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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
*** Since Yahoo has taken down their groups pretty much, I was thinking of creating a group for the story on Facebook. Would there be any interest in that? Let me know.... Thanks!
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The week away from their husbands for Sean, Brad, Tim and Brett had to come to an end as all good things must. Brad didn't feel like driving back to Janesville from the Lodge so he let the Governor take the wheel of the big Buick Electra.
Brett marveled at the big car's silent smooth power, it's creamy ride and its buttoned-down road manners. Staring at the all-analog instrument panel he felt like he'd stepped back in time thirty years.
"It's been a long time since I've driven... Well, I've never really actually driven anything like this," Brett said.
"You can buy one... They're available ya know..." Brad deadpanned.
"I just might."
"Here's something better, though... I read in Motor Trend that GM's about to bring back Pontiac for a few special model runs to see how it goes and this same basic chassis will be offered as the Pontiac Grand Prix. Coupe only and they're saying maybe with a 2+2 seating package option they'll call the Ventura."
"They got any pics yet?"
"There's renderings out there. Looks pretty sharp to me anyway... Looks a lot like the 1965..."*
"Maybe once I'm out of office..."
"I'd order one as soon as they start taking orders if I were you and I wouldn't wait. Have someone from your office call down the plant and find out. Who cares if you order it and you're still the Governor? It's your money... Anyway, you know how GM is... They'll sell `em for a year, maybe two, and that'll be it. They already said it's s'poseta be a special model... Meaning collectible... And I'd order it with everything on it if I were gonna buy one... Just like this one is. Always best. Maybe see if you can get a COPO** for a paint that you pick and maybe some special wheels. It'd be a factory and one-of-one."
"Sounds like a plan... Tim won't care. He likes his little base-bitch shitbox you know..."
"Kinda like that car myself," Brad giggled.
"So whadya think Sean and Tim have been up to all week?"
"Jock shit `n' sex," Brad deadpanned.
"I think so, too."
"Maybe we should have a four-way sometime..."
"I'm in..."
"You're easy, Mr. Governor."
"That's not what the legislature says..."
"The way you run them assholes around is classic. You push em around like feckin' shopping carts. Sides I'd fuck yer husband any day... He's the biggest bottom I've ever seen... And he's built..."
"Tim's all of that. I never thought I'd snag him. You know I had a crush on him all during high school. Maybe even in middle school, too, now that I think back... I'll never forget when we met that day at the mall. It was magic. I knew right then that I had him. And I knew I could handle him... And I knew he was the one."
"You've handled Tim alright... I mean... So, whadya think they're gonna do after you go? I mean in Madison. I mean, you know, when you're not Governor anymore."
"After a little while prolly the same old shit they did before me, at least after a while. Prolly won't take long. That's what. That's why I guess I'm glad you told me not to quit. I got a couple of ideas since then that I know I could get through, but I want them as amendments to the state constitution. Stuff like finance and elections and stuff. I don't think anyone but me can get that shit done, but I don't wanna bore you with that shit right now."
"Good cause I don't wanna hear about any o' at shit," Brad laughed. "You know I don't know nuthin' `bout that shit anyways..."
"You knew enough to help Sean with his campaign for City Council, and you knew enough to advise me on both of my campaigns..."
"Toldja how I thought you guys would win and I kept the press off yer backs. That was fun. Don't know nuthin' `bout runnin' stuff, though..."
"You knew what you needed to know."
"I stay in my own lane. I help Sean. That's my lane."
"He is so lucky to have you..."
"I know," Brad giggled again.
"Are you really happy, Brad? I mean happy as Sean's husband?"
"Happier than I've ever been. And wanna know something? I knew I would be, too. He was so broken, Brett. But the guy he once was, well, I knew that guy was still in there somewhere. I knew it. I knew it all along. I could tell... And in case you're wondering, yeah, he's kind and attentive, and even though I know, because I can see through him, that he wonders why I took a chance on him I wonder why he took a chance on me. Me. Poor white trash. With the shitty clothes and bad teeth. Me. Who couldn't even say a sentence without sounding like a damn moron, maybe with some extra book learnin'. Like just enough to hold down a job that'd pay my way maybe... If I was lucky...
"Shit, I know if I wasn't working with Kevin I'd be somewhere working for nowhere close to what I get now. I know all that. I know what Sean and Andy and all you guys did for me. Me. And I wonder why. And then I know why. It's all because of that one day, that day when Sean saved me from those thugs at school. He saved me and then the rest of you guys helped me. My life was instantly better. I have you guys to thank for everything.
"But that's not why I'm with Sean..."
"I know it isn't. And Tim knows it, too."
"I can't help it. I love him. I've never known anyone like him. I didn't marry him as a charity case..."
"I know that, too..."
"I am what I am..."
"No more and no less, Brad, and that's always been your beauty. You're `what you see is what you get.'"
***** BACK AT THE ALAMO *****
Sean bade good-bye to Tim as they were both expecting their husbands home later in the day. Sean and Tim were genuinely sorry to leave each other, but they both knew that's how it went.
After Tim left, Sean made himself a drink knowing it wouldn't be as good as what Brad would have made and then he retired to the Library.
He sat down pensively drumming his fingers on his desk. Inhaling his drink, he got up and made another. He took it with him to the patio, sat down and watched the mid-day sun with his drink and a bong hit. Wizard jumped up on the table demanding Sean's attention. Sean rose, went back inside with Wizard following and protesting loudly, fixed himself a third drink and returned to the library where he sat back down at his desk.
Sean took a journal book out and opened it. He picked up a pen. At the top of that first page he scrawled out "THAT FUCKING YEAR."
On the next line he wrote "2027!!!!"
He then put his pen down.
He picked it back up and on the next line wrote, "The last to go shall see the first three go before her."
As so often happened before when he wrote, a tear coursed down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. He took a swig of his drink and lit a Camel straight.
***** SEAN'S POV, WRITING IN THE JOURNAL *****
"December 31, 2026, New Year's Eve. I guess that's where I'll start this book. Makes about as much sense as anywhere else, right? Anyway, that night Andy and I had the whole family in. Dad and Mrs. Cheadle came up from Florida, the boys were there as of course they were since they were just kids then, although the twins were both getting awfully close to six feet tall by then as puberty was about to hit.
"Ginny was there. Even in her old age and with her health and wits a shadow of what they once were, nobody could hold a room like Ginny Miller. She was as garishly scintillating as ever. She was a one-off. God, I miss her guidance but as she always said, "Life moves on." Jesus... Ginny... Nobody who knew her will ever forget her...
