Date: Fri, 2 May 2003 07:39:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: Ganymede
Subject: Paradise Part 4

WARNING:

This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving men and MINOR
boys. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story. While the
story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious
literary value. If you are under the age of 18, if this material is
illegal in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't
your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!


As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has
the right to censor an imagination, or dreams." With that in mind, know
that this story is not true! Further, it is not intended to promote
illegal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can
love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is
my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual acts described
in the story are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these
acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors. If the
subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your
place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material,
do not read further!

By downloading this story:

 "... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that
you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to have
access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society
capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been
placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used
to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in archives that
require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that
requires payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to
individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental.

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***********************************************************************

My sincere appreciation to two friends whose comments on this story have
been very helpful. It is because of them, and the e-mails I have received
from many other fans, that I have decided to post the rest of Paradise
on Nifty rather than restrict its availability.

Perhaps, as some people believe, my descriptions of sexual activity,
rather than  being satisfying to the reader and an integral part of the
story, have become boring! I have always endeavored to write stories that
promote the love of boys in a favorable light, recognizing that sex
and love must go hand in hand for a relationship to be truly fulfilling.

My stories are ongoing experiments: from the first story, Summer Dreams,
testing the proposition that love could exist between a man and a boy, to
A Nice Boy, which took an Orwellian view of today's attitudes to that love.
I have tried to incorporate deeper messages in most of what I write, while
elevating the act of love to approach the level of literature.

If my critics are right, then I have failed. I have always believed
that when the occured, it was the time to stop writing.

***********************************************************************


Paradise. By Ganymede


Chapter 6


It was not out of character, or even unusual for Joey and I to skip
breakfast. Mornings were always rushed, simply because we always stayed
in bed for as long as possible. That morning, we dressed quickly,
throwing on non-too-clean shorts and tee shirts, taking a minute or
less to brush our teeth before we hurried along the beach to where
Fernando had left his beat-up Jeep pick-up truck. It was rust-colored for
good reason. With the salt-laden air, there was not a lot of metal left.
With a good bump, and there were lots of them, the fenders would clap
loudly. It was enough to scare away the birds for several miles. The jeep
roared to life, and with all four wheels spinning, we took off down
the crushed shell and sand road. Fernando headed towards the village. On
the mornings when I had a charter, I would usually have time to drop Joey
off at the Farley Street wharf. On other days, he would walk to the
village to catch the Georgetown ferry. We made it with about a minute to
spare. I emptied the pockets of my shorts and handed him a handful of
coins to buy something to eat on the ferry. He kissed me on the cheek,
grinned with crude delight and said good-bye. Then he darted off with
Rodriguez. The last thing I heard was a shout of laughter as I saw the
two boys leaping on board just as the ferry began to pull away.



On the way along the beach to where the fishing boats were kept, Fernando
filled me in on what had happened, or rather, his version of it. There was
no reason not to trust him, not since I had spent the best part of the
last two years trusting him, yet I had the distinct impression that he was
holding something back. However, whatever it was that he was, or wasn't
telling me, I had no way of telling. It was just a feeling I had.

Based on the sequence of events that formed inside my head, and the way
he spoke, it sounded true. He said that Rodriguez came back to the bar
shortly after he had gotten out of their bed that morning. The boy,
normally as effervescent and sex-hungry as Joey, was unusually quiet.
According to Fernando, he muttered something about the beach and hurried
into the tin-shed lavatory at the rear of the bar. He was gone for a while,
which was only to be expected having discovered a body that was not
unlike his own just a few minutes earlier. It took Fernando nearly
half-an-hour to find out what he told me over the time it took to
walk from the road. It seemed that Rodriguez left Fernando sleeping and gone
down to the beach after the first light of dawn to see what the tide had
brought in. The village boys could make good money by selling shells to
the tourist shops, but they had to get up early to do it.

The body was beside the fishing boat where Joey and I had been lying the
night before, half hidden beneath the side of the hull. A cursory glance
suggested that it had apparently been washed up during the night. I
walked closer. Death by any means is unpleasant, that of drowning even
worse, but the lifeless body of a child is a horrible sight. I felt the
bile rising into my throat. Two years away from Chicago surrounded by the
beauty of the dry Exumas made it worse. I closed my eyes and quickly
looked away.

"Da's the boy come from dat beeg fancy fishin' boat," Fernando said
again. He tended to repeat himself, probably from constantly telling his
customers the same stories while he served them beers.

I nodded slightly, but not showing any recognition. It was safer that
way. I scanned the lagoon, the ocean beyond the reef. There was no sign
of the yacht. In fact, there were no boats to be seen all the way to the
horizon except the brightly colored ferry, already outside the reef and
headed towards Georgetown with Joey and Rodriguez on board. I scuffed my
bare feet in the sand, reluctant to approach closer than I already was.
The last thing that I wanted to do was to become involved in a murder
investigation. Except Joey, no one else knew that we had been on that
part of the beach only ten hours earlier, or that we had seen a man and
boy, this boy, having sex.

"Did you call the Georgetown police?" I asked pointedly.

Fernando nodded. "A'fore I come get ya, boss. Dey says dey be here by
meed-day," he answered.

"By noon?" I growled. "What kind of shit is that?"

Noon was four and a half hours away. They could walk from Rolleville to
Georgetown in that time.  I did not need to consult my watch to know the
tide would have returned long before then. Then, there wouldn't be a crime
scene, or even a body.

"Damn!"

"Dere a problem wid dat, boss?"

"Yes, dere's a problem," I said sarcastically. I gestured towards the
boat and the pale body of a boy. Water was already lapping at his feet.
"That's a problem. The tide's coming in."

"Ese true," Fernando agreed. He glanced around him for a solution. "We
carry dis 'ere body up de beach den so he doan' get wets?"

"Hell no!" I practically shouted at him. I took a deep breath. "You're
not supposed to move a corpse, Fernie, especially in unusual
circumstances. I'd say this qualifies as unusual. Hell! They're saying
noon? There's supposed to be a medical examiner and a crew that
comes,.... Damn! Why so fucking late?"

Fernando shrugged nonchalantly. "Deys all meetin' in Georgetown 'cause
some problems wid de hotels. Dat what dey said, boss. Be dere by
meed-day," he quoted again. "Ya know what to do, boss?"

"Yes, I know what to do, Fernando. I damned well ought to," I grumbled.
"I did it for nearly twenty years when I lived in Chicago."

"Den dere ain't no problems. Ya do whatever dem cops does and we tell
dem comes noon."

"Hell, I can. For one thing, I have a charter in less than an hour,"
I complained. I glanced to the side, suddenly guilty. "Poor goddamn kid."

"It scare Roddy something awful," Fernando said seriously. "Poor boy.
Sure ain't pretty."

