Welcome to Beaconsfield Read online

  Welcome To Beaconsfield

  By

  DJ Manly

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Welcome to Beaconsfield

  Copyright ã 2008 DJ Manly

  ISBN: 978-1-55487-072-1

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

  Look for us online at:

  www.extasybooks.com

  Part 1

  It was three days before Christmas and bitterly cold in New York City. The downtown Manhattan precinct was swamped with calls. It seemed that crime was suddenly soaring out of control.

  “You’d think the cold would be enough to keep them inside,” Clint Walker replied to an overwhelmed detective who asked him what in hell they were supposed to do with all these complaints.

  At that moment, Gian Davinci dragged a man into the precinct and corralled him into a chair in front of his desk.

  “You got the wrong guy, dude!” The young man with a black skullcap on his head screamed at Davinci, who was in no mood to listen.

  Gian shook the snow off his long black hair with disgust as he removed his long black leather coat and threw it over his chair. “Shut up!” he growled. “You were at the scene. You were carrying a TV and a DVD player out of an electronics shop. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure it out, Jesus Christ.” Gian glanced over at Clint who stood at his office door chuckling. “Sure, go ahead,” he called good naturedly, “you can laugh.”

  “You look cold,” he pointed out then, still laughing, disappeared inside his office.

  Gian rolled his eyes. Work had been hell lately, in part due to the weather. They were on the brink of yet another blizzard and they were all on overtime due to a flu epidemic. The cold snap they were experiencing was bitter, but it had done nothing to curb crime. In fact, for some reason people seemed to be going nuts.

  “I have a right to a phone call,” the guy yelled.

  Gian sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, well you better call a lawyer,” he muttered, walking over to him and pulling the cap off the guy’s head. He tossed it on his desk.

  “Hey,” the guy protested, pointing to his hat. “You can’t do that. I think that’s police brut…brutal…ity or…somethin’.”

  “Tell it to a judge,” Gian plunked down in his chair and brought up the form he needed on the computer.

  “I don’t know any lawyers. Couldn’t you cut me some slack?” the guy pleaded. “It’s only a couple of days before Christmas and I got a sick grandmother and—”

  “I’d play the violin,” Gian told him, “but I couldn’t afford the lessons. Name?”

  When he had finished booking the guy, Clint came out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Hey, Cap,” Gian said.

  Gian always called him Cap at the precinct, but at home, he was Dad. He’d first met Clint at the age of twelve. He was continually getting into trouble and Clint took an interest in him, finally figuring out that Gian was calling out for help. Gian’s parents died in a car crash when he was ten. His uncle had taken him in and at the age of eleven began sexually abusing him. Clint and his wife, Sam, had no children of their own except for a little girl from Africa they’d adopted. When Gian was twelve, Clint and his wife legally adopted him as well.

  Clint and Sam were his parents in every sense of the word and after a few years of living with Clint, Gian fell in love with police work.

  Clint was going on about Christmas now. Sam’s parents were arriving tomorrow and Gian knew Clint dreaded the thought of it.

  “Do you want me to pick up Grandma and Grandpa Smith at the airport?” Gian asked, fiddling with one of the Christmas decorations, which had come unstuck from the wall.

  Clint shook his head. “I’ll do it. Sure you wouldn’t consider moving back into your old room just for the holidays?” He gave him a hopeful look.

  Gian laughed. “Stop whining. They’re only here until New Year’s.”

  “It’s going to be a long holiday.”

  “I would come home for the holidays, but I’m on nights all week.”

  “Even on Christmas night?” Clint gasped. “Your mother won’t like that.”

  “I volunteered to let the guys with a family have it off. Some have kids.”

  “You’re a good guy,” Clint slapped his back. “What did you get me for Christmas by the way?”

  “On my salary?”

  Clint rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll never tell.”

  Clint moved closer, lowering his voice. “Are you bringing that nice young fellow for Christmas dinner again this year?”

  “Clint,” Gian whispered back with a smirk, “Don’t worry. I’m not with that nice young fellow anymore.”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Clint clicked his tongue. “I’ve made progress on this subject.”

  “Yes, you have,” Gian slapped him on the back. “You can whisper about my being gay now, as opposed to just nodding when no one’s looking.”

  “You know I’m supportive,” he protested. “I participated in a March last summer for parents of gay children.”

  “I’m just teasing you. And yes you did. I was proud of you.”

  “I do wish you’d find someone to settle down with though,” Clint poured himself some coffee. Around them, the phones were ringing and some woman was yelling and cursing at a uniform in the corridor.

  “No one wants to settle down with a cop,” Gian sipped his cold coffee, “Especially not someone like me who’s married to the job. I’m never home. You know how Mom gets and you don’t even go undercover any more. I could be gone for months on some case. What kind of life is that for someone?”

