Date: Sun, 21 Nov 2010 16:56:55 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Career Choice 4

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on
real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship
between the names used and that of any real person. Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com


CAREER CHOICE
PART 4

      The newly rising televangelist missionary Bobby Lee Crabtree of
Birmingham, Alabama began his adolescence as an out of school armed
robber. The pistol he used at fourteen was plastic but convincing enough
that the drugstore clerk handed over forty-eight dollars and change. It
wasn't until he was seventeen the police finally caught up with him but, by
then, he'd already robbed more stores and mugged more victims than he could
remember. He did remember at sixteen killing a liquor store counterman
who'd pulled a pistol.

      The current arrest was for armed robbery, but since he was a
juvenile, even with three policemen testifying that they were sure he'd
been involved in many more crimes than the one he was charged with, the
judge sentenced him to a youth center from which he made parole four years
later.

	Another facet of this rising young hoodlum was his craving for sex
with underage girls. His sex life began at eight when he convinced a local
seven year old to let him screw her, of all places, behind a wood pile. By
twelve, by then a big boy and ruggedly handsome with a heavy square jaw and
piercing blue eyes, Bobby Lee had a string of successful sexual
conquests. Due to that and his fighting ability, he'd developed a macho
reputation his redneck buddies respected. At fourteen, he initiated the
gang rape of an eleven year old black girl then terrified her family into
silence. But, it was that incident which provided the realization that
condums were a practical necessity, not to avoid unwanted pregnancies about
which he couldn't have cared less, but to avoid leaving evidence.

      The second phase of his sexual pursuits came within weeks of his
first incarceration. His hand wasn't doing the trick for him so he went
down the well worn path of prison sex and learned to satisfy his need with
a series of younger white inmates all of whom submitted under threat of
violence rather than offers of gifts or protection.

	His next conviction after several more arrests and unsuccessful
prosecutions, generally due to witness intimidation, was at
twenty-eight. He and a cohort had robbed a liquor store that had been hit
so often it was under surveillance. This time, he was sentenced to twenty
years. Had the judge been aware of the five murders he'd been involved in,
two, contract hits, Bobby Lee might have been put away for the rest of his
days.

            Though the court wasn't aware of Bobby Lee's other
transgressions, many inmates, particularly whites, were. During his first
few days inside, he was pulled into a white supremacist group and quickly
took charge. Within months, he had personally murdered an activist black
inmate who railed against his group's blatantly racist attitude. What so
impressed his followers wasn't just the brazen killing itself but the
clever execution. Somehow, he'd managed to convince the authorities and
black inmates that not only were neither he nor his white friends involved
but that it had been a grudge killing by a fellow black.

	Then there was another impressive feat. Even though many of his
fellow white rednecks strongly disapproved, he was able to get back to
using younger white inmates for sexual relief and still maintain his
leadership role in the group.

	However, by the end of his second year locked up, the luster of
being the nastiest, most feared white man in the joint couldn't make up for
the fact that he was in prison with many more years to go. With his record
and the great number of police who'd fight his parole, he'd be forty-three
before getting back on the streets.

	Religion became the only avenue to improve his situation. For
reasons that had nothing to do with any beliefs, Bobby Lee started
attending Baptist services and reading the bible. The preacher who came to
the prison was a successful area televangelist and a fiery orator about
whom there were rumors of mishandling of funds and womanizing that had
never stuck. The man always arrived at the prison in a chauffeured Cadillac
wearing expensive suits and a gold Rolex. To Bobby Lee, the Reverend Harry
DuBois was as big a crook as anyone doing time in the prison but he'd
latched onto the one shady yet very lucrative business that didn't seem to
have a downside. And, Bobby Lee suspected, the fast talking holy man was
having his way with some of the young women of his enthusiastic flock.

	It didn't take long for Bobby Lee to aspire to follow in preacher's
footsteps. He carefully listened to his sermons and watched his
delivery. Bible study became a many hour a day activity. Within a year of
joining the prison's multiracial Evangelical group, he'd become its leader
and friendly with the well off preacher. His rise as an Evangelical
Christian wasn't matched by all of his behavior. There was no change in his
active sex life even though he was vociferously denouncing homosexuality at
meetings and Sunday services. No one who knew about it dared say a
word. Most inmates in the fundamentalist Christian program were just there
to promote their chances with the parole board.

	Bobby Lee was convincing enough with the preacher that the man made
a special effort to gain him an early parole. His motives weren't all that
altruistic either. Claiming to have turned around such a notorious hard
case along as Bobby Lee along with the convict's developing speaking skills
were a sure fire means of gathering in more adherents. Five years and two
weeks after being imprisoned, Bobby Lee was out and preaching the warm up
sermons on the Sunday telecast, earning a hefty salary to boot, already
more than he'd made as a thief and murderer. His second night out, he
charmed the seventeen year old daughter of a church secretary into a closet
where, using one of a handful of condoms he'd purchased within hours of his
release, fucked her safely, twice.

	His story and preaching was so compelling, the preacher, knowing
Bobby Lee would eventually consider striking out on his own, offered to
make him a partner in his growing church. Bobby Lee accepted and began
doing revivals in cities farther and farther away from their home base. He
became so popular that when he came back to Birmingham, the preacher had to
make him the principal speaker at his Sunday services. Most people might
think this would have become an intolerable competition for the man who
founded the church but, quite the opposite, he was quite content with the
situation. New church members and money were rolling in. His telecasts were
being carried in several markets outside Birmingham. Of course, this meant
sharing the wealth with Bobby Lee but there was plenty to go around. Best
of all, he figured that with everyone's eyes on Bobby Lee, not him, he
could live high on the hog and screw to his heart's delight. Of course, he
was kidding himself.

	A pair of reporters, a photographer and journalist with a Memphis
paper, decided to target the Rev. DuBois and Bobby Lee. The story they put
together was devastating for the ministry. Bobby Lee, who'd been far more
circumspect with his sex life though not as much with his spending habits,
was dragged down as well but not as thoroughly as his partner. He survived
with an area wide following who believed his stories that he'd been dragged
into the mud because he tried to defend his mentor. People are going to
believe what they wanted and too many women were fascinated by the big,
handsome preacher with the deep southern twang and forceful, convincing
sermons. Television stations were not so enthralled and none were willing
to broadcast his services.

	So Bobby Lee, with tens of thousands of followers who remained
captured by his story, rousing sermons and, in no small part, by the aura
of hardness and danger he presented, looked around for the most lucrative
way to take advantage of his many potential donors. He was immediately
attracted to child support programs. There were several reasons, two in
particular. First, they were the easiest sell with great potential for
safely skimming off a large percentage of the proceeds, and, equally
alluring to Bobby Lee, it allowed him to take long visits to countries with
great numbers of easily accessible adolescent girls to satisfy his
voracious sexual appetite. It took very little research to choose the
Philippines as his primary target. It was reported to have over
twenty-thousand street children under fifteen few of whom were affiliated
with gangs therefore safe to approach and exploit. Then there was the
infamous sex trade with red light districts of Ermita and Angeles
supporting any and all sexual tastes.

	Over a few months, using funds from a large nest egg in three
offshore banks, Bobby Lee hired a lawyer with flexible ethics to set up a
foundation, hired a qualmless advertising firm to handle publicity and any
suspicious members of the press, the same bent accountant as his former
boss, and, from among his unsuspecting loyal followers, he recruited the
office personnel needed to handle the nitty gritty of handling donor mail.

	The next step was to recruit a cousin who'd left armed robbery to
work in the porn business as a producer. He too was an ex-con with sexual
needs that included bondage and sadism. Billy Crabtree knew how to handle
video equipment and was anxious as Bobby Lee to jump into the hot bed of
sex supposedly available in Manila's red light districts.

	Armed with bibles, video paraphernalia and plenty of cash, the pair
made the twenty-four journey east to the Philippines.

	After four days of licentiousness with thirteen to sixteen year
olds, Bobby Lee got down to the first order of business: locating needy
children's homes without major sponsors. The plan was to claim to be
sponsoring them. They were to receive a portion of the money collected in
their name, just enough to prevent complaints. During his search, he
learned a gratifying fact. Many of the homes he visited were run by
individuals nearly as crooked as he. Their promotions routinely overstated
the number of children they housed and what the home offered them. The most
surprising fact was that most of the kids in the homes were not street
children or in need of being removed from their mothers. The men in charge,
generally claiming to be Evangelical Christian, hustled mothers with
promises of improving their children's economic future with better
education they'd provide and, of course, saving their souls.

	Greedy men like that were easy to seduce into going along with
Bobby Lee's plans. Within two months, he'd lined up seven homes and was
moving around Manila, with cousin Billy as camera operator and a Filipino
sound man, filming himself with pathetic street children, a few of whom he
hauled off to his allied homes where they were recorded again cleaned up
eating at a table with others, studying, and, most important of all for his
target clients, praying and reading the bible, the latter a true farce
since only one of the kids he took off the streets could read. All but two
of the thirteen street children he convinced to go to the homes ran away
within a few weeks.

	What seemed the most promising PR material were the child
prostitutes, especially those involved with Americans, particularly
American servicemen. On learning about the sex trade in Angeles and
Olongapo, homes to U.S Air Force and Naval bases respectively. There,
identifying himself as a writer looking to do an exposé on the sexual abuse
of Filipino children by American servicemen, he gained the cooperation of a
young Catholic priest working on the same situation and looking for
publicity of his own.

	His third night on the Angeles sex strip in Balibago, a woman
offered him a very young girl, eleven, who had no problem taking an adult
cock. Unable to resist this new sexual experience, Bobby Lee dressed in
military trousers and a touristy flowered shirt and met Millie Papagayo at
the Spring Hotel where he paid a hundred fifty Pesos to use her body. He
had her suck for a while, then sit on him, bounce up and down, take him
from the front and behind, finally reaching orgasm inside her rectum. When
he told Billy about it, his cousin decided to try it out too. But, two days
later, Millie's mother was dead and all hell broke loose regarding child
prostitution in Balibago.

	Sensing a PR bonanza, Bobby Lee collected every newspaper article
about the event. At first, he was concerned about being spotted by the girl
involved until he heard she'd been spirited out of the area by supposed
relatives and a social worker one cooperative cop told him hadn't wanted
her to be used by American authorities, or, depending on which newspaper
account one read, had been taken by Philippine authorities to a home out of
the area.  The best news was that the girl reportedly had flat out refused
to testify against anyone. Seeing the apparently escaped, physically
appealing eleven year old boy involved, Brandon Brandenburg, as a great
catch, an American child abused sexually by American servicemen and other
foreigners, Bobby Lee used every contact and followed up every lead in an
unsuccessful attempt to locate him.

	By then, convinced that the child prostitution angle would be the
most profitable, Bobby Lee went back to Ermita's Red Zone and the infamous
boy sex village of Pagsanjan where he and Billy put together a large
collection of photos and videotape including interviews with a private
school owner in Pagsanjan, Manila social workers and a couple of low level
politicians more than willing to exaggerate statistics, even make up
stories of the horrors inflicted on the boys and girls by foreign
pedophiles. Armed with this and the story of Millie and Brandon, Bobby Lee
headed back to Birmingham for three weeks of editing and brochure
preparation with his publicists. At the same time, Bobby Lee was on the
phone setting up a month long blitz of speaking engagements at twelve
U.S. churches and sit downs with seven small market television and radio
stations. At every stop back in the United States, after presenting his
heart tugging visual presentation, he promised, with their prayers and
financial support, to go back to the Philippines and pull hundreds of
children out of the depraved clutches of destroyers of child innocence.

