Date: Fri, 19 May 2006 14:57:15 -0500
From: H. Rick Cantwell <zestful@myexcel.com>
Subject: Rascal 32: Conclusion

Rascal the Conclusion
Rascal's Revelation and Dick's Dilemma


	The trip to Stallsbury to talk to Coach Wallace was planned for
my day off because Lyle had work to do on his laptop and he asked me
to drive.  It was just as well because I was driving his officemobile
--a nondescript car with every high-tech device imaginable.  Every
three or four minutes he was reaching behind the back of the driver's
seat to retrieve a fax.  That was when he wasn't answering IMs on his
computer or answering a dozen cryptic cell phone messages.  I had
hoped to talk to him about using the cabin for a week--just Rascal
and me.  I wanted my boy all to myself for a whole week just to show
him how much I loved him.  Not love love but, you know, love!
	"Spunky! Turn! This is our exit!" Lyle yelled.
	His shouting startled me and I instinctively jerked the wheel to
the right.  The car tailgating me just about clipped my fender--Lyle's
fender--before he slammed on his brakes--AFTER angrily blowing his
horn.  I was amazed at how Lyle could do four things at once but I
couldn't even keep my mind on my driving.  He had to do THAT, too.
	When we got to the restaurant where Coach Wallace insisted we
meet, Lyle shut down all the high-tech equipment, tucked his laptop
into a bulletproof safe under the dashboard and took a deep breath.  I
had seen him do it many times.  It was his way of switching from work
mode to "daddy" mode.
	"Do I get to wear aviator sunglasses and pack some heat?" I asked
with a smile, once again thinking of myself as a secret service agent
whenever I was around Lyle when he was working.
	"Keep talking like that and you'll get to wear the chauffeur's
cap," Lyle chuckled.  "Let's go."
	Looking at the sign over the bar's entrance to the restaurant I
said, "The Cock and Bull?"
	"Nice name for a gay and lesbian bar, dontcha think?" Lyle asked.
	"Not likely in this burg," I said derisively.
	Since it was two in the afternoon, in a sleepy little village,
there weren't any other cars in the parking lot, so I presumed we
arrived before our host.  We only had to stand at the "Please Wait To
Be Seated" sign for a moment before a hostess came up to seat us.
Blonde beehive hair, ruby red lipstick and the obligatory way of
snapping chewing gum took me straight back to the Sixties.
	"Coach Wallace said to ask for HIS table," Lyle said.
	Swallowing her gum with an audible 'gulp' and twitching her skirt
down over her hips to smooth out the wrinkles, she effused, "This way
please.  He's expecting you."
	From Lyle's astonished look, I figured he was thinking the same
thing I was.  'This woman needs to drag herself out of the Sixties and
thrust herself into the new millennium.'
	We followed her through the main seating area into a dining room
probably used for small private parties.  It had eight tables--all
empty, except one--and a dance floor the size of a postage stamp.  Most
importantly for the ultra-secretive Coach Wallace, I guessed, was that
it had a set of double doors that closed it off from the rest of the
restaurant and had no windows.
	Standing as we walked in, Coach Wallace shook hands and
introduced himself.  After insisting we call him Richie, he had us
order our drinks as promptly as possible and our hostess left
expeditiously.
	"I took the liberty of ordering the house specialty," Coach said,
"I hope you two eat meat.  If not, Mona can bring you a menu."
	"Nope," Lyle said with a smirk, "we're both big meat eaters."
	'Little meat, too,' I thought but kept my mouth shut.
	Mona knocked and brought in our drinks.  Coach and Lyle had
highballs while I stuck with black coffee.
	"Give us a few minutes, will ya, Mona?"
	"Of course," Mona said, bowing like she was in the presence of
royalty.  Her obvious display of adoration was making me feel
uncomfortable.  From the way Lyle's right leg was bouncing nervously, I
figured he was, too.
	"Uh," I said, "where's your car?  I didn't see any in the
parking lot when I drove in."
	"I didn't want anyone to know I was meeting you here so I had
Mona pick me up.  Her son's using her car, today."
	"Oh," I said uneasily.
	"I hope you don't mind if I get right to the point," Coach
Wallace said.  "Kevin told me you have a way of ... looking into things
without raising suspicion."
	"That's true," Lyle said but, by the way he said it, I knew he
deliberately didn't elaborate.
	"If anything I tell you gets out ... my career won't be worth
spit on a rhinestone."
	Just hearing Richie say that phrase startled me.  He looked and
talked like a well-educated professor.  He didn't look like a backwater
hick.  I wondered if he used this colloquial jargon to fit in around
here or if he was just trying to fool Lyle and me.
	"Secrecy is what I do.  I find out stuff, keep it quiet, and
pounce on the bad guys when they're least expecting it," Lyle said in
an everyday tone.  He wasn't trying to convince Richie one way or the
other whether he should reveal his 'secret' information.
	"There were six kids in this state at the beginning of last year
who had Olympic wrestling team potential."
	I saw Lyle bristle at the mention of the wrestling team because
Ryan had once been told HE had Olympic potential.
	"For one reason or another, four of 'em never made it.  There was
this boy in Chuckabee who was a natural.  He could wrestle a tsunami
and win.  He got caught dealing drugs.  Accused of it anyway," Richie
drawled.
	"Accused?" Lyle asked.
	"He claims he was set up.  He was tested for drugs and he was
clean.  So he got charged with selling, 'cuz there was so much of it."
	"What was it?"
