Date: Mon, 1 Jul 2013 00:24:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: z119z 2000 <z119z2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Carma Klown, installment 7

The Carma Klown 7

z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com)

© 2013 by the author

Chapter 14

Friday, ca. 2:30 p.m., June 11, 2010

"All of them?" Brady Wilson, the owner of Syswide, gulped in dismay.

Michael and Ellen Corwin had arrived at his office five minutes earlier. He
had greeted them with trepidation and with a hesitant offer of help. "I
didn't expect to see you again, officers. I thought you had found all you
needed the other day. We temporarily severed the link between our computers
and the Police Department's system. We're working to purge the program
now. We expect to be finished in an hour or so. When it's fixed, we'll
restore the link. I assure you that we will fix the problem soon. Did you
need more information? We'd be happy to supply it."

Wilson was around fifty. He was somewhat more formally dressed than the
other employees who worked in the main office of Syswide. Most of them
never met customers and wore extremely casual clothes. Wilson wore a blue
shirt, with a button-down collar, and chinos over a scuffed pair of black
and white high-top basketball shoes. The bill of his old ballcap was pulled
down so far over his forehead that it rested on the thick black plastic
frame of his glasses. A thin fringe of graying hair escaped from the sides
and back of the hair. Michael wondered briefly if the hat covered a bald
spot.

Only one of the chairs before his desk was clear. Wilson removed a stack of
printouts from the other. He looked around for a place to put it. Every
surface was covered with similar piles. He finally put it on the floor
behind his desk and then motioned for Michael and Ellen to sit down. "Now,
what can we do for you, officers?"

"We've uncovered more evidence that The Carma Klown is using your computers
to upload videos." Michael handed Wilson a sheet of paper detailing the
municipal computers that The Carma Klown had used. Shortly before the
uploads each had been accessed through the backdoors Syswide had installed
in the systems. Michael also handed Wilson a record detailing the history
of Syswide's maintenance and diagnostic check-ups of each machine. Each had
been serviced by several Syswide employees over a period of from one to
four years. "We would like your people to check these intrusions to
determine if someone at Syswide accessed these computers or whether an
outsider hacked your computers in order to gain access to them."

"Six computers?"

"So far. We are searching for other invasions."

"I can assure you that no one can hack our systems. It's just not
possible." Wilson looked as if he were about to start sweating profusely.

"Then it has to be one of your employees."

"No, that's just not possible. No one here would do anything like that."
The contradiction hit Wilson even as he was speaking. "There has to be some
other explanation."

"It's either an outside job or an inside one," said Michael. He watched as
the owner of Syswide struggled to determine which of the alternatives was
worse—admitting that his company had been hacked and couldn't guarantee
the security of its customers' computer systems or that he had a rogue
employee who was abusing the customers' trust.

"There has to be a third alternative. Maybe someone is altering the records
on these computers to show that they were accessed through Syswide. Maybe
he's using some other way to get in and is just implicating us by leaving a
false record."

"That's a possibility," admitted Michael. "But if that's what's happening,
there won't be any record in your computers to show access. And, as you
know, we did find a record of someone accessing the Police Department's
alert system through your computers. So, a quick check of your records is
called for, I think. If there's no sign that the access came through your
computers, then we will direct our search elsewhere."

"Yes, yes, I'll get people on this immediately." Wilson pulled out his
phone. "Wait. If we do find that our computers were used to gain access,
it's still possible that our records have been falsified as well. It won't
prove that we were involved."

"Well, it would prove that at the very least either an outsider or an
insider falsified your records. Which brings us back to square one. The
Carma Klown is using Syswide. Either way, we need to know, all of us need
to know. It's in your interests to help us clear this up."

Wilson looked at the phone in his hand and then put it back in his
pocket. "Come with me. We'll get to the bottom of this. I hope you find
this bastard, officers. I want him punished."

Three hours later, Michael and Ellen left the Syswide offices. It hadn't
taken long to find that someone had accessed each of the computers through
Syswide and then used those computers to upload the videos. The employee
number used to open the backdoors did not match that of any current or
former employee. A check of the program that governed the right of entry
granted each employee to the computer systems of Syswide customers revealed
that that particular number gave the user unrestricted access to all
computers. There was no evidence that Syswide's network had been entered
from outside at the relevant times. It appeared to be an inside job.

Wilson's reaction surprised Michael. He was furious. It struck Michael that
anger was the common response to learning that the Carma Klown had involved
one in his schemes. The Carma Klown had many fans, but none among those he
was victimizing. When they left, Wilson was planning how to find the
culprit. "How can I trust anyone until I find this guy?" he asked. "For all
I know, the person I ask to help me might be The Carma Klown. It could be
anyone." Neither Michael nor Ellen could solve his dilemma.

