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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and/or used fictionally.
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Chapter Ten
The Hospital of St. John of the Cross of Acre, Toronto 28 August 1976 - 23:00 EDST
For the first time since the young knights' arrival, the new hospital was quiet. The lobby, a small, square room furnished with antiques and dominated by a huge sofa upholstered in needlepoint, was still. In one corner, at the window that overlooked the square, Colin and The Phantom sat together, their chairs close. Near the door, sitting in a battered, black leather butler's chair, Craig Seward, Harry's nominal "minder", sat, his eyes never leaving the small lobby entry.
The Phantom looked out onto Belgrave Square, watching the passing strollers. In the grassy, tree-filled square, he could see dark shadows: small family groups from the surrounding houses enjoying the warm, summer evening.
On the far side of the square the bulky, hulking Goldschmidt building was dark, except for a light over the doorway. The temple next door to the hospital was equally dark. The Jewish Sabbath had ended at sundown and the worshipers had decamped for their homes, mostly to the northwest, where the bulk of Toronto's Jewish population now lived. Acton Grimes, who had met the young knights at the airport, along with a stunningly handsome Chinese man named Terry Hsiang, had explained that much of the local population was Chinese.
The ethnicity of the surrounding neighbourhood was evident and as The Phantom watched through the window of the hospital a small group passed. One of them, a dark haired, almond-eyed little boy, smiled shyly and waggled his fingers at The Phantom, who returned the wave and smiled.
"It seems so . . . peaceful," The Phantom offered presently.
Colin smiled. "Which makes a welcome change from less than an hour ago!" he said, and laughed. "My God, however did we ever end up in this coven of dragons?"
The Phantom giggled. "We volunteered?" he offered.
From beyond the lace-curtained, French doors that led to the small restaurant, came the sound of muted voices as the two waiters finished the final touches of setting the 20 tables. The Phantom knew that Mrs. Arundel's influence had extended into yet another corner of the hospital.
They had ridden from the airport in a bus, for Terry had not wanted to draw too much attention to the new arrivals, a move firmly seconded by Aaron Goldschmidt. Aaron Mark II was aware that after the noon hour all the Jews had gone home. That was not to say that the rabbis did not know exactly what was going on in and around the square. They seemed to know everything! Aaron Mark II suspected his cousin, Mordecai, who was a confirmed Yeshiva boy, but now was not the time to worry overmuch about Mordecai whispering in a rabbi's ear.
To forestall any criticism, Aaron Mark II had explained the new owner of the school wanted to recoup some of his expenses and would be letting rooms to small groups of military personnel, usually cadets, who needed a cheap hostelry while travelling to and from their training camps.
This explanation satisfied the rabbis. They had seen the parade of plumbers and electricians, the trucks unloading new mattresses and food, coming and going. Opening a new school was expensive, and until the students arrived who could gainsay a man earning a little money? They were satisfied that the new school - or "hospital" as it was to be called - was a legitimate, worthwhile enterprise. Aaron Mark II was determined to maintain the façade, and to ensure that nothing piqued the curiosity of inquisitive rabbis.
The young knights, accustomed to being inconvenienced, thought nothing of travelling from the airport into the city in a bus. At least it had not been a yellow school bus with no legroom and hard seats. Mrs. Arundel, however, held a different opinion. She had never ridden in a bus of any description in her life, and while she felt it rather mean to complain, never intended to do so again. She was in a definitely cranky mood as she entered the hospital lobby, looked about, and said to Mary Randolph, "It's worse than I thought!"
Both Ace and Terry wondered what she was on about. The hotel was clean, and respectably furnished in a vaguely Edwardian way. Both men knew that Lester had been careful when he furnished the place, using existing pieces already in the building, and adding what Mabell Airlie called "rather good reproductions." The bedrooms were large, and each had a bath attached. The restaurant, while small, was well proportioned. Lester had cleaned out the smoke room, a wood panelled and leather Edwardian relic of a bygone era were when only men smoked in public and felt the need for a haven away from feminine chitter-chatter, where they could enjoy a good cigar, a snifter of fine brandy, and play a rubber of bridge or a hand of poker.
Lester, bitching about the lingering odour of nicotine, had turned it into a games room for the boys, adding a pool table and a stack of board games, cards, and the largest television set he could find. So far as he was concerned it was a first class setting for a boys school, and certainly a far cry from what The Gunner's Rangers had told him they had had to endure in their public schools.
Mrs. Arundel demurred. With Mary Randolph and Mabell Airlie following, she set out on a tour of inspection. She visited the kitchen, which was fully staffed thanks to Sophie Nicholson, who had loaned her cook, Mrs. Throsby.
Mrs. Throsby, who had never married, but wore the honorific "Mrs." with all the air of a duchess, eyed Mrs. Arundel, who eyed the huge woman back. There was a silent meeting of minds. Mrs. Arundel was not about to interfere in the domestic arrangements, particularly after Ace explained that "Cook" had been with Sophie for many years, and knew how to feed and water large groups of people. He did not add that Mrs. Throsby feared neither God, nor man, nor Sophie Nicholson. She knew her business and her dark looks telegraphed her disapproval of strange ladies trespassing on her turf.
Mrs. Arundel approved of well-upholstered cooks. She also approved of the staff assisting Cook in the kitchen, and above stairs. Mrs. Throsby was a firm believer in nepotism, and had more than enough nieces, nephews and hangers-on to provide the people needed to make the place run. Three of her nieces were scurrying about the first and second floors, finishing making the beds and putting new towels in all the baths. Two of her nephews, both wearing stiffly starched, white jackets, bustled about the restaurant, setting the tables. Lester had let Mrs. Throsby have full sway, especially after finding out that one of the waiters was a young man he knew socially, and on the odd occasion, biblically.
The kitchen was humming, with pots of soup bubbling away, a joint in the oven, the smell of fresh-baked bread and rolls, and the under-cooks busily making sandwiches and plating cookies and lemon tarts. Mrs. Arundel knew a well-run kitchen when she saw it, thanked Mrs. Throsby for her courtesy and left, off on a tour of inspection that Ace was powerless to stop.
Leaving Terry to sort out the room assignments with Commander Stockman, Andy and Kyle, Ace followed Mrs. Arundel as she strode purposefully through the corridors, opening doors without knocking - and startling maids making beds and cadets in various stages of undress as they changed out of the travelling uniforms.
When she was finished, Mrs. Arundel settled herself into an overstuffed chair in Ace's small office and called for a drop of something stronger than tea. Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Airlie settled on an adjoining sofa. As he poured the ladies a strong sherry, and fearing the answer, Ace asked tentatively, "Well, what do you think?"
After taking a restorative sip of her sherry, Mrs. Arundel answered, "Mr. Grimes, you are to be congratulated."
This was not quite the answer Ace had expected. "I am?"
"Yes." Mrs. Arundel looked sideways at her companions, who nodded their agreement. She returned to Ace, regarding him much like a hungry cat looks at a plump, and somewhat stupid, mouse. "You have done wonders with this place. The staff is well trained - although one does feel that is due more to the good offices of Mrs. Throsby - and the house is clean."
"Well, Lester - he's the administrator elect - hired gangs of cleaners and . . ."
Mrs. Arundel held up her hand. "I am sure that Mr . . . Lester . . . is very competent . . ."
Ace bristled. He was miffed, frankly, at Mrs. Arundel's attitude. "Lester Cooper. He is very competent, I assure you." He regarded Mrs. Arundel a moment. "Frankly, if it were not for him much of the plans now in motion would not be nearly as complete as they are. He's had a lot on his plate and he . . ."
Much to Ace's surprise, Mrs. Arundel smiled and gently applauded him. "Well, it's about time! I do so hate a man who allows a woman to ride roughshod over him!"
Ace's jaw dropped. "You mean this has all been an act?"
"Of course," replied Mrs. Arundel easily. "I wanted to take your measure, and wondered how far you would let me go."
"I take it I've passed muster?" Ace asked as he poured more sherry.
"Yes." Mrs. Arundel contemplated her sherry and then spoke quietly. "Ace . . . if I may call you Ace?" Seeing Ace's nod of approval, she continued. "I have lived, vicariously perhaps, with the Order for many years. Both my husband, Bertie, and my brother-in-law, Louis, are Knights." She waved her hand toward Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Airlie. "My dear friends, travelling companions, and frankly, fellow plotters, have an interest as well. Mary's nephew, Blake, is a new knight. Mabell's dearest son, who died in the war, was a knight, although not, I think, 'belted' as the saying goes."
