All Disclaimers
BLACK AND WHITE
Chapter 68--Conspiracy!
"That FUCKER!" Matt thundered. "Oh, sorry, Dear," he added contritely to his wife.
"You've said worse," she smiled patting his hand.
"As did I, Ma'am," Lt. Garvey said, "as soon as I knew who it was. I would gladly have put a bullet through his head myself."
"Any of your men get hurt, Lieutenant?" Matt asked.
"Just a scratch on Corporal Porter from flying tree bark," Garvey smiled. "Connor didn't know how to use that Uzi, so when he pulled the trigger, the Uzi shot higher and higher."
Dave and I had blanched white (well, as white as Dave can). "Who was he after?" I tremulously asked.
"We don't know," Garvey said. "But, he was loaded for bear: an Uzi, a pistol, and a grenade."
"Geezus!" murmured Leonard.
"But, who...?" repeated the Charge d'Affaires.
"We couldn't ask before he passed out. RCMP is with him at the hospital, now. They'll probably start asking questions as soon as the doctors get Connor stabilized."
"Like hell they will!" Matt shouted. "I'm calling State right now! This is a matter of the FBI and our boys, not the Canadians!" He hurriedly left the room in the company of Lt. Garvey for the secure room and the secure communications located there.
We sat stunned for several moments, each awash in our own private fears. Finally, Evelyn talked softly to us. "Connor's been a pain in the ass (pardon my French) for a year or better. Leonard and Matt have crossed swords with him many times before. Don't worry, he wasn't after you."
"Maybe," Dave allowed. "But, we could have been the catalyst that set him off."
"Perhaps, but not likely," she said soothingly.
"With all that hardware, he wasn't here to settle the score with only one of us," I pointed out. "He had something far more sinister in mind. And where'd he get all that firepower? An Uzi and a grenade?"
"That's problematic," she agreed.
"The FBI will be here in the morning, early," Matt said coming back into the room. "They'll have jurisdiction with help from RCMP."
"Well, that's somewhat reassuring," Evelyn allowed. "Do they think he acted alone?"
"No way to tell, Dear. Not this early, anyway," he sighed. "But, the full cadre of our Marines is on battle alert. However, they can't all stay up 24 hours a day. We'll have to rely on the local police for protection outside the gates for a while, until this blows over. Which reminds me, Leonard. Call that horse's ass Conklin at the Vancouver Police. He told me that his boys would be keeping Connor under surveillance for a few days after that nasty scene at the press conference. Find out what they know and why they didn't know he was breaking in here."
"Yes, Sir. I was going to call the locals to see what they were doing about a little more protection around here for a while, anyway. His people have probably awakened Conklin by now. I'll call right away," Leonard offered.
"Do that," Matt agreed. "If you reach him, I wanna talk to him, too." Lt. Garvey walked in. "Your men are on full alert, I'm sure, Lieutenant, but they can't pull 24 hour shifts. I'm gonna call in the locals and have them post some additional assets outside the grounds. Okay?"
Garvey nodded, sinking into a nearby chair. He looked exhausted, but keyed up like the rest of us. "Everyone try to get some sleep," he finally said. "I know you're all running on adrenalin and gallons of fear, but we'll stay awake for you. You won't be good for anything tomorrow when the Feds get here if you don't get some sleep." It was sound advice, but we got little additional sleep that night.
Curled up next to Dave in bed, I asked, "You gonna be able to sleep, Dave?"
"Probably not, but the rest will help some, I suppose."
"Was he after us?"
"Maybe, more than likely, I don't know," he sighed showing his worry.
"At least, we still have each other."
"Yeah, we do," he agreed with a smile in his voice and his butt wiggling back into me. "Let's do the best we can to get some sleep. Oh, Shit!" he suddenly whispered.
"What!" I said in alarm.
"We've got to call our families as soon as it gets light and they'll be up. This is gonna hit the news REAL big!"
"Oh, Fuck! You're right. They'll be worried sick about us. But, we don't have anything to tell them," I pointed out.
"Well, not about the perpetrator, but we do know that we have a squadron of Marines who thwarted the attack and Vancouver's Finest outside the gate. We're safe, that's what they'll wanna know," he suggested.
"Yeah, I guess so," I replied still wondering how I'd break distressing news to my family a second day in a row. Dave would have the same worries, too. But, despite the sun rising early, we did sleep in until nearly seven. We made the phone calls to our families, assuring them as best we could that we were safe. We didn't know when we'd be home, but it shouldn't be too much longer, we promised. I called Kurt and Gene, so they could let our friends know we were okay, too. I gave Gene a list of numbers to call, including our houseguest's current host, Jeremy. No doubt, they'd all be frantic.
Evelyn made sure everyone had breakfast before letting the Feds grill us. She passed on a tidbit that she'd overhead from Matt. He was livid that the local police had kept Connor under surveillance, but had dropped it after Connor had gone home about ten the night before. The curious thing was that he'd spent a considerable amount of time at his editor's private residence earlier in the evening. Was he involved in a conspiracy, she'd wondered aloud?
