Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2007 08:09:22 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@sympatico.ca>
Subject: Aurora Crusade - Chapter 11

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events or locales is entirely coincidental and/or used fictionally.

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Aurora Crusade

Chapter 12


Ace Grimes' Apartment - Saturday, 28 September 1976 - 2340 EDST (11:40 PM)


	While Gino used the washroom, Lester began to gather up his map and
papers. He said nothing as he worked. The Gunner sensed Lester's unease and
asked, "Is something bothering you?"
	Lester regarded the closed bathroom door and said quietly, "I can't
help thinking that but for the Grace of God, and you, that would be me in
there."
	Not unkindly, The Gunner asked, "Am I sensing a little sympathy for
young Gino?"
	Sighing, Lester shook his head. "Steve, have you ever worried about
where your next meal was coming from?" he asked.
	"No."
	"Or slept behind a dumpster, with nothing but a thin windbreaker to
keep the cold and snow out?"
	"No, Lester, I haven't."
	Lester flared, "Well I have." He looked toward the bathroom
door. They could hear water running. "At least Gino's clean," he observed
flatly. A low, bitter chuckle escaped Lester's lips. "Not like some," he
growled angrily.
	The Gunner regarded Lester a moment. "They have a rough life, I
suppose," he began, "but, Lester, they chose that life . . ."
	Waving his arm dismissively, Lester snapped, "You don't know
anything, Steve!"
	Rising slowly, The Gunner moved to where Lester was standing and
took him in his arms. "Okay, Lester, out with it."
	Unable to stop himself, Lester gave The Gunner a pitying look. "You
have no idea what we go through, Steve!" he said calmly. "I didn't choose
to be gay, and sure as hell Gino didn't choose to be gay! I didn't live in
a nice house, in a nice neighbourhood, with a mother and father who loved
me for myself, and not for what I was!" He ran his hand a cross his
face. "It's oh, sooo easy to patronize us, Steve! So damned easy!"
	"I was not patronizing you!" defended The Gunner.
	"Yes, you were!" returned Lester. "You 'suppose' that 'they' have a
rough life. You don't know, because you don't really know them, or me!"
	"I apologise, Lester."
	"Why?" Lester suddenly pointed his finger at The Gunner. "Were you
thrown out of the house because your father found out that you were gay?"
	The Gunner shook his head. "No."
	"Did your mother, the woman who had given you life, call you every
vile name she could think of, slap your face and disown you?"
	"No."
	"Did your brothers laugh at you, and call you a faggot, a queer,
and worse?" He shook his head. "Those same brothers whose dick you sucked
on a regular basis and who beat you up if you didn't give up your ass to
them?"
	The Gunner's face went ashen. "No," he said softly, shaking his
head.
	Laughing caustically, Lester said, "Not the life you had, eh
Steve?"
	"No."
	"Well, it's the life I had. There I was, standing in the middle of
the street, with nothing but the clothes on my back! My friends . . ."
Lester all but spat the word. "My dear friends, the boys who loved having
me around when they were horny, suddenly weren't there. A queer has no
friends, Steve. All he has is one of his own, another queer. All we have is
each other!"
	Once again Lester regarded The Gunner. "Gino is what he is because
he had no choice. How else was he to live? To eat, to put clothes on his
back? You judge him without knowing him!" Before The Gunner could protest,
Lester held up his hand. "It is so easy to look at spaced out kid, so high
on drugs that he doesn't know his own name, or where he is. You don't
question why he's taking drugs; you just look, and turn away!  "You can't
know, because you didn't ask, or were too disinterested to ask, why he took
them! You can't know that he's taking meth, or coke, or happy pills to take
away the pain, the hurt that he has to endure every day. You don't see the
little boy who is so hungry he'd do anything, and I mean anything, for a
