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  “So you were sexually abused there?” Gian probed.

  “You might say that.”

  “A lot of other boys, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “By the same men?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “Although sometimes they’d bring in strangers…you know…who would pay, but mostly on the weekends. The rest of the time, it would just be them.”

  Gian frowned. “What about the director?”

  “He don’t know shit. He’s gone at night. It was always at night.”

  There was silence. Then Gian said, “Would you be willing to tell that to a judge?”

  “Nope. What’s done is done.”

  “Done for you, but what about the boys there now?”

  “Used to it probably, besides they’re not my problem.”

  Gian sighed. “No. It doesn’t seem to be anyone’s problem,” he said, glaring at Mark Taylor. He headed to the door. “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You’re more than welcome, sweetie, and anytime I can do nothing for you, let me know,” he called after him as he and Mark Taylor made their way outside.

  Gian remained silent until he got into the car and then turned to Mark. “That was a waste of time. I’ll take you home.”

  Before Taylor got out, he paused and looked at him. “What are you intending to do about all this?”

  “Nothing I can do,” Gian replied.

  “Nothing? How can you do nothing?” Mark accused.

  “The same way you did nothing for three years Taylor, except that I got a better excuse. I have no evidence except for the word of a disgruntled employee who was fired and a stoned kid who used to live at Beaconsfield. My advice to you is to find yourself another job.”

  He was back at the precinct sitting at his desk an hour later. There were a lot of things going through his mind. You just couldn’t take on an institution like that. You needed proof. He knew that those places were breeding grounds for sexual abuse, but he had nothing.

  When Clint came in, Gian went to talk to him about it. Clint was concerned, but he said the same thing. “I can’t authorize any investigation unless we have more proof than that.”

  Gian nodded. “What if there’s a prostitution ring going on in there as well? I mean, if I could find men who were actual clients out there…well then we might just be able to get an undercover operation approved right?”

  “How are you going to find clients? They aren’t exactly going to be shouting it on the rooftops.”

  “Mark Taylor knows a lot more than he’s letting on. He must know how Johns get hooked up out there.”

  “I don’t like it. We don’t have any evidence and who would we send out there?”

  “Me. I’ll go,” Gian told him. “I could apply for Mark Taylor’s job.”

  “I don’t think it should be you.”

  “Why not?”

  “It brings back a lot of shit, Gian.”

  “I’m way past that now, Clint. Talk to the commissioner.”

  “He’s not going to let you disappear without probable cause,” Clint shook his head.

  “All right, God damn it, I’ll get proof.” Gian slapped his hands on the desk.

  “I’ve seen you like this before, determined, passionate. There’s no stopping you, is there?”

  “If I can get one of those two jerk-offs to put this stuff in writing, do you think the commissioner will let me go out on this one?”

  “I don’t know, but don’t waste too much time, okay? I’ll give you twenty four hours to bring me something I can take to the commissioner, then we put it on the back burner.”

  “Thanks,” he said, grabbing his coat.

  “Gian,” Clint said, “you do realize what a challenge it would be to go undercover there? The person would have to keep their cool, perhaps witnessing some things without…well…losing…”

  “You don’t think I can do it?”

  He nodded. “Of course you can do it. Go on now.”

  Beaconsfield: December 25, One Thirty a.m.

  Daniel looked over at Cory who was laying there in the dark on the bunk bed below him. “Maybe they won’t come tonight because it’s Christmas,” he whispered.

  Cory raised his gaze above him. “Keep telling yourself that, Daniel,” he threw back at him. “If it makes you feel better.”

  “Why are you trying to discourage me?”

  “I’m not trying to discourage you. I’m trying to get you to face facts. You haven’t even been here a year yet and you’re a naive little punk. I’ve been here four years and I told you before, Christmas don’t make no difference to them guys. If anything, they get worse. They sneak a little liquor and party on down.”

  “I don’t want to go there tonight,” he whimpered.

  “Come down here, Danny,” Cory told him, reaching up to him.

  Danny scampered down into bed with him and Cory put his arm around him.

  Danny was only thirteen years old. Even though his whining got on his nerves, he felt kind of protective toward him. He hated those guys more for what they did to Danny than for what they did to him. Sure they hurt him and they humiliated him, but he could take it. He was a grown man now and any day now, he knew he’d be out of here.

  Danny cried like a baby the first time they’d taken him down there to that hellhole. There had been a lot of blood.

  Cory had screamed at them and called them animals, which earned him a punch in the mouth.

  Usually when they got hit, it was in a place that didn’t show, but that time Andy lost his temper completely. He had to tell the director he fell. Now as they lay together in the stillness of the night, Cory could feel Daniel tremble and he knew it was only a matter of time.

  It was usually Pug who came to get them. They called Paul Decouteau, Pug. He was originally from Louisiana and he had a face like one of those dogs. It was Cory who gave him the name and it stuck, although none of the boys dared call him that to his face. He was a mean bugger and the youngest of the three. He stood about five ten and had prematurely grey hair and long sideburns. His hair matched his steel grey eyes and eyebrows and he was always spitting. Cory was sure that he must have been the type of kid to pull wings off butterflies. He enjoyed torture. He once tied a string around his testicles and pulled him up off the ground. The more Cory cried out in pain, the more he pulled. Cory learned to swallow his tears, which helped considerably, since Pug would soon become bored and leave him alone.