  “There is someone out there for you.”

  “And lots of em’, too,” he winked wickedly.

  The Captain shook his head. “Too much information.”

  Gian laughed. Suddenly someone called to him and he went to answer the phone. A few minutes later, he was out the door again.

  As Clint was walking out, Gian came back in, dusting off his hair. “False alarm,” he announced.

  Carlos Gambini, the desk sergeant suddenly hollered to Clint. “Captain, there’s a guy over there,” he pointed to a man sitting on the bench beside the door, “who insists on talking to someone in charge.”

  “No problem,” Clint glanced at Gian, “you see that guy over there,” Clint pointed.

  Gian turned to look at him, “Yeah.”

  “He says he needs to talk to someone in charge. Well I’ve got good news for you, guess what, you’re in charge,” he sang and walked out before Gian had time to reply.

  Gambini laughed when he heard Gian groan.

  “What’s his problem?” Gian asked Gambini, leaning on the desk.

  “Don’t know. Wouldn’t tell me, but he says it’s important.”

 
“Isn’t it always?” Gian quipped.

  The man stood when Gian walked over to him.

  “I’m Sergeant Davinci. What’s this about?”

  “Mark Taylor. Can we talk somewhere…” he looked around, “private?”

  “Sure, come on,” Gian told him. On his way past the front desk, he said, “Anyone want me, I’m in the Captain’s office.” Gian unlocked Clint’s office, walked in and then indicated the chair in front of the desk. The man closed the door behind them.

  Gian shrugged out of his coat and threw it aside. He fell into the chair and stuck one booted foot on top of the desk. “What’s this about?”

  “If I knew there were cops down here that looked like you, I’d come by more often.”

  Gian fixed him with a serious stare. “?” He was not in the mood.

  “Oh, sorry, look, I need to tell you something that’s been going on where I work…well… worked, past tense. I was fired the other day.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Gian replied absently.

  “I worked at Beaconsfield. Do you know it?”

  “Yeah, it’s a juvenile lock up.”

  “What if I told you that there are guards there sexually abusing some of the residents?”

  There was silence. Gian put his foot down and leaned forward. “You have proof of this?”

  “I was there when it went on.”

  “In the same room?” Gian lifted an eyebrow.

  He nodded.

  “How long did you work there?”

  “Three years.”

  “And you witnessed this going on for three years?”

  “Just about,” he replied.

  “And you are just in here now reporting it?” Gian’s voice grew a little louder. “Did you participate in this abuse?”

  “Well…” he hesitated, “not like the others.”

  “What about the administrator, does he know anything about this?”

  Mark shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s done late at night, down in the basement, in the boys’ section. There’s a room.”

  Gian raised an eyebrow, then sat back in his seat. He remembered going there once a few years back when he was a rookie, but he had only been driving the squad car. They had dropped a girl off who’d been convicted of assault and battery. He fixed his gaze on Taylor. “Are you willing to lodge a formal complaint?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Gian echoed. “Then what in hell are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might arrest the three guards. It was the head guard, Andy Falcon, who fired me.”

  Gian sighed. “I can’t just march in there and arrest someone without evidence. I suggest you go to the labour commission, Mr. ah…Taylor.”

  “But I tell you…there is abuse going on. Don’t you care? You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

  “Are any the boys willing to talk?”

  “Oh no, they won’t say anything. Can’t you just go in and investigate?”

  “I have to have probable cause. I just can’t take your word for it because you are pissed about losing your job. What about any of the boys who are no longer in the system…victims willing to talk?”

  Mark thought for a moment. “Ah…I know one, but he’s a bad character. I don’t know…if…”

  “Well, do you know his name, where he lives?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” Gian repeated with a sour look on his face. “What do you want from me exactly?”

  “I want those three guards arrested.”

  “Arrested for what exactly, abusing kids or for firing you?” Gian stood. “Until you bring me some proof and are willing to put ink to paper—”

  “I thought the police would care at least…” Mark Taylor stood, too. “I thought you could do this tonight.”

  “Listen, I told you, we need evidence and if you’re not willing to even fill out a complaint, how in hell do you expect me to do anything?”

  “Maybe I can think of that guy’s name. What if he would tell you stuff?”

  “It depends on what stuff he is going to tell me,” Gian threw back.

  “What if you pick me up tomorrow at one in the afternoon and I take you to him?”

  Gian rubbed his rough jaw. “Look, this better not be some sort of a hoax, .” He pointed at him. “If you’re wasting my time, I won’t be happy.”

  “Here’s my address,” he handed him a card. “I’ll expect you at one o’clock. I swear I’m not lying.”

  “You do realize that if you’re telling the truth and if you actually witnessed this stuff without reporting it, you’re an accessory.”

  He swallowed. “I’ll deny everything I said to you tonight.”

