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Chapter 4 - The Life of The Party.

Finding the Jeep is a piece of cake. We do have to drive for almost a half hour to get to a suburb on the south side of the city to get it, though. The neighborhood where we end up is posh, populated by huge houses on equally huge, well-manicured, lots. My car is parked down a little side street, partially hidden from the main street by a huge, overhanging willow tree. When I do find my lost blond I’m going to have to give him shit for parking my nice clean car under a fucking tree so that, a week later, it’s caked with pollen and sap. That’ll be a bitch to get cleaned off.

It takes me a couple minutes, however, to figure out which of the fancy houses on this street was the one where Sapp’s party happened. They all look unremarkable in the moonlight. Granted, I was apparently pretty fucking drunk the last time I was here, so it’s understandable. Eventually, however, I zero in on the most likely suspect - a sprawling, white brick ranch with modern leanings. Em and I trudge up the long front walkway to the door.

“So, um, what do we say if someone answers the door?” Emmett asks, and I have to admit that’s a really good question - one that I don’t have an answer for.

“We play it by ear, I guess,” is my response as I press the doorbell.

We wait. There’s no sound of any movement inside at all. I press the doorbell a second time; I can hear it echoing inside the house, but there’s no other sound. Fuck! Not another dead end . . .

I’m about ten seconds from suggesting we break in when Emmett reaches out and tries the doorknob. Smart little fucker. And thank fuck that idiots who live out in the ‘burbs are stupid and leave their doors unlocked. When the knob turns and the door swings silently open, I just shrug at Em and we both walk on in.

Yep. This is definitely the place. Everything inside is instantly familiar.

The entryway opens up on a wide-open living room area. Except for the fact that it’s empty, and my memories are all clouded by a drunken, drugged haze, this place is eerily familiar. There’s an archway off to the left that clearly leads to a kitchen and a longer hallway going off to the right. Here in the main room, there’s a wet bar in the corner, a dining table next to the far windows and a large sectional couch that takes up most of the middle of the floor space. The furniture is modernistic but cheap - all knockoffs. The only thing that immediately stands out about the place is the fact that it’s a fucking mess.

“Looks like nobody bothered to clean up after the party,” Em voices my sentiments exactly. There are half-empty cups and beer bottles lying everywhere, there’s trash on the floor, chairs knocked over, and even a couple of used condoms abandoned on the dirty-looking carpeting. “Yuck. They didn’t even clean up the food,” he comments, his nose turning up as he backs away from a chips & dip platter that’s growing a nice crop of green mold.

There’s also an overflowing ashtray on the bar with the remains of several doobies spilling out of it.

*****Flash*****

It’s dark and, considering the population of losers that make up this group, surprisingly packed. As usual, there’s a gaggle of men milling around the bar in the corner, a couple of them scarfing down at the vile smelling chips and dip platter sitting on the counter. I’m standing nearby, sipping at the whiskey I was handed, surveying the rest of the room. There are men in various states of undress lounging on the couches and small groups of party-goers making out in the corners. The group sitting around the large glass coffee table are all busy cutting lines of coke and snorting away to their hearts’ content. I see pills changing hands everywhere I look. If it weren’t for the underlying air of desperation, and the over-forty age demographic, I’d say it’s a pretty typical orgy scene. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

I can tell my blond is a bit uncomfortable though - his body language is screaming ‘don’t touch me’ as he makes his way through the throng, following on his boss’ heels. The Sapp leads Justin over to a group of other twinks, a couple of whom are dancing for the entertainment of the sweaty old men watching from the couch. I can see Justin chatting with one of the other young men. Then one of the guys from the couch gets up, comes over to Justin’s companion, slides his greasy hands around the twink’s waist and pulls the boy away. Justin looks even more uncomfortable as he watches this play out.

I start to make my way over to him. Sapp beats me to him, though. He sidles up to the kid and hands over the joint he was smoking. I see Justin try to wave the weed away, but Sapp persists and eventually my blond takes a hit.

“Loosen up. Relax,” Sapperstein is saying when I finally make it close enough to overhear them. Justin takes another, longer, hit and passes the joint back to his boss. “That’s better. Now, why don’t you take your shirt off.”

“What for?” Justin asks.

“It’s what you’re here for. Remember,” Sapp comments while trying to act nonchalant.

“Right. Decoration,” Justin replies with a barely-concealed hunching of his shoulders.

“That was the deal,” Sapp confirms, taking a hit himself as Justin complies and peels off his shirt. “That’s better,” he adds right before he licks his finger and reaches out to pinch at Justin’s right nipple.

Justin flinches away but doesn’t say anything. I, on the other hand, feel like decking the creep and screaming at him to keep his hands off the kid. Of course I don’t, because the kid isn’t supposed to be anything to me other than a trick, but I think it. There’s just something so wrong with a seedy, broken-down, aging club boy like The Sapp touching someone as beautiful as this kid.

