Career Choice by Michael Peterson © 2009
Part 4
The newly rising televangelist missionary Bobby Lee Crabtree of Birmingham, Alabama began his adolescence as an out of school armed robber. The pistol he used at fourteen was plastic but convincing enough that the drugstore clerk handed over forty-eight dollars and change. It wasn’t until he was seventeen the police finally caught up with him but, by then, he’d already robbed more stores and mugged more victims than he could remember. He did remember at sixteen killing a liquor store counterman who’d pulled a 38 from under the counter.
That first arrest was for armed robbery, but since he was a juvenile, even with three policemen testifying they had good information that he’d been involved in many more crimes than the one he was charged with, the judge sentenced him to a youth center from which he made the required parole four years later.
Another facet of this rising young hoodlum was his craving for underage girls. His sex life began at eight when he convinced a local seven year old to let him screw her, of all places, behind a wood pile. By twelve, by then a big boy and ruggedly handsome with a heavy square jaw and piercing blue eyes, Bobby Lee had a string of successful sexual conquests behind him. Due to that and his fighting ability, he’d developed a macho reputation his redneck buddies had to respect. At fourteen, he initiated the gang rape of an eleven year old black girl then terrified her family into silence. But, it was that incident which provided the realization that condums were a practical necessity, not to avoid unwanted pregnancies about which he couldn’t have cared less, but to avoid leaving evidence.
The second phase of his sexual pursuits came within weeks of his first incarceration. His hand wasn’t doing the trick for him so he went down the well worn path of prison sex and learned to satisfy his need with a series of younger white inmates all of whom submitted under threat of violence rather than offers of gifts or protection.
His next conviction after several more arrests and unsuccessful prosecutions, generally due to witness intimidation, was at twenty-eight. Under the influence of overconfidence, he and a cohort had robbed a liquor store that had been hit so often it was under surveillance. This time, he was sentenced to twenty years. Had the judge been aware of the five murders he’d been involved in, two, contract hits, Bobby Lee might have been put away for the rest of his days.
Though the court wasn’t aware of Bobby Lee’s other transgressions, many inmates, particularly whites, were. During his first few days inside, he was inducted into a white supremacist group and quickly took charge. Within months, he had personally murdered an activist black inmate who railed against his group’s blatantly racist attitude. What so impressed his followers wasn’t just the brazen killing itself but the clever execution. Somehow, he’d managed to convince the authorities and, far more impressively, black inmates that not only were neither he nor his white racist friends involved but that it had been a grudge killing by a fellow black.
Then there was another notable feat. Even though many of his fellow white rednecks strongly disapproved, he was able to get back to using younger white inmates for sexual relief and still maintain his leadership role in the gang.
However, by the end of his second year locked up, the luster of being the nastiest, most feared white man in the joint couldn’t make up for the fact that he was in prison with many more years to go. With his record and the great number of police who’d fight his parole, he’d be forty-three before getting back on the streets.
Religion became the only avenue to improve his situation. For reasons that had nothing to do with any beliefs, Bobby Lee started attending Baptist services and reading the bible. The preacher who came to the prison was a successful area televangelist and a fiery orator about whom there were rumors of mishandling of funds and womanizing that had never stuck. The man always arrived at the prison in a chauffeured Cadillac wearing expensive suits and a gold Rolex. To Bobby Lee, the Reverend Harry DuBois was as big a crook as anyone doing time in the prison but he’d latched onto the one shady yet very lucrative business that didn’t seem to have a downside. And, Bobby Lee suspected, the fast talking holy man was having his way with some of the young women of his enthusiastic flock.
It didn’t take long for Bobby Lee to aspire to follow in the preacher’s footsteps. He carefully listened to his sermons and studied his delivery. Bible study became a many hour a day activity. Within a year of joining the prison’s multiracial Evangelical group, he’d become its leader and friendly with the well off preacher. His rise as an Evangelical Christian wasn’t matched by all of his behavior. There was no change in his active sex life even though he was vociferously denouncing homosexuality at meetings and Sunday services. No one who knew about it dared say a word. Most inmates in the fundamentalist Christian program were there to improve their chances with the parole board.
Bobby Lee was convincing enough with the preacher that the man made a special effort to gain him an early release. His motives weren’t all that altruistic either. Claiming to have turned around such a notorious hard case as Bobby Lee Crabtree along with the convict’s developing speaking skills were a sure fire means of gathering in more adherents. Five years and two weeks after being imprisoned, Bobby Lee was out and preaching the warm up sermons on the Sunday telecast, earning a hefty salary to boot, already more than he’d made as a thief and murderer. His second night out, he charmed the seventeen year old daughter of a church secretary into a closet where, using one of a handful of condoms he’d purchased within hours of his release, fucked her safely, twice.
His story and preaching was so compelling, the reverend Dubois, aware Bobby Lee would eventually consider striking out on his own, offered to make him a partner in his growing church. Bobby Lee accepted and began doing revivals in cities farther and farther away from their home base. He became so popular that when he came back to Birmingham, the DuBois had to make him the principal speaker at his Sunday services. Most people might think this would have become an intolerable competition for the man who founded the church but, quite the opposite, he was content with the situation. New church members and money were rolling in. His telecasts were being carried in several markets outside Birmingham. Of course, this meant sharing the wealth with Bobby Lee but there was plenty to go around. Best of all, he figured that with everyone’s eyes on Bobby Lee rather than him, he could live high on the hog and screw to his heart’s delight. Of course, he was kidding himself.
A pair of reporters, an area photographer and a journalist with a Memphis paper, decided to target the Rev. DuBois and Bobby Lee. The story they put together was devastating for the ministry. Bobby Lee, who’d been far more circumspect with his sex life though not as much with his spending habits, was pulled down as well but not as thoroughly as his older, less charismatic partner. He survived with an area wide following who believed his stories that he’d been dragged into the mud because he tried to defend his mentor. People are going to believe what they wanted and too many women were fascinated by the big, handsome preacher with the deep southern twang and forceful, convincing sermons. Television stations were not so enthralled and none were willing to broadcast his services.
So Bobby Lee, with tens of thousands of followers who remained captured by his story, rousing sermons and, in no small part, by the aura of hardness and danger he presented, looked around for the most lucrative way to take advantage of his many potential donors. He was immediately attracted to child support programs. There were several reasons, two in particular. First, they were the easiest sell with great potential for safely skimming off a large percentage of the proceeds, and, equally alluring to Bobby Lee, it allowed him to take long visits to countries with great numbers of easily accessible adolescent girls to satisfy his voracious sexual appetite. It took very little research to choose the Philippines as his primary target. It was reported to have over twenty-thousand street children under fifteen few of whom were affiliated with gangs therefore safe to approach and exploit. Then there was the infamous sex trade with red light districts of Ermita and Angeles supporting any and all sexual tastes.
Over a few months, using funds from a large nest egg in three offshore banks, Bobby Lee hired a lawyer with flexible ethics to set up a foundation, hired a qualmless advertising firm to handle publicity and any suspicious members of the press, the same bent accountant as his former boss, and, from among his unsuspecting loyal followers, he recruited the office personnel needed to handle the nitty gritty of handling donor mail.
The next step was to recruit a cousin who’d left armed robbery to work in the porn business as a producer. He too was an ex-con with sexual needs that included bondage and sadism. Billy Crabtree knew how to handle video equipment and was as anxious as Bobby Lee to jump into the hot bed of sex supposedly available in Manila’s red light districts.
Armed with bibles, video paraphernalia and plenty of cash, the pair made the twenty-four journey west to the Philippines.
After four days of licentiousness with thirteen to sixteen year olds, Bobby Lee got down to the first order of business: locating needy children’s homes without major sponsors. The plan was to claim he was their principal sponsor. They were to receive a portion of the money collected in their name, just enough to prevent complaints. During his search, he was gratified to learn that many of the homes he visited were run by individuals nearly as crooked as he. Their promotions routinely overstated the number of children they housed and what the home offered them. The most surprising fact was that most of the kids in the homes were not street children or ex-child prostitutes at all or even in need of being removed from their mothers. The men in charge, generally claiming to be Evangelical Christians, hustled mothers with promises of improving their children’s economic future with the better education they’d provide and, of course, saving their souls.
Greedy men like that were easy to seduce into going along with Bobby Lee’s plans. Within two months, he’d lined up seven homes and was moving around Manila, with cousin Billy as camera operator and a Filipino sound man, filming himself with pathetic street children, a few of whom he hauled off to his allied homes where they were recorded again cleaned up eating at a table with others, studying, and, most important of all for his target clients, praying and reading the bible, the latter a true farce since only one of the kids he took off the streets could read. All but one of the thirteen street children he convinced to go to the homes ran away within a few weeks.
What seemed the most promising PR material were the child prostitutes, especially those involved with Americans, particularly American servicemen. On learning about the sex trade in Angeles and Olongapo, homes to U.S Air Force and Naval bases respectively. There, identifying himself as a writer looking to do an exposé on the sexual abuse of Filipino children by American servicemen, he gained the cooperation of a young Catholic priest working on the same situation and looking for publicity of his own.
His third night on the Angeles sex strip in Balibago, a woman offered him a very young girl, eleven, who had no problem taking an adult cock. Unable to resist this new sexual experience, Bobby Lee dressed in military trousers and a touristy flowered shirt and met Millie Papagayo at the Spring Hotel where he paid a hundred fifty Pesos to use her body. He had her suck for a while, then sit on him, bounce up and down, take him from the front and behind, finally reaching orgasm inside her rectum. When he told Billy about it, his cousin decided to try it out too. But, two days later, Millie’s mother was dead and all hell broke loose regarding child prostitution in Balibago.
Sensing a PR bonanza, Bobby Lee collected every newspaper article about the event. At first, he was concerned about being spotted by the girl involved until he heard she’d been spirited out of the area by supposed relatives and a social worker one cooperative cop told him hadn’t wanted her to be used by American authorities, or, depending on which newspaper account one read, had been taken by Philippine authorities to a home out of the area. The best news was that the girl reportedly had flat out refused to testify against anyone. Seeing the apparently escaped, physically appealing eleven year old boy involved, Brandon Brandenburg, as a great catch, an American child abused sexually by American servicemen and other foreigners, Bobby Lee used every contact and followed up every lead in an unsuccessful attempt to locate him.
By then, convinced that the child prostitution angle would be the most profitable, Bobby Lee went back to Ermita’s Red Zone and the infamous boy sex village of Pagsanjan where he and Billy put together a large collection of photos and videotape including interviews with a private school owner in Pagsanjan, Manila social workers and a couple of low level politicians more than willing to exaggerate statistics, even make up stories of the horrors inflicted on the boys and girls by foreign pedophiles. Armed with this and the story of Millie and Brandon, Bobby Lee headed back to Birmingham for three weeks of editing and brochure preparation with his publicists. At the same time, Bobby Lee was on the phone setting up a month long blitz of speaking engagements at twelve U.S. churches and sit downs with seven small market television and radio stations. At every stop back in the United States, after presenting his heart tugging visual presentation, he promised, with their prayers and financial support, to go back to the Philippines and pull hundreds of children out of the depraved clutches of the destroyers of child innocence.