The FBI had arrived. They were conducting interviews with everyone in the Consulate, including the Marines. The agent-in-charge had a copy of the news conference tape, so he knew what was said yesterday. Other agents queried Leonard and Matt at some length about the bad blood between them and Connor.
Protesters and counter-protesters picketed the Consulate as soon as the morning papers hit the street. (The paper had been put to bed at midnight, so they didn't have anything on the intruder.) The late morning edition wasn't out, yet. The police kept the protesting sides separated, but just barely.
However, by the time the news hit the airwaves about the shoot out on the Consulate grounds, the anti-gay protesters left in a hurry. They didn't know what might have caused the gunfire, but supporting a shooting on diplomatic property was not the message they wanted next to theirs.
By mid-afternoon, Matt told us there was a break in the case. With his insistence that Connor's editor was at the bottom of this shady affair, RCMP had intervened with the Vancouver police at the stubborn prodding of the FBI. Armed with the fact that the Vancouver police had shadowed Connor to the editor's home, that Connor had left with a medium-size tote bag and a small cardboard box in his hand, and that the Uzi was registered in the editor's name, they got a search warrant.
The Uzi was missing from the gun safe, a box of bullets was also missing, and an incriminating blueprint of the Consulate was found in a file drawer. The editor had protested that the Uzi had been locked up in the gun safe, and so had the bullets when he'd gone to bed. But, under more intense questioning (the gun safe showed no tampering, so someone who knew the combination got into it and provided the bullets), he caved and said that Connor had said he was only going to do some target practicing, not break into the Consulate. He'd promised that he wouldn't do anything rash.
But, the editor was in a pickle. Under Canadian law, if you loan a gun to someone and they use it to commit a felony, you can be charged with the same crime. He tried to say that Connor took it by force, but the police saw him leave the house with the editor waving from the doorway. That didn't wash, either. By then, he wanted to see his barrister. He knew he was in BIG trouble.
Connor had refused to cooperate with the police up to that point. When confronted with the editor's version of events, he sang like a canary (verse after verse) about the nefarious plot he and his employer had dreamed up. "We hate those fuckin' Yanks, hate ALL fuckin' faggots, Canada for Canadians!" he'd chirped. "Makin' fuckin' heroes outta those Gawd DAMNED queers did it. Those Yanks needed a fuckin' lesson!" he snarled self-righteously. It was so kind of him to bury himself and his editor with the RCMP and FBI recording his confession.
"So, there you are," Matt summed up. "Case solved. Now, it's up to the courts in two countries to adjudicate this mess. And Leonard, you've done particularly well. You've kept the press at bay, deflecting the right questions and answering the others. How are we doing on interview requests, by the way?"
"Yeah, thanks, Leonard," Dave said. "We owe you a lot."
"All part of the job," he said. "And you wouldn't believe the number of interview requests I have for you two now, from all over the world. I thought I'd let it settle down before bombarding you with them, but now that you want to go home, you need to know about your many fans. Of course, the big networks and international newspapers want a piece of you. But, I thought you might prefer giving your first interviews with some of the local and gay newspapers in town, maybe include the more distant ones later?"
"Do you know any of them?" Dave asked.
"I know a couple of them socially, and a couple more on a more professional basis, but not very well," Leonard said. "I could invite one of them for dinner?
"Only if they promise to be good and not ask any questions of a personal nature or about the plane or Connor while we're socializing," I demanded, but with a smile. "I don't want everyone else's dinner spoiled by a well-meaning, but socially challenged press representative."
"That's fair enough," Leonard maintained. "I'll warn them that if they can't abide by those conditions, we'll throw them out on their butts. Any other restrictions?"
"Add a couple of the gay rags," Dave suggested. "It'll kill two birds with one stone."
"Okay," Leonard said thoughtfully. "There are a couple of guys from gay magazines in the States who can be here in a couple of hours, if I give them the word." He mentioned the publication's names.
"It seems only fair that we give our own countrymen a shot at us with the first group. If they can get here in time, AND they promise to be good, invite them," Dave agreed. I nodded.
The FBI held a news conference at the same hour in the same room as we had the evening before. The Grand Ballroom was even more crowded than yesterday. The agent-in-charge announced the findings and the arrests. There were numerous questions about International Law, but those were deflected to be answered by attorneys more expert on the subject. Additional questions were raised about who the gunman was after, but the FBI deflected that question as well, saying it was still under investigation. We were grateful for that answer. Explaining that we were part of the target list to our families would be very difficult.
One well-known reporter asked, "Will there be more arrests or was it just these two men?"
"No comment," came the terse response. The press corps jumped on that, haranguing the agent-in-charge, begging for more information. But, the agent held firm. By his repeated, "no comment", the agent had all but said there was a potential conspiracy behind all this and he wanted to get to the bottom of it before all the "cockroaches" scurried for cover.
