Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 13:29:30 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Chapter 17 of Come Christmas Steve by Hans Schreiber

Come Christmas Steve
Chapter 17
The Naked Truth

The appearance of Uncle Arty with his gunman sucked the breath from my
lungs and filled them with cold desperation. Agent Overcoat paused,
contemplating his best course of action, but then complied with the order
to drop his weapon. Uncle Arty cautiously crept forward and grabbed the
gun. He was wearing gloves now. "All right, get on the tarp with these
dumbass boys you fucking pig." The agent glared at Uncle Arty but
complied. He knelt next to me with his hands behind his neck. The rifle
remained trained on him at all times.

I had had enough. I didn't think I could take it any longer. I felt like I
was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. I started shaking
uncontrollably. I just wanted it to be over with. I almost didn't even care
if someone shot me in the head just to be done with it. But it wasn't going
to be that easy. "You, tall kid. Get up. Stand up and face me," the judge
demanded.  Whittaker stood and turned around. His face was blank and
emotionless. "I hear you've got a huge dick. That true?"

Whittaker made no response. He didn't even blink. Uncle Arty stuffed the
gun in his back pocket and walked up to Whittaker. He unzipped the orange
jumpsuit, slipped it off Whittaker's shoulders and down his arms to the
handcuffs. Then, the reprobate pervert knelt and pulled Whittaker's dick
out. "Ohhhhh, myyyyy gawwwd!" Uncle Arty cooed. "Doctor Bonermaker wasn't
exaggerating after all. That is one fine piece of meat. That is the Filet
Mignon of penises. That should be on the menu at Flemings. It's a fucking
shame to have to waste that."  He started stroking Whittaker's long dick
with both hands. Whittaker just stood there scowling, naked from the thighs
up, and continued to look straight ahead refusing to acknowledge the
sleazebag stroking him. The guy in black kept his rifle aimed at the FBI
agent, stealing quick, nervous glances at the judge. His body language
clearly indicated that he wanted to get things over with and move
out. Uncle Arty, on the other hand, had other ideas and seemed to be in no
hurry to finish us off. It was like some sadistic power trip he was on.

"You're going down, Arty. Murdering us will only make it worse. I've
already got enough on you. Let us go and you'll have a head start. Kill us
and there's nowhere you can hide," Agent Overcoat said.

"Shut up, you lying pig!" Uncle Arty screamed at the agent. "You can't make
anything stick and you'll be dead anyway." Then, instructing the rifleman,
he said coldly, "If he utters one more fucking word, shoot him in the
head." Then he turned his attention back to Whittaker's dick.

"What's a matter, big boy? Doesn't this turn you on? I bet you'll get hard
if I suck it for you."  The fucker lifted King's dong and began slurping on
the end of it. I was about ready to jump up and rush the asshole. What
would it matter? I was going to die anyway. At least I'd die somewhat
nobly. I didn't get the chance, though. Uncle Arty pulled the pistol from
his back pocket and stroked the barrel slowly along Whittaker's dick and
then pressed it against his balls.  "Get hard for me shithead, or I'll blow
your fucking nuts off. Then, I'll cut your big dick off for a souvenir and
let you bleed out in horrible, agonizing pain."

"Okay, okay. Chill. Put the gun down and I'll get boned for you," Whittaker
said amazingly calm.

"Good decision, kid. You're smart, I can tell." The reprobate judge lowered
his gun.

"What gets me really hot," Whittaker said, "is to have someone get behind
me and suck my balls from between my legs. That'll get me boned super
quick."

"Hot fucking damn, you might be a keeper, kid. I might just have to take
you home and chain you to my bed so you can fuck my ass every damn night."

"Good idea," Whittaker said quickly. "You'd really like having my big dick
up your ass. I've only fucked two guys before, but they both loved
it. Wait'll you see it boned," Whittaker teased. "I'll make you scream for
mercy. You can tie me up in that cell you held us in and have your sweet
way with me every day. I'll totally be your fucking sex slave if you don't
kill me. Like you said, man, there's no sense wasting a nice piece of
meat." The judge laughed raucously, pleased with himself and his domination
over Whittaker.

