Date: Tue, 15 Sep 2015 06:33:00 -0400
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Who Killed Koch Robin 5

Who Killed Koch Robin 5
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you do not like that, DO NOT
read it! You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, and is
not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual.  I have made no effort
to portray safe sex practices. If you have any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com

The next morning I went by the hospital. Lance's condition had been
upgraded to guarded; the medical situation was much improved. He parents
had gone to a hotel to rest. I met his Uncle Joe in the waiting room. He
was a follower of King Cole. He may have been the jerk, Lance had
described, but he clearly loved his nephew and was worried about his
sister, Lance's mother.

"She has a weak heart," he said. "Was it a random attack? That happens all
the time here I've heard."

"Random attacks are rare and this was a deliberate ambush. There was
nothing random at all about it," I said.

"That big black woman told me that. I thought she was protecting her Bros,"
he said.

"Officer Washington saved your nephew's life. She beat off the attackers
and inflicted considerable injury on them," I said. "She will probably get
a commendation for it. There were four of them. She acted with no concern
for her own safety."

"I seem to have gotten things wrong," he said. "Sally, that's Lance's
mother, says I get things wrong all the time. That's why I am here.  The
last time I saw Lance we had a fight. I never married and I think of him as
my son. He is a good boy, and I was afraid he would always think of me as
an asshole. Sally was really happy I came here. Sally said it had something
to do with a ballet dancer's death?"

"That is the only high profile case he has had," I said. "It would be good
if you didn't mention that to anyone."

"I guess the dancer was a fag?" he asked. "King Cole is on a crazy anti-fag
campaign. I've given up on him. Commies and terrorist are a threat to us,
not fags."  I looked at Uncle Joe and realized he was gay and deep in the
closet.

I decided to test him. "They say King Cole's son was a pal of the murdered
ballet dancer," I said.

"I feel sorry for the kid," Joe replied. "Discovering he has a gay son
would be one hell of a blow to King Cole's income. He charges hundreds of
dollars for his tapes and videos. They can't cost more than a dollar or two
to make. I thought King Cole was the real thing, but if you sneeze he
charges you a hundred bucks to clean up the snot."

"That is why I had a fight with Lance. He said Cole was a scammer. I took
exception, but I always take exception to anything anyone says," Joe
explained. "I later figured out that if it looks like duck, walks like a
duck, quacks like a duck and leaves shit all over the lawn like a duck,
it's probably not a re-incarnated Jesus."

This was not the way I expected him to according to Lance's description.
"Have you had a bad year?" I asked.

"You could tell?  My best friend, Eddie, died six months ago.  I handled
his estate. Tommy had given King Cole over $50,000.00. Eddie was on fucking
social security and eating boxed macaroni and cheese," Joe said. "I
couldn't believe it. I thought there is no fool like and old fool, and then
I looked in the mirror."

Lance's parents arrived. We talked a little. The doctors were going to wake
Lance from his coma. They wanted to be there when he woke. I left for work
and ran into one of the Doctors in the corridor. He said things were
looking a lot better.

Tim was at headquarters and had some information. Rooster and two of his
pals had vanished. Rooster's bar fly pals wouldn't say anything about where
he might be. Tim bought a few rounds of beer for them and had a spirited
discussion about the Redskins and the Cowboys.  He eventually found out
that Rooster had inherited a farm in the Valley. It was his grandparent's
home.

"It's pretty run down, but it's pretty county," a man named Jud had told
him. "Rooster uses it as a party house. The place is over grown now. He has
a nice stand of weed there." Jud didn't seem to know exactly where it
was. He had been drinking.  The farm was called the Homestead Springs.

"I couldn't find a place called Homestead Springs, but I did a book search
in Google," Tim said.

"The farm appears in a book called, "Old Homes of the Valley." It was built
in 1814, but had been most recently owned and restored by John and Susan
Earlham.  The book dates from 1980. It is still in their name even though
they died three years ago."

"They had one child, John Jr. who lives in Hanover. Rooster is his
son. They also have a summer place on the Bay, near Colonial Beach. We have
people on the way to Homestead Springs and Colonial Beach." Tim said.  He
had been busy. "Rooster has been arrested three times, convicted twice for
assault and battery, but only been given probation. He was arrested with
another guy, Tom Jones. Jonesy likes to beat up people.  The court released
him to one of King Cole's charities for rehabilitation. Tom is an old
fashioned thug for hire."

