The Wednesday Boy

The Wednesday Boy © is 2003 by Keith Morrisette

"Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's Child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for a living, But a child that's born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay."

CHAPTER ONE The dream started the way it usually did. David Sciuoto saw himself at thirteen, sitting at the piano bench, practicing a classical piece that should have been beyond him and would have for most children his age. But David loved music and it loved him back, and when the eyes saw the symbols they relayed the information to his brain and the brain forced the concept into the mechanical movements of fingers to create sound for the ear.

Some parts of the piece were difficult, but only because his hands weren’t quite large enough for the rapid succession of movements over the keyboard. But that part of him that understood music took over, and he managed to keep a pace and flow that most his age would never have; that many older and physically more capable would never find. David wanted his fingers capable of producing the sounds as they were meant to be heard. He was good. Not good enough for the concert circuit, but good for a gifted amateur. He was happy with that. David felt the hand on his shoulder-Griff’s hand-gently rubbing him as he played. It made David feel uncomfortable at first, but he’d gotten used to it. That didn’t stop his mind from shuddering even if his body didn’t. The large hand on the back of his neck began to rub slowly and began to glide casually down, splayed fingers stretching and gently in contact with David’s ribs - barely touching - until the thumb slipped into the small gap between David’s pants and the small of his back. The hand lingered, thumb inserted, a casual and unconscious thing. David continued to play while Griff offered soft words of encouragement in his resonant, southern voice. Gradually the thumb began working up the material of David’s tucked-in white shirt until a touch of flesh showed, and the thumb softly nuzzled the boy’s back, toying. Then with an amazing nonchalance, the thumb somehow found its way under the elastic lining of David’s white jockeys. The other fingers slowly moved from the boy’s waist to spread over his buttock, and gradually begin to probe and fondle until they formed themselves and molded around his cheek, slowly kneading the soft flesh under the blue, wool-worsted of his uniform pants. David could hear the breath harder, more strained. Mr. Robinson’s--Griff’s--voice sounded raspier than normal. Griff usually had a slightly melodic, slow southern drawl. "You’re doing so well today, Davey. Really, you’re so much more advanced than most of my other students. I really think this is one of those days when you deserve a special treat - Danny Doucette's coming over and I’m going to team the two of you from now on, since you boys get along so well. It’ll really be wonderful, you’ll see. Especially for recital dates. The two of you can stay here the night before so we can get an early start in the morning without disturbing your parents." David stopped playing and sucked in his breath at the touch. He felt himself being drawn closer to the man almost three times his age, and his fingers left the keys when he looked up into the smiling face of Griff Robinson. Griff was

thirty-six. David was halfway to fourteen. Old enough to know he shouldn’t enjoy the feeling of someone -- another male -- touching him like that The second hand slowly crept up David’s white shirt, releasing a few buttons before drawing away the blue school tie with the school initials embroidered in gold. "It’s a good day for it, Davey. It’s a Friday, and Anna’s at her sister’s for the weekend. In a little while Danny comes over for his lesson. I know you like it when Danny’s here, Davey. The two of you always look so handsome together-but I think you and I should have some time together first, don’t you?" Griff’s hands trembled but his voice held steady as he undid the rest of David’s shirt, and then slid a hand under the fabric to caress his thin chest. A thumb and forefinger tweaked a nipple, and David sucked in his breath; then the hand was withdrawn and David felt it tugging at the buckle on his belt. He liked the feel of hands on him. He wished Danny were here now though. He’d rather have Danny next to him. The hands gripped him firmly while they tried to work his pants open and David started to shake. At the same time he started to harden, his body reacting to a stimulus his mind told him was suspect. He wanted to run away, but the touch, the warmth of the hands… He heard a scratching sound at the door and looked up as it swung open and Danny stepped into the room. Danny was David’s age, but smaller and thinner, with non-descript brownish hair and eyes such a pale blue they were almost gray. He looked younger; his oversized clothes and odd haircut just added to the little boy look. David was scared of doing things with Danny when they first started, but finding out they were the same age made him feel better. David liked what they did together. More than he liked what Griff was doing. David shook. Danny looked at Griff warily at first but his narrow face split into a wide grin when he saw David. David felt another set of hands on his right shoulder, shaking him. He hated it when Griff just grabbed. He lashed out, snarling. "David? Whoa! Baby, are you alright?" David Sciuoto slapped wildly at the hands as he woke up and his eyes began to dart around the darkened room. His skin felt damp, clammy. He saw Alan Curran’s small, thin face instead. The imprint of a wrinkled pillowcase marked the boy’s pale skin in the half-light created by the moon. Alan was scowling, rubbing the hand David just slapped. David was in shadows, and Alan couldn’t see the fear or anger in David’s face.

"Easy, Davey. You were drawn up tight in a ball again, and shakin’. What’s the matter? You havin’ another bad dream?" David’s eyes shot wildly around the room. He looked for a blond-oak upright piano and bench that weren’t there, and a plaid sofa that opened out into a bed. But it wasn’t a finished recreation room in the cellar of a fifties’ saltbox colonial in one of Haverhill’s post-war developments. It was his own bedroom, safe in the upscale Bradford district of Haverhill, Massachusetts. He could feel the strain in his muscles, and the sweat on his body suddenly felt cold. David uncurled himself with effort, trying to ease the tension in his back and arms, and stretch out his legs. He reached over and gently rubbed Alan’s hand. "I’m sorry, Toto. I didn’t mean to slap you." Alan Curran shook his head. "I don’t care about that. What’s with you lately? You’ve been jumpy as hell for the last month! This is the third time we’ve slept together since we went in for Boston Pride, and you’ve done the same thing. What’s goin’ on?" David shook his head. "It’s nothing, Alan." He reached out and pulled Alan’s small body closer to his own, his hands running briefly over his back. David felt the light tickle of the hair on Alan’s arms on his own chest, the fuzzy pelt rubbing against his legs. He forced a smile. "Jesus, no wonder I’m sweating. I’ve been curled up with a hair rug again all night." He leaned in and kissed Alan on the mouth. Alan squirmed in closer to David, but swatted him on the buttock and David jerked his head up in surprise. "I’ll smack that thing harder if you make another crack about the hair on my arms and legs. Just be satisfied that’s the only place it grows in heavy." "So far, anyway," David said with a smirk, and plucked a hair out of Alan’s upper thigh. Alan whacked his hand again. "I dunno, though. The day rolls around I have to use a hair brush on you before I can suck a nipple, I might have to go looking for a replacement." He ran a hand over the still boyishly smooth chest and tweaked the nipple just for fun. In response Alan leaned in to kiss David again, then his body ground in against David’s. He felt himself hardening against David’s lower belly, and David stiffening against his own leg. Their positions shifted slightly and Alan spread his legs, and he felt a solid expanse of flesh sliding under, and something wet and hard tapping the tender spot where the legs joined, just before they split to

form his buttocks. Alan wriggled against David even more to increase the pressure of contact. Their tongues searched deeper as their hands roamed. Alan squirmed around onto his back, trying to pull David on top of him but David broke their kiss and pushed Alan away, shaking his head. "Not now, okay?" Alan released his breath theatrically and relaxed his grip, and fell back in a limp heap with his arms stretched wide, pounding the mattress with clenched fists. He giggled a little. "I hate it when you do that. Everything else about you says ‘go for the gold!’, then you shut me down. ’Smatter, thinking of trading me in for a new model?" David ruffled the messy, shaggy hair, and tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, affecting a calmness he didn’t feel. "Nah. It was... it was just a weird dream, is all. And don’t give me that look like you’ve been deprived lately. Seems to me we had a good ride before we went to sleep." Alan pulled the blanket back up to his chin, feeling a chill. David kept the air conditioner in his room on a high setting, claiming he loved to curl up under the blankets with Alan. "That’s right, we did - with me on top again. I was hopin’ for a little ‘pro quo’ for all the ‘quid’ I been givin’ you lately." David nuzzled in close to Alan, forced a laugh. "You’ll get yours in the morning," he said lightly. "I’d better," he grumped. "The bedpost is startin’ to look good. Yeah, it’s been that long." They lay in the darkness, David listening for the changes in Alan’s breathing. They lay front to back, spooned, David’s smooth arm across Alan’s boney chest. Eventually the level of warmth began to peak, and Alan subtly began to edge away as he slipped back deeper into his sleep. He turned face down into the pillow, his left arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Eventually the heavy breaths became deeper, louder, and David listened as they became a low snore. David carefully edged himself away from Alan, listening carefully for the deeper sounds of sleep. Finally he sat up and swung his legs around, standing. He picked up a pair of green Joe Boxers with red airplanes and slipped them on, then slid his feet into a pair of cloth slippers with rubber soles and crept to the door. He eased out of the room, watching Alan for any signs of stirring then

closed the door and crept down the hallway, and quietly made his way down the open staircase in the darkness. David didn’t need the nightlights that were plugged in but left them on for Alan, who always slept too deep and spent the first half hour of every day in a fog, stumbling along. David crept down the winding stairs and into the marble foyer then moved with more confidence once he crossed the threshold of the living room and onto the plush carpeting. He slipped through the living room and came to the French doors into what his mother called the ‘music room’ and his father simply as ‘over there’. He tugged it open, holding his breath as he heard the sharp, metallic ‘chunk’ of the ball catch, half afraid it would echo up the staircase and rouse Alan. He paused, hands behind him pressed against the door, and saw it in the shadows. David walked softly up to the black-enameled baby grand, and ran his fingers over the smooth, cool closed top. He hadn’t touched the instrument in five years, avoided this room whenever he could. He stared at the lid for a long time, his body twitching nervously, then carefully pulled the bench out and slid his body behind the keyboard. David tapped the top lightly and stared down for a long time, motionless, as much a part of the still shadows as the piano itself. He finally worked the lid up on its hinge and tucked it slowly into the recess, splayed his fingers over the smooth keys careful not to press down, then poised them as if to play. His eyes closed. He tried to remember what it was like to have music, to be its channel. He tried to imagine what it was like when Russell came by twice a week and the two of them would play and goof together as much as practice, and music was something fun in David’s life. Russell was a music education student at U-Lowell, picking up spending money teaching tortured kids the basics of piano. But Russell was animated and fun, and found in the then eleven-year-old David a miracle-a kid that not only liked music, but wanted to learn it and was willing to practice. The two spent hours together working on things, Russell encouraging David. Their lessons frequently ran over time. Whenever David was with Russell, he felt more like he was with a friend than a teacher. And Russell just plain liked working with kids and treated David more like a little brother than a student. A few times Russell took David with him to music recitals at the university and introduced him around to faculty members and other students. The chairman of the Performance faculty even insisted that David play for him a few times. Dr. Rodderman listened intently, which scared David at first. But at the end the older man smiled, told him he was gifted and that Russell was doing well by

him. Then he waved over a younger man who’d sat a few rows back and introduced him as Griff Robinson. "Russell will be graduating early, at the end of the fall term," he said in his precise voice. "He’ll be doing graduate work in New York, so you’ll be needing a new teacher. Griff here is talented and isn’t far from you; I think it would be a good idea for you both to get together." David looked up at the tall, smiling man with brown hair and an easy smile. Griff spoke with a gentle southern accent and offered his hand and David saw his eyes were a deep brown behind the stylish gold-rimmed glasses. They spoke casually and David found himself drawn to the man’s easy manner and soft voice. Finally Griff wrote down his phone number and handed it to David to give to his parents if he were interested in studying with him. "I only live a few miles from you too. But I teach at home-it just works out better for me that way. Have your parents get in touch with me." Russell was excited when they got into his old Ford Escort. "He’s damn good, Davey. He only takes about a half-dozen kids at any time, and that’s only for his own satisfaction." David smiled up. "What is he, one of your teachers?" Russell shook his head. "Actually he’s an engineer at Raytheon or Sylvania, something like that - but he’s also got a master’s in music. Plus he’s big on setting up small concerts and things for different groups. I’ve heard him play, and he’s good enough for the concert circuit easy, but he says he’d rather just do what he likes and doesn’t want to have to travel." Russell sniggered. "Plus, Big Business pays a hell of a lot better and more steady than the music business. But he likes working with kids, and he only takes on a few that he considers promising." Russell reached over and pulled David’s cap down over his face. "He’s not like me - torturing punks like you to get club money for the weekends." Griff and David’s parents met and worked it out. Two lessons a week, Tuesday and Friday, with Griff at his house. Griff did a lot of his work out of his home. He was a consultant rather than a direct employee of several engineering and technical companies, so his time was flexible. The Sciuoto’s checked out his home and he brought them to his practice room in the basement, nicely finished as a recreation room and soundproofed to keep his neighbors from complaining. They met Griff’s Russian born wife, Anna. She was quiet and

nervous, but Griff was warm and friendly. Joanne Sciuoto was charmed. Albert Sciuoto liked the man, but still followed up the meeting with a few discreet inquiries about Griff and seemed satisfied. Russell graduated a month later, and the lessons with Griff began. For the first two months, it was all very ordinary. Griff didn’t like to play around as much as Russell, but he was still easy to get along with and David felt he was learning more. Griff would sit with David closely on the narrow bench as he practiced. David would be conscious of the arm that frequently came up around him and rested on his thigh but dismissed it. Griff was just trying to make them both comfortable on the bench. Besides, he liked the smell of Griff up close to him. He liked the feeling of his hand resting lightly on his leg, and Griff’s soft, smoky southern voice giving him instructions so close to David’s ear he could feel the warm breath. Without realizing it, David found he would snuggle in closer to Griff whenever he could, and Griff never seemed to mind. "I want you to do something for me," Griff said one day as they sat closely on the bench, and as usual his arm was around David. He squeezed the boy's leg. "I team teach most of my students, I think it helps them to learn. There’s a boy I’m working with - Danny Doucette. He’s not very good, though." David’s forehead wrinkled. "I thought you only took on serious students?" Griff nodded and smiled. "I do," he said in his low voice. "But-well, Danny’s a special case. He’s had it rough, and sometimes I like to help kids like him. Sort of my own Outreach program, I guess you could say. He isn’t much good, but you could help him. And he needs a friend too, and that’s where you’re even more help. He’s a Pawtucketville kid." David’s eyes opened wider. Pawtuckettville’s reputation was well known. It was one of the worst parts of the city, noted for its drug busts and violence. Whenever there was a killing in Haverhill, chances are it happened in Pawtucketville. David had never seen it or even met anyone from there, but he knew the reputation. Griff smiled his broad, easy smile so wide it made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and spoke in his gentle voice. "I don’t mean for you to hang out with him, although that wouldn’t hurt. In a lot of ways he’s like you. But he might learn more with a smart kid like you to help." He looked up at a small light

flashing. David knew it was hooked up to the doorbell, which couldn’t be heard in the soundproofed room. "He’s here now. Is it okay with you?" David shrugged and nodded. A few minutes later Danny stood in the doorway, eyeing David’s school uniform and seemed embarrassed by his own beat up clothes that sort-of fit him, just on the generous side of sizing. But David thought Danny looked cool, not poor. The baggy, oversized look was something he saw kids in but couldn’t get away with in his school. And his mother bought the preppy clothes for him, not the street look. Today he was in his school uniform - blue pants, white shirt, and the despised tie. Shirts tucked neatly, or you got crap from the nuns. David tended to avoid crap if he could. Especially from nuns. "Get acquainted, guys," Griff said, leaving them together. "We can catch up on Friday. Play with the computer, anything you see down here, okay? Just get to know each other. Stay as long as you like." The door closed and they eyed one another carefully. David thought Danny was cute, but didn’t use the word aloud. David was thirteen and knew you had to be careful about what words you used when you talked about other boys. Faggots thought boys were cute. You might get away with calling a girl cute, but not another boy, unless it was a baby. But David saw Danny and he felt something leap inside him. He wanted to be Danny’s friend. He thought he was maybe eleven, but Danny was indignant when he said it. "I’m thirteen, dude!" he leaned in to David and the scowl gave way to a smile and Danny giggled before he whispered, even though Griff was out of the room. "I even got hair around my nuts. Wanna see?" David did but knew better than to say it. "Damn, you’re so small." "Short an’ skinny maybe, but not small where it counts." He grinned and jumped up, rubbing his crotch. "Sometimes small things come with big packages!" They both thought it hysterical, and David thought it was all a joke until Danny dropped his pants to prove his statement. David turned red and looked away. "Ah, come on. All my friends check each other out to see how things are growin’. Don’t mean it’s queer or nothin’."

David blushed even more but looked. Eventually Danny coaxed David into showing his own sparse growth. He grinned. "Not bad, but I think I got you beat!" he crowed. "I’ve got lots more hair than you," David shot back. "Who’s talkin’ about hair?" Then they hauled their pants up and spent the rest of the hour playing games on the computer, switching the swiveled armchair for the piano bench and sitting in close together. David was very conscious of how excited he felt with Danny sitting in close to him. Danny was very much on his mind that night when he went to bed. A few weeks passed, and after the first hour Griff would leave them alone. He made it clear to David that it was alright not to practice, because he wanted him to be with Danny, saying he’d be a good influence on him. And the two boys did get along well. David was starting to look forward to seeing Danny more and more each week. Then one afternoon after Griff left Danny jumped up from the bench and flicked the lock on the door. "Man, I can’t stand it no more. I was with a guy who had some hot sex mags before I got here and I got to get off!" He kicked off his beat up running shoes and dropped his pants and shorts, flopping down on the couch. David was shocked but watched, fascinated, as Danny started. Danny grinned up at David and patted the seat next to him. "C’mon, dude. Join me!" David flushed, began looking around awkwardly. "Maybe I better leave," he said, embarrassed. "’S okay if you just wanna watch," Danny said and got down to business, which didn’t take long. David watched, fascinated by the intense look on Danny’s face and his rapid motion - all the more so since Danny didn’t seem to care that David looked or not. When Danny finished he cleaned himself off quickly and began talking about something, David was never sure just what. David nodded when it seemed like he was supposed to and made sounds while the other boy chattered. He kept an eye on the clock, and when the clock ticked the hour he jumped up and grabbed his coat. "My mom’s waiting," he said breathlessly and fled up the stairs, barely acknowledging Griff as he raced out the front door.

"Hey, ease up," his mother said with a laugh when he jumped into the car. "Honey you’re all red and flustered. Are you all right? There’s not something going around at school again, is there?" David didn’t respond to the question. "Mum, can we go right home?" Jennifer Sciuoto’s carefully plucked and lined eyebrows knitted together. "It’s Friday. Your father and I are going out tonight, so I figured you’d like me to pick up a pizza at Kings." David shook his head, staring straight ahead and holding his book bag on his lap, careful to cover his crotch. "Uh, I can make a tuna sandwich later. Really, can we go right home?" His mother shrugged. "Well, sure. But you usually love a King’s Pizza." A note of disdain crept into her voice. "With pepperoni, pineapple and anchovies." David refused to rise to the bait, so she nodded and aimed her Lexus away from what she considered a low-end neighborhood of cookie-cutter saltbox colonials and ranches where only the landscaping and the house numbers kept you from confusing one home from another. She’d barely put her car into park when David leapt out the door and raced up the stairs to his second floor bedroom. He slammed the door and shot the lock, fumbling with his belt buckle and finally just shoving his pants down awkwardly over his knees and fell back on his bed, reaching down and furiously brought himself to a rapid release, the image of Danny on Griff’s old plaid couch doing the same thing burned into his brain as he pounded. David thought about it all weekend. He’d seen boys naked before and liked to look, even though he knew better than to let on to anyone he liked to look. And the guys at school saw it as a mark of their manhood announcing that they could finally manage to ejaculate; a few even bragged about and displayed their pubic hairs in the boys room. But David had never seen anyone do what Danny had done in front him… although he’d imagined it a few times. The more he thought about it, the more it excited him. David was forced to lock himself into his room a lot more often than usual that weekend, although by Sunday he was too sore even though he still felt the need. Monday dragged by at school, and David counted the minutes to his piano lesson, and Danny. The first hour was the same as always, with Griff. Then

Danny settled in next to him in the second hour, and Griff left them together. David waited desperately, hinting around to Danny that he really wouldn’t mind an encore of the previous Friday. Danny was cool, practicing his songs and chattering idly, seeming not to pick up on David’s lead. "Just not in the mood," he said. "Besides, dude -- guys ain’t supposed to look!" he giggled. At the end of the second hour David left but not until his mother actually came into Griff’s house to get him. David was in a black hole of depression the rest of the week. Instead of anticipating the following Friday, David now dreaded it. He and Danny sat next to each other. As usually Danny sat as close to David as he could, something David had come to like. Then he just stared at David. "You’re still thinkin’ about it ain’t ya?" David sat back and blinked. "Huh?" Danny grinned, held a closed fist up and pumped the air. "About me last week. You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?" David turned red and angry. "You sayin I’m queer?" Danny just sat with his grin. Finally David edged away. "Don’t sit so close, okay?" Danny chuckled and put his hand on the inside of David’s thigh, and David hesitated a moment or two too long before he pushed it away. The chuckling increased. "C’mon, Davey. You’re like me; I know it. I can tell." David shot him a frightened look. What did Danny know about him? Or think he knew? Danny got up from the bench and walked over to the couch, stretching his legs open and patted the cushion next to him. "C’mon, Dave. I know you want to. You get hard every time we sit close together, I looked. It’s just you an’ me here. Who’s gonna know? We can do it together," he half pleaded. Then his eyes brightened. "Tell you what. I’ll even do it to ya, okay?"

"Do what?" David asked, confused. Then his mouth went dry and his eyes bugged. "You mean, jerk me off?" Danny laughed first, then bit his lower lip. But his eyes showed no fear. "Yeah, I’ll jack it… for starters. But tell ya what -- if you jerk me a little after, I’ll suck it for you. I done it before, dude. You’ll like it. And you don’t have to do it back either, it’s okay. I like doin’ it." David stood, terrified, watching Danny playing with himself through his baggy pants, and his eyes glued on him. His throat was dry and he felt himself trembling. He eyed the door, satisfied it was locked. "Honest, dude," Danny said solemnly. "I’ll never tell anyone okay? I swear! It’ll be just ‘tween you an’ me. An’ like I said, you don’t have to do it back just jack me a little after, okay?" David’s breathing was heavy and his throat was suddenly dry. I mind raced. It’s a sin, he heard in his mind remembering Sister Elizabeth Redemptor explaining sin in Religion class at All Heavenly Souls School. Several sins, really. Thought, word and finally deed. Even thinkin’ ‘bout wantin’ it’s a sin. Talkin’ about it’s another sin… You’re gonna have to tell it to Father Morency in confession on Good Friday. And what if he tells Sister and she tells the class? I bet there’s an exception rule about this stuff in the seal of confession we don’t know about. There’s gotta be. They got all that stuff covered Then something clicked in his mind. Well, you already got two sins to confess, maybe even three… so what’s one more? And you can always go to another church before now an’ the next Good Friday for confession. Besides, it’s not like Danny’s gonna want you to do it back, so you ain’t the fag here. And all the guys talk about jackin’, so what’s the big deal with that? Then the clincher. And who’s gotta know you wanna do it? David slipped off his black school shoes and fumbled with his belt. Danny reached up and began hauling down his zipper, and tugged the blue pants down. Danny laughed when he saw David spring out at full attention. "Jesus, dude, you’re already leakin’," he chuckled, closing his fingers firmly. "I knew you’d be into this. I knew you was like me." David struggled out of his pants, leaving them turned inside out with his underwear still caught in the legs as Danny pulled him down beside him on the

couch after skinning off his own shirt and pants. Danny sat naked except for his socks and a leather string tied around his wrist like a bracelet. David was still in his white shirt and tie but Danny didn’t seem to care and went to work on David, slowly working his small hand up and down. Then David reached over and gripped Danny, returning the motion awkwardly but thrilled at the feel of the stiffness and the heat. For a few moments he forgot about Sister Redemptor and Father. Danny locked his eyes on David’s, and the two of them were lost, enjoying the sensations. Danny was more practiced, but David made up for what he lacked in ability by eagerness to learn and the two boys worked into a rhythm together. Then Danny pushed David back and dove down. David’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and enjoyed the sensations for almost thirty seconds before he realized it was almost too late and he jerked at Danny’s hair to pull him off before it was too late, but Danny fought the hands and stayed where he was, if anything increasing his efforts. Then it was too late. They lay back on the couch. David was drained, and with a half open eye watched Danny finish the work on himself. He noted again that Danny really was bigger than him especially for a little guy, but then figured it was okay for nature to make up for shortchanging the kid in other ways. When he’d finished and used a wad of Kleenex to wipe up, Danny collapsed next to David and put an arm around him. Danny giggled. "You taste great. Nice an’ salty the way a guy should. But I gotta go." Danny rose, pulled his clothes on quickly while David watched and left quickly. David fumbled with his own clothing, pondering what he’d just done and hoping Griff didn’t come down the stairs. He’d think about what happened all that weekend, even at church on Sunday as he sat next to his bored-looking father in a pew. His mother was going to a special Mass that afternoon, so she hadn’t accompanied them… something David was thankful for, since he skipped the Communion. His father did Communion at Easter, but whenever David skipped his mother always drilled him for reasons why. It would never occur to Albert Sciuoto to ask his son why he didn’t go to the altar.

I liked it, a scared David thought, running the details over in his head, and somehow the thirty seconds of liquid fire wrapped around him became hours of writhing with desire on the couch. And I want to do it to Danny. That means I’m a fag. God, what if someone finds out? As he thought about it, he realized that the thought of being a ‘fag’ didn’t bother him so much as the idea that someone might find out. The fear didn’t last long. After all, it wasn’t likely Danny was going to tell anyone what they did together. The following Monday came, and Griff said he had work to do and couldn’t sit in for the first hour, but that they should work together. David and Danny went through the motions, giving Griff enough time to get to the second floor home office in his house and they were off the bench. Danny was ripping of his shirt. "I been thinking of you all weekend, dude. I been dying to do it to you again." David had his pants off and was unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, this time is gonna be different alright, ‘cuz you aren’t doin’ anything to me." Danny looked up, crestfallen. "This time, I’m gonna do it to you!" David said eagerly. Danny shook his head. "You don’t have to, Davey - I told you. I like doing it. You don’t have to if you don’t want to." David smiled, scared of the words he was about to say and what they meant. "Well, I do want to. And I don’t know anyone I ever wanted to do it for more." A faraway gleam came into Danny’s eyes, and his lips curled at the edges. "I knew it. I knew you was like me." The he jumped up and kissed David on the mouth. David jumped back, but Danny laughed. "Oh, right. You’re willin' to stick your mouth down there, but you can’t kiss me?" David started to giggle once he thought about it and leaned in to take his first real kiss, from either girl or boy. When they broke it off, he stood and held the smaller boy in his arms, stroking his hair and murmuring soft words to him…

and then being boys with growing sex drives, they gave up on affection for physical pleasure. They stretched out together, naked. David was cradling Danny, who seemed to crave the affection almost as much as he’d wanted the sex. "I been wantin’ to kiss you like that since I saw you on that bench the first time," he said happily. "Tell you what," Danny said. "Friday, tell your mum you might be stayin’ a little later, that you’ll walk or get a lift home, okay? Griff won’t bother us down here. We can do this all over, and I can take my time with you, okay? Maybe do it twice. But you better hurry, ‘cuz it’s time your mum picks you up." "Shit," David grumbled, checking the clock. He leaned down and kissed Danny on the cheek again. "Can I call you during the week? I mean just to talk on the phone. Gimme your number." Danny shook his head nervously. "No way, dude. My family’s… well they don’t like me gettin’ calls, okay? Guys start callin’ I’ll get whacked." He shuddered. "Everything pisses my old man off. And shit, if he even had a hint of what I like doin’ with guys…" He shivered again. "I’ll see you on Friday. Just think of me at night," he said with a dirty little grin. "Just like I’m gonna be thinking of you, ‘kay?" Dressed, David nodded, opened the door, and ran up the steps, yelling a quick "See ya!" to Griff. As usual, Anna was nowhere in sight. David’s mother was waiting for him in the car. When he got home he sprinted up the staircase two at a time and shot the lock on the door the second it was closed. David counted every second, waiting for Friday to come, in a state of constant arousal but fighting himself from Wednesday on not to satisfy his urge. All he could think of was being with Danny again. Friday was the slowest day of school David could ever remember. He caught the bus to the stop nearest Griff’s house and walked the last half-mile quickly. He’d already made an excuse to his mother, saying he’d catch a ride or walk. Griff waited at the door. "Bad news, kid. I have that project I have to get finished, so there’s no lesson today." David’s face fell.

"But Danny’s already here, and you two can hang out in the rec room if you want - I’ll be in my office working." David felt the relief he wasn’t being sent home, and this was even better since it meant more time with Danny. He pounded down the stairs, and Danny was waiting, grinning. David grabbed him and their mouths glued together, and they began tugging at each other’s clothes. David got Danny’s pants down first and pushed him back on the couch. Danny demonstrated, and David learned something about foreplay. They continued past the regular two hours they were supposed to spend until they finally dressed, kissed one last time, and left. Three weeks passed, and each time they’d spend an hour with Griff, and the next was supposed to be them practicing together, but as soon as Griff left Danny would announce that it was time to change instruments. Danny’s face always had that same bad-boy grin when Griff left. "Screw piano, it’s time for the skin flute, dude!" Then came a particular Friday. David again said he’d be walking home and his mother agreed. She knew David hung out with another student on Friday’s named Danny, but David didn’t say anything about where Danny lived. His mother would freak if she heard David was hanging out with a Pawtucketville punk. But what she didn’t know meant David didn’t have anything to answer to, so his mother even suggested having Danny come over for dinner one Friday night, and maybe even sleeping over. Having Danny over for a whole night-even sharing his bed-sent a hot flash through David’s body. Danny was sitting on the front steps as David came up the path. "No lesson today," he announced. "Griff’s got work. But he says we can hang out again." They made their way to the cellar, and Danny eased the door shut before he came up to David for a kiss. They ground their hips together, David squatting slightly because of the difference in height so their groins rubbed. Danny broke the kiss, one hand fondling David while the other fished in his pocket. He pulled out a white squeeze tube. "We’re gonna do something special, buddy," he said with a leer, handing it to David. David looked at it, confused. "What’s this stuff?"

"It’s called KY jelly. It’s a lube." David still didn’t understand, so Danny spelled it out. David went wide-eyed with horror and shook his head. "I can’t do that! Won’t it hurt like hell?" Danny shrugged, still grinning. "I can take it, don’t worry. And you don’t have to let me do it to you if you don’t want. But I want you to do it to me." His face changed, and the grin changed to a pleading look. "Please David? I want you to feel good. You’re gonna like it, I know you will. And I’ve, uh, tried some stuff before a couple of times. I know I can handle it." He ground his body into David’s again. "Please David? For me?" David licked his lips, looking into Danny’s pleading eyes. "We should have condoms," he said uncertainly. Danny laughed. "You only gotta worry about that stuff if you done it before." It didn’t take David long, and Danny wrapped his arms and legs around David and began to clinch at him. The second time took a lot longer, and David got into it more and found how much better it was when he took his time, looking into Danny’s face. Their eyes locked together, and Danny smiled up at him. They managed a kiss right before the end of round two. David lay on top of Danny, exhausted. Then he took Danny the way he usually did, prolonging it as long as the other could manage. They dressed slowly after, and curled up on the sofa and flicked the television on. David cuddled up Danny in his arms. They both liked the cuddling after, and on Fridays they had plenty of time for it. There was a sharp knock at the door and Danny sprang up to unlock it. Griff was standing there, smiling, holding a disk. "Got something to show you guys," he said grinning. "This is a VCD I’ve been putting together. You guys are gonna love this." He popped the disk into the DVD player and the three watched. David caught his breath. "I’ve got you guys on three different angles doing it, including today’s little hump fest. I even chaptered this." He clicked the remote, and the next scene

was David down on Danny, and the way Danny’s body was jerking it was obvious he was climaxing. Then Griff hit the remote again, and it was David on top. Again a flick on the remote and both boys were taking care of the other. Danny was crying. David cringed. Griff smiled at them, his eyes shining slits, but his smooth, smokey voice filling the air. "I don’t know how David’s folks’ll act if they see this stuff, but I know about Danny’s," he said pleasantly. Danny cowered on the couch, tears streaming, his whole body shaking. "He’ll kill me... Jesus you know what a bastard he is, Griff! Please! I’ll do anything!" "I thought you’d say that," Griff said slowly, still smiling. "What about you, Davey? I might not show it to yours... but Danny here, his daddy doesn’t like him much to begin with. Imagine what he might do if he found out his boy wasn’t just a queer, but a queer who likes gettin’ his fudge packed? Danny says he’ll do anything. What about you? Danny worth it to you enough for you to want to protect him?" David looked at Danny whose eyes were streaming. David was scared of his parents seeing the video... but Danny was terrified. The smaller boy’s eyes begged David. "He’ll beat the shit out of me, man. He’s done it before. An’ -an’ he hates fags." David licked his lips nervously, taking in Danny’s terrified face and Griff’s smug smirk. Griff spoke in his soft, low-key drawl as he leaned against the wall. "What do you say, Davey? You boys be nice to me, and I’ll be nice to you. You guys get to keep havin’ a place to have some fun, and I get me a little boy lovin’ now and then. Plus pictures. I can’t get really good close-ups of you boys with the cameras I got hidden in here, but I sure as heck can with you guys cooperatin’." Danny was shaking, the tears still running down his face. "I’ll do it! Please Griff - don’t tell anyone!" He looked desperately at David, his eyes pleading. David was afraid of and disgusted with Griff. Part of him knew that video could cause Griff a lot of trouble... but another part knew it would cause Danny a lot of pain and suffering. He looked Griff over... the man was good looking enough, kept himself fit. And what he wanted from David was something that David enjoyed doing-at least with Danny. And maybe someone else as long as they were at least close to his own age... doing it with an adult scared the hell out of him. At thirteen, even a sixteen-year-old seemed impossibly old. Griff said he was thirty-six.

"What do you say, Davey? How much does Danny mean to you?" David narrowed his dark eyes on Griff, hating him with everything inside for the fear he brought to Danny. "As long as Danny’s okay with it, I’ll do what you want," he said tersely. Griff smiled again. "Yeah, I had you pegged for the hero type. But it’s okay. This is gonna work out just fine. You still get Danny, and I get what I like, too. Now, strip down again boys. I want to get some close shots of you two doin’ what you like to do. After that you can go, David." He pointed to Danny and licked his lips. "But you stay." It went on that way for four months. The music lessons became no more than fantasy sessions for Griff, where he began to ‘seduce’ David slowly at the piano bench. Then Danny would show up, and the three of them would strip. The first few weeks Griff ordered them to do things different ways to each other while he snapped either stills with an old Polaroid camera or recorded the action for later. David never knew, never asked what Griff did with them. At first it wasn’t too bad. David tried to get into it with Danny and ignore Griff. Danny wouldn’t talk about what happened when David left and Danny was told to stay, but David had a good idea. He didn’t push for details. When they were left alone together, they never had sex anymore. David would just hold the frightened Danny and tell him it would be okay. Then one afternoon Griff kicked it up a notch. David and Danny were into a long, agonizingly slow session on open convertible couch, demanding awkward positions while he recorded. Finally Griff put down the camera and stripped down. He slipped into the bed with them and told them what he wanted done. David held back, but Danny did what he was told and David knew without any lingering doubt what happened to Danny after he was sent home. David gave in to what was wanted, his body following directions with little enjoyment for what happened. As usual Griff never pushed David to do much. Danny always serviced Griff, and then Griff would please himself by switching his attentions to relieving the boys. If it weren’t for the fact that Danny was

with him and touching him, David knew he wouldn’t even have been able to maintain an erection. When it was over, Griff leaned back, smiling. David pulled to the farthest corner of the couch-bed, and Danny just lay where Griff had left him, limp. "I talked to your parents about a special treat for you boys. There’s a recital in Boston on Saturday-and your family’s have agreed to let you boys go…with me. Even better, they say you can stay the night. Isn’t that great?" Danny never reacted, and David just nodded. He knew he couldn’t get out of it. Friday. They had a long, involved session with Griff snapping away and David trying to force his attention only to Danny. It was a different kind of Friday afternoon. David was sure there would be more than "the usual" stuff. David focused on Danny’s face. When he looked down, David saw a scared, pinched face looking up - tiny Danny, eyes wide and his mouth open, staring dumbly up at David, telling David it was alright. "I’d rather it was you than Griff," Danny would whisper, looking up at David with trusting eyes. "Please go slow, David. He won’t touch me ‘till you’re finished." And Griff on the sides with his Polaroid, snapping photo after photo of the two boys, encouraging them, cooing in their ears about how beautiful they looked together. Griff pushed David off the smaller boy and picked up Danny and rearranged him on his hands and knees with David underneath. When Griff felt he’d taken enough pictures, both boys pretended not to notice him stripping down. When he was naked Griff came up behind Danny. David heard the small boy squeal in pain and go rigid. His eyes bugged for a moment, then clenched, and finally they opened again, a distant look came in them. They were dull, gray pebbles. "Keep that smile on his face, Davey," Griff said in his soothing tone. "It’ll be easier for him if you keep him busy. You want to make it good for him, right

David? He’s smaller than you are, weaker. You’re supposed to take care of him." It took Griff a long time that day. Danny stopped making sounds long before Griff finished, and his head hung down limp. Griff pulled out of Danny and told both boys how wonderful they were together and pulled on his pants, all smiles, and said he was going to get them some sodas and special treats. The door closed and Danny jerked himself up, tears dried on his face. He leaned forward and grabbed David. "You got to get out of here, okay? He wants you tonight like he just had me, he told me. Plus he’s got some friends coming over." David blinked. "I don’t get it. Old guys like him?" Danny jumped to his feet, and started gathering up David’s clothes, tossing them to him. David was happy to feel his cotton briefs back on him and started pulling on his socks. "Yeah, old guys like him, and older. They been here before, when I stayed here after you got sent home," the boy mumbled, trying to avoid looking at David’s face. "There’s gonna be two of ‘em. And they’ll have kids like us with them. Other boys. One’s about sixteen, an’ he’s cool. The other one’s in between but he’s an asshole. He’s only a year older’n us, but he’s way big down there, lots bigger than you or me. He likes it to hurt when he does it with other kids. Not like Griff hurts just ‘cuz he’s bigger, this guy just likes it to hurt someone else. Get dressed, Davey," Danny said breathlessly, eying the door. "Get dressed, get out, and don’t come back. Ever. If he calls you at home, tell him you’ll rat to your dad. Don’t believe nothin’ he tells you. And don’t let him use me anymore to scare you into coming back. Now get out." "Where the hell’s his wife, Anna?" David muttered, not for the first time and pulling on his pants. "Jesus, how can this shit go on every time we’re here when he’s married?" Danny tossed the last of David’s clothes to him and stood naked, staring at David, his face white with fear. "Anna’s just a cover... she’s from Russia an’ she only married him so’s she could become a citizen-they gotta be married for five years. Well, the five years is up, she got her paperwork and moved off." Danny looked impatient. "Please, David. Get out while you can."

David shoved a leg into his pants, then tried to force his feet into his shoes without unlacing them. He pulled on his tee shirt but not his white school shirt. He couldn’t see his tie but he didn’t spend any time looking for it. "What about you, Danny? Why don’t you come with me! I can get my dad to protect you. You don’t have to be scared." Danny shook his head but pulled on his shorts again and nothing else. "There’s reasons," Danny said sadly. "I can’t tell you why, but I got to stay." David was nervous, looking around. "What about the other guys he teaches? I know there’s four more besides us." Danny shook his head. "They’re legit, they only come here for lessons. He says their window dressin’. It used to be just me but -- but he had a feelin’ about you. He-he said he already had me figured out, and used me to test you-he watched us with his cameras. Then I went down on you and you wanted to go down on me, so he knew you was a queer too. Even if you didn’t wanna do stuff with him, he’s gonna make ya... and when you agreed to do it, well -- he’s got it all planned now, Davey. All of it." Danny looked furtively around, pulling a sheet around his waist while David rushed to finish dressing, He swallowed hard. "I’m sorry, Davey. He told me last week, an’ I -- I thought maybe he’d leave me alone. But he wants us both now. He told me the others are comin’ again tonight, and -- and I can’t let it happen to you. I don’t want you windin’ up like me." "What do you mean, like you?" Danny spat the words out. "A fuck toy for old pervs, Davey. Cuz that’s what I am now." David tried to grab the thin teen by his arm, pull him closer. Danny looked so small, so helpless. "What’s gonna happen to you, Danny? I mean, your father and everything. Will he tell him?" A flash of dark anger spread over Danny’s face and he slapped the hand away. His lip curled as he shouted at David. "Don’t fuckin’ touch me you cocksucker, okay?" He rasped savagely and sprung back, glaring. Then he relaxed, his breathing slowed and he hung his head.

"I’m sorry," he began, his voice quivering. "I’ve-I’ve known what he was gonna do tonight for a week now an’ I didn’t say nothin... You been set up Davey," he said, with tears running down his face again. "I helped set you up but I can’t go through with it! Now please! Just get the fuck out of here!" David stood horrified, staring at Danny. Then they looked up sharply. Griff’s footsteps were coming down the hall. He was heading for the cellar door. "Just go, David," Danny whimpered. "Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be alright, honest! But you gotta get out of here. Just don’t tell, okay? Don’t tell no one what goes on here! Ever! I’m dead meat if you tell! Run out the bulkhead door at the other end of the cellar, I know it’s open. Go!" David grabbed his school bag and charged through the door, running for the bulkhead that lead out of the unfinished part of the cellar. He twisted the metal dead bolt on the door as he heard the heavy footsteps noisily coming down the wood stairs of the cellar. He saw Danny at the door of the finished room, naked, his eyes wide, a look of fear on his face and David fought back the urge to go back and drag the boy out with him. Then Danny slammed the door shut and Griff quickened his pace down the steps. David ran. He shot out of the hole in the cellar foundation and out through the small yard, and ran as fast as he could. He heard a voice behind him, knew it was Griff’s, but he wouldn’t look back. When he couldn’t run any more, he stopped to catch his breath. His eyes darted to every car as it passed, making sure it wasn’t Griff’s. He saw a black Honda Prelude turn down the street that seemed like the right year and his heart fluttered, but there was a woman behind the wheel he’d never seen before and David breathed with relief. It was a slow walk back to his part of Haverhill. He debated going to his father’s office instead - the old downtown was actually closer - but David decided too many questions would be asked. The long walk gave him time to calm down, and think through his story. He walked into his house two hours later, and heard his mother in the living room, told her the recital was cancelled, and ran up the stairs to his room. He locked the door, something he’d begun doing more and more over the last few months, but for a different reason. He huddled on the floor a long time, shaking now that he was out of sight. He eyed the phone on his desk next to his computer, hesitated, then picked it up out of the cradle and punched in a number.

Griff’s voice. "I ain’t comin’ back," he said gruffly. "If you try anything, I’ll tell my dad what you did to me an’ Danny. If I ever hear ‘bout Danny gettin’ hurt, I’ll tell everybody what you do to your students. Don’t never call here, got that? I’m tellin’ my parents you don’t have time for music lessons no more. Now stay away." David slammed the phone down gasping for air… then started to cry. David sat at the piano bench in his mother’s dark music room, thinking of that late June afternoon now a little more than five years ago. Griff never did call the house, and David heard how he’d stopped giving lessons from another of the students he faintly knew. David refused to practice after that day or any other since, and question him as they might, David was stubborn and refused to talk about it with his parents. "Music’s just faggy," he told them. "I’m sick of kids laughin’ at me ‘cuz I play piano." They stopped asking after awhile. Albert Sciuoto watched his son closely thinking the boy was having troubles with a bully at school, but saw no signs of any physical assault and passed it off as just part of David growing up. His mother hated that David gave up music and watched him closer; but she’d begun to see signs of something else she suspected, and thought that being called ‘faggy’ was closer to the real problem for good reasons, but didn’t want to say anything. She reasoned David’s new attitude was from something she didn’t want to know about, so she wasn’t going to pry. David went about his life, trying to look and sound happy. He knew a lot of people and stayed friendly, but he never let anyone get close after that. He buried the whole question of his sexuality deep in the back of his head. He dated girls, looked at boys, but didn’t want to think about it and wouldn’t act out again until the summer before he turned eighteen. But sometimes if someone reached out and grabbed him unexpectedly to get his attention, a rage would run through David and he’d lash out at them although he’d recover quickly. He tucked the memories of his afternoons with Griff and Danny into a deep, dark cave in his mind, sealed the entrance behind a rock then ignored the existence of the rock.

But each night for two years, he combed through the paper, looking for the name of a Danny Doucette, and talked to a kid he knew who’s mother was a duty nurse in emergency admissions at Haverhill’s Hale Hospital to be sure he hadn’t been admitted. David satisfied his classmate by telling him Danny had grown up abused, and that was enough. His friend’s mother never held back on the subject of abused children when she came home. Each time David rode with someone in a car and he happened to be on Griff’s street, he’d eye the white saltbox warily until six months later, when he saw the windows empty and a realtor’s sign in front. The problem moved away, and David relaxed. So he told himself to forget. And did forget. Until a few weeks ago. He, Alan and Chris took young Martin along into Boston for the day, for the Gay Pride parade. After the parade everyone gathered at the Esplanade along the Charles River for the fair and an afternoon of music and speeches. It was a good day, especially for Martin. They knew the boy was lonely. The others wandered off, and David went to get something to drink, telling them where to meet and headed for the food vendors. That’s when the rock disintegrated and the cave opened, and the wraiths of the past flooded out. Danny. Danny still looking impossibly small and childish, his hair died blond and dressed in oversized clothes that made him look even younger. He was no taller than Alan, and a lot of people thought Alan was only fifteen because of his size even though he was close to his eighteenth birthday. Danny wasn’t alone, either. He was with an older and heavier Griff, who held onto Danny’s hand like he was a little boy. David forgot about being thirsty, and fled. He was silent for most of the day, but everyone was distracted by Martin’s jumping around like the kid he was and just figured David was getting tired, even Alan. David shifted on the piano bench, gently fingered the keyboard, and listened to the small note linger in the air for a moment before he closed the lid on the piano again, then leaned his face down on his arms and wanted to cry. He

wanted to cry in deep, jarring gasps. He wanted to cry for himself, for Danny, and even the lost music he loved. "I always thought you got away when he moved," David murmured, dry eyed but trembling because the tears wouldn’t come. "Jesus... why didn’t you come to me? Why did you let him keep using you? And why didn’t I get you out of there?" When the tears still wouldn’t come after the long wait, David stood and slipped silently from the room, again flinching at what he thought must sound like a thunderclap as the catch on the French door slid back into place. He walked stealthily into the kitchen, splashed some water on his face, and took a drink. He returned to his bedroom after that, looking down at what he could see of Alan’s head peeking out from under the covers. He hesitated, not certain if he should slide in or prop himself in the chair. David fought away the shudder and slipped between the covers. Alan immediately turned into him, rolled over, and nuzzled his head against David’s chest. He made an odd smacking sound with his mouth -- nothing new, David thought with a smile -- and David put a protective arm around Alan, drawing him closer. Better’n the damn snoring. But Alan’s so small... like a little kid. Jesus, is that why I’m drawn to him? He fought the idea back, hoped sleep might come soon but saw the first glimmering of dawn reflecting off the windows before finally dropping off. David dreamt of being with Alan. But in the dream, Alan suddenly became a little boy, maybe eight or nine, and David saw himself as an older man. And Alan kept looking up at him, afraid.

CHAPTER TWO Martin minimized his screen and looked up sharply at the door. "Whaddya want?" "Just tuck it back in your pants ‘cuz I’m gonna open up the door now," came back the voice of his sister. Martin scowled and got up to open the door himself. There was principle involved here. Principle and privacy -- no one should open up his door but him. Plus Martin had an opinion about older sisters which was pretty much summed up in one word, even if it wasn’t a word he’d be likely share with his own sister any time soon. At least out loud. The boy stepped carefully around the edge of his computer desk and leaned over to get the door, grunting. Sandra slouched in the narrow doorway, arms across her chest. Her eyebrows knitted as she tossed back her long, light brown hair. "You changed stuff around," she observed. Martin scowled but held back the sneer. "Yeah, well, if certain people weren’t listenin’ through the walls, I wouldn’t have to," he said grumpily. "So, now the bed’s against the outside wall." "Yeah, and if certain other people gave it a rest now an’ then, I wouldn’t have to pound on the wall to make you quiet down. Some people have to get some sleep, because they work. And listening to you play with your favorite toy doesn’t make for an easy night." Martin blushed and looked away, missing Sandra’s stifled giggle. She didn’t really mean to torture her younger brother... much. But an opportunity was an opportunity. Besides, she’d reasoned part of the purpose of being the older child was to make life at least a medium hell for the younger. She was positive it was part of her job description.

"Okay, look. Ma called an’ she’s gonna be workin’ a few hours late tonight, but they asked me to do an extra half-shift at the market and I could use the extra hours. Are you gonna be able to get your own dinner?" Martin nodded, frowning. "Great. Dinner with Pops." Sandra snorted. "Are you kidding? The Red Sox are on tonight. He’ll be down at the Buffalo, knockin’ back beers all night tellin’ everyone how he played a half-season of minor league down in Rhode Island. Or tryin’ to, anyway -- I don’t think anyone listens to that one anymore. If you want, walk it down to the King for a couple of burgers -- but remember. No fries, no cheese, and no thick shake. And definitely not a Whopper. They’re nothin’ but empty calories and enough grease to lube dad’s Ranger. And don’t even think of that other dump. That secret sauce of theirs is something NASA tried to burry." Martin scowled again and Sandra’s voice softened. "Listen, Mart. If you want the zits to clear, you’ve gotta stop eating all the crap. The same with that gut of yours. Keep your face out of the Doritos tonight, okay? You’re lookin’ pretty good since you hit that growth spurt -- that couple of inches on your height stretched you out, so don’t munch your way back to a spare tire; you really don’t have to be like dad if you work at it." She ran her fingers through her brother’s hair. "And Kendra showed me some stuff she learned. I can cut this mop of yours so it’ll help that round face of yours and give it some shape. We could even lay in some color." Martin eyed her suspiciously. "You mean like you did to yours last fall? No thanks. Half the kids call me ‘Torch’ now. I don’t need a platinum blond dye job just to prove it to the rest." Sandra laughed, remembering the experience... and the ridicule of a dye job gone bad. "I’m not talkin’ anything that drastic... just some streaks, like you’d get from the sun. If you ever went out. I mean, it doesn’t hurt if you can dress up the package a little, Martin." He gave her a mournful look. "I can’t help what I act like, Sand. It’s just the way I talk, that’s all. And my walk, well... I really try, but -- " She sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed with her brother, massaging the back of his neck. "I’m not talkin’ about all that stuff, Mart. Okay, you sort of, well..." She looked for the words. "Flame."

"Well, yeah. You do. But I know there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it, and that’s got to be tough... I know what the kids are like." And I’ve been just as rotten to kids that are different. "But if you take some control of yourself, you can make the best of the plusses you got. You have a nice face. Not a movie star face, but a nice one. On top of that, you’re damn smart, and you’re not gonna be white trailer trash all your life. All I’m sayin’ is take some pride in yourself and work on it. There’s other kids like you at school, sooner or later you’re bound to meet one -- and he might have an extra push to open the closet a little if what he’s lookin’ at fixes himself up a little. You’re still going to that, uh, kid thing, right? The one the Unitarians run?" Martin nodded, quietly filling in the blank. The ‘kid thing’ was the ‘gay kid thing’, but there was an unspoken understanding about pinning it down. "They kinda break up over the summer, but they’ll start again in the fall. I still got some contacts." "Then that’s good. Make some friends first, then maybe you’ll find, uh - " She fished for words. Martin looked up at her with his gray eyes. "Boyfriend, Sandy. Just like you an’ your girlfriends call ‘em." She flinched. "Gimme some time, okay? It’s an adjustment. It doesn’t gross me out to think of it but, well - " He nodded sadly. "I know. It’s weird... like me." "You are not weird! Just, well..." "Different." She sighed. This never went well. "Yeah, okay, it’s different -- for me to think in those terms, okay? It’s just different thinking of a boy having a boyfriend. I admit it, but I’m trying. And it’s not because I got a problem with you being, uh--" "Queer." "Gay. But you’d help things a lot if you stop kickin’ yourself in the ass sometimes -- like now, when I’m trying to help you out."

Martin brooded but gave her a sweet smile. She ruffled his hair again as she stood. "Okay, I got to get to work." She eyed the computer monitor. "If you’re doing what I think you are, just be careful in those chat rooms. You know about all the freaks in there." Martin rolled his eyes. "Sandy, gimme a break okay? I’ve heard all about that girl last year, the one the cop from Keene tracked to demonstrate. All she ever told him was what town she was from and how old, and one day he showed up at her school an’ had her paged to the office." Sandy whacked him on the side. "That’s right -- and that’s all she ever thought she told him. But around here, what town your from also says what school. The age says what year. Then she dropped her hair and eye color. And height. Then she mentioned her last class of the day was English, and the name of a club she belonged to. All in about two months - and little by little, the cop knew exactly where to find her until he showed up at her school one day and had her called to the front office and introduced himself… as a girl she’d been chatting with. She thought she was being smart... but with just a little carelessness, the guy learned everything he had to know to track her down." "Well, don’t worry. I ain’t stupid." Sandy’s lips twitched. No, but you are lonely... and sometimes, kinda desperate. There was the blast of a horn out front and she peeked out the window. "That’s my ride. You just use that head of yours... the one on top with the brain. And if you decide to go out, don’t use that tube stuff on your face -- all that crap does is cover ’em, and that just cuts the air off so the pimples get worse. Use those cleaning pads I gave you to dry ’em out." She eyed the tell-tale white specs on his mirror. "And don’t pop the damn things - you’ll get scars. And it’s gross." She raced down the hall and stopped again to yell back. "And Martin? Take whatever it is you got stuffed down the front of your pants and put it in the laundry. No one is gonna buy it." "Oh, mannn!" Martin turned a bright red, reached down inside his waist band and pulled a pair of white gym socks out of the front of his briefs. Knew a pair was too much. Woulda been okay if I settled for one. He sniffed them a second, decided they were still good enough for his feet and tossed them back into the top drawer of the small dresser. He flopped back on the un-made futon. He’d gotten his mother to buy it a year ago to replace his bed. It wasn’t all that comfortable to sleep on, but it gave him something to sit

on when he watched his own 19" TV set. More and more over the past two years, Martin’s nine-and-a-half-by-ten room had become his own private world. He had a place to sit and sleep; he had a small television to watch; and he had his computer. The computer took care of his music needs, played the digital movies he downloaded (including a private collection of select male porn), and gave him communications to the rest of a very private world he’d created for himself. He was lonely... he already knew a lot of guys could "pass" in the straight world and keep the crap in their lives to a minimum, but Martin wasn’t one of them. He walked wrong, talked wrong, even moved his hands wrong when he did things. Martin heard the word "fag" early in life, long before he knew what it meant; and when he found out what it meant, mulled it over long enough to figure out it was true. Early at school it hadn’t made much difference, no one paid much attention. But the older he got it did begin to matter. Some friends chose to drop him. A few parents told others they didn’t want them hanging around with "that kid", and snide comments from teachers weren’t unknown. All of that, combined with an almost complete lack of interest (and ability) in what were called "boy" things, and Martin found himself alone more than ever. He fell in with the ‘geeks’ in his schools for awhile, but then a lot of the geeks didn’t much want him either. Even a geek liked having someone to look down on, to compensate for and vent their own daily misery. And in the pecking order of most schools, a straight geek was still better than a flaming geek any day. Martin got up from the futon and clicked the chat window on his screen, even though he hadn’t seen the rapid blinking on the button that indicated a message. Sometimes, Windows skipped a few small details. He sighed, seeing no reply. He wandered down the short hall, past his sister’s equally small room, and came to the ‘living area’ of the family’s mobile home. Or Modular Home, as some of the newer one’s were called. No matter what the name, kids at school had another name for the people who lived in the scattered trailer parks around Salem, New Hampshire-one that almost out-did the fag label. Somehow, Trailer Trash had a nastier ring. He edged between the small coffee table and the low-end 36" television with its shadowy, greenish picture and shook his head. Martin’s father was determined to get the best buy he could when he’d picked it up... meaning the cheapest. It meant a lot to Bertram Seduko to watch his ball games on the biggest set he

could find, not that he paid much attention. Mostly the man would doze off shortly after he finished his six pack. The only time his father moved after that was at eleven o’clock when his mother would try to change the channel. Then he’d jerk up in his ugly plaid recliner and gripe about how he was watching the game, and she’d give up in disgust and walk down the length of the trailer to the master bedroom - a full 12 x 12 area that anchored their home. Martin opened the refrigerator, eyed the box of Devil Dogs wistfully, and settled for an orange. After that he moved the coffee table and sat down in the middle of the room. Not for the first time he pondered that sometimes living in a twelve-by-sixty world had its disadvantages. He started doing his sit-ups; Martin was proud that he was up to fifty, and wanted to get to a hundred. It was tough, though. He could only do sit-ups when no one else was around. Martin didn’t want his gut, but wanted his father’s ridicule even less. He’d started doing an exercise regime on a steady basis once school let out that spring. Down deep, Martin agreed with his sisterhe stood a better chance of meeting someone if the packaging was a little better. Martin had no illusions about the legendary six-pack abs developing by the time school started in the fall; but twisting around in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door the night before lead him to at least think his ass was starting to get a little firmer looking. And he knew enough about what attracted gay men to each other from all the stories he read on the net that a bubble but was rated higher than a six-pack ab. The only thing more important was something that had also started to lengthen when Martin hit his growth spurt in the spring. His ruler confirmed what he thought he saw when he found it better to use a full hand rather than just the two and three fingers he’d been using when taking care of his other business every night. It was encouraging. Martin was content in the knowledge he might not only hit average height before long, but he’d stop being a shrimp in other areas, too. He creaked his way into an extra five sit ups then lay back on the floor, but before rolling over and starting his push-ups, he cranked up the air conditioner. The afternoon sun had worked its way around the small poplar tree that grew next to his family’s mobile unit and the metal was beginning to heat up the interior of the place. There were two cooling units in the trailer, but his parents always locked their bedroom door. But Martin counted his blessing there was at least one. His mother had finally salted away enough money to buy the second large unit at Sears the summer before, and it made a big difference. Now after his private session at lights out, Martin opened the door to his room and set up his fan in the doorway to suck in the cooler air. But other times when people were up he stuck it out in his hotbox-cell with his one small window that only

opened half way because it jammed, and his fan set on high to move the sultry summer night air over his body. Martin increased his fifty push ups by an extra ten, then collapsed on the living room floor for a few minutes, breathing heavy but not gasping for breath like when he’d started with just ten. He glanced around, comfortable in the knowledge he’d be alone for hours, and considered stripping down right there to take care of business, but reminded himself to ‘save it up’. You got yourself a date, boy-a date and a promise. He grinned. Martin was looking forward to a very hot cyber session that afternoon. He took pride in his ability to type one handed while the other was occupied elsewhere, and he’d developed a singularly perverse set of ideas about sex, thanks to his research reading on the web. Martin knew full well he was considered a room stud in the chat. He’d snuck in enough times under an assumed name to see himself discussed openly -- including by Ryan, his ex. Ryan claimed Martin gave the best net-head on the web. Yeah, but it ain’t gonna be like you’ll ever get it again, Martin thought. He scowled at the memory of Ryan. He’d actually known him real-time thanks to the Unitarian youth group at the Christian Formation Center in Andover, just across the state border. Ryan was almost the same age, and they’d been ‘set up’ by a group moderator and everything had been so cool... until the night when the two older boys who drove Martin said they’d take Ryan along with them out for something to eat after, and the boys could either have a real date -- or just some quiet time alone in the car together. They even offered to park on the dark side of the lot. The fear flashed in Ryan’s dark eyes. "Dude, we can’t. I mean, here it’s okay to get together, and on the net... But if anyone from school saw me with a guy like you, they’d figure me out! I mean, I’d be toast if anyone saw us together!" That had been tough. But not as tough as the next part, when Ryan grabbed his arm and whispered in Martin’s ear. "But sometime we can get together after school, y’know? I can maybe get a ride down here one day, or take a bus. We can do some stuff together, alone. You know, like we talk about in the chat." Stuff. Martin was pretty sure what Ryan meant my ‘stuff’. Martin was good enough for stuff... just not good enough to be seen with.

Martin had leveled his eyes on Ryan for the last time that night. "Ryan? Go fuck yourself, okay? You wanna do ‘stuff’, get a date with your hand." Martin stood up, rubbed his arms. He marched back to his room, but the chat window was still empty. He decided on a quick shower, shucked his clothes off because it was easier in his room than the narrow cubby hole that enclosed a toilet, sink, and shower. He wondered briefly how his father managed in there, shuddered at the thought of the man naked and squashed into the booth, and indulged in a long, leisurely shower followed by a confident naked strut back to his bedroom. He twitched his naked butt to some music, secure with the certain knowledge that no one else could see him. Martin was happy. He had himself a solid Promise for the afternoon, so he didn’t bother putting on anything more than a pair of boxers. It may have only been cyber, but cyber was better than solo when he’d thought iy over for awhile. Not as good as having some actual company maybe, but at least you knew someone else was getting a charge. A virtual hand in the bush was still better than just your own. His buddy BlonBoi should be on soon. They met about the same time each day now, just to talk. And lately Blon had been hinting around... like maybe he was thinking of asking Martin to be his boyfriend. Martin had hopes. He’d rather have someone he could see and touch... but the logistics didn’t work. Maybe, once he got a driver license-when they both got one-they could meet. Until then - the chat had to do. He knew Blon lived in northern Massachusetts, but that was all - just like all Blon knew about Martin was his age and that he lived in southern New Hampshire. They didn’t even give their real names. He didn’t let on to Sandy, but Martin was well aware of the number of pedos who cruised the net, pretending to be in their teens, getting a vicarious thrill talking sex with young boys. One kid - Glenny - told everyone about the ‘kid’ he’d talked to for two years. They arranged to meet and... Glenn’s boyfriend turned out to be a forty seven year old, over-weight, bald guy who told Glenn tearfully that he loved him so much he had to risk it all to see him just once. Glenny had the sense to meet his ‘boyfriend’ in a public place at mid-day - and when he heard his boyfriend’s story, jumped on his bike and raced fiercely into traffic, running red lights and cutting down side streets to get away. Glenn was lucky; he lived in a big city, and getting away was easy. Martin was taking no chances. He kept distance with most of the guys in the chat room, watched what they wrote, and how. Some guys just knew too damn much about things in general... like, they’d lived through a lot more things.

Some skipped the easy short cuts most took when they chatted and he saw them with suspicion. Others didn’t seem to know anything about things they should. Martin may have missed a few chances, but he’d rather miss out on an opportunity than risk finding himself trapped by a circumstance. He broke off another segment from the orange he’d rescued from the living room and eased back in his swivel chair. Then the big, toothy smiley popped up in the Yeehah! chat window. The race was on. Slowly at first, the way Martin liked it. His shoulders caressed, lips brushing his neck. Finger-tips slowly tracing down under his arms, hot breath on his skin. Just the two of them, the keyboard disappearing in their fantasy, words translated into physical actions. Sweating flesh met sweating flesh, every avenue of desire was explored even if it were badly spelled, and each boy found his secret desire fulfilled Thirty minutes later, Martin pushed back from his desk, picked up his towel and began wiping himself down from his chin to his crotch before pulling his shorts up from his ankles again, then typed rapidly at the keyboard describing the hot white puddles and splashes on his skin. Blon then brought Martin into his final bliss; they curled together on a couch in front of a fire, under a thick, soft quilt on a cold winter night, describing their sharing of warmth and tenderness, drawing Martin’s head to his naked chest and stroking and kissing his hair until Martin drifted off into sleep in his arms. Blon always liked to wrap a session up in as much tenderness as he could, an effort Martin loved. It was the things he yearned for most from someone, things he craved more than anything else... acceptance, tenderness and affection. BlonBoy_n_NoMa:So you think bout it? NatureBoi615:I not sure. Martin drummed his fingers. Blon had asked him twice now; he might not ask again. BlonBoy_n_NoMa:What I got to prove? I’m real Martin clacked on the keyboard into the chat window. NatureBoi615:I don’t do pics. BlonBoy_n_NoMa:C’mon, I send you some mine. I'm real not some old ped trollin for boy pics.

The boy swallowed hard. Blon was serious about their relationship, after all. Martin had a stash of pics... recent ones. He didn’t want to send anything old and have the guy think he was still a short, lumpy fourteen-year-old-almost fifteen-who got teased by his older sister for being the Zit Prince of Salem High. He’d never lied about his looks to Blon... but he hadn’t been generous with detail, either. And on-line, you didn’t have to worry about anything... unless you gave up a picture. Martin usually refused them when offered and never asked; they were almost always fake, copied from some net site or scanned from a magazine. Of course, some were more obviously faked that others. Some idiot even mailed out pictures of Justin Timberlake and swore they were him. NatureBoi15:Got to warn you Im kinda fem. BlonBoy_n_NoMa:lol lol don’t care I think is cute NatureBoi15:You kinda like me? Fem i mean. BlonBoy_n_NoMa:Nope but that dont mean nuthin to me. U I like. I will send pics, u send if u want A pop-up on his screen told Martin that BlonBoy_n_NoMa was sending him a file. What’s it hurt to look? Martin asked himself. He accepted the file, which turned out to be a small .zip. Martin created a new directory on his desktop, scanned the file, and then opened it with Win-Zip. There were five pictures in it. Martin looked closely. They looked like they might be legit. They weren’t too posed, and seemed to be the sort of either staged or casual shots people snapped every day. The blond haired boy was dressed differently in them each time, and the hair was always different - definitely a good sign. They could be real. The boy was cute, too. He certainly looked the fifteen he claimed. He had pale blue eyes, Martin saw in one shot that was more-or-less a close-up. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: So you like? Please ok? We been talkin maybe three months. Got to trust me now. Lol lol you sure sound cute to me!

He clicked the ‘file’ button on the window, browsed into his photo directory. Martin had two recent photos in it, and they were pretty good. He debated which to send, and went for both. The face shot, and a bare-top photo of a slendering-Martin in a bathing suit from the beach, taken by his sister who said he was starting to look a little hot these days. If it was a pedo trolling for pics, this was as good as he was ever going to get from Martin. He made them into a small .zip and relayed it to BlonBoy and waited. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: WOW! You r soooooo hot! NatureBoi15:LOL u lie good. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: WOW BlonBoy_n_NoMa: No dude you cute, and real. thought U wud send some air brush beach boi ad or sumthin but this is real and u cute! BlonBoy_n_NoMa: So you gonna do it? Martin tapped his fingers on the edge of the keyboard. Blon was so cool. He never pushed for the cyber, even at first, but made no pretense he didn’t know Martin’s reputation. At first, Blon turned it down point blank, and Martin knew that was rare. Then Blon accepted, and soon it was their ritual... but it always began tenderly, and ended sweetly. Martin loved it. The screen offered up a new message. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: U gonna be my boyfriend or what? Martin made a decision. NatureBoi15:Yeah I be Yr boyfriend. Lol but yu gotta do sumthin. Now gut to tell real names. Just first, k? Im Martin. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: YAAAAAAAY UR my guy now martin BlonBoy_n_NoMa: Cool dude that nice name like you nice.

BlonBoy_n_NoMa: Listen I GTG but gonna send u 1 more pic with sum SKIN showin. Martin made a face. Oh shit. Here we go -- just like the rest. He began clacking back. NatureBoi15:Dude this gunna b nuther headless dick shot? No bother, got tun of those. BlonBoy_n_NoMa: Nah nuthin shit like that. Was just kinda joke shot cuple yrs old. Hehe get to see SUM of my ass. Is far as I go. Friend an me changing The download window opened again and Martin clicked accept. It was just a single .jpg file this time. He clicked it open and smiled. There were two boys, and Blon was looking over his shoulder and into the camera with a big grin. The picture had been snapped just as he was peeling his pants down and Martin got to see about a quarter of the kid’s butt. Martin smiled, wishing he could see the rest, and hoping that maybe he could... one day. He looked a littler closer at the picture, figured it had to be at least three years old. Blon looked like a little kid. He looked over the other boy too, who was standing in profile in a pair of whitey-tighties. Darker, a little more developed. But something… Martin clicked in the zoom a few more times for a better look. The picture had been scanned well enough so it didn’t pixilate too badly. "Oh, fuck!" he said with a laugh and went to type a question back on the screen, but it was too late. Blon was gone, but he’d left a message behind: BlonBoy_n_NoMa: Im Danny, n ur my boyfrend Martin Got to go Martin Sweetie see tonite reg time Byyeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "Oh man, I gotta call someone about this," he said with a snigger. He grabbed the phone, thinking of who. He’d love it if he could call Drew, but he was gone. Then he eyed the clock. The only people he could really tell or show were all at work. That was the problem with having guys that were almost adults for friends; they had real lives, and most of that time someone Martin’s age wasn’t part of that life. Still, they were pretty good guys. He’d had a great time with Alan, David and Chris at the Gay Pride parade in Boston the month before.

Martin grinned and figured "What the hell?" and decided to rattle Dave Sciuoto’s cage a little with an email. Dude what kinda secret life you lead? Found whole set of you and this guy doin it. How much to not tell Alan?" (: Martin

Martin sent the email on its way then started to slowly click his way through the other photos, found the one he liked best and sized it for a picture. He grabbed a sheet of the pricey photo stock and ran it through. Later on he wanted to clip it down and buy a frame at one of the department stores along Route 28 in Salem, probably when he went down to pick up his dinner. He made a place for it on the shelf right next to his bed, so the last thing he’d see at night would be Danny’s face. Martin smiled. It was nice to be loved. ***** Danny Doucette stood in front of the mirror, slowly running his hands over his chest before reaching over and splashing some skin softener into his hands. He’d rubbed in some Nair and gotten rid of the pesky hairs that kept growing in the center of his chest, and then his lower belly too, where a dusky trail kept sprouting. Danny was eighteen, and it was getting harder and harder these days to hide the signs of aging, but so far Danny managed to keep it in check. He was lucky… he was short and thin by nature and lousy nutrition when he was younger and still developing, and that helped. His face still had a childish look to it, reinforced by the way he kept his hair and how he’d learned to control his facial muscles. Danny practiced at keeping his eyes open wide, like a child, and his features relaxed. That helped a lot. He had to be careful - when a boy got too old, the daddy lost interest. Danny had seen more than one kid replaced over the last few years. Like Kelley… easy going, sweet, dumb Kelley. Kelley told Danny his daddy -- Ted -- would never dump him like the others. Then the next time Ted showed up at Griff’s for one of his parties, Kelley was gone, replaced with a kid from Europe or somewhere who could barely speak English. "It’s a great market," he remembered hearing Ted tell Griff. "The best buys are in the old Yugoslavia. The Czech’s are pretty good too, but they’re getting pricey. And the papers? Shit, there’s so many out-of-work forgers in Europe

since the Communist block fell you can get anything you want. But you have to be more careful now," he added. He poured himself another drink from the martini pitcher. "Thanks to those damn terrorists, they go over the paperwork with a fine tooth comb. But what the hell -- the attorney general’s more interested in checking out I don’t have any porn and as long as the import is white, no bells go off," He chuckled. "Be a different story if I liked the dark meat for chicken." "Well, I do like it darker, but it ain’t so bad as you think," broke in an elderly man called Sam. "Mexico is still great. Much easier, closer and cheaper. Hell you don’t even need much for documents. I know a place where you just set up a quick adoption for some quick cash and that satisfies the Mexicans, they figure they got too many kids runnin’ around to begin with. Then I take a private cruise on a sail boat back to the states and it’s all set. Even with our government leaning on the immigration people, it’s still a snap. Pay some wet back a few extra bucks and he’ll run you anywhere. Then I arrange to meet a fishing boat somewhere in the Gulf a few days out, and we just head back to Louisiana or even Alabama. Plenty of money-hungry skippers down that way with the way the economy sucks. We look like day trippers pulling back into the marina, and the kid’s drugged up and sleeping and all anyone thinks is my grandkid fell asleep after a long day," he laughed. "What about schools and stuff?" Ben asked. Of all the daddies, Ben was the youngest, barely twenty-five. His boy was the fourteen-year-old son of a neighbor who preferred her dates to her child, and had no problem leaving her son with a friendly neighbor who loved kids. Ben was just checking out the parties so far after making the careful initial contacts, before risking bringing his beloved Robert to more fully educate him. Ben liked most of what he saw so far, but it was understood by the group it would be awhile before Robert could be brought. The boy was new -- less than two months with Ben -- and needed time to grow, accept and depend on Ben more fully so the boy would understand what the man was trying to do for him. "Don’t you need paperwork?" Sam snorted. "What schools? I’m like Griff-nice house out in the country. I keep pairs so they can entertain each other, not get lonely. Besides, I never keep ‘em past fourteen and then I drop ‘em off. What’s another spic on the streets of Boston? Shit, most of ‘em don’t even know what state their in. I even tell ‘em we’re in Canada!" he laughed. Then he eyed Danny. "That one’s getting old, Griff - time to trade down. Hardly worth it, even if he is good when they do a show."

Danny shuddered. He had nightmares of riding in Griff’s car and turning back into his old neighborhood and suddenly finding himself in the middle of Pawtucketville with twenty dollars in his pocket and the clothes on his back. And this time he wouldn’t even have his mother to fall back on -- Danny figured she’d drugged herself to death within a few weeks after Griff paid her for Danny. Hooker-addicts didn’t last long when they got their hands on too much money at once. Especially the one’s who sold off their only assets. His mother found out when Danny was eight she could get more money for him from guys like Griff than she ever could selling her own tired body. Danny rubbed the cream into his belly, tested for nubs again, then picked up the scissors and started trimming his pubic hair. After that he thinned it out with barber scissors and shaped it up with a razor and followed through with more skin lotion. Griff liked boys, but he liked them to ‘look’ functional… old enough to have pubic hair, at least. Watching Danny perform with a ten or eleven year old was okay, but Griff enjoyed watching Danny come even if they couldn’t. Fortunately most of the Daddies didn’t complain as much as Sam about Danny being too old, since he still looked like he was in his mid-teens and would do the things their own boys couldn’t -- or wouldn’t. Danny reached down and rubbed his hands up and down his legs, satisfied they were still hairless enough and smooth, but rubbed the inside of his thighs with more skin lotion to keep them ‘baby soft’, like the ads said. Then he gingerly ran his fingers between the cleft of his butt cheeks. "Shit. Twice this week." He pulled the electric razor down off the shelf and squatted with one leg up on the toilet and let it buzz its way through to get the worst of it. Then Danny dabbed himself with a medicated shaving cream in a tube and used a disposable razor to clean away the rest of the hairs. It was awkward but necessary, given Griff’s preferences for fondling and probing. And it was all about keeping Griff happy. Satisfied, Danny took a fast shower to clean the residue off, but dabbed at his crack after with skin softener just in case. He slipped into a pair of shorts and the cheap, colorful canvas shoes Griff liked Danny to wear and an oversized tee shirt and checked the clock in the kitchen when he was done. He had a few hours until Griff returned and he had work to do, but made himself a quick snack -- plain lettuce, no dressings. He needed something in his stomach to keep it from growling even if he had to keep what he ate to a minimum. Danny couldn’t afford to let too much body weight build up since it would make him

look older, but he couldn’t let himself get too bony, either. Staying boyish was the most important part of his job. It was made harder to maintain on nights when Griff would bring home a pizza or sub sandwiches. Danny would eat them to keep Griff happy… and then force himself to throw it up after. He couldn’t afford all the calories, and he worried the grease could raise pimples again. Danny looked at himself in the big mirror in the kitchen, gave his best smile. "Fifteen, sixteen tops. You go, boy." He went back to his room, moved around the toys he seldom bothered with anymore but kept for props to keep Griff happy… and the other sons amused when the daddy’s got together for a boy party. Even though he knew they were off Danny dropped an old shirt over the lens of the camera hidden next to his bed and put a book against the one concealed in the case next to his closet. He seldom bothered with the overhead lens above the bed anymore, since he knew it could only be angled straight down. Even if Griff left it monitoring, that one wouldn’t do him much good unless Danny decided to masturbate, something he did every night so Griff could watch if he wanted to. Mostly Griff only turned them on when other boys came over. Danny flipped on the computer Griff built for him and checked his various mail accounts, one for each name he used on line. He picked up his clip board and made some notes - it listed his various chat room names and the names of kids he had marked as ‘possibles’; lonely kids who were gay or gay-curious he met on-line. There were many lonely ones, but Danny wanted the ones who fit a profile for what he wanted; and usually that meant not too bright, lonely, and a little desperate. Danny pieced together information from what they let loose in the chat room, focusing on age and geography. He wanted fifteen or under because they were the easiest to con; and the more isolated they were, the more vulnerable they were likely to be. He’d brought five to Griff like this over the last few years… lonely kids seduced by their fifteen-year-old lover who was bold enough to swipe his father’s car and meet them, who took them to places and spent money on them. Danny was the on-line boyfriend who suddenly became flesh, and ultimately helped them to indulge their fantasies. Lonesome boys with indifferent parents who didn’t notice their kid would be missing for a full day were plentiful. Danny charmed them all over again when they finally met, kissing them but refusing more because he’d tell the other boys that when they finally did more, he wanted it to be because it was love and not just sex.

