Date: Fri, 19 May 2006 14:57:15 -0500 From: H. Rick Cantwell Subject: Rascal 32: Conclusion Rascal the Conclusion Rascal's Revelation and Dick's Dilemma The trip to Stallsbury to talk to Coach Wallace was planned for my day off because Lyle had work to do on his laptop and he asked me to drive. It was just as well because I was driving his officemobile --a nondescript car with every high-tech device imaginable. Every three or four minutes he was reaching behind the back of the driver's seat to retrieve a fax. That was when he wasn't answering IMs on his computer or answering a dozen cryptic cell phone messages. I had hoped to talk to him about using the cabin for a week--just Rascal and me. I wanted my boy all to myself for a whole week just to show him how much I loved him. Not love love but, you know, love! "Spunky! Turn! This is our exit!" Lyle yelled. His shouting startled me and I instinctively jerked the wheel to the right. The car tailgating me just about clipped my fender--Lyle's fender--before he slammed on his brakes--AFTER angrily blowing his horn. I was amazed at how Lyle could do four things at once but I couldn't even keep my mind on my driving. He had to do THAT, too. When we got to the restaurant where Coach Wallace insisted we meet, Lyle shut down all the high-tech equipment, tucked his laptop into a bulletproof safe under the dashboard and took a deep breath. I had seen him do it many times. It was his way of switching from work mode to "daddy" mode. "Do I get to wear aviator sunglasses and pack some heat?" I asked with a smile, once again thinking of myself as a secret service agent whenever I was around Lyle when he was working. "Keep talking like that and you'll get to wear the chauffeur's cap," Lyle chuckled. "Let's go." Looking at the sign over the bar's entrance to the restaurant I said, "The Cock and Bull?" "Nice name for a gay and lesbian bar, dontcha think?" Lyle asked. "Not likely in this burg," I said derisively. Since it was two in the afternoon, in a sleepy little village, there weren't any other cars in the parking lot, so I presumed we arrived before our host. We only had to stand at the "Please Wait To Be Seated" sign for a moment before a hostess came up to seat us. Blonde beehive hair, ruby red lipstick and the obligatory way of snapping chewing gum took me straight back to the Sixties. "Coach Wallace said to ask for HIS table," Lyle said. Swallowing her gum with an audible 'gulp' and twitching her skirt down over her hips to smooth out the wrinkles, she effused, "This way please. He's expecting you." From Lyle's astonished look, I figured he was thinking the same thing I was. 'This woman needs to drag herself out of the Sixties and thrust herself into the new millennium.' We followed her through the main seating area into a dining room probably used for small private parties. It had eight tables--all empty, except one--and a dance floor the size of a postage stamp. Most importantly for the ultra-secretive Coach Wallace, I guessed, was that it had a set of double doors that closed it off from the rest of the restaurant and had no windows. Standing as we walked in, Coach Wallace shook hands and introduced himself. After insisting we call him Richie, he had us order our drinks as promptly as possible and our hostess left expeditiously. "I took the liberty of ordering the house specialty," Coach said, "I hope you two eat meat. If not, Mona can bring you a menu." "Nope," Lyle said with a smirk, "we're both big meat eaters." 'Little meat, too,' I thought but kept my mouth shut. Mona knocked and brought in our drinks. Coach and Lyle had highballs while I stuck with black coffee. "Give us a few minutes, will ya, Mona?" "Of course," Mona said, bowing like she was in the presence of royalty. Her obvious display of adoration was making me feel uncomfortable. From the way Lyle's right leg was bouncing nervously, I figured he was, too. "Uh," I said, "where's your car? I didn't see any in the parking lot when I drove in." "I didn't want anyone to know I was meeting you here so I had Mona pick me up. Her son's using her car, today." "Oh," I said uneasily. "I hope you don't mind if I get right to the point," Coach Wallace said. "Kevin told me you have a way of ... looking into things without raising suspicion." "That's true," Lyle said but, by the way he said it, I knew he deliberately didn't elaborate. "If anything I tell you gets out ... my career won't be worth spit on a rhinestone." Just hearing Richie say that phrase startled me. He looked and talked like a well-educated professor. He didn't look like a backwater hick. I wondered if he used this colloquial jargon to fit in around here or if he was just trying to fool Lyle and me. "Secrecy is what I do. I find out stuff, keep it quiet, and pounce on the bad guys when they're least expecting it," Lyle said in an everyday tone. He wasn't trying to convince Richie one way or the other whether he should reveal his 'secret' information. "There were six kids in this state at the beginning of last year who had Olympic wrestling team potential." I saw Lyle bristle at the mention of the wrestling team because Ryan had once been told HE had Olympic potential. "For one reason or another, four of 'em never made it. There was this boy in Chuckabee who was a natural. He could wrestle a tsunami and win. He got caught dealing drugs. Accused of it anyway," Richie drawled. "Accused?" Lyle asked. "He claims he was set up. He was tested for drugs and he was clean. So he got charged with selling, 'cuz there was so much of it." "What was it?" "Crack, crank, Meth ... somethin' like that." "His coach thinks he was framed, too, but Chuckabee High can't afford to launch any kind of a major investigation." "What happened to the boy?" Lyle asked. "He comes from a small town. Not more'n three hundred. He was given community service but the real tragedy was that he didn't get to go to the Olympic trials because of it." "You said there were four," I said. "Another boy from a nearby community was caught loitering in a park near his hometown where homosexuals frequent." "That wouldn't necessarily disqualify him, would it?" I asked. "No. But a couple of days later, on an anonymous tip, the police searched the boy's locker at school. They found an envelope full of kiddie porn and a backpack full of used condoms. The damn stuff was still ... well, it wasn't dried up, let's just put it that way." "He was accused of being a pedophile?" Lyle asked. "How old is the kid?" "Eighteen. He was held back a year, but I understand forensics identified the semen as coming from several different men. They seemed to think it was mature men, not guys in their early teens. Oh, yeah, and two of them were definitely from two different uh, African Americans." "So he wasn't seducing young men and keeping their semen as trophies," I said. This time Richie bristled. That's when I remembered his brother was Randall, the security guard at the bus station, who had a young-boy preference. I wondered if Richie knew that Randall liked little boys. "That's what the cops finally decided but they still can't find out where all the 'evidence' came from." Richie used his fingers to make air quote marks, "... or the anonymous tip." Mona knocked and brought in our lunches. Lyle and Wallace ordered another drink and Mona offered to bring me a thermos of hot coffee so we wouldn't be disturbed. After serving the drinks, she left and closed the doors again. "Where was I?" Richie said. "Well, anyway, the investigators took so long and the kid couldn't leave the jurisdiction so HE missed the trials, too." We began to eat. The steak was flame broiled--pink but not bloody. Both the country fries, browned in bacon drippings, and the steamed broccoli were fork tender and slightly al dente. Everything was exactly to my liking. "I ordered 'em medium rare. If you want 'em well done, we can send 'em back," Richie said. "You're obviously a connoisseur of fine dining," Lyle said. "Your choice was perfect." 'For a town of a couple thousand,' I thought, 'the Cock and Bull has a world-class chef working in the kitchen and they probably don't even know it.' While we ate, Richie continued, "Another boy, just east of here, was picked up the day before the trials for DUI. He had three empty vodka bottles in the back seat. He blew two point one." "That's enough to kill a grown man!" I said. "I know," Richie said. "The boy swears he didn't drink and the only reason he was driving was because he woke up and found himself in the woods. He was just trying to find a phone to report what happened." "What do you mean by 'what happened'?" Lyle asked intrigued. "He says he thinks he was drugged." "By whom?" I asked. "He has no idea. He was at a party. There was no alcohol there. The police confirmed that." "So he was given a date rape drug and ..." I said. "Yeah, but he wasn't raped or anything." "Unless you consider being force-fed alcohol and left to die a form of rape." I said. "So he missed the trials, too?" "Sure as gravy stains," Richie said. I couldn't help but smile. His forthright honesty and backwoods witticisms were getting to me. He was so unlike Randall and his annoying "... if you catch my drift." "I didn't start puttin' all this together until the DUI thing. It seems MY boy, Charlie Morris, was the only competitor other than the boy from Watchaprague to go to the tryouts. Charlie, I'm afraid, was just ... well ... he's good but not Olympic material. When he said he wanted to compete, I couldn't say no. I had him wrestling till midnight the night before the trials and had him sleep over at my place so we could get an early start." "So just exactly what is it I'm supposed to be doing?" Lyle asked. "Do you have someone in mind or someone I should talk to?" "Well, that's the part that could cost me my career." "Could you elaborate." "Well, there was one other boy but his injury happened so long ago I didn't put two and two together. If I told you who I thought it was and I'm wrong, I'm gonna be black-balled as far as coaching goes." "But if you're right," I said. "I'd be a snitch, a stool pigeon ... or whatever y'all call it nowadays. The other coaches would ... avoid me ... just out of principle. The referees wouldn't cotton to it none, either." I wondered if fear was causing Richie to regress into the local speech pattern. "This other kid. The one you said was injured. What's he got to do with this?" Lyle said. "You said it was a while ago." "From what I've heard, and I've never seen him in action but his reputation is that he's the only one in five states that could even come close to beating Buster Benson, the boy from Watchaprague." "I'm not following you," Lyle said. That made ME feel better because I wasn't either. "When MY wrestler, Charlie, told me on the way home from the trials what he'd heard ... about what happened to the other competitors ... well, I realized something was wrong. Shady, if you will. And this was before I heard anything about the kid with the DUI." "Okay," Lyle said, still confused. "The boy that ended up in the hospital, Ryan somebody or other, he was Buster's only competition. But I think Buster leveled the