Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2023 22:59:58 +0100
From: AP Webb <pjalexander1753@gmail.com>
Subject: D'n'M Part 6 Chapter 3

All the characters and events in this story are fictitious.  Any
resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely
unintentional.

The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the
express permission of the author who can be contacted at:

pjalexander1753@gmail.com

PJ

D'n'M Part 6a

From Chapter 2:

"Please, come through into my office.  You must be tired after your long
flight, and not a little jet-lagged.  Isabella will bring refreshments.
There have been certain very recent developments with regard to your young
nephew that I need to tell you about."  She turned to look meaningfully at
Senora Gomez.  "You've not said anything to Mister de Beer-Reed?"

Isabella Gomez quickly shook her head.  It occurred to Milo that he wasn't
about to enjoy a week's peace and quiet from his squabbling mind.

**********

 Chapter 3:

Warm sunlight flooding in through the unshuttered window and directly onto
his face woke Nico from a very deep sleep.  He turned to the bedside clock
and the shock from what he saw had him throwing off the covers and pushing
himself out of bed as quickly as the lingering pain in his leg would let
him.

Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Was that the time?  Fuck!  He was only supposed to
sleep for a few hours, just enough to be sure that Señor and
Señora Roja were securely turned in for the night.  Then he'd
planned to make his nighttime-shrouded escape from this anonymous room in
the sad-memory house that he'd been dumped in.  But now it was fully light
outside and he could hear someone moving around downstairs and the sound of
a radio playing its morning news programme, probably on Radio Argentina or
FM Federal.  It definitely didn't sound like La Boca or Sports Radio.
Anyway, what did it matter?  It could be the impossibly boring Radio Santa
Rosa for all he cared.  For now, he needed to focus on rethinking his plan.
Not that there'd been much in the way of an actual plan, more a strong
determination to finally, once and for all, cut the crap and get the fuck
out.

He quietly opened the bedroom door in an effort to hear more clearly what
was going on in the rest of the house.  The radio was still playing but now
there was also the sound of conversation coming from the direction of the
kitchen.  Obviously it was the Rojas (who else?) and, from the few words
that Nico could work out, they seemed to be trying to decide between
tostadas and medialunas for breakfast -- wow, so exciting!  Hearing food
being discussed made Nico instantly aware that he was hungry but, almost as
quickly, he knew that eating wasn't much of a priority in the light of what
he was planning to do.  There'd be time enough to eat as much as he could
get his hands on once he'd put half the city between him, the Rojas and
Children's Services.  Besides, he didn't want his foster-carers to know
that he was even awake yet, so appearing downstairs for breakfast was
totally not an option.

So, with both Señor and Señora Roja sounding to be in the
kitchen on the side of the house furthest from the street, that meant that
his best way out would be via the front door.  Fortunately, this wasn't
visible from the kitchen so, as long as he kept quiet when opening and
closing it, he should be safely out and away before the adults had any idea
that he had gone.  If nothing else, he told himself, that should give him a
good enough head start.

He turned and stepped back inside his room, suddenly conscious that he was
wearing nothing more than a pair of dark blue boxer shorts -- part of the
moving-in bundle provided by Senora Gomez.  Looking down at his state of
undress gave him an idea.  Once he was ready to go, he thought, if he were
to turn on the shower in the bathroom down the hallway, not only would it
give him additional noise cover, it would also make the Rojas think he was
still in the building.  Good thinking.  He gave himself a mental pat on the
back!

Back in his room he dressed quickly in shorts, T, cheap espadrilles,
Yankees baseball cap (he wasn't a supporter but had `found' it in a shop
one day and it helped keep off the worst of the summer heat) and then
stuffed the few remaining possessions that he'd recovered from Our Lady of
Flowers into the small back-pack given to him by Señora Gomez.
These included some more sets of underwear, a couple of T-shirts, a pair of
basketball shorts and the "not new but fully functioning" Samsung she'd
given him on the day they'd first met at the hospital.  She had explained
that it was so they could stay in touch and to make sure he had a way of
contacting her, "any time you feel the need."  She understood, she'd told
him, "just how frightened and lonely you must be feeling."  The fuck she
did.  And as for the crappy phone, there was no chance that he'd ever be
using it to get in touch with her, not once he'd managed to get away from
here and her and everyone else who had anything to do with trying to take
over his life.  That had happened too many times in the past.  Now he was
on his own and he would make his own decisions, numbers one and two being:
to get away from here and to make sure his pervert `proper' family couldn't
find him.