Michael had parked across the street from Syswide. He popped open the trunk
of his car so that he and Ellen could stow the two boxes of paperwork they
were bringing back to Midtown. Ellen put her box in first and then stepped
away and casually surveyed the street while Michael arranged his box in the
trunk.

"Michael, look. Isn't that . . . ?"

Michael followed the direction of her outstretched finger. She was pointing
at the building they had just left. "Oh, my god, it is."

"It's a close match at least."

Both of them took out their phones and began snapping pictures of the
building.

"If that's the building in the video, then this has to be the building in
which the videos were made." Michael turned to look at the building
opposite the Syswide offices. It dated from the same era as the Syswide
building but appeared to be unoccupied. A heavy chain, secured by a
padlock, was strung through the handles of the front door. Sheets of
plywood covered the windows on the first and second floors. "Let's get some
pictures of this as well."

*****


Friday, ca. 7:00 p.m., June 11, 2010

"He practically as good as said that I would head up this group." Michael
was so excited that he couldn't stay still. He would sit down beside Jeff,
and within a few seconds he would stand up again and begin pacing the room.

"Michael, that's great. Your parents will be so proud of you."

"Oh, don't say anything to them. That's the last thing I need—my mother
hears this, and she'll start thinking I'm going to be the next chief of
police."

"Maybe she'd be right."

"No, don't give her any ammunition. Once she gets an idea in her head, it
stays there. I'll wait till it's a done deal to tell my parents."  Michael
stopped pacing and glanced at Jeff. His lover was wearing an old pair of
jeans and a ratty T-shirt that had been washed so many times that its
original color was lost. It was now somewhere between brown and
green. Jeff's arms were bent at the elbow and his fingers were laced behind
his neck. His biceps and shoulder muscles bulged. Michael suddenly
remembered the feel of the pelt of hair on Jeff's forearms. It was almost
as if he were touching it instead of just thinking about it. How soft and
furlike it was, how hard the flesh under it.

Then he began remembering the other pleasures of Jeff's body. How Jeff
moved beneath his hands. How he tasted. How explosive he became. How it
felt to have Jeff inside him. The tensions of the day, its frustrations,
its small victories, the prospect of a promotion, his happiness. Suddenly
he just had to be with Jeff. It took only a second for the glance to become
lust.

Michael strode over to where Jeff sat on the sofa. He put his hand on
Jeff's shoulders and pushed him down until Jeff slid down on the couch so
that his hips were just barely hooked on the edge of the seat. Michael
unbuttoned the fly on Jeff's jeans and then pulled them down and off Jeff's
legs, flinging them across the room. Jeff's T-shirt quickly joined it on
the floor.

Jeff wore a pair of red briefs. Tufts of black hair sprouted from beneath
the edges of his underwear. He knew what was coming next—they had done
this many times before—and he quickly became as horny as Michael. As
Michael tore off his own clothes, Jeff's cock grew hard and a wet patch of
pre-cum appeared on the briefs. He spread his legs apart so that his briefs
clung even more tightly to his cock and outlined the head as his erection
pulled the foreskin back.

Michael knelt between Jeff's legs and began licking the fabric covering
Jeff's cock. Jeff arched his body to lift his groin and push it against
Michael's mouth. The rasp of Michael's tongue against his cock grew
unbearable. It strained against his briefs. "Let me get these off," he
begged. "They're too tight."

"Quiet." Michael grabbed the briefs by one side and pulled them up,
releasing Jeff's cock. Free of the confines of the briefs, it immediately
sprung upward. Michael's lips closed tightly around the head, and he began
probing the piss slit with the tip of his tongue. His hands reached under
Jeff's hips and clawed at the waistband of Jeff's briefs, pulling them down
past Jeff's balls.

Jeff lifted his legs, forcing Michael to stand up. He ripped off his briefs
and tossed them aside. Michael's mouth never left his cock the entire
time. When he lowered his legs, Michael knelt back on the floor and sucked
the entire length of Jeff's cock into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as his
mouth closed around Jeff's cock. Jeff moaned as he thrust his cock into
Michael throat.

Michael straightened his arms and reached up Jeff's body. He clutched
Jeff's pecs in his hands, digging his fingers deeply into the muscle. A
sharp gasp escaped Jeff's mouth. He grasped Michael's head between his
hands and held it tight as he lifted his legs and closed them around
Michael's torso, imprisoning Michael within his pleasure. His groin spasmed
as he thrust repeatedly into Michael.

