All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
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PJ
D'n'M Part 6
From Chapter 1:
In the small hours, not long before the alarm would rudely remind Milo that he had a flight to catch and he absolutely needed to get himself out of bed in good time to complete the three s's before leaving for the airport, D gently eased his dick out of M's butt for the second (and best) time that night. This wasn't just his reward for all his efforts with the Buenos Aires Children's Services department, it was also the deepest, most loving way that the two of them could acknowledge that it could well be a long time before they'd be doing this again and that a lot of water was likely to have flowed under a lot of bridges. That, and the fact that they never needed much of an excuse to get themselves well and truly laid!
Chapter 2:
Thirteen hours on a long-haul flight adds up to a lot of enforced inactivity, especially when you're practically counting down every minute and constantly viewing the in-flight map on the small screen in the headrest of the seat in front. Milo lost count of the number of times he tried to pass the time by checking the details of the hotel that his mum had booked him into. The Recoleta Royale was a very much swankier establishment than any he would have chosen for himself, with its pool, spa and fully-equipped gym, although he didn't expect to have a great deal of time to make much use of these facilities. More useful would be the inclusive `all-you-can-eat' breakfast and the fact that the hotel was just walking distance from the embassy. He hoped he wouldn't have to ask for the help of his country's diplomatic presence but it was reassuring to know that the help would be close by should he need it. Thinking about the embassy made Milo realise that it must have been there where Kate had gone to arrange, and later renew, Nico's passport. That fact, in itself, might prove useful if things with the Argentine authorities became difficult, and it also showed that his sister had managed to do something right by her son, despite all the crap and misery that ruled her life.
So, thought Milo, finally giving up on the idea of getting some sleep, everything so far had been surprisingly and encouragingly straight-forward. D had done a great job in smoothing out any potential obstacles that could have been thrown up by Children's Services, both back at home and in Buenos Aires. The fact that he had managed to negotiate the continued involvement of Senora Gomez was particularly reassuring. Last night, in bed, they'd both enjoyed his reward for all those efforts! Then his other mum had saved him a lot of stress by sorting out the hotel accommodation, although he was still convinced that booking two adjoining rooms for him and Nico was unnecessarily extravagant, and he was sure his dad would agree once he saw next month's credit card statement and bill. But Helen had been insistent.
"He's a fourteen-year old boy and he deserves some privacy," she had explained. "It's not so long since you were that age, so you should understand that there could well be times when he wants to be on his own."
Could she have been hinting at every teenage boys' favourite alone-time activity? Nah, that would be too gross, though not, he had to concede, entirely out of character.
"But we're family. I'm sure he won't mind sharing a twin room," replied Milo.
"Yes, family by blood, but not yet by choice or emotion. Don't forget, as far as Nico is concerned, you're pretty much a complete stranger and besides, who knows what sort of crap Kate spent the last fourteen years filling his head with? Nico needs to know that there's somewhere he can go and chill, on his own with no-one keeping an eye on him or bombarding him with questions."
So not jerking-off, then. What a relief.
"But ...,"
"No buts." Her mind was made up. "Give the boy some space and show that you respect him as an individual in his own right. Time enough, later, to start building up the bonds of family."
Thinking back over that conversation as he sat there, looking out over the ocean, Milo was happy to admit to himself, not for the first time, that his mother-in-law was a woman of great good sense.
In an instant his thoughts switched from her -- a strong, wise and dependable presence in his life for as long as he could remember -- to his oh-so-different sister. It was hard for Milo, thinking about Kate, to try to imagine her alone, almost certainly frightened and more an immature girl than a young woman, homeless and with a tiny baby to care for. Thinking about Kate brought Milo close to tears -- again. Ever since he had first read that awful letter, sections of it had been flashing into his mind, each time catching him completely unawares and definitely unprepared. The life she described in such appalling and gut-wrenching detail was one he could barely credit, much less comprehend. Even compared to the cases he dealt with in his professional life, Kate's story left pretty much all of them at the starting gate. And this was his sister, unbelievably reduced to prostitution and drug-trafficking, living in squalor and permanently under a threat of violence and homelessness. And through all the years that she'd been battling, desperately, to stay alive and keep a roof over her son's head, he, her only brother, what had he been doing? Constantly feeding his own sense of resentment and anger towards her for getting him thrown out of home and, in effect, breaking the family apart, that's what. If only he'd known. But then, even if he had been aware of what a living hell Kate had been daily struggling against, what could he have done about it? His dad had known at least some of what had been going on, but even in her occasional messages to him, Kate had been very careful not to give too much away, and certainly not enough to arouse their father's suspicions and have him flying out to South America to find her and, maybe, bring her and young Nico home. Oh Kate, if only. If only you'd allowed yourself to swallow your bitterness and sense of grievance, for your son's sake if not for your own, and admit that you needed help. If you'd managed to do that, so much sadness and hurt could have been avoided.