With a last, quick checking glance around the room (not that there was
anything else of his that he might have forgotten), Nico opened his door
and listened.  Yes, still the sound of the radio and boring adult chat
coming from the kitchen, so he slipped out into the hallway and crept
straight to the bathroom.  He looked in the direction of the mirror above
the wash basin and gave himself a quick, visual once-over.  Most of the
marks and abrasions from the brutal ambush by those bastards at Our Lady of
Flowers had more or less disappeared (though some still looked red and
angry), and even the bruising he'd received from the detritus being carried
along by the strong tide in the river had, for the most part, faded to the
greeny-yellow stage of discolouration.  That's not to say that his face
hadn't changed.  It looked thinner than before and his skin had grown paler
than normal in the weeks and months since his mum .... He took a deep
breath.  There were still the remains of dark circles under his eyes, and
the one on the right, the one that had been left bloodshot by his time in
the river, was now almost clear, but the lid of the other one still drooped
slightly - a parting gift from Alvarez and his undersized thugs.  He took
off the cap and saw that his hair was longer and definitely more wayward
than he preferred but, he thought, so what?  He didn't think his future
punters would care what he looked like, at least, not from the waist up.
As he turned and angled his head differently the change in the light meant
that he caught sight of the line of sparse, dark-blonde hairs above his top
lip.  That reminded him of the other parts of his body where hair was
growing, above his dick, under his arms and, as he'd recently noticed,
below his knees.  But he knew that any thoughts about body parts,
especially the ones generally hidden by clothing, brought with them the
danger of his mind being overwhelmed by images of `that' room at La Casa
and the things he'd been forced to submit to there.  He swiftly turned his
attention away from the mirror, away from anything to do with his body (or
anyone else's), picked up his tooth brush and crossed the room to the bath
tub and the shower above it.  He turned the control to full power and,
leaving the bathroom door fully open in order to maximise the amount of
noise made by the cascading water, he left the room, walked carefully and
silently down the stairs and out, unobserved, through the front door.
Easy, or what?

*****

"We tracked him down to the Retiro railway station," explained Violeta
Lopez.

"Tracked him down?" queried Milo.

"Yes.  My colleague Isabella here had the good sense and foresight to
install a tracking app on the phone she gave Nico."

Señora Gomez smiled.  "I suspected he might try to run away.  He's a
very confused and frightened boy who's just lost his mother and everything
else in the world that's familiar to him."

"Not to mention the attempt to kill himself," added Señora Lopez.

"And the prospect of having a whole new country and family to adjust to.
No, it's really no surprise at all that he wanted to get back to something
that was familiar, however unsafe," Milo said, his comments about Nico's
motivation and state of mind being rooted firmly in his professional
experience and supported by what he'd read during his flight.  "Thank you,
Señora Gomez, for being so, so insightful.  I really am very, very
grateful."  Her smile widened.

"Of course, he had no idea it was there, the app I mean," continued
Señora Lopez.  "Once we'd been alerted by Señor Roja and the
Policia de la Provincia notified, it didn't take long to find him."

"Why the train station?" asked Milo.  "Was he planning to get out of the
city?  Where would he go?"

"We don't think he was planning to go anywhere.  Buenos Aires is the only
place he knows," replied Señora Lopez.  "We think it much more
likely that he was looking to make some money to help fund his new life out
of sight and reach of people like me and this department."

"Really?  How?  What sort of work could a fourteen-year old boy hope to
find?"  Then a thought struck him.  "Not shop-lifting?  Or pick-pocketing?"
The idea that Nico would feel he had no choice but to resort to either of
these criminal options horrified Milo so he definitely wasn't prepared for
what Señora Gomez said next.

"No, we think it more likely that he was intending to sell his body to
whoever would pay for a few minutes of his time."

Milo was shocked, not just by the suggestion that Nico might have been
prepared to prostitute himself, but also by the tone of matter-of-fact
acceptance in her voice.  He almost dropped the cup of coffee he'd been
unthinkingly nursing.

"What!  You mean he ...?"  He couldn't bring himself to complete the
question.

Señora Gomez nodded.  There was a look of resigned experience on her
face.  "When the police found him he was with a known frequenter of
homeless and desperate young boys, boys who tell no-one and ask no
questions.  Nico fit the profile perfectly."

"I probably don't need to tell you how relieved we were when the message
came through that he'd been found and that he was safe," added
Señora Lopez.  Milo could only nod his head.  He had no words.  If
this was how low the boy had come, he thought, then things were, if
possible, even more desperate than all of his experience or any of those
case histories had prepared him for.  And this boy was family, not just
another of his young clients at Margelles and Associates who he was paid to
listen to for an hour or so every week.  Nico was his dead sister's son,
his nephew.  And he was there, in that oh-so-foreign country, to fulfil
Kate's dying request that he should become the boy's mother, father,
friend, comforter, and who knew what else that Nico might need.