"I have not been involved with the Order for very long," admitted Ace. "And Steve . . . Steve Winslow . . . you might know him by what the boys call him: 'The Gunner' . . . he hasn't been all that forthcoming."
Mrs. Arundel smiled knowingly. "If I know The Gunner, and I believe I do, he has his reasons." She shook her head slightly. "Ace, I have seen the effect the disintegration of the Order has had on my husband, on his brother, and I suppose in a way, on my sons." Again she smiled softly. "Being a mere woman, I doubt I shall ever know everything, but I know enough to know that Michael Chan, who is a delightful man, has decided to restore the Order. I applaud his effort! It has been long overdue and, as the mother of two boys who are firmly homosexual, I intend to see that whatever Michael Chan has planned will succeed!"
Ace sat down abruptly. "You know what is going on?"
"We know enough," replied Mrs. Arundel, "which is why Mary and Mabell and I are here." She straightened her shoulders. "Now, before we continue would you please get rid of this insipid sherry and pour me a snort of something decent - 'Famous Grouse' if you have it."
When Ace hurried away to find the Scotch, Mabell turned to Catherine Arundel. "Catherine, you've frightened that poor boy half out of his wits!" She giggled.
Catherine Arundel did not take umbrage. "Of course I did." She giggled in turn. "It works well with Bertie, and we have so much to do that I want to be certain that there will be no masculine interference."
Mary Randolph did not giggle, although she did raise her hand to hide her smile. "Works wonders with Blake." She regarded her friend and then asked, "But Catherine, dear, whatever are you up to?"
Catherine Arundel arched a delicate eyebrow, smiled sweetly, and said, "You'll see."
Ace bustled in with a bottle of Famous Grouse, which he had "borrowed" from Cook. He poured each lady a full measure, sat down, and waited. "Now then, Ace," began Mrs. Arundel, "I know that you are thinking that I am an old busybody . . ."
Ace remained stoic. He did think that Catherine Arundel was a busybody. He said nothing because he was well raised and had been taught never to speak ill of a woman, lady or whore, no matter what she said or did.
" . . . You have done wonders with this old tomb," Mrs. Arundel continued. Ace cringed inwardly. "Here it comes," he thought, "the inevitable, egregious 'but'!"
"However," Mrs. Arundel's soft voice came, "I feel I must point out that you while you have established a very fine institution . . ." She emphasized the word. " . . . I am not quite sure that is what you, and The Gunner want."
Ace regarded Catherine a moment. "Well, we did our best," he protested weakly.
"I am sure you did," responded Catherine with a smile. "However, the boys that you will bring here have never known something we have all been fortunate to have: a home." She saw Ace about to protest and held up her hand. "They are all very young, I take?" Ace nodded. "They all came from orphanages, or were sold outright by their so-called parents?" Again Ace nodded.
Catherine took a deep breath. "Ace, these boys have never known love! They have never known a life where they could go to bed at night and not fear that some beast would come in and do . . ." She shuddered. "We know what they've gone through."
"Mrs. Arundel, we don't know, but we can surmise."
"Well, surmise the worst. These boys need something more, something much more, than a bed and meal. They need something bright and welcoming."
Bristling slightly, Ace said, "We have done our best. We know it's not exactly what the boys might need or want, but you must understand that we, Steve Winslow, Lester, and I, are new at this. We hope to make things better, but at the moment . . ." His voice trailed off.
Ace could not, and would not tell Mrs. Arundel that it was a matter of economics or, to put it bluntly, a lack of cash. Chaim Goldschmidt's advance on the sale of The Gunner's aunt's jewellery had been substantial, true. However, the lease on the building, the cleaning of the rooms, refurbishing and furnishing the hospital had cost a packet. Then there were the expenses involved in the continued surveillance of the men The Gunner was determined to bring down. It seemed to Ace that Lester was always holding out a cheque, or a bank withdrawal slip for The Gunner to sign. He sighed inwardly. Sophie had helped, and The Gunner had drawn on his personal funds, but still . . . There was so much that he knew should have been done, and in time would be done, but for the moment . . .
Catherine Arundel had an instinctive feeling about what was bothering Ace. She knew that The Gunner was not a man of means, far from it. Where the money had come from to establish the hospital she did not know, and would not ask. However, she was determined to make the hospital much more of a welcoming home than a warehouse until times got better.
"As I have said, you have done wonders. With your permission, my ladies and I shall do more," said Catherine. Mary Randolph and Mabell Airlie stared at her, wondering just what she was planning on getting them into.
"First, we need to brighten up the place." Catherine looked around, saw a pad of paper on the desk beneath the window overlooking the square, and asked, "May I have a pad and a pen?"
Ace quickly provided them.
"Now, first, we must do something about the bed linen. Plain white and red wool blankets are all well and good for a medical hospital. However, we want the boys to come home. So, we shall replace everything."
Mabell stared at Mary, who stared at Catherine. "We will?" asked Mary.
"We will," confirmed Catherine. "Bright patterns, good cotton sheets and pillow cases. Perhaps some decent prints to replace those dismal dogs playing poker that seem to hang in every room." She smiled at Ace. "And flowers, flowers in every room, flowers in the dining room, in the lobby . . . "
Ace could not remain silent. "Mrs. Arundel, I agree that the place could use a few blooms, but I must point out that . . ." He did not say it, but he saw that Mrs. Arundel knew what was needed. Ace coughed, and continued, "And all the shops are closed. Wherever would you find all the things you feel you need?" Mrs. Arundel smiled sweetly. "Firstly, I shall pay for everything. You have heard of credit cards, haven't you?" Ace nodded. "If the merchants would prefer cash I am sure that there is a Bureau de Change on Yonge Street."
"But, but, but . . ." sputtered Ace ineffectually.
"Ace, Spadina Avenue is wide open! I saw the shops filled with people. One admits that they are not 'up market', but no matter." Catherine presented her glass for another round. "We shall go shopping and buy whatever is needed."
"Time is short," Ace pointed out. "The boys will be brought here and . . ."
"Brought to a place of refuge and comfort," interjected Catherine abruptly. "We shall all muck in. The cadets know how to make beds, if nothing else. Commander Stockman, Ensign Berg and Sub-Lieutenant St. Vincent will accompany us." Catherine was on a roll. "Now, while we are away, I want you to see if there is anything left of the hotel plate, things we can use to brighten the rooms. I also want some vases for the flowers, but then again perhaps we can find something suitable while we are out. Of course we must choose carefully but then again, nothing is too good for the boys."
Ace was stunned. Like a general planning a broad campaign, Catherine Arundel knew exactly what was needed, and what she wanted. When she stopped speaking, Ace could barely mutter a reply and an accepting nod,
"There is another thing, Ace, and I do hope that you and The Gunner have paid some heed to the special needs many of the boys will have." Catherine looked evenly at Ace. "I know whereof I speak Ace, some of these boys will need special help."
Catherine's face fell slightly and her eyes grew dark. "When my son, Cory, was a very little boy, a friend, a trusted friend, took him, and his brother Todd, on a ramble in Stanley Park." She stifled the sob that rose in her throat. "The man . . . there was an incident."
Mabell reached out to gently take Catherine's hand. She knew, as Mary knew, what had happened in Stanley Park.
Smiling at her friend, Catherine continued. "Cory was not harmed physically. But . . . for a very long time he would not go near a man, not his father, not his uncles. He clung to his brother, who had saved him, and he clung to me, for he wanted not his father, but his 'Mummy'." Catherine shook her head. "In time, he returned to his old self, but there are times when he becomes very quiet, and remains in his room . . ." She shook the melancholy from her mind. "Some of these boys will be traumatized. They will want nothing to do with a male, although they might respond to our young knights."
"Mrs. Nicholson, Sophie, as arranged for the worst cases to be accommodated in her home. She has a doctor standing by, and nurses."
"What of the boys who will be brought here?" Catherine asked sharply. "They will need our help, and they will need a trained therapist. You cannot assume that they will be right as rain once they are away from their prisons!" She leaned forward in her chair and gently placed her hand on Ace's knee. "When a little boy is hurt, or in trouble, he runs to the one person he knows will always be there for him: his mother." She saw Ace about to protest and continued. "I know, I know," she whispered, knowing that many of the mothers of the boys had consigned them to orphanages, or sold them outright to the panderers. "What is important is that there are times that a boy needs, wants, a woman's hand on his. They will, in time I think, bond with our boys, but they will need a woman to hold them, to cuddle them, and . . ."
