Part 6...

And I'll stand out
In buttons and bows

A flurry of knocks at the door of their apartment froze the two men. Levon scooted off of Joe and both rolled off the bed. Joe started to head for the door when Levon said, "Joe. Remember, we ain't gonna be surprised no more." He pulled his Colt out of a drawer in the chest on his side of the bed.

LaFiamma nodded and continued toward the door, with Lundy right behind him, Colt pointed in the air. As Joe touched the door handle, Levon laid himself against the wall behind the door and waited. LaFiamma put an eye to the spy hole in the door and whispered, "Looks like Voder, our landlord. I don't see anybody else yet."

Lundy nodded silently, but remained where he was, standing tensely. Could be an ambush, no point takin' any chances.

LaFiamma opened the door partway, his robe tied loosely clearly showing his haste in leaving his bed. "Yeah?"

For a moment Mitchell Voder just stared at the tall, dark half-clad man with tousled hair who stood facing him. With a fluttering motion, the small older man gulped and stuttered, "Ah, Mr. LaFiamma? Yes, oh, I'm so sorry to have awakened you..." He peered under Joe's arm where it was braced against the doorjamb, preventing entry. "Is your friend here, too?"

LaFiamma had scanned the landing and stairs behind Voder and saw nothing to be alarmed at, yet. "He's here. What do you need, Mr. Voder?"

While the wide eyes said 'you', the man said only, "I have some friends downstairs. We're having afternoon high tea. I, ah, I thought that you and Mr. Lundy might like to join us?"

The Italian looked at him blankly for a moment. "High tea?"

Voder was calming down now and beginning to enjoy his impromptu opportunity to see one of his luscious young tenants in - almost - the all-together. "You could meet your neighbors..."

Joe hesitated. He could feel Lundy at his back, relaxing now but not very pleased, Joe was certain. Still, any chance to insinuate themselves into the gay community had to be taken. "Ok, give us a couple of minutes to get dressed." He eyed Voder's outfit of today, a simple boat-necked sweater and pair of chinos, sandals. Gold chains everywhere.

The landlord licked his lips and nodded, having obvious trouble keeping his eyes on LaFiamma's face as Joe gently closed the door.

Both Lundy and LaFiamma stood a moment more in silence, listening to Voder's retreating sounds on the stairs. Then Lundy lowered his gun and grinned at LaFiamma. "Yore shore giving thet man an eyeful, Joe."

LaFiamma suddenly realized that Levon had been able to see Voder through the crack in the hinged joining of the door and jamb while it had been open. He looked down at himself. The short white terry robe stopped at mid-thigh and the hasty dressing had left it barely closed in front, only the belted strip of terry in a half-knot kept him from a full frontal 'display'. He grinned back at the cowboy.

Levon was wearing his own robe, a rather old tufted cotton thing, reddish-brown where once it had been brighter, hanging from his shoulders and completely open in front. Lundy had been more interested in getting to his Colt than his belt-tie. It was longer than Joe's, ending at the knee, but at the moment, it was just framing the lean Texan whose member was showing signs of interest in Joe's perusal. With a slow smile, the dark Italian glided close, letting one hand close intimately over the thickening stem and balls. He let his forefinger stroke the fine skin there, tracing a vein that pulsed in a quickening beat to the touch.

Lundy gasped and dropped one hand onto Joe's right shoulder, stiff fingers pushing him back. "Joe, iffn you keep on doin' that, I ain't goan to no high tea."

Regretfully, Joe released his gentle grip on Levon, and with a short, sweet kiss to half-open lips, he backed off. Lundy shook his head at the Italian and together they walked back into their bedroom in search of clothes for high tea.

*******************

The afternoon social gave further entrée into the gay community to the two undercover detectives. Mitchell Voder, who insisted that they call him Mitchell, was actually serving a high tea in the British way. He had the full silver service out on a verandah table in the small backyard garden patio. His ground floor apartment had the same layout as theirs, from what little they saw as Mitchell led them through to the back. Already out on the patio were a small collection of men mostly older than the two policemen.

Introductions let them meet their immediate neighbors, a middle-aged couple who lived in the second floor apartment. Louie and Jeff were both architects and freelanced from their home. From their comments, it was clear that this was proving profitable because of the strong network among gays, many of whom could afford to hire someone to design private homes that reflected sensitivity to the needs and requirements of gay couples. Louie was average sized with an out-sized mustache, a great handle-bar thing that ended in pointed waxed tips twisted up to curl like some wild Jerry Colloni. His black hair and dark eyes were a compliment to Jeff's reddish short beard. The taller man was thin and ascetic looking, his baldpate framed in rusty fuzz. Both were dressed in lightweight trousers and comfortable looking white business shirts, each had a pocket full of pens as if they'd been working when they stopped to join Mitchell for the tea.

Marion was a sly, gossipy queen, who spoke as if trying to imitate Carol Channing. He was wearing some kind of Hawaiian shirt with parrots and orchids splashed all over it. His sarong was deep green and left his legs exposed. He'd shaved them. Hair long and blondish-gray, he looked as though he'd be at home in Fiji. He was making moon eyes at Joe, which was causing the brunette to look increasingly uncomfortable.

What worried LaFiamma though, even more, was Kevin. Kevin was an anomaly among the others present. He was younger, about the Joe's age, with almost Hispanic good looks - but the looks of old Spain, not Mexico, with almost dead - white skin and black rich hair. His eyes were black pools that glittered as they fastened on Levon Lundy. The blonde cowboy seemed oblivious to the attention. Kevin introduced himself as a professor at one of literature departments of the University. He was dressed conservatively in a tweedy suit, jacket off now on the back of his lawn chair, sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms that spoke of power and not of ivory towers. He had arrived after Joe and Levon and pulled up a chair next to the cowboy.

Mitchell was playing mother for the tea, serving cups and refilling as needed, pushing the trays of delicate sandwiches and pastries around the conversation circle. If he noticed the by-plays by some of his guests, he gave no sign of it.

"...not really ready for the heat here." Kevin's voice was low and suggestive as he rested his elbow on Levon's chair arm. Joe was convinced that he'd be in the blonde's lap by now if the lawn chairs didn't have arm rests.

Form his other side, Marion was gushing. "Joseph, you tan so beautifully! I know this place in Tahiti where you would just flourish! Just tell me if you'd ever like to take a trip out there, I have a private jet that could get us there in less than eighteen hours!"

LaFiamma blinked. A private jet?

"Yes, Marion, we know all about your jet, sweet cakes," Mitchell interrupted, then turned to LaFiamma, "He DOES really have one, too, Joe, but don't let him suck you into anything! He just plays around and dumps lovers at a whim."

"Mitch! Not true!" The hurt in Marion's voice was a bit put on, Joe thought. Marion lowered his voice again, "Joseph, if you and your friend ever part company, call me."

A small pasteboard was pressed into the brunette's hand. Joe closed his fingers over it and decided that it was better not to make a scene. He put it in his trouser pocket but answered, "Levon and I are together, Marion, and we aim to keep it that way." He let his other hand come to rest on Lundy's kneecap.

Levon was sitting rather stiffly on his seat. The conversations washed over him. The aura of sexual desire that rubbed against him from Kevin was distracting. The man's hand on his arm was burning him somehow that he couldn't explain. He had seen Marion come on to Joe but it was clearly playful and Joe was not enjoying it, now laying a hand on Levon's knee to show his own link. Levon, though, was torn. He loved Joe, yes, he did. But Kevin was like some strange mysterious force of nature, throwing him off balance. He wanted to get away from the man but was strangely attracted at the same time.

Joe's touch broke through some of that heavy smothering feeling that he was experiencing and he put his own long thin fingers over Joe's square hand, squeezing possessively. Joe relaxed beside him but Levon remained tense. Defensive. Kevin had not backed off at this sign of Levon's affection for his partner. Instead, the Spaniard edged his chair in closer until their shoulders were touching. Sliding his hand down the blonde's forearm, Kevin let his fingers weave through the Levon's. Lundy stood abruptly.

"Joe, we'd better be going."

LaFiamma, who was looking daggers at Kevin from Levon's other side, stood with Levon. "Wait!" Mitchell decided it was time to intervene. "Kevin, doll, you need to back off! These are my newest tenants and I DON'T want to lose them because you like to play patty-cake!" Voder stood in front of the pale man, hands on his hips. The others in the group simply turned away, helping themselves to food, Jeff bringing up a new movie on the circuit that he thought might interest the others.