decent meal, or a greasy hamburger. You've never had to look into the eyes
of a boy when he takes the ten bucks you've offered him to suck your dick!
You have no idea of the degradation, Steve. Only those who are in the life
know it. You can't truly know the rejection, the abuse, and the hatred that
we all endure. Only those who have lived it can understand it, can know
it."
	Lester suddenly burst into tears. "Steve, we have to give them a
chance! I know we can't help them all, but damn it we have to do
something!"
	Releasing Lester, The Gunner turned to stare into the distance. "I
do solemnly swear, upon my Oath, and upon these Symbols of my Faith, that I
will bear true allegiance to my Brothers in Knighthood . . ." he began. He
turned to Lester and continued quietly, " . . . that I will defend all
those of Our Brotherhood, and that I will in all things conduct myself in a
chaste manner, so that no dishonour will I bring upon the Order. I swear to
succour the ill and destitute. I avow to live my life according to the
precepts of duty and honour."
	"A noble thought," said Lester. He sniffed loudly. "Do you mean
it?"
	The Gunner nodded. "Until now, I thought I had," he said with a
small smile. He sat down and looked at Lester. Then he said, Thank you."
	Lester started. "For what," he asked, surprised.
	The Gunner shook his head. "I have been so obsessed with what we
are doing now that I couldn't see the trees for the forest." He laughed
bitterly and held up his hand. "I know, I know, a hackneyed cliché."
	"It is," agreed Lester. He regarded The Gunner a moment. "I'm not
suggesting we rescue the street boys. What I am suggesting is that we give
them the opportunity to rescue themselves."
	"What do you mean?"
	Taking a deep breath, Lester explained, "Steve, a lot of the boys
are on the streets because they don't have any other choice. They sell
their bodies to live."
	"I know that." The Gunner looked thoughtful a moment. "Lester, I
. . . I promised you, remember, that when the time is right, we'd try to do
something for the street boys." His voice grew softer as he said, "At the
moment I don't know how we'll do it, but we will find a way."
	Lester nodded. "I understand, and I know that there will be
failures. But Steve, all I want is for them to have the chance to change. I
don't want anybody to have to go through what I went through." Lester
frowned. "I have some ideas I would like you to consider. We can spread the
word and let the boys know that there's a place they can come to. They'll
be suspicious, and wary, but if we can show them that what we offer is a
chance, just a chance, to get out of the life, maybe some of them will
stay."
	The Gunner regarded Lester and said, "You're the Administrator of
the Hospital." He shrugged. "Administer. Find a way to take in more
boys. You've lived the life, I haven't. I don't what is required, you do. I
don't know how the boys who lived the life think. You do."
	"Yes, I do," replied Lester sadly.
	"Lester, what you ask is what I should have thought of doing. I'm
sorry for that. But we can make amends, I think."
	With a quick nod of his head, Lester replied as he held up the bank
wallet. "It will take time, and money."
	"We'll find the money," The Gunner said, thinking about the fortune
in emeralds hidden in the bedroom. Then he asked, "So, where do we start?"
	"You didn't ask when," Lester pointed out. "If I recall correctly,
you said we would try to do something once the boys are settled."
	"No, I didn't say when, and yes, I did say once the . . ." The
Gunner seemed to struggle for something to call the young boys they would
soon rescue. " . . . the 'Lost Boys' are settled."  He looked at
Lester. "That is for you to decide."
	"Me?"
	The Gunner chuckled. "It's your idea, you run with it. You can
start with Gino." He grinned. "Or perhaps Sepp and Gottfried."  Lester
could not prevent a look of utter disgust to flash through his
eyes. "They're a lost cause," he grumbled dismissively. "As for Gino . . ."
	At that moment the door to the bathroom opened and Gino
appeared. "Ask him," said The Gunner quietly."