"Which we will do," interjected Mary Randolph firmly. "For as long as it takes."
Ace had to frankly admit, at least to himself, that he had not seen the forest for the trees. Nor had The Gunner. The ladies were right and he would not stand in their way if it helped the rescued boys return to a semblance of normality. He also agreed that they would need specialized help. He thought a moment and then said, "Perhaps Sophie might know someone who might help with the traumatized boys," offered Ace. "Unfortunately she is, well, one of the boys has already been rescued."
"And?" asked Catherine,
Ace coughed delicately. "He was beaten, severely and is in hospital. The prognosis is not good, I'm afraid."
"She is standing a 'death watch' then?" asked Mary quietly.
Nodding, Ace replied, "Yes, I think so. The boy is in a coma, and . . . well, it does not look good."
Mary nodded. "Then we must not disturb her." She seemed to think a moment. "My brother in law is a surgeon. He's been retired for years. He's a good man, though. Perhaps I can impose on him. He will know someone, and if I know him he'll insist on helping."
"Well, call him," ordered Catherine. "We will need all the help we can get!" "He lives in some dismal place called Scarborough," offered Mary. "But he's in the telephone book and all he can do is say no."
"I am sure that Ace will send a car for him," replied Catherine. She stood up and gestured to Mary and Mabell. "Now, where did I leave my hat? Ace dear, will you find the gentlemen? We won't need a car, I think, as the markets are close. Now, come along, we have much to do!"
The Phantom looked around the lobby, and at the small arrangement on the table he and Colin were sitting at. Mrs. Arundel had done wonders, and with everybody in the place "mucking in", the hospital looked much less institutional than when he and the young knights had arrived. There were large bouquets in every room, thanks to Nathan and Fred.
Mrs. Arundel, her ladies, and the officers, had returned laden with packages and bundles, and trailed by a line of Chinese boys carrying more bundles and arms full of flowers. Ace had rummaged through the dungeons and discovered the hotel's meagre supply of tarnished silver plated bowls, vases and trays. The Phantom, with Harry and the Twins in the lead, found some silver polish and set up in the old butler's pantry, polishing and washing the plate. Ace, wondering what else was hidden in the cellars, with Joey and Randy in tow, set off on an expedition of discovery, as Ace called it.
Eventually all three emerged, filthy from the accumulated dust and dirt of time, carrying boxes of glass bowls and vases. Colin thought that the two youngest members of the Order should go up and shower. Randy and Joey demurred. What was the point, they asked, in cleaning up and then getting dirty all over again? They both ignored the cloud of dust they released whenever they shook their heads or scratched at what Ace was sure were fleas.
Ace, as he watched the boys working away, felt a shiver of pride course through him. Michael Chan had chosen well, he thought. The boys gained nothing, really, by doing what they were doing, except becoming dirty in the process. Yet they said nothing, setting to with a will. There was a job to be done, they had been asked to do it, so they did.
He listened as they cracked jokes about themselves, about the hospital, and chucked shit at Randy and Joey who looked, in Harry's opinion, like extras for a stage production of Oliver Twist. Randy retorted that Harry looked like the poster boy of Farmer's Monthly, lacking only a battered straw hat and cow shit sticking to his boots! Phil Thornton, who was standing nearby industriously polishing a tray, tapped Randy's red-haired head. "Be nice," he snarled, "or tonight you sleep alone!"
Randy doubted that. Joey, Phil and he were confirmed and dedicated lovers and the only way to keep Phil from sharing their bed would be to build a wall around it, topped with barbed wire and broken glass!
Laughing, Ace shook his head. He saw The Phantom looking at the other boys, and said, "They're in high spirits."
The Phantom nodded. "They are, aren't they?" He smiled. "They're not afraid of hard work, and always try to look on the bright side." The Phantom shrugged. "They're knights, and Sea Cadets."
Ace chuckled. "A potent combination, it seems. The Gunner chose well." The Phantom could feel Colin, who was sitting beside him stiffen slightly at the mention of The Gunner. He knew that his friend, and lover, was not looking forward to meeting the man.
Ignoring Colin for the moment, The Phantom spoke softly. "He chose well, yes. He took the best of the best that was on offer. Each of us, in his own way, loves him."
A sudden silence descended. Harry looked at The Phantom, and then at Ace. "Well, tell him, Phantom," he said quietly to The Phantom.
Ace looked around the circle of young faces staring at him. "Tell me what?" he asked.
"We're going tonight," replied The Phantom. His voice was firm and there was a gleam in his emerald eyes that brooked no argument.
"Uh," began Ace, "perhaps you might want to run that by The Gunner."
"We are going, no matter what he says," returned The Phantom. His voice was calm, his words crisp. "It is why we are here, why we were chosen."
"It is woven in the Tapestry," said Peter Race. "Nothing The Gunner says will change our minds."
"We're knights," Joey piped up. "We swore an oath to help our brothers." He shrugged expressively. "So we will."
For a time, Ace did not know what to say. He knew nothing about a "Tapestry", whatever that was. The Gunner had not mentioned a "Tapestry" and frankly Ace was intrigued.
"I understand the part about an oath, but a 'Tapestry'?" he asked.
The Phantom's green eyes seemed to glow with inner fire. He waved his hand, the gesture encompassing all the boys. "We are all a part of a Tapestry," he began. "Our lives are interwoven. We are brothers, Mr. Grimes. We cannot exist without each other. The Tapestry showed us that. It also showed us our destiny. We were destined to be here, to fight and to save the boys you, and The Gunner, know are in peril." A small tear coursed its way down The Phantom's cheek. "I know it is difficult for you to understand, but that is what we believe." He regarded Ace a moment and then said quietly. "The Tapestry is not finished. There are many faces not yet woven into it. Only time will complete those faces."
Ace understood what the young man was saying. He understood the concept of the Tapestry, just as he understood that the fabric of the Tapestry would change. He smiled. "Does Steve, I mean, The Gunner, does he know about the Tapestry?" he asked.
The Phantom nodded. "Probably. Chef knows, and if Chef knows, The Gunner knows."
"And other images, other faces will be added?"
Again The Phantom nodded. "And glow bright. Others will fade. Deus Vult." Ace's face fell. "God wills it!" he whispered.
"Yes. We are His knights, and we will be a part of what The Gunner has planned. He won't like it . . ." The Phantom paused and looked around the cluttered table and saw the firm, clear looks on the faces of his brother knights. " . . . We are doing what we must do. The Gunner cannot stop us." Ace frowned. "Well, he might have something to say about you and your 'brother knights' going in harm's way."
"I'm sure he will," responded The Phantom dryly.
"Won't matter a damn," grumbled Harry as he attacked a large silver-plated tray with a rag soaked in polish. "He's been around long enough to know not to piss us off."
Tyler, who remembered being thrown into the barracks yard - twice - as naked as a jay after pissing off his brother knights, nodded. Then he remembered The Gunner reading the Riot Act to the Twins, who were having a magnificent fight at the time, and turning the fire hoses on them. "He'll bitch and moan, but he knows us, and he'll give in."
Cory agreed. "The Gunner likes us, and he knows what we can do."
Todd, who remembered the day Cory had groped The Gunner while they were swimming, shuddered. "He won't like us going but he'll give in. I just hope that he doesn't quote Kipling!"
Ace looked at Todd. "Kipling?"
"The Gunner is very fond of Kipling," explained Cory vaguely. "He's always quoting some obscure passage from one of his works."
"We had to buy copies of Kipling's writings for protection!" put in Val. "Forearmed is forewarned, you know."
Ace regarded the handsome, black-haired Val, and chuckled. "Well, I have no doubt that you'll convince The Gunner, or talk him into doing something he might not want to do." He laughed aloud. "Now that is a conversation where I would like to be a fly on the wall! He can be very stubborn, you know."
The Phantom sniffed. "Tell me about it!" Then he frowned. "Which reminds me. Where is he? I expected him to meet us, if not at the airport, then here."
Ace was at a loss. He had no idea where The Gunner was. He also had no idea where Lester was. "He's probably dealing with some last minute hiccup," he said weakly. "He'll be here though."
"Good," responded The Phantom. "We have a lot to talk about, he and I. A lot to talk about."
The Apartment of Acton Grimes, Saturday, 28 August 1976 - 2310 EDST
The Gunner looked balefully at the young man standing before him. His eyes slid toward Lester, who was standing in the apartment kitchen. The Gunner's eyes returned to the young man again and he thought silently, "Rough Trade!"