	At the end of August of 1986, Bobby Lee and Billy Crabtree did just
that, once again first enjoying a few days of surreptitious sexual
adventures, Bobby Lee with young teen girls, before diving back into
work. When one of his contacts told him about it, Bobby Lee rushed off to
Ermita and had Billy and their Filipino sound man record him at the front
of an anti-foreign pedophile march up Del Pilar Street that had been
organized by a Catholic group. As they passed the Santa Monica Plaza, he
noticed boys sitting there watching them but was far more concerned with
Billy recording him at the front of the marching school girls.

	It was during the second anti-pedophile demonstration that Billy
spotted a familiar face. Bobby Lee had shown him the newspaper photos of
Millie and Brandon and filled him in on their story and what a catch the
boy would be. "They got military intelligence, the FBI and local cops
looking for him. Without him, they ain't got no case on any of them
perverts from the bases. You see, the kid was born in the hospital at Clark
Field and has an American father so he's an American citizen. None a the
local kids are willing to testify but this kid they can take back to the
states and pressure until he does. We get lucky and find this kid, first,
we can make a deal for the reward I hear they got out for him..."

	Billy interrupted "How much?"

	"Just ten thou right now but we can negotiate. Anyway, that's
peanuts compared to the publicity this kid can get for us. We're saving an
American kid, living on the streets as a child prostitute, getting screwed
by all kinds of perverts so he can eat. Then along we come and bring him to
Jesus! Think about it. We take him back to the US and tour all them big
churches with him beside us. We could open our own bank!"

	And there he was, standing in the middle of the Red Zone with these
other kids selling their bodies to tourists. Dragging the Filipino sound
man with him, he raced after Bobby Lee and dragged him away from the head
of the march.

	"It's him, Bobby Lee, that kid from Angeles, it's him, back there."
He pointed at the plaza half a block behind them.

	 Bobby Lee had to take a deep breath. "Okay, okay. We gotta be
cool. Let's just walk back, calm and all. You go over on the other
side. Don't start shooting until I get near him. I'll try to keep him
looking at me so he don't see you. Maybe Jesus really is watching over
me. Ting, you come with me, translate."

	As he walked, he briefly explained to his Filipino employee that
the boy was a kid who'd lost his family and was forced to sell himself on
the street. "There's a lot more but I don't got time to tell you now. The
Americans and the Filipino cops are looking for him so he's gonna be scared
so let's take it easy. Just tell him exactly what I say, exactly, okay?"

      Ting nodded.

      At the plaza. He had to look hard at the three boys sitting under the
tree before realizing the short haired kid was, in fact, a shorn Brandon
Brandenburgh. Another deep breath was needed. This might be the best thing
that ever happened to him. One more breath, a smile and a few steps.

	The boy looked up at him. What was he thinking? A customer?
"English?" His father was American, maybe...

	The boy shook his head. One of his two friends said, "Me English
little."

	Bobby Lee didn't take his eyes off his target. "Don't be
afraid. I'm your friend."

	He nudged Ting to translate.

	"I know who you are, Brandon but I ain't gonna tell nobody."

	The boy's eyes opened perceptively at the mention of his name. He
began to stand.

	Bobby Lee put his hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "No, don't
go. I ain't gonna tell anybody. I just wanna help you."

	Ting kept up a running translation.

	"My name is Bobby Lee. I'm a missionary, not a policeman. I know
about the bad things that happened to you and your mother. I know your
mother is innocent and I wanna help her too."

	The boy was tense, alert, ready to move at the slightest
provocation. From experience, Bobby Lee knew what was going on in his
mind. He had to be gentle. "I really wanna talk to you and I promise I
ain't gonna turn you in to nobody. I just wanna talk. It's the truth. Like
I said. I'm a missionary. I lie and God will strike me down right where I
stand."

	The eldest of Brandon's two companions whispered something in his
ear. It made the boy relax a little.

	"Can we go somewhere and talk? Maybe a restaurant? You say
where. Hey, I know you need money," he dug into his pocket, "I'll pay you
for your time."

	All three boys seemed confused. The smaller friend elbowed Brandon
and said something Ting didn't catch. Bobby Lee was sure it was derogatory
and took an instant dislike of the kid. Rather than take out any cash which
may have been a bad idea with others around, especially in such a location,
he said, "We can eat and talk, that's all. Then, if you want, you can come
back here and I'll leave you alone, and I still won't say nothing to nobody
that I saw you."

	The older friend seemed to be urging him to go with Bobby Lee. Ting
confirmed that. The boy was thinking hard. "He comes too." He said
indicating the older friend with a nod of his head.

	"No problem, but we need to talk some, just the two of us. He can
sit close and I'll buy him whatever he wants."

	Brandon whispered something in the older boy's ear who whispered
back. In Tagalog, Brandon said to Ting, "We go to the park, to the
restaurant there."

	"No place around here you like?" asked Bobby Lee through Ting.

	The older friend explained, "They don't let us go in." He then
explained that they had to walk apart so the police wouldn't stop them.

	"You go ahead. You know where you're going. We'll follow."


BRANDON

	As soon as they left the plaza, Toti asked, "The cops looking for
you?"

	Brandon nodded.

	"For what?"

	"They say my mother killed somebody and I saw it and I think they
want me to snitch on some people."

	"That ain't nothing. How come you don't wanna?"

	"I think they wanna make me go to the United States and, anyhow,
they're gonna put me in a home. I ain't gonna live in no home. I was in one
once and it was bad, real bad."

	Toti was silent for a while then, "Maybe this guy can fix it up so
you don't have to be in a home. Your mother kill somebody?"

	"No, she just fell down, this other woman. My mother wasn't even
close but they were fighting so they blamed her."

	"Then how come you don't wanna say that?"

	"'Cause they aren't gonna believe anything I say. Anyway, there
were lots of others saw it so they gotta let her go. But, anyway, they're
gonna put me in a home `cause they say she was a whore but she stopped
doing that a long time ago. She was just in charge of the girls. Anyway,
it's about my father too. They say he was doing stuff illegal."

	"What?"

	"Just, you know, drugs."

	Toti laughed. "That ain't nothing all that bad. Lots of people use
drugs. Look at all the kids who sniff."

	"It's bigger'n that, worse. He's already in jail in the US but they
want me to snitch on him too but I don't know nothin' about that."

	"So just tell `em."

      They ain't gonna believe me and they'll probably lock me up somewhere
until I say what they want, about everything, maybe even my mother. And if
I did then I could get killed, maybe even if I didn't. You know what
happens to guys that snitch. Can you see that guy?"

	Toti looked back. "Yeah, he's behind us."

	"How far?"

	"Not that far."

	"If we run, can he catch us?"

	"Don't run. He's a missionary, like a priest. He's not allowed to
make you go to the cops or nothin' and he can't say nothin' and he's gonna
buy us food. We can run after."


BOBBY LEE

	As they walked, Bobby Lee told Ting most but not all of the story
about Brandon Brandenburgh. "He's a child who needs Jesus in his life and
somebody to protect him from the people wanna use him and that includes the
Americans." Bobby Lee knew that Ting harbored a jaundiced view of him and
all Americans. He'd been the only sound man available who spoke truly
fluent English. The fee negotiated was large.

	Billy caught up with them. "I got everything. You get sound, Ting?"

	"Of course. I know my job." He turned to Bobby Lee. "How do you
plan to help this kid?"

	"I don't know yet. I'm trying to think which home he might like,
one that's not gonna turn him over to the Americans. I'm not gonna tell
anybody his real name like I promised but still gotta be careful who sees
him. They might have sent his picture around to all the homes and
agencies. You sure think they'd a looked after what he was doing in
Angeles. Maybe they ain't looking, or maybe it's just the Americans and
they didn't know to look there but, anyhow, we found him and I'm gonna try
and help him."

	In Luneta Park, the boys led the men to the park's Section Three
open air restaurant where Brandon had eaten several times before with
customers. Bobby Lee told Billy to eat a few tables away and
surreptitiously record the meal on his camera. Ting was to keep his mike
open. Toti accepted eating with Billy.

	"Whatta you want to eat? Anything, my treat."

	Everybody had cheeseburgers and fries.

	Bobby Lee began, "I just wanna say again that you're safe with
me. While we're together, ain't nothin' bad can happen to you. First, I
don't think you're in as much trouble as you think. You didn't do nothin'
the Americans can put on you. Your mother didn't kill that woman. They
gotta know that by now. And I don' know why they think you know something
about your daddy's business. You let me and I can get you a lawyer can
probably get rid of all that for you."

	Brandon was staring out at the park, munching on burger. It was
difficult to know if he was listening so Bobby Lee asked, "That sound
interesting?"

	Ting translated. When Brandon didn't answer, Ting looked at Bobby
Lee and shrugged his shoulders.

	"Brandon?"

	"And then what happens to me?" asked Brandon in Filipino.

	Bobby Lee hadn't expected that sort of reply to his offer. He came
up with, "What do you want to happen to you?"

	"I ain't going to no home."

	Ting shook his head during the translation.

	Bobby Lee was again taken by surprise. This time he had no clever
response but, at least, the kid was listening. Finally, he decided on, "You
don't wanna go on living like you are, on the streets, having to do sinful
things with foreigners who just use you and don't care nothin' about you?"

	There was no answer, just pensiveness.

	"What? You don't believe me?"

	No change.

      "I'll tell you what. You can come stay with us for a while. We got a
nice place up in Loyola Heights up in Quezon City. You can have your own
room, three good meals a day, come and go as you please long as you're
there for meals and don't go out at night. We got a nice big television you
can watch, good Christian music. I guarantee you'll be safe. I'll even give
you a little spending money."

      Ting didn't display approval as he spoke and afterward told Bobby
Lee, "This is a street kid. They're all thieves. One day he and his friends
gonna come and steal everything in the house."

      "Don't worry. We got Henry watching over things. He'll be watching
him." Henry was the guardian that came with the walled in property they'd
rented.

	"So, whatta you say, Brandon? You got nothing to lose and you can
leave any time you want. And we can talk and see how to fix your life up
again. You were a good student, weren't you?"

	"Who told you that?"

	That was a question he could deal with. "Brandon, soon as I heard
about what happened to your mother and you, I investigated. I even talked
to your teacher. She was real sad about it, said you were a really smart
kid, the kind goes to college."

	Brandon stared at him for a moment then, "How come you
investigated?"

	"'Cause that's what I'm here for. That why Jesus moved me to come
here, to help kids like you."

	More staring then, "So who'd you help?"

	Bobby Lee didn't want to admit putting boys into homes so, "Nobody
so far. You're lucky. You're the first and you'll get all my attention for
a while."

      "Then what?"

      "After, uh, well, I gotta help others too but you'll always be the
most important person until you're where you wanna be, maybe with your
mother if I can fix that. It's what I'd like."

      Brandon sighed. Bobby Lee thought he saw a tear forming but Brandon
looked away. The boy said, "What about him?"

      Bobby Lee had expected that. "Right now, it's just you. You can come
on down and see him whenever you want but right now, I'm gonna be working
full time for you."

      "How long?"

      "How long can you stay?"

      "How long I gotta stay?"

      "That's up to you. I rented the place for six months but I might stay
longer. Anyway, I'm sure we'll get you fixed up way before that. Wanna see
the place?"

      "Can he go?"

      Bobby Lee paused. "Look Brandon, I'm trusting you not to bring any
other kids out there. If the owner of the place knew I had some kid like
you in there, he'd probably wanna kick me out so I'm taking a big chance
but, well, not really. You're not really a street kid. You come from a good
home. You were going to school. You're different. That don't mean your
friend ain't a good kid but I don't know anything about him. You know what
I mean. Maybe one day I can help him and all the other kids in Ermita. I
really wanna but I want you to be first. What happened to you was really
bad, not fair. It needs to be straightened out."

