Date: Fri, 28 Nov 2008 14:09:54 -0500 From: chris james Subject: On the Wire, Epilogue Dear Reader: adult content, fiction, under 18 may not read this material. My thanks to the readers who stuck with me through this story. It was a hard read for you but I am not sorry, the story had to be told. All of us gain insight when we read something, even if it isn't a story we want to see. This one was like that from the many comments I received, it was a hard sell. As a reward for your patience there is a little something at the end of this piece to motivate your interests. As always, your comments are most welcome. Chris James drmeta4@gmail.com On the Wire (M/B) Epilogue The trip back from Washington was anything but pleasant; Kevin was beside himself with worry. Jack had not returned any of his messages, and he'd left quite a few in the past two days. The only way to find out anything was to get on the train and go home. Austin had a feeling all was not well in Chicago. Several times he had been tempted to call Alan and ask what was going on, but Kevin was always there. It was as if the boy was coming unglued. They'd had loads of fun, spent lots of money and seen just about everything they could in Washington. But those good feelings were gone, replaced by a certain dread of what they would discover when they got home. All night long Kevin had paced about their tiny sleeper, moving from one bed to the other, throwing himself against the window and looking out at the darkness sliding by. And in several bouts of panic he had slammed himself against Austin, beating the boy with his fists. This was a side of Kevin he didn't understand, but he couldn't distance himself from the boy. This week away from the business had brought him some understanding about their relationship. In the beginning he had seen Kevin as his savior. The love that developed early on had been born of gratitude for giving him freedom. And once he became involved the fire was fed by the physical needs of them both. But now...now it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on their passions. Kevin's only thoughts were of Jack; Austin felt he should have known that would happen all along. The boy was overwhelmed with grief that something might have happened to Jack. There was nothing for it; Austin knew his boyfriend was lost to another. But over the months Austin had harbored feelings that Kevin knew all about the dirty little secrets of Golden Hand. He was in the middle of it all, he had to know. But how could he ignore these terrible things? Boys had disappeared, been taken off the list...and Kevin knew their fate, he was sure of it. Of course he had blamed Bucky, telling Austin that the man was crazy and that he should have been finished long before. But Austin had come to know Bucky; the man never did anything without orders from somewhere. Jack gave orders, but Kevin was in charge of the operations. And John, there was something creepy about that man. Austin had hesitated to leave the boys alone with him, it just didn't feel right. And just as Kevin grieved about not being able to contact Jack, Austin felt sick to his stomach with worry about the boys. The sun rose almost two hours before they were due to arrive at Union Station. Kevin looked a mess from the lack of sleep and Austin felt like there was sand in his eyes. He just couldn't sleep with Kevin in this state of mind, he could only hope Frank was there waiting to pick them up. The conductor knocked on their door to give them notice, Chicago was the next stop in about twenty minutes. Kevin laughed nervously. "Oh great, I must look a mess," he said. "What will Jack think?" "Why don't you wash up and change?" Austin suggested. "Yeah...I need a clean shirt," Kevin agreed. But Austin knew the boy was thinking about his appearance only for Jack's sake. He sat back on his seat while Kevin used the small bathroom facility. He suddenly felt sad, it was the moment he recognized that the love between them was gone. Maybe it had been a sham from the beginning. The craziness of life within the Golden Hand had swept them both away. Only now, as the reality of his situation dawned upon him did Austin feel anything like fear. What if Kevin knew they were finished, would he be made to disappear as well? Austin felt the cell phone in his pocket and thought of Alan. The man had been nothing but honest from the beginning. He had known this moment would come and that's why he had offered protection. At some point after they arrived he would get away from Kevin and make that call. Alan had been there all along but he had been too blind to understand his need. Now he could only hope the promise would be kept. The train rolled slowly into the station and they gathered up their bags and squeezed down the narrow corridor towards the exit stairs. "Watch your step, please," the conductor warned each person as they stepped down onto the platform. Kevin immediately began looking around for Frank as Austin wrestled his bag down the steps. "Here, let me help you, young man," a voice said. Austin looked up and saw a portly man smiling up at him. The guy took his bag and set it down on the platform as Austin negotiated the steps. A tall slender man stood a few feet away looking directly at Kevin. The big man saw Austin watching, and then they moved. The tall man pushed Kevin up against the side of the rail car, holding him with an arm locked behind his back. The big man shoved Austin in the other direction and another pair of hands grabbed his arm. Austin turned and looked right into Alan's face. "Good to see you, Austin," Alan said. By that point Kevin had been handcuffed and several uniformed officers had appeared to escort him away. "Alan...but...how...how did you know?" Austin stammered. Alan smiled. "We know everything. Got a few years? I'll tell you all about it." Austin threw his arms around Alan's neck and sobbed with relief. His savior had come...the promise had been kept. * * * * * * Eight