We stayed out of the room, watching it with Evelyn in the conference room. Only Leonard and Matt represented the Consulate, along with Lt. Garvey and Lance Corporal Porter. But, they were there for the photo op, not to answer questions. The FBI handled all questions.
The evening newspapers missed the break (for the same reason the morning editions had), but the evening television and cable news hadn't. Leading all newscasts, domestic, and international was THE story. Many channels carried it live. File footage of Dave and me, as well as the verbal blow up at the news conference, was shown on all news stations. It had been cut out of most newscasts yesterday as extraneous, but now, it wasn't.
"I guess we're outed," Dave sighed. "The whole damned world knows about us now!"
"And that NO comment about a conspiracy scares the daylights outta me!" I added, trying not to add four letter words with Evelyn in the room.
"I, for one, think it makes you very sympathetic characters," Evelyn smiled. "Clearly, you're the aggrieved party here. Connor looked like an idiot at yesterday's press conference. You said just the right thing, Dave." Dave blushed. "Although, I don't think his mother would be proud," she laughed, ignoring my conspiracy comment for the moment.
I nodded. "I don't think so, either!" Dave agreed.
The news conference ended. Matt and Leonard came into the conference room, trailed by Lt. Garvey and Corporal Porter. "Damn! I'm glad that's over!" Garvey sighed. "I haven't sweat so much since I was training at Camp Pendleton."
"Me, neither, Sir," Porter echoed.
"We should thank the FBI for taking the lead on this and keeping us away from the press," the Marine Commander said.
"And keeping us out of it as well," Dave spoke up.
"I asked them to," Matt revealed. "They were gonna suggest it, anyway."
"Yeah, now that the gay thing is out in the open, there'd be no stopping them," I pointed out. "And what's up with that 'no comment' about a conspiracy?"
"I haven't been briefed on that, not do I think I will be," Matt bristled. "The Bureau does what it does without consulting me. We'll know when you know."
We signed at the stonewalling, but knew Matt would tell us if there was anything to tell. "Well, with all this uproar, we'll never be anonymous tourists here," Dave suggested. "We might as well go home."
"Let me check with the FBI and RCMP. I don't think the FBI will care as they can contact you at home, but RCMP and the Canadian courts may need to see you, again," Matt responded.
"I'll contact RCMP and see what's up there," Leonard volunteered.
"Thanks, Leonard," I smiled. He smiled back.
"Oh, and another thing," Leonard added, making a note, "the airline is willing to fly you anywhere, anytime, at their expense for the next ten years!"
"That's very kind of them," Dave marveled.
"Don't give them too much credit," Leonard laughed. "They're doing it for the publicity."
"That's a little cold, Leonard," Evelyn chided him.
"Perhaps. But, probably close to the truth."
"I'm willing to take them up on their offer," I smiled.
"It'll be cattle class, I'm sure," Leonard warned.
"We can afford to upgrade to First Class, if we like, or if the trip is a long one," Dave agreed with me.
"It was still a nice gesture," Evelyn insisted. "They could have just patted them on the back, presented them with a worthless plaque, and said thank you."
"Yes, they could," Leonard agreed. "But, let's not make more of it than it is. I'd not, for instance, mention it in any of our press briefings. And I'd suggest you boys do the same." A calloused view of their intentions, but there was no point in providing them with free publicity, either.
"Make the call, Leonard," Matt directed. "Let's see what RCMP says about our boys going home."
"Yes, Sir," Leonard smiled. "I'll push them, if I can."
"Thanks," Dave smiled to Matt and Leonard. "We owe you a great deal already, plus the Marines, of course."
"I need to chase that one down, too," Matt said preoccupied, rising from his chair. "Those Marines are supermen, but they need sleep like the rest of us. The Vancouver Police Department really screwed up on their surveillance of Connor, so they owe us, BIG time."
"And we need to burn off some energy working out," I said, grabbing Dave by the arm. "Dinner will be at eight?" I asked Evelyn.
"Yes, at eight," she confirmed. "As you're our guests, what would you like for dinner?"
"Surprise us!" Dave smiled. "We love it all!"
"How about something Italian, then?"
"Suits us," we agreed.
"Commander, you and Corporal Porter are invited as well," Evelyn suggested. "You're the heroes today."
"I'm on duty, Ma'am," Corporal Porter responded.
"I'll fix the duty roster, so you can attend," Garvey broke in. "Gunny can find someone else to take your shift, this time."
"Thank you, Sir. I'd be honored, Ma'am," Porter said, nodding to our hostess.
"Good! Dress casually, please," Evelyn suggested. "This is summer and we don't stand on ceremony around here, unless we have to."
"Yes, Ma'am," the Marines replied in unison.
"Mind if I join you for a workout?" Garvey asked turning to us.
"It's your gym," I noted.
"By all means," Dave added.
