Date: Sat, 31 Dec 2016 11:09:56 -0600
From: Eric Trager <trager2275@gmail.com>
Subject: It Is What It Is: Chapter 33

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


Having completed her calls, Ginny contacted her travel agent and booked a
First-Class flight ticket from Heathrow to Chicago-O'Hare leaving in three
days. She noted on her staff's calendar that she would be leaving then and
they should close the house up for two weeks at which time, or thereabouts,
she would return. When she returned to London there was a business matter
that she intended to close, but in order to settle it she found it would be
necessary to meet with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. That was fine with
Ginny. She wasn't bothered by having to meet with the Seigneur of Her
Majesty's Treasury. It didn't bother her in the least.

Back in Janesville, Tim and Brett had made a dinner date for themselves and
their parents for that Saturday. It was to be at the same country Supper
Club where they had their first date. It was the weekend of Tim's birthday
and on that evening they would – finally - both be eighteen years
old. Tim had a surprise in store for Brett having made reservations for
Saturday night after dinner in a quaint bed-and-breakfast on Lake
Koshkonong about ten minutes from the Supper Club that featured
breathtaking views of the Lake from the original, Victorian verandah.

Typically, Tim sweated the details by booking their best, most exclusive
suite at $450 for the night complete with a wet bar, large balcony facing
the Lake, working fireplace and a whirlpool tub large enough for both of
them. He'd also made arrangements with the staff for an exquisite
arrangement of tropical flowers and a card to be at the ready upon their
arrival as well as Sunday breakfast served on the Lake for just the two of
them aboard the available-at-extra-cost pontoon boat, weather permitting,
and driving the staff crazy insisting that the breakfast be Brett's
favorite crispy buttermilk waffles emphasizing that the waffles must be
made in only a waffle iron having small holes, not Belgian-waffle- size
holes, that the waffles were to be rectangular in shape, that the syrup
served must be real maple syrup and that the waffles be served with poached
eggs and Nueske's bacon, not any other brand of bacon and that he could
tell if it wasn't Nueske's.

When presented with the cost of all this, Tim merely told the
long-suffering-with-this-client Concierge that he "didn't give two shits,
it has to be perfect, and there will be a $100 tip for you if you can pull
it off."

Sean continued his recovery from the effects of the rape, or at least
satisfied himself that he was recovering, by doing what he said he'd do:
keeping busy. Sean's immersion into his football was legendary by now among
his team mates, and he labored hard enough at night on school work so that
he was two full weeks ahead in all his classes on required reading and
homework. One might think just to look that Sean was an especially
industrious boy bent on doing his best, and that is just how things appears
to be going. But Andy, knowing Sean better than anyone, resolved to keep a
sharp eye on Sean.  Andy saw some signs that he thought could be flashes of
Sean burning his candle at both ends, but unlike Icarus he wouldn't let the
love of his life fly too close to the sun.

Behind the scenes, Andy had also implored some of the guys on the team that
Sean worked most closely with to keep an eagle eye on him. They all knew
why. And it was because Sean held no secrets from them. They all agreed as
well, a few of them noting that they didn't want Sean to burn out. Tom
Cunningham let Andy know he would be especially watchful. "You know me,
Cass, I see everything and nobody even knows I'm watching. I said when you
guys came to town that you're the kind of fuckin' dudes we could do
business with, and I meant it. I'll keep an eye on him... Don't
worry... And you don't be afraid to crawl up his ass if you think
something's wrong. I won't mention anything to Coach, but that wouldn't be
necessary anyway. Trust me, the guy's got eyes in the back of his
head... How's you guys' sex life, anyway?"

"I'd say it's great. He wants sex all the time. I mean, Sean-o wears me out
sometimes. I mean, he's kinda always been a little more of a bottom than a
top..."

"TMI!" Cunns laughed, extending his hand, palm out.

"Well, you know what I mean... Anyway, sometimes we do it twice a day. We
did it one time in the shower after practice. And he wants it really
rough. And I do mean rough. I'm just concerned that he might burn himself
out before the season's over. If he did that, he'd never forgive
himself. Trust me, he wouldn't."

"I know he wouldn't. And that is why, bud, I'm gonna be keeping my eye on
him. He's in a few of my classes, too, ya know. I can tell when something
it up."

"OK, thanks, man..."

"For you guys, anything."

"Thanks, Cunns..."

"You sure you're feelin' OK, Cass? I mean you look a little tired... Have
you lost weight?"

"I'm sleeping OK, no, not tired. I think I lost about eight pounds,
though. Last time I weighed myself was yesterday and I weighed
one-fifty..."

"Well, watch it. We need you healthy, too!" Cunns winked.

"I will, and thanks again, man..."

"No prob, bro."

***SATURDAY EVENING***

"Well, you guys, thanks for making the dinner reservations. This is an old
favorite, for sure..."

"Tim brought me here on our first date. I remember wondering what I was
getting myself into," Brett laughed.

"I s'pose ya did there now, don'tcha know..." Peggy laughed. "He's a
handful, Brett, but I guess I don't hafta tell ya that there now, hey,"
Peggy asked, pointing at her son't crotch.