Even then, I was looking around me. With the tide coming in, it would not
be very long before the villagers came down to the beach to take the
boats out to go fishing. In fact, I could see a few of the early arrivals
unpacking nets close to the road. I scanned the area around the fishing
boat. There were a few sets of footprints in the freshly packed sand
below the high tide mark. Mine, Fernando's, and a smaller set-Rodriguez
had bigger feet than Joey-could be explained. Another set of footprints
that had been there for a while. They might have been Fernando's, or any
other man, but they were so obscured I could not be sure. Beyond that,
there was no sign that Joey and I, or even Vincente and Adams for that
matter had ever been walking there.

"Okay," I agreed half-heartedly. The body had to be moved from where it
was.  "I'll do my best. You go up to the fucking village and get a sheet
of plywood, or a door or something like that. I need to place the body on
it exactly as it is here. And I'll need a notepad and something to write
with."

Fernando headed off, leaving me along. I squatted down close to the body.
It was too soon to have much of a smell. Still, I had to close my eyes
almost as soon as I began to study the small form. Mental shorthand, some
detectives called it.

'Male child, probably mixed race. Skin color and facial characteristics
suggests mostly Hispanic with some Negro, maybe some Caucasian in there
as well. Victim's age is about twelve. Lying face up, both legs bent
back, right arm extended out. Left arm crooked. No clothes. No sign of
visible injury except a jagged tear on the inside of his right thigh. The
skin's gone. A shark bite from the look of the torn flesh. Probably a
small reef shark. No blood.'

Don't think about him. I don't even know his name, beyond Vincente.
Should I say I'd never met him? It would be simpler that way. There would
not be any questions about the circumstances of the meeting, about what
was said, about what I knew was going on between Vincente and Steve
Adams. It would be very easy to say that I'd never seen him before and
keep everything simple. I swallowed then, put my hand before my eyes,
felt my chest heaving. I breathed out and tried to exorcise the demon.

"Shit. Fucking god-damn fucking shit!"

He was a handsome boy. Vincente, whatever.  Did Joey know his last name?
Adams had never said. Of course, he was the likely suspect since the boy
was last seen in his company. By me and Joey! Damn, again. Was it better
to admit that we had met them at the Farley Street dock? Had anyone seen
me talking to the owner of the motor yacht? At that time in the
afternoon, it was unlikely that anyone would recognize Vincente or
remember Joey.  It could have been any one a hundreds of Hispanic boys
who had been walking beside him. However, a good detective would place
high priority on tracing the boy's last few days. It would not be too
hard to find out where he had been, but then a good detective would
already be on the crime scene. I looked again, long and hard, vaguely
hoping I would survive without being sick. It was bad enough when the
victim was young, but this was a boy who might have been Joey, except
that my boy was much better looking.

"Damn!" I swore aloud.

Yes, he was handsome. Aren't they all at that age? Not nearly as good
looking as Joey, but still exceptionally attractive in the way that boy-
hookers had to be in order to make money. Professionally cut hair. Why
was that surprising? Because I cut Joey's hair myself and it looked just
as good? I went back to observation. For a long while I could not  take
my eyes away from the wrinkled hemisphere of his scrotum. The boy had the
balls of a young teenager, but no hair. His penis was short but thick. It
was almost thick enough to be of interest to another boy when it was
hard. On his slim smooth torso it was almost too big, with his thin legs
it was almost ridiculous.

'Weight maybe 45 kilos. Height about one-point-six or so. Slender build,
but not undernourished. Genital size suggests he was probably sexually
mature, but no sign of pubic hair.'

"Weird," I mused aloud.

I ran my finger across his groin. He had already reached puberty, that
much was certain, but he was as smooth as Joey where there should have
been some hair. The only explanation was that his groin had been closely,
recently shaven. I twisted his penis to the other side fully exposing the
injury on his thigh. Very weird. The boy had been bitten in such a way
that the skin edge on one side was like a loose flap. I shuddered. The
edge of the bite was white where the blood had drained into the sea.
Somehow, although there was no reason I could put my finger on,  I could
not envision a shark doing that. Yet, neither could I imagine Adams doing
it, but it would not have been the first time that a murderer had acted
out of character. However I looked at it, it didn't make a damned bit of
sense. It made as much sense as finding the boy on the beach in the first
place. Maybe it was an eel bite. There were eels out on the reef that
were big enough to do that, but eels had razor-sharp teeth. The edges of
the bite were torn.

'No other marks to be seen on the front and right side. No visible sign
of cause of death. Nothing except that shark bite and close-up it doesn't
look right at all.'

I glanced up and saw Fernando struggling down the low embankment of the
road. He was carrying a brightly painted paneled door. It looked like it
belonged on his bar, the door to the men's bathroom perhaps? He stopped
to talk to the fishermen who were working on their nets. I had a few
minutes at most before he was back. Rigor mortis was stage one-barely
setting in. Vincente had been dead for couple of hours at most, I
estimated. Carefully, I turned the body over, face down, aware that I was
breaking every rule of homicide investigation. It was not Chicago and
time was passing quickly. Gently, I examined the small cheeks. They were
still rubbery. The long muscles in the arms and legs stiffened first. In
a few more hours even that softness would be gone.

He'd been fucked, of course, and recently at that. I knew the signs all
too well. Indeed, only an hour ago I had seen Joey's body in the morning
light. It always looked the same after we had sex during the night. There
was the same luster from oil-based lubricant, the same red shininess
around the rim of the anus where the skin had been stressed, the complete
lack of pucker, the way it opened inwards. Only big cocks could do that
to a boy. However,  the signs on Vincente's body were largely irrelevant
as far as I concerned. I knew what had happened to Vincente because I had
witnessed the act from  just a few feet away from where Steve Adams
fucked him. I used my finger like a pathologist but without the latex
gloves. There was lingering dilation in the anus, which was only to be
expected given that the boy had been sodomised about ten hours earlier.
Joey was the same way. Whenever I fucked him hard, his hole always looked
like a finger could be inserted without difficulty.  There was no way of
being certain, but I expected all boys were like that after sex with a
man. With a large man like Adams, it would probably be more dilated. It
might even last longer, especially if he had done it often enough for the
muscles to be loosened up.

Yet, as I gazed down at that most private of all places on a boy, some
inner sense informed me with unsettling clarity that he had been fucked
again during the night. There was a lot of residual bruising. Some old
and brown, some recent and purple. Again, he was like Joey after we had
prolonged sex. Joey usually had the same brown-purple circle around his
opening, the same variegated rippled flesh that came from repeated
excessive stretching of the anus. There was a newly made fissure very
close to the perineum line. A big cock? Something else? The banana I had
used with Joey didn't do that, but I was always very careful with it.
There wasn't much give in a banana. Some men used plastic or rubber
dildoes to make a boy's anus larger. Maybe that was it? I didn't. I had
never needed to do that to Joey. I couldn't see the point.

