Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2007 08:09:22 -0400 From: John Ellison Subject: Aurora Crusade - Chapter 11 Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and/or used fictionally. Copyright Notice Reminder This story is copyright by the author and the author retains all rights. Expressly prohibited is the posting of the story to any sites not approved by the author or charging for the story in any manner. Single copies may be downloaded and printed for personal use provided the story remains unchanged. Aurora Crusade Chapter 12 Ace Grimes' Apartment - Saturday, 28 September 1976 - 2340 EDST (11:40 PM) While Gino used the washroom, Lester began to gather up his map and papers. He said nothing as he worked. The Gunner sensed Lester's unease and asked, "Is something bothering you?" Lester regarded the closed bathroom door and said quietly, "I can't help thinking that but for the Grace of God, and you, that would be me in there." Not unkindly, The Gunner asked, "Am I sensing a little sympathy for young Gino?" Sighing, Lester shook his head. "Steve, have you ever worried about where your next meal was coming from?" he asked. "No." "Or slept behind a dumpster, with nothing but a thin windbreaker to keep the cold and snow out?" "No, Lester, I haven't." Lester flared, "Well I have." He looked toward the bathroom door. They could hear water running. "At least Gino's clean," he observed flatly. A low, bitter chuckle escaped Lester's lips. "Not like some," he growled angrily. The Gunner regarded Lester a moment. "They have a rough life, I suppose," he began, "but, Lester, they chose that life . . ." Waving his arm dismissively, Lester snapped, "You don't know anything, Steve!" Rising slowly, The Gunner moved to where Lester was standing and took him in his arms. "Okay, Lester, out with it." Unable to stop himself, Lester gave The Gunner a pitying look. "You have no idea what we go through, Steve!" he said calmly. "I didn't choose to be gay, and sure as hell Gino didn't choose to be gay! I didn't live in a nice house, in a nice neighbourhood, with a mother and father who loved me for myself, and not for what I was!" He ran his hand a cross his face. "It's oh, sooo easy to patronize us, Steve! So damned easy!" "I was not patronizing you!" defended The Gunner. "Yes, you were!" returned Lester. "You 'suppose' that 'they' have a rough life. You don't know, because you don't really know them, or me!" "I apologise, Lester." "Why?" Lester suddenly pointed his finger at The Gunner. "Were you thrown out of the house because your father found out that you were gay?" The Gunner shook his head. "No." "Did your mother, the woman who had given you life, call you every vile name she could think of, slap your face and disown you?" "No." "Did your brothers laugh at you, and call you a faggot, a queer, and worse?" He shook his head. "Those same brothers whose dick you sucked on a regular basis and who beat you up if you didn't give up your ass to them?" The Gunner's face went ashen. "No," he said softly, shaking his head. Laughing caustically, Lester said, "Not the life you had, eh Steve?" "No." "Well, it's the life I had. There I was, standing in the middle of the street, with nothing but the clothes on my back! My friends . . ." Lester all but spat the word. "My dear friends, the boys who loved having me around when they were horny, suddenly weren't there. A queer has no friends, Steve. All he has is one of his own, another queer. All we have is each other!" Once again Lester regarded The Gunner. "Gino is what he is because he had no choice. How else was he to live? To eat, to put clothes on his back? You judge him without knowing him!" Before The Gunner could protest, Lester held up his hand. "It is so easy to look at spaced out kid, so high on drugs that he doesn't know his own name, or where he is. You don't question why he's taking drugs; you just look, and turn away! "You can't know, because you didn't ask, or were too disinterested to ask, why he took them! You can't know that he's taking meth, or coke, or happy pills to take away the pain, the hurt that he has to endure every day. You don't see the little boy who is so hungry he'd do anything, and I mean anything, for a decent meal, or a greasy hamburger. You've never had to look into the eyes of a boy when he takes the ten bucks you've offered him to suck your dick! You have no idea of the degradation, Steve. Only those who are in the life know it. You can't truly know the rejection, the abuse, and the hatred that we all endure. Only those who have lived it can understand it, can know it." Lester suddenly burst into tears. "Steve, we have to give them a chance! I know we can't help them all, but damn it we have to do something!" Releasing Lester, The Gunner turned to stare into the distance. "I do solemnly swear, upon my Oath, and upon these Symbols of my Faith, that I will bear true