Date: Thu, 18 May 2006 09:43:47 +1000
From: Iain Robertson <iainlthr@hotmail.com>
Subject: Changes - chapter 15

Copyright for this story belongs to and remains with the author. I don't
have any major objection to my work being re-distributed, but ASK
FIRST!!!

This is a gay adult story with the consequent language and images. If
homosexuality and/or sexually explicit themes offend you then do not
continue. If these are illegal in your area, then you have my sympathy,
but you proceed at your own risk.

This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by
the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be
undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is
your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.

I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may
inspire new work, please feel free to contact me -- all emails will be
answered to the best of my ability. iainlthr@hotmail.com.


Changes

Chapter 15


Ian and Morgan easily established a pattern in the next couple of weeks,
whereby each Friday night they would meet up for drinks, occasionally
share a meal, and generally chat with each other for several hours.
Theirs was becoming a firm friendship without either really pursuing it.
Ian had admitted to Nick and Tina that he had apologised to Morgan, and
had even confided that he and Morgan were becoming good friends, that
they had a loose but more or less permanent 'date' every Friday evening.
He hurried to dispel any thoughts his closest friends may have had about
a more than platonic friendship beginning, but despite his assurances
that there was no romance between himself and Morgan, it was obvious that
neither Nick nor Tina believed him.

"Why don't you come along and join us?" he finally said to Nick in
exasperation.

"What, and act like a third leg? Not likely! You know what they say,
three's a crowd." Nick responded with a grin.

"Rubbish!" Ian looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "You
complained when I was seeing Geoff that I left you out, yet now that I
want to include you, you won't join us."

Nick looked uncertain at that, and Tina giggled. "He's got you," she
said.

Ian went on, playing his trump card. "Or is it that you're afraid to go
for a drink in a gay bar? You once told me you would do that if I wanted.
Well I'm offering now."

Nick was beaten, and he knew it. With all the good grace he could muster,
he capitulated. "Okay, I'll do it. But if you two start to get
'friendly', I'm out of there!" he warned.

"Great," Ian replied. "I keep telling you, that isn't happening. I'll
meet you outside your office at 5.30 on Friday afternoon and we'll walk
down together."

When he got home, Ian figured he really should make sure Morgan was okay
with having Nick along as well. He rang Morgan's home without any
concern.

"Sure, I don't mind if he comes along," Morgan said when Ian asked him.
"Are you sure he'll be okay in a gay bar though?"

"Yes, no problem," Ian said without hesitation. "It might do him some
good."

"Hah," Morgan chuckled. "We might even find him a boyfriend!"

"Oh boy, you do that and you'll have Tina to deal with. I'm not going
there at all!"

				    ***

Despite some misgivings about not fitting in, Nick was true to his word,
and met up with Ian on Friday as arranged. The two old friends chatted
easily until they found Morgan, and Ian did the re-introductions.

"Morgan - you remember Nick?" he asked.

"Yes," said Morgan with a smile. "I guess I owe you an apology for
running out of your wife's party the way I did."

Nick laughed, remembering the reason Morgan had been there in the first
place. "It's forgotten already," he assured him.

The two men shook hands, and the trio made their way to Ian and Morgan's
preferred watering hole.

With Nick in tow, Ian and Morgan quickly settled into their usual place
by the window where they could watch the passing pedestrians. Ian bought
the first round of drinks and the three offered up an easy toast to the
world in general. Nick glanced around at the other patrons of the bar,
then turned back to face his mates.

"It looks the same as any other bar," he declared with some surprise.

"Of course it does," agreed Morgan. And just as he spoke, a new arrival
approached a lone man seated at the adjoining table. With an effusive
greeting, the first man embraced the second, and the two strangers kissed
warmly and openly, right on the lips.

"Well, almost ..." said Nick reddening a little.

Ian laughed out loud and Morgan grinned at Nick's discomfiture.

"That's okay, mate," Ian reassured him. "I was just as surprised, and
uncomfortable, as you are, not that long ago!"

"It might sound complicated," Morgan added, "But if you just let go of
the fact that it's two men, instead of a man and a woman, then you'll
probably find that you feel right at home."

Nick still appeared uncertain. "But what if someone tries to pick me up?"
he asked.

"And how often have you had a woman try to pick you up at any of the
'straight' bars you and I have been in after work on a Friday?" Ian
retorted. "You can always say 'no'! Besides, most gay men would have
better taste," he added with a wicked smile.

Morgan was a little more diplomatic. "You're safe enough, Nick," he
stated. "Gay men aren't as predatory as you seem to think. And you're
with us, so we'll make sure no unwanted attention is directed at you."

"Sorry, guys," Nick said, looking dutifully apologetic. "I guess I'm just
as prejudiced as the next man, and it's showing."