Danny smiled, thinking of how they always let down their guards once Danny refused to lead with the sex card. It usually clinched them. And after a few meetings when they relaxed more around him, Danny would bring them back to Griff’s house. He knew all too well how to turn on the cameras. Besides, it wasn’t like Danny got much pleasure from the sex anyway. Sex was just a part of his life, something he did like bathe or watch television. He did take a thrill the way these boys looked up to him, surrendered themselves to him. But the biggest rush was later when he’d show them the videos he made, watch the horror on their faces when Danny played them back and said he’d show everyone what they did. Usually they blubbered and cursed him, and that was something Danny found he liked. But occasionally it was even better because they’d try to fight back. Like Randal fought back. "What about you?" the dark-haired boy sneered. "You’re doin’ the same stuff as me." Danny laughed. "You think I care if anyone knows I like it up the ass like you do? You fuckin’ dummy. I’ll make stills of these and print ‘em up an’ pass ‘em out at your school. It don’t even have to be a lot of ‘em -- I hand out five copies of shots with you takin’ a load in the face, how long’re you gonna last at school? Or with your parents? What’re the Bible-thumpin’ jerk-offs gonna think of their boy when they hear his voice beggin’ me to put it up his ass?" After that, it was easy. For almost a year, it gave Danny a perverse pleasure to watch Randal on all fours, taking it from Griff, his eyes focused on Danny with unrelenting hatred -- and too scared of his born-again Christian parents to tell them what was happening. The early, secret session Danny taped had sound, Randal begging Danny to do things to him, to let him do things to Danny. Randal couldn’t even pretend he’d been forced. Randal was one of the very few boys Danny looked forward to using for sex. But Danny was smart not to push it too far, and two months ago told Randal it was all over. Griff didn’t like it but they both knew as the boy got older he might be more prone to fight them or go for help if they pushed too far. At age fifteen, Randal left all smiles one afternoon with nothing more than a warning to keep his mouth shut when he was dropped off. Silently, Randal swore he’d cut it off before anyone ever did things like that to him again. To him, the year spent with Griff and Danny was obviously God’s punishment for desiring the perversions that haunted his mind. Danny neither

knew or cared the boy continued praying for God to take his life each night so he’d never be tempted again. Griff was pleased because Danny took all the chances and he got diversity. Griff gave up the piano lessons, although he missed the seductions. He’d been surprised when he came home the first time and found the first boy waiting, unhappy but compliant. Danny was resourceful, gotten a driver license on his own using the paperwork he’d decided to take from his mother’s his last day. It was his old Child Welfare file, complete with his birth records and a social security card, all he’d need for documentation to make his way. It hadn’t taken Danny long to find someone to teach him to drive using the net, a certified Driver Education instructor with his own school willing to help Danny -- in exchange for a little private servicing. It was simple after that; forging his mother’s signature on a permission slip, bring the teacher along for his test, and then watching the mail for the followups from the Registry of Motor Vehicles until his license arrived. Griff’s old Ford Taurus gave him the transportation he needed. And after deliberately getting himself stopped by the local police so they’d recognize the ‘kid’ driving and see all his papers in order including a license, they left him alone. He took the chance that in larger cities and towns, no one would pay attention. It wouldn’t do suddenly having to produce a license when he had a date in the car if they got pulled over. Like Danny, Griff didn’t care whether or not the kids liked what was done to them... just that the boys were young enough so he enjoyed. Still, it wasn’t too safe to force things too much, so Danny limited the number of sessions with each target and spaced them out carefully. No more than once a month -- which was okay, since right now that meant one a week. Corey was thirteen and convinced he and Danny were in love. Sean was fifteen and just wanted the sex. Both put up with Griff because they had to. But Danny needed replacements. There was a hole in the schedule still where Randal used to be, and one of the other kids liked the sessions too much and never needed any prodding to get together with Danny and Griff. Danny had to be careful -- Stevie was fourteen and could easily wind up being Danny’s replacement if he wasn’t careful. Not as a live-in the way Danny was, but often enough to keep Griff interested. Stevie was always asking to look at the photos of him and Griff together. The boy was always e-mailing Danny for another session.

"You gotta go," Danny said wistfully, drawing a heavy red line around the name. Life was hard enough without inviting disaster. He went down the list, crossed out a name; the kid not only lived in Fall River but let it drop his father was a cop. Danny brought up the e-mail account he used for him and blocked the name -- the only name on the list; from now on the mail would go back, and he’d get the message sooner or later. Shit, gonna have to come up with a new ID, he thought. He’d have to go through the list of names he’d used in the last two years and make sure he didn’t accidentally recycle one someone might recognize. The names couldn’t even be close -- Danny spotted more than one of his exes on line because the name was a variation of something they’d used before. Not every candidate was a sure thing, and once Danny found out there was going to be a problem, he dumped their relationship and never contacted them again. Danny looked at another name but decided that one was too close -- only the next town over. He might recognize the house one day, and Danny went to pains to keep the address secret. He told the boys he had to be careful they weren’t spotted. Danny always switched the plates on the car before leaving the house, and when he picked his target up he made them lay down in the back seat of the car, drive the most round-about way he could and never let them sit up until the car was in the garage. They were young, horny and in love-and easily conned into believing almost anything. The return leg was the same. Most of them accepted the precaution since they understood how cautious they had to be to prevent discovery. Fear of discovery was an important factor in the game Danny and Griff played. If Danny found the rare boy who said he was out to his family, he dropped him. He smiled at one name. Martin… lonely, left to himself, and even better, he admitted that he had few friends because he was effeminate. Perfect -- the kid couldn’t even ‘pass’ as straight, which made him even more isolated. Plus he made it clear his parents weren’t around much and they didn’t seem to care where or how he spent his time. Summer days he could be available enough any time-and once school started again a Saturday missing wouldn’t be a matter of much interest. Danny could tell the kid didn’t live too far from his cable connection; his IP address showed he wasn’t lying when he said he lived in southern New Hampshire. Danny knew that limited him to either Derry, Wyndham or Salem, the only towns with that level of internet service and all close enough to drive. Martin was smarter than he liked… but from their

conversations backed up by their cyber sessions also desperately lonely, and that worked in Danny’s favor. Danny printed out the pictures of Martin and studies the face. Not the cutest thing in the world, he mused. But that baby face of yours’ll keep Griff in boners for a month. He’d bring the kid along, be his companion on line, his lifeline, his lover. Danny would slowly make the boy want to meet with him -- not for sex, nothing too blatant at first. They’d date; go to Canobie Lake Park for rides, go to the game arcades in and around the area, maybe even go to the beach for a day trip. If they saw kids Martin knew, he’d protect the boy if they tried to make trouble. Slowly, he’d show him how much he loved and wanted to be with Martin. And going out appealed to Danny -- he and Griff had to be careful about who saw them together. Danny hadn’t been inside a school since Griff sold his house in Haverhill after Anna was gone, and Griff completed the deal with Danny’s mother. They lived in a rural town now, hugging the border on a large lot set well back from the road, behind a stand of trees. The house was hardly grand but it was private, no intrusive neighbors and that had been important when Danny was younger. He’d left the house alone rarely, but every weekend Griff took Danny on trips into Boston to have fun, where they didn’t know anyone. And they visited some of Griff’s friends, and Danny would hang for the day with their sons. He was well cared for… they went to a doctor in Manchester, a dentist in Cambridge, and another friend took care of cutting Danny’s hair. They were all part of Griff’s network of connections. Some of them they partied with, some they just did business with, an exchange of favors for men sharing a common connection… men who loved boys, but because of what they felt to be foolish and cruel laws had to be careful and took care of special needs for service. So many misunderstood their love, and how the boys really and truly craved it. Danny didn’t crave anything except that his life was easier than it used to be and that’s what Danny wanted. Putting out for Griff a few times a week and maybe a few of his close friends and their boys was a lot easier to deal with than some of the lunatics his mother brought home to him. Sometimes Griff liked his action rough but at least he never left bruises the way others did.

Well, Martin would find love with Danny. If things went the way he expected after a few meetings, Danny would confess his love for the lonely boy, tell Martin he wanted his own first time -- Danny always claimed to be inexperienced except in cyber - to be with someone he loved… And then spring the trap. Pictures that could find their way around school. Pictures doctored so Danny’s face wouldn’t show but Martin’s would. The software was easy and cheap. A thought flashed through Danny’s mind and he smiled suddenly. Maybe it’ll be like Randal and Martin’ll hate me after, but be too scared to say no and risk bein’ exposed. Danny felt the instant throbbing between his legs at the thought and eyed the bed. Why not? If Griff’s got the camera goin’, he’ll see a damn big wad. He kicked his shorts off and lay back on the bed, closing his eyes and smiled again seeing a scared, angry Martin being taken by Griff while Danny got to watch. Oh yeah… oh yeah that’s the hottest thing there is…

CHAPTER THREE "I’m not gonna hurt you!" David Sciuoto shouted, trying to at least sound sincere even if the look on his face gave it the lie. "Now stop bein’ such a wuss an’ c’mere!" Martin kept the tree trunk between the two of them and held a wary eye on David. ‘Keep-Away’ wasn’t exactly his favorite game, but he was practiced at it with his chief adversary - Chunk - only a few lots away from his own. "Like I’m gonna believe that!" Martin shouted back. "Right after you tried to run me down with your car!" David knitted his eyebrows and frowned. "I didn’t try to run you down, Martin! I came around the corner a little quick and - well, there you were. I hit the brakes," he added defensively. Uh-huh - after I jumped behind concrete blocks and you didn’t have any choice. "A little quick? You left enough rubber to make a spare tire! Jesus Dave, what’d I do?" wailed Martin, peeking around the base of the tree again. David Sciuoto wasn’t much in the mood for explanations. His upper lip was still curled as he lunged for Martin again, dodging to the left then swinging his body right. But Martin learned enough survivor skills at school and scampered quickly out of his way - over the hammock suspended from two metal posts, then kicked a lawn chair over behind him before scrambling up the two low, wood steps of the mobile home. He slammed the screen door shut and shot the lock. An angry David Sciuoto charged after him and rattled the aluminum door in its frame. On one level, Martin knew he should slam the inner door and shoot the dead bolt, but he hesitated. The flimsy lock had held before when he escaped, and he didn’t see any reason it shouldn’t hold now. Except this time Martin

wasn’t sticking out his tongue and yelling names at a fat thirteen year old like Chunk who thought he was a bruiser simply because of his waist size. Martin was shaking in his knock-off Wal-Mart running shoes trying to figure out why David Sciuoto - who was nice to everybody - suddenly wanted to throttle him after a failed attempt to run him down when he walked out to check the mail. David’s face was still an artist’s study of rage when he grabbed the handle of the screen door and wrenched it. Years of abuse and metal fatigue finally kicked in. The aluminum clip holding the door shut snapped in two, and the door jerked open so quickly David stumbled back before regaining enough of his balance to lunge at Martin again. And almost got him. A terrified Martin Seduko, arms wrapped protectively around his bowed head, with one knee drawn up in an attempt to shield other parts, saw David looming at him fast then suddenly jerk back and through the door again, his feet off the ground. Martin peeked up long enough to see the empty doorway then peered out to see a short, thick armed boy hold David down on the ground with one knee planted on his chest, holding up a clenched fist and pretty much giving the impression he was ready to smash it into David’s face. "Leo! Leave ‘em alone! He’s a friend of mine!" Leo DiStefano twisted his thick neck and looked up at Martin and paused, his single black eyebrow furrowed on his forehead. The left edge of his wide lips twitched as he looked down again at a startled David, who recovered enough of his senses to say something stupid. "Get your hands off me, ya dumb Guinea bastid!" Leo’s nostrils flared, and he still hadn’t lowered his arm or un-balled his fist. "You know, you got a lotta mouth for someone in your situation," he growled. "And I’d watch it with the ‘dumb ginny’ crap. I know a paisan when I see one." He leaned into Dave a little more menacingly, his voice filled with malice. "And if I’m so dumb, why am I the one standing over you, waiting to pound that pretty nose of yours until it looks like mush?" "Dumb football jock," David muttered defiantly, proving that bravery and brilliance seldom accompany one another. Martin was out the door now and pulling at Leo’s raised arm. "C’mon, man! He really is a friend of mine. We were just screwin’ around! Honest!"

Leo pursed his lips and looked back and forth between the young man under his knee and the teen-age boy pulling at his arm. Finally he shook his head and let go of David and stood up. "It’s your call, Mart. Sandy said I should make sure you don’t get kicked around too bad, but if you say this dick’s okay, guess I got to buy it." He held out a hand to David that wasn’t to shake, grabbed him by the arm and without hesitating jerked David to his feet. "And just for the record, I used to wrestle, not play football. And before you come up with some snide remark - no. I really don’t get all excited when I feel another guy squirmin’ all over me at a match. And it also don’t bother me that some guys do, either," he said nodding to Martin. Leo took a long look at David, the quality of his clothes, and the car he drove. It wasn’t a friendly look. Another one with a daddy who’s got bucks, thinkin’ he can mess with the peons. He turned away from David, who eyed him malevolently. His black eyes relaxed when they focused on Martin. "Sandy sent me here to get her black purse - it’s got her wallet in it an’ we’re goin’ out tonight. Wanna get it for me?" Martin scampered off. The two young men eyed each other carefully, coal black eyes drilling into coal black eyes, studying signs and drawing conclusions based on assumptions. David noted the swarthy skin and thick neck, as well as the deep acne scarring. He took in the hulky torso with the long arms and the short legs. Tell-tale signs of generations of country peasants, working the soil of the lower Italian boot or in the hills of the Mediterranean islands. Leo eyed the patrician elegance of David’s longer, slender body and handsome face. He remembered stories his grandfather told about the high-born aristocrats who came down from Rome or Naples to lord it over the pesonavantes working the estates their families farmed for an upper class of one breed or another since the days of the Roman Empire - ridiculing them because of their looks, their manners, and their way of life. Both David and Leo came to an instant, simultaneous conclusion about the other. This guy’s an asshole. Leo broke the silence. "So, why were you after Martin?"

David shrugged. "I wasn’t... well, not really after him. I was tryin’ to get him to stop so I could talk to him." He frowned. "What’s it to you, anyway?" Leo eyed the shiny black Jetta parked up and over the curbing of the trailer lot a few feet short of a pile of cinder blocks. "Didn’t much look like you wanted conversation to me," Leo commented dryly. "Usually when someone about rips a door off a house, it seems to me they want to do more than just talk. Especially when I seen Martin runnin’ like hell to get away from you - Martin gets a lot of shit for the way he is, so I get suspicious." David’s eyes narrowed. "The way he is? Like, him bein’ gay?" Leo’s eyes slitted right back, and the left end of his monobrow arched. "I don’t know if he is or not - it ain’t my business to ask. I just meant he acts kinda different from the other kids, and he gets slammed around for it, and I don’t like seein’ anyone treated like that. Plus him bein’ my girlfriend’s little brother makes it more personal, you know? What floats his boat ain’t my business or yours. He’s a pretty nice kid, an’ I don’t like seein’ some wise ass pick on him ’cuz he thinks Martin’s somethin’ just because he acts the way he does. Plus I don’t like seein’ anyone gettin’ hurt because they can’t defend themselves." He looked David over again. "I’d also be kind of suspicious of any guy my age messin’ with a fourteen year old, too. Same as I’d wonder why he was hangin’ out with my fourteen year old sister." David glared, his lips curling again. "You trying to say something?" Leo’s mouth twitched. "Let’s just say I better not hear anything from my girl friend about how her little brother - who’s prob’ly just as dumb about some stuff like I remember being at fourteen - got jerked around by some rich pretty boy. Some people might get the idea that makes him kind of an easy mark." He leaned towards a frowning David again, and the mono-brow arched even higher on the left. "Get the message, gumba?" The screen door clattered open before David could get himself in any deeper and Martin trotted up holding out a black purse with a long strap. He held it out to Leo, who brought his hands up awkwardly, blushed, and dropped them again. "Hey, uh, Mart?" he began sheepishly. "Would you mind just, uh, tossin’ it in the front seat of my car?" Something occurred to him. He’d have to walk it to Sandy at Demille’s Grocery Cart. "Better yet, there’s a shoppin’ bag in there. How about droppin’ it into that?"

Martin rolled his eyes, disgusted. "Jesus, Leo. It really isn’t catchin’, you know? And even if it were, I think it’d take more than handling a purse!" Leo DiStefano blushed and gave Martin a look not entirely devoid of venom for the remark and his voice stumbled. "Yeah, well... you know." Martin shook his head, walked over to the six-year-old blue Honda Accord and opened the door. He found the white plastic shopping bag and dropped the purse into it before tossing it back onto the passenger seat. Then the three stood in an awkward silence before David spoke again. "Are you an’ me done now?" he asked in an edgy voice. Leo looked him over again, eyed Martin, who nodded that it was okay before he spoke. "I guess, if Martin says its okay. You’re not from around here, but I know your face." He peered at David. "Got it. You work at Barrier Books over at the Loop, right?" David nodded, and fought down the impulse to ask how Leo could know about something like a bookstore, tempting as it was. "Cool. Well, just keep something in mind, okay? I’ll be seein’ Sandy tomorrow night and most other nights too. And if she should mention something about how her brother got roughed up or anything, I can meet you after work some night. I really wouldn’t see that as a problem - for me, anyway." Leo turned for the car. David grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, and his eyes bored into the back of Leo’s head as his short legs carried him back to his Accord. David watched Leo drive off after they exchanged a last look of mutual loathing. "What the hell does your sister see in a dick like that?" Martin shrugged. "Probably that he’s really a nice guy and he treats her like a princess instead of trailer trash. Plus I’m not supposed to know it, but he put the word out at school with the upper classmen not to mess with me when she asked. I haven’t been stuffed into a trash can since first quarter." Martin grimaced. "Now that he graduated, guess I got that to look forward to again this fall." He sighed, resigned to his coming fate. "Isn’t too bad, really. Unless it’s one of the cans in the lunch room and they jam you in head first." He scowled. The

last time he got canned was on a bad Sloppy Joe day, and Martin had to leave school to wash the sauce out of his hair. It would never be one of his fonder memories of Salem High, but it would be the one he’d always remember. Just like he’d remember the vice-principal who sent him home but never did anything to the culprits responsible, because in a crowded lunchroom filled with hundreds of pairs of eyes, no one saw the three hockey players who grabbed him - including faculty members who were supposed to keep an eye on things. It was a selective blindness that often occurred depending on the popularity of the students involved. "Huh. Out of school now? What’s he do, flip burgers?" Martin shook his head. "Landscaping, at least for the summer. He’s goin’ to college in the fall." "Right," David commented, pegging Leo for a community college somewhere with an open enrollment program. "Guess I don’t have to worry about him showing up at Merrimack College." "Not hardly," Martin added. "He’ll be at MIT. So, what’s with you, anyway? How come all of a sudden you’re after my blood?" "I’m not pissed off at you, Mart," David stammered, filing the interesting information about Leo away. "Well, not enough to hurt you anyway... much." He hesitated, looking Martin over. "That picture you emailed me sort of took me by surprise and - well. It just got to me. You said you saw a bunch of ’em on some web site," he said sharply. "Where?" Martin’s mouth fell open. "Is that what’s got you all pissed? I mean, yeah, you’re in your underwear and all, but it’s no worse than a bathing suit, Dave! And it’s not like I’m passin’ it around or nothin’ - I figured it’d be a joke. And there’s no web site, I just said that kiddin’ around." David’s mouth twitched. "Okay, fine." He looked around the trailer park furtively and then spoke in a lower voice to Martin. "Look, you’re safe, okay? Can we go inside? I don’t really want to talk about this in the front yard." Front yard? More like the only yard, Martin thought, but didn’t correct David and signaled him to follow. David stepped into Martin’s home and blinked, taking in a living, dining and kitchen area all crowded into one space and didn’t make any comments as he

stood in the dim light after being in the bright July sun. Martin pointed to the uncomfortable looking, narrow couch and went to get them both a soda. David felt almost claustrophobic as he looked around at the cheap, scaled-down furnishings and glanced down the short hall. The air conditioner whirred in the small window. Jesus, our garage is bigger than this. How the hell do four people live here? He thanked Martin for the glass of store-brand orange soda, and the boy plopped himself down on the far end of the narrow sofa, still with a wary eye on David. "Okay, so tell me what I did," he began, his voice cracking. David set the soda down on the coffee table. "Tell me about the picture, Mart. Who sent it? And did he send you any more?" Martin shrugged. "Yeah, but just of him. He joked about how I’d get a good skin shot of his butt in that one... well, half of it anyway. He - he’s just a guy I talk to on-line a lot. We swapped some pics the other day." David looked up sharply. "What kind did you send him?" Martin blushed. "Nothin’ trashy. Jesus, give me some credit, will you? Just a head shot of me Sandy took, and one of me without a shirt, an’ that’s it." David nodded. "Good, I hope so. I seen some of the stuff kids send out over the net they at least claim is them." Martin snorted. "No shit. But the other one’s he sent looked legit - just him, dressed different in most, one of him with no shirt. I mean, they were all different, taken at different times, so I figured they were real." "Show me." Martin hesitated, nervous. "Look," said David, leaning forward, and Martin realized for the first time that he could actually see fear in the young man’s eyes. David gripped Martin’s knee firmly. "It’s important, Martin. I used to know Danny an’-well, it’s important okay? His name is Danny, right?" Martin nodded, and they got up and David followed Martin as he zagged around the furniture. Martin stepped through the second door of the short hall

and David followed him. He paused, standing in the doorway of the small, crowded room. Martin pretended not to notice the expression on David’s face. He’d never seen David’s house, but from what he’d heard Alan say it sounded like David lived in a mansion. Martin flushed, embarrassed, but didn’t look up as he flicked on the computer he’d mainly built for himself out of other people’s cast-offs. He answered an unasked question to fill the uncomfortable quiet. "It’s a home-brew, but not real quick... I just upgraded to the big new processor from last year." He snickered. "Have to wait for someone else to upgrade an pay me off for the install with their old processor before I get better’n that." Windows came up and Martin eyed David as he furtively typed in his password. David shook his head and sighed looking away while the boy typed. When the system stabilized he brought up the folder where he’d stashed Danny’s pictures and a few of their choicer conversation records so he could relive a few special moments, and clicked the photos open. Martin sidled out of the chair and David leaned in and scrolled through the shots. David shook his head, and the pained expression on his face made Martin nervous. Finally David pushed the mouse aside as he rolled himself back from the computer, staring at the floor. He looked back up at a still-scared Martin, who didn’t know what to make of a pensive David Sciuoto any more than he knew what to make of an angry David earlier. "How much does this guy know about you?" David asked, nervous but firm. "Where you live? Where you go to school?" "He knows I live in southern New Hampshire, an’ that’s it," Martin replied, a little irritated. "Dammit, Dave, I’m not stupid. I don’t give much for details, okay? I mean, I never even told him my name until yesterday." "Right. And followed that up by sending him pictures of yourself, Mart. That’s not real bright." Martin flushed. "Hey, fuck you, David! You told me yourself you met Alan over the net, okay? So don’t get all high and mighty on me! I sent him some pics but only ‘cuz he sent some of his to me, and they looked legit. If they looked like somethin’ from a porn site or some air-brushed ad, I’d have just blown him off. But you saw those shots - they’re real. The clothes are different, his hair’s cut different in some... he’s even older in some than others, at least a

little. And it’s not like I drew him a map on how to get here! Plus I been talkin’ to him for a few months now - it’s not like some total stranger." David scowled. "Okay, okay... so. But Alan and I were also a lot older, too Mart. I take it you guys cyber, right?" Martin twisted his mouth and blushed, looking down before eyeing David again. "I’m fourteen," he said holding up his left hand. "This ‘n my keyboard are about the only sex life I got right now, okay?" David had to chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I remember bein’ in the same boat." He cleared his throat. "Alright, now listen to me and answer without gettin’ defensive, okay Martin? Has he hinted you guys should get together?" Martin shook his head. "No. I mean, I don’t know where he is, either, except from the chat-name he uses; BlonBoi_n_NoMa - northern Massachusetts. For all I know he could be over the line in Methuen or somewhere out by the Vermont border." "That’s usually considered western or central Mass, but never mind. How old does he say he is?" "Fifteen, almost sixteen. He knows I’m fourteen. Almost fifteen. Five-and-a-half months ain’t almost, twerp. "Okay. Now, what strikes you as kinda weird about that?" Martin looked confused. "Whaddya mean?" David looked up at him sideways and shifted his mouth around. He clicked open the directory again and brought up the photos, scrolling to the one of himself and Danny. "Think about it, Martin. I’m a little shy of nineteen now, okay? And that means Danny is almost four years younger than me - even if you want to argue, make it three. Now, I was thirteen in that picture. Assumin’ that Danny looks a little younger n’ me, that means he would’ve been nine or maybe ten. Yeah, he’s smaller ‘n me - but not that much smaller! Did you think of that?" Martin shifted around, uncomfortable. "No," he answered reluctantly, then eyed David. "I didn’t think it all the way like that... I mean, I was kinda happy you know?"

Martin looked down at the floor, feeling the stinging in his eyes, and not wanting David to see it. "He - he asked me to be his boyfriend yesterday, and he didn’t care I was kinda fem and all, and - and... Shit. Shit! How did I just know this was gonna all turn to crap. No one wants me. The kids at school just assume I’m a fag, and even other gay kids avoid me ‘cuz they’re afraid of bein’ around someone real easy to spot. Some of them even look down on me, too." His hands came up as he felt the tears brimming in his eyes. David rose and reached over to Martin and pulled the boy closer to him, hugging his head to his chest. "Take it easy, Martin," he said gently. "I know what it’s like, bein’ alone. Or feeling like you are." "Yeah," Martin said, snuffling. "Maybe you know what it’s like thinking you’re alone, but do you know what it’s like having people take one look at you when you walk by and laugh?" David’s mouth formed the first word of a lie, but caught himself. "No, I don’t," David sighed, swaying the boy slightly as he held him. "And you’re right - I had it lots easier. I didn’t come out at school, so I never had to deal with all the crap like you do. Or like Alan did when he got outed," he continued. "And all I can do is guess how you feel right now... I had net boyfriends too, you know. And it really sucked when they dumped you - or weren’t who they claimed to be. I had my share of chat-room pedos, too." Martin wiped his face with the back of his hand, but didn’t push away from David. He liked the feeling... being held close, being cared about. And he knew he was still luckier than he was last winter. It began with Drew McKinnon from their gay youth group started giving Martin rides, and he and his boyfriend Marc were nice to him. Then he’d gotten closer to Alan, and through Alan he’d met David and their friend Chris. They were all good to him, but they were older and had jobs and cars, and that added up to having real lives of their own... while Martin was stuck at home, too young to tag along. He realized the chats meant a lot more than he thought. And Blon - Danny made Martin feel better about himself in one day than he’d felt for months. He knew a net-friend could evaporate as quickly as it took to click out of a room and change your name, but still... Danny said he cared, he liked Martin. And it didn’t matter to Danny how Martin acted or sounded. Danny made him feel good about himself for a change. Wanted. And Martin desperately needed to feel wanted by someone other than his sister. He lived for the moment a boy would hold him like David held him now, and whisper in his ear that he was loved. Even if it was only from the pressure of the moment.

David eased Martin away from him, but didn’t shove him away. He smiled at the boy and ran his fingers through his sandy hair. "I really didn’t mean to make you feel bad Mart, honest. But... well, there’s things you don’t know about this guy. I know you’re hurtin’ right now, but if I don’t step in, it’ll only hurt more later. Now - sit down and tell me everything you know about this guy." ***** David Sciuoto slammed the door of his room and went straight to his computer, sliding in the floppy disk Martin made up for him. He dragged the images into a new directory then opened them up, scrolling through, studying the face again - particularly the one that appeared to be the most recent. It’s him, he told himself. No doubt about it, that’s Danny. David frowned. This wasn’t good news to him. What’s he want with Martin? Why’s he still with Griff And finally the worst fear. What’s Griff up to? A shudder ran through his body. Are you still the bait, Danny? Has Griff got you trollin’ for kids on-line for him? David thought about it, felt a cold anger spreading through him. He could see Griff being soulless enough to do exactly that. But Danny? Hadn’t Danny saved him? Still, after all this time… why was Danny still with him? He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, recalling the rest of the scene with Martin when David told him to break off all contact with Danny. The boy had been scared at first, then angry when he turned on David. "Look at you, telling me I got to give up the little bit I’ve got - the good lookin’ rich kid with the easy life, the one people fall all over themselves tryin’ to get to know," he spat as all the buried resentments built up and finally overflowed. His upper lip curled and his voice cracked as he tried to blast David out. "I gotta work hard just to get people to talk to me, never mind bein’ my friend! And I got one thing to look forward to a couple times a week - one lousy thing! And the rich kid who’s got it all wants me to give up even that!" David stared up at the ceiling, remembering the hurt, the anger in Martin’s eyes-and finally followed by the lost, lonely look of someone who’s life was

the brunt of everyone else’s jokes. He tried to understand what that must feel like, and couldn’t. David rolled onto his stomach, chin resting on his hands, staring straight ahead. His feet dangled off the edge of the bed and he unconsciously jiggled his right foot. Yeah, I got a charmed life, David told himself, sighing. Unless you happen to know what goes on in my head… what I dream at night, and sometimes what I think. He lay there, wishing his mind could just drift someplace else besides the memories of the days with Griff and Danny. David felt the shadow of the man’s hand drifting down his back again and shuddered, opening his eyes and finding himself sweating again even in the air conditioned room. Griff’s always there now… every time I close my eyes, he’s always right there. David’s head jerked up when he heard a solid double-rap at the door, followed by a second set. The door handle jiggled. "David?" came his mother’s voice. "I heard you come in, and I really need to talk to you." Jesus. Now she’s gonna bitch ’cuz I slammed the door when I came in. Oh yeah-and for not takin’ off my shoes, then for runnin’ up the stairs again and lockin’ my door. Am I always gonna be five? "Just a minute!" David jumped up and closed the photo program, leaving only the wallpaper on his screen. He walked slowly across the room and opened the door, trying to hide the scowl he felt and force an easy smile he didn’t feel. "’Sup, mum?" "Don’t talk that street talk, David," she complained stepping in, and turned around rolling his eyes knowing already it was going to be that kind of conversation again. Jennifer Sciuoto’s dark eyes flicked over the room and then over her son before she stepped in, gently closing the door. That caught David’s attention and he snapped his head back. The only time she ever bothered to close the door when they spoke was when she had something important to say, and felt that even in an empty house closing the door for privacy was important.

Jennifer Sciuoto studied the face of her son, her jaw twitching. This is gonna be another bad one, he thought. Twitching was never a good sign. "Last weekend - did you have anyone over the house?" she said in a careful voice, smoothing her silk blouse. David shrugged and kept poker faced. "Yeah. Chris St. Jacques hung out for awhile after work on Friday, and Alan was over, too." She nodded and Jennifer’s jaw twitched again, and David felt another twinge of anxiety. "Those two again…" she grumbled. "Honestly David - don’t you have any decent friends? I knew letting you go to the public high school was a mistake." David snorted. This was old territory being worked over again. "Mum, let’s not get into my friends, okay? We’ve been down that road too many times. And as for schools-when I got done with the nuns I told you then; no more church an’ no more church schools and I meant it, so Lawrence Catholic and Austin were out." Jennifer Sciuoto’s lips tightened as David pressed a serious button. "I don’t know why you’ve gotten so down about the Catholic Church. When you were little-" David cut in hard and fast. "When I was little I didn’t know they were training me to look down on everyone else-and when I was little, I didn’t realize the Archbishop of Boston was hidin’ priests who liked screwin’ little boys." Jennifer’s face paled and she froze. "Don’t talk about Cardinal Law and the Church like that!" she snapped. "Why?" David asked simply, facing his mother again and speaking calmly, sliding his hands into his pockets and shrugging. He did everything he could to hide the anger boiling up in him. "He’s a disgrace, Mum. He shoulda been sharing that cell block when they offed Father Geoghan in prison for diddlin’ kids. But Law’s just like any CEO-whether he’s the guy who ran Enron or the Catholic Church of Boston, Incorporated," he snarled. "Just another wellconnected rat who walked instead of serving time for conspiracy and obstruction - by hidin’ child molesters an’ movin’ them from one parish to another when the crap began to fly. Except the Cardinal’s worse than the thieves at Enron and in Washington-they just stole money. That bastard helped steal lives."

Jennifer began wringing her hands, then sensed that’s exactly what her son wanted to do-distract her from the real purpose of their conversation. No you don’t. You’re not going to work my buttons that easy. She calmed herself. "Never mind about the church, David," she began, studying his face and trying to keep cool. "You just don’t seem to understand how important it is in life to make the right contacts-with friends and school." Like the kids of those social climbing snots you hang out with on the Haverhill Women’s Republican Action Caucus - rich-bitch wives of political wannabes in a state that’s about 90% run by Democrats? "I wasn’t smart enough and Dad isn’t rich enough for Phillips-Andover, and I wasn’t about to go away to any of those other snob academies." "That’s not why I’m here, David-the school issue’s done, but there’s still the matter of the people you run with," she began. David understood one diversion was dead and pursued another, stroking his chin and nodding. "You know mum, you’re right," he said in a reasonable voice. "I really should be more conscious of the people I hang with. Maybe get to know a few of your friends’ kids." He suddenly grinned, snapped his fingers. "I got it! I can call up Timothy Morrison and hang with him! His father’s a big wheel in that electronics company that shut down last year so they could use third-world slave labor, right? Yeah, they’re cool people to know. Timbo’s my age and he’s got the right connections-hell, he even knows three Kennedy cousins Mum - he meets a new one every time he goes back to rehab! And if I really play my cards right, I can maybe get in with Brenda Carlson. The Carlson’s that own the newspapers? I mean if she’s recovered enough from her third abortion in two years. Hey, there’s a class crowd." His mother’s eyes narrowed, following David as he walked across the room and placed his hands on the back of his swivel chair. She put her hands on her hips and glared while her son ignored her. "You never used to talk to me like that! And I know what it is, too. It’s those people you're hanging out with." "I never used to talk back because I knew it wasn’t worth the effort when you were on your high horse, Mum," David said in a tired voice. "Just like Dad turned your volume off years ago when you started in. But I’m not twelve

anymore, and if you’re gonna try treating me like I am you’re in for a surprise, okay? And that’s got nothing to do with my friends-that’s just me having enough. As for friends-well I’ve got good ones, Mum," David said with frost in his voice. "Alan and Chris are two of the nicest guys you could want to meet even if their families aren’t quite up to your social stature." Jennifer’s lips pressed thin at the sound of the sarcasm. "Just because your father let you go to that school doesn’t mean you can’t find a decent group of kids to hang out with. I mean honestly, David! Your father and I have a social position in this town to think about, and-" David gritted his teeth. "Social position? Ma, Dad grew up in the streets of the North End, and his father ran a junk yard in Everett. And your family? How about Papu? I know you like lettin’ your friends think you’re from Italian aristocrats, but I knew the guy, remember? Papu was a plumber in New Jersey when you were growing up - in Newark! Yeah, now there’s a piss-elegant place to be from!" David studied the flushing face and something came to him, and a slow smile crept over his face as he decided to use the wild-card dealt to him by his father when he’d had enough of Jennifer Sciuoto. "Hell, you always tell your friends about how you had to give up studying ‘at the Conservatory’ when you met dad," he said in with a deadly precision. He crossed his arms and cocked his head, leaning forward. "I don’t suppose you ever told any of ’em it was the Fisichelli Conservatory of Hair Design, did you? And what’s that song dad likes to hum behind your back when all those jerks are around?" He snapped his fingers and cocked his head with a fake grin. His mother’s face blanched and David leaned in for the kill. "Damn-I think it’s from that old musical, Grease! Was it ‘Beauty School Drop-Out’ or something like that?" He hummed a few notes for emphasis. "Yeah, that’s it," David finished bitterly. "And before you start in on any of the other crap, Dad doesn’t care about those phony contacts and neither do I. He’s got a good reputation as a lawyer because he earned it, and he’s the first one to tell people he caught some good breaks early on. The closest he ever got to the Ivy league was bumpin’ into a Harvard student ridin’ the T to the old Boston State College before they closed it, and he got his law degree part time at night from one of the grind schools - so, let’s not lay it on about our ‘social position’, okay? You’re not the local contessa, and this ain’t the manor house." He kicked the chair hard enough to slam into his computer desk.

David turned back to her again. "On top of that, there’s nothing wrong with my friends; it’s not like they’re into drugs like the kids of some of your committee friends, or stealin’ crap they don’t need at Macy’s just for kicks. And Alan goes to Lawrence Catholic, so it’s not like-" Jennifer Sciuoto held her hand up. "The St. Jacques kid isn’t bad I guess… at least his parents come from a decent background. I mean they’re just blue collar, but - " "Roland St. Jacques’s the Distribution Manager at-" "This isn’t about Chris!" she snapped. "It’s - it’s that other one I’m worried about," she said narrowing her eyes. "At first I thought-well, his father works under the Attorney General, so at least he has some decent background. But you’re always with him, David. And I’ve talked with some friends who have their kids at Lawrence Catholic." David stopped cold, aware he’d suddenly lost his advantage and not comfortable with the sudden new direction the conversation might be going in. It wasn’t the usual argument about David’s choice of friends versus what his mother perceived as their social inferiority. He took in the grim look on his mother’s face. "He has a certain… reputation, David," she said uncomfortably, licking her lips. "Rather a loathsome one, too." Jennifer Sciuoto saw her son’s face flush and turn away. Her hands fidgeted and she balled them together in front of her and her eyes flickered furtively away from her son. She walked over to his dresser, moved some small items around. I really don’t want to have this discussion, she told herself. But I’ve got to. "Okay. Now, about Alan," she began in a level voice. Don’t lose your temper and he won’t lose his. The two of you can come to an understanding as long as you stay in control. "He stayed overnight again, didn’t he?" She paused, picking a few stray hairs out of David’s comb. "It seems to me Alan stays here an awful lot when your father and I go away." She turned and fixed her eyes on her son, noting with satisfaction that his face was frozen, all his early confidence suddenly drained.

"In fact, you and Alan seem to spend a lot of time together - including staying at his house." David felt the sudden grip on his throat, and he swallowed hard. She knows. He felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach, but David mentally fought it off. He and Alan were always together now, and whenever one house or the other was empty and their schedules allowed it, they both spent the night together. Eileen Curran knew about her brother Alan and understood their relationship but never commented. In David’s own home, no one had ever seen fit to mention it before. Still, he was feeling less and less comfortable by the second. You always knew it would come out sooner or later. It had to. Especially once it was just me an’ Alan. "I’m not going to ask for… specifics," she said hesitantly, trying to hide the tone in her voice but wrinkling her nose. The subject was distasteful to her disgusting even. "And you don’t have to comment or try to think up some lie, David. I’m not blind and I know what’s going on," she said dryly. "But I think it’s best that he doesn’t come into this house again." She fixed her eyes steady on her son. "Certainly not when your father and I are gone, and I’d rather he wasn’t here at all. In fact, I don’t want him here at all." David dropped onto the edge of his bed, frozen. "Mum, I don’t know what you’re-" "David, please!" she snapped. "Please don’t try to talk to me like I’m stupid, alright? I know what’s going on, I’m not blind. Your father may not have put two and two together, but I have. I mean seriously - what did you think? That I’d never figure out why I had this extremely attractive, smart kid everyone likes who never goes out on dates with girls? And spends all his time with a kid like - like Alan, who has a reputation for - for being-" She searched for words helplessly. "Gay?" David watched her close her eyes and press her lips together.

"Don’t-don’t say that word," she said in a hoarse voice. "My God, how can something that ugly use such a nice word to describe it." David’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed. "Then use the one you want to use, ‘cuz there’s plenty. Homosexual sounds kinda clinical, but queer is good. Cocksucker and fag have always been the hands-down favorite in the school yard, Mum. How’s fudge-packer or cock-hound? One of them do?" She snapped her head up. "Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your mother." "Yeah, you are, which is about the only reason we’re still talkin’ right now," he said defiantly. "I’m eighteen Mum. You can’t tell me who I can or can’t see. And Alan isn’t the only one who’s-" "Stop that!" she shouted. "This isn’t a discussion, David! No, I can’t control who you see or don’t see. And I - I can’t make you into something else; but if I thought for a second there was something that would actually work, I’d do it." She shook her head. "But those things just don’t work. Believe me, I’ve checked." "Yeah - and besides, what if someone found out?" David snapped back. "All your friends would find out and where would you be?" David shook his head, picked up a pen and tapped it on his night stand. "What were you gonna do Mum? Have me kidnapped and sent to a reprogrammer, like in one of those Christian propaganda pamphlets?" he jeered. "You just got to love those guys. ‘Save Christian America! Let ‘em all die of God’s just plague!’" He looked up at her. " ‘Drive ‘em back into the shadows like they used to be, and pretend everyone’s the same. Call the 800 number flashin’ on your screen now with your Visa card and buy your place in Heaven!’" David shook his head, disgusted. "Shit, I bet they even run ‘two fer’ sales," he taunted. "Just like the discount stores. Those are the same guys who used to burn crosses outside of town after dark, dressed in white sheets," he added, disgusted. "They just don’t say ‘nigger’ anymore, because people get all upset. But fag’s okay!" Jennifer held back her anger. "Don’t ever use that ‘n’ word again. It’s-it’s vulgar and disrespectful." David’s eyebrow shot up. "And fag isn’t?"

Mrs. Sciuoto swallowed hard. "I already told you I’m not going to try any of that reprogramming nonsense… it doesn’t work, I know that." She lowered her voice, searched for control. She pressed her lips together. "You’re my only son, and I love you, and nothing is going to change that," she said in a calculatedly softer and gentler voice. "But that doesn’t mean I have to like what you are, and it doesn’t mean I’ll let you rub my nose in it. I’m not going to stand here and make you say you’ll never-never do the disgusting things those people do-" David looked up. "People like me, Ma! Not people like some unknown them, people like me! I do those things." She ignored the outburst, doing what she always did when she was opposed she chose not to hear it. "-but I won’t have it happening in my house, and I won’t have him in my house. At least you weren’t-you weren’t doing those things before you met him, and I’ve talked to enough people who deal with Lawrence Catholic to know that one’s notorious!" David laughed. "I wasn’t ‘doing those things’ before I met Alan, Mum? He’s ‘notorious?’" David laughed, shaking his head ruefully. "He’s the one that must have corrupted me, right? Jesus, if you only knew." His voice trailed and his head snapped up again. "Wanna know something, Mum? Alan was with one other kid before he met me - and that guy outed him to save his own sorry ass when people started to wonder what was going on between ‘em. That’s how he became ‘notorious’ - one guy shot his mouth off, and Alan didn’t think fast enough to cover his ass. I had more experience than he did! Careful, or I’ll tell you how!" Her eyes blazed. "That’s beside the point and I don’t care!" she shouted back. "I just know I’m not going to let you two act like-like animals in my house! Alan doesn’t come here any more, period! Not to spend the night, not to visit, not even to sit in the car while you come in for something! I can’t stop you from being what you are, but I won’t have it under my nose!" "Have you talked to Dad about all this?" "No!" she growled back. "I don’t know what he’ll do when he figures out what’s going on."

David grunted. He had no idea what would happen either. He was sure the man wouldn’t put him out of the house, but he wouldn’t be thrilled, either. David thought of some of the people who’d gone through coming out to their parents… Alan’s father hated his son already, and finding out was just one more reason for the man to abuse the boy. Chris’ father and mother just dealt with it; they didn’t talk about it a lot, but they didn’t pretend it wasn’t real, either. Even Chris’ father knew he and Alan were a couple, and fixed it so Alan had a good paying job for the summer at the warehouse he ran. But this-he never imagined his mother would react like this. She wanted to bury her head in the sand and pretend it wasn’t real, to have everyone just go on with their lives acting like everything was all right. And that somehow forbidding Alan to even come into the house could change everything. "This discussion is over, David." He snorted. "This was a discussion?" She ignored him. "You live your life outside the way you have to, but I don’t want it happening here," she said grimly. "For God’s sake, you can be discreet at least." "Sure," he said with sarcasm. "We can be real discreet, and give each other head in an alley some place, just like in the good ol’ days when people were so discreet. I can be the family’s dirty little secret-the happy bachelor with the ‘special friend’ no one ever talks about." Jennifer clenched her jaw one last time and slammed the door behind her, almost on the verge of frustrated tears. David kicked the swivel chair savagely again, knocking it over. Today doesn’t suck enough, she has to pull this shit on me. What the fuck! David threw himself on the bed again. He snarled and clenched his fists. And why the hell’d she have to bring up the church again on top of everything else? He rolled himself into a ball on the bed, eyes clenched shut and arms wrapped around himself, motionless, but his mind going places he’s rather not visit.

Near the end of eighth grade, David had gone to his father, informing him he wanted to go to public school. "No more nuns and no priests, Dad. I had enough of that stuff." It was a long, bitter argument. His mother threatened to drag him to either Austin Prep or Lawrence Catholic, but David was adamant about going to a public school. Finally Albert Sciuoto over-ruled his wife and gave in. David let them think what they wanted with that battle won, but the rest of the war to be fought. That happened the following Sunday when David refused to go to Church with his mother, Albert Sciuoto - standing in his robe, unshaven and holding the paper, finally realizing he no longer had to perpetuate the lie he was going to a special Mass later in the day - shrugged and told his son to do what he thought best. "You can’t force him, Jen," he said resigned, and not much saddened. "Mama tried that with me and Lou - we just hung out at Dunkin’ Donuts for an hour. You can’t force him to believe so forget it." Then he looked at his son. "It’s your decision, Davey. And if she leans on you, tell me about it," he’d said simply, and walked back to the kitchen for more coffee. Church was a closed subject. Just ‘part of his growing up’, as Albert Sciuoto said. At school David heard a few remarks from nuns and teachers about how he wasn’t seen at Church, and had stunned a few people when he’d looked at Mother Superior and told her boldly if she had any questions she could call his father. To David, it was a lot more than just ‘growing up’. It was a Saturday afternoon spent walking to another part of town, to an old red-brick church done up in high Gothic - nothing like his own modern, bright colored church with its open floor and big windows allowing the light to flood in. But David was afraid to go to his own church. He knew the priests, and they’d recognize his voice when he confessed. He still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t a loophole in the Seal of the Confessional rule; and even if there wasn’t, he didn’t want the priests that knew him and his family know about his awful sin. David snuck into the back of the dark church, hoping no one saw him. He’d expected the lines of people like he saw on the Thursdays before a Good Friday when the sister’s insisted everyone from school take confession before Mass the next day. That church was filled with people, but this one was different. David peered into the shadows of this strange church, a few old people sitting in the pews, a few more at the old fashioned marble rail that once ‘guarded’ the

altar. Two dark-oak boxes with a carved oak door in the center between two purple-velvet curtains on either side stood mid-way down the church, to the right and left. One booth had a green light over the center door, showing the priest was available. David held his ball cap in his hands and stared at the chipped tile floor and crept cautiously down the side aisle, eyeing the older people and grateful not to see a familiar face. He read the sign on the oak door Monsignor Bourque - and sighed with relief that the name was unfamiliar. He fell to his knees and the slide on the screen was pulled back and they went through the correct formula for absolution. Then the hard part came. The tired, disinterested voice of an old man mumbled. "Tell me your sins, child." David began to cry when he babbled about the things he did with Danny. But David didn’t care about that part. He had a worse sin to confess, if he could get to it. But the priest stopped him. "You have committed the darkest sin," the voice rasped, dripping with disgust. "Stop. I don’t need any more details." "But Father-" "Monsignor," the man snapped. His voice was cold. "Boy, you have committed the worst of sins. I want you to say five rosaries today - and every night for a week at home. And I insist you promise here and now - in God’s house and at the cost of your immortal soul - that you will never sin like that again before I grant you absolution." "But Fath-Monsignor," David corrected himself, shaking his head and the words racing. He had to tell, he had to get it out. "That’s not the sin! The sin was-" "Not a sin?" the voice rose to the harshest, throatiest whisper, rasping. "Not a sin? Get out, boy-or don’t argue with me about sin! Your cursed and damned forever unless you swear and confess!" "I’m trying to confess!" David cried. "The real sin was-" The priest cut him off, droned on with his angry lecture about the sins of flesh. A scared David forced back frightened tears, but then rocked back on the kneeler, staring up at faint outline of a fat old man with thinning hair who

owned a nasty voice. Something snapped inside David and he frowned. Suddenly David’s eyes dried, and their look hardened. He doesn’t care what I have to say. He won’t listen and he doesn’t care. A cold indifference suddenly filled him. "Fuck you, Monsignor," David said softly, leaning back on his heels. He heard the tirade come to a halt, followed by a shocked silence. David got up, pushed back the purple velvet curtain and walked calmly from the booth, down the shadowy aisle. He heard a door slam open but never bothered to turn, simply pushed open the dark, heavy oak door at the rear of the church and stepped into the daylight. On the street he stood back on the sidewalk, and looked up at the three high towers, his hard, dark eyes studying the building and frowning. Ugly, common red brick pretending to be a Gothic cathedral, capped with copper spires - an ugly green against the pale blue sky. Narrow dark windows concealed behind heavy grates, protecting stained glass but blocking the light. In his mind he could still see and smell the dark and musty air, feel the dampness. It’s all just fake. The look, the promises - everything’s fake. "Fuck you," he mouthed at the building, then turned and walked away. "And fuck all the phony priests," he muttered staring ahead, oblivious to the curious faces of passers-by who heard an angry boy muttering under his breath. "And fuck that whole bullshit church," he fumed. "None of ‘em ever listen - they always say only they know everything, that only they know best, and only they know what’s right. Well they don’t know shit! They don’t even know what the problem is because they won’t listen. And I don’t need their crap in my life." When he got home late in the afternoon David ran up to his room and locked the door. He fished in his dresser for the hand-carved marble rosary his grandmother had given for his Confirmation only a year before. The rosary was made by her own father for a long dead brother, from marble chips used to build the altar in their village in Italy. David gripped the cool, shiny marble, fell to his knees and began ticking off the prayers. He mouthed each word of the ten Hail Marys that made the decade of the rosary the way he was taught, showing respect. In between was the Our Father, until the five decades were complete, and then began the next full rosary until he’d said five in full. God wasn’t the villain, so David paid what was owed. It was part of the deal he’d made when he walked into the confessional.

He knew it was his last obligation to the Catholic Church, and David said the prayers each night for a week, just as the priest ordered. It didn’t matter that the priest held back formal absolution; David made his confession with the right intent, and fulfilled his penance. That was how Confession worked - prayer for payment of sin. That took care of the sex - but after that, David would never see sex as sin again, so it couldn’t be one. He no longer considered it wrong. That was basic catechism from the first grade: it wasn’t a sin unless you knew it was sin, and believed it was sin. He’d loved Danny and had been forced to submit to Griff. But David did care that he hadn’t been able to confess what he believed to be his real sin, the one that truly condemned him. Danny trusted David, and David abandoned him to save himself. That was David’s big sin, and that was Davis’s dark secret. That was the one thing he couldn’t get absolution for, because he couldn’t confess it - and he couldn’t forgive himself. Worse, he never got to tell about Griff. He heard the chirp of his cell and David jerked his head up from the mattress. Has to be Alan, he told himself as he rubbed his eyes, and snatched it up from the desk. He glanced at the clock - almost three in the afternoon. Alan would be out of work in a half hour, and expected to drive to David’s. His thumb hit receive. "Hey, sexy," Alan started. "We all set for tonight? I can be there in less than a half hour after work." Now what? Do I tell him he can’t come here again, ever? Or do I buy some time until I can get this worked out with Wonder Bitch? Danny’s face flittered in front of his eyes. Damn, like I don’t have enough crap in my life today. "Alan, look," he began. "Uh, thing’s have changed, okay? It might not be a good idea for you to come over today… listen, let me call you a little later? Six o’clock, I can call you at home. There’s, uh, some stuff goin’ on here I don’t wanna get into." He heard a brief silence, and David was worried Alan might know something was up.

"Yeah, no prob, dude," Alan snickered. "Besides, you’re prob’ly lucky. Old Roland worked me like this place was a plantation today and I stink. Gimme a call later." David clicked off the line and threw himself back on the bed feeling guilty about having to lie. He sighed. How can everything go to shit all at once?

CHAPTER FOUR Chris St. Jacques stretched out in his rolling chair and put his feet up on the computer desk, tilting himself back, hands tucked behind his head. He felt awkward; talking about a friend behind his back was something Chris didn’t like. On the other hand, Alan was also his friend and he needed someone to confide in. Chris found himself in the awkward position of picking from column ‘A’ or column ‘B’ - complicated by the fact that he owed both his friends the right to approach him in confidence. He shook his head. God knows they were both there for me when I needed it. "So why do you think there’s something wrong?" he asked cautiously. Then his eyes widened. "Jesus, are you tryin’ to say he’s cheatin’ on you?" Chris shook his head, answering his own question before Alan could get a word out. "Naaa that isn’t like Dave. But we could always follow him if you want." Alan Curran lay slumped chest-down across Chris’ bed, chin on top of his folded hands, knees bent and letting his feet slowly pace the air. The corner of his mouth twitched and he turned his head so he could see his friend in full view and he snorted. "I think we did the following routine once before but… I dunno. I don’t think he’s foolin’ around, Chris. I mean it’s not like he’s ever ‘suddenly missing’ or makin’ excuses about having to cancel out on something we planned." Alan let out a long breath, rubbed his chin against his hands while he frowned and let his eyes drift downcast again. "If you wanna know the truth, I think maybe he’s tired of me," he said with an unhappy sigh, sitting up and pointing to his own body. "I mean - just look at me, Chris. I’m short, I’m skinny, and I got no illusions about what I look like. Hell, I’m not even as smart as he is." "Shut up," Chris shot back sharply. "I’ve told you about puttin’ yourself down like that."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Right - sure. You gonna tell me I look like a young Brad Pitt?" Chris grimaced, leaned back more. "No, I’m not. Okay, you don’t have movie star looks. Neither do I." "But David does." "Never mind about that! Lemme finish," Chris said, exasperated. "Alright, so Calvin Klein isn’t bustin’ down your door to put you in any ads. But I swear, you’re not ugly, Alan! You’ve got some nice features, not to mention a lot of other good qualities that I know David likes in people." "Remember Jamie and that other one, Jeremy?" he said, nodding towards the photo. "Real nice looks… but when you came down to it, both of ‘em slithered." Alan shrugged. He’d figured out the year before that Chris’ first boyfriend was the kind of guy that would nail anything with a hole and a heartbeat. But David’s different than that, he thought. "And yeah," Chris continued, "you’re skinny - but so am I, and neither one of us is ever gonna see the five-foot-nine marker without a stool or lookin’ up. But dumb? Bullshit. You spent way too much time hearin’ that crap from your father, so you stopped trying. I mean, look at your last quarter in school after David an’ I coached you - maybe you didn’t draw aces but B and B+ average on your report? With an A in biology thrown in for good measure? I say that proves you’re not dumb." Alan snickered, turning to look at Chris again. "Yeah, just lazy. That’s what Brother Chuck said when he gave me the A - and be careful in that seat or you’ll flip over." Chris ignored Alan’s last comment and continued to stretch back, swiveling slowly to the left and right. "This Brother Chuck prob’ly just meant to get you going. He still gave you an A - and even if he tossed in a dig, he congratulated you for it. He just wants you to keep workin’ at it." "Whatever," Alan mumbled, rolling over onto his back and laying his ankles across the bed’s headboard, bouncing his heels. "Okay, maybe I’m not so dumb. And maybe I’m not the total dog I think I am either - but that still doesn’t help to explain David. I mean, it’s like he’s completely lost interest.

When we do it, I get the feelin’ he just wants it over and done with as quick as we can. I mean, he’s real good to me, but half the time he doesn’t want to bother finishin’ for himself once I pop unless I push. And Jesus, Dave used to climb on top like he was ready to drill for oil, and I can’t even remember the last time we did it like that." "It was at least the morning before Gay Pride," Chris said offhandedly. Alan blushed, giving him a shocked look. Chris shrugged. "Martin and I were next door in the guest room, remember?" He paused, then began to giggle. "God, I felt sorry for him. I mean I’m used to it, but I thought the kid was gonna pass out just listenin’ to you guys! Then the poor kid ran for the bathroom he had to do it so bad. Didn’t take him long either." Alan blushed but grinned. "C’mon! We weren’t that loud!" Chris rolled his eyes. "Bullshit! I mean, I’ve heard you guys before. But all Martin really knows are pics and vids on his computer. Listening to you guys live totally drove him over the edge." They both chuckled, then Alan shuffled around on the bed. "This is so weird. A year ago I never thought I’d be talkin’ about stuff like this with anyone… about what I like doin’ in bed with a guy." Chris shrugged. "Makes two of us, but we do ‘those things’ now instead of just think about ‘em, so it doesn’t hurt to compare notes and talk about it. But seriously, David can’t be… you know." Chris held out his arm and let it drop at the elbow and dangle. Alan shook his head. "Everything starts okay," he said quietly. "And no - he doesn’t suddenly drop like that. It’s just like he doesn’t want to finish once he sees I’m all set, and we just stop. That, plus I can’t get him on top anymore, like I said. But otherwise, if I hint around - yeah he starts right up, just like always, but he never starts things anymore, C. Damn, it’s almost like he’s afraid to touch me sometimes." He cleared his throat, then began idling picking at the pillow. "Has he said anything at work?" Alan asked in a small voice. "Maybe not about me. I mean… has he talked about having any problems?" Another thought flashed in his mind. And would you tell me if he did?

Chris shook his head, grateful he didn’t have to decide what to say or how carefully to say it. "David’s just like always," he said, "but it’s not like we ever really talk about sex - I mean, over and above him needlin’ me about when was the last time I got any." He leaned back more mulling it over. Damn, he thought. I haven’t done anything since we went to the Cape. Gotta do somethin’ about that. Alan was about to warn Chris about over-leaning the chair again, but the simultaneous crash and Chris’ sharp yelp made it irrelevant. Chris swore while he crawled up and righted the chair, rubbing the back of his head. He glared at Alan. "Thanks for the help," he said acidly. Alan continued bouncing his heels on the headboard, staring up at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head and smiling. "De nada, babe. And don’t be gettin’ pissy with me - I warned you ’bout it twice. If there’s any blood, I can drive you to the hospital, but I bet you hurt the floor more than your head." "I remember when you used to be a nice guy," Chris groused and sat carefully in the chair, this time upright. "So… what else? You said he’s not suddenly cancelin’ dates and stuff?" Alan went silent for a moment. "Not exactly. We still get together a lot, but it’s different all of a sudden. If we were both off, we’d usually split our time between his house and mine to hang out or meet. But for a week now, every time I say I’ll swing by, he falls over his tongue tryin’ to stop me, says he’ll pick me up or we can meet and ride together. Yesterday, I drove up to his house in my jeep after work and he came runnin’ out of his house - said he was goin’ out and that he’d see me later." "Nothing weird about that." "No," Alan said, still staring up at the ceiling. "Except his mom was standin’ in the door the whole time with her arms crossed lookin’ pissed. She don’t like me anyway, but that was a first." Chris grunted. He had an opinion of Jennifer Sciuoto, but had wisely declined to voice it front of anyone, ever. David’s mother may have always smiled when she saw him and said all the right things, but Chris could tell from her eyes that she considered him only slightly lower than dirt.

Alan swung his legs around and sat up on the bed, stretching. "I should go. My sister said she wanted me to help her put together a new entertainment center tonight - Eileen should be home by now." They talked about nothing all the way down the stairs, then Chris waited at the door and waved until Alan backed his yellow Jeep Wrangler into the street and drove away into the distance. Chris envied Alan the car… then remembered the years of abuse the boy had endured at the hands of his father for the down payment, and suddenly his own ten-year-old Tercel didn’t sound like such a bad deal. That only cost him money, and his father helped him with that, even insuring and registering it for him. Some of his friends didn’t think that was much - one even refused to ride in it - but then again, they were all swamped with school loans for college, and Roland St. Jacques was doing his best to foot the tuition at U-Lowell for Chris. He explained it was a choice: money for his education, or money to impress a bunch of jerks with a shiny machine that was worth two thousand bucks less than what he paid the moment he put the key in the ignition. Chris decided the Tercel looked pretty good after all. He wandered to the kitchen, checking the wall clock: six forty-five. His mother had already called and said she’d be home by seven-thirty or eight - she was a realtor whose agency had an exclusive in a new upscale development in nearby Georgetown that had a few model homes finished and were marketing for prebuild buys for the rest. His father had come home, decided he was too lazy to cook, and had gone out to eat by himself once he confirmed that Chris didn’t want to join him… which also gave his father the opportunity to stop off and have a beer and swap man-gossip at a tavern he liked in downtown Haverhill. Chris made himself a sandwich and flipped on the television, a leg dangling over the couch arm as he surfed through soft-news shows that were little more than gossip and glitz, then passed on yet-another variation of Egyptian history being aired by both A&E and the History Channel - one as Secrets of the Pharaohs and the other as Secrets of the Pyramids. Both of them were re-cuts of the Secrets of Egypt he’d seen two weeks before. Chris sighed, settling for a rerun of The Simpsons on channel 38. Big goddam switch from last year, he thought with a wry smile, when Chris spent every spare moment doing what he thought of as cruising - hanging out at the Salem Mall or searching up and down the boardwalks and beaches from Salisbury to Hampton hoping to get picked up. He shuddered at the memory, and some of the things he did hoping to hook up with someone for a little action.

Was I ever really that dumb an’ desperate, he thought ruefully. God - I’m never doin’ stuff like that again. Chris thought of calling David, but had to admit he wasn’t in the mood for the possibility of another heavy conversation. He felt a flash of guilt, considering the way both David and Alan were always there for him when he needed their help. Everyone needs a time out for themselves, he told himself. I’ll see David at work tomorrow, and if Alan calls again I’ll do what I can. But tonight, I just want my mind to vegetate. Chris had already seen the Simpsons episode at least three times and flicked through the local feed, shuddering when he came across reruns of Friends and Frasier from the Boston stations. Spencer for Hire was on TV-Land and TNT gave him the X-Files, which perked him up until he saw it was the stupid one made like it was a Cops episode. A quick check on the SciFi Channel showed the original Star Trek in progress, back when Klingons only had bushy eyebrows and rough complexions; all Chris needed to see was a ball of fur and knew it was the Tribble episode. He didn’t bother with the national network affiliates - all talk and gossip shows, masquerading as news. "Almost three hundred friggin’ channels on the dish and not a damn thing that isn’t a rerun or for idiots," he grumbled. Frustrated, he clicked off the TV set and checked the clock again; not even quarter past seven. It was Wednesday, and he knew better than to bother checking if anything good might be on later. Talk about a great night off work, he thought, bored. He mulled over his situation, thinking of things to fill in his time. I really could use some new clothes for school, he told himself. At the same time he felt a twitch in his crotch, feeling a need to justify a trip to the Rockingham Park Mall - the only mall for thirty-five miles - to have something to do. It ain’t cruisin’ if you got a reason to be there. And if lightning strikes and you should happen to actually meet somebody… "What the hell," he said, then grabbed his car keys. Chris ambled through the long marble concourse of the quiet mall, sidestepping a pillar he knew from habit was there. He was looking down, balancing the

shopping bags in his folded right arm and struggling to jam the bankcard back into his wallet without dropping anything, when he suddenly collided with something that wasn’t exactly a pillar, unless you consider that sometimes flesh could be almost as solid. His victim turned quickly, accidentally elbowing Chris in the lower chest. The bags tumbled, his wallet went flying and his card clattered someplace else. Chris looked up from the hard marble floor as the wall spun around and he stared up into small, menacing black eyes set off with a single eyebrow across the forehead. It was furrowed, and the mouth with the thick lips was slightly puckered. The dark eyes didn’t look pleased. Chris noted the acne scars and gulped. "Jesus, dude, I’m sorry," said a deep, nasal voice and the stranger with black wavy hair smiled and bent over to help Chris pick up his belongings, at the same time hanging on to the wrist of a dark-haired toddler. "I just spun around when you hit - didn’t mean to clock ya." "No sweat," Chris chuckled, feeling relieved. "I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’ again - my mother says stuff like that’s the story of my life." The other young man stood up with two of the bags and Chris’ Fleet card. His brown eyes blinked. "Hey! I know you," he said, and the smile widened. "You’re the guy from Barrier’s - you check me through all the time. Remember? You turned me on to those Amber books by Zelazny a couple weeks ago. Chris, right?" He grabbed at the little one who’d felt the grip on his wrist loosen and tried to hurl himself forward towards freedom. "No, you don’t, squirt," he said picking up the boy in his arms. The boy grinned back playfully and grabbed a handful of the thick, wavy hair and at the same time tried squirming away. "Just like me, huh? Already tryin’ the wrestlin’ moves to get away?" He grinned and rubbed his nose into the boy’s. The little boy smiled back and giggled but rammed a fist into his captor’s eye. "Shit. Down you go," the young man said chuckling, then stood up and offered his free hand to Chris. "I’m Leo DiStefano," he said with a thick-lipped smile, showing a huge gap between his two front teeth. His thick, single eyebrow stretching across the bridge of his nose rode up when he smiled. "And the candidate for the WWWF is little Leo."

Chris recognized Leo and felt some relief, but his eyes widened as he looked at the child. "Wow - I didn’t think you were old enough to have a kid," he replied without thinking, shaking the hand. Leo chuckled. "He’s Leo Two, not Junior. He’s my sister’s - she named him after me. She doesn’t have a driver’s license but she needed some stuff so I ran her down here tonight. We’re only a couple miles away. And I cut her a break and said I’d hold on to Hell-Raiser here so she can actually get waited on and maybe even try on stuff for a change." Chris dropped to a knee and made stupid sounds to the boy, which would have been okay if little Leo were a bit younger. The boy was fascinated by Chris’ long nose and his eyes locked onto it. Leo Two grabbed it, twisting. Chris jerked back in pain and let out a few words he shouldn’t have said in front of an almost three-year-old. "Uh... sorry about my mouth," he said sheepishly and rubbed his aching nose, shooting venomous looks at the grinning boy. Leo laughed. "Nuthin’ he ain’t already heard from me when he does the same kind of stuff. The trick is gettin’ him not to repeat ‘em when his grandmother’s around, ‘cuz she knows were he learned ‘em - and he ain’t the one that gets whacked." Chris noticed a short, petite girl with dark hair of about sixteen come out of a store holding a few bags. She smiled when she saw the three of them. "Are you beating up on my kid again, Leo?" she asked. He grinned. "Nah, but your kid’s beating on people I know again. Oh, and he heard a new one tonight - but it wasn’t me," Leo added defensively and pretended to panic, pointing at Chris. "So when he says it in front of Ma, I want your support. Last time, she smacked me silly, and I’m not takin’ the rap for it. And Chris was justified!" The girl smiled at Chris. He noticed a very slight version of the gap he’d seen in Leo’s smile, but no further resemblance to her brother other than dark skin, brown eyes and black hair. "I’m Tina - if I wait for the Stump here, I’ll be old enough to drive before he thinks of this."

"He’s Chris," Leo cut in, then blinked. "Chris - uh..." "St. Jacques. I met Leo a few times where I work. You got a cute kid, Tina." He eyed the boy again, who stuck out his tongue. Vicious, but cute. Tina nodded pleasantly before turning back to her brother. "I want to try something I saw on him, so you’re sprung. Meet you back here in twenty minutes?" Leo agreed. As she walked away he looked at Chris again, still smiling. "I know what you’re thinkin’ when you see her, so don’t sweat it, okay?" he said in a lowered voice. "And thanks for not lookin’ at her funny when she said Leo was hers. A lotta guys would." Chris shuffled around looking embarrassed. "Believe me, I’m not one to throw stones. Criticize my friends maybe, but not throw stones." "Sweet. Hey, wanna go up to the food court and get a Softee with me? I was gonna skip it with Leo around because he’d wind up wearin’ most of it and Tina would bitch me out." He laughed. "Besides, a little company wouldn’t hurt, and I can pick your brain for some more books. The ones you showed me were fun." Chris smiled, nodded. "Yeah I can go for that - as long as they got chocolate jimmies. And I’m surprised you have to ask me about books - I see you in there all the time." "Jimmies and a chocolate dip, then," Leo said laughing, and they moved off for the long, winding stairway in the center of the mall that would take them directly to the food courts on the second level. "Most of the stuff I read is more technical," the young man said, taking two steps at a time, "but I needed a break. I used to do a lot of sci-fi when I was a kid, but I’m kinda out of touch. And most of my friends..." He let the words trail, then shook his head and sighed. "Well, if they read at all it’s the comic page. Or maybe the police notes in the paper to keep track of their families." They ordered up two vanilla doubles with chocolate trimmings and settled into a small table in the nearly empty food court. Chris watched Leo carefully. Leo rattled him a little at first, and Chris wondered if he were trying to pick him up. Then he decided that was silly; Leo was just as nice and easygoing the first time Chris helped him at Barrier’s, in spite of his rough looks. And Chris could

see him looking at girls when they passed as casually as he himself would check out guys as they sat chatting. Not ogling, just making that auto-check men do when they see something attractive. Chris decided he liked Leo. He also thought it might be a good idea never to piss him off. "Uh, listen," Leo said, lowering his voice. "I sorta got a motive for invitin’ you like this." Chris’ head popped up. Motive? Jesus, is he hitting on me after all? "Motive?" he asked, a twinge of nervousness in his voice. "For what?" Leo shuffled around on the seat, caught a big gob of Softee leaking down with his tongue. "Damn things always melt too fast, ‘specially with the chocolate dip." He wiped his fingers. "Uh, yeah - motive. There’s this guy you work with, David? Uh, is he... well - is he alright?" Chris’ forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, ‘alright’?" Leo shuffled around uncomfortably. "He’s not - you know... kinda funny is he? I mean… you know." Chris’ eyes narrowed and he re-examined his opinion of Leo DiStefano. "David Sciuoto’s one of my best friends," he said tersely. "No, better than that. He is my best friend. Care to tell me what you mean by funny? Was it funny ‘ha-ha’ or funny somethin’ else?" Leo’s face reddened slightly. "I knew I’d screw this up," he said, apologetically. "Look, I already figure he’s a gay-boy and I don’t care about that any more’n I care you are." Chris’ back stiffened. I swear, I got a sign over me in pink neon. It’s gotta be something like that. "What makes you say that?" he said evenly. Leo shrugged and blinked. "Uh, well… if I’m wrong I’m sorry, but…" Chris waved it off but his tone sharpened. "Never mind. Not that it’s any of your business, but, yeah, I am. And if you wanna know about Dave, you can ask him. So, what’s next? You gonna ask one of us for a date? Or is this where you take me out to the parking lot and beat the crap out of me? Gotta warn you, it’s been tried before. I hit mean, dirty and low. Then I run fast once you’re down."

Leo shook his head and started turning red. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Jesus H. Christ," he said with a sigh. "I knew I’d screw this up - Sandy says I got less class than a starvin’ bum at a free lunch. Look, Chris - I’m not concerned about the gay part, okay? That’s your business and no one else’s and I guess I shouldn’t’ve said it like that. I’m concerned about this David guy ‘cuz I found him tryin’ to pound out my girlfriend’s little brother last week, and he’s... well, you got at least one thing in common with him, okay? Martin’s just a lot more obvious than either of you guys and a lot younger, and I don’t think it’s right with a guy our age screwin’ around with a kid his age." Chris started to laugh, and Leo looked confused. "I’m sorry," Chris explained. "Look, you’re talking about Martin Seduko, right? David and I know Martin, we met him last winter through some friends. And yeah, you’re right - he’s too young for us to mess with. Definitely not our type. But that’s not what it’s about - we know Martin from a gay youth group, and we’ve given him rides and stuff. Sometimes we give him a shoulder to cry on and an ear to confide in, too. "But as for Dave tryin’ stuff on him - with him - man, are you out of it! David’s got a boyfriend our age even if he looks a lot younger, and I know David well enough to know he might be into boys, but he ain’t into little boys. I mean… where do you get that stuff?" he added with a touch of amazement creeping into his voice. "Do you think gay guys recruit little kids the way Pat Buchanan and the other ignorant bigots claim?" Leo shook his head and sighed, his dark Mediterranean skin turning a brick color. "No, I do not think crap like that. Maybe I look dumb to you - a lot of people think that when they meet me - but you got it all wrong. I was worried because…" Leo shifted uncomfortably, shot Chris a quick look and just as quickly turned away. "Well you seen my sister, okay?" he said in a mild voice. "When she was thirteen, she thought she was all grown up, just because she developed a lot faster than all her friends. Used to like hangin’ out with the older kids and all that stuff. I mean, every kid likes doing that, right?" He paused, and his forehead furrowed again. "Then she met this jerk - an eighteen-year-old jerk - who saw something easy to knock off if he just said all the right things and my nephew’s the result. Don’t get me wrong - Little Leo’s a real sweet kid but so’s Tina; and thirteen was way too young for her to be a mother - so that’s why I get suspicious when I see older guys messin’ with

someone younger. And since you met Martin, then…" He flailed around helplessly, looking for the right words, and finally shrugged. "Well, it’s obvious that he’s… you know. And his sister told me anyway Sandra Seduko’s my girlfriend. Martin gets a lot of crap for bein’ kinda fem which he can’t help - and he’s lonely and that makes him an easy target. Especially for someone who’s way too good lookin’ and can feed a good line out. I just wanted to make sure your friend wasn’t screwin’ with Martin’s head. Or anything else, either." Leo looked pensively at Chris. "Martin can’t get knocked up, but he can sure as hell get fucked-up, ya know?" Chris’ jaw twitched. He finished off his Softee and began wiping off his hands. He studied Leo, who was so different from the image he projected - short and thuggish, with a thick neck; the heavy lips and the acne scarring. Combined with his blunt speaking, everything about him screamed ‘stupid’ and ‘punk.’ Chris still wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark parking lot, but he also remembered the thick texts in electronics that Leo routinely bought or ordered at Barrier’s. Leo was anything but stupid. And maybe his manner was rough, but he was no smart-ass jerk looking for trouble. Chris thought of his own father: a decent guy who had a foot permanently inserted in his mouth. He nodded. "I know what you’re talking about," Chris said slowly, softly. "And I understand. But honest to God, Leo - Dave would never mess with anyone’s head like that, especially a kid. Yeah, Martin might think an older guy is cool right now, but he’s… well, he’s smart enough, but he still thinks like a kid. And I know all about how it feels finding out you were used, but at least I was old enough to deal with it. David’s no weasel, guaranteed." Leo grabbed a few napkins for himself, dipping them into the small cup of water he’s asked for at the ice-cream counter and started wiping off his hands. He grinned, still avoiding Chris’ eyes, embarrassed. "If the little guy even smells this thing on me, he’ll squawk all the way home." He cleared his voice and looked up at Chris again, and put a dry hand on Chris’ shoulder. "Look, dude - I’m sorry if I got your back up and for puttin’ you on the spot, but… like I said, I don’t mean no harm and I like Martin. I just wanna make sure no one’s screwin’ with him okay? Sorry I made a mess of it." He glanced at his watch, then craned his neck to see if he could get a glimpse of the nearly empty concourse below from the gallery. "And that looks like Trouble and Tina down there, so I better go."

He held out his hand again and Chris shook it. "You’re nice people, Chris," Leo said smiling, withdrawing his hand. "Sorry if I made you feel like you were on the spot, okay? Like Sandy says - I just got no class." He darted off. "You’re nice people, too," Chris said to the empty air with a smile. Chris finished the last of his Softee up and started to lick a finger, then stopped as he was suddenly aware that he was being watched. Instead he used the water Leo left on a napkin and looked up casually, caught sight of a nice looking sandy-blond guy around his own age. Chris perked up. Nice! Suddenly aware he was caught, the sandy-blond head jerked around and moved on. I’ve seen him, Chris thought. Then flashed on a day in late June when he’d responded to an invitation from the U-Mass Lowell English department to retour the North Campus he’d be attending in the fall and meet some of the faculty. He’d seen that face in one of the other small groups of new freshmen. Chris smiled. Maybe I got me a possible, he snickered, remembering that day and how he thought the guy might have been checking him out. Then he remembered the rule he’d set for himself about public cruising after a little adventure the summer before. He mulled it over. Hey, it ain’t cruising, he thought, arguing with his conscience. I was just sittin’ here and caught him looking, so I’m not breakin’ any rules. If he’s lookin’ then I’d have rocks in my head if I didn’t check, right? He paused, nodded to himself. Right. Chris popped up, dumped his trash from the table and tried to casually hurry to the main walkway to see if he could catch a glimpse of the blond again. He stood and looked the small crowd over and sighed. Gone… and he could be in anyplace from Banana Republic to Filenes, he sighed. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and walked the length of the concourse. Chris half-heartedly checked the shop windows to see if he could spot his quarry as he walked by on his way to the South Escalator, and then resigned himself to head for his car. On an impulse, he checked the escalator, perked up for a moment when he saw a mop of blond hair and then realized it was too

blond and too long. But he did smile. Jesus, he’s with Martin - whoa! And did he just rub Martin on the ass? Chris chuckled watching a smiling but nervous Martin as the other boy reached over and patted Martin again. Yeah, look at the way Mart’s swivelin’ his head around hopin’ no one saw him do it! Eat it up, kid. If you got yourself a boyfriend, go for it! Chris watched them get to the bottom of the escalator, and then the unknownblond with the denim cutoffs and the baggy tee shirt reached over and nudged at Martin’s hand like he wanted to take it. Chris craned his neck more but whoever was with Martin was facing the wrong way and he couldn’t quite catch a look. They were about the same height so Chris figured they had to be around the same age. He wasn’t sure if Martin was smiling from that distance, but he saw his younger friend swivel in for a little hip check and his companion did the same and they slipped into the Game Zone Arcade. The body English looked good even from a distance. Chris St. Jacques smiled to himself and decided that as much as he wanted to check it out, he didn’t want Martin feeling awkward and decided to leave them alone. He glanced back again and scanned the second floor for any sign of his own unknown blond, and sighed as he started the short ride down the escalator when he didn’t see him. He felt good though. Much as he felt lonely for himself, he liked seeing Martin with someone else for a change, no matter what their relationship. As far as Chris was concerned, if anyone ever needed a friend it was a lonely kid like Martin. ***** Martin sat in the front seat of the red Taurus, smoothing the legs of his thin board shorts, not sure what was going to happen next. He glanced over at Danny, sitting next to him in the dark, staring ahead and fidgeting. The radio played softly. They were parked in the lot of the old Dragon Rose Restaurant, next to Martin’s trailer park where they’d met that afternoon. The Dragon Rose had shut down a year ago and even though land was prime on Route 28 in Salem, the building still hadn’t changed hands. The lot was too small for the larger retail stores and there was no hope of expansion unless the trailer park itself were sold. The restaurant building was too old and run down to be revived without a major input of cash - but the owner sat on the real estate, holding out for too much money and determined to take not a penny less than he thought it was worth and unwilling to invest a nickel into rehabbing the old

building. It added up to a substantial tax bill and nothing else. Salem property taxes were among the highest in the state. Not that Martin cared about that as he sat in the dark. He was too nervous. Is this where he says he can’t see me again, he wondered nervously. Is this when he decides I’m too girlish for him? Or too young? Danny looked over at him, his face no more than a silhouette in the dark but Martin could see he was biting his lip. "I had a great time today, Martin. You’re as cool as I thought you’d be," he said in his soft, all-boy voice. "And just as cute, too," he said, cautiously reaching over. Martin felt the fingers of the other’s hand slide over his own, and he sighed with relief. He was sure once Danny saw what he was like the boy would ditch him as fast as Ryan had. But Danny spent the day with him - hours at Canobie Lake Park on the rides all afternoon and into the evening, then a nice dinner at a Mexican restaurant on Route 28. He’d even refused to let Martin pay for anything. "I been waitin’ too long for this," Danny had said. "You’re my guest, no matter what." Then he’d put an arm around Martin’s shoulders whenever he could at Canobie, not caring how many people were around. He insisted on sitting close to Martin in the booth at the restaurant, not caring about the curious eyes. To Martin it was a far cry from Ryan last winter, who refused even to be seen in public with him. Total closet case, he thought. Danny held his hand properly now and squeezed it. Martin smiled and squeezed back into the seat, still pouring out the sweat as he sat motionless, even as the air conditioner wooshed the cool air at him… well, almost motionless, except for one part that kept twitching around. He smiled in the dark while Danny squeezed his hand more firmly. Martin swallowed hard. If he wants me to, I’ll do it, he thought to himself. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, he likes me, and I’ll do anything he wants. "I had a great time, too," Martin stammered finally, his voice cracking. Danny sniggered at the sound, then dropped Martin’s hand long enough to trace the curves of Martin’s face with his fingers. Martin felt something lurch in his pants again and tried desperately not to think of it. Danny swiveled in his seat more and leaned in close to Martin, his nose grazing Martin’s cheek. He trembled when Danny’s warm breath tickled his red-glowing skin.