allegiance to my Brothers in Knighthood . . ." he began. He turned to Lester and continued quietly, " . . . that I will defend all those of Our Brotherhood, and that I will in all things conduct myself in a chaste manner, so that no dishonour will I bring upon the Order. I swear to succour the ill and destitute. I avow to live my life according to the precepts of duty and honour." "A noble thought," said Lester. He sniffed loudly. "Do you mean it?" The Gunner nodded. "Until now, I thought I had," he said with a small smile. He sat down and looked at Lester. Then he said, Thank you." Lester started. "For what," he asked, surprised. The Gunner shook his head. "I have been so obsessed with what we are doing now that I couldn't see the trees for the forest." He laughed bitterly and held up his hand. "I know, I know, a hackneyed cliché." "It is," agreed Lester. He regarded The Gunner a moment. "I'm not suggesting we rescue the street boys. What I am suggesting is that we give them the opportunity to rescue themselves." "What do you mean?" Taking a deep breath, Lester explained, "Steve, a lot of the boys are on the streets because they don't have any other choice. They sell their bodies to live." "I know that." The Gunner looked thoughtful a moment. "Lester, I . . . I promised you, remember, that when the time is right, we'd try to do something for the street boys." His voice grew softer as he said, "At the moment I don't know how we'll do it, but we will find a way." Lester nodded. "I understand, and I know that there will be failures. But Steve, all I want is for them to have the chance to change. I don't want anybody to have to go through what I went through." Lester frowned. "I have some ideas I would like you to consider. We can spread the word and let the boys know that there's a place they can come to. They'll be suspicious, and wary, but if we can show them that what we offer is a chance, just a chance, to get out of the life, maybe some of them will stay." The Gunner regarded Lester and said, "You're the Administrator of the Hospital." He shrugged. "Administer. Find a way to take in more boys. You've lived the life, I haven't. I don't what is required, you do. I don't know how the boys who lived the life think. You do." "Yes, I do," replied Lester sadly. "Lester, what you ask is what I should have thought of doing. I'm sorry for that. But we can make amends, I think." With a quick nod of his head, Lester replied as he held up the bank wallet. "It will take time, and money." "We'll find the money," The Gunner said, thinking about the fortune in emeralds hidden in the bedroom. Then he asked, "So, where do we start?" "You didn't ask when," Lester pointed out. "If I recall correctly, you said we would try to do something once the boys are settled." "No, I didn't say when, and yes, I did say once the . . ." The Gunner seemed to struggle for something to call the young boys they would soon rescue. " . . . the 'Lost Boys' are settled." He looked at Lester. "That is for you to decide." "Me?" The Gunner chuckled. "It's your idea, you run with it. You can start with Gino." He grinned. "Or perhaps Sepp and Gottfried." Lester could not prevent a look of utter disgust to flash through his eyes. "They're a lost cause," he grumbled dismissively. "As for Gino . . ." At that moment the door to the bathroom opened and Gino appeared. "Ask him," said The Gunner quietly." ****** Having been on the game for longer than he cared to admit, Gino had learned to always look a gift horse in the mouth. "What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously, regarding The Gunner and Lester with a dark, cautious look. "There isn't any," replied The Gunner. He personally had his doubts that Gino would take up Lester's offer, but he had promised to let Lester try. "I've offered you money, 10,000 dollars to be exact, which you will be paid. I have said that you will be sent to whatever city or town you wish to live in. My original offer stands." "Or, you can change your life completely. No more sleeping with anyone with a ten-dollar bill in his hand, no more worrying and watching your back," interjected Lester. "You'll have a chance to leave the game, get an education, perhaps make something of yourself." Gino scowled. "Maybe I like what I do." "If that's the case, then we'll arrange for you to stay in a safe house until we can get the paperwork in order. We'll give you a new name, new papers, and you can carry on as you see fit." The Gunner did not believe in cosseting of any kind. "The choice is yours." The Gunner, who had been sitting in what had become "his" chair, stood. "If you decide to change your life you will live in a structured environment. You will go to school. You will be expected to contribute to the welfare of the school, which we call a hospital. There will be no booze, no drugs, and no selling yourself. It's a hard choice, yes, but no one will force