      Bobby Lee wondered how what he said was being translated, if the
meaning he wanted to convey was getting across. He was fully aware Ting
didn't like him, or any American, very much. Would that affect what he said
to this boy?

      Brandon said, "I gotta talk to Toti."

      Bobby Lee waved him ahead with his hand.


      BRANDON

      "Toti, this guy wants me to go and stay at his house. The Filipino
guy says he ain't no fag so it ain't for sex. He says he can make it so the
cops ain't looking for me no more and I can come down here when I want,
just not at night. But he says you can't come, just me. Something about
this man owns where he lives don't like stowaways."

      Toti shrugged his shoulders. "He's a missionary. He ain't gonna do
nothing, just make you pray. I do that at the church so it's not all that
bad. He's gonna tell you no more sex."

      Brandon grinned. "He can't see me in the bathroom."

      "So, do it. He gonna give me money?"

      "I'll tell him he's gotta."

      "Say a hundred."

      Toti was handed a fifty and three twenties.

      Brandon went with Bobby Lee in a taxi through Quiapo and out Quezon
Boulevard.

      With Bobby Lee in front and Brandon squeezed in the back between
Billy and Ting, there was very little conversation during the twenty-five
minute ride to the house, a walled in compound with a metal gate that
produced immediate misgivings in Brandon's mind. There was even a man
inside with a pistol in a side holster. The grass, flowers and trees about
three sides of the two story house were somewhat reassuring but not
entirely, especially when Brandon heard the gate bang closed and a lock
affixed as he walked inside.

      "So whatta you think?" asked Billy Lee through Ting.

      It was the nicest home Brandon had ever seen. They stood in a broad
hallway with rooms to either side, a wide stairway several yards ahead
flanked by corridors to each side leading to more house.

      Rather than admit he'd stepped into a new world, Brandon shrugged his
shoulders.

      "Come on upstairs and I'll show you your bedroom. It's not really
ready `cause we weren't expectin' nobody but I'll get someone on it right
away so you'll be comfortable. Tomorrow morning, we'll take you out and get
you some new clothes."

      Ting wanted to go so the man with the gun was called on as
translator. He wasn't nearly as fluent in English as Ting. Brandon,
unwilling to let this man know he understood his English, had to be careful
not to understand ahead of time anything that Henry, the guard, told him
that Bobby Lee had said. Henry made mistakes but they were relatively
inconsequential.

      Brandon was given a tour of the downstairs including the well
furnished dining and living rooms, the latter with a large screen
television, a fully equipped kitchen, full pantry, and a room empty of
furniture used for storing suitcases, boxes and some metal cases. "My
office is up on the second floor by my bedroom. That's' where I am a
lot. Let me show it to you."

      Branson wanted to watch television, something he hadn't done for
months. He hoped this wouldn't take too long.

      The office was less luxurious than the rest of the house, a large
desk with a comfortable chair, a single book shelf empty except for two
stacks of files, a bible and a few other books. The desk itself had a lamp,
a telephone, a few more file folders and a wooden souvenir jeepney.

      Bobby Lee sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk and invited
Brandon to sit in the other. Henry stood by the door, leaning against the
wall, arms folded across his chest, boredom on his face.

      "Brandon, you ever go to church before?"

      Brandon on hearing the translation shook his head.

      "You study about Jesus in school?"

      "Some."

      "You know then that Jesus loves you and wants to protect you."

      A shoulder shrug.

      "I suppose you know that what you were doing to survive was sinful."

      Another shoulder shrug.

      "Well, Jesus, and I know that you didn't enjoy what you were doing,
that you were doing it just so you could eat and survive. The trouble is
that when you do sinful things, there's always trouble. When I was a kid
and a young man, I did sinful things, not the same as you, I stole. Well,
that got me locked up twice in prison and even before I got locked up,
there was problems. Then, when I was in prison that second time, a preacher
brought me to Jesus and everything started to change for me.

      "Now, you look at your life. When you started down this path of sin,
it looked okay at first just like stealing looked good to me for a while
but then things started going bad. That girl lost her mother and you lost
yours. I'm guessing looking at your hair that you been locked up somewhere
for a while. And you been living on the street every day worrying what
you're gonna eat, what's gonna happen to you. Bet you got beat up a couple
times, got robbed. I know `cause that's what all boys live on the street
like you tell me.

      So, to live better, you went back to what you were doin' in Angeles,
committing the terrible sin of homosexuality. But, I'll bet you still had
problems `cause there you was on the street with them other boys."

      A few times, to be sure he understood correctly, Brandon had to wait
on Henry's garbled translations to be sure he under stood Bobby Lee's deep
southern accented English. But, he found himself listening, coming close to
tears as the man spoke of his recent life very much as it had been.

      "Now Jesus, he don't hold nothing against nobody, especially a small
boy like you. He knows that kids can get dragged into somethin' a lot
easier than somebody big so he's always ready to forgive and put out his
hand to help a kid like you live right. I think he guided me to learn about
what happened to you and then led me right to you so I could be the
instrument of change in your life."

      Henry used the word for a musical instrument then had to backtrack
and try to explain what Bobby Lee was saying but Brandon had fully
understood the preacher's words that time and was thinking to himself that
all this might be just as Bobby Lee was saying, that somehow this
missionary been led to him. He'd never thought much about religion before
other than what he had to in order to pass school tests. He'd never doubted
there was some kind of God and Jesus was connected to him but that was the
extent of it. The heaven and hell business didn't much bother him as he'd
always assumed that, apart from some petty theft, he had generally behaved
correctly, certainly good enough that no supreme being was going to toss
him into the flames of hell for eternity. You had to be very, very bad to
merit that.

      Bobby Lee had stood and was taking a book off his shelf. "This here's
a bible in your language. You ever read one a these?"

      "Just some in school."

      "Here, you take this. It's yours. Read some of it tonight. I got
another just like it and me and Henry gonna find some verses in it that I
think'll help you."

      "Jesus is giving you a chance, son, to have a good life, maybe not
always perfect like we all want, but a life that will lead you to him one
day, a life where you're gonna be a lot happier than you been."

      "Now, I promised to help you and I am but you gotta do some things
for yourself like studying that bible, learning what it can tell you about
being righteous, being right with Jesus.  Now, I want you to get down on
your knees with me and let's pray together."

       Brandon, beginning to believe everything Bobby Lee was telling him,
knelt down in front of his chair. Bobby Lee put his hand on Brandon's head
and began, "Jesus, here's Brandon, already feeling your love and your
strong hand. He knows you been watchin' over him and sent me to bring him
to you. You know he's a good boy. Help him learn the right way. Forgive him
for the terrible sins he's been committing. Light up his soul with your
goodness. Teach him your word. Teach him the way to heaven so one day he'll
be right up there with you where you want him. Help me guide him. Give me
the words to say so he'll understand how much you love him. All praise to
you for the miracle of bringing us together this day. I thank you,
Jesus. Amen.

      "Brandon, tell Jesus you thank him for this miracle."

      Brandon could only mutter, "Thank you."

      "Say amen with me , Brandon."

      Brandon almost said it before the translation.

      Back in his room, a woman was putting clean sheets on his bed. An
easy chair had been brought in.

      "Don't you go stealing nothing, boy," she said, a sour look on her
face.

      "I don't steal," said Brandon quietly.

      "You better not or Henry'll get you good."

      He sat in the chair and opened his bible. Rather than read it, he
thought about all that had happened that day. Was Jesus really behind all
this? It was strange that this man who'd obviously learned a lot about him
before would find him there on the plaza, recognize him without his long
hair just from his school picture in the newspaper. There wasn't any
other. Neither his father nor his mother had taken photos of him except
when he was a baby. And he knew that his mother hadn't pushed Millie's
mother in front of that jeepney and a lot about his father and drugs. How
could he have found him so easy unless somebody was telling him where to
go, where to look. He'd gone right to where he was in that great big
city. If he'd known he was still a call boy, he might have guessed Ermita
but there were probably other places like the movie theaters and he was
sure there were more areas where call boys went out with Filipinos and
probably foreigners. There'd been foreigners in the theaters, both of them
but he didn't go there, at least he didn't say anything about that. Anyway,
he was doing all this, like bringing him to his house and praying for
him. This had to be Jesus. Who else could have pulled this off?

       Dinner was steak, A food he'd last tasted so far back in his
childhood that it seemed a totally new experience. He stuffed himself so
full that he had to turn down the apple pie desert but did ask that it be
kept for later.

      Rather than plop down in front of the television, Brandon went and
sat on the front steps of the house. There was a lot to think about, to
worry over. If what Bobby Lee said was true, he was, due to his whoring
which is what it was, responsible for what happened to his mother and
probably for the death of Millie's mother. If he hadn't gone out and been a
call boy, his mother never would have gone after Alie Papagayo. It didn't
really matter that Alie had been the one who sent her daughter to recruit
him into prostitution. He could have said no. He knew at the very least
that people generally didn't approve of kids having sex with adults, even
each other, even alone. He had to have been aware there was potential for
problems, not necessarily what actually happened, but some degree of
trouble. The first man's cock had hurt him. That should have been a sign to
stop, say no to further activity but he went on and on. Even when all those
terrible things happened in Balibago then in Manila, he went right back to
sex rather than begging or collecting cups or selling things. His uncle had
been right about him. Even if he'd been allowed to stay with his
grandmother, he probably would have gone on selling himself to men.

      Toti had done it but barely and only a few times. His life wasn't all
that great but he hadn't been locked up or robbed of his clothing and
money, well, not that much. Toti knew sex with men was sinful. He'd told
him so.

      Brandon put his head in his hands, ready to cry out of guilt for all
the terrible harm he'd brought down on others. In a way, he was a
murderer. Alie would still be alive if it hadn't been for him. She was a
bitch, a bad woman who forced her daughter to do terrible things, to sin as
he had but he had no right to cause her death as he most certainly
did. Millie, on the other hand, had no choice in what she did. Her mother
forced her. He could have said no. He knew better. What a horrible person
he'd been. He deserved all that had happened to him.

      He fell on his knees and prayed, "I'm sorry Jesus, please forgive me,
make them let my mother go. Find Millie and make her happy. Punish me, not
her. It wasn't her fault. I'm so sorry." There were tears in his eyes.

      Eventually, feeling very sorry for himself and terrified of what God
might have in store for him, no matter what Bobby Lee might try to do, he
dragged himself off to bed. The feeling of the mattress below and the
covers above provided some solace. Jesus was allowing him to again sleep in
a real bed, not on a sidewalk. And he'd given him some very good food and
lots of it. There'd been few times in the last few months when his stomach
had felt truly full. "Please Jesus, I'll be good from now on. I won't even
beat off. My dick's just gonna be for peeing. I won't touch it except for
that."

      Bobby Lee came in alone after a while and sat on the side of
Brandon's bed. Brandon, feeling guilty about pretending not to speak
English, battled with himself over whether to come clean but, ashamed of
lying to this wonderful man, kept his mouth shut.

      Bobby Lee put his hand on Brandon's shoulder and seemed to be
praying. Brandon remained silent.

      Sleep took a while as the guilt concerns returned, were assuaged by
hope only to be followed by concerns of more punishment ahead. When he did
doze off, he nearly fell out of the bed due to a bad dream in which
Millie's mother Alie was accusing him of her murder in front of a judge
while Brandon struggled with a wavy haired foreigner who was holding him,
his huge dick at Brandon's asshole waiting to enter as punishment, an arm
over Brandon's mouth preventing him from telling a judge on a high bench
that he didn't mean it and was sorry.

