Powder Monkey - History

Powder Monkey ©MCVT2017

Coming of age equipped with only a work ethic, a certificate and load of guilt, Cody's foray into adulthood is an arduous path. Saga of a powder monkey and the men he encounters in Southern California during the 1940s.

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Adult content, 99% fiction, prostitution, incest, bb, Mt, MM, gay, bi, anal, oral, nudity, spank, history, implied violence, mystery, romance, long read (98 minutes.)

Powder Monkey

Perfect, unseen transition. Aqua rampancy chasing the night, ripple of lavender hills afar. The colors of freedom. Empty, silently thrilling skies in brazen blue, slight changes through the day, through the seasons. New Mexico skies are uncluttered, undisturbed. Pure freedom.

Feet scraping dusty caliche, muscles twitching to run--at liberty bounding through my native elements.

Anointed by those turquoise skies, wind in my face. Didn't look down. Earth was splotched with brown-black shapes. Crude from oil well construction, drilling.

Far below the oil stains is another treasure I knew too well.

The Ford factory took one hour and thirty-three minutes to produce a Model A on an assembly line. Cost: $850 in 1903.

Demand for personal autos increased. Demand for petroleum soared. Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico horizons were spiked with oil wells.

Across New Mexico, new highways were laid as exploration for black gold went full bore.

A fifteen-year-old boy worked the road crews in eastern New Mexico in the late 1920s. He helped build those new highways. Old WWI tents on platforms sheltered the families trailing the crew.

My older sister was born in one of those hot, stinking canvas tents. Mom said they enjoyed close neighbors though the life was primitive, "Like pioneers in most ways."

Stock market crashed, dust storms and drought came. Great Depression plus the Dust Bowl eras hit.

Taking his money from roadwork, the young man bought several acres. Had a house brought in, a shotgun shack on skids. Small, sturdy house. One long room, one door and two windows. It arrived on a flat rail car, drug from the tracks to the land.

Dug a well and built an outhouse. Set up housekeeping at Border Hill, outside Roswell.

Three years after Jess was born, Mom birthed me in that house. Older sister didn't know us well. Sister Candace lived in Roswell with an elderly woman when she started school.

Border Hill: razor-sharp smell of piñon at dawn, chalky-iodine smell of an ancient seabed. Jess said it was a desiccated ocean, pointed to the horizontal striations on the sides of mesas. "They mark where the ocean rose and receded."

Open skies, bitter cold winds for a few months, and heat. Constant heat through most of the year. A few weeks of wildflowers with tender, skin-soft petals reminded us life was delicate, precious.

Beauty in the emptiness around me, wind whistling an ancient tune. Eternal, clear skies above--all this I took deep inside me. Part of me, it became. No disruptions, no other notion than being part of the searing beauty as I grew.

Jess and I entertained ourselves on the arid landscape among the rattlers, horny toads.

That changed when Dad began working the mines. He got our tiny house wired for electricity. Through a catalogue, Mom ordered a radio.

Weather reports, news, dramas, Maybelle Carter's nasal drone and constant hellfire-and-damnation wailed from our Philco.

Mom invented a game with Jess and me. We'd each try to guess the ending of the Dick Tracy stories during the first commercial. Funny to hear my slender, blonde mother talk about sneaky deals, thefts, and devious ways to hide loot.

Seldom won those games yet the commercials expanded my mind with all the different things a person could buy. Never imagined a self-winding wristwatch, or a washing machine. Television? Jess and I wanted to watch Flash Gordon.

K 39.098

Potash mines opened near Roswell. That's where Dad worked, one of a few Latinos hired. Stayed in the flimsy barracks with the other workers, came home weekends.

Summers, brother and I chipped bricks down the road with Mom. Three cents each if you didn't crack it or nick the corners. Left our hands rough, scratched, our backs achy.

Young, I was just gaining a grasp on what economic depression meant when Mom served us cereal from a government allotment. Not our usual fare. Dry milk, salt and vitamins were added to ground grains--Milkwheato, Milkorno.... Label said to boil it up, serve it hot.

"What's this?" Dad tasted it.

Mom explained the government gave out fortified cereals to keep people healthy.

He made a face, then looked at Jess and me. "How can you eat this slop?"

In a small voice, Jess pulled his bowl close, "I'm hungry."

After a few moments Dad stood abruptly and left. Didn't come back till Sunday morning.

Wasn't any part-time work in town. Dad was quiet, lips pressed tightly together. Looked at us, his eyes filled, breaths sped.

Mom calmed him, "Be patient. No shame in doing what we have to. Shame would be in not making our way through."

Our hunger hurt him deeply, he worked hard. Always tired and he saw no end to his work at the mine or the needs of his family.

We clung to any hope we could and knew the weakest in our small community were gone. By bus or disturbing means, they left. Roswell's population dwindled but for the miners and their ragtag, hollow-cheeked families.

Misery

During my tender years, sprouts of my self-awareness were singed.

Jess and I were out on the sand among the tumbleweeds looking for rabbit. Mom promised to stew it with dumplings. We weren't in school, forgot it was Friday.

Curious, Jess and I learned to enjoy our dicks. Not getting much affection, it was new, exciting to touch each other, make ourselves giddy. Those feelings amazed us. We kissed, licked, sucked each other, pulled off with dirty hands.

Jess' fondling tingled all through me; los toques.

Afternoon, in the long shadows of a mesquite, we smelled tortillas cooking, ignored it as we unbuttoned. Kissing the salty skin of my brother's face, rubbing our dicks together. Jeans around our knees. He spewed his few drops and stopped, looked over my shoulder.

Our dad came looking for us. We froze.

"Worse than fags." He roughly pulled us apart. We were told not to be within ten paces of him when we went to town, stay out of his way in the house. "Hell to pay if I catch you two at it again."

He coughed, hacked as we walked back home.

Used to think it was his temper filling his throat but that's how mining kills men. Lungs fill with dust, a man can't clear.

Uncomfortable that night. It began anxious lives for me and Jess; our bodies became unwanted burdens we couldn't shed.

Didn't understand what it meant, "worse than fags." Jess didn't either though we knew fags were men who went for other men.

Dad made our lives miserable for the next several years. Wretched living with him.

Life was worse in Europe. Germany invaded Poland. US began sending forces in 1940.

Jess enlisted with the Army when he was eighteen. Dad took him to town. Mom and I held each other in back of the house as the sun set. We cried. Our lives would never be the same.

Jess barely finished basic training when he died at Fort Snelling. The army said it was accidental. Mom and Dad only glanced at me after the soldier left. Didn't speak of it, we all knew how many accidents our kind meet.

Coffin arrived and stayed closed. Our spirits shook as it was lowered....

Home was silent. Family fell apart.

My sister graduated high school, married, stayed in Roswell. Dad stopped work; couldn't breathe well. Mom took care of him, the house and me.

Too hard living at Border Hill, we moved to Roswell, got a small place near Candace and her husband.

Dropped out of school, followed my father's path to the potash mines.

Explosives are made with potassium, potash. Military contractors needed plenty. It's used to make fertilizer; farmers needed it. Mines hired any able man who came through the door.

Dug the walls of mineral `round the clock. Men still stayed in barracks, rode an old bus back and forth weekly.

Being short and skinny, the blast engineer chose me to be his powder monkey.

Below, on the face of the rock, blasting holes were drilled every thirty feet. A stick of dynamite and a blasting cap was inserted in each. Quickly jumped along the shaky scaffolding from one hole to the next, connecting the explosive to wires leading to the detonator box.

The area was cleared, the wall exploded. Earth shook, pink dust billowed.

Huge blankets hung through the mines to catch the dust. Blankets were always wet; water constantly dripped from the underground streams.

Loose rock was picked and pulled away to be sent up, loaded and hauled to the processors.

Former blast engineer was drafted. Inventoried my few supplies with a new guy named Cornell as my supervisor.

Some said Cornell had served time, had a shady past. I wasn't sure, he was good to me. Cut from different cloth, Cornell. Spoke differently, careful man -- watchful.

Blast engineer is an exacting job. He kept the explosives and equipment, inventoried them daily. Kept them locked up--that tells you the sorts working in the mines. Important to keep explosives secured among men who stayed drunk every weekend and were ready to even a score from a perceived slight.

Cornell took me under his wing, explained his job and mine in detail. Told me about veins of minerals; about the strata, lamina and lodes. He drilled the blast holes at irregular spots to loosen more rock, "More efficient."

Instead of taking the bus with the other miners, we rode in his car on Fridays after shift.

Cornell took me to his room in town on Friday. Single room above a bakery on the edge of Roswell. Surprised to find it filled with magazines, books. Stack of yellow National Geographics by his bed, on his table, scattered among piles newspapers.

In awe, I looked around--this is how single men lived? Not sure what I expected to see.

"You read? There's a box of old Life and True Crime under the table." Cornell smiled, "Take it with you."

Grabbed the box, "You read all these?"

"Sure. Economy won't be bad forever. I'm looking for opportunities. Canada's opening potash mines--might pay better than here."

Went home and shared magazines with my parents. Silent dinner while we read.

Shakier and thinner by the month, Dad's medicines no longer helped. Able to move around the house, not much else. Mom went to stay with Candace on weekends.

Uncomfortable being around Dad, he refused to speak to me. Constantly, he mumbled confused words.

Still couldn't figure out what was worse than being a sod.

Sunday morning I found a crime magazine open to the back where ads were listed. It sat at my place at the table. One short ad was circled, a twenty dollar bill lay on the open page. Ad was for training as an electrician, study by mail; pass their test and get nationally recognized certificate.

Addressed an envelope and mailed it that day.

"Saskatchewan's open, plenty of jobs." Cornell left for Canada's mines within the month. "Huge deposit they'll be working for decades. C'mon up."

His letters fired my imagination about better wages, but not about working another mine.

At the kitchen table, I studied the mystery of circuits, resistance and ohms. Took my books to work, filled in the pages at night in the barracks.

A few miners asked what I was doing. Most of the time I didn't answer, they treated me like an ignorant kid. Conjectured I was too small or must be too dull-witted to join the military.

Sole surviving son, uneasy weight on my shoulders; a relief to Mom.

Military wasn't in my future.

Difficult years in the mine. Lived with a constant boner, always sportin' wood. Being skinny, it was impossible to hide. Watched the men around me, some grinned.

To me, miners were either daddies and drifters. Drifters drank through the weekends, they were red-eyed and troublesome on Mondays. They came and went, most left when they saw the old timers coughing all night. Daddies moved slowly, always tired.

Mysteriously silent, there were men who lingered in the showers. Daddies and drifters alike. Highly secretive activity, couldn't afford getting into a fight down below if someone snitched. Bosses would send you up. Working in the heat and dust loading trucks was worse than the dank, cold holes below.

Showering in a dark corner, I watched men kissing, fucking and sucking under the cool water remembering Jess.

Got my certificate as an electrician, guarded that paper though it didn't make me more valuable. Every day below, every week in the barracks increased my anxiousness to leave; thick spike of resentment grew in my craw. Mines are dangerous -- we barely survived on my income.

At eighteen, I helped Mom with the arrangements for my father's burial. Only Candace, her husband, Mom and I stood by the grave. Dust roiled with the swing of each shovel.

The last few specks left of Dad's weak, bitter spirit flew into the empty New Mexico skies.

"Leave." She said.

"Taos, El Paso, Albuquerque, anywhere there's a chance for you to build a good life. Nothing for you here but your own early grave. I'm going to live with Candace." Mom tearfully handed me two-hundred dollars cash and an envelope.

"This'll help, but go. Before you're stuck in the mines--I don't want to see you die like your father." She spoke what she knew, what she'd lived.