Michael pulled his head back and took a deep breath. He grabbed Jeff's cock
and held it upright. He positioned his ass over the head of Jeff's cock and
guided it into himself. Almost as soon as the head was inside him, he sat
down, abruptly impaling himself on Jeff's cock. They both groaned with
pleasure—Jeff from the sudden tight wet pressure surrounding his cock
and Michael from the sharp explosion of pain and pleasure that surged
upward through his body.

Michael's swollen cock beat against Jeff's groin in time with Jeff's
thrusts into him. Their hands grabbed each other's flesh. Each thrust of
Jeff's cock forced a grunt of pleasure from Michael's throat. He tilted his
head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth so wide it began to
hurt, focusing all of his attention on Jeff's cock.

Michael flexed his ass muscles to hold Jeff even more tightly. He could
feel Jeff's cock growing larger and harder within him. Jeff's body began to
shudder and tremble. He pressed his groin against Michael's body, pushing
his cock as deeply in as he could. Michael unconsciously recognized the
start of Jeff's orgasm and his body responded in kind. Both men cried out
as the cum spurted out of their cocks.

Michael's muscles were frozen in place from the strength of the orgasm. He
could feel Jeff's body heaving with the force of his deep, ragged
breaths. Jeff's cock remained inside him, not as long or hard as it had
been seconds before, but still a source of pleasure radiating outward
through his entire body. After a minute, he lowered his head and looked
down at Jeff. His own cum had spattered all over Jeff's stomach and
chest. He stared at it for a moment and then he began massaging it with the
tips of his fingers into Jeff's sweaty body. He ran his cum-stained hands
over Jeff's hairy chest and then his own smoother body, marking his lover
and himself with the smell of their sex.

A few moments later, he stood up, pulling himself off Jeff. He extended a
hand and lifted Jeff off the sofa. Still clutching Jeff's hand, he drew him
into the bedroom. The two tumbled onto the bed in each other's arms. For
the first time since Michael had begun his assault on Jeff, they
kissed. They fell asleep almost instantly, without speaking, without
thought.

*****

Saturday, ca. 12:00 a.m., June 12, 2010

Parish Haydn IV was almost ready. He had received doses of both drugs and
was completely docile. The drugs had made him totally obedient, ready to
carry out any command, and capable of being reprogrammed in any
direction. At the moment his body lay face-down on a gurney. The tattoo
machine was putting the finishing touches on the new adornment to his left
buttock, and he was receiving instructions through earphones on how to play
his upcoming role in the video. He wore only black knee-length socks. His
other clothes—a white shirt and a black suit coat and trousers hung from
a nearby valet rack. A muted red tie with a faint pattern of gray chevrons
was draped around the collar of the shirt. A pair of highly polished black
oxfords sat on the floor. No underwear was visible.

The vacuous grin on Haydn's face attested to the strength of the drug. One
of the first suggestions programmed into his acquiescent mind had been that
he would find the tattooing process as soothing and relaxing as a full-body
massage. From time to time, little mewls of pleasure escaped from his lips
as the needles pierced his skin.

The man known as The Carma Klown didn't enjoy pain, and he always included
instructions in the programming that made the participants find pleasure in
the tattooing process. It would have been easy to make it very painful, but
he didn't like screams or faces screwed up in agony, bodies twisted into
unnatural positions, an ass red and swollen from a lashing—those things
disgusted him. Humiliation was one thing; sadism was quite another. He
would leave that to others. He took no little pride in the fact that he
treated his participants with more courtesy and concern than they
deserved. If he had truly been intent on giving them a punishment to fit
their crimes, they wouldn't have survived.

The ink-injection arm on the tattoo machine lifted off Hadyn's body,
leaving behind the Carma Klown tattoo. Unfortunately, the man admitted to
himself, the result was less than perfect. Hadyn wasn't in ideal shape to
get a tattoo. His aged flesh sagged, and when he stood up the tattoo would
too. Still, the tattoo was not meant as an aesthetic statement. It was more
like those "Kilroy was here" signs that used to be painted on stone
escarpments along rural highways. Except this sign said in effect "The
Carma Klown owns your ass." His previous participants had proved so
reluctant to show their tattoos after their video had appeared. He wondered
if they had already begun having them lasered off. Perhaps he should tweet
a message to that effect hashmarked The Carma Klown and start a rumor. He
could easily find the name of a likely surgeon and pretend to be a nurse
working in the doctor's office. And he could distort one of the pictures of
a real tattoo to make it look like the early stages of removal. There were
so many possibilities. He would think about them later. For now he had
other business to attend to.