playing field by getting the others out of the way, too." Lyle was in a state of shock, hearing that he might have a lead as to who put Rascal in the hospital. "All but Charlie," I said to give Lyle time to recover, "because he was with YOU the whole time." "Right." There was a long uncomfortable silence while we continued to eat. "You know," Richie said, "It almost didn't happen that way. I didn't want anyone to know Charlie was sleeping over at my place because I was afraid people would talk." "Talk?" I asked. "Think ... the worst." "The worst?" Lyle asked, like he was pulling teeth. "You know ... teacher ... student ... sex. Lot of that in the news lately. We're a small town, but we ain't out of touch. I didn't want him being accused of being gay or anything. But it was so late when we got done with practice and ..." "It's a good thing you did what you did. Otherwise, whoever did those other things ... if they're related ... might have burned down Charlie's house with him in it." I said. "Ohmigod! You're right. Something COULD have happened." "Something far worse than being accused of being gay," I said, feeling a need to defend gays to this small town coach. Apparently recovering from his shock, Lyle asked, "So do you think it was this Buster character or his coach ... or maybe the kid's dad?" "Any or none of them," Richie said. "All I know is Kevin said you'd know how to follow up on any leads I gave you." "How do you know Kevin?" I asked. "We used to be neighbors when we were kids. Kevin and Randall ... my brother ... were tight back then. Anyway, I heard Kevin had some friends in the police force and I figured he probably knew some underworld characters who could give him some leads, too." "Yeah, he does ... including some ex-cons," Lyle said with a glint in his eye in my direction. "Since you met Randall, uh ... well, I think it's important for you to know, uh ... well, as far as I'm concerned, he's misunderstood. He's an eager kind of guy. He meets someone and ... he just wants to help 'em out ... any way he can. Sometimes that means ... doing things a little unorthodox." "If Kevin vouches for him, you don't have to explain," Lyle said. "I know you don't have any reason to investigate this," Richie pleaded, "but in the name of all things fair, those boys deserve to have their names cleared. As sure as farts float in bath water, they didn't deserve to be robbed of their opportunities to go to the tryouts like they were, either." "I'll look into it," Lyle said. "And as for a reason, let's just say justice is good enough for a start." "There's just one thing," Richie said nervously. "I can't be involved." Looking around the empty room, he said, "As you can see, I booked the restaurant at a time when I knew they wouldn't be busy." "I guess that explains the lack of customers when the food is this good," I said. "Mona's even made up some excuses, as a favor to me, so they weren't seating people while you two were here." "For my benefit or yours?" Lyle asked. "Both. Kevin told me you were pretty high up in the government. By the way, if you need to get in touch with me, can you go through Mona?" "No problem," Lyle said, "we try to keep contact with our sources to a minimum. In fact, if I need more information, maybe my wife can go shopping with Mona. I'll pick up the tab." "You're kidding, right?" "No, why?" "Mona shops like ants at a picnic. When she's done shopping, there's not even any crumbs left." "Amanda, too." "Dessert?" Richie asked. "No," Lyle said, looking at his watch, "I've got to get going." I can't tell you how happy you've made me by choosing to come forth with this information. You probably won't get any recognition for this but you'll have my undying gratitude." Pointing to Lyle, I said, "Coming from him, that means something." On the way home, I looked at the name on Mona's business card. "Mona Morris," I said. "I wonder if she's Charlie's mom." "And if she's Coach Wallace's girlfriend?" Lyle asked. "She idolizes him, that's for sure," I said. Then changing the subject, "So, do you think you've got enough information to start an investigation?" "No doubt. I just hope the locals involved did their jobs right. I'm gonna need all the forensics I can get." "My bet's on the dad." "Mine, too. Soccer MOMS make threats but they don't usually follow through on them. Sports DADS however, are usually such testosterone-filled macho maniacs, they'll make GOOD on their threats." As soon as we got back, Lyle had his men begin investigating the information Coach Wallace gave us. From what little bit Ryan told me about it, Kevin was instrumental in the investigation, too. The next time I heard from Ryan, he said his dad had flown to the Middle East--something to do with new additional information surfacing about the Abu Gharib scandal. Even so, Ryan said he was eagerly anticipating our weekend together. When it finally arrived, Ryan and I drove up to the lake on a Friday night after work. We were so eager to relax, we jumped out of the car, stripped down to our boxers and went swimming before we even unlocked the cabin. We didn't even bother to unpack the car. As we were getting out of the water, I heard the unmistakable "whump, whump, whump" sound of the rotary blades of a helicopter. I watched in awe as it began to descend. The skids had torpedo-like canisters on top of them and they began to rotate until they were underneath the skids. As the copter got closer to the water, I realized they were pontoons. Throttling down the blade, it taxied in to the little sandy beach near the cabin. "Sand fleas annoy dirty