"Mom!" Tim exclaimed.

Brett's wink back to Peggy turned Herb Dowling beet red, while Marilyn
appeared as if she was going to spit her drink out from choking back a
laugh. George Dickson simply rolled his eyes with a puckish grin.

The waitress had been around, drinks and appetizers were on the table and
Tim was fidgeting.

"You got ants in your pants there, Tim?" Herb asked.

"Nah. Well, I mean, unm yeah... Well, um, I mean, well... We um, we got
something to tell you guys..."  Tim stumbled out, wringing his hands.

Marilyn Dowling looked up with a look that was a combination of quizzical
and knowing.

"I guess I should tell ya, huh... Or do you wanna tell `em?" Tim asked,
looking at Brett.

"Go ahead, Tim..." Brett smiled.

"OK. Um... Well... OK, here ya go! I asked Brett to marry me and he said
yes. So, yeah, we're gonna get married in the Spring."

"I see..." George said, fondling his wattles. "What do you say, Herb?"

"I uh... Well, I um... I guess I can say I wasn't expecting this, uh...."
which brought an elbow to the ribs from Marilyn.

"Tim. Brett. God bless you both. We're very happy for you, aren't we,
Herb...."

"Uh, yeah...I mean, yeah, we're happy for you...."

George, spying Peggy's sly smile couldn't help but laugh. "You knew all
along didn't you, Peg..."

"Oh, I've known for a little while," she winked.

Tim reached into his pocket, pulled out both of the Claddagh rings putting
one on Brett's finger and one on his own. "We promise we're gonna make you
proud of us. And we wantcha to know that you will be grandparents
someday. I just have one more thing to say. We're gonna get married at
Saint John's. That is, if a Catholic wedding is OK with you, Herb and
Marilyn."

Without waiting, Marilyn said it would be more than OK. Herb nodded.

"Well, Tim, what are you gonna do to get old Father Taylor to agree to
that?" George asked, chuckling and arching his eyebrows.

"I'm seeing him tomorrow evening at 6:30. I think I can get him to agree to
it. Why should he not?"

"Well maybe because he's Catholic?" George grinned.

"We'll see..." Was Tim's stubborn reply.

"You got moxie, Tim. I always said that," Herb said, slapping Tim on the
back. "Good luck with the Father over there..."

Tim smiled at Herb, mouthing "Thanks!"

Herb winked back.

Before they all left, George handed Brett an envelope. "Brett, son, open
this when you get to your hotel room tonight. It's just a little
something..."

Dinner proved to be a success that night. Both Brett and Tim breathed a
sigh of blessed relief as they drove their way to the Bed and Breakfast.

"I sure hope you like the place," Tim said. "It's nice. And I have a
special treat for you for tomorrow! I love you, ya know..."

"I know ya do, ya big galoot, and I love you, too. You better fuck my ass
real good tonight, too. I want to really feel your sperm inside me. It's
still nice out, think we can fuck down by the Lake?"

"Yeah. There's some trails down there and we can find somewhere private. I
want you to ride my cock when we fuck so I get to see you cum and you can
come on my face. I love it when you spew on me. I like the way your cum
smells. You know sometimes when we're not together for the night if I just
think about the smell of your cum I jack off and I cum in nothing flat. I
cum so hard when I think about that..."

"I jack off a lot thinking of how we feel when we're together. How your
body feels against mine and how when you fuck me I can feel every pulse of
your dick when you cum inside me, or how your sphincter muscle massages the
head of my cock on every stroke when I'm fucking you. You know, you were a
jack off fantasy of mine before we even met that time at the mall. I wanted
you, you know, at least in my dreams but I didn't think you even knew who I
was..."

"Hey, ask Wymo. That day at the mall, when I saw you I got all tongue tied
and I wanted to ask you out but I was scared. I was so scared..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah, I was scared because I never asked a guy out and I was scared
because I didn't know how to do it, and I didn't know if you were gay and
the way you looked and he way you acted, you were so totally awesome I was
afraid you'd say no... I didn't think you'd want me..."

"I knew after a while that day that you'd picked me, and I was on cloud
nine. I was determined that I'd do everything I could to make it work,
Tim. And I love you so much, my big, red-haired, tongue-tied jock boy. With
all my heart."

Tim reached over, took Brett's hand and squeezed it, a loan tear coursing
down his cheek as he remembered a couple short months ago he felt as if he
might not be able to go on and how out of nowhere this quiet but strong,
playful but wise, loving yet lusty young man came with his blonde curls,
his chocolate-brown eyes and his heart-stopping looks and swimmer's
build. With his astounding athletic ability, his calm, suave nature when
interacting with his elders, his polished manners and no- nonsense work
ethic Tim knew to the heart of his core how lucky he was.

