Date: Thu, 15 Dec 2011 22:02:56 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Promiscuity and Purpose 8

I didn't hear any more from the social worker until the following evening
after feeding Jamie a chopped up chicken dinner with a gelatin
dessert. Then as during previous meals that day, Jamie carried on about his
concerns that his teacher was going to castigate him for being absent so
long, about some minor incidents he'd had on the street, the various places
he slept away from home (often with a man) and what kind of room he wanted.

A nurse stopped me that evening as I was leaving. "I want to thank you
personally for helping us with Jamie. The doctor says he's stable now and
it won't be necessary for you to come anymore."

"Am I being kicked out?" I smelled a social worker behind this.

"No, no. We just need to follow the rules regarding visitors now. Only
family members are allowed. It's just hospital procedure with all our
patients. I'm sure you'll see him when he's released."

"Is the doctor around?" It was his shift.

"I think he's with a patient."

"I can wait."

"Really, Mr. Daily, there's nothing wrong. We just have to follow
established rules regarding visits."

"That's fine but I'd still like to talk to the doctor regarding how he
thinks Jamie is doing."

She appeared very uncomfortable. "Could you wait in the waiting salon? I'll
tell him you want to speak to him. I'm sure he'll come by as soon as he
can."

I waited for over an hour then went back to the Intensive Care Unit. A
different nurse was at the desk but she too appeared none too happy to see
me. I asked for the doctor.

"I think he's taking a break."

I went home and put in a call to the precinct for Sergeant McNally. He
hadn't been by my house or the hospital since that first day. The officer
who answered promised to give him a message along with my telephone number.

He came by the house after nine.

"I've been kicked out of the hospital, some bullshit about family only."

He shook his head and sighed. "Anybody talk to you other than medical
staff?"

"A hospital social worker. She wasn't very friendly."

"Crap! All right, let me see what I can find out. Did anyone else visit
Jamie when you were there? You've been there every day, right?"

"I was feeding him all his meals. No, there wasn't anybody, just me."

"And Jamie didn't talk to anyone?"

"He didn't say anything about anybody else and I think he'd've mentioned it
if there was another visitor. We talked a lot."

He promised to get back to me the next evening. I was too pissed off even
to go look for a warm boy so I spent the evening ripping down a pair of
walls that had to go elsewhere.

When Ned got home without a boy, I had to listen to his `I told you so's'
and that we should move the next day to a whole other part of the city.

I said I'd wait to hear from the sergeant.

When he arrived from work the next day, Ned informed me, "I'm sorry Steve,
but I'm gonna find an apartment or a house I can afford. I think this
thing's gonna blow up in your face, and mine too if I'm living here. You
really oughta come with me."

I insisted on waiting to hear what the sergeant had found out. Ned went out
to buy a newspaper with a good classified section, only increasing my
concern that he was right.

After calling several numbers from the real estate ads, Ned announced that
he was going to look at three places, two apartments and a house, all well
out the area in which we lived. "Come on, Steve. At least take a look with
me. I don't wanna live anywhere without you."

After more entreaties from Ned, still insisting I wasn't going to give up
what was ninety percent of what I had in the world, I went along.

In the car, he said, "You don't have to lose all that much. You can still
sell them as they are or hire somebody to finish the work. Anything's
better than going to jail and that's what's gonna happen if that social
worker can get a full investigation going. Maybe not Jamie but some kid out
there is gonna say something that's gonna get you charged."

Just so you know, sentences back then for child molesters were nothing like
those handed out so cavalierly today. As a matter of fact, most guys were
getting probation for a first bust, sometimes the second. Jail time, if
applied, was rarely more than a couple of years or less actually inside so
it was more the loss of my properties and nosey probation officers that I
was concerned about.

The apartments were hardly private but the house was in an area not far
north of downtown, a few blocks from where I'd lived before with the garage
out back. This one had no garage but it did have a parking space in the
yard behind the house. It would have been fairly safe to bring in kids
after dark. There were porches out back of most of the other homes up and
down and both sides of the block but I didn't see anyone on any of them.

I did some numbers in my head regarding probable costs to have others
complete my house and it was feasible, still at a great loss but that and
selling the other house as it was would probably only set me back a couple
of years and I could probably find some remodeling jobs.

We went to a restaurant for a late lunch and to discuss our options.

Ned said, "We split the rent on that house and it'll be easy. We can rent a
truck and move out of the other tonight, just take essentials. You can stay
in touch with your cop friend by telephone. I don't think he's gonna turn
you in or anything; I'm sure he won't."

"Look, Ned, I don't believe Jamie's going to admit anything went on between
us so whatever that bitch does is gonna take time. We've got several days
no matter what. You can take this place if you want. I'll even put up the
deposit. You can handle the first month's rent, can't you?"

Ned relented on moving out that night and went to work after leaving me off
at the house. My gut got tighter by the hour waiting to hear from McNally.

He showed up around nine thirty. "Sorry to come so late."

We went upstairs.

He admired the work I'd done. "If I ever decide to do anything in my house,
you're gonna be the man to do it."