It was this last realisation that triggered a sudden about-turn in his
thinking.  Seconds before, having heard what Señoras Gomez and Lopez
had told him, he'd been feeling pretty much overwhelmed by the huge
responsibility that Kate had dumped on him (and pretty angry at her too, if
truth be told), but the thought that it was his own flesh and blood who was
so alone, so damaged and in such desperate need of help, made him realise
that it was time for him to step up and grasp the metal, no matter how
difficult it was likely to be.

"Grasp the metal, huh?  Any other clichés you can come up with?"
sneered one half of his mind.

"You're right, it is going to be difficult," chimed in the other half.

"So where is he now?" Milo asked.  "Still with the police?"

"No," replied Señora Lopez.  "He has been returned to the Rojas'
home.  They were more than happy to have him back and, frankly, we didn't
have many other options.  The department doesn't have an army of emergency
foster-carers to call on and we definitely didn't want him to be held in a
police cell.  It's been made clear to Nico that Domenico and Maria will be
watching him like hawks for the remainder of his time here. We've also told
him that you are now in the country, finalising plans to take him back with
you to his new home.  He knows he will not be there, with the Rojas, for
long."

"Do you have any idea precisely how long?" asked Milo.  "Aren't there still
dozens of formalities and lots of paperwork that need to be worked
through?"

Violeta Lopez looked over Milo's head towards Señora Gomez.  When
she spoke it was with a tone that Milo could only describe to himself as
hopeful indiscretion.

"Can I be completely honest with you Señor de Beer-Reed?"

Intrigued, Milo nodded.  Any deviation from laid-down protocols and
established procedures was so very not Ms. Lamar.

"This department has never come across a case quite like Nico's."

"No kidding, lady," said one half of his mind.

"Oh perlease, shut up and listen," pleaded the other half.

"There are so many aspects of it that don't conform to any of our protocols
or procedures.  First and second, that Nico is a foreign national and
legally a juvenile.  Then there is the fact of him being an orphan with no
recognised guardian and also, as if that wasn't complication enough, he is
a long-term victim of abuse who has recently made a serious attempt to kill
himself."

Milo caught sight of Señora Gomez making the sign of the cross as
she added, "And who has been brutally attacked while in the care of a
government-approved residential children's facility."

`That's more like the sort of official-speak I would expect,' thought Milo.

Señora Lopez didn't look very happy about her colleague's last
comment but she clearly decided to let it pass.  "To be blunt, the minister
is concerned that the whole thing could blow up in our faces, possibly even
become the subject of an international incident, especially considering the
current and on-going state of diplomatic relations between our two
countries."

"An international incident?"  Milo could scarcely believe what he was
hearing.  "Surely that's way over the top?"

"That may be the case, but he, the minister, isn't willing to take the
risk.  He has made it clear to this department that he wants the case
closed, with Nico safely back in the care of his family and out of the
country, as soon as that can possibly be arranged.  And, as deputy head of
the department, it is my task to see that the minister's wishes become
reality."  Señora Lopez sounded almost afraid.  Clearly her job was
on the line, and equally clearly, she knew it.

For a minute or two - it felt like much more than that to all three of them
in the room - Milo sat still and said nothing.  He was beginning to realise
that events were moving faster than he had imagined, much faster.  He
needed to get things clear in his mind so that he could make a plan that
might work for everyone, especially Nico.  Obviously it would be best for
the boy to be away from this city and all its negative and degrading
associations as soon as possible.  On the other hand, if everything was
pushed through too quickly, simply in order to jump to the clicking fingers
of the minister, that could end up doing more harm than good, again,
especially to Nico.

Eventually it was Señora Lopez who broke the silence.  "Fortunately
your sister was very, er ... concienzuda ..."  For the first time she
struggled to find the right word.  She looked across at Señora
Gomez.

"Conscientious."

"Thank you.  Yes, she was most conscientious as far as Nico's documentation
was concerned."

"That's not a word I'd ever dream of applying to my sister."  Milo could
think of many other words to describe Kate but conscientious was not among
them.

"Perhaps, but in her son's case it was definitely true."  Señora
Gomez was obviously keen to support her boss.  "When she was admitted to
hospital she had with her a bag, old and very shabby, that she refused to
let anyone take from her.  It was there, after she'd passed away, that we
found the letter she'd written to you."

Milo needed no reminder.

Señora Lopez continued the story.  "We were very pleased, and I have
to say, relieved, to discover that it also contained Nico's passport and
his Argentine birth certificate.  That was easy for us to authenticate but
the passport was, potentially, more of a problem.  You can probably
appreciate that fake passports are not exactly uncommon among certain
groups in our society.  However, it was then that Señora Gomez had
another good idea."

"I took it to your embassy here in the city.  It seemed to me that, if
anyone could vouch for such an important document, it would be the
officials on the staff there."

