Date: Fri, 28 Nov 2008 14:09:54 -0500
From: chris james <drmeta4@gmail.com>
Subject: On the Wire, Epilogue

Dear Reader:  adult content, fiction, under 18 may not read this material.

	My thanks to the readers who stuck with me through this story. It
was a hard read for you but I am not sorry, the story had to be told. All
of us gain insight when we read something, even if it isn't a story we want
to see. This one was like that from the many comments I received, it was a
hard sell. As a reward for your patience there is a little something at the
end of this piece to motivate your interests. As always, your comments are
most welcome.

Chris James
drmeta4@gmail.com


			     On the Wire (M/B)

Epilogue

	The trip back from Washington was anything but pleasant; Kevin was
beside himself with worry. Jack had not returned any of his messages, and
he'd left quite a few in the past two days. The only way to find out
anything was to get on the train and go home.

	Austin had a feeling all was not well in Chicago. Several times he
had been tempted to call Alan and ask what was going on, but Kevin was
always there. It was as if the boy was coming unglued.

	They'd had loads of fun, spent lots of money and seen just about
everything they could in Washington. But those good feelings were gone,
replaced by a certain dread of what they would discover when they got home.

	All night long Kevin had paced about their tiny sleeper, moving
from one bed to the other, throwing himself against the window and looking
out at the darkness sliding by. And in several bouts of panic he had
slammed himself against Austin, beating the boy with his fists.

	This was a side of Kevin he didn't understand, but he couldn't
distance himself from the boy. This week away from the business had brought
him some understanding about their relationship.

	In the beginning he had seen Kevin as his savior. The love that
developed early on had been born of gratitude for giving him freedom. And
once he became involved the fire was fed by the physical needs of them
both. But now...now it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water
on their passions.

	Kevin's only thoughts were of Jack; Austin felt he should have
known that would happen all along. The boy was overwhelmed with grief that
something might have happened to Jack. There was nothing for it; Austin
knew his boyfriend was lost to another.

	But over the months Austin had harbored feelings that Kevin knew
all about the dirty little secrets of Golden Hand. He was in the middle of
it all, he had to know. But how could he ignore these terrible things? Boys
had disappeared, been taken off the list...and Kevin knew their fate, he
was sure of it.

	Of course he had blamed Bucky, telling Austin that the man was
crazy and that he should have been finished long before. But Austin had
come to know Bucky; the man never did anything without orders from
somewhere. Jack gave orders, but Kevin was in charge of the operations.

	And John, there was something creepy about that man. Austin had
hesitated to leave the boys alone with him, it just didn't feel right. And
just as Kevin grieved about not being able to contact Jack, Austin felt
sick to his stomach with worry about the boys.

	 The sun rose almost two hours before they were due to arrive at
Union Station. Kevin looked a mess from the lack of sleep and Austin felt
like there was sand in his eyes. He just couldn't sleep with Kevin in this
state of mind, he could only hope Frank was there waiting to pick them up.

	The conductor knocked on their door to give them notice, Chicago
was the next stop in about twenty minutes. Kevin laughed nervously.

	"Oh great, I must look a mess," he said. "What will Jack think?"

	"Why don't you wash up and change?" Austin suggested.

	"Yeah...I need a clean shirt," Kevin agreed.

	But Austin knew the boy was thinking about his appearance only for
Jack's sake. He sat back on his seat while Kevin used the small bathroom
facility. He suddenly felt sad, it was the moment he recognized that the
love between them was gone.

	Maybe it had been a sham from the beginning. The craziness of life
within the Golden Hand had swept them both away. Only now, as the reality
of his situation dawned upon him did Austin feel anything like fear. What
if Kevin knew they were finished, would he be made to disappear as well?

	Austin felt the cell phone in his pocket and thought of Alan. The
man had been nothing but honest from the beginning. He had known this
moment would come and that's why he had offered protection.

	At some point after they arrived he would get away from Kevin and
make that call. Alan had been there all along but he had been too blind to
understand his need. Now he could only hope the promise would be kept.

	The train rolled slowly into the station and they gathered up their
bags and squeezed down the narrow corridor towards the exit stairs.

