skull, which he could just see above the chairback far away in shadow, the TV tube a bright kaleidoscope beyond him. He wondered if Cecil was sulking, and if so why. He had been merry fifteen, twenty minutes ago, enjoying everybody, everybody enjoying him. He had spent some minutes by the fireplace talking to Edwards. Dave had been occupied with mixing and handing out drinks and hadn’t paid attention. But he remembered that they hadn’t smiled, that they’d seemed earnest. Now Edwards was laughing, arm around Amanda, who was laughing with him. They looked fine together—handsome, happy, young. He wasn’t worried about Amanda anymore.
But he didn’t understand Cecil. Yes, television news enchanted him. Before he had met Dave, he wanted to be part of it. Dave went down two waxed pine steps, crossed Navajo rugs, went up pine steps. A glass hung in Cecil’s long fingers, but he hadn’t touched the drink in it. On the television screen was film from a handheld camera that bobbed, panning the stumbling progress of a young man in yellow coveralls, handcuffs, chains on his ankles, being led past a gray wall by uniformed officers. His hair was long and yellow and needed combing. He had a tangled yellow beard and blue eyes that glared savagely at the camera lens. Dave sat down in the chair beside Cecil, took the drink from his hand, sipped at it, and bent forward to hear the voice of the talking head that had replaced the jittery film. The sound was low…“was released by Tucson authorities late this afternoon, when his real identity was established…” Dave switched off the set.
Cecil looked at him, as if only now realizing he was there. He said, “They thought they had Azrael for sure. Looks just like him. Wrong man.” He shivered. “Those eyes, though. This one’s got to be crazy too.”
“There are different kinds of crazy,” Dave said. “Happily most of them don’t murder girls and bury them in the backyard.”
“This one’s never even heard of Azrael.” Cecil shook his head in wonder and disgust. “He never sees the news, never reads. He watches the clouds and the birds, the little streams rippling over the pretty rocks, right? He listens to the wind in the trees, and watches the sunrise.”
“They’ll get him for that eventually,” Dave said. He handed Cecil back his glass. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t go with you tomorrow.” Cecil didn’t look at him. He talked to the blank television screen. “I’ve got an appointment. For a job.” He took a quick gulp of whiskey.
Dave blinked and felt bleak. “When did all this happen? You were going to work with me, you were never going to leave me by myself again. Isn’t that what you said? This is pretty sudden, isn’t it? What do you need with a job?”
“You don’t want a kept boy,” Cecil said.
“Will you look at me, please? What the hell are you talking about? You’ll earn your keep.”
Cecil shook his head impatiently. “You don’t need my help. You don’t need anybody’s help. Got along fine on your own all this time. Kept boy, that’s what I’d be.” He jerked his head to indicate the laughing people at the other end of the room. He pitched his voice up, pursed his mouth, fluttered his lashes. “‘What do you do, young Cecil? Do you act, do you interior decorate, do you style women’s hair?’” He changed voices. “‘No, ma’am—ah jus’ sleeps with Mistuh Brandstettuh.’”
“Edwards put this idea into your head,” Dave said.
“He just figured I’d be wanting a job, and he’s fixing it for me. A good job. Field reporter. On camera.”
“You didn’t want that anymore,” Dave said.
“It will keep me honest.” Cecil was big-eyed, imploring. “It won’t change anything between us. Just, I can’t be with you all the time. Don’t they say that’s best?”
“I don’t know who they are,” Dave said, “but Edwards is an interfering bastard.” He stood up, turned, and Edwards was watching
But he didn’t understand Cecil. Yes, television news enchanted him. Before he had met Dave, he wanted to be part of it. Dave went down two waxed pine steps, crossed Navajo rugs, went up pine steps. A glass hung in Cecil’s long fingers, but he hadn’t touched the drink in it. On the television screen was film from a handheld camera that bobbed, panning the stumbling progress of a young man in yellow coveralls, handcuffs, chains on his ankles, being led past a gray wall by uniformed officers. His hair was long and yellow and needed combing. He had a tangled yellow beard and blue eyes that glared savagely at the camera lens. Dave sat down in the chair beside Cecil, took the drink from his hand, sipped at it, and bent forward to hear the voice of the talking head that had replaced the jittery film. The sound was low…“was released by Tucson authorities late this afternoon, when his real identity was established…” Dave switched off the set.
Cecil looked at him, as if only now realizing he was there. He said, “They thought they had Azrael for sure. Looks just like him. Wrong man.” He shivered. “Those eyes, though. This one’s got to be crazy too.”
“There are different kinds of crazy,” Dave said. “Happily most of them don’t murder girls and bury them in the backyard.”
“This one’s never even heard of Azrael.” Cecil shook his head in wonder and disgust. “He never sees the news, never reads. He watches the clouds and the birds, the little streams rippling over the pretty rocks, right? He listens to the wind in the trees, and watches the sunrise.”
“They’ll get him for that eventually,” Dave said. He handed Cecil back his glass. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t go with you tomorrow.” Cecil didn’t look at him. He talked to the blank television screen. “I’ve got an appointment. For a job.” He took a quick gulp of whiskey.
Dave blinked and felt bleak. “When did all this happen? You were going to work with me, you were never going to leave me by myself again. Isn’t that what you said? This is pretty sudden, isn’t it? What do you need with a job?”
“You don’t want a kept boy,” Cecil said.
“Will you look at me, please? What the hell are you talking about? You’ll earn your keep.”
Cecil shook his head impatiently. “You don’t need my help. You don’t need anybody’s help. Got along fine on your own all this time. Kept boy, that’s what I’d be.” He jerked his head to indicate the laughing people at the other end of the room. He pitched his voice up, pursed his mouth, fluttered his lashes. “‘What do you do, young Cecil? Do you act, do you interior decorate, do you style women’s hair?’” He changed voices. “‘No, ma’am—ah jus’ sleeps with Mistuh Brandstettuh.’”
“Edwards put this idea into your head,” Dave said.
“He just figured I’d be wanting a job, and he’s fixing it for me. A good job. Field reporter. On camera.”
“You didn’t want that anymore,” Dave said.
“It will keep me honest.” Cecil was big-eyed, imploring. “It won’t change anything between us. Just, I can’t be with you all the time. Don’t they say that’s best?”
“I don’t know who they are,” Dave said, “but Edwards is an interfering bastard.” He stood up, turned, and Edwards was watching
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