It looked like Whittaker was working his magic and just might end up saving
himself. Who would have thought that having a gigantic dick could save your
life?

Agent Overcoat spoke up again, and I cringed in anticipation of the shot to
his head that was sure to come. "Arty, that's a good idea. Don't kill
either of these boys. Take them home and play with them, you perverted
asshole. I understand this one next to me gives killer blowjobs.  That's
what that computer geek told me."

"That's right," Whittaker chimed in, "He's fucking amazing at it. He can
even deep throat my big dick. Take us both as your slaves. Don't waste us,
use us."

"Hey!" Uncle Arty yelled at the rifleman. "Didn't I tell you to shoot that
pig if he spoke again?"

The gunman looked at Uncle Arty with a pained expression and asked,
"Really?"

"I guess I've got to do every god damn thing myself." Uncle Arty raised the
pistol and the agent turned his face away. Uncle Arty pulled the trigger
and I saw a flash from the barrel. Blood splattered all over the back of
the agent's head and across the side of my face. I screamed involuntarily.

Agent Overcoat dropped face down onto the tarp completely motionless, the
back of his head stained with blood. At least I couldn't see any brains. I
was still sickened by it. I gasped and then started heaving my guts
out. I'd never seen a man die before. I'd seen animals killed when we'd all
go out hunting, but never a person. I was never really into hunting as much
as my dad and brothers were. Naturally, Billy was especially good at it,
just like everything else he did. The agent's gun wasn't full of fake
bullets after all it seemed. I was so confused now, I didn't know what to
think or do. Uncle Arty laughed like a maniac. He stood up and towered over
the body of the dead FBI agent. "That'll teach you to mess with my
empire. Fucking lying pig!"

The gunman in black lowered his rifle and stood watch. He had a concerned
look on his face.  Stankowski had drawn his handgun and taken a couple
steps toward us but stopped once he saw things were in control.

"I'm so fucking horny right now! Killing people is just so fucking erotic,"
Uncle Arty exclaimed.  He started pulling his shirt off and then
frantically kicked his shoes off and got out of his pants and underwear. He
stood there naked except for his black dress socks and white gloves, with a
leaking boner. He dropped to his knees, crawled around Whittaker's legs and
tried to stick his head up between Whittaker's thighs. The jumpsuit was in
the way. He had the gunman toss him a knife and he cut Whittaker's jumpsuit
off along the arms. The rest of it dropped to Whittaker's ankles and he
stepped out of it. Whittaker was now naked and he spread his legs to give
the perverted judge easier access to his large balls. "Okay, you little
cocksucker," he said to me.

"Let's see if you're worth keeping or not. Get the fuck over here and suck
my dick while I suck big boy's balls. Once he's boned up, I'm gonna fuck
your sweet ass while he fucks me with that monster kielbasa."

I swallowed hard and thought briefly of refusing. Then I realized, this
might be our ticket to survival so I crawled quickly over, prepared to
deliver the blowjob of my young life. Uncle Arty ordered me to turn around
and he slit my jumpsuit up the back of my ass to provide access for my
fucking to come later on. Uncle Arty slowly lowered the knife and set it by
the gun. Then he tilted his head back and sucked Whittaker's sizable left
nut into his mouth. Uncle Arty's large nose was buried in the lower part of
Whittaker's ass crack. I turned, took a deep breath and slipped the
sleazebag's cockhead into my mouth, gently massaging the stretched frenulum
with the tip of my tongue, determined to find ways to make him want me to
live but not expecting it to really happen. His copious precum was
bitter. I totally expected, once he got his rocks off, for him to shoot us
both and dump us in the river along with Agent Overcoat. Still, it was
worth trying and I forced myself to focus on pleasing him.