Kevin locked eyes with Voder, then settled back, shifting his chair a bit away from Lundy's abandoned seat. Mitchell turned to the two standing men. "Really, you have to forgive Kevin, he's between partners and tends to hunt rather aggressively," swinging around to add, "don't you, darling?" in an aggrieved tone.

The Spaniard smiled slowly, licking his lower lip as he tried to catch Levon's eyes, "I'm always ready for a new adventure." His voice sounded like velvet to the cowboy who felt Joe come up to stand plastered against his back.

"Well, Kev," Joe's deep voice stopped all conversation, the threat easy to read, "this cowboy has his own pony to ride already, so you need to look elsewhere." His hands were circling Lundy's waist now from behind.

The amused black eyes flickered over the tall Italian. "More like a stallion, no?" He laughed and reached for a cup of tea. Everyone started to breathe again, and Mitchell stepped between the undercover cops and Spaniard, with his back now to Kevin.

Levon was blushing furiously even as he let himself relax against LaFiamma's chest. Mitchell came closer and said, "Boys, don't leave yet. Please. Here," he gestured to a as-yet-vacant park bench arrangement, all white wrought iron and quilted pillows. "Sit here." Since the seat was on the other side of the circle between Mitchell and Louie, the younger men sank into the bench's pillows and settled against each other.

Mitchell hastened to move their tea cups over to the small table in front of the bench and then general conversations resumed as Marion leaned over his chair to flirt with Kevin.

Levon's heart was beating so rapidly that for a few minutes he could not understand anything being said around him. Joe's arm was wrapped possessively around his shoulders, hugging him close. Lundy let his head fall to the bigger man's shoulder for a moment before sitting up and taking up his cup to sip the strong brew. He could feel the anger in LaFiamma's tension, well concealed by casual behavior, but easy for the cowboy to read through Joe's touch.

As the chatting swirled around movies, mutual acquaintances, Babs' latest performance ("she should NOT have tried Judy - no one does Garland anymore" "but she does her so well!"), a new vegetarian café on the strip. Somewhere in all that the topic of the brown shirts came up.

"Those things are just juvenile delinquents with more power than they should have!" Marion was shrugging them off.

But Kevin, with a wicked gleam in his eye, said, "From what I've heard, Joe should know better than most just how much power they have..." He smiled secretively.

Levon was unprepared for LaFiamma's surge upward, nearly tumbling to the ground in surprise. He would have landed on his ass in the grass if the Italian's quick reflexes hadn't caught him. Joe apologetically pulled Lundy back on to the bench, sitting down himself, though he had gone white around the mouth with anger.

"Easy, girls!" Mitchell advised, before snapping at Kevin. "That's enough, darling! We all know what happened to poor Joe, you have no need to bring that up!"

LaFiamma's shock trembled against the blonde. Lundy slid an arm back and snaked it around his friend's waist. Protective now, Levon squeezed hard, turning to face the others aggressively. "He wuz trying to git to me when we wuz attacked. Iffn enybody had come to help us, those bastards woulda been history by now!"

"Help you!" squeaked Marion. "My dear, those monsters are enormous!"

LaFiamma had recovered his calm with Lundy's gentle, firm hands. "Lundy's right. The people here on the strip have been letting that gang rule. If we stuck together, they wouldn't have a chance."

Louie, who had been reticent during the earlier tensions of the gather, sat forward with interest. "You mean like vigilantes, Joe?"

LaFiamma paused. "Well, no, I'm not talking a lynching party here, just mutual self-defense."

"Didn't help you much, did it, Joe?" Kevin's nasty remark dispelled the last of Levon's mixed feelings for the dark Spanish professor. The man was garbage. Anyone who could say that to his pardner was not worth the time o'day.

"You weren't there, so back off." The vicious anger in the blonde's voice swelled Joe's heart, Levon was like a she-bear ready to kill for her cub.

"Easy, Levon," the amusement in Kevin's voice lost some of its sexual overtones as he realized he had crossed some line and lost his first chance at the cowboy.

Jeff interrupted, mind still on the earlier comments. "It would be interesting to see what would happen if more of us stood up to the bullies together. It might be worth making a suggestion up and down the strip."

Marion, who had been aghast at the original thought, now switched sides, "I can drop a word in Babs' ear and mention it to a few of the business folk. My little ristorante is central there."

Joe had perked up at the Italian name for restaurant. "You have an Italian place?"

"Best fish and pasta in Houston," Marion boasted.

Levon redirected the conversation now. "You willing to talk to the folks that come there? To the other owners on the strip?"

Marion nodded seriously, for once not acting. "Yes." Then, batting his lashes, added, "And I have some busboys who would LOVE the chance to prance around with their muscles out!"

After that, the conversation drifted to books and an article in the Houston paper about gay-bashing in public and the serial killer still lose in the city. "Did you hear? A fourth victim was found sometime this morning, I heard it on the radio just before coming over." Marion's gossipy voice seemed incongruous delivering this news.

Both cops sat up. Joe spoke first. "Another killing? Where?"

Levon put in before anyone could answer, "The serial killer?"

Marion preened at being the center of attention of all eyes in the circle now. "They didn't have many details, but someone found the body over behind The Masque Masculine." It was another dance hall/club on the strip that the Joe and Levon had yet to investigate. "Seems the body fit the same type as the others for the killer. They didn't say who the victim was yet."

"Behind the Double-M?" Mitchell sounded doubtful. "Most of the clients there are crossovers, I thought this guy didn't go for drag."

After that, no one seemed interested in talking much. A gloom settled over the group and Louie and Jeff excused themselves to get back to work. Before Kevin or Marion could do more damage, Levon stood and announced that he and Joe had to leave, too, had things to do. LaFiamma had risen with him and added his thanks for the tea and talk.

Marion made promises of chats with the other owners along the strip. Some kind of defense against the brown shirts might appeal. Kevin lounged back and simply waved to Levon, ignoring Joe as they left. Mitchell walked them through the apartment and apologized for any unhappiness that Kevin's overture might have caused. "He's really brilliant. Just unhappy now that Bob left for Frisco."

LaFiamma and Lundy found themselves reassuring their landlord that they had no intention of leaving their apartment or the neighborhood. They even agreed to consider a dinner at Marion's restaurant in the future, though no definite date was set. Climbing the stairs back to their apartment, both men were anxious to get to the telephone.

Once inside, they found the message light blinking on their machine.

************************

Joe sat down on the couch and punched the 'play messages' button. Levon perched on the arm of the couch and rested an elbow on Joe's nearest shoulder, letting his hand hang down. Joe reached up and caught the hand and held it as they listened to the whir of the machine rewinding. He looked at his watch, 4:45 in the afternoon. They'd been down at Voder's for the high tea from about 3:30 'til now. Their 'nap' had only lasted about an hour when Voder woke them to invite them downstairs.

The first message was from Joanne Beaumont. "Levon, Joe. Joanne here. You may have heard by now, we have another victim. This one was found late in the morning today, behind the club called "The Masque Masculine." The victim is a thirty-year-old male, Caucasian, about six feet tall, dark hair and eyes. Wallet identifies him as Walter Barstow. Bartender in the club says that Barstow was a regular escort for several of the other customers, who were cross-dressers. Barstow didn't do that, though. He was last seen dancing with one of the regulars, someone named "Kitty" Mignon. No one's been able to locate or question Mignon yet. I'll make a copy of all the files and wait for your callback. We can meet at Romeo's and I'll give you what we have." There was a click.

The second message began with a small throat clearing, then "Boys, this is Babs. A friend of mine may be in trouble. She was involved in the latest killing, early this morning. She needs to talk with someone and refuses to go to the police. You two said you want to solve the murders? Here's a chance to get ahead. Come over to the Dahlia this afternoon if you're free, after five."

This time the click and whir were followed by Carousel's rougher voice. "Tyler Hogan here. Ah, Carousel? I may have a lead for you on the killer. You heard he hit again last night? Some poor slob over at the Double-M. Some of my friends been hearing things, one may have seen somethin' this time. Figgered you'd want to know. I'll be at Oysters all afternoon. After that, I'm gonna be busy this evening. You can leave messages for me with Sheila at Oysters."

This time the click and whir were followed by silence.

Joe craned his neck to look up at Lundy. The cowboy was staring out at a middle distance, seemingly lost in thought. "Lundy?"

Lundy drew in a long breath and looked down into the dark blue eyes of his partner. "Best to call Joanne first. Set up a meet, but work it around Carousel and Babs."

"Yeah, sounds right." LaFiamma pulled the telephone over and called HPD.