  Gian ushered him out of the office. “Okay, I’ll be there, be waiting outside.”

  He nodded and left.

  On the way home, Gian thought about what Mark Taylor had told him. If what he had said was true, it was disturbing. It was too bad the slimy bastard didn’t come forward until he lost his job. What a creep.

  The next day at one in the afternoon, Taylor was waiting on the curb at the address he had given to him. He climbed into the car and flashed a smile at him. “Were you scared to come up to my place?” He asked him, checking out the car.

  Gian drove away from the curb and ignored the insinuation. “What’s the address on this guy?”

  “Wow, you’re all business. Okay, he lives just a ways down the street. Go straight until 128th then hang a right. It’s on the corner. I forget the address.” He checked out the siren sitting on the dashboard. “So is this really a police car?”

  “Yeah,” Gian replied briskly, “go figure.”

  “You got a boyfriend?”

  Gian cast him a look. “Why in hell would you ask me that?”

  “I saw you on television last year. There was a local telethon for AIDS and you were one of the fundraisers for the New York City police force and Fire Department. You said you were gay.”

  Gian stopped at a traffic light.

  “I thought that was pretty brave.”

  “What’s so brave about it? I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

  “So, you got a boyfriend or what?” Mark insisted.

  “Don’t worry, Mark. Even if I didn’t have one, you wouldn’t even make the list.”

  “Oh, okay, not good looking enough for you, eh?”

  “It’s not your looks. I’m not inclined to be turned on by people who participate in the sexual abuse of children. Sorry, it’s just this thing I have.”

  “You would have been turned on if you’d been there,” he accused.

  “Watch your mouth. Children don’t turn me on,” Gian replied hotly.

  “Some of them are older, seventeen, eighteen, young men waiting for transition houses. They’re hardly boys,” Mark replied. “And some of those boys, as you call them, have done more in bed then you have, I bet. They’ve been prostitutes.”

  “And that makes it all right to abuse them?” Gian threw back at him angrily. “These people are in custody. They are under the protection of the state. Whether they enjoy it or not is irrelevant. And when you are confined to an institution, you don’t have a hell of a lot of choice, do you?”

  “I think some of them do enjoy it, even if they protest,” Mark told him.

  “Look, just shut up, okay, before I slug you.”

  Mark fell silent.

  Gian pulled up in front of a rundown old tenement building. “What is this guy’s name?”

  “Jerry, Jerry Samson.”

  Gian got out of the car and shut the door. Mark stepped out of the passenger side. It had stopped snowing, but it was still cold.

  They walked up the stairs of the building together. It was a dump, dirty and smelly, people yelling and screaming in their apartments. When they arrived on the third floor landing, Mark pointed to the apartment door. “Thirty-one, he lives in that one.”

  “Knock on the door. I’ll be right behind you,” Gian told him, looking around
him.

  Mark knocked.

  A young guy answered the door. He was completely naked except for a pair of dirty underwear. The sweet smell of pot wafted out into the hallway.

  “Markie,” he howled, “how in the hell are you, sweet stuff?”

  Mark turned around, “Jerry, there is someone I want you to meet.”

  “Great…great…come in, come in.” He ran his gaze over Gian. “Hell, Mark, is this my Christmas present?”

  “No,” Gian said as he walked in and closed the door behind him, “I’m not your Christmas present.” He opened his jacket and showed him the badge hanging around his neck.

  The place was a mess, clothes and food everywhere.

  “Hey, what is this, Mark? What’s going on? I’m clean, Man,” he looked at Gian.

  “I’m not here to arrest you,” Gian said, “just to ask you a couple of question.”

  “About what?” he stammered.

  “About Beaconsfield.”

  He laughed. “No shit.” He was obviously stoned. “So, Officer,” he came closer to him, “is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

  “It’s a gun in my pocket,” Gian told him without expression.

  He danced away from him. “Couldn’t resist,” he told Mark, laughing. “He is a big boy, isn’t he?” He went to sit at the table and ran a hand through his hair.

  Gian didn’t want to sit on anything. He gazed at him. What a fucked up mess he was. “Taylor here tells me there are boys being sexually abused at Beaconsfield. Is that true?”

  He looked up at him. “Could be. Why should I tell you?”

  Gian shrugged. “‘Cause I’m askin’.”

  “What do you care?”

  “I’m standing here in this garbage dump, aren’t I?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “What did you go tell him that for, Mark?”

  “I got fired,” Mark replied.

  “That figures. Anyway why ask me this shit now? I’m out of there.”

  “Right, so you got nothing to lose.” Gian told him.

  He met his gaze. “God, you’re a looker, aren’t you? If we’d had guards who looked that good…well…” he laughed, “might not have been so bad in there. The jerks working there are ugly slobs.”