  The other guard was twenty eight year old Tim “Earring” Anderson. He had a large gold hoop in one ear, which he removed when the director was around. He wasn’t as sadistic as Pug, but he had some pretty kinky tastes. He was blond and skinny and had a tattoo of a dragon down the length of his back.

  The boss was Andy Falcon. He must have weighed around three hundred and fifty pounds, none of it muscle. When he was on top of you, you could hardly breathe. He was no more than five-five in height with rolls of fat around the middle. He was proud however of his enormous sexual organ and used it like a weapon. He could be brutal. Cory had two ribs cracked once by him and a dislocated shoulder when he was fourteen.

  Sometimes they brought strange men down to that room and they had to do as they were told or face the consequences. Cory knew they made a lot of money sometimes on the weekend, but the boys never saw any of it.

  Cory had been around the longest of any of the others. Some of the boys who had been taken to that room with him in the past were now gone. Other new boys appeared all the time. Right now, there were five of them who bore the brunt of it all. Andy chose only the boys he fancied. Unfortunately, he had remained one of Andy’s pets, as he referred to them when he was in one of his rare good moods.

  Daniel was the latest victim. He was blond with rosy cheeks and blue eyes and popular with some of the men who came on the weekends because he was so young.

  The three others they brought down often were fourteen-year-old Frank who had been a street prostitute like himself, sixteen-year-old
Tony who looked more like a girl than a boy and another sixteen year old everyone called, Ace, because he was good at cards. Suddenly Cory stiffened. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He knew those footsteps.

  Danny whined again, “Please, Cory,” he said.

  “It will be okay, Danny, don’t worry. Just do what I told you, close your eyes and think of other things.” Cory felt tears threaten. He held them back. He had found out a long time ago, it did no good to cry.

  When Pug came in and walked over to the bed, Cory sat up.

  “Come on,” he hissed, “get moving.”

  Cory took Daniel’s hand and pulled him off the bed. Daniel cowered beside Cory as Pug pushed Cory ahead of him. “Come on, ain’t got all night.”

  They walked down that long dark corridor, the corridor Cory had walked a thousand times. Cory held Daniel close to him. He could feel his fear.

  They turned and walked down some stairs, both in their bare feet and pyjamas. They reached the basement and walked down to the end of the hall past the furnace and into that room.

  Andy and Tim were in there, passing around a bottle of liquor.

  Pug pushed them both inside and bolted the door.

  “Merry Christmas, boys,” Andy bellowed. “Come over here,” he said to Cory “and get some Christmas pudding.”

  As he walked over to him, Tim reached out and ripped off the pajama bottoms.

  Daniel hid his face as his, too, were pulled down by Pug from behind. Cory turned to see Pug place Daniel on a stool and tie his hands over his head to the radiator above.

  All Cory could do was listen to Daniel’s helpless cries and try to ignore the pain and humiliation he felt.

  When it was finally over and the three men passed out from too much liquor, Cory managed to get himself out of his binds. He was good at that now. He untied Daniel, who was half-asleep, and all but carried him back to the room. They were safe now, at least until the night came.

  * * * *

  Gian sat beside his sister Kayla, telling her something that was making her laugh. They had finished dinner and were waiting for dessert.

  They continued to whisper something to each other, which caused Clint to give them a severe look. He was trying to look patient as he sat listening to his father-in-law who insisted that New York was a decadent city.

  When Grandpa Smith began talking about how terrible the world was becoming , Gian leaned over to Kayla and made a scary sound, which caused her to laugh.

  “Yes, my goodness,” Martha Smith was saying, “today, nothing means anything and young people are having sex and babies. It’s horrible and those…those…gay persons…my goodness, they just want to do everything now…have babies and get married. I think that’s immoral.”

  There was total silence in the room, even Sam who was bringing out the dessert stopped in mid motion.

  Clint took a breath. He didn’t want to have a fight on Christmas Day, but Gian was sitting right there in the room. He’d better say something. Better him than Gian. He cleared his throat. “Well,” Martha repeated, “we all have to change with the times. Ah…look at that marvellous cake,” he said as Sam put it down in front of them.

  Kayla squeezed Gian’s hand under the table and grinned at him. She leaned in and said, “I love you, even if you are immoral.”

  He grinned back. “Oh thank you, thank you.”

  Clint was rambling on about the weather, relieved to be past the subject. He was digging into his dessert when Sam suddenly said, “Mother, I would like to say something.”

  Everyone froze. Martha Smith looked at her daughter. “Of course, dear, what is it?”

  “I don’t think gay people are any more or less immoral than anyone else and I realize now where I got those despicable idea’s I had years ago. I’m so glad,” she smiled, “that my son made me a better person because of who he is and I’m proud to say that my son is gay.”

  almost lost her fork.

  Kayla and Gian widened their eyes at the same time.

  Clint just mumbled, “Well said.”