Dad's death left an empty space where I could finally ask, "Why did Dad call me worse than a fag?"

Took a while, "Candace is your your half-sister, she's your cousin. Understand?"

"How?"

"Hard to imagine now, but we were in love. I was angry when I found out your Dad made my sister pregnant. She was too young. We all three left Amarillo together, I agreed to marry your father and raise the child as ours. We thought that would fix everything.

"Candace was born the first few months with the road crew. Your aunt left. Just up and left the next night." Mom reached for my hand, "...your Aunt Florence. Seems seeing her baby, it sent her off--her mind cracked. Started empty-talking. Never came back, we didn't know where she went.

"I loved that baby, she was beautiful." Mom looked away, wringing her hands, "I had to keep her away from your father--she stayed with me day and night. Hours he spent trying to pray away his erection when she was young. Your dad had feelings for children, I didn't know what that meant when I married him. I was a kid myself. A man who takes a child is worse than a fag--that's what he thought."

"Dad never bothered me."

"Jess got the most of it while your father still able. Remember Saturdays when you and I went into town?"

The envelope Mom gave me was postmarked San Diego, from Cornell.

Told me there was work the on the West Coast. "Get out here. Plenty of work with good pay wiring the new plants. No tramping around for a few bucks to stay in debt, union men don't have to."

An opportunity, though it felt distant, foreign--I could be turned away. Good pay? Nothing I'd ever get here.

Sent a postcard back saying I'd meet him in the electrician's union hall in two weeks though parts of me were unsure. Didn't want to ride the rails back to Roswell and I had to take a chance.

Turned in notice at the mine. Management asked me to train the new guy. I refused--they didn't want to pay me extra for it.

Don't know if they laughed at my new found confidence in a mail-order course and didn't care. No extra work from me for nothing. Learned that from the union organizers who stayed in Roswell. They talked to the miners at the barbershop, in the bars.

Organizing the potash miners was only a matter of time; time that I didn't have.

A few of my Dad's shirts fit, my workbooks and certificate I packed. Had little else to pack but a comb and toothbrush.

Scuffed, ancient pasteboard grip in hand, I left Roswell.

Powder Monkey Part 2 Local #583

Hours on the Pickwick-Greyhound gave me time to think: Was Dad saying I was like him? Didn't have feelings about girls or anyone. Shame doused any erotic thoughts, made me frustrated, confused, afraid. Afraid of myself.

He'd destroyed parts of me I couldn't yet name. Big, unfilled parts.

Wondered if taking a kid is passed through blood. The thought scared me--would it make me as bitter?

Got into San Diego late, wandered the streets downtown. Crisp breezes; different, inviting. Desiccated ocean smelled like death compared with the crisp salt air at the bay.

Watched the city wake. Tensed seeing unemployed men on the streets, in the alleys. More came to the curbs as the sun rose.

Stood straight, took a deep breath. Steeled myself to grasp the opportunity ahead.

Trolleys ran the major streets, trails of ozone wafted. The smell of work pushed me forward into the union hall, large room filled with metal folding chairs, a few men stood to the side. At a counter I asked if there were openings for an electrician.

"Union card?" Smartly dressed lady asked. Earrings, lipstick, perfume.

"Don't have one yet." She picked up the phone.

Soon a man in a suit came from the hallway, extended his hand. "Electrician?"

"Yep." Handed him my certificate. "Old friend named Cornell said there was work here. In the mines, I was his powder monkey."

He gave me a blank stare. "Cornell... can't place him. You mean Cornelius... what's his last name.... Cornelius Shivers?"

"He worked the Saskatchewan potash mines after he left New Mexico."

To the lady, "Find Shivers, tell him to call me." Looked back at me, "Let's go to my office, tell me about this monkey business." He chuckled.

Got a paper and pen, told me to draw what I did. Told him about blasting caps, explosives, the detonator box. He asked me how I knew which ends to attach. "Simple circuit." I drew it out.

Voltage, amps, resistance--he asked about them. Showed him the formulas I'd studied, explained how they were used. Explained gauges, insulation materials and grounding.

He nodded, "How old were you when you wired the mines?"

"Fourteen. Worked four hard years there."

Silence as the sun filtered through the window onto his desk--he stared at my certificate. Then the conversation abruptly turned. "Where were you born?"

I knew where this was going. "Roswell area, Border Hill."

"Birth certificate?"

"My mom has it."

Kept his eyes on my certificate. Made me anxious.

Finally, "Mr Cody Maximilian Davids-Moreno, you'll be Cody Davids around here. Understand?" He lowered his chin, lifted his eyebrows.

My eyes are light, skin was tan, not too dark and my hair was black and straight. That was enough to make trouble.

Feldman didn't rename me, he clarified potential problems. Called his secretary in and asked her to write to Chavez County for a notarized proof of birth. Handed her my certificate, "Use Cody Davids on his union paperwork, this name for his birth certificate.

"Are you willing to start as an apprentice?" He explained that the union tried to start their apprenticeship program, war delayed their plans. Apprentices assist the master electricians, learned by watching them, then took an apprenticeship exam and the state test.

Before we finished, he asked which branch of the military I wanted to join.

"Sole surviving son."

"Sorry." Stood and shook my hand stared into my face, looked me over closely. "Glad to have you with us."

That man's name was Henry Feldman, Brother Henry Feldman. He would become pivotal to my success, said I had spunk and we both knew he was short of men due to the draft.

Feldman took me to lunch, then down by the Embarcadero. Came back to the union hall and told me to wait for Evers.

I waited outside. Cornell came in coveralls, shook my hand, grabbed me close for a moment, "Been waiting for that call Max m' man."

"I'm red-white-and-blue Cody Davids now." Gave him a wink.

"Got it."

On the way to his apartment in National City, I asked why he told me his name was Cornell, "You don't like the name Cornelius?"

"Gotta keep `em guessing." He laughed, "I need my privacy." That reminded me of some of the radio shows about detectives. Aliases.

My arrival was cause to celebrate or an excuse to play across the border. We went to Tijuana that night. Found I liked the noisy, busy border town.

Cornell said you could buy anything in Tijuana, "Rock-bottom rates."

Zona Rosa was crowded, mostly young military recruits drinking. Carousing, cat-calling, eager to fuck. They laughed, yelled at each other, full of beer and tequila. Couldn't help but think they knew it might be their last, if not their first woman they were building their courage for.

Prostitutes. One after the next, heavily coated with makeup, long hair swaying and tight shorts, forced smiles. Tried to imagine how many hard dicks the women had taken. Hell of a job, but a job all the same when most had none.

Cornell pulled me past the fleshy solicitations, hailed a cab, "Colonia Ana."

Blinking, dull yellow streetlights disappeared as we neared a shanty-town to the east. Dark, narrow streets. Lanterns of the street vendors closing for the night went dark. Dim glow from a few open windows.

Whiffs of broken sewer lines, cracked pavement.

We walked the dusty streets then alleyways. "Do you know where we're going?" Seemed we'd circled back several times.

"Standard issue you can get in town. This is special." He gave me a wink, "Got an idea you don't want standard issue either."

We stopped at a door painted pale blue set into the starkness of a stucco facade. "Rooms for rent by the day or week...." in crooked letters.

Cornell tapped the door.

A young girl answered wearing shorts, faded red bandanna tied around her narrow chest. She smiled, took Cornell's hand.

Inside were children, adolescents; clean kids, hair combed, dressed neatly. "Get yourself a boy if you like, I use `em myself." Cornell began tugging at the knot on the girl's bandanna. He kissed her forehead, "My pretty little concha."

Cornell was like dad and he said he had an idea I wanted the same. What did he know?

First moments were awkward. Glanced around the room, my eyes were drawn to a boy in the shadows, appeared older than the others, as tall as me. He looked like Jess.

Quick smile, he took me to a short hallway to a narrow door and entered a cell-like room lit with a lantern.

The boy undressed me, himself.

Was I supposed to tell him I loved him and talk soppy like the radio dramas? Didn't know how.

The boy kissed me lightly on my cheek, gave me a small smile and held me against his bare skin. Smell of nixtamal in his dark hair, like Jess.

Innocence. Moments with my brother came back. Heat of the desert, our strokes in the sun; simple acts. Los toques.

Smooth skin, looking into eyes that were as dark as Jess'. Hints of sweat rose.

His lips came to mine. Softly, tender as petals of wildflowers in spring.

Exhaled long stream of relief, held him and kissed him. Eyes closed, eternal turquoise filling my chest.

He took me to the narrow cot, dimmed the light and held me. Held me gently.

Sounds of the neighborhood, a loud muffler, rhythmic beats of corridos, droning voices profiled sorrows. Sounds of lives clanged behind my rapid heartbeats.

Murmurs from behind the thin walls. The boy's eyes held expectancy.

His hand went to my hard dick, gentle, light strokes. Pressed his face against mine. Trembling, my breath jerked, balls tightened and I came. Shot fast with incredibly relieving satisfaction. Emptied myself in his hand, on his groin.

As my skin cooled, my head buzzed from the suddenness. Then I recoiled remembering being caught as a boy, Jess' hard life, his harsh death. Jess was gone, only a memory.

He whispered without a trace of Spanish, "Ass fuck?"

Looked him in the eye, "Where are you from?"

"Boyle Heights." I felt his eyelashes at my temple.

"Where's that?"

"Los Angeles. You?"

"New Mexico." This kid was from LA? "How'd you get here?"

"La Migra rounded up anyone looking Latino and sent them home--repatriation. Said we were stealing jobs. I was born in Los Angeles but my parents weren't, they were taken. Stayed with my aunt and went to school, then she got taken away."

The kid told a strange tale of what sounded like incarceration and being shuffled around with other children by the immigration cops who dumped them in a church-operated shelter outside Tijuana.

He escaped the night he arrived. Economic conditions were worse in Mexico; the kid took what he could find at the pensionero.

Dug through his pocket, pulled out an envelope containing a small card, his birth certificate. Only a folded card, scant information and the seal of the state of California in the corner. "Don't lose that."

Younger than me when I began work.

Gave him two dollars though he only asked for one.

On the way home, Cornell sang with the radio, telling me of his exploits, "Ever been to the donkey shows? Makes me so horny, have to pull off watching it--sometimes twice." He laughed while I wondered if I'd ever have his bravado or a need to use it.

Prattled all the way back to his place where I asked if we could go back. "That boy--."

With a smirk, "Never trust a whore, they're all liars and thieves."

Dusty

Brotherhood. That was stressed at my union interview. No skaters, no rat-snowbirds in our local. Skaters hid their union cards for quick work, the rat-snowbirds traveled with the weather doing the same. Both dodged the union dues and rules; rogue electricians.

With more money for drugs and alcohol, some union brothers were rougher versions of the troublesome men in the mines. Union locals couldn't fire a voluntary member, and they could make his life tough.

That wasn't going to happen to me, Dusty wouldn't let it.

I was assigned to Brother Dusty--work with him till I was ready to take the exams. He worked at the street car garage. Big open doors at both ends and tracks throughout the lot. Garage was huge, plenty of room for tools, supplies and a good breeze.

Middle-aged man, pale, white-haired, Dusty spoke softly, slowly. Experienced, methodical, he read the large rolls of schematics. The detailed diagrams looked like spaghetti with numbers until he showed me quickly how to find what I was looking for.

Grimy spots on the large paper sheets marked problem areas.

At first I brought tools or supplies while Dusty worked the wires and switch boxes. Slowly, he taught me the right way to strip wires and make a solid connection, show my professionalism in quality work.

He taught me the lay of the land in the union. "Don't whoop it up with the drunks, and don't start with the drugs. Plenty of dead brothers behind those, and more behind bars." Told me to ignore the trouble causers, senior brothers would take care of them.