"I need rest more than I need to workout, Sir," Corporal Porter responded to the Lieutenant's glance in his direction.
"I'll awaken you before dinnertime, Corporal," Garvey offered.
"Thank you, Sir."
As we headed out of the conference room, Lt. Garvey said, "I'll tell Gunny about the change in his duty roster for tonight, then, I'll meet you downstairs."
"See ya there," Dave grinned meaningfully.
Friday was aerobics and abs, no weight training. We mounted the aerobic walkers (as there was no aerobics class for Dave to take), and Garvey joined us in a few minutes for a run on the treadmill. Coming up on 45 minutes, the Marine said, "Your butts are gonna be deliciously sweaty. I'm gonna enjoy this!" We finished our ab crunches together and hit the locker room.
I pulled my gym shorts down, bending over provocatively. Garvey was on me like white on rice. His busy tongue licked the sweat off my ass and balls (after he'd pulled off my jockstrap). But, he didn't tarry. Dave's round, brown butt needed as much, if not more, work than mine did.
Having completed the tongue work, he turned Dave around and went down on the monster dick. I grabbed a condom and lube, mounted Garvey and plowed home. "Take your time on Dave, Lieutenant. I plan on fucking your ass to within an inch of your young Marine life! And keep your hands away from your dick, too. I'm gonna cum in this Jarhead ass before we leave for home!"
Dave smiled at me. Garvey was doing a fine blowjob. Slowly mouth-fucking him, Dave was enjoying himself. "Take your time, Mike. He's a great cocksucker!"
But, I didn't want to take my time. I wanted to cum, as deep and as hard as I could up that hot Marine asshole, the sooner, the better. I pounded and hammered at him, his moans becoming louder as I purposefully prodded his prostate. "Keep your hands away from your dick!" I admonished him each time he reached for his bulging jock.
My breathing was becoming ragged. Dave leaned over Garvey's back and worked my erect nipples, French kissing me, urging me to spill my creamy load. With a low moan growling in my throat, I rammed hard and shot off harder. Thrust after thrust banged his eager, milking hole. "Fuck, yeah! Cum in my ass, MAN!" he shouted, working Dave's monster with his hand, then, going back to suck it, again.
My nuts drained, I pulled out. "I'm fuckin' close, Garvey," Dave warned. "You wanna drink it or sit on it?"
"Up my ass, Dave, NOW!" he responded. Dave complied hungrily.
"Get your ass over here, Mike. I wanna fuck you and cum, too," Lt. Garvey commanded.
I took my time getting into position. My butt wasn't gonna like a fat dick like his this soon after I shot off, and Dave needed to build up a head of steam again, so he could cum. With Garvey's track record of cumming fast, he'd never get Dave's load if he started fucking me right away.
The Marine pulled his fat dick out of his jockstrap. It was dripping heavily. I bagged and lubed it, then turned around as Dave's tempo increased. "You're gonna get a big load, Man! BIG fuckin' load!" Dave warned in a moan. I backed on to Garvey's bagged dick and squeezed down. The Lieutenant grabbed my hips and pushed in the last inch, hard! I felt his dick buck inside me. He moaned loudly.
"Fuckin' CUMMING!" Dave shouted. I felt him thrust mightily into the Marine's hard ass. Garvey's dick swelled inside me and fired. His control collapsed as he flopped and bucked on my back and into my frantically milking asshole. Dave held on to his hips, but he wasn't in much better control than the Marine was. I held up both of them on my sturdy legs and broad back. Feeling the convulsions of Garvey's dick in my ass brought a smile to my lips.
"Hot fucks!" Garvey finally was able to say. "Better than Gunther."
"You say that only because you can't fuck and get fucked by him at the same time," Dave sighed, slowly pulling out and stripping off the creamed condom.
"I can't fuck him," the Marine said. "He's a top and doesn't get fucked, he says."
"That's kinda boring," I smiled. "Especially, when you have such a nice dick for fucking," I added as I squeezed the condom off his dick. I upended the condom and stripped out the cream. I added Dave's cream to my mouth.
Garvey laughed. "You weren't kidding when you said you were cum pigs."
"We never kid about the serious stuff, Mr. Garvey," Dave grinned.
After our showers, we joined the rest of the staff and four new couples for dinner. Evelyn (ever the perfect hostess) did the introductions. Two couples were men, the other two couples being a man and woman. The male couples were from the gay magazines (bringing their partners with them). The mixed couples were representing a world- renowned newspaper; the other was from an internationally known cable news channel. They were the resident correspondents in Vancouver.
Dinner was superb. We ate veal parmegiana, spaghetti with a terrific sauce, salad, garlic bread, and an array of raw vegetables. For dessert, the chef had scooped out generous bowls of spumoni and milk chocolate-coated cookies.
I noticed Leonard nod when I looked at him with a knowing, non-verbal question. Yes, they'd all been told to hold their questions about the drunk on the airplane and the attack on the Consulate. But, it did seem that all other questions (background they called it) were fair game.