	"Crack, crank, Meth ... somethin' like that."
	"His coach thinks he was framed, too, but Chuckabee High can't
afford to launch any kind of a major investigation."
	"What happened to the boy?" Lyle asked.
	"He comes from a small town.  Not more'n three hundred.  He was
given community service but the real tragedy was that he didn't get to
go to the Olympic trials because of it."
	"You said there were four," I said.
	"Another boy from a nearby community was caught loitering in a
park near his hometown where homosexuals frequent."
	"That wouldn't necessarily disqualify him, would it?" I asked.
	"No.  But a couple of days later, on an anonymous tip, the police
searched the boy's locker at school.  They found an envelope full of
kiddie porn and a backpack full of used condoms.  The damn stuff was
still ... well, it wasn't dried up, let's just put it that way."
	"He was accused of being a pedophile?" Lyle asked.  "How old is
the kid?"
	"Eighteen.  He was held back a year, but I understand forensics
identified the semen as coming from several different men.  They seemed
to think it was mature men, not guys in their early teens.  Oh, yeah,
and two of them were definitely from two different uh, African
Americans."
	"So he wasn't seducing young men and keeping their semen as
trophies," I said.
	This time Richie bristled.  That's when I remembered his brother
was Randall, the security guard at the bus station, who had a young-boy
preference.  I wondered if Richie knew that Randall liked little boys.
	"That's what the cops finally decided but they still can't find
out where all the 'evidence' came from."  Richie used his fingers to
make air quote marks,  "... or the anonymous tip."
	Mona knocked and brought in our lunches.
	Lyle and Wallace ordered another drink and Mona offered to bring
me a thermos of hot coffee so we wouldn't be disturbed.  After serving
the drinks, she left and closed the doors again.
	"Where was I?" Richie said.  "Well, anyway, the investigators
took so long and the kid couldn't leave the jurisdiction so HE missed
the trials, too."
	We began to eat.  The steak was flame broiled--pink but not
bloody.  Both the country fries, browned in bacon drippings, and the
steamed broccoli were fork tender and slightly al dente.  Everything
was exactly to my liking.
	"I ordered 'em medium rare.  If you want 'em well done, we can
send 'em back," Richie said.
	"You're obviously a connoisseur of fine dining," Lyle said.
"Your choice was perfect."
	'For a town of a couple thousand,' I thought, 'the Cock and Bull
has a world-class chef working in the kitchen and they probably don't
even know it.'
	While we ate, Richie continued, "Another boy, just east of here,
was picked up the day before the trials for DUI.  He had three empty
vodka bottles in the back seat.  He blew two point one."
	"That's enough to kill a grown man!" I said.
	"I know," Richie said.  "The boy swears he didn't drink and the
only reason he was driving was because he woke up and found himself in
the woods. He was just trying to find a phone to report what happened."
	"What do you mean by 'what happened'?" Lyle asked intrigued.
	"He says he thinks he was drugged."
	"By whom?" I asked.
	"He has no idea.  He was at a party.  There was no alcohol there.
The police confirmed that."
	"So he was given a date rape drug and ..." I said.
	"Yeah, but he wasn't raped or anything."
	"Unless you consider being force-fed alcohol and left to die a
form of rape." I said.  "So he missed the trials, too?"
	"Sure as gravy stains," Richie said.
	I couldn't help but smile.  His forthright honesty and backwoods
witticisms were getting to me.  He was so unlike Randall and his
annoying "... if you catch my drift."
	"I didn't start puttin' all this together until the DUI thing.
It seems MY boy, Charlie Morris, was the only competitor other than the
boy from Watchaprague to go to the tryouts.  Charlie, I'm afraid, was
just ... well ... he's good but not Olympic material.  When he said he
wanted to compete, I couldn't say no.  I had him wrestling till
midnight the night before the trials and had him sleep over at my place
so we could get an early start."
	"So just exactly what is it I'm supposed to be doing?" Lyle
asked.  "Do you have someone in mind or someone I should talk to?"
	"Well, that's the part that could cost me my career."
	"Could you elaborate."
	"Well, there was one other boy but his injury happened so long
ago I didn't put two and two together.  If I told you who I thought it
was and I'm wrong, I'm gonna be black-balled as far as coaching goes."
	"But if you're right," I said.
	"I'd be a snitch, a stool pigeon ... or whatever y'all call it
nowadays.  The other coaches would ... avoid me ... just out of
principle.  The referees wouldn't cotton to it none, either."
	I wondered if fear was causing Richie to regress into the local
speech pattern.
	"This other kid.  The one you said was injured.  What's he got to
do with this?" Lyle said.  "You said it was a while ago."
	"From what I've heard, and I've never seen him in action but his
reputation is that he's the only one in five states that could even
come close to beating Buster Benson, the boy from Watchaprague."
	"I'm not following you," Lyle said.
	That made ME feel better because I wasn't either.
	"When MY wrestler, Charlie, told me on the way home from the
trials what he'd heard ... about what happened to the other competitors
... well, I realized something was wrong.  Shady, if you will.  And this
was before I heard anything about the kid with the DUI."
	"Okay," Lyle said, still confused.
	"The boy that ended up in the hospital, Ryan somebody or other,
he was Buster's only competition.  But I think Buster leveled the
