Date: Fri, 30 Sep 2016 13:33:22 -0500 From: Eric Trager Subject: It Is What It Is: Chapter 28 Please don't forget to donate to Nifty if you enjoy reading the stories! Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager. Yahoo group: https://groups.yahoo.com/IIWII CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ...the entire Tremper bench holding up a large banner that read, "Welcome Back, Wymo! We Miss You, Bro!" Jim Nolan held up a Tremper Jersey with number 16 on it which had been Sean's number at Tremper. Sean grinned and gave the thumbs up to his erstwhile team mates, now opponents. He felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. At the coin toss, the Tremper Captains were Jim Nolan and Joe Regent. Both of them gave Sean a hearty bro-hug and wished him good luck, which he reciprocated. In the end, it turned out to be a friendly game, neither team risking injury to its key personnel. As expected the Cougars won the game, the final score being 42-7. At game's end when the teams lined up to shake hands, Sean made it a point to take the young Tremper Quarterback, only a Sophomore, aside. "Hey, I'm Sean Wyman. I don't think we've ever met before. I just wanted to say you're pretty decent for a Soph. If you remember one thing at all, just remember to believe in yourself and don't be afraid to ask your team mates to believe in you. They gotta believe in someone. You're the Quarterback. You lead the Offense. And trust Coach Johnson, he's a good man. We can text if you want any pointers. I'd be glad to be of whatever help I can..." "Wow! Hey, just so you know, I heard you were a real nice guy and they were right. You are. My name's Aaron Jackson. Shit, you already know that! Anyways, thanks, Sean. Nice to meet ya!" "You, too, Aaron. Call me Wymo." "Call me Jax." "Will do. I gotta go now. You remember what I said." With that, Sean jogged over to the rest of his team heading for the locker room. "What was that all about?" Tim asked. "The kid's a Sophomore just like I was last year. He's in a job he never bargained for just like I was last year. And maybe he thinks he's in over his head just like I did last year. I told the kid to believe in himself and not to be afraid to ask his team mates to believe in him. I told him he leads the Offense. I thought he wasn't bad, really. I told him I'd give him some pointers if he wants. What the hell, I mean, it's not like they're in the same conference as we are..." "That was nice of you, Wymo." "Of course it was," Sean said with a smirk, his first one in about a week. "It's good to see some of the old Wymo back," Tim said, giving Sean a sincere look. "I'm making progress, Dix." "That's good because, well, um, you know, I mean... Look, man I love you to death. I mean in my heart, I really love you. When you hurt, I hurt. I love you, Sean. You know that, right?" "Yeah and I love you, too, Tim. It means a lot." "So, you think you guys might be up to hit a party when we get back?" "I'm not ready for that yet, I don't think. I'll go if And wants to, but if it were up to me, it would be no. I think I should fuck him tonight anyway. He's probably getting worried..." "OK, that's fine. Hey, what time you guys wanna go over that building tomorrow? We're looking at that basement, right?" "Yeah. I dunno, I mean, let's go after the meeting. That way we can go grab some lunch if we want." "I'm down for that. I'll let Brett know. He's gonna be at my place tonight, anyhow." "Jesus Crist, Dix man, how did you and I ever get so lucky... I mean with Andy and Brett..." "I dunno. I ask myself that all the time. Hey, that reminds me, you and me, we gotta um meet up more for, you know... I mean, we managed to do it without anyone else finding out, but this last week's been a bitch. Maybe we do like Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday on our free periods like we been doing, hey?" "Sounds like a plan. Don't worry... I ain't worried about it..." Once on the bus, Sean, Andy, Tim and Brett managed to snag seats in adjoining rows. Coach's post-game wrap-up was short. The team had played without flaws that evening and on Monday they'd begin work for their Homecoming game against Beloit Memorial. This was a grudge-match game almost as much as Parker. Beloit, less than ten miles to the south had always been viewed by a lot of Janesville folks, and not without some accuracy, as Janesville's poor stepchild. The town was little more than half the size of Janesville, had but one High School and a struggling economy. If the Craig kids viewed their Parker counterparts as unsophisticated bumpkins, they viewed Beloit as simply beyond the pale. Rightly or wrongly, it partly contributed to Craig's reputation as a snobby rich kids' school, but while the rivalry with Parker was a pretty much a friendly cross-town rivalry, the rivalry with Beloit was a blood sport. The Cougars had nothing to fear from the Beloit Memorial Purple Knights, but they knew the Knights were as well-coached as Parker and they'd play their hearts out. Upon their return to Janesville, Andy and Sean determined that they'd be staying in for the night. Tim and Brett thought they'd do the same, but Brett talked Sean and Andy into stopping over at Tim's for a beer. After a while on the patio, Sean said he needed to use the bathroom. Inside the house he saw Peggy in the kitchen. "Hey, Nrs. Dix," Sean said. "Oh hey there now, Sean. I hear ya won tonight, that's good. Your old team to there, hey... How'd that go for ya?" "You know, Mrs. Dix, it went really good. They treated me like some kind of long lost friend, or something. I was pretty surprised. It's kinda been a weird week..." "I didn't wanna say anything to ya, Sean. I know about it and I don't wanna stick my nose in, but you're like one of my own kids. If I ever had a blonde son that didn't trip over his own tongue I guess it'd hafta be you don'tcha know..." With that, Sean broke down and cried. He sobbed for a good minute before he was able to compose himself. "Sorry, Mrs. Dix. I don't know what came over me. I think I've really almost put this behind me. I have to keep going forward. That's the only direction I can go. I can't stay stuck in one place." "Sean, now you call me `mom.' I didn't mean to upsetcha now. I'm sorry." With that, Peggy put two shot glasses down on the kitchen counter, filled them with Jaeger and poured them each a beer chaser. "Let's do a shot now, Sean. Just you and me. Here ya go." Hoisting their Jaeger, Peggy called out "Prost!" and they downed the Jaeger followed by the beer chasers. "Thanks, Mrs. Di... I mean mom..." Sean said. "I'll be fine." "Youbetcha! I know ya will now... You ever think you need mom to setcha straight, I'm right here. I always will be, Sean." "Thanks, mom," Sean smirked. "You're the best." "That's what he said..." Peggy teased, deadpan. Sean