Date: Sat, 3 Apr 2010 12:28:16 -0600
From: Katya_Dee <concertoind@gmail.com>
Subject: Specter's Gamble - chapter 31-32

This is a work of fiction; all the resemblances are completely accidental. I
am the one who owns all the ideas and characters in the story. Contains
violence and descriptive sexual scenes between two males. If you are not
supposed to read it, don't do so. Feel free to e-mail me with praises or
insults (former preferred).


- XXXI -



            "Okay," Desmond said twenty minutes later after the
buffoon was securely attached to one of the chairs, his both hands
handcuffed behind his back. "Tell me again why I shouldn't kill this
clown?"

   Sam looked outside through the window, his forehead wrinkling with
tortured frown. He was silent for several minutes. Desmond waited
patiently.

   "He..." Sam finally said very slowly. "He did something for me...
Something good..." he glanced at Desmond. "It was long time ago," he
muttered. "I... I don't want to talk about it," he finished in a
softer voice.

   Desmond sighed.

   "Something good..." he muttered and threw a doubtful glance at the
unconscious buffoon. "All right, that's good enough for me... Here is
the problem, however... If I let him live, guess who is going to find
out about me?"

   "Salamander," Sam whispered.

   "Yup," Desmond nodded energetically. "Believe me when I say it... I
do not want that to happen. Also, there is the thing with me killing
his brother and him dying to do the same to me..."

   "You killed his brother?" Sam frowned slightly.

   "If he was the idiot who knocked Rayhe out with the icicle that one
time, then yes," Desmond nodded again. "I did. According to him," he
nodded at the buffoon. "That idiot was indeed his brother. So what
does this leave me with?" he looked at the kid solemnly.

   "Don't kill him..." Sam muttered again. "Just..." he shrugged.
"Just figure something out... You are good at it..."

   "Flattery will get you nowhere," Desmond said firmly.

   "I am going to kill you..." the buffoon said suddenly, and Desmond
looked at him.

   The man's eyes were open and the amount of hatred in them could
make a pot of water to boil.

   "I know," Desmond nodded seriously. "Sam, I might not have a
choice, I am sorry."

   Sam blinked when Desmond actually called him `Sam' and not `kid'
this time. He looked at the man in the chair. *"I am sorry... I am
sorry... I am so sorry..."*He turned around, his fingers clutched
together, his back rigid.

   "You look alive, Samuel," the man said in an unexpectedly tender
voice, and Sam's shoulders started to ache from all the tension. "I am
glad," the man continued.

   "I am sorry," Sam whispered.

   "Don't be," the man tried to shrug and gave up on that idea almost
immediately. He was in no position to even shift in the chair, let
alone shrug. "He is right, you know... If he lets me live, he'll die.
Because even with Julian aside, I will make sure myself that he does
not live long enough to see another sunset. Andreas was my kid
brother, you see, and he meant the world to me..." he stopped talking
after Sam whirled around, his eyes huge.

   "Andreas..." he repeated numbly. The man frowned.

   "Yes," he said slowly. "That was his name... Why?"

   "You never came back after that night," Sam muttered, his eyes
fixed on the larger man's face. "He never brought you again, because
he said he knew you didn't enjoy it and it made it boring for him..."

   Desmond frowned and his eyes darted towards the buffoon whose
expression was puzzled right now.

   "That was when he started to bring..." Sam stuttered. "*Him," *he
finished in a tight voice.

   There was a shadow of stricken understanding on the buffoon's face
and he slowly shook his head – something he could still do in his
current position.

   "No," he muttered. "My brother wasn't the only Julian's man with
that name; I know that for sure... My brother would never..."

   "There was a tattoo of a buffalo on his right hip," Sam said in a
colorless voice, and the buffoon fell silent. "It was
black-and-white," Sam continued in the same lifeless voice. "All of it
was black-and-white... All of it but the eyes. The eyes were red...
Also, one of the horns..."

   "...was broken," the man finished dully, and Sam nodded.

   "Yeah," he muttered. "It was broken. Julian brought him often, so I
remember that tattoo really well... Sometimes Julian would say that
even my father could be playing a second violin to..." he stuttered
again. "...him," he finished.

   Desmond closed his eyes. The hell he's been through was nothing
compared to whatever this kid had to endure, he thought. His
Grandmother would beat all shit out of him; she would beat him so bad
that sometimes he would black out for several hours, and sometimes he
couldn't even move for a couple of days. But at least, she didn't do
anything other than trying to skin him alive with that goddamn belt.
As for Tomah... Well, Tomah only did it to him once, and even after
that one time, Desmond was a wreck for several years that followed.
Sam LeVoughn survived through God knows how many years of that
nightmare. Desmond felt an involuntary shiver running down his spine.
He thought of LeVoughn-Senior and the house behind the old Plaza, and
for the first time ever since that happened, he didn't feel tight
nauseating knot in the pit of his stomach. He felt dark satisfaction
instead.

