Free Hugger Mugger by Robert B. Parker

like I’m gonna be.”
    â€œAnd now you’re not trying,” I said.
    â€œNope. Got divorced, quit the cops.”
    â€œBecker fire you when you came out?”
    â€œNope. I coulda stayed on. I wanted to quit.”
    â€œStill pumping a little iron, though,” I said.
    â€œThat works gay or straight,” Sapp said.
    â€œAnd now you’re here?”
    â€œYep. Four to midnight six days a week.”
    â€œHard work?” I said.
    â€œNo. Now and then a couple queens get into a hissy-fit fight, scratching and kicking, and I have to settle them down. But mostly I’m here so that a few good old boys won’t get drunk and come in here to bash some fairies.”
    â€œThat happen very often?” I said.
    â€œNot as often as it used to,” Sapp said.
    â€œBecause you’re here.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œMost people don’t anticipate a tough fairy,” I said.
    Sapp grinned. “You look like you might have swapped a couple punches in your life.”
    â€œYou ever lose?” I said.
    â€œWhat? A fight? In here? Naw.”
    â€œThat why you quit the cops?” I said. “So you could work here?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSo you could protect the people who come here?”
    Sapp shrugged.
    â€œLot of gay guys never really learned how to fight,” he said.
    â€œMost straight guys too,” I said.
    Sapp nodded.
    â€œWell, I know how,” Sapp said. “And I figured I could maybe serve and protect . . .” He stopped and thought about how he wanted to say it. “With a little more focus, down here, than I could working out of the Columbia County Sheriff’s substation.”
    I sipped some of my beer. He drank some coffee.
    â€œWhat do you do?” Sapp said. “I know you’re carrying a piece.”
    â€œAlert,” I said. “Detective. Private. From Boston.”
    â€œI figured you wasn’t from down heah in the old Confederacy,” Sapp said.
    â€œLawzy me, no,” I said.
    My instinct told me I could level with Sapp. My instinct has been wrong before, but I decided to trust it this time.
    â€œI’m down here working for Walter Clive,” I said, “trying to find out who’s been shooting his horses.”
    â€œHorses?”
    â€œYep, apparently at random, several of them. He’s worried now about a two-year-old named Hugger Mugger, who’s supposed to be on his way to the Triple Crown.”
    â€œAnd after that a lifetime of stud fees,” Sapp said.
    Without being asked, the bartender came over with coffee for Sapp and a beer for me. He put them down, picked up the empties, and went away.
    â€œSo why come talking to me?” Sapp said.
    â€œYou know the Clive family?”
    â€œUn-huh. Everybody in Columbia County knows the Clives.”
    â€œI’m interested in the son-in-law, Cord Wyatt.”
    Sapp didn’t say anything. He put sugar in his coffee, added some cream, and stirred slowly.
    â€œI am told he is interested in young boys,” I said.
    Sapp stirred his coffee some more. I suspected he was consulting with his instincts.
    â€œSo what if he was?” Sapp said.
    â€œI’m told he acts out that interest.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œI think adults have no business scoring children, but that’s not the point.”
    â€œWhat is the point?”
    â€œThe family is strange,” I said. “The crime is strange. Does that mean the crime comes from the family? I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.”
    Sapp drank some more coffee. He nodded.
    â€œI see how you’re thinking,” he said. “I was a cop once.”
    â€œMe too,” I said.
    â€œWhy’d you quit?”
    â€œI got fired. Disobedience.”
    â€œI’ll bet you’re pretty good at disobedience,” Sapp said.
    â€œOne of my best things,” I said.
    I drank some more beer. Sapp drank some more coffee. The