Actually, the young man was not all that bad to look at. He had a firm, square jaw, black, curly hair, and needed a shave. He was wearing standard "tough boy" clothing: tight, ass hugging denim blue jeans, shit kicker boots, and a wife beater. On his right arm was a tattoo of a stylized cross in a circle, the universal "White Power", symbol, beloved of White Supremacists.
Coughing slightly, The Gunner asked, "You have a name?"
The boy shrugged. "A few; which one do you want?"
The Gunner leaned forward in his chair. His eyes bore into the boy. "Sonny, you do not want to fuck with me," he warned in a heavy, gravely voice. The Gunner turned to Lester. "Where did you find him?" he asked.
Lester answered simply. "Boys' Town, turning tricks at ten bucks a pop, if you'll pardon the expression."
The Gunner nodded. Every big city had one, a "Boys' Town", a street, an area, a stretch of sidewalk where young men and boys sold their bodies indiscriminately to all comers. Most of the boys sold their bodies for drugs. Some sold because they liked sex. All were on the streets because they were too young to go to a bathhouse to peddle their wares.
The Gunner returned to looking at the boy. "Well?"
Seeing the hardness in The Gunner's eyes, and hearing the ice in his voice, the boy answered quickly. "My street name is Gino."
"Very well," replied The Gunner as he sat back. "We'll call you Gino."
"I'm not Italian!" "Gino" said quickly. "I just look Italian."
"I don't care if you're a Zulu!" snapped The Gunner. "What I want from you is information." He glanced at Lester. "I assume you've been paid to provide it?"
Lester flushed. "Um, I had to pay him to come here," he said defensively.
"A guy has to make a living," interjected Gino. "If I'm sitting here I ain't making any money!" He looked at Lester, and then at The Gunner, and then coyly rubbed the prominent bulge in his jeans. "Unless you're up for a threesome and then the price goes . . ."
The gesture was not lost on The Gunner. "You are here to provide information!" he roared.
Gino raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I misread the situation. No need to bust my balls."
"I'll bust your jaw in a minute," thought The Gunner, and then forced himself to calm down. "If you tell me what I want to know you will be adequately compensated." He managed to get the words out without gagging.
"What do you want to know?" asked Gino suspiciously.
The Gunner cleared his throat. "I understand that you are, or were, a member of a neo-Nazi, skinhead gang."
Gino snorted almost contemptuously. "That was yonks ago! I ain't been a part of that bullshit for at least a year."
"But you were a part of one," pressed The Gunner.
"Well, yeah," admitted Gino. "But hell, I didn't, I mean I never really believed in their racist bullshit. I got nothin' against Jews, or blacks." He shrugged. "I was in it for the money. Live and let live, I say."
The Gunner doubted that Gino was sincere but was not inclined to press the matter. "Why did you leave?" he asked.
"The whole thing fell apart," replied Gino honestly. "Big Mike, who was the boss, he got into selling smack and coke." He shook his head. "You can make a lot of money if you do it right, but he got to using more than he sold. He got into some big time trouble with some black guys, owed them a lot of cash and couldn't pay."
"Really? I was under the impression that your, um, little group was funded independently." He saw that Gino had not the vaguest idea what he was talking about. "You were paid money, a stipend, to foment racial and religious bigotry." "He means you were paid to paint swastikas on synagogue doors and throw rocks at black stores, and hand out Nazi propaganda," translated Lester with a smug look.
"By a German," prompted The Gunner.
Much to Lester and The Gunner's surprise, Gino all but spat on the floor. "That kraut prick! Yeah, he paid us, when he felt like it, and always complained that we were blowing the money on drugs and broads, or booze, instead of doing what he called, 'God's Work'."
"I doubt that God had any connection to what Stennes was doing," responded The Gunner flatly.
Gino's eyes grew wide. "You know about him?"
"I know of him," said The Gunner. "I know that he funded your little gang of nitwit racists. I also know that he is involved in other activities." The Gunner saw no reason to expand on his knowledge, or lack of it, to Gino. "I would like to know more."
"Stennes is a prick," snarled Gino. "And a fag!"
The Gunner looked at Lester, who was frankly astounded that an admitted whore would call the German a fag. "Um, might I remind you that there are some who could, and would say the same thing about you?" sniped Lester waspishly. Gino took no offence. "Hey, I'm a whore, and I sell my ass to pay the rent." He shrugged. "A guy's gotta do and all that shit. I got it, guys want it so they get it."
"For a price, Gino, for a price," observed The Gunner with shake of his head.
The young man's face grew hard. "Look man, I gotta eat. The only reason I joined with Big Mike and that kraut bastard was for money! Okay, I did some things I didn't like doing, like throwing Molotov cocktails at a synagogue, but I never made any bones about liking guys, and getting paid to fuck 'em. Not like Stennes, anyway!"
"Explain," directed The Gunner coldly.
"Stennes would come around, issue orders - boom, boom, boom! Ve are the Master Race - all the usual bullshit. He'd hand out some cash and then him and Big Mike would go off to some motel and fuck!"
Lester dropped a full cup of coffee on the floor of the kitchen. "They did what?" he gasped.
"Fuck," responded Gino without emotion. "Stennes likes guys. He was always looking at us, me and the other guys, like we were meat. Big Mike was his favourite." He grimaced. "Mike was big," Gino observed with heavy emphasis. "The guy could have made a fortune in the bathhouses. Instead he gave it away to the kraut and ended up dead."
"Dead?" asked The Gunner.
"Yeah. Some farmer found him in his field, out near Markham. His throat was slit and his dick was crammed into his mouth. The cops think the Jamaicans got him. Me too." Gino looked at The Gunner. "Stennes tried to hide what him and Mike did, but we knew. When Mike took off, with the Jamaicans, or whatever after him, Stennes came sniffing around. He had a bundle of cash in one hand, and his dick in the other."
"So what happened?" asked Lester, curious.
"We took his money and Toby, he was Mike's second in command, he went off with Stennes. He came back with a wallet filled with c-notes and a sore ass. He wouldn't tell us what Stennes did to him and a couple of days later he just wasn't around. The other guys, Virg, and Casey, and me, we decided to hell with it. Virg was half Jewish on his momma's side anyway, which he kept really close to his chest, and didn't want to hand out Stennes' bullshit pamphlets anymore. I guess he went home. I don't really know. Casey hooked up some girl down around Dundas and Spadina. He's in the cooler for pimping."
"You've managed to survive, though," said The Gunner with a trace of sarcasm.
"Yeah," replied Gino with a grin. "I have."
"What happened with your arrangement with Stennes?" The Gunner asked, observing Gino's face, looking to see if a lie would be an answer to his question.
"That fucker is still around," replied Gino. "He sorta lost interest in the gang. I guess he's got other fish to fry."
"He has," said The Gunner sadly. He regarded Gino again. "You say he's 'still around'. What do you mean by that?"
"Hell, I saw him only a couple of hours ago. He was shaggin' two Chink guys, just off the boat! Real Rice Bowl Rickies."
It was all that The Gunner could do not to spring from his chair. "Where did you see Stennes?" he asked, his voice low, and devoid of the danger he felt toward Gino.
"There's a house I go to every so often," replied Gino. He had a feeling that he had information the man who obviously felt nothing but disgust for him wanted. There was money to be made, and Gino intended to have it. "He was there earlier."
The Gunner looked thoughtful. "The house on Glasgow Street." He saw Gino's face fall slightly. "Hit a nerve," thought The Gunner. He regarded Gino a moment. "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that the um, residents of the house were all Asian . . . Asian boys."
Gino's hope of a quick, and large, infusion of the readies faded. "Yeah, they are. They're all froufrous . . ." He held out his arm and allowed his wrist to droop. "You know, more gal than guy." He sniggered. "Except for the two new guys, Shem and Shu. They're real back country Chinks. Most of the others are Chinese, but some are Vietnamese. They make a shitful of money, though."
"I'm sure they do." The Gunner knew that the house, which purported to be a "residence" for Foreign Students, was a front. It was a brothel, pure and simple. A very successful brothel it seemed, from the reports Ames Cale, Lester's lover, had confided. The house was so successful that it had attracted the attention of the Vice Squad.
"You have told me nothing that I do not already know," The Gunner told Gino coldly.
Seeing the look in The Gunner's eyes, Gino shrank back. Then he had a thought. "Maybe I know more than I let on."
Noting the mercenary glint in Gino's dark eyes, The Gunner sighed and looked at Lester. "Get me the wallet, please," he asked.
