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*-* Juan's POV, in Cuba *-*
My little boy, the product of a quickie one night fuck fest with his mother almost 14 years ago, was tired when we arrived in the hotel room after a quick bite to eat at a greasy spoon joint well known for its excellent hamburgers and onion rings. I had not realized that a teenage boy could put away so much grub at one sitting. I was utterly amazed when he went back to the window and placed another order, of what I had no clue until he brought back yet another burger and devoured half of it in front of me.
“Ya ready to go? We've got to get up real early in the morning.” I said to the little one.
He got up and without a word headed for the door, exited and then patiently (or impatiently) waited at the side of my Dodge Ram 350 pickup truck sitting at the far end of the parking lot.
I was, of course, several paces behind him. As I watched him walk I wondered when he'd grown so tall and filled out... but realized I hadn't seen him since he'd been 5 years old.
Right after his mother gave birth we decided that we wouldn't even try to make things work out. We had constantly fought about this, that and everything in the word. Nothing was right, and well I got tired of going home to that shit.
I got a job that made me travel a lot, which was a nice diversion because she and I fought the most about the kid, her constantly bitching and complaining about being burdened with a crying baby, and me complaining because I was tied down.
Okay, let me back up.
I loved my kid. Period.
I did not love the woman, his mother. I tried to love her for the sake of baby Harry.
Call me a martyr or whatever... I thought by leaving the constant arguing situation that he would be happier.
In any event, after leaving, I got a passport and took off on a job selling brass fittings, big fucking brass fittings, you know the ones that hold ships docked on piers, their propellers on and functioning the way they are supposed to, and other odds and ends that a ship needs.
I traveled constantly. In the first year, I was on 5 continents traveling around, getting drunk, fucking anything that had a twat, taking antibiotics to treat some weird STD's, yet I was living a nomadic life, alone, and lonely at times. Religiously, though, I paid way above and beyond the amount the court set for child support because I wanted him to have a good life even though I didn't know him. The rag head bitch would send me pictures. I kept all of them neatly tucked in my wallet. Often times I'd spend an evening sipping beer and wondering what it might have been like had his old lady and I got along.
“Are you going to unlock my side or are you just going to stand there, why are you just standing there looking dumb?” My boy snickered.
“Oh... sorry.” I said seriously, returning from my brief trip to the past.
He rolled his eyes.
Teenagers. I didn't know anything about the burgeoning little creatures.
I unlocked the truck. He used the step to climb aboard and then closed it after getting seated.
“Seat belts!” I said as he turned to his Coke and took a big slug.
Arriving in the hotel room he quickly made his way to the boys' room while I fixed myself a highball and turned on the TV. There was a special pay-per-view fight that I wanted to see. It had been hailed as a blockbuster and promised to be a nail biting event.
When Harry exited the bathroom he quickly closed the door, washed his hands, dried them and then sat down at the desk. The boy looked bored to tears, and when the fight came on he looked at me with those big dark brown eyes that were just like mine. His were sparkling while mine were mostly dull and nondescript. I wondered why that was... though I knew that the old lady had cared for him once she accepted her responsibility, like I hadn't.
The fight started. I was starting to really get into it. But each time I looked at the boy sitting all alone my guilt levels raised a notch or two each time.
“Can I go for a walk, sir?” Harry asked quietly. I could tell he was scared by the way he poised himself.
Quickly, I glanced to the TV then back to that boy who was my own flesh and blood.
Speaking of blood, just as I looked back to the TV I saw the aftermath of one of the fighters who'd had his head bashed in. He got up off the mat when a crazy idea entered my head.
I turned off the TV and settled on seeing that boy looking to me for an answer to his question. I said, “Can I come along?”
His eyes beamed with appreciation and approval.
We went for a long walk down to the pier area adjacent to the park, about a mile from our room, and then sat down on a picnic table.
With those clear orbs of flesh he sliced into my heart when he said, “I've missed you, dad. I really have. I understand why you haven't come back... she's strict, really strict.”
“Harry, she's probably been that way so that you don't grow up to be the man I've been. Don't blame her, okay? She's doing her best.”
“Yeah, she's said that but other than telling me not to grow up to be like you she doesn't say mean things. Uhm, dad, she told me how you two met... it's okay... I don't blame you and I don't blame her. I'm doing okay. I'm pretty happy but I get sad and lonely quite a bit.”
Those words kicked me in the head, knocking out all of my remaining teeth. They bowled me over. It had been a very long time since tears had filled my eyes because of an inner pain that I'd never really acknowledged.
“Yeah, I understand, been there done that. That's one of the reasons I came back to Hawaii. Harry, I came back to meet you. I quit my job in Mexico. I'm in the process of deciding what to do next, here in Hawaii. I'm seriously hoping that you and I get connected, and not just because your mother told me to... that is if you're okay with the idea.”
“Really, you want that? I'd better tell your something before we get started... you'll probably not want me to be around... I'm gay dad. I just realized it a few weeks ago and well... the kids at school, well they...”
“Harry, stop it. Don't...”
The boy looked at me terrified... and then he took off running as fast as he could go.
Immediately, I got up and went after him... like me he was fast but not as fast, my legs are longer, and he tends to be clumsy – at times. He turned around to see if I was following him, and when he did his feet caught the edge of the sidewalk and down he went, and I mean the boy fell hard.
I was at him within 1 second. I knelt down, ran my hands all over his body looking for injury. When I was assured no major catastrophe, other than some minor scrapes, was present I pulled him up. He thought I was going to help him stand but my heart twisted and turned... I pulled him into my arms and did not let go. This child had been afraid of me, very much like the other kids I had come into contact with over the years in various types of work.
He didn't fight me. Instead he melted and put his arms around my neck and held on as if his life depended on the touch, on the hold, to hold him safe and secure.
Those tears I have previously written about... they started running down my cheeks, and they wouldn't stop.
Harry turned to face me when my tears began falling onto his shirt sleeve. He said, “Please don't cry dad. I'm okay.”
“You could have gotten hurt...”
“But I didn't.”
“No thanks to me.”
“Then why am I in your arms... I sure didn't get here on my own...”
“I guess a grown lunk of a man holding a 13 year old boy in his arms is a bit weird, huh?” I said and then stood him up, brushed the pieces of grass and dirt off his clothes.
The boy rolled his eyes, and then much to my surprise he walked around and in a split second I had a kid riding on my back, holding onto my neck for support.
“So are you just going to stand here or what?” Harry asked clearly with indignation in his young voice.
We stopped at a little convenience store on the strip and got a huge ice cream cone apiece.
I said, “Harry, I said what I said because I don't want to hear you berating yourself. Don't do that around me, okay? Don't do that ever. You are your own person. Whether you were green, purple, black, white, polka dotted, gay or straight, or anything else... makes no difference to me. So where are you on accepting yourself as a good person... from the sound of it you don't think too much of yourself.”
“It's easier to push people away than to get close to them and be pushed away.”
“You're good at it, boy. I'll give you that... but at the same time you're kind of a dumb kid thinking you could run your dad off just like that. Well, I guess we have a couple more things in common... we're hard headed and we're leaders, and I guess we have another one... we run. You do know that We'll likely butt heads on some things...”
“No doubt.” The imp said with a pronounced smirk crossing his face, ear to ear.
What had I gotten myself into?
I had much to learn.
We chattered about this and that as we finished our ice cream. Finished, we headed to our room to retire for the night, with him on my back, and if he were a backpack or something like it.
“Okay, I need to make some phone calls. Go take your shower while I'm making them... or prepare for a massive tickle fest... I guarantee you – I will win (with special emphasis on WILL). These calls won't take all that long. We'll find something on TV that we both like.”
“Okay... well we could talk... I mean if you want to...”
“I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. Okay, deal. Hey?”
“Don't you know that hay is for horses?”
I snickered... he took off for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
My calls consisted of making the final arrangements for the trip to Cuba the following day. It was a big op. It could end up really, really well -or- it could end up very, very, very bad.