	"Watch your step, please," the conductor warned each person as they
stepped down onto the platform.

	Kevin immediately began looking around for Frank as Austin wrestled
his bag down the steps.

	"Here, let me help you, young man," a voice said. Austin looked up
and saw a portly man smiling up at him. The guy took his bag and set it
down on the platform as Austin negotiated the steps.

	A tall slender man stood a few feet away looking directly at
Kevin. The big man saw Austin watching, and then they moved.

	The tall man pushed Kevin up against the side of the rail car,
holding him with an arm locked behind his back. The big man shoved Austin
in the other direction and another pair of hands grabbed his arm. Austin
turned and looked right into Alan's face.

	"Good to see you, Austin," Alan said.

	By that point Kevin had been handcuffed and several uniformed
officers had appeared to escort him away.

	"Alan...but...how...how did you know?" Austin stammered.

	Alan smiled. "We know everything. Got a few years? I'll tell you
all about it."

	Austin threw his arms around Alan's neck and sobbed with
relief. His savior had come...the promise had been kept.


					* * * * * *


	Eight boys sat in the living room of the house, amazed as the
evening news showed the SWAT team invading the house where they used to
live. The news was old now but the media just couldn't seem to let the
story go. One by one the photos of Jack, Shelby and Desmond flashed up on
the screen.

	There were ooh's and ahh's as the faces of some prominent men were
shown being led away from the courtroom in handcuffs. Once upon a time they
had known these guys as clients. And then there were cheers as Detective
Alan Malloy was interviewed regarding the downfall of Golden Hand.

	He made a statement saying that a dangerous ring of predatory men
had been arrested here in Chicago, and that there were arrests being made
in other cities across the country. None of the boys had known of the wide
reach Golden Hand had enjoyed for many years.

	The group had been hustled into state custody almost overnight. The
Cook County officials had been only too glad to hand them over, they were
embarassed enough by members of the local government being swept up in the
investigation.

	Now the boys were kept together at an undisclosed location away
from the media. A state trooper was on watch across the street, two male
social workers rotated shifts to provide for the boys. Everyone was
cautious, for they now had a retired federal judge as their lawyer, the
lawsuits would go on for years, long enough for the boys to reach legal
age.

	Kevin was locked up as well, only his was a padded cell after the
mental breakdown he suffered. Legally he was not allowed to see Jack, they
weren't related except by crime. He had broken down under questioning,
especially after learning Austin was on the other side now. His lawyer had
him committed for an indefinite amount of time, there was no hurry, the
police had all the information they needed.

	The reporter finally asked Alan if he had any final words for their
viewers. Alan looked right in the camera and said he had a word of advice
for parents.

	"Love your kids, but be aware of their activities. Don't think that
this couldn't happen in your town, it will if you let your guard down for
one minute. Trust your kids, but make them aware that not everyone they
meet online can be trusted."

	Alan smiled and brought a finger up beside his nose. "I love all my
kids; they're the best bunch of boys you'd ever want to meet."

	And in the privacy of that living room eight boys jumped to their
feet and cheered as one.

	"Did you see that, he touched his nose just like he said he
would...that was for us," David said, grinning ear to ear.

	"Hey look," Kyle said.

	The television camera had panned back as Alan strode up the steps
of the courthouse building, and there at the top stood Austin...waiting.

	"So Austin is living with Alan now?" David asked.

	"Yeah...that judge arranged it. Austin is gonna be eighteen in a
few months, lucky man," Kyle said.

	"I'm glad Austin finally got what he wanted," Brandon said. He felt
sad for only a moment, but then he smiled. "Anyone want to play games on
the PS2?"

	A tangle of boys ran for the controllers, they were normal
kids...for now.





					* * * * *

For the readers:A preview

	Unpublished anywhere else, this is a preview of an upcoming Chris
James story to be posted on Nifty.  The place is real, the characters are
fictional and not meant to represent anyone alive or dead. Baltimore,
Maryland...a town of exquisite beauty and hopless poverty. I lived there
many years ago, I walked these streets, I know these people. And sometimes
my thoughts return to this city...I almost wish I'd never seen anything,
but I did.


