."

"Yeah, this is Dr. Edward Lynch. Yeah, Marc Villano's my neighbor. Yeah . . . He what? When?" Ed's voice remained calm, not just because he was standing in front of his boys, but because that was his nature. "Where is he? Room 1451 South? Got it. Hold on." Ed lowered the phone and looked at his Noah and Jus, "Hey, have you guys eaten?" Ed knew the shrug meant they hadn't and he spoke back into the phone, "Give me forty minutes. I'll bring my boys. Villano will like that." Ed clicked his cell phone shut and prepared for a deluge of questions.

"What happened? Is Mister Marc okay?

"Just a little mishap at the Metro-it's nothing to worry about. He'll be fine. We'll visit him right after we make a stop at Mikey' D's, okay?"

"Can we make it Wendy's instead," Jus asked.

"Sure."

Forty-five minutes and four hamburgers later (Noah ate two), the Lynches stood in front of Villano and, even though he'd been injured during the jabbing incident, the boys, who had been playing Cream Me, Mister Cowman under Sterling Powell's care, weren't even aware he was even at the scene.

"It almost looks like you're enjoying yourself," Ed said. "You look great."

"Well, its' not the type of vacation I'm used to, but at least I'm off the streets." Everyone laughed until Noah piped up, "What about Lacey? Is she okay?"

Marc grimaced, picturing his dog running around the apartment looking for a place to swat. "Can you stop by? Feed her . . . and take her for a walk?" He asked as Noah's face lit up.

"Of course," Noah said, "we'll adopt her for as long as you're here. If that's okay?"

"And if you die, we'll keep her forever," Jus added.

Villano laughed, "Lacey and I are inseparable, and she'll make up her own mind who to be with when I'm gone, just like Bobby of Greyriars."

Six blank eyes stared at Villano.

"Bobby of Greyfriars was a Skye terrier that belonged to a Scottish policeman named John Grey. They were always together-"

"Inseparable," Noah said.

"Right, inseparable," Villano rolled his eyes but continued, "no matter where Officer Grey went, Bobby always followed. One day the policeman died and even though all the children in town wanted to adopt Bobby for their own, the little dog had a mind of his own, so . . . " Villano stopped, partly for emphasis and partly to make sure the boys wouldn't be frightened of death, "Little Bobby of Greyfriars started sleeping on his master's grave, but since dogs weren't allowed in the cemetery, the caretaker kept chasing him away."

The boys looked up apprehensively.

"But, after the third time, the caretaker grave up and took pity on the little doggy by allowing him to stay on the grave all night long. After that, the people of Scotland came out to the cemetery every day and fed Bobby of Greyfriars."

Noah clapped his hands together in delight.

"And the people came, day after day, for fourteen years . . . until the day little Bobby died."

"And went to heaven with his master,' Jus said, as he crossed himself.

"Exactly," Marc Vollano smiled, he knew the boys had been eyeing Lacey for several months, coveting his dog, the same way the villagers of Greyfriars had coveted Bobby. "And I'd like you to fed Lacey like the people fed Bobby-just don't spoil her, okay?"

Noah looked defeated.

"You can pet her, but she's a bomb sniffing dog, so you have to let her have her head."

"What's that mean?"

"She has to have freedom to do her job. Don't ever tie her down. She's not used to that."

The boys nodded in approval as Vollano told them where he'd hidden the True Value fake rock with the front door key hidden inside. "Call me when you get home and let me know how Lacey's doing, okay?"

"You have my number, but here's my card, just in case," Ed figured Villano's next of kin might have to get in touch.

I bet that's the number of the undertaker, Jus thought, I'll be sad if Mr. Marc dies but at least I'll get to keep the dog.

"Call me when you're discharged and I'll pick you up. We'll take care of Lacey-but don't count on us cleaning your apartment. Our services are limited to dogs," he laughed.

Noah got the joke and Jus laughed despite it-knowing a nervous giggle might cement his relationship with Vollano and give him more time with the dog.

"We have to get to Lacey before she has an accident," Ed said as he hurried the boys out of the room. "I sure as heck don't want to have to clean up after a sheltie."

"I don't wanna clean up after nobody," Noah added, as they buckled up and drove to Marc's apartment.

"Anybody," Jus corrected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At the Ninth Street Beauty Salon, Camilla Peterson giggled to her friend, Sissy Noland, as she pranced around the room, pretending she was pregnant with Jason's child.

"He's my own personal music maker, that's why I call him my Jazz man." Camilla's broad sweet laughter filled the shop and oozed out into the street. "He's my own personal jazz musician-my own freaking love machine."

"You know he fucks around, Camilla, all men fuck around."

"He might, but he always comes back. That's what matters. I don't care if he fucks all the God damned women in town, he's mine and he knows it."

Sissy gave Camilla one of her looks.