With the two of us seated on the sofa, he got down to what I wanted to
learn.

"The social worker's name is Marsha Grant. She works for the hospital. I
spoke with her personally claiming that I was interested in the kid as were
many other officers. We all felt sorry for him. After giving her a little
information on Jamie like his glue sniffing and truancy, she asked me about
you. I told her that the best I could tell you were just a kind man who'd
tried to help Jamie and that Jamie seemed to be starting to look up to you
as a friend. She mentioned that you were single. I just shrugged my
shoulders and said there was no indication that anything illegal was going
on between you two and, after all, if you hadn't come, Jamie, according to
the doctor, would have died that night. I told her I was there and saw the
change in his attitude and how you got him to eat after he'd refused to do
so.

"Well, she was talking about how you said you had to work yet you were
showing up three times a day and I said it was the doctor, who said you'd
pulled off a miracle, asked you to do it and how we were all impressed that
you were making that sacrifice.

"Did he really say miracle?" I asked.

"Sure did, when I called him the day after I took you up there. He said
Jamie's body was little by little shutting down until you got there.

"Then I asked her what her plans for him were once he was released. I don't
think she was ready for that so I asked if she'd met Jamie's mother and she
said she was trying to arrange that and would decide what to do after that
interview but she was sure Jamie was going to need some kind of
supervision. That, unfortunately, would probably take you out of the
picture.

"What I've been thinking is that you go talk to Jamie's mother, see if you
can cool her off and promise to help if she gives a good, calm interview
with Miss Grant. You good enough a talker to pull that off?"

"Jesus, after what I've heard about her and how she treated her son at the
hospital,... Do you think Miss Grant knows about that?"

"I don't know but I can ask. I'm going to call the doctor to ask about
Jamie's condition and maybe I can arrange to meet with him. He's your ally
even more than me."

"You're my ally? Couldn't that cost you your job?"

"Not to worry. I'm already looking at the private sector."

"You're planning to quit?"

"I've got two kids I don't see as much as they need. Four to twelve, I
don't see them at all except my day off. Wife wants me to quit and I'd like
to go back to school. Lots of reasons but, there's nothing imminent. I'm
not gonna leave this thing hanging."

So, I had two allies but I wondered if, in the end, they'd allow themselves
to be seen as protecting a child molester. Even back then in sixty-one, we
weren't very defendable.

The next morning, with apologies and fears interspersed, Ned asked for a
check to cover the deposit on the house plus at least some of the rent. He
was short. He wasn't always able to pay me the rent we agreed on. Was he
going to be able to keep up with the rent on the other house if I didn't
join him? His salary was certainly livable especially for a single man but
he was anything but careful about expenditures. I had a fairly large amount
of cash between my bank account and savings but a major chunk of it was
needed to complete the renovations of the two houses.

A small truck was to come over after midday to haul what little furniture
he had over to the new place. He left with all his clothes and some small
items like a lamp and half a case of beer.

Other than a brief time after returning from the Army, I was going to be
living alone for the first time in my life. Worse, this was a time when I
really needed someone to talk to. The moment Ned left, second thoughts
cluttered my mind muddling concentration on anything else. How far would
this social worker go? If a Department of Welfare social worker got
involved, would she try to cause me trouble? At the very least, she'd
probably prevent me from getting anywhere near Jamie. Were I to follow
Walter McNally's suggestion and try to talk to Jamie's mother, would that
blow up in my face? However, it seemed the only possible way I'd be able to
continue seeing him.

With only a rough idea where he lived, I set off on foot rather than
driving the eight blocks to his neighborhood going up the avenue toward the
park corner in hopes of finding a boy who might know the house. True to
form, there were two hiding up the hill at the corner of the park,
effectively visible only to someone who was looking and knew where they
might be during school hours. Neither admitted to knowing Jamie.

I back tracked two blocks and had some luck. One of Ned's teens was walking
toward me. Before I could get out a word, he asked if Ned was home.

"No, but he might be around tomorrow.

"Look, I need to find the house of Jamie Pazorski. You know where it is? I
got a buck if you can help me."

He did. On the way, I asked him how well he knew Jamie.

"Sure, I know the little homo good, real good."

"Homo? Why homo? All you guys hustle."

"Nah, I was just, you know, saying it like a joke. Didn't mean nothin'."

I was sure it meant more than he was saying. Was this one of the boys Jamie
cried about sucking off. It suddenly struck me that something might have
happened that day he ran in front of the streetcar. "You know what happened
to him?"

"Sure, everybody does."

"You see him that day?"

He was slow to answer that. "I don't remember, maybe, but just to see."

I didn't believe him. "How much to tell me the truth? I'm not looking to
cause anybody any trouble. I'm trying to figure out what happened."

"Why? He just wasn't looking and got hit by a streetcar."

"Was he doing anything with anybody that morning?"

Another pause. "Maybe playing with other kids, like what?"

"I think you know. How much to tell me the truth? I won't say anything to
anybody, not even Ned. I don't want any trouble either but I need to know
this. So, how much?"