      The woman who'd fixed his bed the previous afternoon awakened him in
the morning. "I hope you didn't pee my bed."

      Forgetting that he was naked underneath, Brandon pulled back the
covers to prove that he hadn't, then flipped them back in embarrassment.

      "Don't worry, no woman's gonna get excited by what you got."

      Before they ate breakfast, Bobby Lee prayed out loud for Brandon with
the cook translating. Eats were fried eggs and scrapple, a food Brandon had
never seen nor heard of. "That's real honest to goodness Jimmy Dean
scrapple from back where I come from. You put syrup on it and it tastes
great. Try it."

      The cook's translation wasn't close.

      It was okay but looked and tasted like something left over from
butchering rather than regular food. Brandon finished off his slice for the
good syrup on it.

      After eating and a closed door meeting between Bobby Lee and his
cousin, they, with Ting back as sound man and interpreter, went in a rented
car with driver to a pair of clothing stores in Cubao, the retail center of
Quezon City, and bought Brandon two pairs of pants, two each T and dress
shirts, three sets of underwear, two pairs of shoes, a baseball cap,
sweater and jacket the need for which was explained to him, "We're going up
to the mountains this afternoon and it's cold up there."  Bobby Lee had
Brandon put on a set of his new studs in the changing room there at the
store. Next was a barber shop to trim Brandon's hair sides and back. It was
by then just getting to where he could comb it.

      From there, they drove out to Bulacan and the New Life Christian
Children's Home Bobby Lee told Brandon he was sponsoring. "I got a big ole
check here for `em and some stuff for their school work and some bibles in
Filipino. It's part of what my church is doing for Filipino children."

      It was necessary to convince Brandon that he was only going along for
the ride and the chance to see some of what Bobby Lee was doing for others.

      When they arrived and had entered the large walled in compound,
Brandon was given lollipops to give out to the children while Bobby Lee
handed the check over to the director along with a box of notebooks, pens
and pencils. After a while, Bobby Lee handed Brandon a bible and told him
to show some of the pictures inside to the other children. Bobby Lee, with
another bible, gathered a separate group with him. Billy videotaped and
Ting recorded sound, covering everything, Brandon and the kids, Bobby Lee
handing over the check then handing out the school material, ruffling hair
and, of course, reading the bible to kids draped over him.

      Billy eventually stopped taping, got out a still camera and began
taking individual pictures of all the children. After Ting explained to her
what to do, an older girl made a list with their names and ages in the
order that they were photographed.

      Brandon spoke with a few of the boys his age. What he learned though
was puzzling. None of the boys he spoke to had ever lived on the
streets. In fact, though poor, all had lived in relatively stable homes, a
few with both parents. A couple made no bones about their plans to return
home, one way or another.

      Bobby Lee's answer to Brandon's questions about it was, "I know the
stories of some of those children and I've even seen where they come from
and I can tell you that they was livin' in the worst squalor you ever seen
and they din't have no families. Why this one little girl was livin' with
some uncle was raping her e'ry night and she was only seven as I recall. I
think them kids thinks you're some rich boy an' they was ashamed to admit
anything in front of you but, I seen where they come from and it was
terrible."

      Brandon could understand how a boy might not want a stranger,
especially one from a nice home, to know how he'd been living so accepted
what Bobby Lee told him.

      Bobby Lee made a few calls from the home's office then announced
they'd be going on to Baguio, several hours to the north on a route that
took them right through Angeles. When Brandon, realizing where they'd be
going became worried, Bobby Lee told him, "You could walk right down the
street past where you lived with your hair all short like it is and
wouldn't nobody know you. Anyway, we're gonna just be drivin'
through. We'll git sumthin ta eat aroun' heah and dinner in Baguio."

      Billy hated the local food at the restaurant where they stopped. Ting
made a point of teasing him as he munched on _____XXX while Billy ate an
overcooked hamburger on bread.

      The trip to Baguio was uneventful. Brandon slunk down in his seat as
they passed through Angeles though he did peek out with some vague hope of
spotting Freddy. Bobby Lee spoke to Brandon about Jesus' love for him and
went over some bible verses that spoke to the theme. Brandon, however,
didn't hear it all as he fell asleep well before they began their assent
into the mountains.

      The home they visited was perched on the side of a mountain just
outside the city. It was dark when they arrived so, after a short prayer
service presided over by Bobby Lee, the foursome went to a hotel for the
night. The clerk was immediately apprehensive when he saw an eleven year
old with the two foreigners. He explained his problem to Ting and stated,
"You must find another hotel for the boy." He pointed to the sign Brandon
had seen in other hotels prohibiting foreigners from entering with minor
Filipinos.

      When told what had transpired, Bobby Lee explained he was a
missionary, not some foreign tourist and was there to fight foreigners
exploiting local children. The clerk, whose manager was gone for the day,
stood firm. They went to another hotel, this time with Ting and Brandon
entering separately. It was more expensive. There was no prohibiting sign.

      In their room, Ting asked Brandon, "Tell me the truth, just between
you and me. Why you let all those foreigners fuck you? You liked it a
little? I know it wasn't just the money."

      Brandon knew where he was going. "I'm not a fag. It was so I could
eat."

      "But you did it before, in Angeles when you were living with your
mother."

      That was harder. "She never gave me no money."

      "So now you're gonna be a Christian and never do that again?"

      "Unh huh. Never."

      Ting shook his head and turned on the television to a Filipino
novella. After a few minutes, he turned to Brandon and said, "This program
okay for you? You can change channels if you want."

      Aware from watching his face when Bobby Lee spoke to him and from his
general demeanor and remarks to himself in Filipino that Ting didn't much
like foreigners including Bobby Lee and Billy, Brandon asked, "How come you
don't like Bobby Lee?"

      "Who says I don't like him? Anyway, he's the boss so it doesn't
matter long as he pays me. How come you like him?"

      The table turning question made Brandon think. "I don't know. He
knows a lot of stuff and he's right about a lot of things."

      "And he saved your ass, right?"

      "Sort of, yeah. He did."

      "Just don't go expecting too much, you know, saving."

      "Whatta you mean?"

      "Nah, nothing. He's gonna take care of you, don't worry."

      Brandon lay down on his bed. Why was Bobby Lee doing so much for him?
It took little thought to come up with: because he's a missionary and
that's what missionaries do.

      In the morning after some bible instruction dealing with Jesus and
little children including his anger at adults who abused them and a few
verses from Paul condemning homosexuality, they went to the hotel for a ham
and eggs breakfast begun with grace and a prayer for Brandon who imitated
Bobby Lee's tightly closed eyes and tense face.

      The Baguio children's home was run by a Filipino pastor and his
wife. There were eighty-four boys and girls plus his own three kids who
lived and studied in tight quarters in simple buildings dug into the side
of the mountain. This time, there were boys who'd lived on the street but
didn't seem to have had to deal with the nastiness and cruelty Brandon
encountered in Manila. Once again, there were lollipops for Brandon to hand
out and biblical pictures to show around while Bobby Lee handed over a
check and read bible verses to more restrained, mostly indigenous kids who
stood respectfully apart from the American. The closeness made it more
difficult for Billy to videotape. Ting had to squeeze in behind and reach
over Billy to get the mike in close enough to pick up Bobby :Lee's and the
kids' voices.

      When Billy asked for someone to write down names and ages for the
photos he was taking, the pastor asked his wife to help out since, he
explained, none of the kids spoke Filipino.

      The pastor spoke both Ilocano and an indigenous language Brandon had
never heard before. When, in Ilocano, he told the kids to go back to class
the moment their photos were taken, Brandon suspected he was hurrying
things up to shorten Bobby Lee's visit. Billy found himself running out of
kids to photograph well before he'd gotten to all of them. The pastor's
wife told him the kid's had classes they were required to attend. She and
her husband seemed to have an attitude similar to Ting's regarding these
foreigners.

      Bobby Lee sensed it too. Brandon heard him say something to Billy
about a `bum's rush' as they packed up to go.

      Brandon almost spoke surreptitiously to the pastor in Ilocano but
chickened out before any words left his mouth.

      Bobby Lee had to take care of some business back at the hotel which
held up their departure by nearly an hour. Ting used the time to clean his
equipment. Brandon read his bible for a while then switched on the TV. Some
of the programming was in Ilocano. When he didn't immediately change the
channel, Ting asked, "You understand Ilocano? Your mother was from up here
somewhere, wasn't she?"

      Brandon covered, "I tried to but I never learned it much."

      Ting made no further comments. Brandon skipped quickly past the two
remaining Ilocano channels.

      Brandon was both hopeful and fearful. Ting's distrust and seeming
lack of belief in Bobby Lee's intentions had put a small but persistent
doubt in his mind. Was this deal he was working out going to actually free
him from the threat of being taken back to the states or would he convince
the Americans he had nothing to offer regarding his father and was
absolutely not going to testify against any men who'd had sex with him, or
something else.

      Shortly after noon, Bobby Lee called their room to call them to lunch
in the hotel restaurant. After grace, he announced that he'd arranged a
meeting in Angeles for that afternoon with a lawyer who was negotiating
Brandon's situation with the Americans. "He says they realize Brandon don't
got much for `em and he's sure somethin' good can be worked out. Sounds
good to me, son."

      Brandon pressed for details but Bobby Lee would only say he wouldn't
allow anything bad to happen to him. During the entire two hour drive down
the mountain and to Angeles, Brandon's concern rose that whatever was
`worked out' would include taking him back to the U.S. as a witness against
someone, if not his father, some of his former customers.

      As they neared Angeles, Brandon again slouched down in his seat. Ting
leaned over him blocking the view from the window on his side. Billy said,
"Ain't nobody looking for you `round here, boy. Anyway, you don't look
nothin' like the kid in that picture."

      Brandon stayed where he was. Ting frowned. Bobby Lee got out and went
looking for a taxi. The driver took Billy and Brandon to their house in
Loyola Heights then left with Ting to take him home.

      Brandon was watching television in the living room and Billy reading
a week old American newspaper when Bobby came triumphantly into the house
that night. Apparently not seeing Brandon, he announced to Billy, "Billy
boy, we scored big. Got the reward up to twenty-five thou. They git the kid
for two three months then he's ours."

      Billy put his fingers to his lips and pointed at Brandon who was
looking their way trying to appear confused rather than alarmed.

      "Billy, how many times I gotta tell you." Bobby shook his head in
frustration. "Aw, watch this." He looked Brandon's way and
smiled. "Brandon, I'm gonna rip your ears right off your head and make you
eat `em. How you like that?"

      Brandon, to hide his shock, had to suck in air to maintain a smiling
confused expression.

      Bobby Lee held up an okay sign to Brandon, walked to him and gave him
a hug. "Gotta love this golden boy, dontcha?"

      "Come on, Bobby Lee," urged Billy, "let's talk about this upstairs,
okay?"

      Bobby Lee ruffled Brandon's hair and followed his cousin to the
second floor office. As he left, he could be heard to say, "Gave `em this
bull `bout how I got the names of a bunch of Americans been defiling these
poor innocent Filipino children and how I'm gonna share `em as..."

      The moment they were out of view, Brandon, in his stocking feet,
raced up the stairs and down the hall to the closed door, slid to a stop
just short of Bobby Lee's office, turned and ran back around the head of
the stairs to his bedroom where he grabbed the bible from the dresser and
hurried back to the office door. The bible was his excuse for being there
should he be caught. He'd have a question to ask about the bible verses
regarding Jesus and his admonitions regarding children.

