This is the last installment of a work of gay fiction. None of the characters are based on anyone living or dead. If you are offended by the explicit topic, please read no further. Otherwise, please enjoy my tale of passion, violence and saddness. Dante-
Finito
The night was warm and humid as I approached the colonial villa. I had taken the streetcar from downtown, as usual, to the end of the line. My body was warm from my encounter with the whore, and I was relaxed, but not so relaxed as to forget my business tonight. I met Jacques, my Corporation contact, as planned and over bitter coffee I gave him an update to pass on to Quantico and the people there. These encounters were always funny to eavesdroppers. We spoke mostly in half sentences that constituted a code language for us in the field.
"Manuel, did you know that my cat spotted a mouse yesterday?" Jacques said casually in French.
"Ah, he's doing what cats do, eh?" I said back lightly. Although I felt far from light hearted. "Who hath drawn the circuit for the predator." My mind whispered.
"Be careful, and remember me to your mother if something goes wrong with the new job." Jacques said as he rose to leave. He was telling me that my cover had been compromised somewhat but not enough to scrub the mission. Also he was passing on the escape command if I needed out fast, "mother" how creative of Quantico. As he brushed past me on the sidewalk, he slipped a scrap of paper in my hand. I glanced down and memorized the local phone number for the escape code, wadded it up and dropped it with the butt of my cigarette into the gutter.
The black Mercedes met me at the magazine stand, Emillio was driving and as soon as I settled into the back seat we sped off into the suburbs.
I watched Emillio from the back seat he was a beautiful man. He had very broad shoulders and muscular thighs. His hair was the blue black of the typical Latino and from the bulge in his pants he looked like he was hung. While he drove one hand rested lightly in his crotch and occasionally he would adjust his equipment and look back at me in the rearview mirror.
The villa was more like a fortress than a suburban palace since Ignatio had taken over. It was comfortably nestled into the hillside amid the palms and enormous mahogany trees. The drive twisted up the hill and ended in a pleasant motor court before the impressively ornate entrance. I approached the door, which was opened by Miguel, who is both butler and bodyguard.
"Good evening, Don Manuel." The butler murmured in his mellifluous Portuguese. "Don Ignatio and a light supper are waiting for you on the terrace by the pool."
"Ah Miguel, my mouth waters thinking about what wonders you have prepared for me." I answered in a courtly fashion. Miguel was a very pompous sort who acted like his boss was the President of the Republic.
Of course he was, very nearly. At least in influence.
I crossed the Salon, its' splendor as impressive as a palace, and through the French doors onto the terrace.
The pool lights were on and there were candles burning at the table. Ignatio had his back to me and all I make out is his silhouette.
Ignatio was born in Antigua, to a prostitute. His father was anyone's guess. He had been raised on the streets and the streets had educated him to the dark side of human nature. His childhood had been about illegal rum, hookers and petty thievery. He told me once he had killed his first man at 14 for a rum smuggler he worked for and latter took out. By 20 he was one of the major dealers in contraband in the Caribbean and now, at 70, his power and influence was enormous. He no longer dealt directly with the "stuff" but he controlled the movement of it and just about everything else that was profitable in the Caribbean basin. I wondered now if he knew who and what I was. It was quite possible. Perhaps he just didn't care, or more likely he merely enjoyed toying with me.
The "Corporation" had arranged our "chance" meeting. My mission was to plant some covert devices and listen to his conversations to gather evidence of what we knew. That Ignatio regularly facilitated the shipping of Cocaine, Heroin and Marijuana into several US ports for distribution to our own organized crime elements. He also, as a sideline, controlled the largest string of prostitutes in the Caribbean, from St. Thomas to Barbados.
My cover story is that I am a writer that came back to my Brazilian roots, after living in France all my life, to finish a novel. A French operative named Lola, who had shared Ignatio's bed in the name of the Republic, introduced us at a party in the French embassy. Ignatio prided himself on his knowledge of literature, his one and only passion after the making of money, and had easily been persuaded to take me up in Rio society. He liked me because I quoted French and obscure Chinese literature at him and we could discuss for hours the subtleties of the logic of Confucius. I had to be careful though; he was a brilliant and cunning man. I remember one of the first times we talked, he asked if I had every visited the US as my Portuguese sounded faintly "American". I had laughed and told him it was the Parisian French that had tainted my parent's native tongue.