"Which is exactly what happened," continued Señora Lopez.  "So,
according to all the relevant and necessary documentation, Nico is
definitely who your sister claims him to be and, as long the embassy
confirms that your own paperwork is all in order, there is no reason why
you cannot start making arrangements for your return flight.  With your
nephew, of course."  The sound of relief in her voice at that prospect
wasn't lost on any of them.

`Wow!' thought Milo.  `Wow!'

"You weren't expecting it to be as easy as that, now were you?" said in one
half of his mind.

"But it's really good news -- isn't it?" added the other half, though
somewhat uncertainly Milo thought.

"I'm sure you must be so relieved to hear that things are going to be much
simpler and more straightforward than you were probably expecting," said
Señora Gomez, interrupting and accurately reflecting Milo's internal
conversation.  "And you'll be wanting to finally get to meet Nico.  Given
his background, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by what you find."

Milo's eyebrows shot up.  "In what way surprised?"

"I only mean that he seems to be very, er, grounded and together in
himself."  She realised that she should have chosen her words more
carefully.  "Considering everything he's been through," she added.

Señora Lopez stepped in to break the slightly awkward silence that
followed her colleague's somewhat insensitive comment.  "What we suggest is
that, when you leave here, you take a cab to your hotel to check in -- the
Royale I believe?"

Milo nodded.

"And then, once you've had a chance to shower and refresh yourself,
Señora Gomez will collect you and take you to meet your nephew.
Does that sound like a reasonable plan?"

Milo nodded.  He could hear the relief in her voice.  As long as everything
proceeded smoothly from here on she was within touching distance of seeing
the fulfilment of the minister's wishes and, no less important from her
perspective, of keeping her job.

*****

So, finally, it was happening.  He was actually going to meet Nico
properly, in the flesh, face-to-face.  As he had suspected, the Recoleta
Royale was much more upmarket than any hotel he'd ever stayed in when
having to pay the bill using his own money, and having the adjoining rooms
was definitely an extravagance.  But standing there in the open doorway
between the two he could see the sense of Helen's thinking.  So much had
happened to Nico, even in the last thirty-six hours, that having his own
space to retreat to might well be to the advantage of both of them.

The first thing he did once the hotel room door was closed behind him was
to fire off a quick message to D providing a very brief summary of events
so far, with the promise that a much more detailed account would follow.
Then, having taken Señora Lopez' suggestion of freshening up with a
long, hot shower, he'd dressed with as much care as his carry-on baggage
wardrobe would allow.  He knew that initial impressions count and he also
knew that he was only going to get one shot at a first meeting with Nico so
he needed to get it right.  He'd only got one suit, the light-weight one
he'd travelled in (as recommended by Helen), but he'd got a clean, pale
blue shirt which wasn't too badly creased, and he knew that a squirt of CK
`Gold' always made him feel a little bit special and self-assured.  He had
a feeling that he was going to need every last bit of confidence he could
muster.

*****

The journey to Nico's foster home took less time than Milo was expecting.
Señora Gomez explained that the house in Abasto was less than five
kilometres from his hotel and, at that time of day, the traffic would, at
least, be moving.  At busy times, she said, this trip could take anything
up to forty, forty-five minutes, but today it should be less than half of
that.  Milo's mind was divided on whether or not to be pleased to hear
this.  One half was excited to get the journey done as soon as possible.
They'd been waiting long enough to meet Nico and now it couldn't happen
fast enough.  The other half wasn't so sure.  A longer journey would give
him more time to compose himself and get himself ready for a meeting that
could either be one of the most positive things that had ever happened to
him, but just as possibly could be a disaster that coloured the whole of
the rest of his life.

`Thanks for that,' he mentally told the two halves as Señora Gomez
brought the car to a stop outside a perfectly pleasant but very
ordinary-looking house, very similar to all the others he could see along
the street.  Milo noted several colourful shrubs of various sizes on either
side of a neat, paved path leading up to the front door. Suddenly he was
aware of a significant increase in his heart rate and felt the sweat
running down his back.  `Okay,' he thought, `This is it.  This is where
life gets serious.'  And if someone had, at that precise moment, asked him,
on a scale of one to ten, just how prepared he was for the seriousness of
becoming a lot more than just a run-of-the-mill uncle to Nico, Milo wasn't
sure that he'd rate his chances as much higher than a 5.  Possibly, he
thought, with a following wind and the sun on his back, a 6.  Would that be
enough?  `Time will tell,' he said to himself as he opened the car door and
swung his legs out.  `Time will tell.'

**********

I'd like to take this opportunity to acknowledge Carlos in Tupelo for his
help and advice in correcting some of the spelling and punctuation of the
Spanish elements of the story.  Thank you, Carlos.

I really appreciate and enjoy the messages I get from readers and I'll be
very happy to reply if you'd like to get in touch.

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