      Inside, Bobby Lee was asking, "How many a them kids' pictures you got
so far?"

      "I ain't counted `em yet but mebbe, oh, a two hundred twenty, more or
less."

      "Times twenty-five two three times each. That's uh, with jes' a
couple hundred, uh, five grand, eleven, thirteen thou a month less mebbe a
third we gotta give up to keep `em all happy, eight, ten a month fo' us
jes' fo' starters. They's two mo' a them homes we kin line up on the
weekend befo' they take the kid. This one guy we gonna see first, he's
crookeder `n us. Says he's got two hundred kids and from what I seen he
only gots about thirty but he gots pictures a hisself with a mess a kids in
some other home I think in Indonesia somewhere so he ain't gonna complain
how much we rake off. You jus' gotta take some more pictures like a them
kids in Ermita and that park. Then, after the feds give us back our boy, we
take him all over to a bunch a churches, some TV appearances and, we got
twenty-thirty thou coming in each month."

      "They gonna want the kid to go to school. Whatta you gonna do then?"

      "Look, we dump `im in some Christian home lets us take him out when
we need `im and they git some a the cash. Anyhow, the boy's smart. We git
`im a teacher ta teach him English and I'll bet you anything he can learn
to preach a little hisself and he'll love it."

      "An' if he don't?"

      "Look, Billy, once he gits some a that American life in his belly,
an' some a the money he can make with us, he's just gonna love it. Look
what he's done so far. How many kids can do what he done and survive
healthy like he is."

      "Well, I guarantee you he's gonna be pissed when them feds come ta
pick him up. Ain't gonna wanna even talk ta us fer a long time, mebbe
never."

      "Oh, hell, Billy, he'll get over it. He's gonna hate being all locked
up with them feds so he'll be happy as a pig in shit when we come and take
him out. Don't you worry yerself about that."

      "When we gettin' the reward money?"

      "Not all that quick I don't think. They got the ten thousand up there
in cash ready ta give but ours is a donation, you see, and they gonna send
it to Birmingham to the office which is okay `cause it's federal money so
we can't mess with it. We'll use it for expenses, mebbe some advertising."

      "Anyway, they gonna be here Monday fer the boy. I tole `em we needed
the time to prepare `im an' all which we do so he don't get all that mad
and cooperate but they know how to make kids cooperate."

      By that time, Brandon's heart was beating fast enough to cause sweat
to break out all over his body. He pulled his ear off the door for a moment
as his mind raced over escape possibilities. Regaining control, he forced
himself to continue listening, again putting a finger in his opposite ear
to better catch the voices coming through the wooden door.

      Billy was talking about his concerns moving around in `dangerous'
places like Ermita and Luneta Park. Bobby Lee said, "So we git you a
private cop to go with you an'..."

      "What're you doin' there boy?" came the angry voice of the slippered
cook from the top of the stairs.

      "Just waiting for Bobby Lee to finish so I can ask..."

      "With your ear on his door. Mr. Crabtree!" she called out.

      Brandon backed off, desperately searching for an excuse for his
behavior.

      The door opened. Billy looked out.

      "I come ask Mr. Craptree want eat. This boy listen door like..." She
put her hand against her ear and leaned into it.

      Brandon pleaded with her. "No, I was just listening to see if he was
still talking with Mr. Billy." He held up his bible. "You tell him the
truth that I just wanted to ask about something in the bible, honest."

      She ignored him. To Billy, she said in English, "He lie. He listen."

      Brandon, shaking his head, looked at Billy and held up the
bible. "Bible!"

      Billy reached out to grab him but Brandon pulled away.

      "Git your ass in here, kid!" ordered Billy.

      Brandon didn't move, just stared wondering if he headed down the
stairs would he be able to get past Henry and over the wall. There was a
tree near the gate that he figured could be used as a ladder. But the cook
was in the way.

      Bobby Lee pushed past Billy. "What's goin' on out here?"

      The cook repeated her report. Bobby Lee looked curiously at
Brandon. "Ask him to tell what he was doin' out here."

      "He say talk bible but he lie. He listen." Again she put her hand to
her ear and leaned into it.

      Calmly, Bobby Lee said, "Billy, go git Henry an' we'll git him ta
talk to the kid. Brandon, come on in here."

      Billy was anything but calm. "Bobby Lee, I tole you..."

      "Billy, jes' git Henry, okay." He waved Brandon into his office.

      Seeing no other viable option, Brandon obeyed meekly. He thought
quickly exactly what questions he could have had about which bible verses.

      Standing in the doorway, Bobby Lee told the cook to go on back
downstairs. She asked him if he wanted to eat. "Ham and tomato sandwich,
with lettuce and mayo and lemonade." He seemed unperturbed.

      Brandon had to convince him he couldn't understand more than a few
call boy words of English. It worried him that Bobby Lee didn't look his
way but sat at his desk, lips pressed together, staring at but not reading
papers in front of him.

      Henry was there in minutes. Bobby Lee asked him to ask Brandon what
he'd been doing.

      In Filipino, "looking to steal something?"

      "No, I just want to talk to Bobby Lee about things in the bible. I
just was listening to see if he was still busy then I was gonna knock. I
don't steal." Being accused of being a thief was far less dangerous than
spying on men who obviously were crooks.

      "He say listen if you are busy then knock. Want talk about bible. I
don't believe. All stowaway thief."

      Brandon held the bible in front of him and tried to look innocent and
confused.

      "Okay, Henry," said Bobby Lee coldly with a thumb toward the
door. "Take him out back and kill him."

      There was no hiding the shock that went through Brandon's body. He
looked up, eyes wide, backing away crying, "No! No!" as Henry came for him.

      Bobby Lee stopped him. "That's okay, Henry. I didn't mean that. Just
trying to scare the kid. I'll take care of him. Go on."

      Henry glared at Brandon and backed off. In Filipino, "Maybe I'll
still kill you, thief!"

      The moment the door was closed, Bobby Lee said. "You are one hell of
a liar boy. How come you didn't tell us you know English."

      "No English."

      "Billy?"

      Billy, standing behind Brandon, smacked him on the side of the
head. "Don't lie, boy, or I'll kick your brown ass all over this room."

      Brandon, sure he was lost if he didn't get away immediately, turned
and, hoping to create enough distance between them to make a run for it,
kicked at Billy. Billy, who'd been a street fighter long before joining
Bobby Lee, snatched his foot and yanked. Brandon fell hard on his
butt. Billy laughed at him. "You gotta do better'n that you wanna git away
from me, boy."

      Bobby Lee interrupted, "Brandon, look, you're a smart boy, so don't
go bein' stupid. You got yerself a good deal here with us. You see how we
live? Don' you wanna live like this? Sure as hell beats livin' on the
streets. Now, git up and let's talk."

      Seeing the possibility of talking his way out of a very dangerous
situation, Brandon, backed away from Billy and stood.

      "Sit down, now. You heard how much we're gittin' fo you. Wanna piece
a that?" Bobby Lee leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised.

      "How much?" answered Brandon in English.

      "Five thousand dollars. But you gotta go with the feds and do what
they say. No big deal. You don't gotta testify against yo' old man, just
them perverts was fuckin' you. I ain't gonna ask nobody ta snitch on his
old man. Mine was a piece a shit but ain't no way I'd say nothing `bout him
to no cop o' judge. So whatta you say?"

      "How long?" He didn't really care. There was no way he was going to
the U.S. and get killed for being a snitch as he was sure would happen. In
his world, that's what happened to anyone who testified against people more
powerful than them. The men who'd been his customers, just by the fact that
they were in the position to be customers, surely had more going for them
than he did.

      "Few weeks, couple months then you come back to us and we make us
some serious moolah, you too. I bet you kin be one hellova preacher."

      Brandon was unsure what to say at that point other than, "Okay."

      "Now, you know, we gonna hafta keep you locked up `til Monday."

      "How come?"

      "You ain't been straight with us, kid. But, you do what you gotta
with the feds next week and, well, you'll be glad you did."

      Billy put Brandon in the pantry on the first floor, a room about six
by eight feet filled with food supplies, cookware and eatware. Billy
warned, "Don't go doin' nothin' stupid or we gonna hafta let Henry have
you."

      The cook didn't like having Brandon around her food. "He steal food!"

      "Then you won' hafta cook him nothin'."

      Brandon turned on the light as the key was being turned in the
lock. The door didn't look very formidable. He immediately looked around
for something to begin working on it. There was a drawer with table
knives. Rather than do something certainly to be heard by the nearby cook,
he sat to wait for her to retire.

      Minutes later, Billy with Henry, came back and searched the room for
metal objects, removing knives, forks, spoons and, except for food
containers, everything else made of metal. "Don't want you hurtin'
yerself."


      BOBBY LEE

      When Billy came back into his office, Bobby Lee was at a window,
staring outside.

      "Bobby Lee, that kid..."

      "I know what we gotta do. I'm just trying to figure a way to make it
work fer us."



      RAY HOOLIHAN MOLINA

      Ray got back to Manila the day after Brandon had been taken away by
Bobby Lee Crabtree. The India shoot had been run by a first time director
anxious that everything be done perfectly. They shot in over a dozen
locations from the Himalayas near the Nepalese border to the southern tip
of the country across the water from Sri Lanka.

      The hair stylist on the crew, Nandi Rajhesh, was a low key queen, a
lover of older teens. He'd worked two American films with Ray in the
Philippines and knew a couple of Ray's friends who filled him in on Ray's
tastes. At every stop, Nandi either found a teenager who could also bring
along someone younger for Ray or, in Bombay and Goa, had contacts who could
provide whatever one desired. In Bombay, they had to go deep into an
impoverished area to the second floor over a hair salon of sorts where Ray
was presented with five boys from which to choose. Feeling guilty about
rejecting four, he paid the equivalent of eight dollars to take all five
into the provided small bedroom and received every kind of sexual attention
a boy could give. At the end, two giggling pre-teens took turns sitting on
his cock while the other three caressed, kissed and played with his balls.

      In Goa, a man sent boys to his hotel room, a different one each night
for an average of a dollar fifty a pop. The second boy, a slim thirteen
with dreamy eyes, gave him one of the best blow jobs Ray had ever received,
with three of the boy's fingers up his ass.

      The most beautiful, and most expensive at five US was a Chinese
looking lad of twelve with not much in the front or back but everything
else perfectly proportioned, skin like a baby and a face Ray paid extra to
photograph repeatedly. His skills and the amount he charged convinced Ray
he was a pro. However, the most amazing was a skinny dark skinned seven
year old in the southern state of Tamil Nadu brought by a nineteen year old
beauty who assured Ray in strange but beautiful English that the tyke was
his little brother and not to worry about anything as he'd trained him
personally. The child, with an incredibly long dong that flopped hither and
yon but never got terribly erect, was able to take Ray completely inside
himself from the front and smile while doing it. Ray had been certain his
dick was poking at the boy's belly.

	All the sex had helped reduce Ray's worry about getting back to the
two boys he'd promised to take in, one a beautiful half American with silky
long black hair, a face off a travel poster and a the body of a Greek
statue whose perfect English eliminated the constant battle to communicate
clearly. The missed flight in the costal city of Visakhapatnam that caused
a two day delay in Bombay without the hairdresser to take him to the little
boy brothel, reignited his desire to get back to lovely Brandon. So, the
first words out of his mouth when he got back to his apartment hotel and
located the clerk were, "How are my two boys? You seen them recently?"

      "Oh no, sir," he answered with a mock look of concern. "They come
just two times maybe two months ago, take clothes and money you give me for
them and not come back. Sorry."

