Mario - A Story - 26

The moment they pulled up in front of Maria’s house Wil was on the stoop. He dashed to the car and wrapped his arms around Mario the second he opened the car door. Mario hugged him tightly as he got out, telling him he was fine, that everything was fine.

“Is it?” Maria asked Tate in a low, worried voice as she joined them.

“Seems to be,” he replied. He watched Mario and Wil as Wil told his father everything that had happened in school and afterwards.

Then Wil said very seriously, almost as an afterthought, “Jonah’s dead, he was killed.”

Mario shot an angry look at Maria even as he told Wil, “Yes, I’m afraid he was. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Wil told him, still quite serious. “He hurt you so I’m glad.”

“Yes he did, but that doesn’t mean you should be glad he’s dead.” Mario walked him over to the stoop and sat down, Wil in his lap. “He wasn’t a very nice man I’m afraid, but you should never, ever be happy when a person is killed no matter how bad they are. Once they’re dead they never have a chance to try to change and become better. Jonah had…problems and he got very angry and did some things he might have regretted if he’d had the chance to. Now he won’t be able to make amends, to me or to you, and that is sad.” He stroked Wil’s hair and asked, “Do you understand?”

Wil shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. “I think so. I should say I’m sad he’s dead, even if I’m not.”

“No,” Mario replied with a smile. “You should always be honest about how you feel.” Mario frowned as he tried to figure out how to explain this so a five-year-old would understand. “But there are times when it’s better to keep your feelings to yourself, especially if you think that saying them out loud could hurt someone else.”

“It didn’t hurt you daddy, did it?” Wil asked with a worried look.

“No, it didn’t because I knew what you meant and why.” Mario kissed his forehead. “With me you can always say exactly what you mean. Even if I get angry, and sometimes I might, it’ll pass in a minute I promise.”

“You too,” Wil told him with a nod of his head. “Cause we love each other.”

“Yes, Wil, because we love each other.”

“Good. Now can I go play?”

Mario laughed and hugged him. “Yes, now you can go play.”

* * * *

Once Wil had disappeared into the house Mario looked at Maria. “Did you tell him? And no I’m not upset, not any more.”

She shook her head. “It was on the news. I thought he was in the bedroom with the kids so of course I watched. He came in to ask for something and saw it. I’m sorry. I was going to explain to him but the brats came in just then demanding supper and well…”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. I think in grand scheme of things it worked out better this way.”

“Tate says you and he are off the hook now, thank goodness.”

“Seems like, according to our lawyer.” Mario smiled at Tate as he sat down beside him. “So now I can concentrate on the important things, like getting Wil home and to bed. And for that I’ll need a ride, if you don’t mind, Tate.”

Tate shook his head. “Of course I don’t. Go gather him up.”

As soon as Mario went inside Maria asked, “Now what?”

With a cocked eyebrow Tate replied, “Now what what?”

“I was watching you watching Mario. I think you care for him.”

“I do.”

“So?”

“Slow and easy?”

“Good.” She patted his shoulder. “The best way all things considered.”

“So that’s a vote of approval?”

“Unless I find out you’re a psycho bastard like Jonah, yes it is.”

IF YOU BELIEVE THAT HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG... REPOST THIS

((This is not something I wrote, but it touched me deeply so I'm reposting it))

I am the boy who never finished high school, because I got called a fag everyday

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didnt have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends im a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.

I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to "teach me a lesson"

I am girl who had to break up with my lover because my parents found out it was another girl.


---IF YOU BELIEVE THAT HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG... REPOST THIS

Mario - A Story - 25

Underwood listened to them then said, “What if the roommate was more than a just a roommate, or wanted to be? It could explain a lot.”

Tate thought about that. “Jonah was fixated on Mario. But why kill Jonah, why not go after Mario instead if what you’re thinking is actually the case?”

“Easy enough, because the roommate came on to Jonah and he was rejected,” Underwood replied.

“And knowing Jonah, if he’d been drinking at all when that happened he’d have done more than just say, ‘Sorry, I’m not interested,’ Mario said softly.

“Good point,” Tate agreed. “It would be interesting to find out if this roommate has any bruises on him.”

“It would,” Underwood agreed, “but even if he becomes a focus of police interest now, there’s no way they can legally force him to show them whether he does or not if they aren’t visible. I’d presume he’s not sporting any bruises on his face.”