******

	Having been on the game for longer than he cared to admit, Gino had
learned to always look a gift horse in the mouth. "What's the catch?" he
asked suspiciously, regarding The Gunner and Lester with a dark, cautious
look.
	"There isn't any," replied The Gunner. He personally had his doubts
that Gino would take up Lester's offer, but he had promised to let Lester
try. "I've offered you money, 10,000 dollars to be exact, which you will be
paid. I have said that you will be sent to whatever city or town you wish
to live in. My original offer stands."
	"Or, you can change your life completely. No more sleeping with
anyone with a ten-dollar bill in his hand, no more worrying and watching
your back," interjected Lester. "You'll have a chance to leave the game,
get an education, perhaps make something of yourself."
	Gino scowled. "Maybe I like what I do."
	"If that's the case, then we'll arrange for you to stay in a safe
house until we can get the paperwork in order. We'll give you a new name,
new papers, and you can carry on as you see fit." The Gunner did not
believe in cosseting of any kind. "The choice is yours." The Gunner, who
had been sitting in what had become "his" chair, stood. "If you decide to
change your life you will live in a structured environment. You will go to
school. You will be expected to contribute to the welfare of the school,
which we call a hospital. There will be no booze, no drugs, and no selling
yourself. It's a hard choice, yes, but no one will force you to do
anything."
	"A hell of a choice," muttered Gino.
	"Yes, it is," agreed The Gunner. "It's your life. If you want to go
to say, San Francisco, and live the gay life, go ahead. You'll have a
bankroll. You can do what you like. I certainly won't stop you."
	At first Lester was miffed at The Gunner's indifferent
attitude. Then he realized that The Gunner was trying to take the measure
of Gino, trying to find out just who Gino was. If Gino was, as Lester sadly
suspected, a no-hoper, The Gunner wanted to know it. There was no point in
trying, really, if Gino was not convinced in his own mind that what he was
offered was to his advantage.
	The scowl never left Gino's face as he ruminated, considering the
offer. He was sceptical, of course. There had to be a catch somewhere. He'd
been on the game too long not to know that there was always a "catch"
somewhere along the line. When he first left home and began the stroll in
Boystown, he had been befriended by an older boy, who offered to teach him
the ropes, teach him how to dress, which john to avoid, where to cadge a
cheap meal, and even offered him a "crib" to sleep in. What Gino did not
know was that "Skinman" (the boy's street name - Gino never learned his
true name) was on a downhill slide. Skinman was an addict, big time, taking
uppers, downers and everything in between and all too soon his addiction
began to take control.
	At first Gino enjoyed Skinman's protection and bed. Gino had been
somewhat startled the first time he had seen his new mentor without clothes
on, and could see why he was called "Skinman" - he was a true "Knight of
the Long Foreskin".  Gino didn't mind. Skinman was a consummate,
considerate, teacher, who showed Gino how to please the johns who pulled up
curbside every night.  Until meeting Skinman, Gino's sexual experience had
been limited to schoolboy fumbling with his mates. Skinman had changed all
that and before very long Gino had a steady clientele. Money rolled in and
Skinman, knowing a good thing when he saw it, suggested that he receive a
cut of what Gino was earning. Gino, still in the thrall of Skinman's penis,
and what he could do with it, had agreed. He turned over a part of his take
and for a while life was good. They had decent food to eat, good clothes on
their backs, and a place to live. Sooner, however, than later, Skinman's
demands became more urgent. His behaviour changed and he seemed always to
be "up".  At first, Gino didn't care about Skinman using drugs. Everybody
did it, and the air surrounding the stroll was thick with the smell of
marijuana every night. Gino smoked a joint every now and then - he said it
enhanced his orgasm, although amyl nitrate was a better stimulant.  What
bothered Gino was that Skinman fell deeper into the drug scene, to the
point that he was useless to anyone. The small flat they shared was a
pigsty, and there was never any food in the house. Money began to go
missing as well, money that Gino earned. Skinman, always in a drug-induced
stupor, was incapable of making a dime. He sank lower and lower, and when
he wasn't passed out in the bed they shared, he was hanging around the
local factories, offering blow jobs for five bucks a pop, and few takers.
The final straw came when Skinman, desperate, had ransacked the flat,
looking for the money he knew Gino had hidden away. He found none because
Gino had opened a bank account, and aside from a few dollars in coin, there
was no money in the place at all. Skinman, hurting beyond measure for a
fix, had confronted Gino and, in a rage, tried to beat the money out of the
younger boy. Gino, sober and straight, had defended himself, punched
Skinman into oblivion, and left.
	As a street whore, Gino had made contacts. Through these contacts
he had obtained false ID, which got him into the baths. Here, in the
darkened hallways and dimly lit private rooms, he had plied his trade. Gino
had been pissed when Lester had said he sold his ass for ten bucks. Gino
had early established a tariff for his services. Some of the johns he met
in the baths complained, but Gino was young, well hung, and smooth bodied,
and they eventually came around.
	Gino charged $25.00 for a blow job, giving or receiving, although
more often that not he was the receiver. Anal was $50.00, with Gino giving,
which Gino much preferred doing. He was prepared to receive, but for a
price: $75.00, with the money up front.
	At first, when he left the street, Gino had confined his activities
to the upscale downtown bathhouses, with most of his "clients" being
lawyers and doctors, professional men, who used the baths as an outlet for
their secret vices. Then, by chance, Gino had checked out a small,
nondescript "steam bath" on Bathurst Street and discovered a gold mine.
	The steam bath had been there forever. At first a legitimate
business, frequented first by the Jewish men who came weekly for a steam
and a shower, then by a new wave of immigrant men - Portuguese for the most
part. Street boys used the bath to clean themselves, and as an added
attraction, discovered that working class men enjoyed the comforts of a boy
every now and then. In time more and more boys found their way to the