you to do anything." "A hell of a choice," muttered Gino. "Yes, it is," agreed The Gunner. "It's your life. If you want to go to say, San Francisco, and live the gay life, go ahead. You'll have a bankroll. You can do what you like. I certainly won't stop you." At first Lester was miffed at The Gunner's indifferent attitude. Then he realized that The Gunner was trying to take the measure of Gino, trying to find out just who Gino was. If Gino was, as Lester sadly suspected, a no-hoper, The Gunner wanted to know it. There was no point in trying, really, if Gino was not convinced in his own mind that what he was offered was to his advantage. The scowl never left Gino's face as he ruminated, considering the offer. He was sceptical, of course. There had to be a catch somewhere. He'd been on the game too long not to know that there was always a "catch" somewhere along the line. When he first left home and began the stroll in Boystown, he had been befriended by an older boy, who offered to teach him the ropes, teach him how to dress, which john to avoid, where to cadge a cheap meal, and even offered him a "crib" to sleep in. What Gino did not know was that "Skinman" (the boy's street name - Gino never learned his true name) was on a downhill slide. Skinman was an addict, big time, taking uppers, downers and everything in between and all too soon his addiction began to take control. At first Gino enjoyed Skinman's protection and bed. Gino had been somewhat startled the first time he had seen his new mentor without clothes on, and could see why he was called "Skinman" - he was a true "Knight of the Long Foreskin". Gino didn't mind. Skinman was a consummate, considerate, teacher, who showed Gino how to please the johns who pulled up curbside every night. Until meeting Skinman, Gino's sexual experience had been limited to schoolboy fumbling with his mates. Skinman had changed all that and before very long Gino had a steady clientele. Money rolled in and Skinman, knowing a good thing when he saw it, suggested that he receive a cut of what Gino was earning. Gino, still in the thrall of Skinman's penis, and what he could do with it, had agreed. He turned over a part of his take and for a while life was good. They had decent food to eat, good clothes on their backs, and a place to live. Sooner, however, than later, Skinman's demands became more urgent. His behaviour changed and he seemed always to be "up". At first, Gino didn't care about Skinman using drugs. Everybody did it, and the air surrounding the stroll was thick with the smell of marijuana every night. Gino smoked a joint every now and then - he said it enhanced his orgasm, although amyl nitrate was a better stimulant. What bothered Gino was that Skinman fell deeper into the drug scene, to the point that he was useless to anyone. The small flat they shared was a pigsty, and there was never any food in the house. Money began to go missing as well, money that Gino earned. Skinman, always in a drug-induced stupor, was incapable of making a dime. He sank lower and lower, and when he wasn't passed out in the bed they shared, he was hanging around the local factories, offering blow jobs for five bucks a pop, and few takers. The final straw came when Skinman, desperate, had ransacked the flat, looking for the money he knew Gino had hidden away. He found none because Gino had opened a bank account, and aside from a few dollars in coin, there was no money in the place at all. Skinman, hurting beyond measure for a fix, had confronted Gino and, in a rage, tried to beat the money out of the younger boy. Gino, sober and straight, had defended himself, punched Skinman into oblivion, and left. As a street whore, Gino had made contacts. Through these contacts he had obtained false ID, which got him into the baths. Here, in the darkened hallways and dimly lit private rooms, he had plied his trade. Gino had been pissed when Lester had said he sold his ass for ten bucks. Gino had early established a tariff for his services. Some of the johns he met in the baths complained, but Gino was young, well hung, and smooth bodied, and they eventually came around. Gino charged $25.00 for a blow job, giving or receiving, although more often that not he was the receiver. Anal was $50.00, with Gino giving, which Gino much preferred doing. He was prepared to receive, but for a price: $75.00, with the money up front. At first, when he left the street, Gino had confined his activities to the upscale downtown bathhouses, with most of his "clients" being lawyers and doctors, professional men, who used the baths as an outlet for their secret vices. Then, by chance, Gino had checked out a small, nondescript "steam bath" on Bathurst Street and discovered a gold mine. The steam bath had been there forever. At first a legitimate business, frequented first by the Jewish men who came weekly for a steam and a shower, then by a new wave of immigrant