"Two?"

"Fine. Now, what was going on?"

He stopped, frowned and looked at the tops of houses. "It wasn't me, okay,
and I ain't gonna say no names, okay?"

"Go ahead."

"I din't see it but some kids told me that maybe a couple a guys got him
into this basement and he was doin' `em like he does, you know, sucking,
well, and, well, one o' them fucked him and maybe hurt him some, well, both
of 'em. You think that's why he done what he did?"

"What do you mean?"

"This other kid says he was tryin' ta get his self killed, that it wasn't
no accident."

"Had he been fucked before?"

"Nah, he tried it before but it hurt so he just sucked."

"How many kids was he doing?"

"I don't know, five, six, maybe a couple more. I don't know."

"You included?"

"Couple times."

"And you weren't one of the ones fucked him that day?"

"Unh uh. He liked to suck so that's all I did. This is his block."

He nodded as he left with my three dollars stuffed into his pocket. He'd
shown me the house, an unwashed brick front, the dirtiest front door and
frame in the block. It was difficult to switch my thoughts from Jamie being
effectively raped to what I would say to his mother. With the house
identified, I continued on down the block to give myself time to prepare
for what had the potential to be either a disaster or allow me to be with a
boy I loved very much.

After a walk around the entire block, I knocked on the door. No one
answered for over a minute so I rapped again but so hard she'd think it was
the cops. A couple of full minutes later, a sleepy-eyed woman probably in
her early forties cracked the door and, with a bored expression, nodded
upward, her way of asking who the hell I was.

"Hi, my name's Steve. I'm here about Jamie. I'm a neighbor, not a social
worker or anything."

"What you say your name was?"

"Steve. Jamie may have mentioned me."

"Christ, you ain't one a his fags, are you?"

"Ma'am, I'm just someone who wants to help. I've spent a lot of time with
him at the hospital."

"You a doctor or somethin'?"

"No, ma'am. I live up on the boulevard. I gave Jamie some food a few times,
got to know him a little. Can we talk? There's gonna be a social worker
coming to talk to you. I thought we should talk first so you know what's
been going on."

"Like what?"

"Just that he's okay now, well, he's gonna be okay, but this hospital
social worker is going to be coming to see you and, well, may I come in?"

She sighed and opened the door.

Inside looked a lot like the doorway, just plain dirty. The sofa was a
relic out of a Salvation Army store, threadbare with the upholstery on one
arm torn off. The other furniture, four mismatched chairs and an old
cocktail table, were scattered about the room. The wallpapered walls had a
two to three foot high band of dirt, furniture scrapes, and a hole right
through the plaster slats at the bottom beside the door to the back. It
seemed certain the rest of the house would be the same. Any social worker
seeing this would immediately want to remove any children.

"Go ahead and set down." She pointed at the sofa.

I did a quick calculation on what it would cost to have someone come in
fast and do a thorough clean up. I knew a guy who could do just that.

She sat at the far end from me. At least she was clean.

"So what's this all about?"

"Do you know how really smart Jamie is?"

"What's that got to do with him being in that hospital? They wouldn't let
me talk to `im. How come you?"

"Ma'am, they said you were yelling at him."

"It weren't yellin', just sayin' he shouldn'ta been runnin' around in no
street with streetcars and not lookin' where he was going."

It was then I decided to let her know how unhappy he was. "Ma'am, it wasn't
a case of him not looking. He ran in front of the streetcar on purpose."

"That's bullshit! If all you gonna do is tell lies about my son, you might
as well get outta here!" She stood.

"Please sit down and let's talk. I'm on your side of this, maybe the only
one. I don't wanna see Jamie, or you, get hurt."

She frowned and sat back down. "So?"

"We need to prepare, give this woman a good impression." Diplomacy was
needed but certain things like the condition of the house had to be a
priority. "I realize you don't have the resources to do some of the things
you'd like to do. I imagine simple things like detergent, toothpaste
(tossed in to divert attention from the obvious negative comment), new
clothes, shoes. What if I could arrange a crew to come in here and do a
thorough cleaning, even a little painting?"

"What, you don't think I can clean my own house?" She was mad again.

"I'm sure you can but it'll take time. The social worker could show up
tomorrow. These folks can do the job in half a day and you can do other
things. You've other kids living with you, don't you?"

"They're in school." That was good. "Well, just one. The others' `r' big
an' don't go no more." Not so good. I knew one was only sixteen, no longer
required by law to be in school but, at that point, not great for a social
worker to hear about.

By the time we parted, she'd agreed to the cleaning crew and to be calm and
collected with the social worker. She was to say that there'd been problems
with other boys leading Jamie into bad things like the glue. She wanted to
use the opportunity presented by this break in Jamie's life to get him back
in school like his sister. More coaching would have been helpful but I felt
there'd been great progress toward Jamie coming back to live with his
mother and not some group or foster home.