boys sat in the living room of the house, amazed as the evening news showed the SWAT team invading the house where they used to live. The news was old now but the media just couldn't seem to let the story go. One by one the photos of Jack, Shelby and Desmond flashed up on the screen. There were ooh's and ahh's as the faces of some prominent men were shown being led away from the courtroom in handcuffs. Once upon a time they had known these guys as clients. And then there were cheers as Detective Alan Malloy was interviewed regarding the downfall of Golden Hand. He made a statement saying that a dangerous ring of predatory men had been arrested here in Chicago, and that there were arrests being made in other cities across the country. None of the boys had known of the wide reach Golden Hand had enjoyed for many years. The group had been hustled into state custody almost overnight. The Cook County officials had been only too glad to hand them over, they were embarassed enough by members of the local government being swept up in the investigation. Now the boys were kept together at an undisclosed location away from the media. A state trooper was on watch across the street, two male social workers rotated shifts to provide for the boys. Everyone was cautious, for they now had a retired federal judge as their lawyer, the lawsuits would go on for years, long enough for the boys to reach legal age. Kevin was locked up as well, only his was a padded cell after the mental breakdown he suffered. Legally he was not allowed to see Jack, they weren't related except by crime. He had broken down under questioning, especially after learning Austin was on the other side now. His lawyer had him committed for an indefinite amount of time, there was no hurry, the police had all the information they needed. The reporter finally asked Alan if he had any final words for their viewers. Alan looked right in the camera and said he had a word of advice for parents. "Love your kids, but be aware of their activities. Don't think that this couldn't happen in your town, it will if you let your guard down for one minute. Trust your kids, but make them aware that not everyone they meet online can be trusted." Alan smiled and brought a finger up beside his nose. "I love all my kids; they're the best bunch of boys you'd ever want to meet." And in the privacy of that living room eight boys jumped to their feet and cheered as one. "Did you see that, he touched his nose just like he said he would...that was for us," David said, grinning ear to ear. "Hey look," Kyle said. The television camera had panned back as Alan strode up the steps of the courthouse building, and there at the top stood Austin...waiting. "So Austin is living with Alan now?" David asked. "Yeah...that judge arranged it. Austin is gonna be eighteen in a few months, lucky man," Kyle said. "I'm glad Austin finally got what he wanted," Brandon said. He felt sad for only a moment, but then he smiled. "Anyone want to play games on the PS2?" A tangle of boys ran for the controllers, they were normal kids...for now. * * * * * For the readers:A preview Unpublished anywhere else, this is a preview of an upcoming Chris James story to be posted on Nifty. The place is real, the characters are fictional and not meant to represent anyone alive or dead. Baltimore, Maryland...a town of exquisite beauty and hopless poverty. I lived there many years ago, I walked these streets, I know these people. And sometimes my thoughts return to this city...I almost wish I'd never seen anything, but I did. The Whistler's Club (M/B, B/B) Long ropes of brightly colored flags hung from the rafters of the tall glass and steel building. Each little square of cloth fluttered rapidly, swimming in the current of cool air pouring down into the hall from the large overhead vents. Below, amidst the maze of manicured plants and flowers, a slender young boy in faded jeans and a dark T-shirt sat on the hard wooden slats of a bench. His head was tilted back, allowing his long brown hair to dangle in the breeze of artificial air cascading down from above. He squinted, trying to count the flags above. Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-eight, ninety-one, and he lost track of their numbers. Damn, there were hundreds of them up there, he thought, sooo pretty. His head snapped forward as a blast of music interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to reality of the moment. A sudden rush of dizziness shot through his body, and his stomach revolted. Oh shit, I'm gonna puke again, he thought. Then his eyes lost their focus. "Are you alright young man?" an elderly feminine voice asked. "You look terribly pale." Joey tried to focus on the speaker but his mind was still floating out there somewhere, way too dizzy. The concerned woman finally caught a whiff of him, the cloying solvent smell of the tolly he'd huffed still clung to his face and clothes. "Oh..." she stammered, "that's disgusting. You should be ashamed, such a young boy. Martha, this boy is on drugs," she said to her companion. "There's a policeman by the door," Martha said, and they both looked across the sea of heads towards a uniformed cop standing watch by the door. They turned back towards the bench but Joey had vanished. The high school band in the courtyard continued the musical celebration as members of the city council and the mayor took their places on the speaking platform at one side. Polite applause greeted their arrival and the incident with the long haired boy was lost for all time. Joey moved low and swiftly, dodging through clusters of seemingly wooden figures staring towards the podium. Men and women, families with children, all dressed in their Sunday-best filled the courtyard behind him. All had come to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Baltimore's Harbor Place, all except Joey. The wondrous shops and restaurants had been clustered right on the waterfront in a grand design. The city