There was enough slackness in the boy's anus to look within. As far as I
could see, about the depth of half a finger, he was clean. No semen,
unless it was in much deeper. Plenty of shiny lubricant in the rectum.
Like Joey, he was well-used with just a slight trace of hemarrhoidal
tissue. Another mental note to check him that afternoon, just in case.
Then, I swore. There were more fissures deep inside, some old and nearly
healed, some recent and red. I gulped and looked away. Was it really
worth the money? However, for boys like Joey and Rodriguez, and Vincente
too, I suspected, money was not the reason why  they went with men.

'Some signs of anal penetration'. An understatement.

I sighed and looked elsewhere for some indication of what had caused his
death. No boy had ever died from being fucked. Death had not come from
the purported shark bite. That had happened after the boy was dead. His
back was brown, darker than Joey's, a little line of bumps down the
spinal ridge. There was some discoloration at the neck. I gently moved
his head. The darkness extended to the front, beneath the chin. There was
some hemorrhaging under the skin. Petechiae were on the surfaces of each
translucent eyelid and conjunctivae on the eyeballs. I recognized those
signs right away. The hemorrhagic areas on the boy's neck suggested that
strangulation was the cause of death. I sighed loudly. Asphyxiation was a
long slow death.

'Probable cause of death?.' Fuck! Fuck the bastard! "?. Strangulation.'

"Dat's one strange place fer dat bite. Why dat shark bite him dere, you
think Mister Kingston? Why bite him so close to dat nice boy-dick?"

I glanced around. Fernando was standing behind me, his head cocked to one
side. I turned back, slowly looked down, following where his eyes had
been. He had seen what I had missed. Why would a small reef shark bite
there, on the thickest part of the thigh, instead of any other part?  An
eel was possible, but that would mean he was out on the reef at night.
Very unlikely! However, the bite mark was close to the size of an eel's
jaws, which was what had aroused my suspicions in the first place. I
shrugged.

"No idea."

"Dis door okay?"

"Yes. It's fine. Help me get him on," I instructed impatiently.

In Chicago, dead people were 'deceased', sometimes 'corpses', or
'bodies', never 'him' or 'her'.  Yet, I personified that small brown body
just to keep his memory alive. In life, Vincente had the same infectious
vitality, the same energetic boyish joy that Joey possessed. His death
struck me as terrible waste.

"What were you talking about with them?"

He knew I was asking about the fishermen further along the beach.

"Nuthin', " he said blandly. It was a voice that lied.

"You were talking for a long while. Did one of them see something last
night?"  I held my breath and waited for his answer. There was always a
chance that Joey and I had been noticed.

"Dey find dis up dere," Fernando said, gesturing towards the fishermen.
They were a long way away from the crime scene. I felt a wave of
reassurance.

His hand slid into the pocket of his tattered shorts. When his hand
opened it was only for a second. I glimpsed gold. It was a small necklace
and an intricate ornament that looked like two circles that overlapped.
Arrows too, but I couldn't be sure. It didn't seem like it belonged on
Vincente. It was too expensive. A tourist had lost it more than likely.

"You keep it, Fern," I said absently. "Maybe it's gold. If it is, it's
probably worth a few bucks."

More likely, a few hundred bucks. It would look nice on Roddy. Joey would
probably want one too when he saw it, instead of his shark's tooth on a
leather cord.

Together, Fernando and I lifted the boy's body onto the door. I
positioned him as closely as possible to the way that I had found him.
Arms and legs bent, head to the side, even the thick boy-penis lying on
his thigh.

"How dat boy die?"

"No idea," I lied.

"He get hisself fucked in de butt huh?"

"It looks like it," I answered coldly. That much was obvious to anyone
who'd ever fucked a boy. There were often marks that took days to go
away. It was time to cover my tracks. "Do you know who he is, Fernando?
Was, I mean?"

"He from dat beeg fishin' boat. You seen it, dat white un, wid da beeg
tuna tower." Fernando moved closer, uncomfortably close to peer at the
boy's bottom. "From da look of dat boy ass, he gotta be hookin'."

"Probably."

"Dat boy, he look like he fuck anythin' with a dick."

"Yes?"

Fernando smirked. "I seen him 'round, boss. One, two days dis week. Las'
night 'e wuz playin' dem eye games wid Roddy.  las' nightat da bar. Ya
know, flirtin' like dose hookers does at dem rich hotels in town. I seen
dem pay-boys do dat when dey wanna fuck."

I smiled weakly and nodded. Fernando spent a lot of time looking at other
boys. I had Joey. I almost never looked.

"Did you see them do anything?" I asked simply. We both knew what I meant
was sex. I had watched Vincente and Steve Adams having sex, but I wasn't
about to say that.

Fernando gave his characteristic island shrug. "I knows dat look, boss.
Roddy got hisself a guy. He got da look for mens. Dis boy like yo Joey."
He smiled. "Dat boy got hisself a man." He waved towards the lagoon, to
where the motor yacht had been moored. "At da bar, he sit dat boy in de
lap sometime. Maybe he be fingerin' dat boy-ass."

I nodded. When we were at Fernando's bar, Joey sometimes sat in my lap.
If he wore loose-legged shorts and nothing underneath, it was an easy
matter to get a finger or two of my left hand inside him without anyone
knowing because I could still lift my glass with my other hand.

"Roddy found him, you said?"

I was not about to ask directly, but perhaps there was another reason
besides shell-hunting why Rodriguez went down to the beach early that
morning. From my experience, Rodriguez was as sexually active as Joey.
Despite what Fernando said, it was entirely possible that he was
interested in having sex with other boys. Some boys were like that. They
fucked anything with a dick. Fernando shrugged ambiguously, either
ignoring or unwilling to consider the possibility that Rodriguez was
unfaithful to him.

"Why did you come to get me?" I asked at last. There had to be a reason
why he came to me. One explanation was that his boy was involved.

Fernando shrugged again, less ambiguously this time. Clearly, he was
holding something back.

"What is it?" I asked pointedly.

Fernando tried to avoid my gaze. Finally, he gave up. "Roddy, bring it
back."

"What did he bring back, Fernando?" I asked patiently. He didn't like
being rushed any more than I did.

It was like getting blood out of a stone. We were supposed to be friends.
I did not want to resort to interrogation with one of the few men who I
trusted to know about my love for Joey.

Just seconds passed before Fernando sighed. "He find dat slip."

"What? What slip?"

"Dat slip dat yo Joey wear all da time. The one dat show his dick when he
get wet? Dat yellow 'un."

"Oh!"

I remembered then. I had taken it off, exposing all of him. We had left
it lying beside the fishing boat, the same boat that I was kneeling next
to at that very moment.

"Fernando,...." I began.

"Robby finds it dere," Fernando said bluntly pointing to where Vincente
had been lying. "Brung it back wid 'im. I got it 'ere," he added, patting
the pocket of his shorts.

He quickly pointed again at the boy's body, then crossed his chest from
side to side as if he was a practicing Catholic. Maybe he was. It was the
only time I'd seen any religious expression from him. Like me, his
religion was boys. Then, he dropped his hand abruptly as he muttered
something under his breath.

"He was wearing it?" I asked in surprise. Fernando shook his head. "On
the sand?"