snorted so hard that snot came out his nose. "Here's a Kleenex, Sean. Wipe the snot off your face and get back out there with your friends, now..." "Thanks, mom..." Sean said with the hint of a smirk. "I'll be fine, really I will. I have a lot to live for. I'll live with my wounds, I won't die being a slave to them. Trust me." "I know. Now go on! Act like a kid, for Cripe's sake now... And when ya getcher boyfriend home tonight, and ya better screw him. He looks like he needs it..." Peggy laughed with a wink. "I don't know who's worse, you or Ginny!" Sean laughed. "Oh, that'd be Ginny. She's way worse than me, don'tcha know. I'm married and she's not. No tellin' what she'll be up to over there in London... Maybe schtupin' the Prime Minister, or Prince Harry for all I know..." Peggy winked. "Ginny loves you guys, Sean. She's told me that a hundred times if she's told me once. Anyhow, go on, now! Gecther ass outta here before I kick it!" Peggy laughed. "OK, I'll see ya later, mom..." Sean smiled, returning to the patio. "Jesus, you were in there for a while talking to Peggy," Brett said. "Yeah, we talked about stuff, and you know, about what happened. I gotta hand it to ya, Dix, your mom has the most common sense of anyone I ever met. Oh, and she says you step on your tongue..." Sean smirked. "Fuck you, Wymo," Tim said as he took a deep draught of his beer. "You'd like that too much," Sean shot back. "Well, should we get goin' here?" Andy said. "I kinda wanna hit the sack." Back home in their room, Sean took Andy in his arms, hugged him close and whispered, "I love you, Brown Eyes," into his ear. He then tongued Andy's ear sending shivers up Andy's spine. Andy groaned at this lover's touch. "Fuck me, Sean..." Andy mouthed. Sean understood exactly what was wanted. He slowly and sensuously undressed Andy, mindful to cup his balls and play with his hole as he did so. Andy turned his head and kissed Sean lovingly, looking deeply into his eyes. Sean's eyes looked peacefully back. No words needed to be spoken between the two young men who had known each other for so many years. Typically in the bedroom Sean was selfless and all about Andy. While he would revel in Andy's lovemaking and being impaled by Andy's fat cock, Sean derived immense satisfaction both mentally and sexually from driving his lover over the edge. Silently Sean completed the removal of Andy's garments. He then laid the smaller boy down on the bed, cradling him as he did so. Andy was not a tall, muscled jock like Sean, or Tim, or now Brett, but to Sean he was beautiful. His smaller, swimmer-built body was proportioned perfectly, his face angelic and out of all of them Andy certainly had the biggest dick. Sean kissed Andy softly on the lips, then began a slow descent to his neck, nipples, navel and farther down. Taking Andy's now fully-erect penis into his mouth. Sean expertly tongued the length and girth of Andy's pole, skillfully jacking it with his left hand while teasing Andy's perineum and hole with the fingers of his right. Andy squirmed under Sean's ministrations, but he did not say anything other than to pant and moan. He knew that Sean needed this more than he did. He saw his handsome Prince rapidly regaining his focus after the events of a week ago, and he didn't want to take the chance on doing, or saying anything to retard, or indeed to reverse Sean's recovery. Nevertheless, Sean was driving him crazy. His big cock was as hard as a rock, and his asshole quivered and pulsated on the touch of Sean's digit. Sean, tasting precum in his mouth, removed his lips from his lover's dick, flipped him over and pulled him up on all fours. He parted Andy's cheeks and went to work tonguing his hole, slowly and teasingly at first. Andy reached back and started jacking his dick. Sean batted Andy's hand away. There was to be no cumming until Sean had given Andy a fucking. Continuing to eat Andy's asshole, Sean was cognizant that Andy's legs were turning rubbery and he heard Andy's pleading whimpers. Sean's dick was leaking precum, too, so now was as good a time as any to pleasure his lover. He deftly lubed his cock while continuing to eat Andy, disengaged from Andy's hole, parted Andy's cheeks and swiftly and roughly stuck his erection in Andy up to the hilt and all at once. Andy gasped, his hips bucking. Sean didn't give a lead-up, but began fucking Andy hard, fast and for all he was worth. He grabbed onto Andy's hips and pulled them into him hard to meet the savage thrusts of his dick. Sean was nowhere near ready to cum, and every time Andy tried to jack his dick Sean moved his hand away. For ten minutes Sean pounded his lover without mercy until he could feel the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Harder and faster Sean fucked until he couldn't take it any more. "I'm fucking gonna cum! SHIT! I'm cumming! UHHHH! UNGHHHHHH! FUUUUUUUUCK! Jack your dick! Cum with me NOW! I'm gonna fucking blow! UHHHHHHHH! UHHHHHHHHH! UHHHHHHHHHHH!" Sean cried out as he filled Andy's intestines with volley after volley of white-hot sperm. Andy made nary a sound, but his body went rigid and Sean could feel his asshole ring contracting around his cock indicating that Andy was shooting his load. Andy went limp and exhaled mightily. He scooped up his cum that was on the comforter and stuck it in Sean's mouth. Sean ate it like a starving man, collapsing on the bed and pulling Andy into him tightly. They lay together for what seemed like an eternity holding each other close. Sean looked at Andy, expressionless, but deeply and whispered, "I love you." "I love you, too, Sean-o. So very much..." Unlike every night since the rape, Sean spooned Andy into him instead of the other way around. They hadn't even bothered to clean each other, they curled up together and fell asleep glued together by their cum. It was the most peaceful night's sleep Sean had for a week. It was restful sleep. It was what he needed. Sean's sleep was so restful and complete that he awoke at 5:00 in the morning and could not get back to sleep. He decided to get up and Andy did not move as he got out of bed, but stayed sound asleep, snoring quietly as he usually did. Sean put on a pair of gym shorts and one of his over-sized t-shirts, a pair of flip-flops and quietly padded downstairs to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, he got what he needed to put on a pot of coffee. He went to the freezer and withdrew a foil packet of coffee grounds holding exactly enough for one pot. Sean had found a local roaster who sold a blend he especially liked, but at this hour of the morning the racket that the coffee grinder made would wake up the entire house. He could make do with what he called "gas station coffee" if he had to. He loved the commercial Bunn coffee maker that Andy had installed. It was hard-plumbed and one did not