baths, and business boomed.
	Once in the bathhouse, Gino discovered the hierarchy of whoredom,
as it existed in the Bathurst Street Baths. In the basement, a dank, barely
lit room filled with low beds, were the skanks. Intermingled with boys,
were older men, who gave away what little charms they had, free for anyone
too cheap or desperate to go upstairs to the main room, which was really
the locker room, lined with lockers and filled with benches. Here were the
boys who actually charged $10.00, rarely more than $20.00, boys who lounged
about naked except for a towel (and sometimes not even that), and kept a
sharp eye on the parade of men who entered. Their hunting grounds were the
steam rooms, wet and dry, that flanked the reception desk and bar. These
boys rarely went upstairs, to the private rooms.
	Surrounding a central room on the first floor, were small cubicles
containing a low bed, the thin mattress covered in easily washable
Naugahyde. There was also a built in table and a locker where the johns
hung their clothing. Gino strolled the narrow corridors, and always found a
customer for what he was selling, despite the stiff competition, for there
were other boys who had found their way to this bathhouse.
	Having established his tariff, Gino played it calm and cool. He
knew that the men who rented the cubicles wanted privacy above all else,
and he knew that they would never venture below. Over time he developed a
loyal, if somewhat eclectic clientele.
	As the bath was off the beaten track, well away from the gay
mainstream downtown, it attracted men who did not want their proclivities
known, and who would not frequent the popular baths downtown. In a way, the
same held true for the boys who sold their bodies. They could have made
more money downtown but preferred the quiet anonymity of this
bathhouse. They had their reasons, of course. One of them was a medical
student, who supplemented his income and paid his lab fees with what he
earned. He was slightly overweight, but good looking and with a thick
sausage (which would have given him a run for the street name of "Skinman")
and low-hangers that would have commanded premium prices downtown.
	Another, slim, blond, and lithe, was an American: a Floridian, Gino
would learn, who was a deserter from the American Army, in Canada
illegally, and very conscious of his beauty. Gino thought him an arrogant
git, and avoided him accordingly.
	There was money for all, and Gino rarely poached. Each of the boys
had their "clients" and there was a silent agreement that no one would
encroach on the others' "johns". Gino liked it that way.
	What Gino liked also was that he knew what each of his clients
wanted. He was not into scat, and refused to join in a "golden shower", or
any of the raunchy games some liked to play. He had a few men who visited
him regularly, asked for nothing other than humdrum sex. One of these was
the man Gino called "The Priest".
	Gino never knew the priest's name. He claimed to be a priest, but
who knew? He was middle-aged, with a paunch, and greying hair. He was a
pitiful creature, really, always appearing like clockwork on Tuesdays and
Thursdays, and always near to being drunk. Where his parish was the priest
never said, and Gino never asked. He really couldn't bother asking. All
Gino was interested in was money the priest never complained about
offering, and what the older man did to him.
	The priest never asked for anal, or for fellatio. He much preferred
cuddling and kissing, which was a chore as his breath smelled of vodka and
incense. But he did love to suck on Gino's sculpted penis and, as he always
took out his dentures, would bring the boy to mind-crushing orgasm. After
every session with the priest Gino had to retire to his own cubicle for at
least an hour to recover, which cut down on his income.  The priest aside,
Gino was pleased with his clients. He never made less than 500.00 a week,
sometimes more if the client wanted to rim him, which Gino liked.
	Content with his clients, and his income, Gino never asked after
his clients' personal life. Aside from the usual pre-sex chitchat, and
establishing payment, conversation was kept to a minimum. To Gino,
everything he did was business. He felt nothing for his clients and assumed
that they felt nothing for him, which made it all the more surprising when
the priest asked him to come and live with him. The priest offered a home,
money, and a measure of safety. All Gino had to do was pretend to be the
priest's nephew.
	At first Gino thought that the priest was joking. While the idea of
having a live-in bum boy in the rectory made sense, sort of, if only to
keep down the wear and tear on the altar boys, Gino could not for the life
of him think of any good reason for it. A priest was under constant
scrutiny, not only from his superiors, but also from he parishioners. Being
the priest's "boy" would raise eyebrows and questions. There was also the
matter of the priest being transferred, as happened. Gino had no desire to
be a camp follower, following and aging man from town to town and depending
on his largesse and the amount of the contributions to the collection plate
every Sunday.
	There was also the matter of Sun Yat Wa. Gino, a child of the
streets, had never really left them. From time to time he would go down to
the stroll, needing the imagined thrill of the unknowing he always got when
a car pulled alongside him as he walked, the window rolled down and a gruff
voice would ask, "You busy?" This was how Gino had first men the Chinese
gang lord. A chance meeting on slow night and Gino was Sun's favourite lay.
	Sun fascinated Gino. He was a gangster, a thug, and exuded danger
from every pore. Sun had never promised anything, except instant, and very
painful death if Gino opened his mouth about what they did together in the
small room back at the brothel.
	The more the thought of it, the more Gino leaned to just leaving,
going somewhere, anywhere, and starting over. He had a good body, a decent
sized dick, which meant he had something marketable if and when he ran out
of money. He knew how to please a man, and he enjoyed the freedom of the
streets. He could not see himself in a structured environment, without an
outlet for the urges and demands of his body.  Gino, as feral as he
suspected the Gunner knew him to be, thought and then shook his head. The
Gunner, perhaps by accident, perhaps by design, had caused a small idea to
form in Gino's mind. The man had mentioned the Valhalla of Gaydom and the
more he thought about it the more Gino was convinced that all in all, he'd
rather be in San Francisco.