Without seeming to pry, they asked endless questions about our family, our relationship (without getting into the sexual details), our education, and current employment. When we divulged that we were "investors", they raised a few eyebrows, but let it stand (with a comment that law and accounting must pay well). With more digging, they'd know that we'd been "wage slaves", but had miraculously become "more than comfortable" (as Dave had phrased it).
Turning the tables on them, we asked exactly the same questions back at them. They didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, they liked talking about themselves, all of them. Diverting their attention away from us and towards each other, we'd dodged several uncomfortable questions that were asked, but not followed up. However, we did find the male couples more interesting and fun. The straight ones were all business. I don't think they knew how to have fun. But, it could have been the pressure of deadlines, where the gay magazines only published every couple of weeks or monthly.
After dinner and cordials, we adjourned to the conference room for the interviews. Two cameras were set up from the cable channel (one stationary, the other mobile). The correspondents laid out tape recorders on the table. Then, the questions began, but not before we cautioned them again that we weren't going to answer the inane questions about "how do you feel about what's happened?" That's so trite! Additionally, we reminded them of the Ambassador's words. "We're private citizens and don't have to answer ANY of your questions, if we choose not to."
With the ground rules established, the interview questions ranged far and wide. Dave had told them his version of the assault on the stewardess, so I was asked to give mine. I did the best I could to recall the events in order. As it was nearly an echo of what Dave had said yesterday, there wasn't much more to ask about. When they wanted to know about the attack on the Consulate, we deflected the questions to Lt. Garvey (who was coming off duty in another hour). We couldn't tell them more than where we were when we heard gunfire, and how Garvey had rushed us into the basement with the other civilians in the building.
When the questions got into how we felt about gay rights, gay marriages, and such, we didn't know what we should say. So, we just blurted out what we thought.
"Everyone should have equal rights, regardless of any category you want to put people in," Dave began. "It isn't a matter of gay rights, but it IS a matter of equal rights. We can't marry, so we need to have rights of survivorship, medical consultation and determination like a spouse has, taxation, and pensions (including Social Security)."
"Why should we, or anyone else, be second class citizens?" I asked rhetorically. "We pay taxes, serve in the military (although don't ask, don't tell is laughable), work in every job imaginable, and we're your neighbors, sons and daughters. Some of us even have children, so we're parents and grandparents as well. Why must we fear for our lives and employment when the crazies on the Right wanna put us in concentration camps?"
"Hate is a crime against humanity," Dave added. "You saw in a very dramatic way what it did to one man's brain when he was fed such tripe. He shouldn't be the only one put in jail. Other's who preach hate should be right there next to him."
"A little overstated, don't you think?" one of the cable network correspondents said.
"How else would you say it?" Dave bristled.
"Free speech is protected..." he began.
"Not to the point of yelling fire in a crowded theatre. There are limits," Dave corrected. "I'm trying to get you to see that preaching hate is like yelling fire to an unsophisticated, fearful brain. Without naming names, blaming your problems on others by making them a target of hatred doesn't do anyone a favor. Scapegoating is as old as dirt. In the 21st century, we should be beyond that. And the press could help."
"How so?" asked one of the gay men.
"You could start by not giving the hatemongers airtime and press inches. What they have to say isn't newsworthy; it's hate," Dave suggested.
"Isn't that censorship?" another gay man offered.
"I don't know. I'm not well versed on freedom of the press. But, at some point, where your civil rights are involved, you have to draw the line. None of our freedoms are absolute to the exclusion of all else. Would you interview the Grand Imperial Wizard (or whatever he's called) of the KKK and give his 'story' international prominence on the front page of your magazine or newspaper or lead story on your news channel? How are the hatemongers spouting the same thing any different (other than the white sheets and hoods)? I've seen that same hate spouted on the national news and in the local newspapers. Why are you allowing that to happen?"
"It's news!" defended the correspondent from the widely known newspaper.
"Bullshit! It's hate!" I shouted. "It isn't news that some people hate others. Look around the world. Lots of people hold grudges against their neighbors over some event that occurred five HUNDRED years ago. What's up with that? We're in a pluralist society where we should be honoring and learning from our differences, and you're dredging up this old chestnut just so you can sell newspapers?"
"It isn't like that at all," the newspaper guy shook his head.
"Okay, then, explain it to me!" Dave encouraged with a challenging smile.
"We only report what our readers want to read," he stated.
"That's such horseshit! When you're the only newspaper in town, you have a monopoly. And, there are so few independent newspapers left. The big boys have swallowed them all up. Your readers don't want to read hate. They want to know what's going on in the world (and locally) that has an impact on them," Dave said evenly.
"And if we don't tell them about the protected speech of some vocal, powerful figure who wants to squash some of those rights you're talking about? Haven't we done them a disservice by NOT telling them about it?"
"By not telling them what it means and questioning the hateful point they're making, yes!"
"That's for the editorial page," he said.