dogs," the pilot called out to Ryan as he jumped out of the chopper and rushed toward him. "What?" I asked. "You're kidding!" Ryan said, dumbfounded. The pilot shot eye daggers at Ryan. "Dirty dogs need a flea bath," Ryan said mechanically. "Let's go," the pilot said. "Everything you'll need is onboard." Looking down at his wet underpants, Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "Everything," the pilot said commandingly but politely. Turning to me, Ryan said, "I've got to go." "Ryan!" I yelled in confusion. "Kevin will explain." "What the fuck's goin' on?" I yelled after him. As he raced toward the chopper that was bouncing lazily in the waves its rotors were creating, Ryan held his hand to his ear to imply, "Call me." I raced to the car to grab my cell phone--the one Ryan gave me shortly after we met. I flipped it open and saw a text message sent only a moment earlier. "ILUD2" I pressed speed dial. The electronic voice said, "I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service." I stared at the text message. "I love you, Daddy 2." Because of Ryan's reaction to seeing the helicopter pilot and their exchange of password phrases, I wasn't too worried--especially since Ryan went willingly ... almost eagerly. Even so, it was in my nature, so I fretted during the long drive home--mostly about why I was kept in the dark about it ... whatever "it" was. Apparently Ryan thought "it" wasn't supposed to happen this soon, so I fretted about why it had fucked up "our weekend." About two hours into the drive home--alone--I decided to take a piss stop. It had been a long drive up and I was driving back the same day. 'I know I should have spent the night, just to rest up,' I berated myself, 'but I know I won't be able to sleep, either, so ... what's a guy to do?' After draining my lizard, I decided to call Ryan at home. All I got was the voice mail. I knew the caller ID would identify me, so I didn't leave a message. After another two hours of driving, I had myself pretty much calmed down--until I punched in the code at the gate. While I was waiting for it to slowly open, I saw the driveway was full. I recognized Jeremy's car, Rover's truck and Jason's van. My heart seized suddenly, like it was gripped by the fingers of death. I was inside the house before the gate finished closing. "What's going on?" I yelled as I bounded down the stairs to the family room. Looking around, I saw Tyler, Taylor, Jeremy, and Jason were talking among themselves. Amanda was being comforted by Juanita. Kevin was on his cell phone, although he was talking with his hands as if the listener could see his motions. "Lyle's been captured by terrorists," Jason said in a whisper so Amanda didn't have to hear it again. "Are you sure?" "Ryan was flown to Lyle's headquarters. He looked over the tape the terrorists sent. After reviewing the video, Ryan told Kevin there was a lapse of time on the tape. That's what Kevin's on the phone about, right now." "How could he tell?" I asked. "Lyle used the body language code Ryan devised in one of his espionage scenarios to tell them where to start looking. Then Ryan realized the tape was edited when he saw one guy at the beginning of the video was wearing black pants with tiny white stripes but solid black pants by the end of it." "Rascal always was a stickler for detail. So where's Ryan, now?" In a morbid tone, like we were in a funeral home, Jason said, "Rascal's in the air." I think he used Ryan's pet name to ease my discomfort before he said, "... on his way to the Middle East." I felt the blood drain from my face and neck and I thought I was going to faint. "But I didn't get a chance to say goodbye," Jeremy whined. "He must have wanted it that way because I wasn't told, either," I said bitterly. "But what if ... I mean ..." Jeremy said, stymied. "When's he gonna be back?" Rover asked as he and Brad came in from where they had been talking out by the pool. "There's no telling," Kevin said as he flipped his cell phone closed. "He's going in undercover. Once he's in ..." Tyler said. Then he shot a frightened glance at Kevin. Kevin nodded reassuringly. "In where?" Jeremy asked. "Somewhere in the Middle East," Kevin said sullenly. "He could get killed over there!" Jeremy shouted before he realized Amanda didn't need to hear THAT particular concern. "Can I tell him about the plan?" Tyler whined. "Yeah, but just enough to make 'em feel better," Kevin said reluctantly. "Lyle had him write up this 'what if' scenario for our troops over there and detail how they could respond ..." "It was to be used as part of each GI's regular terrorist training," Kevin added for clarity. "... in case they got caught and videotaped," Tyler continued, "they could communicate without words." "But it looks like RYAN's gonna be the guinea pig on this mission, though," Kevin said worriedly. "He knows what he's doing," Tyler said. "Taylor and I have been helping him learn to read and write Farsi, Arabic and Hebrew. We'll be his contacts back here in the States." "He's just a kid! He can't ..." "That's what we're hoping the enemy will think, too," Tyler said. "I can't tell you all the details ... hell, I don't even KNOW all the details ... but once he gets in, he'll just be a kid of some contractor over there." Taylor jumped in and said, "He'll feed Tyler and me e-mails that can only be decoded by F.I.B." "F.I.B.?" Jeremy said querulously. Kevin added, "F.I.B is who Lyle really works for. Not the FBI, CIA, DEA, or any of those other alphabets." "What the hell is F.I.B?" "Federal Intelligence Bureau. It's a secret agency that