Fernando slowly lifted his hand and pointed again. This time there was no
mistaking where his finger was directed. He pointed to the boy's head.
Not to his face, but lower. I swallowed. Joey's costume had been around
the dead boy's neck. More than likely, although only an autopsy would
prove it, Vincente had been strangled with it.

"God Almighty!" I shuddered. The blood drained instantly.

Fernando stared at me, not that he was shocked at what I had said. My
face was ghostly white.

"Jesus. Then he,.... It doesn't mean that he was killed with Joey's
swimming costume," I tried to explain.

Of course, Fernando knew otherwise. That was why he had come to get me
early in the morning. More than likely, he had given thought to the
possibility that I had killed the boy. Perhaps he was trying to give me a
way out.

"We were here last night," I began while I scanned the sand beneath the
boat to see if there was any thing else to be found. Other than some
small shells, all I could see was sand. There was nothing else of mine or
Joey's that I expected to find.

"You fuck Joey las' night?" Fernando asked hopefully. There was a hint of
a smile.

I nodded. "Yeah, I did, Fernie. Right here in fact."

Yet, there was invisible evidence that a forensic team might find if they
looked carefully. One or two of Joey's hairs might have fallen inside the
boat. His fingerprints were on the deck and seat. Mine too. My decision
was made in an instant. More information than necessary would eliminate
Fernando's suspicion. He trusted me, just as I trusted him.

"He was leaning up against the boat while I got him ready," I continued.

I took out my handkerchief, carefully wiping the gunwale where Joey's
hands had rested. If there was any hair I could not see it. What else had
we touched?

"Then we lay down on the sand. That boy wanted a fuck something awful."

Fernando smirked and nodded. He understood. He had a boy of his own. Boys
were like that when the urge arose. I could still hear Joey's sultry
voice, demanding to be loved. It happened in a powerful rush, swept along
by emotions, his longing to be loved by the only person who had ever
cared about him, a need to be filled in order to go on living.

"Yo took dat slip off to do heem, huh?" Fernando smiled. His teeth were
in worse shape than mine.

I smiled back at him. "Yeah. I guess we forgot it when we left."

He nodded. He believed me. I did not mention seeing Vincente and Steve
Adams. That was a complication that I did not need to include at that
moment. I would tell him later on after I had a chance to figure out what
Joey and I needed to say and do.

"We better be carryin' dat door soon," Fernando said.

He handed me Joey's swimming costume, all bundled up into a tiny damp
ball that easily fit within my fist. Important evidence was being removed
from the scene of the crime. I could do nothing but follow my base
instinct of self preservation, but at what cost. I glanced down. A boy
had been murdered with what I held within my hand.

The waves of the incoming tide were little more than ripples, but they
were enough to wash over the thickness of the door. It would not be long
before the area beside the fishing boat was covered again in a few inches
of water. We picked up the door, Fernando in front and me behind, and
started up the beach. We stopped above the high-water mark, a wavering
line of bits of coconut palm and crushed coral. I didn't put the body in
the shade. It needed to heat up the same as it would have it was still
lying beside the boat.

"I have to go take care of some business, Fernando," I explained. "I have
a charter for the rest of the day. When the police arrive, tell them to
call me on Channel 16. I'll tell them what I can about the crime scene."

The emphasis was enough. Joey's costume had never been there. Fernando
nodded and gestured towards the road. "Take dat truck 'o mine back to de
boat, boss, or yo be late."



Chapter 7



The charter was a no worse than any I had done, yet my mind was seldom on
the job. Two of the three New Yorkers were men, the other was a boy. He
was an interesting kid, darker-skinned and much better looking than
seemed reasonable given that one or other of the men was probably his
father. Which one sired him was unclear because both men appeared to as
affectionate with him as my father had been with me. They were as rude as
anyone I had ever met in Chicago, fulfilling my expectations of anyone
from New York. Still, after arriving thirty minutes late, they had good
reason to be upset with me. I calmed them down with two beers and an ice-
cold coke, and then headed off to the southern part of the island where I
knew the fishing would be good. Outside the reef, the stiff south-
easterly made the waves about three feet high and dispersed randomly so
we were getting hit from side to side as well as on the bow. It wasn't a
problem for my boat or me when we headed into the chop, but the
passengers' complexion quickly turned to olive green. I made one run
close to the reef and managed to get a strike on one of the four
outriggers. Unfortunately, the fish, a nice-sized tuna, broke away
before we could land it. After two more runs we had caught a smaller
catch-and-release tuna and a couple of keeper-bonito before seasickness
took its toll and we headed back to land.

Compared to the two men, the boy was less affected by the motion of the
sea. Like Joey, he enjoyed riding in the tuna tower even when it swayed.
I had the opportunity to talk with him before he climbed up. He was
recalcitrant at first, but gradually began to talk. Interestingly, when
he sat back against the rail, his shirt fluttered open. He was nicely
tanned, not quite as brown as Joey, but not that far from it. I glimpsed
the glistening gold links of a necklace that looked very expensive. When
he climbed the ladder to the observation crows-nest in the tuna tower, I
turned around and looked up. It was quite a sight. Long lean legs,
bronzed and muscular, and very sexy. His loose shorts revealed what
seemed to be a tattoo on the inside of his right thigh, just a few inches
below his groin. I only saw it for a second or two. Unless I was mistaken
it was small and intricate, no larger than a quarter. It was also
unsettling, not at all the sort of thing that a boy would do to himself.
There were two overlapping circles, what might have been two opposing
arrows, one large, one small. Although it didn't make much sense, it
amused me to think of it as two male symbols united, united like Joey and
me, like a boy and man when they joined as lovers.



All in all, the clients were happy to be back at the Farley Street Wharf,
but only after I gave them a free tour around the bay and treated them to
a lunch of beer and some of Fernando's chicken. They paid in cash with a
$50 tip in U.S. dollars that were always welcome. The tip pretty much
paid for the extra diesel and the bill at Fernando's and I still had the
fish to sell. The previous day, the price for bonito was hitting $2.00 a
kilo so I could count on an extra forty bucks or so. It meant there would
be beer and margaritas for the weekend. I said goodbye and settled back
to wait for Joey. School would finish in and hour. With a twenty-minute
walk to the dock and ten minutes spent talking with his friends, meant
that he would arrive sometime around four o'clock. I had never enjoyed
routine until Joey re-entered my life.

Shortly after the New Yorkers had disappeared from sight, and I had
deposited the fish at the market, a casually dressed black man walked
down the dock. I had never seen him before, yet I recognized the manner.
He was a detective, despite his colorful clothes. Most of the detectives
went for white shirts. This one wore oxford-blue, no tie.

 "I'm sorry," I began immediately as he came up to the stern.

He scowled, eyes narrowing as if I was the only logical suspect in
Vincente's murder.

"Sorry?" he said loudly.

"About moving the body. I knew it was wrong of course,  but there wasn't
a choice with the tide coming in."

