THE ULTIMATE GOOD SAMARITAN by Michael Peterson Part 3 © 2007
Chapter 13At eight thirty Tuesday morning, Walter was in the law office of Everett Bradley, Attorney At Law. He had bathed and shaved but didn’t feel at all clean, just tired and very unhappy. Other than a few times Steve had spent with friends, the past few nights had been the first time he hadn’t slept with his foster son in nearly eight years.
Everett Bradley was reading something in a law book. Without looking up, he waved Walter to a chair. A few moments later, he looked up and smiled. “Mr. Stuyvesant, good morning. Let’s get down to it. I need to be in court at nine. Lieutenant Garretson filled me in on the basics but I’d like to hear it all from you, starting from the beginning.”
“I’m sorry, when they arrested me, or…”
“No, when you first got involved with this boy.”
Walter took a breath and began with Steve, Sr. entering the restaurant after he’d been stabbed and ended with what had occurred at the school.
“That’s pretty much what the lieutenant told me,” commented Bradley. “He thinks you’re a pretty good guy. Now, that said, the charges against you are very serious. I’m going to speak to the prosecutor and find out what her plans are, see what she’s got, find out what she wants. Then I’ll get back to you toward the end of the week and we can discuss our options and my fee. The bail hearing cost you five hundred dollars. The rest is going to a lot more expensive. You’ve got to be prepared for that. If you have a credit card with you, I’d appreciate it if you paid the five hundred with my secretary. She’ll be here in a few minutes. I’ve gotta go.”
He left before Walter could ask him about how they might be able to help Steve.
At home, he called Tom Garretson and filled him in on his visit with the attorney.
“This guy’s good but he’s gonna be expensive. You might be able to negotiate with him.”
Garretson visited Walter that evening.
Discussing the lawyer, Walter asked, “Can these people help Steve too or is that going to be a conflict of some kind?”
“Look, Walter, I hate to tell you this. I know you don’t want to hear it but you’ve gotta face reality. Steve was your foster son. Where he lives, everything about him is under the control of the Bureau of Child Services. Even if they wanted to, lawyers couldn’t do much for him. And, shit, man, you’ve got to deal with the fact that you may never see him again, at least until he’s eighteen.”
“Oh my God, Tom. That’s wrong. They can’t punish us for something we didn’t do. They haven’t got a shred of proof we did anything anyone could consider wrong. You know that.”
“Walter, once this kind of charge is made, you know, it doesn’t matter if you’re found not guilty, Steve is gone. They’re not gonna take any chances. If something came out a year, two years later, it’d be their ass and they know it. And, believe me, neither you or Steve are as important to them as their jobs, shit, as one of their staplers.”
Walter sat thinking quietly then said, “You know I’m not going to give up trying to get him back.”
“Oh, hell, I know that but you’ve got to, shit, just don’t do anything until you get out from under these charges, please. You go looking for him now and they’ll hang you out to dry and then you won’t be able to do anything for him.”
“What could they possibly charge me with if I do, if I ask questions?”
“How about attempted kidnapping? Sound farfetched? Think about it. You’re prohibited from getting near the kid because you, let’s say, might have molested him. They’ve got power over the kid meaning they can claim you’re trying to snatch him. It would be bullshit but you’d be charged anyway and it would probably come up in court with the charges they got now. Just don’t do it, Walter. Be patient. Hang in there. One thing at a time.”
The hospital regimen was less onerous than where Steve had spent his first few days of imprisonment. Nonetheless, there was no doubt he was a prisoner. For twenty-two hours of each day, he was locked in Ward B complex. At night, the day room was locked. The individual room doors had to be closed but they were not locked so one could go to the bathroom located behind the glassed in office. The toilets were enclosed but the rest of the bathroom was visible to the person in the office. There were two TV sets inside cages on the walls which were tuned to programs geared, he later learned, to black or Latino tastes. The minority white kids had to watch what those groups chose. There were games such as checkers, chess, Parcheesi and Monopoly and tables on which to play them. The nurse in charge during the day was gruff but didn’t bother anyone unless they were particularly unruly or noisy.
There were two hours of outdoor recreation daily but in an area enclosed by a fence over three times as high as Steve was tall and topped with two rows of razor wire. Steve looked longingly at the grass and trees outside the fence wishing only to be allowed to walk freely out there for a short while.
Steve found himself increasingly angry at his situation. He was the supposed victim, not the alleged perpetrator. Why was he locked up like a criminal? Being uncooperative was not a criminal offense. No matter what, neither he nor Walter had done anything that should have been considered wrong. The sex they’d had was between them. Steve had wanted it. It felt good and made him feel closer to the man he loved.
Perhaps his accusers could use a little sex with someone they loved. Perhaps they were jealous of the wonderful, warm relationship between him and his dad.
An hour or so after returning from the yard, showers were called. Those who wished lined up at the gate. Hot water was something Steve found to be a brief respite from the misery of being locked up.
The gang shower was closely supervised by a man who Steve noticed surreptitiously checking out groins, especially his. Being one of five white boys and the only blonde, he apparently stood out from the rest. It made him feel very self conscious. Steve turned his back. When finished, he got behind others to receive the towel tossed his way and quickly covered up.
Others had apparently picked up on the man’s interest too but weren’t as self conscious. One black boy and a Latino, both twelve or thirteen and growing, pulled hard ons and flipped them at the man as they walked out to the dressing room. Steve thought there might more be going on between them but couldn’t figure out how since everyone seemed to be closely supervised all the time.
Each boy was assigned a toothbrush which they were allowed to use after meals but had to return to the nurse afterwards to be stored in a double glass door cabinet. She applied the toothpaste to each.
The boys in his ward displayed everything from loquaciousness to silent depression. One boy about ten or eleven, walked around speaking to everyone but not paying any attention to them. He was generally ignored. When he stopped the table where Steve was reading, he said “I’m getting a bicycle when I go home.”
Steve, feeling sorry for the boy, said he had one and they were a lot of fun. When he was about to ask the boy what kind he wanted, the kid walked off.
He only had two roommates, both of whom spoke exclusively in Spanish, and, other than getting out of his way when he went by, ignored his presence.
The bed was more comfortable than the one at the detention center but Steve’s feeling of isolation remained the same. He was to be there a month, a long time for a twelve year old. He hugged his pillow wishing it was Walter. He wondered where his father was, in jail as the cop had intimated or at home on bail, or maybe even free. After all, how could they have any evidence? It just wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t be at the hospital were that the case. Imprisonment surely was a way to force him to talk. If only there was a way for him to speak to his dad, find out what was going on.
Steve suddenly sat up. The man in the shower probably had a cell phone. Most people did. He looked to be the kind of person Walter was accused of being. Steve would gladly allow him to do whatever he wanted, even allow himself to be fucked, for a few minutes with his cell phone. He’d call the apartment first, then failing that, he’d try Lieutenant Garretson. He’d surely answer and would have information, possibly a number he could dial for his dad.
He decided to take all the showers he could and show off what he had to offer. He’d use his eyes to let the man know he was available. Then, a terrible thought entered his mind. What if the man was a set up, not necessarily for him but any kid looking for sex with a man. After all, this was a psychiatric hospital. He was sure there were other kids in his ward for sexual situations, possibly even one or more the same as his.
He developed a more cautious plan. He’d watch boys who seemed to interest the man, particularly those who seemed to be surreptitiously communicating with him. That would be a real indicator. Then, he’d keep an eye out to see when they were called out. If something was going on between the man and some boys, there had to be a way they could connect out of sight of the rest of the staff. He could find a reason to speak to them, form a friendship of sorts and eventually ask where they were going. If one had difficulty explaining his time out of the ward, he’d get closer, gradually bringing up the shower man, finally letting him know that he’d like to meet the man.
On his second day after outside recreation, another younger white boy asked him if he wanted to play Parcheesi. Steve agreed but both sets of the game were missing pieces. The other boy got some paper from a trash can and balled up four pieces carefully, three rounded and one in the form of a triangle. The round pieces went with the single green one, the pointed, the three red. For dice, he wrote numbers on other scraps that they pulled from each other’s hand. However, minutes after starting to play, Steve’s name was called.
An orderly accompanied him to a doctor’s office on the first floor.
The man who greeted him was short, stocky and young for a doctor, no more than thirty. His clean shaven face showed the scars of teenage acne. His attempted friendly expression couldn’t hide the obvious boredom. “Hello, Steven, My name is Dr. Townsend. We’re going to be getting together from time to time for your evaluation. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then we can get started.”
“Sir, why am I here?” There was anger behind Steve’s question.
“Son, I have no idea. All I know is that you are to be given a complete evaluation that, I assume, will be sent to the court handling your case.”
“There isn’t any court because I haven’t been charged with anything because I haven’t done anything. So, why am I here?”
The doctor opened a file and read. Steve waited hoping to learn who was behind his mistreatment.
“A judge sent you here so you are in court. Now, let’s…”
“What judge? I didn’t do anything!”
“Look, son, you’re here because you are supposed to be here. For one thing, you’ve been lying to the police. That’s wrong. So let’s just do what we have to do.”
Steve folded his arms and boiled quietly.
The test that day was the same multiple choice Dr. Perlman had given him. Steve tried to mark the same answers he’d done before though, due to the fury inside him, he twice broke a pencil point.
When he was done, the doctor asked him if everything was okay in the dorm, had he made any friends, did he have any questions?
“When do I get to go home?”
“I’m sorry but I can’t answer that. When you leave here depends on when we complete your evaluation and what the results are. The rest is up to the Bureau of Child Services. You were in a foster home, weren’t you?”
Steve suppressed a smart answer. “Yes.”
“Did you have a problem there?”
That required what had been suppressed. “Like you don’t know.”
The doctor acted surprised. “Actually, no I don’t. So there was a problem.”
“No, there was not. Can I go?”
Dr. Townsend pursed his lips and looked at Steve. “Sure, why not. See you soon.”
The boy was waiting at the table with the Parcheesi game when Steve returned to the ward. The pieces were right where they’d left them. When Steve asked, the boy told him showers had already been called.
They played two games. Even with a near complete lack of concentration, Steve won both because the other boy, who identified himself as Luke during the second game, didn’t seem interested in winning, just moving the pieces. He regularly put his pieces in danger and didn’t seem to mind seeing them being sent back to Home.
“Don’t you wanna win?” Steve asked at one point.
“It’s okay, you can win. I just like to play.”
“How long you been here?”
“I dunno.”
“I mean, like a month or two?”
“Longer than that. I used to be upstairs but they brought me down here.”
“How come?”
“I think it was because I bit some kid.”
Steve was taken aback. This little boy seemed much too mild to have bitten anyone. “Why, I mean, what happened.”
Luke pursed his lips, appeared to think about an answer then said, “Nothin’.”
“You bit him for nothing?”
“He was makin’ me do something I didn’t like.”
Steve immediately thought it might have been something sexual so dropped it.
Luke asked that they play a third game. Steve suggested they play something else.
“I only play Parcheesi,” said Luke calmly.
Steve figured why. “’Cause you only have to move pieces?”
“Mmm hmm.”
They played another game during which Steve asked, “Do you ever read books or comics?”
“Nah, I don’ like to read.”
“Do you know how?”
“I just don’t like to read.”
Steve was beginning to feel sorry for the lad. “Want me to read to you?”
Luke looked at Steve as though he’d offered to brush his hair. “How come?”
“I like to read so when I’m reading for myself, I can read out loud and you can hear what I’m reading.”
“Like what?”
“I saw ‘Robinson Crusoe’ on the shelf over there. We can read that.”
“Just you,” insisted Luke.
Since all the tables were occupied, they sat against a wall. Steve began to read it aloud. Within moments, several other boys crowded around. Steve thought it was strange that so many wanted to hear him read. There was even one small boy who, from what he’d observed, didn’t speak English.
Steve read right up until dinner time. The nurse gave him a stern look as he filed out with the others.
He and Luke ate together. Steve asked him as they finished a vanilla pudding desert. “Why did they put you in here?”
“I dunno. I was in this other place then they sent me here.”
“A home or something?”
“Yeah, kinda like this but you could go outside more. But I was always getting in trouble over there.”
“How come?” asked Steve.
“They said I was always bothering somebody, something like that. And sometimes I broke things. But I don’t do that here.”
“How come you never learned to read?”
“I can read. I just don’ like to.”
Luke was becoming a mystery. Steve realized he hadn’t truly answered one question about himself. Then Steve didn’t plan to tell anyone very much about himself either.
Minutes after returning from the cafeteria, a black boy about thirteen, the tallest in the ward, went up to Steve and asked if he was going to read any more. “In the morning, maybe,” replied Steve.
Luke wanted to watch television as did most of the others in the evening. Steve went to his room to lie down. He’d suddenly felt very lonely for his foster father. Tears pushed at the corners of his eyes. He put his face in his pillow and eventually fell asleep.
In the morning, Steve watched a most of the others line up for medicine, pills given out in small white paper cups. Each one had to take his pills immediately with cups of water handed out by the nurse. Luke was in the line. He tilted back his cup of pills and drank them down almost in one motion.
Steve asked him what his medication was for.
“So I don’t get in trouble,” was his answer followed immediately by a request that they play Parcheesi.
That afternoon, Steve joined the shower line. The same man was there to watch them, and watch he did. Once again, he showed an interest in the only blonde in the room. Steve showered near the door, but, worried about a set up, acted like he was ignoring the man. He paid more attention to the rest, hoping to catch a look, nod, wink, anything to indicate communication. Either he missed it or there was none.
The man did raise his eyebrows at Steve as he left wrapped in his towel.
The roommate who slept below him finally asked in broken English, “What you name?”
“Steve, what’s yours?”
“Severino.” He nodded and walked off, ending the brief communication. He did, however, join the group listening to Steve read.
There were no more tests until Thursday after lunch. Dr. Townsend had a set of crayons and a stack of paper on the table. Steve was asked to draw a variety of things, persons and situations. There were no questions afterward.
He was back in time for showers which went as the day before, including the raised eyebrow as Steve walked past, this time with his towel over his shoulder.
_______________________________________
Walter’s next meeting with the lawyer was late Friday afternoon. Everett Bradley’s smile was forced.
“Here’s the situation,” he began. “Steven’s mother says she saw you abusing her son when he was three and four. They’re taking that and quite a bit of really weak circumstantial evidence to a grand jury where they will get an indictment. At that point, depending on what the boy is saying, they will offer you a plea agreement.”
Walter stopped him. “I can absolutely assure you, Steve’s mother never saw anything of the kind. Jesus! You have no idea how hung up I was at the time. I did everything I could to avoid seeing Steve naked, even in the bath. I taught him early on how to bathe himself but he wanted me to do it. As soon as he was five, I made him bathe himself. That’s the extent of me around him naked and she was never around us when he was bathing. Actually, she was hardly around us at all. My God! As I remember it, whenever I was picking him up, she’d be out the door the minute I came in and when I dropped him off, she’d take him inside and close the door. The only time we were together for more than a couple of minutes was the time I insisted she sign an authorization paper allowing Steve to be with me, and so I could arrange medical care if some emergency arose. Mr. Bradley, she didn’t want the boy. That last time she left him with me, before the time she kidnapped him, she gave me a phony telephone number.”
Walter spoke again. “Wait a minute, she only saw me with him once when he was four. That was when she left him and never came back. She’s obviously lying.”
The lawyer twiddled his pencil over the yellow legal pad he’d drawn out of his leather attaché case. “So you’re going to deny all charges?”
“Absolutely.”
“Would you take a lie detector test if I could arrange one?”
Walter thought about that. “No, I don’t trust those things. Anyhow, aren’t they suspect now? I thought that type of evidence was no longer admissible in court.”
“It’s not considered definitive any more but most judges will admit it. It’s an indicator. I could arrange our own person to administer one, someone who’d be on our side, so to speak, in that they wouldn’t be looking for lies where there weren’t any but then, the prosecution would probably want their person to give you a test too.”
“No, then. I don’t think so.”
“Do you know why the people at Steven’s school…”
“His name is Steve.”
“Sorry, Steve’s school. Why they’d think there was sexual abuse going on?”
“Steve says they claim some kids in his class said he acted as though he was worried about something but I find that hard to believe. Steve is a very happy, secure boy. He does very well in school, has plenty of friends, no enemies that I know of. He goes to his friends’ houses often, plays with them there and on a playground near us. They come to our house sometimes to play with Steve’s computer. He had a slump a couple of years ago because of some jerks in his class making remarks about his lack of athletic ability but he got over that. I haven’t heard anything about problems since then. I can’t imagine why those people are doing this. He’s probably one of the most stable kids in the school.”
“Have you ever had any problems with the law in the past? Anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Has anyone ever accused you of any sexual improprieties with Steve, or any other child? Now think.”
“Never, at least not that I’ve heard about and I assume I would have eventually.”
The attorney laid out Walter’s alternatives. “We can go to trial but that’s going to be expensive. I’d have to charge you at least fifty thousand dollars for that. As it is I’m going to ask for a retainer of twenty thousand. This kind of case requires a lot of time, negotiations, probably investigations.