Lester nodded, went into the master bedroom, and shortly returned with a leather bank pouch. He had been to the bank the day before, and returned with the pouch, a fat wallet stuffed with notes. However, thanks to repeated withdrawals from what Lester jokingly called "The Privy Purse" the leather case was slim. As he handed the case to The Gunner, Lester thought that they were just about at the end of their tether. Chaim Goldschmidt's advance had paid for everything, and The Gunner had been forced to dip into his personal funds.
Lester did not need to tell The Gunner that they needed an infusion of funds. He knew how much money had been spent. The Gunner opened the case and hid his alarm. There was not a hell of a lot left. He pulled out two 50-dollar notes and placed them on the coffee table. He saw that the glint in Gino's eyes was still there, and added two c-notes.
Gino snatched up the notes, rubbed them to make sure that they were legitimate, and quickly stuffed them into the hip pocket of his tight jeans. "Okay, I have a customer. He's Chinese and if I told you who he was you'd faint!" Gino smirked. "He likes guys, white guys. He has an arrangement with Hung Tuan - he's the front man at the brothel. When my . . . client gets the urge, he calls Hung, who leaves a message for me at the dump I live in." Gino cackled merrily. "He says to tell me that my Chinese dinner is ready!"
The Gunner suppressed a shudder and wondered if he would ever be able to eat Chinese food again. He regarded the young man a moment. The tone of Gino's voice seemed, to The Gunner, to be truthful. He had no interest in Gino's "client", or what they did together. Then he remembered Ames Cale's warning that the Vice squad had the house under surveillance. There had been no mention of a rough trade white boy entering, or leaving the place. "You just walk up to the front door and this Hung let's you in?" The Gunner probed.
Gino's eyes grew wide. "Are you kidding? Fuck, if anyone, and I mean anyone, ever found out that I'm Sun Yat Wa's boy, fuck, I'd be dead and . . ." His voice trailed off. He had revealed a secret so dark and deep that he was already marked.
The Gunner had no idea who Sun was. Lester did. "Holy shit!" Lester gasped. "Sun Yat WA?"
"Yeah, Holy Shit," repeated Gino. "If it ever gets out that he likes boys, let alone white boys, there'd be a war."
Looking querulously at Lester, and then at Gino, The Gunner asked. "Who or what is a 'Sun Yat Wa'?"
Lester spoke up quickly. "He's the man! I mean, he's the Chairman of the Triad Inner Council for all of North America. He's totally ruthless and a man you don't want to piss off . . . ever!"
"He is that important?"
Lester nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, shit, Steve, without his okay nobody does business. Terry pays tribute to him. The Circle K Boys pay tribute to him. He's the Triads' man."
The Gunner thought a moment. He was aware that Michael Chan was affiliated with the Triads. Michael hated them, but he had to do business with them. It was a given in every Chinatown that if you wanted to make money in Chinatown, you kow-towed to the Triads. He also knew that if you refused you ended up dead, as did your wife and your kids. It was a fact of Chinese life.
What was also a fact of Chinese life was that homosexuality was abhorred, forbidden by the gods, and even the most unbelieving of Chinese knew that being gay in China, or in the many Chinese communities, was a virtual death sentence. Not only that, if Sun was as powerful and important as both Lester and Gino thought he was, his downfall would lead to a bloodbath. Each Triad controlled certain areas, territories where they conducted business.
The death of a leader, or his downfall, would tempt the other Triads to test his successor's mettle. They would probe subtly, taking over an operation here, a gin mill there. If the new leader did nothing, he proved himself to be weak, and ripe for the picking. If, however, he slashed back, defending his territory, one of two things would happen: the encroaching Triad leader would draw back and bide his time until another opportunity arose. Or, if the territory was particularly enticing, or if the encroacher wanted to enlarge his territory, there would be war.
Shaking his head at the thought of a war between the Triads, The Gunner made a mental note to contact Michael Chan. While he had no interest in what the Triads did, The Gunner knew that Michael needed to be warned about Sun Yat Wa.
Returning to Gino, The Gunner slowly withdrew another c-note from the wallet and placed it on the coffee table. "Your 'client' would not want his predilections known. He would take great care to ensure that no one knows. How do you, um, meet?"
Gino snickered. "Like I said, I get a telephone call. I go to the house, Sun is waiting and we fuck."
The Gunner's eyes grew dark. "You know what I mean!" he snarled.
Gino noted the warning. "Well, it's not as hard as it sounds. I can't go in the front door, so I use the back entrance." He saw The Gunner's look. "There's a laneway that runs between the houses on Glasgow Street and the house on Huron Street. You can barely see it because it's not marked and it's right between two houses. It goes north toward College, and then does a sudden left turn. It ends in a small courtyard, and there's a gate into the back yard of the house. I just walk up and into the house."
"There is no security?" asked The Gunner suspiciously.
Gino shook his head. "Naw, not to speak of, no cameras or anything like that." He smiled coyly and glanced at the leather wallet The Gunner was holding. "Of course, the door's locked, but . . ." He lapsed into silence.
The Gunner heard the resounding "but". He looked at Gino and took out five 100-dollar bills. "You have a key," he stated, not asking a question.
Gino looked at the small wad of notes and shook his head. "It's worth more than that," he said with a slight sneer. "If I admit I have a key, and if I give it to you, and Sun finds out - because he will 'cause I'm the only one he's dickin' - I'll be deader than Big Mike, and a fuck of a lot more messy!" He grimaced. "At least whoever did him cut off his dick after he was dead. Sun would . . . the idea of getting circumcised all over again, from the neck down and little piece by little piece doesn't appeal to me." Gino started to stand. "So, if you'll excuse me . . ."
"Five thousand for the key," said The Gunner abruptly. "Half now, half on Monday."
Lester almost fainted from the shock of The Gunner's offer. He knew that there was less than $3,000 in the bank pouch, and hardly more in the bank.
Ignoring Lester's quiet gasp, The Gunner continued. "Another ten if you tell me everything you know, and I mean everything."
Gino hedged, trying to decide if the monetary gain were worth the horrific death he would suffer if he spilled his guts.
Gino's hesitation caused The Gunner to offer more. "A safe house until we can arrange to have you sent to a haven. Any city you like, with a new name, new papers."
"Any city?" asked Gino, thinking quickly. He was becoming bored with Toronto. Also, the market was becoming bloated with gay boys flocking to the city. Sun Yat Wa was his only "class" customer, and Gino knew that his time with the Chinese was coming to an end. The telephone calls were coming less and less frequently. Maybe it was time to move on.
"Any city," replied The Gunner, his voice deceptively patient.
Gino decided. "Okay." He reached into his pocket and withdrew his key ring. After removed a key he laid it on the table. Pushing the key slowly forward, he said, "That will get you into the house. You come into a lobby. There's a door to the right as you come in. That goes up to the first floor, where the bedrooms are. There's another landing there, but you keep going up to the third floor. That's where the special rooms are."
"Special rooms?" The Gunner looked inquisitively at Gino.
"Yeah, the rooms that are wired."
Lester looked at Gino. "Wired? You mean that . . ."
Gino nodded, knowing what Lester was getting at. "Yeah. Both Stennes and Hung Tuan know what could happen if word gets out about the men who come to the house. They ain't stupid, Stennes and Hung, so they film everything." Before The Gunner could ask, Gino shook his head. "What happens with the film I can't say. Maybe they keep it under lock and key in the house, may someplace else. All I know is that they film their customers having sex with the boys."
The Gunner nodded, thinking that Stennes had more than insurance in mind. A film of a man boffing a boy would be worth its weight in gold - more, really. The potential for blackmail was glaringly apparent.
"If you know what Stennes, and Hung, are doing, why haven't you told Sun?" asked The Gunner.
Gino snorted. "Are you nuts?" yelped Gino. "If Sun finds out that there's a movie of him and me together floating around he'll, well shit man! He'll go ape! He'll destroy Stennes, Hung, me, everybody who knows. I can't tell him because he'll want to know why I didn't in the first place!"
"All right, calm down." The Gunner looked around and saw the tablet of paper he needed. He retrieved it and placed it, and a pencil in front of Gino. "Draw me a diagram of the house, so far as you know it." He looked at Lester. "Where are Terry and Ace?"
"At the . . ." Lester hesitated, not wanting to provide any more information to Gino, whom Lester did not trust at all. "The place we arranged," Lester finished bluntly.
"Call them. Tell them that I will be there shortly, as soon as we finish here." He gestured toward Gino, who was struggling to draw the plan of the house, his brow wrinkled as he tried to remember. "When Gino is finished I want him taken to a safe place. Tomorrow, Monday at the latest, when Gino has decided where he wants to go, make the arrangements."