Danny’s hand slid over and around Martin’s waist and pulled him closer to nuzzle, then whispered to Martin in the comforting dark. "If - if I ask you to do something for me, you won’t think I’m trying to take advantage, will ya?" Martin stiffened. This is it, I know it. Oh Jesus, he wants me to do him here in the car, he thought in a panic. Okay. Mart, this is where the practice stuff with the bananas pay off - you saw him in the men’s room and it’s big. You’re ready for it. You can control your throat. And the teeth! Jesus, watch out for the teeth. Just pray he’s gonna be happy with just the front end for starters. Martin licked his lips and turned his head, smiling with quivering lips, and found his eyes locked onto the other boy’s. "I’ll do anything for you, Danny." he said simply, his hoarse voice quivering. The left hand reached out and kneaded Martin’s left hip, the splayed-out thumb dangerously close to Martin’s twitching crotch. The other hand continued to trace the contour of Martin’s face, then he cupped Martin’s chin and turned the boy’s head so it rested on his shoulder. He whispered into Martin’s ear, casually brushing his fingers through Martin’s hair. "I don’t want you getting’ the wrong idea, though, Martin… like I just wanna use you or anything." Martin swallowed hard, almost choked. Ohgodohgodohgod whatever you friggin’ want! raced through his head. "No man, I mean it," Martin croaked nervously. "I - I’ll do whatever you want me to do to you. Uh, for you." Danny’s hands trembled. "Then - you’ll do it? I mean it’ll be my first time, Martin… You - you’ll let me kiss you?" Kiss? All he wants is a kiss? Dude, you can have anything you want! But Martin couldn’t find his voice again so he nodded, eyes wide and mouth slack. "I been wantin’ this from the first time I laid eyes on your picture, ‘cuz your everything I’d hoped you’d be," Danny said and leaned in and brushed his lips against Martin’s. Martin’s mouth sprung open and his tongue lashed out as he lunged forward desperately. Danny pulled back, chuckling and Martin was scared he’d blown it.

"Not like that, baby," Danny laughed quietly. "This ain’t like in the porn vids just kiss me, nice-like. Then maybe a little with the tips of our tongues after, okay? I wanna taste you, not eat you." Danny leaned in again and their mouths met. This time Martin relaxed and let it happen, let Danny take charge and control the pace. He felt the strong hands slide behind him, pull him closer. They kissed, lips barely spread open, and after an eternity Martin felt the first tentative warm touch of Danny’s tongue against the tip of his own. The kiss played on, and then Martin felt the tongue slide against the side of his own. A shudder ran through him. His first kiss… the one he’d always remember. It felt incredible. Martin fought to stay relaxed but felt the tension building in him and felt the front of his pants tightening even more. Then Danny was almost sitting in his lap as he twisted around the center console and the gear shift. Then he was sitting on Martin’s lap, his arms and legs wrapped around the fourteen-year-old as their mouths shared their warmth and their tongues searched and probed. Martin felt his cock rigid in his pants as they kissed. Then he suddenly realized that the pressure against him was Danny, sitting on him and undulating his hips as they kissed, grinding down. Danny lunged forward again and kissed and pressed his backside down hard. Martin ignored the warning signs, unable to focus on what was happening and then… "Oh, shit!" Martin croaked/whimpered, suddenly pulling back. But it was too late, and Danny still wriggled in his lap. He blushed. "Oh man! I didn’t mean to…" Danny laughed, then leaned forward and rubbed his nose against Martin’s, studying the panic in the other boy’s eyes. "As long as it felt good to you, I don’t care if you didn’t mean to or not - and it’ll wash off both of us, even if it soaks through your skivvies an’ pants," he said with a dirty grin. He eased off Martin, kissed his cheek one more time and clambered over the console into the other seat again. He giggled, pointing. "Dude - that was a gusher. I can even see the stain in the dark." Martin was flustered. "It looks like I peed myself. How’m I gonna walk into the house lookin’ like this?"

"Just take your shirt off and tuck in your belt," Danny said calmly. "I mean it’s hot as hell out - no one’s gonna think anything if you take your shirt off. It’ll cover and you can stuff ‘em in the wash tomorrow." Martin nodded. Oh man, he’s cool. He knows how to keep his head. But you gotta make it up to him. "Uh, I can… you know - help you out if you want." Danny shook his head, spoke in a shy voice. "I told you, Martin - I wanna make sure we’re good for each other, okay? The only thing I wanted was a kiss. I mean, if it gets that far and we decide we’ll be each other’s first time, I want to make it special for you… just like I want it to be special for me. When it happens, I want us to be someplace nice an’ safe - I wanna make love to you, not just score some head. I wanna hold you, feel your body and kiss you all over - not jam my dick in a hole in a dark car with my pants around my ankles. Plus we should get to know each other better." Martin looked down, thoroughly deflated. "I guess I know what you think of me now," he said in a small voice. Danny snorted. "For what - blowin’ in your pants just now? Hey, I’m the jerk! Me rubbin’ you like I was didn’t help. If anyone’s an asshole here, it’s me." He reached out and smoothed Martin’s hair again. "And I’m sorry for it, too - but not sorry that I made you feel good. And I know I did." He checked the clock on the dashboard. "And what you offered just now - I just got too much respect for you, Martin. If you didn’t matter, maybe - but you matter." Martin sighed, felt the hand reach out and take his again, then he spotted the clock on the dashboard. "Man, it’s almost eleven!" he squeaked. "My mom’s gonna have kittens." Danny hung his head. "I miss my mom," he said unsteadily. "I miss my dad, too. That’s what sucks - he probably doesn’t even know I’m gone right now." He shook his head to clear it. They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Danny spoke again. "Look, I gotta jet, babe. Look for me on line tomorrow ‘cuz I wanna set up another day with you." Martin grinned. They gave another quick peck on the lips and Martin hopped out of the car, waited while Danny carefully eased out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Then Martin made for the far corner of the parking lot, moved the bushes out of his way and slipped through a hole in the chain link. He looked around carefully, but the mobile home park was dead except for the uniform drone of air conditioners in the sultry night. Martin slipped out of his

sweat-streaked tee shirt and tucked it into the waist of his pants. Then he reached under the shirt and pulled the sticky fabric away from his skin. Damn, maybe wearin’ whitey tighties wasn’t that good an idea… but if I wore boxers, he’d a-seen me poppin’ a rod all day. Martin walked happily up the road to his mobile home. He smiled, noting that his father’s truck wasn’t there, but his mother’s car was. That only meant one set of eyes. He popped open the front door. Helen Seduko looked up. "Where’d you go?" "Out," Martin answered, edging around the chair and heading for the short hall. The corner of her mouth twitched. Out, huh? Smart ass. "Well, as long as you’re still in one piece and I don’t get no calls from the cops," she grumbled. "You with anyone?" she added hopefully. "Just a friend," Martin said quickly, stepped into the short hall and marched to his bedroom. Helen nodded, smiled and sighed with relief. Thank God he’s got some friends… I didn’t think anyone wanted to have anything to do with him, the poor kid. She checked her watch again and smiled. One down, one to go. Sandy would be back soon, most likely with Leo, and then she could go to bed. She liked Leo. Leo had a future, even if he wasn’t pretty to look at, and he treated Sandy right. She thought of her own husband, sitting on a stool at the White Buffalo, sucking down one draught after another, and let out a rueful laugh. She remembered how pretty he seemed almost twenty years and about a hundred pounds ago. God knows handsome don’t last - but for Sandy’s sake, I hope the brains do. It’d be real nice if both of ‘em get a life outside a tin box, tied to a loser. Martin’s smart, and he’ll get out; I just hope she does, too. Martin got into his room and shucked his clothes, using the soiled shorts to clean up the residue, thankful it hadn’t had time to dry. He stuffed the clothes into a bin he kept handy by the futon, down deep next to the other soiled cloths. He read online about how others used tissue, but Martin gave up on that after the second try. He’d rather deal with stiff underwear shoved down under everything else than picking shreds of tissue out of his privates. The damn

things always disintegrated. Paper towels were okay, but not the generic; Bounties were the best, but his mother tended to buy the bargain brands, unaware of just how important the factors of softness and absorbency were in some matters - both points Martin wasn’t about to raise or answer. The evidence was concealed until laundry day. That was Martin’s job on Thursdays, when Sandy drove her mother to work and kept the car for midweek errands, and the same day the Helen Seduko’s paycheck was autodeposited. Sandy did the shopping while Martin pulled duty at the Laundromat - even during the school year, when Sandy would just drop him there after school and take care of the house business. Martin never squawked about it; he knew what few luxuries the family had were those his mother paid for. His father paid the park rental fee and the mortgage on the home, but his mother took care of everything else: food, clothing, special ‘fees’ for the schools, plus the cable for the TV and his computer modem. She rarely said no about anything that was important and reasonable. Just because the woman was always too tired and played bingo with friends a few nights a week didn’t mean she didn’t care. Martin knew she’d worked hard hours on the assembly lines of Compaq until they closed, and now worked even harder hours for less money for a contract chip manufacturer - her fingers crossed they didn’t move the plant to Asia somewhere to save money, like so many other businesses in the area had, before her children were raised. Or over the border into Massachusetts where there were more skilled workers. Most Massachusetts people refused to work in New Hampshire because they had few legal rights and the unemployment was among the lowest in the country and difficult to collect. More and more companies were doing the reverse-flow over the border for that reason, even if taxes were higher. Even the new Governor’s old company shut down their New Hampshire division - after the election, naturally. The hard-nosed businessman who’d built the company from the ground up swore after his inauguration he knew nothing about the Board of Directors decision to move… only a few weeks after he himself had resigned to begin a career in politics. Martin sat on the edge of the futon after pulling on the loosest pair of shorts he could find. He’d left the door open slightly to let the cool air in from the airconditioner down the hall and set his fan up to suck it in. His father wasn’t home, and his mother never really tried to ‘surprise’ him by popping in his door - she’d start to call from the living area before she went down the hall after him. The content boy dug the framed photo of Danny out and held it in his hands, looking down at the image, reliving the day. He smiled.

Canobie Lake Park was fun and the dinner even better. Then Danny suggested they hang in the mall for a little while before ending the day. That was the best part of the day. Martin lay back grinning ear-to-ear, then held up his hand and examined the silver ring with a Greek Box design. He’d caught his breath when Danny saw him admiring it in the glass of the ‘Sylver Smyth Joolery Werks’, a booth in the middle of the first-floor concourse. Danny handed over thirty dollars without hesitation and slipped it onto Martin’s finger. "For the boy I love," Danny said simply. Martin caught his breath when Danny said it. The attendant at the kiosk, dressed in black with seven metal studs in his left ear and a foot-long bleached white braid trailing down his back took the money and muttered something about how ‘the fags got younger all the time.’ Martin looked down in embarrassment, but Danny froze. Then he angrily started chewing him out, and wouldn’t back down even when the clerk called over the security guard. "Then take me to the mall office," Danny demanded when the guard tried forcing them to leave. "That jerk insulted me and my friend - just ‘cuz I gave Martin a gift. A gift I bought from him." "C’mon, guys," the guard said, trying to smooth it over. "It’s just a word, y’know? It don’t mean nuthin’." "You gonna tell me you and the little swish ain’t fags?" the kid jeered. "I’m gay," Danny snapped at the stall attendant. "Not that it’s any of your business. I don’t know about Martin - I never asked him. But that’s none of your fuckin’ business anyway, is it?" He turned to the guard, looked him over carefully. "Just a word, huh? It don’t mean anything?" he said innocently as he read the name tag. "Okay Ramón. You like being called a spic?" he asked coldly. Ramón’s back stiffened and his eyes flared. "No," the guard answered, angry but honest.

Danny crossed his arms on his chest and glared up at the guard. "Cool. You’re Spanish and you think spic’s an insult. Well I’m gay, an’ I don’t like bein’ insulted by bein’ called a fag by a walkin’ cartoon of a loser workin’ for minimum wage. So take me to the mall office so I can fill out a complaint, okay? Because if you don’t, I’ll be filing one on you." In the end, the guard forced the young man in the booth to apologize. Martin was in awe. No physical threats - nothing like that. Danny was no bigger than he was, but he’d just dug in and defended his ground and won. Martin had never seen anything like it. He looked at the ring, and reflected on what it meant. He remembered the kiss, and how it felt. He stared at the picture again and caressed it with his fingers. He caught his breath when he saw the full, rich lips he’d only tasted a few minutes before. Pictures don’t begin to tell you how nice those lips taste, he thought to himself. Or that he’s tougher than steel or that he’s got a soul like an angel. And I almost blew him off. Martin lay back, the framed picture glass-side-down on his chest. He thought back to the day he fought with David. They’d argued and argued, and finally Martin had to admit David was right - no way was Danny as young as he claimed. He swore he’d break it off, and David finally left. That night he’d challenged Danny on-line, intending to break off their relationship. Mart: I no your old. Danny: Why you say that? Mart: DON’T FRIGGIN LIE! I NO YOUR OLDER! Danny: IS bullshit! I know u for weaks if I was old I be after you for all kinds of stuff an syber just like all old trolls! An I showd u pics! Mart: Danny i no you ful of shit. Maybe not old like 30 but u at least 17 maybe 18 an you

are playin a game. I bet you just some str8 kid lookin for cheap laffs. Martin had sat silent, waiting for the screen. He knew Danny was still there; MSN always let you know when someone left. If Danny left, it was because he’d been lying. And if he tried to play it out, Martin knew Danny would still be lying. Mentioning David Sciuoto was his ace in the hole; as soon as the bullshit started to flow, he’d drop the name - but not until then. Danny: What makes u sure? Mart: K fuk it. I see you later. Danny: NO PLEASE! Danny: Please don’t go Martin k? OK I lie. Not 16, Im 17. Mart: Close to 18, rite? And pics were old shit? There was a long pause and Martin waited, finger poised to close the chat window. Danny: Cupple months. And I show u how old the pics r. Martin saw the icon flash for a Video connection and hesitated. Then he reached up and spun his own camera around so it faced the wall, clicked ‘ok’ for the connection. A black square opened up on the screen. The picture was washed out and flickery, but it was Danny alright, and in real time. Martin saw the panicky eyes he knew to be a pale blue, looking almost ready to tear. He saw the full, rich mouth. Danny mouthed words but there was no sound connection but Martin saw him attacking the keyboard. DANNY: See? I tol u those pics were real. Mart: Y u lie about bein 17? Danny: Cuz u said u was 15 so i said was 16 so u wud talk to me. Thot if was 2 old u wudn’t want me. But u can see pics sent were real. I

small guy, most think i’m yunger so you wud be ok with it. Danny: an I realy like u martin and I didn’t want u 2 go. I reely want u to be my boyfriend now more than anything. Pleeze don’t go k? I need u. Martin read, watching the tears run down Danny’s face as he typed. He read how bad things had been for Danny in the last year. His mother died of cancer, and ever since it was just Danny and his father… and all his father did was drink when he wasn’t at work. The man hardly knew Danny was alive. Worse, Danny was alone - no brothers or sisters or even cousins. He didn’t beat Danny, but he ignored him, and that was almost as bad. Martin understood being alone, and he weakened School was hard for Danny, too - he’d been outed, now no one would talk to him. They didn’t attack - something Martin asked about carefully, ready to jump on a lie. In Massachusetts, even a hint of trouble in a school was likely to bring in the cops because of the anti-hate laws, and the mandate from the governor and the legislature that all public schools be a safe haven. Administrators needn’t like it, school boards might hate it, but they could be held legally responsible for any attacks on a gay kid if they failed to act. If they continued to do nothing, they could be prosecuted for criminal negligence and be fired. Martin watched Danny heaving for breath as he pounded the keyboard, face soaked with tears. Danny: U all I got Martin. Pleeze dont go. Danny: PLEEZE! Danny: MARTIN I LUV U PLEEZE DONT GO I DO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Martin watched and read, saw the tears, seen the desperation in those eyes. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

So Danny knocked a year off his age. I added a year to mine. And Dave? What does he know? Him and Danny was a long time ago. Danny had said the one thing to Martin no one else ever said to him before, and that shocked and thrilled Martin. Danny said he loved him. And no rich kid like David Sciuoto was going to take that away from him.

CHAPTER FIVE Griff Robinson smoothed down the front on his pants, straightened the blueand-red striped tie again and pulled on his favorite blue blazer, then admired the effect in the mirror. He looked up and saw Danny leaning in the doorway, dressed only in briefs, smiling at him. He grinned at the boy, then tossed the gray slacks with the soiled front he’d just changed out of into a heap at the foot of the bed, on top of the suit worn the day before. "Missed quite a bit there, sonny boy," he said in his low, smooth southern voice and his own smile broadened. Danny’s looked to the ground, then back up with a sheepish smile and shrugged. Griff rubbed the boy’s head as he walked by and Danny fell into step beside him, an arm snaking out and around the man’s waist, clutching slightly. He leaned his head against Griff’s shoulder as they walked to the front door where they paused. Griff cupped Danny’s jaw and tilted the boy’s face up to his. "Remember, keep a low profile, okay? The lawn service’ll be here today." No shit, Griff, the boy thought, keeping the smile frozen on his face. Just like they do every friggin’ Thursday, right? Jesus I get tired of bein’ the retard around here. Danny widened his eyes like it was a surprise."Okay, Daddy. I’ll make sure to stay out of sight." Griff’s hand wandered down Danny’s naked back, fingertips lightly brushing the backbone. "I know, son. You know the rules, and you’re my good boy just like always. I’ll probably be home late tonight - we’ve got a project to wrap up, so don’t make me dinner. Uh... you will be home, right?" he added pointedly. Danny nodded and giggled, looking down quickly. Much as he would have liked clearing off for the day, he knew it wasn’t a good idea. The boy stood poised in the doorway wearing only the snug cartoon-character under shorts,

smiling and waving good-bye to Griff as the man climbed into his car. Griff backed the ungainly, dark blue Lincoln Navigator into the turn-around spur. Danny stood patiently and smiled, waiting for the oversized SUV to leave. Jesus, it takes him forever to move in that pig, he thought to himself. And what’s he need a tank like that for? Plus he’s gonna have to go into Boston today anyway. Finally Griff managed to maneuver the vehicle around and drove off down the long, curved drive, moving out of sight behind the large stand of trees that surrounded the property. Danny waited for the toot-tooting of the horn at the end of the long driveway, then let out a sigh of relief, slamming and locking the windowless, heavy-duty steel front door. He keyed in the alarm again, relieved, then brightened. This was the best part of the day - Griff gone for at least ten hours, more likely twelve, and he had the whole day in front of him. He yanked at his Scooby-Doo underwear and scowled. Griff bought him the largest boy’s sizes, and the waist was okay but the leg openings were too small and the boy-briefs were made to hold a lot less than what Danny had. "First off, get rid of this shit," he muttered. Danny peeled the shorts from his narrow waist, struggled from the tight leg openings, then kicked them up with his right foot and snatched them out of the air. He rubbed the marks from the elastic band, then trotted naked up the stairs to his room. He tossed what he called ‘Griff’s Morning Thrill’ into the laundry basket by the door and rummaged around in a drawer, pulling out two pair, decided on the Spiderman for his evening ensemble rather than the Jetsons, and laid them out on the dresser. He sighed, looking lower in the drawer at the stack of tighty-whiteys Griff used to favor. Then he came home a few weeks ago all excited and handed off a bagful of assorted underwear with cartoon-characters. Danny naturally feigned excitement but groaned inwardly. Unlike the plain white underwear, there was no way he could secretly exchange them for something that fit better. When Griff wasn’t around Danny usually wore boxers or didn’t bother with underwear at all, but the Morning Thrill was a ritual. Each morning, he’d pull on a pair of briefs and trot down to the kitchen in time for his breakfast, wearing nothing else... just the way Griff liked it. Typically, Danny followed a few minutes behind Griff, giving the man time to settle in, then he’d follow and start the performance. He’d make a show of yawning and stretching, arching his body slowly for Griff every way he could,

but trying to make it look casual, natural - just a part of his waking up. Then he’d poise himself with an innocent carelessness, set up his breakfast cereal and toast, all the while feeling Griff’s eyes on him, and he’d offer just enough chatter to keep the man’s interest. The talk was just part of the act. Danny was fairly certain he could call Griff anything he wanted and get away with it. Griff just liked to watch Danny walk around in the skimpy briefs first thing in the morning; it aroused him more than if Danny were actually naked. Danny frowned. Most mornings, anyway. But today had been a little different, and Danny went down early, knowing Griff was angry with him for being out late with Martin. Griff understood why Danny was out - but that didn’t matter. Danny knew he’d have to make up for it with something extra. Danny smiled, pulling on a pair of soft, loose-fitting shorts and chuckled. Yeah, he thought with a smirk. Griff’s ‘the Man’ okay - he’s in charge… but shit, who really controls what around here? I can get anything I want! He slipped on a pair of sandals, followed by a string tee, then bounced down the stairs again and settled in at the table. He took a mouthful of cereal but spat it out, making a face and staring down at the bowl, scowling. "Fuck this shit." He got up and poured the cereal down the garbage disposal, shaking his head. "Griff’s gotta do somethin’ about his diet, man," he muttered. "That’s it - no more goddam garlic or onions. Good thing I don’t have to do that first thing every morning... Jesus, what a shitty aftertaste. Especially with milk!" He stuck his head under the faucet and rinsed his mouth out a few more times before he was satisfied, then wandered back to the table and finished his toast, grabbed the half-cup of coffee Griff left and washed it down. His stomach rumbled slightly and he was still hungry, but he decided he could wait a little longer and do a quick survey of the damage, in case Griff decided to punish him for being gone when he got home. Danny checked out the main floor of the moderate-sized house and couldn’t find anything out of place. He’d checked the living room the night before and that was fine, and the kitchen had no more than the usual clutter to clean-up. Griff left the dishes piled up on the counter and in the sink instead of placing them in the dishwasher, but there was nothing new about that. A quick check showed the pans he’d used to make dinner didn’t have anything burned into them, and Danny’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Shit, maybe the fat fuck’s finally learnin’ you don’t have to flash-fry food on high," he chuckled. He did his best to keep Griff out of the kitchen, but sometimes the man had delusions of adequacy. Danny just supplied the man

with the foods he liked - usually something fried in either bacon fat or lard. The healthiest meal the man ever ate was a bowl of Cheerios, after adding enough sugar to leave sludge on the bottom of the bowl. Even his toast dripped with butter and marmalade jam. But it was what he wanted and liked... and for Danny, it was all about keeping Griff happy. Danny straightened things out, gathering what needed to be collected from the table, then put things away after scrubbing out the pots left on top of the stove. Everything else went into the dishwasher. He did a quick check for anything that might have been spilled in the refrigerator and left to harden, but it was bone-clean. He scrubbed down the counters next, wiped finger marks from the bleached-oak cabinet doors, and scanned for anything out of place or needing attention. He eyed the floor and made a face. It would pass muster, but the weekend was coming, and that meant for certain someone would be by, and Griff always wanted the house looking just right for visitors. Cleaning up after himself was a vague concept for Griff to personally attend to, but he liked things to look good. Danny knew it was in his own best interest to make sure their house was ready for the most watchful of eyes. "Not that any of ’em care much, so long as the boys are hot," Danny grumbled, wringing out a washrag and leaving it folded on the edge of the sink. Danny grabbed the vacuum out of the storage area, gave the floor a rundown. Then he grabbed a mop and bucket, thankful again Griff decided on a colored grout when he had the house built. Danny gave the high-glaze, pure-white tile floor a thorough mopping with the guaranteed no-rinse, no-streak cleaner Griff paid too much for and stood back, scowling. The floor still looked streaky and needed a rinse - just like always. The boy made a disgusted sound and grabbed one of the thick, plush, still-damp towels from the floor of Griff’s bathroom. He dropped to his hands and knees, armed with a big wet sponge in his right hand and a damp towel in his left and wiped the floor again. Satisfied when he rose to his feet, he dragged the vacuum cleaner down the hall to the master bedroom and kicked open the door, prepared for the worst. "Not bad," Danny said appreciatively once he’d gotten a better look. Still, he’d have to keep an eye open. Griff seldom slapped Danny when he was angry, but he had other, more effective ways to mete out punishment. One night Griff deliberately poured out a chocolate fudge Sundae he’d made for a late night snack onto the floor, then let it set into the light gray carpet over night. Danny spent half the next day frantically trying to clean it and there was still a dark splotch that would never come out.

Danny scanned but didn’t see anything like that and sighed with relief. Griff might have been angry with Danny but at least he understood why. It made him nervous - it drew attention to the fact Danny was old enough to have a driver’s license. That’s what really motivated Danny to head down the stairs early to join Griff for breakfast, the Scooby briefs shoved down as low on his hips as he could manage, but still enough to cover the essentials - the perfect added touch. He’d worked Griff with as much of his ‘boyish innocence’ as he could, stealing looks from the corner of his eye. Once he saw Griff’s pants tenting, Danny gave his best bad-boy grin, wrinkled his nose as he sat with his cereal and toast - then slipped under the table and crawled between Griff’s legs. He’d almost lost all his points - Griff surprised him by with a short fuse then grabbing and forcing his head down, followed by a heavy volume with a particularly foul taste. Danny gagged, slopped most of it all over Griff’s pants. He’d hunched down for a moment, expecting at least a kick, but relieved when the man reached down and gently drew Danny from his crouch. Griff smiled, rubbing and kissing the top of Danny’s head, then contentedly went to change. In the bedroom, Danny pulled the clothes basket out of the big slider closet that was packed with Griff’s clothes, and dumped the soiled trousers in. He followed that with the white dress shirt Griff wore the day before, but was careful to check for stains first. Usually Danny came in right behind Griff each evening and sorted the clothes so the suits didn’t wrinkle. Danny would sponge out small stains and touch up with an iron. Danny eyed the basket. Gotta do up some shirts today, he reminded himself. I don’t wanna wait too long an’ wind up havin’ to iron a dozen in one shot again. Griff favored shirts heavily starched and pressed. He looked at the suit, a wrinkled mess on the floor but what caught his eye was the piece of stained yellow silk balled up underneath everything. "Fuckin’ guy," he muttered to himself. "A fifty dollar tie to mop coffee instead of a paper towel. Jesus." Danny shook out the suit, saw it was beyond what he could do with a hot iron and a damp towel, then slipped it onto a hangar to go out with the other dry cleaning. He sighed. The suit was Griff’s new favorite. I better get a load down to the cleaners this afternoon, he thought. Guaranteed he’ll want it next week. He peered at the label. "Hugo Boss," he said out loud. "Who the fuck is Hugo Boss? A thousand goddam bucks to cover his fat ass, and he treats that seventydollar blue sport-coat from Target’s better."

He hauled out the rest of the dry cleaning and carried it to the back door, returned to the bedroom with a can of furniture polish and a few rags. He decided to put off stripping the bed until the next day - Friday - so there’d be fresh covers in case anyone came by a safe bet most weekends and almost guaranteed this one. He’d heard Griff on the phone early in the week, and caught just enough to know whoever it was had a ‘new one’ and was coming over Friday night. Some of the ‘Daddies’ shared their boys, and some didn’t but they all enjoyed pairing up the kids and watching, so Danny knew he’d be busy. Danny was considered the best trainer if a kid was really new. Hope it ain’t another one that cries a lot, he mused. Not after the way that friggin’ kid from Albania or whatever the fuck it was carried on last time. He paused, then suddenly remembered. Shit. I better check out the Play Room today. If that place is messy, Griff’ll have a shit fit. Danny wiped down the furniture, then eyed the sheer curtains and decided they could wait awhile before he took them down for a wash and iron again. At least Griff quit smoking, so they didn’t yellow like they used to. And with the house climatecontrolled, he didn’t have to worry about a lot of outside dust and dirt blowing in the windows. That was a major part of Danny’s job - get things done before Griff noticed something. That was something Danny learned after watching Griff’s ex-wife back in Haverhill. Anna kept a meticulous house, even if she kept to her own rooms on the second floor, determined to see as little as possible. Danny hadn’t been a live-in during the Haverhill time, just a frequent visitor over the last year - too many neighbors living on small lots, too close for Danny to take up residence, Griff told him. But Danny’s coming and going never drew any suspicion or caused talk. Griff was well-known for his work with disadvantaged youth back then, something his neighbors admired. Those neighbors included the Haverhill Police night-shift commander next door, along with the retired fire chief at the end of the block. As Griff’s consulting business grew, he may not have had as much time to do the volunteer work for the Youth Club or the YMCA, but his neighbors respected a man who found time to help a kid with a lousy life and give him a better shot at the world. Eventually Anna’s five years came to a close, and the Russian woman filed for citizenship… and quietly moved to the sunbelt with a new job and an agreement to wait a few years before filing for an uncontested divorce - that way, the extra time wouldn’t set off any alarms at the INS. Danny remembered part of the last conversation between them the day Anna left.

"Just don’t forget," Griff warned. "If you ever say a word about me, I’ll clue in Immigration. Maybe Aeroflot doesn’t fly out of Phoenix, but you’ll be on the shuttle to LA, and there’s regular service from there to Vladivostok - and you’ll be back in western Siberia. I wonder how you’d re-adjust to a life in a village with a number instead of a name again, working for peanuts." Anna had been the perfect wife for an ambitious young man who needed one if he wanted to rise high enough to make the big money. Now he had the money and position, and did even better building his own consulting company until he got an offer from a major engineering firm with its base in metro Boston. The high salary guaranteed Griff what he needed for the way he wanted to live - it bought seclusion, a life far from inquisitive eyes. Griff found just the kind of house he needed in one of the old farm towns along the Massachusetts-New Hampshire border: an area of nice, unpretentious houses built in the middle of wooded, five-acre lots, invisible to one another. The houses were built along narrow roads curving through the countryside, connecting one secondary road to another in a place noted for nothing more than quiet affluence. Anyone chancing along their street would think themselves deep in empty country, unless they looked hard enough to spot the small gravel or tarred spurs that were nothing more than a gash in the tree line, marked by a mailbox, a newspaper bin and maybe a few reflectors to keep an unwary traveler from blundering into them. There were no street lights this far out, not that anything like that mattered to the residents. In an area like this, a street light was laughable to residents as a source of security. All the houses were wired with surveillance and alarm systems, with radio transmitters rather than hard lines in or out, using power systems backed with battery units. Street lights were actually discouraged - they drew attention that people were there. It was exactly what Griff wanted and he could afford the steep price. The closest he ever came to a neighbor now was when cars began to look familiar on the sparsely-traveled connecting roads, and even that was rare. Danny understood from the beginning he’d have to take care of Griff in more than just sexually. He wasn’t eager to do housework, but if Danny didn’t handle things, that meant a maid service would have to pop in and out, and they’d have silent, questioning eyes about a boy who didn’t go to school and stayed home alone most of the time... but blathering tongues when they were out of earshot. Who was the boy? And why didn’t he go to school? Questions like that could get back to the wrong ears - ears attached to men in uniforms. A maid service was just as much out of the picture as going to school.

Not that missing school mattered to Danny. He’d been in and out of too many too often to learn much from books. He read well enough and knew enough math to keep track of money, which was all he figured he needed to know. He didn’t miss being around people - he’d been bounced from foster homes three time, each time the state deciding to save money and honor ‘the sanctity of the family unit’ by returning him to his mother. At least that’s what the boredlooking social worker told him the last time he’d been moved. His last foster mother was blunter and more honest about it. "It’s the cheap bastids in the state house," she explained. "They run outta money again, and it was either cut their own raises or cut the DSS budget. For better or worse, you got a livin’ parent - so back you go. And they don’t give a shit." Ten-year-old Danny went back to his mother, fresh from her third stint in a drug rehab, swearing she was really going to do it this time. Danny took one look and knew she was already a little high when she came to pick him up. The bored social worker never looked up from his files and reminded her about ‘surprise’ visits and inspections - which she and Danny knew from experience would always be around the same time each month, depending on the latest workers’ case load. It turned out to be the third Thursday of each month. She’d control her habit around those days and clean up the house, even get rid of the temporary roommate she’d rent Danny’s room to. Nothing was different. The needle was tracking up her arm within a week, and the tricks started. School was as bad as always. Being small compared to other kids his own age - coupled with the fact that someone always found out his mother hooked to pay for her habit - made Danny’s school life miserable... for awhile. Circumstances and events changed again by junior high at least, and Danny coldly calculated what his one prime asset was and made the most of it. He’d cut a deal with two of the tougher kids to look out for him - and all Danny had to do was service them a couple of times a week and keep his mouth shut about it. Getting head was a big deal for those guys; but for Danny, giving it was just another fact of his life by the time he was thirteen. His own ‘sexual awakening’ came at age eleven, when the hooker-addict mother found she could fill her arm quicker by selling his ass rather than her own. Danny had woken up and found himself bent over the arm of the beat-up couch he’d been sleeping on, with some stinking drunk clamping a hand over his mouth and trying to force himself in from behind. Fortunately, he hadn’t succeeded but thought he did -

and Danny felt something warm and wet splatter over his back and buttocks before he was dropped to the floor. A few days later an older boy named Roger - fifteen, he claimed, but to a scared eleven year-old, the teen was closer to being a full grown man - came home with his mother and she’d left the two of them together. Roger lived with them for a few weeks and taught Danny what to do slowly and carefully, breaking him in. Danny fought off Roger at first, but after a few back-handers from his mother that sent him sprawling, he finally gave in. At least Roger was gentle. Sweet, even. "Don’t worry if you don’t like it," Roger explained. "You don’t have to like it to be good for them. Six months ago when I got thrown out, thinkin’ of doin’ this shit made me sick. But it’s fast money, and that means you can eat reg’lar. Just forget about what you’re doin’ and just let it happen, okay? The other thing’ll hurt for awhile, but you get used to it. Ya gotta learn to relax, ’cuz it only hurts more if you fight it, and they’ll force you anyway. I’m just as big as a full grown guy - bigger ’n most really - so if you can handle me, you’ll be okay. But always make sure they use rubbers for this stuff or you’ll get sick. And if you don’t have to, never swallow if they want the other stuff." After a few weeks, there was more food in the house, the electricity went on again, and Danny’s mother treated him better for awhile. And very quickly, the men that came by turned into a small group of regulars, and while a few of them were drunk, it was never like that first time. Eventually, that’s how Griff entered his life. But his mother’s drug habit had gotten bigger and started cutting into the extra money, and she started pushing Danny to go out for street trade instead of just regulars. Danny grumbled about that one night when Griff was with him. Then Griff had a talk with his mother and convinced her to stop trying to get Danny into the streets. Griff came by more and more often after that, then started to pay out larger sums for full nights, and even taking Danny for weekends, with Anna locked away or gone. Griff bought the boy stylish clothes - kept at his house at Danny’s urging - and life got easier and better. Slowly, even the other regulars started to fall out of his life, because Danny wasn’t available as often. Then Griff started talking about the life he wanted and could have soon. Danny saw his chance and pushed for it, as Griff hinted more often that Danny should live with him. The boy played up to it and worked desperately at his mother to cut a deal. Both he and Griff knew without voicing it that an addict with a wad

of cash in her hands would likely be dead in a few weeks. If not, she would be once the money ran out. But there were other problems. Danny had a presence in the state child welfare system. Even if the routine discovery of another hooker dead from an overdose wouldn’t affect anyone’s life, it would undoubtedly bring the boy to the top of the DSS radar. But it wasn’t insurmountable, and most of it was Danny’s idea. Griff made a good cash offer, and backed it up to sweeten the deal in his favor, using his best good-ol’-boy Andy Taylor routine when he held out the cash for her to see. "You get on a plane to California," the man explained, "and that’s it - you get the cash right before you step onboard." He fixed her with a steel-eyed expression. "And there’s no comin’ back for more in case you’re thinking of blackmail, darlin’. Don’t forget, there’s just as much jail time for sellin’ a kid to somebody like me as there is for me buyin’ him." It was a quick deal, made in a day. "She’ll be dead in a week," Griff said confidently when they left Logan for the drive home. Danny shrugged, smiled up at Griff, and held the man’s hand in his lap on the long ride out of the airport, then snuggled up to him as best he could. It was just the end of a bad part of his life as far as he was concerned, a life that was finally starting to look up for the first time. No more state agency bouncing him from one home to another, always just long enough to raise his hopes... only to hand him back to a stupid loser to save itself money. And like Griff told him, what was another dead whore with needle marks in Los Angeles? Even if the cops contacted Massachusetts authorities and a child alert went out, the focus would be in California. Danny would disappear under a mound of paper, like thousands of others. It was easy. No legal guardianship, no formal adoption - and no snooping from the courts or child welfare. And once Griff left Haverhill, no curious eyes. Danny didn’t care if he ever saw anyone again, and actually preferred the quiet and peace of the house. As long as he kept the place clean and did everything else for Griff, he was safe and secure. He could have done without the boy parties and all the ‘daddies,’ but that was just part of the deal. Sex stopped meaning anything to him a long time ago, although sometimes it was actually fun with the other boys. As for the older men - he remembered how Roger told him just to focus on the dick and forget what it was attached to. "It helps if you keep your eyes closed, but always remember to smile a little if it ain’t in your

mouth, and always moan. The johns think you’re all into it, instead of just tryin’ not to see the ugly fucks." Danny took very little from his old apartment, except for the child welfare folder he’d stashed, because he knew that somehow things like a birth certificate and social security number were important. He didn’t know if any of the other papers were, but he hung onto them anyway. Griff installed Danny in the new house the same night his mother flew out of Boston. Griff - the suddenly deserted and discouraged husband when Anna disappeared - made a sad show in Haverhill, and finally put the small house on the market, taking the first offer he got. Alone that first night, Danny felt something for the first time in his life: peace. No foster parents, no state bureaucracy. He didn’t have to worry about being grabbed, slapped or used by his own tricks or his mother’s - or suddenly being beaten up by her for no reason but meanness. Danny didn’t have to duck other kids or listen to the taunts either in the schoolyard or on the streets if his protectors weren’t around. They were likely the only ones to miss him - they liked the blowjobs even if they didn’t give a shit about Danny. Danny chuckled, wondering what would happen to them. Would their girlfriends have to put out? Or would they just wind up doing each other instead? Peace had a price - Everything has a price tag, Danny thought - but he understood that going in. There was Griff, of course, and then Griff’s new friends. Then the other boys started to turn up, and there’d be shows with boys for the men to watch. But food was always in the cabinets, and the heat and electricity were never cut. And no one beat him. And for what? Danny couldn’t understand what the big thrill about sex was supposed to be. He’d just as soon ease the pressure jacking off. Sometimes, the sex was fun - but hardly worth all the extra bullshit. Danny dropped the vacuum cleaner in the hall, then dragged out the laundry basket and closed the door to Griff’s room. He dragged the bin down the cellar stairs and turned left at the bottom into the small, unfinished service area of the basement, where the washer and dryer stood on the outside wall, near the boiler and water heater. He edged the ironing board out of his way and started a load of whites after inspecting and pre-treating a few items. Danny stood back, then glanced at the small pile of things left from the last laundry, including a few items he wanted for himself, but there wasn’t enough. "Play Room," he murmured, and went for the door into the larger of the two finished rooms in the cellar, the door on the right at the bottom of the stairs.

The third room opened off the service area and was on a keypad lock system to which only Griff was supposed to know the combination, but Danny found it years ago and committed it to memory. That room was Griff’s private workshop, loaded with stacks of photographs and picture printouts he’d collected over the years of younger children, mostly but not exclusively boys. When Danny first found the combination to the room and saw the extra stash, he’d wondered if Griff ever indulged himself in other directions. Not that it mattered to Danny - he’d do a girl or a boy if he had to, it didn’t matter. As long as Griff never brought home a new live-in it was all the same to Danny. Griff had stacks of videotapes and DVDs, along with CD-ROMs loaded with digital stills and .mpg files. These Danny sampled, but on his own computer. Griff had built in a few panic devices on Danny’s system, so it stood to reason he had them on his own. Mostly, Danny used the computer to cruise the web to satisfy his own curiosity and kill time... and for the chats. Danny’s only vulnerability were the chat files - and if a system wipe started, they were targeted. His IP on the net was all but impossible to trace thanks to Griff, so he didn’t really have to worry about the log files there. Danny wasn’t quite sure how, but Griff bounced a signal from the satellite dish on the house to an illegal hack into a satellite, and somehow or other the signal was masked again and went through one of the servers that supplied internet service to a small, conservative boys boarding school run by a fundamentalist Christian group on the South Shore. Griff routinely took out their feeble fire wall and primitive blocking software. If Danny ever raised a red flag in the chats from an investigator, they’d figure it was just another horny, closeted gay teen working off a fantasy. The disks Danny sampled were generally paltry net stuff, downloaded from one of the newsgroups where kiddy porn was routinely circulated. He’d shrugged, bored by nine and ten year olds swilling vodka, masturbating endlessly, or attempting sex. Sometimes older boys or even men joined the drunken kids. Danny got a little excited when he saw the men and older boys getting into the younger ones; even without a soundtrack he knew the smaller ones were screaming, but those vids were mostly incomplete and could have been faked. He could tell from the lettering flashing on the screen they came from Russia or Eastern Europe. The other videos were different. These were private, live action ones, some from the Play Room, some from the cameras Griff concealed in both his own bedroom and Danny’s. Danny saw himself in plenty, including one that dated back to his first ‘seduction’ back in Haverhill, a music student Griff had the

hots for. It took awhile, but finally Danny remembered the name. Davidsomething, and the last name was a funny one, something Italian that started with an ‘S’. The kid was cute, even if Danny didn’t care what his sex partners looked like. There were others - some of the boys he recognized, others he didn’t. Many of the videos were of Danny with various partners, some of them Griff’s friends although he noticed that whenever one came up of him and Griff (or Griff with whoever), the man’s face was always edited or distorted. "Everyone’s fair game but you, huh?" Eventually Danny put the disks back, taking care to restore them in the order he’d pulled them out. He checked out the ever-growing stack of disks every now and then just for laughs. Eventually he risked copying three on the CD burner in Griff’s office, the only Windows-based system in the house since so many of Griff’s clients used it. For his workshop and for Danny, Griff used modified Macs, claiming they were more secure. One disk featured one of the boys Danny recruited himself - all defiance and anger when he was being forced to do things with Danny and Griff, and then breaking down into tears and actually praying when he thought he was alone. Danny played the disk over and over, wishing he’d known about the crying and the prayers. He’d have kept the boy longer. The last had sessions of Danny and Kelley, and that brought his own situation home. He still wondered what became of the big, sweet dummy. Did his Daddy just dump him somewhere because he was too old? Danny shuddered again, remembering the recurring dream he had of suddenly being stuck in Haverhill with a few dollars in his pocket and nowhere to go. That made him think of Roger, whom his mother sent back out into the streets after he’d ‘trained’ Danny, calling him a dirty little piece of street meat, telling him to stay away. Danny had seen Roger once or twice after that, looking cold, hungry and dirty, hanging out near the park and eyeing the traffic, but the older boy was too dirty and unkempt to attract much attention. Danny bunched his fists against his temples and shook his head rapidly, driving the image from his mind. "Laundry," he snapped aloud. He trotted down to the Play Room and threw open the door. The windows were completely blocked and sealed here, and the walls painted flat black. The floor was a plain, dark vinyl tile, used to make clean up easier. Danny flicked on the subdued overhead lighting and weaved

around a platform large enough for half-dozen comfortable theatre chairs, each with a small side-table for drinks. The platform itself was covered with a lowpile carpet, and cushions were scattered around for the boys to use. The platform looked down on a low slung double-bed. He began stripping the satin sheets. They were still clean - Danny always stripped the bed in the bedroom the morning after a party - but there’d been nothing happening in the Play Room for weeks. People scattered during the summer. Griff even took Danny on vacations - to Disney World and other special places where they could be father and son, surrounded by strangers. Danny wasn’t crazy about the crowds and always felt uneasy, but he could mask that readily enough when he had to, and he did like the rides and games. People looked at them curiously when they saw Danny holding Griff’s hand all the time. Danny looked about fifteen or even sixteen. But then Danny would act a little goofy and childish, slurring his words slightly, and people’s expression changed when they saw the loving father with his beautiful but slightly retarded son. Danny checked the overhead spots, making sure they washed down on the bed just the right way. Griff would take care of the concealed cameras and microphones - Danny wasn’t supposed to know they even existed. He rummaged in a drawer and came up with an old set of sheets, featuring blue teddy bears driving red and blue trains, planes and cars. Gotta have some variety, he reminded himself, grinning. Just little things to keep the old pervs interested. Next hemade sure there was plenty of lube in the nightstand. In particular, Danny checked the gel he preferred to the liquids, and made sure there was a good supply of condoms. Some of the older fathers - like Sam - groused about the rubbers, preferring bareback action. Eventually, even he grudgingly admitted accidents could happen and gave in on their use. Danny didn’t much like Sam, wasn’t sure what it was he did for the group. They all supplied a service of one sort or another. Griff took care of technical matters, one stop on the quiet network these men built for themselves that included doctors, lawyers and dentists - men from every field, sharing their resources and talents when needed to keep their low profile. The boys occasionally got sick or injured after all. Secure homes sometimes needed repairs, and sooner or later someone needed a lawyer or banker to take care of an inconvenience. Very occasionally, even a mortician was needed.

Danny checked the big red, white and blue Fischer-Price toy box next to the bed and did a quick inventory of the toys inside and came up short. He scowled at first, then flattened to the floor and peeked under the bed - sure enough, he spotted the small flesh-colored rubber probe, fished it out and made sure it was clean before stashing it with the other items. Gotta be more careful, he thought. Must’ve dropped it after the last party. The boy dragged the bedding into the service area and caught the wash cycle just before the tub would have begun draining. He re-set the timer for a full wash, but left up the lid; Danny wanted the load of whites to have a good long soak, already deciding the other washing could wait until afternoon. Later on he’d come down, let the cycle finish, then pull the shirts out and start ironing them up while they were still damp and dump the rest into the dryer. He could take care of what was left while he ironed up Griff’s shirts. He twisted his head around to the small clock radio, noting the time. "Gotta get movin’," he muttered out loud. "Can’t be late." Danny trotted up the wooden steps from the cellar, then sprinted up the stairs in the hall two at a time until he reached his room. Clothes were thrown around in here - calculated boyishness for Griff - but that didn’t matter; no one ever came up here but him or one of the other boys after the ‘official’ party was over. Occasionally, he fooled around with some of them to give Griff his private oncamera show - a lot of the boys were more natural and at ease when they thought they weren’t being watched. If Danny picked up a vibe from one that they wanted to be alone with him, they’d come up here. It was up to Griff to catch the clue and switch on. Usually the same boy who’d been so wooden with an audience got completely into a private session. Sometimes he found all they wanted to do was talk, and Danny was fine with that. Griff caught a lot of extra information like that; what the men wouldn’t discuss amongst themselves other groups, contacts they’d made on the side, if they knew anybody who’d gotten into trouble - the boys shared with each other. Danny always made sure he learned more than he gave out. He flipped on the computer, plugged in the first ‘error’ password, then the second and finally the third ‘real’ one and waited while the old, slow Mac came up. He checked his email accounts, didn’t see anything special, then opened the letter he’d spotted from Martin and saved for last. It went on and on… Danny chuckled. He owned Martin, he knew it. He paid for him with a thirty-dollar ring, and a mouth-off contest with the loser at the Rockingham Park Mall cinched the deal. Usually Danny preferred never

drawing attention to himself. But he didn’t care what people thought when they saw him with a swish like Martin at the amusement park or in the restaurant. It didn’t matter if anyone saw a couple of teenagers who looked like queers holding hands in public. But the jerk-off selling jewelry at the mall shop was a Godsend that sealed the deal with Martin and Danny was an instant hero, risking nothing. As for the Mall cop - as soon as Danny saw the security guard’s nervous face and shifting eyes, Danny knew he had him by the balls. The man didn’t want any kind of confrontation, and Danny’s threat to file a complaint was never more than a bluff. He downloaded the email to Martin’s file and opened the small text file he’d begun on Martin - and added the boy’s last name and address, along with the names of his parents and sister. Danny paused for a moment and frowned, then brought up the Verizon On-Line white pages and plugged in the right information, then did a drag and drop of the phone number into the file. After that Danny listed Martin’s school and even what bus he took. He knew where the other family members worked and roughly what their work schedules were like - even that Martin’s father drank too much at some dump called the White Buffalo, and drove a six-year-old green Ford Ranger. The mother drove an eight-year-old Cavalier hatchback, which she leant to her daughter every Thursday to do errands. "Just too goddam easy," Danny chuckled. "You were careful, Mart, an’ real smart - but you fucked-up, and now I got all I need to know." Martin had always been so careful never to give out too much information - a challenge that attracted Danny. Most of the kids in the chats in the age range he wanted were sitting ducks. Now he enjoyed listing what he needed to set the trap he’d spring in just a few days. One lone phrase from an early conversation - actually, just a single word - and Danny caught it. He’d even copied it at the top of the file. Martin had gotten into some jam, and was talking about a kid he hated. "He lives in a doublewide down my street." Doublewide. Martin lived in a trailer park. Not much for a start - but there weren’t many trailer parks left in that part of southern New Hampshire anymore, and it was simple to look them up and copy the information. Danny eliminated one or two because they were adult parks; another just through reading the chats, where Martin dropped a clue or two

about his part of town. The older teen was fairly certain that given enough time, he’d dig out which one. Then Martin gave it all away when he agreed to meet the first time. Danny always assumed the old restaurant where he picked up Martin for their first date had to be within walking distance, so he scouted out the area early - and laughed when he found the old building right next to Skolivan’s Modular Park. Danny parked the Taurus in a corner of the small strip mall bordering the derelict restaurant and walked over to the entrance of the park a little beyond that. He spotted two kids about Martin’s age inside, dressed in long-sleeved black shirts and jeans trying to look tough. Danny shook his head - Morons. It’s almost ninety with like 99.9% humidity. Fuckin’ clowns. Danny put a tough-boy sneer on his lips and developed a little attitude in his walk. He lowered his voice when he spoke and didn’t smile when he approached them. "You guys know some kid called Martin?" They looked Danny over suspiciously, noting the pricey haircut and the blondstreak dye-job. The clothes the stranger wore looked expensive, from the bright-colored and loose-fitting Calvin shirt right down to the white Nikes on his feet, and they fidgeted in their own Wal-Mart specials. "Whaddya want with him?" the shorter and heavier of the two said. "You some kinda buddy?" Danny shrugged, picking up the lead from the voice regarding Martin. He snorted, slouched against the mobile home and folded his arms. "Fuck, no. We just moved here, an’ my mom works with his - she’s been on my ass for a week to check him out. You know, try an’ make some new friends. But I been hearin’ this dude’s a real loser." The short, heavyset one - he called himself ‘Chunk’ - looked Danny over carefully before he spoke again. "You heard right." He leaned closer. "Dude you better watch who you hang with around here, or you’ll get a rep. Martin Seduko’s a homo." Danny registered shock, dropped his arms. "No shit! A friggin’ fruit?" Then smirked. "What the fuck. A warm, wet hole’s a nice place to stuff it, as long as you ain’t playin’ with the rest of the plumbin’." The two new boys laughed, and Danny worked them. In less than ten minutes he had all the information he needed. He told the two idiots he’d stop by again so they could all hang, then walked back to his car.

Danny kicked back in the swivel chair and grinned at the picture of Martin. He was nowhere near as homely as Martin thought he was. Sure, he was a little chubby-cheeked, but that just made him look more childish; maybe he’d been on the chunky side once, but he’d grown fast and thinned out and looked just right, as far as Danny was concerned. Boyish - just the way Griff like them. His muscles weren’t defined maybe, but when they kissed the other night, Danny’s hands wandered and evaluated the terrain; he’d felt the taughtness of the body, and that was a major plus. With all of those things added up, they were more than enough to offset the fact that Martin was such an obvious fag - and on that, Martin hadn’t exaggerated. It could put Griff off a little - he wanted boys who were boys - but Martin had enough of everything else, so Danny was fairly certain Griff would overlook it. They wouldn’t be going anywhere in public, after all. Danny’s eyebrows shot up, remembering the pictures of young girls he’d found. Maybe the combination would actually appeal to Griff! Just because they’d never been with an effeminate boy didn’t mean Griff wouldn’t like one. Except for what Danny trolled for on the net, there hadn’t been any outsiders since Griff left Haverhill. All the other boys that came through reflected what the other daddies liked. Martin could be the big winner after all. "Good size hog for a kid, too," he chuckled, remembering how it felt against his bottom when he maneuvered into Martin’s lap. Danny cackled again. Getting the kid to splatter his shorts had been too easy. Danny leaned his head back, both feet up on the desk and swayed in the chair. "This one’s just too fuckin’ easy," he said to the ceiling with a grin. The he jerked up enough to look at the boyish face on the monitor. "Monday, dude," he said confidently, imitating Griff’s drawl. "Monday’s the day I get me a big ol’ piece o’ popped-cherry pie." He eased back again but sat up with a start and checked the clock. "Shit, Bugs time." He hopped to his feet and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, digging into the back of a cabinet until he found the Power Rangers sippy cup he’d had since he was four, given to him at his first foster home. He could still hear Kay’s booming voice in his ear - and feel the coarse, thick fingers ruffling his hair after wrapping him in a small quilted blanket, tucking him onto the couch to watch cartoons while she kept house. She talked rough and loud, but even at four, Danny learned it was all a game. She’d bring him the Rangers cup filled with orange juice, and tell him he had to drink it all. He’d come to Kay when the first snow fell, after he’d been found alone in his

mother’s unlighted apartment after four days. It could have been sooner, but Danny refused to cry until he’d gone without food for the last two, and no one knew he was there until then. He remembered Big Julio breaking through the door, with Mrs. Julio following right behind and crying when she saw Danny. She snatched him up, then screamed something about the police to Julio. She wrapped him in something, but it got all fuzzy after that and he was taken to some strange, noisy place until Kay came and took him away. "You won’t eat veggies or anything else good for ya, and you need somethin’ healthy, ya scrawny runt," she’d scold, and Danny would laugh at her. She’d mush his nose with two thick fingers. "I’m funny, huh? Well, we’ll see. Now you drink all that good Florida Sunshine in your own special cup - I got it just for you. And in between, you munch them soda crackers so the juice don’t hurt your stomach. You’re too skinny, little boy!" Danny stayed with Kay until the snow was gone, and then the state people came back. Kay kissed him and gave him his blanket and cup in a small bag. "You drink your vitamins and get strong, skinny boy," she whispered to him, and then he was pulled away by a man and woman who strapped him into the back seat of a car. They never bothered to talk to him on the long drive or even tell their names. The blanket was long gone - Danny wasn’t sure when or where - maybe in one of the many quick moves with his mother, maybe at one of the two other foster homes that would come and go in his life. Kay’s face was just a blur now, but he could still hear the voice. He’d hung onto the cup. Danny filled it with orange juice and snapped on the lid, then grabbed a sleeve of Saltines and ran for the living room and fumbled for the remote to the big rear projection TV, settling in on the sofa with his feet tucked under, then laid his head on the padded arm. He pulled a soft cotton blanket he always kept in the living room over himself and found the right cartoon channel just as the big red and gold Warner Brothers logo popped up, and Bugs and Daffy danced across the 60" screen. Danny relaxed and smiled - sipping juice and nibbling crackers. "This is it," he murmured peacefully. "This is the best part of any day."

CHAPTER SIX "Randy! Come on, honey, get a move on! You’re going to be late!" Maura Shiner hustled around the kitchen, grabbing the plates for the rest of her son’s quick breakfast, her eye on the clock. She’d gotten off to a slow start that morning and was already a little behind. That meant trouble - even a fiveminute delay would mean hitting heavy traffic all the way to her job. She buttered up the toast for her son and carefully faced them buttered-side-tobuttered-side, a terry cloth towel dropped over the two pieces in a vain effort to keep them warm a little longer. The cereal was poured out in Randy’s bowl, but she left the half-gallon of milk sitting next to it. Cold toast was bad enough; soggy cereal just made it worse. Maura wished for the hundredth time she didn’t have to leave for work so early; she’d much prefer staying home and making her son a better breakfast in the morning. She smiled to herself. Who’s kidding who? I wish I didn’t have to work at all. Well, maybe someday… but not with college tuition just a few years down the road. She heard a scuffling sound and spun around, knocking her coffee cup just enough for it to slop over. Maura saw Randy and fought an impulse. No, don’t laugh at him. He’s been nothing but nerves and worry for months now. Don’t make being fifteen any tougher than it has to be. She glanced at the boy, then shook her head, noting the short, dark hair toocarefully combed into place - then paused at the pale brown eyes that used to be so full of fun, but now filled with a sadness she couldn’t fathom. The clothes grabbed her full attention: a full-sleeved white shirt buttoned to the neck, and a pair of dark, baggy pants that looked far too heavy for summer. Her eyes flicked down to the heavy black dress shoes. Her jaw twitched. "Randal, why are you dressed like that?"

Randal flipped the towel off his toast and slid into his chair. "I’ll be representing the Church today - I should look like it. You know: simple and plain, the way God intended." Maura rolled her eyes. "Simple is right - you certainly look it, dressed like that on a day like this. Honey, try and remember this is northern Massachusetts, not western Pennsylvania - and we’re Methodists, not the Amish. You’re representing the church, alright. But you’re going on a bus to Salisbury Beach with a bunch of other city kids from Pilgrim Fellowship - not door-to-door handing out copies of Watchtower." She bent down and snatched a few items out of the clean laundry basket - a pair of blue nylon shorts that could double for swim wear and a white-and-red striped shirt. "So go put these on, okay? And please get rid of those damn shoes - and the black socks. Wear white cotton ones with sneakers, like normal kids do." "Maybe I should stay home, Ma," Randy suggested earnestly. "I mean, God gave us the Bible to study when we have the opportunity - and maybe today’s a good opportunity." She shook her head in exasperation. Even your father isn’t that strict… When did you become such a little pompous, self-righteous prig? I don’t care what he says - no more of those right-wing idiots with their TV revival meetings "True," Maura said carefully. "But He also gave us hot summer days in July with nice sandy beaches with cool ocean water - and a cheap thrills amusement center right next to it. Now go change your clothes. You’re going on that trip and you’re going to have fun. Get it?" Randal screwed up his face to think of an out for himself. "Idle hands are the Devil’s playground," he pointed out. "I think wasting a day at the beach is idolatry." Maura rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Not unless you’re going to worship some golden cows it isn’t. And while you’re up there looking for another way out, try this one on: ‘Honor thy father and mother.’ Your father paid hardearned money for the bus ticket, and your mother says you’re going to the beach. Honor that." Randal scowled and picked up the clothes, then stomped back up the stairs to his second floor bedroom, each slammed foot on a riser a testament to his displeasure, the door an exclamation point.

The boy began skinning off the shirt, caught sight of himself in the mirror then spun around so he didn’t have to see, eyes furtively checking the door lock at the same time to be sure he wouldn’t be seen. He undid and dropped the pants on the floor next to the shirt, got his feet caught in the legs then kicked off the shoes as well. He grabbed the nylon shorts, and just as he’d feared, it had a liner in it. After another visual check of his door he dropped his boxers as well and slipped into the shorts and followed with the shirt. He turned nervously, looking at himself in the mirror, feeling uncomfortable with his arms and legs exposed. Randy hated showing so much of his body. The shorts were even worse than he remembered - they were on the long side, and that was good, but still a bit snug in the crotch. And he could see his bulge. He tried pulling down his shirttail, but it wasn’t quite long enough to cover ‘it’, and that really made him uncomfortable. The last time Randy wore something like these, he’d caught someone staring at him, or at least thought they did. It didn’t make any difference to Randal if they actually were or not. Dressing like this was wrong, because he knew it made him a temptation either for himself or for someone else. A memory of where temptation could lead flickered through his head, and the boy shuddered again. He debated wearing his old jock-strap; it was a lot tighter since he’d grown and would flatten things more, make it a little less obvious. But it would be uncomfortable, biting into his skin, and since it was a hot day, swimming was a possibility. Thick wet cotton dried a lot slower than nylon. Besides the discomfort, he’d start to itch and might be seen grabbing himself. Worse, the damp would seep through his shorts, and people would think he’d wet himself, or worse. He frowned. He’d just have to be careful. Being a temptation to others wasn’t as bad as touching yourself, but Randy knew it could lead to other terrible things if he wasn’t careful. Sinful things. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "Randy!" The boy opened his eyes in time to roll them, scowled again, then trudged back down to the kitchen. His mother was at the door, holding her work smock and ready to run. "You have money?" "Yes’m," he answered, resigned to the inevitable. "I got my paper-route money, and Russ is gonna cover for me today."

Maura nodded. "Well, I left you an extra twenty under your plate - and I want every cent of it wasted on games, rides, and junk food before you come home tonight. Now try not to be such a sour-puss." Randy rolled his eyes and sighed while he poured his milk over the Rice Krispies. "Yes’m." "One other thing," she added with a firm voice. With his mouth crammed full of cereal, now Randy’s raised eyebrows had to ask his question. His mother sounded serious. "Listen, honey," she said, leaning towards him. "I’ve been watching you lately, and listening to what you’ve been saying to people - and there’s a few things I think you should take into consideration." Randy looked up expectantly and his mother continued. "If you’re serious about pleasing God the way you claim, stop talking down to your friends about all their shortcomings for starters - I don’t know when that started, but I want it to stop. And no more of your nonsense about how some people are sinners because they don’t believe in what we believe - that’s not right and it’s not your place; your Dad may be strict about himself and setting an example for you, but it’s not your place to decide what’s right for others. If you’re as determined to be ‘Godly’ the way you claim, look for a kid today who doesn’t have much money - then buy two burgers and a king-size fry and offer to share, because it’s too much and you don’t want to waste it. Or try to be a friend to someone who looks lonely… or just plain help someone because they need it." Randy stirred his cereal, trying to avoid looking at his mother, but she didn’t leave it there. "Your father and I raised you to love God and be a Christian - and in spite of what you’ve been watching on TV, being a Christian doesn’t mean a college with your name on it or raising money for someone else’s politics. And it certainly doesn’t mean rubbing someone’s nose in something because you think it’s wrong." The boy started to respond, but she silenced him by raising her hand. "It’s a single act of kindness for it’s own sake, Randal Shiner, when someone - anyone - needs help. That means more to God than a lifetime spent in prayer, reading scripture - or cataloging other people’s faults. Keep that in mind today."

The boy looked down and studied his cereal again, said nothing. Maura shook her head. God, Randy, where’s my kid? Try to be fifteen instead of fifty, will you? She tried brightening her voice and forced a smile. "Okay, honey. Just be good and pay attention to what Reverend Seton and her husband tell you." She glanced at her watch and sucked in her breath. "I have to get to work. Love you." After giving the boy a quick peck on his forehead, Maura dashed out the door, and a moment or two later Randy heard the usual two false starts of her Chevy, counted to seven and then heard it catch on the third for real. The engine roared and she did the exact opposite of what her husband always told her - she floored the accelerator hard enough and long enough so the belts screeched before easing back. Randal listened to the car back out of the driveway and fade into the street. He finished up breakfast, picked up the extra twenty under his plate and tucked it in with the rest of his cash, then double-checked the contents of the back pack his mother loaded up for him. His Red Sox hat was on top and that went onto his head. The next thing he pulled out was the zinc oxide for his nose - that wound up in the junk bowl in the middle of the table. If he had to go the beach, he’d rather run the risk of a red nose rather than get tagged for being even more of a geek. There was a light windbreaker and a sweatshirt, too, since the trip would stretch into the early evening unless the weather suddenly changed. She’d also remembered a beach towel, along with some sunscreen. Sunscreen was okay, not like zinc oxide. For a moment, Randy debated taking his Bible but decided against it; it was too easy to lose something like that. Besides, although he’d never admit it, he had trouble making a lot of sense out of it - the language was just too hard sometimes. But perseverance and prayer helped, and he’d been shocked to discover so many web sites that could explain everything he needed to know in specific terms he could understand. And his copies of The Extreme Teen Bible and The Bible for Dummies by his bed were already dog-eared. Randal scanned the room one last time from the doorway, then wished again he had the nerve to ditch the whole trip and lock up the house. In the garage that stored everything but a car, he pulled out his bike, after tossing the new helmet his father bought him into a bin, next to the elbow and knee pads he refused to wear. Helmets were like zinc-oxide - an adult way of making you look like a geek. Randal couldn’t understand what all the nonsense was about. The things

were silly looking and it wasn’t like he was in some stupid bike race. It seemed to him a lot of people survived an awful long time without the extra gear. The boy pulled on the back pack and straddled the bike, spun his cap around backwards so the wind wouldn’t catch it and blow it off - then caught himself. He’d heard two guys at school talking about hats, and how they were worn: "I’m tellin’ ya, the only one’s who wear ’em backwards are queers. That way they can go down on each other easier." Randal saw plenty of sports players and others like that, and those guys were definitely not queers. After a moment’s reflection, he decided not to attract attention and risk fate. He shoved the hat into his back pocket for the time being. There was plenty of time, so he bicycled slowly out of Colonial Heights and turned onto South Union Street, pedaling at a comfortable pace. It always struck him as a curious section of Lawrence - Colonial Heights was a tight neighborhood of nice single family homes on well-manicured lots. Then you turned off Marlboro Street onto South Union and were greeted with empty store fronts and the triple-decker houses with their rotting porches, right next to what used to be a factory. A few long blocks later, the neighborhood became even more densely-packed, and the stores displayed signs in Spanish and a few different Asian languages. Randal couldn’t be sure which were Chinese, Cambodian or Korean, but they were all there. Every building he passed had heavy steel bars on their windows and doors, along with notices displaying dire warnings about security systems. Some of these stores, Randal knew, chose to buzz in only customers - and races - they approved of. Randal took his bike as far as the South Common, then cut right down the shady end of Salem Street, another anomaly as the densely-packed tenements turned into nice, single and occasionally double early 20th-century houses with large yards, nice gardens and established shade trees. Most had generous roofed porches in front, although he rarely saw anyone sitting on them. He liked the looks of this part of the city. His own neighborhood was nice, but too many of the homes were just vague variations on the same basic ranch house. At least the buildings down here had some style. If it weren’t for all the steel grids on the windows, he’d like to live there. The boy steered his bike into the parking lot of South Side Methodist, where groups were already starting to gather. He uncoiled the heavy-duty chain that was supposed to be resistant to bolt cutters from around his seat, and used the heavy-gauge lock supposedly made of extra-tempered steel that was advertised

‘like titanium’. Randal wasn’t sure if it really was or not, but it was two years since he’d last had a bike stolen and that was good enough for him. He carefully wove the long chain through the wheels, then around and through the main chain gear, and locked it into the bicycle rack, next to two others. He recognized the bikes - the same model as his own, one red and one blue, next to Kyle Sterner’s silver-gray. Randal glanced around the groups of kids hanging around and, sure enough, spotted the Brayce twins, Robby and Paul, sitting on the back rail of a bench, with Kyle Sterner standing next to them. The twins were laughing and Randal caught enough of Kyle’s voice to know he was a little pissed at them, but he was still smiling so Randal knew it wasn’t serious. "Listen, you assholes," Kyle growled. "It’s called a yarmulke, not a Yamaha! And no, it ain’t missin’ the propeller, and it is definitely not called a Jewbeanie." Kyle smacked Robby lightly off the head with the tips of his fingers and Robby pretended to fall over, dragging his brother down with him. Kyle shouted "Hah!" and looked over to Randal and smiled his crooked grin. Randal felt his heart stop - two words always popped up in Randal’s mind when he saw Kyle smile like that, no matter how much he tried not to admit it: Cute and hot. "Hey, dude!" Kyle said, then nodded towards the other boys. "These two jerks here talked me into this - but I’m not sure I wanna put up with two anti-Semites all day. They’re makin’ fun of me again." "Shoulda thought of that in first grade when we beat on Steevie O’Neal for you," Paul said, picking himself off the ground and brushing the dirt from his legs, elbowing his brother backwards again for knocking him over in the first place. Kyle snorted. "Not right away, you didn’t! You waited ’til the next day, remember?" Robby shrugged. "Hey, somebody hadda tell us what ‘kike’ meant. We didn’t know why you was cryin’ - no one saw him hit you or nothin’. We thought you was just bein’ a wuss." Kyle’s face flushed and he looked away - he didn’t like remembering how he’d let himself cry in public - even if it was ten years before and they’d all seen it anyway. He turned to Randal. "Your rabbi…" "Minister," Paul corrected.

"Your minister and her husband said we’re on the second bus, and that the four of us’ve been grouped - that means we gotta stay together all day. It’s only older kids on this thing, so they said we could go anywhere we want if we all stay in groups of four, just meet back for lunch an’ dinner for a head count." "Right," Paul broke in firmly. "So listen, Rand… I’m tellin’ you right now: we just wanna have a good time, chase chicks and have fun. If you wanna sit around with a long face an’ pretend you’re some kinda saint like you been doin’ for months, that’s cool - but do it without us, okay? You used to be fun, but - well…" Randal shrugged. "I get it. We’ll work out a time and place to meet up when we get there. You guys can do whatever it is you want." The four scuffled their feet in the awkward silence that followed. Randal looked down. "I’ll see you on the bus," he said and began walking away. He heard Robby’s voice as he walked off. "Told ya he’d be a dick," followed by a loud thwack, a sound Randal associated with a whack in the gut. He assumed Paul or Kyle nailed Robby - most likely Kyle. Randal looked to his right and waved to the Setons, and Brad nodded in recognition and made a show of checking off his name on his clipboard. The boy greeted a few more people he met along the way, but as happened more and more lately, no one tried to get Randal into a conversation. After a few minutes, he boarded the right bus, picked out a seat near the rear and dropped into it. Randal sat back and closed his eyes, his back pack resting on his lap. He heard sounds and looked up to see Kyle heading his way with his big lopsided smile. Randal felt a stirring inside him when he took in the lanky boy with his short brown hair, dark eyes and smooth skin. Kyle dropped down next to him. "Those two are sniffin’ out some quail already. Tiff Scott and Claire Moody," he said slouching back and closing his eyes, lifting his right leg and crossing the ankle over his left kneecap. "Robby might score something off Claire, but Paul can forget about Tiff." He snorted. "Shit - Paul can forget anyone. And Rand," Kyle said firmly when he saw his friend’s disapproving look, "do me a favor and don’t start in with the morality shit, okay? I volunteered to sit here when your other so-called friends wanted to toss for it - and the winner didn’t get you." Settled in and relaxed, Kyle closed his eyes while Randal fidgeted, trying not to stare at the long tanned leg with its light sprinkle of brown hairs. Worse, Kyle’s

shorts rode up and Randal could see his inner thigh. His mouth felt dry. After a few moments, he was happy for the pack covering his lap when he started getting hard, and he quickly looked away. Randal already knew what was further up those thighs. He’d seen it often enough in the school showers, and changing up after gym… and long before that, it was seen as Kyle’s duty as the early-bloomer in their group not only to show what pubic hair looked like, but also to demonstrate the fundamentals of masturbation to his less-fortunate brethren. Randal had watched with a lot more intensity than either Robby or Paul, and wondered what it would feel like in his hand, but didn’t voice it. Long before he knew being queer was a sin, he knew for sure it wasn’t a good idea to have people think you were. "So how come you’re not out there sniffin’ then?" he blurted. Kyle raised a lazy eyelid and looked over, smirked nastily, and blew kisses at Randal. "’Cuz I only got eyes for you." Randal slammed Kyle with his elbow "Cut it out! You know I don’t like that crap, Kyle. That stuff’s sick!" Kyle rubbed his ribs. "Easy with the fuckin’ elbow, okay?" Then, in a more serious voice: "C’mon, man. You know I’m just kiddin’." The silence settled in again and Kyle fell into a doze. Finally the busses began to fill up, the church staff counted heads, and they started off. Kyle sat up, looked around, then fixed his yarmulke on the back of his head. Randal eyed it. "What’s with the head gear?" he asked. "I never seen you wear one of those unless it’s, like… one of your holidays. Is today something special?" A sadness fell over Kyle’s face and he spoke in a low voice. "No. This is more like a reminder. My gram sent me this from Israel for my Bar Mitzvah." He looked around carefully, to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice. "They had to take her to the hospital in Tel Aviv last night." Randal whistled. "What happened? Heart?" "Uh-uh," Kyle said slowly, shaking his head and dropping his voice even more. "Don’t tell the two twats, okay? They’ll mean well but they’ll say the wrong stuff and say it all day long. You’re different, even if you been a pain in the ass since last winter." Kyle swallowed, and his voice shook a little. "Gram was out

shoppin’ and someone lobbed a grenade or something into the store. She caught some fragments, but she’ll be okay." Randal’s eyes bugged. "How come you don’t wanna tell Robby and Paul?" Kyle’s jaw twitched and his eyes darted around again. "’Cuz they’ll start in with all that 9-11 and terrorist shit, that’s why - callin’ the Arabs ‘Hajjis’ and stuff. Well, I don’t wanna hear it. Most Arabs ain’t bad people - they talk about that at schul and at temple. I’m a Jew, and I hear enough crap from people. Even the one’s that’re supposed to be my friends - except they ain’t like Paul and Robby who only joke about stuff to my face. They don’t bother me." His face darkened, and his voice grew grim. "It’s the jerks who call me a Hebe when they think I can’t hear ’em and ‘buddy’ when they know I can," he said, with a touch of anger. "They bother me, even if I don’t say anything. Worthless, two-faced cowards, all of ’em." Kyle frowned at the floor when he said it, then caught himself and looked up to flash his familiar signature grin. "Besides," Kyle added in a loud, conspiratorial whisper. "Some of those Arabs got some way cool ideas too, you know? I mean they execute queers over there, right?" ***** The busses wheezed to a halt in a big lot about mid-way between the arcades in Salisbury Center and the State Reservation Beach, and groups started to peel off, heading their separate ways in groups of four. Randal tagged along with Paul, Robbie and Kyle for awhile, but then the three met a group of girls not connected with their group, and Randal excused himself. Kyle lent Randal his watch and they agreed to meet at the carousel and then head back to the busses for the noon head count. If everyone were younger, the Setons would’ve worried more; that’s why this trip was restricted to fourteen and up from their Fellowship group, plus whatever friends of theirs who could pay for bus tickets and wanted a day at the shore. Reverend Seton didn’t care what church anyone went to as long as the kids signed up a week in advance, with parental permission slips with signatures that could be verified; the ticket cost was only to offset the cost of gas and an extra driver. Some kids were taken aside and told they could ride for free when they didn’t sign up, but to say nothing. Betty and Brad Seton were cool, and they knew they could never keep a group of teens penned up, but at least hammered into their heads to stay in teams for safety. But Randy wasn’t concerned. He’d been in Salisbury too many times on his own before.

He wandered around the Center for awhile, poking around in the arcades. It was still early in the day, and it wasn’t too busy yet but there was still plenty of activity, just none that interested him. Eventually he trudged down the road and away from the games and the rides, swinging his backpack beside him now and turned onto one of the frequent rights-of-way that cut through the densely packed old cottages and strode onto the beach. The surf was fairly calm, but there was still a clean breeze of the ocean that felt good and smelled even better, and Randal walked to the waterline, wishing someone was with him if only so he could drop his bag and they could spell each other for a swim in the cold Atlantic water. He had to settle for just wading out. Randal knew if he left the bag unattended, it would be snatched up in minutes. He spread his towel onto the sand when he got tired of wading, checked around - no one was close enough to really see so he took off his shirt, began rubbing the sun screen over himself as best he could, then lay out in the sun, using the pack to prop up his head. He liked the feeling of the hot sun on his body, offset by the cool breeze from the water. He preferred being by the ocean to any lake. Lakes were alright for swimming, but it wasn’t the mix of cool and heat he liked. Randal spread his slender legs in the sun, hiked up his shorts for extra exposure after checking to see if anyone was too close. A year ago he wore Speedos at this same beach and thought nothing of it, although even his mother was shocked when she saw him; his father mumbled they were nothing more than ‘ball slings,’ and that made Randal laugh. But that was Then. Now, Randal wondered how he could have been so foolish. He’d burned those Speedos privately when he found them in his bottom drawer when he began changing out clothes for the spring, then prayed for forgiveness. The garment was nothing but temptation, for himself as much as others - as sickening as the thoughts he’d let enter and then take over his mind. Looking at those skimpy garments as they burned, he understood why God had punished him so severely for most of the summer and all that winter, right into another spring. He picked his clothing carefully now, not wanting much of himself on display. Randal used to get a lot of ideas when he saw boys looking and dressing a certain way. Some of them got the same ideas, he’d come to find. And not just boys his age. Randal shuddered, fought back the memories. He desperately ran Bible stories through his head to drive away the thoughts and desires that kept coming back to him.

He sat up suddenly and looked around, wondering how long he’d been stretched out. Had he fallen asleep? A quick check of the watch told him yes, but not long enough for his skin to turn red. He began spreading on more sun screen. More people had shown up and spread themselves around at discreet distances. On weekends, the blankets and towels would be almost hem to hem, but this was a summer Monday, so it was still quiet. Randal caught site of two young men nearby and he paused, appraising them. He couldn’t be sure how old they were, but they were way older than him - at least nineteen or twenty, but probably not much more. They were less than fifty feet away and that made him more uncomfortable. Worse, they were taking turns spreading sun lotion on each others back, and it seemed to Randal they took their time at it and lingered longer than they should. It was scary to watch, and the boy felt more nervous watching the ease with which they could touch one another and in public, too. Finally, almost in slow motion, one stretched out face down on a blanket, and Randal relaxed as the other slipped on a pair of sun glasses and leaned back slightly in a lowslung beach chair, his legs splayed out and directly in front of Randal. He started reading a book. Randy’s curious eyes slowly roamed up the well-made legs and then traced the line of the man’s lithe, athletic body. They suddenly locked onto the bulge in the tight bathing suit. The boy knew he shouldn’t linger there but he couldn’t look away. Suddenly Randal caught a swift jerk of the man’s head, just a little up from his book. The boy looked up, face instantly betraying his guilt. His heart stopped. Suddenly, the man’s head tilted to one side and Randal saw the man with the sunglasses smile, then nudge his friend on the back and say something. The other young man’s head popped up and the mouth spread in a wide grin, then both of them began to laugh as they shouted something and waved. Randal turned beet red and scurried up, quickly grabbing his stuff and ran off the beach towards the cottages, not stopping to pull on his shirt until he found a public path through the maze of small, fenced-off little yards of the rental cottages, most no bigger than enough room for two beach loungers and a small barbecue. Once he reached the safety of the main road, he stuffed his towel back into the bag and pulled on his Red Sox cap again to keep the hot sun off his head, but with the visor pushed low so his face was shadowed. The boy shook slightly, mortified not only that he had yielded to temptation again, but that he’d been caught at it. Even worse: from their actions, the two men proved they were sinners, too, and Randal knew what that would lead to.

