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:
pjalexander1753@gmail.com
PJ
D'n'M Part 6a
From Chapter 2:
"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 Mister de Beer-Reed?"
Isabella Gomez quickly shook her head. It occurred to Milo that he wasn't about to enjoy a week's peace and quiet from his squabbling mind.
Chapter 3:
Warm sunlight flooding in through the unshuttered window and directly onto his face woke Nico from a very deep sleep. He turned to the bedside clock and the shock from what he saw had him throwing off the covers and pushing himself out of bed as quickly as the lingering pain in his leg would let him.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Was that the time? Fuck! He was only supposed to sleep for a few hours, just enough to be sure that Señor and Señora Roja were securely turned in for the night. Then he'd planned to make his nighttime-shrouded escape from this anonymous room in the sad-memory house that he'd been dumped in. But now it was fully light outside and he could hear someone moving around downstairs and the sound of a radio playing its morning news programme, probably on Radio Argentina or FM Federal. It definitely didn't sound like La Boca or Sports Radio. Anyway, what did it matter? It could be the impossibly boring Radio Santa Rosa for all he cared. For now, he needed to focus on rethinking his plan. Not that there'd been much in the way of an actual plan, more a strong determination to finally, once and for all, cut the crap and get the fuck out.
He quietly opened the bedroom door in an effort to hear more clearly what was going on in the rest of the house. The radio was still playing but now there was also the sound of conversation coming from the direction of the kitchen. Obviously it was the Rojas (who else?) and, from the few words that Nico could work out, they seemed to be trying to decide between tostadas and medialunas for breakfast -- wow, so exciting! Hearing food being discussed made Nico instantly aware that he was hungry but, almost as quickly, he knew that eating wasn't much of a priority in the light of what he was planning to do. There'd be time enough to eat as much as he could get his hands on once he'd put half the city between him, the Rojas and Children's Services. Besides, he didn't want his foster-carers to know that he was even awake yet, so appearing downstairs for breakfast was totally not an option.
So, with both Señor and Señora Roja sounding to be in the kitchen on the side of the house furthest from the street, that meant that his best way out would be via the front door. Fortunately, this wasn't visible from the kitchen so, as long as he kept quiet when opening and closing it, he should be safely out and away before the adults had any idea that he had gone. If nothing else, he told himself, that should give him a good enough head start.
He turned and stepped back inside his room, suddenly conscious that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of dark blue boxer shorts -- part of the moving-in bundle provided by Senora Gomez. Looking down at his state of undress gave him an idea. Once he was ready to go, he thought, if he were to turn on the shower in the bathroom down the hallway, not only would it give him additional noise cover, it would also make the Rojas think he was still in the building. Good thinking. He gave himself a mental pat on the back!
Back in his room he dressed quickly in shorts, T, cheap espadrilles, Yankees baseball cap (he wasn't a supporter but had found' it in a shop one day and it helped keep off the worst of the summer heat) and then stuffed the few remaining possessions that he'd recovered from Our Lady of Flowers into the small back-pack given to him by Señora Gomez. These included some more sets of underwear, a couple of T-shirts, a pair of basketball shorts and the "not new but fully functioning" Samsung she'd given him on the day they'd first met at the hospital. She had explained that it was so they could stay in touch and to make sure he had a way of contacting her, "any time you feel the need." She understood, she'd told him, "just how frightened and lonely you must be feeling." The fuck she did. And as for the crappy phone, there was no chance that he'd ever be using it to get in touch with her, not once he'd managed to get away from here and her and everyone else who had anything to do with trying to take over his life. That had happened too many times in the past. Now he was on his own and he would make his own decisions, numbers one and two being: to get away from here and to make sure his pervert proper' family couldn't find him.