playing field by getting the others out of the way, too."
	Lyle was in a state of shock, hearing that he might have a lead
as to who put Rascal in the hospital.
	"All but Charlie," I said to give Lyle time to recover, "because
he was with YOU the whole time."
	"Right."
	There was a long uncomfortable silence while we continued to eat.
	"You know," Richie said, "It almost didn't happen that way.  I
didn't want anyone to know Charlie was sleeping over at my place
because I was afraid people would talk."
	"Talk?" I asked.
	"Think ... the worst."
	"The worst?" Lyle asked, like he was pulling teeth.
	"You know ... teacher ... student ... sex.  Lot of that in the
news lately.  We're a small town, but we ain't out of touch.  I didn't
want him being accused of being gay or anything.  But it was so late
when we got done with practice and ..."
	"It's a good thing you did what you did.  Otherwise, whoever did
those other things ... if they're related ... might have burned down
Charlie's house with him in it." I said.
	"Ohmigod!  You're right.  Something COULD have happened."
	"Something far worse than being accused of being gay," I said,
feeling a need to defend gays to this small town coach.
	Apparently recovering from his shock, Lyle asked, "So do you
think it was this Buster character or his coach ... or maybe the kid's
dad?"
	"Any or none of them," Richie said.  "All I know is Kevin said
you'd know how to follow up on any leads I gave you."
	"How do you know Kevin?" I asked.
	"We used to be neighbors when we were kids.  Kevin and Randall
... my brother ... were tight back then.  Anyway, I heard Kevin had
some friends in the police force and I figured he probably knew some
underworld characters who could give him some leads, too."
	"Yeah, he does ... including some ex-cons," Lyle said with a
glint in his eye in my direction.
	"Since you met Randall, uh ... well, I think it's important for
you to know, uh ... well, as far as I'm concerned, he's misunderstood.
He's an eager kind of guy.  He meets someone and ... he just wants to
help 'em out ... any way he can.  Sometimes that means ... doing things
a little unorthodox."
	"If Kevin vouches for him, you don't have to explain," Lyle said.
	"I know you don't have any reason to investigate this," Richie
pleaded, "but in the name of all things fair, those boys deserve to
have their names cleared.  As sure as farts float in bath water, they
didn't deserve to be robbed of their opportunities to go to the tryouts
like they were, either."
	"I'll look into it," Lyle said.  "And as for a reason, let's just
say justice is good enough for a start."
	"There's just one thing," Richie said nervously.  "I can't be
involved."  Looking around the empty room, he said, "As you can see, I
booked the restaurant at a time when I knew they wouldn't be busy."
	"I guess that explains the lack of customers when the food is
this good," I said.
	"Mona's even made up some excuses, as a favor to me, so they
weren't seating people while you two were here."
	"For my benefit or yours?" Lyle asked.
	"Both.  Kevin told me you were pretty high up in the government.
By the way, if you need to get in touch with me, can you go through
Mona?"
	"No problem," Lyle said, "we try to keep contact with our sources
to a minimum.  In fact, if I need more information, maybe my wife can
go shopping with Mona.  I'll pick up the tab."
	"You're kidding, right?"
	"No, why?"
	"Mona shops like ants at a picnic.  When she's done shopping,
there's not even any crumbs left."
	"Amanda, too."
	"Dessert?" Richie asked.
	"No," Lyle said, looking at his watch, "I've got to get going."
I can't tell you how happy you've made me by choosing to come forth
with this information.  You probably won't get any recognition for this
but you'll have my undying gratitude."
	Pointing to Lyle, I said, "Coming from him, that means
something."
	On the way home, I looked at the name on Mona's business card.
"Mona Morris," I said.  "I wonder if she's Charlie's mom."
	"And if she's Coach Wallace's girlfriend?" Lyle asked.
	"She idolizes him, that's for sure," I said.  Then changing the
subject, "So, do you think you've got enough information to start an
investigation?"
	"No doubt.  I just hope the locals involved did their jobs right.
I'm gonna need all the forensics I can get."
	"My bet's on the dad."
	"Mine, too.  Soccer MOMS make threats but they don't usually
follow through on them.  Sports DADS however, are usually such
testosterone-filled macho maniacs, they'll make GOOD on their
threats."
	As soon as we got back, Lyle had his men begin investigating the
information Coach Wallace gave us.  From what little bit Ryan told me
about it, Kevin was instrumental in the investigation, too.
	The next time I heard from Ryan, he said his dad had flown to
the Middle East--something to do with new additional information
surfacing about the Abu Gharib scandal.  Even so, Ryan said he was
eagerly anticipating our weekend together.
	When it finally arrived, Ryan and I drove up to the lake on a
Friday night after work. We were so eager to relax, we jumped out of
the car, stripped down to our boxers and went swimming before we even
unlocked the cabin.  We didn't even bother to unpack the car.
	As we were getting out of the water, I heard the unmistakable
"whump, whump, whump" sound of the rotary blades of a helicopter.  I
watched in awe as it began to descend.  The skids had torpedo-like
canisters on top of them and they began to rotate until they were
underneath the skids.  As the copter got closer to the water, I
realized they were pontoons.  Throttling down the blade, it taxied in
to the little sandy beach near the cabin.
	"Sand fleas annoy dirty dogs," the pilot called out to Ryan as he