Just as I got off the phone with the last call Harry walked into my room of the suite dressed in a long t-shirt and a pair of jeans, no socks or shoes.
He had big feet. Wide and long. Sturdy. Built just right. Yet he was gentle, loving and kind. He had to be in order to put up with me.
“What ya thinking dad?”
“Oh I'm just thinking how alike we really are. We think pretty much the same, and if I remember correctly you're built a lot like me when I was your age. Go ahead, find something on TV. I'm going to take my shower.”
“I love you.”
“Duh. There aren't many people out there that I call dad, let them pick me up in their arms, buy me ice cream and then give me piggy back rides, ya know.”
Without any warning whatsoever I grabbed him up by his shirt and the seat of his britches, tossed him over my shoulder and then threw (nah, not really) him on the couch. I made a big deal of leaving since he was jumping up and surely would have beaten me up.
I hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, locked it, sat on the edge of the tub, put my head in my hands, crying my eyes out with joy, peace and a calm that I couldn't ever remember having had before in my life.
Regaining my composure was hit and miss though I was successful by the time I was washing the bottoms of my feet.
As I was drying my hair I asked a God I didn't believe in, “Please don't let me fuck this up again. Please keep me safe on this mission. And please, watch out for that bag of teenage bones in the other room. Amen.”
I opened the door quickly and quietly... I had plans to surprise the boy with some kind of monster fair, or something, but it was me who received the surprise. The lights were low, the TV on loud, and from the din of the light the boy was in a compromising position, bringing himself pleasure.
I had not the heart to disturb him so I reentered the bathroom and closed the door but didn't latch it.
My boy is a moaner and a groaner... just like his dad. I smiled, gave him 5 minutes so he could put himself together then entered the room normally. I had not the heart to say anything about what I'd seen or heard for fear that it would frighten or embarrass or shame him.
He was all curled up in bed, snuggling an extra pillow with his arms holding it tightly, and with the covers drawn up and over him because it was actually quite chilly in the room... due to the climate the boy wasn't used to air conditioning so I shut it off and opened the windows. The breeze was nice and warm but not hot and humid like I'd experienced in the southern climates around the world.
I went to the second bed, dropped off my jeans and crawled in knowing I needed to get a quick night's sleep since we had to be up at 4. The plan was to drop Harry off at the airport for a commercial commuter flight to Oahu where he'd join Jim and his family until I got back in town, probably a week later.
I was just shutting my eyes after telling my boy good night and to ward off any monsters (he giggled, albeit nervously) so I could sleep when he said, “Dad?”
“Yeah Harry Boy.”
The boy giggled fiercely though he was trying oh so hard not to. When he could he said, “How did you know?”
Okay, he was playing games with me.
“That I'm a Harry Boy.”
“Cuz you're my boy and your name is Harry.”
“Oh... well I'm hairy. Uhm dad?”
“Yes Harry Boy.”
“Dad, why didn't you come on into the room after your shower?”
I don't know why but the perfect answer to a 'could be' difficult question popped into my head, “Your hands were full and I didn't want to interrupt your privacy, that's why.”
“Oh, okay, I thought I was doing something bad. Mom caught me one time. She said I was going to go to hell, that it's a sin. Am I bad dad? Is it wrong because I can't stop?”
I wanted to shred his momma. I seriously did. But... “Son, stroking the flag pole, jerking the chain, jacking off, masturbating... well they are all one in the same... just for your education... is perfectly normal and natural. Some people think that anything that feels good is wrong and bad, and there are some seriously disturbed people out there who say that we and not they will surely go to hell because we believe differently. I do want to set down a rule... it's for your good as well as mine... please do not masturbate when I am around close by because it could get me in some very serious trouble if the word got out... all it would take is an innocent slip up of the tongue. Can you do that for me?”
“Thanks dad. I didn't know, sorry.”
“Harry, what you did is okay. You don't have to tell me what you're going to do... every boy needs time to himself... just tell me that you need some private time, deal?”
“Okay. Uhm, dad?”
“Yeah Harry Boy.”
Snickers were heard from the side of the room my boy was sharing with his dad. “Please don't call me Harry Boy, okay? I'm really am a h-a-i-r-y boy.”
I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. The enormity of his words, and spelling, hit me by surprise... I had no idea that THAT was what he meant, you know, when I was calling him H-a-r-r-y Boy.
“It's not funny DAD.” <Snickers were again heard from that side of the room>.
“Heh heh he... yeah it is. What do you want me to call you then?”
My whole world turned upside down when he answered, “Just call me son, okay?”
The tears once again blinded my vision, but I didn't care. I got up, went to his bed then pulled my son into my arms and openly wept. Several sniffles and sorts emanated from the boy that I was getting to know, seemingly for the first time in his young life, and in my 34 years. I croaked, “I can do that, son, spelled s-o-n.”
I continued to hold my boy until his breathing was deep, rhythmical, even and soft then laid him on his pillow and covered him up with the covers so that he would feel safe and secure with a man he really didn't know.
The alarm went off at precisely 4:00am, much to my dismay. I had just gotten to sleep, having lain awake until... the last time I had looked at the clock it read 2:37am.
I wasn't alone.
That 13 year old boy, my son spelled s-o-n, raised his head up and looked deeply into my eyes... deeper than any other human being had done, including his mother. He said, “Good morning dad... I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I got scared that you were going to go away again. Sorry.”
He then made ready to get up by tossing the covers off his body but I wouldn't let him leave. I grabbed him up and began tickling, lightly and first, but quicker and deeper as each moment went along, as each squeal of 'let me go let me go' got louder and louder. I, of course, immediately let him go when we both felt some warm liquid flowing... and no, it wasn't what you are thinking... you see he had been warning me to stop lest he pee his pants... and being the good father I am did not heed his wise words of advice.
He came out of the bathroom, stark naked, giggling and carrying on. I guess he realized that he was naked when, with a very severe and serious look on his face, he saw his underwear in his hand. He looked down, saw his male gland standing proud and tall, shifted his gaze to me... and waited for the ax to fall.
“Oops... sorry... Uhm, I'll get something on...”
“You're just fine, Harry Boy.” I giggled at seeing his well established pubic patch and healthy appearing and obviously performing on stage – little man.
“I am? Mom says I'm 'too' hairy for my age.”
“You're fine. I started growing pubes at 10 if that makes a difference. You're normal in every way... we need to leave in 15 minutes. I need to shave and brush my teeth. Come on in when you're ready so you can brush yours too.”
We got to the airport just in the nick of time, his flight was boarding.
Without hesitation the boy Harry who was 13 years old jumped into my arms, kissed my cheek and said emotionally, “I love you. Come back to me dad.”
I cried more in those 24 hours than I'd cried in probably my entire life. I put him down, which was the hardest thing I'd ever done, playfully paddled his butt which sent him giggling all the way to his gate. Again I prayed, “God take care of him, and keep me safe. We can't disappoint that boy again. Amen.
The flight to Havana was non-stop. The weather was good other than for being hotter and humid than hell. Bring it on was one of my key mottoes that had gotten me through some very difficult spots in my life.
The bottom line of the mission was to: grab and run.
(Footnote: And no, drugs were no longer my game. My last drug 'mission' ended with Antoine's extraction. I continued with the force but I could no longer trust anybody in the department so I put in for some time off and received it.)
So there I was: back in Havana, Cuba, where it had all started. I was on a different mission; a mission where I could possibly give back something good, provided everything was laid out properly.
In preparation for the mission I had sent Hal pictures and all identifiable information for a hot shot, highfalutin fuckin lawyer named Donald Sandstone, his devil spawned son Brad Sandstone and a fuckin low life peckerwood motherfucker named Bo, The Boss, as he liked and demanded to be called and treated and referred to.
Actually, the motherfucker’s name was Sylvester Anthony Basale. Jim had found his real name during conversations with high ranking officials.