"And what about staying on your radio?"

His accent was distinctly British, yet his appearance said 'Caribbean'.
It was only then that I realized that the VHF radio had been turned off
all day. It was a safety breach, not serious enough to jeopardize my
license, but one that still bugged me. Vincente's murder had unsettled me
that much.

"Sorry again. I've been busy."

"Yes, I see."

At that moment I was lounging in my chair, my hand wrapped around an ice-
cold beer. I stood up and placed the can of beer on the table.

"I'm Trevor Kingston."

He glared at me. "That's what I thought."

"Pardon?"

He didn't answer, at least not to explain what he intended. "Yes. You're
exactly what I expected. I've heard a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"Mostly," he said wryly.

"Hm,.... Can't be too bad, I expect. I haven't drowned any of my
passengers. I've come close with a few of them, but at least not yet."

He didn't smile. "I'm Detective Brown," he said formally. "I have some
questions for you, Mr. Kingston." Out came the notebook. The pencil was
mechanical.

"I'm sure you do," I quipped, not really appreciating the emphasis on
'Mr.'. It was his way of emphasizing my lesser status. Some policemen
were like that, almost pompous with their interviews. "Come aboard. Or am
I to go down to the station for interrogation."

He shrugged, not picking up on my use of 'interrogation'. "Your choice,
Sir."

He was using the subservient public officer routine. Fine by me. I
shrugged. "Then, this will do nicely. I like the view from here."

I pulled against the mooring line to bring the boat closer to the dock.
He climbed over the stern, a landlubber without sea legs, I decided
immediately. He looked around the boat, dismissively arrogant, I
thought. However, it was always untidy. To make matters worse, there was
blood from yesterday's barely legal tuna that I had yet to clean off the
cockpit deck. He rubbed his chin.

"If you need a sample, I can scrape some off. However, I can assure you
that it's fish not human."

"Very funny Mr. Kingston."

He stepped back, still supercilious. I did not like his air. A lot of
detectives were the same way, almost playing the role of crafty
investigator like they were working on a movie set in Hollywood. It would
not last very long. When the investigation stalled, he would become
overbearing to compensate.

"You can start by telling me the time when you found the body."

"Me? No. Actually that honor goes to Fernando's nephew, Roddy. Poor kid.
It must have frightened the crap out of him. He's eleven going on
twelve," I added as if that information was of vital importance. It never
fazed him in the slightest. It was just one more thing to put down in his
notebook. "Fernando came to get me. I was there about an hour or so
later. Maybe less. I have no idea when Roddy found it."

I described how Fernando had come to get me, about still being in bed,
not about fucking the daylights out of Joey, then using a banana while
Fernando waited for us to finish. He asked about the crime scene and I
explained about the incoming tide, the position of the body relative to
the fishing boat, about using the door to place the boy's body on it as
close as possible to the way in which he had been lying. Nothing about
the things I had observed and surmised. I left out those details that a
policeman could have, or should have discovered for himself if he used
his eyes and intellect. Nothing about Joey's costume.  It all went down
in detective shorthand.

"So,...." He paused, still looking over the boat, at the untidy mess,
taking in the discarded beer bottles, the tangle of line that was left
from the tuna that got away. "You take charters out in this?" He sounded
astounded. Obviously, he had not heard about what had happened during the
hurricane the year before, or if he had, preferred to overlook it so he
could feel superior.

"When I can get them," I answered dryly. "It isn't much to look at, but
we do catch fish."

"What happened to it?"

I laughed. My moment of fame had long since gone. Still, it was an
opportunity to brag on myself instead of Joey.

"Remember that hurricane last year?"

He nodded.

"There was a charter yacht that got whacked out in the Sound. It lost
both masts and was taking on water pretty fast. I went out to pick up the
survivors."

"That was you?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so. We almost made it. We were rolled coming past the
breakwater. My boat went down just inside the harbor. We got her up the
next week, but?"

I waved my hand around at the streaks of rust. Water had penetrated
everywhere. Most of the electronics were destroyed. It took two months
and all of the money I had left over from 20 years of service to make
repairs. I still needed another $50,000 to finish the job. Now, I had the
boat thoroughly insured.

"Pity. It would be a nice looking boat otherwise."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Real nice."

"About what time did you get here, Mr. Kingston?" Then, without a break.
"Anyone see you when you got here?"

The last question was a dumb question however I thought about it. "Here?"
I asked, glancing around the dock.

'Conundrum' wasn't the only vessel there. An island ferry, three fishing
boats, a couple of tourist yachts. It was busy for a Friday. There were
about  thirty people at work, witnesses everywhere, but if one of them
remembered when I arrived it would be unlikely.

The detective apparently knew enough to change course midstream. Amateur
detective rule 25: keep the witness surprised, slightly uncomfortable.
Let him think he was smarter than you. Most of them probably were.
Detective Brown had probably taken a few courses on investigation, a few
more on interrogation techniques. I regarded him, my impatience growing
quickly. Still, he was smart enough. His kind always were. Too smart for
my own good. Time to be careful. Then, he pointed with his finger,
downwards to the deck, to where we were standing.

"Oh! You mean here, to pick up the charter?"

He nodded abruptly. He was putting the timing of events together, looking
for an unexplained interval. Did he have any idea when the murder was
committed? Probably did by now. Of course, the other explanation was that
I was a suspect. The hand holding his pencil began to move again. He was
writing down everything that I said. That was not unexpected, but it was
disturbing in its own way. I had met detectives like that, people who did
not trust their memories to retain the slightest detail however
unimportant it first seemed. Remembering had never been a problem for me,
except that my files were always incomplete. It annoyed the lawyers,
especially from the defense, which was probably why I did it.

"Well, I spent about thirty minutes on the beach, maybe a bit less than
that. So I was running about fifteen minutes late," I began slowly. "I
was supposed to be here at 10.00 a.m. sharp. Actually, I didn't bother to
tie up properly. Just one line to the dock." I stopped again, wondering
what he would do if I started speaking quickly. "They came aboard. There
were two men and boy."

He raised his pen, inclined his head. "They were going out on a charter?"

"Yes."

"Who were they?"

"Let me see. I think I can remember their names. There was Robert
Gaynor." My mind clicked into gear. Likeable once he had calmed down from
being kept waiting. He was tall, grey hair, distinguished looking. Not
much of a fisherman. "An investment banker, at least that's what he told
me. He works on Wall Street."

The other man was less affable, shorter too. A bit on the rotund side. He
drank too much, even by my standards. Strange eyes.

"And the other man?"

"Hm. That was Peter Jacobs. He's a marketing guru," I added with a slight
smile. I could hear his voice, loud, brash. He didn't call himself a
marketing guru. Gaynor had said that. "I think he works for one of those
big advertising agencies on Madison Avenue."