At the end of August of 1986, Bobby Lee and Billy Crabtree returned to Asia, once again first enjoying a few days of surreptitious sexual adventures, Bobby Lee with young teen girls, before diving back into work. When one of his contacts told him about it, Bobby Lee rushed off to Ermita and had Billy and their Filipino sound man record him at the front of an anti-foreign pedophile march up Del Pilar Street that had been organized by a Catholic group. As they passed the Santa Monica Plaza, he noticed boys sitting there watching them but was far more concerned with Billy recording him at the front of the marching school girls.
It was during the second anti-pedophile demonstration that Billy spotted a familiar face. Bobby Lee had shown him the newspaper photos of Millie and Brandon and filled him in on their story and what a catch the boy would be. “They got military intelligence, the FBI and local cops looking for him. Without him, they ain’t got no case on any of them perverts from the bases. You see, the kid was born in the hospital at Clark Field and has an American father so he’s an American citizen. None a the local kids are willing to testify but this kid they can take back to the states and pressure him until he does. We get lucky and find this kid, we can make a deal for the reward I hear they got out for him…”
Billy had interrupted “How much?”
“Just ten thou right now but we can negotiate. Anyway, that’s peanuts compared to the publicity this kid can get for us. We’re saving an American child, living on the streets as a child prostitute, getting screwed by all kinds of perverts so he can eat. Along we come and bring him to Jesus! Think about it. We take him back to the US and tour all them big churches with him beside us. We could open our own bank!”
So, when Billy spotted that familiar face right there in the middle of the Red Zone with a group other kids probably also selling their bodies to tourists, he frantically dragged the Filipino sound man with him, raced after Bobby Lee and yanked him away from the head of the march.
“It’s him, Bobby Lee, that kid from Angeles, it’s him, back there.” He pointed at the plaza half a block behind them.
Bobby Lee had to take a deep breath. “Okay, okay. We gotta be cool. Let’s just walk back, calm and all. You go over on the other side. Don’t start shooting until I get near him. I’ll try to keep him looking at me so he don’t see you. Maybe Jesus really is watching over me. Ting, you come with me, translate.”
As he walked, he briefly explained to his Filipino employee that the boy was a kid who’d lost his family and was forced to sell himself on the street. “There’s a lot more but I don’t got time to tell you now. The Americans and the Filipino cops are all looking for ‘im so he’s gonna be scared so let’s take it easy. Just tell him exactly what I say, exactly, okay?”
Ting nodded.
At the plaza. He had to look hard at the three boys sitting under the tree before realizing the short haired kid was, in fact, a shorn Brandon Brandenburgh. He couldn’t believe his luck. This might be the best thing that ever happened to him. A deep breath, a smile and a few steps.
The boy looked up at him. What was he thinking? A customer? “English?” asked Bobby Lee. His father was American, so maybe…
The boy shook his head. One of his two friends said, “Me English.”
Bobby Lee didn’t take his eyes off his target. “Don’t be afraid. I’m your friend.”
He nudged Ting to translate.
“I know who you are, Brandon but I ain’t gonna tell nobody.”
The boy’s eyes opened perceptively at the mention of his name. He began to stand.
Bobby Lee put his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “No, don’t go. I ain’t gonna tell nobody, nobody. I just wanna help you.”
Ting kept up a running translation.
“My name is Bobby Lee. I’m a missionary, not a policeman. I know about the bad things that happened to you and your mother. I know your mother is innocent and I wanna help her too.”
The boy was tense, alert, ready to move at the slightest provocation. From experience, Bobby Lee knew what was going on in his mind. He had to be gentle. “I really wanna talk to you and I promise I ain’t gonna turn you in to nobody, an’ I mean that. I just wanna talk. It’s the truth. Like I said. I’m a missionary. I lie and God will strike me down right where I stand.”
The eldest of Brandon’s two companions whispered something in his ear. It made the boy relax a little.
“Can we go somewhere and talk? Maybe a restaurant? You say where. Hey, I know you need money,” he dug into his pocket, “I’ll pay you for your time.”
All three boys seemed confused. The smaller friend elbowed Brandon and said something Ting didn’t catch. Bobby Lee was sure it was derogatory and took an instant dislike of the kid. Rather than take out any cash which may have been a bad idea with others around, especially in such a location, he said, “We can eat and talk, that’s all. Then, if you want, you can come back here and I’ll leave you alone, and I still won’t say nothing to nobody that I saw you. I promise on my mother’s grave.”
The older friend seemed to be urging him to go with Bobby Lee. Ting confirmed that. The boy was thinking hard. “He comes too.” said Brandon in Filipino indicating the older friend, Toti, with a nod of his head.
“No problem, but we need to talk some, just the two of us. He can sit close and I’ll buy him whatever he wants.”
Brandon whispered something in the older boy’s ear who whispered back. In Tagalog, Brandon said to Ting, “We go to the park, to the restaurant there.”
“No place around here you like?” asked Bobby Lee through Ting.
The older friend explained, “They don’t let us go in.” He then explained that they had to walk apart so the police wouldn’t stop them.
“You go ahead. You know where you’re going. We’ll follow.”
BRANDONAs soon as they left the plaza, Toti asked, “The cops looking for you?”
Brandon nodded.
“For what?”
“They say my mother killed somebody and I saw it and I think they want me to snitch on some people.”
“That ain’t nothing. How come you don’t wanna?”
“I think they wanna make me go to the United States and, anyhow, they’re gonna put me in a home. I ain’t gonna live in no home. I was in one once and it was bad, real bad.”
Toti was silent for a while then, “Maybe this guy can fix it up so you don’t have to be in a home. Your mother kill somebody?”
“No, she just fell down, this other woman. My mother wasn’t even close but they were fighting so they blamed her.”
“Then how come you don’t wanna say that?”
“’Cause they aren’t gonna believe anything I say. Anyway, there were lots of others saw it so they gotta let her go. But, anyway, they’re gonna put me in a home ‘cause they say she was a whore but she stopped doing that a long time ago. She was just in charge of the girls. Anyway, it’s about my father too. They say he was doing stuff illegal.”
“What?”
“Just, you know, drugs.”
Toti laughed. “That ain’t nothing all that bad. Lots of people use drugs. Look at all the kids who sniff.”
“It’s bigger’n that, worse. He’s already in jail in the US but they want me to snitch on him too but I don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“So just tell ‘em.”
They ain’t gonna believe me and they’ll probably lock me up somewhere until I say what they want, about everything, maybe even my mother. And if I did then I could get killed, maybe even if I didn’t. You know what happens to guys that snitch. Can you see that guy?”
Toti looked back. “Yeah, he’s behind us.”
“How far?”
“Not that far.”
“If we run, can he catch us?”
“Don’t run. He’s a missionary, like a priest. He’s not allowed to make you go to the cops or nothin’ and he can’t say nothin’ and he’s gonna buy us food. We can run after.”
BOBBY LEEAs they walked, Bobby Lee told Ting most but not all of the story about Brandon Brandenburgh. “He’s a child who needs Jesus in his life and somebody to protect him from the people wanna use him and that includes the Americans.” Bobby Lee knew that Ting harbored a jaundiced view of him and all Americans but he’d been the only sound man available who spoke truly fluent English. The fee negotiated was large.
Billy caught up with them. “I got everything. You get sound, Ting?”
“Of course. I know my job.” He turned to Bobby Lee. “How do you plan to help this kid?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m trying to think which home he might like, one that’s not gonna turn him over to the Americans. I’m not gonna tell anybody his real name like I promised but still gotta be careful who sees him. They might have sent his picture around to all the homes and agencies. You sure think they’d a looked here after what he was doing in Angeles. Maybe they ain’t looking, or maybe it’s just the Americans and they didn’t know to look here but, anyhow, we found him and I’m gonna try and help him.”
In Luneta Park, the boys led the men to the park’s Section Three open air restaurant where Brandon had eaten several times before with customers. Bobby Lee told Billy to eat a few tables away and surreptitiously record the meal on his camera. Ting was to keep his mike open. Toti accepted eating with Billy.
“Whatta you wanna to eat? Anything, my treat.”
Everybody had cheeseburgers and fries.
Bobby Lee began, “I just wanna say again that you’re safe with me. While we’re together, ain’t nothin’ bad can happen to you. First, I don’t think you’re in as much trouble as you think. You didn’t do nothin’ the Americans can put on you. Your mother didn’t kill that woman. They gotta know that by now. And I don’ know why they think you know something about your daddy’s business. You let me and I can get you a lawyer can probably get rid of all that for you.”
Brandon was staring out at the park, munching on burger. It was difficult to know if he was listening so Bobby Lee asked, “That sound interesting?”
Ting translated. When Brandon didn’t answer, Ting looked at Bobby Lee and shrugged his shoulders.
“Brandon?”
“And then what happens to me?” asked Brandon in Filipino.
Bobby Lee hadn’t expected that sort of reply to his offer. He came up with, “What do you want to happen to you?”
“I ain’t going to no home.”
Ting shook his head during the translation.
Bobby Lee was again taken by surprise. This time he had no clever response but, at least, the kid was listening. Finally, he decided on, “You don’t wanna go on living like you are, on the streets, having to do sinful things with foreigners who just use you and don’t care nothin’ about you?”
There was no answer, just pensiveness.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
No change.
“I’ll tell you what. You can come stay with us for a while. We got a nice place up in Loyola Heights up in Quezon City. It’s real nice up there. You can have your own room, three good meals a day, come and go as you please long as you’re there for meals and don’t go out at night. We got a nice big television you can watch, good Christian music. I guarantee you’ll be safe. And I’ll give you a little spending money.”
Ting didn’t display approval as he spoke and afterward told Bobby Lee, “This is a street kid. They’re all thieves. One day he and his friends gonna come and steal everything you got.”
“Don’t worry. We got Henry watching over things. He’ll be watching him.” Henry was the guardian that came with the walled in property they’d rented.
“So, whatta you say, Brandon? You got nothing to lose and you can leave any time you want. And we can talk and see how to fix your life up again. You were a good student, weren’t you?”
“Who told you that?”
That was a question he could deal with. “Brandon, soon as I heard about what happened to your mother and you, I investigated. I even talked to your teacher. She was real sad about it, said you were a really smart kid, the kind goes to college.”
Brandon stared at him for a moment then, “How come you investigated?”
“’Cause that’s what I’m here for. That why Jesus moved me to come here, to help kids like you.”
More staring then, “So who’d you help?”
Bobby Lee didn’t want to admit putting boys into homes so, “Nobody so far. You’re lucky. You’re the first and you’ll get all my attention for a while.”
“Then what?”
“After, uh, well, I gotta help others too but you’ll always be the most important person until you’re where you wanna be, maybe with your mother if I can fix that. It’s what I’d like.”
Brandon sighed. Bobby Lee thought he saw a tear forming but Brandon looked away. The boy said, “What about him?”
Bobby Lee had expected that. “Right now, it’s just you. You can come on down and see him whenever you want but right now, I’m gonna be working full time for you.”
“How long?”
“How long can you stay?”
“How long I gotta stay?”
“That’s up to you. I rented the place for six months but I might stay longer. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll get you fixed up way before that. Wanna see the place?”
“Can he go?”
Bobby Lee paused. “Look Brandon, I’m trusting you not to bring any other kids out there. If the owner of the place knew I had some kid like you in there, he’d probably wanna kick me out so I’m taking a big chance but, well, not really. You’re not really a street kid. You come from a good home. You were going to school. You’re different. That don’t mean your friend ain’t a good kid but I don’t know anything about him. You know what I mean. Maybe one day I can help him and all the other kids in Ermita. I really wanna but I want you to be first. What happened to you was really bad, not fair. It needs to be straightened out.”