Former Etobicoke Correctional Facility, Sunday, 29 August 1976 - 0023 EDST
(12:23 AM)

	As Lester steered the car through the high gates that gave entry to
Queensway, he barely glanced back at the darkened, soot-stained windows and
dingy red brick buildings of what had once been the York County Home for
Boys, a reform school in all but name. Two generations of boys, all under
the age of 18, had been incarcerated in the darkened buildings, built
around a grim quadrangle, which seemed to weep for youth taken away.  In
1974 the provincial government had built a new facility in Mimico, and the
York County Home was closed and offered for sale. There were few
takers. The facility was large, impossible to keep up, and there were too
many stories of abuse and misery.  Terry Hsiang, always on the lookout for
a property to exploit, had purchased the site for a relative pittance, and
planned on exploiting its real estate potential. He planned on tearing down
the grim, forbidding, steel barred buildings and build townhouses. He also
planned a marina along the lakefront - the facility was right on the lake
and ideal for upscale, overpriced housing. Until that happened Terry used
the once Governor's Residence as a safe house.  A high, red brick, broken
glass-topped wall surrounded the grounds. There was only one entry in,
aside from the lake, and no one, not even the hookers and street bums that
infested the surrounding neighbourhood tried to gain entry. There were too
many ghosts, too many bloodstains and even hookers and street bums can be
superstitious.  Inside the safe house, The Gunner delivered Gino into the
care of one of Terry's men. The man gave The Gunner a pained look, but said
nothing. Sepp and Gottfried, both as naked as the day that they were born,
strolled into the main room and eyed Gino, looking, The Gunner thought,
like two foxes contemplating a particularly plump hen. As The Gunner
watched, Sepp licked his lips and Gottfried fiddled with the tassel of skin
covering the head of his thick, dark coloured penis.  Gino regarded the two
Germans through slitted eyes. He had seen their kind before. They usually
lurked in the shadows in the basement room of the Bathurst Street Baths. He
had the measure of them, certified rough trade, willing to do anything,
with anyone, any time.  The Gunner saw the glowering look on Gino's face
and felt the need to apologize. "It will only be for a few days," he
murmured. "I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."  Gino shrugged.  "I
will arrange for a private room," The Gunner continued, looking at Terry's
man. "One with a lock."  Nodding, Gino accepted that he would have to
endure some discomfort. He'd expected it, really. The catch. But he would
endure what he had to because of the cash. It always came down to the
cash. He turned and spoke firmly as his eyes slid over to regard the German
boys. "I can take care of myself," he said. He barely pointed his chin at
Sepp and Gottfried. "They speak English?"  "They're German," supplied
Lester, "and they only know a few English words."  Gino's eyes grew
cold. "Well, they better like gin rummy, 'cause I don't do uncut unless I
get paid for it." The laugh that followed was even colder than the look in
his eyes. "If they try anything I'll teach them a few English words they
never heard in Buttfuck, Bavaria!"