Transferred to Beaumont's office, he heard her, "Beaumont."

"Lieutenant? It's LaFiamma. Got your message. We got some contacts with leads on this one. Can we meet later tonight?" He listened, aware of Lundy tipping his head down to hear as Joe held the receiver slightly away from his ear.

"How about eight-thirty? I can be at the café by then," their lieutenant suggested.

"Ok. We'll be there." Joe hung up and looked up at Levon. "Carousel?"

Lundy nodded. "Yeah, call him but let's see if we can set a meet. I think we need to git over to the Dahlia and interview the witness now."

LaFiamma started dialing. The line came open after only one ring. "Oysters."

"Hello, this is a friend of Tyler's. Is he there?"

"Hold on."

While Joe waited, he tugged Levon's hand to him mouth and kissed the back of it, adding a small lick dragged down one of the long, elegant fingers. He could feel Levon's reaction, the warmth.

Then, "Hogan here."

"It's Joe. Got your message. What do you have for us?"

"Uh, uh. Can't talk on the phone. Too many ears here."

"We gotta meet some people now, can we stop in at Oysters later?"

"Yeah, I'll be here 'til around 6."

Hanging up, Joe dialed the Blue Dahlia. "Conway? Joe LaFiamma here. We got a message from Babs, tell her we're on the way."

After hearing the acknowledgment, Joe put the phone down and rose, pulling Lundy to him. A deep thorough kiss later, Lundy leaned back in LaFiamma's arms and asked, "What wuz thet fur?"

LaFiamma's eyes went dead gray. "Kevin." Then he lowered his head and kissed Levon again.

Pushing back now, Lundy straight-armed Joe back at the shoulders. "Joey! You and me, we're pardners. Ain't no reason to worry 'bout that polecat."

LaFiamma took hold of the two bony, muscular wrists near his face. Clasping them tightly in his fists, he looked directly into the brown wondering eyes of his lover. "More than partners. And, Levon, what's mine is mine. I'm not allowing any trespassing." His grip tightened momentarily then loosened at the grimace on the cowboy's face.

"LaFiamma, relax." Lundy yanked his wrists free of the iron hold his partner had on him. Rubbing them, he spoke firmly. "You jest remember that t'night when yore out there catting around tryin' to attract our killer. Playactin' aside, you belong to me."

The tension in the air held a beat longer, then both men seemed to realize just how silly they were being. Grins appeared and bodies relaxed. Joe touched a single finger to Levon's chest. "I'm sorry, Lundy, I just love you so much..."

Lundy captured the finger and drew it to his mouth where he sucked it for a moment. Withdrawing it, he said softly, "Goes for me, too, boy. Now we need to go."

LaFiamma nodded and led the way back into the bed-room. Time to change into working clothes again. It was nearly five o'clock.

***********************

Back in Madras and buckskins, the undercover cops made it to the Blue Dahlia by about five-thirty that afternoon. They'd literally thrown on the clothes, dropping their simpler jeans and pullover sweaters on the floor.

Conway met them just inside the doors to the club, the lobby looking remarkably gloomy in the late afternoon light, the chandeliers unlit as yet. "Babs has her in the back, in one of the dressing rooms. Follow me."

Both detectives were silent as they trailed after the large manager. He strode down the center aisle of the club where waiters were now setting dinner tables with cloths, cutlery and china.

No one was in the orchestra pit or on the stage.

Climbing a concealed set of steps to one side of the dance floor, he led them back into the bowels of the old theater. Small running lights, set in the floor, provided a safety factor for performers and guided them to the hallways that opened into dressing rooms. Stopping in front of one that looked much like the others, Conway knocked twice then opened the door and nodded them in.

Entering, LaFiamma's eyes widened at the sight of Babs in a simple pair of trousers and long-tailed man's white shirt, no wig in sight, her natural brown hair was cut in a short, brushed back style. Without makeup, she was a rather ordinary looking middle-aged man, slender and worried. "Boys! You came!" Her voice was still Babs, though and it was impossible, even now, seeing her like this, to think of her as a man. Joe bowed as Levon tipped his hat to her. Both turned to look at the fourth person in the room.

Seated hunched over at the dressing table, visibly shaking, was a weepy figure. The woman? Was still wearing an evening gown that looked wrinkled and tired. Her hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, black and gleaming, with a few tendrils hanging free. Makeup smeared, she was gripping a small evening bag in her lap.

Levon squatted down in front of her. "Miss Kitty?" She looked up into his face at the gentle tone. When she didn't answer, he continued, "My friend Joe here, and me, we'd take it kindly if you could tell us what happened. A friend of ourn was another victim. We want to put this guy away."

"You?" She sighed, her husky voice still tearful. "Wally was such a dear boy. So kind to all of us. He'd always come around and dance, sometimes take one of us home."

"Who's 'us?'" Joe asked. He had come up behind Levon and was standing there, one leg braced against the squatting cowboy.

Kitty looked up at the Italian. Her face changed. "You could be his brother. Wally was just like you, tall, dark, and handsome. And so gentle. Such a love." She wiped at her eyes, mascara leaking and smudging down her cheeks. "'Us' is a bunch of old queens, we hang out together at the Double M. None of us have steady beaus just now, and Wally was nice."

"So, what happened?" Lundy encouraged.

"It was late, or early, depending on your time clock, about two this morning. Wally was dancing with me. A slow waltz. It was so nice." She looked down at her hands where they still clenched at the evening bag. "Then this man, he was in a regular suit, he came up and tapped me on the shoulder, asked if he could dance - with Wally." She blinked back tears.

After a few seconds, she continued, "He didn't even look at me." Everyone in the small dressing room waited. "That was the last I saw Wally. He and that man, they danced into the crowd." She tore her eyes from her lap and sought out Babs. "The other girls and I sat chatting for another hour or so. Then, Barney, the bartender? He came up and told me that he'd just found Wally out behind the club. Dead."

"I thought he wasn't found 'til later?" Lundy asked.

"Not officially," she tossed her head back, smoothing the loose tendrils back into the shining cap of hair. "Barney and Macy, that's the owner, they decided to give us all time to disappear before calling anyone." She looked back at Babs again. "That's when I decided to come to Babs' place. We're old friends and I thought," she drew a breath, "I thought I might be in danger. 'Cause I saw him. You know, the man who probably killed Wally. And if he thinks about it, he may remember and come after me."

Babs came forward now, "Kitty, don't you worry, love. You'll stay right here at the Dahlia until these boys figure out how to catch that thing."

Kitty faced the men. "I'll tell you what he looked like, I don't know his name, he never said it in front of me."

Lundy and LaFiamma were both standing now. "That would be right helpful, Kitty." Levon said.

"He was tall, taller than your friend. Big, too. Like a football player. Kinda blondish, but not real yellow if you know what I mean? His face was plain, almost nothing there. I don't remember his eyes. He was wearing a brown suit, white shirt. That's all."

"That will help, Miss Kitty," Joe said. He favored Babs with a glance, "You can keep her safe here? No one know she's here?"

"Conway and I'll see to it. Kitty can stay as long as she likes, as long as she needs to."

Levon spoke to the distraught figure sitting at the dressing table, "Miss Kitty? If you remember enythin' else about that man, jewelry, marks, enythin' he said, enythin' at all, have Miss Babs call us."

She nodded quietly, then turned to bury her face in the front of Babs' shirt. Neither noticed when LaFiamma and Lundy backed out of the room. They found Conway waiting in the hall and he led them back through the maze of hallways and out of the club.

They barely had enough time to reach Oysters before Carousel would disappear.

... end of part 6: "...and I'll stand out..."

Part 7...

encore)
Don't bury me in this prairie
Take me where the cement grows...

Striding down the strip, like two predators on the prowl, they looked very different from the strolling lovers of that morning. No longer pausing to absorb the passing scene, they were bent on reaching their potential informant before he vanished for the evening.

The killer had struck four times now, at increasingly closer intervals. There had only been five days between the third and fourth murders. Part of the puzzle was how the killer had gotten physically strong men out of a large social setting and then overpowered them, hurting them badly before finally killing them.

At this point, Lundy was torn between their case and his partner. LaFiamma was fully focussed on their task, at least he appeared to be. But Levon knew his Chicago friend well. LaFiamma could hide all deep feelings so well that only when they reached crisis proportions did they surface. Then it was run and take cover time. Right now it had been less than twenty-four hours since the Italian had been knocked unconscious, and then forcibly raped by four large men. While physically he seemed all right, Lundy was keeping a weather-eye out on his companion. The incident with Kevin that afternoon and LaFiamma's actions back in the apartment were like red flags to the cowboy. Meanwhile, they had some possible leads on the killer and couldn't delay. Levon Lundy vowed to himself that he'd keep the brunette close beside him for the rest of this case.