“So working on this theory the roommate gets pissed at Jonah when he’s turned down and decides to off him but obviously doesn’t want to be a suspect.” Tate drummed his fingers on the table. “He knows, possibly, that Jonah’s stalking Mario. He figures the cops would believe that Mario might want Jonah gone…dead, so he points the finger at him.”

Mario nodded slowly. “And when you show up and Jonah goes totally ballistic on your ass outside the bar that’s just fine with the roommate who takes advantage of it.” 

“A decent enough scenario,” Underwood told them, “but hard to prove.”

“And it doesn’t explain the second killer,” Tate said.

“Why does there have to be two people? If the roommate’s clever enough to take advantage of you being around,” Mario replied, “and moved on it fast, he could also be smart enough to beat him to death with whatever was at hand as well as the bat and make it look like the two of us did it together.” He shivered. “It was bad enough Jonah was stalking me, that at least I could explain, but to have this dude trying to frame me for murder because, I guess, he was jealous, that’s downright terrifying.”

“All of this is conjecture at this point,” Underwood pointed out. “You two, for now at least, are off the police radar. Whether they do focus on the roommate is up to them.”

Mario bit his lip. “If they do what’s to keep the roommate from manufacturing more evidence to make them look at us again?”

“Nothing,” Underwood admitted. “However the police aren’t stupid no matter how you may feel about them at the moment.” He looked sternly at Mario and Tate. “So let them do what they’re paid to do and do not get any ideas about ‘helping’ them. Understood?”

“Yes, Mitch, understood,” Tate replied with a laugh.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

OOC: I'm a guest at Mahalia Levey's blog - http://mahalia2010.wordpress.com/2011/07/13/edward-kendrick-is-in-my-house/ - E.

Mario - A Story - 24

Tate started to get up when he saw Mario come down the hall towards him. Mario shook his head as he hurried to join him, sitting down on the bench next to him.

When Tate quirked an eyebrow in question, Mario said, “I don’t know what happened but they said we can leave. Underwood is talking to them now and asked us to wait for him.” He leaned back to rest his head against the wall with a deep sigh.

“Sounds like they have some new evidence if you ask me.”

“Maybe. A man came in and gave Forson a folder. When Oates read what was in it he didn’t seem happy.”

Tate chuckled. “I think he thought he had it all wrapped up with us as the murderers so I guess he probably wouldn’t be.”

As they then waited silently for Underwood’s return Mario’s hand crept out to touch Tate’s. Surprised, Tate took it and squeezed it reassuringly while he gave Mario a smile.

Mario’s return smile was barely that. When he said, “I’m such a wuss,” Tate shook his head.

“Not at all. There’s not a damned thing wrong with being frightened under the circumstances, especially when you know you’re innocent but have no clue how to prove it. I know I’m not feeling ready to dance a tarantella at the moment.”

“Dance a tarantella?” Mario’s lips quirked up in a bit of a grin.

“There, that’s better.” Tate squeezed his hand again. “I hoped that would get a real smile out of you.”   

They went back again to staring silently at the people coming and going in the entry area of the station, both of them still tense and trying not to show it too much.

Finally Underwood joined them. He suggested they go to a coffee spot across the street where he’d fill them in on what had happened. Mario and Tate agreed, relieved to get out of there.

Once they were settled, their drinks of choice in front of them Underwood filled the two men in.

“To start with,” he said, “you two are off the hook so to speak. Mario, your car came up clean, not a trace of evidence that Jonah had been in it, no blood stains, his or anyone else’s.” He chuckled. “I think Detective Oates was somewhat put out by that to tell the truth.”

“I’m sure,” Tate said. “He was ready to have us drawn and quartered as insane killers.”

Underwood nodded and continued. “Jonah was, as I’m certain you’ve been told, found beaten to death in an alley. Evidence says it was done with a baseball bat and some sort of pipe which indicates that more than one assailant was involved. What I find interesting, as do the detectives once I pointed it out to them, is the fact that whoever did it went to great pains to frame the two of you for the crime.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Tate said. “We barely know each other when it comes right down to it. Mario hired me to put up better security on his place because Jonah was stalking him. Jonah’s death happened less than two days after Mario first came to my office.”

“Who was the witness?” Mario asked.