With a last, quick checking glance around the room (not that there was anything else of his that he might have forgotten), Nico opened his door and listened. Yes, still the sound of the radio and boring adult chat coming from the kitchen, so he slipped out into the hallway and crept straight to the bathroom. He looked in the direction of the mirror above the wash basin and gave himself a quick, visual once-over. Most of the marks and abrasions from the brutal ambush by those bastards at Our Lady of Flowers had more or less disappeared (though some still looked red and angry), and even the bruising he'd received from the detritus being carried along by the strong tide in the river had, for the most part, faded to the greeny-yellow stage of discolouration. That's not to say that his face hadn't changed. It looked thinner than before and his skin had grown paler than normal in the weeks and months since his mum .... He took a deep breath. There were still the remains of dark circles under his eyes, and the one on the right, the one that had been left bloodshot by his time in the river, was now almost clear, but the lid of the other one still drooped slightly - a parting gift from Alvarez and his undersized thugs. He took off the cap and saw that his hair was longer and definitely more wayward than he preferred but, he thought, so what? He didn't think his future punters would care what he looked like, at least, not from the waist up. As he turned and angled his head differently the change in the light meant that he caught sight of the line of sparse, dark-blonde hairs above his top lip. That reminded him of the other parts of his body where hair was growing, above his dick, under his arms and, as he'd recently noticed, below his knees. But he knew that any thoughts about body parts, especially the ones generally hidden by clothing, brought with them the danger of his mind being overwhelmed by images of `that' room at La Casa and the things he'd been forced to submit to there. He swiftly turned his attention away from the mirror, away from anything to do with his body (or anyone else's), picked up his tooth brush and crossed the room to the bath tub and the shower above it. He turned the control to full power and, leaving the bathroom door fully open in order to maximise the amount of noise made by the cascading water, he left the room, walked carefully and silently down the stairs and out, unobserved, through the front door. Easy, or what?
"We tracked him down to the Retiro railway station," explained Violeta Lopez.
"Tracked him down?" queried Milo.
"Yes. My colleague Isabella here had the good sense and foresight to install a tracking app on the phone she gave Nico."
Señora Gomez smiled. "I suspected he might try to run away. He's a very confused and frightened boy who's just lost his mother and everything else in the world that's familiar to him."
"Not to mention the attempt to kill himself," added Señora Lopez.
"And the prospect of having a whole new country and family to adjust to. No, it's really no surprise at all that he wanted to get back to something that was familiar, however unsafe," Milo said, his comments about Nico's motivation and state of mind being rooted firmly in his professional experience and supported by what he'd read during his flight. "Thank you, Señora Gomez, for being so, so insightful. I really am very, very grateful." Her smile widened.
"Of course, he had no idea it was there, the app I mean," continued Señora Lopez. "Once we'd been alerted by Señor Roja and the Policia de la Provincia notified, it didn't take long to find him."
"Why the train station?" asked Milo. "Was he planning to get out of the city? Where would he go?"
"We don't think he was planning to go anywhere. Buenos Aires is the only place he knows," replied Señora Lopez. "We think it much more likely that he was looking to make some money to help fund his new life out of sight and reach of people like me and this department."
"Really? How? What sort of work could a fourteen-year old boy hope to find?" Then a thought struck him. "Not shop-lifting? Or pick-pocketing?" The idea that Nico would feel he had no choice but to resort to either of these criminal options horrified Milo so he definitely wasn't prepared for what Señora Gomez said next.
"No, we think it more likely that he was intending to sell his body to whoever would pay for a few minutes of his time."
Milo was shocked, not just by the suggestion that Nico might have been prepared to prostitute himself, but also by the tone of matter-of-fact acceptance in her voice. He almost dropped the cup of coffee he'd been unthinkingly nursing.
"What! You mean he ...?" He couldn't bring himself to complete the question.
Señora Gomez nodded. There was a look of resigned experience on her face. "When the police found him he was with a known frequenter of homeless and desperate young boys, boys who tell no-one and ask no questions. Nico fit the profile perfectly."
"I probably don't need to tell you how relieved we were when the message came through that he'd been found and that he was safe," added Señora Lopez. Milo could only nod his head. He had no words. If this was how low the boy had come, he thought, then things were, if possible, even more desperate than all of his experience or any of those case histories had prepared him for. And this boy was family, not just another of his young clients at Margelles and Associates who he was paid to listen to for an hour or so every week. Nico was his dead sister's son, his nephew. And he was there, in that oh-so-foreign country, to fulfil Kate's dying request that he should become the boy's mother, father, friend, comforter, and who knew what else that Nico might need.
It was this last realisation that triggered a sudden about-turn in his thinking. Seconds before, having heard what Señoras Gomez and Lopez had told him, he'd been feeling pretty much overwhelmed by the huge responsibility that Kate had dumped on him (and pretty angry at her too, if truth be told), but the thought that it was his own flesh and blood who was so alone, so damaged and in such desperate need of help, made him realise that it was time for him to step up and grasp the metal, no matter how difficult it was likely to be.