"Homos," he muttered savagely. "God curses all of ’em. Kyle’s right about the Arabs havin’ the right idea: round up all the fags an’ execute ’em." Randal hiked down the main road towards the Center, wondering what to do next, not certain what bothered him more - the fact that he’d been caught cruising the two guys on the beach, or that they didn’t seem to mind. He shook away the memory from his head, then wandered back, checking the time and seeing he had to meet his friends. A few minutes later, they gathered and headed back for the busses for the first head count, which took longer than it should have because of stragglers who were called back before the dismissal, likely so Reverend Betty and her husband Brad could lecture them about tardiness and responsibility. He listened to Robby and Paul lie to Kyle about how they had the two girls they’d met just about ready to ‘do it’ - never exactly designating what ‘it’ was, naturally - when they’d had to break off for the head count. Kyle listened, made all the right sounds, and dismissed it in his head as just the standard Brayce Brothers Bullshit. Randal said nothing - not even remarks about immorality and sin his friends expected from him. It was wearing thin with them, and they let him know if he didn’t cool it soon he wouldn’t have any friends left at all. They split off again, and Randal once again found himself alone. He bought a pair of cheap sunglasses on an impulse in one of the stores around the Center, then wandered up a side-street to a mini-amusement park filled with mostly little kid rides and watched, bored. He wished it was all over, and they could all gather at the busses and head for home. The only thing that caught his eye was the old Ferris wheel, and he stared at it as the machine spun slowly around and around. Randy’s eyes scanned the short line to get on the wheel and he paused, smiling slightly when a boy about his own age caught his eye. He had round, red cheeks and a nice smile. Unlike Kyle or the Brayces or even those guys on the beach, this boy didn’t seem to intimidate Randal when he watched him. There was something about the way the kid held himself that said he didn’t really know how nice he was to look at. Kyle knew he was hot-looking; Robby and Paul thought they were, and most of the guys that caught Randal’s eye usually had that attitude and it made them cocky. But whoever he was, this kid wasn’t cocky at all. Randal watched the hands and the way the boy moved and wrinkled his nose. Shit, he’s a flamer.

He groaned and made another face - but still watched, fascinated, and caught himself murmuring aloud. "He’s fine-lookin’, though." Randal looked around, startled by his own slip, but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. It’s wrong. Is this why I bought sunglasses? To sneak looks at guys and think all that sick shit again? The operator began slowing down the wheel, and the tedious emptying and refilling of the carts began. Randal’s eye candy stood with someone else, and kept turning and talking to someone but Randal couldn’t see who it was - they were almost the same height, and from where he stood, Randal couldn’t see. Finally they moved up in the line enough to where it curved, and Randal saw him full face. A cold, desperate panic set into him and he lost his breath while his throat clamped. He mouthed a word without sound. "Danny." Randal stared, beginning to shake. "Run," he said in a small voice, as much for himself as the stranger he found fascinating. "Run!" he squeaked in a cracked voice. Several people around him heard a vaguely panicky sound and turned to look at a trembling teenage boy wearing a cap and sun-glasses. Danny didn’t hear anything but he looked up, saw someone staring at him and angled his head curiously. Randal’s body shook uncontrollably in anger and fear. It was Danny alright, and whoever the kid was with him would be headed for the same things he’d… Randal swallowed, looking for his voice and suddenly found it, then screamed with everything he had. "Get away from him, you piece of shit! Get out of there! Run!" ***** The only reason the door to Barrier Books didn’t slam was because it was on an electric eye. David Sciuoto marched into work Monday, paused long enough for a casual glower, followed it up with a nasty scowl, then grunted and stormed off for the back of the store. Chris St. Jacques took one quick glance at the expression on his friend’s face and another quicker (and slyer) one at his boss, then shrewdly decided it might

be a good idea to head for the Children’s Lit section in the far end of the store and start reorganizing the shelves. A small, well-manicured, but surprisingly strong hand locked onto his retreating arm and forced him not to just halt but pivot. "No you don’t." Chris swallowed hard, smiled stupidly and even though he always swore it was just something people said to bug him, his nose twitched. Catching himself, he did his best to fake an innocent expression as Karen swooped down on him for the kill. "Uh-uh," she continued. "No sneaking off, you. I get the feeling if I go back there and ask David why he’s an hour late, I’ll probably have to fire him. So I’ve got a special job for you." "W-what?" Chris stammered. "You want me to be your pet rat now?" Karen smiled malevolently and nodded. "Yeah, I’d say that pretty much sums it up. That kid’s been walking around and looking like he’s ready to explode for almost a week. So, what gives? What’s going on? Out with it!" she demanded. Chris flushed and looked uncomfortable. Karen studied him for a moment and her voice lowered. "Look," she continued gently, peering up over the black rims of her half-glasses, "I’m not trying to butt in, but David’s always been one of the happiest and easiest going guys I’ve ever had working here. Hell, he even puts up with your rag-ass moods, even if I have to admit you’ve been pretty good lately. I’m really concerned about him, not just being nosey - so get back there and do your job, okay?" Chris’ right eyebrow shot up. "My job? Jesus, since when is digging dirt my job?" Karen shook her head and her voice took on a more serious tone. "That’s not what I meant, kid. You’re the best friend, and finding out what’s bugging him so you can help is your job - that’s what I’m telling you to do. I’m not asking you to dig for dirt for me, he needs someone to talk to. If you guys decide it’s something I can help with, fine. If not, well… I learned the hard way last winter about sticking my nose in. If it’s something you think you can tell me, I’m here. If not…" She made an exasperated expression, but Chris didn’t answer. "Well, whatever," she continued. "Just you remember, though: Dave was always there

when it was the other way around, in case you’ve forgotten. Being the best friend means that’s a two-way street." Chris shook his head while Karen released his arm. "No, I haven’t forgotten any of that, thank you very much," he answered, unconsciously rubbing the spot Karen closed her vice grip on. "And believe me, you’re not the only one who’s noticed how different he’s been. But honest to God, Karen - he’s like a clam lately! I’ve been tryin’ to get him to talk for over a week, but every time I ask him what’s goin’ on he either ignores me or just tells me to take a hike and mind my own business. I mean, it’s miserable just bein’ around the guy these days." Karen’s lips pressed thin as she took it in. "Okay, as long as you’re trying… but listen to me: go back there and keep him off the main floor at least, okay? Somehow I get the feeling the first time someone asks him a question today he’s going to go off on them, and then I will have to fire him. It’s mid-summer and it’s a Monday afternoon, so it’s dead quiet in here today, likely to stay that way, and the store already looks pretty good. You guys can unpack stock back there and load up the carts. Then clean the place." She shook her head as she looked upward to the gods, arms extended to implore heaven. "Hell, you can even break the racks down and rebuild ’em if you want - but keep him out of sight, off the sales floor, and away from customers. And at least try to look busy, okay?" She dropped her arms and her eyes shifted over to the register and Karen’s voice lowered. "That damn Wynona knows I’m getting my own store next month and she’s determined to get my job here, and she doesn’t care who she has to ruin to get it. Not that either of you are exactly her favorites." They both eyed the hatchet-faced Margaret Hamilton-clone doing her best to intimidate the new associate learning to handle the computer inventory system. The new girl scowled at Wynona, spotted Karen and decided to look interested all of a sudden. Karen sneered. "The Witch of the West’s been sucking up to both the general and district managers, trying to score brown-nose points. I already told Prendergast if either one of ’em stops fast it’s a toss-up if she’ll slide all the way in or just stop at the shoulders." Chris snickered, and she affectionately put her hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, hon’," she said. "If that bitch starts needling David the way she usually does, he’ll kill her - and if she sees him getting even a little mouthy, she’ll bypass me and do a write-up on him - and get away with it because Fearless Leader gave her that ‘senior associate’ title to shut her up last month. And I probably won’t be able to stop it." Chris eyed Karen and made a face. "Any chance of her getting your job for real?" Karen chuckled, eyeing him. "Stop worrying - you guys are safe. Prendy already told the DM if she makes assistant, it has to be in another store, because no one here even wants to work with her, never mind for her. And she is definitely not on the list of AMs in my new store. They’ll probably send her to one of the older places in the 128 belt around Boston," she said with a malicious grin. "Serve the bitch right to sit in traffic two extra hours every morning just to drive fifteen miles. Now - get back there and find out what’s with David." *****

"That’ll teach ya," David grunted angrily, breaking the silence. He plunged the blade in hard and ripped down. He smiled, pleased with the result. "Lemme know if the box answers," Chris St. Jacques muttered, unpacking another case of books onto the roll cart. He stole a look at his friend, shuddered, and decided to keep his mouth shut - a rarity for Chris, but on occasion good judgment stopped his lightning tongue. David Sciuoto flicked his hard, dark brown eyes on him. "I could really do without your sarcasm, you know." He tore at the rest of the box, and muttered again when he couldn’t break the fiber tape with his hands. He ripped at it savagely instead of simply using his stock knife, and white plastic packing peanuts scattered all over the floor. Chris snorted. David glared at him, kicked the cart and some books fell over. He scowled and started picking up his mess, eyeing his best friend, who pretended he hadn’t seen the flash of temper. David immediately felt a pang of guilt. Why are you takin’ it out on him, he thought. He’s your friend, so ease up. Talk to him. And try not to be an asshole today.

"You’re awful quiet for a change," he almost growled. Chris humphed, and his pale, yellowy-brown eyes briefly and coldly ran over David before he busied himself unpacking books. "I believe after I said ‘Hey, buddy, what’s up?’ when I got back here, your reply was ‘Shut the fuck up,’ followed by ‘and fuck off.’" Chris shrugged. "I figured that was pretty good advice." David winced. So much for not being an asshole. He finished unpacking the box, then David grabbed a broom to clean up the pellets scattered over the floor. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just got some things on my mind." Chris shrugged and continued working off another cardboard case. He didn’t say anything, but at least Chris’ body relaxed enough so David understood he was off the hook… for the moment. "So, ah… what’s the deal here," David began, trying to sound almost pleasant with mixed success. "How’d you an’ me manage to get exiled to the back room to do stock - at the same time?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I suppose Karen sent you back here to dig?" Oh, yeah. That’s easing up alright. Smooth, Sciuoto. Real smooth. Chris tried to keep the tension out of his voice. "We’re back here because you walked in late with a scowl across your puss so Karen decided the best thing to do was send you some place where you could work off whatever’s got you pissed, as far away from actual humans as possible." He eyed the remains of the case, carefully avoiding looking at David. "And I think she’s right." Ouch. "Am I really that bad?" Chris looked at him stone-faced and raised an eyebrow. David sighed, then nodded. "Uh, guess I’ve been kind of a dick lately." "Uh, guess I can’t argue with that," Chris mimicked. David grunted, made a face and both continued working in silence. David stole quick glances at his friend. It’s not like you got a lot of friends, he reminded himself. Not real ones, anyway. At least not the kind you can talk free with. So how about not pissing off the ones you’ve got for awhile?

He sighed again. "So I guess both you and Karen are lookin’ for dirt, huh?" "No," Chris said firmly, then backed off his tone. "Well, yeah, but not like you think. She doesn’t expect me to report back - she learned her lesson." David flinched, remembering the night Karen made the mistake of taking concern and friendship a step too far, demanding to know if things were getting physical with David and Chris. It created a rift that took several weeks to heal, and Karen walked on eggshells not to re-cross a drawn line. "I’m the best friend, remember?" Chris added. "Karen reminded me it’s kinda my job to be there when you need it, at least until you fire me. She was hopin’ maybe I could help with whatever’s crawlin’ up your ass these days." David chuckled. "So you got to be the human sacrifice instead of her if I decided to go off, huh?" Chris shrugged and began to smile again. "The way she put it, I’m the paid peon, and better my ass than hers - the rat. She also wanted to let you know she’s willing to help - if you feel comfortable with it." He stopped for a moment, then looked his friend right in the eye. "But it’s totally your call," he added. David nodded, considering the last part. Maybe I can talk to her… but a little later. Their voices faded and they fell into a routine again, but at least the silence was a more comfortable one. David mulled it over, watching Chris. He envied him. His coming out at home was easy with his mother - awkward but not difficult with his father. And my time with Dad is coming soon - I know it, David thought ruefully. He still wasn’t sure how Albert Sciuoto would react, and that made him uneasy. Plus there was the strained silence with his mother, punctuated with mutual nastiness if they spent more than a few minutes together. It was wearing him down. David ripped open another case, then satisfied himself there was only wadded up newspaper for filler, and began to remove the books inside. He stopped for a moment, then looked at Chris. "My mother’s been all over me," he blurted. This time Chris winced and he fought the impulse to make some smart-ass remark. Even in the best of times conversations usually went silent whenever David’s mother got mentioned.

David considered a careful way to phrase what would come next but couldn’t think of any. "Uh… and I don’t suppose it’s news to you that she doesn’t have any use for you, either - is it?" Chris looked up sharply but kept his face blank. Warning, warning! Danger Will Robinson! "Well, she’s... uh, always been polite to me," he offered, knowing it sounded lame. David chuckled. "That’s a nice way to sidestep trouble. C’mon, Chris. I know what you think of her - and yeah, sometimes she is one, and on wheels, too. And the way she acts around you and… well, a few others - I don’t blame you guys for thinkin’ that." He swallowed hard and his face flushed. "Not that she’s all bad," he added quickly, trying to convince himself as much as his friend. "She really does mean well, most of the time. But she’s got some blind spots." Chris caught himself before making a crack about macular degeneration and nodded politely, avoiding any eye contact as he continued to work. For once in your life, keep your foot out of your mouth, he told himself. Wanna make an instant enemy? Tell a guy his mother’s a bitch. If he wants to trash her - hey, that’s cool. David started breaking down the empty boxes they’d left scattered, pouring the packing materials into a large bin and dumping the shippers into the nearby compactor. He loaded up another two-wheeler at the receiving door and rolled them back where both boys worked under the air conditioning vent in the steamy back room. Chris tried to smile when David got back. David reached out and placed a hand on Chris’ shoulder. "Look, I know how tough she can be to take some times, and I’m not tryin’ to put you on the spot. If anything, I… I just need to talk to you about her, so all I’m tryin’ to say here is I know what people think, okay? Yeah, she can be uppity. And she really isn’t mean… but I won’t bullshit you or ask you to make extra allowances. And I know you don’t want to risk getting into a jam about it, and I really do appreciate that," he added reluctantly. "But if you wanna be my friend, I’d really like to ask you to be honest with me, okay? I need some help dealin’ with her right now." Chris cocked his head. "What’s the sudden big deal, Davey? I mean-okay. I don’t like your mom, but that’s as much as I’ll say. Hell, you always knew that - and she never hid the fact she exactly didn’t approve of me, even if she never said anything outright. God knows, you apologized to me often enough for the

way she acts, but we never had to really discuss what I thought. What’s all of a sudden different?" David hesitated and then dropped his voice after shooting a quick glance to the door. "She knows," he said quietly. The pale, yellowy brown eyes locked in on David’s deep brown. David swallowed, gave a weak smile and nodded. "She finally figured it out and challenged me, okay? And not just about me, but about me and Alan. You, too," he added and swallowed hard. "And she made it pretty clear she doesn’t much like it." Over the next few minutes, David gave the full rundown, editing out only a few finer points. Chris took it all in, then whistled. "Well, I guess it could’ve been worse. I mean, you don’t have to give what’s-his-name a call at that flop-house in Lawrence to book Marc’s old place." David chuckled "Stick? Nah, it ain’t quite that bad. But it’s bad enough." He shook his head ruefully. "Man, she and I always had to tread careful around each other, once I got old enough to start sayin’ ‘no’ about stuff and back it up. There has never been any middle ground with us - when things are cool, they’re cool. But when we’re in a fight, we’re two pit bulls, and neither one of us gives unless my dad referees. And in this one, we’re both avoiding him. Trust me, if there’s anything my mom and I know how to do when we’re pissed, it’s pressin’ each other’s buttons. And for the past week, we can’t even say ‘good morning’ without shorting out the control panels." "Is that why you were late today?" David nodded. "Yeah - I asked where something was, she made a crack, the next thing you know we’re in a screamin’ match again. I wound up floorin’ the car up and down the highway to calm down. And just to make things better - I picked up a nail or something on the highway - had to fight like hell to change the tire, too. I’m usin’ one of those lame-ass donuts right now." He shook his head. "Jesus! I don’t know where she gets that streak." Chris chuckled. "That’s the problem - you’ve both got that go-for-the-jugular instinct. Prob’ly ’cuz you’re so much alike."

David gave him a dubious look. "No, dude - seriously," Chris continued. "I mean… you look like her; you talk like her; and both of you got a thing for short, hairy guys," he sniggered. "What’re the odds you’d both have a Hobbit fetish?" David tossed a piece of cardboard at Chris but grinned. "You’re never gonna let me forget about what my old man looked like at the pool party, are you? Yeah, well, at least Alan doesn’t have to brush out his back a hundred strokes every night." "Yet," Chris laughed. "Anyway, Alan’ll be relieved. He was startin’ to get worried about the way you’ve been since the beginning of summer - he was afraid you were, y’know... kinda losin’ interest." His voice trailed off and he nervously looked away. David looked up sharply, fumbled with his knife and swore when he nicked himself. The beginning of summer, he thought, sucking on his wounded thumb. Oh, shit. Has it been showing that long? "So how come so long for reaction to set in?" Chris asked. "I mean, how come it didn’t get real nasty until around a week ago?" "Uh," David fumbled, trying to think up some quick reasons. "I mean… at the beginning of summer is when she got into the gay stuff," he lied. "But uh… well, last week, she pitched a bitch about Alan, and that’s what set the rest off. She doesn’t want him at the house at all - whether she’s there or not." Chris flinched. "Great. So you don’t tell Alan?" He shook his head. "Not real smart, Davey. Because now he thinks he either did something wrong or you’re lookin’ to dump him. You better let him know what the deal is, and soon. Oh and just in case it comes up: lie to him about how you’re telling me before you tell him." "Why lie?" "’Cuz he’s the boyfriend," Chris said, exasperated. "And he should be the first to know when there’s trouble." David’s nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes. "That’s kinda hypocritical, isn’t it? I mean, you told me about Jamie before you faced him."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, but there’s a difference, Dave. Back then, the trouble was with Jamie. But with you two, it’s someone makin’ trouble for you. And to make it worse, Alan already thinks he’s the problem." "I’d never do anything to hurt him," David said softly. "I mean... even if we weren’t together. He’s already had enough crap in his life." Chris shrugged and nodded. "Listen, I’m goin’ nuts hangin’ out back here. Are you cool with takin’ some of this stuff out to the floor? I mean, it’s Monday, and it’s gonna be dead, and if we get busy puttin’ this stuff away, at least it’ll help the time zip by." He looked up smugly. "Plus if you’re feelin’ up to it, we can bait Wynona - that’s always fun." Dave snorted. "Wynona. That’s like shootin’ fish in a barrel - besides, she’s been almost decent lately." Chris shrugged. "Maybe - but it’s only Wynona. Not like it’s anyone that matters." They rolled the carts out, and Karen looked over and caught Chris’ eye, and he nodded it was okay. They packed out and straightened right into dinner, stopping only occasionally to work with the stray customer wandering in on a dead business day, and then burned the rest of the middle shift looking for things to do. David kept an eye on Karen, wondering when or even if she would approach him. She did stop a few times, but didn’t probe, which was a relief. Meanwhile, David mulled the situation over in his mind; how much could he tell, and to who? It scared him that Alan was worried. David told Alan over and over again how much he meant to him - and meant it. But when Alan looked at himself, all he ever saw were the drawbacks. But David liked Alan, not just a pretty face or a hot body. He liked who Alan was, and he loved how Alan felt in his arms, just because it was him. David knew he had to find out from Chris about what he’d done wrong. He finally decided telling Alan about his mother problems would help. And the other stuff? What about Danny? How do you tell him you’re a coward, that you screwed someone else to cover your own ass? Isn’t that the same thing that happened to him? David shuddered, but the answer came too easy, too quick. No one has to know - ever. Martin’s safe, and it’s all cool now - put it away.

Another part nagged him. Oh yeah, it’s all put away, nice ’n neat. Then what about the dreams? How come you still wake up with the cold sweats? "No," he muttered, earning himself a glance from a man in his mid-fifties browsing through the mystery section. "It’s done. Over. Leave it behind like before." David pushed the emptying cart across the sales floor. Karen signaled him to stop and walked over. "Head out - shift’s done." David checked his watch, confused. "Wow. Uh, about that hour - I mean I can make it up if you want." Karen shook her head. "I’ve got enough people - you and Chris are out of here at seven tonight, just like the schedule says. And as for being late - don’t do it like that again," she said simply. "If you’re going to be late, call me. If some emergency comes up, fine - let me know as soon as you can. But don’t just come in here all pissed-off and not even bother to say something, alright? And you don’t have to work it off… you’ll just go a little light in your next check." David nodded, aware he’d had his wrist slapped, and was lucky it was only that. They both knew David would never miss an hour in his check, but there didn’t seem any point in reminding Karen. He looked around, didn’t see Chris on the floor and headed for the back room. Chris was leaning against the time clock, eyes glued to the glass face, waiting for the last click. "What’re you doin’ tonight?" David asked. "No one," Chris answered, dropping his card in at precisely the right moment. "Just me and myself. And maybe later we’ll visit my buddy, Harry Palm." "Sick bitch. I might stop by later, maybe with Alan, but I’m not sure. Okay to come by?" Chris agreed, since they were on the same shift. David punched his card, and they shot for the door. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Chris’ mouth stopped for a second and his head jerked to the right. David watched the eyebrows join the hairline. "Damn! It’s him!"

David looked around, mystified. "No, dude!" Chris babbled. "I just saw a guy I... well, I’ve seen him twice before - once at a U-Mass thing, and again last week. He gave me the once over at the mall the night I saw Martin with his new little hunk. He just walked into that restaurant!" David frowned. "Huh? What are you talkin’ about? What guy?" Chris licked his lips, craning his neck to see if he could catch sight of sandybrown hair in the shadowy windows of the Not Your Average Joe restaurant. He turned back to David. "He’s wicked cute. Honest." David frowned more. "The guy with Martin?" "No! The guy I caught checkin’ me. He’s got..." David clamped a hand on Chris’ shoulder. "Slow down, okay? Yeah, yeah... I got the part where you’re cruisin’ at the mall again, even after what happened last year." "I was not cruising!" Chris protested. "I was just shopping, an’ I ran into someone and we were..." David shook his head impatiently, and Chris didn’t pick up on how much what he said upset David. "Okay, you saw some hottie," David said, talking right over Chris before he could start up again. "I told you I got it. Now, tell me about the Martin part. He was with someone? What’d the guy look like? Think!" "Dunno," Chris answered, craning his neck for a better look inside. "I only saw him from the back. About the same size, I guess, with blond hair, kinda long and maybe touched up a little." He chuckled. "I saw him grab Martin’s ass when no one was lookin’ - and again when someone was. And from the look on his face, Martin was in heaven." His eyes and attention shifted again. "Now, c’mon, Dave, I gotta get..." "Chris! Focus will you! You’ll see whoever he is," David growled, trying not to yell. "It’s important. Now think! Have you ever seen this guy before - the one with Martin? Did he look older than him at all?"

Chris shook his head, then stole another glance at the restaurant. "Nope, I just saw the back of his head… he was about Martin’s height, and kinda small, so I figure they were the same age." Chris frowned. "What’s the big deal? So Martin met some kid - just ’cuz at his age all we did was dream doesn’t mean he can’t catch a break. And that kid really could use a break." "Breaks are fine," David muttered. "I just don’t want him broken." He checked his watch, tuning Chris out and debating. Should he go home and call? Or drive to Martin’s house? "Go check for what’s-his-name," he called back over his shoulder, making for his car. "I’ll call ya!" Chris stood blinking into the glare of the parking lot lights as David moved off almost at a run. He shook his head, watching David weave through the cars to the outer lot where Loop employees were supposed to park. "Now what’s the matter with him?" he muttered, staring as his friend dodged through the parked cars. David dug in his pockets, fumbling for his keys, barely conscious of a car behind him driving too fast, but he didn’t pay any attention or even look back. He swore when he dropped the key to the Jetta, cursed more when he had to fish them out from under the car when they bounced on the pavement. David sprang up when he heard brakes squeal one row over, and popped up in time to see a burly shadow charging at him. David’s eyes squinted under the glaring lights. Whoever it was started shouting for David to stop, then he saw who it was, and his heart jumped a beat Leo? What’s that jerk want? I don’t have time for any of his crap. David swallowed, watching the figure as it dodged through the parked cars and charged out, almost getting clipped by another passing car. David caught sight of the jack and tire he’d tossed into the back seat earlier, then spotted the tire iron on the rear seat. He grabbed over the front seat and grasped the end, spinning just as the bulky ex-wrestler sprang across the roadway as the car cleared. "Back off, Leo!" David shouted, bringing the heavy rod up over his shoulder, threatening. "So help me Christ, you lay one hand on me this time and I’ll crush that skull of yours!" And if I miss, I’ll go down swingin’ anyway. Leo came up fast but held his hands out, yelling for David to stop. He halted a few feet short of David, breathing heavily but far from out of breath. "You got me wrong, guy," he said with a wheeze. "I’m only here ’cuz I need your help."

David eyed him suspiciously but let the tool in his hand drop to chest level, then glanced back to Leo’s car parked in the middle of the lane, a few rows away. He saw Leo’s face close enough for the first time to read the expression: it wasn’t any more attractive, but it wasn’t angry. And it looked scared. Still… "Yeah, right," David said, still keeping his grip on the tire iron. "Why the hell would I wanna do you any favors?" Leo backed off a little more, holding his hands in front of him, palms out. "Just cool it willya? This ain’t about us, okay? It’s Martin… him and some other kid are in trouble, and they won’t talk to anyone but you." David Sciuoto froze, felt the air draining from his lungs. Not again, please, not again. He fought for breath; felt a cold fist clamping at the pit of his stomach.

CHAPTER SEVEN Bradford Seton looked up into the rear-view mirror of the bus, shook his head and swore under his breath - then caught himself and hoped no one heard him. That was one of the tough things about being married to a minister; always having to make sure his Dorchester heritage didn’t kick in at the wrong time. No one seemed to paying any attention to him now that the floor show was under way - half the teenaged bus passengers were crowding into the aisle as the shout "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" echoed off the metal walls. The mob of about forty thirteen-to-sixteen-year-olds hoped to catch sight of fists flying at the very least and, if they were lucky, a little blood splatter. The other half stood on their seats, necks craned and eager for the same display. Brad had seen the warning signs by the time he’d exited the parking lot from the State Reservation, steering onto North End Boulevard but hadn’t said anything; the boys involved all hung out together and he’d figured they were just playing out a game of verbal snap-ass, the by-product of a long day spent under the sun, in the surf, and running wild through the carnie atmosphere of Salisbury Center. He’d written it all off - just guys being guys and running their mouths a little. It’s been a good day, he grumbled to himself. Too good. Something had to go wrong sooner or later. At least no one got lost this time. Brad barked a warning and a few of the kids up front dropped and sat quickly, but most hadn’t heard him or didn’t care to. Still muttering, he carefully edged the bus out of the center lane of the heavy end-of-day traffic that stretched further north to the beaches of Maine and ended in Central Massachusetts He steered for the breakdown lane of 495, hoping the second bus driven by his wife would be able to follow. Usually he kept to the first lane when he drove the bus, but the kamikaze entries of drivers from the entry ramps - somehow

interpreting Yield as "Gun it!" - had gotten to him and he been using the center lane, cars passing him on both sides. He managed to get clear of the traffic after a motorcycle in his blind spot made a last second mad dash to pass the bus on the inside, rather than slow down and let him over. The shirtless driver sounded his horn and chucked Brad the finger as he passed. Without thinking Brad scanned the small plate, memorized the registration number for future reference - it wasn’t too likely their paths would cross again, but being a lieutenant in the Massachusetts State Police had its advantages. He could have the ticket mailed. The bus rolled to a slow stop and Brad set the parking brake and switched on the emergency flashers. Traffic naturally slowed down to gawk, hoping for the worst. Brad Seton edged his brawny, six-foot-plus frame into the aisle, snapping orders the way only a State Trooper - on or off duty - could. Bodies dropped in their seats. Others jumped out of his way and the din began to die down. Lieutenant Seton might not have been wearing his jack-booted uniform and snap-brim cap generation of drivers swore were inspired by the Third Reich, but his booming voice had that firm tone of intimidation that tended to freeze people in their tracks. Teenaged boys and girls - no longer as intent on satisfying their blood lust obediently got out of his way, sat, and closed their mouths. But they still craned necks and gawked backward once he passed. An angry Brad Seton was rarely seen but too interesting to pass up. It was almost as good as watching someone bleed - and there was still the chance they’d see both. As far as most were concerned, this was the signature moment of a well-spent day at the beach. Seton picked up the first Brayce and tossed him with a casual roughness into the nearest double-seat head first. He peeled the second Brayce off Randy Shiner and deposited him in roughly the same space with an absolute lack of delicacy, not much caring about the sound of cracking skulls as Robby landed on top of his brother Paul. The boys swore and slapped at one another briefly as they scrambled up in their seats. "Shut up," he said low and deadly as he pushed a suddenly quiet Randy into another row before he stepped up to break the last battle. He saw the two boys locked together in a seat, a smaller blond-haired boy he didn’t recognize straddling a taller one, pounding with blurring fists on the other. The two exchanged a steady stream of words as they flailed "Cocksucker!" seemed favored by both, but in all fairness "Dickhead!" and

"Asshole!" with the usual modifiers tacked on got equal play. The abusive streams weren’t rich in originality, but they had the usual, expected effect. Both boys were furious. So furious they forgot to hide their cracking voices when they shouted. Brad reached down and picked up the shorter of the boys by the waistband of his shorts and jerked him up and away. The boy swore at him and swung his arms but halted when he realized it was a rather grim-faced and large adult that had hold of him this time. A thoroughly pissed off, red-faced Kyle Sterner without a weight on his chest popped up out of the seat where he’d been trapped, sputtered, and lunged at the boy in Brad’s grip. Seton held the smaller boy up and away, then planted a hand in Kyle’s face and shoved him easily back into his seat. He wasn’t delicate about it. Kyle was far from pleased but had second thoughts about expanding the fight to Bradford Seton. He hadn’t been doing well with someone half his size as it was. "Stay there," Brad snapped, noticing the larger boy’s bleeding nose and bruised eye. Gonna be a nice shiner, he mused, looking over Kyle’s face and the bloodspattered tee shirt. Kyle snapped his mouth shut but glared. "Now who’s the pussy?" the shorter, dangling boy crowed, an evil smile plastered across his face and eyes shining with the satisfaction of knowing he’s been the one to take first blood. Brad swung the smaller kid down and around and glared at the boy, now holding him by the neck of his shirt. "Shut up," he said calmly. The boy’s mouth snapped shut and he swallowed. Hard. And speakin’ of Shiners Randy Shiner and the Brayce Brothers were at it again, growling invectives over the back of the seat and about one "Eat me!" from throwing punches again. Brad kept his grip on the boy who’d successfully beat the hell out of Kyle. "You three - can it!" he snapped. Robby and Paul Brayce looked up nervously and their mouths closed. Randy Shiner sneered. Sharp hand gestures briefly replaced words. Brad snapped his fingers in the boys’ faces to break the spell and three sets of nervous, angry eyes were on him again. "Up front, you," he ordered Randy.

"And keep the traps shut - the whole lot of you." He eyed a sullen Randy, who now stood with his fists clenched in the aisle, waiting for either a Brayce or Kyle to try something. Brad blinked. "Move!" Randy sprinted to the front of the bus. Brad Seton set the blond boy down again and planted his ham-hock of a hand firmly atop the boy’s head and fast-walked him up the aisle. Once up front he hit the crank and popped open the door, satisfied to see the second bus parked just behind him. His wife was standing at the door and looking up, confused. "Off the bus," he ordered Randy. Randy paused on the step for one last shot. "Go ahead Kyle," he shouted. "Say it again! Prove how a real low life acts when he talks about someone behind their back! Just like you were sayin’ this morning, right, buddy?" A red faced Brad Seton planted a foot in Randy’s backside and urged the boy forward. A startled Randy stumbled down the steps of the bus and into the equally startled Betty Seton’s arms, who staggered back. Brad still held his other troublemaker. Betty Seton shouted over the roar of the late-day mid-summer traffic returning from day trips and vacations at the New England shore. "What’s - " "Fight," Brad scowled, eyeing the two boys. "These two, that Kyle kid and the Idiot Twins," he growled. "Take these two misfits on your bus - I don’t dare put all five of ’em together, and these two seemed to be teamed up against the others." Betty Seton shook her head, studying Randy Shiner’s face first. She tsked. Randy suddenly looked shifty eyed, then decided to focus on the ground. Then she turned her attention to the second boy with the blondish hair. She frowned, confused even more. "Who’s this?" Brad Seton looked up, startled. "Wasn’t he on your bus this morning?"

The boy stuck out his lower lip, rocked back on his heels, and dug his hands in his pockets. He lowered his head and edged closer to Randy. "Uh, I’m Martin. Martin Seduko." "That’s nice," Betty answered vaguely, not knowing what else to say. She looked back at her husband. "I don’t know how to tell you this, honey, but we’ve got a stowaway. I’ve never seen this kid before." *****

Betty Seton tossed back her long red hair and wished again she hadn’t untied it when they’d returned from the road trip. She studied the two young men in her vestibule. They hadn’t exactly barged into the rectory, but the shorter, less attractive of the pair with the stumpy build and the short thick neck had been pushy and abrasive - even if she’d written him off as harmless once she’d gotten a better look at him. He looked threatening and talked loud, but the eyes under the thick mono-brow were anxious and excited, but she didn’t see malice in them. The taller, more attractive boy was another story. His manner was polite and his voice smooth when he broke in to say they’d come to collect Martin; but the eyes… Hostile? Not quite. Deeply suspicious, though. And definitely filled with resentment. She kept the door half-closed, and eyed the baseball bat out-of-sight but handily placed near the door jamb. Her part of Lawrence may have looked nice in the daylight hours, but there were ample reasons for the metal grids on her full-length beveled-glass front door and on first-floor windows, all secured with heavy-duty locks. Her neighborhood fit the local profile for the new trend in home invasions: upscale enough to have nice things, but not rich enough to warrant extra attention from the police. In Lawrence, ‘extra’ was defined as ‘adequate’ anywhere else - unless another cop lived on the street. The tree-stump with the big mouth demanded to see her husband, the Reverend Seton. "I’m the Reverend Elizabeth Seton," she said pointedly, crossing her arms and standing her ground, standing to her full five-foot-nine. She locked her sharp

green eyes onto them. "And just who are you? I expected to see Martin’s parents - and you guys make a cute couple, but you don’t look old enough to have a fifteen year-old," she jibed. "He’s fourteen," Leo corrected, unflustered and either ignoring or not quite getting the joke, but she saw a flicker of anger from the second boy when she said it, and that told her volumes. Leo wasn’t finished with his own bad first impression and buried himself. "Wow. They let chicks be priests?" He watched the eyes narrow and the color drained from his face "Women, I mean," Leo amended quickly. "They let women be priests." "We’re Protestants," she said politely and fought back a smile, keeping her features hard. "We don’t do priests, and there have been women in ministries for years. Not everyone does the Roman rules, boys." Leo studied the attractive woman. Late twenties, dressed in a floral blouse neither too low nor too high… and jeans just snug enough so she looked good. Pretty damn hot for a reverend, he thought, then flushed. Embarrassed, he decided to back off. The boy with the resentful eyes gave Leo a withering look, introduced himself as David, and when Leo spoke again kicked him just shy of savagely. "We’re Martin’s friends," he explained. Betty opened the door more. Let’s see… you don’t like me but you’re polite, and your friend is closing his mouth - so you I’ll cut a break here. She’d at least listen - but kept herself well within grabbing distance of the bat. David cleared his throat and continued carefully. "Uh, Martin’s mother… well, she’s not home." Betty’s jaw twitched, and her left eyebrow shot up; Great - another one that just runs wild all day. "Does she even know he’s gone?" she asked icily. "Uh, well… when she got out of work it was early, so she just figured Martin was out… Monday’s she gets with some friends for an early dinner and they play Bingo." Thank God Leo told me that much in the car, David thought. "She… she figured Martin was just out for a little while," he repeated. It sounded lame.

"Right," Leo picked up. "Listen, can we move things along here? Where’s Martin?" he demanded. David turned to him fast and his eyes screamed Shut-up! but Leo’s flashed Kiss-ass! back at David and ignored him. "I go out with Martin’s sister Sandy," Leo explained. "The kid called her at work. She doesn’t have a car, so that’s why I’m here." He thumbed to David. "I brung him ’cuz Martin asked me to." Close enough to be brothers, Betty Seton thought wryly. Cain and Able come to mind. Okay, so maybe they’re not exactly crazies… just close. "I can deal with that," she said sharply, just to keep them on their toes. "What about the boy’s father?" "Warmin’ a bar stool somewhere," Leo muttered tactlessly. And just as tactlessly, switched back to confrontational mode. "Why’s he with you guys anyways?" he demanded. "How come you took him to the beach without anyone knowin’? Don’t you need some kinda permission?" She jabbed him in the chest with a forefinger. "Listen, you. I may be an ordained minister, but I grew up in the Summerville projects, so I’m used to loud-mouthed punks who think they’re tough." She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. "And you know what? I’m not impressed. So just back off, butch, and show a modicum of respect - and maybe we’ll get somewhere. Otherwise, I don’t have any scruples about where to sink my foot… and I don’t mean in the tail. Are we clear?" David smiled, nervously slipped his hands in his pockets, and stared off to the left. Leo’s eyes bulged, then he swallowed hard and nodded. Okay. You’re harmless - now, she thought. "Alright," she began quietly, watching Leo. "I’m going to let you boys in. But if anyone starts in with the testosterone again, I’ll put one of you out on the street. Are we clear?" "Yes’m," replied a subdued Leo, eyes wide and suddenly very conscious of his behavior. David basked in the glow, and fought the urge to give Leo a smug look almost. When Mrs. Seton turned her back, Leo flared a nostril and snarled at David, who’d decided smirking was in order, after all.

They stepped into the house, both taking careful note of the now-conspicuous bat. David’s eyes took in the entryway - from the well-kept mahogany rails and balusters of the stairwell with their delicate turnings that turned twice until it reached the second floor to the bleached-white oak floor. He eyed the carefully painted woodwork, was conscious of the faint cracks and amateur repairs to the lath and plaster walls behind the simple wall paper - conspicuous under the harsh glow of the overhead light. Not a sign of rough use, but the testament of what he guessed to be a century of settling and shifting. Stepping through single glass door, they were lead into a small, wainscoted formal dining room with a drop-leaf table. Straight ahead David saw an open doorway and enough old-fashioned painted cabinetry to know it lead to a kitchen, but Betty Seton steered them to the right and through a pair of twin French doors that lead into the large living area of the house - actually two smallish rooms that had been joined together at some point. As they stepped through they felt the cool blast of a large window-unit air conditioner, a welcome change from the steamy mid-summer air. The first space-within-the-space was dominated by three tall windows hung with sheers to soften the look of the metal bars. Along the only full wall was a large computer hutch jammed with equipment; the monitor displayed the home page of the Massachusetts State Police. "That’s my husband’s," she explained briefly, leading them into the second, larger area. She pointed to a worn but comfortable-looking cloth couch that lived up to it’s appearance, David noted with satisfaction. Betty Seton leaned casually against a mismatched vinyl recliner. Leo eyed an impressive array of audio-video equipment set up against the dominant wall. "I guess the reverend business pays pretty good," Leo said with admiration, particularly enamored with the plasma television. Betty chuckled, perched herself on the arm of the recliner. "Overtime on the state police force pays well - what I pull down barely covers the cost of the knockdown cabinet it’s set up in." She eyed David again, who still stole suspicious glances at her but she said nothing. The police reference had been noted. "Now, gentlemen" she began with a disarming smile and a smoother voice, but uncompromising eyes still locked on them. "I’m assuming we’re going to be a lot more civil from this point on. Agreed?" She waited for the proper grunts and nods, smiled again when they came. We’re making progress, she told herself.

"Now - Leo? Martin’s sister asked you to come here, so under all that bluster and big talk, I guess you’re pretty concerned. I’m glad to see that, because he seems like a nice kid and he’s pretty scared right now. Is it David? Fine. I’ll assume you’re here because Martin asked his sister to send you. He’s a lot more upset about some things than just being stuck for a ride." She looked at them expectantly. More grunts and nods. "Now," she continued. "In answer to a not-so-polite but legitimate question, Martin didn’t come down with us. I’m absolutely sure of that - we did a check before the busses loaded. And no one goes on a PF field trip without a signed parental slip - Martin got down to Salisbury some other way, but he doesn’t want to say how." Leo’s long eyebrow wrinkled. "Uh, what’s a ‘PF’?" "Pilgrim Fellowship," she explained. Blank stares. Betty sighed. "Okay… you both look Italian, so this is a pretty safe bet - it’s like the Catholic Youth Organization - the CYO. Religion classes one day a week, and we organize events for the kids in the congregation - like trips to the shore. These events are also open to the friends of my kids - as long as their parents say it’s okay and they act decent." "CYO," Leo finally grunted. "Uh, yeah. I heard of that." "Good," she continued, wondering idly when the last time either boy had had anything to do with a religion class. The mention of it seemed to make David bristle, but he said nothing. She let the matter slide… for the moment. "Today was a free-day at the beach for the kids old enough for minimal supervision they can roam around and have fun, as long as they stay in groups and out of trouble. Anyway, at the end of the day Martin showed up with one of my kids Randy Shiner." Leo shook his head. "So you just took him? No questions asked? Jesus, lady!" I’ll allow that one, she thought, narrowing her eyes but keeping control. "No," she answered quietly. "We didn’t just take him. From what little I can get out of those two, Martin got stranded somehow and Randy snuck him onto the bus before our join up time. After we checked in and did a head count my husband and I just got everyone on a bus and set out - we didn’t know he was there until we were on the highway and half-way home."

Leo crossed his arms and frowned. David shifted and tried to quiet him but Leo blew him off. "He coulda been a runaway. You coulda notified the cops." "And I could have left him in the breakdown lane of 495, too, but I didn’t," she broke in. "He showed me his high school ID - so I at least knew the Salem, New Hampshire, thing was true… and runaways aren’t usually heading for home. I tried calling his house on my cell to verify it by no one was there - and as for getting off the highway and going to the local police, what was the point? Salem’s a lot closer to Lawrence than Groveland or West Newbury. Besides, as soon as they heard the word ‘police’, Randy went dead white and I thought Martin was ready to cut and run… so that was that. If we had to, Brad and I could drive him home ourselves - as long as we got to talk with someone about him." She shifted around uncomfortably. "And that brings us to our next point," she said slowly. "Leo? Would you mind if I had a word with David here? Alone?" David’s head snapped up; Leo started to protest. "What - ?" She held up a hand. "You’re being here isn’t a surprise, Leo… I talked to the sister, and I suppose it’s only natural she’d call you if she didn’t have a car." Her eyes flicked to David. "On the other hand - David, I heard Martin specifically tell her to get in touch with you. And when we got back home tonight, I overheard Martin telling Randy not to worry, he knew someone who could help." She paused, eyed Leo, and licked her lips. "So, I think I better have a word with David, and I think that word should be in private. You can head up the stairs and see that Martin’s all right - or if you don’t like that idea, you can always wait out in your car." Leo’s face flushed and his eyes flashed, but before he could get sounds out of his mouth Betty Seton cut him off at the knees. Her finger was on a switch to a small silver box on her end table. "And just so you don’t get lost looking for your car, I can have my husband - the off-duty state police lieutenant - escort you out of the house." She watched the mouth snap shut with a defeated growl. The eyes were still sullen but Leo decided against arguing. Betty Seton tried not to rub it in and nodded with only a hint of the victory she’d scored. "Yeah, I had a feeling that might do it. Just head back the way we came in and go up the stairs - on the top landing, you’ll see my office right in front of you; the door should be open. Brad’s in there keeping an eye on Martin and Randy." She smiled, gestured to the equipment Leo had so openly admired. "You and Brad should have a lot to talk about - he likes his toys, too."

Leo grumbled, shot David a malevolent look but cut a wide berth around his hostess. They heard the snap of the ball catch on the French door, and Betty noted the sounds on the stairwell. She shifted her attention back to David, didn’t miss his stiffness… or the resentful eyes that stared back at her. "You don’t like me for some reason, but that doesn’t matter," she began. David didn’t look away or try to make any excuse. "Not you, exactly…" he said slowly and coldly. "You might say I have a thing about people in the Salvation business, Reverend Seton." "Business, huh? You don’t have to like me, kid, but it couldn’t hurt to be civil," she replied, trying to cut through the ice wall. "And if the title bothers you so much - put what I do for a living out of your mind. You can call me Betty if its easier on you - even the kids do that, unless it’s a formal occasion. I’m not big on ceremony. And it wouldn’t hurt if you and I had a little talk." David raised an eyebrow. "Have I said anything disrespectful? Sorry," he answered, not meaning it particularly… or sounding like he cared if she liked it or not. "And as for you and I having a little talk - I’ll pass; my business is my own concern, thanks. I’m only here for one reason -" "Martin," she cut in. David nodded. Betty Seton cocked her head for a moment, studying him. The eyes say it all, she thought to herself. There’s a lot more than anger there… plenty of that, sure. But he’s afraid, too, but not of me. "We’ll stick to the business at hand then." "I’d appreciate that." "So tell me - why is Martin so insistent about talking to you more than anyone else? And what have you got to do with Randy Shiner?" David shook his head. "I never heard of the guy," David said evenly. "And like I said… my business is my own. Martin and I - well, lets just say we know each other. He knows he can talk openly with me - he trusts me. And before you go reading anything into that, we know each other through a group we belong to." She pursed her lips. "And just as a guess - and you don’t have to comment on it - I think I know what that group is. Something run by the Unitarians up at the Franciscan Christian Formation Center up in Andover? Good. I’ve referred a

couple of young people there from time to time. They do a lot of good work with gay youth." David’s eyes narrowed. "We’re getting into my business again." Betty let out an impatient breath. "Look - no more fencing with words, okay? I’ll be blunt - I don’t give a damn about that stuff, never did and never will. Don’t judge everyone in my business by the right-wingers who want to ban everything they don’t like or bother to understand, okay? Because you’re doing exactly what they do - judging others before you even know them. Quiet! I’m not looking for an argument - but I’m not pushing an agenda here!" David settled sullenly back onto the couch with his arms and legs crossed, eyes fixed on her and mouth closed. If you’re jaw was clenched any harder the bones would snap, she thought to herself. "Listen… I’ve been at South Side Methodist for three years, and Randy was always a good kid - sweet, smart, fun and generous. People liked him, I liked him," she began. "Then late last summer… well, suddenly he sort of disappeared from around here." She shrugged and grimaced. "Hey. I know kids grow up - today’s outing was for kids up to eighteen, but if there were more than three sixteen year-olds, I’d be shocked. I expect that… they grow up, get a driver’s license and ZOOM watch the dust!" "Then what’s the big deal?" David asked coldly. "I mean, it’s like you said kids grow up. People change." Betty Seton’s mouth twitched. "Change is one thing…" she began in a grim voice. "But an entire personality switch is something else. That kid’s suspicious and scared of everyone now... my husband came up behind him a few weeks ago and put a hand on his shoulder - Randy jumped away and almost swung at him. He’s withdrawn from all his friends and suddenly secretive about everything he does. His parents confirm that, because they’re worried about him too - worse, he’s gone from having a healthy respect for God to a religious mania." She pursed her lips. "Sounds odd coming from me, doesn’t it? Well, that can’t be helped… Even Randy’s father’s is worried about him, and he’s a bit of a holy roller for my taste - but he’s not the type who forces things onto other people. But he says what the kid is reading, listening to and saying scares him. Randy’s shut everything and everyone out of his life - and that is not normal."

She paused for effect and studied David again, her head rolled to one side. David felt the green eyes searching him for information. "So that’s the background here… and out of the blue today, he’s suddenly attached to a stranger named Martin who’s in some kind of trouble. And Martin’s convinced him that someone he’s never even met before can help him. So tonight, I’m going to let that stranger into a room with those two boys so they can talk whatever it is out." David scowled back. "And report back to you? I don’t think so, Reverend Seton." She shook her head. "I’d like to know… but I won’t ask anything unless Randy decides it’s okay to tell me," she answered, waving it off and leaning towards David again more confidentially. "I do a lot of counseling, kid. Adults can be touchy, but young teens?" She snorted. "They’re a minefield. The wrong thing said once or a hint of betrayal won’t be forgotten." She pointed a finger at him. "I don’t know you, but I’m in a position where I have to trust you because Martin does - and right now, Randy only trusts Martin." She paused, ran her hands up and down the worn blue denim. "There is one condition I’m going to set here." David squinted at her, still rigid. "You have to tell me if he’s thinking of doing something stupid," Betty said firmly. "Funerals are a sad fact in my position," she offered quietly. "but funerals for a child are the worst… especially if the death is by their own hand. That’s the one demand I’ll make; if Randal’s even thinking of something like that, I want to be told. That’s it." "And what’ll you do?" "To stop it? Anything I have to," she shot back. "even if it means having him locked up for observation." David shifted around, watching her. She seemed sincere… he shuddered, remembering the last time he’d spoken to one of his own priests, hoping for help. Maybe this one actually gives a damn… finally he nodded. He eyed a clock in the A/V center. "What about Randy’s parents? I mean, it’s gettin’ late. Aren’t they gonna worry about him?"

"No," she said calmly. "I had a feeling tonight might be a long one, so I called the Shiners and asked to keep Randy here tonight." She paused. "I sort of suggested it was a counseling situation, so they agreed." David sniggered. "You mean, you lied?" She shook her head and smiled mischievously. "Not at all - I just wasn’t specific about who’d be doing the counseling." She eyed David again. "Or what it was about." David fidgeted. "And that’s it? No questions about me and Martin?" She shrugged. "No questions. Martin - well, he sort of gives a certain impression, but that’s none of my business. As I said before, it’s nothing I’m concerned about. You might mention that last part to Randy," she added. "If you think it’ll help. Oh," she added as an afterthought. "I should have warned Leo, but Brad can handle him… About Martin. There was some trouble on the bus, but don’t be upset. He’s not." David nodded, rose from the chair. "Is Martin hurt?" "I was chaperoning the other bus, but my husband says it started as kid stuff boys running their mouths so he didn’t pay too much attention. I guess along the way they ran out of words so guys being guys, they kicked it up a notch." "Started swingin’?" David offered. "You’ve got it. All of a sudden there were five of ’em climbing over seats and spilling into the aisle until he broke it up. There were a couple of bloody noses, some bruises and ripped clothing all the way around, but, well…" She shook her head and managed a small grin and a shrug. "I could see there was nothing really serious. Besides, it’s the kid code - and no one will say who started it or who swung first." She paused, looked thoughtful. "The strange thing was the three other boys are friends of Randy’s - the Brayce twins and Kyle Sterner. They all go to the same school, they all hang out together. I, uh… well, I have to assume someone said something about Martin." She hesitated. "Something you would know about, maybe." David grimaced. "Yeah… I guess I know something about that." She looked around uncomfortably. "We pushed Martin, but that’s when Randy got all nervous and evasive again… that’s when I heard Martin saying how

Dave’ll know what to do," she added. She pushed off the arm of the old recliner and David got to his feet to follow. "Martin and Randy are with my husband in my private study, like I told Leo - just don’t forget what I said." At the top of the stairs they strode into a good sized room cut in under the eaves of the roof. David caught sight of a tall, well-built man with brush-cut sandy hair and a pleasant smile. He leaned against a large desk placed in front of the front windows and he looked up - Brad Seton, David assumed. He was chatting with Leo but the man looked relieved to see reinforcements. David scanned the room when they stepped in - like the rest of the house, old but well taken care of, furnished with nice if mismatched furniture running the gamut from antique to department store knockdown - what could be found in almost any lived-in home. Martin was seated in the center of an overstuffed sofa likely as old as the house itself, close to another boy with dark hair and a sullen expression on his face which David assumed was Randy. David noted Randy could have easily slid away but he was sitting flush against Martin, staring at the floor and gripping his knees so hard he could see the whitened fingers. Martin brightened immediately and called his name, reached over and patted the boy’s shoulder. Randy flinched from the unexpected contact at first but didn’t pull away or push back. David took in the blood-stained T-shirt Martin wore, noted it was ripped out at the sleeve. The boy’s face had a few bruises and his nose was slightly swollen - David assumed that was the source of the blood. You’ll live, he thought with some relief. Betty Seton introduced them as "Martin’s friend" and caught her husband’s eye. They closed the door softly behind them. Leo jumped right in. "Get a load of Marty!" he crowed with a grin. Martin looked around, red faced. "Jesus, Leo - don’t call me Marty," he said, making a face. "Marty’s a wuss name… It’s Mart." Leo shrugged. "Yeah, yeah… sorry. Now, Brad didn’t cough up details - so what happened?" He gestured to Randy. "Did that one slug you?" "No!" Martin barked. The dark-haired boy looked up at the newcomers for the first time, glanced away from Leo quickly but lingering longer than he should have on David, eyes unconsciously raking over his body.

David caught the look, tried not to snicker. He understood a bit more about Betty Seton’s broad suggestions. Got your number, kid. Martin grabbed Randy’s arm proudly. "Some guys on the bus started sayin’ stuff about me. Then Randy said some sh… stuff back to ’em, so they started callin’ him names." "Names, huh?" Leo’s single eyebrow arched. "What’d they start sayin’?" Martin shrugged. David wondered… for someone who’d just been slapped around Martin seemed pretty charged up. "The same ol’ stuff I hear at school, Leo. Nothin’ new, nothin’ original." His giggled. "Might be interesting if someone did come up with a new one for once." "Who swung on you?" David asked, fairly certain what ‘the usual stuff’ meant. Martin looked uncomfortable. "Uh, well… no one else swung first. I mean, they didn’t. I threw the first punch." He squirmed. Leo looked surprised. David noticed the quick look Martin gave Randy; he was proud of it. "I mean," Martin continued, "I’m used to hearin’ all that crap about me… I don’t pay any attention to it. But when I didn’t bother sayin’ anything, Randy got mad an’ told ’em to shut up. Then they started in on him." Martin nodded, eyes gleaming. "That’s when I busted the first guy, Bobby - slammed him right in the nose." He grinned. "It was real cool! Blood an’ snot everywhere." "Robby," Randy corrected, not looking up. Martin nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. Robby and his twin brother, what’shis-name." "Paul." Martin rolled his eyes. "Who cares, Randy? Lemme tell the story. Then this third guy gets into it, grabbed me and… well, you can see what happened." "Kyle’s got a black eye," Randy added with a sense of satisfaction, looking up for the first time. "And he’s the one that mouthed off first." "You never get in fights," Leo said doubtfully. "I mean - you always just… well, you act like you don’t even hear it."

Martin preened. "Hey," he said proudly, "sometimes you gotta be a guy." Leo jammed a finger in his chest. "No, you don’t - fightin’ is bullshit. You don’t need to hit somebody to be a guy." Martin nodded, didn’t care, and shrugged. He felt too good being on the distribution end of a smack for a change. He grinned at Randy, who gave a weak smile back, and for the first time relaxed his grip on Martin’s hand. David recalled his first meeting with Leo but decided not to make an issue of fighting… for now. "So that’s the big stuff? That’s why you wanted me down here? I don’t get it." Martin’s smile disappeared and Randy’s face turned to stone and his eyes traveled back to the floor again. Martin felt a vice grip on his hand, flinched. The four of them remained motionless for a long, cold thirty seconds before Leo felt the three sets of eyes on him and looked up. He made a slight coughing sound. "I, uh… sorta get the feelin’ maybe there’s an extra guy in here. Would it help if I left?" He looked at Martin and the boy next to him, didn’t wait for a reply. "Yeah. Guess I don’t have to buy a clue on this one," he muttered, heading for the door. "Jesus, I get tossed out of everything." David pulled up a small wood chair and sat down in front of the two teens. Randy shook. If I push, he’ll start bawling. He shifted his attention back to Martin, voice firm. "No games, Mart - I want the truth. You did something I warned you about, didn’t you?" He gripped Martin’s knee. "You met with Danny." Martin’s bravado disappeared, but he didn’t move away from the rigid Randy. David watched the boy’s surreptitious move to keep contact with Martin. "What makes you sure?" David raised an eyebrow. "Don’t even think of denying, kid - Chris St. Jacques saw you with him last week at the Salem Mall, and all of a sudden you wind up stranded thirty miles away in Salisbury? I’m not stupid, so don’t even bother lying," he said firmly. "Did Danny get to you, Martin? Is that what this is all about?"

"It didn’t get that far," Martin began defensively. "Okay. Yeah, I met Danny last week and… and we had a good time. Today, we went down to the beach, but all we did was get on the rides and hang in the arcades, David - honest!" he added quickly. "In the car… all we did was hold hands an’ stuff. Then… today at the park, Randy saw him with me and… well, he started screamin’ to run, over and over again. I - I thought he was tellin’ Danny to run away from me but… then," Martin tried to keep the quivering out of his voice. Danger or not, he’d been abandoned. It hurt. "Then Danny just left me there. I went after him, but I got all twisted around." He looked at David again and a trace of a smile came onto his lips. "Randy came after me, made me stop. He told me he was yelling at me to run - he knew Danny. Knew he was dangerous." David looked at Randy sharply but the boy’s face was still frozen and his eyes flicked away. "He punched me," was all he said. "Yeah," Martin continued. "I got him right in the gut, ’cuz I was pissed at him for chasing Danny off. Then I ran for where we parked - me and Danny, I mean. Made it through all the traffic on North End Avenue but - I heard the tires, and there’s Danny’s car tearin’ into the street." He stole another glance at Randy. "Then I hear horns honkin’ and brakes lockin’ up, and this one comes chargin’ after me - never waited for the cars to stop or nuthin’, just ran right through." He looked at Randy with admiration. "He was worried about me," he added, pleased. David took it in, tried not to smile. Scared or not, it was pretty certain Martin’s heart was on the mend as long as Randy was nearby… and Randy didn’t seem all that concerned about Martin being close, even if he wasn’t comfortable about what they were talking about. He still only stole furtive glances at David. "Is that when he told you how he knew Danny?" Silence. Go slow, David, he told himself. You know most of the answers but try to remember what it was like. Go slow. He swung his attention back to Martin. "But you swear to me Martin," he said coldly. "No foolin’ around here! Did you and Danny do anything you’re leavin’ out?" The toes dug into the floor. Randy looked up, curious and worried, studying Martin. "No," the fourteen year-old said slowly. "But… I’m pretty sure today was gonna be the day we…" He looked away. "You know," he said in a small voice.

David grunted. Yeah, I know. Jesus, do I know - just like I know who else would show up. Later. "But you guys never did anything? You swear? You didn’t stop at his house before you went to Salisbury?" Martin felt awkward and scowled, eyeing Randal for a reaction and avoiding David’s look. "We kissed one time," he said grudgingly. "But that was it. I swear." And why do I think stopping wasn’t your idea? "But later today was gonna be different, wasn’t it?" David snapped. "Don’t answer, Mart. I already know." Martin looked pensive, thankful he didn’t have to say anything. David turned to Randy, spoke more softly. "How about you?" he asked gently. "How did you get into this?" "I stopped ’em," Randy said quietly. "I knew. Knew what was gonna happen to Martin." His voice strained and he looked into David’s face for the first time almost defiant. Randy turned and looked at Martin, eyes pleading. "He won’t tell, right? You swear?" "He’s like us," Martin said quietly. Randy looked up, angry, and Martin caught the mistake. "I mean, he’s like me, Randy. And he knows Danny, too." ‘Like us - no, like me.’ Okay, Randy, I get it. We’ll play by your rules, for now. "Randy?" David said softly, reaching out. His finger tips touched Randy’s knee and the boy jerked away and David snatched his hand back, held it up to calm him. Probably not too anxious to have someone older touching him, he cautioned himself, resolving to keep his distance. "I’m not like those people!" Randy snapped. "I’m sorry, Randy, calm down - I won’t get near you again, okay? I should’ve known better." Randy fidgeted, looked from Martin to David again, nodded. "Now, I just want you to know something," David said calmly. "What you say here stays here, okay? Not back to your parents, not back to your friends, not back to your minister." David licked his lips. "And you have to understand something - we’re not like Danny, got that?"

"You’re queer," a sullen Randy replied. "Queers are like that." "No," David answered. "No, we’re not ‘like that.’ I’m gay, and Martin is pretty sure he is." Martin snorted and David gave him a dirty look; the younger boy decided not to comment. "But…" David continued, "but we’re not trying to trick and force other people into doing things, okay? Not everyone’s like that. I don’t know you, I don’t know what you are… but I know what I am. And Martin and I know each other only because we went to a group for young guys like us - not because we could mess around with each other. You understand?" Randal looked around suspiciously - and took his cue from Martin’s nod. "Okay," he allowed, trying to relax. "Then how do you know Danny?" David sighed. This’ll be the first time I’ve ever said this to anyone. He took a deep breath. "I knew Danny a long time ago," he said. "And we became friends. And eventually, we did… things together, like maybe he did with you. I’ll be honest: I was scared, but I wanted to do those things - sexual things, Randy." The boy started to interrupt, but David held up his hand. "No! I’m not sayin’ you wanted to! But I did." "I didn’t want to do any things," Randy said in a nasty voice, glaring at David. Then he bit his lip and looked down. "I ain’t gay. Honest." No, but I never asked that. And you still haven’t let go of Martin’s hand. David looked at Martin, who sat owlish, then gave him a sad look and shook his head slightly. "Randy, I’m not sayin’ you are," and gave the boy an easy out. "But I know Danny. I know what he does… and I think he, uh, made you do some things with him." The boy mulled it over, eyed the door with a longing. Finally he looked up again, face still drained of color. "Yeah. They made me do stuff. Sick, sinful stuff." "They," David said slowly. "You said they."

Randy’s face was transfixed with horror, his eyes widening. "NO!" David quickly added. "Don’t get upset, Randy. Uh… I’m gonna describe a situation, okay? I think it’s what happened, and you can tell me if I’m wrong." He hesitated, cleared his throat. "A few days after Danny talked you into doing some stuff, he talked you into meeting him again." He waited. Finally, Randy nodded again. David continued. "Who else? Was there anyone else?" He reached out and touched the boy’s hand again and this time Randy didn’t pull back. The terrified eyes locked onto David’s own, and he reached over to grab Martin’s arm instead of his hand when the boy’s tear ducts began to give way. His whole body shook. "After the first time," Randy began, "Danny said it was all cool, and he drove me home… or almost home. I didn’t let him know where I lived. Then the next say - it was a Saturday. I got an email from Danny." "He wanted to see you again?" "Yeah," he said slowly. "I said sure." He looked up again, desperately afraid. "I - I really liked Danny, okay? Those things we did - I did ’em to make him happy, that’s all. But I’m not really like that! I know that stuff is wrong!" David shook his head, spoke softly again. "Randy? Take it easy, man. You don’t have to worry about what I think. I just want to know what happened; I don’t need to know about what kinds of stuff you guys did. I’m not judging you." Randal tried to relax, but his voice still shook as he tried to go on. "Well, we had a place where we could meet… I walked to this big fountain near me, but not too close to my own neighborhood, okay? That’s where we met the first time. Well, I’m walkin’ down my street the next morning, and... and I hear a horn. It - it’s Danny in his car. He figured out where I lived!" David looked hard at Martin, who flinched. "Lemme guess - you talked on-line with him for months, right? Just talking about stuff?" Randy nodded. "I never said nothin’ but he knew everything!" he continued. "My school, my parents’ names… the kinds of cars they drove! He even named some of my friends!"

David shook his head. That little weasel’s a regular Columbo. "Danny probably picked up some clues, Randy. Things that slipped out when you chatted - but you didn’t realize it." Martin looked away before David would continue. "But it wasn’t your fault, Randy," David added. "And you didn’t have anyone to warn you about him." Randy choked back a sob. "He told me to get in the car and… well, I did. That’s when he started tellin’ me all this stuff, and drove to my house - parked across from it, just to prove he knew! Then… then he showed me some pictures of us…" he trailed, fidgeting with the sides of his shorts, trying to pull them down lower to cover his knees. "Doin’ those things. He said I was gonna spend the day with him and a friend… or else." "So you went with him?" "I had to! The - the pictures were on printer paper - he had my name, phone number - everything on the paper! Said he’d give copies to all my friends at school! I mean, you could see my face when I was gettin’…" He halted, turned red, and stopped. "Never mind what was happening in the picture, Randy," David interrupted. "So you went with him - do you know where?" Randy shook his head. "I don’t know, honest. I mean, we started headin’ for North Andover - I know the main roads and stuff… but then we started goin’ up and down all these weird streets way out in the country, and I lost track of the turns. And I didn’t see any street names or anything. It took almost an hour to get where we were goin’," he said with a shrug. "But I could tell we didn’t come home the same way." David frowned. There’s hundreds of back country roads… and if he just drove in circles for a little, he could have been ten minutes from the kid’s house. "What about plates? Did you notice?" "Mass plates," he said firmly, wiping some of the tears off his cheek. "I remember ’em. 486-AIY. I’m good with stuff like that." But you were too scared to tell anyone, so what’s the difference? Well, it might help now. David got up and grabbed a pencil off the desk and scribbled the

number. "Now look," David said carefully, keeping his voice low and his eyes off Randy. "Be honest about the rest of this, Randy - don’t leave stuff out because you’re embarrassed. Most - well, most of this stuff happened to me the same way, you’re not alone. You got tricked, then you got taken advantage of because you were scared, okay? I believe that, so don’t hold back." The boy looked up doubtfully, eyes almost scornful. David felt a coldness in his stomach, then swallowed hard and forced the words. "That’s how they did it with me." Randy struggled to keep what little control he had left working. His voice not only got raspy and his whole body quivered. "We got to the same house and there was a guy. Danny called him Griff." The haunted eyes sought David’s, locked onto them even as David tried to look away. "Not just older like you, but a man, older ’n my dad. They - they said I had to do everything they wanted me to or they’d tell everyone! And all those pictures…" he shook his head then let it slump, stared at the floor again. "They had my voice on tape," he added miserably. "With me askin’ Danny if I could… you know. Do things to him." Randy looked up again with a pleading expression, eyes wide with fright. "It’s okay," David interrupted in a scratchy voice. "I told you - Griff had pictures of me, too. He said I had to keep on coming, no matter what. I meant it Randy - you’re not the only one." The younger boy shook harder and finally the tears flowed. Martin put an arm around him and said it was okay, over and over. David swung himself onto the couch and gently put his own arm around the boy’s back. "Let him do it, Martin. Go ahead, Randy. Let it go. It’ll still hurt, but it won’t hurt as much if you let it out now." "It was almost a year," Randy gasped. "Almost a whole year before they let me go. Every night I prayed, and it’d go for weeks without hearin’ from them, and I’d start thinkin’ it was all done… then I’d get an email, with a picture of me naked," he whispered. "Or a phone call, and he play a tape. And I’d have to go over there, or else." He swung around frantically towards David. "Don’t tell anyone," Randy begged, his voice thick with emotion. "My parents - my parents won’t understand. They think that stuff’s sick. Please? Don’t tell anyone, ever?"

David rocked the boy back and forth, trying to make the tears stop, to will away the pain. What the hell have I done? Why didn’t I ever say anything? Why did this one have to get hurt? "I won’t tell anyone," David promised. "Not about you. Not ever."

*****

David and Leo sat in the car watching Martin getting dragged by his sister to the mobile home. Sandy snapped at him for "being stupid" again and both sniggered when she whacked him across the back of the head. "Man, she’s a tough one," David chuckled. "Guess I’m glad to be an ‘only.’" Leo nodded. "Yeah, Sandy doesn’t take much in the way of crap." He gave David a sideways look. "Good thing she only thinks he got stranded at the beach, huh?" Avoiding the lead-in, David studied Martin’s indifference to his sister’s wrath and slaps. Back at the rectory, he’d given everyone the ‘official’ version of Martin’s trip: the boy had taken a bus down, then lost his money and return ticket. He’d met Randy who decided to help. No one bought it, but Betty Seton was true to her word, even after ordering a red-eyed Randy to the bathroom to clean himself up. Her husband kept quiet in the background, missing nothing and saying as much. David scanned the empty reserved parking for the Seduko lot. "Doesn’t anyone watch that kid? Leo flicked the transmission of his Honda into reverse and turned the car around. "Don’t judge - Helen does the best she can," he said quietly. "She’s just one of those people that works too much. Two nights a week she goes out - and plays Bingo. What little nice stuff Martin and Sandy got is because Helen works." He paused at the exit of the park, inching the Honda forward onto the busy commercial strip. Finally he leaned his face into the windshield to see. "That goddam bush. I should hack it back - can’t see what’s coming up." He gunned the engine into an opening. "Now the father, Bert - he’s a waste of skin. Worthless boozer."

David snorted. "You don’t hold back much on the opinions, do you?" Leo flashed his big smile, the space in his front teeth advertising Jack-olanterns. He pulled into the far right lane queuing up to take the turn for the Interstate. "I guess I tend to say what I think. Seriously - you can ask Sandy some time. She figures as soon as Martin’s grown up enough, Helen’ll toss the old man out. I wasn’t kiddin’ about the bar stool at Betty’s - he spends all his time down at the White Buffalo. When he isn’t there, he suckin’ down suds at home." David took it in, shook his head. "If he’s that bad, I don’t get why she stays." The right end of Leo’s eyebrow arched. "Helen stays ’cuz she’s got two kids and a crap job. The old man isn’t much, but he’s a paycheck for luxuries - like rent and food." He paused. "You don’t think much of that, do you? Stayin’ around for money. Not everyone’s got bucks, you know," he said in a low voice. "I didn’t say anything," David cut in, feeling the heat on his face. "Look, I don’t know what it is with you - but it’s like you resent me because my family’s got money! Okay, we do - but I’ve never been the type who rubs my wallet in someone’s face, so get off my ass, okay? I know some mothers have to work!" He paused, then muttered. "Hell, I wish mine worked - that way she’d have another set of balls to break." Leo sniggered, pulled up at the last light before the final stretch of road, waiting for the mall traffic to sweep out. They sat quietly for a few minutes until the light changed. "Mine just smacks me every now and then." David looked up, curious. "I never thought of you as the abused type." Leo’s eyes crinkled and he wriggled his nose. "Nah. She just smacks me when she’s tired of me goin’ ‘yeah, ma’ when I tune her out - it’s just to get my attention. She told Sandy and now she does the same thing." David caved in and chuckled. Leo’s grin broadened. "Listen… we started wrong when I thought you were messin’ with Martin. But when I asked him, Chris said you were… well, you were okay." That caught David’s attention. "You know Chris?"

Leo nodded. "Yeah, from the bookstore. I ran into him one night and we talked." He shot David a look. "That’s right, I was checkin’ you out - makin’ sure you were a right guy." "A right guy," he mused. "What’s that supposed to mean? A straight one?" Leo floundered for the right words. "Nah, it’s just an expression… A right guy is just someone who doesn’t use people or screw ’em, okay? It’s got nothing to do with what turns you on." he paused. "Well, maybe it does, but not about what sex they are. Martin… well, Martin’s only fourteen, and never mind his crap about bein’ ‘almost fifteen’ - he’s still a kid, ya know? And he’s smart about a lot of stuff, but not people. Kid like that, he’ll do anything to please just so’s they’ll like him. His life ain’t that easy and he hasn’t got many friends. For the wrong kind of guy, he’s a target." "So what made you think I was the wrong kind of guy?" Leo paused. "Goddam traffic on this road… Well, as I recall, it looked like you were about to pound on him when we first met. That was strike one." David nodded, conceding the point. "I’ll buy that - I lost my temper, but I wouldn’t have hurt him." Much, he added mentally. "I’ll give you that one. So what was strike two?" Leo shrugged uncomfortably, shot David a quick look and looked embarrassed. "Bein’ a pretty boy didn’t help." "Oh man, you are somethin’," David began, disgusted. "So, I’m good looking that makes me some drooling monster?" Leo scowled. "No. I just got a thing about guys like you, okay? People fall all over pretty boys - chicks or guys, straight or not - and guys like you get away with murder." He snorted. "Then they see someone like me and, well… tell me the truth. What flashed in your head first? Stupid or vicious?" David sputtered. Leo waved him off. "Don’t even bother," he answered lightly. "I pretty much know what people think right off. Hell, when I was little, kids used to ask me why I wore a Halloween costume all year. Assholes."

David snorted and Leo flashed another smile and chuckled himself. "Plus, I gotta think when we met, my knee in your throat and bein’ ready to put your lights out kinda tilted your perception." David was ready to deny it, but - "I figured both," he answered honestly. "But how ’bout the needling about the gay stuff? Where’d that come from, if it doesn’t matter to you so much?" Leo wrinkled his nose again and flashed an evil grin. "Partly because Martin said you were his friend, so I did some guessin’, and partly ’cuz it was a good shot either way. But mostly just to piss you off for that ‘dumb guinea’ crack," he sniggered. "Out of the mouth of another Italian, no less! So Dave, what’s it gonna be? Do we keep up the pissin’ contest, or can we cut a deal? I’m gettin’ tired of seein’ whose is bigger." "The deal, I guess," David snorted, feeling a little relief and relaxing for the first time since he’d left work. He glanced out the window and jerked up. "Whoa! We just passed my exit!" Leo nodded. "I know. But we still got some talkin’ to do… we’ll just head down to 495 and swing the long way for the Loop." He paused, but when he spoke his voice was serious again. "While you were with Martin and Randy, I did some damage control with Reverend Seton," he began. "We figure the three of you were into something heavy." David shook his head. "I can’t talk about that. I gave my word," he said firmly. Leo grunted, thought carefully. "I won’t ask details. Martin was okay, so nothin’ happened to him - I could tell that much. He’s shaken up - probably a good thing, he’ll be more careful with… well, he’ll be more careful. But that other kid…" He shook his head sadly, then hesitated, confused. His jaw twitched. Finally: "I’d have to be blind not to see it, David. I only seen one other kid scared that much before: my sister. When she found out she was pregnant. At age thirteen." David stole a cautious look at Leo, who watched the road ahead intently, expressionless. "She was so scared about our parents finding out, she didn’t even want to tell me. Christ, she was ready to get an abortion in Massachusetts… which she can do there, I guess. I really don’t know what the law is. But by the time I found out… well, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t go through with it, and that’s when she broke down and told me. It was rough… I

didn’t know what to expect from ’em either - our parents, I mean. They weren’t thrilled, I’ll say that much. But they didn’t make Tina’s life hell, either." He frowned and his voice dropped lower. "But that wasn’t all. Once we peeled my Dad off the ceiling and my mother stopped crying, we went to see the guy who did it." "What were you gonna do? Force a marriage?" Leo snorted. "Hell no! Tina had enough troubles - she didn’t need that jerk. But dad was out for blood - he wanted that guy bad. Went right to the Rockingham County Attorney and swore out a complaint for statutory rape - she was under fourteen. Even if she said ‘yes,’ it didn’t matter, and both Massachusetts and New Hampshire agree on that. Plus he wanted to paste the family so they’d cough up their share to raise the kid. Not a big settlement, mind you - just maintenance for the kid to pay for his upbringing, share in his education and all that stuff. Just like any parent has to pay in a divorce. And that’s supposed to be black-letter law too." He slammed the wheel angrily. "They could afford it, too," he muttered. "They had a house in Andover big enough to house half my neighborhood. But the guy’s father was some big wheel, with all kinds of connections." David nodded grimly. "Let me guess. They sicced a pack of lawyers on you?" Leo scowled. "You got that right… the kind that specialize in rape cases - and they win by smearin’ the victim anyway they can. All of a sudden the guy comes up with five buddies from his school, all claimin’ Tina offered to do ’em - and of course bein’ such decent guys, they refused. They all swore she was got up to look older, had no idea she was only thirteen. And it gets better: they’re all represented by the same pack of legal lice and got coached on every word they said." "Leo, get real," David broke in. "No way any of that gets around - your sister’s a minor. The court’s sealed - no media, and no one’s supposed to release any information." Leo chuckled ruefully. "Sure," he said bitterly. "Officially, it’s a sealed court that’s what they told my dad. But have you ever heard the term ‘an informed source’?" "C’mon," David argued. "I mean, who’s gonna cover something like this? No responsible newspaper!"

