Free Try Fear by James Scott Bell

well.”
    “Can you tell me about it?”
    He looked down and put his hands in his pockets. “Why? What good?”
    “I’m looking out for his mom. I’d like to find out why this happened.”
    “And how exactly
did
it happen?”
    “The police say he shot himself.”
    Barstler’s eyes started to tear up. He was going to say something, then stopped himself.
    “Not here,” he said.

32
    W E WENT TO a bar on Melrose. Cool, contemporary interior with a palm-tree-and-teak motif. Barstler was shaky and ordered scotch rocks.
     I had an amber ale called Goliath, a local brew.
    “Carl and I were together about a year,” Barstler said. “It didn’t last, but we stayed friends.”
    “How long ago was it you were together?” I said.
    “It’s been about three years now.”
    “And you’ve stayed pretty much in contact since?”
    “Oh yeah. We spoke all the time. On the phone. Met for movies, dinner sometimes. Saw each other at parties. E-mailed each
     other.”
    “What is it you do, Morgan?”
    “Real exciting. Accountant.”
    “Nothing wrong with that.”
    “Wish I’d gone into law. I think it’d be a lot more fun.” He looked into his glass. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
    “Any reason you can think of why he’d want to commit suicide?”
    Barstler shook his head.
    “He was an alcoholic,” I said.
    “Yeah. Why we broke up. He couldn’t handle it, and I couldn’t handle
that
.”
    “He have a long-term relationship after you?”
    “Nothing that lasted. One was pretty bad.”
    “In what way?”
    “He was with an actor named Tim for a while, but Tim was hooking up with this other guy, a real jerk who hangs on the boulevard
     pretending to be somebody. But he’s just mean. Carl had some nasty fights with him.”
    “With Tim?”
    “And this other guy.”
    “You know Tim’s last name?”
    “I think it was Larchmont.”
    “And he’s an actor?”
    Barstler nodded. “He was studying at the Stella Adler school, as I recall.”
    “And this other guy’s name?”
    “Oh, he’s ripe. He calls himself the Reverend Son Young Moon, if you can believe it.”
    I blinked a couple of times. “Hasn’t that name been taken?”
    “It’s not the same as that other guy. It’s
Son
, as in Son of God. And Young, as in young. Takes some stones to call yourself the Son of God, doesn’t it?”
    “Where do I find this guy?”
    “He’s hard to miss. Retro punk Mohawk up to here.” Barstler held his hand about twelve inches over his head. “He hangs out
     across from the big brick Scientology center, right near the Stella Adler Theatre. He runs his own street scene on the sidewalk.
     Talking to people, handing stuff out.”
    “What kind of stuff?”
    Barstler shrugged.
    “Is this guy capable of killing somebody?” I said.
    “What are you saying? That Carl didn’t kill himself?”
    “I’m not saying anything. Just trying to get all the information.”
    “Well, I think anybody’s capable of anything, under the right circumstances. Or wrong circumstances. Whatever.”
    His face drifted to a sad place again.
    I said, “The night Carl was arrested for DUI, he said he’d gotten crazy at a party. Were you at that party?”
    “Matter of fact, I was.”
    “Anything you can tell me about it?”
    Barstler sighed. “Christmas party. A mixed bag. An actor friend gave it. About twenty, twenty-five people.”
    “Was Tim or this Sonny Moon there?”
    “Tim was there early, but he left. I don’t know if he had a fight with Carl or not. All I know is Carl was out of it and just
     drinking like crazy. I tried to stop him but he told me to… well, he told me off. I got mad and avoided him. At some point
     he was parading around in a Santa hat and not much else. I went outside after that, spent some time talking to other friends.
     When I went back in the house he was gone.”
    “Did Carl get into it with anybody else?”
    “I didn’t see it. People were pretty ripped and laughing.”
    I gave him my card.