LaFiamma was wasting no time in internal debates. In fact, he was frantically filling his mind with the potential leads on their case. Reviewing what they'd heard so far, the people they'd met, the places, scenes, the whole enchilada as Esteban might say. Anything to stop from thinking about himself. How he was feeling physically and emotionally. Screwed and screwed up. Damn it. He watched the traffic as they continued down the strip, evaluating the slower moving vehicles for danger, anything to keep focussed.

They swung around the final corner and saw that Carousel's van was still out in front of Oysters. The bar looked as dead now as it had earlier in the day, the neon still glowing above the brown shingled front.

In a hurry, they were less than careful as they entered the bar. Half-blinded from the outside sunlight, neither saw the group of men just inside the doorway of the dim lit room. They both were looking to the back where Tyler Hogan, a.k.a. Carousel, sat at the same table as before. Lundy's eyes adjusted rapidly and he saw the small movements that Hogan was making, but they were meaningless to the cowboy. To LaFiamma, beside him, the Vietnam veteran's signals told him that they were in an ambush, to watch their flank, to take cover.

Without breaking stride, Joe swept his arm out and shoved his partner forward and down, yelling, "Roll, Lundy!" as he dove for the underside of a nearby table. It might even have worked if Lundy had been ready for it.

As it was, he tripped and fell headfirst into the tables in front of him, dropping like pole-axed steer. LaFiamma made it to cover but the men crowding behind him caught his legs and dragged him free of the tables. With wide, angry eyes he faced his antagonists. It was the same gang of ruffians who'd gotten them last night. Kicking savagely, he knocked the clutching hands free and crabbed back away from them. He was trying to get to his feet, seeing his partner struggling to rise from the other side of the room, looking dazed.

"No!" Jumping up now LaFiamma faced the four men, the brown shirts, with a rage that seemed to explode from within. He grabbed up a chair and rammed it straight into the nearest one, not even waiting to see the result at the other screamed in agony, clutching his groin and sagging to the floor.

"Meat! Won't do you no good! You belong to us now!" The leader of the remaining three men shouted as he charged at the Italian. LaFiamma, though, was now operating in a state of frenzied blinding rage, literally seeing everything through a red haze.

He reached out, almost in slow motion and, stiff-fingered, he speared the attacker's throat. Pinioned to the fingers for a split-second, the man dangled from LaFiamma's hand, blood spurting in great gushes over both of them. His gargled cry ended abruptly and he simply dropped to the floor to join the one still holding his groin and groaning in pain.

Lundy was shaking his head now, a derringer in his hand, trying to clear his double vision so that he could help his pardner.

The last two, gang members, now splattered with their dying leader's blood, were angry and disbelieving. Rushing forward like a scrimmage line, they aimed for the smaller brunette half-crouching defiantly in front of them. Only he didn't stay still. Blooded, LaFiamma lusted for more, his rage towering higher in a spiral toward madness. Inarticulately, he leapt at one of the two men, hands going for the other's neck. One flying leg kicked out with precision at the second man, the Italian's body twisting in the air so that the heel drove a nose back into the dissolving face. Moving with the body, his hands still caught the first man's neck on the fly. Using the push off the second man's face with his foot, LaFiamma snapped the neck in his grasp with a thoroughness that half-ripped the head off the shoulders.

A shout that was almost a feral scream left his belly to come thundering out his throat as he threw the third dead man from him and spun around looking for more enemies. The last man still living was groveling on the floor now, dragging himself toward Lundy, crying out for help, protection from the mad dog killer. Lundy was braced against a table, still blinking and shaking his head to clear it. He was aiming his small gun at the last of the brown shirts, though the barrel of the gun made small circles as he tried to see which of the two dancing images in front of him was real.

LaFiamma lunged at the fallen man and yanked him back toward his dead companions. There was so much blood on the floor now that it was slick and the struggling brown shirt couldn't fight free. The Italian roared something that no one present understood, then kicked up under the other man's chin, snapping his head back with a dull popping sound. Like a sack of old clothes, the other fell in to the deathly still pile.

In the ensuing silence, the sound of LaFiamma's breathing was harsh and loud. He stood there, surrounded by four dead men, one hand covered in blood, splotches of it marking his clothing. Head forward, eyes squinting and suddenly bloodshot, he was shaking so badly that the beads on his simple necklace were rattling.

No one else moved for several seconds, then Hogan wheeled himself free of the back table and toward the bloody tableau. "Sheila!" His shout brought a hesitant bar maid's head up from behind the long counter on the other side of the room. "Call nine one one." She nodded with a fearful glance over at the bodies.

Avoiding the trembling brunette, Hogan rolled closer to Lundy who was wiping his eyes now. He'd seen enough to know the gun wasn't needed and it had already disappeared back into his boot. Straightening, he started to head for LaFiamma when an arm came out of nowhere and a hand pressed him back. "Wait. Let him be for a few minutes." Hogan was there in his chair, watching LaFiamma while restraining Lundy.

"Lemme go." Lundy started past the wheelchair bound man.

"Levon. Wait. For his sake." The words didn't make sense, but the tone of warning penetrated and Lundy stopped. He looked back at Carousel. "I've seen that kinda thing before, in 'Nam. It's the killing rage, literally, man. Let him come down a little. He could turn on you, otherwise, not even know you."

Lundy turned back to his partner. Joe looked white. White and blood red. Wild. His panting was easing off and the shaking was subsiding a bit. "Joe? LaFiamma?"

As if coming out of a trance, the ex-Chicago cop jerkily turned toward Lundy's voice and staggered toward it. He kicked free of the bodies at his feet and plowed straight at the cowboy without a word. Lundy braced himself and took the force of the colliding brunette, absorbing what he could, letting the rest carry them back another step. His arms came up around the Italian and he held on tightly. Outside, they could hear the sounds of sirens.

****************

Suddenly, Carousel was issuing orders like an old drill sergeant. "Levon! Pay attention! You gotta get Joe outta here! NOW!" He was tugging at Levon's shirt from his wheelchair, close by the clenched pair.

LaFiamma still hadn't uttered a word. He was very still in Lundy's arms, and cold. Levon shifted slightly and looked over his shoulder at the anxious Hogan. "Why'zat?"

"Think, Levon! You two are covered in blood - there are four dead men here on the floor! Ain't no way I coulda done 'em in, and Sheila didn't see nothin', didya darlin'?" He tossed back at the shocked looking barmaid. She mutely shook her head, eyes closing.

"Do you really think the cops'll spend time questioning you two? They'll dump you in some holding pen and by the time they get around to talkin' to you, Joe may not be here" he pointed at his own head, "anymore!"

The rapid-fire talk and the logic in it swept Lundy into movement. Tyler was right. Unless they wanted to break their cover, they were in big trouble here.

"Where?"

"Out the back. It opens to an alley. Turn left and run. Two doors down, go in the back of the laundry. You can find somethin' to change into in there. This time o' day, shouldn't have any trouble. Do it!"

Levon took a deep breath and forced Joey around to his side. "LaFiamma!" He shouted into the other's nearest ear, "Run!" Dragging his friend with him, Lundy bolted down the short hall to the rear of the bar. Behind him, the sirens' sounded louder, then, as they burst into the alley, the wails of the sirens wound down and shut off. Must be just outside of Oysters now, Lundy thought as he ran, pulling LaFiamma along with him.

The door to the laundry stood open, steamy air clouding out into the dark alley. With a quick tear, Lundy had Joe's jacket down off his shoulders and was pulling it free of his hands, even as he pushed the man up the three short cement steps and into the hot, wet air of the cleaners. No one was in sight in the back room, several industrial sized machines were churning clothing in enormous maws. Piles of freshly cleaned, dried and folded clothing were neatly shelved with tags.

Running quickly to the shelves, Lundy rifled through the piles, keeping one worried eye on the silent Italian. He yanked out a heather gray turtleneck looked like it would fit Joey. Looking down at himself, he realized that even though he'd not been in the fight, Joey's embrace had transferred a lot of blood on to his pale buckskin shirt. He dragged it off over his head and poked through more piles, pulling free a red plaid flannel worker's shirt that was about his size. He put in on with nimble fingers buttoning up the front. He pulled the turtleneck down over Joe's head, his partner letting him do it without protest. He paused to brush the wayward dark hair back from Joe's face. There was no reaction from his partner.