"The editorial page is for spouting your opinion, not clear discussions. Whatever happened to balance? If some bozo says all the Latino kids in town are all gonna die in some biblical kinda retribution of plague and locusts from God, you'll print it because it's news?" Dave questioned.
"Of course not!"
"Well, you did the same thing when you printed those same remarks about gay men getting AIDS, because that's God's curse on them!" I snarled. "There wasn't one syllable of refuting words in that article. Not one!"
"So, I ask you, again, what are you doing to stop hate (like what caused the attack on this Consulate) from spreading?"
They sat, stunned. They hadn't expected the tables to be turned on them. This was supposed to be about us, not about them. "So, write a letter to the editor," one of them offered.
"Pointless. You know as well as I do, the people running the organization don't read those letters. Only the people working the Op Ed page read them," Dave sighed. "It starts with people like you, the ones who write the articles. Look to your articles for balance, look at the hateful words. Delete the inflammatory quote or add an antidote in the next sentence. And that goes for my words here as well," Dave smiled.
They smiled at that. "You're men of strong opinions," the newspaperman smiled.
"That's how I've survived," Dave smiled back. "Being black and gay isn't something I'd wish on anyone. But, they're the cards I've been dealt, so I'm going to make the best of my life with my other talents. If only a few people in the media act upon this message, my life will have had meaning. A beginning is a beginning. And it begins with you." I nodded my agreement.
They began to pack up their cameras and recorders. The session had already taken more than an hour. "You think we can use any of this stuff?" one of the cameramen asked, sotto voce, to the reporter.
"I'll have to review the footage to see how we'll slant it. There may not be anything we can use," the cable news channel correspondent sighed. "Maybe we can get something out of the Marines."
The leopard's spots never change, I sighed inwardly. All they seem to want is sensationalism.
The gay couples stayed behind after the traditional media left. "You really nailed them," one of them laughed. "That's not to say that we aren't just as guilty as they are, but in the other direction. However, most of the hatemongers won't interview with us. I don't have a problem with that. I wouldn't want my assignment editor to give me Jerry Falwell, for instance. I don't know if I could keep a civil tongue in my head!"
"That's not an interview I'd want, either," said the representative from the other magazine. "I prefer talking to real people, like you two," he smiled at us.
"And you never did answer the question about gay marriages," piped up the first man.
"Well, I got a little sidetracked," Dave laughed.
"You did jump on your soapbox," he rejoined.
"Well, to answer your question, I'm not sure how I feel about that. If guys or gals think they need a piece of paper to make their relationship valid, go for it. Run off to Vermont and get a civil registry or whatever they have there. The only reason I'd want to get married to Mike is because it would give us equal rights on pensions and Social Security, and all the rest of it," Dave smiled at me. "But, right now, a marriage or civil registration isn't going to get me those pensions. And, a piece of paper isn't gonna make our relationship any stronger or more lasting. Look at the divorce laws now. You can split the sheets for 'irreconcilable differences'. What a copout!"
"I agree," I said. "A piece of paper doesn't make it more binding. But, if it had the force of law with all the bennies that real married people get, I'd be for it." Dave grinned and kissed me full on the lips, passionately. "That's worth more than a piece of paper any day," I laughed.
"So, what now? When are you headed back to the States?" one of the partners asked.
"Tomorrow, we hope," I revealed. "We have to be sure the Canadian authorities don't need us as material witnesses before the trial comes up for the drunk."
"I doubt that they'll need us at all for the attack on the Consulate," Dave added. "But, we're waiting for Leonard, the press attaché, to find that out for us."
"He was hopeful we could leave tomorrow, though," I said determinedly.
"How long you been together?" the monthly magazine rep asked.
"Just over a year," I answered.
"Yeah, you sure act like a couple of newlyweds," he responded. "We've been at it for 17 years now," he beamed at his partner.
"He's a pig, but I love him," his partner laughed.
"You love these little junkets I take you on, too," he smiled at his partner. "And you meet fascinating men like Dave and Mike."
"Well, there is that!"
"So, how've you made it work for 17 years?" I asked.
"Pretty simple from my perspective," the partner said. "Ask yourself just how annoying is that little habit of his? Is that your problem or his? And when you see some hot little number that you'd love to fuck, is he worth screwing at the expense of leaving what you have? It's been working, so far!"
"How about you?" Dave asked the other couple.
"We've been together six years and we fuck everything in sight!" he laughed and his partner nodded. "But, we only do it together or not at all."
"Sounds like us," I smiled.
Dave punched me. "Let's not give away ALL our secrets, Mike!" he smirked.
"You guys must get a lot of traffic!" the partner of six years said. "You're VERY hot hunks!"
"We have a lot of new friends that we've enjoyed in bed," Dave grinned. "But, we aren't total sluts like Mike would have you believe."