was created by the present administration to coordinate our national ... FBI and CIA ... information with foreign agencies like Interpol and such." "Why is it secret?" Jeremy asked. "If no one knows about it, they can't try to hack into its archives," Kevin said. "So the F.B.I thing was all a diversion?" I asked. "Taylor and I were diversions too," Tyler said shamefaced. "But we were his own age" Taylor said, "so, hopefully, the terrorists think we were just doing teenage stuff together." "Well, you were!" I said. "Actually, when Taylor and I were with Ryan, she was teaching him how to look and act like a girl. How to put on makeup, walk in high heels ... everything." "What the fuck for? I thought YOU were the one into cross- dressing?" "Ryan needed to see me dressed as a girl so he could find out what he could do to improve his girlish image." I fell heavily into one of the oak card table chairs, stunned. "It was part of his plan. There's an Arab intelligence officer and his wife who live in Iraq but they're secretly working for Lyle," Kevin said. "They visited the U.S. as tourists last week but when the guy returns to Iraq, his wife will secretly stay here and Ryan will take her place." "How?" "He'll be wearing a burka." "But there's still a chance he could be strip-searched by a female immigration agent." "The guy's a well-respected diplomat, so that's not likely. Believe me, Ryan's left nothing to chance in his scheme," Kevin said reassuringly. "I can't imagine he WOULD but what if he gets lost or separated from this ... diplomat?" I asked, almost spitting out the last word like it was bitter poison. "Ryan memorized the maps of four entire countries, including their distances and terrain," Tyler said. "He knows where every city, town and village is, where every safe house is, the names of everyone he can trust. He's like a freakin' sponge. I quizzed him every night and he got every answer right." "In times of stress, people forget things," I said. "I asked him the information backwards and forwards. I'd give him a location, he'd give me the city. I'd give him the name of a safe house and he'd tell me the town." "But he could still get lost in the caves or the deserts or whatever. Then we'd never find him." "Dr. Zender implanted a transmitter in Rascal's perineum. Even if he's kicked in the balls, it won't be damaged." "You wanna know what's neat?" Taylor asked excitedly. "What?" "It's encased in cartilage, or something like that, to look like an ordinary sebaceous cyst." "Eweh! Those damn things stink if they're popped, don't they?" Jeremy asked, looking over at Juanita for silent confirmation. "Yep, so it's not likely that anyone who captures him will want to open it up," Tyler said smugly as if Ryan had thwarted yet another problem. "Capture him?" I asked nervously. "IF he gets captured," Taylor said, trying to placate me. "It's not likely." "But what's really amazing about Ryan's plan is," Tyler interrupted, "Lyle told me he even included a 'What If' section in the plan for when he comes home." "Why would he need a 'What If' section once he's home?" I asked. "If he's successful in his mission over there ... when he gets back to the States, he might need to go into hiding." "Hiding him? Why would he need to be hidden?" "You know, if the terrorists put a bounty on his head," Kevin said. Jason added, "Every guy at the rape in the woods, every guy at the Christmas party at the cabin, every guy at the pecker measuring party knows Rascal. There's not a one--no matter what his age--that wouldn't do everything he could conceivably do to help Rascal. I'm not saying they'd lay down their life for him--although SOME would. But what I'm talkin' about is like protecting him ... hiding him." "Rascal could lose himself in that big of a network of men and boys," Tyler said proudly, like he was the one who came up with the solution himself. "But a bounty?" I asked. "When Ryan first devised this scheme," Kevin said ... "let's just say ... the guy he was going after was bigger than Saddam Hussein." "That's the beauty of Ryan's system'" Kevin said. "These guys back home weren't family. They weren't even friends. They showed up, had fun and went home. Ryan's never seen 'em again, since. But if he showed up at their door in the middle of the night ..." "He'd be welcome ... no questions asked," I said, understanding what Jason was getting at. "Exactly," Jason agreed. "Ryan drew up this plan a couple of years ago ," Kevin explained, "and presented it to his dad. Of course, he never expected Lyle was going to be the star of the show. Lyle, with Kevin's help and influence in the police and fire-fighter community, started building a network of safe houses." "That's right," I said thoughtfully. "The guys at the Peter Party came in from like three or four different states, didn't they?" "Each of those carefully selected guys, by the way, have family members in other states and around the world." "No way!" I said, still amazed that this had begun over two years ago and I didn't know anything about it. "Seven of which are scattered throughout the Middle East." "Rascal did all this," I said with complete confidence, knowing Ryan was fully capable of creating something this complex. "Yep." "How come I wasn't told?" I asked, my heart aching as much as my nuts would have if they had been kicked unexpectedly. "Lyle told us not to tell you because you have so much influence over Ryan's judgment," Tyler said. "YOU knew and kept a secret!" I said, looking directly at Tyler. "You? Oh my god!" "You were Ryan's diversion," Taylor said in an attempt