The Colors of Hate - 40

Dean bristled a bit at the commanding tone of Kirby's voice, and then reminded himself Kirby was in ‘cop mode’ as he took out his phone. When Carrie answered he explained briefly what was happening.

“Dean Travers, I swear,” she growled. “Why the hell did you wait so long to tell me? What if this person had done something to you? I wouldn’t have had a clue why. I swear…”

“Twice in a row,” he said with a bit of a smile in his voice. “Honestly, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well you should have. Dad’s a raving lunatic and it scares me that he’s going to know.”

“Carrie, come on. He’ll rant and rave, as Kirby put it, and then disown me. And that will be a blessed relief. I should have let him know years ago.”

“Dean… God, where did your common sense go? He’ll do something drastic to you.”

Dean realized then with sudden clarity what he had to do and smiled slightly. “No, he won’t. Because, Carrie, I plan on coming out to the world at large. The CVA founder’s gay and proud of it son.”

“Fuck that,” Kirby spat out from beside him, taking the phone from his hand. “Carrie, he’ll call you back later when he’s regained his senses,” he told her before hanging up. Then he glared at Dean. “Are you out of your mind? I thought that was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. It was supposed to be just a threat if he gave you any grief.”

Dean stood straight, looking Kirby in the eye. “I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that aren’t I? I’ve been living in fear of his finding out and I’ve been putting my life on hold as a result. Now the bastard knows. So let’s see how he feels when the rest of the world does too.”

“He’ll kill you,” Kirby said quietly. “Him or one of his fanatics.”

With a slight smile, Dean replied, “No. He’ll be damned certain no one harms me because while he may be insane, he’s not stupid. If anything happens to me it will come back on him. You know that.”

“I don’t know that. Well, I do, of course. He’ll be held responsible by those who hate him and his sort of rhetoric. But will he really care? Or will he think of it as ‘God’s retribution’ on you and use your death, if someone kills you, to prove he was right? That ‘the only good fag is a dead one’, even if it is his own son.”

“I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

The Colors of Hate - 39

“These were in your mailbox with the rest of your mail?”

Dean nodded as he watched Kirby spread the three pictures across his desk in the squad room.

Reid stood beside Kirby, studying them. “Taken last night from what you said, Dean.”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t take him long to get them developed and to your place.”

“I don’t know which is more worrisome, the fact he was watching us, or that he knows for certain where Dean lives,” Kirby said. He smiled slightly at Dean. “When I said he wouldn’t take pot-shots at you, I wasn’t thinking about a camera.”

“A good camera, not one on a cell phone.” Reid tapped one of the pictures. “It looks as if the two of you were in the shadows from the lighting but it’s still very clear.”

Kirby nodded. “Jones, if it was him, knows what he’s doing.”

“Who else would it be?” Dean asked tensely.

“Probably no one, unless there’s another CVA member in town.”

“Oh, that makes me feel real safe,” Dean grumbled.

Kirby patted his shoulder. “You’re safe, honest. What I wonder is, were copies sent to your father as well.”

“I’d bet my bottom dollar on that.”

“Then I suspect you'll be hearing from him. Want an asbestos phone for when he calls to rant and rave and damn you to hell?”

Dean snorted. “He calls, I won’t answer.”

Reid shook his head. “Not a good idea. Better for you to let him read you the riot act I think. Once he’s done that, then hopefully he'll wash his hands of you, and you can move on.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean replied firmly. “This is my home now.”

“I meant move on with your life." Reid said. "Be who you want to be rather than hiding it.”

Dean glanced at Kirby. “Is he serious?”

“Actually, he is. My partner’s one of the good people of the world, so listen to his words of wisdom. He’s seldom wrong.”

“I’m never wrong thank you very much,” Reid huffed. “And my next proclamation is that we keep a good watch on Dean until he does hear from his father.”

“Agreed,” Kirby said tersely, all business again. “Dean, let your sister know what’s happening.”

“Damn. Do you think there’s any danger to her?” 

“No. But if your father calls her, she should at least be aware one of his people has been keeping an eye on you, if you haven’t told her already.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t want to worry her.”