When he wasn't watching the map with its tiny plane inching its way towards their destination or thinking about Kate or mentally running through what the next few days might bring, Milo was reading up on a number of case histories which he'd loaded onto his tablet before leaving home. Each one described, in professional detail, the experiences of several teenagers and young people who had suffered similar kinds of trauma to that of Nico. Milo was thankful for the familiarity of the clinical objectivity of these accounts as it enabled him to maintain his own emotional distance. He knew that he would totally lose it if he let down his guard and allowed himself to picture, in any one of the situations described in the case histories, the boy whose blank and guarded face on the screen in Ms. Lamar's office still haunted him. Instead he concentrated on how he might respond to the boy's likely feelings of anger and rejection. What exactly, he asked himself, would Nico's almost inevitable PTSD look like? And would he need to be both uncle and therapist at one and the same time? And was that even possible?
Looking, once again, at the map he saw that it wouldn't be long before he would be coming face-to-face with some of those questions. Almost immediately a voice came over the speaker system to inform him and all the other passengers that the plane was preparing to land and that everyone should return to their seats and fasten their safety belts.
Yeah, good advice,' thought Milo. I've a feeling it's gonna be a bumpy ride.'
Milo's first few hours in Buenos Aires proved to be quite eye-opening in a whole variety of ways. The city was so busy and noisy and full. His home town was more like a sleepy little village in comparison. Of course, he'd visited many cities over the years and more or less enjoyed them, but every time he'd set out for home the half of his mind that always won the argument (and there was always an argument) was the half that kept repeating the old mantra of: East, west, home's best.
In BA everywhere he looked there were crowds of people moving purposefully along, usually in pairs or small groups, all drinking take-out coffee, all talking (rarely listening), many smoking, whilst simultaneously tapping on a phone and all seeming to know exactly where they were going and why it was important to get there as soon as they could. The impossible traffic wasn't allowed to slow them down, the incessant blasting on car horns merely resulted in verbal abuse and universal hand gestures, and the blistering heat seemed to have no effect on them at all.
He had been expecting to simply grab a taxi to take him on the fifty-minute drive to the hotel, from where he would make a start on tracking down Nico's current whereabouts. So, having fired off a quick, `I'm here. I'm fine' message to D, he was both surprised and pleased to be met in the airport's international arrival hall by a black-haired, middle-aged, slightly untidy-looking woman holding up a rectangle of card with his name written neatly on it. Her face - open, clear-eyed and smiling -- looked somehow familiar, so, emboldened by the card she was holding, he approached her. She introduced herself as Isabella Gomez. He instantly experienced a reminder of that strange video-call encounter with her and Nico less than seventy-two hours earlier. Thankfully he managed to supress the wave of emotion that the memory threatened to sweep over him, concentrating on dredging up enough of his schoolboy Spanish to make sense of Senora Gomez' very rapid and enthusiastic greeting. Having convinced her to, "Por favour, mas despacio," they then agreed that all further conversation would be conducted in English. She explained that she'd studied the language at school and then majored in it at university. Milo breathed a sigh of relief.
Senora Gomez explained that she had been told by her line-manager that he would be arriving in the city some time that day and took it on herself to meet his flight.
"I guessed that you would want to waste no time before meeting Nico and beginning the process of getting clearance for him to return home with you." Her English really was excellent. "And I also knew that none of that would be possible without the support of my department. My boss told me that your husband had made a specific request that I should continue to be involved in Nico's case, so here I am!" The smile on her face broadened.
