Silent Echo

We hit it off immediately. I knew he was gay from the beginning, but he didn’t make a big deal about it, and since I was straight and wasn’t planning on becoming gay any time soon, I didn’t make a big deal out of it, either. I guess we were meant to be pals.

And pals we are. We get along like brothers. Hell, even better than brothers. We talk about anything and everything, and joke with each other like old frat buddies. Yes, Numi jokes. I don’t see it very often now, but when I do, well, I don’t soon forget it.

Numi has taught me much. He taught me to let people be. He taught me to relax. To calm down. To not be so aggressive. Silence speaks louder than words. All of this he taught me by example. I learned much from him, and I still do.

But now, our friendship has morphed into something else. I need him in ways that I still can’t admit. We both know I need him. I cannot get through the day without him, or someone like him. And I doubt there are many like him.

And here he is now, waiting calmly for me, his life on hold while my own deteriorates into nothing. If he could hear me thinking such thoughts, he would tell me to be positive, man. You can beat this, cowboy.

These days, I do not have the strength or energy to even be negative. These days, I just am.

I hear footsteps approaching from outside the hall. Numi glances up casually. A moment later, an old colleague of mine steps through the doorway. Detective Dobbs is a big man who sports a robust cop mustache. He sees me, pauses only slightly, and then sits behind the conference table opposite me. No handshake. I barely even get a nod.

“Booker,” he says, using my last name. “You’re, ah, looking good.”

“For a corpse,” I say.

He sits back, studies me. “Are you, ah, still sick?”

“Even sicker.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He fidgets with a folder he’d brought with him. His mustache, I think, might have fidgeted, too. It’s Olivia’s case folder. I see her name and case number on the tab. My good friend, my lost girl, has been reduced to a case number on a detective’s manila file folder.

Detective Dobbs is about my age. About my height. About my same complexion, too. But the way he’s looking at me now, you would think I am something distasteful and slightly less than human. Or maybe he had some bad sushi for lunch.

He says, “How’s your friend, Noobi?”

I get this question a lot. My friend is gay. It’s easily noticeable for those who look. What people look for, I don’t know, but it seems like people just know. They assume I might be gay, too. They also assume that I got the disease from Numi, which is false.

“Numi,” I correct. “And he’s fine.”

“He’s not, you know, sick?”

“Sick with AIDS?”

He shifts his eyes. He knows he’s treading in unfamiliar waters here. “Er, yes.”

“Numi and I are friends only, detective. And the last I checked, it’s nearly impossible to give a friend a sexually transmitted disease unless said friends are having sex, in which Numi and I do not indulge. He’s not my type. He’s too big and scary. Also, I’m not gay.”

Numi, of course, hears this and shakes his head. I see a small grin appear on his face. I grin, too.

Dobbs says nothing. My detective friend and I used to shoot the shit for many minutes before we ever got around to discussing our common cases. As a specialist who finds the missing, I’m often in contact with local police and homicide units, especially when the missing turn up dead.

“Right, sorry,” he says. Dobbs cracks his neck. Cracks his knuckles. It’s been many months since I’ve last seen him. Perhaps longer. Hell, it’s been over a year since I’ve actually worked a case.

I say, “But I’ll let him know you asked about him. I’m sure it will make his day.”

“Just drop it, Booker.” He opens the file in front of him. “What’s your interest in the Olivia Dutch case?”

“Her husband is a friend of mine.”

I don’t say what my additional interests are in this case. First is that Olivia was also my friend. And my additional interest is, of course, my brother. Dobbs had not worked Matt’s case, as it had been nearly twenty-two years ago. Most of the detectives on the case have long since retired, although I kept in touch with most of them. In fact, I keep in touch with all of those connected to my brother’s case. A cold case.

Dobbs studies me and now shakes his head. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. Dobbs and I used to get lunch together. He used to tell me about his time in the military, about all the drinking he did overseas. About the girls.

“Are you working for Eddie Dutch?”

“Yes.”

“In what capacity?”

“He hired me to find his wife.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Well, his wife has been found. Your job is done. Congratulations. Great job.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

Dobbs taps his fingers some more on the file. He takes in a lot of air. I do not know what’s going on in his mind. In the past, he would have been more receptive to my help. In the past, I wouldn’t have called him a dick.

Finally, he says, “So what’s your interest now, Booker?”

“Olivia was a friend of mine, too.” It is an understatement, but at the same time it is the truth. This conversation is taking a lot out of me. Indignation isn’t good for my health.

“I understand that—”

“I can help you find her killer,” I say, which takes the last of my strength. My voice is barely above a whisper.

He makes another face, one that consists of his thin lips being drawn down. He then abruptly stands.

“Booker, I’m sorry this shit happened to you. But you’re in no condition to help me. Go rest. Go hang out with Nubooby, or whatever the hell his name is. Go anywhere but here. We don’t need your help. In fact, I don’t want your help.” He looks at me sadly some more, tries to smile, fails. “Take care, Booker.”

He turns and leaves.

A moment later, I feel Numi’s strong hands under my arms, lifting. “Let’s go, cowboy.”

I find my feet with Numi’s help. I keep from falling over with Numi’s help, too.

“So how did it go in there, cowboy?” he asks as we exit the conference room.

“He’s excited to work with me.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words.”