center had been an eye sore for decades until politics and business had come up with this solution. And it had given new life to the blighted inner city...or had it? The adrenaline rush had cleared his head, and with his eyes darting here and there, Joey was searching for an escape route. He worked his way past the vegetable and fish vendors, coffee and cookie counters, ignoring the tempting things out on display. He didn't even bother to look at the merchandise. He had no money to be coaxed from his pockets by wily clerks. This place wasn't part of his real world. It was only a cool oasis of fantasy on yet another hot day in his life. Finally, he made it to an exit door at the rear of the building and slammed the panic bar, bursting out into the hot streaming sunshine. He took a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed and ran smack into the side of a patrol car parked on the sidewalk. Shit...I'm busted sure, he thought. Joey gazed in glassy eyed horror at the uniform sitting inside. "Hey, kid," the cop yelled through the open window. "What the hell you doing in there?" "Nothin," Joey smiled, a disarming grin he reserved for authoritative adults "Get lost, OK?" the cop replied. "You better get yourself back home, you don't belong here today." Joey walked casually away, stuffing the remains of the plastic bread bag deeper in the back pocket of his faded jeans. The bag reeked of the toluene thinner he had been huffing, 'tolly' they called it. Inhaling the fumes gave you a head rush but the results often made you puke. He didn't care, it was free and today it was the only high he could afford. But it had made him throw up twice already and he hated that part. Now it was time to move, to vanish like a ninja in the canyons of the city. This had been Joey's favorite game for as long as he could remember. That cop had easily pegged him as an East Side kid, off his territory and that usually meant trouble. Joey didn't hate all cops, but then what did that cop know about his life anyway? A good ninja was always part of the unknown. He wandered around the side of a building and the sound of the brass band blared out from the plaza beyond. Crappy music, why didn't they have a rock band? To avoid the well dressed crowds, he crossed the street and walked a block into the city away from the harbor. Here the familiar office buildings towered above him, like old friends they welcomed him back and he felt secure. But these friends were getting old and dirty, and when he ran his hand along the stones it came away black with soot. He rubbed the dirty fingers on his jeans, adding to the streaks already there. He passed behind the Chinese restaurant with its awesome smells and turned down the nearby alley. The loading dock at the back of the hotel had some interesting looking things on it, but maybe he should come back later if he found the time. Joey gave a spinning kick to a pile of empty cardboard boxes, watching them crumble under his assault. It was getting late, time to go home. Reluctantly he turned east and back towards the harbor. At the Federal Courthouse he stood waiting at the traffic light under the watchful gaze of the uniformed guard. He crossed the street towards the waterfront where he looked towards the distant pier and the huge wooden ship moored there amidst the crowd. The U.S.S. Constitution, it was famous for something. That was all he remembered about it from school. Joey wasn't in school anymore. Across the murky swell of the harbor he could see water taxis running in and out of the boats anchored at the long stone jetty. There sat another sailing ship, The Pride of Baltimore. He knew about that one, it had been built right before his eyes. He loved the tall masts, so high that they towered above the bustling harbor craft below. It was all so pretty now, but these things didn't really touch his life. Instead they existed in a dream place somewhere in his mind. How could he relate to them? This place and these people certainly didn't recognize him as anything. These were just things, things that served to amuse. Suddenly he remembered about today again. Today was his birthday, today he was fifteen. But today nothing had changed. Tomorrow would be filled with the same doubts and fears, concepts he barely recognized anymore. The recently developed Inner Harbor complex stopped abruptly several blocks east at the walls of the power plant, quickly giving way to a more familiar city. The rotten piers of defunct industry had been left jutting out into the filthy water, which only recently had received the city's attention. Joey walked along the water's edge, balancing on the seawall and throwing small rocks at pieces of junk that still floated in the murky harbor. The buildings were much older here. Crumbled brick warehouses, all boarded up to prevent junkies from stealing the copper pipes and fencing them for another fix. Stacks of wooden pallets from the old cannery lay broken in an open field. The hard soil packed by decades of industry hid the corrupted earth fouled by toxic chemicals. The tall stacks from the old power plant towered to his left. A handsome brick building that had been given a facelift but never seemed to be able to get a life. These things didn't affect Joey's senses until the smells of a summer afternoon in Little Italy drifted his way. The odor of baked bread, garlic and sweet spices from the gaggle of trendy restaurants made Joey's stomach rumble. He was hungry, he was always hungry. Out across this leg of the harbor he could see the sugar plant to the south. The huge neon sign over the building raped the city skyline at night with a splash of blue and white light. Joey walked across a sea of crinkled asphalt, his worn tennis shoes surrounded by the glitter of a thousand Saturday night's worth of broken beer bottles. All this had been left untouched for decades; a testament to the city's major problem. The certain poverty of so many citizens in this part of town