What Tim didn't see in the dark car interior was a loan tear on Brett's
cheek as well. While he hadn't had at all the inner turmoil of Tim in
coming to terms with his gayness, he was as thankful for Tim as Tim was for
him, for Brett knew even at his young age that there were many others
twice, or even thrice their age who never in a lifetime find true love. For
everything Tim loved about Brett, Brett loved and valued Tim's honesty, his
courage, that he knew his own conscience, his generous humanity, lack of
side, and his once-his-mind-was-made-up resolution. He was endeared that
Tim, with his first-class mind was never a braggart and wouldn't let on one
bit about the quality of the gray matter between his ears. Brett knew with
Tim he had the real deal.

Upon arrival at the old Bed and Breakfast, the car was parked, luggage
transported and the two young men opened the door to their hide-a-way for
the night. Brett was awe-struck. As a huge fan of Victorian architecture
and interior design, Brett was floored by the original doors, woodwork,
wainscoting, wallpaper and all the rest of it. The ornate glazed tiling
surrounding the cast-iron fireplace box with its reliefs of rose, thistle,
leek and shamrock shouted Victorian. Two artificial logs were placed in a
copper basket with a note letting them know one-at-a-time was the allowable
capacity.  The boys donned hiking boots and sweatshirts as the night air
was at that time of year, and being on a lake just a little bit on the
crisp side.

"Don't forget the lube!" Brett grinned.

"I'm way ahead of you, Mister..." Tim grinned.

On their hike, the boys paused here and there to take in the nighttime
beauty of the lake and the sounds and smells it offered. Crickets chirped,
fish were still jumping at intervals, the smell of new-mown hay from a
nearby farm wafted over. It was a truly romantic setting as they walked the
trail hand-in-hand not saying a word knowing that words weren't
required. At length, spying a sheltered, grassy hollow Brett tugged Tim by
the arm bidding him sit down which he did as Brett planted a tender kiss on
his lips.

In no time the boys were naked, spreading the blanket they brought on the
grass. Indulging in one of their favorite pre-foreplay foreplays, Brett lay
atop Tim, kissing him passionately all the while the two young men grinding
their hard penises together in a rhythm well-practiced, they'd had many
orgasms between them doing no more than that. As each could feel themselves
and the other growing ever hotter well-honed instinct told them it was time
to make love. Brett lay Tim gently on his back then beginning a leisurely
fellatio on his future-husband's by now fully engorged member. Turning
backwards, Brett positioned himself making ready for Tim to rim his hole.

Their sex that night was even-paced, sensual, loving and fulfilling, not at
all rushed. Brett could still feel his man's warm seed well up inside him,
and for his part Tim could still sense in his nostrils the scent of his
man's cum. They lay not saying a word, falling asleep in each other's arms,
their heads resting on the other's shoulder.

Presently, the night air grew crisper rousing first Tim, then Brett out of
their embrace. "Hey, sweetheart, I think we better get back..." Tim said,
ruffling Brett's curls.

"Yeah, I could do that... I wanna go to bed and maybe you could jack off on
me and we can cuddle up...  I really enjoyed tonight. I wasn't expecting
any of this..."

"Wait until the morning!"

Brett stretched over, kissing Tim yet again.

Entering the Bed and Breakfast the night clerk, a clean-cut, nice looking
guy appearing to be in his twenties and very well able to accurately guess
what they'd been up to, called out, "You two get lost? Or something?"
winking on the last part.

"Or something..." Tim winked back, Brett smiling, with a hint of a blush.

"I can always tell... Well, usually one's a frog and the other a
Prince. Not this time, I guess... Go on, now, you two!"

Brett and Tim laughed, Brett grabbing Tim by the hand and dragging him up
the stairs. Once in the room, they hung out the Do Not Disturb sign, locked
the door and made their way to the balcony overlooking the lake. In less
than a minute, they heard a knock at the door. Tim jumped up to answer it,
saying, "Who the hell..."

Opening the door he saw no one there, but looking down there was a bottle
of Champagne, two flutes and a note tied with a ribbon on the neck of the
bottle. Tim gathered it up, took it inside and out on the balcony where
Brett lay on a Chaise Lounge, his right hand casually masturbating his
half-hard cock.

Unwrapping the note, Tim read it: For two Princes in love.

Tim popped the cork on the bottle, poured a flute for each of them and
handed one to Brett. "Hey, I got an idea. I think it's pretty hot..."

"Uh-oh..." Brett teased.

"Let's jack off into these flutes then you drink the one with my cum in it
and I drink the one with your cum... We can call it a cum shot..."

"I wanna video it," Brett said.

"Video it?"

"Yeah, I'll tell ya why later, now take your pants off and jack!"

Both boys were on the balcony, pants off, arms around each other's
shoulders, furiously masturbating while watching their mate do the
same. Brett had his iPhone in his left hand memorializing the entire
act. Presently, both witnessed their lover's breathing get ragged,
abdominal muscles contracting, leg muscles flexing up and down. Quickly
they moved to the table. First Brett fired off a heavy load of thick cum in
six spurts into one of the flutes. The smell of his sperm wafted in the air
catching Tim's olfactory senses. Tim winced, groaned and exploded his sperm
into the other glass. It was a larger load than Brett's and deposited with
enough force to noticeably slosh the Champagne around the glass. Brett
handed Tim the flute with his cum in it as Tim did the same. The glasses
were clinked and the liquid drank down by both in one gulp. They then
kissed, with tongue for the camera.