“Then it’s time to. So call her,” Kirby ordered.

The Colors of Hate - 38

Dean debated going to the theater Monday morning. It was everyone’s day off because there was no show on Mondays—although sometimes he, the other designers and whoever was directing the next show would take advantage of the relative peace and quiet to get some work done. Since he had to rework his designs to accommodate the changes Vince wanted, he decided to spend the morning there and take the rest of the day for himself to do chores before he was supposed to meet Kirby.

After showering and dressing, he stopped long enough in his small kitchen to brew some coffee, which he poured into a large travel mug, and make some cinnamon toast. He ate it while he made certain he had what he needed to take with him, because he planned on grocery shopping on his way home.

The morning passed quickly. When Vince showed up around eleven, Dean showed him his revisions. The new director was enthusiastic, made two small suggestions which Dean incorporated, and that was that.

Once he’d stored the designs in his drawing table, and checked his supply of fabrics to see what he’d need to purchase, Dean was ready to call it a day. He got into his car, tossed his bag on the passenger seat and then leaned back to stare out the windshield at the gathering storm clouds.

Not raining on my parade He chuckled. Just hold off ‘til I get home and I’ll be happy.

Perfect timing, he thought an hour later when he carried the last of the bags into the foyer of his apartment building—just as the skies opened up. He got everything upstairs, deposited the grocery sacks on the kitchen counter and the mail on the small dining room table, before going to the bedroom to kick off his shoes and change into a pair of old, comfortable jeans.

He put the food away, started a fresh pot of coffee and went to check his mail. Three advertisements went onto the pile of paper to go into the recycling bin; two bills were tossed onto the desk in one corner of the room. That left one medium-sized envelope with no return address and, he suddenly realized, no stamp either.

How the hell did this get into my mailbox, he wondered as he opened it. All it contained were three pictures. Photos obviously taken the previous evening when he was with Kirby. One showed the two of them at the restaurant table. The second had been shot at the moment Kirby had leaned close to whisper to him. The angle gave it a curious sense of intimacy, as if at any second Kirby would take the next step and kiss him. The third showed Kirby standing with his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Again it looked like an intimate moment between two men who cared for each other.

Dean sat down hard on a chair, staring at them, his hands trembling as he picked one up to look at it again. He dropped it, grabbing the envelope to see if there was some message, a note or something, still inside. Nothing.

“Jones,” he growled, suddenly more angry than scared. He pulled his cell out, punched in Kirby’s private number, and waited for him to answer.

The Colors of Hate - 37

“Damn it, Dean, please relax. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“How could you stop a gun shot?”

Kirby stepped in front of him, facing him. “You said yourself the CVA doesn’t kill, or at least I suspect not outright. No one is going to take potshots at you.” He took a quick look around, saw they were in the shadows between the streetlights, and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, not releasing his grip when Dean tried to move back. “I like you, as a friend and possibly more, if we give it a chance. I’m not going to force it. If it happens, it happens. In the meantime, stop acting as if I’m trying to attack you any time I happen to touch you, or get too close to you.”

Dean stared at him. “But what if he sees us? You know what will happen.”

“No I don’t know, and neither do you when it comes right down to it.” Kirby dropped his hands. “For all you know, you’ll get a nasty letter from your father disowning you, maybe including a threat if you dare reveal to anyone you’re his son.” He started walking. “I gather no one you know is aware of that fact.”

“No,” Dean told him, keeping pace. “And believe me, I have just as much of an interest in keeping it a secret as he will, once he finds out.”

“Which he probably will if it’s the reason Jones is here, but you have to stop worrying. You’re just going to drive yourself crazy.” They crossed the street and headed back the way they’d come before Kirby said, with a slight chuckle, “We’re not going to start walking down the street holding hands, or kissing under a streetlight. That’s definitely not my thing.”

Dean smiled. “Mine neither.”

“No shit. And in the cause of being open and honest with one another, there’s a reason I don’t flaunt my sexuality in public. Just because I’m out does not mean I want to become the ‘Gay Cop’ poster boy, which could happen. It might not be fair, but it’s the way I am.”

