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“Jesus Christ.” I said, feeling like dots were being connected in ways I couldn’t have foreseen. “Nick is the prime suspect in the murder I’m investigating. We think he had a secret relationship with Sam’s roommate. I’m starting to think he murdered Sam’s roommate and tried to frame Sam’s best friend.”
Angel’s face cracked with shock. “Are you joking me? Really?”
“And get this,” I said, “he lives down the block from Stonewall.”
Now it was Angel’s turn to cover his mouth. “Holy shitballs,” he said behind a closed fist.
Peter looked between all three of us, confusion painted across his expressive face.
“The Stonewall threats…” Angel said. “They were against me?”
“I don’t know.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Nick has a history of homophobia. I think he may be lashing out at all of us.”
“Was he really here?” Sam asked, looking around the tent, no longer concerned with the sheep munching on a stack of hay. A few kids took our places as we moved back to the center of the tent, all of us keeping our eyes peeled.
“Could he be following us?” Angel asked.
“Following who? What in the dear good Lord’s name is going on? Should I be grabbing my mace?”
I briefly broke down the case for Peter, filling him in on what happened. Angel was able to fill in the gaps about Nick, noting he was in the closet and pushing drugs even back when they started dating. His parents were influential figures in the church where he came from, and he never shook off what he had been preached to about gay people.
“We dated for about six months,” Angel said, crossing his arms against his chest. “I didn’t really feel it, but I was going through some shit back then, and he, well, was hung. It made me stay with him even though I saw some pretty big red flags early on. He had really fallen for me, though. Even though we only hooked up at night and hung out for a few hours in secret, he still fell hard for me. On the fifth month he got a tattoo on his forearm, dedicated to me. Angel wings. He said I had been sent from heaven, that it had to be the only answer.” Angel shivered, as if feeling a cold draft. “My answer was to break up with him a few weeks later.”
“How’d he take the break-up?” I asked.
“Not great. He called me nonstop and confronted me on a few different occasions, begging for me to take him back. I gave him one condition: come out. I didn’t want to be anyone’s dirty secret.”
Sam shook his head. “He didn’t come out.”
“Nope.”
Peter huffed. “Good. He didn’t deserve you.” He leaned in and kissed Angel on the cheek, love and adoration mixed with concern in Peter’s gaze.
“So is there a chance that he never stopped feeling things for you?” I asked.
Angel didn’t get a chance to answer. Someone started to shout inside the petting zoo tent. We looked around, all of us confused and high-strung. The muscles in my body tensed, ready for anything.
“Oh, sir! Sir!” The shouting was coming from one of the petting zoo attendants. “Pennywise! Stop eating his pants! Pennywise, stop!” Her face looked equal parts amused and embarrassed. She ran over and grabbed a goat from behind Peter, the frustrated animal letting out a loud bleat.
Peter cocked his head and turned around.
Sam, Angel, and I only took a few seconds to register what happened. We all broke into laughter simultaneously. Peter’s bare ass was out in the wind, a clear hole having been chewed into the back of his pants. His pale cheeks looked like two little spotlights. He covered himself with his hands and turned back to us, his cheeks (the ones on his face) looking like they were on fire, but laughter also coming from him.
“Oh my dear baby Jesus in a Gucci handbasket! That bitch ate my pants!”
Peter’s exclamation only made us laugh harder. Sam doubled over, holding his stomach. Angel was laughing as he grabbed the spare shirt another giggling attendant brought over. Angel wrapped the bright orange shirt around Peter’s waist, letting Peter tie it off, all of us splitting in half at the surprise mooning.
“How did you not realize a goat was eating your ass?” Angel said between chuckles as we walked out of the tent.
“I thought it was you! I thought you were reclaiming me or something, after talking about your psycho ex with your hand in my back pocket. I didn’t realize a Stephen King–reading goat would chew through my jeans and expose my pale ass to the entire world. Dear Lordy.” Peter, laughing now, put his hands under the hand sanitizer pump. “Also, who names a goat in a petting zoo after a child-eating clown monster? This torture was bound to happen.”