“Our little friend here looks like he could use a drink,” another raunchy oldster comments, coming up behind Justin. “Why don’t we offer him something?” The newcomer tries to shove a glass into Justin’s hand.

That’s when I decide to make my presence known, stepping up and insinuating myself between The Sapp and my blond. Justin looks up at me with a grateful expression. He pushes aside the glass the other guy was trying to give him and instead takes a small sip of my whiskey.

“I’m not paying you to stand around and chat with your date, kid,” Sapp hisses angrily, moving around so that he’s right in Justin’s face. “Either start shaking your ass or get the fuck out.”

“No problem, Boss,” Justin quickly responds, giving me an apologetic look before he steps over to join the other two twinks who are dancing to the techno-beat music pumping through the stereo.

“If you’re going to stay, don’t distract the help, Kinney,” Sapp warns and then wanders away.

I’m still standing there a few minutes later - sorta on guard in case more creeps make moves on my blond - when yet another of Sapp’s friends wanders by. This one has an open bottle of Beam in his hand. He waves it at me, offering to top me up, and I hold out my glass. The guy who refilled my drink stands there, smirking at me in the oddest fashion while I take a quick swig. Then he laughs at me and moves away. When I look up, there’s The Sapp foisting yet another doobie on my dancing blond and practically ordering him to take a hit, bragging to him that ‘it’s good shit’. I figure it must be because I’m starting to feel the effects just from the second hand smoke that’s drifting through the room like a fog. Between that and the drink in my hand, I’m starting to feel pretty relaxed myself . . .

*****Flash*****

When this latest flashback finally starts to fade, I find myself feeling almost as dizzy as I had been that night. Sympathetic intoxication? Or maybe just the panic welling up inside me again? Whatever. I find that my knees suddenly don’t seem capable of holding my body upright and I drop down onto one of the chairs at the dining table.

Meanwhile, Em is wandering around the room, looking at everything with a curious eye. “Not a single personal item or memento,” he comments as he scans the entertainment center shelves. “I don’t think this is anyone’s residence. Probably a rental or something. Which would explain why nobody bothered to clean up. Although, whoever rented the place is definitely going to lose their security deposit.”

Em is about to run his finger through the dust on the front of the stereo, but I quickly speak up, “don’t touch anything!”

Em instantly pulls his hand back. He gives me another of those searching looks but doesn’t pry. Then, using the hem of his shirt as a barrier, he pushes the power button on the stereo. Music belts out of the speakers - it’s the typical, seductive, party music that you’d expect. Emmett shrugs and goes back to wandering around, looking but not touching, while the thumpa-thumpa blares on.

I just sit there and try to concentrate on breathing. It’s not going very well though. I really wish Em hadn’t turned on that fucking music.

“I’ll be right back. Just going to look around,” Em states as he heads down the hallway off to the right towards the rest of the house.

*****Flash*****

I’m not sure how I ended up on the couch, lounging around with the rest of the lurkers, all of us watching the beautiful, writhing bodies of the three remaining go-go dancers. The room is starting to spin even faster than the boys’ hips. It’s a fascinating show, though. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

My personal go-go dancer seems to have hit his stride. He’s totally into the music now. And the sinuous way he’s moving his hips is making me horny as hell. I’m so into watching him, and fantasizing about what’s still to come when I finally get him alone, that I barely notice anything else going on around me. But when The Sapp comes up to Justin and hands him a bullet filled with some white powder, the subsequent cheering from the men sitting around me finally rouses my attention.  

“Yes! Looks like it’s showtime!” the oleaginous cretin sitting next to me on the couch crows.

I look up again and see that Justin is blinking around himself and rubbing at his eyes. He seems as dizzy as I am. The Sapp is exchanging the bullet Justin was holding for another glass of something for the kid to drink. Justin sips at it for a second but then tries to push it away.

I hear Sapp laughing and saying, “aww, what’s wrong? Too strong for you? Here, just another little sip. That’s right. There you go. You feel good now, right? Yeah, you feel real good.” I see him groping at the blond kid’s ass and rubbing his package against Justin’s hip while several of Gary’s friends begin circling around Justin too. “You haven’t seen the rest of the place yet, have you? Let me show you around . . .”

Sapp starts to lead Justin off down the hall.

“Excellent. It’s about time we got this party started,” announces the guy sitting next to me as he gets up and follows the rest of the crowd, all of whom seem to be drifting down that same hallway. “You coming, Alex?” my neighbor yells back over his shoulder.

“In a minute,” a new face comes up to me, taking the seat next to me on the couch. “I’m gonna keep Kinney company for a few more minutes. He’s not quite ready to join in on the party games yet.” The guy waves a bottle of Beam in my face and offers, “how ‘bout I top you up there, Big Fella? That’s right. Drink up. Gotta get you ready so you can join your friend down the hall . . .”