“They wouldn’t tell me but I got the impression from a comment from one of the detectives that it was someone close to Jonah.”

Tate shot a look at Mario. “According to you there wasn’t anyone like that.”

“Unless his roommate…” Mario replied pensively.

“If it was him, why involve me in this too?” Tate asked.

“Because Jonah did when he went off on you?”

Mario - A Story - 23

When Tate answered his phone later that afternoon he heard Mario’s say in a panic-stricken voice, “They want me to come down to the police station. They gave me half an hour to get Wil and take him to Maria’s.”

“Stay where you are, I’ll be right there. I’m going in with you.” Without waiting for a reply Tate hung up, grabbed his jacket and hurried down to his car, making a call on the way. Ten minutes later, thanking whatever traffic gods had kept the traffic moving for once, Tate pulled up in front of the restaurant. Mario dashed through the front door to scramble into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” Tate asked.

Mario gave him the school’s address, which luckily was not too far away. As soon as Tate pulled up in front Mario was out of the car. He returned a few moments later with a very bewildered Wil in his arms. Once the boy was ensconced in the back seat and buckled in Tate took off even as he asked, “Where next?”

Mario told him then called Maria to let her know they were on the way. Quietly so Wil wouldn’t hear he told her what was happening. They arrived at Maria’s to find her standing on the stoop. She hurried down the steps, scooped Wil from the car, and said, “Call me when you can,” to Mario. He nodded, forced himself to grin at Wil and told him to behave.

“Promise, daddy,” Wil replied. He tugged free from Maria’s hand to hold out his arms to Mario.

Immediately Mario opened the car door and Wil rushed to hug him. Mario hugged him back hard, told him “Love you,” and smiled when Wil returned the words. He kissed Wil’s forehead and told him he had to leave. As Wil went back to join Maria, Mario sighed deeply.

Tate reached over to squeeze Mario’s thigh while he pulled the car back into traffic. “You’ll be back to get him very soon.”

“Or sitting in a jail cell,” Mario replied morosely. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

* * * *

As Tate and Mario walked into the police station a tall, well-dressed, grey-haired man got to his feet and strode over to them. “Tate,” he said, “I wasn’t really expecting to see you here as well.”

“Moral support.” Tate smiled then introduced the man to Mario as attorney Mitch Underwood. “He’s going to be representing you during the interview.”

“It’s going to be that bad?” If Mario had been scared beforehand now he was verging on terrified.

“Not with me by your side,” Underwood assured him just as the two detectives approached them. The detectives knew him and thus greeted him warily.

Oates looked over at Tate with a somewhat malicious smile. “Two for the price of one. I was just about to call to tell you we wanted you to come in.” With a glance at his partner he continued. “If you’ll come with me Mr. Kendall while Mr. Bassani and his lawyer go with Detective Forson.”

Underwood held up a hand and shook his head. “Mr. Kendall is also my client, therefore he will not be interviewed unless I am present,” he said formally.

Oates mouth tightened as he muttered, “Of course he is,” under his breath. “Okay, let’s get this going. You,” he pointed to Tate, “remain here.” He added, “Please,” rather grudgingly.

“Of course,” Tate replied with a slight smirk which vanished as he watched Mario and the others disappear down the hall. Resigned to a long wait he settled down on one of the hard benches, took a book from his jacket pocket and began to read with an occasional glance in the direction of the door he’d seen the men go through.

* * * *

Half an hour later, Tate took another look at the interrogation room door just in time to see a man open it and step through.

Inside the room the man walked over to Forson, leaned over and whispered something as he handed him a folder.

Mario watched disinterestedly. He felt as if he’d been put through the wringer. The detectives had asked him the same questions over and over with different variations each time. Sometimes Underwood allowed him to reply, other times he would caution firmly that he was to remain silent.

Forson read what was in the folder then slid it over to Oates. The frown on Oates face as he scanned it almost gave Mario hope that he’d been given a reprieve at the very least. Almost. So when Forson said, “You’re free to leave, Mr. Bassani,” Mario wasn’t certain he believed him until Underwood stood and waited for him to get up as well.

At the door Underwood turned back to ask, “And my other client?”

“He can leave as well but I’d like a word with you first, sir,” Forson replied.

“I had a feeling you would. Mario I’ll rejoin you and Tate as soon as we’re finished.”