Got a peculiar admonition from him: "Always look at a guy's little finger. If that fingernail is about half an inch long, the guy's going to be very anti-social." Took a while to figure that out.

Come my first payday, I saw the deductions--my jaw dropped. Still had more than I'd earn in the mines in a month.

Fridays all the electricians gathered in the union hall after work. Loud groups from different sites came, lot of joking, name calling as they paid dues, settled debts and ate.

Big dinners, music, laughter. Wives and families of the men organized social events on payday. This is how they built the Strike and Hardship Fund -- with home cooking. Mounds of gelatin with fruit, biscuits, stew, or chili.

Long tables, men shoulder to shoulder; Duke Ellington on the radio, Ethel Waters forecasting storms, Fats Waller wasn't misbehavin'.

Felt warm, easy.

Those few hours made me feel I belonged. Never had that feeling at the mines. Now I was wanted and needed, part of a historic force that built better lives, families and our nation.

Dusty warned not to sit in the two chairs in the back of the hall. "Those are Gruner's chairs."

I heard Gruner was the highest paid electrician in our local. Came in at Master level, had engineering training. He was touted as an expert at trouble-shooting complex systems, a wizard in the wiring.

Got into a scrape on a submarine making repairs. His work petered out with the contractor, they said. He joined #583, worked at the aircraft plant.

Dusty pointed him out. Tall, not muscled but lean and had a head full of thick, dark hair he pushed back with oil. Hair was long, cut straight at his collar. Always in gray work pants and shirt with his name over the pocket; his work uniform looked fitted. Cut a striking figure among the other men.

"Why does he get two chairs?"

"One is for him, the other, I think it's for Coltrane." Dusty just shrugged his shoulders.

Gruner didn't speak with the other guys. Waited till the line of men was short, paid his dues and left.

Coltrane. That name sounded familiar. I asked Feldman's wife who Coltrane was. She pointed to a framed photo near the office door.

Patrick G. Coltrane President 1933-1940

Wasn't long before Cornell's apartment came open when he left to work at a new power plant in San Onofre.

Asked nonchalantly as he packed, "What was the name of the colonia outside Tijuana?"

Opened his wallet, "Colonia Ana. Here's a condom. Your dick ain't dripping or burning when you pee, is it? There's a clinic off Avenida Revolución."

I shook my head. "Tetratex, Genuine Latex." Handed it back to him.

He turned me to him, "Don't say anything to the brothers about going to Colonia Ana. Never, ever say anything about me taking you. They're a hard-assed crew. Know what I mean?"

Siedel, our landlord was glad to have me stay, help out the Salvage For Victory campaign. As expected, Cornell left a pile of magazines and newspapers.

Siedel packed boxes of newspapers and old magazines; I left them on the curb of the salvage center.

Began subscribing to Readers Digest, Look, National Geographic--great stories, articles about the war. Siedel and I shared them and newspaper. He subscribed to the True Crime for himself.

Passed my state exam easily, the apprentice test was a snap; hired on at San Diego Electric Railway. Worked weekends at Consolidated Aircraft, usually in the B-24 shop--huge supply planes.

Being the lightest man on the crew, I strung wire in the rafters in hangars, walking the beams with a roll of wire, tool belt clattering. That sound made me proud and earned me an insulting byname... it felt that way at first.

Got around that I was once a powder monkey.

When I entered the union hall on Fridays there was a chorus of "Circus in town! The monkey's here!"

Proud to have a check book, savings account. Sent Mom a check every month. She was a grandmother, I, an uncle. News about her life and friends filled her letters. Seemed memories of Dad, his perversion and anger faded from her life.

Tried to hold good thoughts of Dad. His twenty dollars for my electrician certificate altered my future though his self-loathing still defined much of me.

Powder Monkey Part 3 Boyle Heights

Kept thinking about the boy Agustín.

Both separated from family, I had good work and the union. He didn't, and he didn't seem like a liar or a thief either, only a kid who was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. I'd been that same kid after my father died. Young, unknowing.

We were both willing to work. Dirty, dangerous work kept us in a holding pattern, awaiting a chance.

Took a Sunday afternoon, left for Colonia Ana. Got directions from the Tijuana cabbies and found the old pensionero looking grimy, tired in the daylight. With a bag of candies and apples, I tapped on the door.

Didn't mind paying for Agustín though I only wanted to speak with him. Gave him my address, whispered to him I'd help him get back to LA, "Is there someone who can help you, someone to stay with?"

"Father Mercier, Our Lady of Talpa." Agustín wasn't excited, he moved slowly. Dark circles under his eyes. Afraid to ask why.

"For you and the others." I handed him the bag, then dug through my pocket, found some change and wrote my landlord's phone number on the bag; Siedel was always home. "Leave a message for me when you want to get back to LA. I'll get you there."

Loose Lips

Brother Feldman called me into his office along with five other electricians who worked on the B-24s. Lectured us about "loose lips sink ships." We'd heard of movements, activities, nothing specific.

Rumors spread in the next week about test sites for bombs that could immediately poison everyone. San Diego, LA and Frisco were the southwestern defense. Entire west coast was somewhat vulnerable I figured.

Before I left, he told me he wanted to sell his 1931 Chevy pickup. "Got another kid now. Need a sedan."

Checked out the used car ads in the Trib. Monday, I said I'd take it if I could put it on payments. He told me to get a loan from the union, he had the application.

Signed for that loan with a grin, I didn't have to wait for the trolley or beg rides with men I didn't trust.

Giddy on sudden independence, it was dashed completely.

Pearl Harbor: 2,403 died 1,178 wounded in seventy-five minutes.

Our Lady of Talpa

Siedel tracked me down at work. Gave me the message a young man wanted me to pick him up in front of the Customs Station.

Customs Station was north of the Tijuana border. The area would become National City, back then it was bare land except for a few distant farm houses and the formal stucco building sitting on the sand by a two-lane asphalt road.

Parked in the empty lot of the Customs Station. Waited till the brush parted. Sandals, bandanna and simple, thin clothes, Agustín looked skinnier than before: hair was shaggy, he was dirty. Hands and feet were filthy and he stunk.

Said he'd sneaked out of the pensionero, lived on the streets. Found work hauling trash, cleaning floors, anything for a few centavos. Inched his way closer to the border every day--waited, watched.

Advised by others, he crossed at night. Came through the cactus and weeds, hid till the station closed.

Couldn't leave for LA till later that week. Decided to say he was distant family on his way back to LA. At home I immediately got rid of his clothes, his bandanna and shirt were dyed with colors not used on American clothing. "Get a bath."

Siedel gave me the okay, the boy could stay. Said Agustín could help him with the lawn and a few odd jobs for the week if he could find his list. Then, "His people don't believe in meals? He's so puny."

Men selling apples recently appeared on every street corner. They told me it was an employment scheme, selling fruit. Next day I came home from work with plenty of apples, quart of milk, two pounds of tortillas. Not much more available.

Friday, we called Father Mercier who eagerly took Agustín back. Drove up on Sunday. Mercier had a small room for him; Agustín wasn't excited, though he seemed grateful.

Something didn't feel right. Whispered to Agustín, "Any time, I can send you a train ticket back. Call Siedel, he'll tell me."

Electricians were called to wire Balboa Park, the California-Pacific International Exposition would open the next year. That left me with only a few other brothers in the trolley garage for a month.

Plenty of overtime and more to come.

Rights and Wrongs

Unions have constitutions; members have a bill of rights. Each local elects its own officers, there are committees keeping everything organized. Secretary, treasurer, all the required posts, we had.

Benefits and working conditions were the usual topics dominating the meetings. Job openings across Southern California were announced. Disciplinary committee report was always interesting.

Feldman stepped back into my life at the election of officers. He nominated me to a new post he felt the local needed: Assistant Treasurer.

At the podium, he explained that the dues were kept by Eli Orlov, our accountant. He needed help--membership had increased with a number of vets.

Assistant Treasurer would only handle monies from the fund-raisers and donations to the Hardship and Strike fund. "We need an honest, dependable man. That's Cody Davids, vote him in."

Elected unanimously. No one else wanted the position

Feldman explained I'd have to count the cash, complete a deposit slip, take it to the night deposit. "Same as keeping track of your savings account. Grilled hot dogs next Friday, I'll show you."

Eli came for a hot dog. Explained how he invested the dues, paid the bills, made the payroll checks and reconciled everything with Feldman quarterly. "You and I will meet quarterly as well."

He was also the accountant for the UA. Old, established construction trades union in the area.

Celebratory moments in my life were countered with tragedy. In August 1945, over 385,000 died and were sickened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Disheartened?

Proud of myself, a union officer. Lot of respect came with that, now I was the "Money Monkey."

Having no one else to tell, I bought two dinners that night, took them to Siedel's. Dinners together on Friday night became our routine.

To make sure I remembered his dinner, Siedel put an empty bean pot with its lid on the seat of my truck Friday mornings. Five dollar bill stuck out of the lip of the lid, "S & H Fund" he'd write on it.

Older man, Siedel, slow and appeared delicate yet he kept the duplex in top-notch order. Tall, broad shouldered, thin. Retired brick mason; member of the UA. Proud of his panel truck though he seldom drove. Still smelled like fresh-mix concrete in the back.

Snappy truck, big, fat whitewalls, dark reddish-brown with chrome trim.

Pulled in the hall on a Friday, grabbed dinner and headed home with a pot full of stuffed cabbage, rice, cornbread.

Almost dropped the pot when I saw Agustín come out the back door grinning, Siedel right behind him, "Don't get mad, I had to do it."

"What happened?" I asked.

Agustín smiled, "Siedel wired me a ticket."

Glanced at both of them. They grinned.

Over dinner Siedel said Agustín had called, sounded disheartened. "He's too young to be so sad. He wanted to come back and help me." Mentioned briefly the cholo problems in LA, "Getting harder for me to push the mower."

Siedel needed a companion. Couldn't be upset about that.

Had a new spark about him, Siedel's nature changed, he enjoyed having us around, especially Agustín. Told me not to get a phone, he needed to keep track everything.

Often found Siedel reading the paper with his magnifier-glass bitching about the rationing and those "damn tiny stamps." One of his quirks, misplacing small things, cussing when he couldn't find them.

Agustín started keeping Siedel's keys, ration stamps, pocket change in jars on the counter, each jar labeled in big letters.

Agustín moved his few things to Siedel's apartment and lists began appearing for Siedel and me. We were being organized by a kid.

Powder Monkey Part 4 Victory In Europe Day

Loud celebrating through the streets on V-E Day, May eighth, 1945. Germany surrendered. Hitler was dead. Photos and reports about the war eroded our spirits so long--continual death and destruction. Didn't feel like it was over so quickly.

No changes in my life. My responsibilities continued. Economy was still bad and government contracts had to be completed.

Some ease would begin when more vets returned and they weren't here yet.

Wednesday morning, May 9, Siedel wasn't in kitchen kitchen. Found him asleep on his sofa, fully clothed.

Agustín didn't know anything except that Siedel was on the phone yesterday, then an old friend came by to pick him up. "He came back drunk, crying--wouldn't talk to me.

Guessed the old guy tied it on too tight Wednesday.

Thursday morning I went in to work wondering about Siedel, I'd never seen him sauced before.

Agustín called that afternoon, said that Siedel tried to cross the yard to his truck, "He fell down, I can't get him up."

I rushed home. Whew, did the old man stink. He was talking gibberish, something about alders or elders. Couldn't make it out.

Straight to the hospital; I signed him in.

They told me they'd call later, he had to rest quietly.

Gina and Mark came to Siedel's to take some things that night, said they were family.