******

	Neither The Gunner nor Lester looked back as they rode in silence
toward the downtown core. If Lester was disappointed that Gino had opted
for a new life in San Francisco, he gave no sign. The Gunner was too lost
in thought, dreading inwardly his coming meeting with The Phantom.
	Eventually they passed Roncesvalles, entering the bright lights and
neon of city proper. The angry clanging of a streetcar bell broke the
silence of the car and The Gunner's reverie. He glanced obliquely at
Lester, who was concentrating on his driving, his eyes darting about as he
weaved in and out of the ever-increasing traffic along Queen Street.
	"The city never sleeps," The Gunner said with a low chuckle.
	"It only dozes," responded Lester idly as he braked to allow a trio
of drunks to cross the street. They waved and disappeared down a side
street. Lester sighed. "The bars are closing," he said apropos to nothing.
	"Yeah."
	"Steve . . ."
	"There will always be failures, Lester," said The Gunner
kindly. "There will always be boys like Gino."
	"I know." Lester glanced quickly at The Gunner and then looked
ahead. A slow smile spread across his face. "Do you think we did the right
thing, you know, putting him in the same house with Sepp and Gottfried?"
	Thinking of the two German boys that they had taken from the late
and unlamented Percy Simpson's house, The Gunner snorted. "You heard
Gino. He can take care of himself. I told the guard to keep an eye on the
Krauts and to make sure they didn't try anything."  Lester nodded. "Gino is
no pushover. If they try anything he'll eat them alive!" Then, laughing,
Lester added, "And spit them out!"
	"In more ways than one," opined The Gunner. Then he said quietly,
"There will be others, Lester. Others who will want to leave the life." His
eyes grew sad. "I'm afraid that Sepp, and Gottfried, and Gino are too far
gone. They enjoy what they do."
	"Until they meet a sugar daddy, or the man who kills them,"
returned Lester darkly. He pointed with his chin at the growing crowd of
people exiting the bars and taverns that seemed to line every block. "There
are a lot of weirdoes out there, Steve."
	"I know," replied The Gunner. Then he added grimly, "Tonight we cut
down the pack a little!"


The Hospital of Saint John of The Cross Of Acre, Sunday, 29 August 1976 -
0100 EDST (1:00 AM)


The first vehicle made the turn from Kensington Street into Belgrave Square
shortly after 1:00 o'clock. Mordecai Goldschmidt, who was supposed to be
watching the square, almost missed the dark-coloured van as it stopped in
front of the old hotel and disgorged a group of tall, well-built young men
dressed in dark coloured clothing.
	At first, Mordecai was only vaguely aware of the van as it circled
the square, being otherwise engaged in enjoying what Lenny Weintraub, his
best friend and fellow watchkeeper, was doing to him. Lenny was on his
knees between Mordy's widespread legs, his nose buried in Mordy's scraggly
pubic hair and snuffling away on Mordy's dick! Of course, Lenny was only
repaying Mordy in kind, as he always did when they relieved each other
during the night watches.
	The van had barely come to a stop in front of the hotel when Mordy
yelped and grunted, filling Lenny's swallowing mouth, and then began
yipping, "Off the head! Off the head!  Lenny paid little attention,
continuing to suckle and Mordy smacked him on top of his head, knocking his
yarmulke flying. This got Lenny's attention.
	"Damn it," groused Mordy as he reached down to gently feel his
penis. "You know how sensitive my dick is!"
	Lenny, who knew, sniggered. "Yep! That's why I do it! I so love to
hear you squeak like a little mouse!"
	"Fuck you," retorted Mordy, his eyes drawn to the activity in the
square. He saw the small group of men around the open doors at the rear of
the van, removing something.
	Lenny, who had sat back, knew nothing of what was going on, and
returned, "Maybe tomorrow." He looked around for his kippa, found it, and
placed it on his head. He looked around. "Where are my shorts?"
	"How the hell would I know?" snarled Mordy. His eyes scanned the
square below and saw yet another dark vehicle, a sedan this time, circle
the square and draw to a halt behind the van. More men, smaller, exited the
car.
	Standing, Mordy pushed back the chair he'd been sitting in and
leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at what was going on down
below. Lenny, who was sitting to one side, giggled at the sight of his best
friend, fellow Yeshiva student, and occasional blow buddy. Mordy was naked
from the waist down and every time he moved, his now soft schwantz swung in
the wind.
	What fascinated Lenny was Mordy's pale, firm, melon shaped bum. He
had lusted after that bum since the day he'd seen Mordy naked in the ritual
bath they had both taken before their Bar Mitzvah. Seeing that Mordy was
completely absorbed in what was going out down in the square, and had
leaned forward through the open window, Lenny licked his lips, scuttled
forward like a crab on a mission, and licked Mordy's butt cheek.
	Mordy was so startled that he rose up sharply, and banged his head
on the edge of the open window. His kippa went flying off his head and
floated downward onto the pavement in front of the building.
	"God damn it!" Mordy rounded on Lenny. "Are you crazy? You trying
to give me a heart attack?" Before Lenny could mumble a reply, Mordy asked,
"And what's with licking my butt? You some kind of a pervert?"
	Lenny grinned. "Mordy, I suck your dick!" he exclaimed.
	"Yeah, well, you putz, it don't give you the right to lick my
butt!" Not giving Lenny a chance to respond, Mordy looked
around. "Something's going on. I gotta call my Cousin Chaim, and the
rabbi. Lenny, where the hell are my drawers . . ."
	Mordy went white when he heard a deep voice. "Looking for these?"
	From out of the shadows emerged Aaron Goldschmidt. Dangling from
his outstretched finger were Mordy's drawers: baggy, white boxer shorts,
decreed by the rabbis to be the only underpants the Yeshiva boys could
wear.