Another moment had him bundling their bloody shirts into a bag marked as finished laundry from this cleaner, The One Hour Wonder. He checked himself and Joe now. Damn, Joey's hand was covered in drying blood. He pushed his partner over to a sink against one wall and held the hand under warm water, soaping and scouring it thoroughly. He used a bristle brush to clean under the nails that were black with blood. All this time, Joe had simply followed Levon's directions, passive, relaxed, almost in a trance. He seemed to be barely breathing.

There was no way they'd get home, even in these clothes, without some help.

It was then that Conway appeared in the doorway from the front of the shop. "Carousel called. Said there'd been trouble. Said to come get you two from the Wonder and put you away somewhere."

Lundy breathed out gratefully. "Come on, Joey." He gently pulled the other's arm through his, and helped him walk toward the tall manager of the Blue Dahlia, who, right now, looked like a guardian angel. Following Conway past a silent and impassive group of customers and clerks, all of whom acted as if Conway and his consorts were invisible, they exited the shop and were back on the strip.

When Levon began to ask, "How come...?"

Conway smiled slightly, a twinkle in his eye, "We take care of our own on the strip. Carousel told me that your friend here took care of the brown shirts for us, permanent-like."

Unsure of what to say to that, Levon remained silent, guiding Joey along as he walked beside the taller Conway. The three seemed to be walking in a bubble, everyone drifting out of their way and then sealing the space back up with activity. Levon looked back. They were already over a block down the street from the Wonder Cleaners entrance and now crossed the street that led one block over to the Oyster. He could hear megaphones asking for bystanders to step back and the drone of an ambulance siren dying away as it stopped over there. He didn't try to look. Kept pace with Conway who already had them up the street as far as The Leafery, Joey's bookstore. Instead of passing it, Conway led them inside.

Thomas Dennis looked up from his accounts at the entrance of the three men, bell tinkling in the background as the door swung shut again. One look at Conway's face, and he was off his high stool and moving gracefully toward the back of the shop. A beaded curtain was held back and the three men entered, followed by Dennis and a curious Carson, whose tail was a high question mark.

"For tonight, Thomas, Babs and I would take it as a large favor if you would let these two gentlemen spend the night in your spare room." Conway spoke in a low, courteous tone to the book shop owner.

Dennis nodded without question and led the way to a door to one side of the room. The door opened on a staircase. "Take them up, Conway, I have to see to my customers. I'll check on them when I close. No more than another hour. Better to keep regular hours, um?"

Conway shook his head in agreement. "This is Levon and -"

"-Joe." Thomas Dennis glimmered with quiet kindness. "I met them this morning."

"Then I'll take them up and let myself out the back afterwards?"

"Fine." The small man adjusted his spectacles and went back out to the front of the shop.

"Conway, I don't know how to thank-"

"No need, Levon. As I said earlier. Just take care of your friend. From what Carousel told me, he needs looking after just now. Come with me."

The tall man led Levon, with LaFiamma still in tow, up the stairs and into a small apartment over the bookstore. It had a spiral staircase in the living room that led to a third floor bedroom and bath and storage room. It was here that Conway left them, letting himself out.

******************

Levon, with a still shadowing Carson, waited with Joe. Just stood there and let the quiet leak into his system. He could spend the time now to look over his friend. Joe was still deathly pale and now very cold, still. He seemed unaware of his surroundings but had obeyed Lundy's directions all this time. Levon cocked his head and gently disengaged his arm from LaFiamma's.

Standing in front of the Chicagoan, Lundy carefully put his fingertips on each side of the beloved face of his friend and tilted it toward him. "Joe? Joey?"

No response. Levon sighed. "Come'ere." He pulled the brunette into loving embrace and then just held on. Time passed. After a while, he let go and guided his friend to the double bed in the small bedroom. Sat him on the edge, lifted his legs up on to it and pushed him down. Sitting beside him, he stroked Joe's face. Carson jumped up on to the bed from the other side and walked casually over to the prone Italian. With a soft grunt, the big cat landed on top of Joey's chest and curled up into a ball. Two yellow eyes peered through the curling tail to challenge Lundy to move him. Levon glared at the cat. The cat, in turn, began to purr with a deep motor sound that was both soothing and comforting.

Levon surrendered. The cat was probably not harming Joe and might even help. He'd heard before of animals taken into hospitals to visit patients, to calm them, bring them out of depressions. So far, LaFiamma hadn't responded to him, maybe the damn cat would have more luck. "Ok, you miserable piece of coonskin, you jest set there and hum. Jest don't try to take a bite outta him, or you'll pay with your hide."

Two yellow eyes blinked golden at him, and the rumble intensified.

Shrugging at the beast, Levon turned his attention to his quiet friend. Deciding that a cool cloth might help, he got up and went into the bathroom. When he returned, Joe hadn't moved and the cat remained like a large furry lump on his chest.

Ignoring the cat, Levon wiped the cloth carefully over Joe's forehead and then down one cheek, and the other. When that produced no sign of recognition in the glazed blue eyes, Levon folded the cloth and laid it back on the brunette's forehead, then climbed into the bed and fit himself against his lover, resting his head on LaFiamma's shoulder. Eyes closing of their own volition, Levon was lulled to sleep by the slowly returning warmth to Joe's body and Carson's purr.

*******************

It was so dark, it was black. He was in some black, black void, wandering alone. Everything had been red, now it was black. His jangling nerve endings were sizzling and popping still, but they no longer seemed connected somehow. He felt cold. He felt warm, though, too, with a warm contact on his chest and another down one side. Like he was being held.

Nothing made any sense. He had flashes of brutal, smashing images, of pain and terror, of hate and a rage so blinding that he saw spikes of white light through it. He retreated from that. There was a gentle soft sound of breathing near him. A louder sound, like a small motor, only it's rhythm was wrong for a motor. Nothing made any sense.

He drifted like that for a while, then felt a tug, a pull at his senses. Someone needed him. Someone important to him, someone he loved. Levon. Levon needed him. He had to protect Levon from... red, burning, brutalizing redness, black, white, red. Pain. Hate. Anger. Madness. No, Levon needed him. He was calling. He could hear him, over a great distance, muted but there. I'm coming. I'm coming. "I'm coming." The mumble woke Lundy who started and raised up on an elbow to look down at Joe's face. The brunette was frowning, his mouth was working, dark eyebrows drawn tensely together. "I'm coming. Hold on, Levon."

Lundy smiled. Relaxed. "Joe, I'm here. I'm safe with you. You've got me. It's okay now."

The frown was replaced by puzzlement, then the eyelids started to shiver. Cracks of deep azure blue shined through black lashes, thick and spikey. "Hey, Joe. Hey. Welcome back."

LaFiamma shoved up suddenly on the bed. Carson, thrown off, hissed, hair raised on his back, tail a bolt of fur pointing at the ceiling, he stood with claws deep in the bedding beside his recent resting spot. Lundy lay back and looked up at LaFiamma from the mattress. Joe twisted to look down at the blonde cowboy. "Levon?"

"Yep. Right here, Joe."

"How...?"

"Long story. Fur now, what say you jest lay back down with me and we git some shut-eye?"

LaFiamma looked around, still puzzled. "Where...?"

"Safe place. Trust me, son, let go and lay back. Right now, ony thing you need to do is rest."

Joe smiled tentatively down at Levon. "That right?" He leaned down to kiss those tender lips. Let his body follow. Found the cowboy to be a wonderful mattress. Smiled more freely and slid his arms around the lean form, snuggling close and burying his face in the fresh smelling flannel shirt covering his cowboy. There was a soft grunt behind him and a sudden weight on his back, four hard, prodding points of pressure and a loud purring.

Frozen, Joey stared into Lundy's amused brown eyes. "What the hell is that?"

"That," Levon said with a hint of laughter, "is Carson, making hisself at home on you. He's taken a real shine to you, Joe, and I cain't git him to leave you be."
By now, the cat had resettled himself on the middle of Joe's back, right between the shoulder blades this time. The four paws were tucked back in and there was now only a heavy warm pressure on his back. And a loud purr.

"Carson, huh? I remember..." Joe paused. "We're in the book shop?" He looked around bewildered.

"Upstairs." Levon nodded. "Conway and Thomas both thought we'd be safer here, until things settle down on the strip."

"Settle down?"

Levon wondered what he should answer to that. Joe didn't seem to be making connections just yet, and after what Carousel had said about Joe's condition, Levon was feeling very cautious. He studied the face above his. "What do you remember, Joe?"