Thank you, D,' thought Milo. That's another bedtime treat I owe you.'
To Senora Gomez he said, "That really is very thoughtful of you. I had been intending to contact your office today to get a steer on how to get things up and running but you being here to meet me means I can tick off the first thing on my list."
"I'm here to be as helpful as possible."
"Thank you, that's really great and I am enormously grateful. Where do we start?"
"I suggest we go first to the department where I can explain the correct procedures and requirements in cases like this and then I'll drop you at your hotel. But, excuse me, where is your luggage?"
Milo grinned as he held up his small carry-on bag. "Travelling light, that's me." But then he realised that he couldn't, any longer, hold off asking the question that was uppermost in his mind. "What about Nico, when do I get to actually meet him face-to-face?"
For the first time since they'd met, Isabella Gomez' smile faded from her face. "I appreciate that you've had a long and stressful flight but, if you can bear to be patient just a little longer, I'll explain everything to you as soon as we get to the office. I'd really rather not discuss a live case in public. Especially Nico's case."
"Well, if that's what the protocol says, then, of course, that's what we must do."
Although Milo sounded calm and accepting, the reply that Senora Gomez gave to his question about meeting Nico had the effect of significantly increasing his feelings of frustration and impatience. Why, he wondered, was she stalling? She clearly knew how anxious he was to meet his nephew face-to-face. Could there be some new problem that hadn't been disclosed before he left home?
"Thank you," replied Senora Gomez. "If you follow me to my car we can be in the city in less than an hour. Then I'll answer all your questions as well as I can."
They set off in the direction of the airport car park, but something in Senora Gomez' manner made Milo aware of the faint sound of distant alarm bells.
The view out of the car window during the journey into the city was unremarkable, with its predictable succession of highways, intersections and out-of-town retail parks. It failed to hold Milo's attention for more than a few minutes. Besides, he hadn't flown thousands of miles just to sit back and enjoy the view. He was on a mission and this time with Isabella Gomez could be put to good use.
"Nico," he began, "What can you tell me about him? Is he okay?"
Senora Gomez hesitated before replying, "Well, er ..., yes, the last time I saw him he seemed well, despite, er, recent events."
After several seconds of silence, when it was clear that she wasn't going to say any more, Milo tried again, "My family knows very little about him apart from what was in the letter written by my sister, along with the information that's been passed between your department and Ms. Lamar."
"Ah yes, Veronica. She seems to be a very efficient person. You must be pleased to have her involved."
`Hm, try telling that to D,' thought Milo.
"And after what happened at the children's home, he's okay at the foster placement that you found for him?"
"It's only been two or three days but, yes, it's a good home and Senor and Senora Roja are very good people." Again it seemed as if she was trying to avoid giving a direct answer to a question about Nico's well-being. The alarm bells that he'd heard earlier were starting to get closer and louder.
"There's something she's not telling you," one half of his mind suddenly announced.
He'd been wondering how long it would be before one half or the other had something to say about the situation.
"No, she's just being a conscientious professional," came the ever-reasonable voice of the other half.
"Nah, she's hiding something. I bet the boy's got himself into some sort of trouble and she hasn't got the balls to be up front about it."
Reluctantly, Milo was beginning to think along the same lines and it was making him feel increasingly uncomfortable.
"Don't you remember, she said she wanted to wait till we get to her office before going into details about what's been going on?"
Yes, that was true. Maybe she was just observing departmental protocols. After all, look at Ms. Lamar and what a stickler for rules and regulations she was. He definitely hoped that Isabella Gomez was being guided by similar professional principles and that there was nothing more sinister behind her apparent reluctance to tell him anything significant about Nico.
"You're such a sucker. If she hasn't got bad news to tell then I'll, I'll ..."
"Yeah, you'll what?"
"I'll keep my thoughts to myself for a week. Can't say fairer than that."
"How about a month? Give us all a rest."
"Don't push your luck. And anyway, I'm gonna be proved right. You'll see."
"Yeah. Yeah. Blah! Blah! Blah!"
