The Golden Boys
 by: Hankster

© 2013 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 9
Looking For Colin 

There were three hospitals in the area where Harris thought the injured might have been taken.  As he contemplated which one to go to first, he heard the wailing sound of a siren headed in his direction.  As it turned the corner where he was parked, he saw that it was an ambulance.  He decided to follow it to whichever hospital it was headed.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of Holy Cross Hospital, but Harris parked, and ran to the admissions desk.  There was a young man seated at the desk.  He was on the phone, sounding harried.  He looked frazzled.

Harris thought fast.  He waited for the man to complete his call.  “My son was in that club fire,” he wept, “and he’s missing.  Can I find out if he was brought here?”

The young man’s name tag read, “Cooper.”  Harris assumed it was his first name.  “Please Cooper,” he sobbed.  “I’m desperate.” 

“We have fourteen victims in the burn unit and one in the emergency room as we speak,” Cooper said.  He pointed into the waiting room in front of him.  It was full of anxious looking people. 

“Can you at least tell me if any of the entertainers were brought here?”

Before he could answer, a male attendant brought papers to the desk.  “Here’s the dope on the one they just brought in.”  He dropped the papers on the admissions desk and ran quickly back to the emergency room.

“Do you see all those people?” Cooper asked.  “They are waiting to identify victims.  Most of them were admitted unconscious, and without identification.  Take a seat out there, and I’ll give you all news as soon as I have any.”

Harris was not about to sit still.  Colin might be in a different hospital.   He could always return here if he had to.  He ran to his car and drove to Imperial Point Hospital.  Here too, the admissions room was full of nervous relatives, but there were far fewer, and the admitting clerk did not seem so frenzied.  Harris approached the desk. 

“Please ma’am,” he lied again.  “My son was in that club fire and he’s missing.  His name is Colin Drake?  Is there any chance he was admitted here?”

“At the moment we have seven victims being treated for burns, from first degree to life threatening.  I don’t have all their names yet.  Right now they are all John Does.”

Harris shook his head in resignation.  “Can you maybe tell me if any of the entertainers were brought here?” he  pleaded.

“Why yes, two of them were in female clothing and at first we thought they were women.  I’m afraid that one was DOA, and the other is being treated for his burns.  I have no idea what their names are, or the severity of the burns.”

DOA…..Dead On Arrival!!!  Harris’s legs buckled.  “Where did they take the DOA?” he asked.

“To the city morgue, I would venture to guess.”

Harris decided not to return to Holy Cross.  At least he knew there was a drag queen here being treated.  He still refused to go to the morgue.  He could not accept Colin’s death.

He found a vacant chair and collapsed in it.  Suddenly he felt alone and abandoned in the world.  He desperately needed someone to wait this out with him.  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, only to realize that he had rushed out without it.  Even if he could find a pay phone (almost impossible these days) he had no coins to make a call.

He returned to the nice lady at admissions, who was kind enough to let him use her phone.  “Don’t be long,” she urged.  “It’s a busy night.”

Harris phoned Darryl, his first Golden Boy friend.  Darryl picked up on the third ring, but he sounded groggy.  Little by little he came to life as Harris recited the events of the evening.  He begged him to come to Imperial Point, and to bring his cell phone, in case Colin should call.  “I’m afraid to be alone,” he said.

“You’re not alone,” Darryl mumbled.  “You’ll never be alone.”

Forty-five minutes later, Bob, Darryl, Rosie and John bounded into the admissions room.  They all embraced in a group hug. 

Darryl was the first to speak.  “Any further news?” he asked, as he handed Harris his cell phone.  Harris shook his head. 

“I spotted a coffee machine in the vestibule.  Anyone want coffee?”  Rosie asked.

“I could use a cup,” Harris said.  The others declined.  They found seats together in the far section of the waiting room, and began their vigil.

About six in the morning, the admissions clerk was being replaced by a kindly looking middle aged man.  Just as she was leaving, someone brought in a batch of papers.  She and her relief went through them.

After a few minutes, she said, “Listen up everybody.  All seven of the burn victims are expected to make a full recovery.  Three of them have been able to identify themselves, and have been admitted to regular hospital rooms.  The rest are still being treated.”  She read the names and room numbers, handed the papers back to her replacement, and said, “Good luck!” as she left the area.

Several people jumped up and headed for the elevators.  They obviously belonged to the first three admissions.  There was a TV set in the waiting area, which none of them had noticed before.  The new admissions clerk turned it on to a local news channel.  The news was dominated by the fire.  The Golden Boys learned nothing new that was helpful to them, except that all the fatalities had been identified, but names would not be posted until next-of-kin were notified.