"Yeah, we don't fuck everything in sight," I laughed. "We have our standards, low as they may be!" They laughed. "Well, we're talking about monogamy and if it would work for us. Dave is so new to the gay life that I'm not sure he's ready to settle down, and I'm not sure how easy it would be for me to not sample when all those hot men are parading around nude in the locker room at the gym."
"We do love those muscle men," Dave admitted. "I don't know if I could give them up, either."
"Would you mind if we stopped in to see you in a few days (after you get back home)?" the monthly magazine reporter asked. "Just to be sure we have you quoted correctly and to perhaps expand the scope of the article?"
"I see no problem with that," I said, getting Dave's nod.
"Well, the hour is late and we have an early flight to catch," the partner of six years sighed. "Thanks for your time and being so honest with us. Too bad the mainstream press is so blind to your perspective."
"There's always hope," Dave smiled, shaking their hands and wishing them a safe flight. The other couple left shortly afterwards, having stopped in to see Lt. Garvey for a few moments.
Over breakfast the next morning, Leonard told us that he got the final Court approval for us to leave. He'd looked up a couple of flights that we could make: one leaving at noon, and the next at 1:30. We opted for the noon flight.
After saying our goodbyes to the Triplett's and Leonard, we found Lt. Garvey in the secure room. We weren't allowed inside, so he came out to talk to us.
"Come visit us when you get leave, Lieutenant?" Dave asked, slipping our address and phone number into his hand.
"If you promise a marathon of face sitting, I'll be there for sure!" he whispered.
"Dave's also gonna do some matchmaking on you while you're there. We have a number of single friends who enjoy butt munching and fucking as much as you do, Lieutenant," I enticed him. "Most of them are gym bunnies, too. I know how much you like muscle men!"
"Gunther sure as hell isn't goin' anywhere with a relationship," he sighed. "He hasn't even called to see how I'm doin' after all this shit goin' down with Connor."
"Maybe he's been busy beefing up security at his embassy as well?" I offered.
"He's the business guy, not security," Garvey spat. "He wouldn't get within a country mile of security. Not into guns and such. Makes ya wonder how we hooked up knowing that I'm a Marine!"
"He loved that hot ass!" Dave laughed.
"Not nearly enough," the Marine acknowledged. "I need it more than he's willing to give it. Always been the case, and getting worse as I get older. And I'm sure as shit not gonna find a man in this outfit. They say 'don't ask, don't tell', but your ass is out if they find out."
"That sounds like a reason to leave the Marines, if ever I heard one," I suggested. "How long before your hitch is up?"
"Another year. I'm up for Captain, if I re-up," he smiled. "The money and bennies would be great, but I don't know how much I can hide my real life in the real Marines. This embassy duty is so laidback. As Commander, I can do just about anything. No one checks up on me. But, there's always the problem of finding a real job out in the real world."
"A guy with your security and computer skills should be able to get a good job just about anywhere," Dave allowed.
"I'll bet Uncle Clay would have a line on that," I prodded. "He's a big shot in the casinos in Las Vegas. They always need good men like you, Garvey."
"What's your first name, Lieutenant?" Dave asked. "As intimate as we've been, I feel stupid calling you Lieutenant or Garvey all the time."
"Uh, the name's Dex," the Marine grinned shyly. "I guess I know you guys well enough to tell you my given name is Poindexter, after my grandfather."
"Oy!" I smiled. "I'd go by Dex, too!"
"Well, as you get closer to making your decision on staying in the Marines or not, keep us in mind. I'm sure Uncle Clay would want to talk to you," I reminded him.
"Thanks. You guys are good friends in a very short time," Dex smiled. "You headed out today?"
"Yeah, catching the noon plane for home," Dave said.
"I'll sure miss those hot butts," he grinned, groping each of us in turn.
"And we'll miss this sweet ass, Dex," I smiled, groping his, too. "You take big dick real well!"
"I suppose I should thank Gunther for that," he grinned. "But, I won't."
Dave glanced up and down the hallway, then, planted a big kiss on the Marine's astonished mouth. "We'll miss you," my lover smirked. Not to be outdone, I kissed Dex, too, but made sure I groped his hard ass, again.
"Geezus!" Dex laughed. "You guys are always on!" he leered, then, felt us up, enjoying the big, growing bulges in our tight Levi's. "I wish I weren't on duty. I'd take on both of you right now. I could use a farewell fuck!" he whispered.
"You'll have to collect it later at the address I just gave you," Dave smiled winningly.
With a final pat on the ass, we collected our luggage (such as it was). The Consulate limousine drove us to the airport, Corporal Porter seeing that we boarded safely while the limo driver waited.
Flying "cattle class" was no problem for a one-hour hop we decided. But, the gate attendant moved us up to First Class. The space was available and we were their "honored guests", as they'd put it. The steward in First Class was the same steward from our flight to Vancouver. He instantly recognized us, making more of a fuss than we wanted or needed. Several of the passengers in First Class knew we looked familiar, but couldn't place us. We weren't volunteering the information.
