Even as they got off the plane at O'Hare, Scully and Mulder were arguing about where to go first. She wanted to go to the police station to interview Detective Clark Morgan, the man who had investigated the death of Joseph Thielen. Mulder wanted to talk to him as well, but first, he wanted to talk to the people at the hospital where Thielen had been pronounced dead. The case was an odd one. A man killed by a shot gun owned by a dead man and then having it ruled as a suicide, mainly at the insistence of the detective in charge. The family had not argued the ruling either. Very odd. It was an obvious murder and Mulder knew that there had to be a lot more there than met the eye and he wanted to find it. Scully was looking forward to a normal case for a change. This was nothing more than a pleasant trip to Chicago, an escape from the humidity of Washington, D.C. 95 degrees in Chicago was a Hell of a lot better than 95 degrees in the nations capital when the humidity was hovering at 89 percent.
They got a rental car, then drove away from the airport.
"So we decided on the police station, right?" she asked, looking up from her map.
"You decided on the police station. I'm driving, remember?" he glanced sideways, a smile playing around his lips as he waited for her reaction.
She knew he was playing a game with her and she shook her head. "Okay, let's head to the hospital then."
"I thought you wanted to interview Detective Morgan?" he asked, frowning.
"I do, but he's not going anywhere. Wherever you want to go first is fine with me."
"Oh. Well, we might as well talk to him first, see what he has to say."
"Whatever." Scully looked back down at the map, trying to hide her smile. It felt so good to win.
********************************
Clark Morgan was frowning as he entered his captain's office. They had told him at the desk when he came back from lunch that two FBI agents were there to see him. He didn't have the first clue as to what the Feds would want from him, but he would soon find out.
"I hope you had a good lunch," Captain Monroe said.
"Yes, sir, I did." He turned to the agents. "I was told that you want to talk to me?"
"That's right. I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Dana Scully. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the Joseph Thielen case."
"Why don't you take the agents to the interrogation room?" The captain suggested, anxious to get them out of his office.
"Sure."
They followed Clark there and they all sat down at the long table which dominated the room.
"I really don't understand why the FBI would be interested in this case. It was a suicide and was closed two weeks ago."
"We realize that, Detective Morgan," Scully began, "But, there are some unusual aspects to this case."
"For instance, the victim was killed with a gun that was registered to a man that's been dead for several years. The gun had no fingerprints on it at all, and yet you had no problem calling it a suicide." Mulder said.
"The family had been through a lot. Mr. Thielen was a suspected child molester. We interviewed a lot of suspects, but couldn't find anyone with the opportunity to have killed him. In my report, I stated that Mr. Thielen had apparently stolen the shotgun from the apartment of his nephew, who had been roommates with the gun's owner. It wasn't until Mr. Thielen's death that it was discovered that the gun was missing."
"Dennis Gant, Junior was the registered owner, correct?" Mulder asked.
"That's correct. He died years ago and his father flew up here from Atlanta to pack his belongings and ship them back to Atlanta. He never opened any of the boxes that he packed back then, so he had no idea the gun was missing."
"And your theory is that while Mr. Gant was packing away his sons belongings, Mr. Thielen entered the apartment and stole it?" Scully asked.
"That's right."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Mulder didn't look so satisfied.
"And no one saw this man leaving with the gun? No one saw him there?"
"Apparently not. If they did, then by now they've forgotten all about it."
After spending two hours talking with Clark Morgan, the agents left not knowing any more than they did before they arrived. They were however, armed with the official case report, which did include the full autopsy results. They were just about to get into their car when an uniformed officer approached them.
"Excuse me, but you guys are the FBI agents sent to look into the Joseph Thielen case, right?"
"That's right," Mulder responded. "And you are?"
"Officer Dwight Evans. I was working with Detective Morgan on the case. I'm the one who called the FBI Look, I have some information for you, but I don't want to give it to you here. Can we meet later?"
"Okay. When do you get off duty?" Scully asked.
"Six. I can meet you around seven. Do you know where the Navy Pier is?"
"We can find it."
"Great. Wait for me by the Ferris Wheel, I'll find you."
"We'll be there," Mulder replied. Then the officer casually walked away.
Mulder and Scully got into the car. "Well, I suggest that we put off the rest of the interviews until we read through the case report. I'm anxious to hear what Officer Evans has to say," Mulder said.
"I agree. Shall we go the hotel then? We can go over the report there and have some relative peace and quiet."
"Sounds good. You did make us reservations somewhere, right?" Skinner had taken them aside before they left and gave them a big lecture about watching their overhead on this trip. No expensive rental cars. No fancy hotel rooms. That didn't mean they had to stay in a dump, but it certainly put a damper on what Mulder wanted to do.
"I told you that already. I'm not risking your choices any more, Mulder. We have two rooms at the Lakeshore Inn. It's not a part of a chain, but it received nice reviews in the Triple A book."