I paused. Then, there was the boy. Good looking, twelve, maybe thirteen.
It was hard to tell when boys were entering the growth phase. Judging by
his long limbs, he had probably started puberty, but he wasn't that far
into it that he had filled out noticeably. Blond-headed, cut in a buzz,
and blue-eyed. He was the kind of boy who made men like me look twice,
and then if he smiled back, made it very difficult to look away. He had a
tan that was nearly as dark at Joey's, at least from what I could see
from his face, arms and legs. Despite his accent, he didn't look as if he
had ever lived in New York.

The silence was disturbing. I glanced at the detective. His eyes had
narrowed. He'd been trained to watch body language. Vaguely, I wondered
what mine was saying. One thing was certain. If I hadn't been in love
with Joey, I'd be fantasizing about that boy at night.

"The boy's name was Adam I think. I don't remember his last name." The
strange thing, when I finally stopped to think about it, was that neither
of the men seemed to claim him. He didn't look like either of them. For
that matter, Joey didn't look much like me. He favored his mother.

Detective Brown nodded perfunctorily, his pen stopped. "Which one was his
father?"

I shrugged. "No idea. Could have been either, I suppose. It never came up
in discussion."

I didn't add that the boy struck me as being somewhat sulky. That was
enough to counter his good looks for me. However, he had what I called
'the look', the same look that Joey and Rodriguez had, and Vincente too.
The look that boys have when they make eye-contact and want to
communicate interest in you. The curious thing was that both men looked
at him the same way that I looked at Joey, the way that Fernando looked
at his boy, the same way that Adams had looked at Vincente. Joey called
it a hungry look and he was right.

"Where are they staying?"

I shrugged. "Not in Georgetown," I answered. He nodded slowly, expecting
more. "They came and left in one of those inflatable boats that the
resorts use," I explained. It had been moored next to the stairs. There
were twin outboards on it, at least one hundred horsepower. Flat out it
could probably get to forty miles an hour. There was an islander at the
helm too. I had never seen him before. "A big one. I didn't see the name
on it." End of discussion. Finding that inflatable would be like finding
a needle in the proverbial haystack. Inflatable boats were hanging of the
stern of every yacht that passed through the Exumas. The hotels used
them. Even some of the more successful fishermen had scraped up the money
to buy them.

"Where did you take them?"

 "I took them out a couple of miles past the reef. We did a run down the
Sound  to the south, almost to the channel marker. Mostly I stayed on the
250 meter mark. The water temperature was right so there was no point in
going out further. I can give you the GPS coordinates of the route we
used if you wish?"

"Not necessary for now. Go on."

"Okay. We had a good strike off the point, but it got away." That was
Gaynor's doing. A good sized marlin too, from the look of it. "Then we
did a few runs closer in. I stayed off the reef about a mile. On the
western edge of the current. It usually works when there's a chop. We
caught a nice tuna, about sixty kilos, and a few bonito." I didn't
mention that the tuna got away with ten bucks worth of fishing lure,
steel leader, and line. "They were happy, well they would have been happy
except for getting seasick, so we came back about an hour or two early.
I've been sitting here ever since."

"Since when?"

"I guess since two p.m."

Brown wrote that down as well. "I see."

"Am I under suspicion?" I asked gratuitously.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You were a detective so you should know that
everyone is until the crime is solved." He sounded like a college
lecturer in Criminal Procedure 101. "Where were you between the hours of
nine p.m. last night and when you found the body this morning?"

"I didn't find it. I was on my boat until Fernando came to get me." I
didn't mention Roddy. That was up to Fernando.

"By yourself?"

"No. Actually I have a witness who can vouch for my whereabouts last
night."

"Who?"

"Joey."

"Who's that?"

"My son."

"You're married?"

Brown sounded surprised. I tried to keep a low profile, but island people
still talked. It was a small community and gossip was a way of life in
the Exumas. At my age, if you weren't married, you were gay.

"Not any more. Actually, he's more like a business partner sometimes." I
smiled slightly. 'Business partner' was hardly descriptive of our
relationship, but it was better than saying he was my lover.

"Your son is your business partner?"

He was observant enough that his eyes settled on Joey's tee-shirt lying
on the back of the seat. It was impossible for him not to realize that it
belonged to a child.

"He's nearly twelve," I offered before he could ask.

"He's must be very mature if you consider him a business partner."

Why did I get the impression that the detective suspected there was more
to it?

"He is. He helps out a lot. Actually, I haven't thought of him as my son
for years. Not since,..."

"Not since when?"

"Since we left Chicago," I answered ambiguously. I found myself wondering
why he was writing that down as well. As if my son could have any
possible bearing on the murder?

"Did you recognize the boy on the beach?" Brown asked patiently.

I was glad that he had changed the line of questioning. It was beginning
to make me feel uncomfortable, but perhaps that had been his goal all
along. Interrogation Techniques 101, I presumed. Keep them unbalanced.

"Meaning do I know his name or where he's from?" I queried, avoiding the
obvious implication that I had seen him before. "Nope. I have no idea who
he was."

It was clue enough for even a half-wit to pick up on. I had not over-
estimated Detective Brown. Smart, but not smart enough. That was the
trouble with public service appointments in the islands.

"I'll probably have some more questions for you after the autopsy, Mr.
Kingston," Brown said pointedly. "Where can I reach you?"

"Hm, good question. I'm usually at St. Angelique. The best way to reach
me is through Fernando, that is if you can't get me on the VHF. I usually
keep Channel 16 open," I added apologetically. "Just call for Conundrum."



Detective Brown wrote that down and replaced his writing pad and pen. He
scrambled over the stern with a landlubbers ineptitude. He stood on the
dock, pulled out his pad again, reviewing his carefully made notes.

"I do have one more question, Mr. Kingston."

This was it. I steeled myself not to show surprise. He regarded me with
eyes that seemed as if they were boring into my mind. I stared back, same
treatment.

"Yes," I said, barely hiding impatience. I lifted my beer, ready to take
a drink.

"You saw the shark bite I suppose?"

"Yes, I did."

"How big a shark would it take to do that, do you think?"

"Hm,... a small one more than likely. Maybe three feet, a meter or so. A
bigger shark would have really chewed him up."

Brown nodded thoughtfully. "Why just the one bite?"

I smiled. "He tasted like chicken. The shark was probably hoping for
tuna."

Brown grimaced. He walked back up the dock. I had time to think. There
was time to take care of a few things, but there was no time to waste. I
waited until he was out of sight.

When I returned to the dock it wasn't long before Joey came running down,
his back-pack dragging on a single strap. He didn't slow when he got to
the boat. He cleared the stern in a single leap and stopped when he was
in my arms.

 "I've been horny all day, old man," he laughed breathlessly. "I got a
hard-on in Science and it wouldn't go down no matter what I did."

"Poor boy," I laughed. "Couldn't you get Roddy to help you out?"

"No way. Anyway, he's in the other class for science. I needed your cock
in me something awful, Dad. Let's go back to the lagoon fuck till
dinner," he giggled.

I detected the sound of nervousness. He had heard about Vincente's murder
while he was at school. I did not expect him to panic.