The cocksucker was a 'had been' highly decorated military officer back in Desert Storm who'd pissed to US intelligence key critical confidential information from a foreign government which earned him immunity from prosecution because he'd also leaked less sensitive to that same foreign government. In return for his 'good deed' he was issued new identification, a nice place to live on a remote island of his choice, and plenty of money, lots of fucking money.
The Cuban government liked the bastard because he brought to them many treasures: underage boys from around the world who were bought and sold for many reasons... mainly for sex, drug running, and pornography. Lots of pornography. Lots of sex.
Our mission: rescue the kids. Dealing with the scum was secondary, although the rescue and dealing with the scum might be simultaenous.
In our favor: I'd sold some really good shit to members of varying calibers within the Cuban government. My reputation hadn't yet been tarnished so getting me back into the country was not all that 'terribly' difficult.
Out of our favor: I had more or less defected the country and my job as a law enforcement (ha haa) officer. Their problem. They did not know all the facts including Antoine's actions which saved my life.
Another 'in our favor' item was efforts to tear down trade agreements obstacles known to exist between the US and Cuban governments... so because trade between the both of them had many benefits a lot of things were overlooked.
About the fuckwits who were holding and using the kids: Their whereabouts had been and were fairly easy to trace down.
You see, the kingpins lived a lavish lifestyle which was quite different from that of their fellow countrymen. They stood out.
Another thing is that their operations were not all that 'secret'. That is their distributions were mostly captured and recorded, unknown to them, on very sophisticated satellite interception devices and people well versed in such matters. Jim's company, one of the leading market providers of sophisticated tracking and capturing systems was “right on” with their activities... in fact the key development had been extracted from Matt and Peter's stories.
Add to that the hooligans had pissed off a lot of people by not paying costs and whatnot to keep their operation running. Bad debts such as unpaid deliveries of essential food, supplies and other things.
And yes... they traded in dope, good dope. And yes they 'shipped' much of their trade to and from the outside using boy mules... and for this I am very ashamed. Because I was turning my life around by taking them down would be a way to make amends for my past actions.
A negative point, one that was presenting us with a huge obstacle was getting someone 'inside'. Those rings were nearly impossible to take down without someone heavily involved within their internal operations.
We came up with a plan.
Hal's wife would have to approve.
Hal's son Stevie would have to approve.
I thought of my own son. Would I come up with a plan that would involve him? One that, although remote, would potentially put him in any kind of danger?
But then again Stevie was older. He's also been on some of Hal's and my operations, low key ops though, nothing like what was about to go down.
*-* Meanwhile back in Hawaii … Antoine’s POV *-*
Matt and I took off on foot for the Mission to meet up with Jesus and his little brother, AZ, to work on their training for physical strength, mental control and relaxation. We had been meeting 3 times a week, sometimes 4, sometimes 5, depending where we were mentally, physically and spirtually.
My ribs were still very sore but with mind control capabilities I was able to set it aside and do what was needed to be done.
We arrived down at the rocks, south of the Mission, removed all our clothing. I started us and guided us through stretching, and meditating into the Quiet Realm. After maybe an hour, we began physical stamina exercises.
Jesus was making great progress. AZ, because of his remarkable overweight ‘issues’ had been slow to respond, however, he was making definitive positive progressive strides. I was delighted with his progress, and his abilities to use his weight to his advantage. He was definitely motivated. I was quick to point out these good qualities. Although he and Jesus were pretty much polar opposite and defiant to each other in many different ways, Jesus was quick to encourage AZ to continue going on the right path. AZ would beam over the praise given by his brother, sometimes he needed that more than mine.
After completing our routine, as usual we went swimming for an hour.
We then went and sat on the rocks and just listened to the ocean swell and felt the wind blow across our bodies.
Once dry, we got dressed then headed up the beach toward the Mission. First we stopped by their new home that was under construction. We were pleased to see the forward progress being made. Soon, Maria and the boys would each have their own room and place to call home. The big construction, by Thursday, had been completed however trimming and fitting out their rooms to specifications had not yet been completed, however great strides had been made, and the target date for completion was anticipated to be met.
When we got back to the rectory, where they had been living since the fire had destroyed their abode, Peter, Matt, David, Harry and Jeremy were waiting for us, as was Father Ben. They were excited to see us. Momacita had made her infamous burritos. After chowing down heartily, we decided to walk/jog back home where we would later meet Jeremy to go to the mall to pick up some needed supplies to finish our own rooms.
When we were about half a mile toward home from the Mission, Peter said, “Let’s stop off and see those guys playing volley ball. I met them a day or so ago when I was walking down the beach, the day that I got lost in the rocks. They seemed pretty cool.”
We were all agreeable so we took off. As we were walking up the beach, several people were out in the water. I was sure that I knew them, or knew of them. Then when we got closer, I noticed that they were the same group of assholes who had confronted me and advised, in no uncertain terms that I was unwelcome on ‘their beach’. Immediately, I tensed up and became hyper aware of my surroundings.
As we continued our trek toward the area where they were, Matt pointed out that there were several other guys on both sides of the water, in that one group was coming in from the surf toward the beach, and on the right side, a group of guys were hanging out and playing volleyball.
When we got within shouting distance, they looked at us carefully then one guy, a great big guy, came walking in our direction.
The guy who had slammed me in the restroom at school breaking several of my ribs, the same guy who'd died at the hands of the police after raping a boy in the boy's restroom.
But how could that be... Bruce was dead. The cops had told us so.
I gave myself but a moment of dread but then decided that I would be ready should a situation develop.
“Stay here.” I said to Matt, Peter, Andy, Harry and David.
Harry said “That’s the guy in the restroom, Antoine... but he's dead, right?”
“Yes, he is. Stay here. Keep the other guys here too, okay?”
“I’m worried.” Harry said then after a brief hug went to the other guys and advised them what our experiences with the asshole had been.
I tossed my shirt to Matt, kicked off my shoes then closed the distance until I was standing in front of Bruce the Fuckwit.
“Well, lookie here. Don’t you understand this is our beach. Niggers aren't permitted.” Bruce said taking another step toward me. To say that I was not concerned would be a lie. He was big son of a bitch, probably more than twice my size and weight.
Just then Peter screamed. I took a step backward then quickly, almost in the blink of an eye, turned to see him running up the dune to some boys who were obviously being harassed then I saw a boy connect with a smaller boy knocking him to the ground. Right in front of my eyes, I saw a melee happening.
At the same time, I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. Bruce was quickly running up to me with the most menacing look I’d ever seen on another human being. Matt screamed. He had just been kicked in the gut by one of the idiots who had previously been in the water.
Another guy took a shot at David, knocking him into the sand face first.
Instinct took over. All thoughts of pain left my mind in that instant.
I took Bruce down with a swift kick to his gut, hopefully with lethal force. He got up, regarded me for a second; a second too long as I took another kick into his groin, missing the essentials. He didn’t even hit the ground. I figured he outweighed me by at least 125 pounds, if not more than that.
He then took a running leap toward me. When we contacted, he knocked me to the ground hard. As soon as his body made its trajectory in an arc to land directly on my body … just as it hit, I took his neck and gave him a permanent ‘chiropractic adjustment’. It snapped like a twig. It twisted into a most unnatural position. The sounds of bones crunching were unmistakable. Quickly, I was able to move my body so that it did not take a direct blow, instead, his body deflected far enough away so that he only landed on my left leg and ankle that which I easily got out from underneath.
Assuring myself that he was out of commission and would no longer pose a threat, I went to David. He was okay, just dazed a bit, sitting with his head in Peter’s lap.
Matt came over to me then pointed in the direction of the volleyball nets. It was then that I saw another boy on the ground with a bigger guy sitting on his midsection. Yet another boy was taking a flying leap, connecting with the guy who was sitting, then got thrown to the ground himself.
Carefully looking for the threat, I noticed that the group of boys who were instigating trouble on those who had been playing volleyball was the same ones associated with the defunct Bruce.