Bobby Lee wondered how what he said was being translated, if the meaning he wanted to convey was getting across. Would Ting’s anti-American attitude affect what he said to this boy?
Brandon said, “I gotta talk to Toti.”
Bobby Lee waved him ahead with his hand.
BRANDON“Toti, this guy wants me to go and stay at his house. The Filipino guy says he ain’t no fag so it ain’t for sex. He says he can make it so the cops ain’t looking for me no more and I can come down here when I want, just not at night. But he says you can’t come, just me. Something about this man owns where he lives don’t like stowaways.”
Toti shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a missionary. He ain’t gonna do nothing, just make you pray. I do that at the church so it’s not all that bad. He’s gonna tell you no more sex.”
Brandon grinned. “He can’t see me in the bathroom.”
“So, do it. He gonna give me money?”
“I’ll tell him he’s gotta.”
“Say a hundred.”
Toti was handed a fifty and three twenties.
Brandon went with Bobby Lee in a taxi through Quiapo and out Quezon Boulevard.
With Bobby Lee in front and Brandon squeezed in the back between Billy and Ting, there was very little conversation during the twenty-five minute ride to the house, a walled in compound with a metal gate that produced immediate misgivings in Brandon’s mind. There was even a man inside with a pistol in a side holster. The grass, flowers and trees about three sides of the two story house were somewhat reassuring but not entirely, especially when Brandon heard the gate bang closed and a lock affixed as he walked inside.
“So whatta you think?” asked Billy Lee through Ting.
It was the nicest home Brandon had ever seen. They stood in a broad hallway with rooms to either side, a wide stairway with curved marblelike railings several yards ahead flanked by sparkling tiled corridors to each side leading to more house.
Rather than admit he’d stepped into a new world, Brandon shrugged his shoulders.
“Come on upstairs and I’ll show you your bedroom. It’s not really ready ‘cause we weren’t expectin’ nobody but I’ll get someone on it right away so you’ll be comfortable. Tomorrow morning, we’ll take you out and get you some new clothes.”
Ting wanted to go so the man with the gun was called on as translator. He wasn’t nearly as fluent in English as Ting, nor as nice. Brandon, unwilling to let this American know he understood his English, had to be careful not to understand ahead of time anything that Henry, the guard, told him that Bobby Lee had said. Henry made mistakes but they were relatively inconsequential.
Brandon was given a tour of the downstairs including the well furnished dining and living rooms, the latter with a large screen television and almost room sized carpet. Then there were a fully equipped kitchen, full pantry, and a room empty of furniture used for storing suitcases, boxes and some metal cases. “My office is up on the second floor by my bedroom. That’s’ where I am a lot. Let me show it to you.”
Brandon wanted to watch television, something he hadn’t done for months. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long.
The office was less luxurious than the rest of the house, a large desk with a comfortable chair, a single book shelf empty except for two stacks of files, a bible and a few other books. The desk itself had a lamp, a telephone, a few more file folders and a wooden souvenir jeepney like the one’s Millie’s mother had sold. It caused a sudden yearning to see and feel the embrace of his girl friend.
Bobby Lee sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk and invited Brandon to sit in the other. Henry stood by the door, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, boredom on his face.
“Brandon, you ever go to church before?”
Brandon on hearing the translation shook his head.
“You study about Jesus in school?”
“Some.”
“You know then that Jesus loves you and wants to protect you.”
A shoulder shrug.
“I suppose you know that what you were doing to survive was sinful.”
Another shoulder shrug.
“Well, Jesus, and I know that you didn’t enjoy what you were doing, that you were doing it just so you could eat and survive. The trouble is that when you do sinful things, there’s always trouble. When I was a kid and a young man, I did sinful things, not the same as you, I stole. Well, that got me locked up twice in prison and even before I got locked up, there was problems. Then, when I was in prison that second time, a preacher brought me to Jesus and everything started to change for me.
“Now, you look at your life. When you started down this path of sin, it looked okay at first just like stealing looked good to me for a while but then things started going bad. That girl lost her mother and you lost yours. I’m guessing looking at your hair that you been locked up somewhere for a while. And you been living on the street every day worrying what you’re gonna eat, what’s gonna happen to you. Bet you got beat up a couple times, got robbed. I know ‘cause that’s what all boys live on the street like you tell me.
“So, to live better, you went back to what you were doin’ in Angeles, committing the terrible sin of homosexuality. But, I’ll bet you still had problems ‘cause there you was on the street with them other boys.”
A few times, Brandon had to wait on Henry’s garbled translations to be sure he understood Bobby Lee’s deep southern accented English. But, he found himself listening, coming close to tears as the man spoke of his recent life very much as it had been.
“Now Jesus, he don’t hold nothing against nobody, especially a small boy like you. He knows that kids can get dragged into somethin’ a lot easier than somebody big so he’s always ready to forgive and hold out his hand to help a kid like you live right. I think he guided me to learn about what happened to you and then led me right to you so I could be the instrument of change in your life.”
Henry used the word for a musical instrument then had to backtrack and try to explain what Bobby Lee was saying but Brandon had fully understood the preacher’s words that time and was thinking to himself that all this might be just as Bobby Lee was saying, that somehow this missionary been led to him. He’d never thought much about religion before other than what he had to in order to pass school tests. He’d never doubted there was some kind of God and Jesus was connected to him but that was the extent of it. The heaven and hell business didn’t much bother him as he’d always assumed that, apart from some petty theft, he had generally behaved correctly, certainly good enough that no supreme being was going to toss him into the flames of hell for eternity. You had to be very, very bad to merit that.
Bobby Lee had stood and was taking a book off his shelf. “This here’s a bible in your language. You ever read one a these?”
“Just some in school.”
“Here, you take this. It’s yours. Read some of it tonight. I got another just like it and me and Henry gonna find some verses in it that I think’ll help you.”
“Jesus is giving you a chance, son, to have a good life, maybe not always perfect like we all want, but a life that will lead you to him one day, a life where you’re gonna be a lot happier than you been.”
“Now, I promised to help you and I am but you gotta do some things for yourself like studying that bible, learning what it can tell you about being righteous, being right with Jesus. Now, I want you to get down on your knees with me and let’s pray together.”
Brandon, beginning to believe everything Bobby Lee was telling him, knelt down in front of his chair. Bobby Lee put his hand on Brandon’s head and began, “Jesus, here’s Brandon, already feeling your love and your strong hand. He knows you been watchin’ over him and sent me to bring him to you. You know he’s a good boy. Help him learn the right way. Forgive him for the terrible sins he’s been committing. Light up his soul with your goodness. Teach him your word. Teach him the way to heaven so one day he’ll be right up there with you where you want him. Help me guide him. Give me the words to say so he’ll understand how much you love him. All praise to you for the miracle of bringing us together this day. I thank you, Jesus. Amen.
“Brandon, tell Jesus you thank him for this miracle.”
Brandon could only mutter, “Thank you.”
“Say amen with me , Brandon.”
Brandon almost said it before the translation.
Back in his room, a woman was putting clean sheets on his bed. An easy chair had been brought in.
“Don’t you go stealing nothing, boy,” she said, a sour look on her face.
“I don’t steal,” said Brandon quietly.
“You better not or Henry’ll get you good.”
He sat in the chair and opened his bible. Rather than read it, he thought about all that had happened that day. Was Jesus really behind all this? It was strange that this man who’d obviously learned a lot about him before would find him there on the plaza, recognize him without his long hair just from his school picture in the newspaper. There wasn’t any other. Neither his father nor his mother had taken photos of him except when he was a baby. And the man knew that his mother hadn’t pushed Millie’s mother in front of that jeepney and a lot about his father and drugs. How could he have found him so easy unless somebody was telling him where to go, where to look. He’d gone right to where he was in that great big city. If he’d known he was still a call boy, he might have guessed Ermita but there were probably other places like the movie theaters and he was sure there were more areas where call boys went out with Filipinos and probably foreigners. There’d been foreigners in the theaters, both of them but he didn’t go there, at least he didn’t say anything about that. Anyway, he was doing all this, like bringing him to his house and praying for him. This had to be Jesus. Who else could have pulled this off?
Dinner was steak, A food he’d last tasted so far back in his childhood that it seemed a totally new experience. He stuffed himself so full that he had to turn down the apple pie desert but did ask that it be kept for later.
Rather than plop down in front of the television, Brandon went and sat on the front steps of the house. There was a lot to think about, to worry over. If what Bobby Lee said was true, he was, due to his whoring which is what it was, responsible for what happened to his mother and probably for the death of Millie’s mother. If he hadn’t gone out and been a call boy, his mother never would have gone after Alie Papagayo. It didn’t really matter that Alie had been the one who sent her daughter to recruit him into prostitution. He could have said no. He knew at the very least that people generally didn’t approve of kids having sex with adults, even each other, even alone. He had to have been aware there was potential for problems, not necessarily what actually happened, but some degree of trouble. The first man’s cock had hurt him. That should have been a sign to stop, say no to further activity but he went on and on. Even when all those terrible things happened in Balibago then in Manila, he went right back to sex rather than begging or collecting cups or selling things. His uncle had been right about him. Even if he’d been allowed to stay with his grandmother, he probably would have gone on selling himself to men.
Toti had done it but barely and only a few times. His life wasn’t all that great but he hadn’t been locked up or robbed of his clothing and money, well, not that much. Toti knew sex with men was sinful. He’d told him so.
Brandon put his head in his hands, ready to cry out of guilt for all the terrible harm he’d brought down on others. In a way, he was a murderer. Alie would still be alive if it hadn’t been for him. She was a bitch, a bad woman who forced her daughter to do terrible things, to sin as he had but he had no right to cause her death as he most certainly did. Millie, on the other hand, had no choice in what she did. Her mother forced her. He could have said no. He knew better. What a horrible person he’d been. He deserved all that had happened to him.
He fell on his knees and prayed, “I’m sorry Jesus, please forgive me, make them let my mother go. Find Millie and make her happy. Punish me, not her. It wasn’t her fault. I’m so sorry.” There were tears in his eyes.
Eventually, feeling very sorry for himself and terrified of what God might have in store for him, no matter what Bobby Lee might try to do, he dragged himself off to bed. The feeling of the mattress below and the covers above provided some solace. Jesus was allowing him to again sleep in a real bed, not on a sidewalk. And he’d given him some very good food and lots of it. There’d been few times in the last few months when his stomach had felt truly full. “Please Jesus, I’ll be good from now on. I won’t even beat off. My dick’s just gonna be for peeing. I won’t touch it except for that.”
Bobby Lee came in alone after a while and sat on the side of Brandon’s bed. Brandon, feeling guilty about pretending not to speak English, battled with himself over whether to come clean but, ashamed of lying to this wonderful man, kept his mouth shut.
Bobby Lee put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder and seemed to be praying. Brandon remained silent.
Sleep took a while as the thoughts on his guilt returned, were assuaged by hope only to be followed by concerns of more punishment ahead. When he did doze off, he nearly fell out of the bed due to a bad dream in which Millie’s mother Alie was accusing him of her murder in front of a judge while Brandon struggled with a wavy haired foreigner who was holding him, his huge dick at Brandon’s asshole waiting to enter as punishment, an arm over Brandon’s mouth preventing him from telling a judge on a high bench that he didn’t mean it and was sorry.