*****Flash*****

Almost against my will, I find myself getting to my feet and trailing along behind Emmett. There are several doors opening off that fucking hallway. None of them are closed, allowing me to peek inside as I pass by, noting as I go that they’re all empty. But it’s the room at the end that’s drawing me onward. That’s where the answers will be . . . Assuming I really want the answers waiting there.

The master bedroom is a relatively large, sparsely furnished room. The large king-sized bed has been stripped of sheets but the rest of the place is as much of a mess as the main room. I almost trip over an empty beer bottle on the floor as I enter. There’s not much to see in here other than the bed and the trash scattered around on the floor. So, then, why is my heart hammering away in my chest like a jackhammer? It’s like that moment in every horror film ever made when the innocent victim looks around and announces that it must have been just her imagination, right before she looks up to find the monster looming over her.

I look up.

Of course, I don’t see a psychopathic murderer waiting to pounce on me from above with a bloody knife in his hand. Just three sets of innocuous-looking metal eye-bolt hooks affixed into the beams of the ceiling. Nothing scary at all. Right?

*****Flash*****

“What the fuck are you doing, Alex?”

“I’m just gonna play a little, Boss.”

“This is a really bad idea.”

I finally manage to pry my too-heavy eyelids open and see a face bent over me. I can see the mouth on the face moving - but the image looks distorted, like somebody has messed with the horizontal hold knob in my brain. The words lag behind by half a minute or so, making it even more difficult to understand what the face is saying.

“He’s flying so high right now he won’t remember a thing. And even if he does, who’s going to believe a notorious party slut like him?”

“Kinney’s not like the others. He’s not some homeless, friendless twink that nobody’s going to miss. He’s well known. We can’t just make him disappear. Somebody will miss him.”

There’s more than one face now. I blink at the faces, trying to clear my vision but it doesn’t seem to be working. I try to move my hand, thinking if I could only rub my eyes, everything would become clearer. But I can’t move my arm. Except for my head, I can’t move anything. I’m frozen in place.

I look upward, beyond the looming faces, and I can see what I think is my hand, held immobile by a thick, black leather cuff. The cuff is attached to a solid-looking metal chain. The chain goes up and up and up till it meets a big metal bolt way above me. Strangely enough, I can see those damn bolts, miles and miles away from me, better than I can see the faces right in front of my eyes. That’s odd, right?

“Come on, Boss. It’s Brian Fucking Kinney, for fuck’s sake! You can’t pass up a golden opportunity like this!” The one, darker-haired face, is now grinning down at me like it wants to eat me. I don’t really like that face. “Haven’t you always wanted to put him in his place? The way he struts around town like he’s god’s gift to gay PA? Rubbing everyone else’s noses in it. Looking down on the rest of us like he’s better than us mere mortals. Well . . . here’s your chance to stick it to him. Prove that he’s no different than the rest of these sluts and deserves the same fucking treatment.” The grinning face is joined in the dancing, dizzying, circling images above me by the first face. They are both grinning now. “Besides, an uber top like Kinney - he’s probably tighter even than your twinks. You know he could use a good stretching . . .”

I don’t like these faces much. Or their words. I don’t want to look at them anymore. I let my head turn to the side so I don’t have to see them. I see a much nicer face when I look to the side. It’s my blond.

Only my blond isn’t smiling at me like he usually does. He’s crying. I can see tears dripping down his cheeks. And he’s also strapped into a sling with his hands restrained in thick black cuffs. Just like me.

Beyond Justin, there’s a third sling, but I can’t see clearly enough to figure out who’s in that one.

So I close my eyes again, because I really don’t want to see any of this anymore.

*****Flash*****

Somehow I find myself back out in the main room of the party house, sitting on the couch, with Emmett hovering over me looking worried.

“Brian? You back with me again?” Em asks as I gulp huge, calming, lungfuls of air.

“Fuck!” is all I can say . . . but then again, it’s the perfect statement.

“You can say that again,” Em agrees and plops down next to me. “I’m starting to think that this adventure of ours isn’t a great idea. You’re about to keel over from exhaustion, Brian, and meanwhile it looks like we’ve hit a dead end again. There’s nothing here and nobody to interrogate to give us our next clue. Maybe we should call in reinforcements or something?” Em digs in the pocket of his slacks and comes up with a business card, which he subsequently hands over to me. “While I was waiting to see you back at the hospital, this cop stopped me and asked a bunch of questions. He gave me this. Maybe we should call him, tell him what you’re starting to remember, and see if he can’t help us find your blond boy? Although, he didn’t seem all that interested in the case after he talked to your doctor . . .”

I look at the card. Detective Carl Horvath. I remember that name. Yeah, I think it’s definitely time to call in those reinforcements.

“Call him. Tell him it’s about his blond boys. That ought to get him here pretty fucking fast.”

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