Our dinner conversation was light, he had acquired, coincidentally, a first edition of Flaubert's Madam Bovary and wanted me to read a little of it to him, as he didn't speak French. I told him he knew that I was only too happy to repay his kindness.
Ignatio said, "Manuel, you have read Madam Bovary?" I nodded and he went on. "Such passion she has, such treachery." His laugh is dry as the desert wind and nearly soundless. "I have known such treachery from those that appear otherwise." I was suddenly very still as he stared at me. "I know of only one way to repay it, that is with such pain and suffering equal to the friendship and love."
I laughed out loud as though he had made a fine joke. "Ah Don Ignatio, I suspect you have paid this price yourself at times." I paused, "And caused others to pay." I raised my glass of wine to him in salute.
He looked at me and said, "Manuel, I do not enjoy making others pay that price. I am old now and have lately been slow to give my affections away. That is why. I begin to think I have been too rash." He lifted his own glass to mine, the Waterford crystal clinked."
Eric's voice comes to me from the darkness on the other side of the tent; the wind whistles through the North Carolina pine trees, so I have to concentrate to hear him. "So what did that dude mean by the circuit of the Lion, I don't get it?"
"The lion is the top of the heap, head predator. All he surveys is his prey. Do you think he feels trapped by that? Never able to rest but always challenged by those weaker that would replace him? We, you and I, are in a way trapped by the same circuit. We are challenged by those that seek to conquer us and by that which drew the circuit. Our passions draw our circuit. That is our driving force, whether it is physical passion or the passions that we call other things like home and family. Love of country and things like that. By mastering those passions we can escape the trap of the circuit." I sigh, knowing that my passion has been enflamed by this man. His strong physical presence and naïve but agile mind all act like a magnet as I try to harness this passion and prevent it from driving him away. I'm startled by the touch of his hand on my chest.
"I love you man." He whispers, "You are the passion that is drawing my circuit and I want you like no woman I have ever wanted. I don't know what to do about it and it is tearing me apart. Do you hate me for a queer?"
"No Eric, far from it, but as the master goes on to say, we must spend wisely." I whisper back and touch his hand his fingers grasp mine.
Don Ignatio is looking at me, waiting for me to reply.
"I'm sorry Don Ignatio, I was carried away in my thoughts."
"I asked if you would care for a cigar?" He said reaching the box to me. I take one of his Havana cigars and light it from the candle. The ghosts in my mind mingle with the fragrant smoke as I puff it up into the star filled sky.
Miguel brings the book to me and I take it. A rare volume, I can tell, as he has had a beautiful Moroccan leather sleeve made for it that matches all the other volumes in his library. I caress the leather and think again of Eric and that night in the tent in the Carolina woods during our survivalist training. Miguel pours brandy for us and goes back into the house. Don Ignatio is studying me, waiting for me to read in a language that he doesn't understand a tale of human perfidy. I thumb through the pages and find a suitable passage and read to him about Msr Bovary and his bourgeois ideals. As I read I glance at Ignatio, he is lost in thought, watching the reflected light from the pool on the trees that surround us. After a time I stop and merely sit and stare at him. Then I clear my throat and excuse myself. I cross the terrace and find my way into the depths of the house; obstensively to go to the restroom but really to check the bug that is planted near his study. The bug checks out and I wash my hands in the restroom.
I enter the salon to find that Ignatio has come in also. He says, "Ah Manuel the wind has risen slightly. Why don't we go into my study so that you can read some more." I follow him into the study. Manuel, why don't you get comfortable and have a drink while I go see what is keeping Miguel." He closed the door behind him. I walked over to the desk and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the mantel. My 6'7" height captured by the tilt of the mirror. My dark hair and well-defined chest make me look like a statue, and like a statue the dark eyes are blank.