"What about your homework, sexy?" I asked calmly. "There's a rule,
remember? No playing Friday until you've got it all done."

"Duh! I don't have any homework this weekend 'cause we have a holiday on
Monday."



With the diesels gurgling, I cast off, spun the wheel and slowly backed
up until the bow was clear. Joey heaved off the stern line and jumped
back on board as I increased the throttles to a notch above idle. A
minute later we were away from the docks and churning slowly out into the
turquoise water of the channel. Joey dropped his shorts without any
suggestion on my part. If he had his way he would always be naked. He was
bare underneath. I pulled him close to me and used my free hand to play
with his buttocks, sliding my finger up and down his crack. He was hot
and horny and actually asked if we would make it back to St. Angelique
Cay before we stopped for sex.

We didn't. Without his shorts it was simply a matter of time, time until
we were out of sight of the Farley Street dock, and anyone in the town
who happened to have a pair of binoculars trained upon us. I steered from
the flying bridge where the wind could keep me cool because it was very
hot. Sulty hot, like Joey. He lounged against the rail, watching me with
half-closed dozy eyes, a hint of a smile. His tee-shirt hung just low
enough to conceal his crotch, yet there was no hiding his erect cock. It
pointed straight out towards me, pushing into the white fabric with its
familiar banana curve. We didn't speak. We merely looked at each other,
our eyes saying what words did not. I passed the port marker and slowly
changed our heading to run north.

"Where are we going?" Joey asked.

"I thought we'd go for a run up the coast," I explained. "It's Friday.
Maybe we'll sleep over,... stay out for the weekend,... whatever,... I
really haven't given it much thought."

"It's because of the body, isn't it?" Joey asked abruptly.

I nodded. I wondered what he knew. Rodriguez would have had the time to
tell him a lot on the way to school. I shuddered. How much had he seen?
At that moment, my plan was to keep Joey well away from the police. I
needed time to help him get the story straight. Even one wrong word might
shift the investigation to us, the last thing that I wanted to have
occur.

"A policeman came to talk to Roddy at school," Joey said quietly.

"Yes, I know. He came to talk to me as well," I said.

"It was Vincente, wasn't it?"

He did not seem overly upset. Still, he had known the boy only for a
matter of hours.

"Yes."

"How did he die?" Straightforward questions were part of Joey's modus
operandi.

"He was strangled." I did not add with Joey's yellow swimming costume.

"We might have been the last people who saw him alive," Joey suggested.
"Last night on the beach," he added as if I needed reminding.

I nodded again, thoughtfully. "Probably. But I think we'd better keep
that between ourselves."

"Shouldn't we tell the police?"

"Tell them what? That I was fucking the crap out of you while Vincente
and that Adams guy were standing about a dozen yards away?"

Joey smirked. "Um, well probably not that,.... But,..."

I shrugged. I did not want Joey to think that we were doing anything but
protecting ourselves. "We could say that we were just taking a walk along
the beach,.... And we saw Vincente and Steve Adams beside the boat."

"But then the police would want to know exactly what we saw," Joey
volunteered.

"Probably. And we didn't see that much," I reminded him.

Joey sauntered over from his perch against the railing. He straddled my
legs and then sat down facing towards me. His arms lifted up, encouraging
me to take his tee-shirt off. I obliged, and I was rewarded with his bare
bronzed chest and shoulders, and a waist as skinny as a girl's. His
nipples were dark and tiny, barely the size of dimes. Lazily I scratched
my fingernail across one and watched it harden to a pinprick. Joey
wriggled to get comfortable. My arms slipped around his back, steering
with one hand while the other stroked up and down. Joey sighed, content
in the steamy afternoon heat. Fortunately with the speed of the boat,
there was enough wind to keep his sweat vanishing as soon as it appeared.
He felt cool and dry to my perspiring hand.

"Fuck me," Joey said wantonly.

"You're always horny aren't you?"

"Yep. Don't you want to?" His tone changed to husky. That gravelly rasp
that I loved so much.

"Of course, I want to. I just don't want to tire you out for tonight."

Joey grinned. "You won't old man I'll be going strong when they carry you
off in a stretcher."

"I can fuck you into the ground anytime, lover boy," I teased.

"Then prove it."

We didn't use any lubrication other than what nature provided. Sweat,
spit, and my liberal excretion of pre-cum, and whatever it was that came
from inside Joey. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him very
slippery. I held my cock and pointed it up and Joey, poised above it,
gradually lowered himself down. I kept my hand there until there was no
chance of my cock going anywhere but straight up. His heat embraced me,
his body swallowed me, gulped me into his liquid seething intestines,
held me there in his little fleshy oven. The sun beat down onto us,
burning hot, hot enough to melt our bodies. We melted together. My cock
sunk deeper, deeper and deeper until his entire weight seemed to be
carried on my groin. I had to lean back into my seat so that he had room
for his dick to stick out.

"Jesus that's so good," Joey purred.

"Tell me about it. I think I'll keep it in here forever."

"Okay by me."

We laughed. Both of us sat very still, absorbing the mutual heat and
pressure that joined us. A minute passed, and more, my cock staying
remarkably hard. We rounded the point, crossing into the channel current.

"Let her rip, Dad." Joey grinned from ear to ear.

Now came the fun part. I opened the throttles and let the boat surge into
the waves. Against the current, the wind caused the waves to reach a
height of nearly two feet. Not high at all for a vessel the size of
Conondrum, but the waves were choppy and as we pounded through them, the
boat was jerked from side to side and up and down. The movement came
through my body into Joey and he rode me like a boy on a bucking bronco.
Neither of us needed to do anything to fuck. We concentrated on the
pleasure that soared between us.  In and out, up and down, bouncing from
wave to wave, crashing, crushing our bodies together. And all I had to do
was hold him in place.

Joey came first. He always did. Shooting blanks from his little six-
shooter, but carrying on like it was the real thing, like sperm was
spurting out in bursting white-hot pulses instead of merely making his
boy-dick twitch mercilessly. He groaned and slammed his body down hard,
forcing my cock deeply into him. He held it there. Locked inside him,
churning in his bowels, possessed, possessing him. I could feel his
little muscle, ravaged by my oversized throbbing cock, yet still managing
to clench and squeeze. We relaxed, resting, waiting for the urge to be
restored. It seldom took longer than a minute, unless it was me who
orgasmed first. In which case, it was over for an hour at least. While we
stayed still, still joined, we kissed. He felt good, so good that I
groaned and grasped his chest, pushed him down, lifted up to meet him,
ensconced my shaft all the way within him.

"So good, Dad," Joey sighed. "I love it when he's right up inside me."

"Yeah, I know, Joey."

"If I die, I want it to happen exactly like this," he said.

"Same here."

"That boy who died,.... Did that man kill him?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps. It doesn't seem likely to me."

"Why not? Because of us? We're witnesses, aren't we Dad?"

"Yes."

It wasn't long before he looked up again. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't feel like doing it right now."