“With your looks you’d make a great poster boy. I can see them now, stuck on every lamppost in the city, slathered across the fronts of vacant buildings. Hmm. Maybe even a calendar.” Dean grinned.

“You’re a nut, you know that?” Kirby told him, grinning back.

“No,” Dean replied. “In all seriousness I’m beginning to relax, just the way you wanted.”

“If it takes making fun of me to get you to do it, I’ll accept it.”  

“It takes…being with you.”

“Then we’ll have to make certain it happens more often, won’t we?”

“I can live with that.” The corner of Dean’s lip quirked up in a half smile. “But for now, right turn then half a block down and we’ll be at my car.”

When they got to it, Dean opened the door before looking across the roof at Kirby. “I had fun tonight. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Would you consider trying it again, or maybe a movie, or… something?”

Without a beat of hesitation Dean said, “When?”

“Tomorrow night? There’s a good movie at the Paramount.”

“Seven?”

“Six-thirty. It starts at seven.”

“Deal. I’ll meet you there.”

Kirby almost suggested he could pick Dean up, before realizing he wouldn’t let it happen. “That works. See you then.”

“You will.” Dean got into the car, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out into the late night traffic. As he looked back at Kirby in the rear view mirror, he saw him give a small wave. He waved back. Then he continued on his way home, a happy smile on his face.

The Colors of Hate - 36

By the time they left the restaurant it was dark, the sidewalks only half-full of people on their way to or from somewhere. Dean glanced around, quickly scanning the passers-by, a fact Kirby didn’t miss. “My car’s that way,” Dean told him with a nod of his head in the right direction.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Kirby, I’m quite capable of going on my own.”

“You said I needed to walk, we’re walking. In fact,” Kirby turned in the opposite direction, “we’re taking the long way there.”

A flash of panic filled Dean’s eyes. “I…”

“Dean,” Kirby said quietly, “it’s perfectly safe. If he is here, he’s not going to do anything while I’m with you. I am a cop, and if he’s been watching you he knows that.”

“How did you..?”

“Because I’m good at reading people, especially those I’m interested in. The minute we left the restaurant you wound up tighter than a clock spring. Relax. It’s a nice evening, we had a good meal, let’s just enjoy it a bit more before we head home.”

Dean took a deep breath. “All right, I can do that.”

“Good.” Kirby resisted patting his shoulder. He knew without a shadow of a doubt Dean would, at best, flinch away, and at worst immediately turn around to go to his car. “So,” he said, smiling, “how about those Cardinals?”

“Cardinals?” Dean looked around. “I don’t think birds come out at night, well except owls.”

“Not a baseball fan I take it.”

Dean grinned. “I knew what you were talking about. I’m not a big one but I do know they’re a team. So are…” he rattled off the names of a few others. With a laugh, Kirby pointed out that the Seahawks were a football team. “I knew that,” Dean replied. “I was just testing you.”

“Uh huh, sure you were.”

“I was.”

By then they’d reached the corner. “How about we go up a block or two,” Kirby said.

Again, Dean glanced around.

“I told you, you’re safe. Come on.”

“Two blocks, then we go back. And no more baseball talk, okay? Or football, or hockey or any other sport.”

“You don’t like sports?”

Dean grinned. “Is auto racing considered a sport?”

“You are so kidding me. You like that?”

“Honest truth, yes and no. It’s good background noise when I’m working, and some of the crashes are spectacular.”

“You, my man, have a warped sense of… something or another. Why not music instead?”

“I tend to sing along and loose track of what I’m doing.”

“Don’t tell me you like musicals. How cliché.”

Dean nodded then laughed in agreement. “It is, but I do none the less.”

Kirby leaned in to whisper, as if it was the deepest, darkest secret in the world, “I do too sometimes, but if you breathe a word of it to anyone…”

Dean stiffened at Kirby’s closeness, the touch of soft breath against his ear sending a thrill through him. But if anyone saw He pulled away quickly.