Ian became serious again. "You're not prejudiced, mate," he said. "You're
just a little ignorant of the usual etiquette. So was I, remember? Relax,
and enjoy yourself."

Nick promised them he'd calm down, and took another drink from his glass.
He faced his companions once again. "Okay, so what do you guys talk
about? Secret men's business, or ...?" he said with a grin.

"Whatever topic happens to come up," Morgan answered, barely concealing a
smirk at the possible double entendre. Ian picked up on it, but avoided
commenting for Nick's sake. "Do you follow the footy?" Morgan asked.

"Which code?"

"Aussie Rules, of course!"

"Of course!" came Nick's enthusiastic response. He and Ian had indulged
in many a heated discussion on the comparative merits or otherwise of
their respective teams. Ian followed the Sydney Swans, and Nick was a
dedicated Adelaide Crows supporter. "So who do you barrack for?"

"The best team in the comp," Morgan declared. "The Lions!"

"Brisbane?!" chorused both Ian and Nick. "You have to be kidding ..."

A light-hearted but lively discussion then enveloped the trio for almost
an hour on the national competition in general, and the chances of the
respective teams in making the finals round. All three men were
passionate fans of their teams, and would not accept that any other could
be better. When the heated debate finally eased a little, Nick commented,

"I have to confess to being a little surprised that you're a fan of
footy," he confided to Morgan. "I knew Ian was, but that's because we
grew up together, arguing about it."

"And why wouldn't Morgan be?" asked Ian, beginning to get annoyed at his
friend. "Because he's gay?"

"Well, you know ..." Nick squirmed again. "Okay, so I'm still stuck with
stereotypes. You guys are going to have to forgive me for them for a
while, or we'll never get anywhere."

Ian relented. "Agreed, but try to think before you say things like that,
Nick," he pleaded, his tone softening. "The fact is that we - gay men -
are just like any other men. Apart from preferring other men to women
when it comes to sex, we have the same interests, the same likes and
dislikes. And that includes football. You know me well enough to know
that, you just have to realise that it's the same for most gay men."

Morgan had sat quietly through Ian's lecture, but sensed that the mood
needed lightening a little. "Of course, the super tight shorts they wear
over those great buns and big legs don't hurt!" he declared with a
straight face.

Nick's eyebrows shot up, but before he could respond at all, Ian began to
laugh. Morgan let his mask slip and joined him, and soon Nick was
chuckling along as well. The difficult moment had passed, and the three
were friends again. Their conversation turned to other topics, but
remained amicable and easy.

A round of drinks later, and there was a break in the conversation, each
of them sitting happily and silent for the moment. Morgan looked up at
the door, then nudged Ian with his elbow. "Heads up!" he whispered.
"Feast your eyes on that!" indicating a tall, powerfully built man who
had just entered the bar. Ian looked, and nodded agreement. The man was
stunningly attractive, with wide shoulders and a muscled chest, barely
concealed by a tight-fitting T-shirt. Even tighter denim jeans hugged his
legs and rear, and he was displaying a very impressive bulge at his
groin.

"If he has an IQ over 20, then there is no god!" Ian stated, borrowing a
line from one of his favourite movies.

Morgan shook with quiet mirth, but continued to steal glances at the
other man. Nick looked around at the object of their attention, and back
to them somewhat bemused. "Look at the pair of you," he said. "Like
schoolgirls on heat!"

"Whatever rocks your boat," Ian dismissed his friend's criticism. "I've
seen you react the same way plenty of times over women. We're just
getting our own back."

Nick watched his friends watch the handsome man, taking another drink as
he did. He looked thoughtful, but remained silent until Ian and Morgan
finally bored of ogling the stranger, and returned their thoughts to
their own table.

"I'm not sure how to say this, or whether it will come out right, so
don't get pissed off with me," Nick said to the other two by way of
preface. Getting their full attention, he went on.

"I just wonder, well, how you `know' ...?"

"Know?" asked Ian.

"Whether or not someone else is gay." Nick looked perplexed. "I mean, I
guess it's easy enough in a bar or whatever, because if they weren't gay
they wouldn't be there ..."

"But you're here!" Morgan reminded him.

"That's what I'm getting at! Say one of you took a fancy to some guy,
whether it was in a gay bar, or somewhere completely neutral, or
whatever. How do you know that if you try to talk to him, you're not
going to get rejected - or even worse, get beaten up?"

"Well, if you start talking to him about general things, you can usually
get some idea of what kind of person he is," Ian answered. "I suppose if
you unsure, you could ask some questions about different things that
might give some insight as to whether he might be gay. But there's always
a risk."

"Even if he is gay, there's still that chance he won't be interested in
you, that he'll turn you down," added Morgan.