"We need to do that again!" Tim said. "I loved drinking your load like
that. I could taste the Champagne, and your load and I could still smell
it, too!"

"Me, too! Now, let's go to bed. I'm gonna play this back and I want you to
jack off on me."

Ever obedient, Tim did as he was bidden. Although his third load of the
evening, he shot another impressive load as he watched Brett masturbate
along with him and in anticipation of smelling Brett's sperm yet
again. Brett did not disappoint him.

Full stomachs, slaked thirst, a memorable day and the two young men were
ready to hit the sheets.

Almost as soon as their heads hit the pillows, they were spooned into each
other, naked and blissfully asleep.

On the pontoon boat the next morning, Brett was in his element chowing down
on the buttermilk waffle breakfast while enjoying the scenery. He reminded
Tim to open the envelope George gave him at dinner last night.

Tim took out the envelope, opened it and his eyes went wide. "Holy SHIT!"

"What is it?"

"LOOK!" Tim withdrew the contents of the envelope, handing it to
Brett. "It's six tickets to the Packers- Bears game at Lambeau next month!
Check out the seats! These seats are on the fifty-yard line! Third row,
fifty-yard line! Fuckin'-A!"

"Wow..."

"You have any idea how hard tickets are to get to a game at Lambeau anyway,
never mind SIX TICKETS on the fifty-yard line?"

"I bet you'll tell me..."

"I don't even wanna guess how much these fuckers cost... This is the oldest
rivalry in the NFL played in the oldest stadium in the NFL. It's fucking
history. You ever been to Lambeau before?"

"Um, no, hun. Before you, I never even watched football..."

"There's no place like Lambeau Field. You can feel the history when you
walk in there. I'm not kidding..."

"OK, so, like, we have six tickets. Who do we take?"

"Well, Wymo and Cass, natch, and..."

"Yeah. And... I mean, if we take Danny and Jim then John is left out, if we
take John then there's an extra ticket and we don't know if Kathleen will
want to go, or if she can... I mean, this is a hard one..."

"Yeah, now thatcha put it that way I guess it is... Well, at least we have
a little while to think about it..."  "OK, let's think about it,
babe. Thank you for today..."

"We got a whole life's worth of todays ahead of us, you..."

****LATER THAT DAY***

Tim dropped Brett off at his house, going in to say hello to Herb and
Marilyn. When Marilyn asked him what he'd be up to for the rest of the day,
Tim said he was on his way home to grab a bite and then had a meeting with
Father Taylor at Saint John Vianney's to see about the wedding.

At 6:30 p.m. Tim knocked on the Rectory door. Father Taylor answered,
inviting him in, in his usual avuncular way. "What brings you by tonight,
Timothy?"

"Well, Father, I'm engaged to be married and I'd like to talk to you about
having the wedding here at Saint John's."

"Engaged? So young? Well, congratulations, Tim. What's her name?"

"That's the thing, Father, it's not a her. It's a him. His name is Brett
Dowling. And we're going to be married. In the Spring."

"Timothy, my son, I've known you since you were a little boy..." Father
Taylor began, "I cannot marry you and another man in this Church. You know
that... The Church does not recognize the union of two men as a marriage."

"I see..." Tim replied, looking the Priest in the eye and not dropping his
gaze. "Well, the governments of the United States and the State of
Wisconsin recognize it, and they also provide the Church with its freedom
to worship."

A slight shiver ran up Father Taylor's spine. The "I see..." response he'd
heard a time, or two in years gone by when Tim's father, or Grandfather
seemed less than convinced by some piece of information.

"Father..." Tim continued, "as you know, my family has been involved in
this Parish since its founding. It is my desire to continue that
relationship."

"What do your mother and father say about this, my son?"

"They are aware that Brett and I are getting married, they are happy for
us, and they know that I planned to ask you to perform the Wedding
Mass. That said, this is a matter of my own business, Father, not my
parents' business. Therefore, I did not feel the need to rehearse this
discussion with them in advance."

Again a slight shiver ran up the Priest's spine. In front of him was a
no-nonsense young man with clarity of mind, not a child, and certainly not
the young man who had a tendency to speak before he'd thought things
through.

"I understand, Tim. You are an adult and you can speak for yourself, as you
should. I ask that you understand where I'm coming from here. My hands are
tied in this matter. I cannot go against the Bishop in Madison, or the Holy
Father in Rome. It would mean I'd lose my job to put it in layman's terms,
and it could mean that I'd be excommunicated from the Holy See."

"Father, I'll tell you what I understand, and trust me, I mean this in the
best possible way. I understand that difficult decisions can try a man's
soul. I've had to make a few of them myself. I remind you that this is the
twenty-first century. We are not living in the time of King Henry VIII
where accusations of heresy result in men being taken to the Tower, or
burnt at the stake. All I am asking for is to be married in the Church and
in the Parish my family helped to found and to this day plays a crucial
role to keep going."

"I know what you are asking, my son. It is simply not within my power to
grant even if I wanted to."