With lightening speed, I took off for that group then took a flying leap myself onto the guy who was sitting on the smaller boy tossing him aside like a used paper bag. He was not harmed grievously, but he would definitely be in pain.
With the threat neutralized, I stood quickly, surveyed the situation and found it to be calmed down, somewhat; that is until the second biggest guy from the hoodlums came to me and threw a punch. The sound of crunching bones, his, was clearly heard … and I felt them pop as I let go of him, of his now useless arm and shoulder.
“Get the fuck out of here, and don’t ever disrespect my friends or me, ever again.” I said without any trace of doubt.
The youngest of their group got on his cell phone. One of the bad boys asked who the fuck he was calling, the kid replied, “The cops. Daniel ain’t moving, what the fuck did you do to him, nigger? He’s my brother.”
“Call the cops. They need to be called. Call EMS too.” I responded evenly.
By that time, Matt had come up to me, put his arm in mine and pulled me in close to him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Matt. Would you call dad, please?”
“I already did. He’s on his way. Mom is too.”
The smallest of the boys who had been playing volleyball came up to me, “Thanks.” He offered his hand that I took into my own and then shook hands in a guy kind of way.
Then another guy walked up, “My name is Michael.”
The rest of those boys walked up to us from my family.
“I’m Cole. We saw everything that you did for us. Thanks.”
Another boy, with a bloody lip and a broken front tooth said, “I’m Robbie. Thanks.”
Another boy took Cole’s arm in his and said “I’m Devon. Cole and I are, well, we’re close to each other. Thanks.”
Yet another pair of boys said “I’m James. This is my friend Tom.”
Tom said “We called our dads. They should be here any minute.”
At the same time, we heard sirens in the distance. They were getting closer and closer by the moment. Two ATV’s came screaming down the beach. One stopped by the lifeless form on the beach. The other came to us with their guns drawn and at the ready.
They screamed, “Hit the sand. Do it now!”
We did as they demanded.
By then the police had arrived. They too had their weapons drawn. Between all of them, we were either handcuffed or had trash-bag like ties put around our wrists, immobilizing us completely.
Cole spoke up “That guy, the black guy, he saved our lives. We were jumped. Our friend, Robbie, has a bloody lip and a broken tooth. We were beaten up. The black guy got them off of us.”
One of the cops who had been down on the beach checking on Bruce came running up and said, “The boy down there is dead. This is a crime scene; nobody comes; nobody leaves. Which one of you did it?”
Nobody said a word; nobody even looked at me. Thosee guys were okay.
“I did it. I had no choice. He was twice my size. My life and my brothers’ lives and the lives of our friends here were in jeopardy; we were in imminent danger.”
Just then dad’s Escalade arrived. He and mom jumped out of their vehicle, came to us but were then stopped when the cops pushed them away saying this was a homicide investigation; that nobody was allowed in or out of the crime scene.
Dad identified himself, and mom introduced herself and said who they were to us, and why they were there.
Simultaneously, another vehicle arrived. Two adult men got out of that vehicle. A boy sounding like Cole spoke up and said, “Those are our dads. They’re here for us. I swear to God, officers, these guys saved our lives.”
A group of officers went to our parents and talked to them. Pretty soon, mom was permitted, with a police escort, to come over and talk to me.
“What happened, son?”
I told her. Matt and the rest of the guys collaborated what I said to her.
I put my head down in shame when she said that I was under arrest for 2nd degree homicide, and that there was nothing she could do for me until I had been processed and seen by a judge for arraignment.
The arresting officer came over then read, from a card, my Miranda rights then led me to his patrol car where I was put into it. Just before he closed the door, dad came over, leaned in and whispered, “I'm calling Richard. I’m not sure, because of the charges, if you'll be permitted to come home. It’s doubtful but we’ll work on it. Stay strong Antoine. We’re behind you 100%.”
“Dad the other guys did nothing … they should be let go. I’m not worried about me but I am about the other guys, especially, well you know – I am concerned with all of my brothers … they didn’t do anything.”
The cop said that our time was done, got into the cruiser then we headed into town but not before I looked over toward the beach and saw a ‘Medical Examiner’s” vehicle loading a body in a bag; a body I assumed, correctly, to be Bruce's. I shook my head then looked straight ahead.
Matt came running toward the police car but dad grabbed him by the arm and pulled my main man into him. I cried at seeing him hurting so badly.
On our way to the station I asked the policeman, “Sir, people are referring to Bruce Downs as if he were alive. You guys had said that he'd been killed just after raping a little kid at the high school... I don't understand.”
The cop said, “The guy on the beach was Daniel Downs, the twin brother of Bruce. They're all scumbags. They're all known to us.”
After arriving at the police station, I was led into a processing room where the handcuffs were removed from my wrists.
Once I had had my prints taken, pictures put on file, strip searched – including body cavities, and given an orange jumpsuit to put on, I was led into a holding cell where I was given explicit instructions to not hurt myself or others … the cold hard steel doors closed with a loud unforgiving squeaky clinkety clank.
There were 7 of us in that relatively small cell. My thoughts immediately turned to Peters’ ordeal. I shivered while thinking what he had gone through, at what he had endured. Those guys were looking at me carefully but they made no effort to include me into their conversation, and more importantly they made no move toward me, in any way. Good for them.
Later on, we were led to the mess hall where we were fed cold bologna sandwiches with stale bread – I looked for mold, then finding none, I ate but gagged immediately - the mayonnaise was spoiled as was the cheese. Quickly, I took a swallow of warm to lukewarm water in a Styrofoam cup. It was definitely old distilled water. I spat it out onto my tray while fighting the urge to puke. The battle was won, but it was a tough one.
“GARZA, ANTOINE JAMAAL” a guard said loudly.
I stood up, looking in the direction from where the voice had come. Immediately, the man came over, cuffed me then said, “Your attorney is here. You have one hour.”
With that he led us to an ice cold freezing room where I was sat down. When Richard arrived the jailer removed the handcuffs from my wrists and left the room. He was however standing right outside the conference room cell, observing us.
“Antoine, in a few minutes we're going to be led into a big room where the judge will read the charges against you. This a States’ case. You will plead ‘not guilty’. Any other answers to questions asked by the judge will be “yes sir” or “no sir”, or I will answer them. Do not give out or volunteer any information they do not specifically ask for, okay?”
“Antoine, between you and I, the guy you allegedly killed is well known to the police, and to the court system. He has, or had pending assault charges on a police officer and was due to be in court on Monday. It's also very unlikely that you will be charged as an adult. We have one very, very good thing going for us…”
I looked into Richard’s eyes. He was smiling. I had yet to see anything ‘good’ about this situation until he said, “The presiding judge is none other than Judge Matheson. The only thing I see a potential problem with is that he may have to recuse himself as he is known to your family. If he does recuse himself the other family court judge that presides over juvenile criminal cases is equally fair and unbiased. Stay on his good side; he’ll be your best friend or he'll be your worst enemy. One other thing is that I have spoken to the prosecutor. His name is Michael Richter. He already knows your family. He is the same prosecutor who handled Peters’ case. Under the table, he is strongly thinking along the lines that what you did was justifiable. As soon as the investigator’s reports are all in, the chances are good that you'll be released without any charges being filed.”
“He’s very upset.”
“Yeah, me too, I’m upset. Richard, I had no choice. I only reacted to what was going down on the beach. My brothers’ and those other guys’ lives were in danger. Bruce, I mean Daniel, Bruce's twin brother is or was nearly twice my size…” I said then could go no further because a big lump was welling up in my throat; nearly strangling me.
“It’s time for his arraignment, Mr. Wright. His case is being called.” The jailer said professionally.
“Remember my instructions.” Richard said confidentially.
“Not guilty. Yes sir. No sir. No additional information other than what is being asked of me.”