need to fill the tank, just put the filter and coffee in, press a button and there would be a pot of coffee as fast as a restaurant-grade Bunn machine could brew it. Coffee done, Sean noted the time was 5:09 a.m. He grabbed a cup of coffee and took it out on the back patio. In the morning dawn, he could hear the birds beginning to chirp in the trees and the views of the backsides of the old Victorian homes lining the ravine were spectacular. Sitting with his coffee, Sean lit up a cigarette. He preferred old-school Camels, the ones with no filter. Not a habitual smoker, nonetheless he normally enjoyed a cigarette at the end of the day. It was unsual for him to have one in the morning, but this was an unusual morning. No one else would probably be up until 8:00 or 8:30 as it was a Saturday, and he was enjoying the quiet time. He felt no need as he had for the last week to have anything in particular to occupy his mind. He felt at peace. And he was thankful. After a while, Sean thought it would be a good idea to go to the laundry room in the basement and throw in a load of wash. Until Andy could get up and down the stairs normally, Sean and John took turns doing the wash as needed. He was pretty sure it was John's turn, but he didn't have anything else to do at that moment. Nearing the bottom of the stairs Sean thought to himself that he ought to be expected to be afraid, or have some kind of panic reaction. He didn't. A vision of his mother came to him. He could hear the words she spoke to him on her death bed, "...you have my strength and steadiness." Thoughtfully, he nodded and mouthed, "thank you. Sean separated the dirty clothes into whites and colors, put in a load of whites and proceeded to return to the patio and his coffee. On the way out of the basement he paused to peer into the media room, the scene of his rape. He gazed in, feeling nothing in particular other than what he wrote as part of Andy's victim's statement: vengeance is reserved for the Lord. Back on the patio he took a sip of his coffee and heard a noise behind him. Turning around he saw a rather sleepy-looking John walking out. "Hey, li'l bro. I see you got yourself a coffee there. How come up so early?" "Couldn't sleep and I thought I heard someone in the basement." "That was me. I put in a load of wash. It's your turn so you can put it in the dryer and start the next one." "That's fine. Hey, gimme one of your cigarettes, will ya?" "I didn't know you smoke..." "I really don't, but I have. You forget what my life was like." "I don't forget. Maybe I can't identify with it much, but I don't forget." "So, is my hero back?" John asked earnestly. "Yeah. He's back, J.R. I think. And thanks..." "I thought so. Anyway, you and Andy made enough noise last night. It was prolly on the Richter Scale, or something..." Sean chuckled. "It had to be done, kiddo. So, is Kathleen noisy? Huh? Well? Is she?" "Nah, well, um, she kinda moans and sighs a lot and then the nipples on her tits get really hard. But then when she cums she like gasps and juices a big puddle." "EWWWWWWWWW!" Sean said, feigning vomiting. "Well, you asked!" "Does it smell like tuna?" "I already told you she doesn't have a sour pussy! God! It doesn't really smell like much of anything. I think she washes it off, you know, like before we do it, though. She likes it when I eat her clit... She juiced in my mouth once when I was eating it..." "SHUT UP!" Sean laughed. "Does she swallow your spooge?" "Um, yeah...but I'm not sure how much she likes it. At least she doesn't puke when she does it, though..." "Her sister still give you shit?" "No. Not really. I mean, she doesn't say anything to me..." "Hey wanna go get us some more coffee, squirt?" "OK. I'm glad you're back, Sean." John jumped up, hugged Sean, grabbed both coffee cups and ran into the kitchen to fill them up. "Here ya go," John said as he returned. "Thanks. Hey, wanna help me make breakfast in a while?" "Yeah, I will. I like cooking with you." Sean smiled and handed John a cigarette. That morning all three boys went to the team meeting since they'd be going to the downtown building afterwards with Tim and Brett. The meeting went a little shorter than usual as the NFL players remarked the team really seemed to be jelling. The critiques they offered centered around play calling strategy and defensive blitz packages indicating that the team looked ready to handle playing the game at a more sophisticated level than they already were, and one of the NFL'ers remarking that he'd known college teams that didn't play as well together as a unit and that he'd never seen any High School team in his memory able to put together successful game plans every week while simultaneously expanding their skill set and strategies. Again, there were goals and suggestions given that would be reviewed after the Beloit game. The meeting broke with Coach Slater letting the team know that they should be proud of their hard work, and with the admonition not to get big heads about it. "You're only as good as the last game you played," he reminded them. Out of the school, Tim and Brett followed the other guys to Andy's car. "OK, guys, we'll see at the Chinese restaurant, then we'll go over the building." At the restaurant, Andy had parked his car a little bit askew in the parking spot on the street. Upon entering, the old Chinese lady behind the counter scowled at him, pointing at his car and letting him easrsplittingly know, "Danowaytopahcah!" Andy was shell-shocked. He wanted to burst out laughing but he was too taken aback. He was in line first to order and all he could think to ask for, and he said so, was "pofwiwi." The other boys almost choked. It was a Kodak moment that they cursed themselves they hadn't got on video. The old Chinese lady didn't bat an eye. "OKwhonex!" she demanded in her gravely-shrill screach. The rest of the boys ordered their food as if being ordered about by a Marine Drill Sergeant. Sean thought about declining the offer of a fortune cookie but didn't dare. The Chinese food was wolfed down by five bottomless-pit young men who then set off for the Main Street Building to see what they would see. Arriving at the building, they unlocked the vacant commercial unit on the first floor, went in and locked the door behind them. All the boys had flashlights as Andy had prepared them to do. Making their way down the basement stairs they went to the front of the basement. "See, look at this door!" Sean said. I don't think this is the front of the basement. I think there's a room here. I mean, if there wasn't then why the fuck would this door be here?" "Well, how do we open it?" Brett asked, grabbing the door handle and finding it locked. "Dowls," Andy said, "it's an old six-panel interior door. We just knock the panels out, then we send in J.R. `cause he can fit through. He knocks