	Furious with himself for not just making up some excuse to get out
of the contract no matter the consequences and, out of experience, sure
Brandon was gone forever, Ray went straight to the Venus to get his rocks
off and maybe find a boy for the night. There was an amenable hotel nearby.

	He was shocked when he found the Venus balcony closed. Unconcerned
about people knowing his orientation, he asked the candy counter man
why. "Too many problem. Too many foreigner. Big problem."

	Careful to use his best Filipino and elicit a full explanation the
man obviously couldn't in English, Ray asked, "What happened?"

	Nonetheless, the reply was in stilted English. "Read newspaper. Big
problem Filipino boy and tourist."

      "Big problem here? Boy man here?" Filipino doesn't have plurals. They
add a word to indicate more than one so Ray wasn't sure if there had been a
single incident there with a man and a boy or there was a general situation
with foreigners and boys.

      "All Philippine. Here, more, Ermita, all. Bad problem. You go, okay?"

      Ray went. Had there finally been a serious crackdown on foreigners
with local boys and girls? He took the man's advice and bought a set of
newspapers from the first kid selling them that his jeepney passed. He got
off at Luneta Park and walked to a bench to read. The Inquirer had nothing
but Malaya had half page story about a Frenchman with a children's home in
Quiapo. Supposedly all the boys slept naked and, when the immigration and
police officials raided the place early the previous morning, there was a
boy with a cast on his leg sleeping in the man's bed. Strangely enough, it
didn't say if the man had been found with him nor were there any sordid
stories that might have been elicited from the boys themselves. The
Frenchman was in the immigration jail and expected to be deported.
Pagsanjan and a beach on the coast were also mentioned as places where
there'd been recent raids and arrests. The article also stated that the ban
on foreigners with underage Filipino children seemed to be working.

      It was upsetting but not unexpected. Ray had told friends that the
crude behavior of some foreigners, the openness of solicitations by the
boys, tourists walking around with boys on their arms, men and boys walking
together into hotels all had to raise public ire with politicians and
religious leaders sure to jump on the situation for their own benefit. So,
it had happened, part of the public revolt against the way things had been
during the Marcos years. An 72 year old acquaintance when called told him
that after six years enjoying the country, he was headed for
Thailand. Perhaps it was time for Ray to follow the old man out of the
country.

      Lying in bed that night, it occurred to him that, in a few months,
the theater balconies would re-open but with just Filipinos allowed, the
boy clubs too. While his brown skin helped in some places, even India, it
wasn't as helpful here due to his facial features and curly hair. There
were other options like Thailand and eventually the rest of Indochina but
not yet, and maybe not for long. India was interesting but Ray hated the
food and found the educated people's sometimes aloof attitudes hard to
take.

      And, too, he'd miss the many opportunities for still photography and
the low cost of living there in the Philippines. He certainly wasn't in
difficult straits economically with enough in the bank and investments to
live a middle class existence the rest of his life but he just felt more
comfortable making enough to get by and not touch that formidable nest egg.

      The thought of Brandon continued to gnaw at him so, the next day, Ray
went to the seawall hoping to spot a familiar face. There were none but the
view was still nice, if unavailable. At least a dozen street kids were
playing naked in the low surf, a few with nice bodies, all with gleaming
alluring brown skin, asses and cocks that shone when the sun hit them
right, and a willingness to hop into bed for a blowjob, if only that was
still possible. Ray took some photos then slapped on a telephoto to bring
them up close. He doubted the guys at the Fuji lab would find it at all
offensive. Since he was shooting transparencies, he doubted they'd even
notice. After tiring of finding fingerprints on some, he always mounted his
own slides. Lab workers were supposed to use gloves but rarely did.

      To get his mind off boys, Ray went to the office of an American who
arranged local personnel for foreign filmmakers. There was nothing imminent
though an Australian company was planning a movie on the EDSA revolt which
had overthrown Marcos. He already had Ray in mind for that project.

      Rather than go home, Ray took in a movie then, after five, called a
British BL friend who worked at an international bank in Makati. They had
dinner and commiserated together over `the end of an era' as the Brit put
it. Both were slightly tipsy when they hailed separate cabs to get home.

      Again, the next day, Ray went out in search of someone who might have
information about what had happened to Brandon and Don Don. In Ermita he
noticed a boy who he thought had been one of the kids who'd swam with
Brandon one day at the seawall. In broken Filipino, he asked for Brandon
with the long hair then, when that didn't work, mentioned his light colored
eyes.

	 "Johnny. Johnny. Luneta Park. You go Luneta Park. Johnny."

	Ray figured Brandon might have used a fake name so went to the park
and asked the street boys there for Johnny with the light colored eyes. As
it happened, Johnny was begging along Kalaw Ave. on the south side of the
park. Two stowaways took Ray to him. Frustrated and more convinced he'd
lost the boy of his dreams, Ray paid the two and gave Johnny five Pesos as
well. On a hunch that kids with similar features might know each other, Ray
asked Johnny about Brandon with long hair and light colored eyes. In
callboy English, Johnny answered, "Just me, Freddy eyes," he pointed at
his, "Freddy hair like mine. No..." he indicated long with his hands.

      "Where is Freddy?"

      "Freddy Santa Monica. Freddy Toti Santa Monica. We go there. I
hungry. You buy food?"

      "We go Santa Monica. I buy food."

      At the plaza, Johnny pointed out Toti hustling shoe shines among the
customers in Raymond's. Toti raised Ray's hopes when he told him what had
occurred the day before but couldn't give him the missionary's name or had
any idea how to find him though did describe him and his video crew. Ray's
hopes dimmed again, then went out. Brandon was in a children's home
somewhere. There were homes for kids all over the country. Very few were
listed anywhere. His chances of finding Brandon were again very slim,
getting him out, negligible. He gave each boy twenty Pesos and went to a
German restaurant in the area to eat. All the while, he pined over the loss
of such a perfect boy. By the end of his meal, he was again ready to work
the crappy odds and try anyway. He was a journalist of sorts. He had
contacts, could get the names and locations or phone numbers of
missionaries working with kids. This one sounded evangelical as opposed to
Catholic and definitely American. He had a video crew, was a big man using
a local for sound, a local who translated which also suggested the
missionary might be a recent arrival. He had a starting point. He knew
people in the film industry. He'd get a list of sound men and contact them
all until he found the one working with a missionary.

      That first part was easy. Two calls and follow up visits got him a
list. There were only seventeen who, after eliminating those known to be
working full time with a TV station or on a shoot, qualified.

	He began calling from his apartment. It was harder than he'd
figured. Most were out when he called and the person who answered the phone
claimed not to understand him. He did eliminate three. Two were out of the
country and one, Ting somebody, was out of the city on a job.


BOBBY LEE

	Saturday morning, after checking on Brandon, Billy found Bobby Lee
sitting outside in a lawn chair under a broad leafed tree.

	"So, how we gonna get rid a this kid. We gotta do it."

	"I'm just thinking. You know, this is a pisser. We find this
perfect kid, I mean perfect, smart, great looks, a real survivor, child
prostitute used by Americans, stone cold whore, absolutely perfect for what
we wanna do, then he turns out to be a fucking Boy Scout."

	"I wish I never seen him," commiserated Billy. "What're we gonna
tell the feds when they come on Monday?"

	"Nothin'. Here's what I'm thinkin'. We make like he escapes, over
the wall or somethin'. Then we either kill `im and dump `im in the bay with
rocks around his neck which don't get us nothin' or, now think about this
before you say anything, he turns up raped and dead in Ermita right where
the foreign child molesters go. We make sure he gets a fancy funeral with
lots of press attention. I do a big ass eulogy, you know, with tears and
all. It's not as good as him alive in churches but we both know that ain't
somethin' gonna happen."

	Billy shook his head and frowned. "So, how we gonna git him raped?"

	"Well, cousin Billy, one a us gotta do it."

	"Not me, cousin."

	"Why not? You like the rough stuff."

	"With women an' ain't none a them got killed so far. Anyhow, you
the killer in the family."

	"Okay, you fuck `im and I'll do the killin'."

	"You ain't listenin' ta me. I ain't gonna do it. And whatta `bout
the cum? They can see who done it with his cum, cain't they? 'Less you
gonna use a rubber then how they gonna know he was raped. Why don't we git
somebody else ta do it? Pay some guy then do him too."

	"I thought about that but all they can git from somebody's sperm is
their blood type. No way they're gonna connect us and, anyhow, gonna be
local cops doin' the investigatin' an' they ain't gonna be all that
slick. But, we gotta make it look like some foreigner done it. That's why
we dump `im in Ermita, you know, somewhere near where we found `im, late at
night when ain't nobody aroun', like three, four in the mornin'."

	"Sounds kinda risky ta me, Bobby Lee. We gonna be in a car less'n
you wanna steal one. What if somebody sees us and gits the license plate or
somebody sees us and comes after us. Lotta people all over in this
place. Remember what the kid said about when his uncle tried to git ridda
`im an' them people chased after `im. That was the middle of the night
too."

	"Confidence, Billy! We kin do it, just gotta be quick, ya know,
slow down and push him out. Ain't nobody gonna notice `im `til light an'
somebody tries to wake `im up an' he don't. Anyhow, it's gotta be where
people gonna know who he is so we can be lookin' for `im and they can tell
us he's dead.

	"So, we wait `til tonight, you fuck his ass hard, break somethin'
and I'll do the rest."

	"Unh uh, Bobby Lee. Not gonna happen. I couldn't even git a hard on
fer somethin' like that."

	"Sure you can. Anyhow, one a us gotta hold `im down an' then I can
stick his head in a pillow so he don't make no noise. Just gotta be careful
we shouldn't be killin' him until just before we gonna dump `is ass. Gotta
look like he was killed at some hotel near there so, you know, body
temperature gotta still be kinda warm. I figure we do that in the car, and
I can do that while you're drivin'. So, how `bout it? We do `im tonight."

	"I still don't see why you can't fuck `im."



RAY

	Friday evening, Ray again called his list of Filipino sound men and
was able to scratch off all but three who were out. Saturday morning, he
found the last three, none of whom had worked with a foreign missionary. A
call to the man who gave him the list was unhelpful. "Ray, that's
everybody. You sure he was Filipino and not from some other Southeast Asian
country, or even mighta been Japanese. We get Japanese newsfilm crews in
here all the time."

	"Nah, it was just this missionary, an American cameraman and this
guy, basic equipment. If it had been a professional operation, there'd've
been a larger crew, at least a producer, American like the other two. This
guy's Filipino."

	"You talked to all of them personally? Sometimes they're
moonlighting and unless they trust you they aren't gonna say anything about
working for somebody like that."

	"Just the one's were out of town. I can call `em again. Maybe they
were working with the missionary outside Manila."

	There were only two. The first was a man named Ting. He was out
when Ray called but was expected back later that afternoon. The second was
still out of town.

	Ray went back to Ermita and sought out Toti, paid him twenty Pesos
to stop working and have a meal in Raymond's. They were quickly joined by
Melvin and Nanding hoping for a meal.

	After admitting he hadn't yet found Brandon, Ray asked Toti if he
was sure the soundman had been a Filipino. "Sure, he spoke Filipino. He was
telling the tourist what Freddy was saying."

	A Barangay Tanod walked close to the table and seemed to be
listening. Toti told him that Ray was a reporter, not a tourist. Rather
than leave, the tanod sat with them and nibbled at the boy's food. Ray
bought him a sandwich and drink too.

	At three, he called Ting's number again but he wasn't in.