Lester sighed inwardly. Gino would need new papers, and the forger would charge accordingly. Where, he asked himself, would the money come from? As he walked into the bedroom to use the telephone there, he wondered if they could hit up Sophie for a loan. Shaking his head as he dialled, Lester was unaware that under the bed where he sat there was a fortune in emeralds, hidden under a pile of boxer shorts and T-shirts in The Gunner's suitcase.
The Hospital of St. John of the Cross of Acre, Toronto 28 August 1976 - 23:45 EDST
"Did I ever tell you how Nathan came to be our official florist?" asked The Phantom as he fiddled with the flowers that adorned the table.
"There's a lot you haven't told me," grumbled Colin. He was, however, smiling. "To be honest, Nathan doesn't seem the type." He leaned forward and whispered a crude suggestion. "There's only one 'rosebud' he seems to be interested in."
Despite himself, The Phantom giggled. "Yes, well, he's in love." He looked at Colin. "Fred is very affectionate, you know."
"I don't," returned Colin. He was aware that many of the new knights were involved with each other, but was not interested in the details. He had, however heard certain snickered rumours. "Is it true that Chef caught Nathan and Fred in what is politely called 'flagrante'?" he asked.
"In the back of Mark van Beck's car," said The Phantom with a giggle. "It's a big old black limousine that Mark's brother owns. I think he bought it from an undertaker. Anyway, Nathan and Fred used it as their honeymoon bower." His giggling grew in intensity. "Chef caught them going at it and almost had a cat!" The Phantom's giggles turned into full-blown laughter. "It's lucky Chef didn't check out the Ropewalk, or the Unwinding Room in the School of Wind! He'd have had a litter!"
"Tell me, Phantom, did those guys do anything other than fool around with each other? I mean, they were there on courses, and it seems to me that they managed to find every hidey hole in sight and . . ."
The Phantom looked around and seeing that Craig Seward was engrossed in a newspaper, impishly reached out and gently squeezed Colin's crotch. "Come on, don't be a prude. After all, you introduced me to Little Colin in your cabin, and if memory serves, that dip you sailed with - Neal, wasn't that his name - he did it in the paint locker!"
"And got caught by the Old Man!" reminded Colin with a grin. He looked around. "You know, it's awfully quiet. You suppose the lads are resting before their big adventure?"
"Some are, some aren't," responded The Phantom with a knowing, prurient grin. "It's been a while and I'm sure some of them are feeling right frisky!" Colin raised his eyes to the overhead ceiling. "God, I hope they remembered to lock the door!"
Had Colin, or The Phantom, or Mrs. Arundel taken it into their heads to do another quick round of inspection, they would have found many doors locked against them.
"Ya know, this place isn't half bad," Val Orsini said to Tyler Benbow as he exited the bathroom. He was naked, and towelling dry his short-cropped, curly black hair. "It sure beats the hell out of our room back in school."
Tyler, who was lying on the bed, and wearing only his pristine tighty-whiteys, scratched himself, looked around and grinned. "No starch in the sheets." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "At least none put in by the laundress!"
"Pervert," turned Val. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the towel against his drooping genitals, suggestively. "Of course, if we were back in school I'd be half expecting a visit from Goodson Worth Ladbrook . . ."
"The Fourth?" asked Tyler with a snigger, continuing their game whenever Goodson's name was mentioned.
"The same," said Val, grinning. "Or maybe everybody's favourite stud, Lawrence Joseph Hutton, beloved by all and known to discriminating - or desperate - jocks as 'Howitzer'."
"The boy couldn't help that he was hung, and built like an artillery shell," said Tyler. He furrowed his brow. "I've often wondered if having a dick as big as Howitzer's was a blessing, or a curse."
Val looked down at his crotch. "I wouldn't know," he said with false sadness. "Maybe we should ask Harry."
Tyler grunted. "Not bloody likely. He'll just go of on a great ramble about the beauty of the Pride of the Fleet, the magnificence of the Escorts!" He deliberately lifted the waistband of his briefs and looked at his sleeping organ. "I might not be as big as Harry is, but damn sure I'm better looking!"
Laughing, Val shuffled closer to Tyler. "You're preaching to the choir," he said, his voice husky. "So, good lookin', what do you want to do?"
Tyler stretched languidly. "Oh, I don't know." He raised his hand and flashed the gold ring at his lover. "I thought I might I might pay a dividend on a gift of gold I received from a guy who claims to own the biggest of the only three circumcised Sicilian dicks in Saskatoon."
Giggling, Val reached out and began to pull down Tyler's underpants. "Simple or compounded?" he asked.
As his hand slid down Val's leg and his fingers teased the rosy pink head of Val's rising penis, Tyler answered, "Compounded - quarterly!"
One floor above the room shared by Tyler and Val, Roger "Two Strokes" Home, and Tom "Thumper" Vernon, had showered, double locked the door and braced a chair under the doorknob, the better to re-enact their first coupling in the Ropewalk. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and muted groans.
Thumper lay beneath Two Strokes, feeling the intensity of Roger's slow, patient, thrusting coursing through his body, and thinking that he had created a monster! Deep within him, Thumper felt Two Strokes' manhood expand, and heard his low, almost painful cry as he thrust ever deeper. Thumper felt the rhythmic pumping as Two Strokes filled him with his warm seed, and thought, wildly happy, "And I sure do love the monster!"
"You won't get flowers and periwinkle patterned sheets in Annapolis," Mark Van Beck pointed out to Tony Valpone as they snuggled together.
"This from a guy who used to wear Superman pyjamas!" sniffed Tony in return.
"My mother made me wear them," responded Mark with a chuckle. "Now I'm a big boy and I get to wear nothin'!"
"Not so big," responded Tony, "but I sure am gonna miss Little Mark while I'm away learning to be a sailor!"
"Just so long as you do your 'learning' alone!" Marked rolled Tony on his back. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I think it's time we practiced your gunner skills."
"Hmmm," drawled Tony as he leaned to kiss Mark. "Number One Mount is manned and ready!"
"Lock and load, sailor," said Mark as he returned Tony's kiss. "Lock and LOAD!"
In the room they were sharing, Cory and Sean, naked, and sated now, cuddled together on one of the two twin beds in their room. Cory, his golden skin flushed and warm, gently massaged Sean's flat stomach, his fingers tracing the red-gold treasure trail that led downward to Sean's crotch. Cory sighed contentedly. He was no virgin, just as Sean was no virgin, but somehow, tonight had been different. They had finally, gently, with a heat Cory had never known before, confirmed their love.
Cory looked at Sean, who was lying quietly, with his eyes closed and a look of serene happiness on his face.
"What are you thinking?" Cory asked, his voice quiet.
Sean opened his eyes and a smile that defied description formed on his face. "I was thinking how someone such as I could be here, with someone like you. I've dreamed of it, hoped for it, and now I don't know how to describe the way I feel." His arms slowly enfolded his lover. "I love you Cory Arundel. That's the whole of it: I love you."
Cory smiled and reached up and gently laid his fingertips against Sean's warm cheek. "And I love you, Sean Anders."
In the room they shared with their protector, Joey and Randy snuggled against Phil Thornton, two puppies basking in his protection. They had teased Phil; they had bedevilled Phil, and they had taken him to new levels of contentment. All three were asleep.
"This sure is better than the back seat of Mark's ratty old car," Nathan said with a laugh. He gave Fred a quick kiss on the lips. Then he added with a lascivious grin, "So, how about you show me again that Britannia rules the waves?"
In his room, Harry looked at his roommate. Todd was lying on his side, his back toward Harry. Sighing, Harry lay back on the other bed and stared into the darkness. Tears formed in his eyes and he wept silently for what he had lost.
In the bed next to Harry's, Todd lay wide awake. The memories of the time Harry and he had spent in the Unwinding Room, making love, talking, and holding each other returned. A wave of melancholy swept over Todd as he thought ruefully, "Oh, Harry, if only you could have loved me as you love Stefan!" He pressed his fingers against the stripes of the late-Regency style wallpaper and whispered, "If only."
"The few, the proud, the Marines!" yelped Andy Berg as Kyle St. Vincent squeezed his still hard penis.
"Balls," responded Kyle with a laugh. "It's the 'Best of the Best'!"
Andy, who never knew if Kyle was joking or not, asked doubtfully, "Yeah?"