the hinge pins out from the other side and we just take the door totally off at that point. I brought a tool bag, ya know..." "Really?" Tim asked. "It'll probably take us less than two minutes," Andy replied confidently. Andy was indeed correct, and in less than two minutes the boys had the door off revealing a room on the other side approximately 10 feet deep and the width of the building. The room was full of cobwebs, but it was dry and for how ever long it had been sealed off didn't show any signs of deterioration, or water damage. There were wooden boxes stacked up in most of the room with General Motors markings on them. There was also a filing cabinet, but most curiously there was a safe on one corner of the room. The safe looked to be about six feet high and three feet wide. "Jesus, what is all this shit?" Tim asked. "I dunno, look in one of those boxes, Dix!" Sean said. Tim opened one of the wooden boxes, pawed through some straw and came up with a bottle of Scotch in each hand. "Who would go to all this trouble to hide booze?" Tim wondered out loud. "Well, there's markings on the boxes, what do they say?" Brett asked. "This one says "Gen. Mot. Corp. Detroit, Mich 11/04/1933." "So, it's like 80-year-old Scotch?" Brett gasped. "Christ, it's probably worth a fortune!" "Prolly closer to 90 considering it's aged before it's bottled..." Tim said. "It's been down here in a place where the temperature doesn't vary and there's no light, so yeah, it prolly is worth some money! And look at how many boxes there are! Let's count `em!" The boys counted 217 boxes. They determined each box held eight bottles, so there were over 1,700 bottles. "Guys, this could be worth anywhere from maybe $200 grand to like a million and a half bucks if the product inside is still good!" Sean exclaimed. "I mean, how much Prohibition Scotch is there on the market? And it's got a story behind it! See, the date on the boxes is November of 1933. Prohibition ended in December, 1933." "Wow..." Andy said. "We have to re-secure this room before we go..." Brett said. "I can nail the door back up before we go," Andy indicated. "At least well enough to let dad know and get him down here... We'll just take out all the lightbulbs down here before we go and that way if someone did break in they couldn't see anything anyway..." "When we come back, we gotta bring a couple automotive trouble lights, and a Sawzall with metal cutting blades so we can get into that safe, too..." Sean said. "Yeah, I mean, if we found the booze, what the fuck is in that safe?" Tim wondered. "OK, let's all go to the Alamo. We'll get dad and get him down here," John said. "I dunno if a Sawzall's gonna handle that, Sean-o," Andy said. "It prolly won't..." "Well, let's see, and if it doesn't my Grandfather was a locksmith before he retired," Brett said. "I bet we could get him down here if we had to. He only lives on Franklin Street and that's just on the other side of the River, plus I know he's still got all his tools and everything. Fuck it, why don't we just skip the Sawzall and I call Grandad?" "Sure," Andy said. "If you wanna go pick him up, just take my car..." "Hey, Grandad? Hey, it's Brett! Fine, thanks... Not much... Well, I'm downtown at a building on Main Street with some friends. Their dad just bought it and there's an old safe in the basement we wanna open up... You can? Awesome! I'll be there is five minutes! OK, bye!" "So he's gonna come?" Tim asked. "Yup, I'm gonna go get him now. I should be back in ten-fifteen minutes because we'll need to load up his tools." "Shit! What a score!" Andy smiled. "Tell him he gets one of these bottles of Scotch... Let's skip getting dad for now...." "Oh, he'll like that. Grandad likes what he calls his `sippin' whiskey'," Brett said. "OK, I'll be back!" "Slide the seat back before you get in, or you'll crack your knees on the dashboard!" Andy warned. "Sean-o did that once and I hadda blow him because he was whining so bad how much his knee hurt..." Sean swatted Andy, blushing. Fifteen minutes later Brett returned with his Grandfather, a kindly-looking older gentlemen the rest of the boys guessed to be in his seventies. "OK, which one of you Heathens is Tim?" the old man said, looking at them all. "Um, that's um...that's me, sir..." Tim stuttered, not knowing what to expect. "Well, I heard all about you, son. Ya look like a fine, strapping young man to me! Call me Gramps!" the old man smiled, extending his had for Tim to shake. "Pleased to meet you, Gramps," Tim said. "You couldn't have heard anything good about me..." "Bullshit. I know who ya are... Don't make no never mind to me what you two do. When you've been walkin' around this world as long as I have ya don't have time to give a fuck about that crap. I could kick the bucket tomorrow for all anyone knows. Long as my grandson's happy that's all I give a shit about... Me and Brett's mom hadda straighten my son out, though. I told him as long as he's not the one takin' it up the bum what the fuck did he wanna make a big deal out if it for? Besides, folks these days don't even know what we got up to back in the day before everyone started thinking there was something really special about getting off with another guy and everyone has to talk about it like it's the second coming of Jesus Christ. If I had a dollar for every circle-jerk the football team had I'd be a millionaire. It's a load of crap, I tell ya! Who gives a fuck!" he said, giving Tim a slap on the back. "Alright, now that we got that over with, who are the rest of you assholes, anyway?" The boys all brike up laughing. "I'm tellin' you young fuckers the truth!" Gramps winked. Brett introduced the other boys, Gramps regaling them all in their turn with his crusty, old-man humor and goodwill. He made nicknames for them all. Tim was "Red," Sean was "Pretty Boy," Andy was "Captain Hook," and John was "Speedy Gonzales." "OK, well show me that safe, then. I'll leave the tools up here because I don't know how many of `em I'm gonna need. Maybe some, maybe almost nuthin'" Gramps took only his stethoscope and a can of WD-40 with him as they all descended into the basement. "Christ, it's pitch black down here! You guys get some light on the subject, will ya? When ya get to be my age, ya can't see shit!" Sean scurried around, screwing in the lightbulbs to satisfy the old man. "OK," Andy said, "here's the safe right over here in this room..." "Alright, get me one of them boxes to sit on..." Gramps said. The old man pulled the box up in front of the safe and explained what he was about to do. "First thing I'm gonna do is try the knob to see how tight, or loose she is. Might need some lubrication after all these years down here." With that he turned the safe knob first slowly to the right and then slowly to the left. "It's not too bad. I'm gonna lubricate it just a