"It must be bloody difficult!" Nick declared. His companions nodded their
agreement, both of them looking a little dejected.

"Of course, you can always try to rely on your `gaydar'," Morgan said,
matter-of-factly.

"'Gaydar?' What on earth is that?"

"Don't look at me," Ian shrugged. "It seems that I either don't have it,
or it's not working."

Morgan sighed as he spoke first to Ian. "You have it alright! You just
haven't learned to read the signals yet." He turned to Nick and
continued. "Most gay men seem to have this instinct, or sixth sense, that
lets them pick another gay man. A lot of us refer to it as 'gaydar'. I
can't explain it, but I really believe we have it. In some ways, I think
it's nature's way of helping us identify other men like us - so that you
can let someone know you're interested without risking an attack just
because you're coming onto him."

Seeing Nick's confused expression, Morgan tried again. "Like I said, I
can't explain it properly. But you pick up on the tiniest signals - the
way he walks, or the way he speaks, or a look on his face, maybe just an
immediate reaction he has to some comment that quickly gets glossed over
- and something inside you sets off alarm bells, something in your mind
says 'he's one of us'!"

"I guess that makes sense," Nick answered carefully, thinking aloud.
"Otherwise, you'd never have a chance at finding another man. And it
saves you from hitting on all the straight guys - especially the ones who
wouldn't be very complimented!"

"Well I wish mine was working," Ian said miserably. "I don't seem to be
able to pick who is gay and who is straight at all!"

"I keep telling him," Morgan said to Nick, but with his eyes on Ian's
face, "He just hasn't learned how to pick up the right signals. He really
only 'came out' last year when he started seeing Geoff. And with
everything he's been through since then, it's no wonder that he's
confused, and nervous." Turning now to Ian, Morgan took the lawyer's
hands in his own, and leaned into him, all but ignoring Nick. "Just take
it easy, my friend," he said softly. "Don't try to read people. Just let
your instincts register whether they are good or bad, whether they are
someone you'd like to know better or not. And I'll throw back at you what
you said to me a few weeks ago - don't try to be someone else's imagined
person. Be yourself - if they like you for that, great. If they don't,
then you are better off not knowing them."

Ian sighed, looking into space. Nick began to fidget, thinking that this
was heading too close to home for his mate; that they were risking
re-opening Ian's barely healed wounds. He steered the conversation into
safer waters with a general comment on real estate prices - a
time-honoured Sydney tradition - and the trio embarked on yet another
lengthy discussion, but a neutral one that was not going to expose any
raw nerves.

The three continued their conversation over a meal in the bistro upstairs
from the bar, the friendship between Nick and Morgan developing with the
night, until they all felt very comfortable with each other. Eventually,
Morgan announced that it was time for him to be going. Nick and Ian stood
as he did, and the three of them made their way out onto the street
together. Morgan found himself a cab and disappeared into the night with
a reassurance that he would see Ian and Nick the following week. The two
long term friends walked the short distance to Taylor Square together.
They had intended to get a train out of the city centre, but were lucky
enough to spot a taxi coming up the hill, so they flagged it down and
shared the fare, having the driver go via Ian's home first, to drop him
off before continuing on to Nick's place.

As Ian exited the vehicle outside his house, he turned back and placed a
hand on Nick's shoulder. "Thanks for tonight, Nick. It meant a lot to
me!"

"No worries, mate. I'm there for you whenever you need me," replied his
friend.

As Ian slammed the door shut, Nick waved his good-bye. At the same time,
he could have sworn he heard a muffled comment from the taxi driver,
under his breath. Unless Nick was badly mistaken, the cabbie had
whispered to himself; 'bloody poofters!'. For a few seconds, Nick was
speechless, but he soon overcame that problem as his anger quickly
overwhelmed any surprise.

"I really hope you didn't say what I think you said!" he hissed at the
driver through clenched teeth.

"Didn't say nuthin'!" replied the man sullenly.

"Good," spat Nick back at him. "Because I'd hate to have to waste my time
making a complaint about how you broke the anti-vilification laws. Just
remember that in future!" he stared long and hard at the man before
pointedly looking to the identification card displayed in the centre of
the dashboard, and making a note of the driver's number.

Several long and strained minutes later, the taxi pulled up outside
Nick's home, and he paid the exact fare, almost daring the driver to ask
for a tip, but no other comment was made.

"So, how was your night out?" asked Tina as he stepped through the door.

"Uh, okay," he answered vaguely, still seething at the attitude of the
cabbie.

"Oh yeah?" Tina picked up on his anger immediately. "Then what's wrong?"

Nick quickly explained to her what had happened on the way from Ian's
place. He was still seething at the attitude and comment from the driver.
Tina tried to calm him down, when another thought occurred to him.