I peered upward and watched Whittaker swiftly and deftly drop his torso,
clasp the chain of the handcuffs around Uncle Arty's stretched neck while
simultaneously clenching Uncle Arty's head between his firm
thighs. Whittaker flung himself backwards and then did an immediate jerk to
the right. I heard the judge's neck crack. It was loud. It was immediately
followed by an even louder crack of the rifle and Whittaker squealed in
extreme pain. He rolled face down into the dirt continuing to scream out in
pain. Uncle Arty flopped next to him as his dick was ripped free of my
mouth. Uncle Arty lay next to Whittaker, gurgling and gasping and
twitching. It was as if it had all happened in one long slow motion
sequence after Uncle Arty shot the FBI agent.

"Nooo! I screamed instinctively and rose to my feet, unsure if I should
rush to Whittaker or make a run at the gunman. Neither choice was a good
one since I was tethered to a cinder block. When I reached the end of my
rope, I fell flat on my face, sprawled out in the dirt and grass. I looked
up and locked eyes with the rifleman just as he trained his barrel on
me. Then suddenly and without warning, the rifleman's head simply
exploded. Blood and brains burst through the side of his skull and he
dropped like a gunny sack full of oats. I screamed again from shock and
horror at the unexpected event. Whittaker continued crying out in pain and
Uncle Arty continued gasping and gurgling.

Stankowski came running up the trail, shooting randomly in our direction
and into the nearby trees to the west. I stayed pressed flat to the ground
and lifted my chin just barely enough to see where Stankowski was headed. I
wondered if I could untie myself and get to the pistol that Uncle Arty had
used to shoot Agent Overcoat with. Instead, I found that with some effort,
I could drag the cinder block as I tried to move towards the gun. I was
just reaching for it as Stankowski arrived, panting and sweating. He aimed
his gun at me and I gritted my teeth in anticipation of his bullet. Then,
just as with the rifleman, Stankowski's large, blocky head exploded like a
prize pumpkin hit with a club. Blood, and what little brains he had,
splattered all over as he dropped dead three feet away from me. At last, it
seemed to be over with and time sped back up. I immediately became aware of
Whittaker crying out my name.  "Shane, Shane, Shane."

I crawled to him dragging the block behind me. "I'm here Whittaker."

He rolled slowly over with great effort and I could see blood flowing from
a hole in his neck near his collar bone. I knew from my Boy Scout training
that I had to stop the bleeding but my hands were cuffed behind my back. I
crawled around and pressed my knee against the wound.  Whittaker cried out
in pain but I had to do it to save his life. I realized quickly that was
not going to work, so I crawled over to the sleazy judge. I managed to
pickup his discarded trousers and folded them crudely into a makeshift
compress, doing the best I could. With my back to Whittaker, I pressed
firmly against his bleeding wound. He winced and cried out. I felt bad but
knew I had to keep it applied if there was any chance to save his life.

"Shane," he moaned, hoarse and weak.

"I'm here Whittaker. It's all over now. I'll get you help. Hang in there."
My offer was shallow. I was handcuffed behind my back somewhere in the
woods surrounded by the dead and dying.

Even if I could get him to the van, I could never drive it. I never felt so
helpless. A noise coming from the shadows to the west, startled me. I heard
something crashing through the brush and all I could think of was, "Oh dear
God, what now?"

I turned nervously toward the sound and thought for sure I was
hallucinating. Out of the brush emerged Steve and with him was my brother,
Billy, carrying a high powered deer rifle. "Steve!  Steve!" I shouted.  "Oh
my god, is that really you?"

"Yes," he called back, "Yes, Shane, it's me. I'm here. I'm here. Are you
okay?" He started running across the clearing. Billy followed but didn't
run. He was cautiously scanning the tree line with his rifle at the ready.

"Whittaker," I blurted. "Steve's here. He's alive. He's alive. He's come to
save us." I was half laughing and half crying. I started shaking once more.
Whittaker smiled and forced out, "So, we found him. I'm glad for you." Then
he squinted and said with great effort, "Shane, promise me something."

"Anything, Whittaker. Anything at all."

"Promise me that you'll tell my parents that I love them. Tell them I'm
...." He had to pause and swallow hard. Then he forced himself to
continue. "Tell them I'm sorry I never really said that to them, but you
tell them for me. Tell them that I really do love them."

"Oh, Whittaker. You can tell them yourself. We'll get you help. Steve's
here and we can get you to the hospital now."