                                The Whistler's Club (M/B, B/B)


	Long ropes of brightly colored flags hung from the rafters of the
tall glass and steel building. Each little square of cloth fluttered
rapidly, swimming in the current of cool air pouring down into the hall
from the large overhead vents. Below, amidst the maze of manicured plants
and flowers, a slender young boy in faded jeans and a dark T-shirt sat on
the hard wooden slats of a bench.

      His head was tilted back, allowing his long brown hair to dangle in
the breeze of artificial air cascading down from above. He squinted, trying
to count the flags above. Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-eight,
ninety-one, and he lost track of their numbers. Damn, there were hundreds
of them up there, he thought, sooo pretty.

	His head snapped forward as a blast of music interrupted his
thoughts, bringing him back to reality of the moment. A sudden rush of
dizziness shot through his body, and his stomach revolted. Oh shit, I'm
gonna puke again, he thought. Then his eyes lost their focus.

	"Are you alright young man?" an elderly feminine voice asked. "You
look terribly pale."

	Joey tried to focus on the speaker but his mind was still floating
out there somewhere, way too dizzy. The concerned woman finally caught a
whiff of him, the cloying solvent smell of the tolly he'd huffed still
clung to his face and clothes.

	"Oh..." she stammered, "that's disgusting. You should be ashamed,
such a young boy. Martha, this boy is on drugs," she said to her companion.

	"There's a policeman by the door," Martha said, and they both
looked across the sea of heads towards a uniformed cop standing watch by
the door.

	They turned back towards the bench but Joey had vanished. The high
school band in the courtyard continued the musical celebration as members
of the city council and the mayor took their places on the speaking
platform at one side. Polite applause greeted their arrival and the
incident with the long haired boy was lost for all time.

      Joey moved low and swiftly, dodging through clusters of seemingly
wooden figures staring towards the podium. Men and women, families with
children, all dressed in their Sunday-best filled the courtyard behind
him. All had come to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Baltimore's Harbor
Place, all except Joey.

      The wondrous shops and restaurants had been clustered right on the
waterfront in a grand design. The city center had been an eye sore for
decades until politics and business had come up with this solution. And it
had given new life to the blighted inner city...or had it?

      The adrenaline rush had cleared his head, and with his eyes darting
here and there, Joey was searching for an escape route. He worked his way
past the vegetable and fish vendors, coffee and cookie counters, ignoring
the tempting things out on display. He didn't even bother to look at the
merchandise. He had no money to be coaxed from his pockets by wily
clerks. This place wasn't part of his real world. It was only a cool oasis
of fantasy on yet another hot day in his life.

      Finally, he made it to an exit door at the rear of the building and
slammed the panic bar, bursting out into the hot streaming sunshine. He
took a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed
and ran smack into the side of a patrol car parked on the
sidewalk. Shit...I'm busted sure, he thought. Joey gazed in glassy eyed
horror at the uniform sitting inside.

	"Hey, kid," the cop yelled through the open window. "What the hell
you doing in there?"

	"Nothin," Joey smiled, a disarming grin he reserved for
authoritative adults

	"Get lost, OK?" the cop replied. "You better get yourself back
home, you don't belong here today."

	Joey walked casually away, stuffing the remains of the plastic
bread bag deeper in the back pocket of his faded jeans. The bag reeked of
the toluene thinner he had been huffing, 'tolly' they called it. Inhaling
the fumes gave you a head rush but the results often made you puke. He
didn't care, it was free and today it was the only high he could
afford. But it had made him throw up twice already and he hated that part.

      Now it was time to move, to vanish like a ninja in the canyons of the
city. This had been Joey's favorite game for as long as he could
remember. That cop had easily pegged him as an East Side kid, off his
territory and that usually meant trouble. Joey didn't hate all cops, but
then what did that cop know about his life anyway? A good ninja was always
part of the unknown.

	He wandered around the side of a building and the sound of the
brass band blared out from the plaza beyond. Crappy music, why didn't they
have a rock band? To avoid the well dressed crowds, he crossed the street
and walked a block into the city away from the harbor.