BOBBY LEE

	It was getting on dinner time. Bobby Lee had a detail to take care
of. After telling the cook he'd take care of feeding Brandon and telling
Billy what he was going to do and why, he drove their newly rented dark
blue car out of their area and bought rice and fried chicken feet plus a
red colored drink from a street vendor.

	Back at the house, with Billy at the pantry door, he handed the
plastic bagged food and drink to Brandon.

	"How come I gotta eat this?"

	"I thought I was doin' you a favor, you know, gittin' you somethin'
your people like."

	"I want a sandwich or something. Why can't I fix something? I ain't
gonna run away or nothing."

	"Look, cook's gone. Eat this now an' I'll git you somethin' else
later on."

	Upstairs in the office, Billy said, "So, you're really gonna do
this." He'd been told the food was so an autopsy would show Brandon's last
meal had been street food.

	"You gittin cold feet, cousin?"

	"You done this before, Bobby Lee. I shot that guy once but he was
okay after and this is just a kid."

	"Don't make no difference what size somebody is. Killin' `em is
killin' `em. You gonna do your part?"

	"Ain't no way my dick's gonna git hard fer that, Bobby Lee, no
way."

	"Shit, Billy, we just kill `im, we gotta git us a boat from
somebody an' then kill him too and then come back in the boat where it's
gonna be easier fer somebody ta see us an' we don't git nothin' outta it,
just gittin' rid of a problem. This way, we make us a shitload of money. We
put the kid's picture on all our brochures and do memorial services at
churches, all that. We gotta do this and you gotta do your part. We're in
this together or we ain't so what's it gonna be?"

	"I ain't never gonna snitch on you, Bobby Lee. Anyhow, I gotta hold
`im down while you do it an' drive the car. Ain't that enough? Anyhow, I
tole you, ain't no way mah dick's gonna git hard fer nothing like fucking
no little boy."

	"Fuck it! You sure ain't much help, cousin. All right, we gotta
tell Julie we ain't gonna be here fer dinner so she can go home an' we can
move the kid to his room so we can make the door to the pantry look like he
forced it."

	Minutes after the cook was gone, Bobby Lee and Billy went to the
pantry with a long extension cord, several towels, a rag and an old long
sleeved shirt. Without a word, they grabbed Brandon and, muffling a brief
cry, stuffed the rag into his mouth. While Bobby Lee held the frantically
squirming boy, Billy wrapped him in towels then tied him up shoulders to
ankles with the extension cord. The towels were to prevent leaving any
marks indicating that he'd been recently tied up. The rag was then secured
in Brandon's mouth with the shirt tied around his head.

	"Make sure he can breathe," ordered Bobby Lee as the shirt was
pulled tight.

	Brandon was carried into what had been his bedroom and left on the
floor. Billy used a hacksaw blade, the one end wrapped in a rag, to saw off
the door latch's tongue. Bobby Lee had an idea watching the operation. Once
Billy was finished, he took the hacksaw blade to Brandon, forced his hand
around it and yanked it back and forth enough to cut him as though he'd
done the sawing barehanded which also had the benefit of leaving his finger
prints on the blade.

RAY


	At five, then five thirty, Ray again called the soundman Ting. He
was there on the last call.

	"Yeah, he was a missionary supposed to be helping stowaways, street
children," he answered after Ray had identified himself as a journalist.

	"I'd like to talk to him. You got an address?"

	"What you wanna talk to him about?"

	Ray worried the man might feel he was breaking a customer
confidence giving out such information. "Can we meet? This is very
important."

	"This about the kid?"

	"He have a kid with him, named Brandon?"

	"What's this all about?"

	They met at a Jollibee restaurant not far from Ting's Pasay
home. Ray showed him his press card. "The kid's been through a lot. Local
cops and the American military are looking for him."

	"Something that happened in Angeles?"

	"So you know."

	"Just that there's a problem. What's going on?"

	"This is between us, okay?"

	Ting nodded.

	"It's complicated. His father, he's, was, an Air Force sergeant,
American, he's locked up in the states on drug trafficking charges. His
mother's locked up, I think, I mean I don't know if she still is, but she's
accused of murder but she's innocent. This other woman had her son mixed up
in child prostitution and she went after her. They had a scuffle then the
other woman went into the street and was hit by a jeepney. Brandon's mother
didn't push her or anything. The Americans want Brandon to testify against
some Air Force men they've busted and see if he knows anything about his
father's business. The local cops are looking for him because he witnessed
the death of that woman but mostly, I think, because the Americans told
them to. That's about it. So the missionary knows all this?"

	"I think so, yeah. So what's your interest in all this, just a
reporter doing his job?"

	Ray caught the inference of an additional motive and decided this
wasn't the time to fudge things. "I met the kid and he, for some reason,
started speaking to me in unaccented English and..."

	"Where'd you meet him? I'm not against helping you. I just wanna
know what this is all about. So far, all I've seen is people wanting to use
this kid."

	"The missionary?"

	"The kid's just a prop to him, a poster boy for his racket."

	"The missionary's running a scam?"

	"Don't they all? So, the truth, what's your interest. It's not just
a story I don't think. And how come all the sudden now? Kid's been on the
streets for a couple, maybe three months."

	There it was, as close to an accusation as could be stated. "Look,
I just don't wanna see this kid get used by anybody, and that includes the
Americans. They don't give a shit about his welfare, just their case. And
now this missionary. I care what happens to him. And maybe I won't write
this up. It'd probably just hurt the kid, and there's a little girl mixed
up in this too. She'd get hurt too. I don't want any kid getting hurt.

      "And I met the kid a couple months ago but I had a contract for a job
in India. I should've stayed but, you break a contract and, hell, you know
what happens. Anyhow, right now, I'm a hundred percent on this
situation. That good enough for you?"

	Ting leaned back in his seat, sucked on his chocolate shake and
stared at Ray. "Okay. The missionary lives up near Loyola Heights. The
kid's with him. He's a good kid. I don't want him hurt either. So, what's
your plan?"

	"Christ, I don't know, talk to this guy, Brandon, see what Brandon
wants to do, take him out of there if that's what he wants. He seem to like
the man?"

	"He's got him reading the bible. Kid acts like he believes what the
man's feeding him."

	Ray slumped.

	Ting continued, "Thing is, Crabtree, that's his name by the way,
Bobby Lee Crabtree if I didn't say already, he's got the kid believing he's
gonna solve all his problems but from a few things I heard those two, he's
got a partner, I heard those two saying to each other, he might be planning
to make a deal for some money to turn the kid over to the Americans. He had
a meeting with some lawyer, well, he says it was a lawyer, but it might've
been with the Americans in Angeles when we came back from Baguio."

	He told Ray about the trips to the two children's homes and what
had occurred at each, particularly the negative reaction of the preacher in
Baguio and Billy taking photos and getting names and ages of every kid he
could. "The Baguio home was legit. The one in Bulacan wasn't. Kids came
from good homes. The man running it conned the parents into giving him
their kids. They oughta lock him up."

	"So Brandon was, like you said, a prop. So why you think they might
be willing to give him up to the Americans, if that's what you think?"

	"I don't know. Maybe they're just gonna claim they saved him, sent
him home to America, who knows. You gotta get that kid outta there. He
belongs with his mother. You gotta get her out too if you really care about
him."

	"I gotta find her first. Nobody seems to know where they've got
her. I've looked. They may just be waiting for her son to appear so he can
testify but there were a lot of people saw what happened. Even the press
reports indicate that she wasn't responsible for what happened. I don't
know but I'll find her eventually. I've only been back for three days."

	"So, again, what's you plan? I'll go out and show you where he
lives if you want. You got a car?"

	"Yeah." Ray looked at his watch. It was six twenty-five. "Yeah,
let's go."

	Ting had to go back to his house to let his family know he'd be out
for a while. "My wife, it's Saturday night, you know what she thinks so we
gotta do this quick."

	Traffic was moderate so they were there in less than twenty
minutes. With Ting waiting in the car to avoid being pegged as a problem
and losing future work, Ray pushed the button on the wall beside the large
metal double doors.

	After a second ring and three or four minutes, Henry opened the
small window in the door. Ray asked, "Mr. Crabtree in?"

	"Who are you? Is late."

	Ray held up his press pass with picture. "Ray Hoolihan. Just want a
few minutes but it's important."

	"You wait." The window was closed.

	Ray had to wait for nearly ten minutes before Billy appeared at the
window, Henry right behind him peering curiously.

	"Whatta you want?"

	"Just a few minutes of the pastor's time. Won't take long."

	"About what?"

	"He's been helping street kids, especially one and seems there are
people looking for him. Just wanna get his statement so there's no
misunderstandings. Be good to talk to the kid too."

	"Ain't no kid here. He left this morning."

	Ray noticed Henry's eyes open wider. He moved in closer and
whispered something to Billy who just pushed him back without a
reply. "Pastor's busy right now. Come back Monday."

	"Monday might be too late if more reporters get hold of this
story."

	"Ain't no story. Kid ran away. We was trying to help him but he ran
away."

	Ray tried to catch Henry's reaction but the watchman was out of
sight. "When?"

	"Look, I told you, this mornin' so just come back Monday." The
window was shut."

	Ray waited a moment to give Billy time to go back to the house then
rang again hoping the watchman would answer. He didn't.

	In the car, he told Ting, "Some guy, American, probably his
partner, said Brandon ran away this morning but the watchman seemed
surprised to hear it. I think he was lying. I told him there was a story in
the works and they needed to give their side. That usually gets some
action."

	"The man was Billy Crabtree, Bobby Lee's cousin. They're not really
partners. Bobby Lee is the boss. Billy works for him."

	"The question is why did he lie. I'm sure Brandon is in there."

	"Maybe he just doesn't want anybody talking to him."

	"Then say it's too late or he's taking a shower, not that he ran
away."

	They both sat in silence for a while. Finally, Ray said, "You mind
if I get you a taxi. I'm gonna sit on this. They might try to sneak him out
tonight, or, who knows. I can't figure out why they'd lie like that."

	"They're stupid? No, Bobby Lee's not stupid and Billy wouldn't have
said that on his own. Any way they know who you are? I don't see a camera
but there might be one and that light up there is enough for most
surveillance rigs."

	"No, I don't know how. The watchman certainly told them I was a
foreigner so maybe they assumed press. Might have something to do with
whatever he did in Angeles yesterday but I can't imagine what."

	Again, both fell into thoughtful silence. Then, Ting said, "I'm
gonna stay with you. You might need an interpreter."

	"I speak understandable Filipino."

	"Still."

	"You're right, and I appreciate it. You speak damn near perfect
English. You live in the states for a while?"

      "Almost nine years, union, everything in Los Angeles."

      "So why'd you come back?"

      "Ah, it's better here, for me at least."

      "Too much bullshit?"

      "Way too much bullshit. That why you left?"

      "Hopefully for good. I'm stuck with the passport but that's it and
maybe I'll change that one day, just not sure where."

      "You like it here?"

      "In a lot of ways, yes. It's one hell of a beautiful country,
especially up past Baguio. As a photographer, it doesn't get any better."

      "Something I gotta ask. You look Dominican or Cuban or Rican. Where'd
Hoolihan come from?"

      "I'm a Irigro." He pronounced it `ayreegro'. "Quarter Rican, quarter
black, the rest Irish from my hoodlum old man."


      BOBBY LEE

      Billy, who'd been unable to sleep, awakened Bobby Lee from his nap at
eleven o'clock.

      "I'm not sure this is such a good idea. What if they can trace
something about your sperm and match it with yours?"

      "Jesus, cousin, why they gonna want to check it against mine? First
place, he ran away this morning. You already told that reporter that and
Henry knows how much it's worth for him to say the same thing."