Once again, Walter was stunned by the huge numbers. After paying off his credit card debt from the bail bond, he would be nearly twenty thousand short of what the man was asking.
“Mr. Bradley, I don’t have that kind of money. I could pay the retainer within a few weeks but the rest would be very difficult especially under the circumstances. Can’t you find a way to reduce your fee somewhat. I’ve done nothing wrong. These people have got to know that.”
“Mr. Stuyvesant, if you think the prosecutor is bluffing or anything like that, you are very mistaken. She believes she has a very strong case. The only way I could reduce my fee is if you wanted to work out a plea bargain and not go to trial.”
“I am never going to admit guilt for something I didn’t do.”
“Then you are going to need a less expensive attorney. Why don’t you go home and think about it. See if you can find some help in paying my fee. You are going to need very good representation if you want to fight this.”
Chapter 14
During his first week in the psychiatric hospital’s evaluation ward, Steve managed to make friends with several other boys, or better to say, they made friends with him. His daily reading to Luke drew a crowd. About a dozen of the nearly forty inmates crowded around to hear a chapter a day of Robinson Crusoe’s adventures. Other than that, Luke’s only interest was playing Parcheesi or watching television. He did spend a fair amount of time looking out the window but so did quite a few others.
Friday night, Luke hung himself with a sheet tied to the screen over the window by his bed. He chose the most propitious time: two hours after lights out when just about everyone was sound asleep and the night nurse was snoozing in her chair. He’d been very deliberate. Being a light child, using the form fit sheet from the mattress, he tied a stack of books together between his legs to add sufficient weight to ensure success.
No one noticed until one of the other boys in his room got up to go to the bathroom around five in the morning, noticed Luke, and notified the night nurse. She’d tried unsuccessfully to untie the knotted sheet and rushed out to get an orderly. The noise in the next room aroused Steve who, along with a few others, went into the hallway to see what was going on. The light was on in Luke’s room. The boys on the top bunks were sitting and staring toward Luke as though he was speaking to them. It took Steve a few seconds to realize what had happened. Luke’s bare toes were only inches off the floor giving the impression that perhaps he was standing on something. When Steve realized his friend was suspended by his neck, he dashed in to lift him up. When he wrapped his arms around him, he felt the coolness of Luke’s middle. Another boy joined him. An orderly shoved his way into the room and said, “Let me have him.”
Steve looked at Luke’s face as he backed off. He seemed so calm, like he was asleep. Steve knew he was dead.
The body was removed quickly. Everyone was ordered back to bed. The lights were turned off. Steve began to hear voices and vaguely remembered hearing a boy say, “He dead” about the time he’d tried to lift Luke up. Nausea roiled in Steve’s middle. He tried to get up but couldn’t get any of his limbs to function. A small voice cried quietly below him. What had happened? Why had it happened?
Steve had never known anyone who subsequently died except his father of whom he had scant recollections. Walter had displaced most of those few memories of Steve Mulrooney, Sr. except for a particular coming home hug punctuated with a donut they shared. But, in this situation, he had spoken with Luke just the afternoon before, a few hours before the boy had taken his own life. Suddenly, Steve’s life seemed more fragile, even less secure than it had when he was in the juvenile lock up. Breathing became a chore. He felt like he needed to cry but there were no tears, just a rumbling terror in his gut. As he lay grieving on his bed, Steve worried he was headed in the same direction as his illiterate friend.
The hall lights came back on with the rising sun. Several police officers, some in uniform, others in street clothes, converged on Luke’s room. The nurse and two orderlies hustled boys back into their rooms when they tried to see what was going on. According to Luke’s roommates, the policemen took photos, dusted for fingerprints, made drawings. Then they went room to room, questioning everyone. Most claimed to have been asleep so knew nothing, Steve followed that lead. He had no desire to describe what he’d seen.
Breakfast was served in the day room. Not much was eaten. Steve didn’t leave his bed.
The police didn’t leave until after eleven.
By the afternoon, other than the occasional discussion of Luke’s demise, everything went back to normal as if nothing had happened. The staff’s callousness was matched by most of the kids. There was the same chatter at lunch, the same rough housing during recreation. A few were more subdued, all but one white. A single black boy about ten sat across from Luke’s room and stared inside. The nurse took him into the day room twice but, each time, the boy went back moments later. Steve considered commiserating with him but had no idea what to say.
That same boy went to shower at four then just stood under the water playing with his dick rather than washing. There was a different man on who seemed more interested in getting everyone out as quickly as possible than in anyone’s body.
The night nurse didn’t come back on their ward. She was replaced by another younger black woman who walked up and down the hall many times during the course of the night. An hour after lights out, she got up the dozen or so bed wetters, an act that all but ended the problem. There was no more odor of urine in the mornings.
Sunday, about a third of the boys had visitors. Many brought back food they’d been given. No other types of gifts were permitted. The day was difficult for many who didn’t receive visitors. A few cried, others moped around. Two fights broke out, both between a black and a Latino. Neither was very serious even though one went on for several minutes before the nurse who was in the hall heard the shouting and got back in to break it up with the help of an orderly.
Steve continued his daily shower vigil. There was a possible payoff Sunday since very few boys went, probably not wanting to miss possible visitors.
A Latino boy about Steve’s age but with a bit more between his legs exchanged a couple of unintelligible words with the attendant on the way out. The man still gave Steve a brief smile as he left.
The boy’s name was Miguel. He stayed exclusively with the other Spanish speaking boys and wasn’t one who joined the group who listened to Steve read. Steve sat near him at dinner but didn’t hear a single English word come out of his mouth.
A new boy was put into Luke’s bed Monday just before lunch. He was one of four new arrivals taking the place of Luke and three who left Monday morning after breakfast.
One of Steve’s new acquaintances, Martin, a black boy his age though somewhat bigger and heavier with a nearly changed voice, admitted to having been involved with drug sales and use. “It was just pills I got from mah sister. She was usin’ that shit when I was five.” The man he called his stepfather though he was just his mother’s lover at the time of his arrest, murdered two others for selling drugs in the territory of his dealer boss. He’d taken Martin along as a lookout while he and another man took the two into a basement and shot them. The three had been caught because someone had seen them enter the abandoned building, found it suspicious, and called the police.
“Prolly did me a favor. One a the ones they killed was jus’ fourteen. That coulda been me in a yeah o’ two.”
The juvenile court officer appointed to him had seen Martin as a pawn so requested an evaluation before sentencing. Martin thought he might get probation and be put in a foster home. He wanted to go back to school.
When he asked why Steve had been sent to Wilson, he just replied there was a problem with his foster parents but wouldn’t elaborate. Martin didn’t press for more.
Tuesday afternoon in the yard, a thirteen year old boy who was at Wilson for the second time told Martin and Steve about another boy who had killed himself. “He was a fag but a nice kid too but erybody treated him real bad, called him names and shit. I talked to him some. Motherfucker said he wanted ta die a bunch a times but I never figured he’d do it. Shit, the way they’s always watchin’ us, shit, s’posed to be watchin’ us, it ought be real hard but he done damn near the same as Luke ‘cept he did it in the shower with some wire he got somewheres. Motherfucker just waited ‘til eryone left an’ did it. Motherfuckers din’t know he was missin’ ‘til lunch and they was s’posed to always count how many went to the shower and how many come back. That’s why they’s alus somebody at the showers with us now.
“Some a the kids said some white boys did it but I din’t believe that and the cops never took nobody away for it. He was a nice kid but the motherfucker wanted ta die. Just like Luke ‘cept Luke was white. Bernie was black like us, me an’ Martin.”
“How many kids do that here, a lot?” asked Steve.
“Not that many. I only knew Bernie an’ Luke but they say they was others but I din’t know none a them. I jus’ hope I git outta heah soon. You better say stuff the doctors like so they don’ wanna keep you heah. An’ don’ say nothin’ ‘bout sex. Motherfuckers ask if you beat yo’ meat, you just say done it couple times but you din’t nevah do it heah. They won’t believe you nevah done it.”
Miguel went to the shower again and disappeared on the way back. Steve hadn’t noticed any communication between the man and boy but the shower was full and he could easily have missed it. The nurse who did the count said nothing about someone missing. To Steve, that meant someone had called and was in a position to tell her not to count him.
Miguel reappeared just before the five o’clock dinner call. He went straight to a table where his buddies were chatting and playing cards. No one seemed to find it noteworthy. Miguel sat on the edge of the table and watched the game end. He was dealt into the next hand.
This time, Steve sat at the end of the Latino table along side one of the boys who listened to him read. The lad was smaller than Steve but could have been the same age.
“You like the story?” he asked him.
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“What grade are you in?”
“I don’ go to the school now.”
“Why not?”
“No like.” He bit down on his sandwich.
“You go before?”
“In El Salvador I go. Here no,” he answered with his mouth full.
Steve couldn’t think of anything else to say. No one at the table said anything more or appeared to notice he was there.
When Steve got back from his appointment with Dr. Townsend the next morning near lunchtime, Miguel had been released or sent elsewhere.
Sex had come up during that morning’s round with the psychologist. At one point, Steve was asked if he had a girl friend.
“Just started with one but you people messed it up.”
He had to explain.
He doctor then asked about boy friends.
“Sure, I’ve got lots of boy friends.”
“You ever masturbate with your friends?”
“No.”
“So you only masturbate alone?”
“That’s none a your business, sir.”
“Steve, this is not a complicated question. There’s nothing weird about masturbation. All boys do it. I just want to know if you do it alone or with your friends, or both.”
“Look, I don’t even know how to do it that well. I tried it a couple times but nothing much happened. Anyhow, my dad says kids are supposed to wait until they’re older before doing sex.” He’d planned that answer but wasn’t sure how believable it was. He immediately worried it might have made the doctor suspicious and wished he hadn’t used it.
The doctor stared at his notepad for a moment then looked up at Steve. “Please don’t get mad, but that is a bunch of crap. You and your dad were having sex together so…”
“We were not!”
“Steven, they…”
“My name is Steve and they are liars. They don’t know anything about us. They’re stupid. My father doesn’t like sex. He won’t even talk about it when I ask. What’s wrong with you people?”
The doctor smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got to realize if you keep this fairy tale up, they’re not going to let you go. I’ve spoken to the police officer and the social worker involved in your case and they can prove what you’re saying isn’t true. None of us know why you’re doing this. That man you were staying with can’t hurt you any more. He’s going to be in jail for a long time. Just tell the truth and things will be a lot better, a whole lot better for you.”
“You’re all assholes!”
The doctor threw up his hands and sent Steve back to his ward.
Michael Santoni ran a Mafia gang out of an Italian restaurant in Queens. His specialty was hijacking tractor trailers full of quickly salable goods. He didn’t need fences. He had well hidden interests in a number of retail outlets for clothing, electronics, household appliances, music, liquor and even a car dealership, all of which came into his web of influence involuntarily. The car dealership was legitimate though he did use it to launder cash. His involvement with Katherine’s house of ill repute to the well connected he attributed to a weakness or women. He promised his minions it would never happen again.
For image reasons, Santoni sponsored kids’ sports teams and was an occasional Sunday attendant at a local Catholic church. Santoni’s Restaurant was frequented by politicians, business men and cops. The food was, in reality, quite good. His cannelloni was to die for.
Thursday morning, he was working out in the gym he’d had built over the restaurant’s kitchen. The overeating mafioso was down from 305 pounds to just 262. Sweat was pouring off him when one of his men brought up a city councilman’s assistant Santoni had on his payroll.
Moping his face and head with a towel, he asked, “What’s this shit I hear the Mulrooney woman is offering her book of names to Turtan if her kid’s foster father goes away?”
“That’s what we think. They busted the guy ‘cause Katherine Mulrooney’s saying she saw the him playing with the kid’s dick back when the kid was three or four but Turtan doesn’t think she’s gonna hold up if Everett Bradley, that’s the guy’s lawyer, goes after her. So, they need the kid to say the guy did him which they all think he did. The guy’s single, never had a girl friend, you know the type.”
“Anybody know what’s really in this book?”
“Supposed to have a complete list of all her customers back when she and Willy were running that floating whore house a theirs, a real who’s who of politicians, cops, you name it. I heard a couple of congressmen and NYPD brass are in there.”
“So, the kid gonna talk?”
“According to a friend in the governor’s office, they got some judge to commit him for evaluation at the Wilson Psych Hospital. The cops and some doc there are trying to get him to talk but he hasn’t so far.”
Later that afternoon, Santoni called in Willy Pirelli’s brother, Paul. He claimed to have spoken to his brother about the book several times but Willy had denied knowing where Katherine Mulrooney had it stashed or even confirm it existed.
“He says the bitch won’t talk to him about it. Anyhow, she don’t talk to him no more. She’s incommunicado with just about everybody pretty much since she got busted. Willy sends her letters through me and another guy but she don’t never answer. We sent her messages through some people where she is but she says the book’s bullshit. It’s just shit she has in her head but no way Turtan and Albright are taking care a her for shit she’s got in her head.”
“Albright?”
“That’s what Willy says.”
“All right, then she needs a stronger fuckened message. I want that fuckened book before Turtan’s people get it. We can use it. Okay?”
Paul Pirelli went off to see a man who worked in Katherine Pirelli’s prison as a guard.
Lieutenant Tom Garretson called Walter from a payphone. “Walter, can you meet me tonight up by the Cloisters?”
“Sure. Something wrong?”
“I’ll talk to you there. Eight, near the main door?”
Walter got there first. Garretson trudged up the hill ten minutes late. After apologizing for his tardiness, he said, “Look, Walter, the captain came down on me about helping you so we gotta be careful how we communicate. Don’t Worry. I’m not abandoning you but you can’t call my cell phone any more and never call the precinct.”
“Why? What’s wrong with two friends talking to each other?”
“Walter, I’m a cop and someone in the brass thinks I’m using my position to help you, feed you information about your case. I could lose my job, maybe even get a charge. This is serious business, Walter. You getting anywhere with money for that lawyer?”
“Not gonna happen. There’s no way I can come up with that kind of cash and Bradley won’t let me pay it off over time. I spoke to my bank about a loan but I think they know about my situation because they said the timing wasn’t right. That’s gotta mean they know.”
“What about work, that coming along okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’ll pay the bills.”
“Okay, here, take this cell phone and put the number I’m gonna give you in it. And you gotta start looking for a decent lawyer you can afford and who’ll work for you. Call this number. It’s a lawyer’s exchange. Tell them your situation and see who they recommend.”
Friday morning, Bernie Garcia, an employee of Harold Turtan met with Sergeant O’Malley over a late breakfast. They discussed the status of the case against Walter Stuyvesant.
O’Malley said, “It’s not much. That Mulrooney woman’s a ding-a-ling. Any half ass lawyer’ll tear her testimony apart. Without the kid, we haven’t got shit.”
“Anybody talk to Stuyvesant about a deal?”
“Forget that until the kid comes clean.”
“Any way they’re communicating?”
“The kid and Stuyvesant? Nah, we got the kid under wraps in Wilson State.”
“What’s he saying about Stuyvesant?”
“Nothing helpful. Sometimes these kids like that shit. He may never talk.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Nothing. At least the social workers’ll never gonna send that kid back to him, or any other. Better’n nothing.”
“But if you’re sure the guy’s guilty, can’t you pressure the kid some way?”
“Hey, he’s locked up in a nut house with a bunch of freaks. An’ he’s smart. He’s gotta hate it there. But he knows we can’t keep him there forever, just thirty days. Child Services’ not gonna allow us any more.”
“What’s Karen Savage saying?”
“Nothing. She’s in the same boat as us. Kid doesn’t talk before he gets outta Wilson, she’s gonna drop the case for now, hope the kid has a change of heart someday.”
Bernie Garcia went straight to City Hall. On the way, the former used car salesman had an idea.
“Councilman, what if the kid thought Stuyvesant had confessed, made a deal with the DA?”
“Go on,” said Harold Turtan.
“O’Malley goes out there, tells the kid his sugar daddy told all for a reduced sentence, out in eight or ten years. Tells the kid he’s being released from the hospital and being put who knows where. Good bye. See how he reacts. From what I hear, he’s not gonna be pressured into talking.”
“That’s good but let’s add a step, set him up. Make the news harder to take, maybe even crack him before. Long as he admits something in front of a reliable witness, like a doctor or social worker, Stuyvesant’s dead meat.
“And, Bernie, I’ve got a very important job for you. Ever been on a jury before?”
Friday, Steve thought he spotted a nod between another Latino boy and the shower attendant but the boy went back to the ward with them.
The weekend came. Steve went to the showers along with other sad kids not receiving visits. He hadn’t expected any except possibly Garretson. That slim hope didn’t hold preference over getting to the shower man’s cell phone.
Monday morning, seven boys went out including Martin. The new group was primarily Latino. The youngest didn’t seem older than eight but carried himself with more bravado than any of the rest.