Richard nodded. He got up and headed for the door. The guard let him out then returned and cuffed my wrists and shackled my legs together and led me into a large courtroom. Immediately, I looked around in the audience section. There was my family. Judge Matheson was indeed on the bench.
I was led to the defense table where I sat down. The cuffs and shackles were removed. As soon as they were, I turned around, locked eyes with Matt for a few seconds then looked at each of my brothers. The other boys, the boys who had been playing volleyball and who had been bullied were sitting behind dad and mom. The same two grown men were speaking with dad and mom then at Matt’s instigation, they looked at me. Dad nodded. Mom smiled in the way that she had always assured me when I was worried, or just needed a mommy hug. I felt okay then.
Bailiff: ALL RISE. COURT IS IN SESSION. Judge, the first case is The State of Hawaii vs. Antoine Jamaal Garza. This case is for arraignment on second degree homicide charges.
Judge Matheson: Please be seated. Mr. Garza, please remain standing.
I did so. Richard stood next to me.
Judge Matheson: The charge against you is second degree homicide. How plead you?
Me: Not guilty sir.
Judge Matheson: This court accepts your not guilty plea. Mr. Richter, what are you requesting for bail?
Mr. Richter: Your honor, under the circumstances, we ask for a $10,000.00 surety cash bond only. The defendant is not a flight risk, and in light of mitigating circumstances surrounding the incident we ask that he is immediately released to his legal parent upon meeting the bond requirement. Your honor, at this time, the investigation continues and with what preliminary reports are in, there is a good chance that charges will be dropped. From all indications, the homicide was justified.”
Judge Matheson: Mr. Richter, as you know or should know the charges of second degree homicide do not permit bond. Trial is set for February 3rd.
Mr. Richter: Your honor, the state is prepared to file a motion dismissing all charges against the defendant. The preponderance of evidence reveals the defendant was acting in self defense, that his actions prevented further injury or even death to himself and the other victims involved in the incident.
Judge Matheson: This is highly irregular, Mr. Richter. From what I have read though, I am approving your motion. This court so orders the immediate release of the defendant to the care and custody of his legal parent. That’s all.
Immediately, I got up from my seat and hugged Richard warmly then turned to my family, gave a double thumbs' up and followed the jailer out of the courtroom where I was permitted to change into my own clothes. I was led out of the jail then remanded to the care and custody of –my family-.
After hugs and kisses were readily given and received, we took off for home but not before stopping at our favorite Thai restaurant where we ate voraciously until we were waddling because of overfilled stomachs.
Matt, Peter, Harry and I needed to use the restroom before we left; the high seasonings were causing my stomach to rumble. Knowing what was about to happen if I did not get there quickly, I quickly got up then headed into the restroom where I just made it into a toilet stall, got my pants down then blasted their sewer system with bombs and massive airborne assaults.
With that finished I washed my hands and while drying them, as the other guys exited their stalls a young guy about my age walked in. Our eyes met and then locked with recognition. It was one of the guys who had previously been a racist, hating individual, who had confronted me on the beach when I first arrived on the islands. He was also the same guy who I met again in the courtyard just outside of Dr. Choi’s office, Peter and David’s psychologist, then again when he ran into our car as we were leaving the parking garage.
He turned away and began walking out of the restroom when I said, “Wait. We were just leaving. I hold no grudges against you. I’m serious. Come on guys.”
“I’m really sorry. They were friends who accepted me – I got caught up doing things that I didn’t mean to do, or believe in.”
Just as the words left his mouth, Robbie came barreling through the door, raced over to a stall, closed the door then he too bombed the world and pummeled it with an airborne attack. I related. Dinner was good as hell, it was.
I extended my hand in peace to the boy standing in front of me. He took it then shook it meaningfully all the while looking into my eyes. His soul was troubled.
“What’s your name?” Matt asked.
“Oh sorry. Gary. Gary Miller.”
“I’m Matt. This is my best friend and my brother Antoine.” Matt said putting his arm in mine then he snaked his hand into mine, squeezing softly but deliberately.
Gary noticed. His eyes clouded up, a stranglehold of sadness enveloped him like a bear takes hold of its victim, squeezing the life out it.
Just then Robbie exited the stall, washed his hands and joined us. He said to Gary, “Dude, relax. Nobody's going to hurt you.” Turning to me, Robbie said, “Do you guys know each other from somewhere?”
“Yeah, we’ve met a couple of times over the past few months.” I replied evenly.
One of the two men who had been with Robbie came through the door, put his arm around Robbie’s shoulders and said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah Matt, I’m fine. We were just talking, sorry it took so long.” Robbie said apologetically to the man.
I looked at my Matt. He smiled and winked.
The second, maybe two seconds, after the elder Matt entered, Gary went to him and reached out for a hug. The older, more mature Matt drew Gary into his arms and hugged him tightly. Tears sprang from the older Matt’s eyes immediately. Matt looked Robbie in his eyes but they didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what was happening, so I urged my Matt out the door and we went and sat down at our table with the rest of our family, and theirs.
When everyone was seated, the ‘rents decided, and we agreed, it would be nice for Matt, John, and his family and friends to come to our house for drinks and swimming.
Cole seemed to be their spokesperson, so Peter and he spoke briefly in hushed tones. Cole’s face turned red and shook his head no. Cole then spoke to older Matt who raised his eyebrows and wiggled them mockingly which did not help to settle Cole down. I had no idea what they were talking about but from the expressions on their faces, I giggled audibly.
When we were ready to depart, John announced they were going to stop by the hotel to get swimsuits. We decided to follow them so that we could then lead them to our house since they were not at all familiar with our side of the island.
Out of curiosity, I asked Peter, “What were you and Cole talking about, if I may ask?”
“I just told Cole that we're naturists, that they would not need swimsuits. He said they don’t do that. He’s okay with us though.”
We all made it home. While the 'rents enjoyed their time getting to know one another the rest of us went to the pool and goofed off, having a fun time for a couple of hours. We chose to wear swimsuits so that our guests would not feel uncomfortable.
When they decided it was time for them to leave for the night, we made arrangements to hopefully meet up again before they returned to their home in LA.
Once alone in our room Matt and I made mad passionate love, depositing our love potions in the appropriate places.
The elder Matt and his partner had told our family that they'd gotten married and were on their honeymoon, and that their boys had also pledged their devotion to the dude they loved and cherished and who they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. That got me to thinking and to come to grips with my feelings for Matt.
Pushing aside all prejudices we had experienced because of our sexual orientation, and the bullshit that happened on the beach, I said to my love, “Matt, will you marry me? Will you be with me for the rest of our lives?”
With tears freely flowing, Matt said yes without a qualm. Then with happy and joyous emotions flowing through our bodies and minds and hearts and spirits we made slow but steady love with the person who would share their life with until time ended.
*-* Back to Havana, Juan’s POV *-*
Ruth, Stevie's mom, was obviously wary and not really thrilled at the prospect of having her son involved in an operation as big as what was going to take place.
The high benefits vs. essentially low risks battle was won out when it was pointed out that Stevie would at all times be in communication with us, and that his whereabouts would be known at all times, and that we would give our lives for his safety, if need be.
With that Ruth and Hal decided that they would leave the ultimate decision to Stevie himself.
Much to our consternation, well not really, Ruth demanded her presence when we laid the plan out to Stevie, and asked him to participate in a very important, crucial way.
We went to their apartment where we all sat down and explained to the boy that his role would be critically important to taking down some low life motherfuckers (a bit of a bias? Yup) who were involved in international boy buying and selling operations. We explained to him that his risks would be essentially minimal but that there were, at the same time, possibilities of the unknown.
Stevie jumped at the opportunity to prove himself.
You see, Stevie was 14 years old. He was at a point in his young life when he was having difficulty with purpose and a sense of self value, common traits of most every boy at that age. I had had it. Hal had had it. And his mother had had it to a certain extent though she was from a dirt poor family who valued and cherished most of all that they had, and needed not.