men - Portuguese for the most part. Street boys used the bath to clean themselves, and as an added attraction, discovered that working class men enjoyed the comforts of a boy every now and then. In time more and more boys found their way to the baths, and business boomed. Once in the bathhouse, Gino discovered the hierarchy of whoredom, as it existed in the Bathurst Street Baths. In the basement, a dank, barely lit room filled with low beds, were the skanks. Intermingled with boys, were older men, who gave away what little charms they had, free for anyone too cheap or desperate to go upstairs to the main room, which was really the locker room, lined with lockers and filled with benches. Here were the boys who actually charged $10.00, rarely more than $20.00, boys who lounged about naked except for a towel (and sometimes not even that), and kept a sharp eye on the parade of men who entered. Their hunting grounds were the steam rooms, wet and dry, that flanked the reception desk and bar. These boys rarely went upstairs, to the private rooms. Surrounding a central room on the first floor, were small cubicles containing a low bed, the thin mattress covered in easily washable Naugahyde. There was also a built in table and a locker where the johns hung their clothing. Gino strolled the narrow corridors, and always found a customer for what he was selling, despite the stiff competition, for there were other boys who had found their way to this bathhouse. Having established his tariff, Gino played it calm and cool. He knew that the men who rented the cubicles wanted privacy above all else, and he knew that they would never venture below. Over time he developed a loyal, if somewhat eclectic clientele. As the bath was off the beaten track, well away from the gay mainstream downtown, it attracted men who did not want their proclivities known, and who would not frequent the popular baths downtown. In a way, the same held true for the boys who sold their bodies. They could have made more money downtown but preferred the quiet anonymity of this bathhouse. They had their reasons, of course. One of them was a medical student, who supplemented his income and paid his lab fees with what he earned. He was slightly overweight, but good looking and with a thick sausage (which would have given him a run for the street name of "Skinman") and low-hangers that would have commanded premium prices downtown. Another, slim, blond, and lithe, was an American: a Floridian, Gino would learn, who was a deserter from the American Army, in Canada illegally, and very conscious of his beauty. Gino thought him an arrogant git, and avoided him accordingly. There was money for all, and Gino rarely poached. Each of the boys had their "clients" and there was a silent agreement that no one would encroach on the others' "johns". Gino liked it that way. What Gino liked also was that he knew what each of his clients wanted. He was not into scat, and refused to join in a "golden shower", or any of the raunchy games some liked to play. He had a few men who visited him regularly, asked for nothing other than humdrum sex. One of these was the man Gino called "The Priest". Gino never knew the priest's name. He claimed to be a priest, but who knew? He was middle-aged, with a paunch, and greying hair. He was a pitiful creature, really, always appearing like clockwork on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and always near to being drunk. Where his parish was the priest never said, and Gino never asked. He really couldn't bother asking. All Gino was interested in was money the priest never complained about offering, and what the older man did to him. The priest never asked for anal, or for fellatio. He much preferred cuddling and kissing, which was a chore as his breath smelled of vodka and incense. But he did love to suck on Gino's sculpted penis and, as he always took out his dentures, would bring the boy to mind-crushing orgasm. After every session with the priest Gino had to retire to his own cubicle for at least an hour to recover, which cut down on his income. The priest aside, Gino was pleased with his clients. He never made less than 500.00 a week, sometimes more if the client wanted to rim him, which Gino liked. Content with his clients, and his income, Gino never asked after his clients' personal life. Aside from the usual pre-sex chitchat, and establishing payment, conversation was kept to a minimum. To Gino, everything he did was business. He felt nothing for his clients and assumed that they felt nothing for him, which made it all the more surprising when the priest asked him to come and live with him. The priest offered a home, money, and a measure of safety. All Gino had to do was pretend to be the priest's nephew. At first Gino thought that the priest was joking. While the idea of having a live-in bum boy in the rectory made sense, sort of, if only to keep down the