He grinned. "I don't think I'll make it."

"You have to. You can't die on me dammit. Hang in there, Whittaker. You
hear me? Don't give up."

"Shane, thank you," he muttered.

"For what?" I asked.

"For being my friend even though I'm a royal ass sometimes."

"Oh, Whittaker. I should be thanking you. You're the best friend ever." He
smiled as wide and beautifully as he ever had, then closed his eyes and
relaxed.

"Noooo! Dear God, No!" I sobbed and threw myself across his bloody chest. I
felt Steve's strong arms wrap around me and I buried my face into Steve's
chest and sobbed. I don't have any idea how long I cried, not long though,
because I stopped when I became aware of Uncle Arty's pleas for help.

"Hel' me," he called out. "Hel' me, please."  I pulled away from Steve and
crawled over to him. "You want me to hell you? I'll be glad to send you to
straight to hell, you perverted asshole. All this is your fault, you slimy
piece of dog shit."

Steve knelt beside me and Uncle Arty's eyes widened "Steve? Is that you my
boy?"

"Yeah, it's me," Steve answered coldly.

"Steve, I can't feel my arms or legs. Hard to breathe. Thank God you're
here son. Hel' me. Call an amblants."

"You don't deserve help. You're a disgusting, sick, depraved man and you've
done so much harm to so many people and to so many boys - boys who trusted
you, boys who needed your help - and you just exploited them. And now my
good friend is dead because of you. I hate you.  I fucking hate you!"

"I know son, I know. I'm sorry. But you can't just let your own father die
out here like this." His voice was strained and raspy from the damage to
his neck and throat that Whittaker had inflicted.

"SON! FATHER!" I exclaimed, startled.

Steve hung his head and said softly, "Yes. He's my father. Sperm donor is
more accurate. My mother came before his court over a custody fitness
issue. She had my half-sister and was doing drugs. He took the baby away
from her and put the child in foster care. Then he promised to keep my
mother out of jail if she would get clean and go to work for him. He put
her up in a motel, got her in a detox program, and once she was cleaned up,
he explained that the work he had for her was prostitution. He was going to
pimp her out. Before he did, he took her for a couple test drives. She got
pregnant from it with me. He wanted her to abort me but she refused and ran
away. After she had me, she knew she couldn't keep me and took me to the
fire station and left me there."

"Oh my god," I said.

Billy finally made his way over to us, satisfied that there were no more
threats. He looked at the guy in black and then at Stankowski's splattered
head. Billy started to hyperventilate and then dropped to his knees,
gagging and then vomiting pools of greenish-brown bile.  Steve moved over
to Billy and held him until he finished retching. "I killed them, I killed
two people," Billy muttered. When he gained control of himself, he looked
at me and smiled wanly.

"You okay, bro?"

"Thanks to you, I am. You saved me, Billy. You had to kill those guys to
save me. It had to be done. It's okay. You had to." He nodded solemnly.

Turning back to Steve, I asked, "So what about this asswipe being your
father?"

"Eventually, dear old dad here found my mother. She told him what she'd
done with the baby, but a respected family law judge couldn't exactly take
on a child from a druggie prostitute. So he left me there in the boys' home
and just saw to it that I got some extra privileges. I was smart, so they
let me attend a nearby private school. Uncle Arty, as I knew him, as
everyone knew him, started donating to the school. He bought a motel not
far from the boys' home and he would take me and some of the other boys I
was friends with over there to swim. Then he started giving us some
spending money in exchange for modeling swimsuits and underwear. He said
the companies paid the home for the pictures to use in their
advertising. He said the home needed the money real bad and we all felt
really good that we were helping keep the home open. That led to having us
get boners before we put the underwear and swimsuits on. He said that's
what the buyers wanted to see, how they looked with bulges in them. That
was weird, but we did it. Eventually, he just dropped the whole modeling
pretense and just made us take naked pictures together. As we got older, he
made us do sex things with each other and with him. He sells the porno and
is into other things. Drugs, porn, prostitution, you name it. He's sold a
few boys as sex slaves to wealthy drug lords in South America and Asia and
then faked the adoption paperwork that he, of course, signed off on. When
the cops started nosing around because some boys talked about what was
happening to them, he made me take the fall for it. He faked some shots of
me posing naked with the boys and put it on a computer that he gave me. The
cops took the computer and blamed it all on me. They had a perpetrator,
case closed and my father here, or good old Uncle Arty as we all called
him, was off the hook. He worked it so I only spent a little time in
juvenile hall and had to be on the sex offender's list. The boys who
talked, disappeared. Uncle Arty and Simba claimed they got adopted."