"And I remember George and Peggy Dickson that night, too. I wish Dix and Brett had come but they were still in D.C. and I understood they couldn't be here. Can't remember the last time they were in town, actually. George and Peggy were the same as they always were and still are. Time never seems to move much for them...
"Billy Dean and Eric Trager were there, too. So were Brad and Kevin Dickson. And Tory Trager but he and Kevin weren't a couple yet, not for a lot of years after that, although I remember they left together at the end of the night. Tongues wagged a little bit over that one...
"Cunns and his wife came over, and so did Scott and Kevin Masterson. Coach Slater, too, for just a little bit. He was getting old and he never really did fully recover from his stroke. God what a great man.
"It was a wonderful evening. And it would be the last New Year's Eve at the Alamo. Maybe Brad and I will do it again. In some way I guess we should. Well, if Brad wants to. But that was the last New Year's Eve...
"The next day, New Year's Day, the year 2027 started out the same way as any other year. With the experience Andy and I had gathered we now ran the Consortium like a well-oiled machine. The asset value had increased smartly and even Ginny, when she was on the ball in those days which was becoming less and less, said we did the job that she knew she would.
"Once we were past the Holidays, we settled down to our family life at the Alamo with our four boys. T.J. and Scott were the most rambunctious as I remember. Typical boys. The twins were a different story. Eerily cerebral they were. Great basketball players, though. Never did take to football. Seems like they basically toyed with their classes in school and made all As, too. Always stayed together no matter what. We offered them both their own rooms when they were about eight years old, but they said no and neither they nor we brought it up ever again.
"Andy and I were both looking down the barrel at our thirtieth birthdays, mine in August and Andy's in December. Thirty. Seemed so old back then. Can't believe I just made myself laugh... Maybe that's a good sign, I dunno.
"Anyway, Brad and Dix will be glad I finally started to write this. I guess I'll tell them once I get a little bit farther. Well, I'll tell Brad anyway. Funny how I miss him. The house seems empty without him here. Not that he says much. He never did. But I miss him just being here just the same. If someone would have said that to me three years ago I'd have thought they were insane.
"Brad's different from Andy. Not as outgoing. Not as talkative. But he does something that Andy never ever did and that's that when he thinks I'm fucking up he'll tell me so. In one sentence. Or less. Or even just with a look. He's never lost that unvarnished way of his. I think I need that. I don't think anyone but Brad could have snapped my Black Dog. I probably owe him my life.
"Anyway, Brad's gonna be home soon so I better start prepping dinner. I want to give him something special tonight. I got us each a prime grade New York Strip that I'll charcoal grill. To go with that we'll have a classic Caesar Salad, Potatoes Anna, baby asparagus sautéed in butter topped with Hollandaise sauce, and for dessert the Key Lime pie that I made yesterday. To drink we'll have a red wine that I asked Tommy to select from the wine cellar at Monterey. The kid's come a long way from the scared little waif Joey and Lennie took in, and even though I know that he asked the Sommelier to pick out the wine, it shows he knows what he's doing by asking someone who's an expert.
"I guess I have a pretty nice life. I don't have anything to worry about. I live in a great house. I have a great husband. Four good sons. And I have money to literally give away. I should thank God. Which I'm sure would please Archbishop Taylor. Or maybe Archbishop Taylor should thank me. I guess I'll find out which is which when it's my time to go, but I gather that time is not now.
Or maybe for a long while yet anyway. Who knows..."
Sean put his pen down and rose from his chair. He did not get himself another drink but went to the kitchen, poured himself a crisp San Pellegrino on the rocks as he prepared the welcome home meal he would serve to his straightforward sincere husband.
Sean carefully peeled and sliced the potatoes and placed them in cold water. He peeled the asparagus shoots so that they'd sauté quickly in the butter and when cooked remain fresh in color and flavor. The Caesar dressing he would prepare now and Hollandaise sauce he would prepare just before service, but he could separate the egg yolks and clarify the butter in advance.
Finding himself with some extra time, Sean prepared a yeast dough for nice, crusty rye rolls and let it to proof.
Never a top-notch table decorator, Sean nevertheless laid out a nice plain white tablecloth with matching cloth napkins. He set each dinner plate on a charger, salad bowl next to the plates, and had glasses for both water and wine. He placed two candleholders with plain beeswax candles and forwent a centerpiece. Brad wouldn't be impressed by a centerpiece anyway. Or by fancy candles.
Brad was Brad.
Satisfied, Sean went back out to the patio. He knew he hadn't written all that much, but it was a start and he needed to mull things over in his head about where he would pick back up. He thought about just writing the CliffsNotes version of `that fucking year' but decided against it. If he would write it, he would write all of it. He didn't care how long it took. That wasn't the important thing. But he did think he shouldn't dally when it came to finishing it.
And he decided that he would let two people read it. Those two people would be Brad and Tim.
He got up, went to the garage and retrieved the bag of charcoal briquettes. He filled the grill with just enough for the two steaks so they would have a nicely seared crunch on the exterior but remain as he and Brad both preferred, medium-rare. Sean laughed as he recalled the time way back when Ginny ordered steak tartare just to be macho and get up Rose Kennedy's nose and Rose turned around and ordered the same. "God!" Sean thought as he laughed.
After sitting a bit, Sean went back inside and decided to write some more.
Sitting back down at his desk he began again.
"Yeah, so I got dinner all prepped and maybe I can write some more stuff down before Brad gets back.
"Anyway, there was me and. Twenty-nine years old. Had the world by the tail. What could go wrong, right?
"I remember it was right around this time I thought that I'd done enough on the City Council and never thought that I wanted to be on it forever, anyway. Ginny always said to exercise power from the shadows. I'd give it one more term, maybe two if I had to, but I had a guy I could put there in my place. Older guy. City worker was going to be retiring one of these years. Greenskeeper at Riverside golf course. Always had a word for us when we went to play a round. "Oh, not playing the Country Club today, Councilor?" he'd say.
Anyway, he retired and I coaxed him into being on the Council. He got his pension and a little extra for voting the way I want him to, and life is good. I'd been there long enough to know that's how things work in this town. Always have. Always will. But the time the meetings and committees took up was time I felt that I couldn't spare any more back then. There was my work running `The Firm' and we called it, and then the boys were starting to grow up, too.