The boy, given his propensity to generosity toward members of both sexes for his sexual pleasures, had no issue with possible encounters sans intercourse of course. We assured him that we would do an immediate 'go' if things got that far.
Over the next 3 days, Stevie would not take showers, comb his hair or other essential personal self care. The plan was to paint the boy as a 'street urchin' that was common to most all boys who had been previously 'harvested' locally. The motherfuckers had been known to promise the youth the opportunity of a lifetime, lavish facilities, clean and starched clothes, education, and the 'possibility' of international travel.
What they did not tell them, of course, was that they would have to 'work' the trade, and that international consisted of being sold for handsome profits – to those who had a need and want for the child's 'services'.
So with that said by the fourth day, the day of the op, the boy was quite ripe and unkempt... totally opposite to his usual way of living.
Oh yeah, he had been instructed to not give or receive any sexual encounters for the 48 hours prior to the op so that he would be 'ready' in a sexual regard, though we had no intention of him being involved in such a way.
The poor boy.
But he was willing for the aforementioned reasons.
On the morning 'of' we showed him the 'lay of the land' so to speak. What the lay of the land meant was the locations of various and sundry 'landmarks' within the compound, and the sophisticated satellite images (and live feeds) of what exactly was going on within.
He made the suggestion to go 'in' as a dummy, that is not knowing what or where specifically said encounters were to take place. He conceded, however, when realizing that the knowledge would be most beneficial to his safety, which was of paramount concern to all involved. He was also shown where, if at all possible, the pickup point would be and to where he should gravitate the youngsters to once the actual extraction started going down.
Once we were all on the same page, Hal and I communicated the final plan and coordinates to our counterparts, including the Commander in Chief who had a personal involvement in the matter. The COC was amendable to our plan, and promised to keep his fucking nose out of the details of what we were about to do.
At 10 in the morning, we dropped Stevie off at a Wal-Mart close by to the 'usual' pickup point, the place where most local boys had been extracted. And... He was ripe, to say the least.
The planned 'take down' was scheduled for 4pm.
Two other little details: (1) His mother injected into his arm a 3mm tracking device, (2) the snap on his jeans was replaced by an audio-visual device outfitted to exactly look like a regular jeans snap. You know those little hole like things, those little indentations like pores? Those were actually tiny little cameras and sound capture recording apparatuses. The instructions were for Stevie to have those devices, which were easily detached from the material, at all times, on or in close proximity to his physical whereabouts. The satellites would also keep close track of him, and to what was going on around him.
Those devices would also sound capture his voice. The 'stop' word was 'Havana'. If we heard him say 'Havana' we would bust the operation loose, to perform the extraction within 1 to 2 minutes. The other 'actionable' 'stop' gesture would be him scratching his left ear in the center.
He was confident, his mother was nervous as were Hal and I – but we had a plan and knowledge that the boy would at all times be safe.
Stevie was stout, sturdy, and 'trained'. At 5' 4” tall and 132 pounds most of his bulk was primarily muscle, having lost all baby fat by the time he had turned 13. His reddish-blond hair, deep blue eyes, defined abs and pectorals, and a nice package made him a 'girl' AND a 'boy' magnet. With those, and his engaging and open personality he was confident but not cocky. He was very unassuming. I thought that he and Harry would do well as friends, and possibly more if that was what they chose to choose. I promised myself that I would at least have them meet each other in the near future.
While Stevie was loitering around the outside of the Wal-Mart building we got the satellite honed and locked in, tested thoroughly the video and audio tracking device, and we prayed like a motherfucker.
He walked to the pickup point in front of a BK where he waited around for about 30 minutes. During that time two cars had slowly driven by. It was obvious they were both casing the location and our subject, Hal's son... but in ops when a pigeon was dropped they were commonly referred to as 'subject'. We were not the only ones tracking his travels. Several trusted people from many different disciplines were willing, ready and capable to 'jump in' if necessary though we were the primaries on the ground.
Those cars drove off. We thought somehow they'd somehow gotten spooked but then a white Suburban stopped, parked at the curb, and then a well dressed but not overly dressed Cuban national got out, walked to Stevie and gave him the well known and practiced 'sell job', textbook, it was.
Stevie agreed to their offer, got into the vehicle's middle seat and was sat between 2 other nationals who quickly frisked him down looking for wires and other devices. They then spent just enough time to feel Stevie's wares. Both were very happy with their find and were soon on their way. As usual, they traveled around the city, not stopping, just driving around in well practiced perimeters so as to lose any 'traveling companions' such as unpaid law enforcement or other competing scumbags.
They then, while performing the same tactics, began making their way to the road that would lead them to the compound.
I was somewhat troubled because Stevie's riding companions were frequently checking out his “stuff” and at one point just before they arrived at the road, unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and reached their hands in for direct contact with that which designated the boy as male. Stevie was lapping it all up, quietly whispering how good their ministrations felt, and how he just might have something they wanted or needed.
The boy should have gone into show business.
Prior to their arrival and at all times when the vehicle was 'trying' to get lost in traffic we'd been evaluating the compound, in addition to tracking their every move.
31 boys and 6 girls, ranging in age from 4 to around 16 were milling about the compound with cameras rolling (evidenced by live feeds to 7 locations worldwide). There were also quite a few sexual encounters going on. On chaise lounges, side by side to each other, two boys about 12 years old were performing fellatio on each other while a boy and girl were actively engaged in full out sexual intercourse. We made some minor adjustments to the coordinates to capture them right down to a few pimples on their noses.
I then panned around... several others were performing in group orgies where they were all out fucking each other... taking turns with one boy then another and then another, and so on and so forth.
Other boys were swimming and goofing off just having fun.
The subjects, the adult subjects, were milling about observing the 'action' kids doing their things, the kids sitting about on the pavement, the kids in the swimming pool, and some older boys who were dressed in silky smooth shorts cooking on the bar-b-q grill.
The bile in my stomach began turning, and I started getting angry when I was able to pan into some bushes where I was able to see two boys, who were maybe they were 7 years old, at best,, being primed and urged into having full-out anal sexual intercourse. The little boy on the bottom was screaming as the other one was quickly inserted into the unwilling participant.
It was sickening.
Our counterparts in France had visually, though sophisticated video recording devices, penetrated the interior of the main house. Boys and girls were milling about, drinking alcoholic beverages, smoking weed, staggering around in various and varying states of 'fucked up'. The French 'observer' was able to pan in close enough to see the coronas of the boys and the pubic hair on the girls.
All bathrooms were located and then he or she (the operative's gender was unknown) located the showers which is where we assumed and planned for Stevie to be taken upon his arrival at the compound.
And arrive he did. And welcomed he was.
As soon as he exited the vehicle the children in and around the pool exited and went quickly walking to their new arrival. The children inside the house also exited. They all converged on our subject, welcoming him in using varying languages and gestures.
The elder Sandstone and his spawn of the devil Brad welcomed Stevie into their perverted fold by asking him such things as was he hungry (yes, of course), was he thirsty (yes, of course), did he need to use the restroom (yes). He was told that he would be permitted to shower and get presentable for both himself and to the others.
I then panned back to the 7 year old boys in the bushes. The boy on the bottom, the one who had been in obvious pain – his expression was nothing but pleasure as he was pounded by the one on top.
I had to look away.
Panning back to Stevie and his welcoming entourage the younger Sandstone was undressing out of his tight black Speedo swimsuit. He was fully erect. Several of the younger boys, seeing his state of arousal, walked to him and began lavishing their attentions about every inch of his body but then Brad knocked them away causing them to land on the pavement.
Three boys, in age from about 12 to 15 then approached Stevie, said that they were going to wash Stevie in the outdoor shower located next to the main house, and that they hoped he enjoyed it.
They the led Stevie to a picnic table on the patio and began undressing him. When Stevie would reach down to assist them they batted his hands away saying that it was their duty to welcome the new person... so Stevie acquiesced and deferred to their attentions, and appeared to be enjoying himself, immensely.