Colin had listed Harris as his father and next of kin, in case of a tragedy such as this one.  Harris whipped out his cell phone.  There were no messages, a very good sign.  He allowed himself to breathe just a little and shared this promising news with his friends.

At about eight o’clock, Rosie suggested they go to the cafeteria to grab a light breakfast.  Harris declined, afraid he would miss the next announcement.

“I’ll bring you back something,” Rosie said, as they all left.  Harris was alone again, and he felt abandoned once more, even though he knew that he was being foolish.

Suddenly, his phone rang.  Involuntarily he jumped a mile high as he grabbed it out of his pocket.  His voice quivered as he said, “Hello.”

“Mr. Payne, Mr. Harris Payne?” a very official voice asked.

Once again, Harris collapsed in his chair.

“Yes,” he managed to mumble.

“This is Jim Reilly of the Broward Sheriff’s office.  I regret to inform you of the death of a member of your family.   He was killed in the fire at Sandy’s Hideaway.  Where would you like the remains to be sent?”

Without thinking, Harris said, “No, no, you must be mistaken.  I have no relatives.”

“I’m sorry if this is a mistake, Mr. Payne, but the deceased, one Kenneth Bartlett, listed you as next of kin.”

It took quite a while for that last statement to sink in.  “Are you still with me, Mr. Payne?  We need to know where to send the remains.”

Harris was feeling a mixture of grief and relief.  He finally collected himself, and said,   “Send him to Doud’s Funeral Home.  I’m not really a relative, just an old friend.  His parents live in Wisconsin.  I’ll inform them.”

When he could breathe again, Harris realized that at some point Ken had listed him as next of kin, and never changed it.  Now he felt a little guilty.  Maybe Ken did care for him a little after all, but he was dead, and there was nothing he could do to mend fences.

Just then Rosie came in with a bottle of orange juice and a ham and cheese breakfast sandwich.  Harris had very little appetite, but he drank a few mouthfuls, and put the remainder of the juice and the sandwich aside ‘for later.’

By nine o’clock, they were all together again, and Darryl was sitting next to Harris, holding his hand.  Someone brought some papers to the admissions desk.  Mr. Goldfarb, the pleasant middle age man, who had replaced the night clerk, read the papers.  He stood up, and announced.  “Two more victims have been identified and admitted to rooms.  They are both in 405.  They are Tim Foley and Colin Drake.”

Apparently Mr. Foley did not have anyone waiting for him, but The Golden Boys all jumped up and embraced each other.  They headed for the elevators and Mr. Goldfarb yelled after them.  “You’ll have to get visitor’s passes at reception and only two of you can visit at a time.”

“You go up,” Darryl said to Harris.  “We’ll come back this evening if you tell us that he’s up to having company.”

Harris nodded at his friends, and headed to the reception area.  Visiting hours would not begin until 11 AM, but Harris explained that his son was injured in the fire, and they allowed him to visit for a short while.  The security guard took his picture and issued a pass.  He ignored the fact, that father and son had different last names.  He had seen it all at his security desk.

When Harris entered the room, Colin and Tim were chatting amiably.  They both seemed to be in good spirits, and not too badly injured.  Colin’s head and hands were bandaged.  His beautiful face had no visible burns.

When Colin spotted Harris, he said, “Excuse me Tim.  This is my partner, Harris.”  Tim and Harris nodded at each other, and Harris sat down in a chair next to Colin’s bed.  He started to cry.

“You’d better stop that,” Colin said.  “I can’t wipe away your tears.  My hair was almost burned off, and both my hands got burned, when I tried to put out the fire on my head.”

“I thought you were dead,” Harris sobbed.  “There were so many casualties.”

“I’m alive, but unemployed, Sweetie,” Colin said.  “Can you stake me to a meal now and then?”

“Sure.  Why not?  I see that your mouth and your ass are still in working order,” Harris quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “You can pay me in kind.”

Just then a burly man entered the room.  He flashed his badge and politely asked Harris to leave and come back later.  “We are interviewing all the victims,” one of them explained.  “Maybe they can help us determine the cause of the fire.”

Harris kissed Colin on the lips.  He didn’t care what the detective thought.  “I’ll see you guys later,” he said to Colin and Tim as well.

The detective sat down on a chair between the two beds.  “Have you got any idea how this thing might have started?” he asked Colin.

“I know exactly how it started.  It was caused by a madman who was stalking me.”

To be continued...

Posted: 09/20/13