"When you’ve got money, Dave, you can do anything," Leo said soberly. "There are rags who’ll print details like that - and if they happen to be outside the jurisdiction of the court involved, no one can get ’em. And you’re right the case is small-time for most papers, unless you create some interest. Money can manufacture interest in anything with the right spin. Suddenly there’s this noble young guy who works ‘for the community’ and all that crap, and he’s being railroaded for a possible lapse of judgment. Imagine that, a whole future of a gifted young man wasted," he said sarcastically. "Why? Because he gave into temptation and some greedy, stupid slut was puttin’ the screws to his family for money. At least that’s the way it might look to some people." David flinched. He’d seen enough lawyers on the news, shredding the character of a witness. They played to the public instead of a judge and jury, until no one could remember what the case was actually about. "Yeah, Tina likely could win eventually," Leo continued, "but what was the cost? They were gonna paste her to the walls! We even got a notice about a new web site that went up - and there was the whole story, with a new angle. It stopped just short of givin’ her name - but it gave the school, what part of town we lived in, even a physical description! Everything but a name and address. After that, Tina broke down. Even if no one knew she was pregnant yet - hell, how do you hide that? Everyone could put two and two together. It was gonna be miserable enough for her with the way people are - but after a knife job like that? She’d never live it down. The County Attorney did what he could, but too much was out of his hands. The web site was from a server in New Jersey and paid for by some bullshit committee that paid six months in advance with a money order. The IP on the account was from the Bahamas." He shrugged. "There was no way to nail ’em." "Civil court," David continued. "I mean, all you need is a good lawyer to research it, get them to shut the site down. You could force the issue, and…" "You’re forgettin’ something," Leo cut in, without anger but making his point carefully. "My dad’s a supervisor for the Public Works Department - an okay livin’, nothin’ big. And my mom - well, she used to work at AT&T/Lucent before they decided to ‘outsource’ everything - now she’s a part-time dispatcher at the Town Hall for the police. I mean, my father makes okay money… but for a case like that? Against a squad of high-price jackals?" He snorted. "Dad’s lawyer told him flat out - those sharpies were totally out of his league. It might say ‘and justice for all’ in all the books and maybe money can’t buy a verdict in court, dude - but it can sure the hell make that verdict expensive to get. And what happens in the meantime? My sister’s a wreck,

because of all the stories goin’ around. My mom’s bouncin’ off the walls, and my father’s ready to kill - and there isn’t a friggin’ thing we can do because the lawyers are passin’ paper with one delay after another. Even a simple extradition hearing to bring the guy from Massachusetts to New Hampshire got tied up in wrangling - he never even got charged formally. We couldn’t even get a DNA sample or any of that stuff to establish paternity." Leo sighed, then changed lanes and put on the gas. "So in the end, we quit. We quit everything. So," he finished looking over to David again, sounding tired, "that’s why I sort of got a thing about good lookin’ guys with money foolin’ around with kids. You… well, you just got some of my fall out. Sorry." David looked out the window and shuddered, taking it all in. "I guess I understand. Sure answers about why you were worried about Martin." Leo nodded in the darkness. "I never liked seein’ people getting screwed with even before that," he added in a low voice. "And not just gettin’ kicked around at school, like Martin was. I would’ve stopped that whether I was goin’ out with Sandy or not if I saw it. And I’m still worried about Martin…" he paused, knitting his forehead. "Just like I’m interested in Randy all of a sudden. So I’ll ask - did some one do somethin’ to him? And try the same kinda shit with Martin? No details." David shifted uncomfortably. "Yes." Leo nodded, the green glow of the dashboard lighting up his features, staring at the road. "This is just me thinkin’ out loud now," he said, still in the same low voice. "But this Randy kid… well, I’m gonna guess that Randy knew who it was and got involved. And, of course, it’s still just a guess, but I figure it’s because the same guy - and yeah, I’m making another assumption - did some things maybe you would know more about, which is why they’d only talk to you." He looked up sharply at David. "There’s no judgment there, and I don’t think you had a part in it. You don’t have to tell me about it, unless of course I’m wrong. If I am, tell me that much, but keep something in mind: I only look dumb." David chose his words carefully. "I wouldn’t lie," he said simply. Then said nothing else. Leo nodded. "Chris said you were a good friend," he mused. "I got the feeling he meant you stand by a friend when he needs it. I like that." He paused. "Uh, about my sister… you know I don’t want that talked about, right? That web site

disappeared the same day we saw it - just a warning posted for people to watch for news about ‘railroad justice.’ As far as we knew, it was only up for the one day, and no one knew about it but us. It was a warning shot." David leaned back in the seat. "I sorta picked up on that, dude. All those things they say about pretty faces and brains isn’t true, either." He shook his head. "I still can’t believe the guy could skate like that." "Well, it wasn’t a total loss… the old man’s lawyer came up with a ‘donation’ for little Leo’s education - out of the goodness of his heart," Leo added bitterly. "And all we had to do was sign a non-disclosure agreement and drop the ‘silly pretense’ that his son had anything to do with Tina." He grimaced. "I thought my old man was gonna rip that smart-mouth bastard’s face off… then my mother stepped in and said take it, since there was no way to get back at them. They put it in a trust for my nephew for when he gets older." "I don’t know," David said, shaking his head. "I mean, getting away with that! Then not even acknowledging the kid! That’s… that’s…" He made an exasperated expression. "It’s perverted," Leo said with a deadly calm. Then a slow, mirthless smile spread over his face. "But there was some good news, later. I mean, it was nothin’ that was gonna help Tina or her kid but - well, let’s just say it made my dad feel a lot better. I read in the paper a few months later how Leo’s daddy had a little accident down in Rhode Island. Seemed like the old man got jumped one night - wound up with six busted ribs, and an arm I think. His right kneecap was a little screwed-up too - but the word was it was gonna be about eighty-percent okay after some therapy. As for his nose and jaw… well, I bet the surgeons did some class work, and the family could afford the best. Even implants instead of dentures. Very expensive though." He shook his head and his eyes narrowed. "But I wouldn’t want one of those stainless-steel kneecaps when the weather turns," he added almost sympathetically. David studied the emotionless face. "Funny how things work out." They settled into a quiet drive. Leo was almost to the 213 exit before David spoke again. "Uh, you wouldn’t know about when that all happened, would you?" "Oh, yeah - I remember real good," Leo said smoothly. "It was the first weekend after I got my driver’s license, that’s why it stood out in my head. Saw it in the BrownDaily Herald the day after it happened." He looked David

and smiled. "I got an interest in what goes on around New England - the Boston Globe doesn’t carry all the smaller stuff, you know? Plus they got a real good website down there." Leo took the exit, then slid into the parking lot of the Loop. "Hey - there’s your car," he said, pulling up before turning back to David. "Now, like I told Martin about fightin’ on that bus - violence sucks. But a guy that could handle things… I think somebody like that would be good to know." The left end of his eyebrow curved up. "I mean, if you had some kind of special problem." David gave him a sideways glance. "I notice you’ve been pretty cagey about giving up a name," he observed. "Your nephew’s father, I mean." Leo’s Halloween smile flashed again. "Gee, that’s a funny thing about nondisclosure clauses. Guess if anyone ever asked you questions about something like that… well, you really couldn’t answer, could you?" Something popped into David’s head and he dug in his pocket for the slip of paper. "You said your dad worked for the town. Does he know anyone that could check an out-of-state license plate?" "Mass?" "Yeah." He shrugged. "My mom could. All she’d have to do is request the information. In a border town they do inquiries with the Mass Registry all the time. Why?" "Like you said about non-disclosure things," David said with a smile, handing over the note with a six-digit number on it. "The less you know, the less you could say if someone asked. Okay?" "No problem," Leo agreed with a snort, and slipped the paper into his shirt pocket. David opened the door of the Honda, paused with one foot on the tar. He studied Leo DiStefano’s face carefully before he spoke. "Tell me something," he began slowly and deliberately. "In a situation that was… well, where a kid could get used as bad as your sister. How far would you go? Especially if you knew it wasn’t just one kid, that there were more? Maybe a lot more."

Leo flashed a cruel travesty of a smile this time, lacking all warmth. His eyes locked on David’s. "Maybe I wouldn’t exactly kill ’em," he said slowly. "But beyond that…" he shrugged, cocked his head. "I’d do whatever it might take. Let’s just say they’d walk with a limp for the rest of their lives. And maybe take a whiz sittin’ down." David looked around the nearly empty lot of the closed shopping plaza, nodded and pulled his leg back into the car. I don’t wanna do this, he told himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Leo? Lemme tell you a story about me," he began slowly. "One I’ve never told anyone else."

CHAPTER EIGHT

He sat on a block of granite looking down at the Merrimack River below, chewing the stem of a long sprig of grass. In the old maple overhead was the rotting remnant of a tree house - a separating plywood platform with half walls. The roof that never offered much protection had blown off at some point. In the dramatic language of kids living out war games, David and two friends called it the Outlook Tower. Not that any of them could have said what they were looking out for, but that was never the point. Back then, the Outlook seemed a project worthy of sacrifice. They’d worked doggedly first building and then defending it from would-be invaders that never quite got around to showing up. But it made for something to do in summer. And the tower made for a good place to browse through the magazines Jason Sarbo pilfered from the back of his brother’s closet. David smiled, remembering Stevie Bender’s father chewing them out when he found his plywood pilfered; Jason Sarbo’s father equally pissed a few days later when he discovered they’d not only lost the chuck key to his drill but the spare battery pack. And months later, all three households would wonder about the hand tools that never quite made it back to tool sheds or cellars. David’s own father never did figure why all his circular saw blades were dull and even then short by one. David shuddered. He’d nearly sliced off two of Jason’s fingers cutting up plywood sheets into more-or-less straight cuts that were sort-of measured. One blade shattered when they’d forgotten where the concrete blocks were when they started cutting. Later Stevie swore he heard part of the blade wiz by his ear, but David and Jason said he was full of it. Two years later scraping the side

of the house, David found a one-inch chunk of metal embedded in the shingling, and revised that opinion. He hoped it was just imagination that estimated it’s home a few inches from where Stevie stood that day. David heard the whine-and-grind of more saws and glanced over his shoulder. The skeletons of six new houses in the latest style were springing up - pretendVictorians with high peaks and stylized overhangs to give the illusion of spaciousness, but the rooms were just as small as the out-of-favor ranches, capes and saltboxes in these more ‘upscale’ developments. Two were built and being shown, five more were almost ready to be shelled and more foundations were dug out. Judging by the course of the rough road, David figured they’d get to where he was by the end of summer. There was hardly a bush or a tree left standing until you got to the bluff itself, just stakes in the ground marking one cramped yard from the next, sunk into a mix of clay and rocky sand that eventually would have a few inches of lowgrade loam dumped on it followed by a quick sprinkle of cheap seed tossed on by the landscaper. They’d plant the standard ewes or junipers too close to the foundation like always, and in the yards maybe sink a few fast-growing poplarhybrids. Unlike the maples and oaks they replaced, they’d never arch out enough to give shade. It wouldn’t help that they were prone to insects and disease. David thought them a sorry replacement for what used to grow here… but the poplars were cheap and grew fast. He hated losing a piece of his childhood. But then, there’d probably been some kid watching his own house being built who thought the same. Wonder what they did with all the junked cars, David thought idly, still chewing the sprig of grass. And what about all the broken glass and old furniture? Did they truck it away like they’re supposed to? Or just the big stuff, and cover the rest a little? Jesus, when was the last time I came here? He spat out the stalk and grimaced. Not since Griff and Danny. David stared off at a few sail boats from the Haverhill Boat Club, noticed a small motor boat skimming the surface, cutting the sail craft a wide berth. The same, but not the same. It’s got to stay away from the others. Like me. I pulled away from everyone. I had to.

Jason, Steve - everyone was shocked when he announced he was going to Haverhill High instead of Lawrence Catholic, where they’d all been accepted. "No more Church bullshit," he’d said bluntly, but still with a careful eye out for Mother Superior. Defiance was one thing but suicide was another. "I’ve had enough of it. Nuns, priests, brothers… I don’t care what they are, I’ve had enough of all that crap." Then the slow withdrawal. He’d beg off things or cancel at the last minute, and close friends began to drift. By the end of that last summer after leaving All Saints Parochial, the break was complete. David still ran into them and they made the right friendly sounds - but they’d become strangers. At Haverhill High David was friendly and a lot of people knew and liked him, but none of them could claim to know him well. A few discovered it wasn’t a good idea to come up on David from behind. He’d always avoid the most casual physical contact but suddenly grabbing to get his attention was a major mistake. He’d lash out, face flushed - then catch himself. Not many grabbed twice. David Sciuoto rubbed his tired red eyes. He’d been up for hours after he left his father in the living room, had heard the man’s tired, plodding steps up the stairs - steps that paused briefly outside his bedroom door. David had remained motionless until he heard the steps move off down the hall. Then he continued, searching everything he could think of - phone listings, town directories, tax records - any data base he could find for the surrounding cities and towns for Griff’s name, knowing he had every chance of coming up dry. There were too many unlisted phones. He didn’t even know where to look; and to make it worse, most towns didn’t keep on-line records of registered voters or even listed taxable properties except by address. Even the few that did show names could just as easily be out of date or incomplete. David tried a trace through land conveyances - all of those were a matter of public record, but it was the same problem; you had to know where to look. Local papers offered some help, but too many of the local dailies had been scooped up by the expanding Guardian-Post over the last few years. The weeklies circulated in some of the smaller towns were solely local PR stories and didn’t bother with such things unless the property had a history. The records were somewhere, but it would take a physical search at local libraries through their stacks and the old microfiche systems, but it all came down to the same problem; you had to know where to look. And the only one most likely to know where Griff moved - the Post Office - wouldn’t give out any information without an official reason.

A few hours before the early summer’s dawn David had given up and collapsed onto his bed, hoping Leo might have some luck with the registration number Randy had given him. He caught a few hours of ragged, restless sleep filled with dreams he knew he didn’t want to remember, then lay quietly in his bed and decided he wasn’t going into work. He waited until he heard his father leave then dressed and slipped out the door; he didn’t want to deal with his mother, either. He had the bad tire fixed at the first service station he could find that still had a garage attached to it instead of a convenience store. Then David cruised the quiet side roads to clear his head. Eventually lack of any real rest caught up with him and he’d headed for home again, stopping a little short to get the lay of things. He knew his mother would be going out sooner or later - just not when, and he wanted to avoid the prospect of another argument. He rolled slowly down his street and spotted Mrs. Conti’s big, ugly, Buick Rainier parked in back of his mother’s stall - a relief. It had occurred to him he wouldn’t know if Jennifer Sciuoto was home or not with her Lexus garaged. But at least if she was traveling with a friend who drove something just shy of being a tank… David drove past his house, giving them enough time to visit before clearing out and cut down one of the rarely used side roads. Then he realized where he was and pulled over; he felt an urge to re-visit a part of his life that wasn’t as complicated. He’d wandered into the woods - uncertainly at first, and then suddenly irritated at the sight of new construction. He’d skirted the development and was pleased to see at least part of his old playground had somehow survived. He leaned his elbows onto his knees and propped his chin up with closed fists, looked at his surroundings and blinked. "And what happens if you find Griff?" he murmured aloud. "You don’t have a clue, never mind a plan. What’s the use of havin’ Leo for an ally if you don’t know what to do?" He’d told Leo the bare bones about Griff - but carefully left out Danny. Leo knew Martin had been a target and assumed that Randy had to be a victim too. Leo wanted to ask questions, but true to his word didn’t push for more than David was willing to give. He’d simply promised to help track Griff and to help any way he could. David heard sounds from behind and jerked his head up, swung around. He half expected to see a worker from the construction site come to order him away, but instead saw a slight figure pushing through the last of the brush. A thin face

with a broad smile and dark, dancing eyes looked up at him. "What’re you doing here?" he blurted. "Come to find my guy," Alan replied lightly and held up a white bag. "Picked up some fresh donuts and coffees - I get the chocolate but you get your pick of the rest. Scoot over on that rock." He dropped down beside David. David scrounged through the bag. "Cool - you went to Heav’nly instead of Dunkin’." He fished out a honey glaze for himself and chomped down, suddenly aware of how hungry was. "Uh, shouldn’t you be at work?" he asked around a mouth full of still-warm donut Alan shrugged and passed over one of the coffees. "I asked Chris’ father for the rest of the day." David peeled back the sipper flap carefully, juggling his donut with the coffee. "Why?" Alan broke off a small piece off his chocolate donut and popped it into his mouth. "’Cuz I was worried," he said with a shrug. "And ’cuz you didn’t call last night. Then when I called Barrier’s at break they said you banged in sick, so I told Rolly I had something real important come up. Plus you’ve been acting weird lately." Alan scowled. "I called the house but your mother blew me off. Again." David grunted, swallowed before he spoke. "Sorry. I’ll talk to her." "Don’t waste your breath," Alan said lightly. "I always knew she didn’t like me much. I figure now that she thinks I turned you gay, she’s gotta hate me. I swung by the house but I drove on when I saw another car - and then I see your car parked on the side of the road when I went to turn around. I remember you tellin’ me about this spot a couple times so I figured I could at least look." He glanced up into the tree and chuckled. "Yeah, Drew an’ I had something like that. ’Cept he knew how to build stuff better." David ignored the dig and shook his head. "You don’t need an excuse to come in, Alan. But if you know about my mother it sounds like you talked to Mouth St. Jacques," he grumbled. "Why do I tell Chris stuff? "Wasn’t sure about my welcome the way things’ve been," Alan replied uncertainly, and studied David before softening his voice even more. "And why shouldn’t Chris say anything? Is calling me a secret now?"

When David didn’t reply right away Alan nibbled on his donut, sipped a little coffee before pushing on. "The only reason Chris blabbed was ’cuz he knew I was upset." He wiped some glazed sugar from the corner of his mouth and took another small piece of donut. "Actually, I was pretty pissed off last night. I tried callin’ you at the end of your shift but Wynona gave me the speech about personal phone calls in work hours. Wouldn’t even take a message! Then I tried calling you on and off, but your cell was shut down - just like it is now. After that I called your house and your Mom gave me the big kiss-off. Your Dad got it the next two times and he was pretty cool like always, he just didn’t know where you were. Somewhere in there I called Chris, and the first thing he says is ‘Hey, ya talk to Dave about his mother yet?’ I was pissed right then, so he spilled his guts." He shot David a hurt look. "Chris still didn’t have to bring up the stuff with my mom," David mumbled. Alan paused, wiped his mouth and looked away from David. "Don’t blame him." He shifted around uncomfortably, stole a sidewise glance at his boyfriend then switched his attention back to his coffee. "Chris and I - well, we’ve been talking about a few things that worry me." "Like what?" Alan shifted his weight, stared at the ground trying to find some courage before he spoke. "Listen, I know I’m no prize, Dave. I mean, I’m not that smart, I’m not that good lookin’… and we both know you could do a lot better than me. That’s not news. And, well… for awhile now, I’ve had this feeling like…" Alan floundered for words before looking up at David with a pinched face. "Are we all done and you’re just afraid to say it?" he said in a mild, quivering voice. "Please, just tell me and I can go away, okay? It’s the not knowing that sucks… but if it isn’t, just tell me what’s goin’ on with you. Stop shutting me out." David’s jaw dropped and the color drained from his face. "Alan - what makes you think-" He held up a hand and pushed on, voice strained, not wanting to look David in the eye. "Davey, just listen," Alan began, swallowing hard. "Since spring, it’s been different. I mean, you’re nice to me and everything but - well that’s all it’s been. You’re nice. But it’s like you don’t want to touch me." David’s face darkened. "That’s not true!" he blurted

"It is true," Alan continued, keeping his voice steady and trying to mask the hurt. "Or at least, it’s the way I’ve been seeing things. Okay, your mother’s been down on you… but this freeze out started long before that. You don’t even wanna get near me any more. And if I reach out, you pull away." David shook his head. "That’s crap and you know it. I mean, you make it sound like we never have sex!" Alan snorted. "Sure, we have sex - as long as I’m the one makin’ all the moves, ’cuz you never start anything anymore. And I got to admit - you always take care of me. But you’re like a robot on the assembly line making all the right moves and all… but that’s all it is. No passion, no interest most of the time. And once I’m taken care, boom! You jump off as quick as you can; it’s ‘see ya’ or ‘let’s get out of here’ before I can do the same for you. You have to know that’s just as frustrating for me as if we didn’t do anything at all! Jesus, I even have to push for a kiss. God forbid I put an arm around you when we watch TV or something. You either push me off or come up with an excuse to leave the room." "That’s not true!" Alan shook his head ruefully. "Yeah, it is true David. If you stop to think about it, you’ll know it’s true. And now just to top things off I gotta find out from someone else that you’re havin’ trouble at home! I should be the first one to know Dave… because it’s me she doesn’t like, and that’s affecting us!" He was cornered and didn’t like it. "Like you’ve always been on the up and up," David growled. "You think I never figured out what happened with you and Drew?" "That’s not fair," Alan shot back. "Drew and I were old news, and it went down long before I knew you. We were still kids and stuff got out of hand. Finally we settled it. There was no need to bring you in - you’d have made it worse." David shook his head and tossed down his sandwich, gave Alan a hard look. "How could I have possibly made it worse?" he demanded. "The son of a bitch outed you at school and made your life miserable!" Alan shook his head. "And that was long before you knew I was alive. If I said anything you’d have butted in, started a new fight, and made things worse! Besides," he added sarcastically. "I don’t think it’s a news flash to say

sometimes you got a temper and a big mouth. You’d have started a worse fight like I said - just like you’re tryin to with me now, so I’ll drop it." David gave him an irritated look but tried to sound patient. "Alan, I’m not trying to fight with you!" he groused. "You’re being unreasonable." The shorter teens eyes bulged. "I’m unreasonable? Dave -" "Totally unreasonable," Dave muttered, crossing his arms and turning away. "You’re the one tryin’ to start a fight here." Alan fumed and his voice took on a nasty edge. "Wanna know something, Dave?" he cut in coldly. "We’re way past either of us tryin’ to start a fight! We’re doing it!" Alan flung his coffee against a tree and scrambled to his feet. "Screw this," he snapped and began stalking off. He got as far as the first tree and turned. "And Dave, sweetie?" he added with venom. "Screw you too, okay? What happened between Drew an’ me didn’t touch anyone else - I left you out but I patched it up with him. Without interference." "Sure, interference." David shot back. "You’re right, all I’d do is interfere with your ‘old news’. But you wanna know something Alan?" he taunted, voice climbing. "What’s buggin’ me is old news - so maybe it’s none of your Goddam business, either! So what’s the friggin’ difference?" Alan’s eyes were frigid as his angry voice as he turned back one last time. "The difference?" he snapped. "The difference is that with me and Drew it only affected me and Drew. The ‘friggin’ difference’ here is whatever’s got you now is killin’ us!" He glared at David, who sneered and looked away; something inside Alan snapped and he launched his final harpoon. "Tell you what - how about we forget about any ‘us’ and you keep your miserable secret?" "Fuck you!" Dave bellowed. Alan clutched his chest, staggered back dramatically. "Way cool comeback, Dave! I mean, talk about total devastation on my end! But guess what? Fuck you, too!" he yelled and stomped off through the woods. David came up from behind him and grabbed Alan by the arm, spinning him around. The smaller boy’s face was red and he wrenched his arm out of David’s grasp then pushed him back, lips drawn tight and eyes blazing

defiance. David felt the smoldering anger and resentment stir up inside and without thinking David drew up to give Alan a back-hander. Alan eyes locked on the raised hand. He went rigid, and David froze when he realized what he’d done and dropped his arm slowly but he knew it was too late as they faced off. When he spoke, Alan’s voice was calm but deadly. "I grew up bein’ someone else’s punching bag," he said slowly. "And maybe it took me seventeen years to fight back, but don’t even think of it. No one’s ever layin’ into me again. Not my Dad. Not you. No one." He turned and walked off. "Alan - please - I’m-" The smaller boy neither slowed nor turned. His arm shot up with a clenched fist and he flipped up his middle finger before disappearing into what was left of the woods. David felt himself go limp. "Could I have possibly screwed that up more if I tried?" he asked the non-committal woods around him. Alan could get over almost anything in just a few seconds… except a physical threat. The only thing David could have done worse would have been to follow through with a blow. He almost ran after Alan but halted; there was no point. Not much stirred up Alan’s darker side, but when something did… Give him some time to come down. In the distance, he could hear the squeal of rubber on pavement. David shook his head again at the woods that were supposed to give him a sense of peace, not serve as a stage for a fight with his boyfriend. He checked his watch; a little after eleven. Just go home before you shoot yourself in the foot again, he told himself. If Mom’s still there, she won’t start with someone else around. Maybe then I can figure out how I can salvage this. He pushed his way through the dwindling trees and stood blinking when he stepped out of the shade into the harsh sunlight. He noted the fresh skid marks on the road and shook his head. I’m gonna lose him if I’m not careful. Once it’s all over, I’ll have to sit down with him, make him understand…

"Why the hell don’t you just tell him?" he mumbled aloud. David pushed the question back inside again, filled his mind with the mechanics of the next phase of his research and gunned the engine back to life, putting the woods behind him. Once back to a fortunately-empty house David mounted the stairs slowly, carefully locked his bedroom door and eyed the bed, wondering if he should risk a nap. He sighed and sat down in front of his computer instead, brought up his email, then frowned; another message from Martin. Emergency got to got to got to got to talk Randy is out of his skin! David blinked, rubbed his eyes. He paused to write up a message, decided against it and reached for his phone instead. He grunted when he saw the messages logged in - Alan’s number showed, plus a few from Martin. David was about to hit the auto-dial when he heard a loud, blaring horn from the driveway. Now what? David’s room faced the front and he drew up the blind; started when he saw an old rust-bucket of an International pickup sitting in the driveway. The door swung wide and a meaty leg was followed by a bald head with a thin swath of black hair carefully pasted across the top, as if it could somehow hide the fact of baldness. That was followed by a garish vision of a green, purple and red Hawaiian shirt left half unbuttoned which should have been loose but snuggled to a broad waistline and hung to the hem of the white shorts. David frowned. Great. What’s Uncle Lou want? David heard a deep, booming voice call his name from the driveway and he sprinted for the stairs. Then a single, long ring began - Lou Sciuoto had the bad habit leaning into the button to announce his presence. David threw open the door, out of breath but with a genuine if confused smile on his face. A pair of hairy fists gripped David’s shoulders and David flinched. "How’s my favorite nephew?" Lou’s voice boomed in his nasal North End accent.

David grinned in spite of being tired, escaped the death grip and stepped back so his uncle could come in. He counted six gold chains around the man’s thick neck, two heavy-link gold bracelets on his wrist and sported a diamond ring so large that most people assumed it had to be fake… but wasn’t. "Try your only nephew, Uncle Lou. Uh, you got to know Dad’s at work. And Mom just left a little-" Lou Sciuoto snickered. "Yeah - like I’d come all the way over here to see Jenny... And I know Alby’s at work - I just talked to him a couple hours ago. And favorite nephew, only nephew, it’s the same thing." He ruffled David’s hair. "Nope, I’m here to see you." He studied David with a sharp eye and his voice dropped but still kept its easy edge. "Tried getting you at work, but they said you banged out for the day. By the way, you look like shit. ’S’matter, you out playin’ hound dog all night? Got bags under your eyes bigger’n luggage." "Just a long night, Uncle Lou. Uh, listen, I’m kinda busy so-" " ‘Kinda busy so’ nuthin’, kid," the smiling Lou cut in with a firm tone. He placed a thick-fingered hand on David’s shoulder and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You an me are gonna have a long, leisurely lunch and a quiet discussion, Davey. No ifs, no buts. If you gotta call someone to cancel a plan, go do it. And I don’t care if you’re meeting the Pope or the President - you and me are gonna have a long talk. Okay, kid?" ***** The ancient International pickup with it’s almost-intact exhaust system sat at the main intersection of Andover’s Shawsheen Village, waiting for the light. David eyed the neat, antique red brick houses as they segued into a block of staid Federal style business fronts, leaning back into the torn-up green vinyl seat. Guess we’re going to Grassfield’s, he said to himself, switching his weary eyes back to his uncle. That’s okay - at least we won’t look too out of place. Lou gunned the engine and smiled when it roared, startling the drivers of the cars around them. A few seconds later he took a sharp turn to the right and cut into the driveway of one of the most exclusively spots in the area - the Latham Club - a graceful, elegant mansion sitting amidst manicured lawns and shrubbery, built by one of the last of New England’s textile robber barons as a private home until fortunes shifted. A succeeding generation of millionaires

picked it up from the estate, turning it into a private club subscribed to by some of the most influential and wealthy business people in the region. Cabots, Lodges and on occasion a Saltonstall sat at table with a small group who routinely selected the governors and senators of solidly Republican Massachusetts. Presidencies may not have been decided by the Latham inner circle, but it’s approval went a long way to delivering the New England vote and its old-family money. Through the years the names of members may have changed along with Massachusetts politics, but the influence of the Latham still had a long reach. David shuddered. He’d been here once for a special dinner with his parents and worn his first dinner jacket. On more ordinary occasions the Latham required at least a suit and tie. It was only within the last ten years members could lunch in ‘casual wear’ and not be refused a table. David shrank into the seat thinking of his rumpled shirt, jeans and low-rise Converse sneakers; shuddered when he thought of Uncle Lou in his Gap shorts and snug K-Mart shirt. Lou waved off the valet parking attendant and backed the rust-and-primer hulk with mis-matched fenders and doors into the most conspicuous spot he could find - easily viewable from the street. The attendant saw who it was, grinned, and shook his head. A gleeful Lou smirked at David and winked. David hunched down, trying not to laugh. "Can I ask you something?" "Shoot." "Don’t take this wrong, okay Uncle Lou?" David began tentatively. "You’ve got nice cars, even your restored Caddy. Why’d we come here in this tank? And what’s with the Tony Soprano look? You never dress flashy." Lou’s grin broadened. "Local color," he said mischievously. "All my neighbors and half this town thinks I’m mobbed up - so I show ’em what they expect to see." "Get out!" Lou snickered and shook his head as they eased out of the truck and began a slow walk across the parking lot. Lou let a casual arm drape across David’s shoulders and drew the boy in closer to him. "Davey, when I bought my house here - well, one of the first things I saw was two cops in my driveway with their hands twitchin’ by their guns when they walked up to me. I’m dark, even for an Italian… one of the cops actually spoke to me in Spanish and demanded to see

my ID. Didn’t ask me for it - demanded it. Seems one of my neighbors reported a ‘dark, swarthy type’ in a beat up old car entering the house from the back. That was my old Camry, remember it? Typical Boston car… dings and marks all over it, five years old… they thought it was out of place in their neighborhood. And around here, ‘dark and swarthy’ is a polite way of sayin’ some Lawrence spic was pulling a B&E." He grimaced. "Not that they’d ever say that word. My neighbors are very PC." They arrived at the door, which was snapped open by a white-shirted and black bow-tied Hispanic boy, who smiled when he saw Lou Sciuoto. Lou released David. "’Sup Freddie? Your tía get in from Santo Domingo okay?" Freddie blushed, did a quick check over his shoulder. The head waiter - a tall, expressionless man of about sixty and known only as Moylan - stood at elegant attention. He eyed Freddie, giving him permission to speak since he had been addressed. Moylan clearly didn’t approve of it. Freddie’s place was to clean up and remain invisible, never speaking unless spoken to, a rare occurrence. Chatty servers were something found at roadside diners - not in the Latham with its Persian carpets and antique furnishings. And conversationally inclined busboys were something found on the unemployment line. "She’s fine, Mr. Sciuoto," he said politely. "Glad to hear it - and Freddie, this is my nephew David. You and him have got something in common - you’re both goin’ to Merrimack College next fall. Shake hands." David offered his without thinking twice, but Freddie nervously eyed Moylan again before he took it. Lou leaned in a little closer to the boy. "Go ahead - let the stuck-up bastard bitch. He can’t say anything and if he does I wanna know about it. And you love it when we do this." Freddie tried to hide his grin and withdrew. Moylan looked over Lou Sciuoto with a cold, disparaging eye and smiled without much conviction. He turned his attention to David and was clearly not impressed as he took in what he considered a street-look. "We have some nice quiet tables in the small dining room, Mr. Sciuoto." Lou grinned, allowed his voice to boom out. "Ah, frig the small dining room - I like that table over there."

The startled head waiter followed rather than guided them the way he was accustomed. That he loathed Louis Sciuoto was no secret at the Latham; that Louis Sciuoto knew it was clear. And the fact that Lou didn’t give a damn what Moylan thought was obvious and an ongoing source of amusement to rest of the staff. Lou found a table far from the occupied tables, but still in full view of the main entrance and plopped himself down without ceremony. Moylan, resigned to fate, sat David politely but sniffed his disapproval before he withdrew. A second waiter approached quietly and greeted Lou by name, laid down the menus and politely added he’d be back when they were ready. David looked up "No introduction this time?" Lou grinned. "Nah… that’s Wayne and he gets embarrassed when I do that and I got no reason to bust his chops. But Moylan treats Freddie like crap ’cuz he’s Dominican, so I always make a point of bein’ nice to the kid - and he is a nice kid. His mother’s my cleaning lady - I’ve known him since I moved up from Boston." David looked at the menu, noticed there were no prices; always a bad sign. Lou saw the expression on his nephews face and blew it off. "What they get for a club sandwich is a crime in itself, but that doesn’t matter." David made a selection and set the list aside. "Okay - so finish the story. Why the big routine?" Lou leaned back and chortled. "Well, it’s like I was sayin’… a lot of people thought I didn’t quite fit in. I mean, all my neighbors were polite if I saw them but they never seemed to have the time to talk. And around town, I was alright for the businesses and stuff - money is money; but anything else? Forget it." He snorted and leaned in. "Andover’s got two country clubs, okay? Well, one is kind of ritzy and all with limited membership, so I didn’t pay any attention when I never heard on my application. But the other one? Their only membership requirement is cash and I had that in my hand. But after they lost my application the third time I said screw it and started playin’ at Trull Brook it’s a public course, but nice. And I like golf but I’m not exactly interested in gettin’ in with the country club set anyway so it was no big deal." Wayne came up and placed two glasses of water on the table, then took their orders and disappeared.

David moved his glass a little to the left. "So what made you think there were any problems?" "I met an old guy there," Lou continued. "Nice old bird, retired from some law firm - and he’s from one of those old Yankee families you hear about. I asked him why he didn’t play at one of the fancy clubs in Andover and he laughs, says he used to but the new people in Andover are too stuck up. I told him where I lived and about my neighbors and he started laughing even more." "How come?" Lou sipped his water, and his eyes almost danced telling his story. "Get this the day I moved in, I hired a bunch of guys from the neighborhood - I guess you could say they’re ‘ethnic types’." David chuckled. "I’ve seen those guys - more like stereotypes. They all act like they came out of central casting." "It ain’t a rib but you got it," Lou continued. "Loud, kinda flashy… but basically the guys your Dad and I grew up with helping me out. I hired all their kids to do the heavy lifting, and we had a party when it was all done. No big deal, right? Well, my neighbors see these guys, hear the way they talk and they get put off. And the party wasn’t exactly a street festival, but it got loud and went kinda late. The cops came by, and I guess they checked out some number plates. Seems a couple of those guys got records." "I still don’t get where this is going, Uncle Lou." "Then shut up and let me tell the story, okay? Well, word gets back to my sweet neighbors… and the rumors start about a bunch of made guys hangin’ around. Then I have a fancy alarm system installed, and the doors on the house are kinda light-weight and ugly so I had them replaced - gorgeous hand-tooled stuff with hand-forged wrought iron. Everybody got nervous, thinking I was beefing things up in case of a mob war! Next thing you know, everyone’s sayin’ I’m a Mafia don and those guys are my crew. Imagine that? I’m the godfather!" He roared laughing. David sat back in his seat, stunned. "Are you kidding me?" Lou shook his head and put a hand over his heart, still grinning. "It’s absolute truth, Davey. Straight out of the movies!" He grabbed a roll and bit it in half.

"Kind of an insult if you ask me. I might be wide enough to pass for Marlon Brando, but I ain’t that old. Or ugly." David relaxed and sat back. The silent Wayne swept in, positioned salads in front of them and disappeared. Lou picked up a silver pot filled with bleu cheese dressing and emptied half the container onto his plate. "Anyway, that’s the story the old guy’s telling me. Then we both get the giggles and talk about maybe if I acted it out, they’d be a little more receptive towards me." David chewed a piece of Romaine. "You said he’s lived here all his life. How come he’s throwing in with you?" Lou’s eyes sparkled like a bratty ten year old describing his latest prank and he strained to keep his voice low enough only for David to hear. "He can’t stand most of ’em, says the newer people are a bunch of stuck up, pretentious social climbers - most of ’em one generation out of the tenement houses and the mills themselves, carryin’ on like they’re the new aristocracy. Half these fancy houses around here are so mortgaged they can barely scrape up their taxes; and inside the furniture looks like it was snapped up at Roxbury side-walk sale after an eviction. But they’re all hung up about their image - being from an old town with a high-end reputation makes it an important address. So the old man and I make a plan… and he lets it get out that the talk is real. And me?" Lou shrugged. "I play it to the hilt - that’s why all the chains and stuff. The old man even sponsored me for membership here - and made it clear to the committee they shouldn’t look too deep into my background if they knew what was good for ’em. Suddenly I’m the latest social hit, everyone’s either scared as hell of setting me off or wants to be my friend so they can show me around ’cuz I’m the pet mafioso. And the best part? I get away with damn near anything." Lou pressed his nose to one side and spoke in a hoarse, punch-drunk voice. "Yas don’t wanna piss of da made guy… udderwise yas is gonna get a visit from the friend of a friend of ours real late one night." He popped a chunk of cucumber into his mouth with a flourish. David toyed with his salad silently. His eyes flicked around and he shot quick glances at his uncle. "You’re not though, right?" Lou’s eyebrows knitted. "Not what?" David shuffled around, uncomfortable. "You know. What people around here think. Connected."

Lou kept his eyes on his plate, quietly chewed his salad for a moment before he finally cleared his throat and set down his fork. "David, I’m the junk guy from Everett," he said tersely. "Well, reclamation and recycling these days maybe, but that’s all I am. I run the business my grandfather worked in when he was off the boat at fourteen, bought into when he was twenty, and owned a hundred percent when he married my grandmother. That’s all the Sciuoto’s have ever been - until your father. He moved up and moved on." He paused. "And you oughta be ashamed for askin’ that question," he added sharply. "That’s something I’d expect Jen to say." David felt the color rise in his cheeks, mumbled an apology. Lou grunted. During the long silence Wayne returned with their lunch, served, and cleaned the salad plates away. He noted the sudden quiet at the table, and the usually affable Louis Sciuoto sitting stone silent. David toyed with his meal, less hungry than before, wondering if he could risk broaching the next question on his mind. "I - I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Uncle Lou. I guess I meant to ask… well, I meant to ask if maybe you knew some people, okay? Lou Sciuoto folded his hands in front of him, hard eyes again fixed on his nephew. "What kind of people?" David’s face reddened and he looked down again, mumbled something unintelligible. Lou shook his head. "You surprise me, Davey. You really do." He reached across the table, tilted David’s head up with his forefinger. "Do your Dad and I look like a couple of hoods?" "Sorry." "Is there a reason for that question?" David fiddled with his food again and looked down. "I… well, I might need a you know. A favor." Lou’s eyes squinted, and he drummed his fingers slowly, scowling. "Look, I know people - I’ll give you that; your dad and I grew up in the North End of Boston and it was understood about some guys - you didn’t ask Mickey what his father did for a living. And it was okay to ask Cully when his older brother got out of jail, just not why he got there, okay? And if you bought a stereo or a

TV out of Enzio’s cellar, you didn’t mail in the warranty." He smiled to himself. "I remember when Ma wanted a new washer and dryer - Poppa made a couple of calls, put a few bucks in an envelope and left it in the garage and told Alby and me not to go out if we heard anything. Next morning, there’s a pair of top-of-the-line Maytags in the garage." He held up a thick finger and pointed at David. "But that was just business. Business is all about cash - no strings. But a favor?" He shook his head and his voice dropped, fixed David with unflinching eyes. "Favors get paid different… and sometimes, they get called in over and over again. You don’t want to be owing those guys any favors, ever. Your Dad and I saw what owing those guys meant when we were growing up - take my word for it. Never owe." David looked up. "Weren’t you just saying about how there’s no such thing as the Mafia?" "Not like you see on TV or in the movies. But there is a business, and these businessmen who operate different, but it’s not just ‘our thing’ like maybe it was in the thirties any more. Look at Whitey Bulger and the Winter Hill mob. Were they Mafia? Not those guys. South End Irish. But they worked a lot of things with a lot of different guys - bein’ Italian has nothing to do with it." He snorted. "Man, the Bulgers… there’s a family. One brother ran the most ruthless mob in New England - the other ran the Mass Statehouse." He snorted. "Guess it’s a matter of opinion over who’s the bigger thief. But Billy got to retire with a big state pension - Whitey’s been on the run for like twenty years. Anyway never mind about that stuff, and never mind about any favors, either. That stuff’s out." "Still," David pushed. "You’ve got friends, right?" Lou looked around impatiently "Enough of this ‘a friend of mine, a friend of ours’ stuff - we can come back to it. We got other thimgs to talk about anyway." He wiped his mouth but didn’t bother looking up. "What’s goin’ on at home?" Again seeing warnings, David’s eyes flickered nervously around the mostlyempty dining room. "I, uh, I don’t know what you mean." Lou popped a piece of steak into his mouth and chomped. "Then I’ll spell it out. You and your mom have got some kind of beef, and it’s drivin’ my kid brother nuts. Just to make it worse, the two of you are pretending there’s nothing wrong when he’s around."

David looked around the dining room furtively. "He asked you to get into this?" "No. But he’s human and he needed to talk to someone about what’s botherin’ him and he called me this morning - just to talk. And if you’re wondering, no. He doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, he’d probably be pissed off if he knew we were talking. So - maybe I’m butting in, but so what? Alby’s all I got left for family, Alby and you." Lou slathered sour cream onto his baked potato. David swallowed. "C’mon, kid, nothin’ can be that bad." The boy looked up, startled. "What makes you sure there’s something going on between us?" Lou made a face and snorted. "You and your mum - there’s been sparks between you two since your voice changed." He shook his head, stuffed a chunk of potato into his mouth and chewed slowly, his attention on David. "Well, that doesn’t surprise me considering what a controlling bi - uh, considering she can be kind of on the opinionated side," he said finally, then leaned his head forward "Listen, David, do you think your old man never notices when there’s trouble in the house? He’s a soft-spoken guy with his family and not sure how to handle his son or his wife without setting them both off. Who do you think he turns to for either advice or to just get stuff off his chest? He turns to his older brother, that’s who. And that ain’t ’cuz he’s weak, Davey, don’t ever think that. My brother’s family - yeah, you and your mum - means everything in the world to him. That little son-of-a-bitch brother of mine can walk into a room with veteran business enemies and settle a score that’s been festerin’ for twenty years, and have ’em purring in his hand with a signed contract when he’s done. He’s even worked with the Boston Teamsters Union! But he’s so afraid of doin’ something that might push either you or her away from him he can’t think straight sometimes. You guy’s drive him nuts when you fight - and the two of you have been drivin’ him really nuts for the last few weeks." David looked up, incredulous. "We haven’t said anything in front of him! Not a word!" Lou leaned back from the table and laughed loud enough to draw a few indignant looks - until they saw who it was and quickly avoided eye contact. Lou raised his glass to a middle-aged man in a tailored suit sitting with two

younger clones and grinned as the man jerked his head to the left. Lou pointed with his chin. "That guy’s a point man for the governor. Wanna bet the other two are from DC? His Excellency’s gonna run for president, not next time but the time after that. They’re probably talkin’ about soft money right now." Then his expression changed and he locked his round, brown eyes on David. "Yeah - that’s what your dad’s been telling me, and he says you guys are worse than when you yell at each other. He’s thinking he should shut down the central air, because there’s enough ice between the two of you to bring on a blizzard. And when you actually do talk to each other its like hearin’ knives slice the air, and neither one of you wanna tell him what’s goin’ on. So," Lou wound up, in a tough but conspiratorial voice. "With that in mind, only nephew of mine and son I never had - what the hell is goin’ on? I won’t tell Alby nuthin’," he added, "Unless you think you need me for a go between." David played with his salad, tried to avoid his uncle’s look. He stole a quick glance. "Mum figured out something about me," he said hesitantly. Lou chewed more steak and swallowed before stealing a quick look at David. "Is it about you an’ that Alan kid?" David looked up shocked. Lou’s face was expressionless, but his eyes didn’t shift from his nephew. "Your dad ain’t dumb, kid. He was thinkin’ it might be something like that, but he wasn’t gonna say anything." David jaws twitched. "Too ashamed to talk about it with me?" He asked nervously. Lou shook his head. "No more’n I am. First, he doesn’t like it of course, neither do I. You’re the last Sciuoto - at least in this country. Grampa had some brothers in Italy but Poppa lost track of ’em long before he died, and I’m - well, I just ain’t the marryin’ kind. You’re it, kid, and if what he thinks is true, then it’s gonna stay that way." "Are you-" "No," he added quickly, shaking his head. "I’d just make a lousy husband and a worse father, and I know it. Spoiling my kid brother’s boy is one thing - I used to get you all worked up and bouncin’ off the walls, then I could go home. Gettin’ up in the middle of the night to help change diapers, or waitin’ next to

the telephone late at night because he’s out after curfew when he’s a teen is another. I’m selfish and I like to play around. Fortunately I can afford to play around, so that’s how it is." David’s voice had a nervous edge to it. "You said he’s not too crazy about it, huh? Me and Alan?" Lou shrugged, sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Neither of us is, but that’s got nothin’ to do with it. He won’t say anything because he thinks you should. He was afraid to tell me what he thought because - well, lets just say I never thought much about usin’ certain words to describe people. Catch me?" David nodded, his eyes downcast. "Stop lookin’ at the table, Davey. I say things ’cuz - well I should know better, but - it’s sorta habit. It’s like when your dad an’ I tried gettin’ Grampa not to use what they only refer to as the ‘n’ word these days," he chuckled. "Now, Poppa coulda cared less if a guy was black-" "African American," David cut in. Lou rolled his eyes. "See? It’s the same thing. Retraining. Well, Grampa came to this country because he did something that pissed off either the Fascists or the mob when he was still a kid - he never would say which - and he learned the English he learned in the streets when he got here, not in any school and he didn’t think nothin’ mean by it! It took a few years, but we finally got Gramp to at least say colored, and even that was dicey back then." The big man shrugged and David eyed the buttons straining on the Hawaiian shirt. "Okay, I’m kinda like Poppa I guess. I grew up and - well, certain words got used all the time. So, I gotta learn too, okay? No one’s angry with you, Davey. And when I said Alby was disappointed, he wasn’t disappointed with you." Lou paused, took a deep breath. "Your dad really wanted a bunch of kids, you know that? He loved kids, always did. But he couldn’t. Not because of your mother, Dave - he couldn’t. Hell, you were a fluke if you wanna know. Not to mention a surprise! If you don’t know what I mean, dig around for their wedding license and then do some counting," he chuckled. The man reached across the table and rubbed the top of David’s hand, his voice dropping to a more soothing level. "Your dad figures you have to be who you are, just like me. He’s disappointed because there won’t be any grandkids, not disappointed in you. But he’s also disappointed because he thinks you’re too

afraid to tell him - he’s ashamed of himself for not being a good enough father, that you couldn’t trust him." "That’s not it!" David broke in. "Yeah, about mom - that’s true. That’s what it’s all about-me, Alan-all that stuff." He looked Lou in the eye. "And sure, I’m nervous about talkin’ to dad but not really scared. But… there’s more, Uncle Lou. A lot more that mom doesn’t know, that no one else knows." He paused, felt a tremble in his body. "Except me." They heard a slight sound and Lou looked up to see the waiter, poised just a few feet away, and began his approach as soon as he’d seen something going on. Lou nodded once. Wayne handed Lou a message, asked politely if there was anything more and withdrew. Lou read the paper and folded it. David looked up again, let out his breath. "There’s other stuff, Uncle Lou, and I’m afraid it’s gonna come out," he said in a glum voice. Lou slowly began cutting his steak. "Have I ever said or done anything to make you think you had to worry about me?" David shook his head, staring down at his almost untouched sandwich. "Look me in the face, Davey," Lou said firmly and David looked him warily in the eye. "Even when you were little, did I ever break a secret of yours, even the silly stuff? Or make a promise and broke it? Have I?" "No." Lou folded his hands on the edge of the table. "Then tell me what this other stuff is. Is it that Alan kid? Is he tryin’ something on you, like a scam? Or is someone tryin’ to blackmail you for something because they know about Alan?" David shook his head, smiled weakly. "Alan would never do anything to hurt me-hell, right now I’m the one hurting him because - well, things aren’t goin’ too good there, and he thinks it’s something he did wrong." "Then explain, okay?" Lou said gently. "Close your eyes if it’s easier for you, kid. If someone comes near us I’ll stop you. Tell me what’s so terrible you’re afraid to tell your own."

It took a long time of silent eating by Lou and David not doing much more than stare at the table. No one knows this stuff, not all of it. I don’t even want to remember it, but… David closed his eyes. The words came slowly, halting, and he left things out and had to back trail. There was a sudden coldness in the pit of his stomach, and as he spoke it spread, and he began to shake, shake hard enough so he had to grip the table in front of him. His voice quavered in parts and broke, and perhaps it was just the physical exhaustion that did it combined with the fight with Alan. At some point he felt tears on his cheeks… and it occurred to him they were the first tears he’d let loose in five years, but he kept on. The lessons. Griff. Danny. How he’d got away, but abandoned a friend, and then pretended it wasn’t real. Then fear and memory resurrected when he saw Danny again in the spring and then the realization of the danger his silence put Martin in, worsened by the knowledge of the pain he’d caused other kids - like Randal - to suffer because of his silence. In the end his voice broke, sputtered and died. David waited, feeling the tears continue to flow but he couldn’t move except to shake. His hands still gripped the table for balance, knuckles as white as his face. Finally David felt a rough, sweaty hand close on his and opened his red eyes at the usually smiling face with its comically bulging eyes and bald head. The eyes were flinty and hard and the mouth wasn’t smiling, but the grip was firm and reassuring. But the voice was almost an incredulous whisper. "You stupid little shit. You’ve been carrying that inside for five years? Why didn’t you just say something?" David could feel himself gasping for breath, and his body shuddered almost convulsively now as he tried to focus on his uncle’s shocked face, struggling for air and speech. When he could force it out David’s voice was hoarse and ragged, catching on every word. "I-was-so-ashamed!"

He choked, felt his stomach churn. Face white, David clutched his stomach and doubled over. "I’m gonna be sick," he blubbered, his voice sliding up the scale. Lou Sciuoto lumbered to his feet gracelessly and stumbled helping David stand, holding onto the doubled-over boy then almost dragging him through the dining room. Lou caught a snippet from the political group, a younger voice that said something like ‘boy toy’ and caught a smug laugh. Lou locked his eyes on the Governor’s man as they passed and watched the color drain from his face, as eyes suddenly shifted to one of the younger Washington clones. Lou made a quick study of the faces - just general features, nothing more. It was all he’d need. It wouldn’t take more than a phone call to find out which party men got sent north today. It was easier to lunge out of the restaurant into the lot instead of the rest rooms, and David staggered to the carefully planned garden and retched until there was nothing left in his stomach, then kept on retching. Tears still ran. People walked by, paused long enough to register shock then politely declined to notice. A grateful busboy stood at the door of the club, pleased he wouldn’t have to do more than hose down a part of the garden. Lou saw the him and shouted. "Freddie! Tell Moylan to tab my lunch! I gotta take my nephew home." The Dominican boy nodded and ran back into the elegant white building. Lou helped David get into the beat-up pick up he’d parked so conspicuously in front of the club, then trotted to the other side and pulled himself up with a grunt into the driver’s seat. David sat passively, said nothing. He felt his uncle rub his shoulder a few times, mumbling "Good boy, good boy," over and over. Lou jammed the accelerator as the light switched to red at the intersection and ran against the traffic that blared its horns as he cut across and turned onto Rte. 133 from Main Street. He gunned the engine and shifted noisily, cutting sharp corners and blew off another light completely once he was relatively sure there wasn’t any traffic. He ran the old truck flat out until he turned into his driveway and punched it again up the steep grade before slamming on the breaks just short of his closed garage door.

"Just sit," Lou said quietly once they were in the house, picking up the phone. David slumped onto the white leather couch and listened to Lou call his father’s office, sweet talk his way through the secretaries and explained to David’s father that he needed his nephew for two, maybe three days. Lou kept his voice light even if his expression wasn’t. "Yeah, yeah, Alby, whatever. I’m your older brother, remember? So just tell your charming wife it’s okay, will you?" He paused, and this time he did pop a small smile. "Hey, watch your mouth, kid… No, I did not call her a name! Besides, ‘charming’ has way too many letters and there’s no ‘u’ or ‘t’ in it." He listened some more and the smile faded and his voice dropped low. "It’s like when we were kids, okay, guy?" he said gently. "You trusted me with things then because I’d keep ’em to myself. This is the same thing, so just trust me now. David’s okay, and everything’s gonna be fine." Lou listened for a few minutes more, making sounds when he was supposed to. Suddenly he looked at David, put a hand over the mouth piece. "You good to talk?" David nodded. "Just tell him you’re okay, got that? And tell him when you get home, you want to have a long talk with him, but that’s it. Tell him you got to work something out on your own first, he’ll understand that." David picked up the phone gingerly, hands unsteady but his voice holding firm, echoing his uncle’s instructions before he said goodbye and hung up. He studied his uncle in the long silence that followed Lou poured a tall shot of Johnny Walker into a water glass, downed it. Then he packed the glass with ice and poured again before he spoke to David in an harsh voice. "Answer me a few questions. Don’t even think of lying, got that?" David nodded. "Who else knows about all this stuff? Anyone?" David squirmed before he answered. "Three guys I know… well, not the whole thing. They know some of it." Lou considered the answer. "And these guys are-what? Friends?" "Yeah… well, sort of. Two of them… Martin and Randy, well, they were sort of targets for-what happened to me." Lou cocked an eyebrow. "What are these guys, your age?"

"Uh… not quite. Leo’s my age, but Martin’s fourteen. Randy’s… older," he added defensively. Lou wobbled his head to prompt. "Give me details! How much older?" "Fifteen." Lou rolled his eyes. "This is just great. Two kids and a couple of babies - yeah, that’ll work." He shook his head. "And just what were you guys plannin’, anyway?" "The two little guys are out of it," David muttered. "But, well, Leo and I… Leo and I were gonna track down Griff, or try to." "Uh-huh." Lou rocked on his heels, eyes still on David and running over the information that trickled out of his nephew. "And once you found the guy, then what?" A long silence followed until Lou finally broke it. "All that talk about me having certain connections… Was all that because of what you just told me?" David nodded, stared at the floor. Lou listened patiently to another long silence. "Look at me like a man, dammit!" the man hissed savagely. David’s head jerked up. Black, angry eyes cut into him. Lou’s voice lowered but David could still feel as much hear the anger. "I’ll ask you again - all that talk about the mob stuff today. Were you asking if I could set up a hit?" David looked at him with a pinched-in face. "Yeah." He hardly saw the hand move, but he felt it - a jarring slap across the face so hard his teeth throbbed. David didn’t even remember falling backward onto the long sofa or even notice the trail of warm blood running down his chin. When his vision cleared he saw Lou coming up again and David jumped up, split between lashing out in defense or ducking from another blow. Lou reached out and shoved the glass into David’s hand. "If the jaw was broke you’d be unconscious. Hold the ice against it, ’cuz it’ll bruise up. Just be happy you only got a split lip. Take a sip if you think that’ll help."

David watched his uncle carefully for any more unexpected moves and rubbed his aching jaw, holding the cold glass to his mouth. "And Davey, just so you know? That was for bein’ stupid, plain and simple. Why won’t you just go to the cops?" David wiped at his mouth, scowled when he saw the blood. "It was five years ago, Uncle Lou." "And the statute of limitations is five years after you turn eighteen if it happened when you were a minor. At least in this state." The boy scowled. Jesus, this hurts. "But there’s no evidence, Uncle Lou. Nothing I can get my hands on anyway… but I know the guy has pictures and stuff; it’s what he uses to buy silence. He threatens to pass ’em around." The big man snorted and shook his head. "That’s crazy then - the photos would be like a confession. All you had to do was speak up." David looked up from the couch and studied the man in front of him. "You just don’t get it," he said softly. "Remember what it was like at thirteen and scared of something you did you thought was wrong? Let’s kick it up a notch - what you’ve been doing is something everyone tells you isn’t just wrong but sick, and you’re supposed to hate the people who do that stuff. But it gets even worse when you add in that it’s something you like doing… not with Griff maybe but - " He gestured helplessly looking for the right way to put it, gave up. "Sure, telling my parents and goin’ to the cops sounds reasonable… now. But then? Forget it." He shook his head. "And now it’s too late. There’s no evidence to back up my story." "What about the other kids?" David shrugged. "Nothing happened to Martin when you come down to it. And Randy?" He shuddered. "He’s terrified his parents might find out. He’d prob’ly slit his wrists right now if he knew I talked about him." "Why?" David shook his head, Lou grunted. "I guess his family might not be all that understanding, is that it? Yeah, I get it… that’s what makes these guys. The victims are as scared of everyone else as they are of the things using ’em… so the scum just keep on screwin’ up one life after another."

Lou picked up the phone and turned away. "I’m gonna make some calls in the next room," he said over his shoulder. "In the meantime, I want you to remember just how much that smack hurt… Ever consider what would happen if it blew up in your face? But that wouldn’t be nothin’ compared to how your father would feel if he thought you were mixed up in something that dumb and in the process screwed up this Leo kid’s life, too. And for a good lookin guy like you, a split lip would be the least of your problems after the first night in jail." David pictured a few scenes out of any number of TV shows and movies and shuddered. Youth and good looks weren’t exactly good fortune in prison. "You made your point. Who are you calling?" he asked nervously. "A friend of a friend… who can talk to a friend," Lou tossed back sarcastically. He turned into the hall and made for the small room he used for an in-home office. Certain phone numbers Lou preferred to have written down and tucked away instead of programmed into his auto-dialer. He reached into the back of an old oak file cabinet that had sat in the original offices of Sciuoto Salvage since the late thirties and pulled out an old Rolodex, flicked through it until he came to a yellowed card with nothing more than a list of numbers written on it and counted down to the seventh entry. Lou considered whether or not it was a smart idea to use his home phone for this, then decided it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he were under investigation or anything and he wasn’t likely to dial it again. Lou punched in the numbers, placed the Rolodex back in its old home and dropped into his rolling chair, waiting for an answering machine to pick up. He put his feel up on the desk and leaned back, glanced in the direction of the living room. You don’t really wanna know what I’m doing, kid. Not right now. Maybe not ever. ***** Danny Doucette double checked his Power Post upload then typed ‘welcome to the star machine’ into the email header, double-checked the address and hit ‘send’. He leaned back and smiled, satisfied with his day’s work. He’d sent half a dozen mails to the same address since morning - once he’d confirmed the account was still active. He was careful of the timing - Danny could pretty much figure out for himself what time the Shiners left their house for work and

even called from a public phone a few miles away just in case. The last might have been overkill, but computerized switchboards made it too easy for number tracking, even though Danny was certain that wouldn’t actually be much of a problem. Randy wasn’t likely to talk. Besides, what were the odds? Danny scowled. Prob’ly the same as gettin’ spotted by one of my old crew, he thought grimly. It pissed him off thinking how his plans got balled up. He’d been hinting to Griff that he had something special lined up for the weekend, and then had it all go bust. Worse, Danny realized he’d let all his other potentials slip away once he’d decided on Martin. But Martin was by the wayside now… thanks to Randy. The sunglasses hadn’t been that great a disguise and the voice was familiar enough, even when it cracked. So if Martin were gone, Randy would just have to fill in for awhile. The night before he’d dug out the disks of videos he’d copied with Randy, then spent a few hours editing it down to a clip, converting it to a nice little AVI file. The resolution wasn’t that great and the Apple users would have a tough time, but who cared? Then he’d had his really brilliant idea - take out some stills and make them up like movie posters. All it took was a quick session with some basic photo editing software. "Cumming Attractions" sounded like a terrific joke. The next morning Danny mailed out the first of the stills with no message - just pictures of a naked Randy Shiner attached. Except the last mail. In addition to the photos, Danny sent the name of a news group who’s discreet members specialized in pictures and movies of underage boys. He’d given a title to download… ‘Rut Boy Randy’ in all his xxx glory, shown full face while a headless Danny rode him to a highly visible orgasm. The clip was just a warning. Danny was threatening to upload all the disks if Randy didn’t agree to meet him Saturday morning. He even warned he’d post Randy’s full name and address on the net. Randy understood enough about the news groups to locate, download and combine the clip he’d uploaded in 500kb sections so they wouldn’t bounce off the server. Only groups designated ‘binaries’ were supposed to have video files, but Danny suspected the regular boy groups could be monitored. The particular alt.fan.pictures group Danny selected was hardly ever used and it wasn’t likely anyone who actually knew Randy would see it … but the kid would be so freaked out he wouldn’t think of that. Still, someone would find it.

Most likely the clip would be making the rounds in the boy groups for years. Randy was cute. He chuckled to himself. "Baby, I’m gonna make you a star!" Danny brought up the newest ‘movie poster’ - Randy on all fours, an edited image of himself behind, hand grasping the boy’s hair and jerking the head up for the camera. The expression on Randy’s face could been seen as pleasure… but that didn’t really matter. Even this short version of ‘Rut Boy Randy’ was going to be a major hit. "I gave you the way out and you blew it," he said to the image on the screen. "This’ll teach you to screw with my life."

CHAPTER NINE Walter Shiner stood at the kitchen sink and worked at his hands with the bar of pumice soap, scraping away the dark lines of grease that stained his skin. He rinsed them off and scowled. "Damn things never come clean," he grumbled to himself. Walter hated dirty hands, something difficult for an auto mechanic to avoid. He watched some of the newer guys at the dealership - "repair technicians," they called themselves - and couldn’t understand how they could work in latex gloves. Walter needed the feel of his tools and the feel of an engine. But then, Walter had learned his trade young at Keeg’s Texaco back in Mississippi, rather than one of the special high-tech training schools the newer kids came from. He’d gotten home from school on his sixteenth birthday and his daddy met him at the door of their trailer (built in the days before people had heard of mobile homes) and told him to sign a paper that said he was done with school. "Old man Keeg need a new ’prentice," his father told him, sitting in the ancient leather-look blue recliner patched with duct tape. His father was strapping on his artificial leg and had even shaved… something he usually waited until Sunday morning to do. Walter also noted the conspicuous absence of beer cans. "Workin’ for coloreds won’t make you many friends ’round here, but at least you’ll have a trade. And you won’t have to join no military to do it, neither - I know you planned on that but forget it. No matter what that recruiter feller told you, the only thing Mississippi white trash ever get trainin’ for is how to point a gun. This way you don’t get your leg blowed off by some gook in a delta like me," Carlson Shiner told him. "Or come home in a body bag from some Ayrab place like your brother. Shiners is been dyin’ for other peoples’ money an’ politics since the Confederacy, an’ that’s long enough." His father drove him the ten miles out to Keeg’s place after they loaded up everything Walter owned into the back of the old GMC pickup truck. Carlson

Shiner had managed to keep it running even though it was older than Walter at the time. He didn’t speak again until they pulled under the white-and-red overhead of the gas station and rolled to a stop in front of the pumps. "Keeg’s got a room for you here," he said, nodding towards the building. "You can visit me when you can. You’ll get minimum wage but room and board. In a couple years you’ll know everything he knows about engines - and that’s a lot." He leaned closer to his son and lowered his voice. "Then I want you to get the hell out of Jefferson County and never come back." The teen nodded. "Don’t you want some of my wages, Pa?" Carlson grunted. "I fed the two of us pretty reg’lar off my gov’ment pension and whatever came my way for work," the man said. "I should live real good off nine thousand a year all alone. You take that money and save what you can… and when you got enough, head some place where people live like people, not like pigs in a trough." He allowed himself a small smile. "In between, maybe you can give me some gas every now and then." Walter nodded, then opened the door, but his father gently grabbed his arm. "One other thing, boy," he said. "Here’s some father’s advice. Either keep it in your pants or use a rubber - I don’t care what them preacher fools and their idiot followers say about abstinence, all you gotta do is look at half your friends to know how good that works. You’re young, and there ain’t much else to do around here ’cept screw once the sun goes down, unless you can afford cable." He laughed. "And Keeg’ll even buy the damn things for you if they give you any crap ’bout bein’ underage at the drug store. He’ll offer to buy beer for you too, but lookin’ at me should cure you of that." Walter took the advice. True to his father’s predictions, he lost a few friends once they found out Walter was working for Benjamin Keeg. Much of the south gave lip-service to being progressive and segregation wasn’t the law anymore, but for some folks, a white man working for a black just wasn’t right. Benjamin Keeg wasn’t excited by the idea of it either. But Ben figured he owed Carlson Shiner more than the bronze star and the disability pension the army gave him for losing a leg after dragging a wounded Keeg out of a rice paddy. He knew Keeg would take plenty of time to teach Carlson’s boy a trade rather than just give him a job. Just as true was the old man’s prediction about a rush of weddings followed by ‘premature’ babies. Most of his friends never finished high school either,

having families well before they were eighteen. Walter prayed a lot for deliverance from his sinful drives, but kept a supply of condoms for when the flesh gave way to temptation, which it had a tendency to do. Three years later when his father died of cirrhosis of the liver he was grateful for that bit of advice about liquor. After the funeral Keeg handed him an airline ticket for Manchester, New Hampshire. "You know all I can teach you," Ben Keeg said in his quiet, slow voice. "I promised your daddy when this day came, you’d leave here no matter what - so you’re fired." The boy’s eyebrows shot up. "Just in a matter of speakin’," Ben added with a grin. "Take this ticket and I’ll drive you to Jackson tomorrow. My boy’ll help get you settled and give you a place to stay." So Walter went north and worked, drifting down south from Manchester no further than Massachusetts. He found a good job he liked, got his own place and met Maura. They’d had as many children as Walter felt they could have and still provide well for - Randy. All things considered, Walter figured he’d done better than what he would have had for a life if things had been a little different in Mississippi. Maybe his wife still had to work, but they had a decent house. Walter spent his days hunched under the hoods of cars and his hands encrusted with grease, but his own son would have a chance at something better if he wanted it. He shook his head, thinking of his son locked away in his room, hardly ever seeing any of his friends anymore, hardly speaking to anyone if he didn’t have to. Walter asked himself over and over again what he should do… but had no idea what to say. The boy shied away from him more and more. Walter checked the clock - almost seven thirty. Maura had a chance for some of the rare overtime where she worked and had snapped it up. He dried his hands and settled in at the kitchen table to read his newspaper, under the gentle breeze of the overhead fan. Maura would have complained about the heat but Walter hardly noticed it. Old habits died hard and Walter had grown up with the power turned off as much as it was on, and even if his wife had been insistent about air conditioners enough so that he went out and bought them, that didn’t necessarily mean he ran them when she wasn’t around.

He flipped open the paper and immediately shook his head when he saw the amount of money being spent on the Middle East. After forty years of America’s War on Poverty, his native Mississippi had risen from the poorest state in the Union to the second poorest by a tenth of a percentage point. He wondered what life in the poorest county of that state would be like if even a fraction of the money being spent on the Arabian Peninsula could be spent at home. Then again, he knew Mississippi didn’t have any oil to speak of, except for the congealed sludge that sometimes caught fire on the river, and Halliburton wasn’t interested in oil on its second time around. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of a horn tooting from the street, but it barely registered. Walter looked up sharply when he heard the slam of a door overhead and the pounding of feet down the stairs. Then Randy raced through the room. Walter’s eyes narrowed. "Where you goin’?" he demanded, not realizing how gruff his voice sounded. Walter seldom realized it, but he often talked to Randy like that. Walter didn’t want his son sounding like white trash, and suppressing it took a lot of effort. Things tended to come out a little wrong. He never realized just how little he said to his son as a consequence. Randy Shiner’s hand froze on the knob of the kitchen door and he swung his head and looked at his father. He interpreted the squint as a sign of his father’s dislike for him. In truth, Walter just needed glasses but didn’t realize it. "Uh," the boy said, "I’m gonna meet a friend of mine." Walter’s expression asked the usual question. "I told Kyle I’d meet him tonight," Randy continued, lying with an innocent ease he’d mastered long ago. "Forgot to mention it before." Walter mulled it over and chose his next words carefully - Maura had made him painfully aware that calling Kyle "that Jew boy" wasn’t exactly the right thing to say these days. She’d taught Walter that a lot of the things he’d grown up saying in Jefferson County weren’t to be used in polite company. But Walter picked things up quickly enough when his wife’s elbow made contact with his ribs. His eyes flickered over Randy. "That’s the Jewish kid, right?" Randy’s sigh told him he’d said it wrong. "How many Kyle’s do I know, Dad?"

Walter plowed past his gaffe, oblivious to it. "Well, that’s okay - he’s smart enough to stay out of trouble. Not like them other two retards," he said, using his favorite term for the Brayce brothers. Maura disapproved of that one too, but it was one Walter refused to dress up. There were tree stumps smarter than Paul and Robby. He glanced up at the clock again. "Okay… just don’t stay out late. You’re momma’s workin’ extra, and she ain’t seen you since yesterday mornin’, so it might be nice if you got home in time to say goodnight. She’ll be leavin’ early, about the same time as me tomorrow - her store’s doin’ inventory." Randy nodded, flashed a fast lie of a happy smile and ran out the door. Relief flooded him as soon as the house was out of sight and he dodged left at the corner. He spotted the parked black car with David Sciuoto behind the wheel and sprinted for the passenger door and piled in, clicked his seat harness, and took a quick look back over his shoulder. "Get us out of here." David put the car into gear and gave Randy a curious glance. "What’s the problem?" "My dad doesn’t like me hangin’ around with older guys," Randy said nervously. "Says doin’ that’s nothin’ but trouble. I told him I was meetin’ someone else and I don’t wanna have to explain you." He looked over his shoulder again but naturally saw nothing. "Are we goin’ to Martin’s?" David shook his head. "Uh, Leo’s pickin’ him up," he said carefully. He saw the color drain from Randy’s face. "If his mother or father get home, he doesn’t want to have to explain all of us. Besides, that place is way too small for us to get much privacy." Randy shot him a glance. "But you didn’t..." "No," David interrupted, "I didn’t give Leo any details about you. But I did tell him about me and what almost happened to Martin, so… well - Leo isn’t dumb, Randy. Likely he’s put two and two together. Just relax! He won’t ask questions. He offered to help us, and to be honest I think we could use his help. He’s pickin’ up Martin and we’re all gonna meet at Treadwell’s Ice Cream, out by Lake Cochichewick." Randy scowled but finally nodded. "I guess that’s okay," he said uncertainly. He looked up at David again and relaxed a little. "Man, I am so happy to see you," Randy began. "I’ve been gnawin’ on my finger nails all day waitin’ for

Martin to get back to me about you. He, uh... he told you what happened, right?" "I got enough of it, anyway," David said, nodding. "Both about the pictures and the movie clip." He avoided Randy’s grief-stricken face. "And yeah, I downloaded it. Look, I’m sorry you had to wait all day - I can only guess what that felt like. I got an email from Martin this morning, and I was going to call, but my Uncle Lou came by, and, well... I, uh, sorta got side-tracked. When I got home I finally remembered about Martin, so I called." A truck roared by, flooding their faces with light, but Randy stayed silent. David gave the boy a sidewise glance. "How come that email account Danny used still works? I mean, I would have dumped it right away. Most places usually shut ’em down after a month or so if you don’t log in." "It’s from my IP account," Randy answered. "I gave it to him once before we met in person - and don’t bother sayin’ it. I know that was dumb. Anyway, he knew the account would still be active no matter what. But to make sure I looked, he called the house." The boy shook his head. "I swear, he knew I’d just gotten home. I timed it - I didn’t wanna have to deal with my mother right away after I left the Setons’ house this morning." David nodded idly and turned onto the road that would bring them out to the lake in North Andover. "More likely he just guestimated what time she left for work in the morning so he could get through to you," David said quietly. "I don’t think he was watchin’ you, Randy." Randy squirmed in the seat, crossed his arms and hunkered down in the seat. "Doesn’t keep it from sucking," he muttered. He re-crossed his arms and slouched down again, looking disgusted. "You saw what he uploaded. Would you like it if a bunch of old faggots saw you doin’ that shit?" David’s hands whitened on the wheel and he shot Randy a hard look. "Watch your mouth," he warned. "What - faggot? Hell, that’s what they are," Randy said savagely. He kicked the underside of the dashboard. "All of ’em are going to hell anyway. God’s damned all the queers," Randy sneered. "It’s an abomination. Says so in Leviticus 18." David’s head snapped around and he frowned, studied the boy for a second before pulling the car out of traffic and to the curb. He turned to Randy, eyes

hard and voice edged with anger. "Listen, you little jerk," he snarled. "What happened to you sucks, okay? It was wrong no matter how you look at it. But all of us ‘queers’ aren’t like Danny and Griff. Got that?" The boy kept sullen and silent but David went on, still angry. "And try to keep something else in mind: you’ve been too scared to talk to anyone else, so it’s us queers that are gonna try to help you out of this and save your sorry ass. It’s us queers and faggots that decided not to just shrug and walk away, saying ‘so what?’ We could have, but we didn’t. And Martin could’ve walked away last night and you’d be sweatin’ this out all alone right now." Randy tried to suppress a gulp and looked away. "That guy Griff’s a pervert - pedophile, boylover, whatever you wanna call it. But ‘all us queers’ aren’t like that, so knock off the Sunday School bullshit. And quit usin’ words like that." David reached up and flicked down the visor and Randy saw his own reflection in the mirror. "And just so you don’t forget, that’s what a queer looks like, too!" Randy reached out angrily and flipped the mirror back up. "I ain’t like you guys. I ain’t a homo." David barked a laugh. "Really? Then I guess you got into this mess by accident, huh?" "Are you sayin’ I did this to myself? That I wanted some old guy to use me?" "No," David said, controlling his anger. "No, you didn’t want that and you don’t deserve that, Randy. But let’s face it - Danny didn’t just snatch you off the street. Even from what you say, the first time you two were together he didn’t force you to do anything - you did it on your own." "But that was just ’cause..." he started. "Yeah, that was just ‘experimenting’ or something," David said rolling his eyes. "But after that was different - he set you up and forced you to do things you didn’t want to do. No one can hold you responsible for what you did with him and Griff, okay? But don’t forget: I know what goes on in the chat rooms too, and I know what the guys talk about in there. You could’ve left any time. You never had to chat on-line with Danny, you never had to agree to meet Danny… so you’re responsible for making yourself available to him. He

wouldn’t have bothered if you weren’t at least into it. Maybe you’re not 100% gay - but you were at least curious enough to want to try a few things. Right?" Randy stared ahead. He opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Finally he let his head fall back on the seat and he let out a long sigh. After a moment, he looked up at David, on the verge of tears. "I know," he said in a small, miserable voice. "That’s what this is all about, don’t you see? Yeah, I did want to get with Danny. And now I’m bein’ punished for all that stuff. God tested me, and I failed that test." David studied the boy. "You really believe that?" Randy nodded wordlessly and David shook his head. No wonder I walked away from all that crap. If God’s that cruel, why bother? He reached out and rubbed the boy’s shoulder, tried to sound conciliatory. "I’m not gonna debate theology with you - I’m not exactly what you’d call a big believer. You didn’t do anything wrong, Randy… sure, you used bad judgment, but that’s all. The only ones that are wrong are Griff and Danny. Stop beating yourself up." "You don’t get it," Randy continued. "My Dad - I mean, he barely talks to me as it is. He’s from Mississippi, and that’s like the buckle of the Bible belt!" "Has he ever said anything about gays?" Randy thought it over carefully. His father was a firm believer in the Bible, one of the few things he ever read outside of his newspaper. He never failed to give his opinion on things he decided were right and wrong, but he’d never offered an opinion of this particular subject. His mother might have groused about the whole gay marriage issue, but she’d never said anything specifically about gay people either, and his father never did more than grunt when the subject came up. But Randy had seen and read for himself what other deeply religious people said on the subject. They hammered the message that it was evil and under God’s curse in the newspapers, on television… everywhere, even on the internet. Still… "Not really," Randy finally answered. He made a face. "So what’re you telling me? That when I get home, I should do the whole coming out thing?" He shook his head. "No thanks. That stuff might be cool for you, but not for me."

David edged his way back into the early evening traffic, grateful that Randy hadn’t asked a rather obvious question. "No," he finally offered. "It’s not that cool in my house, either. I never did that whole thing with my folks - not yet, anyway - so I can’t give advice on it. And just like you, I never said anything about what happened to me with Griff, and I wasn’t a whole lot younger than you are, either. The best advice I can give you is, first, get your own head straight. Then deal with the rest of it, one step at a time." He shot the boy a careful look. "And don’t let others tell you any different - it’s your decision in the end." Randy nodded, then wiped his eyes. "Look, kid," David said. "Randy. Being gay isn’t a black and white thing. There’s a lotta shades of grey here. And it’s different for all of us. You gotta start looking at this thing a little differently. I mean, if all of us are like that, then why haven’t I grabbed you? Why hasn’t Martin?" Randy fell silent and mulled it over, and David went on, still trying to suggest possibilities. "Maybe you can talk to that minister of yours… she seems pretty cool." Randy looked up sharply. "How much does she know?" David shook his head. "Nothing - not from me, anyway. But she isn’t dumb. She already put some ideas together and ran ’em past me if I thought it might help. She’s real concerned about you, you know. She knows something major is up in your life - just not exactly what - but she wanted me to let you know she’s available to talk to. And if you’re nervous about that... well, Martin, Alan and I go this youth group. They kinda break up in the summer, but fall’s not that far away. I could help you with transportation now and then. Maybe the idea scares you, but talking with a few guys our age beats the hell out of storing it all inside and hiding away all the time." They fell silent for a few moments. Randy wasn’t thrilled about talking the problems out but he wasn’t angry anymore. Finally David brought their original problem up again. "Now, I saw that clip. I wouldn’t be too worried - from what I could see there was almost no traffic in that room. The only postings were spam, and Easynews goes back a full three weeks." Randy nodded, still brooding. He knew perfectly well that just because no one was posting didn’t mean no one checked, just in case. He’d pulled a lot of things out of the newsgroups himself. "Maybe. But Danny told me he’s got

entire disks filled with pictures and videos of me - and I know that’s true, that’s how I got into all this stuff in the beginning. He says he’ll upload ’em to every major porn group. And those newsgroups aren’t empty." David reached over and stroked the boy’s head. "It won’t get that far," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "And listen, I know it might be hard for you to believe, but... well, there’s nothin’ sick about what you were doing, okay? Never mind the blackmail crap - that’s wrong no matter what. But the rest of it?" He shrugged. Randy looked David over carefully. "Guess I forgot. Martin said you were a real queer." David flinched at the sound of the word and spoke with a slight snarl in his voice. "We just talked about that word, Randy. I mean... when I’m with Martin or some of my other gay friends, we might give each other a hard time and call each other that foolin’ around, but… well when you say it, you make it sound like an insult. So, knock it off, okay?" Randy looked down at the floor. David could tell he’d hurt his feelings, but he was determined to draw the line. "Sorry," he mumbled. He looked David over carefully in the short silence that followed. "I didn’t mean you looked like one or anything." David’s mouth twitched. "Look like one? You mean the way Martin looks like one?" Randy winced. "Guess I just get in deeper, don’t I? Well, yeah. You gotta admit, Martin really acts the way people say that fa-" He gulped, then caught himself. "- uh, gay guys are supposed to." "Is that one of the things you’re afraid of? Being like him?" David shook his head and let out a sigh. "And I thought you liked Martin." "I do like Martin." Randy hemmed and hawed. "Well… yeah. But I guess I am afraid of bein’ like that." He went silent again. David signaled for a left and slowed, then decided he had plenty of time and gunned the engine, cutting off a small pick-up who responded with a blaring horn, squealing brakes and an extended finger. David took no notice and kept talking to Randy. "Just stop sayin’ stuff about Martin. He’s a nice kid. But… well, I’m not blind." He let out a deep breath. "And Martin’s the first to admit

he might as well have been born with it tattooed to his forehead. But it’s not like it’s an act - he’s just like that, period." He paused. "And Martin likes you, likes you a lot. So try not to hurt his feelings, okay?" Randy looked up, trying to act casual, but could scarcely contain his interest. "Think so? Martin really likes me?" Sure. You’re the straight one in our group. "I know so," David continued. "If Martin didn’t care, he wouldn’t be so determined about helping you. And speakin’ of helping you out, I have a little plan I’m gonna need your help with." Randy settled back, suddenly more relaxed. He listened quietly to David as he outlined his plan, eyes wide and more than a little scared when he heard exactly what the older boy had in mind, but he didn’t say no.