The woman who’d fixed his bed the previous afternoon awakened him in the morning. “I hope you didn’t pee my bed.”
Forgetting that he was naked underneath, Brandon pulled back the covers to prove that he hadn’t, then flipped them back in embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, no woman’s gonna get excited by what you got.”
Before they ate breakfast, Bobby Lee prayed out loud for Brandon with the cook translating. Eats were fried eggs and scrapple, a food Brandon had never seen nor heard of. “That’s real honest to goodness Jimmy Dean scrapple from back where I come from. You put syrup on it and it tastes great. Try it.”
The cook’s translation wasn’t close.
It was okay but looked and tasted like something left over from butchering rather than regular food. Brandon finished off his slice for the good syrup on it.
After eating, a shower suggested by Bobby Lee and a closed door meeting between Bobby Lee and his cousin, they, with Ting back as sound man and interpreter, went in a rented car with driver to a pair of clothing stores in Cubao, the retail center of Quezon City, and bought Brandon two pairs of pants, two each T and dress shirts, three sets of underwear, two pairs of shoes, a baseball cap, sweater and jacket the need for which was explained to him, “We’re going up to the mountains this afternoon and it’s cold up there.” Bobby Lee had Brandon put on a set of his new duds in the changing room there at the store. Next was a barber shop to trim Brandon’s hair sides and back. It was by then just getting to where he could comb it.
From there, they drove out to Bulacan and the New Life Christian Children’s Home Bobby Lee told Brandon he was sponsoring. “I got a big ole check here for ‘em and some stuff for their school work and some bibles in Filipino. It’s part of what my church is doing for Filipino children.”
It was necessary to convince Brandon that he was only going along for the ride and the chance to see some of what Bobby Lee was doing for others.
When they arrived and had entered the large walled in compound, Brandon was handed lollipops to give out to the children while Bobby Lee handed the check over to the director along with a box of notebooks, pens and pencils. After a while, Bobby Lee gave Brandon a bible and told him to show some of the pictures inside to the other children. Bobby Lee, with another bible, gathered a separate group with him. Billy videotaped and Ting recorded sound, covering everything, Brandon and the kids, Bobby Lee handing over the check then handing out the school material, ruffling hair and, of course, reading the bible to kids draped over him.
Billy eventually stopped taping, got out a still camera and began taking individual pictures of all the children. After Ting explained to her what to do, an older girl made a list with their names and ages in the order that they were photographed.
Brandon spoke with a few of the boys his age. What he learned though was puzzling. None of the boys he spoke to had ever lived on the streets. In fact, though poor, all had lived in relatively stable homes, a few with both parents. A couple made no bones about their plans to return home, one way or another.
Bobby Lee’s answer to Brandon’s questions about it was, “I know the stories of some of those children and I’ve even seen where they come from and I can tell you that they was livin’ in the worst squalor you ever seen and they din’t have no families. Why this one little girl was livin’ with some uncle was raping her e’ry night and she was only seven as I recall. I think them kids thinks you’re some rich boy an’ they was ashamed to admit anything in front of you but, I seen where they come from and it was terrible.”
Brandon could understand how a boy might not want a stranger, especially one from a nice home, to know how he’d been living so accepted what Bobby Lee told him.
Bobby Lee made a few calls from the home’s office then announced they’d be going on to Baguio, several hours to the north on a route that took them right through Angeles. When Brandon, realizing where they’d be going became worried, Bobby Lee told him, “You could walk right down the street past where you lived with your hair all short like it is and wouldn’t nobody know you. Anyway, we’re gonna just be drivin’ through. We’ll git sumthin ta eat aroun’ heah and dinner in Baguio.”
Billy hated the local food at the restaurant where they stopped. Ting made a point of teasing him as he munched on strangely spiced chicken adobe while Billy ate an overcooked hamburger on bread.
The trip to Baguio was uneventful. Brandon slunk down in his seat as they passed through Angeles though he did peek out with some vague hope of spotting Freddy. Bobby Lee spoke to Brandon about Jesus’ love for him and went over some bible verses that spoke to the theme. Brandon, however, didn’t hear it all as he fell asleep well before they began their assent into the mountains.
The home they visited was perched on the side of a mountain just outside the city. It was dark when they arrived so, after a short prayer service presided over by Bobby Lee, the foursome went to a hotel for the night. The clerk was immediately apprehensive when he saw an eleven year old with the two foreigners. He explained his problem to Ting and stated, “You must find another hotel for the boy.” He pointed to the sign Brandon had seen in other hotels prohibiting foreigners from entering with minor Filipinos.
When told what had transpired, Bobby Lee explained he was a missionary, not some foreign tourist and was there to fight foreigners exploiting local children. The clerk, whose manager was gone for the day, stood firm. They went to another hotel, this time with Ting and Brandon entering separately. It was more expensive. There was no prohibiting sign.
In their room, Ting asked Brandon, “Tell me the truth, just between you and me. Why you let all those foreigners fuck you? You liked it a little? I know it wasn’t just the money.”
Brandon knew where he was going. “I’m not a fag. It was so I could eat.”
“But you did it before, in Angeles when you were living with your mother.”
That was harder. “She never gave me no money.”
“So now you’re gonna be a Christian and never do that again?”
“Unh huh. Never.”
Ting shook his head and turned on the television to a Filipino novella. After a few minutes, he turned to Brandon and said, “This program okay for you? You can change channels if you want.”
Aware from watching his face when Bobby Lee spoke to him and from his general demeanor and remarks to himself in Filipino that Ting didn’t much like foreigners including Bobby Lee and Billy, Brandon asked, “How come you don’t like Bobby Lee?”
“Who says I don’t like him? Anyway, he’s the boss so it doesn’t matter long as he pays me. How come you like him?”
The table turning question made Brandon think. “I don’t know. He knows a lot of stuff and he’s right about a lot of things.”
“And he saved your ass, right?”
“Sort of, yeah. He did.”
“Just don’t go expecting too much, you know, saving.”
“Whatta you mean?”
“Nah, nothing. He’s gonna take care of you, don’t worry.”
Brandon lay down on his bed. Why was Bobby Lee doing so much for him? It took little thought to come up with: because he’s a missionary and that’s what missionaries do.
In the morning after some bible instruction dealing with Jesus and little children including his anger at adults who abused them and a few verses from Paul condemning homosexuality, they went to the hotel for a ham and eggs breakfast begun with grace and a prayer for Brandon who imitated Bobby Lee’s tightly closed eyes and tense face.
The Baguio children’s home was run by a Filipino pastor and his wife. There were eighty-four boys and girls plus their own three kids who lived and studied in tight quarters in simple buildings dug into the side of the mountain. This time, there were boys who’d lived on the street but didn’t seem to have had to deal with the nastiness and cruelty Brandon encountered in Manila. As before, there were lollipops for Brandon to hand out and biblical pictures to show around while Bobby Lee handed over a check and read bible verses to more restrained, mostly indigenous kids who stood respectfully apart from the American. The tightness made it more difficult for Billy to videotape. Ting had to squeeze in behind and reach over Billy to get the mike close enough to pick up Bobby :Lee’s and the kids’ voices.
When Billy asked for someone to write down names and ages for the photos he was taking, the pastor asked his wife to help out since, he explained, none of the kids spoke Filipino.
The pastor spoke both Ilocano and an indigenous language Brandon had never heard before. When, in Ilocano, he told the kids to go back to class the moment their photos were taken, Brandon suspected he was hurrying things up to shorten Bobby Lee’s visit. Billy found himself running out of kids to photograph well before he’d gotten to all of them. The pastor’s wife told him the kid’s had classes they were required to attend. She and her husband seemed to have an attitude similar to Ting’s regarding these foreigners.
Bobby Lee sensed it too. Brandon heard him say something to Billy about a ‘bum’s rush’ as they packed up to go.
Brandon almost spoke surreptitiously to the pastor in Ilocano but chickened out before any words left his mouth.
Bobby Lee had to take care of some business back at the hotel which held up their departure by nearly an hour. Ting used the time to clean his equipment. Brandon read his bible for a while then switched on the TV. Some of the programming was in Ilocano. When he didn’t immediately change the channel, Ting asked, “You understand Ilocano? Your mother was from up here somewhere, wasn’t she?”
Brandon covered, “I tried to but I never learned it much.”
Ting made no further comments. Brandon skipped quickly past the two remaining Ilocano channels.
Brandon was both hopeful and fearful. Ting’s distrust and seeming lack of belief in Bobby Lee’s intentions had put a small but persistent doubt in his mind too. Was this deal he was working out going to actually free him from the threat of being taken back to the states or would he convince the Americans he had nothing to offer regarding his father and was absolutely not going to testify against any men who’d had sex with him, or something else.
Shortly after noon, Bobby Lee called their room to call them to lunch in the hotel restaurant. After grace, he announced that he’d arranged a meeting in Angeles for that afternoon with a lawyer who was negotiating Brandon’s situation with the Americans. “He says they realize Brandon don’t got much for ‘em and he’s sure somethin’ good can be worked out. Sounds good to me, son.”
Brandon pressed for details but Bobby Lee would only say he wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to him. During the entire two hour drive down the mountain and to Angeles, Brandon’s concern rose that whatever was ‘worked out’ would include taking him back to the U.S. as a witness against someone, if not his father, some of his former customers.
As they neared Angeles, Brandon again slouched down in his seat. Ting leaned over him blocking the view from the window on his side. Billy said, “Ain’t nobody looking for you ‘round here, boy. Anyway, you don’t look nothin’ like the kid in that picture.”
Brandon stayed where he was. Ting frowned. Bobby Lee got out and went looking for a taxi. The driver took Billy and Brandon to their house in Loyola Heights then left to take Ting home.
Brandon was watching television in the living room and Billy reading a week old American newspaper when Bobby Lee came triumphantly into the house that night. Apparently not seeing Brandon, he announced to Billy, “Billy boy, we scored big. Got the reward up to twenty-five thou. They git the kid for two three months then he’s ours.”
Billy put his fingers to his lips and pointed at Brandon who was looking their way trying to appear confused rather than alarmed.
“Billy, how many times I gotta tell you.” Bobby shook his head in frustration. “Aw, watch this.” He looked Brandon’s way and smiled. “Brandon, I’m gonna rip your ears right off your head and make you eat ‘em. How you like that?”
Brandon, to hide his shock, had to suck in air to maintain a smiling confused expression.
Bobby Lee held up an okay sign to Brandon, walked to him and gave him a hug. “Gotta love this golden boy, dontcha?”
“Come on, Bobby Lee,” urged Billy, “let’s talk about this upstairs, okay?”
Bobby Lee ruffled Brandon’s hair and followed his cousin to the second floor office. As he left, he could be heard to say, “Gave ‘em this bull ‘bout how I got the names of a bunch of Americans been defiling these poor innocent Filipino children and how I’m gonna share ‘em as….”
The moment they were out of view, Brandon, in his stocking feet, raced up the stairs and down the hall to the closed door, slid to a stop just short of Bobby Lee’s office, turned and ran back around the head of the stairs to his bedroom where he grabbed the bible from the dresser and hurried back to the office door. The bible was his excuse for being there should he be caught. He’d have a question to ask about the bible verses regarding Jesus and his admonitions regarding children.
Inside, Bobby Lee was asking, “How many a them kids’ pictures you got so far?”
“I ain’t counted ‘em yet but mebbe, oh, a two hundred twenty, more or less.”