little bit, not too much and wait a couple minutes for it to penetrate as much as it's gonna." No one said a word until Gramps deemed the WD-40 had done what it would do. "OK, now this next part is the art that requires experience. I haven't done one of these for about forty years, so bear with me. You got a pretty standard safe here. It's a Schwab. Good quality. They're still in business. Anyway, what I need for now is quiet. I gotta park the wheels, then I gotta figure out how many wheels there are. Could be anywhere between three and eight. With this one, it's probably five, that's what most of `em had, but I don't know for sure..." "What's a wheel?" John asked. "OK, Speedy, you know for your locker at school you got three numbers, right-left-right?" "Yeah..." "Well, that means there's three wheels. However many wheels there are, that's how many numbers in the combination. So, before I can open it, and don't worry, I'll be able to open this one, I need to know exactly how many wheels there are first." The boys stood, fascinated, watching the old man work. They all felt as if they were being treated to a museum exhibit of something that was a long-lost art. Gramps would start, stop, listen for a bit with his stethoscope, re-park the wheels and do it all again. He went through that process at least a half-dozen times, then he stopped and looked up. "OK, she's got seven wheels. That's a very rare number to have. The most common is five, that's standard. More wheels cost more money, and the high rollers usually went with eight. I've never seen a seven-wheeler before. That's why it took me so long, but I'm sure. It's seven wheels. Now, this next part is easier because I have some information. Easier don't mean shorter, though. It's prolly gonna take me anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour depending on if she wants to talk to me." "What's that mean?" Sean asked. "Well, Pretty, it's like this. Every one o' them seven wheels has like a notch in the edge, think of it that way, ya with me?" "Uh-huh." "OK, then, there's seven wheels and there's seven cams. Know what a cam is?" "Yeah, like the camshaft in a car engine..." "You sure you're queer?" Gramps laughed. "Anyway, all seven o' those cams gotta drop into all seven o' them notches, and when they drop I can hear `em through the stethoscope, got me?" "Yup." "OK, well how well, or how poorly I can hear `em is how the safe is talkin' to me. That's dfferent from one safe to the next even if it's the same make and model. It all just depends... And no Depends jokes, either, you young fuckers!" "I got it," Sean laughed. "Thanks." "Regular Einstein, ain'tcha." Gramps winked. Sean laughed again, as did the other boys. Just as quickly they fell silent and continued to watch the old man intently as he practiced his craft. Every so often, Gramps would stop and write something down. Two, or three times it appeared that he had to start over, "this one's not much of a talker..." he grumbled to himself. Thirty minutes went by. Then forty-five minutes. "Gramps, if this isn't going to work, or if it's too much you don't have to do it," Brett offered. "Piss off, boy!" what the answer he got. "First off, it's a challenege. Second, what the hell else do I have to do right now? I ain't exactly plannin' to have tea with the Queen this afternoon... `Sides, I think I almost got it anyway. Like I said, she ain't much of a talker." Getting up to stretch, the old man paced around the basement, muttering to himself and appearing to count on his fingers. He paused every once in a while, then suddenly smiled, stabbing the air with the index finger of his right hand and returning to the box in front of the safe. He put the stethoscope back up to his ears and got to work on the dial, every so often referring to the notes that he's scribbled down before. Another ten minutes went by and suddenly the old man simply looked up and said, "Alright, guys. I think we got `er. Lemme just see here..." As he proceeded to turn the knob several times clockwise then stopping at a number, then counter-clockwise stopping at another, repeating the process until he was satisfied, saying "yup, that makes seven. She'll open now or I'm a horse's ass." He grabbed the heavy, chrome lever on the door and it moved. He moved it on its hinge about an eighth of a turn and a loud, bass-pitched `thunk' filled the room. Pulling on the door, it opened. "Well, my work is done here, guys. See, it was hard to get the combo right because as I suspected, this one's got double notches. The notches go only a little bit, then stop. About one, or two numbers on is when the cam drops all the way. On some of the wheels it was one, and on some of the others it was two. I heard about them double notched ones, but I never seen one before, never mind tried to open one. I'd say to look at `er she's prolly from the early 1920's. For her day, she was a top-of-the-line model, I'll tell ya that much. I wrote down the combo here, who wants it?" "Give it to Captain Hook," Sean smirked. "This whole building is his baby." "Here ya go, son. Why don'tcha take a look inside..." Andy stepped up and saw that there were various compartments and drawers inside. They'd have to be opened to reveal their contents but thankfully didn't have combinations of their own. He decided to start at the top, and pulled out a drawer. Looking in, he saw a very old portfolio folder and withdrew it. "Looks like there's papers in here..." He withdrew them, and they were on a heavy, embossed paper. "OK, says here `Bearer's Bond,' whatever that means. On the top is says `City of Janesville' and the amount is five hundred dollars. They all look to be the same. OK..." "Son, lemme tell ya what a Bearer's Bond is," Gramps said. "You know what a bond is?" "Yeah, it's like an IOU but it pays interest." "Right, now what a Bearer's Bond is, is it's a bond that they never kept track of who owns it. It's owned by the person holding it in their hand. That's what a `bearer' is – the person holding it in their hand. So, the City owes you guys money. Simple as that. Plus the interest, whatever rate it's at." "OK, well, I guess we'll count `em up later then... Let's see what's in the second drawer here..." Andy withdrew a second folder. "OK, these say `Wisconsin Electric Power Company, Milwaukee, Wisconsin,' and the amount is for one thousand dollars. There's a whole pile of these, too!" "So, does this mean these things are still worth money?" Sean asked. "Let's get dad on this..." Tim said. "OK, but there's still some more shit in here, prolly," Andy said. Checking the other drawers, they came up empty. At the bottom of the safe was what looked to be a bin of sorts. It was made of the same heavy metal as the rest of the interior of the safe, but it wasn't a drawer. It looked like it pulled out. Andy tried