I went to a payphone on the avenue, found my clean up contact in the phone
book and called. His wife was in. Jake was out on a job. When I explained
the urgency she gave the phone number of the factory where he was
working. It took quite a while to explain to the receptionist that I
realized Jake Brown wasn't an employee, which she insisted he wasn't, but a
contractor. Two more dimes were required before Jake answered.

Could he handle an emergency that was going to require at least a dozen
people with as many women as possible? I thought that would be better. Once
he understood what the job entailed, and we'd agreed on a price, he
promised to get back to me as soon as he'd pulled the needed people
together.

I walked quickly back to my house and left a message at the precinct for
Walter McNally to call me.

Jake called back fairly quickly. What time did I want him to start?

"How about right now?"

I dug out some white and a pleasant orange paint and all the odds and ends
I'd need to fix up the front door and front room and any doors or woodwork
visible from there and put them in my pickup. Right then I remembered the
message I'd left for Sergeant McNally and called back with the address
where I expected to be into the night.

When Jake's clean up crew arrived about twenty minutes after me, I'd
already sanded down the front door and frame inside and out. They went to
work on the entire first floor. I added a touch of the orange to my white
paint and did the door and frame then attacked the two front windows.

Jamie's sister and next older brother were nonplussed when they saw the
work being done. The front room couldn't have been called sparkling clean
but dramatically better than it had been. The siblings allowed the workers
into their rooms both of which were cleaner than their mother's which, as
with the first floor, looked as though it hadn't seen a rag or mop for a
decade.

Jeanie, Jamie's sister, corralled me away from her mother with questions
about Jamie's condition and rumors she'd heard that her little brother's
accident was actually a suicide attempt.

"I knew he wasn't happy or nothin'," she said, "but he didn't seem all that
sad."

"I already told your mother everything. Why don't you talk to her?" My
reply didn't sit well with her but it didn't seem wise to say more than the
mother might have wanted her daughter to hear, at least from me.

Walter McNally dropped by around eight. "My God, Steve, what's all this
costing, and how'd you get her to go along with it?"

I filled him in. He told me that there was no request for any investigation
of anyone involved. The doctor was completely supportive but wasn't sure
how he'd be able to help. Just being a resident in a huge hospital like his
didn't bestow much say in anything except his patients and, as in this
case, not always them.

"He did say that Jimmy was asking for you and was increasingly despondent
but it didn't seem to be affecting his recovery. He's still eating."

Walter thought it best that he didn't speak to Jamie's mother lest he be
dragged into a messy situation and be unable to be of further help.

When the crew left at ten thirty, their job was done. I still had plenty to
do and wished I had some help but the two men I used when necessary were
both unavailable when I'd called them in the morning.

Nonetheless, I painted all the first floor baseboards, bathroom door and
rear doors, and stair railing which was the color of mud and required the
most sanding of any of the other surfaces. We'd had all the windows open
since starting to vent the smell of paint. It rained some but didn't affect
the exterior door or windows.

Jamie's mother, Leslie, didn't show much appreciation for the
transformation of her home but wasn't at all unpleasant as I feared based
on her reputation. She'd allowed us to do anything we thought necessary.

The work was done in the nick of time because Marsha Grant showed up the
following morning. Leslie, to whom I'd given my phone number but not card,
called me after the visit was over.

"She wanted to know how come we was fixing up the house. I told her like
you said that my older children done it, well, paid for it `cause it just
needed some paintin'. Then she was askin' me all kinds a stuff about me and
Jamie an' I done like you said an' when she asked about you, I told her you
was just a nice man give Jamie some food when he was on the street and you
was tryin' to get him to stop huffin' glue then she was asking why didn't I
find out more about you `cause you was lettin' Jamie go into your house so
I told her Jamie said wasn't nothin' bad going on just that you was givin'
him food and talkin' to him. That's all. Then she left and said she was
gonna come back one day. I don't think she likes you. Truth now, you ain't
no fag, are you? I ain't gonna say nothin' `cause a what you done in my
house."

Almost without a breath she got into, "Oh, when I asked her when Jamie was
gonna be comin' home she was saying he might have to go to some center `r
sumthin' while he gets better. I told her I was home all the time and I
could take care of him fine here and I wanted him to come home soon as he
could `cause he was my son. She said she was gonna see but the doctors was
gonna say where he was gonna go after the hospital. I ain't never heard a
nothing' like that. I know mothers got their kids home after when they
broke something or was bad sick. Can they do that?"

"I don't know but I'll find out."

The `fag' query wasn't repeated.

I went to Ned's new house where he was wandering around naked, a cigarette
on his lips and a beer can in his hand. I had to tell all that had
occurred.

"Jesus, Steve, what'd that cost you?"

I told him.

"I hope it was worth it. But, you were right about one thing, Jamie didn't
tell the bitch anything or she'da tried to get the mother to file charges."

I said, "I could be wrong but I think a social worker can file charges on
her own when suspected child abuse is present but she'd have told Jamie's
mother about that so, you're right, Jamie hasn't said anything."

I asked him, "You ever heard about kids being put in some kind of
children's home for recovery instead of with his family. That social worker
was hinting at that with his mother."