******

	Bored, restless, and anxious to know what was going to happen, The
Phantom and Colin left the lobby of the hotel and went upstairs. They had
been assigned a room at the front, with a view of the square below. It was
large, with a double bed, comfortable looking sofa, and polished, more or
less Edwardian accent furniture. It was really much better than either The
Phantom or Colin had expected, and with the bright coloured linen and
flower arrangements the room was pleasant.
	Unlike the service they had had at Michael's house, and at the
hotel in Quebec City, their bags were sitting on luggage racks, waiting to
be unpacked. The Phantom, as he began rummaging through his kit bag for
some clean underwear, told Colin that since he had not seen any bellboys or
baggage handlers about, he thought that Alex Grinchsten and Rusty Smith had
done the duty and slogged everybody's luggage upstairs. Colin agreed, and
opined that having a nice job title: Travelling Yeoman, was all well and
good, they would have to think up a way to thank both men properly.
	While The Phantom showered, Colin stripped down to his Canex
Specials, opened one of the windows - the hotel had no air conditioning -
and stuck his head out.
	The strollers and tourists were long gone, and except for the
distant hum of traffic on Spadina Avenue, the square was deserted and very
quiet. While Colin was watching, a lone man, tall, very thin looking,
walked into the square. He was carrying a distinctive black leather bag and
Colin rightly assumed that it was the doctor, Mabell Airlie's brother in
law, answering her summons.
	The doctor had barely entered the building when Colin saw a dark
van pull up. He watched as six men got out of the van - six very large men,
all dressed in black. A car followed the van, and while Colin could not be
sure, he thought the men who exited the car seemed smaller, and looked
Oriental. As the men unloaded parcels from the van Colin began to pull his
head in. He stopped as he heard a yelping and yipping and looked across the
square. He saw another man, as tall as the six men, and well built, all but
dragging two others - thin, shorter and yammering away in what Colin
thought was Hebrew.
	Intent on what was happening in the square, Colin did not hear The
Phantom leave the bathroom, or sneak up behind him. He did feel The
Phantom's warm breath on his shoulders and neck, and felt his lovers hand
slip under the elastic waistband of his briefs.
	"Did I ever tell you that you are the most beautiful man I know?"
murmured The Phantom as his hands slid down, found, and fondled Colin's
warm, soft genitals.
	Leaning his head back, and smiling, Colin replied, "I thought I was
the most beautiful man ever created," he chuckled.
	"Mmmm," mumbled The Phantom as he nuzzled Colin's neck. "That too."
	Colin felt the familiar stirrings in his groin and reached down to
hold The Phantom's hands still. "You better stop, lest you wake the
sleeping dragon!" he warned. He slowly pulled The Phantom's hands away. "We
have company," he said.
	"Damn," growled The Phantom. "Who is it?"
	Shrugging, Colin replied, "It looks like the troops are starting to
arrive."
	Shouldering Colin aside, The Phantom looked and sighed. For a long
time he remained quiet. Then he said, "Which means that The Gunner will be
here soon."
	"Yeah." Colin's voice was flat and non-committal.
	The Phantom's lip's brushed Colin's. "I'm okay, really," he said
softly. "I'm ready to meet The Gunner."