“Times twenty-five two three times each. That’s uh, with jes’ a couple hundred, uh, six grand, eleven, thirteen thou a month less mebbe a third we gotta give up to keep ‘em all happy, eight, ten a month fo’ us jes’ fo’ starters. They’s two mo’ a them homes we kin line up on the weekend befo’ they take the kid. This one guy we gonna see first, he’s crookeder ‘n us. Says he’s got two hundred kids an’ from what I seen he only gots about thirty but he gots pictures a hisself with a mess a kids in some other home I think in Indonesia somewhere so he ain’t gonna complain how much we rake off. You jus’ gotta take some more pictures like a them kids in Ermita an’ that park. Then, after the feds give us back our boy, we take him all over to a bunch a churches, some TV appearances an’, we got twenty-thirty thou coming in each month.”
“They gonna want the kid to go to school. Whatta you gonna do then?”
“Look, we dump ‘im in some Christian home lets us take him out when we need ‘im an’ they git some a the cash. Anyhow, the kid’s smart. We git ‘im a teacher ta teach him English an’ I’ll bet you anything he can learn to preach a little hisself an’ he’ll love it.”
“An’ if he don’t?”
“Look, Billy, once he gits some a that American life in his belly, an’ some a the money he can make with us, he’s just gonna love it. Look what he’s done so far. How many kids can do what he done an’ survive healthy like he done.”
“Well, I guarantee you he’s gonna be pissed when them feds come ta pick him up. Ain’t gonna wanna even talk ta us for a long time, mebbe never.”
“Oh, hell, Billy, he’ll get over it. He’s gonna hate being all locked up with them feds so he’ll be happy as a pig in shit when we come an’ take him out. Don’t go worryin’ yerself about that.”
“When we gettin’ the reward money?”
“Not all that quick I don’t think. They got the ten thousand up there in cash ready ta give but ours is a donation, you see, an’ they gonna send it to Birmingham to the office which is okay ‘cause it’s federal money so we can’t mess with it anyway. We’ll use it for expenses, mebbe some advertising.”
“Anyway, they gonna be here Monday for the kid. I tole ‘em we needed the time to prepare ‘im an’ all which we do so he don’t get all that pissed off an’ll cooperate but they know how to make kids cooperate.”
By that time, Brandon’s heart was beating fast enough to cause sweat to break out all over his body. He pulled his ear off the door for a moment as his mind raced over escape possibilities. Regaining control, he forced himself to continue listening, again putting a finger in his opposite ear to better catch the voices coming through the wooden door.
Billy was talking about his concerns moving around in ‘dangerous’ places like Ermita and Luneta Park with expensive video equipment. Bobby Lee said, “So we git you a private cop to go with you an’…”
“What’re you doin’ there boy?” came the angry voice of the slippered cook from the top of the stairs.
“Just waiting for Bobby Lee to finish so I can ask…”
“With your ear on his door. Mr. Crabtree!” she called out.
Brandon backed off, desperately searching for an excuse for his behavior.
The door opened. Billy looked out.
“I come ask Mr. Craptree want eat. This boy listen door like…” She put her hand against her ear and leaned into it.
Brandon pleaded with her. “No, I was just listening to see if he was still talking with Mr. Billy.” He held up his bible. “You tell him the truth that I just wanted to ask about something in the bible, honest.”
She ignored him. To Billy, she said in English, “He lie. He listen.”
Brandon, shaking his head, looked at Billy and held up the bible. “Bible!”
Billy reached out to grab him but Brandon pulled away.
“Git your ass in here, kid!” ordered Billy.
Brandon didn’t move, just stared, wondering if he headed down the stairs would he be able to get past Henry and over the wall. There was a tree near the gate that he figured could be used as a ladder. But the cook was in the way.
Bobby Lee pushed past Billy. “What’s goin’ on out here?”
The cook repeated her report. Bobby Lee looked curiously at Brandon. “Ask him to tell what he was doin’ out here.”
“He say talk bible but he lie. He listen.” Again she put her hand to her ear and leaned into it.
Calmly, Bobby Lee said, “Billy, go git Henry an’ we’ll git him ta talk to the kid. Brandon, come on in here.”
Billy was anything but calm. “Bobby Lee, I tole you…”
“Billy, jes’ git Henry, okay.” He waved Brandon into his office.
Seeing no other viable option, Brandon obeyed meekly. He thought quickly exactly what questions he could have had about which bible verses.
Standing in the doorway, Bobby Lee told the cook to go on back downstairs. She asked him if he wanted to eat. “Ham and tomato sandwich, with lettuce and mayo and lemonade.” He seemed unperturbed.
Brandon had to convince him he couldn’t understand more than a few call boy words of English. It worried him that Bobby Lee didn’t look his way but sat at his desk, lips pressed together, staring at but not reading papers in front of him.
Henry was there in minutes. Bobby Lee asked him to ask Brandon what he’d been doing.
In Filipino, he asked accusingly, “looking to steal something?”
“No, I just want to talk to Bobby Lee about things in the bible. I just was listening to see if he was still busy then I was gonna knock. I don’t steal.” Being accused of being a thief was far less dangerous than spying on men who obviously were crooks.
“He say listen if you are busy then knock. Want talk about bible. I don’t believe. All stowaway thief.”
Brandon held the bible in front of him and tried to look innocent and confused.
“Okay, Henry,” said Bobby Lee coldly with a thumb toward the door. “Take him out back and kill him.”
There was no hiding the shock that went through Brandon’s body. He looked up, eyes wide, backing away crying, “No! No!” as Henry came for him.
Bobby Lee stopped him. “That’s okay, Henry. I didn’t mean that. Just trying to scare the kid. I’ll take care of him. Go on.”
Henry glared at Brandon and backed off. In Filipino, “Maybe I’ll still kill you, thief!”
The moment the door was closed, Bobby Lee said. “You are one hell of a liar boy. How come you didn’t tell us you know English.”
“No English.”
“Billy?”
Billy, standing behind Brandon, smacked him on the side of the head. “Don’t lie, boy, or I’ll kick your brown ass all over this room.”
Brandon, sure he was lost if he didn’t get away immediately, turned and, hoping to create enough distance between them to make a run for it, kicked at Billy. Billy, who’d been a street fighter long before joining Bobby Lee, snatched his foot and yanked. Brandon fell hard on his butt. Billy laughed at him. “You gotta do better’n that you wanna git away from me, boy.”
Bobby Lee interrupted, “Brandon, look, you’re a smart boy, so don’t go bein’ stupid. You got yerself a good deal here with us. You see how we live? Don’ you wanna live like this? Sure as hell beats livin’ on the streets. Now, git up and let’s talk.”
Seeing the possibility of talking his way out of a very dangerous situation, Brandon, backed away from Billy and stood.
“Sit down, now. You heard how much we’re gittin’ fo you. Wanna piece a that?” Bobby Lee leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised.
“How much?” answered Brandon in English.
“Five thousand dollars. But you gotta go with the feds and do what they say. No big deal. You don’t gotta testify against yo’ old man, just them perverts was fuckin’ you. I ain’t gonna ask nobody ta snitch on his old man. Mine was a piece a shit but ain’t no way I’d say nothing ‘bout him to no cop o’ judge. So whatta you say?”
“How long?” He didn’t really care. There was no way he was going to the U.S. and get killed for being a snitch as he was sure would happen. In his world, that’s what happened to anyone who testified against people more powerful than them. The men who’d been his customers, just by the fact that they were in the position to be customers, surely had more going for them than he did.
“Few weeks, couple months then you come back to us and we make us some serious moolah, you too. I bet you kin be one hellova preacher.”
Brandon was unsure what to say at that point other than, “Okay.”
“Now, you know, we gonna hafta keep you locked up ‘til Monday.”
“How come?”
“You ain’t been straight with us, kid. But, you do what you gotta with the feds next week and, well, you’ll be glad you did.”
Billy put Brandon in the pantry on the first floor, a room about six by eight feet filled with food supplies, cookware and eatware. Billy warned, “Don’t go doin’ nothin’ stupid or we gonna hafta let Henry have you.”
The cook didn’t like having Brandon around her food. “He steal food!”
“Then you won’ hafta cook him nothin’.”
Brandon turned on the light as the key was being turned in the lock. The door didn’t appear very formidable. He immediately looked around for something to begin working on it. There was a drawer with table knives. Rather than do something certainly to be heard by the nearby cook, he sat to wait for her to retire.
Minutes later, Billy with Henry, came back and searched the room for metal objects, removing knives, forks, spoons and, except for food containers, everything else made of metal. “Don’t want you hurtin’ yerself.”
BOBBY LEEWhen Billy came back into his office, Bobby Lee was at a window, staring outside.
“Bobby Lee, that kid…”
“I know what we gotta do. I’m just trying to figure a way to make it work fer us.”
RAY HOOLIHAN MOLINARay got back to Manila the day after Brandon had been taken away by Bobby Lee Crabtree. The India shoot had been run by a first time director anxious that everything be done perfectly. They shot in over a dozen locations from the Himalayas near the Nepalese border to the southern tip of the country across the water from Sri Lanka.
The hair stylist on the crew, Nandi Rajhesh, was a low key queen, a lover of older teens. He’d worked two American films with Ray in the Philippines and knew a couple of Ray’s friends who filled him in on Ray’s tastes. At every stop, Nandi either found a teenager who could also bring along someone younger for Ray or, in Bombay and Goa, had contacts who could provide whatever one desired. In Bombay, they had to go deep into an impoverished area to the second floor over a hair salon of sorts where Ray was presented with five boys from which to choose. Feeling guilty about rejecting four, he paid the equivalent of eight dollars to take all five into the provided small bedroom and received every kind of sexual attention a boy could give. At the end, two giggling pre-teens took turns sitting on his cock while the other three caressed, kissed and played with his balls.
In Goa, a man sent boys to his hotel room, a different one each night for an average of a dollar fifty a pop. The second boy, a slim thirteen with dreamy eyes, gave him one of the best blow jobs Ray had ever received, with three of the boy’s fingers up his ass.
The most beautiful, and most expensive at five US was a Chinese looking lad of twelve with not much in the front or back but everything else perfectly proportioned, skin like a baby and a face Ray paid extra to photograph repeatedly. His skills and the amount he charged convinced Ray he was a pro. However, the most amazing was a skinny dark skinned seven year old in the southern state of Tamil Nadu brought by a nineteen year old beauty who assured Ray in strange but beautiful English that the tyke was his little brother and not to worry about anything as he’d trained him personally. The child, with an incredibly long dong that flopped hither and yon but never got terribly erect, was able to take Ray completely inside himself from the front and smile while doing it. Ray had been certain his dick was poking at the boy’s belly.
All the sex had helped reduce Ray’s concerns about getting back to the two boys he’d promised to take in, one a beautiful half American with silky long black hair, a face off a travel poster and a the body of a Greek statue whose perfect English eliminated the constant battle to communicate clearly. The missed flight in the costal city of Visakhapatnam that caused a two day delay in Bombay without the hairdresser to take him to the little boy brothel, reignited his desire to get back to lovely Brandon. So, the first words out of his mouth when he got back to his apartment hotel and located the clerk were, “How are my two boys? You seen them recently?”
“Oh no, sir,” he answered with a mock look of concern. “They come just two times maybe two month ago, take clothes and money you give me for them and not come back. Sorry.”
