Going or Staying

Chapter 9

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The first thing Brian did upon arriving in Los Angeles was call Ben. Disappointed to hear that Justin hadn't called, he thanked the professor and hung up, rubbing a hand wearily over his face.

"Well?" Michael asked as they stood in the terminal.

"Nothing," Brian sighed, scanning their surroundings. Seeing a police cruiser outside, he motioned for Michael to follow and headed straight to talk to the officer.

After he'd explained the situation, Brian waited while the uniformed man wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to him. He listened carefully to the instructions given, then nodded, thanked the officer and turned to Mikey, his face pale.

"He's going to call and have someone meet us there," he said quietly.

Michael frowned, having been unable to hear what the cop had said to his friend. "Meet us where?" he asked.

Brian swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "County morgue," he finally managed in a harsh whisper.

Michael, too, paled at the words and slowly nodded, taking Brian's arm. "Come on," he said quietly, leading him toward a row of waiting taxis. Once inside, Brian gave the driver the address he'd received and slumped back in the seat. Michael could only watch him, hoping beyond hope that the hapless body awaiting identification wasn't that of the blond artist.

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Ben jumped up from where he'd been sitting when the phone rang. "Yes?" he answered in anticipation.

"Brian?" a female voice greeted him. "I'm sorry, I must have…"

"No, this is Brian's number," Ben said with disappointment. "May I ask who's calling?"

"It's Daphne Chanders. I'm a friend of Justin's," the girl replied uncertainly. "Who's this."

"Daphne, of course," Ben smiled slightly into the receiver. "Ben Bruckner, Michael's partner."

"Sorry, Ben," Daphne apologized. "I didn't recognize the voice. I was looking for Brian."

"He had to go out of town," Ben told her discreetly. "Can I take a message?"

"Uh," she hesitated. "He called last night for Justin's number. I was just wondering if he'd talked to him. Any idea when he'll be back?"

"Not really," Ben answered truthfully. "But if I talk to him before you do, I'll be sure to tell him you called."

"OK," Daphne replied uncertainly. "Thanks."

Letting out a long breath, the professor hung up the phone. He wondered if he'd be getting another call once she heard what was going on in L.A.

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Sure enough, a detective was waiting when they reached the morgue building.

"Mr. Brian Kinney?" he asked, looking quickly back and forth between the two men.

"Yes," Brian replied, holding out his hand, his body working on autopilot. "This is my friend, Michael Novotny."

"Detective Rod Myers," the cop introduced himself, shaking the hands of both men. "I understand your friend was a guest at Brett Keller's party."

Brian shook his head slightly. "I don't know for sure. I mean, he was staying with Keller, but I didn't know anything about a party."

Myers took a deep breath. "One of the victims has been positively identified," he explained. "Unfortunately, it's not the one who matches the description of your friend."

"I don't understand," Michael frowned. "Didn't he have a driver's license or something?"

Myers looked uncomfortable as he considered his answer. "It appears some of the guests at this particular party were in various stages of … undress at the time of the incident, including the man in question."

Brian let the words sink in, then shook his head. "No, not Justin."

The cop nodded in acknowledgement of the words but didn't address them outright. It wasn't unusual for friends and family of victims to refuse to believe anything negative concerning their loved ones.

"For what it's worth, we found wallets, cell phones, etc. in some of the discarded clothing on the premises," he explained in a professional tone. "Nothing belonging to a Justin Taylor."

Brian's initial relief at hearing the words was short-lived as the man continued. "Unfortunately, there was also nothing to tell us who this young man is."

They knew what that meant. The identification hadn't pointed toward Justin, but it hadn't proved it wasn't him, either.

"Can we see him?" Brian asked in a quiet voice.

The cop studied him for a moment. "I warn you, it's not pretty."

Then it's definitely not Justin, Brian thought. He realized his thoughts bordered on the ridiculous and could only nod in acceptance of the detective's warning.

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Back in Pittsburgh, Ben was dealing with his own drama, but his wore an outrageous red wig. Debbie had opened the diner to learn that Justin had quit without a word of explanation. Naturally, the first thing she did was call the loft.

"Ben?" she exclaimed in surprise when he answered. "What the hell are you doing there?"

He sighed, knowing she'd expect a full explanation. "I'm at our apartment, Deb," he answered. "We had Brian's calls forwarded here for the time being."

"Why?" she asked, more surprised than anything.

"He had to go out of town," Ben explained, dreading his next words. "Michael went with him."

"What??" she shrieked. "What the fuck is going on here, Ben?" she demanded. "And where's Sunshine?"

"Justin went to L.A.," Ben informed her patiently. "He got a job offer out there. There was … some trouble, and Brian went down to see what he could do. Michael went with him for moral support."

"Trouble?" she repeated, "What kind of trouble?"

"Deb, I really don't know that I should get into it at this point," Ben tried to dissuade her from asking for more details.

"Well you'd better fucking get into it," she told him in no uncertain terms. "These are my boys we're talking about."

Ben heaved a heavy sigh. Even if he managed to get her off the phone, she'd only be pounding down his door a short time later. "Justin went to L.A. to work on the movie," he explained. "Apparently he was staying at Brett Keller's place and there was a shooting there last night…"

"A shooting?!" she exclaimed. "Jesus! Is Sunshine all right?"

"We don't know, Deb," he told her gently. "They haven't released any names and Brian couldn't get in touch with him, so he went out there. Michael went with him."

An unusual silence was his only response.

"Deb?"

"Yeah," she said, distractedly. "I'm here. Jesus Christ, Ben."

"I need to go," he told her gently. "In case Justin tries to call."

"Yeah, sure," she agreed, regaining some of her composure. "You call me the minute you know anything, you hear?"

"I promise," he replied with a smile.

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Brian and Michael were led to a large viewing window and waited, watching the empty room before them until a metal table was wheeled into view. Brian felt his knees go weak when he saw the shrouded body and Michael had to grab his arm to steady him.

"Brian?" the dark-haired man asked worriedly. "Are you OK?"

He wanted to scream, No! I'm not OK!, but he knew he had to be. He had to be for Justin.

In response, he grated, "Let's get on with it."

The detective by his side nodded to the man standing by the table and the sheet was drawn back to reveal a shock of blond hair and features that were all but obliterated by gore.

"Oh, God," Brian gasped, falling to his knees to expel the meager contents of his stomach unceremoniously on the tile floor.

"Brian!" Michael cried, dropping to his friend's side. Rubbing his back, he murmured soothingly, "Breathe, just breathe."

He could hear the words and struggled to obey, but his body shuddered with a staggering combination of revulsion and relief.

"Mr. Kinney?" the detective asked reluctantly.

Michael looked up at the cop with a ghost of a sad smile, his own relief pounding through his chest. "It's not him," he said quietly. "That's not Justin."

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