"That's okay."

I helped him off, felt my cock slithering out from deep within his
rectum, sucking as the still swollen head plopped out. His opening was
big, stretched big, so big that it seemed impossible that it would ever
close up and be small again. He was usually like that, so dilated that
contraction seemed unlikely, yet within an hour or so his soft flesh
which  had been so brutally expanded by my rigid unyielding cock, was
back to normal, if somewhat sore.

He moved uneasily, still feeling the sensations lingering within him.
Fullness, but a void, that was how he described it. Like it was still
there, but it wasn't, and he wanted it back inside him so badly that he
could barely stand it. He eased himself down onto the other seat and
winced as his buttocks took his weight.

"Ouch?"

"Yeah. A bit. It'll feel better in a while." Joey turned and watched the
island disappearing behind us. "Dad? If he's the killer, the Adams guy,
and he knows we saw him,... then?..."

"He doesn't know we saw him, Joey. At least what they did on the beach
last night."

Of course, there was the small matter of Joey's costume, but the man had
not seen him in it. It could belong to any one of the hundred island boys
on that part of the cay.

"The only thing that ties us to them is we saw them at the dock. Anyway,
I'm pretty sure that he didn't do it."

"How can you be so certain, Dad?"

"Human nature, Joey. In his own way, I expect he liked the kid. And logic
too. Think about it. Remember what I said about a person needing a motive
for murder. "

"Okay.  You said that there has to something to gain. So what would he
gain?"

"I see you've already eliminated love, hate, and revenge," I observed.

Joey smiled. "So have you, Dad. Mister Adams didn't love him like you
love me, that's for sure, but he did like having him around. And for the
same reason, it wasn't because of hate either."

"Revenge?" I prompted.

I found myself wondering what he would say. He had never expressed a
single word of revenge for his mother's murder, strange indeed for a boy
whose Hispanic genes required revenge for almost any unpleasant deed.

Joey shrugged. "He was fucking Vincente  whenever he wanted. It wasn't
like he was holding it back. Why would he want revenge?"

"That's true, but only as long as Adams paid up. Besides, I'm not sure
that selling your body for sex, or not, has anything to do with revenge,"
I commented dryly.

"It might be revenge if he wasn't getting it in the boy's ass. Maybe he
ran out of money," Joey said with a cautious laugh.

"Maybe. Perhaps it was nothing to do with their relationship. Maybe the
boy just got in the way, Joey? He saw something, or someone he wasn't
supposed to see."

Joey thought about that. "Last night I heard him say he said he was going
to meet some people.  That was why he sent Vincente back to the boat."

"That's correct. Maybe we'll make a detective out of you yet."

Joey smiled. He was always ready to follow in his father's footsteps. "So
these other people he was going to meet were,... hm,... maybe,... like
drug dealers,... or  spies from Cuba,.... Or,...."

"Or one was his brother in law," I laughed. "Speculation doesn't take the
place of facts, kiddo. But you're right in putting the facts together
creatively. Just make sure that there's logic to bind them into motive."

Joey stretched out and lifted his arms behind his head so that the skin
over his ribs was tightly drawn. Every rib was a prominent curved line.
His hairless armpits were brown. His nipples were tiny dark spots, oval-
shaped given how he stretched his chest. His cock, all three little
inches of it was still hard. It was as brown as the rest of him. God, how
I loved that sweet  boy-cock.

"Now that's what I call very sexy. Very sexy indeed. Are you sure you
don't want to finish what we've started?" I laughed.

"I'm not in the mood now," Joey playfully rebuked. "So who did it, Dad?"

"Good question, Joey. I think the visitor who Adams went off to meet
probably had something to do with it. It's too much of a coincidence
otherwise."

He thought some more about that. "I wonder who he met?"

"That's a very good question. I wish I knew the answer."

"So why are we going north instead of home?"

"You tell me, kid," I prompted.

"Hm,.... Because you want us out of the way? If not you, then me, at
least for a while?"

I nodded and eased back on the throttles. "We're going to disappear for a
few days."

"Are we in danger?"

He sounded nervous, yet he stood before me like a Greek god, shamelessly
naked, tanned without break, a boy who lived for the moment, a boy for
whom maturity was still a long way off. How could I ever live without
him? There was no point in worrying him unduly, even though he had the
situation pretty much figured out. I shrugged vaguely.

"If we are, Joey, I figure we're safer the further we are away from other
people."

"How far away?"

"Hm,... well I was thinking of  going to that little island we were at a
few months back. The one with the coral heads. Remember the reef where we
caught the crabs?"

Joey nodded. "Cool." He grinned. "There's no water so I'll have to drink
your beer."

"Maybe I got the tanks filled before we left."

"Did you?"

I shook my head. "Fraid not, butt-boy. I didn't want anyone to know what
I was planning. So I didn't fill up. I didn't buy more food either. We're
going to have to rough it for a while."

It was the same as saying that we would have to live on the fish we
caught. Joey gave me a sour look that said more than any words could. At
least I had managed to pick up some chicken after I sold the day's catch
at the market.

"How long will be away, Dad? Really?"

"I don't know, Joey. At least a few days. A week. Maybe two. As long as
it takes."

I did not add as long as it took for someone to find out where we were.
It was just a matter of time until a search was undertaken. I needed to
get a message to Fernando so he would know where to look for us.

"Just you and me and no school for two whole weeks?" Joey shrieked
gleefully. "Awesome!"

I laughed and high-fived him. "I guess we should be grateful that I
thought to pick up another gallon of butt oil for you before I left the
dock."

He grinned shamelessly, but did not acknowledge the implication beyond
that. If we were gone for two weeks both of us would worn out before a
gallon oil was used up. Even if it was messy, coconut oil made it a lot
easier going in. More importantly, it felt a vastly better than spit.

"What about beer, Dad? You won't last a day without it."

I winked. "I picked up a few dozen cases the other day from Fernando.
They're stashed down in the bilge to keep them cool. There ought to be
enough to last for a couple of weeks."

"So what do I drink?"

"You'd better hope there's still some coconuts around."

"Yeah, right!" He wrinkled his nose. Coconut milk tasted like piss.

"Then I guess you'll have to chose between cum and rainwater?" I
suggested with a smirk. "That is if it rains."

We were about ten miles away, off Rolleville and headed north up the
Exuma chain  when I heard the call for the 'Shaycargo dude' on the VHS. I
did not answer. There was no time. Fernando's message was brief and the
static was getting worse every second. There were warrants issued for the
arrest of Joey and me. Joey's warrant said 'material witness', which
meant someone in Georgetown had seen him with the dead boy. In my case,
it was 'suspicion of murder'. Perhaps one my fingerprints had turned up
on the fishing boat? I'd wiped it off very carefully. Somehow Detective
Brown had made the association extend from Joey to me. Maybe he was out
of his mind? The problem was obvious when we talked. He was a political
appointment by a government that resented the influx of Americans like
me. Worse, he wasn't all that bright.