Furious with himself for not just making up some excuse to get out of the contract no matter the consequences and, out of experience, sure Brandon was gone forever, Ray went straight to the Venus to get his rocks off and maybe find a boy for the night. There was an amenable hotel nearby.
He was shocked when he found the Venus balcony closed. Unconcerned about people knowing his orientation, he asked the candy counter man why. “Too many problem. Too many foreigner. Big problem.”
Careful to use his best Filipino and elicit a full explanation the man obviously couldn’t in English, Ray asked, “What happened?”
Nonetheless, the reply was in stilted English. “Read newspaper. Big problem Filipino boy and tourist.”
“Big problem here? Boy man here?” Filipino doesn’t have plurals. They add a word to indicate more than one so Ray wasn’t sure if there had been a single incident there with a man and a boy or there was a general situation with foreigners and boys.
“All Philippine. Here, more, Ermita, all. Bad problem. You go, okay?”
Ray went. Had there finally been a serious crackdown on foreigners with local boys and girls? He took the man’s advice and bought a set of newspapers from the first kid selling them that his jeepney passed. He got off at Luneta Park and walked to a bench to read. The Inquirer had nothing but Malaya had half page story about a Frenchman with a children’s home in Quiapo. Supposedly all the boys slept naked and, when the immigration and police officials raided the place early the previous morning, there was a boy with a cast on his leg sleeping in the man’s bed. Strangely enough, it didn’t say if the man had been found with him nor were there any sordid stories that might have been elicited from the boys themselves. The Frenchman was in the immigration jail and expected to be deported. Pagsanjan and a beach on the coast were also mentioned as places where there’d been recent raids and arrests. The article also stated that the ban on foreigners with underage Filipino children seemed to be working.
It was upsetting but not unexpected. Ray had told friends that the crude behavior of some foreigners, the openness of solicitations by the boys, tourists walking around with boys on their arms, men and boys walking together into hotels all had to raise public ire with politicians and religious leaders sure to jump on the situation for their own benefit. So, it had happened, part of the public revolt against the way things had been during the Marcos years. A 72 year old acquaintance when called told him that after six years enjoying the country, he was headed for Thailand. Perhaps it was time for Ray to follow the old man out of the country.
Lying in bed that night, it occurred to him that, in a few months, the theater balconies would re-open but with just Filipinos allowed, the boy clubs too. While his brown skin helped in some places, even India, it wasn’t as helpful here due to his facial features and curly hair. There were other options like Thailand and Indochina but, with things the way they were going, maybe not for long. India was interesting but Ray hated the food and found the educated people’s sometimes aloof attitudes hard to take.
And, too, he’d miss the many opportunities for still photography and the low cost of living there in the Philippines. He certainly wasn’t in difficult straits economically with enough in the bank and investments to live a middle class existence most anywhere for the rest of his life but he just felt more comfortable making enough to get by and not touch that formidable nest egg.
The thought of Brandon continued to gnaw at him so, the next day, Ray went to the seawall hoping to spot a familiar face. There were none but the view was still nice, if unavailable. At least a dozen street kids were playing naked in the low surf, a few with nice bodies, all with gleaming, alluring brown skin, asses and cocks that shone when the sun hit them right, and a willingness to hop into bed for a blowjob, if only that was still possible. Ray took some photos then slapped on a telephoto to bring them up close. He doubted the guys at the Fuji lab would find it at all offensive. Since he was shooting transparencies, he doubted they’d even notice. After tiring of finding fingerprints on some, he always mounted his own slides. Lab workers were supposed to use gloves but rarely, if ever, did.
To get his mind off boys, Ray went to the office of an American who arranged local personnel for foreign filmmakers. There was nothing imminent though an Australian company was planning a movie on the EDSA revolt which had overthrown Marcos. He already had Ray in mind for that project.
Rather than go home, Ray took in a movie then, after five, called a British BL friend who worked at an international bank in Makati. They had dinner and commiserated together over ‘the end of an era’ as the Brit put it. Both were slightly tipsy when they hailed separate cabs to get home.
Again, the next day, Ray went out in search of someone who might have information about what had happened to Brandon and Don Don. In Ermita he noticed a boy who he thought had been one of the kids he’d seen swimming with Brandon at the seawall. In broken Filipino, he asked for Brandon with the long hair then, when that didn’t work, mentioned his light colored eyes.
“Johnny. Johnny. Luneta Park. You go Luneta Park. Johnny.”
Ray figured Brandon might have used a fake name so went to the park and asked the street boys there for Johnny with the light colored eyes. As it happened, Johnny was begging along Kalaw Ave. on the south side of the park. Two stowaways took Ray to him. Frustrated and more convinced he’d lost the boy of his dreams, Ray paid the two and gave Johnny five Pesos as well. On a hunch that kids with similar features might know each other, Ray asked Johnny about Brandon with long hair and light colored eyes. In callboy English, Johnny answered, “Just me, Freddy eyes,” he pointed at his, “Freddy hair like mine. No…” he indicated long with his hands.
“Where is Freddy?”
“Freddy Santa Monica. Freddy Toti Santa Monica. We go there. I hungry. You buy food?”
“We go Santa Monica. I buy food.”
At the plaza, Johnny pointed out Toti hustling shoe shines among the customers in Raymond’s. Toti raised Ray’s hopes when he told him what had occurred the day before but couldn’t give him the missionary’s name or had any idea how to find him though did describe him and his video crew. Ray’s hopes dimmed again, then went out. Brandon was in a children’s home somewhere. There were homes for kids all over the country. Very few were listed anywhere. His chances of finding Brandon were again very slim, getting him out, negligible. He gave each boy twenty Pesos and went to a German restaurant in the area to eat. All the while, he pined over the loss of such a perfect boy. By the end of his meal, he was again ready to work the crappy odds and try anyway. He was a journalist of sorts. He had contacts, could get the names and locations or phone numbers of missionaries working with kids. This one sounded evangelical as opposed to Catholic and definitely American. He had a video crew, was a big man using a local for sound, a local who translated which also suggested the missionary might be a recent arrival. He had a starting point. He knew people in the film industry. He’d get a list of sound men and contact them all until he found the one working with a missionary.
That first part was easy. Two calls and follow up visits got him a list. There were only seventeen who, after eliminating those known to be working full time with a TV station or on a shoot, qualified.
He began calling from his apartment. It was harder than he’d figured. Most were out when he called and the person who answered the phone claimed not to understand him. He did eliminate three. Two were out of the country and one, Ting somebody, was out of the city on a job.
BOBBY LEESaturday morning, after checking on Brandon, Billy found Bobby Lee sitting outside in a lawn chair under a broad leafed tree.
“So, how we gonna get rid a this kid. We gotta do it.”
“I’m just thinking. You know, this is a pisser. We find this perfect kid, I mean perfect, smart, great looks, a real survivor, child prostitute used by Americans, stone cold whore, absolutely perfect for what we wanna do, then he turns out to be a fucking Boy Scout.”
“I wish I never seen him,” commiserated Billy. “What’re we gonna tell the feds when they come on Monday?”
“Nothin’. Here’s what I’m thinkin’. We make like he escapes, over the wall or somethin’. Then we either kill ‘im and dump ‘im in the bay with rocks around his neck which don’t get us nothin’ or, now think about this before you say anything, he turns up raped and dead in Ermita right where the foreign child molesters go. We make sure he gets a fancy funeral with lots of press attention. I do a big ass eulogy, you know, with tears and all. It’s not as good as him alive in churches but we both know that ain’t gonna happen.”
Billy shook his head and frowned. “So, how we gonna git him raped?”
“Well, cousin Billy, one a us gotta do it.”
“Not me, cousin.”
“Why not? You like the rough stuff.”
“With women an’ ain’t none a them got killed so far. Anyhow, you the killer in the family.”
“Okay, you fuck ‘im and I’ll do the killin’.”
“You ain’t listenin’ ta me. I ain’t gonna do it. And whatta ‘bout the cum? They can see who done it with his cum, can’t they? ’Less you gonna use a rubber then how they gonna know he was raped. Why don’t we git somebody else ta do it? Pay some guy then do him too.”
“I thought about that but all they can git from somebody’s sperm is their blood type an’ chinks got different blood types than white people so they’d know an’ no way we’re gonna get a foreigner ta do it. Anyway, no way they’re gonna connect us an’, anyhow, gonna be local cops doin’ the investigatin’ an’ they ain’t gonna be all that slick. But, we gotta make it look like some foreigner done it. That’s why we dump ‘im in Ermita, you know, somewhere near where we found ‘im, late at night when ain’t nobody aroun’, like three, four in the mornin’.”
“Sounds risky ta me, Bobby Lee. We gonna be in a car less’n you wanna steal one. What if somebody sees us an’ gits the license plate or somebody sees us an’ comes after us. Lotta people all over in this place. Remember what the kid said about when his uncle tried to git ridda ‘im an’ them people chased after ‘im. That was the middle of the night too.”
“Confidence, Billy! We kin do it, just gotta be quick, ya know, slow down and push him out. Ain’t nobody gonna notice ‘im ‘til light an’ somebody tries to wake ‘im up an’ he don’t. Anyhow, it’s gotta be where people gonna know who he is so we can be lookin’ for ‘im and they can tell us he’s dead.
“So, we wait ‘til tonight, you fuck his ass hard, break somethin’ and I’ll do the rest.”
“Unh uh, Bobby Lee. Not gonna happen. I couldn’t even git a hard on fer somethin’ like that.”
“Sure you can. Anyhow, one a us gotta hold ‘im down an’ then I can stick his head in a pillow so he don’t make no noise. Just gotta be careful we shouldn’t be killin’ him until just before we gonna dump ‘is ass. Gotta look like he was killed at some hotel near there so, you know, body temperature gotta still be kinda warm. I figure we do that in the car, and I can do that while you’re drivin’. So, how ‘bout it? We do ‘im tonight.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t fuck ‘im.”
RAY
Friday evening, Ray again called his list of Filipino sound men and was able to scratch off all but three who were out. Saturday morning, he found the last three, none of whom had worked with a foreign missionary. A call to the man who gave him the list was unhelpful. “Ray, that’s everybody. You sure he was Filipino and not from some other Southeast Asian country, or even mighta been Japanese. We get Japanese newsfilm crews in here all the time.”
“Nah, it was just this missionary, an American cameraman and this guy, basic equipment. If it had been a professional operation, there’d’ve been a larger crew, at least a producer, American like the other two. This guy’s Filipino.”
“You talked to all of them personally? Sometimes they’re moonlighting and unless they trust you they aren’t gonna say anything about working for somebody like that.”
“Just the one’s were out of town. I can call ‘em again. Maybe they were working with the missionary outside Manila.”
There were only two. The first was a man named Ting. He was out when Ray called but was expected back later that afternoon. The second was still out of town.
Ray went back to Ermita and sought out Toti, paid him twenty Pesos to stop working and have a meal in Raymond’s. They were quickly joined by Melvin and Nanding hoping to eat too.
After admitting he hadn’t yet found Brandon, Ray asked Toti if he was sure the soundman had been a Filipino. “Sure, he spoke Filipino. He was telling the tourist what Freddy was saying.”
A Barangay Tanod walked close to the table and seemed to be listening. Toti told him that Ray was a reporter, not a tourist. Rather than leave, the tanod sat with them and nibbled at the boy’s food. Ray bought him a sandwich and drink too.
At three, he called Ting’s number again but he wasn’t in.
