And now Jasper was confronted with a dilemma he knew well. The doing-something-I-shouldn’t-but-doing-it-anyway-just-to-be-polite thing. Jasper had gone home with guys he wasn’t attracted to in the past because it would have been more awkward to say no. He invariably regretted the choice he’d made and always told himself it made no sense, because he only gave the poor guy hope when there was none to be had.
These were the thoughts that accompanied him as he slid into the Lexus and closed the door.
Immediately, Jasper felt too warm. And the guy’s resemblance to another killer, one known well around Chicago and notnearlyas sexy as Andrew Cunanan, rose up to chill Jasper despite the car’s heat—John Wayne Gacy.
Gacy was dead. But from his reading, Jasper thought this was just the kind of move Gacy would have pulled, back when he lived over on the west side. And Jasper would have been just his type too.
“Too warm?”
Jasper nodded. His mouth was suddenly dry.
“I’m Jerry, by the way. Jerry Mathias.” He stuck his hand out, and Jasper shook it.
“Jazz.” Jasper wasn’t going to give him a last name, nor even his real first one.
“Jazz man!” Jerry sang and then laughed. “You know the song?”
Jasper shook his head, wondering if he could just hop out at the next stoplight or stop sign.
“Carole King!” He laughed. “She was probably before your time.”
Jerry turned down the heat and clicked the radio off. “Where am I taking you, buddy?”
Jasper was about to blurt, “Uh-uh, you’re not taking me anywhere.” But then he realized the guy wanted to know where to drop him off, at least that’s what he hoped. “You can just let me out at the corner of Ashland and Fargo. Is that okay?” He didn’t want the guy to know exactly where he lived. He wasn’t sure why. Lacy would say, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
On the short ride north, though, Jasper had to let go of his paranoia and fear. The guy actually started to come across as sort of nice, warm in a fatherly way Jasper had never known. He asked Jasper all about his life, his work, his living situation, but nothing so personal that it was creepy.
And when they were nearing the intersection where Jasper would depart, the guy smiled at him and said, “Kid, you know I can drop you off at your front door. I’mnotout to get you. I have a son older than you. Pretty as you are, you’re way too young for the likes of me.” He chuckled. “For one, I probably couldn’t keep up with you even if you were interested, and number two, and don’t take offense, but I like my men on the more mature side.” He chuckled again. “Ones I don’t have to explain who Carole King is.”
“Make a left,” Jasper said.
He directed Jerry to his front door. He was no longer worried about him. Jasper’s gut told him the guy was harmless and his gut was almost always right.
“Thanks.” Jasper threw open the door.
“You’re welcome. But kid?”
“Yeah?”
“You got lucky tonight. Old Jerry is as harmless as a pussycat. But the next car that pulls over might have a mountain lion in it, or worse.”
“Good advice.” Jasper swung his legs out of the vehicle.
“You take care now. Stay out of the bars. They’ll make you old before your time.”
Jasper looked over. “Is being old really so bad?” He felt heat rise to his face. “Not that I’m callingyouold, of course—”
Jerry cut him off with a guffaw. “Ah, I’m old all right. Just turned sixty at Christmastime. No shame in that. But you want to enjoy your youth. I’m just saying, find another pretty boy your own age and have the fireworks that you can only have in your twenties.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I know. And you won’t until you’re my age. Good night, Jazz.”
There was nothing more to say, so Jasper got out of the car. He stood for a long time, watching the black Lexus until it rounded the corner at Paulina.
Jasper turned toward his front door while groping around in his pocket for his keys. As he opened the door, he wondered what it would be like to drive a Lexus, to be warm on a winter’s night, to offer sage advice to a pretty boy who had no idea about where his life was going. What kind of home would Jerry Mathias return to tonight? One of those mansions along the lakeshore in Evanston, Wilmette, Winnetka? Or would he turn south and head over to Lake Shore Drive and lay his head down in some tower in the sky, with cityandlake views?
As he started up the stairs to his apartment, he heard the click of the dead bolt being thrown and the creak of his front door opening. Even though he couldn’t see her, he could visualize Lacy in her quilted bathrobe, standing at the door, arms crossed. All the makeup tissued off her face, she’d look wan, a little frightened, her dark eyes bright. He’d seen this vision of her enough times to know what it looked like without actually seeing it.