"You know, darling," he said to his wife as his rage lessened, replaced
by a sense of sorrow. "I've just realised that it's people like that, and
comments like that, which Ian and Morgan, and all of the other gay guys
in the world, must have to put up with constantly. I didn't know how much
it could hurt, or make you angry, until tonight."

"Yes," Tina commented. "I suppose it takes the experience of having that
kind of hatred directed at you to know what these guys have to cop all
the time." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then tried to lighten the
mood a little. "So how was the night with Ian and Morgan? Did you enjoy
yourself?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And what about them? Are they a 'couple', or at least a possibility?"

Nick grinned. "I don't know. They're definitely not lovers, I'm sure of
that. But there might be something between them ... they seemed to be very
much on each other's wavelength, if you know what I mean. Maybe they just
need a little more time."

*****

Nick became a semi-regular attendee at the weekly drinks with Ian and
Morgan. More often than not, he would join them, and he quickly lost any
sense of discomfort at being in a gay bar, so much so that it wasn't long
before it no longer occurred to him that the vast majority of the patrons
in the places he went with Ian and Morgan were, in fact, gay. To him they
were just men like himself, out for a drink and a chat with their mates
at the end of the working week.

Around the time that Nick started joining the others for a drink, Ian
received word from Dave Johnson that the Supreme Court had confirmed him
as Administrator of Geoff's estate, and that they were in a position to
begin calling in the assets for distribution. The State still had a
holding order over the bank accounts in the names of several companies
which were suspected of containing proceeds of drug money, but that left
a considerable amount of cash available immediately, as well as real
estate properties in Green Valley, Kings Cross, Woolloomooloo and Bondi.
Ian gave instructions for all of the properties to be sold as soon as
possible.

"You are going to be a very rich man after we realise all of that!" Dave
commented.

"Um, yes, we'll see," Ian replied off-handedly. He made a mental note to
speak to Maggie Jones about his other idea as soon as possible.

Finding real estate agents, checking the properties and organising
contracts, kept Ian busy for the next week or more. Much as he dreaded
it, he was forced to make one last visit to Geoff's unit which held so
many mixed memories for him. He had been putting off that visit for as
long as possible, but Dave reminded him that it would need to be checked
by Ian as the legal representative of the Estate before being opened up
for sale. He imagined that it would require cleaning and emptying as
well, since no-one had been living there since the fateful night when
Geoff fled to Melbourne and Ian was confronted by the police.

"How do I get in?" he asked his colleague when he finally screwed up the
courage to make the trip over to Kings Cross.

"You'll have to collect the access key card from the Police," Dave said.
"It was handed to them by the concierge on court orders. They've notified
us that they are still holding it, and you'll have to sign for it as the
Administrator of the Estate. See a ..." he flicked through his notes, " ...
a Detective Sciutta at Surry Hills. He has the card."

"Okay, I know who he is," Ian answered. At least Michael Sciutta would
understand, he had been such a help to Ian in the weeks after Geoff was
killed, almost a friend. 'No,' thought Ian, 'he would have just been
doing his job.' Still, he was considerate of Ian's sensitivities, and had
done a lot more than was strictly necessary for Ian in the past. He
sighed to himself and told Jill that he would be out for the rest of the
day, as he headed out of the office, bound for the Police Centre.

**

Michael Sciutta was sitting at his desk, the file relating to Geoffrey
Carruthers open in front of him. The prosecutions section had notified
him earlier that day that a trial date had been set for several of the
upper level drug dealers who had been charged with the help of the
information obtained from Ian Sterling and the evidence they had gathered
from Carruthers' home. He had spent most of the morning collating
information, ensuring all was in order, and notifying witnesses. The only
one left was Ian Sterling himself. Michael had intentionally left the
young solicitor until last, since Ian was often on his mind. Despite his
continued self reminders that he must not mix business with pleasure, he
had come to realise that deep down he was quite taken with the man who
had been at the centre of this very complex case.

He stared unseeing at the sheaf of papers before him, silently debating
whether he should telephone Ian to advise him of the court dates, or if
he could justify a personal visit. His shift was almost over, and the
prospect of meeting up with Mr Sterling was a very attractive one, even
if it would probably only last a few minutes. There was no denying that
Ian Sterling was very easy on the eyes! Michael fantasised, not for the
first time, of finding the courage to ask Ian for a date. He allowed
himself the indulgence of imagining that the lawyer would accept, that
they would spend a few hours getting to know each other more personally
over a meal and a drink, and discovering that they felt a strong mutual
attraction. In Michael's day-dream, the two then accepted the inevitable,
and retired to some warm, comfortable place where they made love for
hours, and lived happily ever after ...

"Fool!" he rebuked himself. "Like that's ever gonna happen. Ian Sterling
is hardly likely to be interested in someone like me!"