Koch's funeral was at 11:00. The Robin family was well known and
respected. Police always attend funerals. Some of that is just to show
respect, but some murderers like to see the result of their work. It was in
big church on Monument Avenue. I was inside the church, while others were
outside, looking at observers.

The Robin family had four rows in the front. As far as I could tell the
entire ballet company, dancers, stagehands and administrators all were
there, as was most of the Symphony, as well as the Theater, Dance and Music
departments of the local university. Koch had many friends. I sat next to
the cook and waitress from the short order place next to the ballet
studio. When a waitress shows up at a patron's funeral, he had to be a nice
guy.

The service was mostly musical and upbeat. Just about everyone Koch knew
was a professional artist or performer, but it seemed spontaneous.  The
theme was "to everything there is a season."

Outside there was some drama. Tamara was one of the officers assigned to
traffic duty. She saw someone.  When he saw her react, he ran. He ran
directly into a plain-clothes officer, Bubba Browning. Bubba was not his
nickname. His parents named him Bubba. If he had a nickname, it would have
been Stonewall. Bubba was big, strong and not refined or subtle.

The man who ran into him tried to put up a fight. Bubba was naturally
pugnacious. The chief had reprimanded him for being overly aggressive. I
liked Bubba. He was good when you encountered a bully or a wife
beater. Usually, they were big men assaulting smaller people. Bubba could
give them a taste of their own medicine.  His specialty was dislocated
shoulders. It didn't do permanent damage, but somehow medics often took a
long time to treat it.

To have a man attacking him with witnesses who could testify he had not
started the fight was like an early Christmas gift for Bubba.  The fight
was short and extremely painful for the suspect.

Remarkably, the man was wearing the same jacket he had worn when he
attacked Lance. It was an ordinary team jacket for the Redskins but the
suspect had put a day glow sticker on the back advertising Mama's Ribs, a
local barbeque place. Mama's Ribs was open for two months and then closed.
The sticker was a rarity.

Tamara was to handle the questioning. She was scary and smart. As he went
to the police van to get to the station, the suspect said he didn't have a
name. Tamara smiled. She had the look of pit bull who had just discovered
fresh meat. When they entered the Police Station, a cop recognized the
suspect, Donny Black.  Black had a long record.  I stayed away. I did not
want the other perps to realize we suspected a connection to the Robin
murder or to King Cole.

Mud and dirt covered Bubba from the take down. I lived nearby, so I took
him home to clean up. I didn't want him involved with the
questioning. Bubba was not partial to liars or bullshit artists. He usually
wanted to beat the truth out of them.

I sent him to the showers and discovered his clothes were washable. He came
into the laundry room wearing a towel. He asked me why he was not in on the
questioning. I told him why. I thought that would insult him and make him
mad.

"I guess that make sense," he replied. "I get mad easily. That could be a
problem when the case gets to court. Lawyers don't like me." He was silent
for a while. "Maybe I could just be in the interview room and growl a
little? I could scare him."

"Maybe I could send you out for coffee and suggest that if the suspect
wasn't more forthcoming, I would turn the interview over to you?" I said.
"Is that what you are thinking?"  He nodded. "You couldn't do anything
overtly frightening."

"I can be pretty scary just cracking my knuckles," he replied.

"We can try it," I said. Bubba smiled. The towel he had wrapped around his
waist fell off. It had barely made it around his midsection. Big men are
not always big everywhere, but his cock definitely had promise. I looked a
little longer than I should have.

"Do you like what you see?" Bubba asked.

"If I did would that be a problem?"

"As far as anyone in the department knows, yes," he replied. "Deep down in
my heart, I don't think it's a problem at all. I would not mind letting off
some steam. I heard you might be into that."

"Truthfully, steam is of no interest to me," I said. "Sperm is a different
matter. I wouldn't mind sucking up and eating the contents of your balls,
especially if I can use your cock as a straw."

"You would eat the cream?" he asked.

"I sure would. Is that a problem?"

"No one had ever done that for me.  I think I would like it," Bubba
said. "Shit, I know I would like it."