Agustín went in Siedel's and began cleaning up after the couple left. Aired the house out. Said he wanted to stay by the phone.

Siedel's face was blotchy red when I left him at the hospital. He'd bruised his cheek, his arms. Yeah, I was worried, I liked the old coot.

Agustín was afraid the old man might die.

"Flyin' solo tonight?" Union hall on Friday, the gals asked where my bean pot was.

"My friend's not well." Got a dinner for Agustín, I couldn't eat.

Alone that weekend; Agustín didn't want to leave the phone.

Took Saturday evening off, tired of all the worry. Nothing to do now but wait.

Needed an adventure.

Slipped out to Tijuana, cruised past the city southward to the beaches.

Several weeks before, I heard two teens behind the bodega talking about the a Tom Cat Club between Las Playas and Rosarito. They didn't think I could speak Spanish, they were openly discussing dressing as women, teasing the men there.

Tom Cat Club roused a great response in my dungarees. Maybe, just maybe....

Outside Rosarito, I went into a farmacia, bought a bottle of brilliantine, Tres Flores. Asked the man behind the counter if he knew where the Tom Cat Club was located, "Hot outside. Need a beer."

He stepped from behind the counter and motioned me to follow him. Took me to the alleyway, wide enough for the hand carts. "Primero, segundo... la tercera -- la puerta negra."

Behind the third door down, the black door. "Es un club privado?"

He shook his head and grinned, gave me the once over. Lifted an eyebrow, "Luego?"

"Tal vez." He wanted to see me later? Small spark in my gut.

Behind that third door, music played from the jukebox, men came in. A few girlish boys came, they had their favorite clientele. Relaxed crew along the bar.

Saw two pale young men with extremely short hair; military recruits. Glanced at each other and nodded in silent agreement.

After several beers and I was losing my nerve with all the flirting and sly looks around me. Skittish, I was out of my league in a land where street justice was brutal.

Didn't move, considered the situation. Though the company was all male I was only drinking. So far.

Stuffy in the small space as the crowd packed in, got louder. Kept my seat at the bar when I looked into the mirror behind the bottles of brandy, bourbon. Vaguely familiar face looked back.

I stared through the smoke. Details were fuzzy in the smudgy reflection.

The face became bigger, coming close.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looked to my left straight into Gruner's eyes. Smelled lavender cologne.

Got even closer, "Imagine meeting you here. Heard the guys at the hall say you don't go out. Wasn't sure." He looked around, "Let's leave." He glanced at his watch, "Almost time."

"Wha--?"

Quickly, he pulled me out of the bar and into the alley. "That's my white Buick Century. Follow me. The local cops come at ten for their mordita."

Through the small town to a narrow dirt street running up a rise. Arrived at a walled house in a cluster of vacation homes Americans had built. Gruner opened the gate.

"Your house?" Impressive chunk of real estate.

"Yeah." Slung his arm around my shoulder, "Brandy?" We entered a courtyard with ferns, plants, then into a small living room, he leaned over and flipped on a radio.

Soft guitar music filled the room as he pulled me close. "Hope you were down at Los Gatos for the same reason I was." He poured me a brandy, I shook my head. He downed it in one gulp.

"What were you looking for?" I asked.

"Could be a bastard and tell you I was looking for boy-ass, quick dip. I wasn't."

"Men have needs." Wondering where this was going.

"That's not why I was there."

He took my hand, lead me across the courtyard, to a bedroom. We passed a bath to a narrow staircase.

On the roof, a soft ocean breeze blew, we looked down to the shore. Quiet, smell of the ocean. Above us, inky blackness punctured by stars. "Looking for a few hours of... a warm body. Enough to get me through another night, another weekend."

Odd contrast, debonair man admitting loneliness, wanting affection. Was this a ploy?

"What were you looking for?" He squeezed me against him.

"Just curious."

"Out of the way place to be curious. Why were you there?"

From my alcohol-soaked brain, "Same as you." Pulled him close, wanted to kiss him, feel his rough stubble on my lips. Suddenly the moment felt ridiculous. What was I going to do, pull him down to my level? Burst into laughter.

Guner stepped back, smiling but wondering, "What's the joke?"

"Wanna kiss you."

In the light of a candle, we bathed in a primitive bath; cup and bucket. His big hands felt good on my body, slippery. Rosa Venus; sweet, familiar smell. Sudsed the thick hair on his chest. Hearing him gasp and moan as I manually inspected a man who was built like a bull gave me confidence.

His slender, masculine body I rinsed again and again to see it glisten in front of me.

Soft, damp cotton sheets on a wide bed, he came close. "I'm no good after I drink. I'll give you what you want in the morning."

Pulled myself against him, nodded. My head still whirled, more from the onslaught of new sensations than alcohol.

As I closed my eyes, I could feel the unnamed, undefined pieces inside me were finding their places, their names. Clearer with this reality; I couldn't sleep.

My words felt like they echoed through the entire house: "I was looking for a man. A man for sex. I need to know what it feels like."

Squeezing me closer, nuzzling my neck with the stubble on his face. "Tomorrow morning you will."

Morning sun was achingly bright, I shut the curtain, came back to bed.

Suspicions about him ceased as he told me of his first time, the surprise, how it hurt. How he wanted more. A great man gave him all he wanted; his voice wavered, "He's gone now."

"I'll be as easy with you as he was with me." The tin lid of Woodbury's clanged on the tile floor before he introduced his finger inside me. I gasped.

"Kiss me." He held me close, his hand between my legs.

His finger slowly caressed and entered me as he explained that it wouldn't be long before I'd want his dick instead.

Said I'd be in heaven giving him the same. "You're not getting everything you want this morning. I want you to come back."

Kept kissing him and felt my cock gushing. Heady, and making our groins slippery, sticky. Smell stirred by the ocean breezes. Every move, every breath, every moment better than the last.

Hard kisses when another finger entered me. Too excited, too aroused to understand, to take in all the newness. Wasn't sure what happened--suddenly began humping against his hip and exploded. Every drop of cum I'd ever made shot out of me, and some I hadn't made yet. Couldn't breathe for a moment feeling the pulses surge.

"Stop!" Too much.

Felt his chest jerk as he chuckled. "My dick is jealous of my fingers. How about next weekend?"

Couldn't answer.

Bought gas on my way home, found Gruner's card with only his name and phone number. "Call me."

Powder Monkey Part 5 Siedel's Perfect Day

Siedel finally came home. Heard him in his kitchen cooking for Agustín, smelled the coffee.

"Hey, ol' man, don't scare me like that again."

"Thanks for not calling the cops." He smiled, turned to the stove, "Toast and eggs? We got fried apples."

His face was still thin, cheeks had pinked, bruises faded, looked glad to be back.

"Life ain't so good without you `round here."

He smiled, "Glad my Agustín's here. We got work to do, big job. Doc says I need to stay busy so my boy does, too."

"What kind of work?" Didn't look strong enough to lay brick.

"Tear down the garage, make a two-room bungalow. County's making cheap loans to increase the housing stock. Already got the plans."

Agustín grinned, nodded with a mouthful of breakfast. He was happy with the old man and himself.

Next morning, I left a fiver and my ration coupons in the right jar and a note above the headline on the front page. In big letters, "Buy whatever you can find. Homecoming dinner tonight."

That night, Agustín told me another strange story: He said Father Mercier had tricked him.

In LA, Agustín searched for his younger sister, he heard she was still in Boyle Heights. Asked everywhere until he met an old friend of the family who said the girl returned to Mexico with their uncle, "Months ago."

Mercier knew but hadn't told Agustín. The boy was the school janitor days and his consort at night.

"That was wrong--lying and cheating you. Hard work for bupkis? No. You're worth more than that kind of, of, violation. You've got a job here and two men who care about you. Don't go back."

Leaned close to him, "Siedel looks shaky. He has to take it easy."

"I know. He said he found out Kirk passed when he went out to celebrate V-E Day. He tried to drink it away. I told him I'd throw out any alcohol he brought in the house."

"Who's Kirk?"

"Don't know and I won't ask." He shot me a look, "You won't either."

Thought Agustín would stay at my place but Siedel wanted him right by his side. Soon saw why.

They were thick as thieves with a few other men tearing down the garage and building the small flat. Up at dawn, to the driveway organizing materials, dinner at six and Siedel fell asleep in front of the television. Patiently, Agustín covered him and left him to wake later.

Men constructing the bungalow were eager to work and did a fine job. They weren't union men, they were hungry men.

Agustín promoted Siedel, gave him a stick to point with, brought out a kitchen chair to sit and supervise. He seldom sat, had to watch the action, kibitz.

Pulled in the drive three months later to see the stucco smoothed, trim painted, welcome mat in front of the bungalow door.

Where were the guys? Panel truck was gone, stomach tensed. Agustín drove for Siedel, did he take him to the hospital?

No Siedel or Agustín at six, seven, eight that night. Heard his phone ringing non-stop.

At ten o'clock they came rolling in with the radio blaring, singing with Perry Como. Went to visit an old friend of Siedel's father, a lawyer who was part of a strict religious community in Lemon Grove. The attorney counseled young men about the draft. Agustín would have to register eventually.

"The phone's been ringing off the wall. Someone chasing you down, Siedel?"

He just laughed.

Mom had called repeatedly. Upset when no one answered the phone, afraid I was electrocuted.

She found herself in a peculiar situation, refused to ask Candace for help.

All through the years, Mom's parents stayed angry with her for eloping with Dad and taking their other daughter. They'd cut all contact with Mom, cursed my dad and us kids when mom tried to call them.

Texas panhandle was still in drought yet that April brought a tornado, flash floods. Relatives I'd never met were killed in the disaster. Mom was called to identify bodies, and settle the details. She said I had to accompany her. I had to.

"I'll leave as soon as I can." Next day at work I requested emergency leave.

At the union hall, Feldman gave me cash from a safe behind his desk. Signed the hardship fund request form in exchange. "Call, let us know you're alright."

Planned on leaving that night, hit a snag. Siedel said he was worried, he'd better go with me in case I had a flat or the radiator overheated.

He couldn't help with any repairs but I stopped, thought about it. He was 100% Anglo in case La Migra stopped me. Hmm.

Whining, Agustín wanted to go too.

Decisively, "Gonna do it this way." Hand on his shoulder, "Agustín, can you take care of the property for a couple of weeks?

"You'll be gone that long?"

"A week, I imagine. Could be longer, not sure."

Looked at Siedel, "You're coming, but don't ask about my father. If you don't feel good, you have to tell me." I figured he needed a vacation and he was insurance of a sort.

"I'll be an angel." He went to pack.

Too hot in the pickup, I hosed out his panel truck. With a folding cot and several blankets, pillows, the old man could rest in the back. Being April, the desert wasn't too hot yet. I had cash for a hotel room and could drive at night if he couldn't take the heat.

Three stops for gas and sodas, overnighted in Phoenix and called Mom. We hit Roswell as the sun was setting.

Mom was waiting on the porch.

Lots of hugs and kisses, and jeepers, I had a beautiful niece and nephew. Both kids were healthy, strong and happy. Almost didn't answer when they called me "Uncle Maxie."

They took to their Uncle Siedel immediately, telling him about their cat and their fossil collection, games they played at school. Kids were full of life that overflowed into the old man making him grin and pull them against his skinny legs, patting their backs.

Instinctively the kids were gentle. I watched. In the New Mexico sun, Siedel appeared almost transparent and he was smiling, chuckling. Mom stood by him, her hand on his arm, telling him about her grandchildren's school honors.

Beautiful, small home. Smelled of tortillas, and was that Arroz con Pollo cooking? My favorite.

