Free The Dream Ender by Dorien Grey Page A

it could be a significant piece of the puzzle and I wasn’t about to let go of it.
    We talked for another minute or two, then I thanked him for his help and we hung up.
    A few minutes later, the phone rang.
    “Hardesty Investgations,” I said after the third ring.
    “Yes. This is Allen Gilford calling. The manager at Venture gave me your number and asked me to call. I understand you have some questions about my friend Jesse’s death.”
    “That I do,” I said, “and I really appreciate your calling. I understand your friend…Jesse…told you he thought someone had deliberately given him AIDS?”
    There was a pause, followed by a sigh. “Yes.” Another pause. “I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. How could anyone do something like that? But Jesse said it was true, and he’s dead and…”
    “I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said, and I truly was. “But can you tell me everything you remember about what he said? Did he get the guy’s name? A description? Where did they meet? Anything at all you can tell me will help.”
    “Jesse and I had been friends since high school,” he began, “and he was always fascinated by butch men—leather men, in particular. But though he wasn’t at all feminine, he never went to leather bars because he thought he wouldn’t fit in. One night he went to the Tool Shed—it’s as close to being a leather bar as he felt comfortable going to—and met this guy. Jesse said he couldn’t believe his luck. He said the guy was the butchest guy he’d ever seen.”
    Another pause and sigh, then, “Jesse wasn’t stupid. He was always very careful. Ever since AIDS came along, he always insisted his partners use protection. But when they got to Jesse’s place, this guy insisted Jesse turn all the lights out before they got undressed—and then he refused to wear a condom. ‘You want to get fucked with plastic, go get yourself a dildo,’ he said.
    “Jesse knew better! He did! But here’s this guy who represented every sexual fantasy he’d ever had and…well, he let him. And then—” He stopped talking, and I gave him time to recover himself. “And then as the guy was leaving he stopped at the door and turned around and said ‘How does it feel to be a dead man?’ And then he left, and Jesse didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, but it scared the shit out of him.”
    There was another long silence before he continued. “He called me immediately, and I did my best to reassure him the guy probably didn’t mean anything, but two months later, Jesse developed Karposi’s sarcoma, and then he got pneumonia and he was dead within six weeks. Six weeks! That guy knew he had AIDS and that he’d given it to Jesse! How could anybody do that to another human being? I just pray that guy is dead now, too, and burning in hell!”
    I really didn’t know what to say, so I just restated my condolences, thanked him for his time, and hung up, feeling like I had a bowling ball where my heart should be.

Chapter 8
    Cal Hysong. It all came back to Cal Hysong.
    And who else could it come back to? my mind-voice in charge of logic asked…logically. Who else have you even considered?
    It had a point, of course. Cal Hysong was hardly the only ultra-butch guy out there. And not all of them were gay. What about some straight guy who somehow got infected—they were beginning to say it could be spread through blood transfusions, and some hospitals were refusing to allow gays to give blood. So, maybe it’s some straight guy out to get revenge on gays.
    All evidence to the contrary, part of me simply could not accept the thought that one of our own people could do this.
    Okay, so for whatever reason, Hysong was the only name I had. I promised myself I’d stay as objective as I possibly could and not close the door on any other possibilities. I’d continue to go with it until another came up.
    From what I could tell, whoever it was never came right out and said he was giving his