"How'm I supposed to know? I'm just a lab tech. But, maybe if where the
patient's gotta go is unsanitary or there are problems in the house that
might cause `em problems. From what you said, the house sure is
clean. Wanna beer?"

I sneered at him. Finally, he got dressed and we went out to lunch, my
treat as it turned out.

Where I was worried about making repeated calls to the precinct for
McNally, I felt no compunction with repeatedly calling the doctor. Three
times in a row, I was told he was with a patient. "Please tell him I
called." I wasn't very confident he would.

He did call two days later at noon. "Jamie's in trouble. I think you better
come. I told the nurse to let you in."

"What's wrong?"

"He's been crying for you. Two nights ago he ripped off his IV feed again
so he had to be restrained. Then he refused to eat. We put him back in a
private room in hopes that might help but he's just getting worse. Right
now, I don't know, it's strange but, well, just come. I'll explain when you
get here."

I drove then rushed upstairs. The nurse who let me in looked around as she
did like she was worried someone was watching. I was ushered straight into
Jamie's room. He appeared to be asleep. I spoke to him but there was no
response. The doctor came in.

"He's sedated right now but he ought to be coming out of it soon."

"So what's wrong?" He seemed no different since I'd last seen him.

"For one, his heart-beat is erratic, slow sometimes. There's no urine
coming out as though his kidneys have stopped working. When he's conscious,
he just lays there and won't speak to anyone. I thought he and I were
getting along until yesterday morning when I came on, he asked me to tell
him the truth about why you weren't coming. I gave him the family only
excuse. He screamed `bullshit' at me repeatedly and shouted your name until
we sedated him. Nothing's worked since then.

"You should know, Miss Grant doesn't know I called you so stay in here,
okay? Some staff are agreeing with her, at least what they think is her
reason."

"And what's that?"

"You know, single man with interest in a boy he met on the street."

He didn't give his opinion.

I pulled up a chair so I was able to speak into Jamie's ear. He looked so
calm. It was hard to imagine he was the same boy who'd cussed me, or even
kissed me.

I spoke his name, that I was with him, that I loved him, that I'd met his
mother and paid to have his house cleaned and some things painted but I
didn't say anything about him coming to my house or even his own. Neither
seemed likely.

I took his bound hand and repeatedly squeezed it. It was nearly half an
hour before there was any movement, a return squeeze that well could have
been some kind of reflex action since there was nothing else.

A while later, the doctor stopped by to see how we were doing. It concerned
him that Jamie hadn't awakened. A check of his heart seemed to worry him
more.

"It's like before. His body's shutting down. Have you been speaking to
him?"

"Constantly. He squeezed my hand once about fifteen minutes ago but that
was all, just once."

"I'll be right back."

He rushed out the door then moments later came back with a nurse and a
liquid they pumped through a hypodermic into his saline feed tube.

"This should wake him up. If not, well, let's wait a few minutes."

I noticed the nurse only looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

Then, Jamie seemed to stretch. I sat back down at ear level.

"Jamie, Jamie. It's me, Steve. Can you hear me?"

His eyes seemed to be trying to open.

"Jamie, come on, son. It's me, son, Steve. I'm here. Can you hear me?"

His eyes opened, again like the first time, already turned my way. He
smiled but remained mum.

"How're you feeling, son?"

He nodded shallowly.

"That's great. Want something to eat?"

"That lady gonna let you stay?" Miss Grant had been around.

The doctor quietly asked his nurse when the social worker had last visited
Jamie.

"Tuesday afternoon." Tuesday was when he'd pulled off his feed tube.

I glanced at the doctor who was shaking his head at the information, not at
me. There was no doubt Miss Grant was going to be a problem. Much as I
wanted to fight her, I knew that, in the end, her insinuations, even
without a thread of proof other than I was single, would win out. I took a
deep breath and returned to Jamie who was staring at me, waiting for an
answer.

"I'm gonna do all I can. I've had your house cleaned up and did a little
painting, like the front door and windows, so when Miss Grant arrived like
she did, everything looked good at the house. Your mother and I talked and
I think she did well speaking to Miss Grant."

"What if you can't, I can't stay with you. I wanna stay with you. My
mother's a bitch, always yelling at me and hittin' me. I don' wanna stay
with her."

"If we can make this work, you're going to have to for a while. I just
don't know for how long but I'll try to come around every day after work. I
can still help you with your schoolwork. We can start even before you can
go after they take all this off." I indicated the cast that covered much of
his body.

He wanted to know why I hadn't been coming around. "It was her, wasn't it?"

I looked to the doctor for guidance but he'd left the room.

"In a way, yes, but they do have a rule that parents only can visit kids
under I think sixteen or eighteen.

Right then, I heard her voice in the hall, angrily demanding to know who
allowed me in with Jamie. The running footsteps were a man's. It was the
doctor.

"Listen to me." He tried to keep his voice down but he too was angry and
having difficulty not shouting. "That boy is my patient. I will do whatever
I think is necessary to protect him, keep him alive. He was dying, you
understand, dying."