wear and tear on the altar boys, Gino could not for the life of him think of any good reason for it. A priest was under constant scrutiny, not only from his superiors, but also from he parishioners. Being the priest's "boy" would raise eyebrows and questions. There was also the matter of the priest being transferred, as happened. Gino had no desire to be a camp follower, following and aging man from town to town and depending on his largesse and the amount of the contributions to the collection plate every Sunday. There was also the matter of Sun Yat Wa. Gino, a child of the streets, had never really left them. From time to time he would go down to the stroll, needing the imagined thrill of the unknowing he always got when a car pulled alongside him as he walked, the window rolled down and a gruff voice would ask, "You busy?" This was how Gino had first men the Chinese gang lord. A chance meeting on slow night and Gino was Sun's favourite lay. Sun fascinated Gino. He was a gangster, a thug, and exuded danger from every pore. Sun had never promised anything, except instant, and very painful death if Gino opened his mouth about what they did together in the small room back at the brothel. The more the thought of it, the more Gino leaned to just leaving, going somewhere, anywhere, and starting over. He had a good body, a decent sized dick, which meant he had something marketable if and when he ran out of money. He knew how to please a man, and he enjoyed the freedom of the streets. He could not see himself in a structured environment, without an outlet for the urges and demands of his body. Gino, as feral as he suspected the Gunner knew him to be, thought and then shook his head. The Gunner, perhaps by accident, perhaps by design, had caused a small idea to form in Gino's mind. The man had mentioned the Valhalla of Gaydom and the more he thought about it the more Gino was convinced that all in all, he'd rather be in San Francisco. Former Etobicoke Correctional Facility, Sunday, 29 August 1976 - 0023 EDST (12:23 AM) As Lester steered the car through the high gates that gave entry to Queensway, he barely glanced back at the darkened, soot-stained windows and dingy red brick buildings of what had once been the York County Home for Boys, a reform school in all but name. Two generations of boys, all under the age of 18, had been incarcerated in the darkened buildings, built around a grim quadrangle, which seemed to weep for youth taken away. In 1974 the provincial government had built a new facility in Mimico, and the York County Home was closed and offered for sale. There were few takers. The facility was large, impossible to keep up, and there were too many stories of abuse and misery. Terry Hsiang, always on the lookout for a property to exploit, had purchased the site for a relative pittance, and planned on exploiting its real estate potential. He planned on tearing down the grim, forbidding, steel barred buildings and build townhouses. He also planned a marina along the lakefront - the facility was right on the lake and ideal for upscale, overpriced housing. Until that happened Terry used the once Governor's Residence as a safe house. A high, red brick, broken glass-topped wall surrounded the grounds. There was only one entry in, aside from the lake, and no one, not even the hookers and street bums that infested the surrounding neighbourhood tried to gain entry. There were too many ghosts, too many bloodstains and even hookers and street bums can be superstitious. Inside the safe house, The Gunner delivered Gino into the care of one of Terry's men. The man gave The Gunner a pained look, but said nothing. Sepp and Gottfried, both as naked as the day that they were born, strolled into the main room and eyed Gino, looking, The Gunner thought, like two foxes contemplating a particularly plump hen. As The Gunner watched, Sepp licked his lips and Gottfried fiddled with the tassel of skin covering the head of his thick, dark coloured penis. Gino regarded the two Germans through slitted eyes. He had seen their kind before. They usually lurked in the shadows in the basement room of the Bathurst Street Baths. He had the measure of them, certified rough trade, willing to do anything, with anyone, any time. The Gunner saw the glowering look on Gino's face and felt the need to apologize. "It will only be for a few days," he murmured. "I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be." Gino shrugged. "I will arrange for a private room," The Gunner continued, looking at Terry's man. "One with a lock." Nodding, Gino accepted that he would have to endure some discomfort. He'd expected it, really. The catch. But he would endure what he had to because of the cash. It always came down to the cash. He turned and spoke firmly as his eyes slid over to regard the German boys. "I can take care of myself," he said. He barely pointed his chin at Sepp and Gottfried. "They