"I could see the differences between the boys starting to come out that might tell who they would be as men. It was easiest with the twins, being the oldest. I was going to say that we thought the twins were too dependent on each other but that's not the right word. Maybe too supportive is better? Anyway, neither one of them would ever let the other one get hurt in any way. Thicker than thieves those two were. Still are. There was the time when Joey was sick with the flu and Lennie went and took his test in school for him. No one ever found out. Hell, I only found out about six months ago. Ah, who cares. It's funny now anyway...
"We could tell the twins would be quiet, studious men and that's just what they turned out to be. Thank God they didn't inherit the personality of their mother or Bill Kennedy. They were even placid as little boys. They never gave us any trouble.
"And they were so helpful with T.J. and Scotty. When they all sat down at the dining room table to do their homework, and me and were sticklers about that, the twins finished their work fast and then helped their younger brothers. So much so that we were told both of the younger boys could skip a grade. We said no to that because even though the twins were accelerated in their coursework achievements and that acceleration rubbed off on T.J. and Scotty there was also physical and social development to think about. We didn't think it was good to let their quickness to learn outweigh socializing with other kids who were maybe more advanced that way. They got along well with their classmates and so we decided to let that sleeping dog lie.
"So, T.J. and Scott were both different stories and both different than the twins. T.J. more so than Scott I guess. I can understand that. T.J. knew from an early age that he'd been adopted. We thought he knew it when he asked about his mom. When we made up what sounded like `ask us in a few years' except in little kid speak we knew we weren't fooling him. So we told him. It never wore badly on him but it's a feeling we had that he never felt quite a hundred percent family. Not always, but every now and then it would show up. And at that point there were still the teenage years to look forward to.
"Andy and I would laugh and one of us would say, "Yup, we should have had MORE kids..."
"That I missed, more or less, most of their teenage years because I was drowning my own sorrows I have only to blame myself for. I can't really do that too much anymore, I mean blame myself, because blame isn't what I need to do. I need to stop beating myself up over it, accept that I checked out, and move on. And I guess I have Brad to thank for that, too.
That my own sons don't hate me.
"And that leaves Scotty. Out of all the boys, Scotty was the most engaging. Always with a quick smile and the right answer. Not as introverted as the twins or as touchy as T.J. sometimes was, Scotty was an easy boy to raise. Dad once told me that Scotty was me all over again. I suppose that's probably right. In the end he turned out to be personality-wise the most like me. He was a bright boy, and unflappable. Scotty could be the naughtiest of the three, though. He lacked the forbearance of the twins or the meticulous planning of T.J.. He was the runt. The little brat. And while that was not like me because I had no siblings it very well could have been me at that age. I suppose it would have. After all, like dad said, he was just like me...
"But as `That Fucking Year' came they were ages ten to twelve. I hadn't thought about it until now, but none of them ever needed braces on their teeth like so many kids do. So much less hassle for that I suppose...
"I don't really know where I was going with that, but I guess it's just to say that at the beginning of that fucking year we had the perfect family, the perfect house, the perfect life. Everything was perfect. And it was also supposed to remain perfect.
"Except it didn't...
"Nothing about that year was perfect. As they say, the show goes on until it doesn't...
"And after that year the show didn't go on, but I guess this is where I finally tell the tale of THAT FUCKING YEAR..."
Sean put his pen down again. He could see the time for Brad to return was drawing near, and he'd spent time preparing a nice meal for his return and that's what they were going to have. Sean missed Brad. Again he thought about how the Alamo wasn't the same without him. Brad had breathed life back into the old place.
Sean went out to the patio and lit the trusty classic Weber kettle grill. That's what he always used for charcoal grilling, just a plain old Weber, and charcoal was the only thing Sean would use to grill good steaks. After lighting the coals, he went inside to preheat the ovens. 425º for the Potatoes Anna and 375º convection on the second oven for the rye rolls.
He took the steaks out of the fridge, salted them, and put them on a plate to lose some of their refrigerator chill. Remembering how Brad liked to eat his steak, he went back to the fridge and retrieved the bottle of Lea & Perrins steak sauce. Sean didn't care for steak sauce, preferring a simple pat of butter on top of a good steak, but Brad liked a small dish of sauce on the side that he could stick each bite into, or not, before he ate it depending on what he wanted. Sean knew some people said never put sauce on a steak, but Brad didn't actually put it on the steak. He used it on a bite-by-bite basis, and not on every bite, which in a strange way Sean considered to be somewhat sophisticated.
Another one of Brad's conundrums he thought.
About twenty minutes later Sean heard one of the overhead doors on the garage opening and sure enough when he glanced at the security monitor he saw the big Buick Electra gliding into the garage. Sean hurried to the door and ran out into the garage. He enveloped Brad in a warm lovers' hug. "I missed you!" Sean whispered into Brad's ear.
Wizard had followed close behind and meowed and trilled at Brad's return, brushing up against his legs, purring and swishing his tail.
"Missed you, too," Brad whispered back kissing Sean on the lips. "We had a great time, but I missed you something awful."
"I got a great dinner planned for us tonight," Sean said. "I bet you need a shower, don'tcha..."
"Yeah, and I need someone to soap me up."
"Taking applications?"
"Nope. You're hired. Help me get my shit in and then you can soap me up. Or..."
"Yeah. Or."
In the shower, Sean lovingly soaped Brad's long lean body paying special attention to his erect penis. Brad groaned under Sean's ministrations. Sean fingered Brad's hole feeling the sphincter pulsate as Sean masturbated him lightly and slowly.
"Fuck me, Brad!" Sean said. "I want you to cum in me."
Brad then soaped up Sean paying special attention to his crack and hole. He rinsed Sean off. He then got on his knees and began eating Sean's ass.
"Oh God!" Sea gasped, jerking his own dick. Sean shuddered and his knees buckled when Brad took his tongue away, inserting his index finger and milking Sean's prostate.
Sean reached up to a shelf and handed Brad a tube of lube that he strategically placed there earlier in anticipation.
"Grease me up and stick it in!" Sean panted. "Now!"
Brad did as he was asked and rode Sean hard. Sean bucked and hissed as Brad impaled him. Sean came hard as Brad rammed his cock home. "Fuck! Shit! I fucking came! Keep fucking me! Fuck me harder, Brad!" Sean yelled. "Harder! Make me cum again! Make me fucking cum!"
Brad, horny, complied and fucked Sean for all he was worth and then some.
Presently Brad's breathing became ragged. He fucked Sean even harder and faster. Brad mumbled, he groaned, his body shook, he felt his dick swelling inside of Sean just as Sean felt it, too.