"Very well, then, Father. I didn't want to go where I am about to go. As
God is my witness, I didn't. But it seems that I am left with no other
choice. Is it not true that when the Parish was founded there wasn't the
money to purchase the land needed to accommodate the Church, the other
buildings and the parking lots?"

"That is true, Tim. Where are you going with this?"

Tim simply continued, "Is it not also true that to this day my family owns
the land on which the entire Parish sits, and which we lease to the Parish
for one dollar a year?"

"Yes."

"Is it not also true that in 1963 my great-grandfather put up his own
credit and gave the Parish a no- interest loan on which there is still an
outstanding balance in order to build the school, the Rectory and the
Convent because the Diocese only had enough money for the Church and not
for anything else?"

"That is true, my son."

"And is it not also true that over the years both my father and grandfather
have provided legal services pro bono to the Diocese and Parish? Services
which given recent history would have, or could have, cost a great deal of
money otherwise? And that they did it to help the Parish and the Diocese
remain solvent?"

"Yes," Father Taylor resignedly answered, remembering a story he'd heard
from the previous Parish Priest about Tim's great-grandfather, the Old
Scot, Angus Dickson.

The story went that the Parish was in need and the then-Parish Priest
approached Angus Dickson asking for money. Angus heard the Priest out and
then dressed him down, "Aye, Fahtherrrh, so the Chehrch is skint agin now
is she... Alreet, ferst things ferst. Ye can tell His Mah-d-jesty the
Bishop in Mahdison thaht he kin sind me a lettarrrh akskin' fer the muhnay
he wants `n' I'll see..." The point was that Angus always referred to the
old Bishop, long since retired and deceased, as `His Mah-d-jesty' as the
man was in Angus' estimation a pompous ass who was full of himself and as
such Angus Dickson, a Scots Presbyterian by birth who had only converted to
Catholicism when he got married, had no compunction about tweaking the
Bishop by making him write a letter to ask for money. In this respect, if
the story was true, Father Taylor could see something of Angus in Tim, and
that was that he would not put up with useless BS.

"Father, I'm not gonna drag this out any more," Tim said. "Here's the deal
in plain English: in probably about ten, or fifteen years I'll be in charge
of the Law Office and the other family business dealings. All of it. My
father will wish to retire by then. My brothers have no interest in
lawyering, or running any of the rest of it, so I'm it. Now, if you and I
are unable to reach a mutually agreeable accommodation on this matter, then
there may have to be a review of certain other matters when the time
comes. It will be, as you know, my fiduciary responsibility to the family
trust to see to it that it's invested in assets earning the best return and
which do not place a drain on the trust. That's as simple and
straightforward as I know how to make it. I'll await a satisfactory
solution delivered to me, and me alone, at your earliest convenience, but
please bear in mind, Father, that time is of the essence. I think we'd both
agree that it wouldn't be to anyone's advantage here to read in the
newspaper that my wedding took place elsewhere. Father, I know you to be a
decent man..."

"What are you suggesting" Father Taylor asked, cutting Tim off, much more
out of fear, but mixed with a degree of annoyance at being so clearly
out-maneuvered by a somewhat impudent young man who he now knew full well
one day may very well hold the Sword of Damocles.

Tim paused and replied with a faint smile, a fixed stare into Father
Taylor's eyes, and in an even, steady voice.

"Father, I hope you do not think it vulgar of me to suggest that you find
some way to overcome your scruples."

With that, Tim rose, thanked Father Taylor for his time and left the
rectory. Father Taylor for his part sat stunned into silence.

Tim was not upset, rather he knew in his own mind that Father Taylor in
truth was a decent man put in a difficult situation. Tim didn't care so
much about the difficulty of Father Taylor's situation as he did in
achieving what he thought was right and what he had promised. The way Tim
looked at it is that if one is in charge, then making difficult decisions
goes with the territory. He was certain the matter would resolve to the
good of everyone, but at the same time Father Taylor would need to be seen
as the one offering the solution.

"Step one complete!" Tim thought to himself with a slight grin on his face.

About to get in his car, Tim heard Father Taylor call out to him and wave
him back inside. Tim walked briskly toward the Rectory and Father Taylor.

"Tim," Father Taylor said, "I may have a solution here. Hear me out."

"OK..."

"Is your Father a Justice of the Peace?"

"Yeah, he's been one as long as I can remember, why?"

"OK, if I can have your Father created a Deacon of the Church, then I can
say a Mass. It could not be a Wedding Mass but I would certainly come up
with an appropriate Sermon. When it comes time during the Mass to marry
you, your Father can perform the ceremony and it will be legal. I can just
leave the altar while he's doing it and come back when he's done. It's a
compromise, Tim..."

"Well, OK, but I thought only the Bishop could create Deacons, so you'd
hafta get the Bishop to approve it..."