***** Leo took it all in and his eyebrow wrinkled. "Bait?" David nodded and Martin almost jumped up and down in his seat. Leo DiStefano pushed back from the table and looked at the group in front of him more than a little skeptically. He’d expected a lot of things when David called him after work, but this wasn’t one of them. He studied the faces. Randy was the color of chalk, again sitting tight up against Martin - who, in contrast, was eager and bubbling over with anticipation. David just looked tired and a little gray around the edges. Leo didn’t have to guess hard to assume that he’d been up most of the night. "You guys are absolutely out of your minds," Leo said shaking his head. "I’ve heard of some idiot things before, but this beats the shit outta all of ’em. You’re all nuts." "C’mon, Leo!" Martin burbled, looking up from his thick shake. "I mean, this is too cool! Like when the hustler kid went undercover in Queer As Folk and got the goods on the killer for Brian!" Leo snorted. "This ain’t TV, kid. In real life, people can get the crap kicked out of ’em when they walk into trouble." He gave Martin a closer eye. "And how would you know about stuff like that? You guys don’t even get Showtime."

Martin shrugged. "Alt.binaries.QAF. It’s a news group. I got every episode. Cubby posts every week." "That’s stealin’ you know," Leo said, and cuffed Martin off the back of the head. "You never heard of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act?" Martin ignored the swat and leaned into his milk shake and slurped. "Pffft the DMCA," he jeered. "It’s like all that free software you get - it was just lyin’ there on the net, waitin’ to be noticed. I just noticed it, that’s all." He gave Leo a hard look. "And remind me - how much music have you got on your hard drive? Didn’t you tell me you filled a 100 gig drive and you’re dropping in a new one?" "Uh, that’s different," Leo replied, not caring to specify how it was different. He shot his dark deep-set eyes back to David again. "And you. First, you were off the walls because they got Martin in the first place. Now you wanna use him for bait an’ throw him back? Very risky - and stupid." David dropped his ice cream cup down on the picnic table, swatted a mosquito that landed on his neck. That was the downside of Treadwell’s - the best ice cream in the northeast, but the placid Lake Cochichewick was a breeding ground for mosquitoes the size of sparrows. He hadn’t wanted anyone listening in on their conversation, so he’d steered everyone to a picnic table furthest from the stand… and unfortunately away from the bug lights as well. Closer to the main building itself, he could hear the zappers executing dozens of the miniature vultures with each breath he took. Occasionally they heard the long, drawn out slaughter of a fat moth being slow-cooked in the grid. "I’m not talking about throwing him back, exactly," David explained. Then he eyed Martin. "And kid, no one is asking anybody to get a rubber full of DNA… it’s never gonna get that far with what I have in mind." He watched Leo’s shuddery reaction to the DNA remark and smiled. "So what’s the matter with you? I thought you were open minded." "Sittin’ with a couple of you guys is one thing," Leo said, shaking his head. "But bein’ reminded about what you’re into is another, okay? I mean, do I talk about how Sandy likes it when I..." He stopped and his eyes flicked to Martin, who eagerly blinked in treacherous innocence… a young teen about to get the ultimate in dirt on an older sibling. Whoa, Leo thought to himself. Wa-a-a-y too much information. "Uh, never mind," Leo said, bouncing back into reality. "Why do we wanna put the kid in

danger? Why not go to the cops now? Or even your father - you said he was a lawyer, right? He knows what to do." "There’s a problem," David said quietly. "What happened to me is five years old - I never told anyone, there’s no tests… and yeah, there’s ways to tell if I’ve had a certain kind of sex," he evaded for a red-faced Leo’s benefit. Martin’s sniggering didn’t help. "Um, well... let’s just say it’s something I still do so… yeah. But now, it’s my word against his. Zip." Leo glared at Martin and pushed the soda at him. "Shut up and suck." Martin howled and even Randy snickered at that one as Leo’s face got even redder before David broke in again. "And the other part of your question is, if we go to my father, he’s an officer of the court. He’d have to give what information he had to the cops, which isn’t much maybe, but it could screw things up - for Martin a little, Randy a lot, and maybe a bunch of other kids even more. And that’s what sucks about this thing: too many innocent bystanders. What I want is just to get to Danny, find out exactly where he is." The left end of Leo’s brow curved into a question mark. "I guess there had to be a lawyer somewhere with ethics," he said to David with a touch of awe. "But why do you have to get to Danny? Why not just have him arrested? Snatchin’ a minor and shuttling him across a state line is gotta be worth somethin’, especially for what he had in mind. That’s kidnapping, isn’t it? That’s federal." "It’s only federal if there’s a ransom," David answered and yawned. "Sorry, I was up late. And what he had in mind is nothin’ you can prove… he didn’t do anything because Randy chased him off. Besides, Martin went on his own… and I’d just bet Danny still has the email sayin’ he’d go. Besides, Danny’s… well, he’s not the only one we want," he hedged. "I want Griff, ’cuz I he’s the one behind everything. But we got to make sure there’s something he can be got for. If Danny gets picked up and doesn’t cough up an address right away, Griff’s got a head’s up and ditches everything, and we won’t even be able to hang him on a kiddy porn charge. Besides, it might be at his house, and it might not… and we - or at least I - know there’s more people involved. I just don’t know who." He stretched and sat up, leaned forward before he spoke. "And to tell you the truth, I don’t want to chance Griff cuttin’ some deal by turning in someone else in a plea bargain or something. If we grab Danny, we can do what the cops can’t - squeeze information out of him." And I can talk to him

alone, he thought, and get some of my own questions answered. "But we need to know where they live first." David dipped a paper napkin into the small cup of water and cleaned the sticky residue of the chocolate ice cream from his mouth and fingers. "Besides, there’s a problem with what you were talking about. It’s not Martin we need in on this. Randy’s the one we gotta toss him." Leo’s eyebrow arched to his hairline. "Randy? You’re talkin about usin’ him? The kid’s already petrified about his parents findin’ out what he’s into, and you want to use him for this?" Martin looked up and gave Leo a nasty look. No one was going to dis Randy when he was around. He’d taken on three strangers on a bus to prove that and even if Leo could kill him with one hand, he didn’t care. "It wasn’t anything he liked, Leo, so don’t say it like that." Then he turned to David. "How can you even think of askin’ him to do that?" "He didn’t," Randy cut in. "We talked it over in the car and I offered." Martin folded his arms across his chest in defiance. "No goddam way." Randy studied the set of the jaw and the defiance in Martin’s eyes. "It’s gotta be me, Mart," he began reasonably. "Danny’s emailin’ me, not you. You said yourself you keep sendin’ him stuff and it bounces back, undeliverable." Leo shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling I’m missing a lot of details? Someone wanna explain to me what’s going on here?" Randy licked his lips nervously and gave Leo the fast run-down of the morning events. He swallowed hard at the end. "So Danny says either I’m back in his game, or else." He fell silent. Leo tried to prompt him. "Or else what?" "Or else he uploads everything he has on the kid to the media news groups," David filled in. "There’s dozens of groups for kiddy porn, straight and gay. And there’s the regular porn groups, too. Danny already uploaded a video clip to some real obscure one, just to show him he meant business." He pointed to Randy. "It showed this kid getting..." Randy’s face reddened and he turned away.

"Uh," David continued, "well, never mind what was happening to him. It wasn’t pretty." Leo smiled. "Then we can nail him lots easier. All of those servers require accounts and they can be traced back. All you have to do is right click-" "I’m way ahead of you," David said, shaking his head. "The ISPs would never give up their accounts without a damn good reason. Remember all the trouble RIAD had when they busting kids for sharing music files? Besides, I went in and downloaded that clip myself. Danny didn’t use one of the big companies. The information was uploaded from seven different service vendors - one from Canada, for Christ’s sake. I mean, it has to figure. Griff’s a total computer geek, that’s what he does it for a living. He has to know all kinds of ways to hack into different systems. And smaller outfits have older setups and they’re a lot easier to get into." They quieted down again. Leo scowled before he spoke. "I still don’t like this, though. I mean you’re gonna be puttin’ this kid in a lot of danger. And what makes you think we can track Danny?" "I’m already screwed, Leo," Randy said in his quiet voice. "I mean, one way or another, Danny’s makin’ sure he can get to me. I don’t have any choice." He turned and looked into a pair of worshiping eyes. "And Martin? Dude, I’m real thankful for the way you feel, and offerin’ to go in my place is awesome - but he won’t contact you. He’s already got what they call leverage on me, so…" he let his voice trail. "This still sucks," Martin pouted. Randy rubbed a leg against his and they both exchanged a fast smile which they assumed no one else noticed. Leo pretended to be oblivious to them when he spoke. "Okay, so we follow them. So what makes you think he won’t spot us?" He pointed to Randy. "You guys told me he lives way out in the sticks. He’s bound to spot a car tailin’ him. Then what?" He shook his head. "There’s gotta be a better way." "There is," David answered. "Did you get a make on that plate number we gave you? My guess is it’s a dead end." "You guess right," Leo said with a scowl. "Mom said she called the woman who does the same job as her in Methuen, just to keep it under the radar - sort of the kind of favors they swap without officially getting New Hampshire and

Massachusetts agencies involved. The lady put in an inquiry this morning and it came right up on their system. The plates were from a red Taurus - registered to a guy out in North Adams, which sits right on the New York border. He reported ’em stolen when he went to renew his inspection sticker and they refused to issue one. It had the right VIN, but the plates on his car came from a red Taurus registered in Worcester, and it was pretty much the same deal there too - the Worcester car had switched plates. Mom got the impression there was a whole chain of missin’ plates, but that’s the info the police clerk from Methuen gave her." David scowled. "Great. The little creep thinks of everything - how many people actually bother lookin’ at their plates one day to the next? He probably only uses the swiped plates when he has to, just in case. I’ll take a guess every now and then he goes to some shopping center without much for surveillance and looks for the right kind of car and changes the plates. Probably just attaches them when he’s pickin’ up someone - just in case. And if a cop runs the plate for some reason, he comes up with the right kind of car but unless the cop has a reason to stop it he has no way of knowin’ it’s the wrong vehicle." "Sounds about right." Leo agreed. He drummed his fingers slowly. "Maybe you’re right - we do have to feed him some bait to flush him out." Martin and Randy shifted around when they felt four eyes drilling them. Randy still looked sad and only nodded, but Martin looked up, a little bug-eyed and defensive. "Uh, guys? We’re sitting here, okay?" "You thought it was pretty cool sounding before," David observed. "Yeah," Martin agreed. "But - the way you guys just said it, Randy’s more like chum for sharks." David shrugged. "Then we’re back to my plan - we flush him out and follow him. And as far as Danny spotting us…" He turned to Martin. "Did you look up that stuff I asked you to?" Martin pulled a sheaf of papers out of his back pocket and passed them to David, who shuffled through the computer print-outs, nodding absently. "Yeah… this is the kind of stuff I was lookin’ for." He looked at the price and winced. "This is gonna hurt," he said to no one in particular. "Four hundred twenty for the pair?"

"Plus thirty-two fifty for next day air," Martin added. "And we’ll need the software pack too - that’s another hundred." He mulled it over. "I might be able to get that in the wares groups." Leo glanced over the papers and nodded his head. "These aren’t a bad idea… But forget lookin’ for the software. It’s take too long, and this program is likely proprietary." He tapped the print out. "It’ll only work with these." He studied the diagrams, nodding. The units were each the size of a cheap cell phone. "I could probably build something myself - a GPS isn’t exactly classified information anymore. But I’d have to get all the parts, rig it together - and I don’t have the equipment to do it right, plus never mind the time writing a program for this. A couple of bad solder connections and we’d be screwed; on top of that it ain’t like computers where you buy a board and the right parts to build on." He shrugged. "It’s either these or we do it the old fashioned way follow in a car. Or even two cars." David pushed back from the table, tapped the ends of his fingers together. "Forget it," he said with a snort. "I tried that with a friend last year and it’s stupid. Besides, it’s all back roads like you said and he’d spot us. These things," he said, tapping at the print out, "these things broadcast a signal that’s good for a five-mile radius, as long as you keep the sending unit keyed open. With the receiving module hooked to a laptop running the right software pack, it’s like following a road map. Plus it claims to be accurate up to ten feet, which is pretty damn good. We can tape the switch down, and the battery is good for fifteen hours after a full charge. Plus it doesn’t need an external antenna or have to be tied into a central system like this other personal tracker thing does," he added, pointing to another page. "Or use a cell phone connection to stay online with it." He held up the first sheet. "The two handsets are designed so one can monitor the other, and you can reset the channels on the off chance someone else has one in the area." He sighed, eyed Randy. "Unless of course you wanna just chance it." "’S okay," Randy added quickly. "I’ll wear the wire." "No wire," David answered, pulling out his phone and punching in the 800 ordering number. "It’s no bigger than a cell phone. We give you something Danny won’t question - a gym bag with a change of clothes. We put the handset inside. That way if he frisks you, you’re clean." The operator picked up and David gave the ordering information while the others toyed with their ice cream. After he gave his bank card number David scribbled down a confirmation number, thanked the operator, and snapped the line closed.

"Ouch - five fatties, and here I am out of a job." He looked up at the startled faces, smiled. "I called Barrier’s again before I picked up Randy and said I’d need more time off. Mr. Prendergast said come in today or I could have the rest of my life off, so I went with that." He shrugged. "Oh, well. Just a part-time thing… I’ll survive." "I could help out with the GPS," Leo offered. David shook his head. "I can swing it - besides, you’re gonna have student loans hangin’ over your head until you retire. You need the cash more than I do." David checked his watch, then rubbed his tired, red eyes. "Randy, you remember what I said to do when you get home?" The boy nodded. David released a heavy breath. "Then we’re all set, and I am totally beat." He eyed Leo. "Walk with me to my car, okay? There’s something I need to talk to you about." The two of them walked off. Randy gave Martin another shy look with a smile to match as the two older boys walked off - and the boy was all eyes and smiles. "Look," Randy said, "what you tried to do… it’s real cool, Mart. I mean, you’ve - you’ve been real good to me. And not just this - I mean, that thing on the bus yesterday with those guys. And gettin’ me in touch with David an’ all. I owe you." Martin blushed but his smile widened. "I mean, you coulda kept your mouth shut and just let it happen." He sniggered. "You gotta know Danny and I were gonna do it. And I got to admit I was up for that." Then his smile turned into a frown. "But that Griff guy... that’s another thing." Randy looked around furtively to make sure no one else could hear what they were saying, then continued. "Look… if I said anything about queers - I mean, gay people - to you, I’m sorry, okay?" he began slowly. "I’m… well, I don’t know what I might’ve said without thinkin’ what was coming out of my mouth. Y’ know?" He shifted around uncomfortably and looked into Martin’s eyes. He liked Martin, but he was so… He shook his head and looked away again. "It doesn’t matter," Martin piped in eagerly. "You might’ve said a few things but... well, you did the right thing when you spoke up for me, okay?" Randy snorted. "Like on the bus? They started callin’ you a fag and I didn’t do anything but tell ’em to shut up."

Martin waved it off. "Believe me, they’re nuthin’ compared to what I get at school," he continued. "I meant when you shouted at Danny to get away from me." He scowled. "You wouldn’t be in trouble now if you didn’t. I really don’t like you goin’ off with Danny again." They fell silent again. Randy searched for the right words and had trouble finding them. Finally he turned his head away and just blurted it out. "I wanted to do it with Danny." Martin nodded, put a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. "I know that," he said. "David knows that, too… that’s how Danny does it." He snorted. "Dude, if you’re nervous about admitting you’re gay to me, there’s no reason to be." "I ain’t gay!" Randy snapped and pulled away. Martin looked stung, and Randy felt it stab at him. "I don’t know what I am," he said slowly. "I mean… yeah, I think about guys sometimes, but... well, I feel guilty when I do. I think about girls too sometimes." He shook his head. Just not as much, he added to himself. Martin studied the boy’s profile. He knew Randy had serious hang-ups about his sexuality - he’d be blind if he hadn’t seen that. Partly Martin had trouble understanding what Randy’s problems with it really were, but then he had to remind himself that to a lot of people it wasn’t always a black and white thing the way it had been with him. Martin always knew he was more interested in boys than girls, since he was five or six. And when he hit adolescence, he wasn’t exactly shocked that in his fantasies, he was always with another boy; maybe not anyone in particular when he leaned back and closed his eyes, but... In all honesty, he couldn’t remember even nursing even a glimmer of interest in a girl. As a friend, maybe, but for sex? No way. He wondered if Randy was possibly bisexual… or even just a kid that was a little curious and decided to try something once and had it blow up on him. "I don’t care," Martin said simply. "You don’t have to be one just to be my friend, you know." He snickered. "And even if you were… well, that doesn’t mean we have to be more than just friends." He gestured to David. "See him? David would never touch me, even if I offered." Randy eyed David and let out a small laugh. "He’s a nice lookin’ guy," he offered, forgetting to be cagy in his word choice. "David’s hotter than hell," Martin stated flatly. "And you should see his boyfriend."

"Another looker?" Martin laughed. "Alan would laugh in your face if you said that in front of him. He’s short an’ scrawny an he looks like a ball of hair without his shirt. And according to Alan, if you saw them together, you’d wonder what the hell David sees in him." the boy sniggered. "But Alan’s really nice, and that’s what David’s interested in. They took the time to get to know each other." He paused. "I’d like to get to know you better, Randy. That’s all. I’d like to be a friend, no matter what you decide, okay? And even if you decide you’re like me and Dave, that doesn’t mean we have to do anything physical." He paused, frowned. "Am I walkin’ into a minefield here?" Randy thought it over carefully. "No." He turned his head back to a pensive Martin and studied him for a moment before he smiled. "Yesterday… well, after last night talkin’ with you guys, I felt good for a change. I haven’t felt good about myself in almost a year. You guys already know more about me than anyone else, so I guess that means we already are friends, if I can still feel good around you after all that. But I can’t promise anything else yet. Can you deal with that?" Martin grinned and nodded. Randy looked up at Martin and smiled again, nudged his shoulder. "Look, I think talkin’ with you on line is gonna be cool, but is it okay if we see each other too? David talked about some meeting thing you guys go to in the fall… but we don’t have to wait for that." He smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in his shorts, looking away shyly. "I’m pretty sure there’s a bus to Salem from Lawrence a few times a day. I mean, it’s complicated, ’cuz of my paper route and all, but on Saturdays it’s a morning paper, and then I’m clear after about 8AM. Whaddya think? And, you can come down, too. Hang out with me for the day and maybe help me with my route." Martin’s mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were wide. He felt Randy’s knee pressing against his leg again, snapped his head up. His voice cracked. "Uh, you’d like me to come down? I mean… well, your friends might see us and…" "You’re kinda cool," Randy finished. "And if my friends wanna say something again, I’ll turn you loose on ’em again." He sniggered. "That way you can finish the job you started on Kyle’s nose. As for the Pinhead Brothers, no one listens to them anyway."

Martin sat, gazing into Randy’s eyes. His mind flashed back to the winter before, at the Christian Formation Center in Andover - and his sort-of boyfriend Ryan telling him that he couldn’t risk being seen in public with someone as obvious as Martin. Now here was another kid telling him he didn’t care, someone who was paranoid about being outed himself. Martin swallowed hard. "We can try it out. But don’t be afraid of tellin’ me if you catch any heat okay? I had a few friends who got told by their parents they should stay away from me, ’cuz I’m such a flamer." "Don’t say it like that," Randy said in a husky voice. Martin shrugged. "Hey, it’s the truth." He eyed Randy. "I’m pretty surprised you wanna see me as it is. I mean… well, you’re cute. If you wanted to try, I figure you could find someone a little better lookin’ and more normal to hang with." Randy punched him in the shoulder, remembering David’s warning in the car. "Stop with the ‘normal’ and ‘flamer’ crap. I told you - you’re cool. To me, anyway." They sat and kept silent. Randy stole a long look at Martin, then his eyes darted around to make sure no one else could hear. "And besides... I think you’re cute, too." Leo and David were leaning against David’s car when Leo elbowed him lightly and pointed with his chin to the couple at the table. "Hey - I think our Marty’s got himself a fellah." David smiled. "I wondered about that. That’s part of the reason I pulled you aside - to give ’em some time alone for a change. And remember, it’s Mart. He says Marty’s too wussy-sounding." The other boy chuckled. "Well, at least he can do something with his name. Let’s face it - not much you can do with mine. And I’d always look like a Leo, ya know? Kinda ugly and kinda dumb." He folded his arms, still watching Martin and Randy. "You’re full of surprises," David observed. "You shudder when we mentioned sex, but you like it that Martin might have a boyfriend?" Leo shrugged. "Why not? I had my first girlfriends at that age, maybe younger… yeah, it was younger. What can it hurt?" He studied David. "It must be kinda tough for you guys." David didn’t speak but his expression answered the question, so Leo went on. "I mean, when you were his age… must have

been kinda tough, seein’ all the people you knew parin’ off and all… and there you were, alone. I mean, maybe you had a girlfriend or something, but-" David reflected on the situation with his mother and shuddered. Yeah, he thought, like I’m out and proud even now. I won’t even talk to my dad about it. Well, that’ll be changing pretty soon. "It sucks," David answered, shoving his hands in his pocket. "I wasn’t exactly the ‘out and proud’ type, that’s for sure. I didn’t want the hassle. I had a couple of girlfriends, but that wasn’t really fair, playing it safe and straight at their expense, so I stopped. And then there was the other stuff… it just plain sucked bein’ alone. I only started dealin’ with everything about a year ago." Leo nodded sympathetically. "If people weren’t such jerks," he said, "then there wouldn’t be kids like Martin and Randy - just waitin’ for some anonymous asshole to say something to make them feel better, and then suck ’em in," he said grimly. "And Martin’s not the only kid dumb enough to meet someone over the net," David added. "I met Alan that way, to tell you the truth. But I was older by then, and we took our time before we met…" He shrugged again. "Well, it doesn’t matter. I have a boyfriend. Although that needs some working on. I gotta do some massive damage control on that situation… Meanwhile, we gotta talk some business." He cocked an eyebrow at Leo. "The picture has changed." "What happened?" Dave made a face, explained about the early part of the day. "…and when I left, my Uncle Lou said there was something in the works." Leo grunted and then locked his eyes on David. "I told you I was in, but there’s only so far I’ll go," he said flatly. "I went farther than I should have the last time…" His voice trailed then he snapped his attention back to David. "What’s your uncle gonna do?" "I don’t know." David held his hands up. "Uncle Lou wouldn’t tell me what he was gonna do. He did tell me to stay out of it but… well, I can’t do that. I have to get to Danny first. And don’t bother to ask why - all I’ll say is that I’m not gonna hurt him." Leo mulled it over. "All this secret stuff… Lookit," he told David quietly. "I know what you said, but I’m gonna warn you right now: if I ever pick up the paper and see an article about this guy being found dead or even mysteriously

missing… I’ll go straight to the cops, you understand me? Granted, what that guy does is wrong - no arguments. But it’s no reason for someone to die," he said calmly. "And it don’t give you the right to pull the trigger. Leave that to the cops." There was an uncomfortable silence, made worse when David considered the original point of his discussion with Uncle Lou. They both leaned back and watched Martin and Randal, still sitting closer than either probably realized with their heads leaned together. I just hope Randy isn’t too freaked about this. Hate to have him say the wrong stuff to Martin and get him all worked up. "I promise you - that’s not even a possibility," David told Leo finally. "I don’t know how to put it, but there’s a new development… but all you have to do is help me locate Danny and Griff. The rest will be dealt with." He snapped his head around to Leo. "Oh - and no mention of anything new with either Randy or Martin." "Involvement, huh?" Leo’s eyes narrowed and he studied David’s face. "But still something I shouldn’t be asking about?" David didn’t hesitate looking Leo in the eye. "I don’t know. And to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly certain what’ll happen when I see Danny. I just know something will be done." He studied the darkening evening sky and checked his watch. "It’s getting late and I’m beat. We better break those two up, okay? You can take Martin back. I can run Randy home and catch some sleep." Leo’s whistle made David jump and was loud enough to make everyone at Treadwell’s jerk around. Leo looked at the two boys and shouted "YO!" and pointed to the cars before he turned back to David. "Always worked for my old man," he chuckled. ***** David let Randy out of the car at the end of the boy’s street, then kept an eye on him until the boy disappeared into a driveway before he drove off. It was after nine and David was exhausted, the combined totals of little sleep and a lot of stress taking their toll on him. The only thing he wanted to do now was drive home and collapse. With a little luck, both his parents would be home - which meant his mother would keep her distance when he walked in. One thing David was sure of, he didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he’d have to talk with either his mother or father.

On the highway, he passed the Methuen exit and winced. He had to straighten things out with Alan, too… Why don’t you just tell him what’s going on? It’s only fair… he thinks you’re trying to get out of the relationship. Can’t say I blame him either the way I’ve been acting. "Tomorrow," he told himself aloud. "Just be waiting for him when he gets out of work, and the two of you can go someplace." And when do you talk with dear old Dad? You’ve got to settle with him. He thought of Randy, too afraid to talk to either of his parents, convinced his own father didn’t even like him. David wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t want to come out to his own father - he knew the man too well to think he might deep end on him. He won’t be like Marc’s father, he told himself. It’s not like I have to worry about him throwing me out of the house. Dad’s never been like that. Jesus, why does mom have to be such a pain in the ass? David took his exit to Haverhill and rolled to a stop at the light. He was all set to cut the wheel to the right and head for his own neighborhood then on an impulse charged straight ahead. He wound his way through town to Chris St. Jacques’ street… but blew past Chris’ house and pulled up in front of one of the anonymous Capes in the post-WWII development. The house was a soft gray now… This was Griff’s old house. Different color now, he mused. The shrubs were fuller and the red maple hybrid - with just a touch of green leaves showing in spots - had grown and begun to offer the house shade. Aside from a bicycle leaning against the side of the house, not much else had changed. David killed the air conditioner and rolled the window open, studying and remembering. remembering… what it was like to discover someone like the Danny he remembered; small, always smiling… and the first boy he ever felt an attraction for without feeling guilty, because he knew it was welcomed. David tried not to think of the ugliness, tried to recall what it was like when the two of them goofed around at the keyboard when they were alone before giving up and started on the computer games. David shied from remembering the other games. He heard the sharp rap of knuckles against the rear quarter of his car and jerked his eyes away from the house. "Hey, stranger." A startled David swung his head up and around. A cleaned-up Alan Curran was leaning down to the car window and trying to smile. A startled David blinked

rapidly, felt color rise to his face as he tucked away memories. "What are you doing here?" he blurted. Alan shuffled a little uncomfortably at the cool reception and his smile weakened, but his voice was steady. "Talkin’ to Chris," he began uncertainly. "He said you’d got canned. I tried your cell but that’s switched off - again." He grimaced. "I didn’t bother callin’ your house. Your mother’s made it pretty clear there’s no point to that." He stepped back as David popped the door and slid out of his car. David scowled. Telegram, telephone, television, tell a fag; same damn thing. Chris is a broadcast unit all by himself. Big mouth. "I guess you didn’t see the Wrangler parked in Chris’ drive," Alan offered, forcing a smile again. "I was sittin’ on the back steps, waitin’ for him. I saw you drive by and I yelled - then I saw you pull over so I walked down." "I’ll have to talk to my mother," David replied, fighting back a yawn. Alan’s shrewd eyes studied his boyfriend. His own face was poker perfect, the defensive habit learned by the fifteen years spent with an abusive father - as long as he didn’t show anything, he was safe… most of the time. David would have known what to do had he looked - Alan was searching for some sign of approval. And had he looked, David would have seen the slight twitching at the corners of Alan’s eyes, which gave everything away. Alan was scared. David rubbed his own eyes instead, then jerked his head right and left carefully before snatching a quick peek to remind himself Alan was still there. He slouched back against the car more, slid his hands into pockets and hooked his thumbs, then crossed the left leg over the right. Alan knew the stance. He doesn’t want to talk to me. "I’m sorry, Toto," David started wearily. "I’m sorry about this morning. I’m tired, there’s something nagging at me, and…" He shrugged. "Yeah," Alan interrupted. "Guess I kind of went overboard." They leaned against the car, side by side, staring ahead… listening to the silence, not sure where to go next. "We need to talk," Alan said quietly.

"Where do you want to go?" The shorter boy looked around. It wasn’t late but the street was empty… just a quiet neighborhood in mid-week populated by people who worked ordinary jobs and withdrew early into their air-conditioned living or bedrooms on a hot summer’s night. From somewhere in the distance they could hear some splashing from a pool and the light sound of a woman’s laughter. Alan pulled himself up onto the hood of David’s car and let his arms fall down between his legs. "There’s no reason to go anywhere special," he said in a low voice. "I… I don’t think either one of us wants to fight again. Even if you want to call it quits, Dave - I mean, I understand if that’s what you want. I told you that before." David shook his head and put a hand onto Alan’s leg and looked into his boyfriend’s eyes. "I keep on telling you, that’s not it." He squeezed. "Honest… that wasn’t even a thought. Not ever. And, yeah, my mom’s part of this, but... that’s not the whole thing. Not by a long shot." Alan said nothing, but some of the tension went out of his body. David turned and stepped between Alan’s legs and reached around the small waist, then ran the fingers of his other hand lightly through Alan’s hair. He leaned in and brushed his lips across Alan’s. "This morning you said there was something that was killing us," David began slowly. "Something I didn’t want to think about." He paused. "Hell, it’s something I don’t even want to think about, to tell you the truth." Alan reached out with his right hand and stroked David’s side with his fingertips. "This is kinda public for a make-out session," Alan said with a grin, but not making any move to pull away. "Not that I care much." David leaned in and gave him a longer kiss and pulled Alan closer until he slid off the hood of the car before David broke it off. "Forget I pushed about it then," Alan began, shaking his head. "You don’t have to - " David put a finger on Alan’s mouth and pulled him closer into a hug, swaying there bodies slightly to the left and right. "Yeah, I do have to… there’s no point in trying to keep anything from you, Alan. If I do, things are just gonna get worse. I see that now. But you have to know: it’s nothing you caused, nothing that you did wrong. I’m not tired of you - anything but."

They heard a giggle and the sound of a window sliding down nearby but neither of them bothered to look around. Alan gripped David tightly and breathed a sigh of relief. They stood in the shadowy street embracing for a few minutes more before David gently took a step back, then the two of them leaned back against the side of the car. Alan slung an arm around David’s waist, then pushed back a little but without separating their crotches. "Listen Davey, if you’re gonna poke me through your pants like that, you better be willing to follow through. And just so there’s no misunderstandings? It’s my legs in the air this time!" David grinned. Jesus, Alan’s right… it has been awhile for me and I am very much in the mood. "Okay, but it’ll have to be in the pool house-the ’rents are home tonight. Unless you wanna risk my mother barging into my room." Alan shuddered, then gave David another quick kiss before he relaxed and leaned into him again. David turned his head and looked across the street again and the smile faded. He gestured into the darkness. "What do you see across the street?" Alan laughed. "A house. A Cape with two top dormers - just like a third of the other houses around here. Looks pretty ordinary. Why?" "That’s where my old piano teacher used to live," David began in a low, serious voice. "And I’m going to tell you about everything that happened there… and how it’s all coming back at me. And then I’m gonna ask you to just understand, not ask any questions for awhile, and help me out. And I don’t want you to talk to anyone about this." He eyed a house further down the street. Chris St. Jacques was a good friend… but there were limits.

CHAPTER TEN Leo DiStefano connected the firewire cable branching off the orange receiver to the laptop, then waited patiently for Windows to decide whether or not it was going to recognize the new device. "You really shoulda gotten the Mac version," he groused at David. "Half the time this piece-of-crap Gates stuff doesn’t even wanna recognize the handset." Leo decided he’d been patient long enough and whacked the side of the laptop in frustration. David looked across the seat and frowned. "Pounding on the thing isn’t gonna help," he observed. "And Tracker only works with Windows. They didn’t make anything for Mac." David leaned over for a better look. "Did hitting it help any?" Leo grunted. "Not really. But I feel better about it." David chuckled. "It’ll be okay once it sees the thing, right?" The former wrestler gave the computer another solid whack. "Yeah, I tested it last night. Once it figures out what to do, it’s fine. I’ll try rebooting." Leo hit the restart and sat back and waited. "This thing is a toy with a low-end Celeron processor, and that adds to the problems. Seriously dude - if you ordered Maccompatible, we coulda used mine. We’d be cruisin’." He scowled at the laptop. "This thing don’t have squat for memory, either. That just adds to the problem you can’t even run a decent game on this. It doesn’t even have a DVD drive or a CD burner." David shrugged and peered over his shoulder through the rear window of his Jetta to the small, overgrown park on the edge of the complicated seven-way intersection that connected with Route114 in South Lawrence. Considered a prime gateway to the city, the city council used federal money to erect a sign welcoming visitors to witness the comeback of the Immigrant City. Within a

week, someone had spray-painted ‘Welcome to Hell’ over it, but no one had ever bothered to clean it up. The decorative fountain was off again - at least once every summer, someone dumped a box of detergent into it that filled the streets with foam and left the pumps all gummed up. That had been the previous weekend. David looked forward again, squinted, and spotted a lone figure walking down 114, bordering the strip where D’Urso Avenue - Randy’s street - emptied out. He watched carefully until he could make out details and features. "Here he comes," David said, elbowing Leo slightly. From inside the car, they both watched Randy slowly trudging down the sidewalk. Leo’s black eyes followed the boy and he shook his head. "He looks like hell." "I figure he hasn’t slept right since this whole thing started on Tuesday," David put in. "This is Friday. How would you feel if you hadn’t slept right in four days? Had to worry about what might happen if this screws up?" Leo sucked in his cheeks and tried to look busy with the computer. "Don’t wanna think about that," he murmured softly. "And nothin’ is gonna screw up. This is gonna work." Randy walked by the car and forced himself not to look, but David saw the eyes flicker off him and smiled back, hoping it would reassure the boy. He fought the urge to toot the horn once, just to let Randy know it was all okay that he wasn’t alone, and that his friends were right behind him - but they couldn’t risk it. For all they knew, Danny could have access to another car and might already be parked, scouting out the scene to make sure he was in the clear. David had drilled it into Randy’s head: don’t wave, don’t signal, don’t call out when he saw the Jetta. Just wait and look normal. The light changed and David watched the nervous boy in his rear-view work his way through the multiple stages of the busy intersection it took to reach the park - three separate light cycles. Although it wasn’t exactly laid out like a rotary where the seven streets met, the small park with the fountain was an island in the traffic. This was where Danny had always picked up Randy before, and as expected, where they planned to meet today. It made sense to David - far enough away from Randy’s house so no one could easily spot him getting into an unknown car, but close enough for Randy to get to in a few minutes by foot. Randy claimed Danny always swept around to the back of the small park and met him there. That particular stretch was hardly traveled by

anyone, unless they lived in one of crammed-in tenements that bordered the other side of the street. And unless someone were watching carefully, no one driving through the main intersection would ever notice a fifteen year-old boy through the overgrown bramble that called itself ‘landscaping.’ David craned his neck around to watch Randy again. He could make out the figure of the boy well enough from this angle. The kid dropped his gym bag, then sat on a bench with his back turned. Leo hadn’t looked up as Randy passed, but nodded. He tried to pretend an attitude of calm, then cursed the laptop again. "Leave my computer alone," David put in. "Not everyone needs something big enough to run NORAD, y’know? The heaviest program for that thing is the word processor, and I didn’t need anything fancy." He pointed to the laptop. "Besides, all that thing has to do is read a map." David gave Leo a sly look and snickered. "Not everyone has to have the biggest toys just to make up for personal shortcomings." He checked the rearview mirror again for Randy. Leo rose to the bait. "Two guys could split what I got and not come up short, smartass. I don’t care what they say - bigger is better." Leo flashed his front gap in a big smile. "Besides, tell me you don’t like a big one when you can get it," he added with a smirk. David cocked an eyebrow. "You got naked with Alan? Or did you peek in the men’s room?" Leo snickered but pretended to shudder and held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I give. You win." He looked down at the computer screen and his expression changed. "Ah - victory at last!" A bird’s-eye view of Lawrence, Massachusetts, popped up, once the GPS receiver had recognized the coordinates of the broadcasting unit tucked in Randy’s bag. David had purchased the software maps for the Metro and Greater Boston area, which included their section of northern Massachusetts and nearby southern New Hampshire and part of Maine. It included every street by name in every town… and if something didn’t pop up right, it would flash the exact position in longitude and latitude. As an extra, David had loaded in his AAA Atlas program for extra reference. Leo narrowed the range of the map enough until it showed the intersection. "Randy’s transmittin’ just fine," he said, nodding his head. "This GPS

program’s great, even if you got a wussy laptop. This should be a snap." Leo reached into the box of donuts and pulled out a cruller for himself. David glanced at the blinking lights and readouts on the computer screen. He had to admit, it was a nice set-up: too bad he’d never need it again - assuming things went well. If something went wrong, he didn’t want to even consider gambling with Randy again, but... He turned back to Leo. "So, did they give you any crap about work?" "A little," Leo said, offhanded. "My boss didn’t much like it, but I haven’t been out a day since I started. And when you work for a landscaper who hires college kids and day laborers most of the time, that’s rare. I’m the best guy he’s got. I told the boss today was important, and if he didn’t like it he could fire me." David grimaced, remembering how he’d tried the same deal with Barrier Books and quickly found himself on the outside looking in. On the other hand, he didn’t really need a job. But Leo did. Losing it would’ve hurt him a lot worse. They both turned in their seats, watching out for Randy. "Heads up," Leo said suddenly, and pointed. David barely caught a flash of red turning onto the backside of the park. He checked his watch - Danny was exactly on time. That little sneaky shit, David thought. He’s probably been parked down a side street for twenty minutes, scoping out the neighborhood, just in case. Leo returned his attention to the laptop, but David kept watch over his shoulder. In less than a minute he saw the red Taurus in traffic, signaling for a left onto Winthrop. David turned around and turned over the engine of his Jetta. He looked back and - "Shit!" Leo’s head popped up from the computer display, puzzled. "The little dick cut into the other lane and went up Union. Damn!" He caught himself. "Dave, don’t freak. Remember, we can still track him, up to five miles away, as long as that bag stays in the car." David cut the wheel hard and fast and lunged into a line of traffic, ignoring the screeching breaks and the sound of horns. "You know why I counted on him using this route, Leo," David said, pounding the wheel with frustration. "I’m gonna have to cut down the street in back of the plaza. Maybe I can catch up or… dammit!" He saw the back-end of a tractor rig, illegally blocking the side street. David swayed back into Winthrop. He scanned ahead - there was only

one other entrance to the 114 Plaza from where they were, but it was a controlled light. More time lost, he thought. I’ll lose ’em for sure. Leo tapped him on the shoulder. "Don’t panic, they turned off Union, but…" his voice trailed and his eyebrow knitted together then he smiled. "It ain’t a street - he’s cuttin’ through the parking lot. Keep goin’ straight. I think I know what he’s gonna do: he’ll pick up 114 past the lights, down by Tacky Bell." "Huh?" Leo shrugged and grinned. "You know, that Mexican fast food place - there’s one right on the corner and Danny don’t have to deal with the extra lights. And…" His finger traced the route of the blinking light on the screen. "Yup. I see a red Taurus cutting through," he said, and pointed across the almost-empty parking lot. David slowed down at the red light and watched the car. Sure enough, it turned onto their street. David did a quick check in his rearview for cops and calculated he could make it across the intersection before the big Buick taking its left turn would be a danger to him, and charged through the intersection, ignoring another horn and screech of brakes. Leo’s eyes popped open. "Jesus!" He turned to Dave, his skin a little paler than normal. "Hate to be with you the day your luck runs out," he said, shaking his head and letting out a little sigh of relief. "That’s three lights he skipped," David said. "That’s two chances Randy won’t have. We only got two left." They caught up to the red Ford and David eased up on the speed and followed a comfortable distance behind. He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the speed dial. Up ahead was a theater complex, and Danny made that green light, too… and David floored it and did a Hail Mary yellow. "I’m tellin’ you, don’t worry," Leo reassured him. "Relax! We can track him okay. Nothin’s gonna happen to the kid." "I know," David replied, biting his lower lip. "But I’m thinking more of Randy. The kid’s already scared enough, and every minute extra he’s in that car…" He shook his head. "I just want him in the clear."

Both cars rolled through the green traffic signal in front of the theater complex. Only one chance left, he thought. The southbound entrance of 495 was just ahead - and just beyond the overpass, there was one last shot. They passed under the two rusting bridges and Danny swung into the left-turning lane. David sighed with relief. It changed to red, and Danny was the second car in the line. David rolled in two cars behind, watching. Before the Taurus came to a full stop they saw the passenger door suddenly swing open. Randy stumbled out and sprinted across the two travel lanes and David caught his breath - the kid didn’t notice the through-traffic light was already green and cars were roaring through, barely missing him. David saw Randy make it to the curb, then stumbled on the sidewalk and went down hard, knee first, and he could tell that it hurt. The boy scrambled up to his feet, obviously in pain and limping, but forced himself to run. He dodged behind the Brighter Worlds Carpet building. David hit the speed dial, waited for the click of the open line. "He’s clear, Alan," he barked. "Scoop him up - behind the carpet store, right after the bridges… yeah, just take him to your place in Methuen and wait." He held the phone away from his ear, then looked up and scowled before he spoke again. "And tell Martin to stop all that yelling, will you? Look, he banged up his knee, so put some ice on it when you get to your place. I’ll check back later - love ya, babe." He snapped the phone shut. Just as he was finishing the call, the Taurus’ drivers’ side door swung open and a figure leapt out. David saw the blond boy and he felt something lurch inside him. Jesus, he thought, sucking in his breath. Danny still looks like a kid, hardly more ’n Randy. He caught sight of the boyish face, and it was angry and red. Danny stood, confused about what to do. Two lanes of traffic kept him from chasing Randy down with the car - although this particular spot was the most dangerous in terms of making a break, it was the safest place for Randy, especially since he’d had to slow down when he banged his knee. At least he wouldn’t have to hop fences or cut through yards. And Danny couldn’t risk just leaving the car and taking off after Randy. He couldn’t even force his way back into the through-lane, since there was a concrete berm in the way and circle around. There wasn’t even enough room for his car to make a U-Turn onto the eastbound lane of 114, not that it would do him any good unless he drove over the center divider. And that would take too much time anyway, not to mention attract more attention to himself than Danny likely would want. His only option was to make the left turn onto the Interstate.

The control signal switched to a green arrow, and the drivers waiting behind Danny sounded their horns. Danny glared at the cars and flipped them off with a flourish, but he was through and he knew it. Even if he circled down on the next exit, it was an intricate cloverleaf that would take nearly fifteen minutes to maneuver, even with limited or no traffic. Randy was in the clear, which was what David wanted from the beginning. "Yes!" David murmured. He saw Danny’s mouth working and the glowering anger of his brick-red face as he slid back into his car, rammed it into gear and spun his tires, leaving behind a cloud of blue exhaust and burning rubber as he sped onto the highway ramp. Leo made a low whistle. "Now, that is one pissed-off little kid," he said, chuckling. "Don’t be fooled," David corrected. "Danny’s no kid. He’s the same age as you and me, Leo." Leo grunted. "True… but our job just got a lot easier," he added, brightening. "With Randy out of the car, he won’t be dodgin’ around, tryin’ to confuse the kid about where they’re goin’. He’ll just drive straight home, and that’ll be a big break for us." They followed at a safe distance, keeping the car just barely in sight in the sparse mid-morning traffic. When Danny exited the highway itself, they fell back even more to stay out of visual range. The GPS signal came through loud and clear, and Leo gave David directions from the map display. They were never closer to Danny than a fifth of a mile or further behind than a half. They no longer had to sweat it out when Danny made sudden changes - the software for the tracker just kept the map current and remembered the route. Even if David and Leo had to stop, as long as Danny was within five miles of a line-ofsight transmission, they could keep track of him. They only had one worry: if Danny came to a stop and tossed out Randy’s backpack, which held the transmitter. And that was the reason David told Randy to casually toss it into the back seat when he got into the car. Out of Danny’s sight was likely to be out of Danny’s mind, while he was focused on whatever revenge he intended to take on Randy. "We’re in Boxford," Leo said after a long stretch of silence except for directions. They needed to stay alert and keep the chatter to a minimum, or they

might miss something. "Nice rich town… and a buncha fancy houses on fiveacre lots, set way back from the streets. The lawn service has a lotta customers out this way." He leaned forward with a start and peered at the computer screen. "Yeah, he just took another left and stopped moving," Leo said crisply. "Might be a light, but not too likely way out here." He looked up and grin, his face bathed in the glow of the laptop screen. "I think our boy might be home." David’s heartbeat began to race. "Got a street?" Leo scowled, shaking his head. "Not really… these are all back country roads, and they never made it into the main software pack, which is understandable. But I got the coordinates, and maybe the local AAA Atlas can help. Let’s just make sure, though. Pull over. If I trigger the program it might be too much of a drain and the computer could crash." He gave David a look. "That’s why I bitched about memory. The Tracker uses a lot with the map package goin’, and I don’t want to lose everything. If he stays where he is for the next ten minutes or so, he’s most likely home and I’ll switch it." David pulled over to the side of the road and parked in the deep shade of an oak, and both young men sat back and waited, with nothing to do. The signal never altered. They waited another ten minutes to be sure, then Leo tried to bring up the street Atlas. The notebook froze. Leo swore, tried bringing up the Start menu so he could reboot, but Windows refused to cooperate. In the next two minutes he loudly voiced his opinion of Chairman Gates and the PC platform, the way only a dedicated Mac-user could. He hit control-alt-delete a dozen times with his thick fingers before the machine finally decided to cooperate and rebooted. He sighed with relief and looked up at David. "See what I mean? That’s why I wanted to save everything first, just in case. Good thing, too." The notebook completed it’s start up and Leo retried the reference files and fed in the numbers. He sat back, the trace of a smile on his face. "Holy shit," he said in a low voice. "I know that street! We do four houses out here, every Thursday… hell, I was just up here yesterday!" He gave David directions through the back roads. David noticed the almost complete absence of signs. Leo shut down the program, waited a full minute, then started up the tracker program again. David rolled slowly down the street while Leo watched the signal strength. Suddenly he grabbed David’s arm and told him to stop. "We’re right on top of it." He squinted, saw a mailbox a few dozen feet ahead and nodded. "That’s it, I swear. And the guy is one of our customers!"

David gave him a nasty look. "If he’s one of your customers, then why didn’t you say something before? How many Griff Robinson’s do you think there are?" "Hey, cool it!" Leo came back defensively. "The customer on the invoice is ‘PGR Associates,’ okay? It’s a standing contract that my boss bills. I’ve never even seen anybody around the place." "And that never rang any bells?" David demanded. "Made you a little suspicious?" "No, and why should it?" Leo answered with a shrug and kept a reasonable tone of voice. "A lot of people with money put their houses into trusts and dummy corporations for tax reasons - a quarter of my customer list is marked down like that. And as for never seein’ anyone… people work during the day, David. I’ve never even seen most of our customers! We roll up, do our job, and leave an invoice at the door or in the mailbox when we’re done. My boss takes care of the business end of things. So lighten up, willya?" he added defensively. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had an image of envelopes sitting on a side table at Griff’s old house in Haverhill, made out to PGR Associates… his consulting business. He’d never given it a thought, never even asked what the P stood for. It hadn’t mattered. How could he have expected Leo to think of something like that when it didn’t even occur to him? "Yeah, yeah," David muttered and rolled the car closer to the drive. They both stepped out of the car and walked around to the front. David peered up the drive but couldn’t see anything. "I’d never know there was a house in there if you didn’t tell me." "It was a real bitch findin’ it the first time too," Leo agreed. "That driveway sorta curves around some trees, and it’s way back on the lot, so the house itself is out of sight. Whoever built the place must’ve wanted to feel secluded. Not even much of lawn. Nice house, too - at least from the outside. Never seen it inside, and no one’s ever come out." He frowned. "Come to think of it, I’ve seen the shades move a little from time to time when we’ve been working here. Probably that kid. So, what’s next?" David’s mouth twitched and he scowled again. "Is there any way I can get to the house without being seen?" "Not really. And they might have alarms and stuff."

David shrugged. "Then screw it. If we’re gonna be spotted, we might as well just drive up to the house, right out in the open." He studied Leo, his own face a mask. "I need you to stay out of it, Leo," he said firmly. "If something winds up going wrong, I want you out of this." Leo looked worried and eyed David carefully until the other boy spoke again. "And don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I have to… well, I have to talk to Danny on my own. I’ve got reasons." The heavier young man’s eyes burned into David’s, looking for a sign, but saw nothing. That unnerved him. David shook his head and held up his arms. "Go ahead," he said with a thin smile. "Check me out. No guns, no knives… nothing like that. And we both know how much I suck in a fight." Leo never flinched, and his eyes stayed lock to David’s for a very long moment. He’d seen that look before… in a mirror. Finally he looked away, and without saying another word, they got back in the car and rode down a heavilywooded path up to the house. As they got closer, Leo noted that as usual, all the drapes and blinds were closed, but he thought he detected movement in a second-floor window. David didn’t see it and started to get out of the car. Leo reached for the handle but a hand grabbed his left arm. David shook his head. "You stay here, and no arguments," David said firmly. "If things get a little physical and it looks bad for me… well, do what you have to. But I don’t think anything’ll happen. Another thing: if I get inside, I want you to see if you can get in the garage. Fix it so he can’t go anywhere." Leo took in the poker face, then frowned. "What’re you gonna do? And tell me why we’re even here now, will you? I thought the whole idea was just to locate this little crud, and you were just gonna pass on the information." "Think about it," David replied, nodding towards the house. "Right now Danny’s alone in there and pissed-off at Randy. We’ve gotta make sure he doesn’t start posting those files on the net. It’ll kill the kid if any of that stuff goes out." The scowl returned to Leo’s face but he had to admit David was right. If he’d been in Danny’s position, he’d likely be doing exactly what David suggested.

"We haven’t got much time," David said firmly. "I’ve broken up files and uploaded them myself - if you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t take long. Now let go, okay? Just trust me. And take care of the car like I asked." Leo’s grip relaxed and David slid out of the front seat and past the garage. The garage extended out a few feet from the rest of the house, and he lost sight of Leo as he stepped up onto the stoop. He eased the outer door open and locked the pump so it couldn’t close, and put his ear to the door. David grinned. He was sure Danny was right there, listening - the boy couldn’t have missed the sound of the car coming up the drive, and David had made no effort to soften the sound of the closing car door. I know you were peeking out the window, David thought. He put his own ear to the door, and thought he heard something but reasoned that could be wishful thinking. He examined the door, and recognized this was the same type of re-enforced steel unit that was on his own house, and was perfectly aware of its soundproofing qualities. The he began to pound on the door with a closed fist while leaning on the bell, hoping the racket would throw Danny off base. When that didn’t get any results he stepped back a few feet and lunged at the door with his right foot up, then pounding at it furiously. "C’MON DANNY," he bellowed. "Open the fuck up! Or maybe you’d rather deal with cops instead?" he roared. After the word ‘cops’ David heard the lock and the door slowly swung open and there he was: Danny, his face composed in wide-eyed fear that David didn’t care was real or not. And you got every reason to be scared. The small, child-like body quivered and a trembling mouth began to stammer but the eyes were bright and alert, looking for an advantage. "Who - " David didn’t wait for the performance to start. His fist came up and caught Danny in the face. Before the other boy had the chance to react, David seized him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall of the garage. Danny’s arms flew out from the impact and his eyes looked dazed. Before he could recover David brought his own face within an inch of Danny’s, a sudden thrill running through his body when he saw the thin trickle of blood running out of the smaller boy’s mouth and nose. A triumphant, evil smile played over his face.

"I’ve got you, you worthless rat-fucker!" David growled in a raspy halfwhisper, slamming the body a second time. "Remember me, Danny?" He brought his hand up and gave the small blond a second back-hander. Danny’s head flew left and smacked against the side of the building again and an angry red mark formed on the bruised flesh and a heavier flow of blood came out of the mouth. "It’s been awhile, so maybe you forgot. It’s David Sciuoto - we used to be best buddies, remember?" Half, dazed, Danny turned back full-face and tried to focus. This time the eyes registered a genuine fear as realization set in. "David?" the boy whispered. The taller boy heard a sound and swung his head enough to the side to see Leo skittering around the front of the car. He swung his attention back to the dazed Danny. "You and me are going inside now," he said in a low voice, "and I’m gonna lay out exactly what’s gonna to happen from here on. It’s your only option, and I’m telling you right now: try an’ screw me around, and tomorrow night you’ll be the most popular guy at Middleton Jail." David turned his attention back to Leo and his tone softened as he called out. "Leo!" he called. "It’s all done! Just do what I asked, okay?" Leo nodded, but kept his mouth shut. David focused on Danny again and twisted his head around so he could see Leo. "See that guy?" David murmured. "Now, just look at those arms and that thick neck. Makes me look like nothin’, doesn’t he? And guess what - there’s two things in the world he hates: Fags is one, and a molester’s another." He saw the look of raw fear on Danny’s face. David enjoyed it almost as much as the sight of the blood running from his mouth as he continued to spin his half-truth. He grabbed the boy’s collar and pulled his face closer to his. "Just think of the fun time he could have with you, Danny. It wouldn’t be a good idea to screw with me too much right now." He grabbed Danny by the hair and the seat of his pants and tossed him through the front door. The older boy followed and slammed it shut behind them. Leo frowned, looked reluctant to step back, then finally shrugged. He’d heard the hard slap while he sat inside the car, along with the sound of what had to be Danny’s head smacking against the wall before he’d scrambled out. He hadn’t

been able to see much of the boy - just a quick glimpse from around the corner, followed by part of a profile jerk into view. Just a blur of small, elfin features and an impression of blond hair before David dragged him into the house. But he could see enough of David to recognize the sheer malice in his face, and the threat of his stance was unmistakable. Jesus, he thought. Please don’t take it too far. His mind spun back to a night on the grounds of Brown down in Rhode Island, with an image of his own foot shod in steel-toed boots slamming into the body of someone he truly hated. Leo remembered only too well how much effort it took to stop kicking, and it made him sick to think of how far he’d nearly gone. He’d sworn never to do anything like that again… but every time he saw his sister and nephew, he never regretted his actions for a second. Leo stood by the car the car, helpless. After watching David, he realized it was probably lucky for Martin that Leo had stepped in when he had the week before. Now what, he thought. Wait for one guy to kill the other? Leo grunted, then stepped around the car and walked to the corner of the garage and peered at the front door, even tried the knob - but it was locked, and there wasn’t a sound. Leo hovered by the first garage door, listening. He was frustrated. He debated staying there for a little bit more but finally set about the task David had given him. The garage doors were the heavy-duty aluminum type without windows, but Leo knew the red Taurus had to be inside. He tried to raise the door by hand, but wasn’t surprised when they wouldn’t budge; most likely they were electric, locked securely into place once the motor shut down. There was a button on one door - a lot like a doorbell - and Leo thought maybe it was an over-ride in case of a dead battery on a remote, but when he pressed it the door didn’t budge. "No surprises there," Leo grumbled. Nearby was a numeric keyboard, but he avoided it - too many chances it might trip an alarm if he entered the wrong entry number. He skirted past David’s parked Jetta and around the far side of the driveway, then spotted what he already knew was there - a side door to the garage. He’d passed it often enough pushing a lawn mower but had never paid much attention to it. It had a window and sure enough, as he peered into the dim light, he could just make out the Taurus. Briefly Leo considered wrapping his shirt over his fist and punching in the glass. Then on an impulse, he reached out and grabbed the handle. Much to his surprise, it gave way and Leo let it swing in. He shook his head… people spent thousands of dollars on security

alarms, but wouldn’t take the time to flip the lock on a ten-dollar builder’s grade hand set. The other garage stall was packed with useless junk. Like most garages in America, this one was just an extra storage space for things that were supposed to go to the dump - eventually. He edged along the wall and got to the driver’s side of the car, and just as he’d figured, the door was unlocked. He reached inside and pulled at the hood latch before reaching into the back seat and retrieving Randy’s bag and fished out the GPS handset. He ripped the duct tape off the transmitter key then switched the unit off before dropping it back into the bag. Next, he propped the hood of the car, trying to decide on the best way to disable it before remembering that subtlety didn’t much matter. Leo reached in and yanked out a handful of wires. Won’t get far without the spark plugs connected, he chuckled, slamming the hood shut. Once outside he tossed Randy’s bag and the wires into the back seat of David’s car, checked his watch, and waited. His only real function in whatever David Sciuoto’s plan had taken less than five minutes. Fifteen minutes later, David strode out of the house with something shiny in his hand, looking grim but more at ease. He smiled when he saw Leo but there was still an angry glint in his eyes. "Don’t worry," he said, as he slid next to him on the front seat. "The kid’s still alive, if you’re wondering." He held up two CDROMs. "And I made sure Randy won’t be making any surprise appearances on the Net. Let’s get outta here." "There’s a utility box on the other side of the house," Leo suggested. "Everything comes up out of an underground line, that’s why you don’t see any cables running into this place. I could kill the phones. Hell, I could kill the electricity if you want. Damn thing only has a two-dollar padlock on it." David shook his head. "Overkill for right now, but it’s good to know about that box. If he had to make a call, chances are he’s got a cell phone stashed somewhere. But Danny knows he’ll only screw himself if he tries to tip off Griff. At least, he does now." He looked back at the house, then shook his head. "Damn. I can’t believe this took less than a couple of hours for everything. And lucky for us, Danny was the only one there. Uh… you made sure he can’t drive anywhere, right?" "Easy job," he said, pointing to the electrical wires on the front seat. He eyed the disks in David’s hand. David started the engine, then handed them over.

"Do me a favor," David said, letting the motor idle. "Danny swore those are the original and only copies. It’s a safe bet he’s lying, but check ’em in the laptop, okay? At least it’ll give the creation date of the file." "He might’ve already split up some files," Leo suggested. "Or there might be a backup. He could still cause Randy trouble." David nodded and smiled without any real humor. "I thought of that too… which is why I bounced his computer of the wall a few times and gave it a few kicks. That way I didn’t have to worry about him reconstructing any deleted files. Plus I felt better just breaking something." They rolled down the driveway and David turned into the main street by the time the laptop came up complete. Leo dropped in the first ROM and saw it was loaded with AVIs and picture files. He clicked one of the jpg files and saw the date was only a few weeks old. He flinched when he saw a picture of a terrified, very-naked Randy sandwiched between two figures - one very obviously bigger and older. It didn’t require much thought to figure out what was happening to the boy, who looked limp and miserable. Leo shook his head, understanding more than he ever wanted to know about what Randy had been through. He clicked up two other images and shuddered before he closed the window. Leo looked up at David. "It’s a copy, alright," he said in a low voice. "Everything’s got the same file date, and it’s only a couple of weeks old." He paused and looked at the rest of the disk contents. "Uh, I’m guessin’ the video files are more of the same?" "I watched parts of a few. You guess right," David said in a low, steady voice and they continued down the road. "That’s why I wanted to get in there, Leo. And that’s why I’m pretty sure Danny won’t make any calls - he knows I’ll call the cops, and that’s the last thing he wants. And I had you take care of the car so he can’t run. Nor for awhile, anyway." Leo waited for more information, didn’t get any. "Jesus - the cops," he said, looking around anxiously. "Are they next?" he asked as they turned onto a busier street and David aimed his car for the highway. David sucked in his cheek. "Not yet," was his evasive reply. "There’s still some things that have to be taken care of first."

Leo grunted and slumped down in his seat. "But it’s stuff I shouldn’t know about, right?" He eyed a poker-faced David, who would only nod. "And you won’t tell me anything more about Danny either, will you?" David eyed Leo first and then switched his attention to the dashboard clock. He reached for his cell phone and hit the dialer. Once again the call was picked up almost immediately. "Alan?" he said. "Everything’s cool, babe. Tell Randy he’s got nothin’ to worry about. Danny’s out of his life. Yeah, for good. What?" David blushed, listening to the reply and snuck a nervous look at Leo and his voice dropped. Leo didn’t even pretend not to listen. "C’mon! I can’t say that right now, I’m not alone… Huh?" He paused for a few moments, then turned an even deeper red. "Look, are those two punks sitting next to you and listening to this? Good. I know it sounds great, but we won’t have time this afternoon before Eileen gets home. Alan, I know she knows! I know she wouldn’t say anything, but…" He eyed Leo who stared out the side window and pretended not to be listening. David dropped his voice, knowing it was pointless. "It’d be too weird if she got home and you and I were in the middle of it. We can go to the pool house again at my place like last night. Anyway, tell Martin and Randy we’re on our way back. I’ll get Randy home and Leo can…" David paused again and listened. "Whaddya mean they wanna hang out together all day?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah… it’s true love and all that happy shit. So you’ll drive ’em back? No, I still have things to do. Okay, babe. Love you, too." He snapped the phone shut and glanced over at Leo. "The kids wanna hang out at Alan’s for awhile, and he’ll drive ’em home later. We’re all done, Leo - well, you are anyway. What are you gonna do now?" "Oh, I dunno, Leo said with a smirk. "Maybe go visit Sandy, ’cuz she’s off today, no one’s home, and neither of us have a pool house for later." A red-faced David laughed. At least Leo would be out of the way. David still had some things to do before the day was out, and he didn’t want anyone knowing about them at all. Twenty minutes later, David watched Leo drive off. After a moment, he picked up his cell again and clicked a speed-dial button. After some delays, Lou Sciuoto’s voice crackled.

"Davey! Look, I got some people trackin’ some leads and - " "I’ve got him," David cut in nervously, and after an explosion on the line, explained how. He had to hold the phone back from his ear during the second verbal volley, some of it lapsing into an Italian that David sort of understood, most of it dealing with David being stupid. "Stay right where you are!" Lou concluded. "I’ll call you right back. Don’t go anywhere and don’t do nothin’! I gotta call a friend of ours!" David sat in the parking lot of the 114 Plaza in Lawrence for ten minutes, mulling the phrase over in his head. Just like a goddam movie, he mused. ‘Friends of ours.’ Jesus, who’s he calling - Tony Soprano? And just how much farther is this gonna go? The cell chirped and David glanced at the caller ID on the readout. He expected to see the salvage yard number displayed, but all the display said was ‘private.’ He clicked the button and Lou Sciuoto’s voice blared out of the earpiece. "Alright, kid. First off - get everyone with a connection to this mess together tomorrow at my place in Andover - you’re gonna have party makin’ as much noise as you guys can… with luck, enough so the cops come by and make notes." David frowned. "Then what?" "Then nothing. You stay put and be a pain in my neighbors ass until you hear from me. I got somethin’ set up with… friends of mine. Now, listen to me - and this time, I mean listen and do what I’m tellin’ you, ’cuz if this thing fucks up, it’s gonna be both our asses. And David? Don’t call me on any of my regular numbers again if somethin’ comes up. Got that? Only this one… just in case we got an audience." David winced and sat back and let his uncle prattle on. He glanced at his watch again - he still had an hour before he’d be able to take care of the problem with Danny permanently.

*****

David eyed the mid-day crowd eddying around them in the Boston Greyhound terminal, feeling uncomfortable and wishing the whole matter was done with. Danny stared at the ticket, scowling. "This sucks," he growled. "It’s gonna take forever." "We don’t have any choice," David said, for the third time. "You know that. The airlines are out - they want ID, and they record everything. I didn’t know Amtrak was doing the same thing, otherwise we could’ve skipped coming into the city… but that’s just as well. No one’s likely to recognize us around here or even remember. But it’s either the bus or you walk. One way or another, you gotta get out of do you really want to deal with the cops? If you’re not there when everything goes down, it ain’t likely Griff’s gonna tell ’em about you. He’d be stupid if he did." Danny looked at the ticket again. Almost four days cooped-up in a bus - Boston to Los Angeles. And God alone knew how many stops in between. He’d weighed the consequences of sticking it out, but had to admit it; David was right. The last thing Danny wanted was a paper or electronic trail behind him, just in case. Now that they were busted, he didn’t want to deal with cops, Griff, lawyers or any of the rest. At just under 5’ 4", and roughly 120 pounds, Danny looked like a kid - but he was eighteen, and that meant adult court. He wasn’t sure if he could weasel out of jail time, even if he testified and played it out as Griff’s unwilling, brainwashed accomplice - and that meant adult jail. Danny shuddered. He’d watched enough TV to know what happened to child molesters in prison, and didn’t need it explained how it would be worse for a young, small, good-looking guy. He didn’t care much about who he had sex with if there was something in it for him: but being passed around to anyone who wanted it was different. Plus it didn’t seem too likely other inmates would bother with things like a lube, let alone an inconvenience like condoms. Even if he tried fighting back the only way he could, the thought of having his teeth knocked out for ‘easier access’ didn’t appeal either. The picture of Randy standing up even in a closed court proceeding to give evidence didn’t seem likely, but then, Randy wasn’t the only one involved. Someone else might come forward, and he’d taken steps against that. The first thing Danny did when David left was to sort through the wreckage of his computer and rip out the hard drive. He fried it with a stripped-off lamp cord and then pulverized it with a hammer - no forensics would ever turn anything up, since there wasn’t enough left. Then he’d fed the notebook he kept with all the names and addresses of his ‘friends’ into the shredder in Griff’s office.

He’d stuffed the strips of paper into the wood stove along with kindling and then ground up the ashes. Other records would be minimal - he’d always called his boys on cheap, prepaid cells or on pay phones, never a hard house line. There wouldn’t be much there to link the other kids, even if someone found them. Griff’s electronic photo collection was the only problem. Someone might recognize one of the kids somehow, and start looking where they shouldn’t. He’d worried about that. There was no way he could get rid of the mountain of disks and photos Griff had squirreled in his ‘safe’ room, at least not in time. And as for Griff… Danny had to be pragmatic. Griff no longer had anything to offer, so Danny didn’t need him anymore. Why bother tipping him off by messing with the man’s computer? If the cops busted Griff, they’d be focused on nailing the adults, not the kids. The pictures the cops would have would be enough to convict without ever having to bring a witness into court. Besides, one of Griff’s boy-loving friends was bound to rat on the others, in desperation of saving themselves. Danny faced an undeniable truth; it was better if he just disappeared. He didn’t know why David was giving him a chance to run, but that didn’t matter much. Danny never questioned freebies in life; he just took them. He scowled and tossed his duffle bag filled with clothes onto the LA cart. The attendant clipped tags to it and handed Danny Doucette his claim stubs. Danny hung onto the smaller bag filled with the important things - his records, his old cup, and a few other things he didn’t want slung into a bag that was going to be stuffed into the cargo hold of a bus where anyone might get hold of it. He stuffed the ticket into his back pocket. David checked his watch. "The bus doesn’t leave for another few minutes," he muttered, not looking at Danny’s face. "I’ll wait with you." "Makin’ sure I get on? You don’t trust me?" "Yeah," David said simply. "And, no - I don’t." He forced himself to look up and study the boy. Danny still looked so innocent… that was what got to David the most. Even now, when all the dirt was out in the open, Danny still looked barely 13 or 14. It scared David. He shuddered, then dug in his pocket and pulled out an envelope and held it out.

"You’re gonna need money," David said. "There’s a little over two grand in there. It’s not much, but it’s all as I could lay my hands on. If you’re careful, it should help you get set up in LA." Danny snatched the envelope, looked inside, and his eyebrows rode up. He nodded, pulled out a single fifty, then stuffed the envelope deep down the front of his pants for safety. David looked away and the silence held between them, and Danny studied him. He’s still good lookin’, the boy thought ruefully. Damn, he was nice to look at when he was thirteen. Now he’s gorgeous… "I still don’t get it," Danny said aloud. He looked squarely at David, who avoided Danny’s eyes. "Why go to all this trouble? You had us nailed. Why bother to help me out?" David stuffed his hands in his pockets. His eyes skittered off Danny and he looked away quickly, then back. "I owed you," he answered simply. The snort Danny made was loud enough for several people in the busy terminal to look around, but he didn’t pay any attention. They didn’t matter. "You owe me? How do you figure that?" David stole a furtive look at Danny. "Back in Haverhill… that last time," David said slowly. "You got me out of there, remember? You tipped me off, and I got away. Then you stayed so Griff wouldn’t come after me." He looked at Danny again and his face with flushed with shame. "I could’ve said something to someone," he said, his voice growing hoarse. "But I didn’t. Maybe they could’ve helped you. But I was too scared of anyone finding out about what I… what we were doin’ together. With what Griff was doin’ to us. I kept my mouth shut just to save my own ass," David continued. "And I let him keep messing with yours." "You never told anybody anything about me?" Danny said in a half-whisper. David winced. "No," he admitted. "Not until this week. I’m sorry. And that’s what this is all about, Danny. I’m… I’m finally payin’ off a little of what I owe." Danny Doucette sat back with his careful mask of childish innocence and nodded quietly mulling over the information. Neither said another word for a few minutes more until Danny looked around and spotted a news stand. He stood up, holding onto his grip bag. "I’m gonna need somethin’ to keep me

busy on the bus. Something to munch on, too, ’cause I skipped lunch. I’ll be over there," he said pointing. David nodded and sat back. There wasn’t much sense in trying to keep a close watch. Once he was on the bus, Danny could do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted. At the news stand. David watched him snatch two thick paperbacks out of a rack, barely even looking at the titles. Of course, Danny would be cooped up in a bus for almost four days, so anything that would help burn time would be a welcome distraction. David watched the kid grab a few magazines at random and load up with a bunch of snack foods. Kid… he thought. Jesus, I have to stop thinking of him like that. He’s my age, but… David shook off the feeling. Danny was talking to the attendant behind the counter now. She was middle-aged and looked tough, but David could tell Danny had to be turning on the charm the way her demeanor changed. She smiled, snatched up a notebook from behind the counter and tossed in a pen and then put everything into a white plastic bag. Danny handed over the money. Hope he’s careful with the money, David thought, ’cause it goes fast. Danny came back and offered David a packaged brownie, which he declined. Danny stripped the wrapper and bit in. "I usually don’t eat crap like this," he said between mouthfuls. "But then, I guess I won’t have to watch my weight as much anymore. And for next few days, it’s gonna be strictly greaseburgers by the roadside." David watched him chew. "Think you’ll find your family in LA? And what about your father?" Danny shrugged. He figured his real mother had been dead for years, but knew he’d made up some story about a family when he first met David, though the details were sketchy. He’d dodged the bullet so far, and hoped his luck held. The trick was not to dwell on details. "I got an idea where to look," he said simply. "I mean… mom talked about meetin’ a sister out there a few times." David shook his head. "So she did leave your father," he said simply. Parts of the lie trickled back into Danny’s mind and he played up to it. "I think so. I mean, I ran off after that last time you were there. My dad beat me real

bad that night, and… well, Griff took me in. You know why," he added quickly and shot David a sorrowful glance, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "I didn’t have nowhere else to go," he choked. David grimaced. He wanted to ask why Danny recruited for Griff… but his one-time friend looked so sad, so lost… "Yeah, I always figured it was something like that." "The thing with Martin…" Danny started. David raised his hand. "It’s in the past. You don’t have to explain anything." "No," the smaller boy insisted. "It’s not what you think." He lowered his voice. "Griff made me do that shit, or I would’ve been kicked out a long time ago. I swear, none of it was my idea. Sure, sometimes I wanted to meet guys just for fun. But I never wanted to get ’em into anything… anything dangerous. Especially kids like Martin or Randy." David stared at the boy. I could almost believe that, he thought. But it’s just too pat. He nodded and turned away. They sat in silence until the boarding call was sounded for the bus. The two of them walked solemnly along, Danny still clutching his bag. People were milling around next to the LA-bound bus, no one wanting to actually board until they had to. Danny scoped out the crowd carefully, making mental notes. Suddenly he turned on David, wrapped his arms around him. "Thanks, man… you gotta know how much I appreciate this, Davey," he said, now crying for real. "It almost makes up for everything." He stood back and wiped his tears, then smiled. "You’re the only one, Dave. The only one that ever did anything for me without ever wantin’ something back." Then he leaned in again and gave David a long, deep kiss on the mouth, and the two boys leaned against each other for a moment. David blushed when Danny stepped back. Everyone in the vicinity had seen it, and a few people in the crowd made some nasty remarks. Then Danny sprinted through the door of the bus. David stood, tears streaming down his face, fighting with himself. He knew he should hate Danny for what he did to Randy, what he’d done to a bunch of other kids like Randy and Martin - kids starved for attention and willing to take stupid chances to get it, only to find themselves trapped and used. But he’d loved Danny once, and in that moment he still loved the skinny thirteen-year-

old who had put himself at risk to protect David. Danny had paid the high price for David’s cowardice. Inside the bus, safely behind the tinted windows, Danny watched David on the platform. Step one complete, he thought to himself, looking at David. What a fuckin’ sap. Passengers who had seen the display on the platform began to filter into the bus, and for the most part avoided looking at him and steered clear. Then a man in his early forties came by, gave Danny a warm smile and dropped into the seat beside him. Perfect, the boy thought. I know I saw him out there. And I know he saw the kiss. Danny leaned back in the reclining seat, a sad look on his face and stealing mournful looks out the window at David until they pulled away. The bus wound its way through the busy Boston streets and Danny made some idle chitchat to the man, who seemed sympathetic. By the time they turned onto the Mass Turnpike, the tears were running down Danny’s face as he told the man a sad story of a spiteful family forcing him and his boyfriend to split up by sending him to live with relatives in the west.

***** The bus rolled into the Framingham, Massachusetts terminal - the first stop of many on the cross-country trip - a few hours later. On the edge of tears again, Danny slipped the envelope into his seatmate’s hand. "Just drop it in the mail when you get to California," he said desperately. "Please? It’s so my family thinks I made it out there. My boyfriend’s gonna meet me here," he halfwhispered. "Just do that for me, willya? It’ll get ’em off the track. I mean, he’s eighteen… but I’m only fifteen. They threatened to have him arrested if I didn’t go." Danny looked up to the man with his clear, gray-blue eyes and the man’s heart nearly broke seeing the desperation reflected in them. The older man nodded, the sentimental part of him happy to do his small part for boys in love being forced apart. He knew the hair-brained plan the boys were working had no chance. What parents would wait a week for a letter, when a phone call was only a few dollars? Still…

Danny gave the man a hug and grabbed his bag and hurried up to the front of the bus and out the door, the driver calling out that he couldn’t wait. Danny paid no attention as he ran off and spotted what he needed next. He turned into the men’s room and closed himself into the first stall. He’d been prepared to slip the man on the bus fifty bucks to mail the letter, but he’d refused it. If he’d been pushed, Danny would’ve invited the man into this stall and enticed him that way, but there was no hint, so Danny didn’t feel the need to make the offer. He pulled the crumpled, sweat-streaked envelope David had given him out of his shorts and counted out the cash: just as David said, a little over two thousand dollars. Danny chuckled, emptied out his hand grip. He peeled off about five hundred from David’s money, then pulled out the cardboard liner of the bag bottom, and added the remainder to the twenty-five thousand or so dollars he’d looted from the safe in Griff’s bedroom - the second thing Danny did after David left. On the way out of the men’s room, he chucked the baggage claim for his duffel bag into the trash, along with the ticket for Los Angeles. He had no intention of ever going there, and the scraps of clothes he’d randomly stuffed into the duffel bag weren’t worth the trouble. Danny hit the streets of Framingham by 10AM and found what he wanted. He was in the downtown district and even though most businesses had moved to shopping plazas, there were still enough stores to take care of what he needed. Griff liked him to have the ‘youthful tow-head blond boy’ look, and that was an image Danny now had to shelve - it made him stand out. He found a hair salon and spoke with a cutter in her mid-twenties who could dye hair properly - once she saw a driver’s license to make sure Danny was eighteen. It wasn’t required, but the salon didn’t want any pissed-off parents showing up at their doors. She’d been stunned when she saw the driver license, but knew enough to see it wasn’t a fake. They talked about how Danny was starting at Framingham State College soon, and joked about how he was desperate to lose his little-boy look. "I applied for six part-time jobs today," he lied. "None of ’em would believe my age." He selected a shade of sandy-brown from a chart he thought might have been his real color once (it was hard to tell, since he hadn’t seen it in five years) and the woman happily stripped the old colorant and applied the new, then given him a haircut that gave him a more mature look. Before he left, she wrote down the names of a few places where Danny - now calling himself ‘Dan’ - might look into for a job.

Clothes were next, and Danny made the first buys in his new wardrobe, opting for a moderately-conservative preppy look that would blend in better. He bought what he tried on first and handed the clerk the tags for everything, including new underwear, socks, and a pair of shoes. The man gave him a funny look, but Danny - Dan - flashed a smile and lied. "Job interview, man… and someone stole my stuff out of my car this morning. You know how it goes: I walk in lookin’ wrong, I can forget it." The clerk nodded and helped him select a larger carrying bag for the other three changes of clothes he paid cash for. Dan hit the streets and dumped the last of his kid-clothes into a trash bin. After a quick dinner, he looked over a selection of reading glasses at a drug store, but they all looked flimsy and cheap. Dan was looking for another store when he came across a small optical shop a block away. Inside, he made a deal for a pair of nice-looking frames with nothing more than clear glass inserted, claiming they were a prop he needed for a play he was in. It was against the rules, but Dan picked up a vibe from the young but plain-looking man on duty and flirted a little, even suggested they might have lunch together the next day. It worked. Out on the street again, he paused in front of a window, staring at the reflection of a short, good looking, and well-dressed young man instead of a kid. He smiled; the transformation was complete. It wasn’t that late but Dan decided he needed to settle in. It occurred to him he could’ve hustled the optician and stayed with him for the night, but decided it wasn’t worth hanging around for. He felt in his pocket for his cellphone, then remembered he’d deliberately left it behind, knowing that’d be one surefire way for Griff or the cops to track him down. Instead, he found a pay phone that still had a local directory attached and found a cab company; Framingham wasn’t a city where taxis cruised for fares; they had to be ordered. The driver was a student at the state college and knew just the kind of motel Dan was looking for; cheaper because it wasn’t one of the national chains but still clean and quiet. The hotel suited him perfectly; it wasn’t part of a national chain, and the clerk on duty was willing to skip looking at his ID for an extra twenty bucks over the price of a room, as long as everything was paid for in advance. "You can sign in as Andrew Jackson for all I care," said the clerk, as he pocketed the bill. Once in his room, Dan flicked on the television set and settled in for the night, but not before looking over a bus schedule and making his decision. If he’d had more time, was sure he could’ve gotten a faked-up license down in Haverhill -

even in Boston, he might’ve had a chance, but not with David standing by. He still wished he could risk flying or even the train, but was leery of a paper trail, just in case things got out-of-hand back at Griff’s, as they almost definitely would in a few hours. He had no intention of heading all the way out to California. Florida suited him better, and at least that was only two days away. He switched off the TV after the eleven o’clock news, relieved there was no whisper of anything going on in placid, upscale Boxford. Just to be sure, he pulled his small gym-bag out of the larger carrier he’d bought that afternoon, and curled up in bed with it. About three he woke up in a panic, sweating so badly the sheets were soaked through. He’d dreamed of Roger, the street hustler his mother had hired to show him the ropes years ago. In his dream, Dan saw the young man as he’d last seen him in life: not quite sixteen, but looking older and worn out. Cold, dirty and probably hungry, Roger was standing on the curb in the cold twilight, staring desperately into the windows of passing cars for a glimmer of interest - hoping at best for a john with a warm place for the night and a shower in the morning, but more likely settling for a parking lot quickie and a twenty dollar bill shoved into his hand before getting dumped off. In his dream, Dan saw the boy pushed out of a car and rolling in the gutter… then saw that it wasn’t Roger’s face, but his own. He was still panting, and his stomach had terrible cramps. It was just a dream, but it could too easily have been his future. His mother had already set him on that hustler road when he’d stumbled into Griff. Whatever else he was, Griff was a like a gift - maybe from the devil’s hand, but still a gift. The comfortable home he’d given Dan was the first safe haven of his life. It had easy-tounderstand rules: put out or get out… it was that simple. Sure, maybe Griff used Danny and passed him around to his friends, and for certain he and the other boys were like animals in a carnie sideshow. But he’d saved Dan from the desperation of working the streets, turning one nameless trick after another for money his mother would shoot in her arm… until the day Dan finally got to be too much a part of the street, and guys would drive by him like they did Roger, looking for something fresher. Or just as likely, found himself sick from taking one risk too many for twenty bucks. He didn’t sleep too well after that, and in the morning, an exhausted Dan Doucette boarded the bus for Miami, figuring from there he could gradually find his way through South Beach or Key West. He’d learned a lot about how to blend into a crowd by watching television instead of going to school, and

that was a plus. But listening to Griff’s friends talking about their trips gave him the names of dozens of gay resorts - some fine hotels, others little more than brothels. Dan figured to avoid the brothels if he could, but no matter what, he was determined to steer clear of the boy traders. Too much risk. He wanted to work in one of the nice resorts... and when the opportunity presented itself, hook up with an older man with money and a taste for younger men. With the cash he had stashed, Dan could take his time and live reasonably well. And with his youthful looks, he figured he could keep going until he was 30, maybe even a little longer. Being with Griff, Dan had learned when to be the host and when to be the servant. He learned at a young age what liquor and drugs did, so they were never an attraction, no matter what temporary escape they offered. He knew how to flatter old men, and if he could pretend that sex with old Sam was good, he could fake it with anyone. ‘Cheating’ on a daddy wasn’t worth it - he didn’t understand the rationale of having a boyfriend. To Dan, jerking off gave as much relief as doing it with someone, with none of the bullshit. It relieved the tension, and wasn’t that the point? Most importantly, Dan knew enough not to be greedy and never to blow money. Being young and pretty didn’t last forever, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out that today’s street whore started out being yesterday’s Cute Young Thing. He yawned, then stretched back on the bus seat and smiled to himself. As long as he used his head about giving it, he’d never wind up as another Roger.

CHAPTER ELEVEN "You guys hungry again?" The two boys were huddled together in front of the monitor and working at their PS2 game controllers. Without bothering to turn or even look up, each let out a grunt that Alan Curran read as a negative response. Alan grimaced, for the first time truly understanding the frustration his sister felt at times. "How about sodas? We’re out of Coke, but we got root beer." Two more grunts, but higher-pitched and they registered as positive on Alan’s newly developing Kidometer. Randy let out a whoop. "Gotcha! Kiss your advance tacticals good-bye, sucker!" Martin turned his head and gave Randy a smug look. "True. But that was your last SAM and I still got nukes. Kiss your ass goodbye, sucker!" he crowed. An even louder roar came from the speaker and the screen glowed red, then dissolved to white. Randy muttered something and the two heads went down again. Alan shrugged and stepped out of the doorway of his bedroom and headed back to the kitchen. He knew he’d ceased to exist. He eyed the clock above the kitchen table as he walked by and wondered again where David was. Alan had collected the bruised-up Randy behind the Brighter World Carpets building at eight-thirty - spotted the boy lurking in the brush when he circled into the back. In spite of Randy’s stoic insistence that everything was okay, Alan had checked Randy’s injured knee and satisfied himself that the damage wasn’t much more than bruising with surface scrapes. He and Martin helped Randy into the Jeep Wrangler and the three of them had been together ever since. Alan hadn’t missed the fact that Martin insisted on

riding in the back with Randy. Even after they’d arrived at Alan’s home, the two boys avoided staying more than a few inches apart, even sharing the same chair at the computer when Alan gave them some games to kill time with. For a straight boy who doesn’t like fags, Randy doesn’t seem to have issues about body contact with one. He smiled to himself as he poured out the soda into a pair of tall glasses. He heard two sharp knuckle raps against glass and looked up just as David pushed the back door open. He kicked it shut and swept in behind Alan and wrapped his arms around the shorter boy’s waist and leaned his head on Alan’s shoulder. "Hey, babe. Got somethin’ sweet to give me?" he asked, then making lip-smack sounds. Alan grinned and slid the root beer bottle away before turning around in David’s arms. David wiggled his eyebrows and puckered his mouth, bouncing his middle lightly against Alan. Alan planted a hand on David’s chest and looked down below their waists, then pouted. "You know, after me not gettin’ much for months, you seem pretty determined about makin’ up for lost time." He raised an eyebrow. "Pool house tonight?" David leaned in and their lips closed together in a deep kiss. Suddenly Alan had an odd feeling… why couldn’t he hear the sound effects from the game anymore? He opened his eyes and spotted two heads poking out from behind his bedroom door. "Company," he murmured to David after breaking the kiss. David pressed his crotch into Alan and began to gyrate his hips slightly and leaning his face into Alan’s again. "So what?" he murmured. "Martin’s seen us snoggin’ before." "Randy - remember? He freaks too easy." "Damn," David muttered and twisted his head. Martin was the same as always when he caught them kissing - all eyes, except for his open mouth. Randy was poker-faced. "Uh… hi, guys," David said in a glum voice. He edged away from Alan, and quickly rearranged the front of his pants before turning around. Martin grinned and bolted into the room, with Randy right behind him. David dug into his back

pocket and took out two rigid disk cases. "Randy - these are for you," he said quietly, holding them out. Randy eyed them like they were poisonous snakes for a few seconds before he carefully took them from David’s hand. He looked up at the older boy with nervous eyes that spoke for him. "Danny’s gone," David said in a low voice. "I got these from him, and he never got the chance to upload anything. You’re safe." Randy studied him suspiciously. "How do you know he’s gone for sure? And what about Griff?" "Never mind about him," David said firmly. "Just take my word - Danny’s out of your life for good. As for Griff - well, I doubt if he has any idea how to get at you, so…" his voice trailed and he shrugged. Randy rubbed his fingers over the disk cases slowly, popped one open for a minute, then snapped it shut. Suddenly he looked up into David’s eyes, and for the first time, David saw that the boy looked relaxed. "Thanks," he said simply. "For everything. Thanks. Uh…" He swallowed, then looked up. "Did you look at ’em?" "Only to make sure they were what I wanted," David answered, and decided not to mention Leo having a glance. "I do know they’re copies, but I’m pretty sure the originals are somewhere that Danny can’t get to - at least, not any more. And Danny had nothing to gain by making more copies, so I wouldn’t worry about it. As for the originals… well, if they ever get traced back to you, I doubt it’ll be by anyone who would want to hurt you. I can’t do better than that." Randy eyed the disks again, wondering if he should destroy them in front of everyone, then decided to slide them into his back pocket instead. "You still didn’t say what happened to Griff." "He’ll be taken care of," David said evasively. "That’s all I can tell you, because that’s all I know. You’re gonna have to trust me." The boy nodded slowly, tried to smile. Martin nudged him and grinned a huge grin. After a moment, Randy smiled for real when their eyes made contact. "I told you these guys were cool," Martin said with an air of smugness.

Alan handed them their drinks and poured more for himself and David. "We can do the champagne toast bit later," he said with a grin. "This is all I got for now." He eyed David. "And I got something special for you later." "Yeah… at the pool house," Martin giggled. David and Randy both blushed. "Just one more thing," David added after sipping his tonic. He looked at both Martin and Randy. "I need everyone - and I mean everyone - who had a hand in this deal available tomorrow. We’ll be having a pool party at my uncle’s… and Uncle Lou says it’s got to be a loud one." "Won’t the neighbors complain?" asked Martin. "I think that’s the idea," David replied. "That way, plenty of people know where we were and that it’s gonna run all day. Martin, I already called Leo, and your sister will be coming with him, so you’re all set for a lift. Randy, I can pick you up - can you manage it?" Randy shrugged. "My mom works Saturdays at the store most weeks," he said. "And I know my Dad’ll be working overtime at the dealership - they had a recall on their best-seller and they’ve got people screaming to get the fix. Something about failing brakes." Alan poked David. "Just do your cute-boy weasel thing on his mother," he teased. "Flash those big brown eyes and give her your best Crest smile. Everyone falls for that routine." "How come we have to be there together?" Martin broke in. "Because we have to," David stated and three sets of skeptical eyes focused on him, noting the use of adult logic. He sighed and shook his head. "Look… all I know is, something’s gonna go down at Griff’s tomorrow, and it’s important." "How’s your uncle in this?" Martin quizzed. The room suddenly grew quiet, and David’s eyes had a hooded look. "Friends of his," was the only reply. Alan heard the emphasis on the first word and arched an eyebrow before shooting Martin a warning look, followed by a light kick just as the boy’s mouth opened. Martin snapped his mouth shut with a pop.

As soon as Randy heard ‘Griff,’ that was enough for him. Then he surprised everyone. "Stay at my house tonight," he said to Martin out of the blue. "My parents won’t bitch. They never complain when someone stays over. All four of us can ride over together." Martin looked skeptical. "What about your parents? I mean… they’re gonna take one look at me and ask some questions," he said uncertainly. "Are you sure?" Randy surprised him even more when he answered without hesitation. "C’mon, man," he said, squeezing his shoulder. "You’re my friend. We already talked about you comin’ down on the bus so we could hang out - they might as well get used to it now." A shocked Martin called home about an overnight as soon as he thought his mother might be there and was surprised when his father answered. Friday was payday, and that usually meant stopping off ‘for a couple of drinks’ that lasted until seven or eight. He gave Martin a brusque "Whatever" and was about to hang up when Martin asked for Sandy, mostly to make sure that his mother got the message. The four of them piled into Alan’s Jeep and drove a quiet Randy and an excited Martin back to the Shiner house. David poured on the charm with Maura Shiner, explaining that Randy was more than welcome at his Uncle’s house the next day. He dropped Betty Seton’s name for good measure - didn’t actually claim they were friends, but said nothing that gave any other impression. Like most people, Maura fell for good looks, a polite demeanor and a good line. Martin waited for something negative to be said, but Randy’s parents were happy to see their son with a friend, so they couldn’t have been nicer. When they said good night to the boys, Walter Shiner made a point of telling Martin he was always welcome. The only awkward moment was when Randy and Martin went up to bed. It was a full-size bed, but Martin saw the inflatable mattress as soon as he walked in the door, and wondered whether someone was sending a message. "My mom always does that," Randy explained hurriedly when he saw the look on Martin’s face. "Kyle’s the only one who ever stayed over, and he’s got a thing about sharin’ a bed - she’s not sayin’ nuthin’." Randy looked embarrassed for a second as both of them started chucking off their clothes until they were

down to their boxers. "Hop in it with me," Randy said, nodding towards the bed. "But you gotta know - it’s just to sleep." Martin shot him a hard look. "Did I say it was gonna be anything else?" Randy flushed and they turned out the light and hunkered down together under the quilt. Even though the night air was uncommonly cool for July, Randy liked to crank up the air conditioner as high as it could go. In spite of himself, Martin was fully aroused being so close to Randy in a bed. As the minutes ticked on, he tried to force the images out of his mind, and kept still, listening to Randy’s breathing. Once it slowed enough to signify sleep, he planned on a quick trip to the bathroom for some much-needed relief. Twenty minutes later, it got worse: Randy rolled into him first, then Martin felt the body press hard against his back. There was no grinding, but Martin was suddenly aware of something rock-solid pressing against his buttocks. An arm snaked around him and Randy snuggled closer. Agony was when the hand nestled in the small of Martin’s stomach slowly drifted up to Martin’s chest, sought out a nipple and played with the hardened tip. Martin jerked away and spun around, facing the other boy. Even in the dim night shadows, he could see that Randy’s eyes were open and very much awake. They stared for an endless play of seconds… until Martin saw the hand slowly extend towards him again, followed by nervous fingertips slowly brushing his thigh. Martin swallowed while the fingers found a spot and kept still; he slowly licked lips suddenly so dry they felt like sandpaper against his tongue. Martin brought up a hand of his own suddenly and gripped the other boy’s shoulder. They stared in the dark, both taking shallow breaths, and Randy’s fingers kneaded Martin’s flesh again. Finding courage, Martin leaned in… As soon as their lips touched, Randy began to tremble and Martin heard a whimpering. When he pulled his head back the whimpering turned into strangled sobs and Randy wrenched himself away before curling up tight in a ball. "I can’t," he said over and over. "I can’t, Martin! I want to - for you - but… but -"

Martin stammered, not knowing what to say and not able to find the right words except "It’s okay, it’s okay," over and over again. He started to reach out but thought better of it; Randy sensed movement and pulled back even more. Then Randy lunged at Martin and wrapped his arms around the boy, begging him to hold him. Martin felt the warm tears running over his own trembling flesh, and strengthened his grip the more Randy clenched him. Martin made small sounds of encouragement that weren’t quite words - just murmurs of satisfaction, as a wave of relief shuddered over their bodies. Neither was sure how long they clutched each other, but in time Randy’s tension began to ebb and he relaxed his bear hug. The tears went away, and finally the shakes began to subside. "I told myself I could do it," Randy said in a low voice. "All day long, I told myself I could do all the stuff you’d like - all the stuff you wanna do. I been thinkin’ of it since we went to Treadwells, and…" His voice trailed off. Martin felt the body in his arms relax but still held the boy close. "I don’t get it," he replied softly. "You said you weren’t like that - and dude, it was cool. You know I’d never ask you to - " Randy pushed away now and dropped his head back. When he spoke his voice was filled with shame. "But I am like that," he said miserably. "Even David called me on it the other day in the car, when I was mouthing off! I met Danny in a gay chat room because I wanted to be there. I cybered with him on-line because I wanted to. And when I met him, well…" He swallowed hard and looked desperately up at Martin. "I already knew exactly what was gonna happen between us, okay? That’s why I agreed to meet him in the first place - I wanted to suck him and I wanted him to suck me." Martin brushed Randy's’s hair out of his eyes, then wiped away a tear that was trickling down the boy’s cheek. "That first time," Randy continued with a sniffle, "I liked everything we did together - and we did a lot more stuff than I ever thought about, stuff I couldn’t even heard of. And I didn’t care. I liked what he did to me and I wanted to the same stuff to him. And I did." He wrinkled his nose. "And some of it was kinda gross when I think about it now, but… when it was happening, I didn’t care." He closed his eyes and looked away from Martin, and his voice faded again. "That was the first time, and I thought it was all cool. On the ride home I kept

at him to set up something the next day. When we got on-line again that night, gettin’ it on again was the first thing I brought up. Except when we got to his house again… well, that’s when I found out about Griff and the cameras and all that crap," he muttered miserably. "It was all different then… and Danny was different. I mean, the first time - he did everything he could to make me feel good about what was happening, like he really liked me. But later, when it was the three of us…" Randy stopped, then stared up at Martin. Now there was anger in the eyes, equal to the bitterness that crept into Randy’s voice. He suddenly kicked away the rest of the covers and clambered across Martin and hopped out of the bed. He moved swiftly to his computer in the corner of the room and flicked the power switch without bothering to look, then started digging in the desk drawer and pulled out the two disks David had given him earlier in the day. When the system was booted, he dropped one into his ROM, hit a button, then looked back over his shoulder at Martin. "C’mere," he said. Martin nervously crept across the room and came up beside Randy. "You don’t have to - " "Screw it," Randy said bitterly. He opened up a window and clicked the mouse. The contents of the disk stared back at them. "Forget the pics," he said firmly. "They don’t even begin to show what it was really like. Open a vid and watch for yourself." Martin hesitated but Randy pushed the mouse into his hand. "Do it," he ordered. "Doesn’t matter which. I haven’t looked at any of these - I don’t have to, I know what’s there. So just do it an’ watch." Nervously, Martin double-clicked one of the AVI files and the movie started. There were three figures - Martin saw the brown hair of the boy in the middle who was face down, and assumed it had to be Randy. Almost out of range he could make out the legs of a slim, boyish figure, but nothing else - Danny, he figured. But the third was an older, overweight man coming up behind Randy. The face was blurred, but Martin knew it had to be Griff. He grabbed the boy by the hair on the back of his head and yanked - Martin saw the features then. Randy’s face lacked all trace of emotion or even caring; his eyes were dead, unfocused. The heavy man jerked the boy’s head again and Randy got into a crouch while the man reached down and seemed to be probing… until Randy’s face changed. Griff suddenly rammed forward, his hips slamming hard against the boy’s backside. There was no audio but Randy’s mouth opened in a howl

and Martin could see the pain in the expression, almost hear the gasping for breath. Then the third slender figure repositioned himself in front of Danny and thrust the boys head between his legs. "Some days they really liked it when they knew it hurt me," he said coldly. "At least, after the first time… I know Danny liked it to hurt, ’cuz he always giggled when he’d hear me cry. And Griff used to go nuts when I’d tighten up because I was afraid. But sometimes he took it easy… and that’s when Danny used to look down at me, grinning, because he knew I hated him - and worse, ’cuz sometimes he’d see that I started really gettin’ into the sex if they took it easy on me. Then Danny would see that, and make fun of me for it later." Martin glanced at the monitor again, then shuddered and turned back to his friend. "Once he got what he wanted he’d get bored after awhile," Randy continued, "then Griff would leave us alone. Danny would call me names. Tell me how the only use I had was bein’ a hole for some queer’s cock." Randy scowled. "He liked to toss the used rubbers at me. At least they used those… for the anal stuff anyway." His eyebrows knitted. "That’s when I started thinkin’ about it figurin’ it all out," he said slowly. "I’d go home, feelin’ guilty about how sometimes I got turned on when we did it. I was afraid to talk to anyone so I started checkin’ out web sites. Dude - there are hundreds, maybe thousands - of web sites tellin me how bein’ like that is evil, that God always punished queers. That’s when I started to… well, think of it like I was bein’ punished for wanting to do that shit in the first place. I was being punished for bein’ a faggot," he spat. Martin clamped his eyes shut and clicked the mouse shutting the player down. "Don’t call me a - " Randy reached over and grabbed him by the arm. "I’m not," he said slowly. "Honest, I’m not. I’m just tellin’ you what I started to think, okay? Even after they let me go I thought that. I read all that stuff from these church sites, and they said the same stuff, over and over." He choked back a sob, then forced himself to continue. "Honest, Martin - I tried to get rid of all those sex thoughts, but they kept comin’ back before I realized it." He snorted. "Damn, the first time I saw you… well, I kept watchin’ you ’cuz I thought you were cute. Then I felt bad about thinkin’ of you like that." The hardness came back to his voice. "Then when I saw Danny with you, I knew what was gonna happen to you, same as me. That’s why I yelled, Mart," he said suddenly, and his voice began to crack as tears started forming in the corners of his eyes. "I

knew what was gonna happen, and I couldn’t let it. Not again." He dropped into the desk chair, staring down miserably. Martin opened the CD-ROM drive and took out the disk before shutting down the computer. Randy kept staring at their reflections in the blank monitor, lost in his misery. Martin put his hand on the other boy’s shoulder, hesitating in case Randy pulled away again, then felt a rush when Randy not only didn’t pull away, but reached up and gripped Martin’s hand. Randy spoke in a low, soothing voice. "After that, I saw David, an’ how nice he was." His jaw twitched. "And when I started sayin’ some nasty stuff about… well, kind of about you and about him, he’s the one that reminded me that no one forced me to meet Danny that first time. Reminded me that you and him went outta your way to help me." He swallowed hard. "And today, meetin’ Alan - the same thing. Alan was a totally cool guy, nothing like Danny or Griff. You guys bailed me out. I mean… after Danny called, I got no doubt what was gonna happen today. What would happen if it wasn’t for all you guys." He looked up at Martin, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "That’s… that’s when I knew. And all day - even when I was in the car with that - with Danny, I kept on thinking about how I had to give you something good. I wanted to do everything I could to please you." "You already did," Martin said in a halting voice. "I won’t lie - I kept on thinkin’ how easy it might be to start up and do some stuff," Martin said slowly. He let out a half-hearted laugh. "Dude, tomorrow if you see a hole in the mattress, you’ll know why. But - honest Randy, it’s okay if you can’t. And I wasn’t gonna touch you no matter how much I thought about it if you didn’t want me to." "It ain’t ’cuz I don’t want you to," Randy insisted, shaking his head. "I dunno why I freaked - and I don’t know why I can’t go through with it right now." Martin rubbed Randy’s head gently. "I know you got stuff to sort out. I mean, you said you like girls too, so…" "I do," the boy said with a snort. "I do like chicks, but… well, they ain’t what I’m thinkin’ about when I wake up with crusty sheets." Martin sniggered. "Then you got me beat by a mile. The only time I ever think of a girl is when I talk to one!"

Randy giggled and squeezed Martin’s hand a little before he looked up. "Can we…" he began, and hesitated. "Reverend Betty hinted around there was this group you an’ David go, for guys like us." "Yeah, sure," Martin said nodding. "The gay youth group up at the Franciscan Center. But the Unitarians run it." Randy frowned, wondering why a Catholic church would rent space to a protestant group for gay kids, but shrugged it off as unimportant… at least for now. "Uh, maybe this fall…?" "You can come with us," Martin said eagerly. "Dude, it’s way cool. And - " "Yeah," Randy interrupted. "And maybe - well, she didn’t say nuthin’ direct about it. But, uh… well, Reverend Seton said me and her could talk about anything, and no one had to know about what we talked about." He swallowed hard again. "Uh, maybe… well, maybe if you were there, it might be easier for me to talk. Um… well, you know what the worst of it is, anyway." He gave Martin a hopeful look. "But don’t bring up about me wantin’ to have sex with you, okay? I mean - if I can work out some stuff in my head… well, I just don’t want to spell out it out that you’re my boyfriend, okay? Later, maybe - but not yet." Martin’s heart leapt to his mouth. He wanted to shout, dance - anything and everything! Slow down, he ordered himself. "That’s cool," he said calmly as his mind raced. "Yeah… no one has to know that you and me are…" He made a vague gesture. "Uh, that’s cool. Really." "It’s not like I’m ashamed of you or anything, Martin, but…" He looked up, then took a breath and shook his head. "God, I’ve gotta get used to the idea myself." Suddenly, Randy looked at his friend and his eyes widened. "Damn," he said, embarrassedly. "I never asked you how you felt about me." Dude, I’d light fireworks and spell it out in the air if I could! "No, it’s okay" Martin said quickly, fighting to stay low-key and casual. "I mean… I’m totally cool with the idea, so… well, I guess it’s you an’ me. If you want." Randy flinched. "But the sex stuff. I mean - " Martin fought back the groan. Don’t fuck this up, he told himself. It’s him you want - you can get off with your hand if that’s the way it’s gotta be. You’ll have Randy, and that’s the important part. He took everything he had to sound calm.

"Listen, dude," he said quietly. "Bein’ gay isn’t just about the sex, y’know. Sometimes, it’s just hanging out with a good friend and talking. I swear. I mean, sex is good, but you gotta do somethin’ else the other 23 hours in the day." "Make that 22," Randy said, smiling. They both laughed. Martin stood up, then yawned. "Like I said - it’s all good. Now, can we go back to bed? Uh… I mean, we gotta get up early." A smiling, much more-relaxed Randy got up and slid his arm around Martin again and they made their way across the room to the bed. Suddenly aware of the chill in the air, they pulled the quilt up to their necks. This time it was Randy who leaned into Martin and gave him a kiss - just a small peck, nothing like the one Martin had gotten from Danny that first time, but one that almost had the same result. Martin shifted himself and lay face down in the bed next to Randy again, hoping desperately to hide his erection. His mind fleetingly decided on a bathroom run the second he thought Randy was asleep. Then Randy snuggled up closer to Martin and wrapped his arm around him again, let out a long sigh, then kept it there until he nodded off. Martin sighed with resignation and tried to readjust his position to give his aching crotch a break, but each time he pulled away from Randy, the boy followed him and held tighter. That friggin’ old song is right, Martin told himself with a grimace, accepting that there was no escape until morning. Love really does hurt. I just hope nothin’ breaks off before morning. He closed his eyes, and prayed he didn’t make a mess.

***** Hours later, Martin pushed the blanket back, blinking rapidly as he looked around the unfamiliar room, a bit of morning wood poking out and sending its impatient message. In his morning fog, he desperately tried to remember where

the bathroom was, but it was no good. After carefully removing the arm coiled around his waist, he leaned over and nudged Randy. "Dude. Where’s the head?" Randy grumbled, mumbled the words "left" and "hall" before he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head again. Martin shivered in the cold air blowing out of the air conditioner, then stumbled on the air mattress on the floor where he was supposed to have slept. He kicked it out of the way and stood in the middle of the room, wondering if he should pull on his pants before he opened the door, then decided his boxer shorts were good enough. But he still took the time to pull his shirt on, hoping the tail would hide the evidence if he ran into anyone. He crept out into the upstairs hall of the Shiner house, hoping he didn’t bump into either of Randy’s parents. There were only two more doors in the hall besides Randy’s room… both to the left. The groggy Martin hoped Randy meant the door on the far left. He edged it open a tad, spotted the porcelain fixtures in the dim light and murmured the word "Yes!" and darted in, fumbling with his shorts. A satisfied smile of relief spread over his face as he stood, gently swaying back and forth. When he finished, he perked up his ears - decided it was safe, then locked the door and gave himself another type of relief that didn’t take long at all. Slipping quietly back into Randy’s bedroom and closing the door, he walked up to the bed and poked the body under the blankets. "C’mon, Randy. You said you had to be up by six to deliver your papers. David said he’d be by for us around nine, remember? He said it’s important we all be together today." Martin jerked the blue quilt off the bed. Randy opened one eye and made a sound that sounded an awful lot like ‘asshole’ but Martin ignored it. Finally, Randy gave in and staggered out of the bed and the two of them pulled on clothes; they’d be in a pool later anyway, so a shower was a waste of time. Randy gave yesterday’s shirt a sniff and wrinkled his nose as he tossed it aside, then debated switching his underwear too. Well, he mused, it ain’t like I’ll be wearing ’em long. "Here, put this on," he told Martin, tossing him his favorite shirt before he started digging into his bottom drawer. "Yours prob’ly stinks as bad as mine, and the color’ll look good on you." Martin smiled and pulled on the red jersey. He didn’t care how it looked… Randy liked it, and that was enough for him. Then he eyed the two swim suits

Randy pulled out and tossed on the bed. His eyebrows shot up. "Speedos? I thought you were all into the modesty stuff?" Randy reddened but shrugged. "My mom bought me new ones this spring," he explained. "She didn’t know I’d got rid of the old ones. Besides, you already seen everything else I got anyway." Martin grinned, then continued pulling up his socks. "Look," Randy said. "We really should hurry. Do you mind if we skip breakfast for now? I wanna make sure my papers get delivered before anyone complains. We can wolf Pop Tarts." "Sure." They crept into the hallway and gently walked down the hall, then both trotted blithely - and noisily - down the stairs once they got past the halfway mark. Once in the kitchen, Randy fished two Pop Tarts out of the freezer and tossed them into the microwave. After 30 seconds, he yanked them back out and wrapped them in paper towels, then the two boys lunged out of the house, Randy’s eye on the clock. He grabbed the beat-up delivery sack from the garage and the two boys hit the street. Both boys avoided any mention of their night conversation, but neither felt any regret about what was said, at least. Martin noticed that for the first time in the few days he’d actually known Randy, the other boy actually looked relaxed. They fell into a quiet comfort zone and rushed through the neighborhood, dropping copies of Saturday’s Guardian Post inside back doors unless there were dogs loose on the property. When that happened Randy went by himself the dogs knew him but not Martin. Randy called him a wuss but for once the familiar taunt was just a joke so Martin didn’t bristle. With the last paper dropped off, the two boys walked down Emerald Avenue before cutting over to Randy’s own D’Urso Ave. Randy was looking down and making some entries in his notebooks, checking names off against the payment envelopes they came across inside the screened doors when Martin elbowed him slightly. "Heads up," he said, nodding ahead to something in the distance. "You got company."

Randy looked up, then scowled when he saw a familiar figure sitting on his front steps. He scanned the driveway - both his parents had already left for work. "Great," he muttered. "What’s Kyle doin’ here?" The taller boy sitting on the steps looked up and saw Martin and Randy walking to the house. He stood and waited until the two turned into the drive. Martin tried not to smile - Kyle’s nose was still slightly swollen and there was an ugly, yellowy-brown discoloration around one eye. Kyle was suddenly very nervous when he realized it was Martin with Randy. The two of them smiled thin smiles at one another, but neither felt much like offering a hand, so they settled for nods until Kyle spoke up. "Uh, what’s he doin’ here?" he asked Randy, still with a wary eye on Martin. "He’s my friend," Randy said quietly. "He spent the night and we’re doin’ some stuff later. What’re you here for?" Kyle’s eyes shifted back and forth for a few seconds before he spoke. "Uh… well, I’ve sorta been grounded since the trip," he said slowly. "When he found out what happened, my Dad was wicked pissed. He made me call your minister and apologize. But he said I had to come over here and talk to you myself." Randy’s eyebrow shot up. "So you had to come over, huh?" Kyle fidgeted, gave them both uncertain looks. "I didn’t have to," he hedged. "He said I should, okay?" "But to get outta bein’ grounded," Randy said, "you had to come over - right?" Kyle scowled. "Look, I only had to get through today, okay? I coulda waited it out if I’d wanted to. I mean… as it is, I still gotta get to Temple and after that there’s Hebrew School. So I could’ve just said screw it and not come at all Sunday I’d be home free anyway." Randy didn’t mention that would have meant missing a Saturday night out and let it pass. "How grounded?" he asked. Kyle rolled his eyes. "More like house arrest than grounded. Dad was pissed when he saw me beat up and almost called Reverend Betty to complain, so I had to tell him the rest," Kyle muttered. His eyes flitted off the two boys and

sought out the ground again. "When he heard what happened, he went ballistic. I wasn’t jokin’ about bein’ like house arrest - he yanked out the TV, and the computer went bye-bye so I couldn’t use it to play games. He even took out my receiver, so forget music. Phone calls? Yeah, well my cell’s gone, maybe for good ’cuz he caught me sneakin’ a call after he pulled the hard line one out of my room. I have to stay in there except for meals and bathroom breaks. The only thing he left me were these books - in Hebrew. He figured I could use the time to practice." He shook his head and his voice dropped. "Then Robby an’ Paul came by and things got worse. The old man banned ’em from the house." Randy grunted. "That ain’t a first." Kyle’s eyes widened. "Yeah, but I really think this time might be the last - they were hollerin’ up stuff from the back yard when the old man was home. When he heard what they said he launched a second strike." He eyed Martin. "Uh, they were talkin’ about you guys," he said nervously. "And they were kind of free with the ‘f’ word. And I don’t mean the regular one." Martin didn’t need any clarification, but Randy took a step forward. "Like what?" he asked. Kyle avoided looking at Martin altogether and spoke only to Randy. "I mean… well, is it true? Is he one?" "Just spit it out," Randy snapped. "Hey, Kyle - don’t look away from me!" Kyle flinched and gave him a guilty look. "And another thing," Randy continued. "Quit actin’ like Martin ain’t here - got that? Martin’s a friend of mine - a real good friend," he said slipping an arm across Martin’s shoulders. "He’s gonna be around a lot. So if you and me are gonna stay friends, you better get used to it." Kyle’s eyes widened and he swallowed. "Good friends, huh?" He shook his head. Seeing the two boys standing much too close and far too comfortable with it registered on him. Kyle took a step back. "Damn," he said slowly, "I just didn’t believe what Robby and Paul were sayin’. But those two retards are right for once. You are into dick!"

Kyle waited for a denial. Randy’s jaw clamped shut and he didn’t flinch. Martin ground his back teeth and was ready to finish the job he’d started on Kyle’s nose but wasn’t about to make a move unless one of the other two did. Finally Randy spoke up. "You n’ me have known each other since first grade, Kyle. Did I ever ask or even hint about wantin’ to get in your pants?" Kyle flinched. "No." "Even when the four of us used to pull it together lookin’ at those magazines Robby filched from his dad’s stash? Who’s idea was that?" "Uh," he swallowed. "Well, it was usually the Brayce’s," he muttered. "Only when it wasn’t you," Randy cut in. "And as I recall, a couple of times, you an’ Robby kinda helped each other out. And both of you were always after me an’ Paul to join you guys! " "Okay, okay!" Kyle broke in, suddenly scarlet and giving Martin an embarrassed look. No one ever brought up that subject - it was understood that was always verboten. "You made your point, Randy!" He looked at Martin. "Look, dude… all I wanted to say is, I’m sorry for what I said on the bus. And what I just said now - well..." "’S okay," Martin said, not bothering to hide the pleasure he felt at Kyle’s expense. "But just so you know: sounds like you got more experience than me about that stuff." Kyle went even redder and shook his head. He turned back to Randy. "Look… You gotta know. Robby and Paul’ve been mouthin’ off ever since the bus trip. They just about told everyone we know you’re hangin’ with a flamer." He eyed Martin again. "Sorry - but that’s how they been sayin’ it. I want you to know that." He stole a quick look at his watch. "Listen, I can come back later an we can talk - I got to get changed for Temple." "We’ll be gone all day. Together. Feel free to tell everyone that if you wanna," Randy said stiffly. "Oh, and in case you missed what I said before? Martin slept over here last night, and he’ll be doin’ it again. And we shared the same bed, if that’s what you’re wonderin’, and anything else is just plain none of your friggin’ business… which is just what I’m gonna tell the Brayce twins if I see ’em. You guys can shoot your mouths off as much as you want - but if you do, don’t come back here again, Kyle. Got that? It’s like you said to me on the bus

the other day: the real slime-bags are the guys who say one thing to your face, and talk shit behind your back. You can tell those other two assholes the same thing." Kyle looked down sheepishly and swung his leg over his ten-speed and pedaled off. Martin looked at Randy. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" he said in a low voice. "What about your parents?" Randy scowled. "It’d be nice to say I was gonna do the whole nine yards on this and tell ’em, but…" He shook his head wearily, then turned to his friend. "Look, lemme sort out a bunch of stuff before we get to that, okay? If they hear something, they might ask. I’ll deal with it when I have to. If they don’t bring it up - like I said, after I get used to this." Martin nodded. "Yeah. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’" He sighed for a moment. "I think my family’s known about me since I was like six. How’re your folks gonna take it?" Randy mulled it over, staring off into the street. "I really don’t know what they might say. My Dad’s kinda funny that way: he’s real conservative about some stuff, but on other things…" Randy shrugged. "Either way, even when I thought it was God punishin’ me, I can’t say I ever heard either my mom or my dad say anything mean. And when Governor Romney was screamin’ for a marriage defense act, my Dad said he’d had enough right-wing bullshit and turned off the TV." He looked into Martin’s eyes and gripped both shoulders. "But understand this: maybe I’m not the bravest guy about this comin’ out stuff, but I’m not gonna hide you away from my friends and pretend like I don’t know you. They wanna guess at stuff, let ’em. You might think I’m a nut-less wonder for not telling ’em everything but… well, I’d kinda like to figure it out for myself first. Can you deal with that for now?" Martin smiled. "I only got one real question to ask." "Shoot." "Kyle’s pretty hot," he said with a sly look. "Is it true you never thought about him as anything but a friend?" Randy flashed a quick grin. "Maybe a little."

"A little?" "Alright, maybe more than a little," Randy admitted. "In fact, until all the stuff with Griff and Danny went down, I pumped off twice a day thinkin’ about Kyle - just like he said he did it thinkin’ of Ruthie Sullivan. Of course, he never told her about it. And you don’t think I’m gonna tell him that, do you?" Suddenly, a horn beeped twice, and both boys looked up. Alan’s bright yellow Wrangler rolled down the driveway. The jeep was in full party-mode, minus the soft-top, the music set for a low rumble. Alan and David were wearing shades, shorts, and no shirts. "Whoa!" said Martin. Randy had an idea he thought was utterly cool. "Get in the car," he said breathlessly. "I’ll grab the swimsuits and some other stuff. Tell ’em five minutes, tops." He raced into the house. A smiling and incredibly content Martin slid into the back seat of the Wrangler, wishing he had a pair of cool sunglasses. He settled for skinning out of Randy’s shirt, and tossed it behind the seat. Alan twisted around and grinned. "Someone looks like the earth just moved for him," he said chuckling. "Did you guys get somethin’ worked out last night?" Martin leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. "You tell me what you guys did in the pool house, and I’ll tell you what we did in Randy’s bed." The two older boys hooted and razzed Martin in a good-natured way but didn’t push for details. They heard a door slam and Alan spun his head again and let out a low whistle. Martin’s eyes widened. Randy was running to the car wearing his sneakers, a towel slung around his neck and a bright-yellow Speedo, holding a bag with clothing in it. Randy jumped into the back seat with him and tossed Martin a bright blue and silver version of what he was wearing and Martin gulped, hardly noticing the pair of Terminator shades that landed in his lap. If Randy was going to be dressed like that all day, Martin hoped for his own sake the pool water was ice-cold. He held up what appeared to be no more than a blue and silver fabric swatch, then closed his eyes and bit his lower lip; there was still the problem of getting

everything he had into the suit… and before that happened, Martin definitely needed more solo time in the bathroom.

***** "Danny? Goddammit, I’m getting real tired of this shit!" Griff Robinson stalked around his house, livid with rage. It was past 9:00AM, and the house hadn’t been cleaned up and his coffee wasn’t ready. He’d even come home and seen the clothes he’d worn the day before, still sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor. There was still no sign of Danny. The man stormed out to the garage and checked, but the Taurus was still there, parked right where it was supposed to be. It wouldn’t have been too bad, except the boy had promised him something ‘special’ the day before, and Griff had gone through his entire work day, anticipating an especially hot session with someone Danny called only a ‘blast from the past,’ after admitting his original plan had somehow fallen through. Griff licked his lips. He had a good idea who it was - probably the kid they’d cut loose a few months before. Griff hadn’t wanted Danny to cut the boy loose, but he had to agree: it was too risky forcing the same boys to keep coming back for too long. They might get angry and start talking as they got older. They’d kept that particular kid around for a year or even more, and that was pushing the envelope. Still, Griff liked the idea of a return engagement from a boy as frightened as Randy. He smiled to himself. Knowing a boy was scared some how always made things hotter. Griff slammed the door off the kitchen that connected to the garage, then swore. Danny was not only slipping up around the house, but pulling a no-show was really pushing his luck. He scowled, realizing that he was going to have to dump Danny soon. Maybe the kid looked younger, but Danny was at least eighteen, and no amount of Nair cream or shaving could hide that. Worse, his friends were griping: Danny was just too familiar a face now. If the kid hadn’t been so good at breaking in new meat, Griff would have traded him off long ago. He dropped into his chair at the kitchen table, drummed his fingers as the coffee brewed. Griff wasn’t sure how he was going to get rid of Danny. A few

years ago, he knew he could have palmed him off on someone, but with the kid legal and everything now, well… it just made it too complicated. He didn’t dare do what Sam did: when his Mexican boys turned thirteen or so and worn out their welcome, he was serious about just dropping them off - just not in Boston as he claimed. Sam would slip them something so they’d sleep, then load them into the back of his van and drive them someplace big, like New York. Sometimes he made his investment back by making a deal with the owner of a brothel he knew there. Other times he found boy lovers that simply liked their ‘sons’ in their mid-teens, the way Griff did. Sam was serious about not letting the boys learn English, and even went to pains to only let them watch Spanish language movies or TV. Some of his friends said it wasn’t right, keeping them locked up almost like they were in prison, but Sam didn’t care what anyone thought. And as long as they got the use of favors, their friends didn’t protest much. Certainly, no one was ever going to the police. Griff called out the boy’s name again, then cursed. It was possible he could set Danny up with someone who liked their chicken legal, but what if Danny made a fuss? Danny was absolutely devoted to him, he was certain of it. Besides, Griff knew the kid wasn’t smart enough to cause any real trouble, and the only training he had outside pleasuring men were minor house-keeping skills, hardly something he could turn into a career. The man picked up his coffee cup and went up the stairs to make sure - again that Danny hadn’t slipped quietly back into the house during the night. Griff looked around the room and squinted at the boy’s computer. Something didn’t look right, but the machine was still in the under-desk box where it belonged, so he didn’t pay much attention. He noticed a dent in the wall he hadn’t seen before and wondered what the kid had done. Then Griff took in the condition of the room: it looked like a sty, clothing and junk scattered over the floor. He almost opened the closet but didn’t bother. "Stupid, lazy little shit," he muttered under his breath. "You’re done here." Griff weighed his options for the future as he walked back down the stairs to the living room. His finances were a lot better than they were five years ago; then, it had been tough to find what he wanted, because he lacked the cash. Today was different; he had the right contacts now, and could pretty much just place an order for exactly what he wanted. He didn’t care for the dark meat Sam yearned for; Griff figured if he wanted a spic, he didn’t have to go to Mexico to get one. There were so many poor Spanish families in New England, he could practically buy one without having to look far. Lawrence, Lowell, and Haverhill were loaded with new immigrants who were dirt-poor. Plus, with so

many of them into the drug scene, they were always desperate for money. In a group that large, there had to be families keen to lose an extra mouth to feed for quick, hard cash. Sam did it the old-fashioned way because he liked the adventure… although Griff had to admit there was something to be said for just driving up to some orphanage and taking the pick of the litter - that had appeal. But Griff was picky. When it came to chicken, it was white meat only. "Too bad Europe’s such a bitch to get ’em out of these days," he muttered to himself. "Shoulda made those contacts in Romania and Yugoslavia. Shit, even the Russian market’s gotten tough." Suddenly he turned his head at a sound from outside the house - engines coming up his driveway. He yanked a drape open in the living room and scowled. Two pick-up trucks, both pulling something. One was a cart loaded up with looked like gardening gear, and the other towed some sort of machine Griff couldn’t identify. He squinted at the sign on one of the trucks - one of those magnetic jobs a lot of small-time contractors used when their vehicles did double-duty as private vehicles. What’re the lawn guys doing here? Griff wondered with a deeper scowl. They were already here Thursday. Damned if I’m gonna get charged twice. He ran out to the yard, oblivious to the fact he was only wearing his underwear. Two men were disappearing around the corner of the house into the back and two remained near the old trucks. Griff dismissed the obviously Hispanic man Javier, if the name stitched on the shirt was accurate - and focused instead on the tall, broad-shouldered white guy standing next to the ancient International pick-up, who smiled and pushed back his cap. "Mr. Robinson? Nice to meet you. I’m Dennis from New England Clippers," he said, holding out his hand to shake. Griff looked the big man over cautiously - there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on the man, and the big hand being extended was nearly twice the size of his own. After an uncomfortable moment, the man let his hand drop to his side. "You guys were here Thursday," Griff began, somewhat flustered, intimidated by the man’s size in spite of the smile. "I have the invoice inside. You’re not supposed to come back until…" "We’re not here to do the lawn, Mr. R," Dennis interrupted, trying to sound casual and offering an easy smile. "My boss was out here last Thursday - said

the perimeter was getting a little ragged. He told us to come out and clear away the brush and stuff. There’s no extra charge." He leaned in and spoke confidentially. "To be honest with you, this business is getting kind of cutthroat, so… well, the boss is throwing in a few extras for his long termcustomers. And I promise, it won’t take long, either - a couple of hours at the most, and we’ll have everything cleaned up and cleared out." Dennis gestured to the machine attached to his pickup. "We even brought up a chipper to take care of the crap wood," he added. Griff rubbed his unshaven chin. He’d never seen the lawn people before… but the name on the sign was right, and whoever Dennis was seemed easy-going enough. "And this is free?" Dennis held out a work order from New England Clipper marked ‘No Charge,’ and the paperwork was signed with a name Griff vaguely recalled writing checks. Griff was suddenly aware that he was standing in his boxer shorts and a tee shirt, and that made him less comfortable in front of the big man. Suddenly feeling foolish, he wanted more than anything else to get back inside and make himself decent - it would never do to let the help see you at a disadvantage. He glanced at the paperwork and shrugged. "Knock yourself out," he muttered and turned back to the house. First no Danny, he thought. And now these jerks show up. Anymore goddam surprises today? He folded the invoice and turned away. "I’ll be inside if you need me," he threw over his shoulder and slammed the door. Griff pulled on the wrinkled slacks he’d left in the middle of his bedroom the night before. Somewhere in the back of his mind it clicked in that the central air unit had shut down, but he paid no attention, nor did he notice that the display on his clock was blank as he buttoned his short-sleeve shirt. He was on his way back to the kitchen to finish his coffee when he heard the noise from chain saws. Awful damn close, he thought. I swear the guy said they’d be cutting brush along the edge. What the hell are they doing in the front yard? Instead of turning into the kitchen, Griff veered off into the living room - just in time to see a large branch drop from the single, ornamental red maple he’d paid dearly to have planted in the front for shade. "Son of a bitch!" he bellowed. "That fucker cost me fifteen hundred bucks!" Griff stumbled into an ottoman as he hustled for the door. He saw the older Spanish man over by one of the trucks cutting strips of duct tape for something

or other, but he didn’t see Dennis. "You guys!" he roared at the two men cutting at the tree, just as a second long branch crashed to the ground, barely missing the tall Palladian window. "Stop!" Suddenly, Griff felt something slam into the back of his legs and he stumbled to the ground. A second blow between his shoulders knocked the wind out of him and he collapsed face-first on the ground, helpless. His arms were wrenched behind him and Griff felt something cold against his wrists, then a sharp click as the metal bit into his thick wrists. A foot to his ribs forced Griff to turn over. Looking up now, he could see Dennis - no longer with a friendly smile and slowly slapping a cop’s nightstick against the palm of his hand. This time the eyes were cold and calculating, and the politely deferential voice was replaced by something low and mean. He slapped the stick one last time so it made a solid thwack against his open hand. Christ, Griff thought to himself. It’s the cops. "I know my rights," he began. "My attorney…" "Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut or the next one splits your skull," Dennis said coldly. The short Spanish man came up beside him and seemed to wait for an order. Dennis turned to him and merely nodded. Javier grinned and slapped a piece of duct tape over Griff’s mouth, just as the other two men came up, still holding onto the idling chainsaws. Dennis took one of the saws and gestured to the wood chipper. One worker started up the machine, and the other began unwrapping something in the back of the truck. "I was gonna feed you to that thing an inch at a time," Dennis said with an ugly smile. "But it’s got a lot of pull. If I lost my grip, well…" He made a vague gesture and frowned. "Well, the fun might be over too quick. So I figured we might start with something small." He jammed the blade into Griff’s crotch and revved the motor... after carefully disengaging the clutch. Griff scream was strangled in his throat behind the duct tape, suddenly all too aware that these weren’t cops. He writhed on the ground trying to pull back from the blade as the motor roared and strained at the handcuffs to get free.

Dennis stepped back and began to chuckle, pointing at the stain spreading across the front of the big man’s pants. "Jesus, Javier, looks like he sprung a leak!" "That ain’t the only end leaking," the other man grumbled, looking down at the prisoner, who kicked helplessly in the dirt. Javier wrinkled his nose in disgust and began fanning the air, wondering what in the world someone could possibly eat to produce that much of a stink.

CHAPTER TWELVE Marc Wildon's legs were rigid and both feet were jammed against the firewall, white finger tips clutching the dashboard. His chest was pounding, his breathing was strained and his eyes were wide in shock/fright, focused fully on the granite block retaining wall directly in front of him. For one, shattering second his eyes flicked over to the seatbelt hanging neatly from the doorpost, and a flittering but non-verbal thought filled his head: `why didn't I use it?' "I was just thinkin' the same thing," a white-faced Chris St. Jacques said, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, shaking. His feet were still thrust down on both the clutch and brake of his old Tercel which had stalled when it hit the curb - his shorter legs as rigid as Marc's. He was suddenly conscious of the dull ache at the base of his rib cage: he'd lurched forward and struck it against the steering wheel. He'd also gotten a quick but very good close-up view of the amount of glass it took to form the windshield of a Toyota. It was a closer inspection than he ever wanted to have again. With wobbling legs, both boys got out and looked at the small car. Chris had been forced to cut the wheel at the last possible second when the Andover police cruiser had gunned out of the driveway just ahead of them. The single cop in the front seat had taken no interest in them whatever - he was red-faced with anger and his mouth was working furiously if soundlessly to their ears, Marc could vaguely recall. For some reason or other the cop had floored his accelerator as he backed out. It was entirely possible, Chris would later explain at the Andover Police Station when he filled out the complaint, that the officer had been so concentrated on his rage when he backed out of the blind driveway at full throttle that he hadn't even noticed the little white car swerve, jump the curb and come to an abrupt halt in what turned out to be a half-inch from the granite wall. The cop simply slammed his cruiser into drive and roared past the rust-pocked Tercel, leaving a few patches of rubber.

The two boys studied the situation. Chris noted that they'd been lucky when he looked down the street, he saw this was the only house with a poured concrete walk and granite curb. Everywhere else, grass stretched out to the roadside and simply tapered down to the tar. If it had been the same here, without the impact of the tire against the curbing, they'd have likely rammed the wall. Chris' face got a little whiter as he considered just how he'd nearly come to a closer inspection of his windshield. That was too close, he thought. At least I was already slowing down, getting ready to turn into the driveway. Marc rubbed his jaw, noting for the first time that he'd clamped it down so hard it ached. They stepped back and Marc whistled when he got his first full look of the front of Lou Sciuoto's house. Just as David had described it, the place was practically an estate, sitting on top of a steep hill with a sweeping horse-shoe driveway in front. The driveway created a frame for some special landscaping, and Marc studied the three large displays, each on its own tier and protected from the elements by rather large - and out of place - Greco-Roman columns. Marc wrinkled his nose, confused. "What are those?" Chris was starting to relax, and chuckled. "Pretty much Catholic shrines," he explained to Marc, whose limited exposure to religion was a trip to West Parish Congregational every Christmas until he was seventeen. Chris pointed out and briefly explained the significance of the poured concrete and brightly painted shrines: St. Francis of Assisi complete with birds and wild animals; a gruesomely bloody Pieta; and at street level, something he could only describe as Mary-on-the-HalfShell. "Guess he's real religious," Marc commented, trying to reconcile that with what he'd heard about Uncle Lou. "Nah. Dave said it's just to piss off his neighbors. The town's got all kinds of restrictions about what you can put in the yards… but religious displays are exempt. The neighbors bitched last year when he wanted to build a small fountain, so this spring he said he found Jesus and did this stuff."

Marc snorted and looked to the top of the hill. David he recognized, but not the second. They were standing around what looked and sounded like a pair of huge speakers that were pumping out a thunderous racket. They'd both been aware of the noise since they'd gotten out of the car, but only as noise. Chris started to laugh when he recognized the song. Marc shook his head wearily and they piled back in the car and, after they carefully snapped on their seatbelts for the short drive, the Tercel groaned its way up the steep grade and parked next to a new-vintage Jeep. A familiar face came by just as Marc killed the engine, but Chris bailed out of the car first and shouted at David. "You played `Cop Killer' with a cruiser in the driveway? No wonder he was pissed! Who's the sicko?" "That would be me," shouted the stranger. Marc looked him over and felt a slight shudder. It wasn't a face he wanted to see in a dark alley, but the grin was huge and even with a sudden view of the space between the front teeth Marc fought the feeling down. "Enough with the friggin' noise," the stranger said and turned to the house and roared for someone to turn it off. Marc reached into the back of the car and began hauling out large grocery bags of junk food. Leo grinned even more at the sight of munchies and the gap in his teeth was given full play before he turned his head back to the house again. "What's with the kid - is he deaf or just ignorin' me?" He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle. "MARTIN? I SAID KILL IT!" The sudden silence left a tingling in their ears. Chris gave Leo and Marc a quick introduction before he stopped in mid sentence and shook his head. "What's with the speakers? How come you had it so loud?" David rolled his eyes for a response and pointed to Leo. Leo let out a chuckle. "David's uncle said we should make sure everyone in the neighborhood knew we were here," he said with a shrug, obviously pleased with himself. "I figured the guy prob'ly had some nice sound equipment, and David said I was right., so I brewed up a few special MP3 disks last night. Hours of the stuff, if we needed it."

Chris' nose wrinkled. "Yeah, but Rap? I figured you for the last guy in the world for that stuff." Leo began coiling the speaker wire absently, trying for a semblance of innocence. "I hate that rap shit," he said with a shrug. "But a while back, I was ticked at my old man, so I downloaded a couple of gigs' worth o' crap. Made for a fun week at my house." He gestured to the neighborhood that stretched out below - one large house after another with weed-less lawns, lush landscaping and at least two imported cars parked in every driveway. "This is Rush Limbaugh country - white-bread suburban America that thinks it's upper class. Can you think of anything that might get more attention in a neighborhood like this? Besides," he added with a chuckle. "Shoulda seen how quick those guys down there came rushin' out of their houses when we pumped up the volume." He grinned again. "I love pissin' off rich people. Even almost rich people." David winced. "Maybe so, but cueing up `Cop Killer' when the police arrive isn't the best idea in the world. And readin' the guy the town noise ordinance just made it a little worse." Leo's chest swelled. "Even better, you mean! The law specifies `after eight,' and it was almost nine when I turned it on, and there's no mention of decibel levels! Can I help it if the town doesn't keep up with the times? All I did was let him know there wasn't a damn thing he could do. And the only reason I had Martin go in and cue up that song was… well, you might say I got a history with that guy. There was no guarantee it would be him on duty today, but…" the grin broadened more. "Sometimes, God just answers a prayer and throws you a freebie. I made sure I had that song last night, just in case. Havin' him show up was pure luck… and if it were any other cop, I wouldn't have done it." Chris raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and you almost got us killed, you douche. What's this about a history?" Leo grunted when he tried to pick up one of the big Klipsch speakers, couldn't manage it and leaned on it instead. "The guy pulled me over one night - really gave me a hassle. Wrote me up for defective equipment, a broken tail light. Fifty bucks for the fine, the new light was eighty, and it gave me enough points on my license to get me an insurance surcharge. Plus the fact it was for operatin' a vehicle `without proper safety equipment' got me another rate hike on my insurance."

His eyes narrowed and his voice hardened. "Trouble is, I know damn well I didn't have a broken tail light when I left my house. I got pulled over and patted down because mine ain't the sorta face you see around there after dark. And in a neighborhood where they give the maid a Saab to run errands… well, my six-year-old Honda kinda stands out, y'know?" Martin appeared in the doorway and Marc blinked. He hadn't seen the boy since last March and the changes were unbelievable. His face was well on its way to looking more like a young man's, but still round and dimpled when he smiled. He was taller by a good four inches, which went a long way to stretching out his once-pudgy middle, even if the blue spandex bathing suit with the shiny silver stripe up the right side was still a questionable choice. Marc knew better than to mention it. "Marc!" the boy shouted and came bounding across the lawn with a grin plastered over his face. Marc almost made the mistake of treating him like a kid and resisted the impulse to pat him on the head; after a slight pause, he gave him a `cool guy' tap with his fist on the shoulder instead. "'Sup, li'l dude." The boy's eyes darted anxiously, searching. "Is Drew here?" he asked breathlessly. Marc Wildon fought back a smile. He's still got that kid crush on Drew… and totally forgot he hates me. "Nah, he's still at the Cape, Mart - there's only four of us taking care of the guesthouse, plus Charlie, and two of us slippin' away for a weekend just wasn't gonna fly. Stick and I came in last night to avoid all the traffic, but I called Chris this morning and he asked me to come along. The only reason I'm up here is because Stick's got business with Dave's dad." Martin's face fell. David disconnected the second tower speakers and looked up sharply. "My dad?" "He's Stick's lawyer, remember?" Marc said with a shrug. "Leonard Stickman made an announcement this week - he's sellin' the Mid-City Manor and retiring to P-Town. He set up a business brunch with your ol' man to get things going - only brought me with him to help with the

driving. Not that he let me behind the wheel, of course." He chuckled. "Believe me, I needed the break," he continued ruefully. "It's a trip dealing with the guests. Some of 'em are snobs, most are okay, but then there's the ones who think their room rate includes the houseboys. Dealin' with that can be tough. But let me tell you: living and working with your boyfriend ain't exactly the best idea in the world… especially when you're also his boss. I think that's why Stick brought me back - me and Drew both needed a break." Dissing Drew was not a good move. A pair of hard, narrowing eyes caught Marc and too late he remembered the natural laws governing Martin's universe: all things Drew were perfect and good. Marc was along for the ride, but only because he had what Martin wanted most: Drew. Marc caught the look and smiled. "But we're doin' okay. You look good, man. Keep that up, and you'll be a hottie, for sure." Martin was suddenly all grins and excitement again and he grabbed Marc's hand and tried to jerk him along. "Man, have I got somethin' to show you. C'mon!" The tall boy hesitated, gesturing to Leo, David and the speakers. Leo reddened. Chris and David exchanged smirks at Martin's expense, who paid no attention at all. "Our boy's got something special he needs to share," David said, nodding towards the house. "Go ahead - we can handle this stuff." He eyed Chris. "And, you! Try not to trip over your own feet. These speakers ain't cheap." Martin jerked Marc along, jabbering aimlessly about things Marc didn't have a clue about and people he'd never heard of, but he smiled anyway, just because Martin was happy about something for once. He allowed himself to be dragged through the large, nicely-furnished living room that seemed to boast home entertainment gadgetry than an average Circuit City, then out through a pair of sliding glass doors into a screened summer room that opened out onto a larger deck flanking a pool. Marc spotted a girl stretched out on a recliner beside Alan in the sun. He stepped out just in time to catch a blur of motion on the diving board.

Marc got an impression of a sleek, nicely defined form in a bright yellow swim suit execute an intricate dive, slicing the water almost without a ripple. Marc pursed his lips. Oh, baby - that's nice. And I don't mean just the dive. He nudged Martin "Who's the hottie? Please, tell me isn't here with the chick." "The chick's my sister Sandy, and she goes out with Leo," Martin said and dismissed the subject. Then his chest swelled. "And the `hottie' is Randy," he said and all but gloated. "And Randy's with me." Marc stroked his jaw with a long finger, let out a low whistle. He may have been in a relationship, but he was human. The swimmer broke the surface and pulled himself out of the water. Eye candy was a treat, but Marc was startled to see how young the face was - much closer to Martin's age than his own. He appreciated the boy's good looks and well-toned body so thoroughly on display in the small swim suit, but somewhere in the back of his mind a word registered: kid. Even though he looked a little younger, Marc was nineteen; Randy was fifteen at best. Another year or even two, and it might be different. But right now, Marc had a sense of an ill-defined line in the sand between child and adult. Randy - like Martin - was still way south of it. At some gut level, an understanding was generated without really forming words in Marc's mind: look, but don't touch. Randy barely acknowledged Marc with his eyes and focused on Martin. Martin mirrored the same goofy look. Marc caught it and smiled. Wait'll I tell Drew, he thought, with a strange sense of satisfaction. Our little boy is growing up. A puffed up Martin swung his face up to Marc, begging for approval and supremely certain it was on its way. Marc put a hand on the boy's shoulder, gave it a firm squeeze and treated Martin to a knowing smile with a conspirator's wink. "You've done well, Young Skywalker." *****

Once he'd cut the leg all the way through, Javier held the chainsaw up in the air and gunned the motor - chunks of meat, blood and bone splattered across Griff's face. Then one of the men picked up the roughcut section and thrust it in Griff's face - and a second frozen scream was strangled in Griff's throat, trapped behind a mouth sealed with duct tape. Not that it would have drawn much attention from neighbors. The noise the machine made was enough to drown it out. The man sauntered over to the maw of the wood chipper. Dennis nodded, and they fed in the shattered chunk of leg and a section of carved-up maple tree. The blades caught both items, jerked them out of the men's hands and a red-tinged arc splattered against the plastic-sheathed backcatcher. The mix of flesh, wood and splintered bone was funneled into what was basically a biodegradable leaf bag - just a lot thicker and larger than anything normally found around a household. One of the grinning men nudged t he other half of the hind leg of beef they'd just carved with chainsaws for Griff's education. Griff himself was propped up against the garage door, hidden behind the landscaper's trucks in case a curious neighbor decided to come walking up the drive to see what all the noise was. Dennis had blocked the driveway with saw horses, posted with notice when they'd arrived and timed their arrival late enough in the morning not to cause too much of a stir. If a neighbor decided to explore beyond that, all they'd see when they rounded the bend and got clear of the woods would be the landscaper trucks blocking the garage doors. Dennis had pointed this out to Griff before they'd started cutting. Dennis chopped the air with one of his big hands when the fourth man came out of the house. Javier killed the saw, and Neil silenced the wood chipper. Griff sat, shaking, tears running down his face and wondering how he'd gotten caught up in this nightmare. In the sudden silence he could hear the sound of his own blood racing through his temples, felt the throbbing in his head. He'd almost thrown up, but fought it back down, afraid that with his mouth taped he could drown in his own vomit. Griff was fairly certain that he might have crapped himself again… his earlier product had already cooled, but now he felt something warm and wet oozing again. He shook, struggled for breath and if he could just remember how, he would have tried praying.

With both chipper and power saw shut down, suddenly it was just another warm mid-Saturday morning in a New England late July. The hum of insects danced in the air, backed up by the chirping of grasshoppers from a distance. The men grouped together for a conference, voices kept low. Griff's mind leaped to the hope that instead of a neighbor walking around to the drive, he might cut through the woods separating the properties to see what was going on… then Griff remembered that when he built the house, he'd had an 8-foot chain link fence run around his property, just to discourage any impromptu visits. It was common enough in that area; people moved to out-of-the-way country places like his for privacy, but brought city ways with them. When Griff first scouted the property, he'd seen a few of those fences and it seemed a good idea. No old ladies looking for a wandering dog who might get too close and see more than they should. Eight-foot chain link - enough to discourage someone, but not enough to draw the attention of or be a temptation to curious kids. Griff fought to keep his breath in a rhythm. Kids, he thought. Is that what this is about? Kids? Danny swore none of the boys could ever find their way back to the house, he always made sure of it. But then, where the hell was Danny? Did these men grab him the day before? Did Danny cut some sort of deal for himself, and leave Griff behind? He couldn't believe it… Danny was utterly devoted to him… and dependent. Plus he was into this almost as deep as Griff was. No. Danny could never betray him. He'd never dare. The fourth man who'd just come out of the house wore a utility belt, displaying both ordinary tools mixed with some electronic gear. He and Dennis conferred while Javier and Neal listened quietly. They came to some agreement and three of them walked around to the back of a truck. Javier pulled out packages and passed them out. Dennis squatted next to Griff, pushed his cap back and smiled down at him. The smile was pleasant, reassuring even… but the eyes were cold, calculating and dead. "The boys have to get into some special gear, Mr. R," he said amiably. Then he sniffed the air. "Goddamit, did you shit yourself again?" He tsked. "Javier was right. You really should learn to eat better - a guy your age should be watching his cholesterol more." He shook his head.

"Let's face it buddy - you've gotta be in your mid-forties, right? You're a prime candidate for a heart attack. Especially if you should hit a little stress in your life." His smile broadened and he poked a finger hard into Griff's chest. "Today's an example - I mean, you should see yourself right now. You're all red in the face, your eyes are bulging - shit, I can even see red in your eyes from a couple of burst blood vessels. Goddam man, you gotta learn to unwind." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Parodi cigars and flicked one of the little black, crooked stogies out. They weren't much longer than an ordinary cigarette, but thicker and far more potent. Dennis lit up, and quietly blew the acrid smoke into Griff's face. Griff choked, fought for breath and tried to roll away but Dennis reached over and grabbed him by the shirt. He slammed Griff's head against the garage door, which echoed a metallic clang. "You don't move unless I tell you it's okay! You got that, asshole?" He blew more smoke into Griff's face. Dennis noted the labored breathing and the trembling. The smile came back, but the eyes never changed. "Trouble breathing because of the smoke?" he asked pleasantly. "Sorry, buddy." He ground out the cigar. Griff tried to relax. Then just as quickly Dennis' hand came up again and pinched Griff's nostrils shut. A desperate Griff tried jerking away but Dennis swung a leg around and straddled Griff's waist, squatting over him, then slammed Griff's head back against the metal garage door again. He let him struggle for almost thirty seconds, enough so his face turned crimson from the lack of air, before he released the man's nose. Dennis' voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned to within an inch of Griff's face. "See that? If I only wanted to kill you, all it would take is two fingers - like just now. You dyin' today is pretty much a good bet, you fuckin' old perv. So try to keep somethin' in mind: I really don't care how you die. Only when. It can be quick an' easy…" He snapped his fingers. "Or it can be very, very slow. Javier was an army medic back in the Gulf War. He knows exactly what to do to keep you from bleeding out while we slice parts of you off, and has a nice stash of drugs to keep you very alive, very conscious, and very, very aware of what's happening to you." He cocked an eyebrow and flashed his shark grin. "And some of the stuff in his goodie bag actually heightens the sensations you'll feel."

He looked Griff up and down, then leaned closer. "I know some guys who lasted six, maybe seven hours. But you?" He shook his head. "I figure 90 minutes, but there's always hope. And believe me, you'll be beggin' to die when the moment comes." Griff's breath came in furious bursts through his nose. His body shook, tears even ran down his cheeks. He wanted to scream, the sound even roiled around in his throat. And all the time, Dennis grinned, the cold dead eyes fixed on his. Dennis relit his little cigar, and blew another stream of blue smoke into Griff's face. The prisoner choked, but this time didn't try to pull away. Dennis stood up from his squat over Griff. He patted Griff on the head and dropped down beside him, stretching his long legs out on the driveway surface, and crossed his ankles. Then he resumed speaking in his previous laid-back, easy conversational tone. "See those guys, buddy?" Dennis pointed to the two men standing with Javier, dressed in some sort of hooded protective gear that wasn't exactly cloth. The coveralls even wrapped around their feet, with small tie offs to keep the suit from dragging down and tripping the wearer. The hoods were up over their heads and tied tight. Both men wore goggles. "Those are disposable coveralls - what they call bunny suits," Dennis said easily, and took another drag on his cigar, but this time blew the smoke away from Griff. "They use 'em all the time in those `clean rooms' in the microchip business, but you bein' some kind of electronic wiz, I'm sure you know all about that stuff. They're a sort of paper completely disposable if they should get all covered with something red and sticky." He nudged Griff. "All things considered, that's kinda likely to happen today. Fortunately, those suits burn real good and that takes care of the extra evidence, 'cuz these forensics guys are gettin' way too sharp these days. It ain't too likely anyone'll be coming soon, but just in case someone decides they're worried about you goin' missing and all we've got it all worked out. If by some miracle the police start to look harder than I think they'll bother, there won't be much to trace us down." Dennis stopped and pointed over to the wood chipper. "That leg of beef we just cut up and fed to that thing is how you're goin' Griff. There's a lot more of you maybe, but that's mostly lard. Believe it or not, cow bones are a lot thicker than yours, so if it handled those…" Dennis shrugged.

"Well, you get the picture. The skull's always the tough part, but Javier brought a couple of sledge hammers so we can take care of that. That'll play hell with your driveway maybe, but don't worry. We brought plenty of plastic sheeting, so nothin' should stain." Dennis reached over and gave Griff a fond pat on the head. "I promise you, buddy," he continued in a confidential tone, "there won't be anything left to find. And Bob - the guy we sent in the house? Yeah, he found your burglar system and made sure it was disabled, just so we don't get interrupted. He's real good in electronics. He set up this signal jammer just in case the system had a battery back-up and started up when the main power source got interrupted - which it did. But the thing's completely disabled now, just like your phone lines are dead, your satellite's disconnected, and he pounded a couple of cell phones into pieces. But the best part is this, and I got to tell you something." Dennis reached into his back pocket and pulled out a broken padlock and dropped it into Griff's crotch. He tsked again. "Honest to God, Griffy," Dennis jeered. "You spent thousands of bucks extra to run the electric and telephone lines under the ground, then have the works in a stainless steel box. Now, that's really pretty good security, you know? But then you go and screw it all up usin' a threedollar padlock to keep it all safe! Bob said he could have used a nutcracker for all the protection this thing offered! Ah, but what the hell, he had the bolt cutters anyway. And as for that alarm system - Jesus, Griff, you gotta think `upgrade' every now and then. I mean, that thing was about as up-to-date as Fred Flintstone's car. Believe me, Javier know a lot about alarms, and yours just ain't up to speed anymore, more like some relic from the 90s. Very low-tech. They must've offered you the batgain pack, huh?" He tossed the lock into the back of one of the trucks and Griff jumped when he heard metal slam against metal. "On the other hand," Dennis continued, "he really admired that lock on your private office in the cellar. I mean, you got that heavy-duty, solid core door, and he figures you've got the good metal frame on it to keep it in place. Those electronic combination things can be a pain in the ass to crack sometimes, but it can be done. Only we don't have to. You know why? Oh, right, you can't talk… well, I'll tell you why that lock isn't worth shit: see, when you build something with an eye to security, Griff… well, you gotta use your head. A great lock, a really good door… to protect a room built with wood studs covered by sheetrock?" He shook his head in disgust. "Honest to God, what the fuck were you

thinkin'? You shoulda paid the contractor extra to use cinder block or something. 'Cuz you know what?" He pointed to one of the chainsaws on the ground. "Five minutes, tops, and we get to see all your little treasures. I mean, we'd have to dick a round for a half hour cracking the code otherwise, and maybe all that time ain't important but," he shrugged. "Hey, I like things easy. So maybe - just maybe - you can help me out and just give me the combo, okay? I mean, there's a lot at stake here. And it might help my mood, you know?" Griff felt the tears running down his face. His eyes darted between Dennis and the small group of men by the truck in their coveralls - one holding a chainsaw, the other holding gallon jugs of bleach in each hand. Dennis leaned over and slapped Griff lightly on the cheeks to get his attention again. "Over here, Griff. Never mind about them! Focus, buddy, focus! Remember, they take their orders from me, so I'm the one you should pay attention to." Griff swung his attention to the smiling face, tried to speak - producing nothing more than grunts. Dennis' mouth formed a small `o' and his face dissolved into mock surprise. "You wanna talk, Griffy? Tell you what - I can maybe peel back that tape a little, and we can jaw for a little." Griff nodded his head up and down frantically, grunting in his throat. Dennis' finger tugged at the corner of the tape, then stopped. "Must really suck with your mouth sealed shut like that. But keep two things in mind before I pull it off: First, if you try to yell, I can seal you right back up and we start carving, but not that side of beef again. I mean, this time, it'll be for real. But before we do that, I'll kick you in the balls so hard you'll taste 'em in the back of your throat, and these boots got steel toes. Capisce?" The head bobbed. "Good boy." Dennis bent down and yanked the tape. Griff let out an involuntary yelp then cringed, eyeing Dennis' foot. Dennis ignored him and studied the sticky side of the tape. "Shit. Too bad you didn't shave today, 'cuz that must've really hurt." He squinted more closely. "Damn. Looks like some skin came away." Griff gasped for air at first, and when the frantic heaving of his chest slowed he tried to look up at Dennis, who stood cross-armed and smiling above him. He licked his raw lips a few times and tried his voice,

but only a croak came out. He swallowed hard and tried again but it was a little too loud. His eyes caught a quick movement of the heavy work boot and he panicked. Without thinking he tried to curl into a ball. Dennis only prodded him until he uncurled enough to look up again. "Hey, hey. Don't be such a wuss, Griff. I'm sure a twelve year-old gettin' his ass boned by a full-grown man feels a lot worse. Now, how about you and me talk for a little? First, how about that lock code? Be a good guy, save me some trouble. Might help my mood, y'know?" Griff stuttered, but gave the code to Dennis, who laughed when he heard it. Then he tried playing his only card. "I've got money," Griff sputtered. "There's a wall safe in my bedroom - there's over twentythousand in it! Cash!" Dennis shook his head. "Nah, Griff, you got this all wrong," he said in a patient tone. "We'll be happy to take the money you got in the house, though that'll just be a perk. But this isn't about money. And if it was money we were after, it'd be for a shit-load more than twenty grand, I'll tell ya." Dennis jerked his thumb at the trucks. "Twenty wouldn't even cover the cost of our equipment!" he chuckled. "I can get you more," Griff added desperately. "I can get it from the bank - hell, gimme a cell, and I can set it up. I…" "You don't have shit in the bank, Griff." Dennis pointed to Javier. "See that guy over there? Yeah, you thought he was just another dumb spic I'll bet, doin' my dirty work. Actually, Javier knows a lot about banks, credit reports and computers… stuff that gives a strong-arm guy like me a headache. He knows how to get into accounts in special ways that'd be tough to spot, even if someone knew where to look. Well, last night he took an hour or two out of his day and devoted them to you… and your banks. I mean, the credit cards were a snap - they're history. But don't worry - we paid them up in full with that checking account you got, but I got to admit, that cleaned you out pretty quick… good thing you got overdraft protection, huh? Of course, that's at the limit now. I guess that leaves you pretty much tapped out, especially with your other accounts all tied up." Griff stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Don't look at me like that!" Dennis snapped. "We didn't exactly steal nothin', but… well, it'll be awhile before anyone figures out where the hell everything went. And Javier can't be sure, but he thought he might've done something that's gonna attract some attention… like maybe from the IRS, and you know how nasty they can get. So… well, let's just say you're financially fucked for awhile and let it go at that." Dennis waited for it to set in, his hard eyes locked on Griff, who tried not to see. When Dennis spoke, it was in a silky-smooth voice "No, this is about a lot more than money anyway," he said, stroking his jaw. "This is about something a lot more precious. See, somewhere along the line you played around with the wrong little boy, and that pissed off somebody real important. Someone who's got lots more money than you do. He's retired and all, but unfortunately for you, he's still got all kinds of connections. Tryin' to buy us off is no good - 'cuz if we crossed him, he'd find out real quick, and chances are we'd wind up where you are right now, or worse. Our friend… well, he's kind of an old country type, and he keeps to a lot of the old-world ways. He lives by this personal code that's almost sacred to him. So that means today is all about one thing." Dennis flashed row of white, even teeth, and for the first time Griff saw a flash of life in those hard eyes when Dennis summed it all up. "Today is about revenge." Griff's eyes bulged and his body shook. When he felt his stomach rise he couldn't fight it down. Dennis jumped back in time to miss the fountain of puke that shout out of the man's mouth and covered his front. A look of combined pity and disgust crossed Dennis' face. He took out a rag from his back pocket and wiped Griff's face clean before resealing the tape. "Jesus H. Christ," he muttered in disgust. "What a pussy. If it isn't one end of you lettin' loose, it's the other." He turned and shouted to the group of men standing on the side. "Javier! Get the garden hose and clean him down! That shit still has DNA in it and I don't want a trail of shit an' puke going through the house. Once he's clean, skin him out of those clothes." Javier smiled and flicked open a razor knife just to watch the effect on Griff, who tried to fight his way out of the cuffs and tape again.

Dennis approached the other two men and his voice dropped. "You said it's all good inside?" he said, nodding towards the house. Neil nodded, shifting his eyes back and forth to Griff. "Fiberglass tub unit, one of the big ones, a solid one piece. The floor in the bathroom is a smooth, un-textured vinyl, real easy to clean in case something goes wrong." He shifted around uncomfortably, shot a look at Javier then back to Dennis. He swallowed hard. "Uh, look. When we got the call well, this is a little out of our line, ya know? I mean, we're thieves, prob'ly the best north of New York. That's why the old man called us. We're not… contract guys. How far's this supposed to go?" "As far as it has to," Dennis said simply. He caught the nervous exchange between Bob and Neil. "Relax, guys. My bet is, he'll fold as soon as you get him inside. It might be a good idea to start up the chipper again before you take him inside. If he doesn't start talking, crank up one of the saws. Get him talking, keep him talking and get it on tape. If he doesn't open up, come and get me." "Why?" "'Cuz I won't think twice about slicing off a finger or two to make a point, and you guys might," Dennis said simply. He glanced at Griff and let his voice get louder for effect. "Keep latex on the hands, boys. And don't take off those suits until you're done with him, okay? No point in tempting fate with forensics in case there's blood. We can burn everything later." The two men exchanged uneasy looks, but nodded. Dennis was a wild card to them, a complete unknown. They had no choice but to take him at his word. Dennis turned back to Javier, who'd given Griff a hard-spray hosing and was busy slicing up the inside seam of the man's pants. "Hey, try not to nick anything when you get to the crotch, okay? Assuming there's anything there to begin with. I'll be in the cellar - join me down there. Bob and Neil already know what to do." Javier nodded and continued cutting away the pants, smiling into the face of a terrified Griff as he slid the blade slowly up the seam. The other two men watched and laughed.