to ease the pain of my shock. "Ryan used to say you were 'his rock'." "His rock? He never said I was his rock!" I protested. "All the time ... just never to you." "He said he didn't want you to get a swelled head over it," Taylor smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Why me? Why a ... rock?" "He knew Lyle was probably being watched by Al Quieda. Because of his high-profile position in the government's anti-terrorism division, Ryan figured his and his mom's activities were being watched, too. So he leaned heavily on you to keep him ... acting like a kid." "Instead of an international spy-in-training," Taylor attempted to clarify. "Act like a sex maniac, you mean," I said. "When he was around you, he could be himself ... relax ... work off the tension." "Sexual tension," I said with a smile. "That, too, but mostly the psychological tension of going undercover ..." "I just can't believe be wouldn't want to say goodbye before he left," I said. "Dick ... Spunky ... it was my decision," Kevin said. "I knew Ryan would cry his heart out if he had time to say goodbye to you in person. As it is, right now, his heart is aching but his mind is distracted by the urgency of the mission. When the separation anxiety hits, he'll be able to cry in private. But for now, he's preoccupied. As for you and your feelings, all I can say is I'm so very sorry. I love you to death, dude, but Ryan comes first. You've got all of US to help you through this. Just remember, Ryan's only got the mission to comfort him." "COMFORT!" I screamed. "Hey," Kevin said, "he's the one who volunteered for it. Hell, he WROTE it!" Kevin said sternly. Juanita interrupted us and said, "Amanda needs to sleep. Can you guys take this somewhere else? I'm gonna stay here with her for a few days." We all left by the patio door and walked around the house to our cars. Before we departed, we agreed we all had other things we needed to do. Although I was startled to see Jeremy hug his dad comfortingly, I was glad to see it. By late Friday night, I was exhausted. I went home and fell into bed without even getting undressed. I woke up Saturday--several times--but didn't get out of bed until my bladder told me it was "that" or buy a new mattress. As I peed, I saw it was 11:45 AM. Looking down the hall on my way back to bed I thought, 'This apartment has never been this lonely.' It was 1:30 PM when I woke up again. I tossed and turned, refusing to think about Rascal but my mind couldn't find the "track" another train of thought departed from. At one point, I decided I would phone the Emporium, cancel my vacation and go in to work on Sunday--just to get my mind off Ryan. By 3:30 and still in bed, I talked myself out of THAT foolish move. In my mind, I was cussing Ryan for keeping me in the dark. I thought I was his friend. I thought we could trust each other. Then I remembered I had been Ryan's "diversion." I was the "place" he went to be a normal little kid--normal for Rascal. I was his safe haven. Those kind of thoughts made me cry. When I was done with the tears, the sobs--those wracking pit- of-the-stomach kind--I got up, showered and ambled into the kitchen without any real purpose other than a cup of coffee. I don't know why but I fixed blueberry pancakes--a comfort food, I guess. I made too many--of course. It made me cry--again--to think that Ryan wasn't there to eat his share. Sometime during the day--after it got dark--I flipped through my porno CDs that were in the footstool storage. I didn't bother to watch any but I pulled out the first two Ryan and I watched together, sat on the couch and held them to my chest until I fell asleep. The sun was just brightening the night sky with its eerie pre- dawn aura as I stepped into the shower. I dried off, microwaved a cup of Saturday's leftover coffee and got dressed. I didn't "decide" what to wear. I just closed my eyes and grabbed something. "Nobody pays me for the way I look," I said to my empty apartment. I got to the door, planning to go out but with no particular destination in mind, when I looked over at the CDs lying on the sofa. I sat down, picked them up and started crying again--until I felt myself falling asleep. Just as I was getting drowsy I heard a knock at my door. I got up, still holding the CDs and headed toward the door. I thought a knock at the door was unusual since I usually had to buzz people in. But after all I'd been through over the past 48 hours, I guess nothing surprised me. Opening the door, I saw the most stunning man I'd ever seen in my life---bronze skin, blonde hair, sparkling eyes, brilliant white teeth. But it was the gold brocade chest patch stitched on a black shirt that informed me he was from the F.I.B. "Sir, The Spunky Fox has asked me to personally hand-deliver this to you." His 'at attention' demeanor indicated it was more of an order than a request. "The what? The who?" I asked before I put it all together. He was talking about Rascal. "Uh ... thank you ... I guess." I was at a loss for words, both from his gorgeous appearance and from the CD he handed me. It was a clear plastic and black case with no kind of markings, whatso- ever. The CD inside was plain silver with just the manufacturer's logo on it. It could have been bought anywhere. "I've been asked to wait for my further orders, sir." "Orders?" I asked. Major Gorgeous pointed silently to the CD in my hand. It was only then that I realized I had the two porno CDs in my hand, too--with the graphic pictures toward him. "You might find instructions on that, sir," he said, his voice sounding more like music to me than speech. I walked over to the CD player and slipped it in and turned on the TV before I remembered to invite my messenger in. "I'm sorry. I've been so distracted lately, I'm not thinking straight. Come in. Have a seat. All I have is day-old coffee. Can I get you a pop?" "Thank you, sir. I'll stand. I understand this won't take long." "Oh," I said, assuming it was a 'no' to the drink offer, too. "Uh, by the way, you don't have to call me sir. I'm not with the military ... or anything." "I prefer to call you sir," he said with a certain finality. On the screen was Ryan's eyes pleading with me like he was agonizing over what to say. "You know all that special training Dad's been having me do--the karate, kung fu and all that martial arts stuff?" I nodded my head as if he could see me. Ryan looked off to one side as if to get permission to continue. "I know this is starting to sound like one of my espionage tales, but in reality, I'm starting to live one. This is what I've been training for all my life. I know I told you Dad just trained me in this stuff so I'd know how to protect myself. But ever since I knew I was gay, Dad's been grooming me ... I volunteered, actually ... to go undercover. That's why I ... I ..." Tears welled in his eyes but refused to spill. "Spunky, I used you. I needed to learn all about being gay and what it was like to be in love so I could learn how to divest myself of it. Then Dad and I used Kevin and all his friends--even Dr. Wasserdyne. I learned how to survive a rape, a beating--although that wasn't planned--and freezing cold. Of course, that was kinda vicarious, through Tyler. I practiced how to blend in when I needed to hide and how to stick out so I could be found when I needed to. All those other men taught me how to endure, without emotion, sex with undesirables. You taught me how to endure loving and being loved without getting so attached I could get myself killed. Oh shit! This isn't coming out right at all." Ryan gulped back a constriction in his throat. "Spunky, you know I love you and I couldn't leave without telling you that. I know after telling you all about my deception, I have no right to ask you for anything. But if necessary, would you go into hiding for the rest of your life to be with me?" Please give the person who delivered this CD your answer." "Of course I would!" I said to the TV. Then turning to Major Gorgeous, I said, "Tell him 'Yes.' Tell him ..." "That's all he needs to know, sir. Anything more could endanger his well-being." Then he turned on his heels and left. I sat stunned for almost five minutes before I reacted. I grabbed my keys and headed for the car. I didn't know where I was going but I needed to drive. I do my best thinking behind the wheel ... there and in the shower. Before I knew it and without any remembrance of driving there, I was at the church I had once taken Tyler to for confession. There was an empty pew about three rows from the back and I sat on the end. When I realized I was blocking the entrance to all the other seats in the row, I slid over until I was more in the center. I sat there thinking, 'I should have stayed sitting on the end so I could leave if I wanted.' About then, someone sat next to me on my right. I didn't bother to acknowledge them. I was in no mood for "small talk." After a quiet moment, I heard, "You okay, Spunky?" Tyler was looking at me, grief-stricken. He was all clean and shiny, his hair spiked--just right--and he was smiling to mask his loneliness. I pulled him into a hug--one I needed from HIM. "Is this a private moment or can anybody join in?" Turning to look over my left shoulder, I saw Jeremy standing there. Juanita was right behind him. I stood up and hugged Jeremy and, as he sat down, I hugged Juanita. Before I could sit down again, Taylor reached over her brother to hug me, too. With whispered conversation, I discovered Jeremy hadn't planned this church visit, either. He and Juanita just had an 'urge' to be with Tyler and Taylor. He apologized for not including me but explained he didn't expect to find me in church. The Mass began and we all sat religiously still. Sherita, Taylor and Juanita, I noticed, sat primly with their legs crossed at the knees. Jeremy, Tyler and I sat knee-to-knee in that macho wide-V posture men assume. Shortly after the sermon began, Jeremy put his right hand on my left thigh. I looked down and saw his thumb stealthily pointing to his crotch. A long tube of hardened flesh had snaked down his right pant leg. A moment later, Tyler patted my right thigh. It occurred to me that his fingertips were precariously close to my own raging boner-- also running the length of my right thigh. I looked into his face and his eyes darted toward his crotch. He, too, was sporting a boner. We all three giggled at the same time--very reminiscent of Rascal's giggle. After Sherita and Juanita shushed us, I thought, 'As long as I ... no, WE ... can get boners in the middle of Mass, Ryan is safe.' A little later, I amended that and thought, 'As long as I can still get a hard-on, Rascal will be alive.' I put my right hand on Tyler's thigh and my left hand on Jeremy's. A moment later, Jeremy nudged my hand onto his hard-on and pressed my palm into it. While steadfastly looking at the priest as if nothing was going on in our pew, Jeremy whispered, "I love you, Daddy. I love you so much and for so many reasons." It was at that moment I knew I would make it through until Rascal returned. 'He will be safe,' I thought. 'His mission will be successful and I'll have both my "sons" home with me again ... someday. That's what faith is all about, whether it's faith in religion, faith in life or faith in love.' The End. Thanks for continuing to read Rascal. Keep in touch with me at my NEW email address: jockhunger@yahoo.com Rascal Epilogue Twists and Turns It has been more than six months since the helicopter lifted Rascal out of my life like one of those frustrating claw machines at the corner arcade. During that time, a lot has happened. Amanda received word that Lyle was transported to a hospital in Germany. He will have to remain there for a couple of months while he recovers from what was reported to her as malnutrition and "minor" injuries. Brad has moved in with his dad--with Kevin's permission. They are working out the father/son master/slave issues one day at a time. They no longer need to see Kevin on a "professional" behavior-modification basis--only as friends. Coach and Zack are forming a "Youth Group" similar to the Boy Scouts but without the 'no gay' policy. In fact, they intend to make it available to grade school and junior high students who KNOW they are gay and need caring and understanding adults. Jamie met a guy last month and I haven't seen a lot of him lately. He phoned to say he thought he was in love--but, then, he thought that about Ryan ... and me ... and Tyler and ... Jeremy and Juanita plan to get married as soon as Rascal returns so he can be Jeremy's best man. The newlyweds will live in married housing on campus. Jeremy got a full athletic scholarship while Juanita got a full academic scholarship! As far as I'm concerned, it couldn't have happened to two more deserving kids. Kevin and Lyle's secretary, Luke, finally admitted they were perfect for each other and Luke moved in with Kevin, bringing a room full of sex toys, gadgets and other nefarious apparatus with him. Randall, the security guard from the bus station, is going to work with Coach as a chaperone and mentor at the Youth Group meetings. Richie, Randall's brother who was the coach that helped get to the bottom of Rascal's assault, was recruited by an out-of-state college to head up their athletic department. I'm sure Lyle's office had something to do with that multi-million dollar contract. Buster Benson, the wrestler Richie ID'd as the potential lead pipe assailant, is currently working as a bouncer at a strip club. He is underage but that doesn't seem to bother the owners. What's nice about it is, it means Kevin and his crew always know where to find him--in case they need to pick him up for whatever reason. The ongoing investigation has concluded that Buster had a "driver" that day. Once the investigators determine if it was his coach or his dad, arrests can be made and the culprits will be proscecuted. Rover and Jeremy are friendly but not close. Rover is being patient with his son--something he seems to have mastered well--until Jeremy can come to terms with his misconceived perception of his early childhood. Jason has formed a secret society among the gay Christian community. They jokingly refer to it as the Jack-off for Jesus Society. It began as a support group for Christians who knew they were gay but knew, too, that God still loved them. It has since blossomed into an activity group that includes bible studies, a dating service and a safe place to enjoy the freedom of sex with like-minded Christians. Members ALWAYS wear a cross while having sex as an acknowledgement of their faith. Taylor continues to tease her father--nightly. She has even gotten him to the point where he is willing to butt-fuck her but he still refuses to fuck her virginal vagina. Tyler is working on a plan to change that. Sherita has begun spending more time at the church. In addition to working on the altar committee and attending choir practice twice a week, Jason talked her into volunteering to work as a caller at the bingo games twice a week. Tyler and Taylor were very supportive of the plan, too. Officer Dufour, the nasty cop that gave Rascal a hard time during his driving lesson, is now serving time on drug-related charges. Officer Wilson, the nice cop, has been promoted. His wife is expecting a son in the fall. He continues, however, to attend and support all of Kevin's "charity" functions--especially when kids Zack's age are involved. Rascal remains in hiding somewhere in the Middle East. He told Tyler and Taylor, through encrypted emails, that he was captured and tortured--both physically and mentally. He said he was able to escape after enduring a twelve-hour gangbang because he was able to outlast his tormentors. Once they all fell asleep, assuming he had been fucked into a coma, he was able to slip out of his bonds and sneak into the desert to a safe house. Kevin is planning a "Rascal Reunion" party. He'll need a circus tent to house all the people who plan to attend! Drs. Wasserdyne and Zender have extended their research to not only include gay men and boys but they have begun measuring nudist communities in both the U.S. and Canada. My next story, "Sharin'" is being posted in the Bisexual area of Nifty in the Adult/Youth and Incest categories. I hope you'll look for it. That said, I need to make one other comment. Please indulge me. I want to acknowledge Dean, my lover and partner of 37 years, for all his support and for being my "first reader" and editor. I think I am a good writer but HE makes me be a better one. Thanks, Dean. If you enjoyed this story, I encourage you to make a donation to Nifty! I have done it several times and I have not had credit card problems whatsoever. 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