At the time, Steve was playing chess with a thirteen year old friend, a white boy who admitted being there for sex with a series of small girls. Everyone turned and looked over the new crop of inmates. The little one went straight to the nurse and insisted on a lower bunk. She ignored him.
“Hey, bitch, I’m talkin’ to you.”
He spent the rest of the day and that night in lock up.
After lunch, just as yard was being called, Steve was sent back down to Dr. Townsend.
The test was a combination of multiple choice family relations questions and a tiring physical ability exam including walking on a string placed on the floor, attempted head stands, push ups, jumping left and right on command and standing on one foot while swinging his arms. Steve got the impression the doctor was making it up as he went along.
Steve was sweating when the doctor asked him to sit back down at the table.
“So, what are your feelings about what happened to Luke?” asked the doctor twiddling his pencil between his fingers.
“I think nobody was helping him.”
Townsend raised his eyebrows. “Are you blaming the staff for what happened?”
“This is supposed to be a place where kids like Luke can get help, isn’t it?”
The psychologist smiled. “But a person has to accept the help offered, has to want to get better. Like you, you have been completely uncooperative, haven’t you? And we are quite willing to help you.”
“In the first place, I don’t have any problems but you people. Luke needed help that you’re supposed to be able to give him. He was really sad, everybody knew that.”
“And what are you?”
“You asked me about Luke and now you don’t want to talk about him because you know I’m right about you people not helping him.”
“Okay, forget Luke. What…”
“No! I’m never gonna forget about Luke even if I’m the only one.”
“Okay, don’t forget about Luke but let’s talk about you. Not including that you blame us, why do you think Luke did what he did?”
“I don’t know. I knew he was very unhappy and didn’t care about anything any more but I’m not a psychologist like you so that’s all I know.”
“So now we’re mind readers? No, don’t answer that. I already know what you were going to say but we actually can’t read what’s in a person’s mind. We just make educated guesses. But then there are boys like you who baffle us. You’ve been abused by a man and you choose to defend him even though he’s in jail and can’t possibly hurt you.”
Steve shook his head.
“No clever or angry comment?”
Steve smirked.
“Well, another easier question: are you uncomfortable where you are? Would you like to move to another ward?”
“No. I just wanna go home. When do I get outta here?”
“That, my friend, is a problem. Normally, I’d say at the end of thirty days but, in your case, you have to have somewhere to go and finding a home for a twelve year old with your situation is difficult. Foster parents have to be told the truth about a boy and, from what we are seeing, you might be a danger to the other kids the foster parents have.”
“That’s a bunch of crap! I never hurt anybody in my life!”
“Steve, we know you were having sex with that man but you won’t admit it. So what are we supposed to think? There’s only one answer to that and that is you like doing that sort of thing. What foster parent wants to worry about one of the kids they are caring for abusing the others?”
“That’s stupid!”
“Not at all. If you were a victim of this man, if he made you let him do what he did, well, that’s another matter. There’d be less concern and we could probably place you much easier but…”
“And if I never had sex with that man? Then what?”
“C’mon, Steve. We know you did.”
Steve stood up and leaned over the table. “Then you are all stupid assholes!”
“Look, pal, I’ve listened to your abuse too often. You sit down and show some respect or things can be a lot more difficult that you imagine.”
“Fuck you!”
The doctor picked up his telephone. “Send me an orderly, please.”
“You gonna have ‘em beat me up?”
There was a knock at the door then it was opened.
Townsend said, “Take Mr. Mulrooney to lock up. I’ll get you the paperwork.”
Lock up was a small concrete room with a thin mattress on the floor and a bedpan. The only window was a six inch square wired over affair in the door.
“Fuck you too!” Steve told his jailor as the door was closed.
A boy’s voice nearby called out, “Yeah man! Fuck ‘em all.”
Steve walked to his door and asked up toward the screen just over his head, “You the kid who came in this morning, evaluation ward?”
“Yeah. So what?” The boy had a strong New York Puerto Rican accent.
“Nothing. Just asking. They tell you how long we gotta stay in here?”
“Nah but fuck ‘em. I’ll stay here long as they want.”
Steve wasn’t sure asking the boy’s age would get a response but asked anyhow. After all, he thought, there was nothing else to do. “How old are you?”
“None a your fuckin’ business.”
“All right but you look too young to be here. They aren’t supposed to take anyone in our ward under ten.”
“So?”
“I just figured you weren’t ten yet.”
“I’m eleven, asshole. Don’t let my size fool you. An’ I can fight like I’m fourteen so don’ give me any shit.”
Steve smiled to himself. “Don’t worry. I’m not into fighting.”
They were silent for a while then Steve asked, “What grade are you in?”
“That ain’t none a your business neither. Why you ask so many questions?”
“Nothing else to do. So whatta you wanna to talk about?”
It took a few moments for the other boy to reply. “Bitches?”
“Okay. You got a girl friend?”
“Sure. I got a couple. Fucked ‘em both. You got some?”
“No. I almost had one but this crap screwed it up.”
“You fuck ‘er?”
“No, we didn’t know each other that well yet.”
“Shit, man, you don’ gotta know ‘em that good to fuck ‘em. You say you gonna be my bitch and tha’s it. You fuck ‘em.”
Steve had no idea how to deal with that so he changed the subject. “What’s your name? I’m Steve.”
“You a white boy, ain’t you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Tha’s okay, I’m Hector. Where you live on the street?”
“Upper Manhattan, around Dykeman. You?”
“South Bronx near hundred five five.”
A few moments later, Hector asked, “You go to school?”
“Yeah, seventh grade but I’m getting way behind staying in here. I might have to repeat the year.”
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve? Shit, I’m almost twelve an’ I’m still in second grade.” There was a pause. “But, I don’t go no more. They kick my ass out las’ yeah.” Another pause. “You do good in school, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Tha’s good ‘cause you gonna get you a good job one day but you white. It’s easier.”
“We got Spanish kids and black kids in my school, lots of ‘em, more than whites. You just gotta study harder. Why’d they kick you out?”
“Jus’ some dum shit.” “I’m gonna sleep some. Talk to you later, man.”
“Okay.” Steve lay on his mattress but couldn’t get to sleep. He gradually became angry at himself for the outburst at the doctor. It hadn’t done him any good and that had to be his goal. Do what they wanted so he could get out of that place. The only problem with that was what they really wanted, the real reason he was there. He’d never do that.
The next morning, two sparse meals and not much sleep later, Steve was taken back to Dr. Townsend’s office.
“Calmed down?” asked the doctor with a smile.
Steve had prepared a conciliatory speech but it stuck in his throat. He nodded affirmatively.
“You know, we’re not your enemies here. We really do want to help you and I really do hope they find you a nice foster home but you’ve got to be straighter with us, with me. That’s not especially about what happened between you and that man, your answers on the tests were pretty much what you figured I wanted to hear or what you thought would give me the most favorable impression of you. That, of course, doesn’t include the intelligence and aptitude tests. They were pure you and you did great. There’s no questioning your intelligence. No one ever has. It’s just your smarts for what’s really best for you.”
Steve shifted in his chair and put on his bored face.
“Steve, you’re twelve years old. Your knowledge of the world is limited in a lot of areas. Your knowledge of yourself isn’t very complete either.” He frowned. “You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?.”
“Yes, I am. It’s just that everything you’re saying means Walter was bad and all of you are good and I’m supposed to lie about him so you’ll fix it so I go to some neat foster home. But if he was so bad, why was I the top student in my school and had lots of friends? I was happy. I had a father who loved me and I loved him. So what do you have for me that’s better than that?”
“Steve, I don’t think you realize a couple of things. First, I don’t know exactly what kind of sexual activities that man was using you for but, believe me, it’s going to affect your ability to be a good husband and probably in other ways, too. Secondly, like I said before, I worry that if you learned to like what he was doing, you might try doing the same thing yourself one day with another child and you’ll end up in prison, too. Finally, based on your willingness to lie about what you two were doing, I’ve got to wonder about your take on what honesty means. I’ve already seen you try to manipulate your tests. People who get into that kind of thing, manipulating others, don’t have very easy or happy lives. So, I see a lot of problems.”
Steve closed his eyes, struggling to keep his mouth shut and not scream at the man in front of him.
The doctor lowered his head and tried to catch Steve’s eye. “Do you understand anything I’m trying to tell you?”
Steve slowly shook his head then said, “I understand everything you’re saying to me.” There was more but he managed to keep it inside.
“Say what the doctor wants to hear?”
“Walter Stuyvesant did not abuse me. Anyone who says he did is a liar or just plain crazy,” said Steve as calmly as he was able.
Steve was sent back to the ward. Several of the kids welcomed him back by begging him to read to them. Steve considered that a vindication of what he’d said to the doctor. They were wrong about him. The sex had been for love. There could never be harm in love, never be bad consequences. Love was always and completely good.
The next afternoon, two boys nodded at the shower attendant on their way out. One was sporting a hard on that stuck out between the ends of his towel. Steve got up close to the pair as they climbed the stairs after dressing. All he heard was a brief laugh. They were silent the rest of the way and went back into the ward with Steve.
While reading to his audience later, he noticed the nurse watching him. This would be reported. He doubted the doctor would like it. It was much too normal.
That night in bed, as usual, he wondered what Walter was going through. If he was in jail, he was sure he hadn’t yet been convicted, probably wouldn’t be. There couldn’t be a witness. Their sex had always been behind closed doors and curtained windows. His thoughts about the police using heat sensiing devices was wrong. Had they that kind of evidence, they wouldn’t be hassling him to admit anything. He’d be in some foster home somewhere. No, he was sure they had nothing. All he had to do was hold on, stay with what he’d been saying.
What tortured Steve’s mind and kept interfering with other thoughts was the possibility that he’d never be allowed to live with Walter again. Steve recognized his powerlessness in the face of the huge bureaucracy that was the New York Bureau of Child Services. The cops and the doctor had that right. They would never voluntarily allow him back with Walter even if the case fell apart and Walter was freed as he expected to happen. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to get back to him. Once both he and Walter were on the streets, they’d find a way to see each other even if it had to be on the sly.
Several days went by with no calls to see the doctor. Many of the others were called out to see various staff members but Steve was left to the ward schedule of meals, afternoon outside recreation and showers. Cold had set in and they were handed coats before they went out, coats that had to be returned as they passed through the gate into their ward. The socks they wore were thicker but footwear was still slippers. It rained two days in a row, eliminating a chance to stand at the fence and yearn for a walk in the distant woods.
While some of the boys sought him out, Steve found himself wanting more time to himself. He read some but mostly he plotted how he’d find his foster dad as soon as he was free. He figured there had to be some way via the internet to see if his dad was still locked up and where. Once he knew that, he could send him letters using a different name. If Walter was free, he’d find him. He knew the apartment phone number. If that didn’t work, he also knew the Garretson’s home number, even the lieutenant’s cell phone number. There would be a way.
Perhaps, he considered, Tom Garretson, being a cop, wouldn’t be allowed to connect him with Walter. In that case, Steve knew a couple of Walter’s customers. He’d have to be very diplomatic, clever, but he could probably convince them to give him a phone number.
Steve had no doubt he would feel Walter’s arms around him again.
He continued the daily showers catching the same two trading looks with the attendant. Both were called out at different times, always in the morning. The problem was the same one he’d had with Miguel, they were Latinos and stayed with other Latinos speaking only Spanish. He wasn’t sure they spoke English at all.
He bumped into one in an attempt to learn if they could. “Excuse me, sorry. You okay?”
The boy nodded his head upward and grinned but didn’t say anything. He wondered if the shower attendant spoke Spanish.
He watched the boys to see if they spoke to the nurse or if she spoke to them and they understood. Neither happened. Steve became increasingly convinced the group was monolingual.
Hector Saenz, the small curly black haired eleven, almost twelve, year old had been freed the day after Steve’s release. That night, he sat near enough to hear but not be part of the group that listened to Steve’s nightly reading. Steve had completed Robinson Crusoe and was on the second chapter of Jack London’s ‘White Fang’.
The next day, Hector had stayed mostly with the Latino crowd, putting on airs and talking tough, but nodding occasionally at Steve. The following morning, he managed to get behind Steve in the breakfast line then sat beside him.
“Food ain’t bad,” he commented.
”Yeah, it’s even good sometimes. These buns are good,” returned Steve referring to the sticky bun on his plastic tray.
“You Steve, right?”
“Um hmm. And you’re Hector.” When Steve looked at him, he noticed that Hector had a slight but frequent twitch in his right eye. It was hard not to look at it each time it winked.
“Right. Mah eye don’ work right but I can see good.” He touched the corner of the bad eye. “You been heah long?”
“Couple weeks, almost three.”
“S’posed to be jus’ thirty days, right?”
“S’posed to be.”
“You think they gonna keep us longer?”
“Some kids have been here a couple months.”
“How come they make some stay so long?”
“Maybe they don’t have anywhere to send them. Doctor told me I might have to stay here longer ‘cause of that.”
“Tha’ sucks.”
Hector asked about why other kids had been sent there, were there many fights, did the staff allow telephone calls, did kids steal from each other, why the nurse was such a bitch, and so on.
Steve asked if the group of Latino’s he was watching spoke English. “Shit, I don’ know. Mebbe not. They don’ talk it when I’m aroun’.”
In the ward, he went back to his Latino crowd but again found Steve for lunch.
“You right, some a them don’ know no English. Mothafuckas from Columbia an’ Guatemala an’ some otha place. This one outta Columbia been in this country since he was five, dum mothafucka.”
It rained that day so there was no yard. Steve tried to nap but Hector came and stood in his door.
“Sucks! The mothafuckas won’ let us go outside. Ain’t rainin’ tha’ bad.”
Steve sat up. “Rain and cold. I don’t wanna go out in that.”
Hector stared nowhere for a bit then asked, “Why they put you in heah?”
“Just some problems in my foster home.”
“Shit, man. What you do, fuck one a they’s girls?” He sort of chuckled, “Or one a they’s boys? You ain’ no fag, are you?”
It quickly occurred to Steve that some of the other Latinos had sent this boy to ask that very question. “No, and I didn’t fuck anybody. Just problems.”
“Hey, I din’t mean nothing. Jus’ askin’. I ain’t got nothin’ against fags. One a my cousins is one an’ he ain’ so bad. So what happened?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it, until the case if over.” Steve wished he’d said less.
‘Tha’s okay.”
Steve stood up and put his elbow on the top bunk. “Can you say why you’re here?”
“Mothafuckas say I was in a armed robbery but tha’s bullshit?”
The rest of the conversation revolved around the book Steve was reading then why he did it. Steve explained that he liked to read and many of the kids there didn’t know how. It ended with Hector saying, “You a good guy, Steve.” and walking off to the day room.
Steve followed him at a distance, heading for the book shelves.
Hector joined three other Latinos. One of them nodded toward Steve. Hector spoke for a while then his friends got back to the cards they’d been playing. Steve figured Hector had told them there was no nooky to be had with the white boy.
Over the next two days, Hector spent more time with Steve and less with the Latinos. He went to the showers with him each day where he made sure Steve saw the impressive though still prepubescent dong hanging down between his legs. It wasn’t really that big for an eleven year old. It was about as long as Steve’s growing cock but not as thick. What made it look humongous was Hector’s small body.
Steve tried to figure a way to have Hector find out and tell him about any sex between the attendant and the two boys in his Latino group but couldn’t come up with something that wouldn’t require too much explanation.
Hector taught Steve a few Spanish words like ‘puta’, whore, and ‘maricón’, fag. He also told more about himself without asking much from Steve. The tough guy persona gradually dissipated into a boy looking for a sympathetic friend. Steve began to see him as unhappy, and possibly in danger of tragedy, as Luke had been.
Hector had been living with an aunt and her kids, a small girl and two boys. One was the ‘fag’ cousin. His father had been killed in a gang dispute when Hector was four. His only memory of the man was of him hitting his mother. His mother had disappeared along with her baby shortly thereafter. Hector’s grandmother had taken him in at first but, by the time he was eight, could no longer put up with his bad behavior and the school counselor’s constant requests that she come in to discuss some new infraction by her grandson. The aunt he’d been sent to live with was a junkie who didn’t care whether Hector came or went, attended school or not.
Hector had been arrested three times: for shoplifting, being a drug and drug money carrier and, finally, for an armed robbery in which he’d been a lookout and the only one caught. He, as Steve, had refused to cooperate and give up anyone.
Without thinking about it and feeling the need to say it to someone, Steve admitted, “That’s my problem, too.”
“What?”
“They want me to tell on somebody but I won’t, never.”
“I think tha’s why I like you, Steve. I knew you wasn’t no snitch.”
With that, Hector virtually abandoned his fellow Latinos and stuck close to Steve, eating, going to the yard and showering with him. Steve mentioned how he thought the shower attendant was interested in boy cocks. Hector stiffened himself to flash it at the man on the way out.
“Shit! He looked. Tha’ mothafucka’s a fag, ain’ he?” Hector asked Steve. “Why don’ you show him yours? I’ll bet it gets bigger ‘n’ mines.”