BOBBY LEEIt was getting on dinner time. Bobby Lee had a detail to take care of. After telling the cook he’d take care of feeding Brandon and telling Billy what he was going to do and why, he drove their newly rented dark blue car out of their area and bought rice and fried chicken feet plus a red colored drink from a street vendor.
Back at the house, with Billy at the pantry door, he handed the plastic bagged food and drink to Brandon.
“How come I gotta eat this?”
“I thought I was doin’ you a favor, you know, gittin’ you somethin’ your people like.”
“I want a sandwich or something. Why can’t I fix something? I ain’t gonna run away or nothing.”
“Look, cook’s gone. Eat this now an’ I’ll git you somethin’ else later on.”
Upstairs in the office, Billy said, “So, you’re really gonna do this.” He’d been told the food was so an autopsy would show Brandon’s last meal had been street food.
“You gittin cold feet, cousin?”
“You done this before, Bobby Lee. I shot that guy once but he was okay after and this is just a kid.”
“Don’t make no difference what size somebody is. Killin’ ‘em is killin’ ‘em. You gonna do your part?”
“Ain’t no way my dick’s gonna git hard fer that, Bobby Lee, no way.”
“Shit, Billy, we just kill ‘im, we gotta git us a boat from somebody an’ then kill him too and then come back in the boat where it’s gonna be easier fer somebody ta see us an’ we don’t git nothin’ outta it, just gittin’ rid of a problem. This way, we make us a shitload of money. We put the kid’s picture on all our brochures and do memorial services at churches, all that. We gotta do this and you gotta do your part. We’re in this together or we ain’t so what’s it gonna be?”
“I ain’t never gonna snitch on you, Bobby Lee. Anyhow, I gotta hold ‘im down while you do it an’ drive the car. Ain’t that enough? Anyhow, I tole you, ain’t no way mah dick’s gonna git hard fer nothing like fucking no little kid.”
“Fuck it! You sure ain’t much help, cousin. All right, we gotta tell Julie we ain’t gonna be here fer dinner so she can go home an’ we can move the kid to his room so we can make the door to the pantry look like he forced it.”
Minutes after the cook was gone, Bobby Lee and Billy went to the pantry with a long extension cord, several towels, a rag and an old long sleeved shirt. Without a word, they grabbed Brandon and, muffling a brief cry, stuffed the rag into his mouth. While Bobby Lee held the frantically squirming boy, Billy wrapped him in towels then tied him up shoulders to ankles with the extension cord. The towels were to prevent leaving any marks indicating that he’d been recently tied up. The rag was then secured in Brandon’s mouth with the shirt tied around his head.
“Make sure he can breathe,” ordered Bobby Lee as the shirt was pulled tight.
Brandon was carried into what had been his bedroom and left on the floor. Billy used a hacksaw blade, the one end wrapped in a rag, to saw off the door latch’s tongue. Bobby Lee had an idea watching the operation. Once Billy was finished, he took the hacksaw blade to Brandon, forced his hand around it and yanked it back and forth enough to cut him as though he’d done the sawing barehanded which also had the benefit of leaving his finger prints on the blade.
RAYAt five, then five thirty, Ray again called the soundman Ting. He was there on the last call.
“Yeah, he was a missionary supposed to be helping stowaways, street children,” he answered after Ray had identified himself as a journalist.
“I’d like to talk to him. You got an address?”
“What you wanna talk to him about?”
Ray worried the man might feel he was breaking a customer confidence giving out such information. “Can we meet? This is very important.”
“This about the kid?”
“He have a kid with him, named Brandon?”
“What’s this all about?”
They met at a Jollibee restaurant not far from Ting’s Pasay home. Ray showed him his press card. “The kid’s been through a lot. Local cops and the American military are looking for him.”
“Something that happened in Angeles?”
“So you know.”
“Just that there’s a problem. What’s going on?”
“This is between us, okay?”
Ting nodded.
“It’s complicated. His father, he’s, was, an Air Force sergeant, American, he’s locked up in the states on drug trafficking charges. His mother’s locked up, I think, I mean I don’t know if she still is, but she’s accused of murder but she’s innocent. This other woman had her son mixed up in child prostitution and she went after her. They had a scuffle then the other woman went into the street and was hit by a jeepney. Brandon’s mother didn’t push her or anything. The Americans want Brandon to testify against some Air Force men they’ve busted for child abuse and see if he knows anything about his father’s business. The local cops are looking for him because he witnessed the death of that woman but mostly, I think, because the Americans told them to. That’s about it. So the missionary knows all this?”
“I think so, yeah. So what’s your interest in all this, just a reporter doing his job?”
Ray caught the inference of an additional motive and decided this wasn’t the time to fudge things. “I met the kid and he, for some reason, started speaking to me in unaccented English and…”
“Where’d you meet him? I’m not against helping you. I just wanna know what this is all about. So far, all I’ve seen is people wanting to use this kid.”
“The missionary?”
“The kid’s just a prop to him, a poster boy for his racket.”
“The missionary’s running a scam?”
“Don’t they all? So, the truth, what’s your interest. It’s not just a story I don’t think. And how come all the sudden now? Kid’s been on the streets for a couple, maybe three months.”
There it was, as close to an accusation as could be stated. “Look, I just don’t wanna see this kid get used by anybody, and that includes the Americans. They don’t give a shit about his welfare, just their case. And now this missionary. I care what happens to him. And maybe I won’t write this up. It’d probably just hurt the kid, and there’s a little girl mixed up in this too. She’d get hurt too. I don’t want any kid getting hurt.
“And I met the kid a couple months ago but I had a contract for a job in India. I should’ve stayed but, you break a contract and, hell, you know what happens. Anyhow, right now, I’m a hundred percent on this situation. That good enough for you?”
Ting leaned back in his seat, sucked on his chocolate shake and stared at Ray. “Okay. The missionary lives up near Loyola Heights. The kid’s with him. He’s a good kid. I don’t want him hurt either. So, what’s your plan?”
“Christ, I don’t know, talk to this guy, Brandon, see what Brandon wants to do, take him out of there if that’s what he wants. He seem to like the man?”
“He’s got him reading the bible. Kid acts like he believes what the man’s feeding him.”
Ray slumped.
Ting continued, “Thing is, Crabtree, that’s his name by the way, Bobby Lee Crabtree if I didn’t say already, he’s got the kid believing he’s gonna solve all his problems but from a few things I heard those two, he’s got a partner, I heard those two saying to each other, he might be planning to make a deal for some money to turn the kid over to the Americans. He had a meeting with some lawyer, well, he says it was a lawyer, but it might’ve been with the Americans in Angeles when we came back from Baguio.”
He told Ray about the trips to the two children’s homes and what had occurred at each, particularly the negative reaction of the preacher in Baguio and Billy taking photos and getting names and ages of every kid he could. “The Baguio home was legit. The one in Bulacan wasn’t. Kids came from good homes. The man running it conned the parents into giving him their kids. They oughta lock him up.”
“So Brandon was, like you said, a prop. So why you think they might be willing to give him up to the Americans, if that’s what you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just gonna claim they saved him, sent him home to America, who knows. You gotta get that kid outta there. He belongs with his mother. You gotta get her out too if you really care about him.”
“I gotta find her first. Nobody seems to know where they’ve got her. I’ve looked. They may just be waiting for her son to appear so he can testify but there were a lot of people saw what happened. Even the press reports indicate that she wasn’t responsible for what happened. I don’t know but I’ll find her eventually. I’ve only been back for three days.”
“So, again, what’s you plan? I’ll go out and show you where he lives if you want. You got a car?”
“Yeah.” Ray looked at his watch. It was six twenty-five. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Ting had to go back to his house to let his family know he’d be out for a while. “My wife, it’s Saturday night, you know what she thinks so we gotta do this quick.”
Traffic was moderate so they were there in less than twenty minutes. With Ting waiting in the car to avoid being pegged as a problem and losing future work, Ray pushed the button on the wall beside the large metal double doors.
After a second ring and three or four minutes, Henry opened the small window in the door. Ray asked, “Mr. Crabtree in?”
“Who are you? Is late.”
Ray held up his press pass with picture. “Ray Hoolihan. Just want a few minutes but it’s important.”
“You wait.” The window was closed.
Ray had to wait for nearly ten minutes before Billy appeared at the window, Henry right behind him peering curiously.
“Whatta you want?”
“Just a few minutes of the pastor’s time. Won’t take long.”
“About what?”
“He’s been helping street kids, especially one and seems there are people looking for him. Just wanna get his statement so there’s no misunderstandings. Be good to talk to the kid too.”
“Ain’t no kid here. He left this morning.”
Ray noticed Henry’s eyes open wider. He moved in closer and whispered something to Billy who just pushed him back without a reply. “Pastor’s busy right now. Come back Monday.”
“Monday might be too late if more reporters get hold of this story.”
“Ain’t no story. Kid ran away. We was trying to help him but he ran away.”
Ray tried to catch Henry’s reaction but the watchman was out of sight. “When?”
“Look, I told you, this mornin’ so just come back Monday.” The window was shut.”
Ray waited a moment to give Billy time to go back to the house then rang again hoping the watchman would answer. He didn’t.
In the car, he told Ting, “Some guy, American, probably his partner, said Brandon ran away this morning but the watchman seemed surprised to hear it. I think he was lying. I told him there was a story in the works and they needed to give their side. That usually gets some action.”
“The man was Billy Crabtree, Bobby Lee’s cousin. They’re not really partners. Bobby Lee is the boss. Billy works for him.”
“The question is why did he lie. I’m sure Brandon is in there.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want anybody talking to him.”
“Then say it’s too late or he’s taking a shower, not that he ran away.”
They both sat in silence for a while. Finally, Ray said, “You mind if I get you a taxi. I’m gonna sit on this. They might try to sneak him out tonight, or, who knows. I can’t figure out why they’d lie like that.”
“They’re stupid? No, Bobby Lee’s not stupid and Billy wouldn’t have said that on his own. Any way they know who you are? I don’t see a camera but there might be one and that light up there is enough for most surveillance rigs.”
“No, I don’t know how. The watchman certainly told them I was a foreigner so maybe they assumed press. Might have something to do with whatever he did in Angeles yesterday but I can’t imagine what.”
Again, both fell into thoughtful silence. Then, Ting said, “I’m gonna stay with you. You might need an interpreter.”
“I speak understandable Filipino.”
“Still.”
“You’re right, and I appreciate it. You speak damn near perfect English. You live in the states for a while?”
“Almost nine years, union, everything in Los Angeles.”
“So why’d you come back?”
“Ah, it’s better here, for me at least.”
“Too much bullshit?”
“Way too much bullshit. That why you left?”
“Hopefully for good. I’m stuck with the passport but that’s it and maybe I’ll change that one day, just not sure where.”
“You like it here?”
“In a lot of ways, yes. It’s one hell of a beautiful country, especially up past Baguio. As a photographer, it doesn’t get any better.”
“Something I gotta ask. You look Dominican or Cuban or Rican. Where’d Hoolihan come from?”
“I’m a Irigro.” He pronounced it ‘ayreegro’. “Quarter Rican, quarter black, the rest Irish from my hoodlum old man.”
BOBBY LEEBilly, who’d been unable to sleep, awakened Bobby Lee from his nap at one in the morning.
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea. What if they can trace something about your sperm and match it to you?”