and tried, but could barely budge it. "Hey, I don't think I can get this by myself. Sean-o, Dix, you guys try together. You're stronger than me and it might take both of you..." Tim and Sean stepped up and struggled to get a good hold on the bin in order to pull it out. "Jesus, there's almost nothing to grab onto here!" Sean said. "Yeah, I know," Tim agreed. "Maybe if we can just rock it back and forth enough to get out hands in there then we can pull. Let's give that shot..." For a good five minutes the two wrestled with the bin and little by little it gave ground to the point where they could slip their fingers inside and try to slide it out. After another minute it was open far enough to tell there was definitely something in inside creating all that weight. With each exertion of effort by Tim and Sean the bin slid out a little more. Finally, they had it what they reckoned to be all the way out. "There's nothing but bags in here!" Tim said. "Wonder what's in `em..." Sean mused. "Let's open one! And, you bring any kind of knife in your tool belt?" "Nah, but I got a couple screwdrivers. That work?" "Yeah, I can just poke a hole through the cloth and then maybe rip one of the bags open..." Sean made a hole in the top bag, worked his fingers in and ripped a hole long enough to see what was inside. "OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Sean gasped. "Dix, man, fucking look at this!" Tim peered into the bag and his face went white. "OK, you two, what did we find, Cleopatra's mummy, or what..." Brett demanded. "Yeah, what is it?" John said. Sean reached in and when he did there was a solid clinking sound. He withdrew his hand and held it out for the others to see. Anyone observing the situation could have heard a pin drop. No one said a word for what probably was an entire minute. Andy was the first to break the silence. "Is that what I think it is?" "I think that's what you think it is, yeah..." Sean answered. "How many of those bags are in there?" "Looks like five." "How much does one of `em weigh?" "I'll figure that out," Brett said. I didn't bag groceries at Woodmans and not learn how to estimate how much something weighs..." Brett scooped up the bag that Sean had poked open, moved it up and down in his arms and said, "I'd say it weighs somewhere between twenty-five and thirty pounds, probably closer to thirty." "So there's like between a hundred twenty and a hundred fifty pounds of this shit?" Andy gasped. "Quick, let's close it back up and lock it. We gotta tell dad about this. Here, give those to me!" Andy said to Sean, motioning him to fork over what he's withdrawn from the safe. "Gramps," Sean said to the old man. "What is it, Pretty..." "You know what's in these boxes?" "You gonna tell me, or will I go to my grave not knowing..." "Each box has eight bottles of Scotch in it from 1931." "You don't say..." Gramps said, arching one eyebrow. "And one of those boxes has your name on it." "Well, you got a deal there, Pretty. And don't ask me if I know what's in that bin. I already know what it is." "How do you know." "Trust me, I know. And I ain't sayin' any more about it. To anyone. You boys wanna take me home now? And don't forget my box." Gramps eyes twinkled. The boys locked the safe back up, reattached the door to its jam, pulled the lightbulbs, and the group made its way outside being careful to lock every door they could and double checking as they went. "Tim and I will take Gramps home," Brett said. "OK, Dowls," Sean replied. "Why don't you guys come over later? We can grill out and stuff. We'll get J.R. to cook and wait on us..." That brought a swift kick to Sean's ass from John, guffaws from the rest of them and an "OK" from Tim. Returning to the Alamo, the boys found Joe was not home. Sean then remembered he was golfing at the Club with George and a couple other guys. "I'm gonna text dad and tell him he's gotta come home right after he's finished. Hey, I just thought of something..." "What?" Andy said. "Well, when football's done we won't have any sports until next year. I thought why don't we all take golf lessons. We could do it together, and it seems like that's what all the big shots in this town do – they play golf. Should we?" "I want to!" John said. "I gotta make sure I know how to do stuff people like that do because someday I'm gonna be one of those people." "I'm in!" Andy said. "What can it hurt? Besides, I know Dix plays, and you know him...if he plays then Brett's gonna hafta learn. Besides, maybe I'll be better than you. You don't need to be huge to be a good golfer! I think it would be cool!" Just then Sean's phone pinged. It was a reply from Joe to Sean's text letting them know he'd be home in about an hour. Joe walked in a little before the hour was up. "OK, Sean, is everything OK?" "Well, yeah, dad. You know how we went over to the building today, right? "Ah, yeah?" "You tell him the story, And..." "Do I need to be sitting down for this..." "Prolly a good idea, dad..." John said. "Let's have it, Andrew." "OK, dad. I'm just gonna give it to ya straight. We got into that room in the front of the building. And we found stuff in there. We found 217 cases of Scotch from 1931, we found Bearer Bonds from the City of Janesville and the Wisconsin Electric Power Company, and we found somewhere between a hundred twenty and a hundred fifty pounds of gold coins. There's only 216 cases of Scotch left because we gave one to Brett's grandfather for opening the safe." "WHAT?" Joe gasped, not sure whether or not this was some kind of a joke. "It's not a joke, dad," Andy said. "Here. Here's a couple of the gold coins. The rest we put back and sealed up the room again." Andy handed the coins to Joe. "OK, guys, we're going back down there right now. We're going to bring home one case of the Scotch and all of the Bonds and all of the coins. I'm going to ask George to come over after dinner." "Well, you might just as well invite him and Peggy over because Tim and Brett are coming over to grille out," Sean said. "Sounds like a plan..." Later on, the whole gang was out on the patio enjoying their meal. Sean and John prepared jerk chicken, and roasted corn on the cob. Peggy brought her potato salad and a two-gallon jug of fresh-made mojitos. "Jesus, Joe," George said, "it's never a dull moment since you guys moved to town, I tell ya... Keeps me young, anyway. So, whada we got here?" "Well, the guys were over at the Main Street building today and it appears they found some interesting stuff in the basement." "I see..." "Yup, according to Andy they found 217 cases of Scotch from 1931, Bearer Bonds from the City of Janesville and Wisconsin Electric Power and here's the kicker: Andy said between a hundred twenty and a hundred fifty pounds of gold coins." "Holy Moly!" George said. "Let me take a look at your contact from when you bought