Back in the day room, sitting side by side on the floor against a wall, Hector asked, “That guy at the showers evah ast you so he could suck your cock?”
“Nah.”
“I’ll bet he’s doin’ it to somebody. He could do me if he wanted.” He pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “You beat your meat a lot? I do it in bed at night afta they puts out the lights.”
“Nah. They see you and the doctors make you take pills. A bunch of the kids here have to take pills but I don’t know how many are for that.”
Hector nodded. “Shit, these mothafuckas. That doctor seen me was astin’ about if I beat mah meat so it’s good I tole ‘im no, huh?”
“They say it’s best to admit you did it a little but not here. They don’t believe you never did it. My doctor thinks I lie about everything.”
“I don’ think my doctor likes me. The nigga’s always lookin’ at me mean like he don’t like what I ansa, the stupid mothafucka. I bullshit some ‘cause I gotta but it ain’ all bullshit.”
“Does he ask you about your case, like who was with you?”
“Nah, he ain’ done that yet. Yours ast you?”
“All the time.”
“Thinks they’s cops. An’ everything you say I bet they tell the cops. Mines always sayin’ he ain’ gonna say nothing I say to nobody but tha’s bullshit. I know. They’s lots a shit I ain’ tole him. So whatta you tell ‘im when he ast about what you did?”
“I just say we didn’t do anything.” Steve winced at the thought of his mistake.
“Shit. It was two a youse?”
“No, well, they say I did something to somebody and I didn’t.”
“Sex, huh?”
“Nah, they said I was beating on him.”
Hector smiled. “Shit. Tha’s bullshit. You said you wasn’t no fighter. Anyhows, you ain’ nevah hit nobody. You ain’ like that. So who’d you fuck? I ain’ gonna say nothin’ ta nobody.”
Steve was tempted to let it all out. Hector didn’t seem the type to repeat it. But, he just might let it slip to a friend who wasn’t so trustworthy. He took a different route. “Don’t say anything to anybody, not even the other kids,”
“Hell, no, man. Those mothafuckas’ll snitch on a guy for a dime. You don’ gotta worry about me, man. I’m solid.”
“All right, it’s sex but we never did anything. They say they have a witness and all kinds of proof but then how come they haven’t done anything yet and how come they keep asking me to snitch? It’s all bullshit.”
“Okay, you tole me so I’m gonna tell you and you gotta promise what I did, okay.”
“Okay, I promise.” Steve’s curiosity went into high gear. Was this going to sex too?”
Hector moved closer. “They found out I was fuckin’ that cousin I tole you about but, shit, he said ta do it. Jus’ because he’s ten the mothafuckas say it’s all my fault and, shit, I got a big one but it’s still little so I nevah hurt ‘im o’ nothin’ an’ he liked it.”
Steve knew why the boy enjoyed Hector’s long peter in his butt. If he was as small as Hector, then Hector’s three plus inches would reach his prostate easily as Walter’s did. For a few seconds, Steve tried to think what it would feel like to have Hector inside him. He had no doubt his friend would agree to do it and probably would never tell a soul he had. The problem was the ‘probably’. The lack of absolute security made doing it far too risky. Steve dismissed the thought but still asked, “What’s it feel like?”
“Don’ say nothin’ but bettah’n a bitch. They all loose inside. Sergio’s tight. I cum in about three o four minutes.”
“How’d they find out? Did he say something?”
“Nah, Sergio’s solid. Shit, if he said somethin’, it wouldn’t jus’ be me they busted. I know two othas fuckin’ ‘im too. Nah, one a his sistas seen us in the bathroom. The lock, one a them like a nail that goes across, the screws come out an’ she pushed it open. An’ theah we was with our pants down an’ me up his ass. Shit, I tole her I was gonna buy her candy, anything she wanted but she tole her sister and she tole my aunt right when this other woman from next door was talkin’ to her and she called the cops. They got Sergio all cryin’ sayin’ they was gonna have to lock him up an’ anyhow his sistah seen him so he had to talk an’ finally he did a little but he said it was some otha kid from down the block an’ not me but the cops said they knowed it was me ‘cause mah cousin said so and they made me come heah ‘cause a the otha stuff from befoa’. Sucks, huh?” He grinned. “You shoulda fucked tha’ otha kid. It’s good, man.”
“But I didn’t.”
“But you shoulda. They gots you locked up anyway and you din’t have no fun. At leas’ I had some fun.”
Since they were into sex, Steve brought up his need to communicate with someone on the outside and the possibility he might be able to make a deal with the shower attendant.
“You ain’ gonna let ‘im fuck you?”
“No, but he can suck me if he let’s me use his cell phone for a couple of calls.” He told him his suspicions about the Latino kids he’d seen nodding with the man, the disappearance of Miguel, and asked if he’d try to find out what he could from the two kids in his group who seemed to be involved with the man.
That night, Steve wondered if Hector thought he was available. Under different circumstances, it would have been worth a try, especially if he could try the same with Hector.
Friday breakfast featured scrambled eggs in hot water. Steve avoided that and took three boxes of Sugar Crisp, something Walter had only allowed as a once a week special. Hector ate the eggs.
“They good for you, man. Gots protein for muscles like mine.” He flexed an impressive bicep.
Steve’s name was called shortly after ten. He had hopes that with his thirty days almost gone, whoever was calling him would have good news. There were alternatives beyond foster parents. The group homes some of the kids talked about sounded pretty bad but at least one could get away for a while, long enough to make some phone calls. They’d have to be collect but if Walter or Garretson were on the other end, he felt sure they’d be accepted.
Inside the interview room were two men, Dr. Townsend and Sergeant O’Malley. The policeman was smiling. “Got good news for you, champ. You’re getting out of here soon. Walter Stuyvesant confessed, made a deal. He goes in, you go out.”
Steve felt suddenly nauseas, weak kneed. “That’s bullshit! You lying bastard!”
“Well, fuck you too but it’s true. He told us everything. Gonna be out when you’re twenty-five or thirty.”
Tears were falling. Steve spoke between difficult breaths. “He didn’t, do anything! How, how could he confess, if he didn’t, do anything. You’re lying!”
“Well, screw you kid. I thought you’d be happy this was all over. Since you’re bein’ such an asshole, I’ll tell you something else. He laid it all on you, said it was your idea. How about that?”
Steve rushed at him, screaming, fists at the ready. The sergeant sidestepped and slapped him on the back of the head, knocking him hard to the floor. “Like I said, fuck you kid. I hope they stick you in the nastiest home with the nastiest niggers in the system.”
The sergeant stood over him shaking his head. Steve curled up in a ball, crying uncontrollably. “He’d never tell. What’d you do to him? He’d never tell, I know. Bastards! Motherfuckers!” He cried out but in his mind the reality that he had, as a matter of fact, initiated the sex told him that somehow they had forced the truth out of Walter. It was all his fault. He felt like he was going to ignite into a fireball.
The sergeant pulled a small tape recorder out of his shirt pocket and pressed a switch. “Stupid asshole,” he said in Steve’s direction then to the doctor, “You heard that, right?”
The doctor nodded affirmatively and somewhat sadly.
The sergeant put the micro recorder back into his pocket and left.
The doctor knelt beside him. “Steve, take it easy. It’s all over. Relax. Relax. And don’t worry, you’ll go to someplace nice. Relax.”
But Steve couldn’t. He felt as if the world had collapsed in on him. He yearned for death, a painful death for the terrible thing he had done. Walter hadn’t wanted the sex, he had. Walter tried repeatedly to end it. Steve hadn’t allowed that. How could he have done such a terrible, stupid, selfish thing. The sergeant had a gun. If he could get to it, he could escape, put a bullet into his brain, end the pain, the guilt, the shame.
The doctor tried to pick him up. He lifted Steve from under his shoulders. Steve looked for the policeman, and saw that he was gone. He collapsed, sliding from the doctor’s hands back to the floor. The doctor dropped down on his knees beside the distraught boy. He began to speak but couldn’t hear himself over Steve’s wailing.
An orderly opened the door. Townsend looked up and waved him away.
Steve went silent for a moment. He couldn’t catch his breath. He choked and gasped trying to regain the oxygen his body craved. He rolled onto his back, his hands at his throat, trying to pull short charges of air into his lungs. The doctor leaned over by his ear, panic in his eyes.
“Steve! Steve! Relax! Relax!”
Steve inhaled a great gulp of air and wrapped his arms over his chest. He breathed out then back in again. The crying that followed wasn’t the violent, convulsive agony of moments before but the softer, continuous misery of a child who’d lost all hope.
The doctor waited for a while then tried again to communicate with the boy.
“Steve, come on, let’s get up. Relax. It’s all over now. You’re safe. You’re free. It’s all over and you’re going to be okay. Come on, let’s get up.”
The crying became convulsive sobs. Steve got on his hands and knees. When the doctor tried to help, he pushed the man’s hands away. Rather than go to the table, he crawled to the wall and sat down, his back against it. His father, the man who had saved him from his vicious mother, had made him happy, who loved him, was gone. These evil people had done something terrible to him that made him come apart and say what he should never have said, what he had promised never to say. He’d told them everything, even the truth that he, Steve Mulrooney, had initiated and expanded the sex over years, sex which should have been an act of love but was just Steve getting off. How could he have been so selfish?
The doctor pulled up a chair in front of him. “Steve, you should be relieved. Calm down and think. Don’t be mad at yourself for what you said. And don’t be too mad at the sergeant. I know what he did was hard on you, maybe not even fair but you forced that on him. He wanted to rescue you from that man and you made it very difficult but now it’s done. He won’t be bothering you any more. You said what needed to be said and…”
Only a few of the doctor’s words had made it into Steve’s brain until the last but that caused a shock wave that rattled Steve’s entire being. What was he saying? He strained to hear the words.
“…they can present that to Stuyvesant and his lawyer. They’ll know it’s over and accept the deal they’ve been offered. It’s over. You…”
Steve fainted.
Chapter 15 Over the previous week and a half, Walter had spoken to three lawyers, two of whom asked fees approximating what Bradley had requested. The third refused the case citing a full load. The evening after the last attorney had refused to become involved, Walter received a call from an attorney who said he was aware of Walter’s difficulties and was interested in speaking to him about a ‘possible representation’.
His name was Byron Katz. He was a stout man in his middle thirties with small but intense eyes. He apparently was part of a large law firm that occupied two floors of a downtown Manhattan building. Actually, the office was one of thirty-two rented out individually on two floors devoted to law offices. It sported a large law library and a secretarial service adequate for the thirty plus lawyers expected to rent the offices.
“I’ve been speaking to a friend at the district attorney’s office,” explained the lawyer once both were seated. “He thinks you are going to be convicted no matter who defends you. Another friend there tells me they have very little evidence that will stand up in court. I assume the truth is somewhere between the two. What interests me is your utter refusal to consider a plea bargain. I like that. I usually charge at least forty to sixty thousand dollars to go to trial but I understand you are unable to pay such a fee. Is that correct?”
Walter nodded assent.
“How’s ten thousand plus expenses sound?”
“A lot better. How much do you expect to need for expenses?”
“Depends on what you and I decide to do. If we don’t hire any investigators, you’re looking at no more than three, maybe four thousand plus a couple thousand for an expert witness if we need one. Investigators can run anywhere from four hundred to a thousand a day depending on the quality of the detective and what he has to do.”
“What do you know about my case?”
“You’re charged with sexually abusing your twelve year old foster son. The boy’s mother is their principal witness. She’s an ex-junkie and madam doing time for three murders and attempted homicide on you. They have at least two psychologists lined up to testify plus a couple of school counselors. And, of course, they seem to feel the boy will testify against you though that well may not be true. I understand he denies anything was going on.
“Nothing was.”
The lawyer held up his hands. “Fine. Now, they may have more but I can’t find that out unless you authorize me to be your attorney of record.”
“You understand that I am not interested in a plea bargain.’
“Fully.”
“Have you handled this kind of case before?”
“Not exactly but I have taken on and won two where a father was accused years later of abuse by his daughters.”
Walter asked for time to think over his offer.
Once on the street, he called Tom Garretson.
“Byron Katz? I don’t know anything about him. Let me check and I’ll get back to you.”
The return call came that evening. “Katz is a political animal with connections to the local Democratic party. He’s competent but no Everett Bradley. That’s all I could find out. What do you think of him?”
“Well, he came to me and is offering a fee I can afford. And, he’s a salesman, something good if I have to go in front of a jury. You think he can use his political connections to take some of the heat off my case?”
Steve had to wait for an answer. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to have any direct connection with Harold Turtan, which wouldn’t be good but I just don’t know. This has to be your call. Did he ask for a retainer?”
“Not yet but I’m sure he will. Tom, I don’t think they have enough to go to trial. They’ve got to know that Steve’s mother is lying and that’s really all the hard evidence they’ve got. I don’t see how they can go into court with just that.”
In the morning, Walter called Katz’ office and arranged to see him at four thirty that afternoon. The retainer was a mere five thousand dollars, an amount Walter had available in his bank account. He wrote a check.
That was the day before O’Malley pulled his scam on Steve. Walter didn’t learn about it until the following Monday afternoon.
Steve awakened on a curtain enclosed gurney. For a moment, he thought he was dead, in some transitional place. Then he saw the fluorescent fixture on the ceiling. He sat up to get off the bed but there was a railing on each side. There was something wrong. Where was he? Neither railing would go down when he pushed so he lifted his leg to climb over it. That’s when it all came rushing back into his mind. He fell back onto the bed, his hands to each side of his head. He’d given away his dad. They’d tricked him. The bastards! He should have seen through the sergeant’s lies. He should have known that Walter would never talk, absolutely would never have blamed any of it on him. He tried to remember the words he’d cried out when he thought Walter had confessed. What had he said? What exactly were his words? Something about his father never telling. What did those words mean? Could they really use them? He sat up again trying to hear himself speak. All that came back was the agony. But the sergeant had left after saying something about a place with niggers. He’d gotten what he needed otherwise he’d have stayed to tell more lies, ask more questions. Whatever Steve had said was sufficient to put his dad in prison.
A black nurse appeared at the foot of his bed. “How you feeling?”
Steve worried he was already in the place the sergeant spoke about. No, he was still at the hospital. He shook his head then realized that didn’t answer her question.
“Steven? You okay?”
After a brief physical check up by a doctor who didn’t seem interested in doing it, they took him back to Doctor Townsend.
“Feeling better?”
Steve didn’t answer.
“Look, son…”
It was all Steve could do to keep from informing the hated doctor he wasn’t his son.
“You should be relieved. Your ordeal is over. Monday or Tuesday you’ll be leaving here, probably for a group home until they can find you a foster family. Try to look at this in a positive way. I know what the sergeant did wasn’t a very nice thing to do but it’s going to work out for you. You’ll be receiving the help you need to get over what that man did to you. You’ll be back in school probably soon enough to recoup lost time. You’re certainly smart enough. I expect you’ll go to college out of high school. There are programs for kids like you. Your future looks good.”
Steve ignored the man, disgusted with his part in the terrible scam that had been pulled.
As he walked through the ward gate toward his room, Steve noticed Hector sitting at a table with two other boys. His friend had looked up when the key turned in the gate lock. Steve walked in slowly, Hector joined him.
“Man, you look like shit. What happened?”
Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it and he was aware that he wouldn’t be able to talk about anything else. “Later. I gotta lie down.”
Hector wasn’t going to be denied that easily. He stopped in the doorway as no one was allowed in a room that wasn’t his. “They do somethin’ to you?”
Steve begged him to back off for a while. He was immersed in shame for what he’d done, a shame that was not to be shared with anyone, not even Hector who’d shared so much with him.
However, the respite Hector gave him was brief. Minutes after Steve lay down, lunch was called. He wasn’t hungry but no one was allowed to stay in the ward during meals or yard so he had to get in line and go with the others.
He went straight to a table and sat down, his face down on his arm. Hector brought an extra sandwich, milk and piece of peach pie in case Steve developed hunger watching him eat.
“You okay, man?” he asked again.
“No.”
“You sick?”
“No.”
“They fuck you over?”
“Something like that?”
“Sorry, man. They mothafuckas.”
He offered Steve the food he brought. It was turned down.
Hector left him alone. He ate the extra pie himself.
In the yard, Steve went to the far fence and leaned against it. Hector chased off another boy who wanted to see what was wrong. After a while, he said, “It’s cold, man, let’s walk some. You ain’t gotta say nothin’. Anyways, I got somethin’ ta tell you.”
They walked slowly one end to the other and back several times during which Hector related what he’d found out from the two boys who, as a matter of fact, had been making it with the attendant in exchange for goodies from the cafeteria and, “Get this, man, phone calls. They been talkin’ to erebody they wants. You want, I’ll tell ‘em to see if the man wants anotha kid.”
Steve was too depressed to consider it though he knew he should.
Hector let his silence pass until the third tack. “So what they do to you, man? Was it the doc?”
“No, a cop.”
“Oh shit. You din’t tell him nothin’?”