********************************************
Mulder and Scully discovered that reading the official case report didn't tell them much more than what Clark Morgan verbally told them. Interviews were conducted, theories considered and abandoned until he finally reached the conclusion that Joseph Thielen had, indeed, killed himself. The autopsy could neither verify nor refute that conclusion. Joseph Thielen died from a gunshot wound to the head. The detective never addressed the issue regarding the fact that no fingerprints were found on the gun. The file itself was small, with the photos of the crime scene creating the only bulk in the folder. The agents left early to go to the Navy Pier, deciding to eat before meeting Officer Evans. They hoped he had something which would show them why this case was worth investigating.
At seven, they were waiting in the appointed spot. By five after seven, Officer Evans had joined them.
"Let's take a walk," he suggested. He had a large envelope with him, tucked carefully under one arm.
"Did Detective Morgan give you a copy of his report?" he asked as they headed down the pier.
"He gave us the file itself. Nothing remarkable in there. I can see where there might be a few holes, but nothing to suggest that Joseph Thielen was murdered," Scully replied.
"Yeah. But, that's because he removed a good portion of his notes before he asked the Captain to close the case. I have them here." Evans handed the envelope to Scully. "Please don't look at it now. I don't know what would happen if the Captain found out I called in the FBI"
"We can look it over later. Can you tell us how you obtained this information?" Mulder asked.
"Detective Morgan asked me to shred some paperwork for him. Pretty routine stuff. Then I noticed that included in the routine paperwork were his notes. Not just copies of his notes, but his actual notes. I've worked with Clark on a lot of cases, and he makes detailed notes for each case. I was with him during some of the interviews and I knew who he considered to be prime suspects in the death of Joseph Thielen. I also know that he never once believed that the man committed suicide. It was like, one day, Clark was so hot to find Thielen's murderer, and the next day he was releasing the man's body for burial. He finally convinced the Captain to close the case. Thielen's family, or I should say, his wife's family, has connections in the Chicago P.D. I didn't stand a chance on getting the case reopened. That's why I called the FBI. I think that once you read what's missing from the official file, then you'll agree that things just aren't right with this case."
"We'll certainly keep an open mind, Officer Evans. Thank you for bringing this to our attention," Mulder replied.
"I only want to see justice done, even if Joseph Thielen was a scumbag who preyed on children."
"That's supposedly the reason he killed himself, right? He mentioned in his suicide note that he was guilty as charged," Mulder noted.
"That's what the note said. I don't know if he really typed that note. Read Clark's notes, then let me know what you think. My number is in there as well. Just please don't mention my name to anyone."
"We won't," Scully assured him.
"Thanks. Well, enjoy the Pier." He turned away from them and walked back the way they had come.
"Well, this is getting more interesting," Mulder commented. "Doesn't make it a case for the X-files, but definitely interesting."
"It sure is. Shall we head back to the hotel to read what's in here?" Scully held up the envelope.
"Why not?"
It was after eight when they reached their hotel. Scully paused in the doorway of her room. "Aren't you coming in?"
Mulder shook his head. "I don't think so. I'd like to go out for a while, get a feel for the city." He wanted to find a gay bar and see if he could pick up someone for the night, but he thought she might faint dead away if he told her that.
"Okay. I'll read over these notes and fill you in on the details over breakfast."
"Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe you'll find that Officer Evans is just paranoid and we can fly home tomorrow."
"Maybe. I somehow doubt it though. Good night."
"Good night." He watched as she went on into her room, then he went to his room to freshen up. Minutes later, he was back in the rental car and headed for the heart of Chicago's gay community.
*************************************************
Mulder paused just inside the door of the bar. He had been to Chicago before, so he knew this place. Knew what to expect. He ignored the stares of the other patrons and made his way to the bar, perching upon an empty stool and surprising the bartender by ordering an iced tea. Drink in hand, he turned around to survey the room, looking for the special person who would make his evening complete.
The men in the room all seemed to be with someone already. It figured. He had waited too late to go out, and even then, he had trouble deciding on which bar to cruise. He had been successful at this one before though, and had hoped for success tonight. He felt a tinge of guilt at the thought of leaving Scully alone to read Detective Morgan's notes, but she had volunteered to read them and he had seen no reason to hang around her room while she did so. If she had any suspicions about where he was going, she kept them to herself. There were times though, when he was sure that she knew where he went, what he was looking for. She certainly knew that there were many mornings on the road when he did not wake up alone.
With a sigh, he turned back around, resigning himself to watching the gay porn video currently on the television screen. Then he felt a presence approach him and he looked to his right to see a young man headed his way from the direction of the men's room. He was tall, at least his own height. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. It was obvious he didn't get out in the sun often. He moved with a fluid grace as he approached the empty stool next to Mulder's. Dressed casually in slacks and a dark blue button down shirt, he looked delectable and Mulder immediately knew that he was the one for him tonight. The man picked up the beer glass in front of him and took a long drink. Mulder simply stared at him, waiting for the young man to talk to him. He knew he would eventually. Staring at the object of his desire always made said object uneasy and then talkative.