   The man in the chair slowly raised his head and looked into the
kid's eyes. Desmond blinked when he saw his look. The buffoon looked
tortured right now.

   "I am sorry..." the man whispered, his gaze locked on Sam's eyes.
"God, kid... He never told me... I didn't know... Julian never
mentioned anything... I would've made him stop; he was my kid brother,
he would listen to me, he would... I didn't know..."

   Sam didn't say anything. He just stood there, his expression
frozen. The man's eyes were linked to the kid's face and neither of
them blinked.

   ...Alessandro couldn't believe this. No, he thought dully. No,
Andreas would never... The kid was talking about someone else; he had
to! But then Samuel described that damn tattoo and Alessandro felt
like all the air was sucked out of his lungs. Andreas got that tattoo
when he was eighteen. It was on his right hip, so unless his pants
were off, there was no way for the kid to see that bloody tattoo. For
the first time since Andreas' demise, Alessandro felt something else
besides the hatred for Specter and feeling of enormous loss when he
thought about his kid brother right now. He remembered Samuel's eyes;
the eyes that made him wake up gasping for air for almost a month
after that `pleasant evening.' *"Let go of me, you fucking bastard!
Don't touch me...! Let go!"*

   He was never a father figure for Andreas, but he always considered
them being best friends more than brothers. He never even imagined
that Andreas would be able to do anything even remotely that
appalling. And to do it more than once... "He never brought you again,
because he said he knew you didn't enjoy it and it made it boring for
him..." he remembered the kid's words, and closed his eyes. Andreas
enjoyed it. Julian would know, he thought hazily. When it came to
enjoyment, Julian always knew. He felt like screaming at the top of
his lungs.

   ...Desmond watched the buffoon's expression while the man was
sitting in the chair, his neck tight, his eyes squeezed shut, his
fingernails digging into his own palms. Huh, he thought. The guy
actually feels something for the kid, who would've thought. "Too bad,"
he mused darkly. "He is Salamander's watchdog, and the watchdogs are
always loyal to their masters. The guy has to go... The sooner the
better too, because..."

   "Don't leave the city tomorrow night," the buffoon said suddenly in
a gruff voice, interrupting Desmond's thoughts, and the assassin
blinked. "Wait until Saturday night. Julian is leaving the city for
the weekend... It'll be safer for you to leave when he is gone."

   The man opened his eyes and looked at Desmond.

   "He'll be back Sunday night," he continued almost calmly. "Leave on
Saturday."

   Desmond narrowed his eyes. It's a trap, he thought immediately, but
his inner alarms remained off.

   "I am not doing this for you," the man said, his eyes locked on
Desmond's green ones. "I am doing this for myself... I couldn't do
anything five years ago; I couldn't even refuse... I did something I
hated myself for... As far as Julian is concerned, Specter is dead,
and that's the end of it. As for myself..." he almost shrugged again.
"I guess this is my redemption..." he muttered.

   "You don't have any more siblings, do you?" Desmond asked finally
in a very casual voice, and the man blinked several times.

   Finally, something that looked like a hint of a smile reflected on his lips.

   "No," he said. "I don't have any more siblings."

   "Good," Desmond nodded.

   ...Half an hour later, Alessandro stretched and rubbed his wrists
with relief. Damn Specter sure knew how to incapacitate someone, he
thought and glanced at the black-haired man. Specter watched him
warily, as if afraid that Alessandro is going to lunge at him any
minute. Not like Alessandro blamed him... It was strange; he didn't
hate the man anymore. He didn't like him, nor was he ecstatic to let
him go, but he didn't hate him anymore.

   Specter walked behind him as Alessandro made his way towards the
front door of the apartment. Samuel still stood in the middle of the
room; he didn't say a single word after Specter uncuffed and untied
Alessandro. The kid just stood there.

   Alessandro walked outside, perfectly aware that Specter was right
behind him. He stopped and turned around. The assassin looked at him
without blinking. Alessandro's eyes darted towards Specter's hand.

   "Julian told me about rings like that one," he said, nodding
slightly at the ring on the assassin's finger. "He also told me what
kind of poison they usually put in those... If you want to use it on
me, go ahead... But I wasn't lying to you. I am not going to say
anything to Julian, and I am not going to follow you..."

   Specter blinked finally and slowly put his ringed hand into his
pocket. Alessandro glanced at the door of the apartment that was
slightly ajar.

   "Take him with you," he said softly, and the assassin's eyes
narrowed slightly. "Take him with you," Alessandro repeated. "He is
right; there is nothing for him here. Nothing and no one... There is a
good chance he'll be happy with you and your mate."

   He didn't wait for Specter's response and started walking towards
his car. He stopped for a second and slightly turned his head.

   "Good-bye..." he hesitated. "Desmond," he finished and walked away for real.



****



   Desmond watched the man who was built like a wardrobe to get into
that black car of his and drive away. He stood outside for several
more minutes, and then finally went back into the apartment. Sam was
still rooted to the floor.

   "Hey, kid," Desmond lit a cigarette. "Kid!"

   Sam blinked and looked at him blindly.

   "You said you suck at cooking, but willing to learn, right?"
Desmond's expression was very serious.

   "Cooking...?" Sam repeated dumbfoundedly.

   "Yeah," Desmond nodded. "You know, when you mix several ingredients
together, sometimes boil them or fry, whatever... Get them to the
point when they are somewhat edible? That sort of thing..."

   "Errr..." was Sam's reply. Desmond nodded again.

   "See, Rayhe is an excellent cook," he dragged on his cigarette.
"Unfortunately, he is not around at the moment, and I am hungry. Wanna
start learning?"

   Sam blinked very rapidly, and for a few seconds, Desmond was afraid
that he was about to burst into tears ("Well, shit..."), which
frightened him somewhat. Desmond and tears never meshed. To Desmond's
greatest relief, the kid didn't cry.

   "What do you have?" he asked instead, his eyes still suspiciously
shiny. "Ingredients-wise?"

   "Hell if I know," Desmond said seriously.

   "What do you usually eat when Gabriel is not here?" Sam frowned.

   "I don't," Desmond answered in the same serious voice. "I survive
on tea and occasional apple. I know," he nodded when he saw Sam's
expression. "Helps me to maintain my weight."

   Sam snorted at that, as if saying `Yeah, right!' and went into the
kitchen. Desmond grinned. Yeah, he was lying. He wasn't as desperate
as he painted when it came to cooking. He wasn't as good as Rayhe, of
course, but he could make something simple, like fried potatoes, or an
occasional meat loaf.

   He followed the kid into the kitchen, thinking melancholically that
now there were three of them, and that Rayhe better find a place big
enough for all of them. "Because I'll be damned if I have to bite my
fist again," he thought darkly.







*EPILOGUE *

*4 Months Later*



            "Next time when I say `I am driving,' just give me the
damn car keys," Desmond said shortly, his expression gloomier than
ever. "Plus, it's my damn car!"

   Rayhe glanced at him briefly.

   "You drive like a maniac," he said calmly. "Call me crazy, but I
would like to live long enough to celebrate my thirty-third birthday."

   "By the time we get there, you'll turn seventy-five," Desmond
snorted. "Seriously, step on it already!"

   "Stop whining," Rayhe muttered without taking his eyes off the road.

   "I am not whining," Desmond said sharply and rolled down the
window. "This is not whining; this is common sense. You drive worse
than an old lady, I swear! Whining..." he muttered and lit a
cigarette. "I am not a whiner..."

   "Yeah," Sam said solemnly in a back seat. "You are a moaner..."

   Rayhe started to cough and Desmond slowly turned his head to look
at the kid. Sam met his stare and shrugged.

   "I am not deaf," he said. "And I am a very light sleeper... Sorry,"
he added after Desmond just kept staring at him without blinking.

  Finally, Desmond blinked and looked at Rayhe who was biting the
insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing.

   "Wipe that smirk off your face," Desmond said in a low voice. "And
stop by a drug store."

   Sam immediately straightened up.

   "You gonna buy me sleeping pills?!" he asked incredulously, and
Desmond shot him a dirty look.

   "No," he said in the same low voice. "I am going to buy you ear
plugs... Shut up, Rayhe!"

   "I didn't say anything!" Gabriel protested.

   "Shut up, Rayhe!" Desmond repeated without even a hint of a smile.
"If you would only listen to me once in a while, we wouldn't have to
do this, you know... There was that wonderful house; great deal,
available right now... But nooooo.... `It's too expensive... It
doesn't have a good view... It's too far from everything...' Ugh!"

   "All those statements were true and you know it!"

   "The bedrooms, genius! The bloody bedrooms were five hundred miles
apart from each other! I would've paid more! Goddammit! It's not like
we don't have the money!"

   "The one we've got is better... And it has a skylight."

   "You know what you should do with that skylight?"

   "I have an idea..."

   "Good. Go ahead and do just that..."

   "You know guys, we could get a dog or something..."

   "I am allergic."

   "No, you are not... I know for sure! I saw you around all kinds of
animals... You are fine...!"

   "Shut up, Sam!"

   "This is ironic... Finally, both of you are agreeing on something
and it's..."

   "Shut up, Sam!"

   "Yeah, that..."

   "Oh, hey... Is that a drug store?"

   "Yup, pull over; it'll take me a couple of minutes."

   "Desmond, knock it off... I am not going to wear those damn ear plugs..."

   "Oh yes, you will..."

   "Oh hey, get two boxes, will you?"

   "Gabriel!"

   "Anything else?"

   "Ummm... There is that new coconut flavor ge..."

   "Ugh, get three boxes, will you?"

   "You got it, kid!"



THE END.


I hope you enjoyed reading this; e-mail me with suggestion/question or
anything else if you'd like. Thanks for reading!