Before we went to bed, Mom explained her plan. Lawyer's office, then the morgue at the hospital, "No one else would do it."

Didn't occur to me, but Siedel asked if seeing her deceased parents would upset her.

"When I was young, it would have. They made so much misery and it's all over now. Feels liberating."

A rooster's screeching woke me before dawn. Got up, left the house. In the faint rays of sun, I peed on a tumbleweed remembering me and Jess. We had our favorite bushes.

Smells of the desert were strong, familiar.

Quietly started the truck and went out to the old place. House had fallen, rotted. Skids were still in place; everything else was scattered, gone.

Remembered Jess, he lit my childhood with his ways, his curiosity about nature. Gone too soon. Stood there silently telling him I'd made it, wished he was with me. Safe harbor of joy and wonder in my childhood, Jess.

Scorpions lived in the old well.

Lives that once filled this spot with boys in play awaited more small feet that wouldn't come. Brutal living out here the way we did.

The continual, dismal and hidden struggles of my dad--gone, along with Mom's sorrows. No tears for those losses, but immediate recognition of a greater loss.

Absent was the feeling of freedom in the skies. Erased; exchanged for gains. Crowds of people deluged my life with humor, knowledge, unusual and new things, options I'd never imagined. My childhood suddenly felt a long, bleak stretch of years.

Strange the reversal, that this emptiness of this place catapulted me into its very opposite, into fullness.

Lavender hills at the horizon, the old mesquite tree, the horny toads, only minuscule curiosities now. Closeness to a man was the unnamed treasure I'd desperately needed.

New territory, closeness. Every venture into it completed me further.

By the rotting skids, found several fossilized shells. Jess' collection--tiny clams, spiraled chunks of calcium, minerals. Put them in my pocket.

My first, my only, my best brother. I love you, Jess.

Same bakery was still open and running. Bought donuts, puerquitos for Mom and Siedel. Felt good having coffee around the table while the children ate. Nothing like Milkorno in this kitchen, but scrambled egg burritos with apple juice.

Two bright lunch boxes waited by the door, filled. School bus honked, kids ran out.

Candace and her husband were generous. Warm home, comfortable; he worked at a water plant, delivered big jugs of sweet water across Roswell. Talked about the Culligan company coming to the area, hiring on with them. Watched as he kissed my sis before he left for the day.

Glad for them making a good life on the desert, felt a pinch in my chest. My life would never be close to theirs.

Out of the bedroom came Mom looking all-business in a black dress, jacket. Beautiful woman, slender, pale hair tucked under a smart hat with a blue band and bouncy feather. Sat between Siedel and me in the truck.

Three hour drive, flat land, clear roads. Crossed into Texas, fields of alfalfa, sorghum and pastureland dotted by oil pumps. Got hot, not too bad.

At the attorney's office Mom told me to scram and grabbed Siedel's arm, "Act like you've known me all your life." She batted her eyelashes at him.

"Glad to oblige." Siedel understood, straightened himself, took her arm.

Took me a few minutes to realize that women didn't get the same treatment as men, and Siedel's presence guaranteed fair treatment, full disclosure.

They came out an hour later smiling. Siedel got in the truck, "You're good on offense, woman." Gave her a wink.

Went to the morgue. The bodies were bloated, still intact. Don't know if it was death or the cold storage, but their expressions were hard, angry. Those were her parents. There was another body, small, slender; skin on her arms and face striped with old, shiny scars.

Siedel stayed with Mom, I excused myself, nauseated.

In the truck I asked, "Who was that last body you identified?"

"Candace' mother, your Aunt Florence."

Something inside me shook momentarily as truth clarified.

Drove to the area where Mom grew up. Nothing left but a few water pipes still standing and what was bolted to bits of a foundation. Lumber, galvanized metal sheets, broken bits of lives littered the area.

It was all Mom's now. She could lease it to a farmer, or farm it herself. Didn't matter, this land had been in the family for generations. She inherited the mineral rights. In the distance the wells were pumping.

On the way home Siedel took the cot in the back. Day was hot, the back of the panel truck was cool.

Mom scooted near, "Glad you brought Mr Siedel, he's smart. And what a loving man. Like a wonderful uncle we just found." With a sly look, "Is he your, lov-... boyfriend, uh, man-friend?"

Shook my head, chuckled, "A good friend."

Left for San Diego early afternoon. `Bout twenty miles out, Siedel told me he this was the most perfect day of his life. "Couldn't have been better if I planned it myself."

Said he loved my family, helping my mom. Said it seemed like his whole life has been leading to this incredible adventure. He smiled proudly, "My perfect day."

Couldn't figure how lawyers and corpses made a perfect day yet he was beaming about it.

Later, he asked to stop, get in the back again.

At Socorro, I asked if he wanted to get out, pee, get a pop.

No answer.

"Siedel. Want a soda?"

Nothing.

Stopped and went into the back. He'd peed his pants. "Hey, gotta change your..." No answer. Checked for a pulse, watched his chest.

Looked like he was in the midst of a dream.

Siedel was dead.

So familiar his face -- so foreign his state after seeing him with my family a few hours ago. He was here, and he wasn't here. Disbelief and reality--thoughts clashed against themselves.

Don't remember driving to the next gas station where I called Mom, unsure what to do.

"Call the sheriff, they have to determine the cause of death, How old was he?"

"Seventy or so, I guess."

"Well, doesn't matter now. Take his cash, leave the rest for the coroner." Candace' husband would bring her later.

Waited in the shade of an overhang next to a gas station. Stroked his cheek, told him I loved him, how generous he was to me and Agustín. Put the fossilized seashells in his pocket, "Tell Jess I love him."

His perfect day was his last day? Hot tears flowed. Guilt and gratitude alternated pounding my chest. Couldn't fully rectify this inside myself.

In his wallet was his union card. Driver's license showed he was eighty-five. Eighty-five?

Found a few business cards and around two-hundred in cash. Stuffed the bills in my pocket.

Followed the ambulance to the hospital. Explained what happened to the deputy and a coroner.

"He went peacefully. Natural causes, heart wore out, stopped beating." Coroner put it bluntly, then asked if I was feeling alright.

My brain blanked trying to readjust through the sudden changes.

Mom arrived. When I saw her, all my pent thoughts burst. Cried, sobbed, full-body convulsions. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She took me outside, under the shade of a scrubby tree. Held me. Rocked me. "Come back to Roswell for a few days. No need to hurry now."

Went back with Mom. As she drove Siedel's truck she made me swear I'd never say anything about Florence. "Let it fall into the past. Candace is happy now, don't disturb her and the family. She thinks of me as her mother and those are my grandchildren."

Called Feldman: "Call Siedel's union office, tell them Siedel's gonna need his burial benefits." Gave him the details.

"You don't sound good."

"I'm not. Go over to my place, you'll meet a kid named Agustín, see how he's doing. Take Dusty with you, help the kid out if he needs any advice or anything. Don't let him leave."

"We'll go this afternoon. Uh... should I tell him?"

"I will."

Mom sat beside me. Agustín was silent at first realizing the responsibility that suddenly fell to him, then it sounded like he was crying.

Mom took the phone, reassured him I'd be back and he had to be strong for a few more days. "Get some evergreen boughs, like juniper or pine. Shape a wire coat hanger into a circle, attach the boughs. Tie that wreath on his door with a black ribbon. It tells the neighbors he passed. Do it tonight."

She gave me the phone.

"Feldman and Dusty are coming. They're gonna help you."

Late that night I dialed Gruner's number. Hung up. What would I say? This was my load to bear.

Drove the empty hours home half-stunned. Stopped to call Feldman, he told me Siedel's body was being transported back to Lemon Grove. UA rep would receive the body. "You still don't sound good."

"Worried about Agustín."

"Dusty's son went to stay with him for a few days. The kid kept asking if he should go back to LA."

"Don't let him leave."

Pulled in the drive at midnight, kitchen light was on in Siedel's place. Found Agustín and a young man, Dusty's son Everly. The kitchen table was filled with breads, cake, casseroles from the neighborhood, the local stores sent sodas. Notes, cards covered the counter.

Everly was a few years older than Agustín, pale skin and jet-black, curly hair. Looked incredibly like Dusty otherwise. Seemed concerned about Agustín's future. "Where will he be living?"

Couldn't help but grab Agustín and hug him hard. "You okay?"

"I miss Siedel and I was afraid...." He looked at me, "Do I have to leave?"

"Don't know if we'll get evicted. We can double up again if they let us stay on. You'll be with me whatever happens."

He held up the newspaper, "UA rep called." He pointed to a phone number in the margin. "Said to call him as soon as you can."

We talked for a while, cleaned the kitchen. I told them to shut it down, time for bed. They accompanied each other upstairs. Hmm.

Thought of calling Gruner. Couldn't think of what I'd say.

Dusty sent me off the job the next day. "Take a few days and let it all sink in. You don't look good."

I needed my routine. Realized on the way home, my routine would never be the same without Siedel.

Powder Monkey Part 6 Third Job

Phone didn't stop ringing at Siedel's. Finalized the UA memorial service arrangements. Utility accounts changed, settled his bill at the bodega. Scoured Siedel's place for any personal items, the family might want.

Removed the blue literature from under Siedel's mattress, didn't throw it out.

Called a phone number written on the wall by the phone, "Gina and Mark." Met with some nasty people, Siedel's relatives. They didn't care about a memorial service or the UA, hung up on me.

Perplexing, but not as much as what I found in the mail two days later. Letter from an attorney in Lemon Grove was addressed to me. "Contact our office immediately." Made an appointment for the next day.

Agustín said this was the same lawyer he'd met with Siedel, "He told me he could help me be a conscientious objector." Decided to take Agustín with me.

Couldn't stop worrying. Would I be responsible for any of Siedel's debts or hospital bills? Would the family would evict Agustín and me?

Found the office in Lemon Grove, a secretary greeted us. Surprised the attorney was in a wheelchair wearing a suit and tie. He told his secretary to bring the Siedel files.

Files? Broke a sweat thinking I was going to be pinned with problems, out of my league in negotiations, or worse, being questioned about why I took Siedel out on the desert. Armpits dampened.

The lawyer smiled, handed me an envelope with only my name on it. "Read this before we continue."

A hand-scrawled letter Siedel wrote was inside. He thanked me for staying on with him, for bringing Agustín, "his boy." Apology for his bender, he'd lost a dear friend, never had a chance to tell him he loved him.

Last paragraph told me he wanted to thank me for all the gifts I'd brought, though I had little, I'd shared all I had. "The gift of your time, of remembering an old man, and forgiving my weaknesses."

Stunned. That's how he saw me? In that moment I realized I loved Siedel, a man who'd exchanged kindnesses with me since we met.

Looked up at the attorney.

"Siedel wanted you to have these." Pushed a stack of five folders across his desk.

First file held the will. Simply written, it passed the duplex to me. That didn't register immediately, I was concerned about the loan for the bungalow and whatever else he owed.

Several bank accounts, different funds were now mine. Not millions but more than I imagined I'd have at my age. I could make those loan payments easily, whew.

The other folders held deeds to properties across San Diego. Imperial Beach, Mission Beach, Hillcrest, South Park... four rental properties. He'd bought older homes, remodeled them through his life.

Softly, the attorney told me that Siedel had allowed family members to manage and take the rental incomes from the four properties. "That'll change now."

He knew the score: "They're angry about this will. I've warned them not to damage anything and to cooperate with you. Whether you sell the properties or hire someone to manage them, they're quite valuable."

There were papers to sign, accounts to switch to my name and though I was now better off, I'd just been handed another career as a landlord and only had a boy beside me. Confidence wobbled momentarily.

Grabbed a business card, put it in the file folder. "Sir." I looked at the distinguished man, "Why was Siedel's family estranged? Did he do something criminal?"