Steve didn’t respond. He’d let a cop trick him. He’d betrayed the man who loved him. It was too embarrassing, shameful to say out loud.
Hector seemed to understand. “Don’feel so bad. They done it to me once. The mothafuckas lie. We lie an’ we bad. They lie an’ it’s okay. I hate cops.”
Steve asked, “How’d they do it to you?”
“Mothafuckas said they had the guy bought the shit I stole an’ he tole ‘em it was me stole it an’ I said the guy’s name, you know, like ‘Sam don’t know shit’ an’ they was lyin’ ‘cause they din’t know who I sold it to but then they did ‘cause he was only one, you know, Sam, it coulda been an’ he went to the slam. Erybody was pissed at me but I din’t mean ta say nothin’. The mothafuckas did a thing on me. Shit, I was only ten.” He looked up at Steve. “They gotta let you go now.”
“Shit, I’m going to a group home. Gonna be same as here.”
“Maybe, least you ain’t gonna be locked in like heah. You can split if you want. Jus’ make sure you got someplace ta go.”
“Shit. Where’m I gonna go? Nobody I know will hide me and, well, nobody.”
“They gotta let me out, well maybe, but if they do, I know some places. Jus’ gonna be weird some kid white as you with that hair a yours. Ain’t nobody where I live gots yellow hair like you gots.”
With Hector’s admission, Steve felt the need to unload what he’d done, maybe not all, but enough to maybe take away some of the pain he felt. Walter had always said that talking about things helped deal with them. Keeping problems penned up in one’s mind, he counseled, prevented solving or, to some extent, alleviating them. But that would be difficult without admitting at least some part of what had been going on. If Hector said anything to anyone, it might make matters worse for Walter.
But, Hector had offered to harbor him, hide him from the authorities, a crime all by itself. Still, he found the words too difficult to say.
Steve was hungry enough by dinner to eat most of what they served. Hector explained to the boys who came to be read to that Steve was sick so they’d have to wait until Saturday. By lights out, Steve was upset with himself for not telling Hector something, perhaps the belly humping and occasionally received blow jobs. Admitting administering the fellatio or taking Walter into his butt would probably only encourage Hector, horny boy that he was, to seek access. Worse, if by chance he was to run and hide in the South Bronx, that information might lead to disaster.
Sleep provided short breaks from the thoughts of Walter in prison. What could the man possibly think of a boy he had lovingly raised doing such a terrible thing to him. Steve knew there’d be forgiveness but it would be a deep wound that would take years to heal.
The meeting was held in a pizza parlor not far from Battery Park. City Councilman Turtan had called it. Present with him were New York City Police Captain Max Wehrling from headquarters, Assistant District Attorney Karen Savage, Human Services department head Felix Hanson and Fred Martinson from Congressman’s Albright’s office.
Turtan asked Ms. Savage, “So what the kid said is enough to convict this guy, even if he gets a really competent attorney?”
“Depends a lot on how the boy’s mother handles herself on the stand. She really wants Stuyvesant burned at the stake. She’ll need a lot of prepping and someone needs to keep her straight until the trial.”
“Christ, she still managing to get crack in there? I thought we’d controlled that.” He looked at the policeman while he swilled diet soda.
“It’s hard,” complained the cop. “We can’t cut her off from everybody or we’ll lose her cooperation. She’s gotta make the choice that convicting this guy is important enough to stay clean for a while.”
Martinson asked, “Isn’t there an amount of the drug we can keep her on that satisfies her needs and keeps her head level enough not to screw up on the stand?”
Werhling replied, “I’ve asked a doc about that and he’s putting something together. We’ll present it to Katherine and see if she’ll go for it.”
“What about the kid? We need anything else from him?” Harold Turtan asked the Assistant D.A.
“Not really. I don’t think he’d give any more anyhow.”
“So what can we do with him so he can’t cause us any problems?” he asked the welfare agent.
“We’re looking for a placement but there’s no way we can justify putting him in a restrained situation like a detention or corrective facility. Without the Congressman’s help, we never could have gotten him into Wilson.”
Turtan finished off the last portion of a piece of pizza and said, “Can’t we get him out of state somewhere? Too far to make a normal phone call or successfully run away, like Kenya or Indonesia?”
Karen Savage smirked. Martinson crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Fred Hanson who shrugged his shoulders then replied, “I can call around. There are places that take in out of state cases but it’s complicated and has become expensive.”
“Well, I believe it’s worth it, don’t you? Let’s get that fuckened kid out of our hair once and for all then, Karen, let’s have our trial and get this thing done with, okay?”
By morning, Steve had prepared what he would tell Hector but planned to wait until yard time in the afternoon. Unfortunately, it rained and yard was cancelled. The need to unload overcame caution. He walked Hector to an unoccupied window. Hector had an idea what Steve wanted to discuss.
“This about the fag at the showers?”
When Steve didn’t get started, Hector said, “Don’ worry. I ain’ gonna say nothin’ to nobody.”
Steve took a deep breath, paused, then said, “I did something I shouldn’t have done. I didn’t mean to do it. O’Malley lied to me, He made me think Walter had told him everything. He even said one thing that was right but he didn’t know it. It wasn’t, I mean, Walter didn’t really do that either but it, shit. I got real mad and said something like he’d never tell which is the same thing as saying he told. ‘Cause I said that, they can make him go to prison.”
Hector was pensive. Steve seemed unsure how to continue.
Eventually, Hector asked, “Who’s Walter?”
“My foster father.”
“Shit, your foster father. What was he doing?”
Steve bowed his head and said something unintelligible.
Hector leaned in closer. “Sex?”
“Hmm hmm.”
“Man, if they gots him for that, he in some bad shit.”
“I know.”
“Stupid gringos. It’s like me and Sergio. We both liked it. Shit, he wanted to do it but now they wanna put me in a place like this. Pendejo.”
“But it’s my fault he’s in trouble.”
“Hey, man, he wanted to do it too and he knew it was bad shit if he got jammed up ‘cause a it.”
“No. You don’t understand. I, when I was seven, I kinda started it. He didn’t wanna but I kept doin’ it so he let me.”
“What was you doin’? Suckin ‘im or what?”
“No, not that. I’d lay on his stomach and move around like I was fucking.”
“Shit. That all?”
“No. A couple years later, three, when I heard the other kids talking about it, I asked him to suck me. He didn’t want to but he did because I asked him. See, It’s all my fault. He didn’t even like sex.”
“Din’t he have no wife or nothing’?”
“No.”
“Din’t have no girl friends?”
“No.”
“He’s gotta be a fag, then, like Sergio.”
“But he never wanted to do any sex unless I asked.”
“Tha’ don’ mean nothin’. If he ain’ gots a woman, an’ he was suckin’ your dick, I’m bettin’ he’s a fag.”
“Okay, so maybe he is but that doesn’t make him bad. Anyhow, he was the best father a kid could ever have. We did all kinds of things together like he took me to Disney World. Every year, couple times a year, we went to this lake up in the mountains. He walked me to school every day from kindergarten up until seventh grade. I could talk to him any time I wanted,” Tears were forming in Steve’s eyes. “He really loved me, a lot. I miss him so much.” He tried breathing heavily to control the rising sobs.
Hector looked around to see if anyone was watching then patted Steve on the back.
Hector dragged Steve to the showers. The hot water did help. Without thinking about it, he stood in the shower and manipulated his cock, just as the black boy had done the afternoon after Luke’s suicide.
Hector moved close to him and said, “That man’s looking right at you. I’ll be he gots a hard on.”
Steve glanced toward the man. His eyes were on Steve’s groin. He didn’t see Steve looking at him for a moment then turned away toward the locker room.
Steve said to Hector, “Tell the others to tell him he can have me today but it’s gotta be now. He only works one day weekends so he won’t be here tomorrow and they might take me out of here Monday. He can do whatever he wants but its gotta be today.”
“Cept fuck, right?”
“Anything he wants, but he’s gotta let me use his cell phone for a while.”
“Shit, man. What if he gots a big one?”
“C’mon, Hector. This is important. It might be my only chance to talk to my dad.”
Hector went to one of the others, a near adolescent with hair on his groin and a changing voice. The attendant leaned back against the shower opening and watched. Hector go back. Steve hadn’t seen any signs on the part of the man.
“He says the man already asted about you so it’s okay. Jus’ when you go out the locker room, go left instead of right and follow him. Don’ let ‘im fuck you, man.”
“If that’s what I have to do for the telephone, I’ll do it.”
The water was turned off. Everyone walked to the end of the room where the towels were piled on benches. The man tossed him one with a slight smile. Steve kept his eye on the Latino boy. He acted as always, drying off and going to the locker room where fresh clothing awaited everyone. Once dressed, with Steve one boy behind, he walked out with the rest but turned left down the hallway. No one seemed to notice. Steve tailed him as casually as he could.
A sign said ‘Boiler Room’. The boy turned away from it down another hall but stepped into a room a few yards ahead. As Steve passed through the door, he heard footsteps from where he’d come. Inside were electrical panels, a large metal closet and a work bench with a vise and shelves with tools and electrical materials. Rolls of cable hung on the wall.
The shower room attendant came in and said, “Steve Mulrooney, right?”
“Así es.” said the Latino.
The man jumped up and sat on the bench. “You don’t gotta do nothin’ if you don’ want to. You’re supposed to be helping clean up the locker room but there ain’t much to clean.” The man spoke with an accent that wasn’t New York. Steve had never heard anyone speak like him before. “I’m Barney. You like sex, huh?” He was smiling and sounded friendly.
Steve felt no threat. He shrugged, “Sure. But I need to use a telephone.”
The Latino boy pushed off his slippers with opposite feet then undid the cord and dropped his pajama bottoms. He stepped close to Steve and motioned for him to get undressed.
“What’re we gonna do,” he asked the boy.
“Mariano don’t speak English. You two do sex an’ I stay over here. Mariano, traiga la chamarra.” He said to the other boy.
Mariano patted Steve on the back and went to and behind the large closet. Steve unbuttoned his pajama top and stepped out of his slippers. Mariano pulled an Army blanket out, walked to the middle of the room and tossed open the blanket. It floated gently to the floor. Mariano hopped onto the middle of it and took off his pajama top. Steve removed his and let drop the bottoms. Mariano, with an ass wiggle, slid down his boxers displaying about five inches of hard brown penis. Grinning, he motioned for Steve to come close then sat down. Steve took off his briefs and joined him on the blanket.
Mariano pursed his lips and pointed to Steve then himself. He held out his arms. Steve walked on his knees and leaned in. Mariano took him by the upper arms and pulled them together. Steve let himself be guided. Mariano turned his head slightly and opened his mouth. Steve knew what he wanted and met lips to lips. The other boy’s tongue went into Steve’s mouth and over his. The kissing was as passionate as any of Steve’s with Walter.
One of Mariano’s hands took hold of Steve’s flaccid cock. A few manipulations and it grew. The Latino let go of the cock and pulled one of Steve’s hands to his. It was very hard, smooth and warm. All the while keeping their mouths together, turning his head side to side and sucking on Steve’s tongue and lips, Mariano ran his hands over Steve’s back, sides and abdomen. Steve was unsure if this was a show or Mariano liked it. He was very good.
Mariano let go of Steve’s mouth and looked him in the eyes. Slowly, he lay back, pulling Steve with him, pressing Steve’s face into his chest. Steve wasn’t sure what to do. He looked up. Mariano made a licking motion and nodded toward his middle. Steve licked the smooth flesh. Mariano nudged his head down. Steve understood he was to suck the boy’s cock and was quite willing to do so. He took the cock in and went down to the bottom, his lips touching the short, fluffy black pubic hairs. It reminded him of Walter’s even though it was smaller. He looked up at Mariano. The teen touched his face then pulled his chin up and pushed his head down. Steve got to work. He knew how to do this well. He used his tongue and lips as he slid up and down the gorged penis. Mariano caressed Steve’s cheeks and hair.
Steve heard the clink of a belt opening. He felt sure the man was going to take him at his word and fuck him. Steve hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. A fly was unzipped and pants pushed down. Steve closed his eyes and concentrated on what he was doing. Then Mariano stopped him. When Steve looked, he had a tube of KY lubricant in his hand. It was something his dad bought but they never got around to using. It did, however, confirm to Steve that his dad enjoyed fucking his boy.
Mariano pushed Steve off to one side and pulled him onto his stomach. Steve looked back for Barney expecting to see him standing over the two of them with a very hard cock. But, he wasn’t there. Barney was still sitting on the bench, slowly beating off. He nodded toward Mariano who was on his knees applying a generous amount of gel to the top of his cock.
The entry was slow and painless. Once inside, Mariano lay full on Steve. He turned Steve’s face to one side and kissed his cheek. The fucking was slow and deep, each thrust as far inside as he could go, each massaging Steve’s prostate.
The whack, whack, whack of the masturbation behind him became faster and louder. Mariano drove in harder and harder but no faster. Sometimes he’d ram inside and hold it there, rolling his hips from side to side before withdrawing to the tip and pushing back in. Steve’s cock was as stiff and excited as Mariano’s.
The sounds behind them stopped. Barney said, “Whoa, that was good. Apurete, Mariano.”
Mariano didn’t take much longer. He never sped up, just fucked harder, bouncing Steve forward on the blanket. Mariano bit him lightly on the shoulder and rammed in so far the top of his ball sack nearly entered. Steve felt the squirts of sperm shoot out of Mariano’s cock into his rectum. He pumped into the blanket. It moved Mariano’s dick around inside of him, pushing it from one side to the other of his prostate. In seconds, he had his own orgasm. Mariano must have felt it because he said, “Tambien” which Steve later learned meant ‘also’.
Mariano relaxed on top of Steve and kissed the shoulder he’d bitten.
When Mariano finally pulled out, Barney was ready with a roll of paper towels. “Just put on your outer clothes. You can shower again quick so nobody smells nothin’.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and held it up.
Steve dressed quickly and took it. Feeling a great anticipation, he dialed the apartment number. It rang once, twice, three times. On the fifth ring, an answering machine came on. Walter’s voice said to leave a message. Steve hesitated. What if someone else were to listen to the machine? But there was no way he could stop from saying, “Dad. I’m in Wilson State Hospital. They’re sending me somewhere else next week. I’ll try to call. I love you. I love you.” He reluctantly hit the off key.
Barney said, “Wanna try somebody else?”
Steve punched in Garretson’s number. The policeman answered on the third ring. “Uncle Tom?”
“Steve! Jesus, Steve. Where are you?”
“I’m in Wilson State Hospital but they’re moving me out next week. Where’s my father?”
“In the apartment, I suppose. You try there?”
“I got a machine.”
“Are you okay?”
He turned away from Barney and Mariano. “I said something bad. Sergeant O’Malley told me dad confessed and I said something,” He choked up. “I said something like ‘he wouldn’t tell’. I’m sorry.”
Garretson interrupted. “Steve, Steve, it wasn’t your fault.”
Steve began to cry.
“Steve, take it easy. Walter will understand. I’ll tell him what O’Malley’s like and it might not be all that bad.”
“Tell daddy I love him and I’m sorry.”
“He knows that and he loves you too but, don’t worry, I’ll tell him. Is there a safe number where he can call you?”
Steve turned to Barney but he’d left the room. “I don’t think so but I’ll try to call again Monday if I’m still here. And tell Daddy I won’t say anything to anybody else. They can’t fool me again. I won’t let them.”
Barney stuck his head in the door and tapped on his watch.
Garretson said, “Just don’t get in any trouble. Do what they tell you. Obey the rules and be patient. This might take a long time.”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll try to call Monday around this time. Tell Daddy I love him.”
The shower wasn’t nearly as refreshing as having spoken to someone who cared about him. As they dressed, Mariano ran his fingers across his lips. Steve put his hand over his mouth and nodded. Mariano leaned over and kissed his cheek. There were no sweets from the cafeteria. Steve figured Mariano had gotten what he’d wanted. Barney was weird.
Hector wanted to know what he’d done. Steve answered, “I promised not to say anything to anybody but it wasn’t that much and I talked to a policeman friend of ours. He said my father’s not in jail. I told Barney I want to do it again Monday if I’m still here.”
Hector asked, “You think he give me a blow job too? He don’ have ta give me nothin’. “
“Ask him.”
Mariano didn’t look his way at dinner even though Steve and Hector sat at the same table.
Feeling somewhat renewed, Steve read another chapter of ‘White Fang’ to everyone.
Sunday was like any other. There was even a fight but this time between two black kids. The Latinos became happy spectators.
At eleven fifteen Monday morning, Harold Wooten was called into the office of Fred Hanson. He’d seen him on an elevator once and on television a few times but never spoken to the man. Promotion was on his mind when Hanson’s secretary ushered him into the man’s office.
“Mr. Wooten, please sit down.”
The chair was plush, comfortable. Wooten smiled back.
“We’ve made arrangements for a boy you have to be placed in the Livingston Boy’s Ranch in Idaho and I’d like for you to take him there. You’ll be flying out this afternoon from Kennedy. You’ll be met at the airport and housed for the night at the facility.”