had bred nothing but official contempt. Joey eyed the deserted street across from the field as if at any moment trouble might come his way. The high-rise projects lay up that street. Horrible things happened to little white boys who went up there, his momma had once told him, stay out of there, you'll be sorry. Joey was always a little frightened when he came this way, but at least it wasn't close to dark. Picking up the pace, he raced along the concrete sea wall, past the Coast Guard station where his path finally crossed an invisible line and he was back in East Side territory once again. He ran across the vacant lot where they sometimes played stickball. Past piles of trash pushed against the foundry wall where they had found the dead man a year before. The guy had been rolled up in a rug, shot in the head and left to rot, the smell made them all puke. Joey's eyes scanned the void below the concrete pier across the narrow channel of water but he could see no movement. Sometimes the bums and winos rolled out their cardboard slabs and slept under the pier. He hated their stink because they smelled like the dead man. A younger boy he knew had been attacked by one of these creeps last summer. Some sick guy who said he just wanted to talk to the kid. The boy's parents and relatives had rousted the bums with boards and steel pipes swinging. But the man they wanted was gone. The injured bums went to the hospital up the hill courtesy of the police who managed to wait until the lesson had been learned. Men who then went to the corner bar to celebrate the victory or home to watch the evening news in hopes of hearing about their acts of bravery. Joey climbed across the litter of old stamping machines rusting in the sun. Ancient hulks of mill processing equipment left behind when the factory moved out of the city. He stood atop a pile of twisted metal and looked down the length of the concrete pier. Victoriously he whistled, as if to announce, "I'm back". The piercing call rolled across the field, echoing under the pier and bouncing from piling to piling. Threep-too-weep, his call sounded. The two fingers shoved in beside his tongue were grimy, but there was no answer. Threep-too-weep, he cast out again, but he heard only silence in return. No one was there so he ducked under the pier and ran the length to the far end, a hundred yards out into the harbor. Filthy piles of discarded cardboard and newspaper were cast about the place, broken wine bottles, bits of clothing and empty rusting food cans littered the walls. He inspected a piece of cardboard for skid marks or moving bugs. It was fairly clean so he dropped it on the concrete retaining wall and sat down. The bread bag was a hard lump in his pocket, the plastic melted in contact with the harsh chemical. He pulled it out, wadded the bag and tossed it in the water, watching it float slowly away and sink in the muddy scum that bounced amongst the pilings below. Across the water the afternoon sky was beginning to darken, clouds building up way back in the outer harbor and even further out towards the Chesapeake Bay. There'd been a thunderstorm almost every day this past week. He didn't look forward to the coming days of August when it would be real hot. A sweaty, humid, garbage smelling hot, with hardly a breeze to cool your brain. Damn he hated that. He watched as the wind picked up, blowing white caps across the water rolling towards him and dying against the concrete wall below his feet. The storm would be here soon, probably before he could make it back to the house. At least this place was dry enough. He would have to wait it out. Lightning flashed across the sky and he counted. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, and three-one thousand, then the distant rumble of thunder reached his ears. The storm was still miles out over the Bay but rushing towards him fast. He thought about all the little boats he had seen down in Annapolis. Joey had begged his step-father to take him and his sister over the Bay Bridge to the Eastern Shore. It cost money to drive down there and cross over, the man had said, maybe another time. Joey had come up with the dollar and a half for the toll. And reluctantly his step-father had driven them up and then out onto the soaring span of the Bay Bridge. It was a million miles high over the water they all thought. The sailboats looked so tiny down below. His step-father had laughed, seeming to finally enjoy the outing. He had told them it had to be high to let the big ships pass under. Joey knew that, he'd seen those same ships moored at the docks down Dundalk way. The sun had shown brightly across the water that day and Joey could see the glorious bay for miles in either direction. It was his favorite memory, one of his very few where his step-father was concerned. The thoughts of that warm sunny day made him shiver in his thin T-shirt as the breeze turned cool. Damn, he hoped he wouldn't catch cold. How stupid, he had forgotten to snag a jacket. No, that wasn't quite true. The latest quarrel with his mother had driven him from the house without a chance to retrieve a jacket. Shit, that bitch, he hated the fighting. Large scattered drops of rain began to pound the water, he could see the storm front more clearly now, the squall line approaching rapidly up the harbor towards him. Joey moved back from the edge as lightning flashed overhead and the roll of thunder answered almost immediately. The rain created a mist that blocked his vision of the distant South Side and the big Domino Sugar sign. It all vanished in a curtain of water and he was happy to see it go. Flash, ka boom. The lightning struck nearby and scared him. Shit, now he didn't want to be out here at all. Wheep-thweep, he heard distantly through the roar of falling water. Robby was coming. Wheep-thweep he heard again and joyously he flung the answering call. Threep-too-weep. The connection was made. Thanks for reading, Chris James drmeta4@gmail.com