He chuckled, shook his head. "Siedel was a good man with his own brand of largesse." He paused, "In our teachings we're mandated to be fruitful and multiply.' His family only had one definition for multiply.' Then there was the incident with Elder Kirk. We don't discuss it."

Still spinning mentally when we left, "Agustín, I need ice cream." Gave him the keys.

Had to get a grip on the situation. Eli Orlov would help, I was sure.

That night, I copied down all the addresses on the properties I'd inherited, Agustín and I drove past each. Two large homes and two bungalows near beaches.

Wanted to call Gruner, tell him my news. Did he want to hear from me?

Did he remember me?

Called Eli that night. He suggested I get appraisals, "Or, we could ask that the current management stay in place, buy some time. Maybe ninety or a hundred-twenty days while you make a decision."

He cleared his throat, "Don't let your windfall out. Your personal finances aren't anyone's business but yours. Sabe?"

We met the next day. The accounts I combined into a fund. Made a plan, he would contact Siedel's family and let them know they only had a few months more to manage the rentals.

Then, he reminded me I had to get the Strike and Hardship funds deposited. "You're still the Assistant Treasurer."

Agustín met me for dinner at the union hall on Friday. He and Everly ate with Dusty while I got the account in order.

From behind the counter I heard an announcement. Feldman said we'd lost a member, "Cornelius Shivers will be breaking rock for the next twenty years."

No response from anyone in the room; dinner continued.

En masse, the allied craftsmen of the UA came for Siedel's memorial.

Men, two deep, standing around the walls, chairs filled. Cloud of spicy colognes filled the air. Flower arrangements surrounded a photo of Siedel from years ago with his fedora cocked back and a big smile.

Over an hour the UA brothers spoke, tearfully remembering when they worked together on the landmark buildings around San Diego.

Stood straight with handkerchief in hand. Described Siedel's perfect day. How he'd helped Mom, me and being an angel before he became an angel in his own right. "Make any judgment about me you want, I loved Siedel. He loved me, and we made life better for each other. An extraordinary man, truly extraordinary."

A man stood at the back of the hall, in a crowd of men by the door. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a gray trilby. He left quickly after I spoke.

Gruner?

Powder Monkey Part 7 Fictions and Fables

Hatched a plan on the way home from the service.

Everly and Agustín were close. I was glad. Agustín needed a friend close to his age though they'd passed friendship, it appeared.

Finances eased but the rentals needed yard work and minor repairs. "Everly, as long as you're helping with the rentals, you can stay on in the bungalow. Willing to help Agustín and me?"

No surprise that Agustín and Everly were delighted. Gave the boys the cash from Siedel's wallet for furnishings. I'd stay where I was, get a phone and rent the other half of the duplex.

Had a good reason to call Gruner.

"Yes?"

"Is Mr Gruner available?"

"Mr Gruner? Who's this?"

"Cody. Remember me? The guy from the beach house."

Silence.

"How could I forget you?"

"Housing's in short supply, and there's half a furnished duplex in southeast Logan. Know anyone?"

"Post it in the union hall." He stopped. "Why did you call me?"

"I, uh. I'd like to see you again. Things got in my way. How about dinner, walk the beach? Full moon tonight."

"Would you prefer the beach house?"

"I'd prefer privacy, anywhere." Boned up remembering his naked body.

He waited, I could hear his breath. "WindanSea Beach. You know it?"

"I'll find it." Undefined expectations gripped me. Still new territory; exciting at the same time.

Moon rose as I parked. Didn't see his big white Buick, my heart sunk.

Sat there collecting my thoughts when I felt warmth on my hand gripping the steering wheel, "Why didn't you call? Couldn't call Feldman without him getting suspicious."

"I wanted to."

He opened the truck door, "What's so important it keeps you from calling?"

We walked the beach, it poured out -- Mom, Siedel, Roswell, Socorro, Agustín.

"This boy Agustín, is he family? Did he go with you?"

"Distant relative. He stayed at the house."

"You could have called." His arm came around me, pulling me close in the darkness.

Looked straight at Gruner. "You're experienced, worldly... got finesse and, and... Makes it hard for me to--be myself, be...."

"Charming, your honesty."

We walked up the street, entered a ritzy area--La Jolla. Million dollar homes, with fireplaces, landscaping, outdoor lighting. Old, comfortable houses.

Walked around the house through tropical plants. The air was sweet with blossoms. "Live here alone?"

"Unfortunately. Not alone tonight though." Flexed his knees, half picked me up and kissed me. Slid me down the front of his torso where I could feel his hard dick. Smiled, took my hand. "Hungry? Want a drink?"

"No."

Pulled him against me, my eyes at his clavicle.

"What are you looking for tonight?" Chuckled as he asked.

"Pick up where we left off."

Bedroom had a patio looking over the surf. Warm, wet breezes felt good, felt better as Gruner's big hands undressed and stroked me in the darkness. His touch felt hesitant.

"...Before this gets complicated." He started

Turned to him, unbuttoned his shirt.

"You be seen around me, you'll lose the brotherhood." Exhale, "This house, the beach house, everything associated with me is tainted. The man who left me all this divorced his wife. We were lovers for a few years after that, kept it under wraps but it got out. Lot of dirt in the local papers about us. He didn't want his children to live with our secret exposed."

Paused, put his hands on my shoulders. "Not all the brothers call me a fag home-wrecker. Most do."

"A married man? Why?"

Long silence.

"Saw the perspective Pat had. Marriage has its benefits, there's a surety in it. I thought he'd give that to me." Looked out to the sea, "Foolish thought. I was tired of the sods jumping in any empty bed for a few moments of fantasy. Real life is a mirage, only a dream that ends badly for men like us."

"Pat Co--?"

"Coltrane. Yeah. Now that empty chair I sit beside at the meetings is another dig, a slur. The guys put it there to remind me.

"Coltrane, well, he "fell" off the cliffs at Scripps after two years with me. He was one of the best in the local leadership. Wasn't a brother who didn't admire him. They blame me."

Looking into my eyes, "That's the poison I bring to anyone close to me." He faced to the sea.

Stone cold admission of his past; razor-edged words for me. Was he right? "Am I just another sod hoppin' in your bed?"

"Humph." He looked away, "I hoped for more with you. Surprised to see you at Los Gatos, and very surprised you were a virgin. Nice looking man and you got respect, you're going places with the union."

"So what are you looking for tonight?"

He tilted his head, smiled, "A good, hard fuck."

Took a while to understand how he wanted, what he wanted. Sensual, sexual lesson on his bed, sheets damp with ocean air, sweat.

Los toques.

He wanted me to suck him while I fingered his rear. Trepidation at first, then I found where he liked being rubbed inside his butt. His dick wasn't full, hard like mine.

"Slow down. You'll stop everything if you don't."

Froze for a moment, then considered it a compliment. Took his cock in my mouth, rich taste with the smell of his musk. Big, red knob, dark balls and thick, coarse hair. Intoxicated by his smell, craved more of his skin on mine.

He pushed me back, "I said slow down." He gasped for breath, opened his knees and pinched his nipples. "Put your dick in."

Knelt between his legs, anxious cock in hand.

"Put your weight on you left hand. Get over me."

Close.

"Push it in."

Slippery, but I skinned back, and felt his heat on my glans. Pushed... kept pushing.

Eased in.

Froze for a moment. The grip around my dick was incredible and the soft heat... Staring at his face, I pushed further.

He moaned, "Keep going."

Closed my eyes and went deaf. Didn't feel when his ankles were on my shoulders, didn't notice I was slobbering on his chest. He lifted his rear in time with my strokes. Couldn't get deep enough, couldn't stop.

Still couldn't hear anything when he pumped himself fast. Cum shot under my chin. Silent cloud of ecstasy enveloped me.

More.

Like a wave at sea, the urge rose, crested. Faster. My tides hit his shores and I crashed, emptied. Kept going till I couldn't stand anymore.

Stopped, dick still warm, wet and smaller.

Chest to chest, I fell into the puddle on his chest. Smelled good, smelled like men.

Didn't move till he rolled me off of him.

Long-ago memories came to me: "Used to work the potash mines, lived in barracks with the other men. Guys fucked in the showers, some married, some not. Had to keep it quiet. Wonder if any of the brothers at the local..."

"More than likely."

Didn't want to leave, "Got to go check on the boys."

"Boys? I thought there was only one." Gruner got up.

"Dusty's son came to stay with Agustín. Everly. Know him?"

"Pretty boy. Only met him once. Pure four-F material if you ask me."

"Four-F?"

"Deferment for homosexuals."

Gave him my phone number before I left.

Phone was ringing and the house was dark when I pulled in.

Dusty wanted to know where Everly was.

"Hired him to help Agustín keep the property in exchange for rent. We're going to be busy soon."

"You got him to agree to work?" Dusty chuckled. "Okay but don't get him off track, he starts at State next year."

"Understood. Did you hear Agustín wants to serve as a conscientious objector?

"He's religious?"

"Not so much, he's got a kind nature, gentle. By the way, did you ever work with this guy named Gruner?"

Silence.

"Never worked with him. You heard about the suicide, right? He's our `bad boy' but he's polite enough. Got fired off a job. Worked in the control room on a sub--hit one fail after another. Said he spent several weeks analyzing the problems.

"He gloved his hand and reached into the bundle of wiring, pulled the entire harness out. Heard he shoved it in his boss' face and told him to send it all back, the wires were the wrong gauge or bad. Contractor shorted the military with cheap parts.

"Caused a stink but mostly because Gruner got spikey, smart-mouthed. Gruner lost his job though he probably saved lives. That's how he met Coltrane, Gruner came in to find work."

"Hmm."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering about the chairs."

"Not my doing. Back to Everly, tell him to come home and talk to his mother. She worries."

Next day I told Everly he had to check in with his mom. Both guys left in the panel truck.

They came back with all kinds of things for their home. Kitchen was outfitted. Old sofa, odds and ends from Dusty's home.

Watched with envious eyes. Would I be so happy if I were setting up housekeeping with another man?

New Perspectives

Gruner and I began going out occasionally.

He liked my duplex, said he grew up in a tenement in Philly that smelled similar. "Lots of good memories with that smell. Holidays, birthday parties...." Liked my place but wouldn't stay over.

Waiting till late, we let the ordinary clientele leave and the fags filled the bar inside the Orpheum. Got loud as the evening passed. Music, dancing, drinks and the best looking guys in their finest. Every man different, all smiling, joking. Some gave me the eye.

In his element, Gruner joined in. Knew a number of the men. Thought it peculiar that no one went out of their way to greet or speak with him. Maybe that's how fags socialized.

New to this, I watched, danced with a few guys though I was lousy.

Gruner called on a Saturday evening, "Got an invitation to a private party in Marston Hills. Let's go."

Beautiful Spanish Colonial home north of Balboa Park, area was thick with the medicinal smell of eucalyptus trees. Big house. Red tiled roof, large grounds to the side, walled and private. Not a mansion, though the furnishings looked expensive.

Chandelier in a large, round entry. Host met us in a smoking jacket, gestured to a staircase that went into a lower level. Heard a piano playing softly from somewhere.

Downstairs doors opened onto the grounds, air heavy with cigar smoke, ice clinked in glasses held by some incredibly stylish men Smiling, a barkeep stood behind a bar shaking a metal cylinder, filling glasses. Glanced at us, "What'll it be?"

Gruner ordered a Sidecar, I couldn't decide.

More men came in, some knew Gruner. One older man asked if Gruner'd seen "Our fleur de lisp, Beau?" They chuckled about the man being a fairy queen from New Orleans. Pranced around with their little fingers lifted speaking in falsettos.