"Holy shit!" So, you really were involved in his porno ring? You knew about
it and were helping him?" I asked.

"Kind of. Not willingly, though. I didn't ever ..." There was a groan and
we looked up in astonishment to see Agent Overcoat slowly rise from the
dead. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head. Billy grabbed his rifle
and pointed it toward him, shaking.

"No! Billy, put the gun down. He's a good guy. He's actually an FBI
agent. You definitely don't want to shoot him."

Billy looked at me to be sure and then lowered the rifle and walked over to
him. Billy offered him a hand. The agent took it and used it to stand up
with. "What the hell went on here?" Agent Overcoat asked. "Who shot all
these guys?"

"I did, sir," Billy said. "Only the ones what needed it, though." Billy
looked a sight, still quivering, pale as a snowdrift, and smelling of fresh
vomit.  The agent grinned a little at what Billy had said. "Well then,
which ones needed it and who did you accommodate?"

"The rifle guy over there, he shot my brother's friend. I think he just
died from the wound. I shot the rifle guy in the head just before he could
also shoot my brother. My brother's dead friend there broke the neck of the
fat guy over here after he shot you in the head. I guess the fat guy is
Steve's father or something, I don't know. I'm way confused. Anyway, the
other guy over there came running up shooting at me and at my brother and
all over the place like a crazy idiot and I had to shoot him too." Then
Billy asked Agent Overcoat the same thing I'd been wondering, "I saw you
get shot in the head, how come you're not dead?"

Agent Overcoat rubbed his head again. "They were stage bullets filled with
fake blood. But at that close range, they pack a real wallop. I'd never
used them before. The impact knocked me clean out, I guess.  "So how in
God's name did you manage to get here?" Agent Overcoat asked Billy. I was
also wondering that.

Before Billy could answer, Whittaker twitched. Agent Overcoat moved quickly
over to him, wet his own cheek and held it near Whittaker's nostrils to
feel for any sign of breath. "He's not dead, but he's not far from it. Lost
a lot of blood it appears." The agent grabbed the trousers and held them
back against the wound even though it appeared to me that it had stopped
bleeding. I was mortified. I'd given up on Whittaker without double
checking. We'd lost valuable time getting him help. The agent pulled his
cell phone from his overcoat and dialed.

"Yes. Code Philly. Air evac to phone coordinates, NOW!" Agent Overcoat left
the phone on and set it on the ground. Then he asked again, "So how did you
get here? How did you find us?"

"Well, Steve here needed my help and I tried to show him how to shoot but
honest to god, he's awful. So I came with him."

"Wait. You're .... You are! You're Steve Fahrenheit. Holy shit. This is
getting stranger by the minute. Half the free world has been looking for
you. Where the hell have you been?"

Steve looked at me and then quickly away. "Well, uhh, I've been up to Shane
and Billy's family ranch in Kalispell," Steve began.

"You've been where?!?" I interrupted.

"I didn't know the FBI was looking for me or that you were in any trouble,"
Steve explained, "and I needed a place to hide until I could figure out
what to do and who I could trust. I was sure Uncle Arty, dad, and his thugs
were looking for me. I had no idea Shane had gotten involved and was in
danger or I never would have left or stayed away. As soon as I found out
what was going on, I raced back and Billy insisted on coming with me since
I couldn't shoot a gun. Thank goodness I let him come or I'm afraid more of
the wrong people would be dead."

"Caprino. Caprino, hel' me," Uncle Arty begged as loud as he could, which
was not very loud at all. "Stop jackin' yer jaws and hel' me."