"I believe he will, as long as I let him know I let him know in your
Father's Petition for Deaconcy that I deem it to be a great need of this
parish. If I am asked the reason I shall tell the truth while reminding the
Bishop of your family's many contributions to the Parish and Diocese. The
Bishop is an old man and set in his ways, but he is not a stupid man,
Tim. And I am reasonably sure I can get approval also if your father will
agree to resign his Deaconcy immediately after the Mass. That way, you get
what you want, the hierarchy has plausible deniability that a gay wedding
ever happened, and there will be no record of your father being a Deacon. I
would also suggest that the wedding is private requiring an invitation to
get in and not advertised in the newspaper."

"If my father agrees to that and if the Bishop does, too, then what you
said will be acceptable to me and to Brett. I take you at your word,
Father. You should know that it is likely that we will be having a double
ceremony with another male couple, one of whom is my cousin Danny."

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Father Taylor said, chuckling,
rolling his eyes, and shaking his head.

"Just that I understand the Mass is not to be a Wedding Mass, and that's
fine. But I'd like it to be a High Mass. In Latin. I have the whole service
choreographed from start to finish. And I already have music picked out. I
want everything to be traditional and Old School. It will be the most
important day of my life and I want it to mean something. We'll need the
use of the pipe organ. One of my mom's old friends from when she was a kid
is the organist at Saint John's Cathedral in Milwaukee. She'll play. And a
full choir, too. I will get the Craig Honors Choir. They're good. I picked
The Old Hundredth* for the processional and the Hallelujah Chorus for the
recessional. I know The Old Hundredth is typically an Anglican hymn more so
than Catholic, but it's also associated with the Scots Presbyterian church
and I'm of Scottish descent. It also honors Brett's family as they are
Episcopal which is just Anglican under a different name. Besides, it's
appropriate and it's a beautiful hymn. We will need either four, or six
Altar Boys. You tell me how many you need and I can get enough guys from
the team to do it, no problem. I promise you, Father, this will be the most
beautiful Mass this Church has ever seen and I promise you will be proud to
be part of it. Now, I'm sorry I didn't mention Danny to begin with, but
this was a negotiation. And it was a promise I made to Brett and to Danny."

"None of that will be a problem, Timothy. I commend you for being a man of
your word. Like I said, I remember you from when you were a little boy. God
gave you advantages and gifts in life. You haven't wasted them here today;
in fact, no one can say that you haven't made the most of what you were
given."

"I appreciate that, Father. I really do. God and this community have been
good to me, and it will be my life's work to give back when the time
comes."

"I want you to understand, Tim, that this is the best I can do. If the
choice were up to me, it might be different, but it isn't. We all have our
crosses to bear, but hopefully it will be enough for you to know that you
were married in the Church as you wished to be. I don't think God will
mind, but I'm not the one running the show here."

"Father, like I said, this is acceptable. Rome, no pun intended, wasn't
built in a day. You always told us we're all sinners and none of us Saints
and so it is that you and I are, too... It is what it is, hey Father?"

"That it is, Timothy... That it is."

Tim reached out and shook Father Taylor's hand, then turned to leave for
good that evening.

Father Taylor rose, walked into the other room and spoke into the
telephone. He hadn't told Tim that their conversation was being
monitored. "Thank you for hearing my conversation with the young man,
Bishop. And thank you for your positive decision in this matter."

"I am glad to be of help to your Parish, my son. And I'm not so sure the
young man isn't right. At any rate, your Parish will have to reckon with
him in the future and he sounded like a fair man, a lot like what I've
heard about his great-grandfather. He only asked for a blessing and to keep
his promise. More people should be like that. You should know there are a
good number of Bishops of the opinion that some matters of scripture may
reasonably be open to interpretation, if I can put it that delicately. The
Archbishop in Milwaukee tells us what we already know, that things move at
a glacial pace in Rome. It's been going on for a long time. We lost the
English five hundred years ago because we didn't listen to their King. Down
here in the trenches we do the best we can and that's what you and I have
done here today my son. No one had to break their principles here. Besides,
half a loaf is sometimes better than none."

"God be with you, Bishop."

"And with you, my son."

Tim walked into his house positively grinning.

"I know that look, there, Timothy," Peggy said. "So'dja get old Father
Taylor to marry ya?"

"Well, yes and no... Can you get dad in here?"

Once George joined the conversation, Tim began. "OK, here's the deal:
Father Taylor agreed to having the Mass at the Church, but I had to
compromise. The deal is that you have to marry us. Father said at that
point in the Mass he'd leave and you do that part then he'll come back when
you're done. You have to be a Deacon, though, and he said he can do that
but that you have to resign as Deacon once the Mass is over."

George guffawed. "How in the fuck did you pull that one off?"

"Do you want the sanitized, or unsanitized version?"

"Oh, Timmy, for Cripe's Sake just spit it out, don'tcha know..." Peggy
admonished.

"OK, here ya go..." Tim went on to recount his conversation with Father
Taylor.

"You did exactly what I would have done, son," George said. "It falls under
the heading of letting the other guy know where the bear shits in the
woods. No harm, no foul...."

"I think you mighta been a little hard on Father Taylor there, butcha
couldn't just leave empty-handed, now, could'ja there Timmy..." Peggy
agreed.