The detective was startled from his reverie by a sharp rap at his door.
The desk sergeant's head appeared around the corner. "Got a visitor for
you out the front, Sir," she said off-handedly. "A Mr Sterling -
something about the Carruthers matter."

"Thanks, Sarge," Michael answered, swallowing a gulp. "I'll be out in a
second."

'Now how much of a coincidence was that?' Michael wondered. At least he
would get to have that personal meeting with Ian after all, and without
looking anxious, either.

"Mr Sterling, come in!" he said warmly as he stepped out into the
reception area to find Ian waiting patiently. Michael ushered him into
one of the small meeting rooms just off the foyer, and took a seat
opposite. "What can I do for you?"

Ian was quiet but unemotional. "I would like to collect the key card for
Geoff Carruthers' apartment if I can, Detective," he said.

"Please, call me 'Michael'."

Ian warmed a little, the hint of a smile on his face. "Thanks! Please,
call me Ian. Now, I think you know I've been appointed to finalise Mr
Carruthers' estate ..." Michael nodded his confirmation. "Well, I'm
putting the property on the market, so I need to get inside and check it
beforehand."

"Certainly," Michael answered. "I have the card in my file. I'll just go
and get it for you. You'll need to sign for it, of course, but there's no
need for us to keep it any longer." Excusing himself, he quickly
retrieved the card and the necessary paperwork, and returned to the room
where Ian waited, fidgeting a little.

As he handed Ian the card, and had him sign a receipt for it, Michael
couldn't help but notice the other's nervousness. "Are you okay?" he
asked.

"Um, yes, thanks, Detec ...thanks, Michael. I'm just a little apprehensive
about going back to the flat. It's the first time I've been back there
since ... well, you know!"

"Yes, of course. It must be difficult for you, Ian," Michael sympathised,
"and I'm not sure if this is going to make things even worse, but it's
lucky for me that you called in when you did. I was about to phone you
anyway. The Court has set a date for the trials to start, and I wanted to
let you know, to make sure you will be around if we need you."

Ian grimaced, but regained his composure quickly. "Sure. I should have
known that would come up soon enough. I'll make sure I'm available."

"We don't know yet whether you'll be called, but I'll let the prosecutor
know," Michael said. He looked again at Ian, who was staring at the
access card in his hand. "Are you going over there right away?"

Ian nodded. "I might as well get it over and done with as soon as I can."

"Would you like me to come with you, Ian?" Michael asked in a small
voice. He wasn't sure where he'd found the courage to offer, but felt he
had to.

With a look of real surprise, Ian stared at the cop. He suddenly did not
want to go to Geoff's home alone. In an uncertain tone, he asked "Are you
sure? It's hardly official business."

"No," answered Michael. "But I'm done for the day here, and I thought you
might like some company, some moral support. I'm sorry if it seems like
I'm barging in on your personal affairs."

"No, Michael, I didn't mean it like that," Ian hurriedly assured him. "If
your offer is for real, I could certainly use some support when I go in
there. If it's not any trouble for you, I'd like it for you to come with
me."

"Then I will! Give me a minute to finish up here, and we'll go across."

Geoff's apartment was no more than 10 minutes walk from the police
station, and rather than risk the ire of a disgruntled cabbie over such a
small fare, they decided to make their way on foot. In companionable
silence, they headed along Pelican Street and right into Oxford, heading
up the hill toward Taylor Square. To an uninformed observer, they would
have appeared to be a couple, mingling with many other gay couples in
this very gay part of town. As they rounded the Courts complex on the
corner of Darlinghurst Road and passed along the edge of Green Park,
Michael asked Ian in a friendly manner if he had any plans once he had
collected all the funds from Geoff's estate.

Ian smiled. "You know that you guys have a claim against quite a lot of
the money he had in different accounts," he said.

"Uh, yeah, but that's not my section," Michael reddened.

"That's okay," Ian said warmly enough. "I don't blame you. And from what
I can guess, it's probably appropriate that that money goes to the State
anyway. As for the rest of it, well, I have a couple of ideas, but
nothing concrete yet, not until it's all accounted for."

They continued on, past the coffee shops and boutiques as they approached
the top of Kings Cross, chatting now about the weather and keeping the
conversation amicable but neutral. Yet Michael found himself even more
drawn to Ian, and decided that he really was a good man. It was just so
unfair that Michael couldn't find the words to let Ian know how he felt.

Soon enough they were at the building. Ian led the way in, Michael close
behind. The lawyer looked to the concierge desk, and with his
apprehension returning, nodded to the familiar face of Raymond, the
doorman.

"Hello, Raymond," he said carefully. The doorman's face went from a blank
uncertainty to recognition.

"Hello, Mr Sterling, good to see you again. Terribly sorry to hear about
Mr Carruthers!"