Camilla opened her wallet, removed a small snapshot of Jason and flashed it at Sissy. "Look at his dark brown eyes, his mustache, his arms, his thighs. What do you think? He's hot, ain't he?"

Sissy almost said something she'd regret, but Camilla was her boss and she was still paying off the hospital for her sex change operation. I should just bite my tongue, but I swear that that man looks exactly like the jabber I saw on the train. Sissy stood to her full five foot four inches, stuck out her newly implanted thirty-eight inch chest, and reacting with the alacrity of the dogs who feasted on Queen Jezebel, asked, "Was Jason with you all night?"

"Why you wanna know?"

"Just curious. I know my boyfriend always comes in late and leaves before I wake up-he says he's working, but you know-"

"Yeah, Jason came home late but he was in my bed all night. He was still sleeping when I left this morning. He'll probably be waiting for me when I get home."

Well, Sissy thought, if he arrived late, he might really be that jabber, but what's in it for me if I tell her. "Maybe I can drop by this evening and meet your man," Sissy decided to soften her words. The job only paid four dollars an hour but the tips were great. There's no use telling tales unless I'm sure they be true.

"Maybe," Camilla giggled, "and maybe not. You're not trying to steal my man is you?"

Maybe. Just maybe, if he be as good as you say. In the meantime, all he got to know is I seen him on the Metro, that be enough. And if he be as hot as you says he might just be fucking both of us. "No, I don't be wanting your man, sweetie, I be wanting to make sure he be as hot like you say he be." Then again, maybe that white man in the Metro just fainted; maybe he be diabetic. There no reason a brother be attacking a white man 'less he got a damn good reason, 'less the revolution be coming. Sissy took a deep breath. I be too deep in this shit and I ain't even met him, but one way or nother, I be finding out what happened and if his dick be as big as Camilla say, I be getting that, too.

Sissy decided it was time to lead Camilla off track. "Where you buying you baby clothes at, girl?"

" Joseph's Coat in Virginia. Everything costs fifty cents and they got some good stuff. I'm gonna get Jazzman to drive me."

"Sure, you can, girl, if I twist his nuts hard enough."

Camilla giggled and strutted around the salon, convincing everyone she was pregnant.

"You got the names pick out yet, Camilla?"

"Pharaoh if it's a boy and Rosetta Stone if it's a girl."

"Where you get names like that?"

"From school. Pharaoh was a leader and Rosetta Stone's an archeologist."

Sissy marveled at her friend's intelligence.

"Then again," Camilla added, "perhaps I'll just give them African names to remind them of their heritage, names like Liberia and Libation."

Everyone at the salon was immediately convinced that Camilla was not only pregnant, but that she was carrying twins.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After a twelve-hour shift, Lieutenant Danh Nguyen headed home, wanting to spend the rest of the evening with his boyfriend, Michael Parker. As he passed the Brookings Institute and pulled up to the traffic light at Eighteenth and Massachusetts, however, his eyes focused blurrily on an orange and green commercial van: "We make Dead Bugs our Livelihood!" It must be an exterminating company. I have to remember that: it's cute. Maybe we can find a few bugs in our bed tonight. Danh laughed out loud-it had been a long day and he'd been so wrapped up in the mystery of Reverend Abel's stabbing and his trips back and forth to the precinct that he'd nearly forgotten how much he needed to be with Michael. If anything ever happened to Michael, I'd - Danh chased the thought out of his mind with an imaginary weed whacker-a trick he learned while fending off the cat calls of schoolboys when he was in middle school. Let the think tank people worry about that, he thought as he tossed his bad thoughts off toward the Brooking Institute. The light switched colors. Two more traffic lights and I'm home. I hope they're both green.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

David Burns' meeting was short and tense. Adman, Terrill, and Jason had been waiting for him in the parlor of his sixteen room Massachusetts Avenue mansion and David entered with a swagger. "Homeland's such a fucking joke. The smoke bomb worked and Metro had no idea about what we were doing, and now that we've blasted down to the next level, we're ready to take on all the fags in town on a boat ride they'll never forget."

Terrill laughed the loudest, although he didn't fully understand the analogy, while Jason's tumescence grew, thinking of the faggot floating in the city's sewers. Adman, on the other hand, merely ate another donut, ready to do anything for the cause.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ed, Noah, and Jus got into Villano's apartment easily: there were only three locks on the steel door, but when they turned on the lights, there was no dog to greet them. "Lacey should be waiting for us," Ed said. "Where is she? Find her boys. She has to be here somewhere."

"I hope she's okay," Jus said as he headed into the bedroom and Noah raced to the kitchen where he grabbed a can of dog food.

"I found her leash."

"Her food and water bowls are both empty, Daddy."

Ed was the first to notice the open window. "Lacey must have escaped. She can't have gone far."