      "I ain't so sure he believes what you tole `im."

      "Don' matter none. He din't see nothin', ain't seen the kid since
yesterday so what's he gonna say? They gonna know the kid got fucked at
night long after he left us. With the shit I put in his wine, Henry ain't
gonna know we left o' come back. He'll swear we was here all night. C'mon,
we gotta do this."

      They went into Brandon's bedroom. He was on the bed where they'd left
him, wrapped in towels, tied with extension cord, a gag securely in his
mouth.

      "Git a hold a him while I untie his legs."

      Brandon's eyes came wide open seconds after they loosened the end of
the cord around his ankles. He made muffled screams and tried to roll side
to side. The moment his legs came free, he stopped struggling and just
watched. Neither man paid him any attention and continued unwrapping him up
to his waist. Bobby Lee yanked off his shoes and ordered, "Just hold still
or Billy's gonna have to smack you."

      He moved up to undo his belt and opened his pants. Brandon tried to
sit up but Billy pushed him back down. Grabbing his pants by the cuffs,
Bobby Lee pulled them off in three successive jerks. Brandon began to
cry. Bobby Lee slipped his underwear off.

      "Turn `im over. Don' let him move. Where's the grease?"

      "Don't you got it?"

      "No, I don't got it. What'd you do with it? I sure as hell ain't
gonna git inside him dry."

      "I'll go look but you gotta hold `im."

      Bobby Lee stood then sat on the small of Brandon's back. "Just keep
still now."

      Brandon, realizing what was about to happen, cried uncontrollably.

      Billy was back quickly with a tube of KY. Bobby Lee released Brandon
to Billy and opened his own pants. With trousers and boxers around his
ankles, he used the lubricant and his hand to raise an erection.

      "Damn, Bobby Lee, you got a big one, bigger'n mine."

      "An' it's been a lot more places than yours even been or gonna be,"
he replied with a grin. "And now, something else you ain't never done."

      "An' don't care to."

      "Just keep `im still." Bobby took Brandon by the hips, pulled him up
a few inches, forced his legs apart with his own and leaned down. The head
of his cock spread Brandon's cheeks. Using a finger to locate his target,
Bobby Lee pressed his cock against Brandon's hole, moved up slightly, and
rammed full inside, yanking Brandon to him for an even greater
penetration. Brandon went silent for a second then tried to scream through
his gag.

      "Damn, Billy, this is even better `n' one a them little virgins." He
pulled out and thrust inside again, stopped, moved his hips side to side,
slid out and jammed his cock all the way again. "I'm gonna move him back
this way. Come on."

      Bobby Lee pulled Brandon to the back edge of the bed so he could
stand, lifted his hips higher and began repeated hard thrusts, each time
yanking Brandon's hips back against him. Brandon tried to kick up at the
man's shins but Bobby Lee kept them outside his legs. The flailing was
ineffective.

      It took him a while but eventually, by upping the tempo and force of
his penetrations, Bobby Lee, sweat dripping off his face, reached orgasm,
flooding Brandon's bruised insides with his semen. "Damn, cousin, I could
do that again. Mebbe them Greeks had the right idea."

      His balls empty, Bobby Lee pushed deep a few more times then let go
of Brandon's hips. The boy fell to the bed, Bobby Lee's stiff cock flipped
out of his reddened anus. "Wanna give it a go, Billy?"

      "Nah, I don't think so."

      Brandon, sobbing hard, didn't fight being dressed. As he was about to
snap his jeans closed, Bobby Lee had a thought and took the jeans back
off. Brandon tried to scream something. "They gonna find him quicker if he
ain't wearing no pants. Sure you don' wanna go, Billy? Last chance."

      Billy shook his head.

      They wrapped his legs again in the towels and retied him with the
cord. Billy said, "Don't lemme forget one a them pillows."


      RAY

      Ray and Ting did all they could to keep each other awake, discussing
family, work, the weather, Cory Aquino versus Ferdinand Marcos. Both wished
they had some grass to smoke. It was two thirty in the morning before there
was any sign of life in the house.

      "You hear something?" asked Ray. "Sounded like a car starting up."

      Ting sat up. One side then the other of the entry doors was opened by
Bobby Lee. Ray and Ting slumped down in their seats. A car, lights out,
Billy behind the wheel, drove onto the street. Bobby Lee closed the doors
and got into the rear seat of the car, moving something out of his way to
do so.

      "Why's he getting into the back. He's got something..., shit, you
think it's Brandon?"

      The car moved swiftly down the street. Ray cranked up his and did a
quick turn around. Ting said, "You're right. It's almost gotta be the
kid. I hope..." He made the sign of the cross.

      Lights out, they followed the preacher's car out to a nearby
boulevard where Ray turned on his lights.

      "I'm really worried now. What if they've done something to Brandon?
Keep you eyes open for a cop. We've gotta stop `em."

      Ting suggested, "Watch for a taxi going our way. Some a them got
radios."

	There were no patrol cars or taxis as they headed in toward the
center of town. When they turned onto the Ayala Bridge less than fifteen
minutes later, Ray commented, "Ermita, they're headed for Ermita. What the
fuck is he up to?"

	They passed Luneta Park and turned right onto Kalaw Avenue which
ran along the bottom end of the park. There was no traffic. Ray moved up
behind them, preparing to pull ahead. He saw Bobby Lee in back struggling
with something, his shoulders moving side to side, his head bowed. "He's
hurting him. Jesus!"

	Just as he was about to hit the accelerator, Billy turned left down
Mabini Street into the heart of Ermita. Ray shot past him and yanked the
car to the right, hitting the front of Billy's car, knocking it up onto the
sidewalk into a tree. Ting pushed his door open as they came to a
halt. Billy jammed the car into reverse and flew backward across the
street, hopping the curb and banging into the building there. Ting ran
after him. Before Billy could pull forward, Ting was along side and rammed
his elbow into the door's window, breaking and bending it inward. Ray
headed for the other side of the car. Billy, who had backed away from the
flying shards of glass, again went for the gearshift. Ting opened his door
and grabbed at his head. Bobby Lee banged down the lock on his door as Ray
tried to reach it then went for the front door lock. Ting was inside, all
over Billy who fought to push him back out. Ray, trying to see where
Brandon was, followed Ting's example and used his elbow to break the front
passenger side window.

	Bobby Lee unlocked his door and jumped out. Something long fell out
ahead of him. Ray looked there instead of at Bobby Lee who hit him in the
side of the head with a great right fist, knocking him backward into the
street. Ting was losing the battle to stay in the car with Billy who used a
foot effectively at Ting's thighs.

	Ray rolled out of the way of a size twelve aimed at his ribs and
jumped up onto his feet. A jeepney came down the street toward them. Ray
charged Bobby Lee who was over a head taller, ramming a shoulder into his
gut. Ting grabbed at Billy's leg and yanked him out of the car onto the
sidewalk.

	"Fuckened chink!" growled Billy as he struggled to his feet. Ting
threw a roundhouse that bowled Billy over and back against the car.

	Bobby Lee wrapped his arms around Ray's middle and lifted him off
the ground, whirled and slammed him into the car. Ray fell on top of the
lump that was Brandon.

	The oncoming jeepney picked up speed and whizzed on by.

	Billy bounced back and chased Ting around a tree. Ting stopped
suddenly and kicked him in the chest, stunning him briefly

	Bobby Lee reached down, yanked Ray up and put an arm around his
neck, trying to strangle him. Brandon, who'd been nearly suffocated moments
before, regained his senses, looked up, saw what was happening, rolled into
Bobby Lee's leg and bit down on it with all the strength he could muster.

	"Little motherfucker!" roared Bobby Lee as he pulled his leg away
and kicked at Brandon. The moment of inattention toward Ray allowed him to
drop out the neck hold and roll away. Bobby Lee kicked Brandon in the face
bringing forth a stream of blood from his nose. Ray, infuriated, again ran
at Bobby Lee, his shoulder aimed higher this time, his knee aimed at his
balls.

	 Ting put a fist into Billy' throat then the opposite into his
face.

	Bobby Lee sensed what was coming and pulled his hips back. Ray's
knee only barely connected with his upper thigh. Bobby Lee brought both
hands down on the back of Ray's neck, crumpling him.

	Another jeepney and a car turned toward them off Kalaw Avenue. The
car stopped short. The jeepney driver came right up to the battle, across
the front of the Crabtree's car and stopped to watch.

	Bobby Lee yelled at him. "Get the fuck outta there!" He charged
him. The driver and the man in the passenger seat scrambled out the far
side, the driver laughing. Two passengers in the back jumped out and backed
away. Bobby Lee hopped into the driver's seat to move the vehicle himself
but the driver had pulled the key and taken it with him. Two more cars
became additional witnesses.

	Bobby Lee shouted at Billy, "Let's get outta here."

	Seeing what was beginning to amount to a crowd, Billy didn't need
any encouragement. Ting, exhausted and trembling, sat hard on the concrete.

	Ray got to his knees, looking for Brandon who was bleeding
profusely. He crawled to him, lifted his head onto his lap and struggled
with the cord binding him. One of the spectators walked up, sized up the
situation and knelt down to help with the extension cord. Ray used the
first towel to come loose on Brandon's nose.

	Brandon looked up, recognized who it was, rolled over and, crying,
threw his arms around Ray's waist.

	Ray returned the embrace. "I'm so sorry. I never should've left. I
won't do it any more." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm here and I'm not
going anywhere."



EPILOGUE

	Though Ting argued for the police to be called in so the murderous
preacher and his accomplice could be arrested before they boarded a plane
out of the country, he eventually acceded to Brandon's pleas not to. Ray,
furious over what had been done and attempted to Brandon, took longer. The
spectator who'd come to help was also adamant about bringing in the police
and never did completely understand why not. He left frustrated when Ting
couldn't fully explain Brandon's fears.

	When the damage to Ray's rented car prevented them from using it,
the jeepney driver gave both men and Brandon a ride to the nearby Manila
Doctor's Hospital. He and his passengers helped them push the car to
A. Flores Street. Crabtree's car was left for the police to find.

	Brandon's nose was broken. Ting did all the talking. Brandon left
with his nose and sinus full of cotton and his nose taped. A black eye was
forming.

	The problem Ray faced with Brandon was where to take him. The clerk
at his hotel had informed him that no minors were allowed with foreign
guests. Ting took him home to an unexpectedly accepting wife.

	A high priced lawyer, recommended by Ting's boss, was contacted the
next day. He checked into the situation and suggested the best thing to do
regarding Brandon's legal status was nothing. "They're not actively looking
for him. As long as he stays out of trouble, nothing's going to happen
though he shouldn't go to the American Embassy."

	The good news was that Layla was close to being released. The
attorney facilitated that and made sure, since the Filipino police had
found no evidence that she'd been in any way involved in her husband's drug
trafficking, that the Americans couldn't touch her.

	Claiming that wasn't the type of law he practiced, He refused to do
anything to legalize Brandon living with Ray. Ting said afterward, "He's
sure you're a pedophile. You aren't, are you?"

	"Whatta you think?"

	"I don't care."

	Layla was out of jail a few days later. Ray, tapping into his
investment income, rented the both of them apartments in the same
building. Brandon spent more time with Ray than his mother. She was working
nights in a Makati nightclub running girls a lot more expensive than the
ones she'd been in charge of in Angeles.

	A two year off and on search including, at Brandon's insistence,
the use of a detective agency, turned up no trace of Millie.

	Brandon never hustled his body again. Sex, though certainly not the
loving relationship, with Ray petered out when he turned fifteen and fell
in love with a schoolmate, a girl, of course.