"Cum in me, Brad!" Sean whimpered. "I want your cum!"
Brad grabbed Sean's hips and fucked even harder. He fucked Sean like a rag doll. Sean jerked his steel-hard dick wanting to cum a second time.
"I'm close," Brad gasped. "Oh God! I'm gonna fuckin' cum..."
"Cum in me! I wanna feel your cum inside me!"
"Here it comes, Sean! Here it comes! Oh God! Oh fuck! Fuck! Shit!" Brad pumped Sean's ass full of his cum. His load was big as he and Brett hadn't had sex the last two days at Glen Muick Lodge anticipating that their husbands would want rogering once they got back home.
Sean shot a second load all over the shower wall. The shower reeked of ass and lube and cum.
Sean and Brad's chests were heaving. Their bodies quavered. Sean turned around. He put his head down on Brad's chest. His hands roamed up and down Brad's shoulders and sides.
"God, I love you," Sean said.
"I know. I love you, too."
"More later?"
"More whenever you want it..."
Once dried, they both donned gym shorts and t-shirts and made their way downstairs.
Sean found the coals at perfect readiness for the steaks, and Brad volunteered to make Sean the new cocktail he'd invented up at the Lodge. Sean drank the cocktail and pronounced it so good that it would be on the menu at the Orleans Room.
"Hey, wanna learn how to cook a steak?" Sean teased Brad.
"You don't think I can?"
"Of course I think you can once I show you how..."
"OK, then show me," Brad said as he palmed Sean's semi-hard penis through his pants.
"So, here's whatcha do..." Sean then proceeded to have Brad do the grilling of the steaks while he illustrated for him how to get the sought-after crunch on the outside while the inside came out a luscious medium rare.
"OK, now bring em inside and put a pat of butter on top of each one. Then just let em sit. While they sit, we'll dress the salad, it won't take but a minute for me to finish the Hollandaise for the asparagus, and the potatoes should be just another couple minutes. It'll be perfect."
"So I did OK with the steaks?"
"They look good to me," Sean said.
The dinner turned out to be as good as Sean wanted it to be. Brad said little while he ate other than to congratulate himself on how good the steak was, and that he enjoyed the wine.
"This good," Brad said as he took another bite.
"I'm glad you like it. I wanted a nice dinner. I really did miss you, you know..."
"I know. I missed you, too. I mean, Brett's good company, the best, but he ain't you."
Wanna help me clean up?" Sean asked when they were finished. "I gave Ethel the night off."
"That's fine. I'll load the dishwasher. I do it better'n you anyway."
"OK, and when we're done let's sit at the bar. With no clothes on. I want another one of those cocktails. And I want you naked. Whatcha wanna call that cocktail anyway?"
"Hmmmm... Thought about callin' it the Glen Muick,' but I don't want the name of the lodge out there and prolly neither do you. Monterey Mojito' sounds really feckin' corny. There's a lot of ginger in it, so let's just call it a Ginger Martini. That last little dusting of the white pepper, just a dusting, really makes the ginger come through I think..."
"Gingers will steal your soul, you know..."
"So'd Tim steal yours?"
"Nope. Only you."
"You sure?"
"You know the rule..."
"Yup. We all know the rule. I'm glad you and Tim had a good time. He's your best and oldest friend you know..."
"That he is, Brad... That he is... I'm lucky to have a friend like Dix."
"And I'm lucky to have a friend like Brett."
"We're both lucky. I'm lucky, anyway... And I wantcha to know something else..."
"What..."
"I started writing a new journal book. I started writing what I have to write. I got a little ways, not very far really yet I don't think, but I did start it..."
"I'm glad. But that's something you have to do for you. Not for me, or not for you and me, but for yourself."
"I know... Kath lectured me about it more than once..."
"Figures. She's so not like her sister..."
"You knew Colleen?"
"I knew OF her... What I knew wasn't any good..."
"How'd you know of her?"
"Well, she went to the same school as I did, Sean... God! Anyway, I just remember people sayin' she was this crazy bitch and shit. Slut. Did drugs. I seen her around. She looked like a slut. I never talked to her, though. I wasn't in that circle of people, and you know me, I just stay in my lane..."
"She was a crazy bitch. And everything else you said. And her dad was no better."
"Oh, I knew him alright..."
"I'm aware of that." Sean laughed.
"Well, yeah, but..."
Just then, Sean and Brad heard a car squeal around the corner from Court Street onto Garfield Avenue and the loud staccato crackle of what was unmistakably gunfire sounded like it was hitting the side of the Alamo. Instinctively, just as he had done that time long ago when John Berrifield was pointing a gun at the car he and Andy were in, Sean grabbed Brad roughly and threw him to the floor covering him with his own body.
Wizard sprung three feet off the floor with his tail bushed up over his back and scrambled into a shelf behind the bar, his eyes like saucers.
"Stay down!" Sean barked over the Alamo's red alert alarm.
https://youtu.be/dV8S_2lwDkQ
"Red Alert! Shots fired exterior. Apartment area. Repeat. Shots fired exterior. Apartment area. Securing measures initiated. Repeat. Securing measures initiated," the security system announced.
"The apartment?" Brad said, sounding flummoxed.
"If that's what it is then whoever it was, they weren't after us. They were after Sir Stafford. One guess who that might have been..."
"We need to pack!" Brad said rather nervously. "We need to go back up to the Lodge."
"I know what you're thinking, but we can't."
"What?"
"We can't. Go. They're not after us. Yeah, we'll get Sir Stafford out of here and hide him somewhere else, but we're not going anywhere. I'm on the City Council. I can't go. That would look weird, And you're my husband. I need you with me. How would it look if we high tailed it out of here? It would mean we're part of whatever it is that Sir Stafford really does with his time when he's not pretending to run a brewery. I don't want that look..."
"I'll hafta think about it, Sean..."
No sooner had Brad said he would think about it then enough sirens so that it sounded to be half of the Janesville Police Department converging on the Alamo. Presently, Sean let two of the officers in as other officers marked off the property with police line tape. There wasn't much Sean or Brad had to tell the two policemen. All they could really tell them was that they heard shots, the alarm went off and they hit the deck.
"Sirs, we've swept the property and haven't found anyone. If you could come outside please?" one of the officers said.
The officer showed Sean and Brad where the bullets had hit the Alamo, just where the alarm computer had said. Brad pointed to Sean where a couple of the bullets had hit the garage doors, but due to the armored nature of the doors had simply bounced off. The only clue was scratches on the paint.