"Please get dressed, Mr. Haydn. We're ready to start making your video."

Physically Parish Haydn IV may not have been his best selection, but in
terms of deserving punishment, he was prime material. He was one of those
most responsible for the 2008 financial crash and subsequent recession, and
that was the reason he had been chosen. Still his body was repulsive. Haydn
was as addicted to food as he was to money and possessions. His gluttony
was omnivorous—money, food, possessions—he wanted them all in
excess. And clearly he avoided exercise. Oh, well, the man thought, once
I've made the video and checked it, I wouldn't have to look at Haydn
again. And my fans seem to like to feel superior to the
participants. Haydn's naked body would give them plenty to crow about.

In researching Haydn, the man had run across many pictures of him with his
stunning young wife posed by his side, her hand resting on one of his
forearms. He wondered how the wife could stand to look at Haydn. Was the
money enough to make up for that grotesque, sagging, flabby mass that
overhung his crotch and practically hid his genitals? Haydn must have to
lift that roll of fat out of the way when he took a piss so that he could
see what he was doing. Undoubtedly the wife would be among the first to
thank The Carma Klown for exposing her husband's true proclivities. Would
there be more pictures of her standing beside Haydn? How long would it be
before she ditched the ogre?

He had devised a new script for his next video. His fans' reactions to the
earlier videos had shown him where he was going wrong. It was, he reminded
himself, all too easy to suppose that because his intent was clear to him,
it would be clear to others. Well, live and learn, live and learn. It was
an old and a trite saying, but that didn't make it any the less true.

"Step this way, Mr. Haydn."

The zombie cocktail of drugs had worked its usual magic. Haydn was a
mindless, will-less, obedient robot. He would respond as he had been
programmed to respond.

"Watch your step. Don't trip on those electrical cords. Here's your
mark. Now stand here, and face the camera. When we begin recording, the red
light on the front of the camera will come on. Right here. You see it?
Good. Now you know your lines. Just speak them as you were instructed to."

He checked the set one more time to make sure that everything he would need
was ready and at hand. When he was satisfied, he clicked on the icon on his
laptop to activate the camera. It was programmed to track Haydn's movements
and to respond in the way he had planned to showcase Haydn perfectly.

Haydn stared expectantly at the camera. He was waiting for his cue.

All was ready. He activated the voice alteration software and spoke into
the microphone.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Parish Haydn IV."

"What are you?"

"I am a criminal. I knowingly and fraudulently promoted and sold billions
in high-risk financial instruments beginning in 2002 until just before the
market crash in 2008. I pulled out just before the crash and cashed in all
my holdings, knowing that this would worsen the crash when it came. When
Congress authorized the bailout, I accepted hundreds of millions from the
government, increasing my profits even more. Since then, I have devoted
myself to increasing my wealth and preventing the government from enacting
laws that would jeopardize my wealth. I am a corporate criminal. Tomorrow I
will surrender to the authorities and provide documentation of my crimes. I
will plead guilty to all charges brought against me."

"What do you deserve?"

"Punishment."

"Would you say that you have spent your lifetime fucking everyone?"

"Yes, that is a correct assessment."

"What would be the proper punishment for someone who has spent his life
fucking everyone else?"

"To be fucked."

"But would anyone fuck you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I am a worthless, pathetic, old faggot."

"Yes, you are. And no one wants to fuck a worthless pathetic, old faggot,
do they?"

"No."

"So how do you get fucked, Parish Haydn IV?"

"I use dildos."

"And you have brought a selection of your favorite dildos with you today,
to share with us, haven't you?"

"Yes." The camera pulled back to show a table beside Haydn. It held an
assortment of dildos in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. Haydn
looked at them with longing. "Can I start using them now?"

"In a minute. We get to that soon enough. No need to be impatient. Now why
don't you pick out four of your favorites and show them to the viewers?
Tell us why you like each of them."

He had had to drop the vegetarian option. The session with the test subject
he had found on Grindr had been a disaster. A visit to the local vegetable
market had resulted in a bagful of potential natural dildos: carrots, one
of those long Asian eggplants, parsnips, English cucumbers, and several
humongous daikon, the white Japanese radish. He had so many vegetables that
the Korean man who owned the store had asked what he was making. He wasn't
intending to use them as food, and for a moment he was at a loss for
words. He couldn't think of any dish that might incorporate all of
them. "It's for a photo shoot," he finally blurted out. "They're so
colorful." Which, of course, was only the truth, and it had satisfied the
man, who said that he agreed and suggested that slicing a red cabbage in
half would result in a beautiful image. Before the clerk could propose ways
to photograph every vegetable in the store in the best light, he had
mumbled something about this being an experiment. If it went well, he would
be back for more. And that meant he would have to avoid that particular
store in the future unless he wanted to discuss photography with the
owner. Which was too bad, because it had the best selection of fruits and
vegetables in the neighborhood.