That morning, Ginny boarded her British Airways flight at Heathrow bound
for Chicago, steeling herself for what might transpire. She felt more
inconvenienced than anything else. While she had gone to London mostly for
pleasure and planned to return once the unanticipated business in
Janesville was done, this interrupted her plans and cost her the price of
an extra round-trip ticket on short notice.

Once through Customs in Chicago, she was picked up by the driver for the
garage where she stored the Mercedes. She turned to the driver and asked
him if he knew where to go. He said he did and that he would meet her at
the rendezvous point.

Ginny piled into her Mercedes, making her way up the Northwest Tollway past
Elgin, Rockford and Beloit. Knowing they would need to exchange cars in a
place where there would be no chance of video surveillance, the rendezvous
point was chosen. Ginny picked a rural spot just south of Janesville on
Country Trunk J. It had the advantage that it was only couple minutes off
Interstate 90, and also not more than ten minutes from Ginny's house. When
asked what she preferred to drive as a car that was not hers and therefore
probably not be recognized, Ginny responded in typical Ginny fashion, "I
don't know. How about a fucking Toyota Camry...like a plain one in some
shitty brown color or something like that?"

And that is what she got. A 2014 Toyota Camry LE complete with a Camry Dent
in silver-gray with gray cloth seats, 47,000 miles on the clock, and no
options. Not even power seats. It wasn't the V6 model, either. It was a
four-cylinder. Once the exchange was made and Ginny settled herself into
her transportation appliance, she put it in drive and made a sour face
thinking to herself, "People actually BUY these things? This is positively
fucking dreadful! I said `plain,' I didn't say a piece of shit for Christ's
sake! Well, no one can say I didn't drive one at least once..."

Ginny heard her cell phone ring. Answering it, she listened for a minute
and acknowledged that she was but a few minutes from her house and would
meet at the pre-appointed location. She advised that she was driving, "some
kind of fucking shitty Toyota. My God! It's like driving a fucking torture
device!.... Oh, yeah, it's silver, not that it makes it better! I've driven
a Goddamn lawn tractor with more balls! And it's got this dent on the left
rear corner of the bumper!.... Yes, I know it's fucking called a Camry
Dent, I'm not an idiot! Yes, I have my pistol with me... Yes, it's
loaded..."

Ginny verified she had the Mercedes following her. They stopped off at the
top of a large Park about a quarter mile, and around some twists in the
roads, from Ginny's house. Ginny continued on alone, driving past her house
noting that there were two lights on that were not on the timers and
therefore should be off. That meant either someone was in there now, or had
been and left those lights on.  She called George who reassured her that
the security system she ordered while she was in London had been installed
and was functional, and that Joe Wyman was on his way over so he could show
her how it all worked. She then called back to the park, notifying the guys
that they should await her return at which time they would exchange cars
again.

The Toyota pulled in to the Dickson home, the two men piled out, rang the
doorbell and were invited in by George. Presently Joe Wyman arrived in
Sean's Equinox wearing a disguise of faded blue jeans, well- worn Converse
All Stars, an overly-large sweatshirt bearing a Ford logo, glasses and a
Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap. Under the sweatshirt, at his waist, his
Glock was loaded and holstered with the safety off. After some introduction
and review of plans, George and the other two exited the Dickson home
making their way across the street to Ginny's house. Once at the service
door to the garage, which being at the far side of the home could not be
seen from any point actually inside the house, Joe punched in the keypad
code for a silent disarm, which at this point only he and Charlie Ditmar
knew, and finding the door lock then unlocked, the three men entered
silently.


Having done his job, Joe stayed behind while the Ditmar men made their way
inside the garage to the side door of the home. Signaling Joe to come over,
he did and silently disarmed and unlocked that lock as well.

Quiet as cats, the two Ditmar men entered Ginny's home. Having seen the
floorplan previously, they made their way according to plan. Checking each
room, and then one making his way to the basement while the other remained
on the ground floor, when their sweep of the home was complete they exited
the home the same way, retiring to the Dickson home where one of them
boarded the Camry to re- rendezvous with Ginny.

Ginny's Mercedes was left in the garage at the Alamo as there was an unused
space there in the four-car garage. The Camry whisked, as fast as its
four-cylinder engine allowed, Ginny back to the Dickson's.

In George's office, all present sat to review the video tape they took in
their sweep of the home. Ginny watched with intent, brow furrowed as she
sipped her signature Glenfiddich and water. "George, this Scotch tastes
really good for some reason tonight."

"Glad you like it. Joe's boys found it in the basement of that building
over on Main Street."

"You don't say..." Ginny demurred.

"Yup," Joe said. "They found 200 cases of it."

"I want a case," Ginny deadpanned. "I'll pay whatever you ask. This is by
far the best Scotch I've ever tasted!"

"For you, gratis, Ginny." Joe smiled.

"Thanks, Joe."

"Don't mention it."

"OK, well, what do you guys think after being in the house?" George asked.

"Well, let's start with the basics. There was no one in the house and no
sign of forced entry," the first man said.

"That and nothing appeared to have been ransacked," added the second one.

