Free End of the Innocence by John Goode Page B

throwing around attitude, learn a little first. Got it?” I wasn’t sure what had pissed him off so much, but I nodded nonetheless.
    I really was going to lose a kidney.
    He stalked around back and knocked on the door, which looked like the kitchen exit with a few trash cans and empty crates. “If you can’t say anything nice, do me a favor and just fake it, okay?” he asked quietly. I nodded again, still not sure what I had stumbled into. Robbie pounded again.
    A few seconds later, the door half opened, and I could see an older man’s face peeking out. “Robbie?” he asked in shock. “What the hell you doing out here so early?”
    “Guided tour,” he quipped, jerking a thumb at me.
    The old guy looked at me and shook his head. “You and your newbies.” He closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it all the way. “Well, come in, if you’re coming.”
    We walked into a small diner-style kitchen with a stove on one side and an industrial dishwasher on the other. As soon as the door closed, I took a look at the guy who had let us in and almost choked when I saw the rifle in his hand. He explained as he reracked it by the door, “Sorry ’bout that. Can’t be too careful when someone comes knocking this early.”
    “Tom, this is Kyle,” Robbie said to the man.
    “Howdy, Kyle.” He put out a huge paw of a hand. “Welcome to the Bear’s Den.”
    I looked around the small kitchen as I shook his hand and asked, “This is what, now?”
    He laughed and led me through the kitchen with a hand on my back. “This is where we make what little food we serve.” We passed through two swinging doors, like the ones in an old western saloon, and walked into a huge bar. A pool table stood in the corner; there was a jukebox, and between the table and the jukebox, a space had been cleared out to make a small dance floor as well. What caught my eye, though, were the pictures on the wall. There had to have been a hundred of them; the first—and from their sepia tones, the oldest—ones were black and white and grainy while others were Polaroids and 35mm. The newest were digital photos printed out from a computer. They were all guys, almost all of them were young, and they all had a slightly bewildered look on their face.
    I turned around to ask what they had in common, when a flash from a camera blinded me.
    “What the…?” I said, rubbing my eyes.
    “That’s a keeper!” I heard Tom say with an evil laugh.
    “A little warning next time!” I said as I squinted, trying to kill the afterimages.
    “That’s not the tradition,” Robbie said when my eyes cleared a bit. “First-timers always get their picture taken,” he said, pointing at a photo a couple of years old. A much younger Robbie and a stupid hot guy next to him stared out from the picture. They both looked like deer caught in the headlights. “That was my first night here,” he said with a wistful tone. “And you know him, of course?” he asked sarcastically, pointing to another picture. In it was a picture of Mr. Parker. He couldn’t have been more than a year older than Brad in the picture.
    “Wow, he was hot,” I said out loud.
    “Who’s that?’ Tom asked from behind the bar.
    “Fucking Tyler,” Robbie called back to him.
    “Yeah, he was a little stuck up when he first came in here, but he grew out of it.” I could hear a printer going off.
    “My ass he did,” Robbie muttered under his breath.
    “So this is a gay bar?” I asked, trying to change the subject. I began looking around in wonder, trying to take the place in.
    “No. This is the gay bar. Only gay bar for almost eighty-five miles,” Robbie said with some pride. “Trust me, when you’re gay, places like this are like gold.” I didn’t know about that. It seemed a little run down to be gold. I didn’t say anything, but he could see the look on my face. He held up one finger, reminding me of my promise. I nodded and tried to look neutral.
    “And done,” Tom said,