"Doctor, you have other resources in such a situation. Bringing in a child
molester is not one of them!"

"Do you have one drop of evidence that Mr. Daily is a child molester?
Anything?"

"I don't have to prove anything to you. I want that man out of there right
now!"

Jamie started crying. People were talking over each other.

Miss Grant came to the door which was quickly blocked by the doctor.

"You take him and that boy will die."

"Get out of my way, doctor or I'll have security move you!"

"Go away. Leave us alone!" cried out Jamie.

The doctor said, "This man is the only resource who can prevent that."

A nurse spoke up, "Miss Grant. Miss Grant, what the doctor says is
absolutely true. This man has saved this boy's life. Nothing else matters."

Miss Grant wasn't listening. In the middle of the nurse's statement, she
said angrily, "I'm calling security," and stormed off.

The doctor muttered, "Shit. Call Doctor Madison! Find him! Get him up here
now! I'm staying here." He was closing the door as he spoke.

Jamie, by then, was crying uncontrollably. I stood and held his head. I
could see him pulling frantically on the restraining strap. I reached down
and untied it. He curled his arm around my head.

I tried to prepare him for my departure, maybe for a long time. "Jamie,
Jamie. Listen to me. Even if they take me out, I'm going to keep fighting,
do what I can to bring us back together. I will not abandon you. You have
to believe it, get better. Eat, do what the doctors and nurses say. They
care about you. Doctor Michaels is our friend. Sergeant McNally is our
friend. They have no proof that we've or I have done anything. Just say all
you did at my house was eat and I talked to you about not sniffing
glue. That's all."

He was crying too hard to have heard me clearly so I repeated my
admonitions plus, "Nobody's gonna say anything. None of the other hustlers,
nobody."

His arm was still wrapped around my neck when there was a scuffle outside
the door. Moments later the door opened and three guards stepped in.

"Mr. Daily, you've got to leave or we'll take you out. Now get away from
the kid!"

I could see Miss Grant behind them looking victorious. Resistance was
futile as they say. If I tried to resist, I'd be arrested and jailed. Jamie
didn't want to release me.

"No! No!" he was crying uncontrollably. "Let him stay! Let him stay!"

I tried to pry his hand up and off me. Before I could, one of the guards
reached over and pulled Jamie's hand loose while another yanked me back so
hard I fell.

Jamie screamed weakly, "Motherfuckers! I'll kill you!'

I was jerked off the floor and pushed toward and out the door with Jamie
still crying for them to let me go.

They took me down the stairs to the side entrance where I was shoved
outside.

"Come back here and we'll have you arrested, understand, pervert!"

I badly wanted to break something but knew better than respond to them. I'd
walked halfway home before remembering my car was parked next to where
they'd tossed me out. No one was there to protest when I got in and cranked
it up. At first, I headed toward home then decided a long drive might help
cool me off, allow me to focus on potential solutions but an hour later, I
felt no hope.

For three days, for up to fourteen hours each, I totally immersed myself in
reconstructing the house. It was the afternoon of that third day that
Sergeant McNally rang the door bell. The pained look on his face frightened
me.

He insisted on going upstairs with me, sitting me in my chair. Staring at
me, he said, I've got some very bad news."  I knew what it was before he
said it. "Jamie died two days ago. I'm very sorry but they kept it
hidden. There was no obituary notice in the newspaper. We're not even sure
if they notified the coroner. I just found out an hour ago. I am really
sorry."

I should have been ready for that but wasn't. My gut, then my chest seemed
to fill up with a cold, heavy liquid. The tears were instantaneous, even
before he said the word `died'.

"Jesus. They fucking killed him, a child. Those bastards, that Grant
bitch. Jesus! How can someone murder a child?"

I stood and walked across the room, my arms folded tightly across my
chest. I needed to hit something, anything, but just gripped my
shirt. Murder was on my mind. I could see myself strangling Marsha Grant,
staring hard down at her as she gagged, clutched at my hands trying to free
herself.

The words that came out of my mouth were less dramatic. "Somebody's got to
lock that bitch up for murder!"

Walter replied, "Don't worry about that. We're already working on it."

I glanced back at him then back at the wall in front of me, for some reason
ashamed of the tears streaming down my face. I was realizing how much Jamie
meant to me, that I really did love him. And now, they'd taken him away,
right when he was about to turn his life around, his very special
life. Jamie was a genius, might have done great things for mankind but the
very ones who were supposed to be protecting him were directly responsible
for his death. Marsha Grant was a murderer, a child murderer. She had to
pay.

Grief turned into rage. "She's a murderer, Walter. The doctor and a nurse
both told her that Jamie would die without me. That's premeditated
murder. She's gotta pay!

"Steve, we're with you, and not just her, everyone who supported her
decision. But, we need you to do it."

I was already on my feet. "Fuck, yeah! Whatever I gotta do!"

"That's good. Just try to relax a little so we can talk this over."

I took a breath, wiped my sleeve across my face and walked to the
sofa. Walter joined me at the other end.