LaFiamma started to speak, then stopped and thought. What DID he remember? That strange dream. Before that, what had they been doing? They'd questioned Kitty Mignon at Babs' place, then hustled over toward Oysters to catch Carousel. He remembered them pacing down the strip in a rush. Seeing the van out front of Oysters. Hitting the doors, bursting into the bar. Seeing Carousel at the back table. Signaling them. Using old military signs for...ambush, flanking, danger... Those freaking brown shirts! He'd pushed Lundy down, told him to roll. But Levon hit his head going down. And...and...nothing. A nightmare, red, black, white, red.

LaFiamma shook his head. "I remember going into Oysters, seein' Carousel signing us about an ambush. Seeing those damn brown shirts behind us. Pushin' you down. Then, nothin'. Just a weird nightmare of colors."

"Colors?"

"Yeah, red, black, white, then red again."

Levon wondered what to say. When he hesitated, LaFiamma narrowed his eyes. "It wasn't a nightmare, was it? Something happened, something bad." He examined his friend's face cautiously. "Are you ok, Levon? Your head?"

"I'm fine, Joe. Hard headed. Got a little dizzy there for a bit, but I'm fine now."

"Then what?" LaFiamma continued to stare hard at his partner. "What happened?"

Carefully, Levon said, "There was a fight..."

"A fight?" Red, black, white, flashes of hate, anger to madness. Pain and anger. "I did something, didn't I?"

"Joey? Let it go fur now."

"I..." LaFiamma choked, arching back away from Levon's body, leaving Carson to scramble away again, hissing. Arced above Lundy, LaFiamma's eyes were widening in horror. "I..."

"Joey!" Lundy reached up and tried to pull LaFiamma back down to him. It was like trying to move stone. Grabbing at his arms, Lundy spoke intensely, "Joey, don't! You only did what had to be done. You saved me, saved yourself."

"I..." LaFiamma gagged. He turned and rolled free of the bed. Swung around wildly, saw the light on in the open bathroom door and staggered toward it, choking. Levon jumped up and followed, reaching the tall brunette just as he sank to his knees beside the toilet bowl and started to retch into it.

"Easy, Joey, easy," Levon held the heaving shoulders and waited out the storm. When LaFiamma finally stopped and sagged down beside the porcelain bowl, Lundy got up and got a wet face cloth at the sink. He knelt by Joe and wiped his face, then brought a glass of water from the sink and helped the brunette take small sips.

"Levon," LaFiamma's eyes were almost black now, "I killed all four of them, didn't I?"

"Yes, Joe." Lundy gathered the wilting Italian into his arms and held on. It was all he could think to do and he hoped it would be enough.

... end of part 7: "...don't bury me on this prairie..."

Part 8:

let's move down
to some big town (encore)

Levon knelt on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, rocking LaFiamma in his arms and trying not to despair. The Italian was not doing well at all. Whatever had given Joe the awesome power and drive to survive the encounter with the brown shirts at Oysters had given way to some sort of sick reaction. So far, Levon had been unable to talk to Joe, to reason through it. He kept remembering Tyler Hogan's comments about killing rages in Vietnam. Somehow Joey had gone into that wild mix of adrenaline and emotion, and with his fighting skills, some of which Lundy had never before witnessed, he'd gone literally bezerker. Now Joe was overcome - in some sort of an anxiety attack, Levon suspected it was fed by guilt and he was helpless so far to resolve it.

With quiet determination, Levon began to talk about the fight. As long as Joey was remembering some of it, he might as well know all that Levon could tell him. Maybe that would help. He described his own injury in detail, his disorientation and his inability to focus his eyes. Somewhere in the middle of his description of pulling out the derringer, he realized his audience had stopped making little noises of pain and panic, and was listening closely.

Levon talked on. He described how the four huge men had charged at Joe, dragging him out from under a table. How Joe had kicked loose and scrambled back and away. How they kept coming. How he couldn't do anything to stop them. How Joe had picked up a chair and hit one of them. How they had taunted him, even as one of them lay groaning on the floor.

Joe moved in his arms, tucking his face into Levon's neck. Lundy paused.

"Don't stop." It was barely a whisper of sound.

Levon picked up his tale. He described the way the three men had run at Joe. How he'd struck the leader in the neck. How that had stopped them for a moment. How the other two could have run but didn't. How they came at him again, even as their leader and Joe were covered in blood. How Joe had kick-boxed one of them in the face. "I never seen you move like that, LaFiamma, you got hidden talents, boy." How he'd broken the neck of the other one milliseconds later. How the wounded one had come at Lundy then. How he'd tried to aim his gun and still been seein' double, couldn't do it. How Joe had dragged the man away from Lundy and kicked him hard, snapping his neck too.

How Joe had come right into Lundy's arms after that and stayed there.

"Joe, Hogan tole me that you wuz in a killin' rage and to be real careful with you. Said he'd seen the likes in Viet-nam." Levon waited. When LaFiamma didn't respond, he continued, "You been in the military, ain't you?"

"Yeah." The muffled answer was short.

"They taught you to fight like that, didn't they?"

Joe shifted, but his face remained hidden. "Yeah."

"Joey, those men raped you last night. They hurt me bad, too. They wuz out to do it again t'night." Levon stroked the brunette's head, letting his fingers tangle in the thick, dark hair. "If you hadn'ta acted thet way, we'd likely both ha'been taken t'night, and mebbe killed after."

He waited now and played with the chestnut hair, praying that LaFiamma was seeing the reasoning he presented, accepting it. "Levon?" The soft voice was a thin echo of Joe's normal bass.

"Yeah, Joey, I'm here, baby."

"What should we do about it?"

Levon breathed out in thankfulness. If Joe was asking that, he was ready to deal with it more rationally now. Thank god. "Nuthin' fur now, baby. Ain't nuthin' gonna change afore mornin' en that's soon enough to call Beaumont. We'll tell her."

"Shit. Levon, we were supposed to meet her tonight."

Levon blinked. Right. He'd forgotten. 'Overcome by events' it was called. "I'll call her from here. Tell her we'll talk in the morning. The guy who owns this place, you remember him?"

"Um, yeah, but not his name..."

"Thomas Dennis. He's gonna be up here soon. He said he'd close up the regular time, then be up. When he gits here, I'll make the call. Or leave word at Romeo's iffn I cain't git ahold of her."

"Okay."

They weren't outta the woods yet, not with Joey acting so passively. It wasn't his nature and Levon knew they still had some rough road ahead, but it looked like they'd be able to travel it, enyway.

*****************

With Levon to lean on, Joe got to his feet and walked back into the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed with the cowboy beside him. Things were coming back now, Levon's recounting of events had speeded Joe's return of memory. The enormous flush of adrenaline was out of his system now. Unfortunately, he couldn't excuse himself from the vicious violence he had used on those men. No matter that they'd been ready to hurt him or Levon again. To use those skills, so carefully suppressed and controlled since he'd left the military, was frightening. He was only reassured a little by the fact that he hadn't attacked Levon as well, but then, he'd killed four men first, with no attempt to soften any of the blows. Trained to kill, he'd had to readjust to civilian life with great difficulty and now it looked like under the proper conditions that he'd revert to that killing machine he had become after training by the covert ops people. It was a grim Joseph LaFiamma who sat staring into space next to his anxious lover.

"Joe?"

LaFiamma pulled himself back from his black thoughts. Lundy needed some reassurance at this point. Lundy needed him. "I'm okay, Levon. Just need a bit more time. I'm sorry." Joe closed his eyes and let himself lay back down onto the bed, legs still sprawled over the side.

Levon lay back beside the brunette, scanning the closed face for clues. He gently stroked Joe's forehead to let Joe know that he was still there.

The Italian wondered what would happen now. Anyone who looked into his classified military records would charge him with the murder of those four young men. The odds of four to one, even with them all being much larger than him, disappeared when one knew what LaFiamma was capable of doing. Even Levon didn't know any of this. Guess it's time he found out more about his lover. Joe opened his eyes and stared up blankly, letting one arm circle around the hovering cowboy and pull him comfortingly close. "Levon, there are some things you should know about me."

"Does this have something to do with what you did today?" Lundy had a pretty good idea that it wasn't jest adrenaline that had manifested itself in that fight.

"Yeah." LaFiamma turned his head to place a gentle kiss on the other's cheek, then swung his head back to look at the overhead ceiling. "There's a lot I haven't told you about me, about my background. Most of it is either classified by the government and military or hushed by the mob." Joe sighed softly. "And most of it doesn't really matter anymore, but this time it does."