“Jesus, cousin, why they gonna want to check it against mine? First place, he ran away this morning. You already told that reporter that and Henry knows how much it’s worth for him to say the same thing.”
“I ain’t so sure he believes what you tole ‘im.”
“Don’ matter none. He din’t see nothin’, ain’t seen the kid since yesterday so what’s he gonna say? They gonna know the kid got fucked at night long after he left us. With the shit I put in his wine, Henry ain’t gonna know we left o’ come back. He’ll swear we was here all night. C’mon, we gotta do this.”
They went into Brandon’s bedroom. He was on the bed where they’d left him, wrapped in towels, tied with extension cord, a gag securely in his mouth.
“Git a hold a him while I untie his legs.”
Brandon’s eyes came wide open seconds after they loosened the end of the cord around his ankles. He made muffled screams and tried to roll side to side. The moment his legs came free, he stopped struggling and just watched. Neither man paid him any attention and continued unwrapping him up to his waist. Bobby Lee yanked off his shoes and ordered, “Just hold still or Billy’s gonna have to smack you.”
He moved up to undo his belt and opened his pants. Brandon tried to sit up but Billy pushed him back down. Grabbing his pants by the cuffs, Bobby Lee pulled them off in three successive jerks. Brandon began to cry. Bobby Lee slipped his underwear off.
“Turn ‘im over. Don’ let him move. Where’s the grease?”
“Don’t you got it?”
“No, I don’t got it. What’d you do with it? I sure as hell ain’t gonna git inside him dry.”
“I’ll go look but you gotta hold ‘im.”
Bobby Lee stood then sat on the small of Brandon’s back. “Just keep still now.“
Brandon, realizing what was about to happen, cried uncontrollably.
Billy was back quickly with a tube of KY. Bobby Lee released Brandon to Billy and opened his own pants. With trousers and boxers around his ankles, he used the lubricant and his hand to raise an erection.
“Damn, Bobby Lee, you got a big un’, bigger’n mine.”
“An’ it’s been a lot more places than yours even been or gonna be,” he replied with a grin. “And now, something else you ain’t never done.”
“An’ don’t care to.”
“Just keep ‘im still.” Bobby took Brandon by the hips, pulled him up a few inches, forced his legs apart with his own and leaned down. The head of his cock spread Brandon’s cheeks. Using a finger to locate his target, Bobby Lee pressed his cock against Brandon’s hole, moved up slightly, and rammed full inside, yanking Brandon to him for an even greater penetration. Brandon went silent for a second then tried to scream through his gag.
“Damn, Billy, this is even better ‘n’ one a them little virgins.” He pulled out and thrust inside again, stopped, moved his hips side to side, slid out and jammed his cock all the way again. “I’m gonna move him back this way. Come on.”
Bobby Lee pulled Brandon to the back edge of the bed so he could stand, lifted his hips higher and began repeated hard thrusts, each time yanking Brandon’s hips back against him. Brandon tried to kick up at the man’s shins but Bobby Lee kept them outside his legs. The flailing was ineffective.
It took him a while but eventually, by upping the tempo and force of his penetrations, Bobby Lee, sweat dripping off his face, reached orgasm, flooding Brandon’s bruised insides with his semen. “Damn, cousin, I could do that again. Mebbe them Greeks had the right idea.”
His balls empty, Bobby Lee pushed deep a few more times then let go of Brandon’s hips. The boy fell to the bed, Bobby Lee’s stiff cock flipped out of his reddened anus. “Wanna give it a go, Billy?”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
Brandon, sobbing hard, didn’t fight being dressed. As he was about to snap his jeans closed, Bobby Lee had a thought and took the jeans back off. Brandon tried to scream something. “They gonna find him quicker if he ain’t wearing no pants. Sure you don’ wanna go, Billy? Last chance.”
Billy shook his head.
They wrapped his legs again in the towels and retied him with the cord. Billy said, “Don’t lemme forget one a them pillows.”
RAYRay and Ting did all they could to keep each other awake, discussing family, work, the weather, Cory Aquino versus Ferdinand Marcos. Both wished they had some grass to smoke. It was two thirty in the morning before there was any sign of life in the house.
“You hear something?” asked Ray. “Sounded like a car starting up.”
Ting sat up. One side then the other of the entry doors was opened by Bobby Lee. Ray and Ting slumped down in their seats. A car, lights out, Billy behind the wheel, drove onto the street. Bobby Lee closed the doors and got into the rear seat of the car, moving something out of his way to do so.
“Why’s he getting into the back. He’s got something…, shit, you think it’s Brandon?”
The car moved swiftly down the street. Ray cranked up his and did a quick turn around. Ting said, “You’re right. It’s almost gotta be the kid. I hope…” He made the sign of the cross.
Lights out, they followed the preacher’s car out to a nearby boulevard where Ray turned on his lights.
“I’m really worried now. What if they’ve done something to Brandon? Keep you eyes open for a cop. We’ve gotta stop ‘em.”
Ting suggested, “Watch for a taxi going our way. Some a them got radios.”
There were no patrol cars or taxis as they headed in toward the center of town. When they turned onto the Ayala Bridge ten minutes later, Ray commented, “Ermita, they’re headed for Ermita. What the fuck is he up to?”
They passed Luneta Park and turned right onto Kalaw Avenue which ran along the bottom end of the park. There was no traffic. Ray moved up behind them, preparing to pull ahead. He saw Bobby Lee in back struggling with something, his shoulders moving side to side, his head bowed. “He’s hurting him. Jesus!”
Just as he was about to hit the accelerator, Billy turned left down Mabini Street into the heart of Ermita. Ray shot past him and yanked the car to the right, hitting the front of Billy’s car, knocking it up onto the sidewalk into a tree. Ting pushed his door open as they came to a halt. Billy jammed the car into reverse and flew backward across the street, hopping the curb and banging into the building there. Ting ran after him. Before Billy could pull forward, Ting was along side and rammed his elbow into the door’s window, breaking and bending it inward. Ray headed for the other side of the car. Billy, who had backed away from the flying shards of glass, again went for the gearshift. Ting opened his door and grabbed at his head. Bobby Lee banged down the lock on his door as Ray tried to reach it then went for the front door lock. Ting was inside, all over Billy who fought to push him back out. Ray, trying to see where Brandon was, followed Ting’s example and used his elbow to break the front passenger side window.
Bobby Lee unlocked his door and jumped out. Something long fell out ahead of him. Ray looked there instead of at Bobby Lee who hit him in the side of the head with a great right fist, knocking him backward into the street. Ting was losing the battle to stay in the car with Billy who used a foot effectively at Ting’s thighs.
Ray rolled out of the way of a size twelve aimed at his ribs and jumped up onto his feet. A jeepney came down the street toward them. Ray charged Bobby Lee who was over a head taller, ramming a shoulder into his gut. Ting grabbed at Billy’s leg and yanked him out of the car onto the sidewalk.
“Fuckened chink!” growled Billy as he struggled to his feet. Ting threw a roundhouse that bowled Billy over and back against the car.
Bobby Lee wrapped his arms around Ray’s middle and lifted him off the ground, whirled and slammed him into the car. Ray fell on top of the lump that was Brandon.
The oncoming jeepney picked up speed and whizzed on by.
Billy bounced back and chased Ting around a tree. Ting stopped suddenly and kicked him in the chest, stunning him briefly
Bobby Lee reached down, yanked Ray up and put an arm around his neck, trying to strangle him. Brandon, who’d been nearly suffocated moments before, regained his senses, looked up, saw what was happening, rolled into Bobby Lee’s leg and bit down on it with all the strength he could muster.
“Little motherfucker!” roared Bobby Lee as he pulled his leg away and kicked at Brandon. The moment of inattention toward Ray allowed him to drop out the neck hold and roll away. Bobby Lee kicked Brandon in the face bringing forth a stream of blood from his nose. Ray, infuriated, again ran at Bobby Lee, his shoulder aimed higher this time, his knee aimed at his balls.
Ting put a fist into Billy’ throat then the opposite into his face.
Bobby Lee sensed what was coming and pulled his hips back. Ray’s knee only barely connected with his upper thigh. Bobby Lee brought both hands down on the back of Ray’s neck, crumpling him.
Another jeepney and a car turned toward them off Kalaw Avenue. The car stopped short. The jeepney driver came right up to the battle, across the front of the Crabtree’s car and stopped to watch.
Bobby Lee yelled at him. “Get the fuck outta there!” He charged him. The driver and the man in the passenger seat scrambled out the far side, the driver laughing. Two passengers in the back jumped out and backed away. Bobby Lee hopped into the driver’s seat to move the vehicle himself but the driver had pulled the key and taken it with him. Two more cars became additional witnesses.
Bobby Lee shouted at Billy, “Let’s get outta here.”
Seeing what was beginning to amount to a crowd, Billy didn’t need any encouragement. Ting, exhausted and trembling, sat hard on the concrete.
Ray got to his knees, looking for Brandon who was bleeding profusely. He crawled to him, lifted his head onto his lap and struggled with the cord binding him. One of the spectators walked up, sized up the situation and knelt down to help with the extension cord. Ray used the first towel to come loose on Brandon’s nose.
Brandon looked up, recognized who it was, rolled over and, crying, threw his arms around Ray’s waist.
Ray returned the embrace. “I’m so sorry. I never should’ve left. I won’t do it any more.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
EPILOGUEThough Ting argued for the police to be called in so the murderous preacher and his accomplice could be arrested before they boarded a plane out of the country, he eventually acceded to Brandon’s pleas not to. Ray, furious over what had been done and attempted to Brandon, took longer. The spectator who’d come to help was also adamant about bringing in the police and never did completely understand why not. He left frustrated when Ting couldn’t fully explain Brandon’s fears.
When the damage to Ray’s rented car prevented them from using it, the jeepney driver offered both men and Brandon a ride to the nearby Manila Doctor’s Hospital. First, he and his passengers helped them push the car to A. Flores Street. Crabtree’s car was left for the police to find.
Brandon’s nose was broken. Ting did all the talking. Brandon left with his nose and sinus full of cotton and his nose taped. A black eye was forming.
The problem Ray faced with Brandon was where to take him. The clerk at his hotel had informed him that no minors were allowed with foreign guests. Ting took him home to an unexpectedly accepting wife.
A high priced lawyer, recommended by one of Ting’s clients, was contacted the next day. He checked into the situation and suggested the best thing to do regarding Brandon’s legal status was nothing. “They’re not actively looking for him. As long as he stays out of trouble, nothing’s going to happen though he shouldn’t go to the American Embassy.”
The good news was that Layla was close to being released. The attorney facilitated that and made sure, since the Filipino police had found no evidence that she’d been in any way involved in her husband’s drug trafficking, that the Americans couldn’t touch her.
Claiming that wasn’t the type of law he practiced, he refused to do anything to legalize Brandon living with Ray. Ting said afterward, “He’s sure you’re a pedophile. You aren’t, are you?”
“Whatta you think?”
“I don’t care.”
Layla was out of jail a few days later. Ray, tapping into his investment income, rented the both of them apartments in the same building. Brandon spent more time with Ray than his mother. She found a job working nights in a Makati nightclub running girls a lot more expensive than the ones she’d been in charge of in Angeles.
A two year off and on search including, at Brandon’s insistence, the use of a detective agency, turned up no trace of Millie.
Brandon never hustled his body again. Sex with Ray, though certainly not the loving relationship, petered out when he turned fifteen and fell in love with a schoolmate, a girl, of course.