"Grasp the metal, huh? Any other clichés you can come up with?" sneered one half of his mind.
"You're right, it is going to be difficult," chimed in the other half.
"So where is he now?" Milo asked. "Still with the police?"
"No," replied Señora Lopez. "He has been returned to the Rojas' home. They were more than happy to have him back and, frankly, we didn't have many other options. The department doesn't have an army of emergency foster-carers to call on and we definitely didn't want him to be held in a police cell. It's been made clear to Nico that Domenico and Maria will be watching him like hawks for the remainder of his time here. We've also told him that you are now in the country, finalising plans to take him back with you to his new home. He knows he will not be there, with the Rojas, for long."
"Do you have any idea precisely how long?" asked Milo. "Aren't there still dozens of formalities and lots of paperwork that need to be worked through?"
Violeta Lopez looked over Milo's head towards Señora Gomez. When she spoke it was with a tone that Milo could only describe to himself as hopeful indiscretion.
"Can I be completely honest with you Señor de Beer-Reed?"
Intrigued, Milo nodded. Any deviation from laid-down protocols and established procedures was so very not Ms. Lamar.
"This department has never come across a case quite like Nico's."
"No kidding, lady," said one half of his mind.
"Oh perlease, shut up and listen," pleaded the other half.
"There are so many aspects of it that don't conform to any of our protocols or procedures. First and second, that Nico is a foreign national and legally a juvenile. Then there is the fact of him being an orphan with no recognised guardian and also, as if that wasn't complication enough, he is a long-term victim of abuse who has recently made a serious attempt to kill himself."
Milo caught sight of Señora Gomez making the sign of the cross as she added, "And who has been brutally attacked while in the care of a government-approved residential children's facility."
`That's more like the sort of official-speak I would expect,' thought Milo.
Señora Lopez didn't look very happy about her colleague's last comment but she clearly decided to let it pass. "To be blunt, the minister is concerned that the whole thing could blow up in our faces, possibly even become the subject of an international incident, especially considering the current and on-going state of diplomatic relations between our two countries."
"An international incident?" Milo could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "Surely that's way over the top?"
"That may be the case, but he, the minister, isn't willing to take the risk. He has made it clear to this department that he wants the case closed, with Nico safely back in the care of his family and out of the country, as soon as that can possibly be arranged. And, as deputy head of the department, it is my task to see that the minister's wishes become reality." Señora Lopez sounded almost afraid. Clearly her job was on the line, and equally clearly, she knew it.
For a minute or two - it felt like much more than that to all three of them in the room - Milo sat still and said nothing. He was beginning to realise that events were moving faster than he had imagined, much faster. He needed to get things clear in his mind so that he could make a plan that might work for everyone, especially Nico. Obviously it would be best for the boy to be away from this city and all its negative and degrading associations as soon as possible. On the other hand, if everything was pushed through too quickly, simply in order to jump to the clicking fingers of the minister, that could end up doing more harm than good, again, especially to Nico.
Eventually it was Señora Lopez who broke the silence. "Fortunately your sister was very, er ... concienzuda ..." For the first time she struggled to find the right word. She looked across at Señora Gomez.
"Conscientious."
"Thank you. Yes, she was most conscientious as far as Nico's documentation was concerned."
"That's not a word I'd ever dream of applying to my sister." Milo could think of many other words to describe Kate but conscientious was not among them.
"Perhaps, but in her son's case it was definitely true." Señora Gomez was obviously keen to support her boss. "When she was admitted to hospital she had with her a bag, old and very shabby, that she refused to let anyone take from her. It was there, after she'd passed away, that we found the letter she'd written to you."
Milo needed no reminder.
Señora Lopez continued the story. "We were very pleased, and I have to say, relieved, to discover that it also contained Nico's passport and his Argentine birth certificate. That was easy for us to authenticate but the passport was, potentially, more of a problem. You can probably appreciate that fake passports are not exactly uncommon among certain groups in our society. However, it was then that Señora Gomez had another good idea."
"I took it to your embassy here in the city. It seemed to me that, if anyone could vouch for such an important document, it would be the officials on the staff there."