"Funny thing. The windows don't look broken upstairs there," the officer said.
"They shouldn't be," Sean said. "The windows in this house aren't glass. They are, well let's just say they're not glass... My dad had that done years ago for security. They are proof against rounds up to a certain size and velocity and apparently these rounds must have been under that specification."
"I see," the officer said. "Can you think of why anyone would want to shoot up your house?"
"Technically they didn't," Brad said. "That up there over the garage is a separate apartment. They never shot the house at all `n' we were in the house with all the lights on at the time."
"OK, well, can you think of why someone would want to shoot up that apartment?"
"Officer," Sean said, "Let me put it this way: I might be able to think of why someone wanted to do that, but you'll just have to trust me when I say that the only reason that might be is way above my pay grade."
"You're not being very cooperative, Sir," the office muttered.
"Officer Murphy, I'll take over here!" they all heard the imposing figure of Chief of Police Wendel Washington boom out as he made his way toward Sean and Brad. The Chief was a big man, about 6'4" tall, probably at least 260 or 270 pounds, and built like an NFL Lineman with a tree trunk for a neck and muscles popping and bursting as he spoke. He was, as he always was, immaculately turned out in his Chief's uniform complete with black leather boots, a Luger as his side arm, and sporting his custom-made Stetson in lieu of the standard police officer's hat.
"Is everything secure here, Officer Murphy?" the Chief asked.
"I believe so, Sir!" officer Murphy answered.
"I see these two men are unhurt. Was there anyone else home during the incident?
"Not that we know of yet, Sir!" Officer Murphy replied. "They were the only ones in the main house. We still have to enter the apartment but it doesn't appear that anyone was there at the time."
"Very well, Officer Murphy. Allow me to introduce you to Sean Wyman, the President of our City Council, and his husband, Bradley Fletcher. They own this little shack."
"I um, I hadn't ID'd them yet, Sir. Pleased to meet you, Councilor Wyman and Mr. Fletcher."
Sean and Brad nodded.
"That's quite alright, Officer," the Chief said. "I'll handle these two. Now get some men upstairs and look through that apartment. Look for anyone who might be in there. And I want the entire area inside and out photographed. I want notes made. And video footage. And I want this block of Court Street and this block of Garfield Avenue cordoned off. For now, block them with squads but get some Jersey barriers up here. Keep the cherries on the squads off. Just block the streets and have a couple of officers with flashlights direct traffic. If any media show up they are to be turned away if they attempt to cross the barriers. I don't wanna wake up the whole fuckin' neighborhood."
"Right away, Sir!" Officer Murphy said as he scurried to carry out the Chief's orders.
"Alright, gentlemen, they'll have a look through that apartment up there. Doesn't look like anyone is home, though."
"Prolly not," Sean said. "But we don't really keep track of him."
"That is wise," the Chief replied. "Sir Stafford. And you can relax. I know all about Sir Stafford. Or I know what I'm told, let's put it that way. No one else on the force knows about him, but I do. Anyway, we'll begin our investigation and I've already notified the State Police and the FBI. I would imagine the FBI might end up taking this one over."
"Um..." Brad said.
"I believe that you were probably about to ask me how much I know, is that correct, Mr. Fletcher?"
"Yeah."
"Enough to know that this is either a couple of assholes out for a joyride, or it might be something way out of my, shall we say, `area.' I know enough to know when to step back if I need to. The FBI can determine that. For now, my men will seal off the crime scene and begin a standard, by-the-book investigation. Most of the men should be leaving shortly other than to direct traffic and then a couple of detectives will take over."
"You do realize that just by my alarm going off that Great Lakes Security's already been notified."
"Already been in touch with them in a preliminary fashion, Councilor. I'm adding one of their men to augment our detective detail. He'll be working out of downtown HQ. If the FBI takes over then that's it for us, and for Great Lakes."
"That's fine," Sean said.
"You think we should get out of here for a little while?" Brad asked.
"Well, it doesn't look like from what I can see that they were after you. It looks like they were after your tenant there. Doesn't look like anything hit the house proper, it all hit the garage and apartment. It looks to me like they knew what they were aiming at. The shots are pretty concentrated. Otherwise there'd be bullet marks everywhere. It also looks like a rather crude attack which puzzles me, but as I said unless it turns out to have been just a bunch of random assholes I'll probably have to leave it to the FBI. Should you guys get out of Dodge for a few days? That's up to you. I would say, though, that you might wanna find a new location for that tenant of yours..."
"Yeah, I guess you're right about Sir Stafford," Sean said. "I could find a place for him fast."
"I still think we need to go away for a few days," Brad said.
"OK, you win," Sean said. "Chief, we're gonna go inside and pack. We'll be, shall we say, `away,' for a little while. We'll notify you when we'll be returning. Besides, you know how to get a hold of me..."
"What about Sir Stafford?"
"I'll have my sons handle the relocation. Something temporary until we can find a permanent place for him."
"That's fine. I know your sons. Tommy's their boy, right?"
"Yup."
"Good kid. I got a boy in his class over at Craig. Aaron's my boy's name. I gather Aaron and Tommy have become pretty good friends."
"Didn't know Tommy knew Aaron," Sean said. "Tommy comes over after school, but he's never brought a friend with him. I'll be coaching Aaron next year ya know..."
"Yup. Aaron was the QB on the JV team this year. You'll see him next year."
"I'll look forward to that. Kid's got an arm on him like a cannon... And he's smart. I'll let Tommy know he can have him over if he likes. The boy needs friends. He, well, he had a hard start in life."
"I've seen Tommy's file. Showed up in a lump on your driveway scared for his life as I recall. Damn shame about his mom and that guy she was shaking up with having died like that and all, you know, a drug overdose and stuff... Your sons did that boy a huge favor. He's a very lucky young man. I think that's about all what the file says if I remember right," The Chief said, giving Sean a wink and a nod.
"We better go pack now. We'll take the cat with us, too." Brad said. "Sean's gonna look forward to coaching your boy next year." Unusually for Brad he grabbed Sean's arm and said, "Let's get packed and get on the road."
"You'll be wanting a rental car, gentlemen. Just in case..." the Chief said. "I'll have one of my Officers pick it up for you and meet you at the airport. Take one of your vehicles to the airport. Then drive the rental up north. I'll have them get you something plain one that no one will notice."