He had peeled the root vegetables and sealed them carefully in plastic
wrap. He left the leaves on some of the carrots and on one of the
daikon. He would try both to see whether they worked better with or without
leaves. In his mind's eye, he could see the leaves dangling down. It would
look like a tail, but he would have to check the video—sometimes these
ideas didn't work out well on tape. He put a box of disposable latex
examination gloves in a gym bag with the vegetables, along with a large
tube of lube. Both were left over from the seventh video. He would have to
get more lube for the eighth video, and he put that on his shopping
list. It hadn't taken long to find someone on Grindr who wanted to be the
bottom in an ass-play scene. In fact, there had been several
possibilities. He had chosen the one who lived the farthest away and was
willing to host.

The test subject had greeted him at the door wearing only a towel and a
grin. As soon as the door had closed, the towel had come off. The grin had
remained. The subject had been curious about what he was carrying in the
bag. His reply, "Oh, a big surprise," had been greeted with a simper. The
subject then led him into the bedroom and immediately lay down on the bed,
with his rump in the air. The man had put on a pair of examination
gloves. The first drug was easily and quickly absorbed through the skin. He
had put a few drops on his index finger and then applied it to the
subject's anus. It seemed an appropriate place under the circumstances. The
drug needed about a minute to begin circulating through the blood stream
and into the brain. When the test subject's stopped talking and his eyes
became unfocused, he gave him the second drug. That had to be taken orally,
but the subject opened his mouth without hesitation when instructed to do
so. He squirted the dose into the subject's throat with an eyedropper, and
the subject had swallowed it.

He waited for five minutes and then tested the subject's responses. All was
ready. He had the subject get on all fours and elevate his ass. He started
with the carrots, since they were the smallest in diameter. He lubed one of
them generously, told the subject to relax—that he would feel an
enormous sensation of pleasure flowing into him—and then slowly eased
the carrot into the subject's anus until only an inch or so protruded. He
quickly saw that this would not work. He wanted Haydn to use his hands to
thrust the carrot in and out. But his fingers would obscure the carrot. Nor
would there be much to hold on to. While he was considering if the problem
could be overcome, another one became apparent. After he pushed the carrot
in so that only the top end was visible, he let go of it. A few seconds
later, the carrot shot out of the subject's anus and landed on the
floor. He didn't bother to try a carrot with the leaves still on.

In short order he abandoned the idea of using the other vegetables. The
parsnips had the same problem as the carrot. The eggplant wasn't rigid
enough. That left the cucumber and the daikon, both of which seemed long
enough to give Haydn something to grasp and large enough to provide a
visually effective image. Unfortunately, either the test subject had a
particularly tight anus (which seemed unlikely given the number of times he
claimed to have been fucked) or there was an inherent flaw in the use of
vegetables as dildos. The cucumber was quickly reduced to mush. It dripped
from the subject's ass in a slimy mess. The daikon had proved more durable,
but once the subject began thrusting it rapidly in and out, so much
moisture had been exuded that it look like he had a waterfall coming out of
his ass.

He told the subject to clean up and then he had him shove the used
vegetables down the garbage disposal. The unused vegetables he had put in
the man's refrigerator—recompense for helping him with his
researches. It had been an exasperating evening. And then he had had an
inspiration. He was in the presence of an expert in "ass play." So he asked
the subject what he used. And the subject had shown him. The subject had
led him back into the bedroom and pulled out a drawer in his tallboy. It
was filled with dildos, butt plugs, and several items he could not
identify. Many of them were still in their boxes, unused. There were more
than enough of them for his needs, and he was able to fill his gym bag. So
the evening had turned out well after all. He told the subject to forget
everything that had happened and then left.

The dildos that the test subject had contributed were now arrayed on the
table beside Haydn. . . .