Pleased that the flight was only an hour, we nearly ran up our hometown jet-way to put some distance between our "new" admirers and us. Sitting in First Class got us off the plane first, and into a mob scene.
"Shit!" I thought and Dave said. With our best public relations smile, we walked purposefully through the sea of microphones and cameras thrust in our faces. "Later," we kept saying.
Suddenly, the sea of reporters and hangers-on parted, two big men pushing them aside. I was never so happy to see Gene and Kurt. "This way," Gene said. We walked through an intimidating line of other friends, each one determined not to allow the hordes to pursue us. They effectively blocked the concourse for the time we needed to hastily exit the airport.
"Those guys are gonna be calling ahead and staking out your house with other reporters," Gene said. "So, we're gonna go to our place. They wouldn't think to look there," he laughed as he wheeled his new SUV onto the freeway toward home.
"Thanks for the rescue, guys!" I said. "How'd you know there'd be a mob of reporters?"
"It was a teaser for the noon newscast," Kurt laughed.
"Must be a slow news day," Dave muttered.
"Saturdays always are," Gene agreed.
"How'd they find out we'd be on that flight?"
"I have no idea," Gene sighed.
We drove in silence for several minutes as Gene maneuvered through the light Saturday traffic. But, they couldn't hold their questions for long. "Was it as scary as they said it was on TV, when that crazy attacked the Embassy?" Kurt asked.
"Consulate," Dave corrected. "Scared shitless!" he laughed. "The Marine Commander collect up all the staff and guests, and rushed us into the basement while his men dealt with the intruder and raced reinforcements to the front gate."
"Yeah, at the time, we didn't know if we were being attacked by a group or one guy," I added. "It was chaos for several minutes, before Lt. Garvey allowed us back upstairs."
"DAMN!" Gene laughed. "I'd have probably crapped my pants!"
"Well, I nearly wet mine when I heard the gunfire," I agreed.
"And here we are," Kurt smiled over at me as Gene rolled the SUV into the garage and hit the garage door button to close it. "We collected your mail and it's in the house. We didn't know when you'd be back or what to expect, so we brought it and the newspaper back here."
"We don't have Saturday's yet, though," Gene clarified. "We were too busy rounding up big bruisers to run interference for you at the airport."
"You'll have to thank them all for us," Dave graciously asked.
"They'll all be over later. Thank them yourselves," Kurt grinned. They'd done a great job of anticipating the crowd of reporters at both locations. But, that couldn't last forever. At some point, we'd have to go home and face the music. "I'm sure they didn't serve lunch, so you must be hungry. I know I am!" he added leading us into the house.
"I didn't get much of a chance to see who was blocking for us," Dave noted. "Who all was there?"
"We got Trevor and your brother Donnie, we couldn't reach Jeremy, but he could have been out at the airport seeing off Preston. Then, there were your neighbors, Robert and Gary, and Nick from next door," Gene offered. "Who else did we get, Kurt?"
"You called some of the team and a couple of them showed up, but I don't know their names. Big, black dudes like mountains!" Kurt grinned, using his hands to show how broad their shoulders were.
"Ron and Will," Gene filled in. "Intimidating hunks, aren't they?"
"They looked like they could eat nails," Kurt emphasized.
"Or reporters," Dave laughed. "That's the important part."
"And we owe it all to Robocop," Kurt smiled. "He's the one who suggested it."
"But, he was on duty, so he couldn't help," Gene added.
"Nor would it help his career, fraternizing with known queers," I snorted.
"But, he said he was gonna talk to his Captain about crowd control at your house for a couple of days and see what he could get authorized," Kurt said helpfully.
After lunch, and plowing through the mail (most of which got tossed), we strategized on what we ought to do next. In groups of twos and threes, our benefactors from the airport arrived, adding their suggestions. But, it was Robocop who called with the solution.
"I'll get them to back off, with threats of charging them with trespass. But, you'll need to give them something, a short press conference for instance. Don't allow them to plow any ground you don't want to go through," he admonished. "Set the ground rules and make them abide by them. I'll be there to keep them in line along with a coupla buddies from the Department."
"Okay, when?" I readily agreed, with Dave's nod.
"Get it over with. When would you like to do it? This afternoon?"
Dave sighed. "Sure, why not."
"I can have a couple of guys rounded up in an hour," Robocop said. "Meanwhile, I'll let them know that you'll be available to answer a few questions at four?"
"Fine, do it," Dave agreed.
"And keep those guys from the airport that blocked their pursuit out of sight."
"Yes, Sir!" we laughed.
"They're all here," I added. "I'll ask them to keep a low profile and not leave by going out on our street. How's that?"
"Okay, see ya at four."
"You guys coming with us?" Dave asked.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Gene smiled. "We're already deep in this with ya."
At four, we walked through our back gate and headed toward the street through the side yard path. "GEEZUS! Look at that crowd!" Kurt said in astonishment. "There must be over a hundred people there!"
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