The door opening startles me and Emillio walks in. He has removed his chauffeur's coat and tie. His white shirt is partially unbuttoned and I can tell he's been drinking. I ask him if something is wrong as he walks up to me. Suddenly he punches me in the jaw and I know no more.
Eric is resting against me; one arm thrown casually across my chest his warm breath is in my ear. The night breeze moving through the tent chills our naked bodies and I see goose flesh rise along his arm. He sighs in his sleep and snuggles against me, the blonde hair that covers his chest trapping warm air against my side. The warm rush of emotion colors my cheeks. I realize that I have never loved anyone but myself until this moment.
When I wake up I am tied up and sitting in a chair. Ignatio is standing over me. "Ah you have rejoined us." He says. "Manuel, if that is your name, you are leaving me now. I haven't found out exactly who you really are but I know enough to know you must be eliminated. How unfortunate...parting is such sweet sorrow." He laughs and turns to Emillio. "Make him suffer for his betrayal." He salutes me as he walks out of the room. As my mind adjusts to the new situation, I realize that Quantico has gotten it wrong and my cover is blown. Emillio roughly pulls me to my feet and walks me out of the house and into the waiting Mercedes. I am thrown into the corner by the speed at which Emillio takes the curves of the drive.
"Where are you taking me, Emillio?" I demand. In answer he looks into the rearview mirror and smiles. I loose track of where we are, but I can tell we are somewhere near the river.
The car turns suddenly into a deserted lane and throws gravel as it slides to a stop. We are at a deserted building of unknown history, and the ropes around my wrists have made my hands numb I try and bring them back to life, because I will need them if there is any opportunity. I don't plan on going out quietly. "He who is master of his passions doth draw the circuit." My mind hums.
Emillio drags me out of the back seat and pushes me roughly toward the building I stumble and fall. He catches up to me and hauls me back up to my feet by grabbing the waistband of my pants. As he hauls me upright his hand lingers on my ass and I look at him. He is smiling again, and says hoarsely "I'm gonna kill you, but first I'm gonna use you. Don Ignatio knows how I make people suffer, that is why he called me. Miguel would have merely shot you." As he was saying this, his big hands were running across my crotch. My flesh responded automatically. Emillio laughs and says "You gonna like this maybe more than I thought."
My mind responds automatically, I have to play this just right. Too passive might turn him off, too much fighting won't get my hands untied. "You bastard!" I spit at him in Portuguese. "I wouldn't a picked you as a faggot." His fist flashed and I am again unconscious.
I am in a warm place. The bright sun of North Carolina is shining down on Eric as he kneels by the lake. He is a blonde Narcissus looking at his reflection. He turns and looks at me, our eyes meet and he smiles.
I am brought back to reality when my body is roughly dropped. I open my eyes and they slowly adjust to the darkness. There is a warm yellow light dimly burning out of sight, "candle or lantern" I think. Emillio is caressing my stomach that has been reveal by my T-shirt being dragged out of my pants. His weight is pressed against my thigh and I can feel his erection.
"Yeah, I'm gonna stuff you full." His hoarse breathing is audible in the echoing darkness. His hands roughly undo my jeans and he tugs them down around my ankles. He rips my jockeys off also and my hardening dick is visible in the dim light. He gently slides his rough hand over my shaft, and I moan. He chuckles to himself and starts to unfasten his pants. His thighs are sculpted out of hard muscle and his abbreviated shorts can barely contain his massively hard dick.
"Untie my hands Emillio, and I'll help you." I state flatly. He laughs and plunges a large knife into the wood of the table near my head. He is fondling my dick, which is hard and dripping precum. " You Bastard, " I murmur harshly. I am concentrating on my hands trying to make them feel something more than the pins and needles. The knife is near my hands also. He pushes one of his fingers into my hole roughly and I yell at him, "Stop it you fucking queer!" as I flail against him and the ropes that tie me down.
Emillio laughed meanly and says "You gonna get something bigger than this. I've been watching you ever since the first time you came to Don Ignatio's. Now I'm gonna give it to you." He lowered his shorts and his dick bounced up and off his stomach. It is at least 9 inches long and uncut. He rolls the foreskin back and forth revealing the large mushroom shaped head slick with precum. He is fucking my ass with his finger and jacking himself off with the other hand. Then he slides up tight against me and rubs his dripping dick on my thigh. His hoarse moan echo's in the darkness. I slowly start easing my hands toward the knife but I have to concentrate and be very slow.