"Tell me." Lundy's quiet encouragement was non-judgmental.

"I was seconded to some pretty secret stuff in the military, called covert ops. Not spy stuff so much as guerrilla warfare and secret operations, some assassinations. My training wasn't the normal get-fit stuff, or even the normal combat stuff. I was trained to be an assassin - with or without a weapon." Joe hugged his partner tight for a moment, felt the beat of Levon's heart next to his ribs. "When I got out, and that wasn't as easy as it sounds, I had to fight family to become a cop. They knew enough of what I'd become to want me as an enforcer. I refused. I'd made a promise to my commander and to myself, that I'd not use my skills again, especially not as a civilian, a private person."

"These skills? That what I saw today?"

"Yeah, some of it. Only I was never taught to use it in anger. I was taught to be cold, ice. I've never been that angry in my life. I... I'm not certain what happened there."

"Tyler called it a killing rage. Said he'd seen the like in 'Nam."

"Maybe. I've heard of that, never witnessed it, never experienced it. Until now."

"Face it, boy, you wuz outta yore head. Iffn yore trainin' kicked in, you couldn't help it."

"Yes. I could. Levon, understand something. I'm guilty of murder here. If my classified files come out to daylight..."

"That jest ain't gonna happen, LaFiamma. Now calm down. No one's said enythin' about murder and self-protection ain't murder, no matter what you use to defend yoreself. So cut that out."

"Levon. Lundy. I'm... I can't..."

"I can and I will, LaFiamma. You are not gonna tell enyone else about yore trainin' or eny classified files. Yore gonna sit here and rest and I'll talk with Beaumont. We'll git outta this. You jest hafta trust me, pardner."

LaFiamma rolled over onto his friend. Pulling him into a bear hug, he held tight for a long minute before releasing the blonde. "I trust you with my life, with my love, Levon. What do you want me to do?"

Lundy let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "You git all the way on this here bed and you sleep some. You look pretty burned out. I'll go start on calling Joanne." Lundy sat up and then stood. He reached down and caught up LaFiamma's legs and swung them up onto the bed.

Joe twisted to settle back on the mattress and looked up at Lundy. "I'll be here." He yawned involuntarily. Carson watched all this with interest from his perch on the bed's other pillow across from Joe.

Lundy pulled up a blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed and covered LaFiamma with it. "Good. Now git some rest and I'll be back soon." With that and a final look at his partner, Lundy walked quietly out of the small bedroom and started down the spiral stairs to the main floor of Thomas Dennis' apartment.

****************

Thomas was seated in a comfortable looking stuffed chair in the sitting/living room down there. Levon blinked in surprise to see him sitting there, looking like he'd been there for a while.

"Hi."

"Hello. How's your friend, Levon?" The small man looked concerned.

"He'll be alright, he's resting now. I came down to use yore phone iffn I can?"

"Of course." Thomas studied the weary looking blonde cowboy. "You can take it in my kitchen, through there," he gestured to an archway, "if you'd like some privacy."

Lundy nodded and started across the room.

"Levon?" When Lundy stopped and looked at him again, Thomas continued, "before you make any calls, maybe you should know what's happening." Something in his tone made Levon turn to face the book shop owner and then slowly sit down on the nearby short couch.

"Yes?"

"You and your friend have been upstairs for a while." Levon looked down at his watch and stiffened in surprise, it was nearly eight o'clock at night. They'd been walking into Oysters before six that evening, when all hell broke loose.

Thomas Dennis nodded as he saw Lundy take in the time passage. "Yes, almost two hours since the altercation at Oysters." At the expression on the blonde's face, Dennis continued, "I was told about it by quite a few customers after you disappeared up stairs. The word spread fast."

Lundy jumped to his feet looking panicky. "I better go git Joe-"

"No, sit down and listen first, Levon." Dennis made placating gestures, his voice conveying calm. "It's going to be all right. Just listen." Once he saw the other sink back onto the sofa, Dennis began to talk. "Conway came back after about an hour. He briefed me then as I'd just finished closing up the shop. He'd seen the police, though he didn't talk to them directly. Carousel was being interviewed and when he was released, he'd called Conway to fill him in. It seems that Sheila hid behind the bar and didn't see anything. Carousel saw a bunch of guys all dressed in some sort of gang clothing barge into Oysters, right behind the brown shirts. He's not certain what they were all after, but he says he told the police that he guessed it was some sort of territorial warfare thing. There had been a battle and as soon as the others left, he'd had Sheila call nine one one. Said he told the police that the other gang all had face paint on and he doubted he'd be able to identify any of them, no less describe them - beyond the fact that they'd been just as big as the brown shirts, and mean."

When Dennis stopped for a breath, Lundy thought fast. Carousel had done them a major favor. He'd perjured himself but it was unlikely he'd be caught out in it from the sounds of it. The story left him and Joey completely out of the picture. He still needed to call Joanne, but what he told her might be very different now.

Thomas Dennis kept talking. "You have to know, Levon, those brown shirts have been terrorizing this part of town for months. They have gone unchallenged since their first appearance. They've gang raped several men. Beat others bloody. Threatened and bullied. Reports to the police have been ignored or else no witness was brave enough to come forward, no victim willing to press charges. Whatever the reason, until now, they have been wreaking havoc unchecked." Dennis sat forward. "We take care of our own here. Have to. So, Levon, you will discover that no one, I mean NO ONE, will know anything about what happened this evening. Lots will have seen a group of violent looking gang members, all with painted faces, in the vicinity of the bar, Oysters, today. No one will know anything about anything else. But, we all know what you and your partner have done for us, and you can count on the entire population to be ready to do anything you need doing."

Lundy listened to all this, feeling his tension melt and a strange euphoria replace it. It was going to be alright after all. "Thomas, man, thank you. Iffn I ken git Joey to calm down enough, he'll be right grateful, too." Levon stood. "I still need to make that call, but after what you jest tole me, it'll make a difference what I say. Thank you." Levon's hands worked at each other, the pain and worry of the day evident.

Thomas Dennis shrugged and smiled. "Good. Take care of your business and then, when you and Joe are ready, we can have a light dinner here. After that, we'll see." Levon nodded and headed into the kitchen to make his call.

******************

The call to Beaumont was a cautious affair. Levon hadn't wanted to put his ex-partner in the position of being part of a cover-up but thought she better know at least part of what was happening. And, he didn't want to lie to her...

It turned out that she'd already gotten the reports on the dead men at Oysters. She was so relieved to hear from Lundy that she talked right over his own tentative comments, telling him about the dead men, that the reports indicated it looked pretty much cut and dried - gang violence, gang warfare. No particular gang was identified as the culprits but there was enough crime in Houston to keep cops busy without them spending a lot of time on the after effects of a gang battle. No one had been able to give them any good descriptions of the other gang, so it was all going into reports, and probably into files. Where it would sit and gather dust, while cops went on to more promising investigations.

She'd been worried about Levon and Joe since she knew they'd been in that area. She was glad to hear from him, know they were alright. Then she'd passed on to questions about Kitty Mignon and what Joe and he'd found out. Levon ended up reporting on that interview, which seemed to have happened ages ago now. About all they'd gotten was the description of the possible serial killer. Since Mignon had not actually witnessed the murder, the man she wuz describin' could have been an innocent bystander, too, so it was only a 'possible.' When he finished with Mignon's testimony, he hesitated, then said, "Joanne, about those brown shirts that got kilt t'day?"

"Um, what about them, Levon?" Beaumont sounded honestly puzzled. Then something must have clicked, because almost without pause she went on, "Oh, right. I'm sorry, what with everything that's been happening, I almost forgot what they did to you and LaFiamma last night." There was a moment's silence, then, "Maybe we should just quietly forget about that report you 'phoned in to me about that. After all, no charges can be filed now. You did say Joe was ok?"

Levon agreed hastily that Joe seemed to be doing okay. He was shocked at how easily it had gone. Here was Beaumont herself suggesting that she lose the paperwork she'd written but not filed on the gang bang of LaFiamma the night before. The only tie of Joe and him to the now dead brown shirts. The only possible motive disappearing without question. Whatever he'd thought to say to Joanne died on his lips. It was better this way.

They'd exchanged a few more thoughts on the serial killer investigation and Levon had said that he and Joe weren't gonna try to go out tonight, what with the gang violence, the streets were pretty quiet, and a hunt for the serial killer would be unproductive. Beaumont agreed. She still had the files on the lastest victim of the killer, Walter Barstow. The files could wait until tomorrow. She'd put them in a sealed envelope and leave the envelope behind the bar at Romeo's for them to pick up when they could. She just asked to be kept posted on any progress and they hung up.