  There was no more discussion of that subject the rest of the day.

  Later in the kitchen, Gian reached over and kissed his mother. “That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said,” he told her. “Thank you. I know it took a lot of guts.”

  She looked at him and touched his cheek. “I’m as proud of you as I can be and I will never let anyone put you down for being who you are. You are so handsome, strong and smart. You’re a good man, Gian, and you happen to be gay and that’s part of who you are, too. I can never be ashamed of that.”

  He hugged and kissed her again. “Thanks for being so good to me. You and Clint, well you were what was missing in my life, and Kayla, too.”

  “You better say and Kayla, too,” she complained, coming into the kitchen.

  Kayla was five foot eight, very slim with black curly hair and beautiful eyes. All of a sudden, she jumped on Gian and grabbed him around the neck, “Okay, immoral queer cop, you, let’s go. It’s your move.”

  He laughed, turned around and, heaving her up onto his shoulders, raced up the stairs. “Immoral queer, eh? You’ll see when I take your queen.”

  “Never!” She shouted from upstairs, whooping and hollering. “You may be a queen, but you’ll never take mine.”

  “Oh, you’re going to pay for that one!”

  “What in hell is going on now?” Clint asked, coming into the kitchen and hugging his wife.

  Sam shook her head and laughed. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

  * * * *

  The following morning, Kayla woke Gian up early. She jumped up and down on his bed like a kid. Gian rolled over with a groan. “Witch!” He accused with a smirk as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “Look what I found,” she laughed, dangling an old battered pair of skates at him.

  “Oh God,” he growled, “Where did you find those?”

  “Out in the garage. So, come on, get up. Let’s go skating.”

  “What time is it?” he asked as he pushed her off his bed so he could look at his alarm. “Ah, it’s only seven-thirty. Go back to sleep,” he moaned, rolling over and covering his head with the blanket.

  “No way,” she hit him. “Come on, it will be fun. I’ll buy you hot chocolate after.”

  “With whipped cream?” he asked, peeking out from under the blanket.

  “Maybe.”

  He sat up and grinned. “Chocolate sprinkles, too.”

  She laughed. “What a baby. I have to bribe you.”

  “I can’t go for long though Kayla,” he said. “I’m working at three this afternoon.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I’m a nice guy,” he said between clenched teeth as he got out of bed and threw on his robe. “Make me some coffee. I’ll take a shower and we’ll go.”

  “All right, it’s a deal.”

  An hour later, they were skating on a little pond not far from the house. It was a place they had skated together years ago. He had mixed memories of those days…the days he’d first came to live with Clint, Sam and Kayla. Clint had sent him to counselling to deal with the sexual abuse he had suffered at the hands of his uncle, but it was tough. He still acted out every once in awhile. He ran away once, but didn’t stand a chance of not being picked up, given who his foster father was.

  Therapy had been hell. He’d blamed himself for the abuse. He felt somehow he had invited it and he had a difficult time accepting the fact that sometimes he had been aroused, especially once he hit puberty. The counselling helped him to understand that he was a child and was no way responsible for the advances of his uncle. She also let him know that it was all right and perfectly normal to experience arousal. This was sometimes involuntary and beyond an abused child’s control.

  She also taught him to embrace his sexuality. He was gay and he needed to separate his sexuality from the abuse he had suffered. They were two different things. One was bad, the other was good. If he was e
ver going to have a normal sex life, he had to be comfortable with who he was.

  Eventually, he had embraced his sexuality, even developed pride in it. The counsellor hooked him up with an organization, which dealt with gay teenagers and he made friends.

  Kayla was his shining light through it all. She treated him like her brother from the start and made him feel as if he finally had a family. They would go skating often and sometimes talk for hours, going round and round on this pond. He loved her dearly. He felt really fortunate to have been chosen to be Clint and Sam’s son. These people had changed his life. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened to him if he hadn’t gotten away from his uncle.

  Now his mind was on Beaconsfield as he raced around the pond after Kayla on his old beat up skates. He had nothing to take to the Commissioner, but that didn’t mean Mark Taylor and Jerry Samson were telling lies. It didn’t matter what Taylor’s motives for coming to him were, the fact was that everything he heard sounded plausible. He was going to talk to Taylor again today. He knew more than what he was letting on, the scumbag.

  Maybe the D.A. would be willing to grant him immunity from prosecution if he gave a statement. A statement would have to be enough to open an investigation. The one thing he hated about his job was the red tape and regulations. Sometimes he knew something bad was happening, but his hands were tied. Before you got permission to do anything, it was too late. If there were boys being victimized by guards in Beaconsfield, then one more day was one day too many.

  In the coffee shop, Gian drank his hot chocolate as Kayla laughed at him. “You have whipped cream all over your mouth. You’re such a baby.”

  He wiped his mouth and presented her with a screwed up face. “Thanks. I’m sure that inspires the citizens of Manhattan, knowing there’s a baby on the police force. They can sleep soundly at night.”

  She grinned. “Instead of drawing his gun, he takes out his rattle and shakes it at you! Baby Cop…coming soon to theatres near you.”