jumped out of the chopper and rushed toward him.
	"What?" I asked.
	"You're kidding!" Ryan said, dumbfounded.
	The pilot shot eye daggers at Ryan.
	"Dirty dogs need a flea bath," Ryan said mechanically.
	"Let's go," the pilot said.  "Everything you'll need is onboard."
	Looking down at his wet underpants, Ryan shrugged his shoulders.
	"Everything," the pilot said commandingly but politely.
	Turning to me, Ryan said, "I've got to go."
	"Ryan!" I yelled in confusion.
	"Kevin will explain."
	"What the fuck's goin' on?" I yelled after him.
	As he raced toward the chopper that was bouncing lazily in the
waves its rotors were creating, Ryan held his hand to his ear to imply,
"Call me."
	I raced to the car to grab my cell phone--the one Ryan gave me
shortly after we met.  I flipped it open and saw a text message sent
only a moment earlier.
	"ILUD2"
	I pressed speed dial.
	The electronic voice said, "I'm sorry, the number you have dialed
is no longer in service."
	I stared at the text message.  "I love you, Daddy 2."
	Because of Ryan's reaction to seeing the helicopter pilot and
their exchange of password phrases, I wasn't too worried--especially
since Ryan went willingly ... almost eagerly.  Even so, it was in my
nature, so I fretted during the long drive home--mostly about why I was
kept in the dark about it ... whatever "it" was.  Apparently Ryan
thought "it" wasn't supposed to happen this soon, so I fretted about
why it had fucked up "our weekend."
	About two hours into the drive home--alone--I decided to take a
piss stop. It had been a long drive up and I was driving back the same
day.  'I know I should have spent the night, just to rest up,' I
berated myself, 'but I know I won't be able to sleep, either, so ...
what's a guy to do?'
	After draining my lizard, I decided to call Ryan at home.  All I
got was the voice mail.  I knew the caller ID would identify me, so I
didn't leave a message.  After another two hours of driving, I had
myself pretty much calmed down--until I punched in the code at the
gate.  While I was waiting for it to slowly open, I saw the driveway
was full.  I recognized Jeremy's car, Rover's truck and Jason's van.
My heart seized suddenly, like it was gripped by the fingers of death.
I was inside the house before the gate finished closing.
	"What's going on?" I yelled as I bounded down the stairs to the
family room.  Looking around, I saw Tyler, Taylor, Jeremy, and Jason
were talking among themselves.  Amanda was being comforted by Juanita.
Kevin was on his cell phone, although he was talking with his hands as
if the listener could see his motions.
	"Lyle's been captured by terrorists," Jason said in a whisper so
Amanda didn't have to hear it again.
	"Are you sure?"
	"Ryan was flown to Lyle's headquarters.  He looked over the
tape the terrorists sent.  After reviewing the video, Ryan told Kevin
there was a lapse of time on the tape.  That's what Kevin's on the
phone about, right now."
	"How could he tell?" I asked.
	"Lyle used the body language code Ryan devised in one of his
espionage scenarios to tell them where to start looking.  Then Ryan
realized the tape was edited when he saw one guy at the beginning of
the video was wearing black pants with tiny white stripes but solid
black pants by the end of it."
	"Rascal always was a stickler for detail. So where's Ryan, now?"
	In a morbid tone, like we were in a funeral home, Jason said,
"Rascal's in the air."  I think he used Ryan's pet name to ease my
discomfort before he said, "... on his way to the Middle East."
	I felt the blood drain from my face and neck and I thought I
was going to faint.
	"But I didn't get a chance to say goodbye," Jeremy whined.
	"He must have wanted it that way because I wasn't told,
either," I said bitterly.
	"But what if ... I mean ..." Jeremy said, stymied.
	"When's he gonna be back?" Rover asked as he and Brad came in
from where they had been talking out by the pool.
	"There's no telling," Kevin said as he flipped his cell phone
closed.
	"He's going in undercover.  Once he's in ..." Tyler said.  Then
he shot a frightened glance at Kevin.
	Kevin nodded reassuringly.
	"In where?" Jeremy asked.
	"Somewhere in the Middle East," Kevin said sullenly.
	"He could get killed over there!" Jeremy shouted before he
realized Amanda didn't need to hear THAT particular concern.
	"Can I tell him about the plan?" Tyler whined.
	"Yeah, but just enough to make 'em feel better," Kevin said
reluctantly.
	"Lyle had him write up this 'what if' scenario for our troops
over there and detail how they could respond ..."
	"It was to be used as part of each GI's regular terrorist
training," Kevin added for clarity.
	"... in case they got caught and videotaped," Tyler continued,
"they could communicate without words."
	"But it looks like RYAN's gonna be the guinea pig on this
mission, though," Kevin said worriedly.
	"He knows what he's doing," Tyler said.  "Taylor and I have been
helping him learn to read and write Farsi, Arabic and Hebrew.  We'll be
his contacts back here in the States."
	"He's just a kid! He can't ..."
	"That's what we're hoping the enemy will think, too," Tyler said.
"I can't tell you all the details ... hell, I don't even KNOW all the
details ... but once he gets in, he'll just be a kid of some contractor
over there."
	Taylor jumped in and said, "He'll feed Tyler and me e-mails that
can only be decoded by F.I.B."
	"F.I.B.?" Jeremy said querulously.
	Kevin added, "F.I.B is who Lyle really works for.  Not the FBI,
CIA, DEA, or any of those other alphabets."
	"What the hell is F.I.B?"
	"Federal Intelligence Bureau.  It's a secret agency that was
created by the present administration to coordinate our national ...
FBI and CIA ... information with foreign agencies like Interpol and
such."
	"Why is it secret?" Jeremy asked.
	"If no one knows about it, they can't try to hack into its
archives," Kevin said.
	"So the F.B.I thing was all a diversion?" I asked.
	"Taylor and I were diversions too," Tyler said shamefaced.
	"But we were his own age" Taylor said, "so, hopefully, the
terrorists think we were just doing teenage stuff together."
	"Well, you were!" I said.
	"Actually, when Taylor and I were with Ryan, she was teaching him
how to look and act like a girl.  How to put on makeup, walk in high
heels ... everything."
	"What the fuck for?  I thought YOU were the one into cross-
dressing?"
	"Ryan needed to see me dressed as a girl so he could find out
what he could do to improve his girlish image."
	I fell heavily into one of the oak card table chairs, stunned.
	"It was part of his plan.  There's an Arab intelligence officer
and his wife who live in Iraq but they're secretly working for Lyle,"
Kevin said.  "They visited the U.S. as tourists last week but when the
guy  returns to Iraq, his wife will secretly stay here and Ryan will
take her place."
	"How?"
	"He'll be wearing a burka."
	"But there's still a chance he could be strip-searched by a
female immigration agent."
	"The guy's a well-respected diplomat, so that's not likely.
Believe me, Ryan's left nothing to chance in his scheme," Kevin said
reassuringly.
	"I can't imagine he WOULD but what if he gets lost or separated
from this ... diplomat?" I asked, almost spitting out the last word
like it was bitter poison.
	"Ryan memorized the maps of four entire countries, including
their distances and terrain," Tyler said.  "He knows where every city,
town and village is, where every safe house is, the names of everyone
he can trust.  He's like a freakin' sponge.  I quizzed him every night
and he got every answer right."
	"In times of stress, people forget things," I said.
	"I asked him the information backwards and forwards.  I'd give
him a location, he'd give me the city.  I'd give him the name of a safe
house and he'd tell me the town."
	"But he could still get lost in the caves or the deserts or
whatever.  Then we'd never find him."
	"Dr. Zender implanted a transmitter in Rascal's perineum.  Even
if he's kicked in the balls, it won't be damaged."
	"You wanna know what's neat?"  Taylor asked excitedly.
	"What?"
	"It's encased in cartilage, or something like that, to look like
an ordinary sebaceous cyst."
	"Eweh!  Those damn things stink if they're popped, don't they?"
Jeremy asked, looking over at Juanita for silent confirmation.
	"Yep, so it's not likely that anyone who captures him will want
to open it up," Tyler said smugly as if Ryan had thwarted yet another
problem.
	"Capture him?" I asked nervously.
	"IF he gets captured," Taylor said, trying to placate me.  "It's
not likely."
	"But what's really amazing about Ryan's plan is," Tyler
interrupted, "Lyle told me he even included a 'What If' section in the
plan for when he comes home."
	"Why would he need a 'What If' section once he's home?" I asked.
	"If he's successful in his mission over there ... when he gets
back to the States, he might need to go into hiding."
	"Hiding him?  Why would he need to be hidden?"
	"You know, if the terrorists put a bounty on his head," Kevin
said.
	Jason added, "Every guy at the rape in the woods, every guy at
the Christmas party at the cabin, every guy at the pecker measuring
party knows Rascal.  There's not a one--no matter what his age--that
wouldn't do everything he could conceivably do to help Rascal.  I'm
not saying they'd lay down their life for him--although SOME would.
But what I'm talkin' about is like protecting him ... hiding him."
	"Rascal could lose himself in that big of a network of men and
boys," Tyler said proudly, like he was the one who came up with the
solution himself.
	"But a bounty?" I asked.
	"When Ryan first devised this scheme," Kevin said ... "let's
just say ... the guy he was going after was bigger than Saddam
Hussein."
	"That's the beauty of Ryan's system'" Kevin said.  "These guys
back home weren't family.  They weren't even friends.  They showed up,
had fun and went home.  Ryan's never seen 'em again, since.  But if he
showed up at their door in the middle of the night ..."
	"He'd be welcome ... no questions asked," I said, understanding
what Jason was getting at.
	"Exactly," Jason agreed.
	"Ryan drew up this plan a couple of years ago ," Kevin
explained, "and presented it to his dad.  Of course, he never expected
Lyle was going to be the star of the show.  Lyle, with Kevin's help
and influence in the police and fire-fighter community, started building
a network of safe houses."
	"That's right," I said thoughtfully.  "The guys at the Peter
Party came in from like three or four different states, didn't they?"
	"Each of those carefully selected guys, by the way, have family
members in other states and around the world."
	"No way!" I said, still amazed that this had begun over two
years ago and I didn't know anything about it.
	"Seven of which are scattered throughout the Middle East."
	"Rascal did all this," I said with complete confidence, knowing
Ryan was fully capable of creating something this complex.
	"Yep."
	"How come I wasn't told?" I asked, my heart aching as much as my
nuts would have if they had been kicked unexpectedly.
	"Lyle told us not to tell you because you have so much influence
over Ryan's judgment," Tyler said.
	"YOU knew and kept a secret!" I said, looking directly at Tyler.
"You?  Oh my god!"
	"You were Ryan's diversion," Taylor said in an attempt to ease
the pain of my shock.  "Ryan used to say you were 'his rock'."
	"His rock?  He never said I was his rock!" I protested.
	"All the time ... just never to you."
	"He said he didn't want you to get a swelled head over it,"
Taylor smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
	"Why me?  Why a ... rock?"
	"He knew Lyle was probably being watched by Al Quieda.  Because
of his high-profile position in the government's anti-terrorism
division, Ryan figured his and his mom's activities were being watched,
too.  So he leaned heavily on you to keep him ... acting like a kid."
	"Instead of an international spy-in-training," Taylor attempted
to clarify.
	"Act like a sex maniac, you mean," I said.
	"When he was around you, he could be himself ... relax ... work
off the tension."
	"Sexual tension," I said with a smile.
	"That, too, but mostly the psychological tension of going
undercover ..."
	"I just can't believe be wouldn't want to say goodbye before he
left," I said.
	"Dick ... Spunky ... it was my decision," Kevin said.  "I knew
Ryan would cry his heart out if he had time to say goodbye to you in
person.  As it is, right now, his heart is aching but his mind is
distracted by the urgency of the mission.  When the separation anxiety
hits, he'll be able to cry in private.  But for now, he's preoccupied.
As for you and your feelings, all I can say is I'm so very sorry.  I
love you to death, dude, but Ryan comes first.  You've got all of US to
help you through this.  Just remember, Ryan's only got the mission to
comfort him."
	"COMFORT!" I screamed.
	"Hey," Kevin said, "he's the one who volunteered for it.  Hell,
he WROTE it!" Kevin said sternly.
	Juanita interrupted us and said, "Amanda needs to sleep.  Can you
guys take this somewhere else?  I'm gonna stay here with her for a few
days."
	We all left by the patio door and walked around the house to our
cars.  Before we departed, we agreed we all had other things we needed
to do.  Although I was startled to see Jeremy hug his dad comfortingly,
I was glad to see it.
	By late Friday night, I was exhausted.  I went home and fell
into bed without even getting undressed.  I woke up Saturday--several
times--but didn't get out of bed until my bladder told me it was
"that" or buy a new mattress.  As I peed, I saw it was 11:45 AM.
Looking down the hall on my way back to bed I thought, 'This apartment
has never been this lonely.'
	It was 1:30 PM when I woke up again.  I tossed and turned,
refusing to think about Rascal but my mind couldn't find the "track"
another train of thought departed from.  At one point, I decided I
would phone the Emporium, cancel my vacation and go in to work on
Sunday--just to get my mind off Ryan. By 3:30 and still in bed, I
talked myself out of THAT foolish move.
	In my mind, I was cussing Ryan for keeping me in the dark.  I
thought I was his friend.  I thought we could trust each other.  Then
I remembered I had been Ryan's "diversion."  I was the "place" he went
to be a normal little kid--normal for Rascal.  I was his safe haven.
Those kind of thoughts made me cry.
	When I was done with the tears, the sobs--those wracking pit-
of-the-stomach kind--I got up, showered and ambled into the kitchen
without any real purpose other than a cup of coffee.  I don't know why
but I fixed blueberry pancakes--a comfort food, I guess.  I made too
many--of course.  It made me cry--again--to think that Ryan wasn't
there to eat his share.
	Sometime during the day--after it got dark--I flipped through
my porno CDs that were in the footstool storage.  I didn't bother to
watch any but I pulled out the first two Ryan and I watched together,
sat on the couch and held them to my chest until I fell asleep.
	The sun was just brightening the night sky with its eerie pre-
dawn aura as I stepped into the shower.  I dried off, microwaved a cup
of Saturday's leftover coffee and got dressed.  I didn't "decide" what
to wear.  I just closed my eyes and grabbed something.  "Nobody pays
me for the way I look," I said to my empty apartment.  I got to the
door, planning to go out but with no particular destination in mind,
when I looked over at the CDs lying on the sofa.  I sat down, picked
them up and started crying again--until I felt myself falling asleep.
	Just as I was getting drowsy I heard a knock at my door.  I
got up, still holding the CDs and headed toward the door.  I thought
a knock at the door was unusual since I usually had to buzz people in.
But after all I'd been through over the past 48 hours, I guess nothing
surprised me.
	Opening the door, I saw the most stunning man I'd ever seen in
my life---bronze skin, blonde hair, sparkling eyes, brilliant white
teeth.  But it was the gold brocade chest patch stitched on a black
shirt that informed me he was from the F.I.B.
	"Sir, The Spunky Fox has asked me to personally hand-deliver
this to you."  His 'at attention' demeanor indicated it was more of an
order than a request.
	"The what?  The who?" I asked before I put it all together.
He was talking about Rascal.
	"Uh ... thank you ... I guess."  I was at a loss for words,
both from his gorgeous appearance and from the CD he handed me.  It
was a clear plastic and black case with no kind of markings, whatso-
ever.  The CD inside was plain silver with just the manufacturer's logo
on it.  It could have been bought anywhere.
	"I've been asked to wait for my further orders, sir."
	"Orders?" I asked.
	Major Gorgeous pointed silently to the CD in my hand.  It was
only then that I realized I had the two porno CDs in my hand, too--with
the graphic pictures toward him.  "You might find instructions on that,
sir," he said, his voice sounding more like music to me than speech.
	I walked over to the CD player and slipped it in and turned on
the TV before I remembered to invite my messenger in.
	"I'm sorry.  I've been so distracted lately, I'm not thinking
straight.  Come in.  Have a seat.  All I have is day-old coffee.  Can I
get you a pop?"
	"Thank you, sir.  I'll stand.  I understand this won't take
long."
	"Oh," I said, assuming it was a 'no' to the drink offer, too.
"Uh, by the way, you don't have to call me sir.  I'm not with the
military ... or anything."
	"I prefer to call you sir," he said with a certain finality.
	On the screen was Ryan's eyes pleading with me like he was
agonizing over what to say.  "You know all that special training Dad's
been having me do--the karate, kung fu and all that martial arts
stuff?"
	I nodded my head as if he could see me.  Ryan looked off to one
side as if to get permission to continue.
	"I know this is starting to sound like one of my espionage
tales, but in reality, I'm starting to live one.  This is what I've
been training for all my life.  I know I told you Dad just trained me
in this stuff so I'd know how to protect myself.  But ever since I knew
I was gay, Dad's been grooming me ... I volunteered, actually ... to go
undercover.  That's why I ... I ..."
	Tears welled in his eyes but refused to spill.
	"Spunky, I used you.  I needed to learn all about being gay and
what it was like to be in love so I could learn how to divest myself of
it.  Then Dad and I used Kevin and all his friends--even Dr.
Wasserdyne.  I learned how to survive a rape, a beating--although that
wasn't planned--and freezing cold.  Of course, that was kinda
vicarious, through Tyler.  I practiced how to blend in when I needed to
hide and how to stick out so I could be found when I needed to.  All
those other men taught me how to endure, without emotion, sex with
undesirables.  You taught me how to endure loving and being loved
without getting so attached I could get myself killed.  Oh shit!  This
isn't coming out right at all."
	Ryan gulped back a constriction in his throat.
	"Spunky, you know I love you and I couldn't leave without
telling you that.  I know after telling you all about my deception, I
have no right to ask you for anything.  But if necessary, would you go
into hiding for the rest of your life to be with me?" Please give the
person who delivered this CD your answer."
	"Of course I would!" I said to the TV.  Then turning to Major
Gorgeous, I said,  "Tell him 'Yes.'  Tell him ..."
	"That's all he needs to know, sir.  Anything more could endanger
his well-being."  Then he turned on his heels and left.
	I sat stunned for almost five minutes before I reacted.  I
grabbed my keys and headed for the car.  I didn't know where I was
going but I needed to drive.  I do my best thinking behind the wheel
... there and in the shower.
	Before I knew it and without any remembrance of driving there, I
was at the church I had once taken Tyler to for confession.  There was
an empty pew about three rows from the back and I sat on the end.  When
I realized I was blocking the entrance to all the other seats in the
row, I slid over until I was more in the center.  I sat there thinking,
'I should have stayed sitting on the end so I could leave if I wanted.'
About then, someone sat next to me on my right.  I didn't bother to
acknowledge them.  I was in no mood for "small talk."
	After a quiet moment, I heard, "You okay, Spunky?"
	Tyler was looking at me, grief-stricken.  He was all clean and
shiny, his hair spiked--just right--and he was smiling to mask his
loneliness.
	I pulled him into a hug--one I needed from HIM.
	"Is this a private moment or can anybody join in?"
	Turning to look over my left shoulder, I saw Jeremy standing
there.  Juanita was right behind him.  I stood up and hugged Jeremy and,
as he sat down, I hugged Juanita.  Before I could sit down again,
Taylor reached over her brother to hug me, too.
	With whispered conversation, I discovered Jeremy hadn't planned
this church visit, either.  He and Juanita just had an 'urge' to be
with Tyler and Taylor.  He apologized for not including me but
explained he didn't expect to find me in church.
	The Mass began and we all sat religiously still.  Sherita,
Taylor and Juanita, I noticed, sat primly with their legs crossed at
the knees.  Jeremy, Tyler and I sat knee-to-knee in that macho wide-V
posture men assume.  Shortly after the sermon began, Jeremy put his
right hand on my left thigh.  I looked down and saw his thumb
stealthily pointing to his crotch.  A long tube of hardened flesh had
snaked down his right pant leg.
	A moment later, Tyler patted my right thigh.  It occurred to me
that his fingertips were precariously close to my own raging boner--
also running the length of my right thigh.  I looked into his face and
his eyes darted toward his crotch.  He, too, was sporting a boner.  We
all three giggled at the same time--very reminiscent of Rascal's
giggle.
	After Sherita and Juanita shushed us, I thought, 'As long as I
... no, WE ... can get boners in the middle of Mass, Ryan is safe.'  A
little later, I amended that and thought, 'As long as I can still get a
hard-on, Rascal will be alive.'  I put my right hand on Tyler's thigh
and my left hand on Jeremy's.  A moment later, Jeremy nudged my hand
onto his hard-on and pressed my palm into it.
	While steadfastly looking at the priest as if nothing was going
on in our pew, Jeremy whispered, "I love you, Daddy.  I love you so much
and for so many reasons."
	It was at that moment I knew I would make it through until
Rascal returned.  'He will be safe,' I thought. 'His mission will be
successful and I'll have both my "sons" home with me again ... someday.
That's what faith is all about, whether it's faith in religion, faith
in life or faith in love.'
	The End.

Thanks for continuing to read Rascal.  Keep in touch with me at my NEW
email address: jockhunger@yahoo.com


Rascal Epilogue
Twists and Turns

	It has been more than six months since the helicopter lifted
Rascal out of my life like one of those frustrating claw machines at the
corner arcade.  During that time, a lot has happened.

	Amanda received word that Lyle was transported to a hospital in
Germany.  He will have to remain there for a couple of months while he
recovers from what was reported to her as malnutrition and "minor"
injuries.

	Brad has moved in with his dad--with Kevin's permission.  They are
working out the father/son master/slave issues one day at a time.  They
no longer need to see Kevin on a "professional" behavior-modification
basis--only as friends.

	Coach and Zack are forming a "Youth Group" similar to the Boy
Scouts but without the 'no gay' policy.  In fact, they intend to make it
available to grade school and junior high students who KNOW they are
gay and need caring and understanding adults.

	Jamie met a guy last month and I haven't seen a lot of him lately.
He phoned to say he thought he was in love--but, then, he thought that
about Ryan ... and me ... and Tyler and ...

	Jeremy and Juanita plan to get married as soon as Rascal returns
so he can be Jeremy's best man.  The newlyweds will live in married
housing on campus.  Jeremy got a full athletic scholarship while Juanita
got a full academic scholarship!  As far as I'm concerned, it couldn't
have happened to two more deserving kids.

	Kevin and Lyle's secretary, Luke, finally admitted they were
perfect for each other and Luke moved in with Kevin, bringing a room full
of sex toys, gadgets and other nefarious apparatus with him.

	Randall, the security guard from the bus station, is going to work
with Coach as a chaperone and mentor at the Youth Group meetings.

	Richie, Randall's brother who was the coach that helped get to the
bottom of Rascal's assault, was recruited by an out-of-state college to
head up their athletic department.  I'm sure Lyle's office had
something to do with that multi-million dollar contract.

	Buster Benson, the wrestler Richie ID'd as the potential lead pipe
assailant, is currently working as a bouncer at a strip club. He is
underage but that doesn't seem to bother the owners.  What's nice about
it is, it means Kevin and his crew always know where to find him--in case
they need to pick him up for whatever reason.  The ongoing investigation
has concluded that Buster had a "driver" that day.  Once the investigators
determine if it was his coach or his dad, arrests can be made and the
culprits will be proscecuted.

	Rover and Jeremy are friendly but not close.  Rover is being
patient with his son--something he seems to have mastered well--until
Jeremy can come to terms with his misconceived perception of his early
childhood.

	Jason has formed a secret society among the gay Christian
community.  They jokingly refer to it as the Jack-off for Jesus Society.
It began as a support group for Christians who knew they were gay but
knew, too, that God still loved them.  It has since blossomed into an
activity group that includes bible studies, a dating service and a safe
place to enjoy the freedom of sex with like-minded Christians.  Members
ALWAYS wear a cross while having sex as an acknowledgement of their
faith.

	Taylor continues to tease her father--nightly.  She has even gotten
him to the point where he is willing to butt-fuck her but he still
refuses to fuck her virginal vagina.

Tyler is working on a plan to change that.

	Sherita has begun spending more time at the church.  In addition
to working on the altar committee and attending choir practice twice a
week, Jason talked her into volunteering to work as a caller at the
bingo games twice a week.  Tyler and Taylor were very supportive of the
plan, too.

	Officer Dufour, the nasty cop that gave Rascal a hard time during
his driving lesson, is now serving time on drug-related charges.

	Officer Wilson, the nice cop, has been promoted.  His wife is
expecting a son in the fall.  He continues, however, to attend and
support all of Kevin's "charity" functions--especially when kids Zack's
age are involved.

	Rascal remains in hiding somewhere in the Middle East.  He told
Tyler and Taylor, through encrypted emails, that he was captured and
tortured--both physically and mentally.  He said he was able to escape
after enduring a twelve-hour gangbang because he was able to outlast
his tormentors.  Once they all fell asleep, assuming he had been fucked
into a coma, he was able to slip out of his bonds and sneak into the
desert to a safe house.  Kevin is planning a "Rascal Reunion" party.
He'll need a circus tent to house all the people who plan to attend!

	Drs. Wasserdyne and Zender have extended their research to not
only include gay men and boys but they have begun measuring nudist
communities in both the U.S. and Canada.

	My next story, "Sharin'" is being posted in the Bisexual area of
Nifty in the Adult/Youth and Incest categories.  I hope you'll look for
it.

	That said, I need to make one other comment.  Please indulge me.
I want to acknowledge Dean, my lover and partner of 37 years, for all
his support and for being my "first reader" and editor.  I think I am a
good writer but HE makes me be a better one.  Thanks, Dean.

	If you enjoyed this story, I encourage you to make a donation to
Nifty!  I have done it several times and I have not had credit card
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