Sean, always knowing when to hold em and when to fold em, simply obeyed. He would have preferred to stay at the Alamo as a show of not being cowed by an attack that he knew wasn't meant for him and did not seem directed at him in the first place, but even if it had it still would have brought his defiance to the surface. Neither did Sean wish to be absent from the City Council for any length of time due to certain projects he had underway. Besides, it would look weird and people would talk. They wouldn't be gone for any more than a week or so.
Or so Sean thought.
It was to be sixty-three days before Brad and Sean returned to the Alamo.
Sean and Brad took the Suburban and parked it in a small hangar at the airport. Sean made the flight back to Janesville when he needed to for Council meetings so as not to raise any suspicion about being gone for such a long period of time. He made the flights alone as, like Brad, he now had a full pilot's license, and took the Buick into City Hall from the airport by a circuitous route so that no one would see him exiting onto the main highway. Brad worried about Sean flying alone, but Sean stayed in radio contact with Brad when he was in flight. In addition, Great Lakes Security detailed two of their men to live at the Alamo during those sixty-three days one of whom was disguised as Sean and the other as Brad. Not that they were body doubles, but from a distance and being inside the Alamo a person on the street wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Brad fully enjoyed the return to the serene quiet of the Northwoods while Sean chafed a bit at the confinement. He didn't understand what was taking so long. Then again, he didn't really care to find out.
As it turned out when they got back, the initial suspicion was correct. The perpetrators were two, a driver and a shooter, and they had been after Sir Stafford, not Sean or Brad. It took almost three weeks to apprehend the two that sprayed the Alamo apartment that night. It took a little while longer to get them to talk, and when they did they didn't know much. They were a couple of hired small-time thugs from Chicago paid to pull off a hit. And they'd bungled it. As far as anyone in law enforcement understood, they were happier to be in jail as out on the streets.
They were well aware of what would happen to them.
The investigation had been quickly taken over by the FBI, who bundled the shooters off to an undisclosed location, and by the CIA. It boiled down to spending the time it took to solve the puzzle by good old-fashioned detective work and following the money. The work involved use of some state-of-the art computer systems, some of the engineering for which was ongoing by T.J.'s company. While T.J. feared that the barely-tested systems might prove to be useless, or worse, in the end they were instrumental in cracking the money trail which led back, as far as Sean and Brad were told, to a foreign country whose identity was classified.
It was another feather in T.J.'s cap that he would use to gain new contracts with the Navy and with the DIA. The fact that Benton Saunders was still T.J.'s employee didn't hurt the acquisition of new contracts either.
Sean and Brad were convinced that since the real target here was Sir Stafford, a British operative, then it must have to do with the situation causing Brett to run for a second term as Governor that he hadn't wanted which of course limited the number of foreign countries that could be involved to a handful. That limited amount of knowledge was fine with them. They knew what they needed to know and didn't know what they didn't want to know.
In the end, Sean had the twins get Great Lakes Security to team up with British MI6 to find a more secure temporary place for Sir Stafford. It was decided also that this would be a good excuse for Sean to invest some of the Consortium's assets to buy a farm. Sean had always wanted a farm and as luck would have it a 640-acre dairy farm just a little east of Janesville was being divested of by its corporate owner and the purchase was made.
An Article in the Gazette did not name the purchaser but quoted "a spokesperson" as saying that considerable investment was planned for the production facilities at the dairy. One such investment was an addition to the main farmhouse, which had gone unused for some years, of a large, secure residential unit. And of course the entire farm would have security and surveillance provided for by Great Lakes. The expansion of the production facilities would also neatly disguise a special structure designed to hold the expanding amount of computer processing power present. It would be housed in what to any passerby along the County Highway appeared to be just another prefabricated steel utility building. It wasn't. It was fully shielded and protected by eight inches of reinforced concrete. It was proof against an EMP attack. It had its own well, septic and electrical power supply. It had a spartan living quarters should the need ever arise.
In short, Sir Stafford would be hidden in plain sight.
In order to throw anyone who might look into it off, on paper Sir Stafford continued to own the downtown brewery, but just didn't live at the Alamo anymore. It was put about that he was living in a house somewhere in town and after Sir Stafford vacated the Alamo it was thought best for the time being to let the apartment stand vacant. At any rate, no one quite really knew where Sir Stafford was. Other than his name on the deed to the brewery property, his name was on nothing else. Not a telephone number, not a bank account, not a credit card, not an internet or cable television account. Nothing. Not even a driver's license as his MI6 credentials obviated the need for that. But Sir Stafford continued to do his work and to report back through channels to his headquarters in the United Kingdom.
Sir Stafford rather fancied himself to be a sort of Alan Turing character.
For all their work, the FBI rounded up twenty-seven foreign spies, confiscated almost fully intact all of their information and computer hardware, and the CIA with no one being the wiser gained information allowing them to perform several useful foreign operations that no one suspected they were behind and to know where to install monitoring hardware where it was bound to do the most good. It was deemed a successful and efficient operation on all fronts.
In the end, though, it took sixty-three days before Brad and Sean were told the coast was clear and that they could return home.
After that length of time even Brad thought it had gone on too long and was happy to be back at the Alamo. "I love it up north, Sean, but this will always be home. I know you didn't like having to go for that long, but I guess it was for the best. Or at least that's as much as they've told us..."
"I know as much as I wanna know. I wonder, though..."
"What?"
"Well, if they whisked us off like that I wonder if there's more security around Dix and Brett's house..."
"We wouldn't know just by looking"
"Why not?"
"Because they bought the house next door and that's where their security detail stays. It's not like there's gonna be guards marching up and down a residential street, right?"
"As usual, you're right, Sweetheart. Wanna make us some drinks?"
"I thought you'd never ask..."
"It was nice of the Chief to let Tommy go to his place after school while we were gone, too. I think we need to thank him."
"Let the twins thank him. He's their son..."
"Well, just a little phone call never hurt anyone. Plus, I've been hearing that the Chief wants to put in an in-ground pool in his backyard and zoning's been giving him shit about setbacks, or whatever and won't issue a permit. Maybe I'll stop down the zoning office tomorrow morning and kinda get them to see clear to getting the Chief's permit approved. Ginny told me a long time ago that people remember small favors."
"That they do... Maybe later you can do me a small favor?"
"What's small about it..."
"When it's time for bed I want you to just shut up and stick it in."
"We'll use the sling room."
"We better... And before you go to City Hall in the morning you better make me a really good breakfast!"
"Slave driver..."
"You love being my slave."
Sean and Brad spent an evening of memorable decadence after Brad plied them with some of his best cocktails, and Sean got out his old Gatling bong he'd kept since High School days. It had been Andy's favorite, and Brad knew that it took a lot for Sean to bring it out.