Whistling, Dennis walked around to the passenger door of the old International pick-up. He pulled out two new laptops, each a different platform, bought special for the job at hand: they hadn't been sure what kind of equipment Griff might have. Both would be disposed of by the end of the day, at least one of the hard drives pummeled into useless scrap. After flashing another big smile and a wave at Griff, Dennis made his way into the house. ***** Sandra Seduko sat up in the lounge chair where she'd dozed off in the sun and took a long stretch before checking her watch. Three o'clock. She still had plenty of time, but she had to get ready for her evening shift at DeMille's Market. She sighed. It had been a nice morning and afternoon. When she'd heard she would likely be the only girl at an allguy (and as it turned out, mostly gay) party, she'd assumed she'd wind up taking care of all the cooking. She didn't understand what it was about grills that made men fight to cook on one, but Leo - who could barely fix himself a ham sandwich in a kitchen - and Alan spent the day hovering over the grill, telling her to take it easy. Instead of being the private maid for the day, she'd been waited on, and she liked that. Even by her brother, who usually required a smack in the head just to pick up after himself. Chris was drifting on a raft in the pool, a cap pulled down over his face and hands folded across his stomach, making snorting sounds now and again. Alan was stretched out in a lounge chair next to hers. She nudged him and he looked up with a pair of bleary eyes. "You're getting a little crispy at the edges," she warned him. "Better move out of the sun, or slap on some sunscreen." Alan said something that was most likely a `thanks' in the middle of a yawn then sat up, smiled and stretched. Then he spotted Chris floating in the pool and his eyes shone. He flashed a quick grin at Sandy and with a quick sprint was at the edge of the pool. Chris snorted again and Alan froze. When the figure on the raft didn't move, Alan cautiously lowered himself into the water. If asked to describe his motions from that point on, Sandy would have said he slithered under the water, like the Loch Ness Monster after his prey.

She didn't need an explanation to know what was coming and collected her bag and wandered over to the picnic table set up in the shade of a tree. Leo, David and the tall blond - Marc? - were playing some kind of card game and arguing about something. Sandy laughed when she saw what they were playing. "You're playing Mille Bornes? That's a kids game!" "Is not," David said, playing out some mileage cards. "But it's Leo's fault. We were all set to play poker, but when he heard the stakes he chickened out." "I ain't playin' strip poker with you guys," Leo muttered. "Not when the only thing I got to bet with is a T-shirt and my bathing suit." A poker faced David dropped a `Puncture' card on Leo for his last play. Leo glared at him across the table, and David pretended not to notice. She looked around. No sign of her brother or his friend. "You guys seen my brother?" Leo stuck his tongue out at David and snapped down a card. "`Increvible'," he sneered. "No more flats. So much for your little treasures." He looked up at his girlfriend. "Dunno, Sand. They were sittin' in that glider thing on the screen porch last time I noticed." Marc played out a mileage card, did a discard and then a nonchalant David dropped an `Accident' on Leo. "You suck," Leo growled. "And he's good at it," Marc tossed in, nailing David with an `Out-of-Gas.' Leo turned red and Sandra rolled her eyes. Marc and David savored another victory. Embarrassing Leo was almost too easy but it was still good sport. She poked David. "Will you guys quit picking on the breeder? Now, where's Martin?" Leo looked around. "I dunno. Their sneakers are still here, so they didn't go far. Why? You worried about him?" "Just curious. Listen, I have to get ready for work. Are you going to drive me?"

Leo stole a quick look at David, who shook his head slightly. Sandy knew something was going on, she just didn't know what and Leo wouldn't say. It was frustrating, but Leo had stressed his presence here today was important, yet he couldn't say why. She'd suspected it had something to do with her brother's disappearance during the week, and questioned both her boyfriend and brother, but each was a brick wall. Nor would anyone explain why David and Leo were suddenly inseparable. And today - a sudden party with no one but her brother's gay friends? Seems kind of convenient, she mused. Leo slid his car keys across the table to Sandy. "I really should stay here," he said warily. "Just take the car - one of these guys can run me up tonight to pick it up, okay?" Sandy bit her lower lip and nodded. She flashed a smile she didn't fully feel and took the keys. The others waved and she collected her clothes and went back into the house, heading for the bathroom to change and fix herself up. Leo had sworn that everything - whatever `everything' was - would be over and done with today, and she'd have to trust him. Still… where Martin was concerned, she was careful. There was nothing overt about them, but Sandy had seen the dynamic between Alan and David and understood their relationship without having to ask. Chris was… well, not as obvious as her brother perhaps, but she had few doubts. When Martin's older friends started turning up, she'd watched and studied them. Sandy remembered too well from her first year in high school what a lot of older boys wanted when they started coming on to the freshmen girls, and a few of her friends had learned the hard way. Straight or gay didn't matter; a sleaze was still a sleaze. She demanded to be introduced, and a complaining Martin gave in. She watched and didn't miss much, analyzed these boys carefully: the way they acted around her, and the way they acted around Martin. She listened to not only what was said but how it was said, with a particular eye towards body English. In the end, she accepted that her brother's new friends were nothing more than what they seemed: just a group of nice, older guys who helped Martin out with a ride when he needed it, and sometimes took him along for a special trip. Chris played the lecherous clown sometimes, but it was obvious he'd never be a danger

to Martin. Marc she'd recognized - he was Drew's boyfriend, someone for whom her brother once had a major crush. She smiled to herself. Kind of like he has a crush on that Randy kid. It bothered her a little that maybe Randy and Martin might be more than just `friends' - she'd watched the peeking games, the way they'd follow the other around with their eyes when they thought no one was looking, and while they were friendly enough with everyone else they'd spent most of the afternoon sitting together on the porch glider, just talking. Sandy debated having a few words with Martin, but there was no point sooner or later, he'd meet a boy and `it' would happen. Sandy understood an implacable truth: guys were guys, no matter what. The only thing that ever kept a straight boy from getting what he wanted was a straight girl saying no. So when you had two guys who's sex drive kept saying "yes"…. well, they'd have to work it out for themselves. And Randy seemed like a nice kid. Better him than some jerk who'd use Martin like a piece of meat. Meanwhile, there was a sudden commotion in the water followed by a loud splash and they all turned to see the empty raft. Alan's head broke the surface of the water by the side wall and in what seemed a single move he clambered out of the water clutching something red in his hands. He hit the ground and started running. A spluttering, angry Chris St. Jacques struggled to the surface and was about to climb out of the pool and chase Alan until he spotted Sandy. He dropped back into a crouch, but howled after Alan who was standing by the cabana, swinging the red thing over his head and laughing. "Gimme back my bathing suit, ya weasel!" Sandy laughed, decided to give Chris a shot at revenge by stepping inside. Once through the sliders she took in the spacious living room with its fine furniture and felt a pang of envy. Someday, she thought. Maybe someday. She walked down the hall and grabbed the bathroom door. Locked. She rattled it. "Martin? Are you in there?"

There were sudden noises on the other side and she caught some whispering - two voices, she was sure. She shook the door again. "Martin? Let's go, kid. I've got to get ready for work." "Just a minute!" Martin shouted. She heard a frantic Randy whisper "lemme finish" followed by her brother's low pitched "hurry up." Martin's made more sounds. She heard a grunt and waited. Impatient, she rapped the door again. More rustling around and whispering. There was a quick snap! and she heard the toilet flush. Finally the lock clicked and the door swung open. Two furtive red faces eyed her suspiciously, then two sets of nervous eyes looked down and away. Randy and Martin edged passed her and slunk away down the hall, sending guilty glances over their shoulders. Now what the hell were they up to? Sandy scowled. Was Martin's bathing suit on backwards? She was sure the silver stripe was on the right side, now it was on the left. She shook it off and began changing into her work clothes. While she was brushing out her hair, she heard voices outside the small bathroom window. "Thanks for finishing," she heard her brother half whisper. "I'll give you one later. Promise." "No sweat," Randy replied and giggled. Then Sandy heard the cry "Cannonball!" followed by two big splashes and Chris St.Jacques cursing them both. Sandy froze. Thanks for finishing? "Oh, shit." She fell back against the door and started to laugh.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Dennis flicked on a flashlight as he descended the cellar stairs. It was pitch black once he hit the bottom, since all the cellar windows had been blocked as soon as Griff had set up his special rooms. Dennis clamped the flashlight under his chin and began to work on the lock. He had the face plate off in less than a minute and clipped in a power supply, then punched in the security code Griff had given him. He'd been prepared to break into the room if he had to, but it served his purpose better if there were as few signs of forced entry as possible. The lock buzzed and Dennis kicked the heavy door open and flashed the light around. There was an emergency flood set up in the room and Dennis killed his flash, happy for the break. He eyed the computer on the desk, and prayed that Griff hadn't booby trapped it somehow. If it had its own emergency power supply, it might trigger something that would somehow wipe the hard drive. It was possible, he knew. It was a gamble though; but out here in the country, winter power outages were hardly an unknown. Heavy ice built up on old tree branches that snapped, taking down wires with them. Dennis wanted as much information as he could get on Griff and his activities. If Griff decided to hold information back, the hard drive might yield extra help. By the end of the night, Griff's machine would be in the hands of someone skilled in computer forensics. Dennis eyed the shelves in the room: row after row of CD-ROMs in plastic cases. He inspected a few and saw that they had dates on their labels, nothing more. There was a stack of cardboard file cases in a corner of the room, and Dennis tore open the first: still photographs, and, judging by the hair styles at least twenty years old. He opened another - old magazines. All of them featured nude boys, most but not all in their early- or mid-teens, but some younger. A few were simple nude studies; most were more graphic. Many of these featured adult men having sex with the boys. The tall man slumped back on the desk, rubbed his eyes and shook his head before opening up another box. The third was loaded with small

metal cans and he snapped one open. These were reels of Super 8mm movies, something nearly extinct since the advent of the VCR and later DVDs. Griff apparently collected antiques. Dennis tested a few of the disks he'd found and dropped them into the laptop drive. After a quick scan of three, he finally found something he could use. He rerouted the printer to the laptop, plugged the printer into a battery pack and began to run off some color prints from selected images he'd pulled off the disk. There was a low whistle and Dennis spun around. Javier was standing in the door, eyeing the shelves of material. "Is he talking?" Dennis asked casually, tossing his small stack of prints into one of the boxes. "Singin' like a bird," Javier said with a smile. "Neil didn't even have to start up the saw again - our buddy couldn't wait to give up the info." Dennis nodded grimly. "They know to get names, right? And addresses, phone numbers, the works. I want him to name as many of his friends as he can, tell us what they like and where they get it. Pump him dry." "No sweat," Javier said. "From what he was sayin' when I left, there's some kinda network, and he was namin' names." He looked around the room again. "What are we gonna do with all this stuff?" "Make sure you keep those latex gloves on if you touch anything - I don't want any prints showing up. We're going to load up everything but these boxes," Dennis said, jerking his thumb at the file cases. "I was going to sort through it a little, but…" he shuddered, gesturing to a handful of magazines he'd tossed on the desk. "I'll let someone else check this stuff and sort it out. I don't have the stomach for it." Javier picked up one called The Boy's Best Friend. On the cover was a German Shepherd next to a bare-chested, dark-haired boy with big, frightened eyes, maybe eight years old. He guessed it dated back to the sixties, judging by the age of the paper and the cut of the boys hair. Javier flipped the magazine open, checked two pages and dropped it with a shudder. "Jesus. They made a kid do that with an animal?"

"They're all animals," Dennis said sharply. "That's why I don't have any sympathy for that guy upstairs. Leave this old stuff in the kitchen… it can't screw up the lives of anyone that's in 'em anymore, but just the possession of shit like this is illegal, and that'll get the ball rolling. But the rest of it has to go, and someone else is gonna cull through it. Nothing's getting passed around unless there's an adult in it, or at least that's what we're hoping. The last thing I want is any of these kids put through any more shit than they've already been through. If a kid wants to speak up and come forward… well, that's up to him." Javier started gathering up disks and packing them into an empty box. "It ain't like anyone can tip names." Dennis snorted. "Don't be too sure of that… Remember the Kobe Bryant case? Some radio announcer got the victim's name and broadcasted it, claiming his rights under the first amendment. Right behind them will be the lawyers from both sides hoping to make a career out of a highprofile case like this - standing on the courthouse steps, waiting for the news cameras, insisting that the names be released and the victims scrutinized. Then there's the television boys themselves… entire `news' shows devoted to critiquing and going over who said what and what they actually could have meant… And meanwhile, everyone starts to forget what these kids were put through because they're caught up in the so-called `drama'. You can bet on the politicians rushing in for a piece of the action. Can't you see the Governor twisting this around for his own purposes? He's got his eye on Washington, and this'll play good for the right wingers he sucks up to, and he won't be alone. State reps to congressmen will be jumping into the feeding frenzy. In the end they'll all make speeches, gain lots of attention… then pass some half-assed law that has almost nothing to do with the actual facts because it'll serve some other agenda they've got." Dennis' voice trailed. He looked at one of the pictures and shuddered. "One of these days some ambush-journalist asshole at a newspaper or a TV station is gonna make a first amendment bitch about the public's right to know and start dropping names in cases like this, whether they're minors or not. It almost happened during that Catholic Church fiasco in Boston - one of the lawyers started referring to victims in the press by first names until a judge slapped him down. Like I said; let these kids decide for themselves if they want to talk. Just like some talked when they found out about Cardinal Law's shell game with pedo priests. The pictures of these guys with a kid is enough to get a

conviction, but they're gonna be copied and sent around to a few places." "Such as?" "The Essex County District Attorney, for starters," Dennis said grimly. "Plus the Massachusetts' Attorney General. There's federal laws about this stuff, so the U.S. Attorney in Boston gets a piece. And just to make sure nothing get hushed up by some bureaucrat who wants to cut some deal to `catch bigger fish' or save someone's ass, there'll be some distribution to the local rag and the big Boston papers. Maybe one of the national scandal sheets, too. None of the guys involved with this mess is gonna slither out of this bust. We're gonna make sure everybody knows their names." Javier chuckled. "Hey, just like Cheers, right?" Dennis gave the man a withering look. "This ain't anything to joke about." "Sorry." Javier hoisted the first case and headed for the door. "Huh. Bob was right - he had you pegged for a cop. And we all just assume your name ain't Dennis, either." "Never mind what my real name is. And I'm a state trooper," Dennis said, picking up the computer and following. "I'm running a traffic detail now, but I used to work with a special investigative unit… until a case got blown by a prosecutor who was tossin' out immunity like it was confetti and I stepped on some toes. And by the way, I always figured `Bob' and `Neil' weren't real names - it was just too good to believe. I figure you're not Javier, either." "Just the name on an old shirt I bought at a second hand store," Javier said grinning as they climbed the steps. "But it'll do." Outside at the lead truck they loaded in the first of the materials and Dennis dug out a load of box flats and another role of duct tape. "Just remember something, okay?" Dennis told the man. "In case we ever run into each other… professionally? Today is something special. Once we

split up, we don't know each other," he said without any animosity. "No matter what." Javier nodded, taking no offence. "It was always understood," he said simply. Today was a well-paid favor for a man of influence with many connections, a man to whom even a witness protection program meant nothing. He was a good friend to have… and a very bad enemy to make. Silence was also a part of his personal code, and silence was understood. ***** It was past dusk, and Lou Sciuoto was sweating as he helped off-load the last of the boxes from the pick-up and into the blue van with `Amici Carpeting' stenciled on the side. "Thanks, guys," he said, nodding to the four strangers. "Just park the equipment over there," he said indicating the crane with a big claw. "I was told to tell you all… you're all owed a favor." Javier tipped his cap and the three of them split off to take care of the old pickups and the shredder, leaving Lou alone with Dennis. Dennis leaned back against the side of the van waiting for the rest to get out of earshot. "Listen, Mr. Sciuoto," he began in a low voice. "If you talk to the old… gentleman, tell him I said thanks, but I can't accept any favors. When he called me - well, I almost hung up when I realized who it was. This was… well, I dunno how to explain it. Special circumstances." "I understand, and my friend told me to expect that," Lou said nervously, eyes following the three men. He waited for them to park the trucks, get into the Ford Explorer they'd arrived in and drive off through the open gate on the far side of his salvage yard. Lou pulled out a remote control, pressed a button and watched the gate swing shut. "But he wanted it made clear: if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. He believes in paying debts, and he's in yours. He says you can go through me if you want to, because he'll never put you at risk by contacting you again." Dennis paused, looked around for a sign of anyone watching… not that it made any difference. He was well aware of the state of modern

surveillance equipment. Someone could be looking down from any of the buildings nearby, and listening to every word they said. God, he thought with a shudder. If this is some kind of set up I walked into… "I never heard of your name linked to those people, Mr. Sciuoto, and I used to be in a position where I would. I don't know what your connection is, but…" Lou shrugged. "The only connection was him and my father grew up together and they were friends," Lou said, wiping his hands on a rag. "Not business associates, just good friends in the neighborhood. Papa was never involved with their… interests." Not like I'll have to be from now on, Lou thought ruefully. Dennis nodded, shrugged. "Guess that's it, then," he said holding out a hand that Lou shook. "Don't suppose we'll be meeting again." "Probably not," Lou said with a smile. "And thanks. Thanks for more than you'll ever know." Dennis smiled but said nothing. He'd recognized the last name easily enough. He understood a lot more about Lou now, just as he understood more about the man's nephew David and two scared boys in his wife's office named Randy and Martin. He knew what the likely stakes in this for Lou were, and decided he respected the man. Admired him, even, after a fashion. Lou escorted him to the main entrance, unlocked a small door to the right of the big gate. Dennis walked briskly to his car, parked in a lot three blocks away. Unlike the men in the Explorer, his plates were legitimate… and he didn't want them noted down. Lou went over to the trucks and siphoned the gas tanks, then started the engines to burn the last of the fuel. He hated losing his old International, but it was too risky and it was a small sacrifice. He knew by rights he should have torn out the seats and all the other non-metallic parts of the vehicles as well as drained the oil, but he didn't want the equipment in identifiable shape, through the weekend, just in case something went wrong and everything blew up. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time something went out of a scrap yard that wasn't exactly EPA standard, nor the last. Besides, Lou almost never played games with the regs. If some inspector caught him, he'd bitch but that would be about it.

Lou dropped the first vehicle into the maw of the machine along with the wood chipper, and waited patiently for the crusher to complete its cycle. When the conveyor cleared what was left and a neat cube of metal rolled out, he dropped in the second truck, cycled it through and shut down the machinery. Lou pulled out the pre-paid cell phone he'd picked up and made a call. It was answered on the first ring. "Yes, Louis?" said an old man. "It's done, Uncle Victor. Everything's in the van." "Good, good," the old man said. "I'll see that the rest is taken care of, don't worry. Now go home, Louis. I'll send a young friend for the van. No need for you to meet." "But the gate…" He heard the old man chuckle. "Believe me - your gate won't be a problem for my young man. Go home, Louis. Kiss your nephew and hug your brother for me, okay? Oh… and you don't need to worry. Your father was my first friend; he always stood by me. There's no long strings attached to today - this is just a favor. Good bye, Louis. Think of me some time, and maybe light a candle at St. Sixtus' every now and then for a sick old man." The line went dead, and Lou let out a deep sigh of relief. He shuddered to think of what Uncle Victor could have asked for… and he'd be obliged to do. Lou called David next, then tossed the phone in after the truck. He flipped the switch, and watched the pickup turn into a second metal block. Comfortably seated in an old yellow Cadillac, a happier Lou Sciuoto drove through the streets of Everett. Just north of Boston as he sped down I-93, he felt like a weight had lifted from his chest, and by the time he reached his exit to Andover he caught himself actually humming to one of the seventies songs playing on his radio, tuned into one of the oldies stations. He'd never talk about that Saturday, even to David. And

he never wanted to live through another day like that again. It'll be like it never even happened, he thought to himself. ***** Griff Robinson felt the stiffness of the dry tears on his face, and his mouth was taped shut again. Though he was sure it wouldn't do any good, he tried jerking his arms - but the handcuffs wouldn't give. They were wrapped around the heavy mahogany rail of his headboard, and that wasn't about to give either. He was a prisoner, arms suspended over his head. It was pitch dark in the room too, so it was night. But that was all he knew, because when the men had left, they never bothered to turn the power back on, and his bedside clock was blank. Laying naked on the bed, the only view Griff really had was of the shadow of the door to his empty safe, etched out by the pale moonlight. But at least he was still alive… and that's more than he thought he'd be when the whole mess started. Still… how long could he last like this? Before they left, Dennis had patted his belly and laughed, then said with all that flab, Griff could go for a few weeks. And that goddam spic Javier? - the spic had left a jug of water on the night stand. Of course, Griff couldn't reach it with the handcuffs. Shit, he thought, as the realization hit him. How long before anyone noticed I was gone? No neighbors would check on him; after Haverhill, he'd made a point of never making any contacts with neighbors, since he didn't want anyone snooping. He had friends, but most of them were scattered during the summer, and unless something was announced, few of them ever checked in with one another. Work was his main hope, but… Griff tele-commuted from his office a lot of the time; no had pushed him to punch a time clock for years, and those days were long gone. And in the computer business, eccentricities regarding work hours was more of a rule than an aberration. It might take a few days of no reports before anyone at his company started to wonder where he was. They might even assume

he'd been sent out into the field again… but he didn't want to think of that. He focused on how long they might wait before they'd start to check around. They'd call him and get a disconnected line, so most likely they'd realize something was wrong and call the police. But how long before the police started to check? Two days? Three? The police. They weren't a good choice for Griff. If they decided to search the house… he shuddered, fought the idea back. He had to get free, somehow, and get himself on the run. Money. They screwed me out of my money. There was a glimmer of hope… Never having had money in his youth, Griff was careful with it in adulthood. The safe... well, that was cleaned out, but the safe wasn't the only thing he kept. He had four separate accounts in four separate banks, each opened with exactly nine thousand, five hundred dollars… safely under the ten thousand mark that automatically set off bells at the IRS. He had the bank cards tucked away, safe. No one knew about them. And the accounts themselves were listed in another name, with another social security number, just in case anyone else went looking. In the electronic age, it was getting harder and harder to do, but Griff Robinson grew up in one of the poorer of the southern states, and at an early age figured out that one day he might have to hit the road. Twenty-five years ago he'd remembered just enough of the details of a deceased cousin to get the right paperwork from the file cabinets of an almost defunct township in West Virginia. That yielded a social security number and combined with a birth certificate, he'd gotten a second driver license and kept it current. All the proper documentation to secure a passport, issued in Charleston. Thirty-eight thousand dollars wasn't a fortune, but if he had to run… Griff had to get into those bank accounts, had to start converting funds. Then he had to run. Run and not look back, at least until he knew exactly what was going on. Maybe his personal credit cards were gone, but there was still plenty of corporate plastic he could use, for no other reason than to set up a trail of red herrings. Jesus Christ, he thought. What countries doesn't the US have extradition with? Griff almost lost it and wanted to scream, but with his mouth taped all he could do was moan.

He had to get control, not panic. His friends… he had a lot of wellconnected friends, and he'd done them all plenty of favors. Not to mention the extra insurance he'd taken out with his secret videos assuming Dennis and his men hadn't done anything to them. Why the hell had he given up his lock pass? 'Cuz it didn't make any difference, you idiot. The man was right - you put a vault door on a cracker box. Then again, the only reason he did all that was to keep Danny from poking his nose in. He'd had the damn lock left over from a project; that was the only reason he'd used it. Griff was careful, clever. The last thing he ever expected to have happen was getting his house tossed. What alerted them? Danny. Griff thought of him, and his mind formed the words he couldn't give voice to. Danny. The little bastard must have betrayed him. There was no way anyone could have found him otherwise. Still, if it was Danny, then why would they need all that information from Griff? Danny could have told them who his friends were, where they lived. Danny could have given them anything they wanted. Was Danny dead? Serve him right if he was, Griff thought. Worthless piece of street trash… and after everything I did for him. His arms ached and Griff jerked at the cuffs again. Damn! He felt the pressure on his bladder building. He'd already wet himself once, and didn't see the point of fighting it back now since there was no telling how long he'd be caught like this. He slumped down and let nature take its course. He heard birds outside the window, knew that dawn wasn't far away. In fact, wasn't there more light in the room now? Griff hoped so. Then again, it wouldn't make much difference. He'd still be stuck here. Just be able to see the room.

Griff felt the tears again, picturing himself chained to the bed for days more to come at least, maybe even a week, before anyone found him. Or worse, if they ever found him. The tears stopped as the `if' built up in his mind. I could die like this, he thought. Or maybe my arms will get gangrene, stretched up like this over my head. He hadn't thought of that. Griff could die manacled to his own bed in the middle of an upscale suburban town, dying of either of thirst or starvation. Which would come first? How long would it take? Griff remembered a trap he'd come across once, when he was a boy. An animal had gotten caught, and actually chewed its own leg off to get free. Griff had been fascinated at the sight, then. Now… he shuddered. Then sort of laughed, or much as he could laugh… his mouth was taped shut, so he couldn't even chew. It was getting brighter in the room. The sun was nearly up, and he could make out the shadows of his furniture at least. Not that it would help. Griff heard a noise. Was there someone in the driveway? His bedroom faced the back of his house, but… he couldn't be sure. The windows were closed, but he thought he'd heard something for sure. Griff strained, even held his breath hoping to pick out some noise that wasn't just the house. He heard knocking, definitely knocking. He jerked his body around on the bed, hoping if he could rattle it enough, whoever was at the door would hear the thumping of the headboard against the wall. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak, high-pitched moaning behind the tape Dammit, that front door is reinforced with steel, and it's set in a heavyduty frame. But who could it be? Not a thief, no thief would knock. Griff decided he didn't care who it was, and hoped they'd break the windows if they had to. "Hello?" a voice called from the front room. "Mr. Robinson? We're the Boxford Police. Hello?"

Griff flailed around as best he could, threw his legs over the side of the bed even though it put more stress on his wrists and began pounding his feet, trying to create as much noise as he could in his throat. He heard heavy footsteps down the hall and the bedroom door flew open. Griff couldn't see a face in the still shadowy light but he could only make out a form, caught a glint of light off a silver shield on the man's chest. "Christ," the cop said, shocked, and lunged forward, trying to help Griff back onto the bed. "Kevin! I've got him in here! Down the hall!" he shouted over his shoulder and turned back to Griff. "Take it easy, Mr. Robinson," he said apologetically. "I can't help it, sir - this is gonna hurt." He reached down and tried to remove the tape as carefully as possible. Griff was past caring. The only thing he wanted more than getting the tape off his mouth was getting his wrists free. Twisting around and off the bed had put his full weight against the tempered steel and it was torture for him. "Wrists," he managed to croak out. "Please - release my wrists. I've been like this for hours." "Take it easy, the cop said in a soothing voice. "It's all over, Mr. Robinson. They got a call at the station, said something was wrong out here. Sorry it took so long, but we were on the other side of town." He struggled with the turnkey and got the left hand loose, and a grateful Griff slid his arms down by his sides. There was a fierce throbbing in the muscles of his shoulders, almost as bad as the pain in his wrists where the skin had chaffed away. He gasped for breath, tried to sit up. The policeman pulled a blanket up from the foot of the bed so the man could cover himself, save himself some embarrassment. "Home invasion," Griff muttered, rubbing his wrists, fighting to get his story straight. "They… they grabbed me Saturday morning. I've been a prisoner…" A second figure had appeared at the door. Griff still couldn't make out a face and a flashlight hit him in the eyes and he jerked his head away. The man was about the same height and build as the young man kneeling in front him and Griff assumed it was the cop's partner. "Uh, Alex? There's something out in the kitchen you should get a look at. It's… important."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex said over his shoulder and then turned back to Griff. "Look, Mr. Robinson - are you okay enough to get dressed?" "Need a phone, and I… I wet myself. Could I…" "I'm sorry," the young man said. "you probably shouldn't take a shower or anything, but the least we can do is let you get some clothes on, okay? Get yourself fixed up, and I'll put in a call to the department. Your lines are out - they tested the phone lines from the station before they dispatched us and it came up as a disconnect. And from the looks of things outside, they didn't just cut your power - they yanked the damn meter, cable TV, everything. But we'll get you down to the station, sir… I know the evidence guys are gonna want to have a look, and the detectives will have to talk to you. Let me go see what Kevin's got, okay?" "Yeah," Griff grunted, getting to his wobbly legs. He stumbled into the dresser, swore, and Alex tried to steady him. "I'll be okay," he said unevenly. "Go… go ahead. See what your partner wants." He desperately wanted the cop to leave, hoped his visitors hadn't found his hiding spot in the closet. The bastards thought they were smart, but he was a better planner. It was a Sunday, and he couldn't get more than a few hundred dollars in cash from an ATM, but it was better than nothing. The credit cards might leave a trail, but… well, he'd have to make do if the shit hit the fan. "Be right back, Mr. Robinson," Alex said, and patted the man firmly on the shoulder. As soon as he was out, Griff staggered forward into the closet and fell to his knees. He yanked on the molding against the left side of the closet; he had the four bank cards lined up there: safe, sound, and out of sight. Except, they weren't. The bastards knew about everything. How? How could they know about these? "Mr. Robinson?" he heard from behind. Griff whirled around and rose unsteadily from his knees. It was Alex again, but this time his stance was stiffer, and the voice a lot colder. And his hand was on his gun. "Get dressed Mr. Robinson. And we're going to have to put cuffs back on you. You're under arrest for possession of child pornography,

suspicion of multiple child molestation, and suspicion of multiple instances of rape of a minor child." Griff felt the pressure in his chest again and his throat went dry. "It's… I don't know what you're talking about. Someone planted that stuff." Alex raised an eyebrow. "There's a case of porn mags and still pictures in your kitchen," broke in Kevin, the second cop. "Of course we can't be sure it's all yours, but the fingerprint guys can determine that. But there's not much doubt about the other stuff. There's pictures of you with a half dozen different boys, from a computer printer. Your face is quite distinct. As for the kids… well, if they're eighteen, then …" his voice trailed, and he dug in his pocket for a card and started reading Griff his rights, while Alex called into the station. By seven o'clock, someone woke up an assistant Essex County District Attorney, who called in the county forensics squad on the basis of what the Boxford Police Chief told him. By eight, word had gotten out to the local press, and by ten, a van showed up from one of the Boston TV stations, quite coincidentally just in time for the two officers first at the scene, the Assistant DA, and the Boxford Police Chief to display a disheveled Prescott Griffith Robinson on his first Perp Walk.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN J

ennifer Sciuoto looked up from her book when she heard the sound of footsteps trotting down the stairs. She eyed the clock - close to six. With a sudden frown she marked her place, rose from the sofa and walked into the foyer in time to catch her son before he disappeared into the kitchen. She made an effort to sound if not exactly pleasant, at least non-confrontational. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Your father should be home in a little while and I’d like us all to have dinner together for once. I don’t want you disappearing." David paused and looked at her with what had become a norm for him since mid-summer: a completely neutral expression. "I’m not going anywhere except to the kitchen to get a soda and flip through the paper," he answered, civilly. But then something clicked inside and the sarcasm kicked in. "Or do I need permission for that?" He regretted it almost immediately. Oh, God. Why do I take a swipe at her every chance I get? He should have added something nicer to take the sting out, but he couldn’t think of anything, so he turned and walked out of the hall. His mother’s eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips into a thin line, but she didn’t pick up the challenge. She followed him and made at attempt at conversation while her son settled in at the table with an open can of Mountain Dew and copy of the Guardian-Post, ignoring her.

She leaned against the door jamb, this time trying for ‘pleasant’. "So," she said casually. "How do you like it at Merrimack College? You haven’t said anything about it since registration last week." David looked up, flashed a smile at her that his eyes said were a lie. "Just fine, Mum. Everything is just fine. College is just great." I didn’t wear a T-shirt with a pink triangle on it. I didn’t put a rainbow flag decal on my car and I’m not trying to organize a gay-straight alliance. None of your friends know about me, so leave me the hell alone. He scanned the front page of the paper. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you - Alan called," she began, trying not to make the name sound like a barb. "Alan called Monday, Mum," David retorted, without looking up. "Today is Wednesday. Oh, and just so you know, I’m meeting him later." And if I were you I wouldn’t ask what we’re doing tonight, ’cuz I just might explain it... blow for blow and lick for lick. "But thanks for the message," he continued. "Late’s better than never." He couldn’t hear the sound of grinding teeth but David knew ‘That Expression’ and he fought back a quiet smile of victory. Jennifer Sciuoto turned and left the room. The war wasn’t over or even a major battle fought, but he’d won the latest in a long line of skirmishes. Guerilla tactics really were the most effective route to true victory. David felt a pang of regret and shook his head. "Why do I do it?" he asked the air. "Jesus, she was trying to be nice for a change." Because Chris is right, he realized, and not for the first time. The two of us are too much alike: we’re both rock-stubborn, and neither wants to give the other a chance... except this time she was. And you were being a dick about it. David promised himself to make an effort at dinner - if for no other reason, his father’s sake. Albert Sciuoto had been caught in the middle of the cold war since July, and now it was the second week of September. It wasn’t fair to him - to either of his parents, he had to admit. He’d never realized before just how much he could not only hold a grudge, but actually enjoy nurturing it. And that’ll make me just as bad as she is, he thought to himself, with a small shudder. That’s not gonna happen.

David shifted his attention back to the newspaper, this time focusing on the words and not just staring at the page while he sharpened his tongue. His eyes slipped past the international news and even the national, but he found what he wanted in the lower right corner of the front page: news about Griff’s case. David half dreaded to read about it... but couldn’t stop. He’d been sure his parents would either recognize the name or a photo of his old piano teacher and pepper David with questions - his mother especially. He’d braced himself for the inquisition that had to follow, sorting through what he could or couldn’t say. But the questions never came. The news always referred to ‘Prescott Robinson’ of Boxford, with the same fuzzy photo of a dirty, disheveled and overweight middle-aged man who hadn’t shaved for a few days being marched to a police cruiser with his head down. Later at his arraignment, he’d pulled a jacket over his head when the cameras showed up. David pounced on the story, flagged through the paper to page ten where the article was continued, came to a particularly interesting paragraph, then stared at it, eyes wide. He drew a long swallow from his soda, made a face because it was too sweet, then tossed down the paper in anger. He rapped the paper with his fist and pushed back. How can Dad do this? David sat up, rigid. He heard a car in the driveway and his eyes shifted to the clock; it had to be his father, something confirmed when he heard the front door open and his mother’s voice calling "Al?" He caught a glimpse of his father flash past the doorway on his way to the living room. David got up and stood at the edge of the foyer, craning his neck to see, but it was no good. He heard muffled voices, and there was a touch of anger in his father’s voice, although it didn’t seem to be picked up by his mother. David strained his ears but he couldn’t make out their words - his parents had a knack for arguing just loud enough for David to know there was trouble, but never quite enough to catch the details. He didn’t hear his own name - they also had a knack for saying that just loud enough for him to catch if he was the source of

an argument - so at least he wasn’t part of the conversation. There was just enough of the child left in David to feel relief. David heard footsteps again, so he scurried to the table and grabbed the paper and sat casually. Snooping was one thing, getting caught doing it was another. Albert Sciuoto strode through the door, then saw David. He grunted but at least he smiled. He reached into the bottom of the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer for himself, cracked the top and took a hefty slug. Not a good sign, David thought. His father almost always used one of the mugs he kept in the freezer if he had a beer. "Something wrong, Dad?" Al Sciuoto wiped the sweat off the top of his head with his hand - even if fall came early in New England, September was still summer. The August humidity might be blessedly gone but the temperature was still in the low eighties. His father forced a travesty of a smile. "Just... office stuff, Davey. Something at work that’s going on that I don’t like." David held up the paper and tried to keep the accusation out of his voice. "You mean, like you defending this Robinson guy?" Al Sciuoto scowled. "Do me a favor," the man said evenly. "Talk about something else, okay? I’m getting enough crap about that." David refused to take the hint any more than his mother had a few moment before and his father groaned, but his voice was more curious than angry when he spoke. "Why? I mean… why are you doing it? You don’t even practice criminal law! Why take a case for someone like that?" He grunted. "Your mother asked me the same thing, and I wish I had an easy answer. It’s... complicated," he added slowly. The man sighed, looked away, then drained his bottle... something else David’s mind knew wasn’t normal. His father usually nursed a beer for twenty minutes or more. Al studied his son for a moment, set the empty bottle on the counter and grabbed a second from the refrigerator, but this time he pulled one of his icy mugs out of the freezer. He pulled up a chair opposite his son, cracked the seal and poured the beer into his glass.

"It’s one of those things I don’t have a choice about, David," he began. "We sort of got sandbagged into it. Prescott Robinson is actually Hugh Milkowski’s client, he did some conveyance work for him about five years ago when he bought a house, and later he set up a consulting business and we took care of his legal work - you know, just the usual sort of thing to limit liability, make sure no one could touch his house if he got sued. Things like that. And pretty much, that was the end of it. Hugh talks to him maybe once a year." "Then why…" His father held up his hand and took a sip of his drink. "I’m getting to it - hang on a second. Well, Robinson didn’t even contact us and Hugh found out about the case the same way I did: watching the news. Then I get a call from Judge Cantrell and she tells me that since Sciuoto, Milkowski and Kennelly are his attorneys of record, we have to take up his defense." He held up his hand again when he saw David’s mouth start working. "This guy’s finances are all screwed up, and everything he’s got is tied up somehow, so he was having trouble finding a defense lawyer. But he’s still got assets, so he doesn’t qualify for a public defender, either," he said grimly. "So... we have to provide counsel for him. And even though we don’t normally practice in the criminal courts, Evelyn Cantrell knows we have an associate with trial experience." He paused. "Peter Kinsella," he added with distaste. David rolled his eyes. "Don’t you usually just refer to him as ‘that idiot?’" Al shrugged and cracked a real smile even if it was a small one. "At home, yeah, but that’s just so I don’t catch flack from your mother. Down at the office, the staff call him ‘that asshole,’ but Hugh and I call him ‘that stupid asshole.’ The only reason he has a job with us is because his father’s a friend of Ben Kennelly. Usually we hand Kinsella the simple-minded stuff because he screws up everything else. We’re hoping maybe he’ll catch a clue on of these days, but I don’t think he ever will." He laughed, but the humor didn’t last long. "Anyway... we’re under an obligation to provide the best defense we can for Robinson, whether we like it or not." David held up the paper, sounding angrier than he knew he should. "Like trying to get the evidence suppressed?" he asked bitterly. "It’s a valid issue," his father sighed. Al Sciuoto closed his eyes for a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose before he opened them again and continued. "Any decent defense lawyer would at least try it. Hell, even Kinsella picked up on it right away. Our position is that it was an illegal search, that the police had

no right to go through his house the way they did. I can’t fault them though. They’re not really trained for something like this and Boxford’s a small town, no detectives on the force. Probably no one ever warned them - hell, even the Essex assistant DA didn’t realize it right away." "I still don’t get it," David said, shaking his head. "I mean, they were responding to a call that said there was an emergency there. Don’t they have a right to enter the house and search? I mean, they even found the door wide open when they got there!" "The cops did everything they thought was right," the tired man explained. "And yes, there’s the tape of an anonymous 9-1-1 call telling them there’d been a house invasion. The door was open, they announced their presence and started searching - all of it permissible because of what they call ‘exigent circumstances.’ The police had every reason to believe someone’s life was in danger." Al Sciuoto took another sip of his beer, rubbed his chin, but stared down at the table. Legal obligation or not didn’t matter; he wished to God someone else had to take the case. It was one of the reasons he’d always kept clear of criminal law - he hated the idea that he could be compelled to not only defend someone who was guilty, but had to do it successfully if he could. "The problem was when they split up," he continued, "and one of the officer’s not only found Robinson, but he called out the fact to his partner - who heard him. That’s when they were supposed to stop: the circumstances that allowed entry without a warrant were removed. But the other cop kept poking around, and that’s when he found the evidence stacked up neatly in the kitchen." He wrinkled his nose. "Those were the photos of that pervert having sex with a kid, right on top of a pile of kiddie porn, which is illegal under any circumstances. Now, if they’d found the photo before they found him, it would have been okay. Even if the second cop found it after his partner located Robinson but didn’t know it, things would have been okay... but that’s not how it was. In his report and later in his deposition, the second cop said he entered the kitchen after his partner called out to him. Peter’s made a motion to suppress." Sciuoto shifted around in his chair, trying to get a little more comfortable before he continued. "You’ve watched Law and Order on TV, right? They like to call something like that ‘the poisoned tree,’ and the evidence is ‘the tainted fruit.’ Cute metaphor, but it’s accurate. What that means is, the search that lead to the evidence was illegally continued and seized without a warrant - and that could make none of it admissible," he concluded.

"I’m not supposed to say something like this," the man continued miserably after a few moments, "but everyone would’ve better off if the cops fudged the paperwork a little, and got fuzzy on some details, because Robinson sure as hell wouldn’t have known anything. Personally, I’m just surprised Kinsella figured it out on his own." He grimaced, sipped his beer and followed it all up with a shrug. "Then again, once the guy got his hands on some cash again, Robinson could probably hire a real defense lawyer who’d pick up on it right away and he’d file an appeal. All Petey-boy did was save the Commonwealth some time. Believe me, the media was closing in on this one fast. All three Boston stations were down at the courthouse this morning, and New England News sent out a crew, too. And there were a lot more print reporters down there than just the local and the two Boston papers." "How come?" "Because it’s dirt, and people love to hear about that for starters. To make it worse, you’ve got the loonies on the side lines - some right-wing fool from one of the Carolinas flew into Boston and tried calling a press conference in Boston. He wants to use this case as proof of an ‘evil Homosexual Agenda that threatens all of America,’ as he put it." He snorted. "Didn’t get far, though. No one showed up, and even the Fox affiliate refused to cover this guy, so his publicity scheme fizzled. There’s no mileage in this clown. I heard one of Governor Romney’s staff was there - he’s been sucking up to every right-wing cause he can find to get ready for a Presidential run in four years - but he kept his mouth shut and drifted away. But it’s just the beginning. Once the trial starts, all the crazies will be at the courthouse every day, looking for air time." Al Sciuoto leaned back in the chair and flexed his shoulders. "As for me, I need a shower, and I want to change into some comfortable clothes." He started to rise. "Wait a minute," David cut in sharply. "Are you telling me this jerk is gonna walk?" His father paused, a glum expression on his face. "Maybe. It depends on the judge’s ruling, and she’s taking her time on this one. But if she suppresses the photos... well, that’s the only thing they had for evidence. They know someone else was living in the house - they found kids’ clothes and things in a bedroom on the second floor. There’s all kinds of forensics stuff, including semen stains. The trouble is, no one knows who else was there or where they are now, and there’s no law against owning kids’ clothes or toys. There are signs of a fight in that bedroom - they found a computer bashed around - but there was no blood and the only thing noticeably missing was the hard drive from the computer.

Plenty of different fingerprints all over the place, but none of ’em are on record. Unless someone can find this kid that was with him and get him to talk, there’s not much anyone can do." David listened, white-faced. It wouldn’t really do them much good unless Danny talked, and he wasn’t likely to offer up evidence against himself. All that work for nothin’, he thought bitterly. Then he caught himself. No, not for nothing. You helped Randy and Martin’s safe, remember? But how long before Griff gets hooks into some other kid? Al Sciuoto stood up and picked his jacket up from the back of his chair. Something white caught his eye and he frowned for a second and pulled out an envelope and stared at it. "Damn, I forgot all about this." He flipped the envelope onto the table. "This came to my office weeks ago, and I guess that was the last time I wore this suit. It’s for you, but I don’t know why it got sent to my office instead of here. I hope it isn’t anything important." David eyed the envelope without much interest. His father patted him on the shoulder as he passed by and left the room. You’re going to have to speak up. There was a problem, though: the same problem there had always been. He’d made a promise to Randy, and he couldn’t go back on that. The kid had been almost a basket case, and was just now starting to be a little less afraid of his own shadow. Subjecting him to the scrutiny and embarrassment of a trial would be unthinkable. And you owe Danny. No matter what else he did, he helped you when you needed it. David picked up the envelope without much interest, saw his name written in a childish scrawl and his father’s business address. Who would send him a letter instead of call or send him an email? Why no return address? And why not mail it to the house? He saw the post mark and his heart skipped: Los Angeles. He tore the envelope open, almost shredding the contents. David saw the signature first, then read the message written in the same careless handwriting. He crumpled it in his hand and jumped out of his chair, tipping it over and ran into the foyer shouting for his father, who paused on the second step.

"Listen to me," a white-faced David told him. "I got to tell you something. Both of you, and you’re not going to like it, but… where’s Mum? She needs to hear this, too." "Behind you," Jennifer Sciuoto said from the doorway of the living room, holding her book. "What’s so important?" "There’s something - well, it’s the Robinson thing in the paper," David began slowly. "You guys don’t realize who he is. Dad, you’re going to have to bow out of that case because... well, I’m gonna have to become a part of it, because if I don’t speak up, he’ll… he’ll get off. You knew him. Both of you did. You just knew him by a different name." It came out garbled and David had to backtrack a few times... but his parents listened, frozen in place while their son explained what happened over five years before. The oven timer began chiming from the kitchen mid-way through the story, but they ignored it. When David stuttered to a close, Jennifer Sciuoto started to cry. ***** Danny Doucette - now known by most of his acquaintances as ‘Dan Perry’ pushed open the back door of the Cabaña del Sol with his foot, hip-checked the screen door and made a quick hop-skip into the kitchen before it swung shut. He was sweating - even if it was the second week of September, Miami was still a sweat box. He’d walked the six blocks to the market to pick up odds and ends for the guest house, but the stupid clerk had packed too much into the plastic sacks and the handles on three of them snapped on the way back. Instead of just being looped on his wrists, Danny had to hug the plastic sacks to his chest. It wasn’t long until the plastic was damp with his sweat, and the weight of the bags on his other arm started to be awkward. He cursed the clerk, and his boss for refusing to let Dan borrow his little Acura RSX, but Jonathan had been adamant. "I kissed a lot of ass and sucked a lot of something else to buy that thing," the man had explained to him. "And no houseboy is walking off with the keys - no matter how nice his ass is. Especially when I don’t get the use of it." The boy tossed the bundles onto the counter and leaned back, exhausted. The heat wasn’t much better in the kitchen. The central air worked well enough but

with the dryers going half the day, the room seldom cooled much. Danny eyed the flashing lights on the machines - they’d finished their cycles, but no one had bothered to take the loads of sheets out. Dan swore quietly to himself; they’d been sitting there for over an hour, and would be a wrinkled mess. I shoulda known better, he grumbled. If I don’t do stuff around here, no one else will. Lazy bastards. Dan ignored what spilled out of the bags and walked over to a bin of folded towels and grabbed two. He drenched them first, then wrung them out enough so they didn’t drip before tossing one into each dryer and set the timers for another ten minutes to get out the wrinkles. "Thirsty," he mumbled and reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the first soft drink he could find. He spat it out, swore, and looked at the label. Something called Moxie… only Jonathan drank it, even had to order it special from somewhere in Maine, or so he claimed. Everyone else thought the stuff was as miserable as Jonathan and didn’t have to be told not to touch it. Danny put the open can back on the first shelf and found himself a coke, took a deep slurp and swished the sugary soda around his mouth to get rid of the taste of the Moxie. He caught his reflection in the mirror next to the sink, adjusted his glasses and played with his hair - he’d almost grown all the dye out, and even though it had been a good match to what turned out to be his natural color, he still wanted to get rid of the last of the colorant. He’d stop and get a short cut sometime in the next few days; nothing too severe, just something easy to keep and easier to live with in the South Florida heat. Somebody had suggested streaking it, but the last thing Dan wanted back was his old blond look. Florida was far from Massachusetts, but people traveled everywhere… and South Beach in Miami was a favorite stop for gay men on vacation. There was always the chance he might run into someone he used to know. Each time a new guest arrived, Dan checked to see if it was a familiar face. He needn’t have bothered. Cabaña del Sol was a dump with its cracked plaster and worn-out carpeting, and just to drive that fact home at night there was the rustle of wildlife in the walls. Jonathan Teal had gotten lucky ten years before and laid his hands on enough cash to buy it as an investment. It should have carried him for years - it boasted a strong repeat clientele, one of its main selling points. But Jonathan was luckier than he was smart. He’d never quite grasped the fact that to keep making money, you had to reinvest. Things broke and never got replaced, maintenance and servicing stopped getting done...

especially in the ongoing battle with things that creep or crawl, and not only at night. It wasn’t long before the repeat business stopped getting booked. The only reason anyone stayed there these days was because unsuspecting vacationers on a budget saw nicely produced brochures and booked rooms for a week or two in advance, paying out hefty (and non-refundable) deposits. Few made the same mistake twice. The few who did came because they found the staff to be accommodating in other ways. Since he got a cut, Jonathan never bothered to be coy about the ‘extra services’ available as long as the customer understood that ‘tipping’ the boys was expected. The house was an anomaly for South Florida: a stick structure that somehow managed to keep from rotting away in the humidity, or blowing away in the frequent tropical storms. Back in the 1930s, it’d likely been the vacation home for some well-to-do northern family beating the cold of northern winters. It wasn’t exactly an estate house, but the place had fourteen good-sized rooms, although seldom more than half of them were ever rented out. All but two had been converted into comfortable guest rooms, furnished nicely if cheaply twenty years before, although now everything was long past its prime. The original large kitchen served as the work center where linens were laundered and everything else was stored. Another large single room - the only one with a decent lock - served as Jonathan’s personal quarters. Separate from these were the cramped, one-time servants’ quarters; attic rooms tucked under the eaves, steamy little cells barely large enough for a single bed, a closet that wasn’t much more than a nook in the wall and a small dresser. These were for the staff. Danny remembered the shudder that ran through him when he saw Jonathan for the first time. The man didn’t so much walk as slither. Jonathan smiled a lot and spoke smoothly, but Danny recognized the hard, cold, calculating eyes. For his part, Jonathan recognized a peer when he met one and didn’t waste time on charm. He laid out the job - menial work around the house. The pay was room and board, with minimal under-the-table cash. Exactly what Danny expected: he took the bare-subsistence job for a reason, but that reason didn’t include what Jonathan had hoped. Jonathan dropped hints about how to make extra cash around the house, and Danny stopped the man cold - he’d do the standard housework and cleaning expected, but ‘customer service’ was limited to checking in guests and handing them fresh towels when they asked. Jonathan needed someone to keep the place neatened up, so he’d agreed.

He heard the nasal, whiney voice behind him. "Danny?" Dan turned and saw Jonathan. His bleach-blond hair was sculpted into the latest style and his clothes were molded to his slight body. Jonathan was in some vague twilight zone between forty and fifty, maybe a little more, but no one knew for sure. Jonathan believed in the magic of cosmetics and plastic surgery. One of the houseboys said Jonathan had so many lifts, his mouth used to be his asshole… not that there was much difference, considering what came out of either. But in spite of the nips and tucks, the sun and life in the fast lane had taken its toll on Jonathan. Instead of the bloom of pretended youth for his money, the best he could do was a haggard, indeterminate middle age. Dan scowled. "Don’t call me that, Jon. It makes me sound like a little kid and I hate the sound of it. Call me Dan." Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He opened the refrigerator and began complaining about his private stash of Moxie. Dan started unpacking the items he’d picked up at the store and didn’t bother looking back. "I opened it by mistake, so quit bitching. If I wanted to be a jerk, I’d have poured it down the sink." He felt angry eyes on him but ignored them. "I got your paper," he said, stacking cans of tuna. Jonathan dug into a bag and found his treasure, a weekly tabloid. He smiled. "Ah yes… my favorite rag, the National Disgracer." He chuckled over his own lame joke. "All the news that’s shit to print." Danny shook his head. "I never could figure out why people buy those things. I mean, most of their stuff is crap." Jonathan pulled up a chair and flagged through the paper. "Why do they buy it? That’s easy," he said calmly, looking over a photo spread of a rising young actor who’d been caught off-guard entering a West Hollywood bar well-known for its active backroom. "There’s idiots who say love makes the world go ’round, but they’re wrong. Dirt is what makes the planet spin, kid. Papers like this move on people who live the fabola lives most people only fantasize about - people with money, fame and power. Then they show those guys for what they are. When your own life pretty much sucks, there’s satisfaction in finding out that people who have everything they could ever imagine are just as sleazy, low-life and stupid as the rest of us. Nothing flattens the playing field like finding out the guy who plays all those hot love scenes in movies likes to suck

a stranger’s peepee in a public restroom." He studied the second page and an eyebrow went up. "Wow. Big story from up your way." "Bridgeport?" Jonathan snorted. "Bridgeport, my ass. Give it a rest, will you sweetheart? I was born and raised in Lowell, Mass. I started doing a strip act when I was seventeen and played half the clubs in New England for the next three years, and I know what Connecticut sounds like. You do pretty good hiding it, but you ain’t Connecticut." He narrowed his eyes and studied Dan’s back, then nodded in recognition. "North of Boston, I can tell that much - Lawrence maybe, or Haverhill. And not the better ends of town, either." Danny ignored the taunt, even if it did cut too close to home. "What’s the big deal, Jon? You tell everyone you’re from New York. Who cares?" "I don’t," Jon answered, skimming the article. "But if you lie about your background, you should learn how to act a little. I can do New York if I have to - I lived there long enough, from the Bronx to Park Avenue. But you should at least learn the accent, kid. And if you can’t, polish up your own so you don’t sound like the street." Jon studied the young man. "You’ve got the right assets and you know how to work ’em," he added dryly. "You’re not like those other two dumb sluts, putting out for the guests for a quick fifty and then investing in pharmaceuticals. You’ve got a pretty face, the bod a lot of guys like, and you’ve even got some sense. With a little training, you could have the style." Dan snorted. "Which you’d give me, for a little personal consideration, right? No thanks. Now, what’s the big story?" "Well it wouldn’t hurt. And don’t tell me that ass is virgin, because the queens down here like to talk." he added slyly. Jonathan squinted at the print, wished he had his reading glasses. "New development in that big pedophile case in Massachusetts, it says here," he replied, scanning the story. Danny felt a clutch in his chest when he heard that but forced himself to act naturally. "The Essex DA may be having a problem making an actual case - his lawyer’s trying to get it thrown out of court on some technical stuff. Until a witness came forward…" his voice trailed as he read. Witness? Danny tried not to look anxious. He finished unpacking the grocery bags and tossed them into the trash. Then he checked one of the dryers and

started folding sheets. He wanted to grab the paper out of Jonathan’s hand, but… Jonathan let out a low whistle. "Oh, this gets even better," he chuckled. "First, there’s a ‘mystery witness’ - the judge refused to release the guy’s name. The next thing you know, the lawyer has to recuse himself from the case." "How come?" Danny asked coolly, folding the last pillow case neatly and moving onto the second dryer. Jonathan paused. "Not sure… but they do have new information that this Robinson guy wasn’t acting alone. Looks like he had somebody helping him, maybe even a kid, but the court won’t release anything on that either - there’s questions about his age.." Jonathan sat up straighter. "There’s a side story about how some trial lawyer is offering his services pro-bono. You know - for nothin’." Jonathan barked a laugh. "You got to hand it to those guys: lawyers know how to get free advertising. This case is gonna be in the news for months! Win or lose, the shark with this case is gonna be doin’ sound bites on the court steps every night for weeks, months even. He’ll be making buckets of money after this… Maybe even get a book deal. Greedy bastard." He sighed and shook his head. "Wished I’d gone into law." Danny did his best to fight down a panic attack and remained cool. "How come the lawyer’s workin’ for nothing? I thought this guy had a lotta bucks." Jonathan tossed the paper down and sipped his soda. "There’s something here about his assets being all tied up." He sniggered. "Oh, Jesus! Says here the IRS is in the act, and they won’t let him touch anything! Doesn’t that beat everything? The Tax Man’s doing what the justice system can’t!" He laid down the paper and fished a packet of Merits out of his shirt pocket. "By the way, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. You’ve been working some pretty slick moves since you got here." Dan folded the last frayed white towel and tossed it into the laundry basket. Someone else could put the things away. He went back to the refrigerator and pulled out small carton of orange juice. "What do you mean? What slick move?" Jonathan chuckled. "Look, don’t play innocent with me, okay? We’ve both got each other’s number. You’re working a scam, kid - I’m just not sure what it is yet," he said taking a deep drag. "The guys you shack up with - always the

older guys. Not accepting the money I know some of them offer is a good move; not sniffing around for favors is even better. Take those other two idiots working here: Justin and Erik have blown half the old queens in this town tryin’ to work an angle, and all they ever get is fifty bucks for their trouble. They even did a three-way with Murray, trying to get jobs as bar backs at Empire, for Christ’s sake. But you?" He raised an eyebrow and nodded respectfully. "You go with all the right guys, including the ones people know are big payers, who’ll tell everyone what a great lay a kid is - or isn’t. They all say you’re the best and you could be makin’ a fortune! But refusing the cash is a stroke of genius. You not only made the ‘A’ list, but the word is out: you don’t charge. Pretty shrewd." "What’s so shrewd?" Danny asked defensively. "I like older guys, Jon. That’s all there is to it." He eyed his boss. "And don’t ask. You ain’t my type." Jonathan snorted but didn’t say anything else as he smoked his cigarette and began going through his paper again. He wasn’t sure what his employee was after, but he knew he had to be after something. Dan shrugged. He’d only done it with a few men since he’d arrived in South Beach… all picked for a purpose. ‘Easy’ wasn’t a description he wanted applied to him, and hustling wasn’t something he wanted to be known for. When someone waved cash under his nose the morning after a night together, Danny always played the wounded innocent and politely refused. Some of the more cynical ones - like Murray Schleicher, who was forty pounds overweight, bald and almost sixty years old - waited for the inevitable pitch for a job, but it never came. Then Danny made it clear he’d be interested in another session, and that appealed to Murray’s vanity. To cinch it, he accepted one dinner invitation out of four, ordered cheap and tried to pay his part of the check. "I don’t want people thinkin’ I’m a golddigger," he insisted, forcing a twenty on the older man. Murray was impressed, but waited for the strings to get dangled, but they never came. Danny would go home with him, give him the best sex he’d had in years and never asked for more than to spend the night and a ride home in the morning. Word got out. Murray told everyone he was just a nice, good-looking kid who genuinely seemed to prefer older men. He worked hard, didn’t hustle, and wasn’t looking for a free ride. That Danny could likely suck the engine block out of a ’58 Caddy through the tailpipe was a nice extra.

Murray introduced the young man around, even dangled the prize Erik and Justin would have killed for: he offered Danny a job. A waiter or bartender at Empire made top money in mostly unreported income. Danny politely refused… and asked if Murray were free the next night. The old man was impressed. Dan wasn’t about to fall into the trap so many did in South Beach. His plan didn’t call for fast cash-turning tricks. He’d make beds at the Cabaña for awhile, because it let him lay low and live cheap while he set things up. The other men he’d gone with were always in their late forties or more. Some were obviously wealthy, like Murray. Others just as clearly weren’t, but they were well-known and widely-liked. And they loved the gray-eyed little beauty that made them feel young again. "Are Justin and Erik in the house?" he asked Jonathan, nodding towards the stairs. "Justin’s up in his room, probably smoking his brains out again. Erik still hasn’t turned up after his date last night. Probably a couple of dates." Jonathan looked up from his paper. "I might need you cover the house tonight." "No," Dan answered firmly. Jonathan looked up sharply, a flash of anger in his eyes, but Dan wasn’t about to be cowed. "I do most of the crap work around here as it is, and I’m sick of covering for those two assholes, Jon. All they do is get high or go down on the so-called guests in this place." "Don’t cop an attitude, kid," Jonathan snarled. "I own this place and I can fire you." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." "Yeah, you could," Dan threw back. "But that’d mean you’d have to actually do some work around this pit yourself, because you know those two losers won’t," he snapped back. "Firing me ain’t gonna happen. And even if it did, I’ve been down here long enough to make contacts, and there’s other places I could go." Jonathan sneered. "With your paperwork? Not likely. That phony license of yours might get you into a club, but it won’t get you a real job. At least not for long." "Maybe," Dan answered coolly. "But there’s other guest houses down here, legitimate ones that aren’t just a front for a whorehouse. Resort towns make their living off runaways and illegals - jobs under the table for cheap money

and a room to sleep in, no questions asked. Not only that, but I got an advantage: I got no reason to run if someone yells ‘Immigration.’" He paused at the door. "So, either get Justin cleaned up, go find Erik, or take care of the fuckin’ place yourself, because I got things to do." Dan didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He pushed the spring-loaded door of the kitchen open and strode into the main part of the house, thankful that if nothing else in the place worked right - including the help - at least the air conditioning did. He trotted up the stairs to the third floor and paused on the small, narrow landing. Three doors opened off it and were shut tight. Dan caught the sharp aroma of marijuana drifting out of Justin’s room and he shook his head. Grass was the least of Justin’s indulgences; Dan had seen enough crack-heads and junkies growing up to know when someone was a burnt-out case. At twenty-five, he already looked ten years older. Justin was about Danny’s height but weighed less... where Danny only looked thin and boyish, Justin looked frail and gaunt. Danny had his suspicions about why. He knew junkies would feed their habit more than their stomach, but there were other factors to be considered. Justin was known to go down on someone for a fix, and there were rumors he let johns bareback him in the ‘privacy booths’ in the hustler bars if he were hardup enough. One way or another, Justin’s fate was sealed - not that it made any difference to Danny. If Justin wanted to kill himself and didn’t care how, that was his business. The last houseboy, Erik, steered clear of drugs, but he was a heavy drinker and just plain stupid. Dan tried to stay on the good side of both, but avoided them outside work as much as he could. Danny kicked open his door, set the slide bolt but before he dropped down on his bed he fished two plastic freezer bags out of his dresser drawer and pulled a half-sleeve of saltines out of one and his old sip cup from the other. He looked them over, suspicious. If the grueling summer heat of South Florida wasn’t bad enough, he’d learned the hard way how ‘critters’ magically appeared when they caught a whiff of something edible. He’d even taken to sleeping with the lights on - after his first night at the Cabaña, he’d woken screaming when something large and fuzzy crawled across his face. After that it was a ritual: every morning and an hour before bed every night, Danny doused the room with bug spray. What little food he took upstairs with him was always kept sealed.

He’d be moving on soon enough. The Cabaña del Sol was a stopping place, nothing more. As was South Beach and Miami, Dan was pretty certain. If the damned bugs and the constant humidity weren’t reason enough to move, there were other problems he hadn’t foreseen. The town was already crawling with pretty boys, all looking for the same thing. Danny was just another fish in a very big, wellstocked pond where the customers got to pick over the catch of the day at the market, and toss back what they didn’t like. What Dan needed was a place with a lot less competition, or at least less obvious competition. All the big places were out: New York, San Francisco, Palm Springs… all the so-called Gay Meccas would be the same; they were a buyers’ market with too much competition for too few takers, so Danny intended to move on. New Orleans was out - too big a party town. A southern city sounded best at first - it was cheaper to live in the south and there was enough anti-gay resentment to insure the local scene would be cliquish and compact. Dan would get a legitimate job in the heart of it, make the right kind of contacts, and build out. As long as he wasn’t stupid, he’d be able to work it. He’d originally thought Atlanta or Houston might work, but he’d been rethinking that since he found that he hated the heat and the bugs. All Danny really had to find was a city large enough to generate its own gay scene, just not big enough where he’d get swallowed up by the crowd. But to make it happen, Danny Doucette needed to disappear forever. What Jon read to him from the paper was proof of that - Danny had no doubts that with the right pressure, Griff would crack and it was just a matter of time before he told the cops where to start looking up the files of Daniel Doucette. If his social security number showed up, he’d be red-flagged - and caught. At the same time, he absolutely needed a social security number that didn’t kick out of the system because it was fake. Danny needed to buy himself a new life, because Jonathan was right: it would take a lot more than a fake driver license made out to ‘Daniel Perry.’ That was only good enough to get him into the clubs so he could meet people. Danny needed legitimate paper work and enough on-the-record history to let him set up a life, and that took cash and contacts. He’d spent his time in South Beach doing what he did best - he screwed the right people the right way and listened to what they had to say. The information would always filter through given enough time, he’d learned that long ago. And had the money to buy what he needed.

Money, he thought. He set the cup down carefully next to the orange juice and started digging into his pockets, bringing out neatly folded bills: two thousand dollars in twenties, fresh from the ATM. He counted it carefully, kept a hundred out for himself and neatly stacked the rest. Then the boy began rummaging through his closet, moving things out of the way until he could work up a board in the rear he’d pried loose. Danny was certain Jonathan had already been through his stuff, relatively sure that Erik, Justin or both had taken a quick look-see his room. He’d considered installing a dead-bolt on his door... and dismissed it. Things like that attracted too much attention and made people more determined to find something. In the gap between the joists he came up with a pair of white plastic bags, plucked them out and got comfortable on the bed again, legs tucked under him with sacks in his lap. He munched on a cracker and took a sip of juice from his cup before fondling the contents. The sacks were filled with cash: the twenty thousand he’d stolen out of Griff’s safe in neat stacks of hundreds, with the two thousand David had given him… and now, almost forty thousand dollars more in twenty dollar bills that he’d slowly drained out of Griff’s secret bank accounts. Two years ago, Danny had been cleaning out Griff’s closet and noticed the molding angled away from the wall. Curiosity made him give the baseboard enough of a tug so it came away… and the four bank cards fell out. Danny checked out each account on-line. Griff was nothing if not predictable: he used the same passwords he used for everything else - his safe, the lock to his special room. Danny didn’t touch anything, of course, but filed away the information and checked the balances every now and then to make sure they were active. After David left that final Friday in Boxford, the cards were the first thing Danny grabbed after he cleaned out Griff’s safe. His first hour in Miami was spent in a cyber café, verifying that the funds were still available. The nerve-wracking part was getting the money. The banks Griff used were all small, so Danny couldn’t go to a branch and simply close the accounts out. Even if they’d had branches, it would’ve been trouble: most likely they would’ve asked for identification that Danny didn’t have.

That left him with only one option: ATMs. Even then, he had to be careful. The limit was five hundred dollars a day, and he wasn’t sure if it were possible to hit the maximum every day without raising attention and setting off an alarm on someone’s computer. Worse, what if someone up north found out about the accounts and put a freeze on them? Griff might even try accessing them himself, if got out of jail. Danny still wasn’t sure why Griff was being held - he had plenty in the bank, Danny knew, and should’ve been able to make bail already. But a Griff in jail wasn’t a bad thing; that meant Danny had a shot at getting all the cash, since it wasn’t likely the man would tip anyone off about accounts set up in someone else’s name. Besides, with the IRS breathing down his neck, Griff wasn’t likely to bring up the subject if he didn’t have to... but if he did and found them cleaned out, the ATM trail would lead right to Miami; more reason for him to move on, the sooner the better. Each time Danny went to a machine, he wore a cap pulled low, put on sunglasses and kept his head down. He’d watched enough TV to know most machines had video surveillance. Every time he punched in the password, he held his breath, waiting for the message screen to tell him the account was suspended and the card was being held, but it never happened. Danny tried never to use the same machine more than once; then he’d wait a few days before repeating the process. "Money." He whispered the word, holding up a handful of bills. Money was freedom… money was power. As long as he had it, he’d never have to depend on anyone again. No one could forget about him, like the state did when they took him away from Kay. Or sell him, like his mother had. No more guys like Griff, using Dan’s body for pleasure, then passing him around like a snack to his friends. He’d never be like Roger… Roger. The name sent a shudder down Danny’s spine and he grabbed his cup again and curled up in a ball around his cash. He hadn’t thought of Roger in long time. Sweet, dumb Roger, the street kid Danny’s mother found, who’d gently broken Danny in and told him how to handle sex with men when he was barely eleven. Roger, who’d been tossed back out onto the street when Danny knew what to do. The last time he’d seen Roger he was standing on a corner, staring into the windows of passing cars with hopeless eyes. Cold, dirty and hungry, desperately hoping for a john who’d pay enough cash to buy a meal.

"Not me," Danny muttered desperately, breaking into a sweat in spite of the air conditioning. "That ain’t ever gonna be me." Danny clutched the bag to his chest. Inside it was the one thing that made him different from all the other Rogers. The young man smiled as he ran his hands over the bills. He could get a whole new start with sixty-thousand dollars in cash. Once he had a new identity, he could start living a real life. As long as he was smart about it, the money could take him a long way. Money was independence. This amount of money in hand was a one shot deal, meant to be grown. He’d already begun fighting that battle when he priced out cars. Something sharp and flashy would take half or more of his nest-egg , and Danny had reluctantly put away the brochures for expensive toys and begun checking out the used car scene. The only other thing he’d made a careful investment in was nice clothing - not the high end designer stuff or anything too flashy that was ‘yesterday’ in a week - but good quality items that wouldn’t raise eyebrows or look out-of-place when he mixed with different crowds. Jonathan was right about one thing, though. While Danny had a lot going for him physically, he’d have to polish up his rougher edges, starting with the way he spoke. He’d never given it much thought before. How he talked had never been an issue with Griff or any of his friends; they’d mostly been concerned with what they could get into Danny’s mouth, not what came out of it. At the same time, Danny didn’t want to sound like another pretentious queen, the way Jonathan and a lot of other people he’d met down here did. If he could act well enough to fake great sex with wrinkled-up old men, he could teach himself to tone up his verbal skills. Danny would have to start paying more attention to how people spoke; maybe he’d practice with a recorder or something. He wasn’t that worried about it, reasoned his best resource was listening to TV newscasters. The hard part would be to make it an automatic skill, something he wouldn’t have to think about. Danny’s head jerked up when he heard voices in the hallway. An irate Erik was pounding on Justin’s door, screaming something about his cut of the weed. The door opened and there was more yelling back and forth. Danny heard some slapping and Justin made some sounds, but he ignored the fight and stashed his bags away in the closet, drained his sip-cup and sealed it away carefully. He had to shower and get ready… he had a dinner date with Murray in a few hours, and he had to look his best.

***** Empire wasn’t the largest club in South Beach, but it had a reputation aimed at an older market: established men who felt out-of-place at all the kid bars in town, but who still liked to socialize. The first floor of Empire was made up of a long, horse-shoe bar and a Concert Grand piano set up on a riser, with a portrait of the Little Emperor hung behind. Seven days a week, various pianists worked in shifts through the evening hours, playing to enthusiastic crowds until closing. They ran through a repertoire of popular show tunes, often with the accompaniment of singers ranging from twenty-somethings to seventy-somethings who, between them, claimed they’d sung in the chorus of every musical that ever opened on Broadway… and likely, did. Overall, it gave the impression of a drawing room from the Napoleonic era; deep colored fabric on the walls set off by gilded woodwork. Of course, the fabric was really vinyl paper out of a Home Station order book and the gilded moldings were really pre-formed plastic, slicked over with paint. But the same dim lighting from the almost-crystal chandeliers that chiseled a few years off a wrinkled face also leant an illusion of grandeur to the room. It wasn’t the sort of place where men stripped off clothing or danced on speakers. For the younger crowd that either fancied the older clientele or worked them, there was a fully-fitted dance bar on the second floor where the DJ played everything from Donna Summers Disco to the latest WeHo club music. Empire had something for everyone - including hustlers who were singled out, taken aside, and had the rules explained to them. If they wanted to work the easymoney crowd that Empire attracted, working boys had to be clean, neatly dressed... and remember that loud-mouthed, drunken street whores with bad manners weren’t welcome. They were encouraged to make deals on site - that brought in the older men with money they catered to - but business had to be conducted elsewhere. Murray kept four heavily-muscled men on staff to stand around and keep their ears and eyes open for trouble. Danny pushed through the heavy oak door of Empire. The middle-aged man in the lobby looked up and smiled when he saw one of his favorite young people walked in. "Hey, Dan," he said in his soft voice. "Murray said you’d be in tonight. He said to join him up in his apartment. You know where the elevator is, right?"

Danny grinned and looked around the nearly empty interior of Empire. It wasn’t even eight o’clock and the place was a ghost land, but the music from the piano drifted through from the lounge. There were a few customers scattered around the bar, but mostly all he saw was the staff getting the place ready. Like the man in the foyer, the rest of the staff were dressed in black pants, black vests, starched white shirts and black bow ties. "Ben or Trent ain’t gonna stop me, are they Mickey?" the boy asked. Mickey Wengert chuckled. "I think Murray’s watch-dogs know you by now." Danny winked. Mickey watched the young man move off and heaved a practiced sigh. Cute, hung and good in bed - a rare combination. He’d had two shots at it already and had no regrets. Danny passed through the club, nodded to a few of the bartenders and some of the early patrons. One of the bouncers waved when he walked into the back room and opened the gate to Murray’s ‘private’ lift - an ancient freight elevator that dated back to the days when Empire was a small warehouse, and was mostly used to move liquor and supplies up from the basement. Danny pulled the steel door shut and re-closed the wood gate inside before pressing the button and the machinery grunted into action. Murray lived on the heavily soundproofed third floor of Empire. There was a narrow staircase that lead to his apartment from the second floor, but Murray had blocked it off to discourage ‘accidental’ visits from the party below. He figured if a fire ever broke out he’d be safer using the fire escape anyway. Any other time, the freight elevator was good enough. Danny stepped into the apartment. It was bright, cheerful, well-lit and wellappointed. "That you sweet cheeks?" he heard from the kitchen. Murray lumbered into the room behind his voice, wearing a white apron. His large mouth smiled when he saw Danny. "Damn, you look nice. That blue shirt is just the right shade for you." Danny blushed, smiled and mumbled thanks, playing it like the bashful boy. Murray gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and patted his backside. "I decided I’d cook you something special," Murray told him. "I hope you like Lobster Newberg. You do, don’t you?"

This time the confusion was real. "Uh, I dunno, Mur. I, uh… I never had it before." Murray clucked his tongue. "I had a feeling… oh, well. If you don’t like it, I have a nice steak in the fridge." Danny helped set up the table and found that he liked the lobster. They chatted through dinner, but by the time they reached desert, Murray noticed the boy looked worried and he had to ask. Danny bit his lower lip, looked up and then away. "I have to ask a favor, Murray," he said, shifting around in his chair. "I - I really need some help with something." Murray Schleicher wiped his mouth and sat back with a thin smile on his lips. It was disappointing, but he’d been waiting for something like this. Danny had been too good to be true. He let out a long sigh. "So… how much?" "I ain’t like that," Danny shot back with a flash of anger. "I don’t want your money, Murray. I didn’t want it to have sex with you and… and…" He sat and made a helpless gesture, trying to find the right words. Murray looked confused. "Then what? I already told you if you needed a job, you could have one. Just go downstairs and fill out the forms. You’ll do better here with tips in one night than you would in a month working for that scumbag at the Cabaña. And if Jonathan’s giving you crap, I could…" "It’s got nothing to do with Jonathan," Danny said quickly. "And the job? Yeah, well that would be nice, but…" He hesitated again. "That’s the problem, Murray. I can’t get a real job." Murray frowned. "Why? Are you underage or something? Hell, everyone downstairs knew that ID of yours was phony. How old are you, anyway?" Danny shifted around and stared at the floor. "I think I’m sixteen, but - I’m not sure." He looked up with pleading eyes. "That’s the whole problem, Murray. I don’t have papers," he said simply. "No birth certificates, no school records. Nothing. And no social security number." Murray shrugged. "You can get birth records! Tell me where you were born and we can…"

"I don’t know where I was born," Danny told him with tears running down his cheeks. "Like I said, I’m not even sure when. I - I think I’m sixteen, but I could be a little older." Danny spun a story that was almost true... he had pretty much been abandoned and taken in. It was close to the truth... just missing a lot of the details. Danny waited for some obvious questions, but they didn’t come. Murray sat, his chin propped up on his left hand, tapping the table top with his right. His eyes were slits, and what lay behind the slits was cold and lifeless. He’d taken it all in. He knew there were elements of truth in the story, and knew there were lies - that went without saying. But it didn’t really matter what he believed, because it all came down to the same thing. "What makes you think I can help?" he asked in low, distant voice. Danny felt an unrehearsed shudder run through him. He licked his lips, and this time the uncertainty was real. "I know this place is a front for laundering drug money," he said quietly. "That means you know people who can get me paperwork. Real paperwork." Murray nodded, paused for a moment before speaking again. "And you know this, how?" "I listen and I watch," Danny said slowly. "Nobody ever says much, but everybody says a little," he added. "I collected the pieces." Murray drummed his fingers slowly, eyes drilled into the young man opposite him. Danny felt a real fear and he looked away. "Won’t be much," Murray continued a few moments later. "No Harvard degrees or anything. Strictly barebones." "Doesn’t have to be much," Danny jumped in. "I just need enough to live, work and not have to look over my shoulder anymore. It’s got to be legit, Murray. I can pay," he added earnestly. "This ain’t a hustle, man, I swear it. I ain’t trying to get something for nothing. Think about it: did I ever ask anyone for anything? Or take it when it got offered?" No, Murray thought to himself, still leaning and tapping his fingers. No, you were too slick for that. His face relaxed and he sat back, chuckled. "Florida’s a

clearinghouse for illegals, and there’s all kinds of scams, so I guess it’s a good thing you came to me," he said gently. "Not that I’m in any business like you think… but with some people I know, you can get a passport with what they can come up with. Plus the fact you’re not Cuban makes this a lot easier. Bigger selection in the database." "When?" Danny asked eagerly. "And… how much?" Murray shrugged. "Tomorrow sometime. I know these guys, and they always have something ready for takeout," he chuckled. He wondered if Danny had a clue about the going price for what he was asking. "Probably run you about three thousand," he added, more than doubling the standard price. Danny looked up, shocked. He’d thought maybe a thousand, or even two... Murray looked hurt. "Hey, it’s tough these days, you know? Twenty years ago, all you had to do was walk into a graveyard and find a kid’s name on a stone and got the records from the courthouse. Today, everything’s in a computer - a death certificate is right next to a birth certificate. There’s still a few backwaters out there, but it ain’t cheap because the supply is drying up. It’s a sellers’ market." He’s got me by the balls, Danny thought. It was a nasty bite into his cash, but... A slow smile crossed the boy’s face. He walked over and hugged Murray’s head to his chest. "Thanks, man," he said sweetly, then leaned down and kissed him. He summoned up an image from the back of his mind, felt himself getting hard and slowly rubbed his crotch into the older man’s arm. "Now c’mon," Danny said taking Murray by the hand. "Let’s get naked and you can strip me down - I’ve been poppin’ a chub all day thinking of tonight." And this’ll be the last time I have to fuck your tired ass. Murray got up and kissed the boy full on the mouth. When he fed him his tongue he lost his lower plate for a moment and Danny gagged on it, but the boy spat it out and laid it on the mantle before he put his arm around Murray, leaned his head against the man’s arm and they walked into the bedroom together. It was all Murray could do to keep from laughing - the paperwork Danny wanted ran about five hundred dollars, if you knew where to ask for it. His connection paid a clerk in Baton Rouge, where half the towns in the back-water parishes still used a ledger to record births and deaths. Infant mortality in rural

parts of Louisiana were almost as high as any third-world country, and the supply was almost endless. The kind of background Danny wanted would hold up, all right - it was basic. Murray didn’t need the money, but he hated being hustled. If Danny had just come right out and told him what he wanted without the performance, he’d have been fine. It was a lousy feeling knowing you were being played, but there was satisfaction to be had in hustling the hustler and Murray enjoyed it, and a nice piece of boy dick on top of that made it all the more worthwhile. The third time he flipped Danny’s legs up, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have taken two Viagra, just to make sure he got his trouble’s worth.