Wooten was doubly disappointed, first since there was not to be a more prestigious post but also because he was sure the boy was Steve Mulrooney, a victim being treated like a perpetrator. To be sure, he had been uncooperative but he was just twelve and probably very confused.
“You don’t approve?”
“Sir, I assume we’re talking about Steven Mulrooney, am I correct?”
“So?”
“Why is this boy being treated this way. He…”
“Mr. Wooten, you know how recalcitrant this lad has been. Our concern is that if left here, he might try to go right back to that man who abused him and you know where that might lead, No, this is the best way. Livingston has an excellent educational program suitable for a boy with such high intelligence. I’ve spoken directly to the director and he promised to watch out for the boy personally.
“Now, I know this trip might be an inconvenience for you but, believe me, I won’t forget your cooperation on this matter. You’re on a couple of promotion lists, you know.”
Wooten left the office with plane tickets and a manila envelope with Steve’s paperwork. There were four hours until their flight and he needed to think so he drove to a restaurant on South Broadway for an early lunch.
As he waited for his food, he called Aretha Washington, his niece who’d been Steve’s case worker. He told her what had gone on over the past several days and what he was then supposed to do.
“That’s wrong and we both know it. Didn’t you explain what’s been going on to Mr. Hanson?”
“He wouldn’t let me. Gave me some bull about protecting Steve from himself and a great school at this place. He even offered me, indirectly, a promotion for doing this.”
“Uncle George, look at what’s happened: Juvenile detention, Wilson and now this. This boy or Walter Suyvesant has stepped on somebody’s toes. They’ve got to know the boy’s mother is lying and I’d sure like to hear the boy’s confession. I’ll bet it’s a lot less than that and the result of some kind of extortion. That poor boy.”
“I think you’re right, Aretha, but what the hell can I do. Who knows how high this goes. I don’t take him and I’ll be on the street with you again, or looking for a job.”
They decided he had no choice but promised each other to keep an eye on the case to see if there was any way they could help the child without losing their jobs. Aretha added, “Actually, I’m seeing a lot of things that bother me, not just this. Another year and I’ll have my M.S.W. Then, screw them!”
“Don’t forget the letter of recommendation you’re going to need for your next position.”
“Maybe I should consider selling cosmetics.”
Steve worried all morning Monday that his name would be called out to leave but it didn’t happen. Lunch passed by, then yard. Hector accompanied him.
“Don’ worry none,” he said, “they ain’t gonna move you for days.”
Less than ten minutes later, Steve’s name was called. He also didn’t believe the move would come so fast but worried whatever he was being called for would detain him past the four o’clock shower call.
Just inside the yard gate was Mr. Wooten. “You’re out of here,” he announced with a smile. It’s not what either of us wants but it’s a heck of a lot better than here.” He noticed the depressed look on Steve’s face. “What’s wrong? You want to get out of here, don’t you?”
No viable answer occurred to Steve. But, he did have an idea. “Can I say goodbye to my friend?”
The social worker looked at his watch. “Oh, go ahead. Just don’t be too long. We’re late already but that’s my fault, not yours.”
“Thanks,” said Steve as he ran back to Hector.
“They gonna take you now?”
“Yeah. I gotta big favor to ask. I’m gonna tell you my father’s telephone number. Give it to Mariano so he can call my father. I’m gonna try to find out where they’re taking me. If I can, I’ll leave a note inside your room. And tell Mariano to tell him, his name’s Walter, that I’ll call him as soon as I can.” He thought to add that he loved him but figured that might be too much emotion for these hard Latinos. He repeated the phone number three times. Hector repeated it and promised to keep doing so until he was inside and could write it down. “Don’t let anybody else have it. It could be a big problem.”
Hector asked, “What they do down there? Maybe I can go and do it.”
“More than you’ll like.”
“I can try it.”
“Mariano fucked me.”
“Oh shit. That hurt?”
“No, but I’m bigger than you.”
“Mariano, not that man?”
“Mariano, but you’ve seen how big he is.”
“He ain’ all tha’ big. An’ he’s gonna fuck up the number or say it all wrong. He don’t speak a lot a English, almost none. I’m gonna do it. Anyway, I gots somebody I wanna call too. Ain’ gonna hurt that much.”
“Mariano won’t say anything to the others?”
“Shit, no. They call him a fag if he do.”
Steve tried to hug him. Hector pushed him back and offered his hand. “Shit, man. You can’t do shit like that in heah. I see you on the streets. Say the number again.”
Steve said it twice. Hector repeated it several times.
Steve told Mr. Wooten he had a couple of things in the ward. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s called Livingston Boy’s Ranch. We’re gonna fly there. Got the tickets right here.” He tapped the left side of his jacket.
The kids in the detention center and the hospital had mentioned a lot of homes but never that one. He asked where it was.
“Get your stuff. I’ll tell you what I know on the way.”
Wooten waited in the nurse’s office while Steve went toward his room. He detoured past a table and grabbed a green crayon then a scrap of paper off the floor. He wrote the name of the home then a large question mark and ‘going by airplane’ He walked by Hector’s room and pushed it under the door.
They went to the storage room and picked up Steve’s school clothes.
In the car, wearing a coat the social worker had brought along for him, Steve heard Idaho. It sent a chill up his spine. “Idaho? Why am I going way out there?”
“Steve, there’s nothing available in this area right now and this place has a school program for bright kids like you.”
Chapter 16 After a plane change in Salt Lake City, they landed in Boise at ten thirty. A middle aged man wearing a cowboy hat greeted them as they came out of the baggage area.
“You two weren’t hard to spot,” he said with a grin.
The drive took over two hours. It was too dark to see anything other than the two lane road and the lines in the middle. Steve quickly fell asleep missing most of the eighty and ninety mile an hour ride. They were housed in a one story log cabin like cottage with ‘Guest House’ carved into a rustic sign hanging over the wood stairs. It smelled of disinfectant and mold inside.
Steve lay in bed feeling more imprisoned than ever. He was over two thousand miles from his dad. Communication would be very difficult. Even if Hector went through with the sexual encounter and got the message to Walter, it would be difficult if not impossible for the two to communicate much less actually see each other. He wasn’t sure cell phones would work in a location as remote as he figured they were in. Any regular telephone he used would be owned by the home. A record of the call would show up on the next monthly bill. Running away was likely impossible. Best he knew, he was a two hour drive from the nearest city. He’d certainly be picked up or turned in before he could get there. Even if he did, what would he do then?
Still, there had to be some way to gain access to a telephone that would allow him to make a long distance call.
In the morning, they were awakened by a gentle knock on their bedroom doors. When Steve opened up, a small blond haired boy in a cowboy suit, eight or nine years old, told him breakfast would be served in twenty minutes.
Stepping out the door of the cottage was a sight Steve had only seen in magazines and the internet. In front of him were the Rocky Mountains. Across a wide expanse of rolling land were steep forested hills rising to mountain peaks, some snow covered. It was the end of November. The air was cold enough for snow.
Between Steve and the mountains and stretching out to his left up a long gradual incline were a number of one and two story buildings, what looked like a huge gymnasium, sports fields for football and baseball and at the top, a large church with a steeple which must have been five stories high. Everything was either brick or wood. Concrete paths linked all the structures.
The dining hall was immense. Steve calculated there were at several hundred boys all wearing similar western outfits at the countless long wood tables. Mr. Wooten was seated at an exclusively adult table at one end of the hall. Steve was taken to the middle where kids his age waited to be served.
A teen went to the front and read grace over a microphone. Most of the boys said it along with him, but not all. Several at Steve’s table bowed their heads but kept their mouths shut.
Breakfast was fried eggs, beans, rolls, and fruit juice. The conversation was about school that day, a rabbit hit by a jeep, why one boy was a chump and something about new socks. Two of the boys acknowledged Steve’s presence with a nod but he was not spoken to much less noticed by the rest.
The boys’ ages ranged from about six to near adult. The racial makeup was considerably different than what Steve had experienced in New York. The majority were white but there was a fair percentage of black, Latino and even a few orientals. Blonde hair like his abounded among the whites.
After eating, they were taken outside and across the compound to a broad single story cottage with another roughly carved sign over the three entry steps stating ‘Administration’.
The director was a leather faced older man with squinty eyes wearing a conservative and well fitted cowboy outfit. He sported a near pure white crew cut. Steve guessed him to be in his seventies. A stuffed bald eagle graced one corner of his Western style, leather topped desk. Three cowboy hats hung from the antlers of a decapitated deer on the wall behind him. There were photos of the man on horseback holding a large rifle, posed beside a large dead brown bear and surrounded by thirty or so teenage boys wearing football uniorms. One held a large trophy over his head.
“Howdy there, young Steven,” he said with a pronounced Western drawl. “I’m Tom Brinkley. We’re glad to have you with us. I’m told you’re a smart one so we’re gonna test you and see what kind of school program’ll work out best for you. You’re in seventh grade, right?” He was reading the papers in the file the social worker had handed him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Doggone! All hundreds in your finals last year. You might be smarter than some of our teachers,” he remarked with a smile at Mr. Wooten.
Before the morning was over, Steve was interviewed by a psychologist and a social worker, given a complete physical exam by a doctor and a series of academic tests. He filled out a form that requested his sports and outdoor interests, abilities and experience Finally, he was taken to the ‘Supply House’ to be issued his uniforms, underwear, shoes, boots, coat and hat. Uniform is probably a harsh word for his cowboy shirts and jeans and khakis but that’s what everyone else was wearing, even the staff. There were, he soon found out, some variations in colors depending on one’s age.
A tall boy who described himself as a mentor took Steve to his ‘cabin’ which turned out to be a large two story building which, he was told, held four groups of twenty-four boys each of similar age. Each group area had twelve small rooms for two boys each. The rooms had bunk beds, side by side desks and up and down closets. Steve was assigned to an upper bunk and closet section. His group leader would see him later to tell him “how things run around here”.
Lunch was soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches though there was not much inside the slices. Milk was served out of pitchers. Two boys from each group did the serving and collected dishes afterward.
Rather than intermediate and high school grading of New York City, Livingston used the older junior and senior high school system which put Steve in the first year of junior high. A single large two story building housed both. Steve’s home room teacher took him to see a number of classrooms, science, language and computer laboratories, a library, and an auditorium that looked able to seat several hundred people. There was a large gym along side with locker rooms, showers and equipment rooms.
At one point, the teacher said, “I’ve read your academic history and saw your tests during lunch. You’re already ahead of most of my students, maybe all of them.”
His first class was math. The teacher was a young woman who had difficulty bringing the class to order. Steve and another boy were the only ones to raise their hands when questions were asked. There was an undertone of snickering that came and went depending on whether they were supposed to be doing problems or not.
Walter met with his new attorney at a quarter to five that Tuesday afternoon. He already knew something of the news he’d be receiving. A boy had called him the afternoon before. He also gave him the name of the home where Steve had been sent. He’d found it on the internet and was already trying to figure out how he might be able to communicate with his foster son. Among the reasons the website stated for not admitting a boy was sexual problems. Either the New York authorities hadn’t sent complete information or influence or pressure had been brought to bear.
Byron Katz said, “I bumped into the assistant D.A. for your case this morning. Apparently Steve Mulrooney is saying there was sexual activity with you. They have it on tape. She’s offering a deal that will avoid forcing the boy to testify although she said the tape would probably be enough.”
“I can’t imagine what he could have said. We never did anything. I’m not interested in any deals. I’m innocent.”
The attorney ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, Mr. Stuyvesant, we go to trial and lose, you’re facing most of the rest of your life in prison. Miss Savage is offering ten to fifteen years meaning you could be out in six or seven. You really should think about this. They have the mother’s testimony, Steven’s, psychologists, school counselors and I expect another couple of expert witnesses not to mention the photos of you two kissing.”
“Christ, he was kissing me on the cheek. That was it. His mother is lying. You shouldn’t have any trouble taking whatever she says apart. Plus, she’s a murderess who tried to kill me and ran a high priced whore house. She beat her son until he had epilepsy then dumped him on me leaving a fake phone number behind.
“I have a hard time believing Steve said we were having sex unless they somehow forced him to say it.
“No deals. We’re going to trial.”
After school, the boys were sent back to their rooms to change into jeans, flannel shirts, play shoes and jackets. Steve along with his group ran out to a football field to play a game of touch with another group from their building. Steve was put onto the offensive line where he failed to block very well and was quickly replaced. That failure immediately relegated him to a low place on the social pecking order, a disappointment to his jock roommate. He hardly spoke to Steve the rest of the day and evening.
After the sports debacle, they returned for a quick shower. Everyone wore their briefs and pushed their hands inside to wash what was inside them. Steve had nearly walked out of his room naked when his roommate had derisively told him to ‘cover’ himself.
There were eight shower heads for twenty-four boys. Steve had to wait in a corner with a few others while the bigger and more aggressive showered first.
Though there didn’t seem to be any particular animus due to his quickly attained low social status, Steve did feel isolated. No one spoke to him in the crowded shower or in the lounge when he went there looking for a book to read. There, he found not one, but three copies of London’s ‘White Fang’. There were no seats open in the lounge, so Steve went back to his room where he saw ‘3rd Grade’ on the reader Buddy, his roommate, had on his desk.
Their group leader, a well built young man in a turtle neck sweater who’d worn a Texas A&M sweat shirt for the afternoon’s game, spoke to Steve briefly on the stairs, introducing himself as Steve Thurman. “Don’t worry about names. You all have to call me Mr. Thurman so there won’t be any confusion. Come knock on my door after dinner and I’ll explain the rules and everything.”
Dinner was a bit less unpleasant because a small boy named Wesley Hinton asked him why he hadn’t seen him in school.
“What grade are you in?”
“Fourth,” answered the boy.
“’Cause I’m in junior high.”
Wesley’s grey eyes opened wide. “Junior high? How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“So am I. How come you’re in junior high?”
“Well, I entered first grade at six and never failed.”
“Wow, ain’t nobody in our group more’n fifth grade. Buddy know that?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me.”
The boy laughed showing off dimples on both sides of his broad mouth. “That’s ‘cause you didn’t block for nothin’ in the game. He hates to lose and they beat us again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. Section C done beat us four times in a row. Wudn’t as bad this time as Friday. That was really bad, forty-two to nothin’. Bad.”
“What was it today?”
“Didn’t you watch? 28-14. Don’t let Buddy know you don’t know that? That’ll really tick him off.”
Steve noticed he hadn’t heard a single cuss word, not even a ‘damn’, since he’d been there.
Mr. Thurman gave Steve a booklet with the name of the place and ‘Rules and Regulations’ printed on the front. “It’s just common sense stuff like what time we get up, eat, go to bed, school hours and all that. And there’s other stuff. Just read it and if you got any questions, just ask me.
“How’re you getting along with Buddy?”
“Okay, I suppose. He hasn’t talked to me yet.”
There was the same reaction as from Wesley, a laugh. “That’s just Buddy. He’ll probably be friendlier tomorrow. Ask him to teach you how to block. He’ll like that.”
The booklet had eighty-six rules including no smoking, drinking or cussing. With the exception of going to the showers in briefs and that with a towel wrapped around one’s waist, at least pants or shorts were to be worn at all times outside one’s room. Sexual activity of any kind was punishable with expulsion. Fights were to be settled in the boxing ring. Homework had to be completed after dinner before leaving one’s room. No one was to leave the area of the home without permission from his group leader. Rooms were to be cleaned daily and beds made before going to breakfast. Boys washed and dried their own clothes and bed covers in the machines on the first floor. The list seemed interminable and covered everything one did from waking to lights out.
Steve went back to the sexual activity prohibition. He doubted all the boys obeyed it at least with regard to masturbation. And, he wondered how many would feel threatened by expulsion. Was the place that great to live in?
Buddy did say, ‘Good night’ before turning off the light at nine thirty.
Steve went to sleep thinking about all the staff members he’d met that day hoping he’d find one with a cell phone he could convince to let him call New York. None seemed promising.
Nothing during the rest of the week changed Steve’s feelings of not being accepted by the majority of his group or classmates. There were exceptions like Wesley and three others who appeared to inhabit the same lower social class.
One, Calvin Dunker, a slim smaller boy who looked more Spanish than his name suggested, was slightly effeminate though he tried to hide it by walking very upright and keeping his hands in his pockets. Speaking like the rest was more difficult. In class, he spoke slowly, deliberately. But socially, he relaxed and out came the giveaway speech. What caught Steve’s eye was Calvin nestled in a corner of the lounge reading a book. His roommate was another jock, which, surmised Steve, caused him to seek peace elsewhere.
The other was a tall, gangly kid named Leonard While. Wesley told him that Leonard was the son of a well-to-do family in Boise who had put him in a military boarding school in hopes of turning their sweet, inoffensive son into a warrior. Failing that, a friend of the boy’s father suggested Livingston where Leonard had been since September and was the last chosen in all sports activities.