One of the renovations Brad did to the Alamo was to redo the entertainment facilities in the basement. Gone were the more modern finishes and the basement areas that were finished in the style of the rest of the house. Just as he had been with Glen Muick Lodge, Brad was painstaking in his selection of materials. The architecture work was done by Billy Dean and the general contracting by Saeth. It was so well done that a person wouldn't even realize that they'd descended into the basement of the home. It was a masterpiece.
As an additional improvement, there was a secret room only adjacent to the theater and music room well disguised and accessible only to Sean and Brad where they could see the screen and hear the sound but was equipped for other things much the same as the sling room on the upper floor of the Alamo but also equipped with a small bar, a shower and a sauna. They made good use of it while playing tasteful porn on the theatre screen.
At breakfast the next day Sean didn't put on a big production, but he did put on a meal jaw- dropping for its depth. To begin with, there was Irish oatmeal cooked in milk with dried cherries and topped with brown sugar and real English double cream. There were perfectly toasted scones from the Dualit toaster with clotted cream and cranberry jam Sean had made the year before and Sean served café au lait. But the main dish was a stunning seafood quiche featuring fresh shrimp and scallops with the eggs richly flavored with a mild swiss cheese and Coleman's English mustard. With the quiche, Sean served flutes of champagne.
Brad had never eaten such a breakfast.
"I can't believe you did all this," Brad said.
"I promised. I keep my promises."
"Yeah, and that's something I wanted to talk to you about..."
"Keeping my promises?"
"Yeah. Look, Sean, here's the deal. I know you said you'd write more of your diary of `that year.'"
"That Fucking Year."
"Yeah. Anyway, look, I never meant you had to do it all the time, work on that diary. Or finish it in a certain amount of time. You did it for a few hours every day when we were up north. I knew what you were doing in your office..."
"I don't understand..."
"There's no rush to finish it, Sean. That's all I'm saying... And maybe if you do rush it then it won't do you as much good as if it were a real reflection and you took your time..."
"I never thought of it that way. I thought I needed to show you that I wasn't ducking it. You know that I was being diligent and all... I love you, Brad. You saved me. I need to do this as much for you as I do for me."
"Sean, you need to do it for you. Don't think you need to do it for me. Or for anyone else. Even a little bit. You don't. I'm your husband. I love you. And you have a good old friend who loves you, too. For everything that you are. Warts and all. All I'm saying is that you're doing that writing for you. And you know that Kathleen would tell you the same thing. I knew damn right well what I was getting into when I married you. The boys tried to fix us up years before that and I always told them `your dad needs a special kind of guy and I'm not sure I'm it.' It took me a long time to realize that I was the right guy. For years I admired you from afar, and then when Andy died and I was helping the boys out, I guess we can put it that way, I got to observe you closer. Not because you were around, but because you weren't..."
"I'm not following..." Sean said.
"It's because you weren't around that I got to find out what you weren't. I always knew what you were. Everyone did. You name anyone, anyone at all, and they knew what you were alright. The State Champion quarterback, the successful businessman, the guy who lives in the Alamo, the City Councilor, the guy who did the Monterey, and all the rest of that shit.
"Everyone knows all that..."
"But in the years after Andy passed only I knew what you weren't. I'm sure Andy knew that, too. And because I was the only other one who knew that, then it meant that I had to be the right guy. Me. Brad. The retard. The hick. The charity case. Yeah, that's who I was. And I knew that only I could save you. And I knew you were worth it. And I had to make a bet with myself. The bet was that you might love me. As much as I loved you. And as much as you loved Andy. Nobody else but me could have saved you, Sean. And no one else but you has ever really loved me like you have."
Sean sat gob smacked. He knew Brad was right. About everything he'd said. Sean tried to speak but nothing came out. He buried his head in his hands.
"Don't do that, Sean," Brad said. "I said what I said as much for me as I did for you. I never really told anyone else what I thought of myself before now..."
"You think you're a retard a hick and a charity case?" Sean whispered. "You have college-level training in Accounting and experience probably worth at least an MBA. Everyone else has a degree. Andy had a degree, too. I'm the only one who doesn't have a degree. I never went beyond High School. You a retard? Far from it, Bradley... Ever think of it that way?"
"Not so much anymore because I worked to better myself and I found out – thanks to you if you recall when we were in High School – that I did have SOME talents... Or areas where I could learn I guess you could put it that way. And I did. It was hard, Sean. I was so poorly educated. All my life the schools just pushed me along in the lowest classes. They never gave a shit. And I never had a chance to find out if I had anything to offer or not. After so many years of that what was I supposed to think? But I did it in the end, didn't I?
"Yes, you did. And you helped me. To see that I did have some raw material to work with. Nobody else ever saw that. I'll never forget that Sean. Never."
"You really think that of me? That I helped you? All those years ago?"
"Yeah. You did. All of you guys did. You. Andy. Tim. Brett. You all did. I mean, look at it for how I saw it. Here you guys are, OK? You're like the top jocks in the school and I'm frickin' nobody. Worse than nobody. I know how I was. I know I had shitty teeth and couldn't afford decent clothes, or a nice haircut and I probably smelled, and what's the first thing you guys do? You take me out and give me a makeover. New hair, new clothes, nice shave everything. Tim even made you buy me a washer and dryer, you remember that? And I was like, well, OK but these are just rich guys and they'll just kick me to the curb once they've had their fun with me. Butcha didn't. You guys kept me as a friend. Sean, I'm not bullshitting, it took me years to realize that it wasn't some kind of a fantasy. And I hadn't done anything to earn it. I was just some loser that you ran across one day who was about to get beaten up by a couple of other losers and, well, I don't need to keep going on and on about that, but you know what I mean..."
"That's how you saw all that? For years?"
"Yeah. What do you think someone like me would have thought... You guys were so far out of my league... I thought you guys were just having fun and you'd have your fun and kick me to the curb or figure out some way to make me look like shit to everyone else..."
"Wanna know what I saw back then?"
"What..."
"I saw beauty. And I saw potential. And grace. The beauty was plain to see and the potential was something I felt. And if I'm gonna be honest, I saw that dump as Ginny called that you lived in and I thought that was no place for such a noble person. I've always thought you were that, Brad. I've always in one way or another loved you... And when we decided to get married I couldn't believe that you would actually take a chance on me... The wreck that I was. That was grace."