"First," he explained, "we haven't discussed this with a D.A. yet. Then,
you know their lawyers are gonna investigate you up one way and down the
other. You could end up being charged instead of them. I'm sure we've got
Dr. Michaels and probably a couple of nurses and maybe one of the guards
who threw you out.

"Dr. Michaels called me a few days ago to see if there was something I
could do to get you back in there but, short of going to the press and
getting myself fired plus blowing any chance I'd ever have of working for a
private company, there was nothing I could do. Even so, I considered it but
I knew that all Grant had to do was just insinuate you were a child
molester and they'd either back off or back her.

"My captain's gonna talk to somebody from the D.A `s office, might be doing
it now. There is a possibility that we can do this without you but I doubt
it. I checked you out a long time ago and you don't have a record so,
unless they can pull a witness out of the woodwork, at least you'll be
clean. But, there'll still be people who'll suspect you of doing what you
do."

I'd slumped back into my chair, only hearing portions of what he was saying
though grasping the full, infuriating import.

"And if they can create the slightest suspicion I'm a boy lover in just one
juror, he'll say so to the rest in the jury room. The D.A.'s going to
suspect me and not gonna after her for fear of being labeled a supporter of
child molesters. You can't win this. You're not even going to get a
chance. We have to think of something else, hang the bitch from a veranda
at the hospital."

"I'd love to and so would a lot of the others at the precinct."

I wanted to scream, run to the hospital and start murdering anyone I
met. The anger in me at that point was far enough out of control, I
seriously asked, "Get me a gun and I'll kill the bitch. I mean it. Then
throw my ass into prison. I can't live in peace with this."

Walter didn't respond.

"You think I'm kidding? I won't be able to live with myself as long as that
bitch is alive and free."

He sat up. "Wait, maybe there is something we can do." He stood and paced
the floor wall to wall twice. "Look, let me throw this at the captain, and
the D.A. and I'll get back to you, tonight if I can. Stay here and, for
God's sake, don't go doing anything. Let me see if this will work. Okay,
Steve? Stay here. Don't go out."

I nodded assent. He trotted down the stairs.

Tears formed anew. I called Ned's house but, of course, he was at work. The
grief was back. I needed to be with somebody, speak to another human. I
called my sometime cruising buddy, Herb. He was out. Desperate, I called my
sister Patty. She was married with two daughters. I begged her to come
over.

For two hours, she sat beside me on the sofa, her arm around me, listening
to all that poured out of me. There was nothing to hide. She'd known all
about my sex life since I was a pre-teen myself.

"Why don't you come and stay with us tonight. You shouldn't be alone after
something like this."

"I gotta wait for my cop friend. He's got some kind of plan to fry the
bitch. I'm ready to do anything he comes up with if it'll lock her
up. Christ, she's a murderer. shit!"

She sat with me until Walter came back shortly after eight. I had to
explain to him that Patty and I had no secrets between us. She assured him
that was true and she'd support me in anything I had to do. Neither of us
expected what he wanted me to do.

"First, understand that we have at least four clean, reliable, believable
witnesses, five with me, and maybe a couple more. Dr. Michaels said he's
resigned and that there were at least two nurses ready and willing to
testify. Plus one of the guards who threw you out who hadn't understood the
situation has already made and signed a statement. He thinks the other two
will come on board too. That was what the D.A. told my captain he needed to
see, written statements, what kind of case could be put together. It's not
gonna be murder. There's no case there. It's gonna be negligent homicide,
but she'll probably go to prison for a few years and be banned from ever
doing anything in social work or anything working with people."

"What about me?"

"This isn't going to be easy but, if you testify, as I'm sure you
understand, it could blow the entire case. The press'll be there. Your
picture would be in the newspapers, on television. The odds are somebody's
gonna recognize you and say something. But, if you're not here, nowhere
near here, well, we think that even if she tries to play the child molester
card, which her lawyer absolutely will want to do, the effect will be
minimized since there'll be no proof of that and, anyhow, without proof,
the judge probably won't let her use it. I'll stay in touch with you the
whole time then once it's over, you can come back but you'll have to keep a
low profile. Your presence would spark an appeal she might win. Heck, even
if she did, she's done as a social worker, probably never get a husband
either."

Mentally, I quickly accepted any sacrifice that had to be made to nail
Jamie's murderer But, "Couldn't I just go stay with Ned? He's way out of
the area."

"No, no. The D.A. wants you out of the country. You know, like Canada or
Mexico. You gotta understand. I know it's stereotyping but he's afraid
you'll get in trouble somewhere and blow the case."

"Out of the country? Jesus, I don't have the money to do that, and what
about these two houses?"

"Steve, with you around, there's no case. The D.A. won't even bother
charging Grant if you're in the country. I'm sure, angry as he is about
this, he will have some kind of social worker review board go after Grant
but that'll be it. Dr. Michaels is already talking about a press
conference. We told him to wait to hear what you say."

He paused, pleading in his eyes. "Don't make any decision tonight. Think
about it. Talk it over with your sister."

"How long?"