*****

Chapter 15

Saturday, ca. 2:30 and 6:00 a.m., June 12, 2010

The dream mixed elements from his day. He was with Jeff, and they were
making out. And somehow one of the Klown's victims was present. The three
of them engaged in an elaborate ballet. And someone was speaking—to the
victim, not to him or Jeff. But he knew what to do. His mind was very clear
about what he was to do. And doing what he had to do—following
instructions to the letter—gave him a great sense of pleasure and
fulfillment. And somehow he knew that both Jeff and the victim felt the
same way he did. When he saw his cum on Jeff's body, mingled with Jeff's
thick black hair, a sense of accomplishment surged through him.

Several hours later, Michael and Jeff stirred in their sleep. Their
movements woke them up. The clock on the nightstand read 6:03. Their bodies
were entangled, sticky and moist. At some point during the night they had
crawled under the covers for warmth, and the hot smell of their bodies
drifted up from under the sheets and the blankets. Almost instantly they
became aware that they needed to brush their teeth and to take showers. But
they were too comfortable to move just yet. There was no need to say that
they would not abandon the bed and separate until the last possible
moment. Both agreed on that without speaking. They snuggled closer.

"We're such sluts," murmured Jeff. "Twice in one night." He sounded dazed
and still half-asleep.

"Mmmm," said Michael, "Love you." Something in what Jeff said momentarily
struck him as odd. The next minute the thought was gone. It had been a wild
night. It had been a wonderful night. He vaguely remembered a dream pieced
together out of fragments of his day. It was odd how dreams mixed together
elements like that. The next minute his thoughts were distracted when Jeff
began nuzzling his neck. He forgot about the dream.

*****

Saturday, around 11:00 a.m., June 12, 2010

"How many jiaozi did Mom make? There must have been 500 on those trays we
carried in."

Michael and his sister Leah were having lunch together. They tried to do
that once a week, usually on a workday. Leah would arrange her morning
appointments at the outpatient clinic at University Hospital so that she
could take a long lunch, and Michael would force himself to abandon his
desk and his work for the hour's lunch break specified in the Department's
regulations as every detective's right, although he seldom got to take
it. An hour's break once a week with his sister at the nearest McDonalds
was usually about the extent of his weekly time off. They had a wide choice
of restaurants near the hospital, but they gravitated toward
McDonalds. When they were growing up, their mother had loudly and
frequently forbidden them to eat there, and Big Macs had acquired the aura
of forbidden fruit. It was still a guilty pleasure, one kept secret (they
hoped) from their mother.

"Oh, at least 500. I was talking to Mom last night and—well, you know
how she talks—`Those skinny white girls, maybe they think they eat only
eat five dumplings, but my jiaozi so good they go back and take another and
another and pretty soon they eat a dozen. And those big fat white men, they
eat thirty—easy.' She even mimed skinny white girls and big fat white
men, to make sure I got the point. Then she was worried maybe she didn't
have enough. You know that it would dishonor the family if she didn't bring
enough food. The Changs would never live it down if someone walked away
from the table hungry. So she made another batch, `just in case—you
never know' there might be more people than last time." Leah laughed and
took another bite of her hamburger. The juice started to run down her chin
and she tilted her head back and licked her lips.

They were sitting across from each other at a plastic table at a McDonalds
down the street from Jeff's place of work. A half hour earlier they had
helped their aunt and grandmother carry trays of meat dumplings and several
large cooking pots into the offices of Jacoby and Greene. Their mother and
Leah's son Mikey had been hired to help produce the green-screen and
motion-capture images for two characters in the latest version of the video
game Five Worlds. Mikey had appeared in an earlier version, and he was back
to play another, slightly older version of the same character. Their mother
had been drafted to help by taking on the role of the empress dowager, the
real ruler of the Fire Heptarky. She had drafted herself as the unofficial
caterer for the day.

"When did she find time to make that many?"

"She had help. Grandma Chang was there, and Auntie Min and her two kids,
and Mikey, plus all the ladies from the Friday Chinatown shopping
club. When I went to pick Mikey up, she handed me a rolling pin and put me
to work in the assembly line."

"I still don't understand how we escaped. I was certain she would make us
help with the cooking. It's not like Mom to let people get away from her
table."

"Well, there are two reasons for that." Leah took another bite of her
hamburger and then mopped the grease off her chin. She took her time
chewing and swallowing before continuing. "First, she made extra for
us. There is a tray for me sitting in her refrigerator. I'll pick it up
when we take her back later. And she brought a tray for Jeff to take home
for the two you to have tonight. There must be a hundred jiaozi on each
tray."

"That's enough for six people. Jeff will rebel if he has to eat jiaozi
twice in one day. I'll have to freeze most of them." Michael got an alarmed
look on his face. "Don't tell Mom that, please."

