Read The Butcher's Son for Free Online

expecting!
    “Did I what?” I asked, not sure that I heard him correctly.
    “I asked if you knew I was a fag.” He put one open hand over his chin and moved it slowly down to his neck, as if he were checking for beard stubble. “ I didn’t. I knew I was gay, but I didn’t know I was a fag.”
    I just sat there, a puzzled look on my face, waiting for him to continue. He took another sip of his drink, put the glass down, and took up his story.
    “I told you I took the promotions test last month, and that I didn’t get it. While I was really disappointed, I figured ‘Hey, it happens.’
    “Then, a couple days after the test, I had to go down to the main office for some paperwork and stopped in the john. I was in one of the stalls pulling my pants up when I heard two guys come in, and they were talking about the test. One of them mentioned my name and said something like ‘I was surprised Erickson didn’t make it,’ and the other guy said, ‘I heard it was because they don’t promote fags,’ and they laughed.
    “They might as well have come in and spit in my face. Man, I stormed out of that stall like a bull into the arena and went right up to them. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ I said.
    “I guess I surprised the shit out of them—the guy I knew looked really embarrassed, and the other one just sort of stammered something I couldn’t hear. ‘Speak up, you stupid shit!’ I yelled at him. ‘Where did you hear anybody say I was a fag?’ I was so fucking pissed I couldn’t see straight, and they damned well knew it. The guy was sort of backed up against the washbasins with his head pulled away from me, like he was afraid I was going to hit him, which I was just about ready to do.
    “‘I just heard a couple of the examiners talking after they’d finished the grading,’ the guy said, ‘and I heard your name and that they don’t promote fags. Shit, man, I didn’t say you were a fag. I don’t even know you.’
    “I was forcing myself to pull back a little bit, but I said, “That’s fucking right, you don’t. But I know you now, and if I hear anybody else saying I’m a fag—and I mean anybody —I’m coming looking for you , and you damn well better believe it.’ And then I turned around and walked out the door.”
    I was impressed, and it must have shown on my face.
    “That took one hell of a lot of guts,” I said. “I’m really proud of you!”
    Tom just shrugged, and said, “Thanks.” Then he drained his glass and set it on the table. He fished out an ice cube with one finger and put it in his mouth.
    “I probably should have let it drop right there,” he said after a minute, “but I didn’t. I went in to see my chief and told him I knew damned well I’d done better on the exam than anybody else, and I wanted to know exactly why I didn’t make the promotion list. My chief’s a good guy, and a decent one, too. He gave me a couple lame excuses that I could tell he didn’t believe himself.
    “But as I was leaving, he said ‘Tom, take my advice and don’t make waves. You’re a good arson investigator—one of the best. But there are just certain things you can’t change. And I don’t want you to jeopardize your job.’ And I knew exactly what he was referring to.
    “So, it boils down to this, If I keep my mouth shut and just let them shit on me whenever they feel like it, I can keep my job. But I’m as far up the ladder as I’m ever going to get.”
    I shook my head in empathy/sympathy.
    “So, that’s why I decided to talk to you,” he said, fishing another ice cube from his glass. “I’ve got to tell you I was more than a little unhappy with you when you took up with Chris and dropped me like a hot potato. I thought we were better friends than that.”
    I started to say something, but again he put his hand up to stop me.
    “That’s all water under the bridge. But when you called, I suspected you wanted to know about the bar fires—you always were a nosy