As ever, Milo just wanted them both to keep quiet, and preferably forever, not just for a week or even a month.
It was at that moment that Senora Gomez steered her car into a gap at the roadside and brought it to a stop. It seemed that hey'd arrived.
"It must be my lucky day," she said. "Usually there's nowhere to leave the car this close to the department, but today we're just a short walk away. It will only take us a few minutes."
They left the car and Milo joined Senora Gomez as she set off at the same brisk pace that he'd noticed seemed to be standard for this city. They didn't speak, except to exchange a few insignificant words about the morning heat. He remembered Helen warning him to expect it to get even warmer as the day went on. That, Milo decided, was not a pleasurable prospect. The sooner he could get everything sorted and agreed, the sooner he and Nico could be on the first available flight out of there.
Isabella Gomez was right, it was just a few minutes before she slowed to a halt outside a large building with an impressive dark grey marble façade and a plaque announcing the Secretaria Nacional de Nunez Adolescencia y Familia. Clearly Senora Gomez' place of work. When he looked up Milo saw that the marble extended no further than the ground floor of the building, being replaced on the upper floors by unremarkable blocks of pale stone, in the same grey colour. Senora Gomez led them through the glazed, brass double doors into a drab yellow hallway with various corridors leading off into the rest of the building. She led the way down one of these passageways, turned right along another and left onto a third. Then they went up one flight of stairs and along another corridor. If nothing else,' thought Milo, working for this city must be a great way of keeping fit.'
Eventually they stopped outside an anonymous door, halfway along an equally anonymous corridor. The only thing that marked it out as being in any way different from all the others that they had walked down was the subject matter of the posters and notices pinned to the display boards along its length. Here they were concerned with adolescent mental health, adoption and, somewhat incongruously thought Milo, a rallying call to the people working in this part of the building for an upcoming day of industrial action in support of higher wages and better conditions of employment. `Just like home,' thought Milo. He just knew that the particularly argumentative half of his mind would have a lot to say about that and hoped it wasn't paying attention. Better still, that it lost its bet about Senora Gomez withholding information about Nico and had no choice but to keep shtum for the whole of the next week.
Once through the door and inside the office, Milo looked around. The two large, light-filled windows on the far wall were familiar to him from his video-call with Nico but he didn't remember any of the other details of the room -- the four desks, grouped together into pairs, the metal filing cabinets which took up nearly the whole of one side of the room, the table in the corner with a quietly humming fridge below and an obviously ancient coffee maker and assorted china mugs on top.
He was still taking in the geography of the room when he heard a noise behind him and turned to see another door opening, one he'd not noticed before, and a strikingly tall woman walk through it into the room.
"Milo," began Isabella Gomez, "this is Senora Lopez, the deputy head of the department of Children's and Family Services within the ministry of ...."
Her attempted introduction was cut short before it could reach its end. "Please, Mister de Beer-Reed, Milo, call me Violeta. I am very pleased to meet you. As I believe you know, your, er, husband and I have exchanged emails."
Here, it seemed to Milo, was a woman very much in the Veronica Lamar mould. He was immediately on his guard. Apart from her height (5-10, 5-11 he estimated), her appearance was textbook Lamar. Immaculate, dark blue business suit, white blouse, sensible, flat shoes (Shit! She'd be an Amazon in heels), neatly-brushed hair, discreet make-up on her smiling yet somehow inscrutable face and no jewellery apart from a pair of small, gold, hoop earrings. Very different from Senora Gomez' much more homely and relaxed style. Violeta Lopez definitely had an image to maintain. Milo had never been any good at estimating someone's age, especially that of a woman, and in this case he found it impossible. Senora Lopez could easily be anywhere between thirty-five and sixty years old.
"Please, come through into my office. You must be tired after your long flight, and not a little jet-lagged. Isabella will bring refreshments. There have been certain very recent developments with regard to your young nephew that I need to tell you about." She turned to look meaningfully at Senora Gomez. "You've not said anything to Senor de Beer-Reed?"
Isabella Gomez quickly shook her head. It occurred to Milo that he almost certainly wasn't about to enjoy a week's peace and quiet from his squabbling mind.
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