"Or maybe it should be 'Semper . . .'" He looked at Andy. "How in the hell do you say 'horny' in Latin?"
"Buggered if I know," returned Andy.
"That can be arranged," whispered Kyle. Then he added, "Gyrene . . ."
Matt Greene and Nicholas Rodney were locked in passion. They had found a Gideon's in the drawer of the nightstand that separated the two beds and found some particularly interesting verses in the Song of Solomon, and had decided it would be just the thing to add a new verse, or six.
Calvin Hobbes and Simon Keppel knelt on the bed, facing each other. They were as naked as babes, which in some ways they still were. Calvin's strawberry blond hair glistened, the water from his shower like dewdrops in the red and gold of his hair. He was gazing into Simon's warm, expectant eyes.
Simon could feel Calvin's erection softly grazing his own as it rose and fell slightly as Calvin breathed in and out. He could feel Calvin's hand slowly caressing his bum and shuddered with each slow circle of Calvin's hand.
Calvin bent forward slightly and his lips touched Simon's. "I missed you so much," Calvin murmured as he gently nibbled on Simon's lower lip. "So much." Wordlessly, Simon reached down to cup Calvin's plump scrotum in the palm of his hand. "Don't talk," he said as he pulled Calvin down.
Their lips pressed closer and their kiss deepened. Calvin moaned softly as Simon lifted his legs and his hand guided his lover ever closer.
Most of the new knights were actually fast asleep. Not so in the room that Peter Race shared with Eion Reilly. Eion was still in a snit over Peter's slip of the tongue back in Ste Anne de Beaupré, when he had inadvertently let it slip that he and Eion were more than just good friends. It had done no good for Peter to say that they had not done anything other than half of what their companions had done, or that nobody gave a fiddler's that they'd done it! Nobody knew the details, and nobody ever would, at least so far as Peter was concerned.
Peter was also a little miffed. It wasn't as if they'd done "IT". All Eion had done was give him a blowjob. So what was the big deal? It wasn't as if he'd done it in full view of the whole ship's company, done a Glenn Beuscher as the boys were calling it. Unlike Glenn, who had got a blowjob from one of the doxies who attended the End of Training beach party, squealing like a piglet and soiling his shorts, so that anybody with eyes and ears knew exactly what had happened, Peter and Eion had been discreet.
What further miffed Peter was that there was a niggling feeling deep within him whenever he thought about Eion. Peter liked Eion, a lot. He'd never before thought about having feelings for another boy, but for some reason he did about Eion. Peter liked being with Eion, perhaps more than he was at first prepared to admit.
Peter could not truly yet understand his feelings. It wasn't as if Eion was a hunk, like Tyler, or Harry, which made Peter think that Eion would never make the grade compared to Harry. Harry was the proud, loud, bragging owner of "The Pride of the Fleet", and the "Escorts", and while Eion did possess a passing resemblance to the Pride, he was a destroyer alongside Harry's battleship, and his Escorts were mere gunboats compared to Harry's light cruisers. But still, Eion was cute, and his smile was enough to turn Peter into jelly. Not that Peter expected to see that smile any time soon.
On the flight down from Montreal, Eion had deliberately sat as far away from Peter as possible. At dinner he had sat with Simon and Calvin, who did not seem any too pleased with his presence, as they were busy making google eyes at each other. To further reinforce Eion's pique, he had gone into the bathroom to shower and emerged wearing blue and white striped flannel pyjamas, over a white T-shirt and tighty-whiteys for Cripe's sake! Eion was wearing more clothes than a seminarian in the middle of a North Atlantic Blizzard!
When Eion had emerged from the bathroom, Peter had showered, splashed some sure-fuck on his face and under his arms, pulled on his own tighties, and returned to the bedroom. He deliberately fiddled around, pretending to rearrange his suitcase, and then lay on the bed. He darted glances at Eion, who paid him no attention at all.
Being ignored was beginning to get on Peter's nerves and for a while he was tempted not to take Cory's advice. He glanced sideways at Eion, who was lying there, like a lump, with one arm shielding his eyes from the overhead light. Peter's eyes roamed down the length of Eion's body and made his decision. He left his bed, turned off the overhead light and opened the curtains of the windows that overlooked the square.
Eion heard Peter bumbling about and lowered his arm to see his friend standing at the foot of his bed. As Eion watched, Peter slowly lowered his tighties and crawled onto the bottom of the bed. Without speaking a word, Peter reached up and his hands found the waistband of Eion's pyjamas.
Eion's eyes grew wide. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded as he reached down to pull at his pyjama trousers.
Peter did not reply. He pushed aside Eion's hands and pulled down his pyjama bottoms. Then he reached back again and his fingers slid inside the elastic waistband of Eion's briefs.
"Are you nuts?" Eion squeaked as Peter's fingertips touched the curved head of his soft penis. "Hey, Peter, knock it off!"
Still Peter did not speak. On the flight down, Cory, as always inquisitive and never one to feel embarrassed in sticking his nose in someone else's business, had noticed that Peter and Eion were silently at war. He had whispered into Peter's ears, trying to be helpful. Peter, at first shocked, and then intrigued, had listened.
Slowly pulling Eion's briefs down around his thighs, Peter moved upward. "Do you like me, Eion?" he asked, his voice a low, throaty whisper. He began to tweak and fondle the full, plump head of Eion's circumcised penis.
Eion groaned. He wasn't too upset about Peter playing with his dick, but he didn't know what to say. He could feel the blood rushing into his organ, causing it to swell and rise to its full glory. He grunted as Peter's finger slowly massaged the back of the head where it joined the shaft. "Fuuuccckkk" he grunted.
Peter was in total charge. He had plans and he was not about to let Eion ruin them. "I am truly sorry, Eion. I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be."
Eion opened one eye and stared at Peter. "Um, well, yeah, I was . . ." he managed to squeak out. He was panting, slipping deeper into lust. "Peter, you don't, I mean, it's okay. I'm not mad any more!"
"Eion, I have to do this." Peter slowly began to masturbate Eion. "Cory says I should have been more discreet, careful, you know?"
Cory? What the hell did Cory have to do with Peter's hand being on his dick? "It's okay," mumbled Eion. God, did Peter's hand feel good.
"I didn't know what to do to make you understand that . . . well . . ." The words were difficult to find, and even more difficult to express, but Peter was determined to let Eion know how he felt. "I have feelings for you, Eion." Peter gazed at Eion. "Now, maybe you don't feel the same way about me but . . ."
Eion stopped panting and he gently reached down to push Peter's hand a way. "Peter, come on. Okay, we've served together for two months, and yeah, I sorta blew you . . ."
Peter rocked back on his heels. "Sorta? Eion you did a lot more than sorta. Cory says that it takes more than a blowjob to make a match, and I guess he's right."
Cory again! "Peter, do you like, do you love me?"
Before answering Peter looked around the room. He suddenly rolled off the bed and pulled his kitbag out from under the bed. He rummaged around a bit and then held up a jar of Vaseline. "Knew I brought this along," he crowed brightly. He sat down on the bed this time.
"What are you planning on doing with that?" Eion asked, afraid that Peter, after talking with Cory, just might have got a certain idea in his pointed little head, and Eion was not about to let that happen! "Can I pull up my drawers?"
"Nope. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you go nekkid."
"Nekkid!" Eion all but bellowed. "Now wait one minute, Peter! If you think that you're going to stick that . . ." He pointed at Peter's erection. "No way! No how!" He started to get up.
As he pushed Eion back down, Peter laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but that is not what I have in mind."
"It's not?" asked Eion suspiciously.
"Nope."
"Well, what in the hell do you have in mind?"
Peter crossed his arms over his chest and stared directly at Eion. "Eion, for a long time I've been wondering about . . . well, about me. Cory says I should have expected it, that guys, well guys wonder about such things, especially when they're our age."
Eion struggled into a sitting position. "First off, I do understand. Sometimes I think about girls, but then, sometimes I think about guys."
"Doing things with them?" asked Peter.
"Well, yeah." Eion scratched his chin reflectively. "Look, Peter, we, you and me, we both know that when we're showering after gym, we check the other guys out. Everybody does it. In the mornings on board ship, the first day, what do we do? We wonder what's under all the underpants, right?"
Peter nodded. "Yup. Cory says it's natural. He also says that sometimes we think about what it would be like to, you know, maybe do things with another guy. Cory says it's like waking up and breathing, and that all guys do it."
"You know, if I was hearing more of Peter Race and less of Cory Arundel I might want to hear what you have to say."
