A Necessary Evil(60)
Kurt had thought of Frankie often during his enlistment. Especially when he was overseas, stationed at Camp Greaves near the DMZ between South and North Korea. He had grown close to his platoon buddies; it was easy when living in such close quarters in a war zone. However, his friendships with these other soldiers only made him miss his old friend more. Frankie had understood Kurt in a way no one, besides Addie, ever had. To think he would never see or talk to him again was painful in a way Kurt would never admit to anyone.
So, when he walked into Sullivan’s his first night back in Lexington and saw Frankie sitting at the end of the bar, he felt a tugging at his heart. He stood there in the doorway unable to move for a good twenty or thirty seconds. Kurt watched the way his friend threw his head back in laughter and patted his drinking buddies on the back. Frankie was only four years older than he’d been the last time Kurt had seen him, but he looked as if he’d aged ten years or more. Little streaks of early gray highlighted his jet-black hair at his temples and forehead, and he’d put on some weight in his belly. His level of confidence, however, had not changed one bit. Frankie looked in control, and each man surrounding him looked at him expectantly, as if awaiting his next command.
He could see his old friend in the laughing man at the end of the bar, and Kurt’s mind went back to the day they’d sealed their friendship in blood on the riverbank. But the image of the ten-year-old version of Frankie faded and was quickly replaced by the eighteen-year-old who had stood in Kurt’s bedroom and confessed to murdering Julian McAllister. Their last words to each other beat in his ears like a bass drum. Remembering exactly why they hadn’t spoken in four years made Kurt’s stomach churn. He turned around and headed for the door.
When the bell above the door jingled, it must have drawn Frankie’s attention, because just as Kurt was about to step out into the street, he heard his name echo above the sounds of the other patrons enjoying their drinks. Kurt stopped cold and stood like an old Roman statue. He flexed his hands a couple of times and let out a deep sigh. It was too late. Now that Frankie had seen him and called out his name, Kurt had only two choices. He could either keep walking and pretend he hadn’t heard his name called, or he could turn around and face the man he’d sworn he’d never talk to again for the rest of his life.
Sitting there in the precinct reminiscing about this last encounter, Kurt still couldn’t remember, or even understand, why he’d ultimately turned around, but he had. When the two men’s eyes met, Kurt felt his breathing accelerate, and time had slowed to a near stop. Frankie smiled widely and motioned for Kurt to join him, as if they hadn’t told each other to screw off the last time they’d been together. As if the death of the woman they both loved and all the events that followed hadn’t torn them apart.
Kurt was on auto-pilot when he walked across the floor toward Frankie. When he reached him, Frankie stood, wrapped one arm around Kurt’s shoulders, squeezed tightly, and introduced him as his “best friend in the whole world.” Frankie shoved a tumbler full of whiskey into Kurt’s hand and insisted he throw it back. Kurt complied without thinking, and after three more like it, the pair were laughing and telling tales about the old days.
They’d closed down the bar and stumbled out into the street, arm in arm, telling raunchy jokes and catching up on the gossip about some of their high school buddies. When they reached Kurt’s car, Frankie had turned and looked Kurt right in the eye, suddenly seeming sober as a priest.
“You know I love you, right, buddy?” Frankie had said.
Kurt, full of whiskey and old memories, said, “I know, Frankie.”
“I’m sorry,” Frankie said next. It caught Kurt so off guard, his mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. “You know what I’m apologizing for, don’t you?”
Kurt had nodded slowly.
“Good. Then we’ll leave it at that. And we’ll never talk about it ever again. Right? No one will ever know.”
Again, Kurt just nodded.
Frankie slapped Kurt on the back, told him he loved him again, and then turned and disappeared down the street. When Kurt had climbed into his car, he’d sat there stunned, wishing he’d have said something…anything to Frankie, to let him know he still wasn’t okay with what he’d done.
When he’d sobered up the next morning, Kurt allowed himself to acknowledge exactly what had happened. Frankie had seen an opportunity to ensure that, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how pissed off Kurt might still be, he would never reveal Frankie’s deepest, darkest secret. It had absolutely nothing to do with restoring the brotherly love they’d once had for one another. Frankie simply wanted to ensure Kurt’s continued discretion. Despite the wall Kurt had built around his heart where Frankie was concerned, it shattered all over again.
Warmth rushed through Kurt’s veins, and he realized the Percocet was kicking in and working its magic. He turned his attention back to the present and his struggle to find Frankie. Remembering their last encounter, Kurt knew he had to do the difficult thing. He had to put an end to Frankie’s criminal activities and prevent him from killing someone else, regardless of how much Collin McAllister deserved to die.
Kurt pulled up a new screen and began typing up his final report on Mollie’s kidnapping. He may not have known where Frankie was hiding, but he was going to work this case by the book and leave no room for him to wiggle off the hook one day on a technicality. He filled in all the information requested, leaving out nothing, and typed up a short summary of what he’d been able to discover so far. It wasn’t much beyond his gut instincts and hunches, and Kurt hated that he would have to turn in his report without being able to explain exactly how she had been rescued, and he knew he’d be called on the carpet to explain the vague ending of his report, but his conscience was clear this time. He was no longer covering for a murderer, so if the higher-ups wanted to question him about Frankie, he was more than ready and willing to tell all this time.