When it came to his jeans, the boys haphazardly tossed the clothing onto the table. Stevie, remembering the devices, took hold of the jeans and folded them neatly, making sure the zipper side was up. Good boy.
The boys then gave our subject a luxurious washing, leaving nothing untouched. The little ones began playing with his organ, and one little boy of about 10 years old went so far as to take most of Stevie's length inside his mouth and began bobbing. Very gently, as we knew he would, Stevie delicately removed the boy from his appendage.
Once Stevie had been washed, he was dried with big soft terrycloth beach towels and urged to sit on a lounge chair. It was then that two 14 year olds approached our subject with hair dryers, manicure sets, a bottle of hair-dew, a can of shaving cream and a fucking straight-edge razor.
Hal said laughing nervously, “Shit. Even he doesn't prim himself like that. And he doesn't shave, what the hell? Juan I don't like this.”
I spoke into my mic, “Code 1. Stand by.”
One boy blow dried Stevie's hair while the other boy expertly cleaned and manicured his fingernails and then his toenails.
Once the two 14 year olds finished their ministrations they presented Stevie to Brad who had arrived at the table. Brad smiled with appreciation and then sent to boys off to sit on the pavement to observe.
Brad then knelt down on the pavement. Unfortunately he blocked the view from the jeans snap apparatus however his position did not prevent audio from being heard.
“My little servants did well to you. Do you feel much better now?”
“Yeah, thanks. I haven't taken a shower in several days, so yeah it felt really good.”
“We aim to please.” Brad said as his demeanor changed to very serious. He then stepped up the game when he leaned in to kiss Stevie's lips, a kiss that our subject received and returned.
“You don't shave your lips, yes?” Brad said rather than asking.
“No... I'm kinda slow there.” Stevie said cheerfully.
Brad then began inspecting Stevie's body with rapt interest. When he got to our subject's armpits he said softly, “You have a few hairs in your pits.”
Brad then retrieved the can of shaving cream and applied a small amount, and then took the razor and deftly shaved off those few hairs that were signifying Stevie's entry into adulthood.
I was nervous during the entire affair, however I said into the mic, “Code 2” when Brad then began spreading the white creamy stuff into Stevie's pubes.
Stevie, his first sign of concern said to Brad, “Hey what are you doing? Don't do that.”
Brad pushed Stevie back onto the fold back chair and said, “Do not argue with me. You will look fine without your pubes.”
“But I don't want them shaved. Guys at school say they itch like hell. Come on man, give me a break.”
Brad chuckled and said, “I'll give you a break but you won't like it so spread your legs.”
Stevie said concernedly, “Are we actually in Cuba?”
“Code 3.” I keyed into the mic. Our limit was code 10 at which time we'd blow the place apart. I knew the choppers would fire up and be at the ready with code 5. So did Hal.
Brad said, “Yes you are in Cuba... where the fuck did you think you were?”
Brad poised the straight edge and then began removing Stevie's pubes. He was using the razor with precision, like he'd done it many, may times previously. That was something we hadn't planned on... Hal, at the same time, began panning around to the boys who could conceivably have pubes... all were closely and freshly shaved to bare skin.
“You should have heard him when his pubes started growing out, Juan. He's damn proud of them.”
“Yeah... the good news is that they grow back. Sorry.”
Hal replied, “No you're not you fucker.”
I said, “It sounds good. I'll buy him a wig.”
That cracked Hal up. Like always we bring each other back up wherever and whenever needed.
When Brad was finished topside he raised Stevie's legs and carefully inspected his nether regions, and finding them clear he lowered our subject’s legs. The two younger boys handed Brad two towels which he used to wipe up any excess cream.
Stevie was hard. He sat up but Brad firmly pushed him back down. Brad then closely inspected Stevie's erection then took it into his mouth and began sucking with earnest. Stevie's muscles were tensing up. That is when Brad removed his mouth from the organ before him and smiled broadly.
A small look of frustration overtook Stevie's face but he didn't say anything.
Two new boys, 15 years old at least then approached with bottles of what appeared to be body lotion. They then began massaging Stevie's body with it though not applying it to his pole. They urged Stevie to stand and they applied the stuff to his back, legs and butt, spending a bit of time on the back side. When Stevie's eyes opened wide... we knew what was happening.
Stevie raised his arm. By the way his hand was pointed … it was halfway to his right ear... his stop gesture was to be his left ear...
Several motion movie cameras had rolled up. They were taking close up shots, watching everything, leaving nothing to the imagination. Stevie winced a couple of times as first one boy inserted his fingers into that forbidden (without permission) zone then the other did the same thing.
Brad bent down and peered into Stevie's crotch area, watching the boys do their thing while he stroked his cock. The older boy's cock was full staff... the fucker was even lightly stroking it.
Hal keyed into his mic, “Code 6.” He turned to me, “I will not have them fucking my boy. I won't.”
Code 6 puts all personnel on the extraction aircraft at the ready for takeoff, coordinates were being checked and double checked, and the Commander in Chief observing all operations. I knew the president would only be observing the overall picture and not specifics at that juncture.
When the two boys removed their hands from Stevie's crevice, Stevie said, “I need to use the can, please.”
Two boys, 16 year old or so, escorted Brad into the house and observed Stevie's use of their facilities.
A girl and a boy both approximately 14 led Stevie to the serving area for drinks.
Our Spanish operative said, “That's Tequila, Hal.”
Hal said to me, “I've let him drink some. He knows what his limit is. He doesn't have a problem.”
With Stevie drinking alcoholic beverages raised the stakes but was not yet enough to warrant Code 7 escalation.
He was urged to drink up then another glass was handed to him which he was permitted to carry to the pool deck area.
He said to one of the escorting boys, “I really need to use the can, please.”
The boys then escorted to a bathroom off the main kitchen. They permitted Brad to close the door so that he could have one little bit of privacy. We were blacked out for about 10 minutes until he exited, because he did not have the tracking device, and the satellites could not permeate the room, which was okay really since he was unaccompanied.
A full-out photo shoot started which lowered the code level to 2. It lasted about 3 hours and included water time, the kids groping his goods, kissing, hugging, pawing, sun tan application, and then that shoot was followed by chow time. Chow consisted of hot dogs and hamburgers, Cokes (with some rum added), and a chocolate cake. Did I tell you that Stevie is a vegan?
Hal said, “Stevie's is going to get sick... he doesn't do meat in any form. His system isn't used to it.”
“That could be very good.”
“I doubt that.” Hal said assuredly.
The camera people were busy taking in everything.
Our people had traced the feed being transmitted to 7 locations worldwide, including mainland China, South Korea, South Africa, London England, two sites in the United States (one of those sites were ours – we were mirroring a 'legit' site in Honolulu), and 1 in Quebec, Canada.
Our equipment was in the process of zeroing in on their precise, down to a square foot, coordinates. Law enforcement was readying for an all out intercept.
“Eagle 2. Farmfresh-3.”
“Eagle 2. Go ahead Farmfresh-3.” I replied.
“Notification that 6 sites have come up in the past 10 minutes. Copy?”
“Eagle 2, copy. Where?”
“Egypt, Iran times 2, Australia times 3. Notifications and coordinates in process.”
“10-4. Eagle-2 out.”
Our full and undivided attentions were then returned to our mission. We had enough to put them away for life, and then a few additional lifetimes. With the new sites, that delayed us for a while. A second photo shoot was underway. The scene was an all-out orgy. Kids were fucking each other all over the place. And we were talking about full-out sex. They were switching partners.
And then things started going down from there.
A number of 14 and 15 year olds migrated to Stevie. They encircled the boy. Two of the bigger boys took one of the younger boys and planted him directly in front of Stevie. Stevie's fully erect, from all of the attentions paid to it, prong was placed just right and then the boy was forced onto Stevie. His eyes sprung wide open. He jerked back but was quickly subdued by the oldest of the boys.
I started our vehicle and started rapidly approaching the landing zone.