"Thanks! Just so you know, I'll be putting the place on the market
shortly, so you'll have agents and buyers looking though it soon."

"Very well, Sir. Pity you won't be around, but life goes on!"

"It does indeed," Ian said in a whisper. Michael laid his hand on Ian's
shoulder, squeezing firmly.

"C'mon, Ian," he said. "Let's go up."

They rode the lift to Geoff's floor, and padded along the corridor until
they stood outside the door. Suddenly Ian found himself unable to slot
the card into place. Michael said nothing, but took it from Ian's
trembling hands and slid it through the reader. With a click the door
unlocked, and Michael pushed it open before gently urging Ian inside.

The sight which greeted them was incongruous to say the least. Papers and
other small items were scattered around the floor, the furniture was
moved about haphazardly. Drawers had been rummaged through and left open,
books and ornaments thrown carelessly around the room or onto the sofas.
Apparent chaos, combined with the faintest coating of dust, and a
definite smell of rotting food, provided an unlikely foreground to the
magnificent vista streaming through the wide glass windows. The towers of
the city stood before them, looking in across the jumbled mess, the
afternoon sun casting long shadows divided by fingers of brightness which
pointed accusingly at Ian and Michael where they stood surveying the
detritus.

"Shit!" Michael swore.

"Bloody hell!" muttered Ian.

Michael looked more devastated than Ian. "I'm so sorry. I'm afraid we
were responsible for all of this," he said. "I didn't realise it had been
left in such a state." Immediately, he began picking things up, trying to
make a start on cleaning the mess made by the police in their eagerness
to find evidence.

"No, Michael, leave it. There's too much here for us to do anything about
it now," Ian said. His fears and nerves had gone, replaced by a resolve
to get past this and move on. Together, they inspected the other rooms,
where the general picture of searching and discarding was repeated.

"I'm assuming that the police have everything they want from here now?"
Ian asked Michael.

With a guilty look, the cop answered in a small voice, "Yes, we have."

Ian softened his tone. "Michael, I said I don't blame you personally. Now
that I'm here, I don't know why I came. There's nothing here for me. I
just felt I had to come one more time, to put it all behind me."

"Yes, you did. But you didn't need this ..." he swept his arm over the
chaos, "... when you got here."

"Maybe I did," Ian mused. "It just proves that what's gone is gone. The
past is better left behind. Come on, let's get out of here."

"But what about the mess?"

"I'll get someone else to clean it up," Ian declared.

Back downstairs, he approached the desk again. "Ray, you have access to
Mr Carruthers' apartment, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, we have a master card which gets us into everywhere, for
emergencies."

"Okay, I'll put this in writing for you, make it official tomorrow," Ian
said smoothly. "I'll pay you for the time you spend on it, but I would
like you to get someone in there - sell the furniture and whatever else
you can. Give the rest of it - clothes, books, etc, away to charity. Then
get professional cleaners in to wash and polish and make it sparkle. It
has to be looking its best for the buyers. Here are my contact details,"
he said, handing over a business card. "Let me have receipts and
accounts, and don't scrimp on the costs - I want it done properly. Can
you do that?"

"Yes, Sir!" responded Raymond eagerly. He could see some easy money as
well as a generous tip already.

"Good."

As they left the building, Michael caught Ian by the arm. "You've just
given him carte blanche," he warned. "You know he could easily rip you
off for thousands."

"Michael, I honestly don't care," Ian said breezily. "I can't explain it,
but I feel so much better now. It's done, and I just want rid of it. I
don't mind if he keeps half the stuff for himself, as long as the place
is empty, clean, and ready to sell!"

Although Michael felt come concern for Ian, that he may be defrauded of
all he was entitled to, he also felt much better at the changed mood of
the young solicitor. "Okay, it's your money," he grinned.

"Michael, thank you for coming with me this afternoon," Ian said
sincerely. "It might not appear to be the case, but I genuinely
appreciate your support."

"My pleasure," Michael said, and he meant it.

"Can I offer you a ride somewhere? I'm going to head home for a stiff
drink," Ian declared.

Suddenly Michael was lost for words. "I, erm," he started, then stopped
before trying again. "Ian, um, would you ... I mean I was wondering if
you'd like to ..." His courage deserted him again. He desperately wanted
to ask Ian out, but couldn't give voice to his thoughts.

"Sorry? You were wondering if I'd like to ... what?" Ian asked curiously.

With a growing sense of having lost his opportunity, Michael gave up.
"Nothing, sorry, I was just thinking out loud. I'll find my own way home,
thanks," he said, deflated.