The guys hurried outside, "Search the park. I'm going to check along the highway. Meet me here in thirty minutes with or without Lacey, okay?" The boys nodded. "Check your watch, Noah. What time will it be in thirty minutes?"

"Six o'clock, Daddy."

"Good, meet me at six. Your watch chimes at every hour. Right?"

The boys nodded, but before anyone moved, Jus started calling, "Here, Lacey, here girl, here girl."

Lacey raced from around the corner of the condo building, recognizing her name, if not the boys.

"Come on girl, come on. We've got food." Noah pulled out an opened can of Alpo, flipped off the plastic top, and dumped the food out in front of him.

Lacey didn't take any time to react, she moved toward the boys licking the food as Jus reached down to pet her. Within seconds, she was in control, content, eating, and ready to bond with her new food-friendly friends.

"Can we keep her at our house until Mr. Marc gets out of the hospital, Daddy?"

Ed knew what those big eyes meant. By the time Marc Villano would be released and reunited with his dog, his boys would have their own puppy, like it or not, there would be no easy way out of this dilemma. "Sure boys, we'll be Lacey's foster parents for a while. Let's call Mr. Marc right away; he'll sleep better once he knows we've rescued Lacey."

Noah liked the sound of the word 'rescued.' It made him feel like one of the Survivors on the TV show.

Ed reached for his cell while Jus held out the can of Alpo for Lacey to lick. "Let's go home, boys, we need to find a comfortable place for Lacey to spend the night."

"Can she sleep in our room, Daddy, can she, can she?"

"Sure," Lynch said, smelling doggy breath, sensing the taste of Lacey's tongue, trying to avoid a trip to the pound as the boys ogled a hundred million stray pups-wanting to take them all home, picturing his last few moments of silence gone forever.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At 8:55 P.M., five minutes before closing time, Detective Erik Salmi arrived at the Ninth Street Beauty Salon.

"I hate to bother you at work, Ms. Noland, but I'm following up on the Metro incident. The Reverend Abel has identified his assailant as a dark-skinned African, a Hottentot. We've checked all leads in that department looking for recent immigrants from that region of Africa but we've come up cold. Now we're looking for supporting evidence."

"What are you saying?" Sissy was indignant.

"It isn't an easy question, Ms. Noland." Erik stumbled for the right word . . . the right tone.

"You want to know how black he was. If he was a blue-black nigger!

"No, I-I didn't say that."

"Well, he was as coal black a Nigger as I ever did see. He was the blackest thing I seen in my entire life. Are you happy now?" Sissy eyes rolled up and to the right, formulating a plan, trying to find a description that didn't fit Jason, trying to protect him . . . wondering why . . . wondering why not. "I even heard him speak with a African accent."

Salmi flipped through his notebook, trying to decipher his own chicken scratches, "You didn't mention that in the original interview, Ms. Noland."

"Maybe you didn't ask me." Sissy was livid now, thinking about how she'd tell Camilla the cunning way in which she had saved Jason's ass. "The man in the Metro-the jabber-he ain't from around here. He be a African man."

"I see."

"And don't be coming to my salon, no more; I got a reputation." Sissy walked Salmi to the door. "That's all I know. I don't know no more." Sissy closed the door behind him.

Salmi shook his head as he walked to his squad car. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think she was covering for someone. A relative? A boyfriend? Erik called headquarters, "Can we get a tail on Sissy Noland of," Erik consulted his chicken scratches, "1463 Sherman Avenue? She knows something she's not telling us."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Naked and cuddling in bed with Michael, Danh whispered, "Guess what I saw: today? A van with the words: We make Dead Bugs our Livelihood! written on it. Is that hot?"

"Not as hot as you." Michael kissed Danh's neck working his way down to his nipples.

"I bet it's an exterminator, but I like the sound of it. Want me to hide my big bad bug deep inside your rug?"

Michael slid down under the covers, sliding further and further down Danh's muscular body until he reached what he was after. "Is this the bug you're talking about? It's more like a mouse than a bug." Michael devoured Danh's mouse as Danh lay back, wondering what games he and his lover could play later on that night, if he could stay awake, if he could get it up a second time.

"Perhaps we'll hide my bug somewhere warm and furry," he laughed, as Michael nibbled. "Perhaps we'll play hide the furry little bug in the tight little cave. Would you like that?"

Michael didn't bother saying anything; he loved playing games.

The roach crawled along the ceiling, scampering toward the overhead light, just as Danh looked up wide-eyed with arousal. "You have to see this. We have our own little buggy crawling across the ceiling. It's a good omen."

"As long as we don't bug each other."

"I'll never bug you, sweetie, I'll just bugger you!"

Michael laughed so hard he bit Danh-but it wasn't hard enough to stop their play.


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May 31st
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