the place. You have a copy?" "Yeah, I can bring it up on my phone from when Ginny emailed it to me. It's the fully-executed copy signed by me and the Seller." "OK, let's have a look, then... George read the document over, handed Joe's phone back and said, "All that stuff? You own it." "I figured that. There was nothing in the contract about exclusions other than personal property belonging to any tenants in possession at time of closing. That stuff can't belong to the tenant because their lease doesn't rent them the basement, and they have no access to it." "Correct. Bearer Bonds belong to whoever has possession of the bond, and depending on the dates of issue if they are prior to the Seller's ownership they never owned them anyway. Well, technically they did because they were in their basement, but if they didn't know it then they didn't know it. The Scotch you say is from 1931. My Grandfather owned the building in 1931. The gold coins we're never gonna know who put them there. And in any event, it doesn't matter because your contract does not name exclusions to the sale other than the tenant's personal property. Whatever was in the basement when you closed, you own it." "You say your Grandfather owned the building in 1931?" "Yup." "Well, isn't that stuff his then, and should have gone to his estate?" "Joe, his estate has long since been settled. I can't ask my parents because they're dead, too. Besides, my Grandfather was a lawyer, same as me. If he owned it, I'd have to assume it would have been in his will. My father, also a lawyer, probated the estate and he never said anything about any of that stuff. Neither did my mother and they were partners in everything." "Wow..." "Yeah, so I mean we all know SOMEONE put that shit there, but we don't know who and we don't know when. We'll never know. The legal principle that obtains at this point is `finders keepers.'" "Well, this is just your lucky day there now Joe, don'tcha know!" Peggy said. "So, whatcha gonna do with it?" "I dunno. It's not like I need the money, and I imagine there will be tax consequences..." "There might not be quite the tax consequences you think..." George said. "How do you mean?" "OK, the Bearer Bonds belong to whoever has them in their hand. The gold is a commodity. And the Scotch is, well, it's booze. Anyway, here's what I'd recommend: total up the gold and the bonds, divide it in thirds and put one-third each into three safe deposit boxes one for each of the boys with documentation stating that possession of the box, the key to the box and the contents of the box transfer to them once they're twenty-five, or have graduated college, or at whatever point you decide. No one has to be the wiser about the gold, or the bonds. Jesus Christ, it's sat there all this time and nobody knew... Go ahead and sell the Scotch for whatever it will bring and pay the taxes on that, which you could lessen by giving part of it away as a gift, or donation. As fast as you can, though, I'd get that shit out of that building and get it over here." "OK, we'll get the shit over here tomorrow and get it put away. Thank God I had a fireproof safe installed before we moved in... Well, we'll move the bonds and the gold. I think we'll leave the Scotch alone. We're not moving 217 cases of booze..." "Right," George said. "Look, I know the guy that runs the Miller distributorship. I'll give him a call tonight when we get home and we'll get a couple of his guys out there tomorrow afternoon with a beer truck and their two-wheelers and they'll make quick work of it. Cost ya maybe a grand to move it. Overtime, ya know. They're Teamsters. In fact, if you want they can prolly take it to their warehouse and store it there for a small monthly rent, like a hundred, two hundred bucks, something like that. I'll letcha know later tonight." "Sold!" Joe said. "Brett! Timmy! Get over here once!" Peggy called out. "Yeah, mom?" Tim said. "Joe and the boys are gonna need your help tomorrow, so you help `em out now, OK?" "Sure, mom..." Tim said. "There ya go, Joe! Many hands make light work!" Peggy smiled. "What time you want us over here, Joe?" Brett asked. "George'll letcha know later. We'll go over same time as the guys from the Miller distributor. How's that... Then I'll take you guys out for a bite after." "That works!" Brett smiled. "OK, thanks, Brett. Say, your mom and dad drink Scotch?" "Honestly, Joe, I don't know..." "Well, tomorrow you take two bottles home with you. And, George, we'll send two bottles home with Tim, too." "Keep track of that shit, Joe. Donations, ya know..." George laughed. "I mean; I have no idea how much that Scotch is worth. I'll have the guy that runs Woodmans Liquor Stores appraise it. He does all the top- shelf and specialty liquors for the Club and if he doesn't know himself what it's worth, he'll know someone who knows. It could be worthless, and it could be worth a grand a bottle..." "Well, it'll be interesting, that's for sure..." "That reminds me, in all the excitement I almost forgot. I got a letter here for ya. I got a copy, too, so I already know what it's about. John's adoption hearing is this coming Tuesday at the Court House. 9:00 a.m. I'll need you and John there, of course, and I think it's a slam-dunk, but I'd like Sean and Andy there, too. If you want them to be there, just call the school Monday morning and let them know. I'll need everyone dressed sharp, shirt-and-tie." "Wow, they kept right to their date. I'll let the boys know later. Say, anything on Sean's investigation? I haven't heard anything." "Neither have I. These Detectives are awfully busy, but I'd have to think that if they got a DNA match back we'd already know. I'll call Somerville on Monday morning. How's Sean doing, anyway?" "You know, he's his mother through-and-through. He's taking it in stride. I know Andy, and especially John have really helped him through this. I think he's going to be fine." "That's good to hear. He's an amazing young man. I know Tim was crushed about the whole thing, but Tim always did wear his heart on his sleeve." "Thanks, George. You, too, Peggy. Sean told me how kind you were to him. Means a lot to me, and even more to him." "Oh, it's nothin' Joe. Sean was good to Timmy when he was down and out, so it's something any mom would do. Besides, he's a good kid, hey?" "Well, thanks again. I gotta wonder, though, when will things be normal around here?" Joe chuckled. "Well, didja ever think once, Joe, this might be normal?" Peggy joked. "God help me!" Joe laughed. As things would down for the evening, and the Dicksons and Brett bade their farewells, Joe called the boys into the Library. "Have a seat, boys..." Joe said. "Couple of things here. We'll take care of the most important one first. John's adoption hearing is Tuesday at 9:00 in the morning at the Court House. We're all going, and