The cameras were rolling.
The elder Sandstone came into the picture and was standing naked to the right of Stevie. He was smiling. It was sickening. Hal was telling me the fuck to move it. I was moving it just under the radar of local law enforcement.
When we arrived near the location, I pulled over and parked under large leafed trees. I put the vehicle in park but left the engine running. The compound was not gated. We both knew, from the coordinates that we were less than 2 minutes from where the activity was happening.
We turned our attentions exclusively observing what was going on... the mic was in my hand, we were ready to go.
Stevie was making every attempt to ward off what was happening. His left arm rose to the level of his chin. He fanned his fingers out. The distance was 3 inches from where the tips of his fingers were in relation to his ear lobe.
I decided to get things ramped up, and quickly.
“Eagle-2. Code 8. Code 8. Code 8. GMT minus-6 1421. Copy White-Feather-1?”
White-Feather was the code for our Commander in Chief.
“Farmfish-3. Go ahead Eagle-2.”
“Do we have a lock?”
“10-4. Coordinates locked.”
“Roger. Eagle-2 out.”
I looked to Hal then back to the monitor.
The choppers would be about 3 minutes out. In 1 minute they would be heard. By then it would be too late for the vermin.
I shifted our vehicle into Low gear. My blood was pumping. Hal reached into the back seat. He quickly returned and stuck a 9mm Sig into my right hand. I released the safety.
The monitor then showed us that we had to act right then and there... old man Sandstone, with Brad holding our Stevie... had his body up next to our subject. The look on his face was pure unadulterated lust and anticipation.
The helicopters could be heard... they weren't supposed to be there YET.
“CODE 10. CODE 10. CODE 10. I REPEAT CODE 10 CODE 10 CODE 10. MOVE IT.”
The Sandstones scurried toward the house like fucking cockroaches running for darkness and cover.
I punched the accelerator to the floor sending rocks, gravel, dirt, twigs and even a small tree branch into the air as I gave it everything I could give it.
Hal, meanwhile dropped the monitor to the floor, he screeched, “FUCK, GOD DAMN, SON OF A BITCH... MOVE IT JUAN.”
And move it we did.
Within seconds we were tearing through the compound at breakneck speed, stopping within feet of the water in the pool.
The choppers arrived and went down hard no more than 100 yards ahead of us. Infantrymen and women dropped out and ran to the children while I grabbed Stevie and pushed him to the bird, telling him to stay put no matter what.
Hal had already run to the door to the house but he held his position until me and a bunch of other dudes and dudettes arrived to provide assistance, support and protection.
It was then that we heard 6 gunshots ring from inside the house. That increased the urgency to a 20 on a scale of 1 to 10.
A bunch of kids, 13 of them came tearing out of the house. The poor kids just about got their heads blown off. Fully armed support personnel then escorted them to safety.
We heard some moans, young child moans, emanating from close by inside of the house. Other than that it was quiet, deathly quiet. Even the rotors on the choppers were stopped.
I nodded to Hal. The time had arrived. We had no satellite backup since we'd left our radios in the vehicle, on purpose. That's how we'd always operated. You simply do not want to have a crackle or some nimrod keying the mic when you're in a dangerous spot.
Together, stealthily, we entered the house. A quick visual sweep revealed 2 of the older children slumped over bar stools, unmoving, blood dripping from their faces. Both were obviously deceased. No time.
A moan interrupted the quiet. Searching and securing each and every square inch of the area found a 12 year old lying in a pool of blood from a gunshot to his right leg. Hal waved to one of the infantryman to come get the child and take him to medical. At gunpoint the dude arrived and carried the kid to safety, and hopefully to a new life, on this earth.
We worked our way to the stairway after having secured the entire downstairs area.
At the top of the stairs, just past the threshold no more than 3 feet were 2 kids, obviously twin boys, and obviously shot at point blank range. One had been shot in the stomach and the other low in his pelvis. Both were alive. Both were terrorized beyond their young years of maybe 12, maybe even 11.
Hal took it upon himself to take the more seriously injured children into his arms and carried him to a waiting corpsman below. That was 5 victims. 6 gunshots. Although I was focused my heart dropped a notch, or two, or three.
Hal returned. There were 15 doors on the second floor. We had no idea of what we would find. We had no scanning devices... those were outside.
Quickly, meticulously, methodically we searched and secured each and every room until we were at the end of the hallway on the right.
The door was open. Death rang in the air. I hoped against all hope that yet another child was not injured.
When we got into position, we stealthily entered with weapons at the ready, ready to blow the fuck out of the Sandstones... instead, much to our delight actually, one Sylvester Basale lay dead at the controls of a console surely used to guide and direct all media coming into and out of the compound.
Six gunshots. 5 victims. 1 dead motherfucking bad guy – no loss to us. But then there were two dead older teenagers. Those kids and the injured kids raised the stakes. Nevertheless, whoever had shot Basale did what we wanted to do, what we were warranted to do.
One last closet door remained unsecured.
I nodded to Hal. He took the left side since he's right handed. I took the other side since I'm left handed.
The door opened inward... how odd for a closet in a normal bedroom... however that was not a normal op, we were not dealing with normal people, and nothing those children were doing or were forced to do was – normal.
Hal nodded. It was do or die time.
Two people were unaccounted for.
A one Donald Sandstone was greeted and welcomed into our sights. His hand was going down toward a little black box with a prong sticking out of it. A wire led to a huge fucking box like thing that could only mean that the house had been wired to detonate upon demand … and the demand was in progress.
I blew the fucker's hand off his body. It went flying and slapped him across the face. Blood, bone, splinters and other things gouged his eyes. With his stump, still arcing toward that black box Hal took aim and blew the fucker's head off his body causing his momentum to change from forward to backward.
Then we heard gunshots, a whole lot of them, and they were too fucking close... way too close. The shots were coming from automatic large caliber weapon.
Hal was next to the big black box, the fucking bomb; I was on the opposite side. With a nod, Hal opened fire into the doorway while I dropped and rolled and let everything I had available fire toward the door in the room.
It was Brad Sandstone. And, he crashed back into the hallway. I had a 30 shot clip. I used every last one of them to get rid of the scum of the earth, at least one scumsucker least in our sights during that slice of time.
I went to check on his neck though I knew that was an unnecessary task yet we have to do it anyway.
Hal exited the hidden room with his weapon at his side even though I had yelled, “Clear.”
He holstered his weapon, as did I. As we always had done before we shook hands and silently headed down the stairs to fresh air and to regroup.
A bird colonel approached. I said, “It's all clear. All enemy is dead and accounted for. How are the kids?”
He barked orders to subordinates and then led us to the further of the two birds that were winding their engines up and readying for take-off. When we arrived he said, “Find out for yourself gentlemen.”
And that we did.
The three boys who'd been shot at close range were in field hospital operating rooms onboard. Though their conditions were critical they were expected to survive their injuries.
The rest of the kids were located in the main cabin. In their midst was the Commander in Chief... doling out slices of pizza and garlic sticks to the kids who were swooning all around him wanting more.
Stevie was sitting at a table chewing on his own pizza when Hal ran to him and pulled him into a tight, tight hug that surely he'd never and forever forget.
A private came to me and said that I had an incoming phone call, that it was top secret, and that I had to take the call right then and there. He would not say who was calling.
That was my last operation on that scale. I'd had enough murder and mayhem.
“Private, I have an outgoing call that is more important than any other call I can think of.”
His jaw dropped.
I turned away and headed in the direction of a conference room, closed and locked the door, sat down on a cold hard metal chair that sat behind a cold hard metal green desk, picked up the phone and made that most important phone call of all times.
“Daddy!” That crystal clear voice of my child Harry said into my ear.
Tears filled my eyes. I couldn't say anything more than, “Son.”
Suddenly, everything made sense.
If you have comments about my story, please write me at Joe Writer Man. All my stories are located on my parent website Joe Writer Man Stories.