speak English?" "They're German," supplied Lester, "and they only know a few English words." Gino's eyes grew cold. "Well, they better like gin rummy, 'cause I don't do uncut unless I get paid for it." The laugh that followed was even colder than the look in his eyes. "If they try anything I'll teach them a few English words they never heard in Buttfuck, Bavaria!" ****** Neither The Gunner nor Lester looked back as they rode in silence toward the downtown core. If Lester was disappointed that Gino had opted for a new life in San Francisco, he gave no sign. The Gunner was too lost in thought, dreading inwardly his coming meeting with The Phantom. Eventually they passed Roncesvalles, entering the bright lights and neon of city proper. The angry clanging of a streetcar bell broke the silence of the car and The Gunner's reverie. He glanced obliquely at Lester, who was concentrating on his driving, his eyes darting about as he weaved in and out of the ever-increasing traffic along Queen Street. "The city never sleeps," The Gunner said with a low chuckle. "It only dozes," responded Lester idly as he braked to allow a trio of drunks to cross the street. They waved and disappeared down a side street. Lester sighed. "The bars are closing," he said apropos to nothing. "Yeah." "Steve . . ." "There will always be failures, Lester," said The Gunner kindly. "There will always be boys like Gino." "I know." Lester glanced quickly at The Gunner and then looked ahead. A slow smile spread across his face. "Do you think we did the right thing, you know, putting him in the same house with Sepp and Gottfried?" Thinking of the two German boys that they had taken from the late and unlamented Percy Simpson's house, The Gunner snorted. "You heard Gino. He can take care of himself. I told the guard to keep an eye on the Krauts and to make sure they didn't try anything." Lester nodded. "Gino is no pushover. If they try anything he'll eat them alive!" Then, laughing, Lester added, "And spit them out!" "In more ways than one," opined The Gunner. Then he said quietly, "There will be others, Lester. Others who will want to leave the life." His eyes grew sad. "I'm afraid that Sepp, and Gottfried, and Gino are too far gone. They enjoy what they do." "Until they meet a sugar daddy, or the man who kills them," returned Lester darkly. He pointed with his chin at the growing crowd of people exiting the bars and taverns that seemed to line every block. "There are a lot of weirdoes out there, Steve." "I know," replied The Gunner. Then he added grimly, "Tonight we cut down the pack a little!" The Hospital of Saint John of The Cross Of Acre, Sunday, 29 August 1976 - 0100 EDST (1:00 AM) The first vehicle made the turn from Kensington Street into Belgrave Square shortly after 1:00 o'clock. Mordecai Goldschmidt, who was supposed to be watching the square, almost missed the dark-coloured van as it stopped in front of the old hotel and disgorged a group of tall, well-built young men dressed in dark coloured clothing. At first, Mordecai was only vaguely aware of the van as it circled the square, being otherwise engaged in enjoying what Lenny Weintraub, his best friend and fellow watchkeeper, was doing to him. Lenny was on his knees between Mordy's widespread legs, his nose buried in Mordy's scraggly pubic hair and snuffling away on Mordy's dick! Of course, Lenny was only repaying Mordy in kind, as he always did when they relieved each other during the night watches. The van had barely come to a stop in front of the hotel when Mordy yelped and grunted, filling Lenny's swallowing mouth, and then began yipping, "Off the head! Off the head! Lenny paid little attention, continuing to suckle and Mordy smacked him on top of his head, knocking his yarmulke flying. This got Lenny's attention. "Damn it," groused Mordy as he reached down to gently feel his penis. "You know how sensitive my dick is!" Lenny, who knew, sniggered. "Yep! That's why I do it! I so love to hear you squeak like a little mouse!" "Fuck you," retorted Mordy, his eyes drawn to the activity in the square. He saw the small group of men around the open doors at the rear of the van, removing something. Lenny, who had sat back, knew nothing of what was going on, and returned, "Maybe tomorrow." He looked around for his kippa, found it, and placed it on his head. He looked around. "Where are my shorts?" "How the hell would I know?" snarled Mordy. His eyes scanned the square below and saw yet another dark vehicle, a sedan this time, circle the square and draw to a halt behind the van. More men, smaller, exited the car. Standing, Mordy pushed back the chair he'd been sitting in and leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at what was going on down below. Lenny, who was sitting to one side, giggled at the sight of his best friend, fellow Yeshiva student, and occasional blow buddy. Mordy was naked from the waist down and