I need you all dressed shirt-and-tie. I don't think it'll take long, and once it's over my boy, you will legally be my son. OK, that's number one." John had tears rolling down his face. "I wanted this all my life. All I ever wanted was a chance, just a chance to have nice things and a nice life if I earned them myself. I didn't want to be selling drugs and running from the cops all the time and never having a real home. I won't disappoint you guys. I promise I won't. On my mother's grave." "C'mere, John," Joe said. Joe scooped the small boy into a hug, rubbed his back, and said softly to him, "I don't believe you will ever disappoint me, son. Now, let's move on to the next thing we need to talk about here, OK?" "OK..." "Alright men, here's the second and last thing we have to discuss. It has to do with the contents of the basement over at the Main Street building. I had a talk with George about the best thing to do with it in order to preserve its value, and here's what I've decided: once we get the gold and the bonds over here, we're going to divide all of it into thirds. One-third for each one of you. I am going to get three safe deposit boxes. One-third of the total will go into each one of them. I will hold the boxes and have the keys. George is going to draw up paperwork transferring the holder-ship of the boxes and the ownership of the contents to each one of you once you have reached your twenty-fifth birthday and provided that at that time you are gainfully employed. You will not be allowed to use the contents of the box to spend, however you will be allowed to use it to invest. One you have reached the age of fifty-five you will be able to do whatever you like with it." "Oh my GOD!" Sean gasped. Andy's face went white. John looked as if he didn't understand what was just said. "Now," Joe continued, "That leaves the Scotch. What we will do with that is first to have it appraised for value. Once the value is determined, we will sell it off. Of course at that point, we'll have to pay taxes on the proceeds of the sale as if it were any other sort of business. What proceeds are left over after taxes will be divided into thirds and added to the contents of your boxes minus ten percent which you will deposit into your bank accounts, and I will help you to know what to do with that money." The room was silent. "OK, boys, I can see you need some time for all this to sink in. Fair enough. Let's all have a drink and go to bed. Sean, will you pour the Jaeger shots, and John you pour the beers? I want all of you to know that I'm very proud to be your dad." "We're all proud to be your sons," Sean said looking his father dead in the eye. The four men downed their shots and beers and headed off to bed. Sunday everyone met at Main Street and the basement was cleared out in quick order. Tim and Brett carried the boxes over to the basement bulkhead where they could be easily removed by the drivers from the distributorship. In counting them out, they discovered that their initial count had been off just a little bit and that there were 205 boxes. Joe decided to take five boxes back to the Alamo and the inventory counted into the distributorship in the end was 200 boxes at eight bottles per box. Joe gave one box each to Tim and Brett for their parents. Andy counted up the bonds and inventoried them. There were 150 City of Janesville bonds at $500 each and 300 Wisconsin Electric Power Company bonds also at $500 each for a total face value of $225,000, or $75,000 per boy. Joe planned to count the coins by weight to get an approximate value once they were home. "Hey, guys..." Brett said. "Yeah?" Andy answered. "Gramps called me today and said he had a glass of that Scotch last night. He said he's never had anything like it. He said he couldn't even describe it." "Good?" Sean asked. "Oh yeah!" "Well, we're gonna have it appraised and see what we got," Joe said. "I'm not a Scotch expert by a mile. It never was my favorite drink. I mean, I'll sip a good Kentucky Bourbon every once in a while, but Scotch drinkers, they're a special breed. If this is good stuff, they'll pay for it. It's like the British Empire in a bottle. All that James Bond 007 stuff, ya know... On Her Majesty's Secret Service, God Save the Queen..." Joe chuckled. At that point, Andy did his incomparable Fat Bastard impersonation. https://youtu.be/geAjOVEzti4 "Alright, we're done here. Andrew, Lock it up!" Joe said. "I'll see you guys out at the Club. I asked for outdoor seating today because it's nice. Now, when we're there not a word. We're just a bunch of guys having lunch. It's important for you to know sometimes that walls can have ears. We're not doing anything wrong, but sometimes a man's business is a man's business if ya get me." "You're right, Joe. My dad says that all the time," Tim said. "I am not indiscrete," Brett added. Joe laughed. "You guys make me wish I was about 30 years younger, I gotta tell ya..." The rest of the day and Monday went by peacefully. On Tuesday morning, Joe had himself and the three boys scrubbed, polished and looking sharp for John's adoption hearing. Joe parked the car in the underground parking ramp and they all headed up the elevator to the Court Room. Once seated they awaited the arrival of the Judge. As this was only to be a hearing, the proceedings would be somewhat less formal than a trial. At 9:00 the Bailiff ordered "All rise!" The judge came in, seated himself, and began, "The matter before the Court today is the proposed adoption of Juan Ricardo Rodriguez by Joseph Wyman. Is everyone present?" "The Proposer and Proposed Adoptee are present, Your Honor," George replied. "The County is present," the District Attorney answered. "Mister District Attorney, is it not a bit unusual for you to be present at a simple Adoption Hearing?" "It is, Your Honor, however we were advised that the County Department of Child Protection Services caseload prevented them from being here this morning. I do, however, have their report, a copy of which was furnished to the Court last week Wednesday in advance. My Department was advised it is in the best interests of the minor child that this Hearing go forward as docketed." "Very well, Mister District Attorney. Yes, I received the report and I've already read it. I have no questions for Proposer, or his Attorney at this time. However, at this time the Proposed Adoptee shall accompany me to my Chambers for a brief interview after which I may have questions. Young man, please follow the Bailiff." The Judge directed John, motioning with his hand. Just then, a scuffle could be heard outside of the Court Room in the hallway. Muffled voices were heard along with the sound of a person being bundled off. "Young man, please follow the Bailiff!" The Judge directed again. END CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT