Date: Fri, 8 Feb 2002 11:49:12 -0800 (PST)
From: dante umbero <danteumbero@yahoo.com>
Subject: Night encounters -3

This is the last installment of a work of gay fiction.
None of the characters are based on anyone living or
dead.  If you are offended by the explicit topic,
please read no further.  Otherwise, please enjoy my
tale of passion, violence and saddness.
Dante-

Finito


The night was warm and humid as I approached the
colonial villa.  I had taken the streetcar from
downtown, as usual, to the end of the line.  My body
was warm from my encounter with the whore, and I was
relaxed, but not so relaxed as to forget my business
tonight.  I met Jacques, my Corporation contact, as
planned and over bitter coffee I gave him an update to
pass on to Quantico and the people there.  These
encounters were always funny to eavesdroppers.  We
spoke mostly in half sentences that constituted a code
language for us in the field.

"Manuel, did you know that my cat spotted a mouse
yesterday?"  Jacques said casually in French.

"Ah, he's doing what cats do, eh?"  I said back
lightly.  Although I felt far from light hearted.
"Who hath drawn the circuit for the predator."  My
mind whispered.

"Be careful, and remember me to your mother if
something goes wrong with the new job." Jacques said
as he rose to leave.  He was telling me that my cover
had been compromised somewhat but not enough to scrub
the mission.  Also he was passing on the escape
command if I needed out fast, "mother" how creative of
Quantico.  As he brushed past me on the sidewalk, he
slipped a scrap of paper in my hand.  I glanced down
and memorized the local phone number for the escape
code, wadded it up and dropped it with the butt of my
cigarette into the gutter.

The black Mercedes met me at the magazine stand,
Emillio was driving and as soon as I settled into the
back seat we sped off into the suburbs.

I watched Emillio from the back seat he was a
beautiful man.  He had very broad shoulders and
muscular thighs.  His hair was the blue black of the
typical Latino and from the bulge in his pants he
looked like he was hung.  While he drove one hand
rested lightly in his crotch and occasionally he would
adjust his equipment and look back at me in the
rearview mirror.

The villa was more like a fortress than a suburban
palace since Ignatio had taken over.  It was
comfortably nestled into the hillside amid the palms
and enormous mahogany trees.  The drive twisted up the
hill and ended in a pleasant motor court before the
impressively ornate entrance.  I approached the door,
which was opened by Miguel, who is both butler and
bodyguard.

"Good evening, Don Manuel."  The butler murmured in
his mellifluous Portuguese.  "Don Ignatio and a light
supper are waiting for you on the terrace by the
pool."

"Ah Miguel, my mouth waters thinking about what
wonders you have prepared for me."  I answered in a
courtly fashion.  Miguel was a very pompous sort who
acted like his boss was the President of the Republic.
 Of course he was, very nearly.  At least in
influence.

I crossed the Salon, its' splendor as impressive as a
palace, and through the French doors onto the terrace.
 The pool lights were on and there were candles
burning at the table.  Ignatio had his back to me and
all I make out is his silhouette.

Ignatio was born in Antigua, to a prostitute. His
father was anyone's guess.  He had been raised on the
streets and the streets had educated him to the dark
side of human nature.  His childhood had been about
illegal rum, hookers and petty thievery.  He told me
once he had killed his first man at 14 for a rum
smuggler he worked for and latter took out.  By 20 he
was one of the major dealers in contraband in the
Caribbean and now, at 70, his power and influence was
enormous. He no longer dealt directly with the "stuff"
but he controlled the movement of it and just about
everything else that was profitable in the Caribbean
basin.  I wondered now if he knew who and what I was.
It was quite possible.  Perhaps he just didn't care,
or more likely he merely enjoyed toying with me.

The "Corporation" had arranged our "chance" meeting.
My mission was to plant some covert devices and listen
to his conversations to gather evidence of what we
knew.  That Ignatio regularly facilitated the shipping
of Cocaine, Heroin and Marijuana into several US ports
for distribution to our own organized crime elements.
He also, as a sideline, controlled the largest string
of prostitutes in the Caribbean, from St. Thomas to
Barbados.

My cover story is that I am a writer that came back to
my Brazilian roots, after living in France all my
life, to finish a novel.  A French operative named
Lola, who had shared Ignatio's bed in the name of the
Republic, introduced us at a party in the French
embassy.  Ignatio prided himself on his knowledge of
literature, his one and only passion after the making
of money, and had easily been persuaded to take me up
in Rio society.  He liked me because I quoted French
and obscure Chinese literature at him and we could
discuss for hours the subtleties of the logic of
Confucius.  I had to be careful though; he was a
brilliant and cunning man.  I remember one of the
first times we talked, he asked if I had every visited
the US as my Portuguese sounded faintly "American".  I
had laughed and told him it was the Parisian French
that had tainted my parent's native tongue.

Our dinner conversation was light, he had acquired,
coincidentally, a first edition of Flaubert's Madam
Bovary and wanted me to read a little of it to him, as
he didn't speak French.  I told him he knew that I was
only too happy to repay his kindness.

Ignatio said, "Manuel, you have read Madam Bovary?"  I
nodded and he went on.  "Such passion she has, such
treachery."  His laugh is dry as the desert wind and
nearly soundless.  "I have known such treachery from
those that appear otherwise."  I was suddenly very
still as he stared at me. "I know of only one way to
repay it, that is with such pain and suffering equal
to the friendship and love."

I laughed out loud as though he had made a fine joke.
"Ah Don Ignatio, I suspect you have paid this price
yourself at times."  I paused, "And caused others to
pay."  I raised my glass of wine to him in salute.

He looked at me and said, "Manuel, I do not enjoy
making others pay that price.  I am old now and have
lately been slow to give my affections away.  That is
why. I begin to think I have been too rash."  He
lifted his own glass to mine, the Waterford crystal
clinked."

Eric's voice comes to me from the darkness on the
other side of the tent; the wind whistles through the
North Carolina pine trees, so I have to concentrate to
hear him.  "So what did that dude mean by the circuit
of the Lion, I don't get it?"

"The lion is the top of the heap, head predator.  All
he surveys is his prey.  Do you think he feels trapped
by that?  Never able to rest but always challenged by
those weaker that would replace him?  We, you and I,
are in a way trapped by the same circuit.  We are
challenged by those that seek to conquer us and by
that which drew the circuit.  Our passions draw our
circuit.  That is our driving force, whether it is
physical passion or the passions that we call other
things like home and family.  Love of country and
things like that.  By mastering those passions we can
escape the trap of the circuit."  I sigh, knowing that
my passion has been enflamed by this man.  His strong
physical presence and naïve but agile mind all act
like a magnet as I try to harness this passion and
prevent it from driving him away.  I'm startled by the
touch of his hand on my chest.

"I love you man."  He whispers, "You are the passion
that is drawing my circuit and I want you like no
woman I have ever wanted.  I don't know what to do
about it and it is tearing me apart.  Do you hate me
for a queer?"

"No Eric, far from it, but as the master goes on to
say, we must spend wisely."  I whisper back and touch
his hand his fingers grasp mine.

Don Ignatio is looking at me, waiting for me to reply.
 "I'm sorry Don Ignatio, I was carried away in my
thoughts."

"I asked if you would care for a cigar?"  He said
reaching the box to me.  I take one of his Havana
cigars and light it from the candle.  The ghosts in my
mind mingle with the fragrant smoke as I puff it up
into the star filled sky.

Miguel brings the book to me and I take it.  A rare
volume, I can tell, as he has had a beautiful Moroccan
leather sleeve made for it that matches all the other
volumes in his library.  I caress the leather and
think again of Eric and that night in the tent in the
Carolina woods during our survivalist training.
Miguel pours brandy for us and goes back into the
house.  Don Ignatio is studying me, waiting for me to
read in a language that he doesn't understand a tale
of human perfidy.  I thumb through the pages and find
a suitable passage and read to him about Msr Bovary
and his bourgeois ideals.  As I read I glance at
Ignatio, he is lost in thought, watching the reflected
light from the pool on the trees that surround us.
After a time I stop and merely sit and stare at him.
Then I clear my throat and excuse myself.  I cross the
terrace and find my way into the depths of the house;
obstensively to go to the restroom but really to check
the bug that is planted near his study.  The bug
checks out and I wash my hands in the restroom.

I enter the salon to find that Ignatio has come in
also.  He says, "Ah Manuel the wind has risen
slightly.  Why don't we go into my study so that you
can read some more."  I follow him into the study.
Manuel, why don't you get comfortable and have a drink
while I go see what is keeping Miguel."  He closed the
door behind him.  I walked over to the desk and caught
a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the mantel.  My
6'7" height captured by the tilt of the mirror.  My
dark hair and well-defined chest make me look like a
statue, and like a statue the dark eyes are blank.

The door opening startles me and Emillio walks in.  He
has removed his chauffeur's coat and tie.  His white
shirt is partially unbuttoned and I can tell he's been
drinking.  I ask him if something is wrong as he walks
up to me.  Suddenly he punches me in the jaw and I
know no more.

Eric is resting against me; one arm thrown casually
across my chest his warm breath is in my ear.  The
night breeze moving through the tent chills our naked
bodies and I see goose flesh rise along his arm.  He
sighs in his sleep and snuggles against me, the blonde
hair that covers his chest trapping warm air against
my side.  The warm rush of emotion colors my cheeks.
I realize that I have never loved anyone but myself
until this moment.


 When I wake up I am tied up and sitting in a chair.
Ignatio is standing over me. "Ah you have rejoined
us."  He says.  "Manuel, if that is your name, you are
leaving me now.  I haven't found out exactly who you
really are but I know enough to know you must be
eliminated.   How unfortunate...parting is such sweet
sorrow."  He laughs and turns to Emillio.  "Make him
suffer for his betrayal."  He salutes me as he walks
out of the room.  As my mind adjusts to the new
situation, I realize that Quantico has gotten it wrong
and my cover is blown.  Emillio roughly pulls me to my
feet and walks me out of the house and into the
waiting Mercedes.  I am thrown into the corner by the
speed at which Emillio takes the curves of the drive.

"Where are you taking me, Emillio?" I demand.  In
answer he looks into the rearview mirror and smiles.
I loose track of where we are, but I can tell we are
somewhere near the river.

The car turns suddenly into a deserted lane and throws
gravel as it slides to a stop.  We are at a deserted
building of unknown history, and the ropes around my
wrists have made my hands numb I try and bring them
back to life, because I will need them if there is any
opportunity.  I don't plan on going out quietly.  "He
who is master of his passions doth draw the circuit."
My mind hums.

Emillio drags me out of the back seat and pushes me
roughly toward the building I stumble and fall.  He
catches up to me and hauls me back up to my feet by
grabbing the waistband of my pants.  As he hauls me
upright his hand lingers on my ass and I look at him.
He is smiling again, and says hoarsely "I'm gonna kill
you, but first I'm gonna use you.  Don Ignatio knows
how I make people suffer, that is why he called me.
Miguel would have merely shot you."  As he was saying
this, his big hands were running across my crotch.  My
flesh responded automatically.  Emillio laughs and
says  "You gonna like this maybe more than I thought."

My mind responds automatically, I have to play this
just right.  Too passive might turn him off, too much
fighting won't get my hands untied.  "You bastard!" I
spit at him in Portuguese.  "I wouldn't a picked you
as a faggot."  His fist flashed and I am again
unconscious.

I am in a warm place.  The bright sun of North
Carolina is shining down on Eric as he kneels by the
lake.  He is a blonde Narcissus looking at his
reflection.  He turns and looks at me, our eyes meet
and he smiles.

I am brought back to reality when my body is roughly
dropped.  I open my eyes and they slowly adjust to the
darkness.  There is a warm yellow light dimly burning
out of sight, "candle or lantern" I think.  Emillio is
caressing my stomach that has been reveal by my
T-shirt being dragged out of my pants.  His weight is
pressed against my thigh and I can feel his erection.


"Yeah, I'm gonna stuff you full."  His hoarse
breathing is audible in the echoing darkness.  His
hands roughly undo my jeans and he tugs them down
around my ankles.  He rips my jockeys off also and my
hardening dick is visible in the dim light.  He gently
slides his rough hand over my shaft, and I moan.  He
chuckles to himself and starts to unfasten his pants.
His thighs are sculpted out of hard muscle and his
abbreviated shorts can barely contain his massively
hard dick.

"Untie my hands Emillio, and I'll help you."  I state
flatly.  He laughs and plunges a large knife into the
wood of the table near my head.  He is fondling my
dick, which is hard and dripping precum.   " You
Bastard, " I murmur harshly.  I am concentrating on my
hands trying to make them feel something more than the
pins and needles.  The knife is near my hands also.
He pushes one of his fingers into my hole roughly and
I yell at him, "Stop it you fucking queer!" as I flail
against him and the ropes that tie me down.

Emillio laughed meanly and says "You gonna get
something bigger than this.  I've been watching you
ever since the first time you came to Don Ignatio's.
Now I'm gonna give it to you."  He lowered his shorts
and his dick bounced up and off his stomach.  It is at
least 9 inches long and uncut.  He rolls the foreskin
back and forth revealing the large mushroom shaped
head slick with precum.  He is fucking my ass with his
finger and jacking himself off with the other hand.
Then he slides up tight against me and rubs his
dripping dick on my thigh.  His hoarse moan echo's in
the darkness.  I slowly start easing my hands toward
the knife but I have to concentrate and be very slow.