Friday after dinner and math homework, Steve knocked off forty-two pushups. When Buddy had asked why he was doing it, he told him about his years in the gym with his foster father. Buddy didn’t act impressed.
Saturday morning, there was a dusting of snow on the ground. Nonetheless, Steve followed Mr. Thurman’s suggestion and asked Buddy to teach him the proper way to block.
“We gotta do chores. Maybe later,” was the reaction to Steve’s request.
Chores consisted of janitorial work throughout the compound. Steve was assigned to the laundry room which meant cleaning walls, floor, windows and machines, inside and out. It took all morning though mostly because Mr. Thurman consistently found spots that had yet to be done properly. A shower was necessary when he was finally informed the job was complete.
With lunch only twenty minutes off, Steve laid on his bunk and read. Saturday lunch, it turned out, was less formal than during the week. Very few adults were around and kids sat pretty much where they pleased. Wesley found Steve. He agreed to show him around the grounds since they had the afternoon free.
When they got to the main gym, Steve heard loud voices from inside.
Wesley explained, “Anybody can go in there Saturdays and Sundays after church. Wanna?”
There must have been a hundred kids and a handful of adults inside playing basketball and volleyball, throwing footballs back and forth, and working out on the exercise equipment. Steve went straight to the pull up bar on a side wall and managed twenty-two, well off his high of forty-one a couple of months before. He followed that with other exercises taking off his shirt midway through due to the sweat his building up. Wesley tried each but had a hard time. He too took off his shirt probably since most of the others near them had down the same. The gym was warm.
Sunday became a problem. Someone had written ‘Christian’ on his intake form even though he’d answered ‘none’ when asked what religion he preferred. Mr. Thurman informed Steve he was to go to the Protestant service at nine thirty.
“I don’t go to church, sir.”
“Steve, old buddy, everybody goes to church here. You’re listed as a Christian, right?”
“No, sir. I’m not.”
“Then what are you?”
“Nothing, sir. I don’t believe in religions.”
“You believe in god, don’t you?” he asked with a smile.
“Please, sir, that’s a private thing.”
That managed to remove Thurman’s happy face. “Look, everybody goes to church, either Protestant or Catholic. That’s the way it is. Which one do you want to go to?”
Steve knew not to fight. “Whichever one you say, sir.” The sir was forced.
“Steve, I can’t choose your religion for you. You have to tell me.”
Steve wanted to ask which was the shortest but remembered that Catholic Mass ran about half an hour as opposed to hour or longer Protestant service. And, he wouldn’t have to sing. “Catholic.”
“He had to rush through snowfall to make it to the eight-thirty mass. He took a seat in the back and followed the example of those in front of him regarding standing, sitting and kneeling.
Monday afternoon, Mr. Thurman informed Steve that his things had been moved to another room. He understood what had happened. Buddy wanted another jock for a roommate and he didn’t fit the pattern. What he didn’t expect was to be paired up with Calvin Dunker, the mildly effeminate boy.
The moment he entered, Calvin said apologetically, “Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t say anything. I think Michael just wanted to be with Buddy and they’ve both been here longer than you or me so Mr. Thurman just did it.”
Steve told him not to worry and took the offered lower bunk.
That night after lights out, Calvin asked again, “So you’re not mad at me, okay?”
Calvin was in some ways an ideal roommate. He liked to clean and even offered to make Steve’s bed. Steve declined concerned others would find out and make the wrong assumption.
Steve quickly figured the real reason for the room switch. Calvin made it a point to be in the room when Steve came back from the shower and took off his wet briefs. He found it a bit amusing. However, even though Calvin made no comments much less a pass, Steve felt sure his predecessor had not liked it at all.
Thanksgiving came a week and a half later. A relatively small number of kids went to be with family or sponsors. The latter were families which took in some kids who had none and had been in Livingston for a year or more.
Calvin, who’d only been around since the summer seemed particularly down. He’d already told Steve that he had both parents, three brothers and a sister. The reason he’d been sent to Livingston was a series of problems in the two schools he’d attended, problems he didn’t want to discuss but that he felt were a lot less serious than the school authorities and his family had made them out to be.
Steve guessed they were sexual in nature but possibly not Calvin’s fault. After all had gone to church as required Thanksgiving morning, Steve went back to his room and found Calvin lying on his bed sobbing.
When asked why, Calvin replied through sniffles, “It’s not my fault I’m the way I am. God made me this way so how come it’s bad.”
Steve had no words to deal with that. The best he could come up with was, “Well, I’m your friend and so’s Wesley and some others.”
Calvin reached out and put his arms around Steve’s neck, pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek leaving tears behind. The emotion passed into Steve. He’d felt this lonely and understood the pain. He pat and caressed Calvin on the back unable to bring himself to push the boy back onto his bunk.
He was saved when someone in the corridor shouted ‘Turkey!’
“Let’s go eat,” suggested Steve.
Calvin apologized for his behavior all the way to the dining hall repeatedly thanking Steve for being so nice to him.
Later that night, shortly before lights out, Calvin offered, “I give a fantastic blow job if you want one.”
Steve was very much tempted. However, every once in a while, Mr. Thurman stuck his head in the door to say good night. He begged off, “Not tonight, Calvin.”
It was another ten days before he noticed one of the leaders watching him exercise in the gym. Knowing he did have a nice body that would be attractive to men who liked boys, Steve immediately began going to the gym at every opportunity, stripping down to gym shorts to display the maximum amount of flesh to anyone interested. His blonde hair wasn’t particularly unique but did help even though they’d cut most of it off.
During the week, the man who’d seemed to notice him before was there with a group of ten year olds. Steve smiled at him whenever the man looked his way. That Sunday afternoon, the man joined Steve doing pull ups. He was young, college age, easily six feet tall with a slim but well muscled body and a ready smile.
“Hi,” he said as he gripped the wood bar. “What’s your name?”
“Steve. What’s yours?”
“Mr. Flemming. Whose group are you in?”
“Mr. Thurman’s.”
“Doesn’t he ever work out here with you?”
“No, he’s always playing basketball. He’s really good at that.”
“Yeah, he played varsity in college.”
By then, both were straining too much to speak.
Flemming outdid Steve, doing thirty-seven pull ups to Steve’s thirty-five.
The man said, “You’re pretty good at this. You work out before?”
“Unh huh, in a gym for a few years.”
“Your father take you?”
Steve had prepared the answer he thought would create the most interest. “I don’t have a father. A man took me.”
“Really. Friend of the family?”
“Nah, just a friend. I don’t have a family.”
“Neat. He take you other places too?”
“Sure. We ate at restaurants and went up to the mountains and other stuff.”
“Bet you miss him.”
“Yeah, a lot.” Steve felt a sudden sense of caution come over him. What if this man was checking him out for the people back in New York, or, for the director who may have wanted to know if he was going to be a problem with men at the home. It was hard to believe he hadn’t been informed of why Steve was in need of a place to live. He let the man lead.
They did most of Steve’s normal exercises. A few of Flemming’s ten year olds joined them.
The next day Steve’s group hit the gym was Tuesday. With snow on the ground, the game was basketball, a sport Steve didn’t have the height for but, at least, knew how to play competently. After seeing him on the court several times, team captains chose him well ahead of many others. It had helped remove some of the social isolation. Several other boys had become friendly if not friends.
Flemming came by half an hour before they were to leave and worked out lackadaisically, his real attention on Steve who dutifully raised his T shirt over his tummy. He’d have done more but the other team was skins.
Steve’s surreptitious smiles were surreptitiously returned.
When Thurman led his group out, Steve managed to have difficulty lacing up his boots. Mr. Flemming walked over and squatted in front of him.
“The truth. Why are you here?” His smile was thin but didn’t seem to hide anything.
Without looking up, Steve replied matter of factly, “Some people don’t like me.”
“They must be crazy or just plain nasty, but, that’s not a real answer.”
Steve sighed as he tightened the bow in his laces. “They said, they didn’t like my foster father either. I gotta go or Mr. Thurman will be mad.” He stood and zipped up his coat.
“We’ll talk more next time we see each other, okay?”
“Sure. See you.” Steve hurried toward the door pulling the hood over his head. He’d almost said too much but knew he’d have to if this man was to be convinced to cooperate.
In bed that night, he thought long and hard about what he could say to Mr. Flemming. Though he was convinced that the man was interested in him, it was anything but certain he wanted sex bad enough, or at all, to be effectively bribed into letting Steve make the call to New York. It was entirely possible he merely wanted to be a friend to a boy who was looking for one. Were Steve to misstep, it might just put him off or bring disaster. Livingston’s director was definitely against anything sexual. He’d never heard of anyone enforcing a rule that boys wear briefs in the shower.
Thurman took the group to the gym again on Friday but Flemming didn’t show up. Steve realized he could well have been occupied with his own group but worried that he’d lost interest.
Calvin certainly hadn’t. Again that night, this time after lights out, he offered his ‘fantastic blow job’.
Steve hadn’t gotten off since that afternoon with Marcelino’s dick up his rear. He was used to a lot more action than that. Still, caution, or paranoia, held sway. He did ask, “You ever do that before here?”
“You can’t say anything.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I didn’t think so.” He paused then, “Yes, a couple times, three, well, three and a half. One time he wouldn’t let me finish.”
“Who?”
“Well, who do you think? My ex-roomie.”
“Steve had guessed that would be his answer. “Anybody else?”
“Well, he’s not here any more so I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyhow, you never knew him ‘cause he left before school started. He was a leader here in the summer.”
“You mean like Mr. Thurman? You did one of them?”
“Why not? They get horny too. So, wanna do it?”
“Is Jimmy the only boy you did it with?”
“No, but, remember, you can’t go telling anybody. I’d be in a lot of trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna say anything. Now, who?”
“Billy Simpson.”
Billy Simpson was the toughest kid in the group, the most respected athlete and Mr. Thurman’s favorite, the one he gave the most responsibilities to, the only one he’d ever given charge over the group to. Steve had thought Billy Simpson was the straightest kid he’d ever met. He couldn’t imagine him saying damn and absolutely couldn’t imagine his lying back to have his cock sucked. “Did you ask him or did he ask you?”
“He and Jimmy are best friends. Jimmy told him and, well, he’s a boy.”
That did it for Steve. He was hard just thinking about Calvin and the others. “All right, come on down.”
Once Steve had shed his shorts, Calvin knelt on the floor and pulled Steve’s legs over the side of the bed. He was good. He licked down between Steve legs right to his hole sending a shiver up into his middle. He sucked on Steve’s growing testicles and ran his tongue all around his cock. Steve stopped him and pushed his pole right into Calvin’s saliva dripping mouth.
Calvin’s hands were all over Steve’s chest, sides, underarms, thighs and calves. A wet finger poked at his anus but didn’t go for entry. Calvin knew how fast not to go to bring on a quick climax. Steve’s legs stuck straight out for the longest time as Calvin went up and down and around on his three and a half inches of pubing penis. Steve wanted to cum but Calvin kept him right on the far side by stopping occasionally. When he finally was allowed entry into paradise, Calvin stayed on him, sucking gently until the pulsing stopped.
“Oh shit, that was good,” whispered Steve.
“I know but don’t cuss. It’s against the rules.”
Steve felt the vibration of Calvin’s masturbation for a few minutes before he fell asleep, physically satisfied.
Saturday morning, Mr. Flemming was already working out when Steve came in. They greeted but said nothing for a while. There were other boys with them so it would have been difficult.
Flemming showed two of the boys proper push up technique then went to Steve who was on the standing push up bars. With a mock stern expression, he said, “Pull your knees and feet up and tell me the truth about why you’re here.”
Steve was ready with, “’Cause I’m not a snitch.”
“Mixed up in some criminal activity?”
“No.”
Flemming got on the bars beside him and said, “Watch me and tell me more.”
Steve dropped to the floor. “I can’t say anything more but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You’re frustrating me.”
Steve said, “Show me how to put my hands.” He wanted the leader close.
Flemming seemed to understand. He got off his bars and walked in front of Steve. He took the boys hands in his and put them on the bars.
Steve spoke quietly. “You have a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“I need to make a call to New York. I’ll do anything you want if you let me. Anything.”
Flemming looked Steve in the eyes.
Steve saw desire and repeated, “Anything.”
Flemming looked at Steve’s hands and pushed them back on the bar though his mind obviously wasn’t thinking of standing push ups.
Steve said, “Please. I’ll suck you or you can fuck me, both if you want.”
Flemming looked to his right where boys were wrestling and giggling on the floor. He closed his eyes for a moment then asked, “Do you know where the football supply room is?”
“No, but I can find it. Where is it?”
“Down the hall from the showers. It’s got a window with wire over the glass inside. There’s a number three on the wall. Go there in exactly thirty minutes. The door’ll be open. Uh, we’ll… Thirty minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
The leader said to everyone nearby, “See you guys later,” and was off.
Steve felt like he was short of air and took a couple of deep breaths. He sat to one side of the exercise bars and put his head between his knees. It wasn’t the sex that was on his mind but Walter. Anticipation nearly had him crying. He calculated the hour in New York. According to the clock on the side gym wall, it was ten thirty-four which made it eight thirty-four in New York. Walter would making breakfast or eating it. Half an hour of waiting and maybe that much for sex and it would be short of ten o’clock. Walter would almost certainly be home, unless he’d gone somewhere for the weekend. He might do that to get his mind off his troubles. Steve tried to send a mental message to his foster father, ‘Be there, be there’.
It was hard to stay put, not go early to the football supply room. Steve ran a few laps around the gym, almost crashing into boys he couldn’t see with his mind so fixed on what he’d say to his dad. The clock hardly moved. He tried more exercises, running a lap between each set. He found that he was tiring quickly and sat down again. There were still eight minutes before he could go to the supply room. He had to tell Walter he was sorry for saying that stupid thing he said, beg his forgiveness. He was sure Walter would know by then of his panicked admission at the hospital. Garretson had assured Steve his dad would forgive him. Steve knew he was right but it would still have to hurt.
He checked the clock. One minute to go! He jumped up and grabbed his sweat clothes, coat and hat. His feet wanted to run. He had to control them.
There was no one in the hallway though he heard voices coming from the bathroom. The football supply room was number three, well ahead. He walked faster past doors one and two. He reached out for the brass door knob. It turned heavily. The smell of used sports equipment and sweat assaulted his nose as the door opened. He stepped quickly inside pulling the door closed behind him.
A man’s whisper said, “Over here.”
Flemming was to his right by a hanging stack of shoulder pads. Steve felt a surge of adrenalin fire from his middle up through his brain. The man seemed nervous.
“Have you ever done this kind of thing before?”
Steve nodded affirmatively.
“Why do you think I want…whew boy. What do you want to do first?”
“Whatever you want. Want me to take off my clothes?”
“Okay.” Flemming took a deep breath and swallowed as he watched Steve loosen his belt. “And you did this before?”
“Sure. You have your cell phone?”
“Uh, Yes. You do it here?”
Steve pushed his pants and briefs down to his ankles and stood to take off his T shirt. “I can’t tell you that.”
The man didn’t seem to hear him. His attention was on Steve’s soft penis.
Steve asked, “You ever do this before?”
That seemed to relax the man. He laughed quietly. “Not since I was nine, but you knew that, didn’t you?”
Standing naked, Steve said, “That’s okay. You wanna touch it?”
Flemming squatted and took Steve’s hips in his hands. Steve took one of the man’s his hands and guided it to his cock. He accepted and fondled it.
Steve, whose anticipation for the cell phone was being tempered by a growing horniness, said “Suck me.”
Flemming leaned forward and took the growing organ into his mouth. Steve felt his tongue explore bottom and sides. He pulled out and pushed back in a few times.
Steve leaned to one side and looked down at his fellator’s crotch. There was a roaring hard on inside struggling to get out. “Better take your pants off.”
Flemmings sucked twice then stood, opening his pants as he did. The first thing Steve noticed was that the head of his cock was exposed, and wet.
“You cum already?” asked Steve.
“No.”
Steve took hold of the man cock and felt it. It was about the size of Walter’s. He’d have no trouble taking it inside if necessary. Still, it would be better if he could get him off orally, quicker. He could make his call sooner. He closed his eyes, imagining Walter stood in front of him. On his knees, he opened up and slipped his mouth over the mancock. It had a different feel than Walter’s, harder actually, perhaps smoother. He took in all he could getting to within an inch of pubic hair.
Flemming seemed to buckle, dropping enough that his dick nearly came out of Steve’s mouth. He recovered, standing up. “Go slow, go slow.”
As he’d done with his foster dad, Steve cupped one hand under the heavy balls while he worked on better than six inches of manhood. Flemming began to help, pushing in and out. Then, he said, “Wait a minute. Let’s lie down.”
He was prepared. Behind him were two piles of football jerseys. They were soft and comfortable. Steve slid down between the man’s legs.
“No,” said Flemming, “you get on top of me.” He guided Steve to a sixty-nine position, quickly swallowing the boy cock.
Steve went back to work. Flemming was not as hairy as Walter but there was still a lot between his legs. Steve felt the lump where his cock passed back to front. It seemed thicker than the pole in his mouth. Rubbing Walter there always made his feel better.
