Trouble in Paradise

He knew the answer before he asked the question. Of course they'd had trouble. Two openly gay men in an openly heterosexual environment with a lot of affluent teenage kids hanging around with nothing to do. Let's go down and harass the queers.

"Nothing big, they'd make remarks when they went by the house," Brown said.

"Such as?"

"Oh, some kind of rhyme about Mister Brown goes down. Stuff like that. I been gay a long time. I've heard worse."

"Anything else?"

Brown and Canton looked at each other as they thought about it.

"No," Canton said.

"Mr. Brown?"

"No, uh-uh."

"So how do you know they set the fire?"

Canton looked at Brown.

"You say, Howard."

"I was standing in the driveway, looking at what's left, and they came riding by on bicycles. Both the Hopkins boys and their friend.

I don't know his real name, kids call him Snapper. They all had I these big smirks on, and they sort of slow down and start riding their bicycles in big circles in the street. Then the older one, Earl, starts riding no hands and he says to me, "Hey Mr. Brown," and I looked, and he made a gesture of lighting and throwing a match.

And all three of them are smirking."

Brown shook his head.

"I wanted to kill the little punks."

He shook his head again. Sadness and anger about equal, Jesse thought.

"But of course, I didn't say a word. I just got in my car and drove off," Brown said.

"They ever threaten you?" Jesse said.

"Not until this," Canton said.

Brown shook his head.

"Well, we'll talk with them," Jesse said.

"Talk. The little bastards burned our house down and you'll talk with them?"

"It's a cop euphemism," Jesse said.

"I'll have them in. We'll question them."

"You can't arrest them?" Brown said.

"Not on what you've given me."

"They practically admitted they did it," Brown said.

"Or maybe they just took pleasure in reminding you someone did it," Jesse said.

"If you'd been there and seen the look on their faces, all three of them," Brown said.

"But I wasn't," Jesse said.

"And the DA wasn't. I can't get them indicted on what you've said."

"So they'll get away with it," Canton said, like a man confirming a long-held assumption.

"Maybe not," Jesse said.

"We're kind of resourceful."

"Well," Canton said.

"I tell you one thing right now. I'm getting a gun. I'm not going to let the yahoos win."

"See Molly at the desk," Jesse said.

"She processes the gun stuff."

"You'll approve it?"

"You have the constitutional right to keep and bear arms," Jesse said.

"Christ," Canton said, "I never thought I'd need to."

"Hopkins family got money?" Jesse said.

"I think so," Brown said.

"Why?"

"Turns out the kid did it, you might have a civil suit against the family, or your insurance company might."

"My God, I never thought of it," Canton said.

"Should we talk :o our claims adjuster about it?"

"Might be wise to talk first with a lawyer," Jesse said.

"You recommend anyone?"

"There's a woman in town," Jesse said.

"Abby Taylor. Used to be town counsel. She can either help you or send you to somebody."

"But what if you can't prove they did it?" Canton said.

"You can still sue," Jesse said.

"Civil cases have different rules."

"Could you write that lawyer's name down?" Brown said.

Jesse wrote Abby's name on a sheet of yellow paper, along with her phone number, which he knew quite well. Brown took the paper and folded it over and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

"So that's going to be it?" Canton said.

"Is what going to be it?" Jesse said.

"That's your little law enforcement gesture? Give us the name of a lawyer, tell us to sue?"

Jesse leaned back in his chair and looked at Canton for a moment.

"You're a gay man," Jesse said.

"And you're mad as hell. And you're not used to straight cops working very hard to solve your problems. But maybe you should wait until I take a run at the thing, before you decide I'm an incompetent bigot."

"That's fair enough," Brown said.

"We can't assume he's a homophobe, Alex."

"Maybe," Canton said.

"But he's one of the few I've met that aren't."

He stared hard at Jesse, a red flush of anger still brightening his face.

"I'm not so sure," Jesse said.

"There might be a lot of cops who don't really much care what you do with a consenting adult."

"You've never been gay," Canton said.

"You have me there," Jesse said.

"And you didn't come here to argue police tolerance with me. What I can do is tell you that everyone in this town is entitled to the protection of the police. And everyone will get it as long as I'm chief. Including you."

"Alex, he has the right to prove his homophobia before we condemn him."

"And he probably will," Canton said.

"I'm going to apply for that gun permit. Don't think I won't."

Jesse smiled pleasantly.

"I don't think you won't," he said.

SIX.

Macklin sat with Faye on the deck outs side the Gray Gull Restaurant overlooking the harbor. They were drinking cosmopolitans. Faye had hers straight up in a big martini glass. Macklin was drinking his on the rocks. The late afternoon sun had gotten low enough behind the buildings to throw elongated shadows of the wharf office and the sail loft out onto the water.

"Faye," Macklin said, "you look more like the wife of a WASP millionaire than any of the real ones I've ever known."

"So maybe that means I don't," Faye said.

"And exactly how many WASP millionaires' wives have you known?"

"If I knew one, she'd look like you," Macklin said.

He had loosened his tie and taken off his coat. He sat now with his legs out in front of him, leaning back in his chair. There was a breeze off the water.

"You told that woman we were from Concord," Faye said.

"Sure," Macklin said.

"I lived there for a couple years."

"In Concord?"

Macklin gri

"MCI Concord," he said.

"The prison."

Faye laughed.

"Jimmy, you're crazy."

"Can't get too solemn about this shit," Macklin said.

A waitress went by. Macklin gestured at her for a refill.

"And maybe, whaddya got. Some fried clams? Give us an order of fried clams," he said.

"But bring the drinks first. Don't wait for the clams."

"Yes sir."

Macklin watched her as she walked away. Nice butt. Young.

Probably some college kid working for the summer.

"So what did we learn about Stiles Island today?" Faye said.

"Three quarters of a mile long," Macklin said, gazing out across the harbor at the near end of it.

"About a quarter of a mile wide.

Fifty estates so far. Room to build another fifty. Cheapest one is eight hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Adults only. No children. No dogs."

"Most people can afford eight-hundred-seventy-five-thousand dollar houses are too old to have children anyway," Faye said.