      Here the familiar office buildings towered above him, like old
friends they welcomed him back and he felt secure. But these friends were
getting old and dirty, and when he ran his hand along the stones it came
away black with soot. He rubbed the dirty fingers on his jeans, adding to
the streaks already there.

      He passed behind the Chinese restaurant with its awesome smells and
turned down the nearby alley. The loading dock at the back of the hotel had
some interesting looking things on it, but maybe he should come back later
if he found the time.

       Joey gave a spinning kick to a pile of empty cardboard boxes,
watching them crumble under his assault. It was getting late, time to go
home. Reluctantly he turned east and back towards the harbor.

       At the Federal Courthouse he stood waiting at the traffic light
under the watchful gaze of the uniformed guard. He crossed the street
towards the waterfront where he looked towards the distant pier and the
huge wooden ship moored there amidst the crowd. The U.S.S. Constitution, it
was famous for something. That was all he remembered about it from
school. Joey wasn't in school anymore.

      Across the murky swell of the harbor he could see water taxis running
in and out of the boats anchored at the long stone jetty. There sat another
sailing ship, The Pride of Baltimore. He knew about that one, it had been
built right before his eyes. He loved the tall masts, so high that they
towered above the bustling harbor craft below.

	It was all so pretty now, but these things didn't really touch his
life. Instead they existed in a dream place somewhere in his mind. How
could he relate to them?  This place and these people certainly didn't
recognize him as anything. These were just things, things that served to
amuse.

      Suddenly he remembered about today again. Today was his birthday,
today he was fifteen. But today nothing had changed. Tomorrow would be
filled with the same doubts and fears, concepts he barely recognized
anymore.

       The recently developed Inner Harbor complex stopped abruptly several
blocks east at the walls of the power plant, quickly giving way to a more
familiar city. The rotten piers of defunct industry had been left jutting
out into the filthy water, which only recently had received the city's
attention. Joey walked along the water's edge, balancing on the seawall and
throwing small rocks at pieces of junk that still floated in the murky
harbor.

      The buildings were much older here. Crumbled brick warehouses, all
boarded up to prevent junkies from stealing the copper pipes and fencing
them for another fix. Stacks of wooden pallets from the old cannery lay
broken in an open field. The hard soil packed by decades of industry hid
the corrupted earth fouled by toxic chemicals.

      The tall stacks from the old power plant towered to his left. A
handsome brick building that had been given a facelift but never seemed to
be able to get a life. These things didn't affect Joey's senses until the
smells of a summer afternoon in Little Italy drifted his way. The odor of
baked bread, garlic and sweet spices from the gaggle of trendy restaurants
made Joey's stomach rumble. He was hungry, he was always hungry.

      Out across this leg of the harbor he could see the sugar plant to the
south. The huge neon sign over the building raped the city skyline at night
with a splash of blue and white light. Joey walked across a sea of crinkled
asphalt, his worn tennis shoes surrounded by the glitter of a thousand
Saturday night's worth of broken beer bottles. All this had been left
untouched for decades; a testament to the city's major problem. The certain
poverty of so many citizens in this part of town had bred nothing but
official contempt.

	Joey eyed the deserted street across from the field as if at any
moment trouble might come his way. The high-rise projects lay up that
street. Horrible things happened to little white boys who went up there,
his momma had once told him, stay out of there, you'll be sorry. Joey was
always a little frightened when he came this way, but at least it wasn't
close to dark.

      Picking up the pace, he raced along the concrete sea wall, past the
Coast Guard station where his path finally crossed an invisible line and he
was back in East Side territory once again.

      He ran across the vacant lot where they sometimes played
stickball. Past piles of trash pushed against the foundry wall where they
had found the dead man a year before. The guy had been rolled up in a rug,
shot in the head and left to rot, the smell made them all puke.

      Joey's eyes scanned the void below the concrete pier across the
narrow channel of water but he could see no movement. Sometimes the bums
and winos rolled out their cardboard slabs and slept under the pier. He
hated their stink because they smelled like the dead man.