"Oh, okay then," Ian accepted uncertainly. "I guess I'll be speaking to
you soon about the trial. See you," he said lightly as he hailed a cab
and climbed in. 'That was strange' he thought to himself as he left the
cop still standing on the street. 'I'll bet he's off home to tell the
wife and kids all about the poor gay man he helped out this afternoon!
Still, he did seem genuine. Probably just a really nice guy.'

Back outside the building they had just left, Michael Sciutta stood and
watched Ian's cab disappear into the traffic on William Street. He turned
slowly, catching his own reflection in the windows behind him. Looking at
himself there, he swore out loud. "You're a bloody idiot!" he declared,
before spinning on his heel in disgust and walking toward Kings Cross
railway station and then home to his tiny flat.

****

As soon as possible, Ian had all of the properties, including the
apartment in Kings Cross, sold. He had instructed the agents to accept
the first reasonable offers made on them, preferring to sell quickly
rather than hold out for full price. The proceeds from the sales,
together with the funds from the bank accounts that were easily closed,
came into the firm's trust account to be held pending Ian's final
decision on distribution. Despite opting for quick sales on the
properties, the rising market had meant that they realised more than
originally estimated anyway, and with the Court date approaching faster
than Ian would have liked, he found himself asked to another meeting
between Dave Johnson in the probate section, Jim Rogers from Criminal
Law, and Maggie Jones as the partner with overall responsibility for the
matters.

"Ian," Dave began once they were all assembled. "I can tell you that we
have now liquidated all known assets, apart from the funds held under
escrow by the State, and are ready to distribute however you instruct."

Before Ian could say anything, Jim took the floor. "I have some
information in relation to that, too. Although it's fairly obvious that
the frozen funds were proceeds of illegal activity, because Geoff
Carruthers was never actually charged or convicted of any crime, they are
facing some serious difficulties in appropriating the money. There is a
very real chance that we would be able to successfully contest any
application, and include that money in the total value."

"So what do you think Ian?" Maggie asked. "Do we fight for the extra
money or not?"

"How much are we talking about?" Ian asked by way of response.

"So far, with what we have, less fees, expenses and debts, there is a net
sum available of ... exactly $10,538,927.37," Dave said coolly and
unemotionally. Ian's eyebrows shot up, even though he knew it was going
to be a lot. Dave consulted his notes and continued. "The frozen accounts
hold another $2,365,000.00 - give or take," he finished.

Ian whistled under his breath, before taking his time to think some
things through. The others waited patiently for him, Maggie especially
taking notice of his reactions. She knew how difficult all of this had
been for her young employee. Finally he spoke up. "Jim, just what is the
situation with the frozen funds exactly - how do you see it finishing?"

"Impossible to say clearly," his colleague replied. "The 'Proceeds of
Crime' legislation clearly targets money or assets acquired as a result
of illegal activities, and the police have some pretty strong evidence,
including paper trails, which link the money to drug deals. However,
there was never any conviction recorded, and they can't charge the
Estate. It could go either way, depending on the judge."

"What if we approached them with an offer?" Ian asked.

"Interesting! What kind of offer?" Jim was already scribbling notes.

"If we undertake to pay the full proceeds of the questionable accounts
to, say, one of the charities working to rehabilitate addicts and to
prevent young kids using, would they release the funds? No contest
between us?"

Jim allowed himself a chuckle. "I don't know, but it's worth a try. I
know if I were in charge, that would be a very attractive alternative to
drawn out litigation," he said.

Ian smiled wryly. "So talk to whoever it is, and make the offer. It's not
Michael Sciutta is it?" he added as an afterthought.

"No ... he's in charge of the case against the dealers Carruthers had
contact with, but he doesn't have anything to do with the funds, why?"

"Oh, no reason. I just have a rapport with him - thought I might have
been able to help. But you deal with that side of it." Ian answered.
"Dave, I should be able to give you a list of cheques to draw the balance
in a day or so, okay?"

"Not a problem," Dave said, and he and Jim took the chance to exit the
room.

"So," said Maggie when she and Ian were alone. "Have you decided just how
you're going to split it up?"

"I think so," Ian said, although he still looked uncertain. "It probably
sounds greedy, but I'm going to keep a million for myself," he said
slowly, watching her reaction. "The rest of it - the whole nine and half
million, I want to place into the fund we've been discussing. What do you
think?"

Maggie's face split into a wide grin. "I think that's the best way," she
said with conviction. "You're not being greedy at all - I'd call it fair
compensation. And more than nine million dollars will go a hell of a long
way to push along your other project very nicely!" She stopped for a
moment, and spoke to Ian in a motherly voice. "I'm proud of you, Ian.
You've been to hell and back, and you're doing the right thing."

 "I hope so, Maggie, I really do."

**

Jim phoned Ian a couple of days later. "They jumped at it, mate," he said
jubilantly. "No-one wanted to have to fight for years through the courts,
and seeing it go to charity instead of being handed over to someone else
was just the excuse they needed. They can't sign fast enough!"