I dropped to my knees and took his cock into my mouth. It took an entire
thirty seconds to know that Bubba's interest in man sex was not just
casual. His cock was thick; uncut and as soon as my tongue got in the
puckered tip of the foreskin, he was oozing rich and thick sex juices.  He
was close to shooting.

He suddenly shivered, shook a little and moaned. He had become instantly
erect and now squired hot, creamy cum into my mouth. I have taken a few
loads in my mouth and never had a problem. Sperm doesn't bother me, but it
didn't do as much for me as for my partner. Eating the cream did keep
everything neat. That's why I suck to the last drop. It's easier on the
sheets and floor coverings.

As Bubba flooded my mouth, I felt a wave of affection and love sweep over
me. I felt like a giddy schoolgirl who thinks she has found true love. As
he kept on pumping out the semen, the feelings increased. It became a tidal
wave of affection. When I realized what I was feeling I was shocked. This
wasn't what I wanted or expected. Falling in love with Bubba would
complicate our lives and I knew Bubba would be a hard man to live with.

When the ejaculations calmed down, I did not stop sucking. I wanted every
drop of cum. He was still, except for his twitching cock. After five
minutes or so, he spoke.

"I hope that was as good for you as it was for me," he said.

"I can't imagine anything better," I replied. My intention was to be
noncommittal and reserved.  I was not exactly playing hard to get.

"How long will it take for my clothes to dry?" he asked.

"Another hour or so."

"I have a short recharge time. Do you think you could do that again?" he
asked. I answered him by sucking his cock again. When he was soft, I could
take his entire tool, it was a mouthful. Fifteen minutes later, he was hard
and oozing. He climaxed a second time. I knew what to expect, but the
intensity of his orgasm and my reaction to it surprised me again.

His clothes were dry by then, so we took a shower. When I dried off, Bubba
dropped to his knees and kissed my cock.  He didn't quite suck it. I think
that was a step too far for him, but he kissed it. We returned to the
office.

State troopers had checked out the farm in the valley and the beach
house. The beach house was empty, but the farm was occupied. Three hours
later they moved in and found Rooster and the two other men. Rooster was in
bad shape.  Tamara had badly injured him and he should have gone to the
hospital.

It was my time to interrogate our suspect, Donny. Now that all the suspects
were arrested, I felt safe questioning Donny.  The day before he had
complained of chest pains after he reached the station and had gone to the
hospital rather than the interrogation room. His ribs were bruised, but not
cracked or broken. I talked with him before the tape and cameras began to
run. Bubba was in the corner, watching. I told Donny we had them all under
arrest and it was a matter of time before someone talked.

"You know the first guys to talk could get a deal," I said. "Grievous
bodily assault with the intent to kill on a police officer will be the
charge. Now if you would tell us what this is all about, you might be just
an accessory. Maybe you weren't the brains behind it all."

"We've got your boots," Bubba growled. "They match some of the bloody foot
prints at the site. If I had my way . . . it would only take a minute or
two."

"Bubba is the excitable type," I said.

"I hear you have a high dollar lawyer on the way. You don't look like a
high-dollar type man. You know he's working for the man who pays him, not
for you," I said. "His job is to keep his employer out of the pictures. If
there is Mr. Big in the picture, we would be really interested. That could
be real good for you."

"That piece of scum is shit," Bubba murmured.

"I know that, but if we nail someone big enough, Donny here can leave town
and start a new life. It might be worth it," I said. "Think it over
tonight. There are four men involved. Whoever gives us what we need first
has a chance of avoiding long jail term." I paused. "Bubba do you know what
prison guards think about guys who try to kill cops?"

"I'm pretty sure they like to give them special attention," Bubba said.

"Like helping them with classes and rehabilitation?"  I asked.

Bubba grunted. "Yeah, something like that. Maybe his prison sentence will
be a lot shorter than you would think," he added.

"Medical leave?" I asked.

Bubba laughed.  'That's a nice way to put it."

The Lawyer arrived and he and Donny did not hit it off. I said my day was
over and we would meet the next morning. Back at my office, I found out
that Rooster was in the hospital in critical condition due to internal
bleeding.  His two companions were being questioned. We had their names so
the computer people were working their magic.