***************

Lundy climbed the spiral stairs back up to Joe with mixed feelings. Relief that Joe wouldn't be facing any charges, that they were clear of that mess. Worry about how Joe was dealing with it all. And, buried under all that, a new, worming fear of his own partner, his lover - a killer who had been hiding under the kind, gentle soul that Levon thought of as Joe LaFiamma. It was this last realization that caused Lundy's steps to be slow and hesitant.

Wuz Joe LaFiamma really any different now than before? Levon pondered this as he finished his climb up the stairs. There he found his partner sound asleep, face slightly flushed, one hand tucked under a cheek, the dark hair tumbled down over his brow. He looked like a wayward cherub, not a stone-cold or rage-hot killer. Not even like the good cop Levon knew that he was. The heavy rumble of Carson's purr told Levon that the animal was still there, though he didn't spot the beast until he stood over the sleeping LaFiamma. Snuggled up against the man, the cat had made a nest in Joe's right arm pit, the Italian's arm forming a crooked shelter around the animal.

Two wary yellow eyes studied Levon. Levon stared back. An animal won't go near anyone whose soul is evil. Levon knew this deep inside, all his years with domesticated animals, his exposure to wild critters when out further west with his grandpappy. Indian lore told the same. If Carson was willing to stick to Joe, why wuz he, Levon, questioning his partner's spiritual values? Why wuz he wondering about the 'killer' inside LaFiamma?

In his mind's eye, he saw again the wild man that Joe had transformed into, saw him kill those four men with speed, savagely, with no remorse - then. Which brought him back to the wretched man who'd puked up most ever'thin' in his stomach in the toilet when he finally realized jest what he'd done. Like he hadn't known when he wuz doin' it.

A troubled Lundy sat down on a small wood chair by the bed. He didn't touch LaFiamma, simply sat and watched and thought through his fear and memories. Joseph LaFiamma was a man with a past. Ony some of it known now to Levon. Dang. The boy kept springing surprises on his pardner. Wonder why I never seen any of this killing skill when we wuz undercover afore? Joe wuz hurt purty bad a few times back then, both on and off the mats during their case on gambling and game fixin' in the world of pro-wrestlin'. But, he'd never gone crazy like this back then. What was diff'rent?

Leaning back in the chair, listening to it creak, Lundy folded his arms across his chest and let his thought run on. Carson had evidently decided that the cowboy was going to be polite and let him and his human acquisition alone, the cat's eyes were now at half-mast, just slits of yellow gleaming in the dim light.

Afore, closest they'd come to a similar situation, Joe hadn't pulled this stunt. O'course that time, there'd been no history of violence with the thugs that ambushed him and Joe in an underground corridor of one of the wrestling arenas. This time, the attackers had a history. They'd wupped our asses. Yep. Knocked me out cold. Beat up LaFiamma something bad, and then gang-banged him. Left him dumped in an alley - he coulda been dead fur all they knew. Both he and Joe had come outta that pretty shook up. Levon had been worrying about the way Joe had kept it all locked up inside, 'bout the rape and the injuries. It was clear that he'd still had plenty of anger and shame to deal with.

Top that off with me being hurt agin, this time by Joe hisself. When he threw me down in Oysters. Meant to help me git away from them bastards, ony I hit my head, come up groggy and no good to no one. Levon thought on that a bit. Remembered how he'd felt. How Joe had yelled, "No!" like he was panicked. He'd been looking Levon's way when he yelled that. It had drawn all the attackers to Joe, away from Lundy. He done that apurpose. Drawing'em offa me.

It was then that things got strange. That Joe had changed. When he'd seen me hurt, got them all headin' his way. Four monsters, bent on hurtin' him agin, and mebbe me, too, after. Levon could almost feel the exact moment that Joe had been pushed over the edge into madness. Into the killing rage. Levon thought about what Carousel had said, said he'd seen in Vietnam in combat. Normal human beings becoming something else. He might have to talk to Carousel some more, mebbe have Joe do it, too.

It was all coming clearer now. Joe hadn't planned eny o' this to happen. He'd kept a lid on that box of military skills for years now, even when provoked. Until now and this had been about as severe as it was ever likely to git. Any other reaction woulda ended with them both bad hurt and probably dead. Levon pictured the fight. It had been so fast, over so soon.

He remembered LaFiamma standing there, with dead men surrounding him at his feet, standing there shaking. He remembered Carousel holding him back when he started to go for his partner. But then, he'd called to Joe instead. And the Italian had promptly responded, coming directly into his arms. He hadn't brought the rage with him, despite Carousel's concern. He'd recognized Levon's voice, even through the strange storm of emotion and come to him, peacefully. Joe hurt him? No, iffn he didn't hurt him then, it wuzn't ever gonna happen. Even afore they became lovers or friends, the worst LaFiamma had ever done was poke him in the chest a few times while yelling in his face. Except fur that onct, the bar fight on almost Joe's first night ever in Houston, when the ex-Chicago cop and him brawled to a standstill. Iffn LaFiamma had done enythin' like what he'd seen in Oysters to him, why then he'd'a breathed his last several years ago.

So. Fear Joe? No. Fear for Joe? Well, that was another matter, altogether. LaFiamma wuzn't done roastin' hisself on this yet, not by a long shot. Levon knew his partner's moods well enough to tell that Joe was not forgiving hisself yet for this. Lundy wuzn't too shore exactly what he could do about it, either. His partner wuz hurtin' and he wanted to help, but how?

It was at this point that Carson decided he'd been here long enough. There were rather interesting smells wafting up from the downstairs. He stood within the circle of his new human's arm and arched his back, stretching, mouth open in a mighty yawn. Then, with a flip of his tail, he jumped up onto Joe's chest, and bounced off this to the floor and walked regally over to the stairs. Once there he sat on the first step and looked back over his shoulder at Levon, as if to ask when was he going to wake the other human and join them downstairs for dinner?

Joe had started at the thump on his chest and was blinking, head raised in confusion. Levon grinned at Carson. Dang cat wuz almost human. Then Levon stood up and went to Joe. "Hey pardner, ready for some food?"

LaFiamma laid his head back down and smiled up lazily at Lundy. "What are you offering?"

Lundy grinned again. "Not me, not jest now, sorry. Thomas is fixin' some dinner fur us downstairs."

"Dinner?" Joe sniffed the air and decided the aromas smelled enticing. "Sounds good, in fact, smells good." He struggled to rise, only to find his partner's arm there to help him. "Thanks, Levon."

As both stood and LaFiamma regained his balance, Lundy said quietly, "I spoke to Beaumont. She'd already heard about Oysters. Carousel claimed that another gang came in and there was a battle. Police bought his story and she bought the report. Didn't even question me about us. Ony at the end, and then it wuz ta tell me that she was gonna lose the report I filed last night about the other attack on us, on you. I tole her we wuzn't goin' out tonight, it'd be too quiet after Oysters. She agreed. Said she'd leave the reports on the last victim of the serial killer in an envelope at the bar at Romeo's fur us to pick up tomorrow."
By the time Lundy finished, Joe was shaking his head in disbelief. "And it's gonna be just that easy? I kill four men and get away with it?"

Lundy moved in closer to LaFiamma, let his arms wrap around the troubled Chicagoan. "It ain't easy, boy, but it'll work. Thanks to a whole passel o'friends, including new ones like Carousel, Conway, Babs, and even Thomas downstairs."

LaFiamma hugged his lover back and rested his forehead against the blonde's. "I don't know, Levon, I don't know. Guess I'll just have to wait this one out." Lundy wasn't certain what Joe meant by that but decided anything that wasn't outright self-recrimination was a step in the right direction.

"Ready for some grub?"

Joe broke free from the embrace with an honest laugh. "Grub?" He laughed again. "Lundy, only a Texan could manage to make dinner sound so disgusting in one simple word."

Levon smiled broadly and pushed Joe towards the stairs with a hand on one shoulder. "Git going, Chi, food's waitin' and so's yore cat."

LaFiamma spotted the Maine Coon now, still seated on the top step staring over his shoulder at them. As they walked toward the cat, Carson stood easily and fled down the stairs in a quick series of little leaps and a skittering of claws. "Well, 'my' cat isn't waiting, so I guess we better go."

... end of part 8: "...let's move down to some big town..."

"Buttons and Bows" continues in 3rd segment...