"Tell Mom that her carefully trained son is freezing her jiaozi to eat
later. I'm not stupid, Michael. She'd kill me if she thought I had
knowingly allowed you and Jeff not to finish all that food in one go. As
far as she's concerned, it's my duty to stand over you and make sure you
eat every one, even if I have to force feed you. You'd better make sure
they're gone before she visits you the next time. If she finds that you've
frozen food she made for you rather than eating it, you're in for
it. Anyway, you'd better eat them. She and Mikey are scheduled for five
days of work on this project. She's planned menus for each day, and she'll
make sure that you get your share."

"Is there no way to stop her?"

"You know the answer to that question, Michael."

They both shrugged and laughed. "Yeah, I do. What's the second?"

"The second what?"

"The second reason. You said that there were two reasons you were here
today."

"Ah, yes, the second reason. The second reason's really why we were allowed
to escape. Mom drafted me to interrogate you. I'm supposed to do it subtly
so that you won't know that I'm doing it or suspect that she assigned me
this mission."

"Oh, oh."

"Now don't look so wary. She just needs some information and she sent me to
get it."

"Information? What does she want to know and why?"

"Jeff's parents, they live in Denver, right? She wants to talk to his
mother. She wants the phone number."

"What does she want with Mrs. Corelli?"

"She figures that since there's no bride involved in your relationship, the
parents of the two grooms should plan the wedding. There is going to be a
wedding, isn't there?"

"Yes, but Jeff and I are planning to take a week off and drive to Cape
Cod. We haven't set the date yet. We have friends who have a cottage there,
and they said we could borrow it. We were going to get married
there—just the two of us—by a clerk in the Marriage Bureau. We want
to avoid any fuss. Just a simple ceremony. She does know that we can't get
married here, doesn't she?"

Leah smiled. "You're so naïve. She knows that, but she's planning for
the day when gay marriage will be legal in New York. She figures it's only
a matter of time. Mom would never allow you to get away with a civil
marriage in Massachusetts. Even if you did pull it off, she wouldn't regard
you two as married, not until you had a `real' wedding, by which she means
a ceremony in Saint Pat's with the archbishop presiding, a big procession
with flower-draped limousines to the Beilou Palace, and firecrackers and a
dragon dance outside the restaurant door as you and Jeff, aka THE HAPPILY
MARRIED COUPLE, emerge from the last limousine. All followed by a
twenty-course Chinese banquet for three hundred people."

"Three hundred people? Who's she inviting? And I thought Mom didn't like
the food at the Beilou Palace."

"At least three hundred. Three hundred's a conservative guess. The absolute
minimum. She figures all of our family and all of our in-laws, all the
family friends, all your colleagues from work, everyone who works at Jeff's
company, maybe the mayor and the city council, both senators, the entire
congressional delegation. And that's just on our side. Once she talks with
Jeff's mother, she'll have a better idea. She asked if Jeff came from a
large family and I had to tell her that I didn't know. As for the Beilou
Palace, it's the only place big enough for that many people, and she
figures if she and Grandma and Auntie Min give the cooks a few pointers and
supervise its preparation, she can improve the food. She was even thinking
she could bring in a couple chefs from Hongkong or Taibei—you know,
offer them an all-expenses paid vacation as long as they spend four or five
days preparing the wedding feast."

Michael groaned. "I got to find a way to stop this."

"You can't. Just accept it. You're getting married and Mom's going to run
the wedding. All you have to do is show up at the appointed time wearing
the clothes she's having made for you. Remember my wedding? And I'm only a
daughter. You're the son."

"She's having clothes made? Tell me she's not going all Chinese and making
red suits for us."

"No, Grandma wanted red robes, but Mom said when Prince William and Kate
got married, all the men wore top hats and morning clothes. She went online
and found the proper names for everything. So that's what she's
planning. But there will be red cummerbunds, red suspenders, red bowties,
red pocket handkerchiefs, red carnations in the buttonholes—she says
that will be enough red to bring you good luck. Now, stop worrying about
it. You know she's going to get her way eventually. She can't let you
escape with a small ceremony. And think about it—you don't want to go
against her wishes. She would never let you forget. The son who dishonored
his family by running off and getting married by some city clerk as if you
and Jeff had something to be ashamed of instead of flaunting your wedding
in everyone's face."

"So if Jeff and I get married quietly, everybody in Chinatown is going to
assume that one of us is eight months' pregnant?"

"That brings me nicely to the last bit of information I'm supposed to
extract from you."

"Oh no, there's more?"

"Well, she wants to know if Jeff has any sisters and how old they are, and
if they are married and have children."