Peter regarded Eion a minute and then before Eion could react, he leaned forward and kissed him. "I know it sounds stupid, and silly, but, Eion, I've decided that the feelings I felt in Aurora, and this is Peter talking, not Cory, well, those feelings are the real me."
"You had feelings back there? For me?" asked Eion, astonished that Peter, who had always seemed so straight-laced, would admit to such feelings.
"Well, sort of. I did like you, but . . ."
"But?"
"I was afraid, to be honest. Oh, I know that there were things going on, but I wasn't going to tell you."
"Why?"
Peter laughed quietly. "I didn't want you to hate me. Or hit me."
Eion reached out and slowly pulled Peter to him. "I could never hate you, and I would never hit you." He grinned. "Unless you pissed me off."
Peter laughed. "Now, Cory told me that there comes a time when a boy knows what he is, and sometimes, when he's with a real special person, it's time."
"Time for what?" asked Eion, not really needing an answer. Then he quickly added, "Am I that special person?"
Before answering, Peter collected his thoughts. "Eion, I'm just a dumb Bluenoser with a wonky dick. Maybe I don't know everything, but I do know this. At first I was, interested. I didn't want to start anything because it wasn't going to go anywhere. Then too, I wasn't sure that what I thought might happen, was right. I'd lie in my bunk at night and think. I thought about the guys, but something told me that they weren't what I wanted."
"You were waiting for me," whispered Eion with a grin.
"Don't interrupt!" growled Peter. "Yeah. At first I liked what I saw. Then I really liked what I saw."
"I'm some punkin', ain't I?" Eion sniggered with boyish Pride.
"Well, you're cute," conceded Peter, with a small grin.
"So, what's all this leading up to then?"
"Eion, I want you to be my first," replied Peter huskily. "I may never get the chance again and I want it to be from someone I like, someone who means something to me."
Looking askance at Peter, Eion asked, "First what?"
Laughing quietly, Peter knelt on the bed and duck walked up it until he was straddling Eion's waist. He reached back and once again took Eion's soft penis in his hand. "Eion, in a little while we're going to go in harm's way." He saw Eion about to protest and squeezed his penis gently. "I know what Phantom's said. But . . . what happens if something goes wrong? The guys we're going after won't go into the dark night quietly . . . some of them anyway. What happens if they decide to fight back?"
"Come on, Peter," protested Eion with a slight grimace. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill. We'll have our minders with us! They sure as hell won't let anything happen to us!"
"Maybe," answered Peter doubtfully. "But I don't want to take the chance of maybe dying a virgin!"
Eion struggled upward and pushed Peter back on the bed. "Don't think about dying, damn it! It isn't going to happen and . . ." Peter's words finally sunk in and he stared, open-mouth. "What did you say?"
Peter tried to push Eion away as he said, "I don't want to die a virgin. So . . ."
Shaking the disbelief from his mind, Eion struggled to ask, "You want me to, um, to . . .?" he did not quite believe what Peter was asking.
"I want you to be my first," responded Peter. "I want to know what it's like, what it feels like."
"What if you don't like it? Some guys don't, you know."
Peter nodded. "At least I'd know, now wouldn't I?" He pushed Eion back down and looked around for the jar of Vaseline. "I asked Cory what to do and he says that if you just lie down, and I sit on Eion Junior, it won't hurt as much. He says it's the best way for my first time because I get to control things."
Eion burst out laughing and made his move. He was stronger than Peter and pushed the boy back down, wiggling until he was lying on top of him. "Peter, I'll . . . well, you made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I've been thinking about us doing it but I'm damned if I'm going to fuck you!" He kissed Peter gently and then said in a low whisper, "Let me make love to you Peter." Peter gazed into Eion's eyes and slowly nodded his head.
Colin slid his hand forward and as his fingertips touched the side of The Phantom's hand he murmured, "You know, for a crew of pestiferous brats the boys are very quiet."
"They're probably all asleep," replied The Phantom, although he did not believe that his fellow knights were sleeping. "They've had a busy day, what with the funeral, then the hurry-up flight here, then redecorating and . . ."
Colin was shaking his head. "Nice try," he said with a smile. "Something's bugging you." He gave The Phantom a piercing look. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
Shaking his head, The Phantom replied, "No. We're here because it's where we were meant to be. I do worry that something could go wrong but all in all no, I'm not having second thoughts."
"Then I can sum up your uncharacteristic quietness in two words," said Colin.
"Yeah?"
"Steve Winslow, known to one and all as 'The Gunner'."
"That's ten words," replied The Phantom with a snicker. He sighed. "I have to meet with him, and so do you. I have no idea what I'm going to say to him, or how I'll feel when I see him."
Colin was aware of The Phantom's first lover, and how passionate their love had been. Colin also thought that he and The Phantom had become involved because his lover had been on the rebound. "So, do you still have feelings for him?" asked Colin warily. He slowly drew his hand back.
The movement was not lost on The Phantom. He reached out and clasped Colin's hand. "I won't lie to you, Colin. I do have some feelings for him, but not . . . not what you think."
"You were lovers," replied Colin. "He was your first real love."
"In a way, yes," replied The Phantom. "What's the old saying, that you always remember the first one you made love to?"
"So they say," replied Colin without a hint of sarcasm. "I remember the first girl I had sex with. I also remember that's all it was. We had sex, without any emotion, really."
"Colin, The Gunner was not my first." He smiled at the memory of a night of bliss in a battered old shack back in Comox. "My first time was with the Twins. Todd was the first boy to make love to me. Cory was the first boy I made love to."
"The Gunner?" prompted Colin.
"I now realize that he was a schoolboy infatuation come true. We were lovers, yes, but in retrospect what we had was not what existed, and still does, between the Twins and me." The Phantom's emerald eyes took in Colin's beautiful face and he smiled. "And in no way compares with how I feel about you." He squeezed Colin's hand tightly. "I love you. I don't know how we'll manage it, but I want to be with you, always and forever!"
"So do I," whispered Colin. "I do love you. I know that soon we'll be going our separate ways, but I'm going to find a way to be with you. I can't live without you." He snorted quietly. "I look at you and my heart starts to pound and . . . Jesus, Phantom, I don't want to be away from you, ever!" Sighing, The Phantom nodded. "And therein lies the difference between The Gunner and you."
"Pardon?"
"Colin, The Gunner was my lover. He loved me, but he wasn't in love with me. I know that now." The Phantom smiled sadly. "In a way, I feel sorry for him."
"You do?"
"Yes. He'll love, but he'll never be in love. He'll always be off tilting at windmills, never thinking about the consequences, the disruptions he causes because of his crusades."
"Crusades that benefit many, Phantom," Colin pointed out.
"True. But would you like to live your life always 'benefiting many', and never really knowing love? The Gunner is a sexual man, and he'll never be alone, I think, but he'll always move on, on to something he thinks and feels is more important. He'll disappoint a lot of people."
"He has his own Tapestry, Phantom," Colin said softly. "Oh, he is very much a part of yours, but he, well, he has his own destiny. He cannot help being the way he is, just as you cannot help being the way you are, or I being the way I am. I think what is really sad is that he knows. He knows that while your Tapestry is woven in firm, strong threads, with bright colours, his was, is, and always will be, pale and woven in silk, the threads breaking as he moves on."
"He's a good man, Colin," defended The Phantom.
"Yes, he is. I never thought otherwise. Still, he will cause much love, and much anger."
"Anger?" The Phantom looked inquisitively at Colin.
"Yes. He can't help but cause anger. He might know it, and he feels bad about it, but he's who he is, and that's all there is to it. You are angry because he walked out on you. He made love to you, perhaps made promises to you, and you are angry with him for the love he cannot return, the promises he cannot keep. You care for him, and you want him to be happy, but you still feel anger." Colin shrugged. "That's the way of it, Phantom."
The Phantom knew that Colin was right in everything he had said. He did feel a lingering anger. "What do I do, what do I say to him?" The Phantom asked, his words a soft whisper.
Colin rose deliberately and pulled The Phantom to his feet. He knew that there would have to be a final meeting between The Phantom and The Gunner. The Phantom had done nothing wrong. It had been The Gunner who had ended their relationship, ended it abruptly, and without explanation. So far as Colin was concerned The Phantom had nothing to be ashamed of. Colin believed every word when he responded with characteristic honesty, "I don't know that you need to say anything. I think that what he says to you is what really matters."
The Phantom heard the truth in Colin's words. "I guess you think that The Gunner has a lot to answer for."
"Fuckin' aye," growled Colin. "Fuckin' aye!"