      A younger boy he knew had been attacked by one of these creeps last
summer. Some sick guy who said he just wanted to talk to the kid. The boy's
parents and relatives had rousted the bums with boards and steel pipes
swinging. But the man they wanted was gone. The injured bums went to the
hospital up the hill courtesy of the police who managed to wait until the
lesson had been learned. Men who then went to the corner bar to celebrate
the victory or home to watch the evening news in hopes of hearing about
their acts of bravery.

      Joey climbed across the litter of old stamping machines rusting in
the sun. Ancient hulks of mill processing equipment left behind when the
factory moved out of the city. He stood atop a pile of twisted metal and
looked down the length of the concrete pier. Victoriously he whistled, as
if to announce, "I'm back".

	The piercing call rolled across the field, echoing under the pier
and bouncing from piling to piling. Threep-too-weep, his call sounded. The
two fingers shoved in beside his tongue were grimy, but there was no
answer. Threep-too-weep, he cast out again, but he heard only silence in
return. No one was there so he ducked under the pier and ran the length to
the far end, a hundred yards out into the harbor.

      Filthy piles of discarded cardboard and newspaper were cast about the
place, broken wine bottles, bits of clothing and empty rusting food cans
littered the walls. He inspected a piece of cardboard for skid marks or
moving bugs. It was fairly clean so he dropped it on the concrete retaining
wall and sat down.

      The bread bag was a hard lump in his pocket, the plastic melted in
contact with the harsh chemical. He pulled it out, wadded the bag and
tossed it in the water, watching it float slowly away and sink in the muddy
scum that bounced amongst the pilings below.

      Across the water the afternoon sky was beginning to darken, clouds
building up way back in the outer harbor and even further out towards the
Chesapeake Bay. There'd been a thunderstorm almost every day this past
week. He didn't look forward to the coming days of August when it would be
real hot. A sweaty, humid, garbage smelling hot, with hardly a breeze to
cool your brain. Damn he hated that.

	He watched as the wind picked up, blowing white caps across the
water rolling towards him and dying against the concrete wall below his
feet. The storm would be here soon, probably before he could make it back
to the house. At least this place was dry enough. He would have to wait it
out.

      Lightning flashed across the sky and he counted. One-one thousand,
two-one thousand, and three-one thousand, then the distant rumble of
thunder reached his ears. The storm was still miles out over the Bay but
rushing towards him fast.

      He thought about all the little boats he had seen down in
Annapolis. Joey had begged his step-father to take him and his sister over
the Bay Bridge to the Eastern Shore. It cost money to drive down there and
cross over, the man had said, maybe another time. Joey had come up with the
dollar and a half for the toll. And reluctantly his step-father had driven
them up and then out onto the soaring span of the Bay Bridge.

      It was a million miles high over the water they all thought. The
sailboats looked so tiny down below. His step-father had laughed, seeming
to finally enjoy the outing. He had told them it had to be high to let the
big ships pass under. Joey knew that, he'd seen those same ships moored at
the docks down Dundalk way.

      The sun had shown brightly across the water that day and Joey could
see the glorious bay for miles in either direction. It was his favorite
memory, one of his very few where his step-father was concerned.

	The thoughts of that warm sunny day made him shiver in his thin
T-shirt as the breeze turned cool. Damn, he hoped he wouldn't catch
cold. How stupid, he had forgotten to snag a jacket. No, that wasn't quite
true. The latest quarrel with his mother had driven him from the house
without a chance to retrieve a jacket. Shit, that bitch, he hated the
fighting.

      Large scattered drops of rain began to pound the water, he could see
the storm front more clearly now, the squall line approaching rapidly up
the harbor towards him. Joey moved back from the edge as lightning flashed
overhead and the roll of thunder answered almost immediately. The rain
created a mist that blocked his vision of the distant South Side and the
big Domino Sugar sign. It all vanished in a curtain of water and he was
happy to see it go.

	Flash, ka boom. The lightning struck nearby and scared him. Shit,
now he didn't want to be out here at all. Wheep-thweep, he heard distantly
through the roar of falling water. Robby was coming. Wheep-thweep he heard
again and joyously he flung the answering call. Threep-too-weep. The
connection was made.


Thanks for reading,
Chris James
drmeta4@gmail.com