I went back to the hospital and Lance was conscious. He did not remember
much about the attack, except for Rooster's tattoos. The doctors wanted him
to sleep. His parents were going to spend the night.  Uncle Joe had been
there the night before. They asked me to take Uncle Joe back to his hotel.
He had come by bus since his car was in the shop. He had a duffle bag.

He told me he had a motel on the other side of town. Joe was relieved Lance
was getting better. His pal, Eddie's death had hit him really hard. "They
were the only people I really loved in the world," he said.  Joe must have
been tired. I didn't think he would admit he loved Eddie normally.

"Too bad about your car," I said, trying to change the conversation to
something less emotional. "It is a real inconvenient time to be in the
shop."

"It's not in the shop. I sold it to pay for Eddie's funeral," Joe
confessed. "He deserved more than a plywood coffin. I bought a plot in a
nice cemetery. It overlooks the mountains. Eddie loved the mountains." I
asked if he would have dinner with me. I told him I hated to eat alone.

We stopped at a steak house and talked during dinner. Joe was bitter about
King Cole. He had taken every spare dollar from Eddie and had been working
on getting his grocery money. Reading between the lines, Eddie had been a
closet case who hoped that by contributing to conservative causes and being
vocal in his support for them, no one would know he was gay. He was an old
country boy and could not conceive of being openly gay. I assumed Joe felt
the same way.

I dropped him off at a cheap motel. As I drove away, I had an odd
feeling. I drove around the block and found Joe walking down the street
away from the motel. I stopped, opened the door told him to get in. "You
can stay at my house," I said.

"My social security check will be here at the end of the week," he
said. "This is real embarrassing."

"I'm not going to say anything. It's obvious Lance's parents are glad you
are here," I said. "I live alone; a house guest is no problem."

At the apartment, I showed him the guest bedroom, and he said he might take
a quick nap. When I went to bed at 11:00, he was still snoring. I looked in
the bedroom and saw him spread eagled on the bed, naked. Something about
the position told me he had fallen asleep before he could pull up the
covers. I hate to sound like a sex-crazed, gay guy, but Joe was in better
shape than I would have guessed, and he looked well equipped.

I was getting out of the shower at six in the morning when Joe came into
the bath. He was naked. I was naked. He checked me out and then looked up
as saw me checking him out. We both liked what we saw. Before I had a
chance to say hello my cock was deep down his throat.

All of the men I had been with were later risers. I immediacy understood
the attractiveness of an early morning blowjob. Joe took the entire cock
down his throat and then pulled off as it became harder. Joe loved deep
throating. I soon shot off.  He took every drop.

I like things to be even handed, so I wrapped my lips around his
mushroom. When I licked the underside of his cock head, he popped. It was
hot, creamy and unexpectedly sweet. We them showered and got dressed.

"I love it in the ass. You are a lot bigger than Eddie was, but I'd like to
try it on for size," he said. "Maybe we could do this again tonight?"

"That sounds good to me," I said. "I like to fuck but I don't like hurting
anyone."

"It has been two years since anyone has been up my behind. You won't hurt
me," Joe said. We went to the hospital. Lance was awake and he was glad to
see us. The doctor told him that he would need to go to a rehab clinic or
have help at home for a while after they let him out.

"I can help.  I was an orderly for fifteen years," Joe said. "Half the
people I worked looked like beached whales. Lance would be a piece of cake
for me. I'm retired; I have all the time in the world." Lance's mother
beamed in pleasure. Having her brother come to help was a gift to her.

Lance looked relieved. He wanted to get back to a regular life. I left them
alone to work things out and went back to work.

Dianna Fox, the computer guy wanted to see me. Dianna was small, attractive
woman with a stratospheric IQ. When she came to the computer division, it
was all male and all geek. She remained a computer guy. When she became
head of the Division, she was sir, not ma'am. If you insulted or slighted
her, there was a suspicion that she would use his severed testicles on her
cornflakes in place of sliced strawberries.

Dianna and I got along well. Her husband died in Afghanistan and she had
three, active boys. One of them got into a little trouble and I helped
out. I also took her to Police social events. She did not like being hit on
at parties.

She had discovered three of the four muggers had an association with King
Cole's operation. That didn't strike me as a coincidence.