Steve thought about the possibility of being fucked. He didn’t see any lubricant. Flemming was a novice. He might not know it was needed. Maybe saliva would work. Steve would do whatever was necessary to get to that cell phone.
Flemming was doing a credible job for a novice. Steve was beginning to enjoy it. He turned his head side to side as he went up and down working the man toward climax. Large hands ran up and down his back, buns and legs. The stomach below him hardened, the cock in his mouth enlarged. Steve hoped the semen wouldn’t be too foul tasting.
Flemming reached down and yanked his dick out of Steve’s mouth. He tried to cup his hand over the top but missed the first spurt which shot high into the air then fell on the top jersey. The rest squirted and oozed through his fingers, dripping down into his pubic hairs. Steve’s curiosity required a quick lick. The taste wasn’t great. He was glad he hadn’t had to swallow it. He wasn’t going to be fucked.
“They got towels in here?” asked Steve.
“God, I don’t know. I got napkins in my pants pocket.”
Steve pulled the pants to them. There was a wad on the left hand side. They cleaned up best they could but the smell didn’t go away. There were two windows but they were locked with a padlock. Flemming looked at the key ring he carried. Steve was more interested in his phone call.
“Can I make my call now?”
“Okay. Who are you going to call?”
“My dad.”
Flemming stopped wiping himself and looked toward Steve. “I thought you didn’t have a father?”
“He’s my foster father but I’ve been with him since I was four. Can I call now?”
“Sure, go ahead. Take it out of my pocket. My hands are still sticky,” instructed Flemming.
Unconcerned with putting his clothes on, Steve fumbled the phone out of the pants then, abruptly, realized he had no idea how to dial long distance. Flemming told him. His hands were shaking. He had to dial twice to get it right. Steve backed against the wall. It rang once, twice, three times. Halfway through the fourth ring, the phone was picked up.
“Hello.” It was Walter.
Steve could hardly speak. Tears surged into his eyes. “Daddy.”
“Steve, oh, Steve, son.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I…”
“No, no, son. There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m okay. I love you. I’m in Idaho at some home called…”
“Livingston Boys’ Ranch. Hector called and told me. I love you too, more than anything.
“When are they gonna let us see each other?”
There was a moment of silence. “They don’t want us ever to see each other but we will. I couldn’t bear living if I thought we’d never be together again. Can anyone hear you?”
“Yes, but he isn’t going to say anything.”
“Still, careful what you say. God, I love you.”
“Me too, dad. I love you.”
“Are they treating you okay out there?”
“It’s okay, just real cold and lots of snow. I just said…”
“I know, son. I heard the tape. I’ve thought about it. All you were talking about was that time when you were seven and rubbed yourself on my stomach. Remember? And I kept telling you we had to go eat and had to pick you up. You remember that?”
Steve understood immediately. “Yes, you made me stop and take off my pajamas and get dressed but that wasn’t all that bad. I thought…”
“Don’t worry about it, son. Once they realize that’s all it was, this thing will be all over but then it’s going to take time for us to get back together. They have charge of you until you’re eighteen.”
“I don’t wanna wait that long. It’s almost Christmas. I wanna go to the lodge with you.”
“Steve, Christmas is lost for us. You have to accept that. My lawyer is trying to make them either have a trial or drop it all but even then, it’s going to be hard for us to get back together.”
“Why are they doing this. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, son. There are some very bad people in the world and, well, the ones who are doing this aren’t all bad. I think some of them really believe they are doing the right thing. They just can’t understand how we can love each other without doing things they don’t like, if you understand me.”
“Can you come out here? Maybe I can get out for a few hours and we can meet somewhere.”
“I don’t think it would be wise, son. Everybody knows everybody else out where you live. The nearest city is sixty miles away, too far for you to go and get back.”
“Why can’t we just run away to some other place, Mexico or Canada?”
I don’t think that would work. I have to work or we won’t eat and that would be difficult. Don’t think I haven’t thought of that, many times. But, anyway, we need to wait now and see what happens here. Let’s give the lawyer a chance to straighten things out.”
“I want to be with you, dad. I love you so much.”
Flemming looked up from scrubbing a cum spot on the floor and pointed at his watch. Steve ignored him.
Walter said, “Look son, this can’t go on forever, It is going to end one day. Just keep thinking that. It’s what I do, many times a day.”
They conversed for another ten minutes. Flemming had dressed and was stuffing the soiled football jersey into his sweatshirt.
There were still tears on Steve’s face when he said his final ‘I love you’ to Walter.
“You better get dressed,” said Flemming when Steve handed him the cell phone. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Hmmm?”
“Get dressed.”
Congressman Albright was agitated. “Harold, I thought this thing was going to be settled by now. What’s the hold up?”
“Stuyvesant’s lawyer says the man insists on going to trial.”
“He’s going to lose. What’s wrong with the asshole?”
“He thinks a jury will acquit him. He claims the kid’s confession was referring to something the kid did, not him.”
“Crap! There a date yet?”
“I spoke to Judge Flaherty personally. He says there’s no way until January, the fifth, I think.”
“Judge?”
“I got us Paulson. Just the guy for this situation.”
“You speak to him?”
“No. I put the mayor’s man on him. You could lean some too.”
“No way I’m getting directly involved. Just make sure Paulson understands this is debt payment and future insurance.”
“Katz got anything yet?”
“Nothing with pizzaz, but he figures Stuyvesant’ll drop something eventually so, in some ways, a January date is better.”
“And the kid’s completely incommunicado?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s in some home in the fucking Rocky Mountains, snowbound by now. Director’s assured us he has no access to a telephone.”
Byron Katz called the meeting a strategy session. “If we’re going to trial as you wish and I counsel against, we need to prepare as well as possible. We’re set for January fifth in front of Judge Paulson, not somebody who’s going to be sympathetic.
“The prosecutor has given me a list of witness and evidence against you. It’s not good.”
He handed a folder to Walter.
“The boy’s mother is in there along with two psychologists who’ve examined the boy, two school counselors who’ve witnessed you two together kissing, for what that’s worth, an expert witness who’s gone over the test results from the psychologists, a report from Wilson State Hospital indicating a suspicious relationship with a boy who committed suicide, yes, and the report from the doctor who did the forensic exam indicating some bruising of the anus consistent with anal penetration, and, of course, the tape recording of the boy’s statement to Officer O’Malley. Well, you can see it all. They’ve got thirteen witnesses listed. We’ve got none.”
Walter asked, “What about Steve? Isn’t he going to be called?”
“They don’t see the need what with the tape and judges don’t like to put children through that kind of testimony. You’re better off without him. At least the jury won’t have the actual abused child to feel sorry for. No, we don’t want him at all. What we need are out own expert witnesses, some reputable people who knew you two. It’s going to be difficult. You do realize how much time you’re facing if convicted?”
“The rest of my life.” Walter had a plan. “Look, this whole thing is absurd. I haven’t had sex since I was a kid. I hardly even touch myself. For almost three years, I went through aversion therapy, including electric shock, that worked in spades. I’ve…”
“When was this? You didn’t tell me anything about this before.”
“I was just a kid. Another kid and I in this home were messing around in the shower like lots of others our age…”
“How old?”
“Thirteen. We were fooling around and got caught. Since I was older, he was eleven or twelve, this idiot psychiatrist who worked there sent me off to Wilson State for treatment.”
“What were you doing with the other boy?”
“Sucking each other. It was pure experimentation. We were only doing it for a few minutes but got caught. We lived in a nut house with those nuns. The kid I was doing it with had already done it with another kid. It was his idea.” Walter felt they’d never come up with the actual boy who’d been with him to refute that statement.
“So what happened in Wilson? How long were you there? Forget that. Three years. What did they do to you at the hospital?”
“Everything you can think of, electric shock, medicines that made me feel like shit, so called therapy that was just the doctor telling me what a piece of crap I was. It was terrible. I left there afraid to even look at myself down there. For years, I flipped my dick out to pee and flipped it back in so I wouldn’t have to touch it. I washed it with a wash cloth. I don’t think I touched myself there for, Christ, fifteen years. Even now, I get feelings of guilt if I do more than just take it out quickly to pee. Forget sex. That’s impossible for me.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Had Steve not loosened him up, he might well have been as stated. Anyhow, other than his denials, it was all he could dredge up.
Steve’s sex life was becoming full again though not as he wanted. Calvin did provide some relief. His blow jobs were pretty good except for the occasional tooth scrapes. Calvin became excited and rolled his head all over. There was just so much room in his small mouth.
Flemming only had the opportunity to get together Saturdays. He changed to the gym’s boiler room, a hot, dirty, less comfortable place but with sufficient heat caused air flow that the smell of his potent semen was gone before the two of them left. Flemming brought along an inflatable mattress, actually a long swimming raft. Steve lay on top of Flemming so he didn’t really need it. With paper towels to catch the sperm, there was no mess to clean up.
Each week, Steve spoke to Walter who kept him up to date on the situation in New York plus what he was doing, who he was working for, what the weather was like. Steve told him of his success in school, the deepening snow, basketball games won and lost and how he was getting along with the rest of the boys.
The calls were only about fifteen minutes long but it boosted the morale of both of them, making the isolation easier to take for Steve and the specter of his trial less all consuming for Walter.
The week before Christmas, Flemming reminded Steve about his offer of a fuck.
“Okay, but you gotta have some kind of cream or oil or something.”
Flemming produced a small jar of Vaseline. “This okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay but you gotta let me sit on it until it’s all the way in before you can get on top of me.”
The man agreed. They undressed. As usual, Flemming was already hard when his briefs came off. Steve wasn’t. Taking the man he loved inside of him was different than one he was allowing there for pay. But, speaking with his dad was worth it and he had said he’d do so.
Steve took the opened jar of Vaseline and spread an ample amount over Flemming’s cock, right down to the hairs. After wiping his hand off with a paper towel, he stood then squatted. Flemming watched his cock head slip between Steve’s buns. Steve felt the head push at his anus. He closed his eyes and relaxed his leg muscles. The head forced its way inside. It hurt. Steve stopped, waited for the pain to subside.
Flemming eyes stayed glued on his disappearing penis.
Steve allowed another inch to enter. Again, it hurt but not as much. He straightened his back and allowed more inside.
Flemming looked up briefly at Steve’s face then back down. What little of his cock was not yet inside the boy was hidden behind Steve’s small but low hanging balls.
The man cock hit something inside. Steve lifted back up and shifted his hips to the right. That worked with his father. Sliding back down, it functioned with this younger man as well. Soon enough, he was sitting on pubic hairs and bone.
Flemming reached out and lifted Steve’s balls. Only boy perineum was visible. His cock was completely hidden inside Steve’s body. He looked up again through half closed eyes.
Steve said, “Wait.”
The boy moved slightly forward and back. It was uncomfortable but bearable. He slowly lifted his feet and turned around until his back was to Flemming’s head. He lay down on the man’s chest. “Okay, fuck, but slow.”
Flemming pulled out then pushed back inside as far as he could go. After a pause during which he wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest, he repeated it, then again and again.
Steve bit his lip and pressed his hands into his sides. The pain increased.
Flemming thrust in hard two more times then grunted. Steve felt the pulsing of orgasm. He smiled to himself. Flemming had taken less than a minute to cum.
Steve, as usual, made the call naked. He liked to think Walter might sense his nudity and enjoy it.
Christmas was bad. About a third of the boys were off with families or temporary families. Half the leaders were gone. Most of those remaining weren’t particularly happy to be there. Bad moods were the norm for everyone. There were fights and crying jags.
Christmas Eve, Calvin begged Steve to fuck him and do it hard. Steve had never been on the active end of penetration but didn’t mind trying. Calvin lathered him up with saliva then lay face down on Steve’s bunk.
Entry was more difficult than Steve had expected. His boner kept slipping off the hole in one direction of the other. Calvin reached back and spread his cheeks but with the light off, it was all done by feel. Steve moved his cock up and down until he felt the softness of the opening. He pushed himself up and his cock downward. The end of Calvin’s little anal canal engulfed him. It was better than his mouth, a whole lot better. The warmth moved up his three and a half inches right to his groin as he lowered himself inside. He hoped he wouldn’t be as quick as Flemming.
“Fuck me, Steve, hard!”
So, he did, ramming in hard but slow. It was the best he’d ever felt. Feeling his passion rise, Steve stopped briefly after each thrust, prolonging the action.
“Harder,” insisted Calvin.
Steve pulled out and slammed back inside. It was better. He went on. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh as their bodies met made it even better. Steve dug his toes into the covers and thrust hard as he could, stopped, and did it again. The stopping worked. Each time, he could feel the climax recede slightly. He went on and on.
Calvin said, “Good, like that.” Then, “I love you, Steve!”
The longer Steve fucked the small body beneath him, the further away climax seemed. He decreased his pauses then dropped them all together, yearning for release. He fucked faster. Sweat appeared on his forehead. He gripped Calvin’s shoulders and thrust with all the strength he had.
Calvin reached up and grabbed Steve’s hands. “Oh, God!”
Steve could feel his juices boiling. He sped up his fucking, listening to the smack, smack, smack and feeling his cock expand. Climax seemed to take forever to arrive. He was on the edge for several thrusts then he felt the first sharp shot of pleasure fire out of his loins. He rammed in and held himself there, as deep inside as possible. Other jolts followed. It was the greatest orgasm he’d ever had. He laughed quietly and said, “Merry Christmas”.
Calvin replied, “Merry Christmas. Don’t take it out yet.”
Calvin wanted to try sleeping like that but when they rolled onto their sides, Steve’s cock slipped out. Calvin turned and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you,” he said.
EPILOGUE
This is just for those who need finality.
Walter and Steve went straight home from court. They found it impossible to let go of one another. In the apartment after closing the door, they stood in the living room wrapped in each other’s arms for over ten minutes repeating “I love you” and other terms of endearment.
When they were able to move to the sofa, Steve kissed Walter all over his face ending up lips on lips while staring into the man’s eyes.
Rather than go out to eat, they ordered in pizza but ate very little. The conversation revolved around getting Steve back into school but where, should they try living where they were or move but where, and how they would never leave one another.
They slept together with Steve half on top of Walter but without erections.
Tom Garretson came over in the morning.
“You two okay?” he asked the pair standing in the door, Walter behind Steve with his arms around his boy.
Once they were seated, Tom told them, “I quit the department this morning. Myrna likes the idea of me being a carpenter and so do I. What are you going to do? Think some of your customers will be coming back?”
“I doubt it. Franco says we can sue the pants off the city and his firm will cover our living expenses until then but I don’t know if that’s something I want to do. I don’t think either one of us can handle any more court appearances.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure they’ll settle. They don’t want any more publicity either. I’d sure like to see some sharp reporter go after this thing but, well, that wouldn’t be good for you guys, I suppose.”
It took three months but the city and state of New York did settle without there being a suit filed. Government attorney’s initially tried to use Steve’s alleged admission at Wilson and the fact that Walter had waited so long to put in his claim against Wilson. Franco convinced them that since Steve had been illegally in Wilson State, any statement made there was inadmissible and that what had been done to Walter at Wilson was so reprehensible that they certainly didn’t want any more publicity regarding it.
The final figure was three point six million dollars with one third going to Rafael Franco’s firm. The settlement also included a fast track adoption which changed Steve’s last name to Stuyvesant.
Other fallout included the firing of Karen Savage and Fred Bailey, the quiet resignation of Judge Paulson then the disbarment of both Miss Savage and Byron Katz.
Sandra Tyler Jones was transferred to a school on Staten Island.
No perjury charges were pursued.
Michael Santoni received Katherine Mulrooney’s ‘book’. It turned out to be a tattered copy book with barely decipherable scribblings. There was a wealth of names and phone numbers but no dates or names of girls involved.
Katherine died of an overdose a few days after the state’s unannounced cash settlement with Walter and Steve. There was no suspicion of foul play. Her cellmate said she’d been very depressed and figured she did it on purpose. Steve, though notified, did not attend her burial.
None of the political figures involved in the situation had any difficulties because of it. In fact, both Harold Turtan and Jason Albright were re-elected.
No reporter investigated the allegations voiced during Walter’s trial.
Little Hector Mendoza was sent home from Wilson State while Steve was still in Idaho. He was put in a school and required to attend a juvenile sex offender clinic. He found the therapists barrage of debasing rhetoric too difficult to handle with his fragile ego and ran away. He joined a gang which taught him how to use a gun.
Between Walter’s paranoia and Steve’s feelings of guilt for initiating their sexual activities, there was no more physical lovemaking between father and son. They did continue to sleep closely together. Kissing never went behind lips.
They’d moved to an Eastside apartment near Steve’s new private school. But with remarks, a certain amount of social isolation at Steve’s school and Walter’s lack of success in regaining customers, the pair moved in June to Philadelphia where a cousin of Tom Garretson helped them find a home and provided business contacts.
Steve entered a private school and scored 100’s on all his final exams. No one became upset.