"What? She's planning to make them matrons of honor or something?"

"Not quite. Does he have sisters?"

"Two. Mira's a couple years older than Jeff. She's married and has a
son—I think he's four or five now. Louisa, his younger sister, is just
finishing her junior year of college. As far as I know, she's unattached
and doesn't plan on having children any time soon."

"Good. That will fit Mom's plans perfectly."

"What plans? What's she going to do now?"

"Mom's been reading up on gay couples. You know, to give her some clues
about how gay men live together and what to expect from you and
Jeff. Anyway, she found this book about two guys who decided to have a
child. It's written by B. D. Wong, you know, that actor who plays the
psychiatrist on that TV show about cops. Anyway Wong and his partner—one
of them donated the sperm, I don't remember which one, and the other man's
sister donated some of her eggs. They used in vitro fertilization, and then
they hired this woman to be a surrogate and carry the baby to term."

"Oh, no. I'm not hearing this."

"There's more. She's decided that I will donate some of my eggs, and they
can be fertilized using Jeff's sperm. And then one of Jeff's sisters or
both can donate some of their eggs, and they will be fertilized with your
sperm. She'll hire two women to carry the babies to term. That way, each
baby will be related to both sides of the family. They'll be half Chang DNA
and half Corelli DNA and can be named Chang-Corelli and Corelli-Chang
depending on which one of you is the father. She's even making lists of
possible given names that could be both Chinese and Italian. You know, like
you're Mai-ke in Chinese and I'm Li-ya. She's thinking maybe Leo/Li-ou if
it's a boy, and Anna/An-na if it's a girl. She's even considering names
like Giovanni/Jiou-wan. She read up on the subject, and she and Dad are
planning to pay for the whole thing. It's going to be their wedding present
to you. Even Grandma is going to chip in. And Auntie Min says she knows of
two women who would make perfect surrogates."

"Grandma and Auntie Min know about this. Who else knows?"

"Just the family for now. She wants to make sure that all the arrangements
are successful before making the announcement."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A bit. Why should you be the one to escape? And if you have children, it
will relieve some of the pressure on Mikey. By the way, he's decided that
he wants to be known as Mike now. I'm supposed to tell everyone."

"How are Jeff and I supposed to raise two kids?  With our jobs. We barely
have time to live as it is."

"Not to worry. You didn't think Mom would let you raise your kids, did you?
Two inexperienced, helpless males raising children when the world's
foremost expert on child-rearing is available? Just let Mom make all the
arrangements. She's going to do that anyway, and like she says, `Some day
you will thank me for all that I've done for you.' Now, stop groaning and
finish your hamburger. We'd better look in on them soon or Mom will begin
to wonder what we're up to. I have a couple small bottles of mouthwash in
my purse so that that Mom doesn't smell MacOdor on our breath."

"Leah, I need you to do me a really big favor. Don't talk to Mom about
this."

"I have to. You know she'll ask. Don't worry. She will talk with you and
Jeff before she does anything."

"No, no. I'm serious. Listen to me. Stop joking. Tell her that you spoke
with me about it and there's a problem. I need to talk with Jeff first
before she says anything. It's just that Jeff's family isn't comfortable
talking about me and Jeff getting married. They really have strong
religious objections to the whole idea. They're still upset about Jeff's
being gay, and they don't want to acknowledge that I even exist and that
the two of us are living together. We need time to prepare them for
that. And they won't like the idea of our having children at all. They're
going to find that unnatural. I'm guessing the whole idea will anger them
and they'll just refuse to have anything more to do with Jeff. If Mom
barges in and starts making plans, it will just make things harder for
Jeff."

"She's not going to understand that. You know how she thinks that parents
have to do everything they can to make their children successful. That's
what love is to her—making sure that we're successful. She won't believe
that Jeff's parents don't want the same for him."

"Just remind her that they're not Chinese. She'll accept that as a reason.
She's always ready to believe that people who aren't Chinese are strange
and unnatural."

"She'll want to talk to you and Jeff as soon as she hears about this."

"Oh, I can't deal with this now. Can you tell her to give me a few weeks?
I've got so much going on at work. In fact, I'd better get back to work.
There's stuff I need to catch up on. I'll text Mom that I was called into
the office to deal with an emergency. What about you? Can't you find some
work to do at the clinic this afternoon? Anything so that you don't have to
talk with her? Grandma and Auntie Min can drive her and Mikey home. You
don't need to go back, do you?"

"Yeah, I can do that. But you know that you're only postponing the
discussion. She's not going to let this go."