"Yeah, but let's go back to the part of the tape when you were in my
office," Ginny said, taking another satisfying sip of the bootleg Scotch.

One the video was rewound to the proper place, Ginny watched carefully and
all of a sudden ordered, "Freeze it! Right there!"

All eyes turned to Ginny. "Look at the painting above the fireplace."

"Looks fine to me," George said.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it... If ya don't know what to look for. Look at
how it's hanging. It's hanging straight on the wall. That's not the way I
left it. Whenever I go out of town, I make sure that painting is about a
quarter-inch cock-eyed and I take a photo of it with my phone. Here, look
at this!" Ginny then brought up the photo and passed it around.

"So, you can see someone was in there," Ginny went on. Paintings don't
straighten themselves out on the wall. And another thing, whoever did that
had to know that my safe is behind the painting. Most people wouldn't think
it was there because of the fireplace, but it's a gas fireplace so there's
no chimney flue. Plus, they knew right where to go. Yup, someone was in
there for sure. We got lights on that shouldn't be on, and the painting was
moved. And there was no sign of forced entry, so this is not good..."

"The lack of a forced entry should not be too concerning, ma'am," the first
Ditmar man said. "When your security system was installed, basically the
old locksets that were changed out were such that anyone who knows how to
use a bump key could have opened them in five, or ten seconds. And the lack
of an alarm system, which they probably knew, means once in they could move
around at will."

"What should be concerning," the second man went on, "is who do you know
that knows you have a safe behind that painting?"

"Yes..." Ginny said dryly. "Other than George the only person who knows is
Bill Kennedy. But he doesn't know the combination..."

"That's why I thought you needed to interrupt your trip," George said. "I
saw that there were extra lights on in your house and given, shall we say,
some recent events, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on. It's the
simplest answer. We have no proof, though, at this point. Just a hunch. A
good hunch, yeah, but a hunch is still all it is."

"What do you recommend we do?" Ginny asked.

"For now, I'd say get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow empty out your safe
and have George secure the items in there, or take them back to London with
you and secret them away over there. I think it's be best to have them
here, though..."

"George, you have the strong box in safe deposit box we talked about
before. Is there room for another strong box?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tomorrow morning, I shall pack up another box and bring them down to
your office. Boys, you leave the Camry in George's driveway tonight and
leave the keys with me."

"That's fine, ma'am. Our transportation back to Milwaukee tonight has
already been arranged. They're picking us up at a bar downtown in about an
hour. We believe it to be a bar that Mr. Kennedy frequents.  If he's there
and if the opportunity presents itself, we'll try to strike up a
conversation with him. He won't know us from Adam. We know he's not going
to tell us he broke into a house, but you never know what some stranger you
run into in a bar might tell you... Joe, if you would kindly drop us off
about a block from the bar that would be great."

"Absolutely, shall we go?" Joe said, and with that they were off.

"George, if it is Bill, how do we get him?"

"You let me know when you're leaving for London and we'll have the place
fingerprinted. We won't do anything beyond that until you get back."

"Sounds good. I'll wear Playtex Gloves when I move the painting and empty
the safe.  That way, if there are prints they won't get mixed up with any
more of mine. I think I'm going back day after tomorrow...  I'd be in
London for two more weeks. And while I'm gone, can you finish preparing
that other business? I know it'll take a lot of time, but I'd like to
finish it when I get back."

"Absolutely. I think I'd have it finished before you get back."

"Very good. It's for your eyes only, George."

"It's being done at my house on a computer that is not connected to the
internet. No worries."

"That's a good one, George," Ginny laughed earthily. "Not connected to the
internet... Can't more people think of that if they want shit private?"

"Seems simple enough, dunnit..." George laughed.

Monday brought a notice to the football team that there would be a special
meeting that afternoon at the beginning of practice. The end of the season
was drawing near as this week's game would be the second-to-last before the
Cougars faced Madison West. Both teams stood undefeated. Coach Slater saw
to it that throughout the season video of West's games were made available
to all team members via a special portal on the school's website. The
student body in general had not been made aware of this as Coach didn't
want to take a chance on the West Coach getting any ideas in case his team
hadn't been doing the same.

Once on the practice field after school, Coach had the team do two laps
around the 440-yard track and then gather in a team huddle.

"Gentleman, there are exactly two games left in the regular season. We
stand as of today undefeated.  What I said earlier in the season I'm going
to repeat: you are the finest team I have ever had the privilege to
coach. Each and every one of you. Now, I don't expect we'll have much
trouble this week, so beginning today, our preparation will be for Madison
West. I've studied them all year, as I know you have. Right now, I'd like
to have a little give-and-take about what their strengths and weakness are.
Then we're going to formulate how we play our strengths against theirs and
come out on top..."

The meeting consumed the entire rest of the time set aside for
practice. When it was time, Coach dismissed his team, letting them know
that starting the next day they were to put into practice everything they'd
talked about that day. Just as he was wrapping up, a loud noise came from
behind him as the team in front of him gasped.


END CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

*The Old Hundredth. Here is a link to a nice version:
https://youtu.be/x0hvizFZf5Q