Gruner smirked, "I wouldn't be seen within twenty paces of him in public."

The barkeep leaned forward, signaled for them to get close, "They found him in the bay Thursday morning."

Had to leave at that point, went upstairs.

Around the room with the piano, were men dressed smartly, wearing heavy rings and flashy cuff links. Good thing I'd borrowed a snappy shirt from Everly; pleated pants always hang well on a slender man.

Room was decorated in gold and ivory, felt like heaven being there.

The man next to me whispered to come with him. Took me on the patio and asked me if I was going to the meeting downstairs.

"What's it about?"

"Our host organized it... lot of people have had a gut-full of the government spending. They say the feds didn't do much and didn't do it fast enough to help during the Depression. Still rationing in the US while we're pumping money to Europe. They're talking tax evasion. Porth's interpretation of the sixteenth amendment and all. Gonna slow down DC by cutting their funds--tax resistors." He smirked.

"Yeah? What do you think about it?" Who was this bearish man with wavy hair sticking out like a haystack?

Leaned close and chuckled, "Tax evasion, it's like sex between men." He winked, "Can be a dangerous sport if you're indiscreet and hard to live with it if anything slips out. If you're going to play the game, you better be good at it. What's your freedom worth?"

Thought of Al Capone finally jailed. "Yeah, what's your freedom worth?"

"Haven't seen you around before?" He asked. "Where're you from? I just got transferred here from a large financial institution in Maryland."

"Came from New Mexico, Roswell. Name's Cody Davids." He handed me a tiny notepad to write my name, phone number. "What's your name?"

"Call me Jay. I'm Jacob Orlov."

"I know a Orlov, an accountant."

"My brother Eli." They had a condo on Banker's Hill together.

Enjoyed the music as Jay and I walked the grounds till the meeting ended downstairs.

Trays of cold meats, breads, fruit and canapes arrived.

Gruner got another drink. I watched the crowd, most weren't drunk but well-lubricated when one man attracted a group on the patio. Spoke loudly, drawing attention. Talked about being a fag, knew it since he was "but a wee sod."

With fluid savoir faire he related his sexual history, the boys, the teens, the men, family members and authority figures of his youth. With panache he recounted his sexual escapades across Europe, the Mediterranean.

"We're liberated from society's banal traditions. Freedom. Sexual freedom--unbounded." There were a few snickers. "Freedom to live how we choose outside the ordinary, narrow expectations, unfettered by mundane customs. Gods among men, we are, living by our choices, our desires. What they call perversions, are our crowns."

Gruner listened carefully, didn't blink. Dapper men nodded, applauded.

Already knew that opinions are often paraded as facts and sure, I wanted to think I was a god. Any yokel electrician does. Royalty aside, being a fag was still a crime and the punishment was harsh. Was I lily-livered?

Other men listened carefully, the pretty, handsome, beautiful men, men dressed to the nines in linen and silk. They nodded in agreement as the man prattled on.

Clarity hit.

For plain fags, men who'd lost limbs, men without jobs or money, that philosophy didn't wash. "Gods among men," I thought, "None of these dandies would ever beat a path to my altar."

That man's philosophy seemed contrived, an excuse.

"Who's that drip you were talking to?" Gruner scanned the crowd for Jay. "The one with crazy hair."

"Drip? Oh, that's Jay." Didn't feel like giving him anymore information, "Think he works in a bank."

"Find out what he does, he could be helpful."

On the way out, Gruner said he liked the idea of not having to live by society's rules.

"Isn't that what you wanted with Coltrane? You said marriage, or living together had benefits."

"Also said the ordinary life is a fantasy, always ends badly for us. Why not play the field, live there, enjoy the bounty every day?"

With that statement, I got a feeling he was about to make a rash decision.

Gruner left for San Francisco within the week, said he'd call when he got settled.

That was a gut punch, but honest enough for me to know where I stood in his life.

Powder Monkey Part 8 True Crime

Took Siedel's role, had renters as friends. Got a few a military couples, wives worked and husbands got deployed, families were shuffled around the US. War was still upending lives, detouring personal plans.

Indo-Pacific heated and China became Communist. Nations built nuclear stockpiles.

During the week between the holidays Candace' family brought Mom, they went to Balboa Park, enjoyed the beaches, the bay.

Agustín and Everly slept late daily, out partying the night before.

On the job, men brought home-baked treats. I brought apples.

Those holidays brought only half-happiness as former colonies fell, new governments emerged shakily. World order that we once knew crumbled. In the backgrounds of our lives, tension kept a steady hum.

Eli, at that time, was preparing all his client's papers for tax season, busy. I spoke with Jay, left a message about my taxes.

Jay asked me out, I invited him over for dinner after everyone left.

"Let's make it Sunday brunch instead."

Instead of dining, we went to Blacks Beach.

People were naked. Naked, outside, in the open. Why didn't anyone tell me before? Mostly men, a few couples. Sunbathers lay out their towels and stripped enjoying the weaker winter sun.

Jay was in his forties, I guessed. Had a small paunch and an astounding rear end. Rounded perfectly. Curved swaths of dark hair on his chest, all over. Head full of thick, wavy hair that never seemed to lay down. His full face was relaxed, pale brows and lashes, light brown eyes, full lower lip--looked like he was constantly ready to laugh. Incredibly masculine, extremely confident.

Unlike Gruner, Jay only had about three inches on me. Noted that in case I needed to kiss him.

Immediately I undressed. Felt strange at first, breezes on my groin, my backside.

Jay's dick, in repose, was the size of a flashlight battery. Had to show off my only not-short, not-skinny feature.

"Wowzer!" He stroked my hip and grinned, then looked back at himself and chuckled. "Be glad I'm a man of, uh, uh, integrity." Licked his lips.

Laying against the boulders at the bottom of a cliff, we watched men walk the shoreline. They gave us the eye and smiled as they passed. Fell asleep, woke when I heard voices, looked over to see Jay at full mast. Rubbed suntan lotion on his dick as he told the beachcomber I was a friend.

The man touched his toe to my foot, got my attention. He glanced at an area near the larger boulders. I shook my head remembering the desert sands rubbing the skin off my dick years ago.

Tom Cat Club, Mexicali, LA, Jay and I found places to enjoy ourselves.

At the cinema, he dropped popcorn. Made a game of it. His hand discretely brushed my lap again and again. Drove me crazy in the dark. Wouldn't let me return the favor, thought it was fun to tease me.

It was fun and made me hot to get him alone.

Kept working the street cars yet slowly the lines were removed, replaced with buses. Began studying for certification for Commercial-Residential Building Electrician. New buildings were rising throughout the county.

Agustín became a handsome man, grew six inches since we met. He signed up for firefighter training with the county. Had to wait three months, went back to school to earn his high school equivalency.

War in Europe ended yet the draft continued. Agustín hoped to be in a critical civilian job to avoid the military. Everly was still in school. They worked weekends keeping their rent paid.

Finally gave up my weekend work at Consolidated. Two days of freedom felt great.

Santa Ana

Independence Day brought a Santa Ana, San Diego baked. Winds were hot and dry from the east. Called Agustín from work, told him to go to the bodega, buy cold cuts, "Set the fans up in the living room. I'll bring ice."

Boys came in and stripped to their boxers, wiped down in front of the fans with cold water. Tray of sandwiches, fruit. Made buckets of icy water for our feet.

Sitting in the breeze of the fans, we were able to watch the television in some comfort

Jay called. "Come over. Were watching Kraft Theater tonight."

"We?"

"My maintenance crew is here. Bring ice cream."

"How many are there?"

"Three, until you get here. Back door's open."

Four pints of ice cream in hand, Jay called my name from the kitchen.

"Strip down to your skivvies." I ordered and grabbed spoons.

He grinned when he saw the boys in front of the fans. Handed out the pints.

"We haven't had ice cream since... the lawyer's office." Agustín reminded me.

No drama that night, Agustín told his delicately edited tale. Made me proud, this boy from the pensionero, he'd come far. Described growing into an adult with me and Siedel, "And when I get on with the fire department, I'm going to bring my family back. Get a lawyer, make it right."

"Where is your family now?" Jay asked.

"Punta Chueca, I imagine. Fishing village on the mainland, about half way down Baja."

Jay thought for a moment, "International calls are expensive. Come over to my place. We'll see if we can contact them."

Around midnight I told them to bring sheets, sleep in front of the fans.

Jay helped clean up, "What a set-up, living with two gorgeous kids. Lotsa men would envy you."

"I love Agustín and Everly." I rinsed the dishes, "They have their own relationship. Not going to disturb it."

"Would you consider disturbing an old auditor tonight?"

Had to laugh, "It's hot upstairs."

"Make me sweat." He touched my cheek, gave me a warm look.

Bedroom and everything in it was hot to the touch, we showered.

"No soap." He knelt in front of me, rubbed his face across my enlarging dick. Flexed my knees when he fondled my balls, pushed them aside as his fingers found my hole.

He looked up and smiled, then began sucking as his finger entered me. One hand on the wall behind him, other hand on his head, I pressed into him. Head of my dick hit the back wall of his throat. He swallowed. Slight movement, light clamping around my head. Slit opened slightly.

Rich.

Moaned. I wanted more and he had to breathe. Pulled out, listened to him inhale then he took me deep again. Swallowed. Couldn't believe how that felt, it was more incredible than the first time he did it.

Repeated as his finger rubbed and pressed inside me. Wanted to feel this way forever, deep pleasure filling my entire body. Couldn't move. Where my balls touched his forearm I suddenly felt the cool water; ready.

He felt it too. Tight and ready to shoot. His left hand grabbed the base of my dick and he began twisting, sucking on the head.

Knees trembled, he hummed.

Lost control. Emptied myself into him.

"Don't move." I tried to settle back inside myself, dazed.

Gently pulled his finger out, rubbed my hole and stood. Embraced me. Sound of the shower, pulsing heartbeat against my chest as I came back from bliss.

Didn't dry off.

Still too hot. Pulled the pillows and sheet off the bed and slept in front of the fans. The boys left a note they'd taken the panel truck to the beach to sleep in the breezes.

Made coffee, left the bread by the toaster, I left early the next morning to collect rents. Came back, everyone was gone. Panel truck was in the drive, Jay must've taken the guys out for breakfast.

Began cleaning up, went to the bodega early hoping to buy meat. Watered the yucca and ice plant remembering Siedel. Rinsed my head, arms several times. As I rinsed, an idea came.

The lady living behind the duplex had plants in pots. "Ma'am. Ma'am. Would you sell me a plant?

"I don't sell.... Which one?"

"Something to mark the life of a person."

"You talking about Siedel?"

I nodded as she went to the side of her house and returned with a shrubby bush. "This one--it's a wild rose. Siedel told me the blossoms reminded him of buttercups in spring. Only has a few delicate pink and white petals. Take it, he was a good neighbor."

Dug a hole near the corner of the yard, planted and watered it thanking Siedel as I did.

Precious, his life.

At noon, Jay and the boys came in.

"Called the police down in Sonora, they said they'll find my parents. They're going to give them your number." Agustín was excited.

"When?"

"Sunday night."

Jay handed the boys a five spot. They left abruptly, grinning.

"What's going on?"

"They're going to the Campus drive-in later. We'll have the evening to ourselves. Dinner out?"

"I'd like to stay home. I have a bottle of wine, cube steak and reading to catch up on."

"Would you like company?"

Lazy, quiet evening. Bought ice at the bodega along with lithiated lemon-lime soda, mixed it with the Vin Mont. We read through the headlines as hot winds changed direction, cooler breezes came.

Took him to see the wild rose I planted, "Siedel was the first man who appreciated me. Didn't know it at the time, didn't recognize it--rare thing to be appreciated."