But, this guy apparently had nerves of steel. Mulder kept an eye on his watch, noting how many minutes were passing by without this guy turning to look at him. Perhaps he was waiting to meet his boyfriend and had no interest in a stranger? Mulder hoped not. He really wanted to peel that shirt off his body and taste his skin. Wanted to see if his chest was smooth or hairy. Was he cut or uncut? Married or single? He hoped he wasn't married, but if he was, well, he wouldn't be the first married man Mulder had slept with. Well, he mused, sipping on his beer, good things were worth waiting for, right? So, he would continue to wait for this guy to notice him.
****************************
John Carter had a death grip on his beer glass. He still didn't know why in the Hell he had decided to go to a gay bar. Well, he knew why, he just didn't know why he was still here. Ever since he had started therapy after his uncle's death, he had found himself reliving the things that Joe had done with him. Done to him. Made him do. He would leave each session feeling dirty and ashamed of the way his body had betrayed him back then. Then he would spend the entire ride home wondering if the reason he couldn't manage a decent relationship with a woman was because he was gay. Nina Pomerantz finally got tired of hearing him question his sexual orientation and told him to go to a gay bar and see if he found himself attracted to another man. After that, they would talk about it some more. She was sure that he would say he had not been attracted to anyone. Hell, until five minutes ago, she would have been right. He had come into the bar, scared shitless that the men would immediately start hitting on him. That didn't happen. A lot of them looked his way, but only one or two tried to talk to him, and he didn't find himself attracted to them at all. He was in the midst of mentally congratulating his therapist when he realized he needed to go to the bathroom. It took ten minutes for him to get enough courage to head into the men's room. He was half afraid he would be accosted in there or else find men there engaged in all sorts of sex acts. Neither of which happened.
He had headed back to his seat and that's when he stopped congratulating Nina on her insightfulness. There, sitting on the bar stool next to his own, was a most incredible man. He wasn't movie star handsome - not the kind of guy to take his breath away. But he was handsome nonetheless. Casually dressed, brown hair a few shades lighter than his own. Hazel eyes. He wore glasses and they made him look serious as he stared back. John found himself getting hard under the scrutiny of those eyes and as he took his seat he found that he was scared. Scared that this man would talk to him, ask him questions about himself. Show an interest in him as a person. He was afraid that the man would ask him to leave with him and John was afraid he would say yes to that invitation. He didn't know what to do. He supposed he could be the one to "break the ice" so to speak, and begin the conversation, but he didn't know what to say. Would he offend the guy if he asked him if he was hard for him, too? Even though this was a gay bar, the guy still might get offended, and John knew he didn't want to offend this guy. He wanted this guy to like him.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he never noticed the man was still staring at him. At least, not until the bartender pointed it out to him.
"Another beer? Michelob again?" He gestured with his eyes toward Mulder, drawing John's attention there.
"No, how about Heineken this time?"
The bartender nodded, and as he began to move away, Mulder interjected, "Heineken? Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!"
The bartender looked bored and walked away, and the man who'd ordered looked puzzled. Mulder was embarrassed. "Obviously you haven't seen it."
"Seen what?"
"Blue Velvet." At the continued confused look, Mulder said helplessly, "Movie. Mid- 80's. Dennis Hopper. It's a classic. Of its kind, I guess."
"Uh-huh. I'll take your word for that." He extended his hand to shake. "John Carter."
"Fox Mulder." Normally he played it smooth in these situations, but he felt like he was at a disadvantage here. The bartender arrived back, gave Mulder an arch look, and said, "You want me to pour it?"
"No, forget it," Mulder said. "He hasn't seen the movie."
"A man with taste then, for a change."
They were left alone again, and John said, "Should I ask?"
"He was feeding me another line from the movie. He said, 'do you want me to pour it?' and I was supposed to say, 'no, I want you to fuck it! yes, goddamn pour it!'. I think I give up. I was going for smooth, but I don't think it's working." This was not going at all to plan, not at all.
"You were smooth, until you started talking. Why don't we just try to be a little more straightforward? Fox is an unusual name, by the way."
"Mulder. Everyone calls me Mulder."
"I know how that is. Everyone calls me 'Carter'."
"I think that 'John' fits you."
"And 'Fox' suits you."
Mulder glanced at his watch, noting that it was now almost ten. "Well, you said you wanted straightforward: I don't have all night to waste. I want to have sex with you, John. Will you come back to my hotel with me?"
So, it was that easy to get laid, John thought. At least this guy wasn't into playing games. John had never thought about asking outright like that. He had been trying to think of some subtle way to let Mulder know he wanted to be with him, but couldn't go back to his place. Kerry was home and Clark was supposed to stay the night. He knew he would be mortified to wake up in the morning and bring Mulder upstairs to end up face to face with Clark and Kerry. For all he knew, Clark might just try to arrest Mulder or something. Ever since he and Kerry had gotten together, Clark acted more like a big brother toward him than as a boyfriend of his landlady. Not that John minded; it was nice in a way. But, he didn't want to get caught by either one bringing home an experiment in sexuality.
"Well?" Mulder prodded.
"Sorry. I was thinking about how easy it was for you to ask that. Yes, I would like to go back to your hotel with you."
Mulder smiled, then tossed some money on the bar to pay for their drinks. "Come on."
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