Agent Overcoat or Caprino, I guess, looked over at Uncle Arty. "You have no
idea how much I'd like to step on your neck and take you out right now. But
you have valuable information about your operation that I'm sure you'll
want to share. So you'll get help once this boy's taken care of."

"I ain't tell you shit," Uncle Arty eked out.

"Well in that case, I guess I can just go right ahead and twist on your
fucking neck." The agent reached directly toward Uncle Arty's neck and Arty
panicked. He started gurgling and gasping again like he had at first. The
agent started to laugh. "You miserable, pathetic asshole."  Turning to me,
the agent asked, "So what's the deal? Why is he just lying there like
that?"

"I think Whittaker broke his neck. He told us that he can't feel his arms
or legs," I answered.

"Hah. No one deserves that more than him. That's perfect. Somebody put his
head between their legs to immobilize it until I can get paramedics up
here." Then Agent Caprino slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten about how
sore it was, and cried out in pain. Then he said, "Calvin. I have to get a
team over to protect Calvin. They took him to his apartment to retrieve the
flash drive."

"Save yer breath," Uncle Arty gurgled. "He's dead by now. Orders were to
get the flash drive and take the stupid fuck out."

"You son of a bitch," I spat. "Calvin and Whittaker were innocent in all of
this. They were just trying to help find Steve and find out what was on the
drive. I ought to rip your head right off your damn shoulders!" Agent
Caprino grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Uncle Arty.

"Someone other than Shane needs to immobilize Uncle Arty's head. I don't
want him to die on me. Not yet anyway. Billy, put your gun down and you do
it, please."  Billy complied. He knelt and pressed a knee on either side of
Judge McMahon's head to prevent accidental movement that might finish him
off. Agent Caprino picked his phone back up and made another call. "Get me
an ambulance along with the air evac. Also send an MIT."

"What's an MIT?" I asked.

"Murder investigation team."

"What?" Billy cried out and twisted to face the FBI agent. "I didn't murder
anyone. It was all in self-defense and to protect my brother and his
friend!"

"Ahhhhggghh," Uncle Arty groaned and gurgled.

"Oh, crap," Billy apologized and turned back around.

"Don't worry. If it all went down like you said it did, then there won't be
any charges against you. I do wish you'd gone to the police and not just
rushed up here with a gun like a couple of stupid vigilantes, but given the
circumstances, you should be fine. I was actually thinking of Whittaker's
shooting as the murder, in the event he doesn't make it. That one's on
Uncle Arty here. Technically, so is the death of his two goons."

Billy relaxed a little. I didn't. "No one had better accuse my brother of
doing anything wrong here. He's the freaking Lone Ranger."

"Don't worry, Shane. I'm sure it will end up fine," Agent Caprino said.

I moved closer and knelt down by Whittaker. I stared down at Whittaker's
motionless body and shed caustic tears. "Oh Whittaker, Whittaker, I'm so
sorry. This is my fault. I never should have involved you in this mess."
Intense hatred welled up in me against Steve's father. 'His father, for
hell sakes' I thought. Just another lie to add to the long list of lies
Steve had told to me. Was his professed love for me a lie too? All the time
I was risking my life and Whittaker's and Calvin's and even Jensen's, Steve
was at my house with my family, probably sleeping in my bed. I wondered how
many more lies I would learn of before it was all over.

Steve came over to me and put his arm around me. I shrugged him away. "Not
now," I said sternly. "I need to sort this all out." Steve shook his head
in pained understanding and moved away. Then he dropped to his knees and
started to cry himself.

"You fucking asshole!" Steve yelled out at his father. "Look at the mess
you've made of everyone's lives! I wish I'd never been born. I wish mother
had aborted me like you wanted her to. Then maybe none of this would have
happened. I hope there is a hell and I hope you burn in it for fucking
eternity!" Uncle Arty remained silent, except for the gurgling with each
labored breath.

There were so many questions running through my head. I wanted the truth
this time. I wanted nothing but the truth. The naked truth.

_____####_____

I hope you have enjoyed this event filled chapter. Look for more to come soon.
Hans Schreiber, h.schreiber@hushmail.com