every time he moved, his now soft schwantz swung in the wind. What fascinated Lenny was Mordy's pale, firm, melon shaped bum. He had lusted after that bum since the day he'd seen Mordy naked in the ritual bath they had both taken before their Bar Mitzvah. Seeing that Mordy was completely absorbed in what was going out down in the square, and had leaned forward through the open window, Lenny licked his lips, scuttled forward like a crab on a mission, and licked Mordy's butt cheek. Mordy was so startled that he rose up sharply, and banged his head on the edge of the open window. His kippa went flying off his head and floated downward onto the pavement in front of the building. "God damn it!" Mordy rounded on Lenny. "Are you crazy? You trying to give me a heart attack?" Before Lenny could mumble a reply, Mordy asked, "And what's with licking my butt? You some kind of a pervert?" Lenny grinned. "Mordy, I suck your dick!" he exclaimed. "Yeah, well, you putz, it don't give you the right to lick my butt!" Not giving Lenny a chance to respond, Mordy looked around. "Something's going on. I gotta call my Cousin Chaim, and the rabbi. Lenny, where the hell are my drawers . . ." Mordy went white when he heard a deep voice. "Looking for these?" From out of the shadows emerged Aaron Goldschmidt. Dangling from his outstretched finger were Mordy's drawers: baggy, white boxer shorts, decreed by the rabbis to be the only underpants the Yeshiva boys could wear. ****** Bored, restless, and anxious to know what was going to happen, The Phantom and Colin left the lobby of the hotel and went upstairs. They had been assigned a room at the front, with a view of the square below. It was large, with a double bed, comfortable looking sofa, and polished, more or less Edwardian accent furniture. It was really much better than either The Phantom or Colin had expected, and with the bright coloured linen and flower arrangements the room was pleasant. Unlike the service they had had at Michael's house, and at the hotel in Quebec City, their bags were sitting on luggage racks, waiting to be unpacked. The Phantom, as he began rummaging through his kit bag for some clean underwear, told Colin that since he had not seen any bellboys or baggage handlers about, he thought that Alex Grinchsten and Rusty Smith had done the duty and slogged everybody's luggage upstairs. Colin agreed, and opined that having a nice job title: Travelling Yeoman, was all well and good, they would have to think up a way to thank both men properly. While The Phantom showered, Colin stripped down to his Canex Specials, opened one of the windows - the hotel had no air conditioning - and stuck his head out. The strollers and tourists were long gone, and except for the distant hum of traffic on Spadina Avenue, the square was deserted and very quiet. While Colin was watching, a lone man, tall, very thin looking, walked into the square. He was carrying a distinctive black leather bag and Colin rightly assumed that it was the doctor, Mabell Airlie's brother in law, answering her summons. The doctor had barely entered the building when Colin saw a dark van pull up. He watched as six men got out of the van - six very large men, all dressed in black. A car followed the van, and while Colin could not be sure, he thought the men who exited the car seemed smaller, and looked Oriental. As the men unloaded parcels from the van Colin began to pull his head in. He stopped as he heard a yelping and yipping and looked across the square. He saw another man, as tall as the six men, and well built, all but dragging two others - thin, shorter and yammering away in what Colin thought was Hebrew. Intent on what was happening in the square, Colin did not hear The Phantom leave the bathroom, or sneak up behind him. He did feel The Phantom's warm breath on his shoulders and neck, and felt his lovers hand slip under the elastic waistband of his briefs. "Did I ever tell you that you are the most beautiful man I know?" murmured The Phantom as his hands slid down, found, and fondled Colin's warm, soft genitals. Leaning his head back, and smiling, Colin replied, "I thought I was the most beautiful man ever created," he chuckled. "Mmmm," mumbled The Phantom as he nuzzled Colin's neck. "That too." Colin felt the familiar stirrings in his groin and reached down to hold The Phantom's hands still. "You better stop, lest you wake the sleeping dragon!" he warned. He slowly pulled The Phantom's hands away. "We have company," he said. "Damn," growled The Phantom. "Who is it?" Shrugging, Colin replied, "It looks like the troops are starting to arrive." Shouldering Colin aside, The Phantom looked and sighed. For a long time he remained quiet. Then he said, "Which means that The Gunner will be here soon." "Yeah." Colin's voice was flat and non-committal. The Phantom's lip's brushed Colin's. "I'm okay, really," he said softly. "I'm ready to meet The Gunner."