“I can see the appeal.”

“It’s a great way to prove yourself. Once you’re behind the wheel, it doesn’t matter if you’re big or small, male or female. All that matters is how good you are. You turn the ignition-and thirteen hundred feet later, you know who’s hot and who’s not.”

Mike watched as two more cars approached the starting line. One of them was apparently being driven by a friend of Tanya’s. “Come on, Hootie! Show ’em your struts!”

Hootie was the lanky boy in the Thunderbird. He glanced at the driver in the neighboring yellow Camaro, then punched it. And they were off-at something like 100 m.p.h.

“Kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Better here than on the streets. I have seen a few wrecks, though. Nothing too bad. Some of the slicks bet on the races. Then they start taking it way too seriously.”

Hootie, alas, did not win his race, which did not surprise Mike, being a former Camaro owner himself.

“That’s tough. Hootie’s gonna be bummed. I better go.”

“Just a sec.” Mike had been so absorbed in the racing he almost forgot that he was technically supposed to be investigating. He pulled the photo out of his pocket. “Ever see this guy before?”

She looked for only a moment. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. I think I raced him. Has an ‘89 Mustang, right? Modified engine. Big wheels.” She grinned. “I knocked his socks off.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Far as I know, he was just racing, like everyone else. We get some older guys, sometimes. Fogies trying to recapture their youth with big, souped-up race cars. You know the kind.”

Mike was suddenly glad he had left his Trans Am back in Tulsa. “Know anything else about him?”

“Well… I don’t know it for a fact. But some of my homeboys said they thought he was pushing.”

“As in drugs?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Pushing what?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Nothing too serious, I think.”

“X?”

“I don’t know. I’m not into that at all.” She turned back toward the strip. “I just love to race!”

Tanya scampered away. Mike talked to several of the other kids in attendance, but no one knew more about Manny Nowosky than she had. Mike did, however, learn a lot about drag racing.

“You’re dying to try it, aren’t you?” Swift said, coming up behind him.

“I don’t know about dying,” he mumbled.

“Put it on hold for a minute, Top Gun. There’s someone here you need to meet.”

Standing beside her, Mike saw, was a young black man, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was solidly built, with strong and well-shaped features.

“Roger Hartnell,” Swift explained.

Mike shook his hand. “So you knew Manny Nowosky?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you do?”

Swift answered for him. “He’s a head honcho in the Chicago office of ANGER.”

“Regional director, actually,” he corrected.

“That’s the gay activist group, right?”

“Gay and lesbian,” he corrected.

“Isn’t that like saying, ‘people and women’?”

Swift laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Hartnell. Major Morelli was an English major. He gets like this.”

Mike ignored her. “Mind if I have a few words with you?”

Hartnell shook his head. “Sure. I’ve been quizzed by so many police officers and reporters I could do it in my sleep.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“My close friend was killed. Murdered brutally. Because he was gay.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Tony Barovick?”

Hartnell nodded.

Mike pulled the man away from the roar of the crowd. Swift followed behind. “How well did you know Tony Barovick?”

Hartnell thought a moment. “Very well.”

“Meaning?”

“We were lovers.”

“How long had you been together?”

“About six months. From last November until… We had an apartment near campus.”

“Must’ve come as quite a shock.”

“You could say that.”

Hartnell remained remarkably stoic, but Mike supposed he had talked about his lover’s death so many times he could do it without flinching. Better switch to the investigation at hand. “And you knew Manny Nowosky?”

“I recognized his picture. I’ve seen him here. And I’ve seen him at Remote Control-that’s a bar where Tony worked and where I used to spend a lot of time. Tony and I used to speculate about what his deal was. Tony thought he was an undercover cop. I thought he was a pusher. Either way, we didn’t like having him around.”

“Well, I’m happy to inform you that’s not going to be a problem anymore.” Mike gazed at the photo. “I can guarantee he isn’t an undercover cop. The rest I’m not so sure about. Know anything else?”

“Sorry, no.”

Mike decided to run with a hunch. “Ever see him talking to Tony?”

“I think maybe Tony took his order once or twice. He used to help out sometimes on the floor.”

“Ever see Manny with anyone else?”

“No. Always alone.”

“So I don’t suppose you have any idea why someone might want to take him out.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

Mike pursed his lips. This guy was tight-lipped-more monosyllabic than most guilty people he interrogated. Was there a reason for that? Or had he just learned to be careful?

“And you work for this ANGER group?” Swift asked.

“It’s a volunteer position, but, yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“I just think it’s important that we all make a contribution. Do something to make the world a better place. After what happened to Tony-how can anyone deny the need for this group’s work? I absolutely believe this is the defining issue of our time. A hundred years from now, history will look back on people who disparage homosexuals the same way we look back on slave owners. As primitive, ignorant hatemongers. Bigots. I want to be remembered as one of the good guys.”

“But this isn’t just altruism,” Swift said, cutting to the heart of it, as usual. “You have a personal interest in this crusade.”

“Because I’m gay? True enough. Doesn’t make the cause any less important.”

“What exactly is it you ANGER folks do?” She had to shout to be heard over the zoom-zoom; another race was starting.

“Our main goal is the dissemination of information. Educate the public, that’s what we’re about. We may be too late to get the old boys who grew up on the farm and learned to hate everyone who’s different from themselves, but there’s a lot we can do with their children. The world is changing.”

“Is it?”

“Absolutely. You know how many schools started gay clubs after Matthew Shepard’s murder? Hundreds. Most of the kids in them aren’t even gay-they just want to show their support.”

“I’m all for education,” Mike said, “but ANGER has done a lot more than that. You guys are the ones who put the active in activism.”

“We’re not much for sitting on our hands, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’re not above resorting to violence, either.”

“What choice do we have?” Mike could see the phlegmatic exterior fading a touch. “We live in a violent world. Do you know how many hate crimes are committed against gay people in this country every year? More than a thousand. The Matthew Shepard case got all the publicity, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were a dozen other hate-based murders of gay people that year. People you never heard about.”

“It does seem to be on the upswing,” Mike admitted.

“There’s nothing new about hate. Do you know about Claudia Brenner? She was out hiking the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania with her girlfriend, back in 1988. They were minding their own business, having a great time. Too great for some people. Some backwoods hoods showed up with shotguns. They killed her girlfriend. Seriously wounded her.”

“She became a gay activist, didn’t she?” Swift said.

“Damn straight. Wouldn’t you? We got killers out there. Frat boys who think hate is cool. Preachers telling young people that God sends hurricanes because of gays. Or that it’s a mental disease that can be cured. That gays will be the downfall of civilization. Hell, one of the kids who killed Tony was a church choirboy! The other one was an Eagle Scout! It’s all around us, and always has been. There’s nothing more hateful than prejudice, whatever its brand. We have to take action-strong, decisive action!”