The Colors of Hate - 53

Dean nodded. “I know a bit. A few names of people who support my father behind the scenes, or who did back when I lived at home. The money men.”

Reid shook his head. “That could put you in more danger than you are now. We don’t really want them to try to kill you.”

“All right, we won’t go in that direction. But,” he smiled, “maybe something even better. I’ve got some real prestige now because of the TV interview. So, I let it out there are some powerful people who have come to me, asking me to be the front-man, the face of an organization being formed to counter the CVA lies and distortions.”

The two detectives considered his idea. Finally they both nodded. “That could do it,” Kirby said. “That could definitely bring them out of the woodwork. They won’t kill you. It would be counter-productive. But I’d be willing to bet they’ll want to threaten you in person. All we need is to record them when they do and we’ll be able to arrest them for criminal threatening or intimidation. If their threats are based on your sexuality it also becomes a hate-crime.”

“Then we have a plan. I’ll try to figure out how to implement the publicity part, and I bet some of the people I work with can come up with some ideas. After all it is a theater.”

“All right. Anything else we need to talk about?” Reid asked. “If not I’m going home and get some sleep.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you in the morning.” Kirby walked him to the door, locking and bolting it, as well as setting the alarm, once he’d left. When he returned to the living room he found it empty and most of the table cleared. Smiling slightly he went into the kitchen to find Dean rinsing off the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. “You don’t have to do that,” he told him.

“You ever try to scrape dried-on food off in the morning? It sucks. Besides if I’m staying here I want to pull my own weight.”

“Okay. I wasn’t really complaining, just commenting.”

Dean finished up while Kirby went back to clear the rest of the table, putting the small amounts of leftover food into the refrigerator. When they finished Kirby asked, “Are you heading to bed or would you like some coffee?”

“Coffee sounds good to me. I’m tired, but not, if you know what I mean.”

“I totally do.” Kirby set the coffee to brewing.

“So…are you rich, or just on the take?” Dean asked in a teasing tone of voice.

Kirby laughed. “Neither. This place belonged to one of my brothers before he decided to get married and move out of state. It was half paid for, he let me take over the mortgage, I refinanced it down to payments I could afford and now it belongs to me.”

“Nice. Maybe someday I’ll have a place to call my own. Oh, did I tell you my landlord isn’t planning on kicking me out.”

“Great. That must be a relief.” Kirby poured them each some coffee and they went back out to the living room, settling down on either end of the sofa.

“It is. If there’s one thing I hate it’s apartment hunting.”

“I’m with you on that one.” Kirby smiled at him over the rim of his mug.

Dean liked how Kirby’s eyes sort of crinkled up when he smiled. It made him seem more human, less cop, although he couldn’t have said why he felt that way. He studied his face, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

Kirby cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I…”

“You what?”

“I don’t know.”