"Perfect!" Ian grinned. "Get the paperwork done, and I'll let Dave know
so he can notify the banks about where the money is to be paid. And Jim,
thanks!"

"Not at all, Ian, it's what I'm paid to do. In fact, it's not all that
often that I get to feel quite so good about it!" Jim responded.

No sooner had Ian hung up from speaking with Jim when he had a call from
Maggie Jones. "Ian, if you'd like to pop into my office, I have some
papers that I think you will want to sign," she said.

Ian knew exactly what she was talking about, and high-tailed it to her
door as fast as he could. With a benign smile, she led him through a
thick bundle of documents, directing him to sign in numerous places, and
witnessing his signature as he went. Finally it was done, and she pushed
the paperwork aside, holding out her hand to him.

They shook warmly, grinning at each other, and Maggie said proudly,
"Congratulations, Ian Sterling, you are now the Chief Executive Officer
of the 'Geoff Carruthers Foundation for Homeless Gay Youth'!"

****

Ian, Nick and Morgan had continued their weekly get togethers throughout
this time, and all three now looked forward to the regular gathering for
drinks and conversation. Initially Nick had been surprised at just how
much he had in common with Morgan, but when he thought about it, he
realised that he and Ian shared so much as well. The whole 'gay' thing
became a non-issue very quickly for him, despite Ian and Morgan's
occasional jibes about him being the 'token straight' in the bar.

On one such Friday night, the three had eaten early, and decided to have
'one for the road' before heading home. Ian had just recently established
his Foundation, but had not yet told his friends about it. He planned a
big announcement and opening party after the Foundation had established
offices and hired some experts in the various fields who could really
make a difference to young gay kids who found themselves on the streets.
As a result, he had been a little vague for much of the night.

Morgan had gone to the bar to buy the drinks, and Ian and Nick were
sitting in agreeable silence, watching their fellow patrons. Nick glanced
around and commented to Ian, "Looks like Morgan's found himself a
friend!"

Ian turned to look to the bar, laughed and whispered loudly to his mate,
"A cute one too! Nice shoulders, and just look at that arse!"

"Oh wow," Nick hammed it up for him, "Way too much information!"

They were both still chuckling when Morgan returned to the table, a look
of surprise on his face.

"You won't believe this, but I just got chatted up," he declared.

"Not by the stunner in the black leather jacket?" Ian grinned.

"The very same! He just came right up to me and started talking." Morgan
looked incredulous.

"Don't be so surprised," Ian remonstrated. "You'd make a great catch for
the right guy. Just please don't tell me he asked 'you're place or
mine'!" He laughed again.

Morgan looked thoughtful, however. "No, it wasn't anything like that. He
said he'd noticed me - us - earlier. He asked if either of you were my
boyfriend, and when I told him we were all just mates, he said he was
glad, because he didn't want to cause any problems for me. He told me
he'd like the chance to get to know me, if I was interested, and that
he'd be here for a while yet."

"And are you interested?" Nick asked. So far he'd been a little quiet
since Morgan had returned from the bar.

"Yeah, I think I might be," Morgan answered. "He seemed really nice - you
know, polite and genuine. It didn't feel like just a pick-up line."

"Okay, Nick," said Ian. "Drink up quickly, we're out of here."

"No, wait," Morgan said. "Don't just disappear on me!"

"Sorry, mate," Ian smiled. "You're on your own this time, but good luck!
He's gorgeous. Ring me in the morning and tell me all the juicy details."

Morgan looked embarrassed, but nodded, as Ian urged Nick to finish, and
ushered him outside. "Are you sure we should just leave him like that?"
Nick asked.

"Of course! He doesn't want us around watching, it would be too
embarrassing. And he deserves a chance at finding someone nice."

"What about you?" Nick asked without thinking.

"Me?"

"Um, yeah. Don't you feel, I don't know, left out; jealous maybe. I
thought you and Morgan had something special."

"We do, Nick - friendship. Just like you and me. I wouldn't want you
hanging around if I were trying to get to know a potential lover, and I'm
sure Morgan doesn't either. Come on, we'll share a cab to your place.
It's about time I surprised Tina for a Saturday morning breakfast!"

Nick did as he was told, but somehow he still didn't feel comfortable. It
was almost as though Morgan were cheating on them, on Ian in particular.
Nick just didn't think it was right.


To be continued ...


This story is a fantasy, it is not real and only happened in my
imagination. YOU MUST REMEMBER that in the real world, you can DIE from
having unsafe sex. It is your right and your duty to make sure that
condoms are always used, whether you are giving or receiving. It doesn't
matter how good looking or how ugly he is, and it doesn't matter whether
you are top or bottom, USE A CONDOM!