Emillio removes his finger and I feel the head of his massive cock pressing against my hole. "You're gonna get fucked hard man." He growls as he pushes his cock deep into me.
"Stop it, damn you!" I yell at him letting a little of the panic I feel, sound in my voice.
"Oh yeah, fight me...you white whore!" He is pounding into me with his eyes closed. I raise my legs and squeeze his thighs between mine.
"Get that big dick outta me, you fucking queer." I moan. I start sliding the ropes that bind my wrist against the edge of the knife. Emillio is flushed and breathing hard with his eyes closed. Suddenly he bends down and starts kissing me roughly and I respond. "Oh yeah." I moan "Harder man, give it to me harder!"
Emillio is moaning with each thrust. My hands are free now; just a thread of the rope is left together. I just have to reach the breath freshener vial that is in my pants. Suddenly Emillio starts to cum, he is thrust deep into me and I feel the hot jiz heating my guts. I am lost in my own passion now and as he opens his eyes I start to cum, shooting big wads of hot cream all over my stomach. Emillio touches his finger into one of the puddles and gently draws a circle on his stomach with my cum. He slowly pulls out of me and I feel open and empty as his jiz leaks out of me.
"You liked if after all, didn't you whore?" He growls as he pulls his clothes back on. "Too bad you got to die, I could have used some more of that." He pulls my jeans back up so that I can stand up. Jerks me to my feet and tells me to walk toward the light.
"Who hath drawn the circuit of the predator." My mind whispers.
"Too bad we won't get to do this again, Emillio" I say in English. As I snapped the last thread holding the ropes together and reach into my pants pocket. In a lightening flash I uncap the vial and spray it in Emillio's face. His sudden gasp of inhaled air carries the extremely potent narcotic deep into his lungs. He staggers shakes his head and collapses. I hold my breath and run toward the light. When I reach the end of the building I find a lantern burning near a wood packing crate that stands beside a shallow hole. I was stopped suddenly by the sight of, what would have been my coffin and grave.
I am standing in the sunny park like field. There are flowers everywhere really, sprouting unnaturally from the rocks that anchor them. I look at my feet and slowly read the inscription in bronze. "Eric Westerly, born 1963, died 1991. He who has mastered his desire doth draw the circuit of the lion, Confucius." I bend down and place the small bouquet of violets on the bronze plaque near the Star.
Emillio is still unconscious as I tie him up. The narcotic vapor had dissipated enough to allow me to return to him. I slowly cut every piece of clothing off of him and take the pile and put it in the bottom of the grave and set it on fire. Then having rearranged my clothing I take Emillio's car keys and head out to the Mercedes. The motor roared to life and I casually drove in the direction of the city whose lights I could see against the clouds. While I drive I dial the escape number on the cell phone in the car and when the French voice answers I say "Ma Mere." Immediately the voice reads an address to me near the airport. We break off and I steer the big black sedan onto the freeway.
"You know, I don't know what I'd do without you, man."
Eric said and punched me lightly on the shoulder. We are sitting on the edge of the lake in the warm summer sun, letting our bodies dry from our swim. We only had two more days before our unit shipped out to Saudi Arabia and Iraq.
"You know that we can't always be together, don't you Eric?" I said quietly. "The Corporation will be sending me to all kinds of places when we get back, and I won't be able to tell you when or where. Are you sure you can handle that?" I paused, "Maybe you should bail now, man." I said softly to his reflection in the lake water.
He chuckled softly and said, "Just let me know your safe, when you can, and be with me when you can." I'm not gonna bail on my best buddy.
The sun was bright as I steered the small compact rental car into the cemetery. I don't understand why I have to come back here after every assignment, maybe so he will know I'm safe still. I sit in the grass beside the bronze marker and stare at it till my vision blurs with the concentration. I gently lay the single blossom of Bougainvillea on the bronze. "I'm back." I murmur.