Emillio removes his finger and I feel the head of his
massive cock pressing against my hole.  "You're gonna
get fucked hard man."  He growls as he pushes his cock
deep into me.

"Stop it, damn you!"  I yell at him letting a little
of the panic I feel, sound in my voice.

"Oh yeah, fight me...you white whore!"  He is pounding
into me with his eyes closed.  I raise my legs and
squeeze his thighs between mine.

"Get that big dick outta me, you fucking queer."  I
moan. I start sliding the ropes that bind my wrist
against the edge of the knife.  Emillio is flushed and
breathing hard with his eyes closed.  Suddenly he
bends down and starts kissing me roughly and I
respond.  "Oh yeah."  I moan  "Harder man, give it to
me harder!"

Emillio is moaning with each thrust.  My hands are
free now; just a thread of the rope is left together.
I just have to reach the breath freshener vial that is
in my pants.  Suddenly Emillio starts to cum, he is
thrust deep into me and I feel the hot jiz heating my
guts.  I am lost in my own passion now and as he opens
his eyes I start to cum, shooting big wads of hot
cream all over my stomach.  Emillio touches his finger
into one of the puddles and gently draws a circle on
his stomach with my cum.   He slowly pulls out of me
and I feel open and empty as his jiz leaks out of me.

"You liked if after all, didn't you whore?"  He growls
as he pulls his clothes back on.  "Too bad you got to
die, I could have used some more of that."  He pulls
my jeans back up so that I can stand up.  Jerks me to
my feet and tells me to walk toward the light.

"Who hath drawn the circuit of the predator."  My mind
whispers.

"Too bad we won't get to do this again, Emillio" I say
in English.  As I snapped the last thread holding the
ropes together and reach into my pants pocket.  In a
lightening flash I uncap the vial and spray it in
Emillio's face.  His sudden gasp of inhaled air
carries the extremely potent narcotic deep into his
lungs.  He staggers shakes his head and collapses.  I
hold my breath and run toward the light.  When I reach
the end of the building I find a lantern burning near
a wood packing crate that stands beside a shallow
hole.  I was stopped suddenly by the sight of, what
would have been my coffin and grave.

I am standing in the sunny park like field.  There are
flowers everywhere really, sprouting unnaturally from
the rocks that anchor them.  I look at my feet and
slowly read the inscription in bronze.  "Eric
Westerly, born 1963, died 1991.  He who has mastered
his desire doth draw the circuit of the lion,
Confucius."  I bend down and place the small bouquet
of violets on the bronze plaque near the Star.

Emillio is still unconscious as I tie him up.  The
narcotic vapor had dissipated enough to allow me to
return to him.  I slowly cut every piece of clothing
off of him and take the pile and put it in the bottom
of the grave and set it on fire.  Then having
rearranged my clothing I take Emillio's car keys and
head out to the Mercedes.  The motor roared to life
and I casually drove in the direction of the city
whose lights I could see against the clouds.  While I
drive I dial the escape number on the cell phone in
the car and when the French voice answers I say "Ma
Mere."  Immediately the voice reads an address to me
near the airport.  We break off and I steer the big
black sedan onto the freeway.

"You know, I don't know what I'd do without you, man."
 Eric said and punched me lightly on the shoulder.  We
are sitting on the edge of the lake in the warm summer
sun, letting our bodies dry from our swim.  We only
had two more days before our unit shipped out to Saudi
Arabia and Iraq.

"You know that we can't always be together, don't you
Eric?" I said quietly.  "The Corporation will be
sending me to all kinds of places when we get back,
and I won't be able to tell you when or where.  Are
you sure you can handle that?"  I paused, "Maybe you
should bail now, man."  I said softly to his
reflection in the lake water.

He chuckled softly and said, "Just let me know your
safe, when you can, and be with me when you can."  I'm
not gonna bail on my best buddy.

The sun was bright as I steered the small compact
rental car into the cemetery.  I don't understand why
I have to come back here after every assignment, maybe
so he will know I'm safe still.  I sit in the grass
beside the bronze marker and stare at it till my
vision blurs with the concentration.  I gently lay the
single blossom of Bougainvillea on the bronze.  "I'm
back." I murmur.