"Which is exactly what happened," continued Señora Lopez. "So, according to all the relevant and necessary documentation, Nico is definitely who your sister claims him to be and, as long the embassy confirms that your own paperwork is all in order, there is no reason why you cannot start making arrangements for your return flight. With your nephew, of course." The sound of relief in her voice at that prospect wasn't lost on any of them.
Wow!' thought Milo. Wow!'
"You weren't expecting it to be as easy as that, now were you?" said in one half of his mind.
"But it's really good news -- isn't it?" added the other half, though somewhat uncertainly Milo thought.
"I'm sure you must be so relieved to hear that things are going to be much simpler and more straightforward than you were probably expecting," said Señora Gomez, interrupting and accurately reflecting Milo's internal conversation. "And you'll be wanting to finally get to meet Nico. Given his background, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by what you find."
Milo's eyebrows shot up. "In what way surprised?"
"I only mean that he seems to be very, er, grounded and together in himself." She realised that she should have chosen her words more carefully. "Considering everything he's been through," she added.
Señora Lopez stepped in to break the slightly awkward silence that followed her colleague's somewhat insensitive comment. "What we suggest is that, when you leave here, you take a cab to your hotel to check in -- the Royale I believe?"
Milo nodded.
"And then, once you've had a chance to shower and refresh yourself, Señora Gomez will collect you and take you to meet your nephew. Does that sound like a reasonable plan?"
Milo nodded. He could hear the relief in her voice. As long as everything proceeded smoothly from here on she was within touching distance of seeing the fulfilment of the minister's wishes and, no less important from her perspective, of keeping her job.
So, finally, it was happening. He was actually going to meet Nico properly, in the flesh, face-to-face. As he had suspected, the Recoleta Royale was much more upmarket than any hotel he'd ever stayed in when having to pay the bill using his own money, and having the adjoining rooms was definitely an extravagance. But standing there in the open doorway between the two he could see the sense of Helen's thinking. So much had happened to Nico, even in the last thirty-six hours, that having his own space to retreat to might well be to the advantage of both of them.
The first thing he did once the hotel room door was closed behind him was to fire off a quick message to D providing a very brief summary of events so far, with the promise that a much more detailed account would follow. Then, having taken Señora Lopez' suggestion of freshening up with a long, hot shower, he'd dressed with as much care as his carry-on baggage wardrobe would allow. He knew that initial impressions count and he also knew that he was only going to get one shot at a first meeting with Nico so he needed to get it right. He'd only got one suit, the light-weight one he'd travelled in (as recommended by Helen), but he'd got a clean, pale blue shirt which wasn't too badly creased, and he knew that a squirt of CK `Gold' always made him feel a little bit special and self-assured. He had a feeling that he was going to need every last bit of confidence he could muster.
The journey to Nico's foster home took less time than Milo was expecting. Señora Gomez explained that the house in Abasto was less than five kilometres from his hotel and, at that time of day, the traffic would, at least, be moving. At busy times, she said, this trip could take anything up to forty, forty-five minutes, but today it should be less than half of that. Milo's mind was divided on whether or not to be pleased to hear this. One half was excited to get the journey done as soon as possible. They'd been waiting long enough to meet Nico and now it couldn't happen fast enough. The other half wasn't so sure. A longer journey would give him more time to compose himself and get himself ready for a meeting that could either be one of the most positive things that had ever happened to him, but just as possibly could be a disaster that coloured the whole of the rest of his life.
Thanks for that,' he mentally told the two halves as Señora Gomez brought the car to a stop outside a perfectly pleasant but very ordinary-looking house, very similar to all the others he could see along the street. Milo noted several colourful shrubs of various sizes on either side of a neat, paved path leading up to the front door. Suddenly he was aware of a significant increase in his heart rate and felt the sweat running down his back. Okay,' he thought, This is it. This is where life gets serious.' And if someone had, at that precise moment, asked him, on a scale of one to ten, just how prepared he was for the seriousness of becoming a lot more than just a run-of-the-mill uncle to Nico, Milo wasn't sure that he'd rate his chances as much higher than a 5. Possibly, he thought, with a following wind and the sun on his back, a 6. Would that be enough? Time will tell,' he said to himself as he opened the car door and swung his legs out. `Time will tell.'
I'd like to take this opportunity to acknowledge Carlos in Tupelo for his help and advice in correcting some of the spelling and punctuation of the Spanish elements of the story. Thank you, Carlos.
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