"Six months, maybe more. Depends on how long it takes to get the case in
front of a judge. The press'll be with us so it shouldn't take too
long. The hospital will want this to go away as fast as possible. We might
even get a plea bargain but I guarantee you it'll include prison time. But
you'll still have to be gone. We'll say you were so crushed by what
happened you just went off and we have no idea where you are. They'll know
it's baloney but won't be able to do anything about it.

"Oh, you'll still have to provide a sworn statement and sit down with
whoever's going to prosecute the case so he can get details only you might
know."

Patty asked, "Why out of the country? Why not some other city where nobody
knows him?"

"I know it's not fair but, well, like I said, the D.A. doesn't trust him
not to get in trouble. Any problem and his case is blown." He turned back
to me. "He was clear. No case with you in the country."

I shook my head. "None of this should make any difference, even if I was
some kind of serial killer. I was Jamie's only chance for survival. She
could've been a bitch later when he was better."

"You're preaching to the choir, my friend."

I agreed to speak to him the next day.

I went with Patty to spend the night with her family. In the car, she
refused to recommend one way or the other. The decision to go or stay was
mine. She did think there was a good case against the social worker but
doubted they'd put her in prison.

"But," she assured me, "it'll finish her as a social worker. She'll have a
hard time getting any kind of work for a long time, well, maybe not so
long. People forget but not as a social worker."

The time spent with a normal family was cathartic, at least while I was
there. Still, twice that night, there were tears and silent fits of
anger. Sleep didn't come for hours and was brief. An attempted nap after
breakfast didn't help.

The next stop was Ned's house. Patty took me there and came in to see how
her cousin was living.

"Where's all your furniture?" she asked him.

"While we were living together, it was mostly his."

The three of us discussed my situation and the value of going or staying.

Ned said, "I think going away for a while is a good idea but mostly because
that woman's gonna get somebody to investigate you, especially when they
charge her. She probably knows other social workers nasty as her. We can
watch over your properties. I'll arrange for some kind of window protectors
for the back. The minute those kids see you're gone, somebody's gonna try
to get in and rob the place."

He lit up a cigarette and shook his head. "You want my opinion, nothing's
gonna happen to her. She probably won't even get fired."

I didn't want to hear any of that.

Patty disagreed. "Once the newspapers get hold of this, and television,
they'll have to fire her. It's her own people at the hospital gonna be
testifying against her."

Ned was sure that the moment she mentioned child molester, everybody would
back off.

"She's already done it," I remarked.

He was still skeptical.

I left resigned to leave but not necessarily the country. It might crossing
a border, Canada probably, for a week or so but then I could quietly come
back and go to some city like New York where I could find work and not
spend the funds that would be needed for the renovation of my two
properties.

I contacted a known remodeling contractor. He joined me that evening at my
house, saw what had to be done in both buildings and promised a quote the
following day.

Walter McNally, in street clothes, came to see me after ten.

"Good news! Marsha Grant has been fired. All three guards and two nurses
have made written statements, all very bad for Miss Grant. The doctor wrote
one too. But the hospital is trying to convince the D.A. not to file
charges. He's promised an answer tomorrow. He needs your statement but you
have to make it at the station house in front of witnesses. Got time?"

On the way, I told him about going to Canada. He thought it was a wise
decision.

"I'm gonna give you my home phone number. Call me as soon as you get
settled somewhere so we can stay in touch. I'll keep you up to date."

The interviews went on for two plus hours. As the sergeant warned me on the
way, there were questions about any sexual activity I'd engaged in with
Jamie.

"Don't worry," Walter had said, "if I'm correct, there's no way anyone can
prove you did anything, right?"

In other words, had Jamie said anything to anyone about our activities in
bed and was any of it likely to surface. So, I denied anything but feeding
and counseling. Since only Ned was aware he'd spent the night, I denied
that too except for the two hours he spent snoozing in my living room chair
one afternoon.

"Why didn't you speak to his mother before allowing him into your house?"
was another question.

"He refused to tell me where he lived, just that he didn't want to go home,
not even why he didn't."

As with the other topics, they delved into every detail. When they declared
the session over, both officers seemed satisfied with what I had said. One
even winked.

The final document was four pages long. I had to sign each.

After reading it, Walter said confidently, "There's nothing here for them
to bite on. This will convince the D.A. to file charges. We got her."

That should have lifted my spirits somewhat but, even with anger
suppressing it, the grief over losing Jamie wouldn't allow it.

The remodeling quote handed to me the following afternoon was high, much
higher than what my calculations indicated would be correct.

"Look Jim, we both know this is negotiable, I mean, very negotiable."

It took a lot of haggling and clearing up a few misunderstandings to reach
a mutually acceptable sum. Part of the new deal included immediately
installing security screens on the rear windows of both houses. I'd debated
having someone live in while work was going on but there was the specter of
some kind of investigator arriving and asking questions of someone who'd
had to chase away boys who might have said something indicating why they'd
come.

McNally called instead of coming by that night. Marsha Grant had been
arrested but posted a very moderate bail.

"Don't worry, though, we're gonna put her away."

I was a lot less confident.