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.And he still might want to.But not just yet.The pretty boy was making such a good decoy.Besides, if he did Todd like he'd done Michael, then would they suspect? No, better not to stir things up just now.It was playing out all too perfectly.The door of the Gay Times opened again and finally there he was: Jeff.The big man who wanted nothing more out of life than to wear heels and belt out Broadway tunes.He sashayed out of the bar, a huge grin on that broad face, his eyes casting about the crowd of eager men.Yoo-hoo, any of you boys want to take a nice queen home? All the makeup was gone, his face was scrubbed almost as red as a fresh beet, and what was left of his thinning hair was brushed carefully and neatly back.His plaid shirt was crisp and pressed, as were the jeans that circled his large waist.Sure, Jeff made a neat, presentable package, but nothing nearly so glamorous and dramatic as Tiffany Crystal.What a pity.He was going to have to do Jeff.There was no question about it.Jeff knew too much about him.That was now abundantly clear.The only question was when.He'd thought maybe tonight, which was why he was down here, parked across from the Gay Times, scoping the scene.Sure, he could play the troll and fish Jeff out of that crowd.Absolutely.And like some old troll he could take him down by the Mississippi and do him under a bridge.But that would be too easy and for that reason far too obvious.No, far better to wait.Far better to throw a curve.Right, he thought, starting up his car and silently laughing to himself.A curve.Something not only to keep the spotlight burning on Todd Mills, but to throw the police way off.And this was going to work perfectly.He was sure of it, he told himself as he backed out of the parking space, pulled out of the lot, and turned right on Fourth Street.He had his big kitchen knife with him, wrapped in a T-shirt under the seat, and he knew only too well where he could dig up trouble.A whole bunch of it right along the banks of Lake Calhoun.Turning right on Marquette and heading south, this should prove easy.He just prayed he'd still be able to get the story on Channel 7's morning news.19Unaware of the time, Todd drove onto Lake Street and passed along the edge of Lake Calhoun.While Michael had had an affinity for Lake of the Isles, Calhoun was Todd's lake of choice.It was about the same distance around each lake— three miles—but Todd preferred the bigger feel of Calhoun, which was totally open and unobstructed.Isles was much more twisty with all its bays and islands.Todd also preferred the diversity of Calhoun.The houses ringing the parkway weren't as big as those on Isles, the people not as trendy nor as wealthy, yet on Calhoun there was the sailboarding beach, the yuppie beach, the kiddie beach, the Generation X beach, the black parking lot, and, of course, the gay beach.Todd had never sat along the long, narrow stretch frequented by gays, never joined in a volleyball game.But he'd often walked or biked along the eastern shore of Lake Calhoun, seeing who was who and what was what, his sexuality never falling suspect because both the pedestrian and bike paths ran through this area.He could pass as a harmless het, just out enjoying the day.But there would never be reason to hide again.Todd stared across the dark lake toward the gay beach.Would he be hanging out there in the future, either by day or night? No, he might take up sailboarding, but he doubted he'd hang out at the beach or pursue encounters in the dark bushes.He hated sitting around in the sun, and anonymous sex frightened more than titillated him.He realized that while his life had changed fundamentally, in many ways he was still the same person as before.Just past the Lakes' Beach Club he turned right, then left, pleased that the hecklers and demonstrators in front of his building were gone.As he pulled into the parking garage he continued up the ramp and to his space, where he got out and locked the Cherokee.Instead of boarding the elevator and going all the way up to the fifteenth floor, however, he entered the elevator lobby and descended to the main floor.After Michael's funeral today he'd forgotten about picking up his mail.As he headed for the bank of mailboxes he looked toward the security desk and saw not the younger Bob but the night doorman, Larry, sitting behind the desk.A heavy, older man whose red uniform jacket didn't quite make it all the way around him, he was almost completely bald, and he now barely nodded.Todd offered a solemn wave in return and wondered just what Larry thought about the infamous homo-anchor-psycho-killer in his midst.Stop it, he told himself as he unlocked the small silvery box.You can't do that anymore.So what if this Larry knows? Who gives a shit? Just get a grip, get real.He reached into his box and pulled out a handful of mail.Bills.Newsweek.The requisite junk mail.A letter with no return address [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]