"Agustín and Everly, I'm sure they appreciate you."

Had to smile, "I appreciate them. They're smart kids. Gonna do well."

"I appreciate you." He looked at me.

"You don't say it, you just do it." I chuckled. "Same here."

Phone rang. Jay stayed outside watering.

"Hello."

"Cody, how ya' doin'?"

"Gruner? Been a long time, why didn't you call?" Exasperation flashed, quickly doused by memories of the beach house, los toques, incredible cums.

"Got a little problem. You need to pull some money together. Pull some equity or something, I'm broke."

I hadn't told him I owned anything. My antennae went up. He knew I had access to the Strike and Hardship account. Did he expect me to kite it? "How much do you need?"

"Coupla hundred... thousand."

Jay came in, started looking in the Kelvinator.

Turned to the wall, "What about your house, the beach house? They're worth plenty."

"I sold them. Hid part of it, the rest was in the bank. It got seized."

"Seized?"

"I don't have to pay taxes, it's not in the constitution. Feds aren't getting their greedy hands on anything of mine. I'll be down next week...."

Jay stared at me. Didn't listen to Gruner any further. Hung up.

"Seized? You have a friend with epilepsy, or did someone ignore the oil gauge?" Jay smiled.

"Money problems. His account was seized, he's broke."

He took me in his arms, held my head, "You know I'm an auditor, right?"

"Yeah."

"I live with Eli, but I don't work with him. I'm with the IRS--biggest financial institution around."

Guts clenched, mind blanked.

"Does your friend need help with his taxes? He can get a lawyer--it's easier to cooperate."

Didn't answer, certain instances with Gruner came back. How he'd left, what he said, how quickly he'd turned. Had to wonder about Pat Coltrane's demise, Gruner's wealth. Why was he still working?

"I'm gonna call it an evening." Felt used, turned and went to the living room. Had to escape into the loin-clothed men in the National Gs, immerse myself in some strange culture without money or taxes.

"Wait. Eli told me you have a house in Imperial Beach. Said it's worth almost quarter million. I wanna see it. Go for a drive?"

Sounded alright, Jay drove a `48 Packard convertible.

Put the top down and hit the road. His heavy car rode like a dream, cool air, radio playing. All the way down to Imperial Beach, he told me about the crazy schemes people told him when they were audited.

Man running a plumbing service deducted his wife's face lift. "Never saw his wife but it wasn't business-related in anyway we could find."

"...Hiring a guy to burn down your warehouse isn't a deduction, it's illegal. Going bankrupt would be easier than claiming the cost of an arsonist."

"What happens when you find a tax-resister?"

"Depends. If they've filed a recent return, we start there. We track them down, check their business activity, bank deposits and withdrawals. When we have enough information, we ask them to come in for an audit. If they don't, we seize funds, properties and send the agents."

Drove past the house, "Eli says its worth a quarter million?"

"Yep. Who's living there now?"

"Navy brass. Nice folks."

"Let me know when they leave, I'm interested in it."

Glad Gruner didn't call back or come by, he was in seriously hot water.

Powder Monkey Part 8 Cookin' With Gas

Friday nights became the big event again. Jay cooked, he was better than Siedel, or maybe it was because stores were fully stocked again. We played checkers, chess during dessert, spinning platters on the Motorola.

Glad we were all together for a few hours, I was seeing less of the guys. Everly found work at an ad agency. Agustín joined the San Diego Fire Department, worked long shifts.

Along with dinners came small gifts from Jay. I was being wooed.

Uncomfortable at first then became enjoyable. I made small wire figures for him during my lunch breaks. Funniest thing, I didn't always get horny when I thought of him during the day. Wondered what he thought about different events in the news, around town. Learned a lot from him.

Through the months, he stayed over weekends, then took the empty duplex. Refurnished it the way he wanted, repainted, and I thought about cutting the door through the bedroom wall. Didn't need it.

"Feeling needed and being loved." That's want he wanted and said so. Asked for nothing else. After several weeks of mulling that over, it came to me:

Siedel's perfect day. He was needed and loved though it was distressing to me, nothing spectacular happened except him being loved and needed continually.

Taking care of Agustín, I was needed and came to be loved deeply by a kid. Siedel and I had the same love. Not sure how I would have made it without them keeping me on track, buoying my spirits.

Too many days I was exhausted, pulled in the drive and it vanished knowing they were waiting for me. Despite all the beans and rice, ox tail soup, shortages and pressures, the three of us made a home for ourselves.

Jay gave me a sense of stability in tough times, a perspective on life that changed me. Never would I have to face hardships alone again; he wouldn't either. Between us, I found the freedom greater than the New Mexico skies.

Starting the percolator, making toast were no longer mundane tasks, I looked forward to hearing him in the shower, coming to the table in his old robe, his hair an unruly mess. The life I wanted, we built together.

Powder Monkey Epilogue Master-at-Arms

When the house in Imperial Beach came open, I gave up the comfortable old duplex and moved there with Jay. Everly and Agustín stayed in the bungalow, saving their money for their plans.

The neighbor who gave me the rose bush, she and her son took over maintenance on the properties. Her son had returned from Europe with inexplicable fears and odd behaviors. He could mow, paint, make minor repairs. He wanted to work, though slower than the boys, he worked alone and did well.

Before the Navy officer and his family left, they told me I was a great landlord, mentioned there were other service families who needed housing, "Got any less expensive places?"

Gave him my card and in a jiffy the phone started ringing. Wound up renting my old place to a single sailor, a fella in the Shore Patrol.

A family with a toddler took the other side. Agustín told me everyone got along, "I strung an extra clothes line for the lady, she has a lot of diapers."

"Thanks, I'll be by on the first to see it." Caring kid became a thoughtful man.

That next year Mom, Candace and her family visited. Jay's parents came from Palm Springs, stayed a few days. Relaxed visits, laughter, good food and warm hearts.

Construction was booming across San Diego, I stayed busy and strictly limited myself to eight hours a day, five days a week. Hired on with the city, rewiring older buildings. Monotonous but stable work; I got an apprentice assigned to work with me.

Jay and I vacationed in Las Vegas. More desert and this one had swimming pools.

One memory burned into my soul like a dark splotch of crude oil on the caliche: Usual evening, we ate, watched the news and I grabbed the evening paper.

"You need an audit?" Jay chuckled, his way of getting me in bed.

"By mail, field audit or do I need a lawyer?"

"You're the lawyer." He wiggled his eyebrows and pulled me upstairs, "New kind of jurisprudence."

"Get rough." He handed me our holiday ties, the ones with the goofy Santa print. From there he wanted me to tie his right hand to the right headboard of the bed, his left foot to the left foot of the bed. "Spank hard, don't say anything, just spank me hard."

Perplexed, "Hurt you?"

"Well...." He paused, "Enough to remember tomorrow morning." He said he'd read it in Siedel's blue literature. "I was so hard, my ten-key started smoking at work today just thinking about it."

I could play that part. "Get your clothes off." Shoved him back and grinned.

Got him tied face down. Beautifully rounded rear trembled. Shoved his leg aside, reached under his groin. No erection, so I bit his rear. Hard. "Get it up or get out."

What to spank with? Hand, belt... pulled my belt out of my pants. Doubled the leather strap and popped it several times. Swung it around my head, he could hear the whoosh.

His body quivered.

Reached down to the floor and picked up his slipper. Leather sole.

Made more noise with the belt then stopped. Waited, he held his breath. Lifted my arm and let a hard swat fly to his rear with the slipper.

He moaned into the pillow.

Caressed his crack with the toe of the slipper. Waited. Landed three more as he jerked and groaned.

Powerful feeling coupled with a skosh of guilt. Reached back under him, hard. Jay's flashlight battery-sized dick was big, strong, leaking.

My tool was ready.

Gritted my teeth, pulled back and gave him five hard ones, pulled the hair around his hole, between his legs until he cried.

Untied his ankle and climbed between his legs. Lifted his hips, smeared my juice and shoved into him fast.

He cried, sobbed and didn't resist. I went full speed. Pumped like a madman. Shifted my hips to get deep, hard. The skin on his butt was hot against my groin. Knowing he was tied and I was in complete control made me harder.

Thanks, Siedel.

Moving in rhythm with me, I heard his breath speed and that squeaky sound he made when he was ready. "Hurry. Hurry." Whispered into the pillow.

Heady on power, I slowed to add a little more spice to this event. Enjoyed myself but I couldn't when I smelled his cum. Grabbed his hips, straightened myself and pulled him hard against me. Blew a big load as deep as I could and fell on him.

Light coat of sweat stuck me to his back. "Like your spanking?"

He hummed.

Showered, went to the kitchen. As Jay opened the Kelvinator, the phone rang in the hallway. I didn't answer it. It stopped ringing, then started again.

Could be a problem at one of the houses. "Hello."

"Cody. The police are here, someone's shot." Agustín was almost breathless.

"One of the renters? Not the mom, the family...."

"No. That guy who lives in your old place. Someone tried to break in. He shot several times. Broke the glass in the back door." Fast breaths. "It's, it's awful."

"What did the guy look like?"

"Couldn't see, too dark. Get over here." Retching noises.

"I'm on my way." Told Jay I had an emergency, "Stay here."

By the time I arrived, the neighbors were standing on the sidewalk, crowd gathered. Several police cars blocked the street. Ambulance was in the drive.

Went to Agustín, watched as the body was lifted to the gurney. Cop asked me who I was.

"I'm the landlord here. Do you mind if I take a look, could be a former renter."

Lifted the sheet. Face was mostly gone, enough left to recognize. "Nope, don't know him. Plenty of renters before I got the place. Do you know why he was here?"

Pulled the a worn wallet from an envelope. "Not sure." Flipped through the wallet, "Name's Michael Gruner."

Police took photos, I scrubbed the back porch with the broom, bleach. Hosed everything off while Agustín found a scrap of wood to nail over the broken window.

The renter who worked as a master-at-arms was shaken. Young, still in his pajama bottoms, barefooted and knees trembling. Kept saying he'd shot in self-defense. "He was knocking and rattling the lock. Wouldn't identify himself or what he wanted."

"We'll take care of the door and get new locks. Must have been a mistake, him coming here."

Calmed on the way home. Decided to keep my mouth shut and let this fade from scrutiny as far as it could. Didn't think there was any way Gruner and I could be associated except through the union.

Waited several weeks, went to the duplex. Renters greeted me and left when I said I was checking for termites. "Wanna help?"

Pulled off the small screens around the base of the house. No termites or anything else until I found a loose screen on the far side of the house near the fence.

Used a broom to pull out a cigar box. Inside, wrapped in oil cloth, were bills bundled in rubber bands. Nine racks, tightly packed.

Tucked it in my shirt, took it home. These were used bills, appeared unmarked. Around nine-thousand dollars. Could be the cost of a beach house....

Considering all the parts of this situation carefully, I gave it to Agustín on his next birthday.

"Get an immigration lawyer for your family. Pay in cash after every consult. Never tell anyone I gave it to you and don't bank it. Say you were young, worked for an old man who paid in cash. You saved the money. I'll back you up saying you worked for Siedel if anyone asks."

Look of puzzlement came to his face. "I saved this money? What do you mean?"

"You were too young to open a bank account and your parents weren't here to do it for you."

Agustín squinched his eyes, suspicious. "Where'd you get this?"

"Found it under the house. Someone forgot it or hid it and died. It's yours now."

"Are you sure?" He inspected the bills.

"Think of it as a gift from Siedel and the men who love you. They want you to get your family back."

Without reticence, I got a full-body hug as he tearfully whispered, "It's my perfect day."

End

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