"I knew you needed balance in your life. And I knew that I might succeed. If I didn't think so I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have put either one of us through it if I didn't think it would work."
"I know you wouldn't. And I wouldn't have agreed to marry you if I didn't think it would work. I was ready and you reached out, or I guess it's better to say that you cut through the crap. I think we make a pretty good team you know..."
"So do I. We're such opposites, Sean..."
"I guess so..."
"Get your ass down to City Hall or we'll sit here wasting the whole day talking! Come back as quick as you can, though... I gotta go down the office for a little while myself at some point, Neither Kevin nor I have physically been there like we should, you know, but I don't imagine that there's any issues. We'd have been notified. Go! When you come back I wanna do you..."
"OK..."
"Cut the shit, Sean, I always knew you like to be a big old bottom. And that's fine. You come back as soon as you can from City Hall, but not before you're done with your business, and I'll fuck you. I love fucking you. Who would have ever thought that I'd be fucking you..."
"What if I wanna do YOU?!"
"We'll have to determine whose cock is the hardest and whoever is the hardest has to top."
"What? You have some kind of a Dick-O-Meter?"
"Yeah. I do. And you'll see it when you get back. Now get out of here. We'll leave the dishes for Ethel. You know how she was worried when we were gone..."
"Yeah, but we continued to pay her..."
"She's Tommy's friend from school and her family's kinda poor ya know, Sean. She's insecure that if she doesn't do something for her money, or even if we just feel like it, that means we'll decide to get rid of her at some point for whatever reason. Can't blame the girl..."
"Who the hell named her Ethel anyway?" Sean asked breaking into a hideously exaggerated rendition of There's No Business Like Show Business.
https://youtu.be/PIiQMsDQ0Uo
"Sean!" Brad laughed almost in tears from laughing. "That was HEINOUS! Look, Ethel comes in every night at 6:30 at night and does all the dishes, puts them away and cleans the kitchen and the bathrooms. We pay her $500 a week. That's big money to that family and we went ahead and left town and didn't tell her. Of course she was scared she was gonna lose her job, never mind that we paid her. Don't forget, I used to live like that. I know what it's like to have no money. We should have offered to take her up to the Lodge and had her do all the same there. `S what we shoulda done, Sean..."
"Couldn't. School's still on... Well, maybe next time... If she's not in school and shit... We paid her. She'll be fine. Why don't you sit her down and make sure she knows everything's OK? She likes you better'n me anyway."
"OK, well you better get going now...," Brad said with a rare smile.
Sean left out for City Hall taking the Suburban. Once at the zoning office it only took him a couple minutes to get the zoning chairman to see it his way once Sean promised to support a department recommendation that was having a hard time with the City Manager.
"I'll have a word with the Manager," Sean said, "but as far as the Chief's swimming pool let's just git `er done and get the permit out today, OK... In fact, type it up and give it to me now. I'll deliver it to the chief myself."
That was done, and Sean did as he promised, too. He got the City Manager to agree to give the zoning people what they wanted if Sean would bend a little bit on some of the city's other spending wishes that the Manager was told weren't going to be on the cards this year.
"Fine, but no bonding for it," Sean, a noted budget hawk, told the City Manager. "Spend a little more here, cut back a little there. We'll make it work for ya but you know how I feel about slapping people with more taxes or running up debt. You know why? It's because I might have `Fuck You Money' but most people don't. You send me a bigger tax bill and for me it amounts to a rounding error that I'll prolly never notice. But for a lot of people it could be the difference of making a mortgage payment on time or paying some other bill or maybe making an investment for the future... That's how ya gotta look at that shit.
"Look, I can pick up some slack for ya," Sean continued, "maybe with stuff like a gift to the city for what you always whine at me about, or those improvements to the library and stuff like that that are always hanging around, you know, that kind of stuff. Anonymous private contribution and all that... And it'll be a nice little tax write off for me.
"But this has gotta be only a this year' deal only, and ya gotta remember that for your everyday Joe on the street his only contact with the city is the tax bill he gets in the mail once a year. And he doesn't want a bigger one unless it's for something that's important to him that he can see and touch every day. S just how people are ya know... It's what people tell me. `No big tax bills just for extras.' I've heard that a million times if I've heard it once. And as a Councilor it's my job to listen to what people tell me. That's how come I win elections. I realize that I work for them. We all do."
"You're smooth, Councilor Wyman. You always have been..."
"Hey, one hand washes the other one, ya know? That's how it goes... Anyway, we got a good Police Chief here and we don't wanna take the chance on losing him over something as trivial as giving him a load of crap over something like a fucking back yard swimming pool because the zoning people have a hair across their asses about his setback being off by a foot or whatever it is. Little dictators some of `em are... That's bullshit. It's a bad trap to fall into."
"Well, yeah it is..." The City Manager shrugged with a half-smile.
"Let's not have this conversation again, shall we? Something like this comes across your desk just pick up the phone and call me, will ya? Prick You and I'll take care of it..."
Once Sean left, the long-time City Manager marveled at his City Council President. A guy who was, in his mind, a pinch-penny with public money but who was also unbothered by bending, although if one really thought about it to an immaterial degree, a city zoning measurement as long as the city's budget worked out and everyone got a little bit of what they wanted.
For his part, Sean admired the Manager's competence as an administrator but beyond that competence Sean thought him to be somewhat of a pedantic bureaucrat who would, if he had the chance, not watch the books as well as he should in the form of needless buildings or programs or whatever as long as his face was on TV. Sean didn't feel it was part of his brief to make the City Manager a media star.
For both of them the solution to the Chief's swimming pool was "comme si comme ça."
It was their usual agreeable modus vivendi by which they had reached agreements over so many years. Sean gave generously to the city coffers while the City Manager agreed, where necessary, to curb extravagances. The Manager knew at the end of the day that he served at the pleasure of the Council which was for all intents and purposes owned by its President, Sean Wyman.
Once back home, Sean didn't see Brad anywhere. But he knew where Brad would be. Sean took the stairs two at a time, running into the sling room where Brad was already in position.
Nude.
Languidly masturbating.
Brad scooped some clear pre-cum onto his index finger and put it in his mouth.
He leered at Sean.
"Fuck me, Sean!" Brad said.
END CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
*1965 Pontiac Grand Prix https://www.vintagecarcollector.com/vehicles/677/1966-pontiac-grand-prix
**COPO: General motors shorthand for Central Office Production Order. Denotes an otherwise production model equipped with items of any nature that are not RPO (Regular Production Order) items.