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Chapter 10 - Choices.

After an uneventful evening and another restless night, I’m not really prepared for my alarm to go off at it’s usual preset time. If this were any other Monday morning, I’d be rolling out of bed and on my way to work, ready to tackle my next big ad campaign. But this isn’t just another workday. Hell, I’m not even sure if I still have a fucking job. But it’s past time to start dealing with reality again, so I’m going to have to figure this thing out.

I hit the button to turn the alarm off but I’m not in any hurry to get out of bed. Not when there’s a snoozing blond boy curled up like a shrimp at my side. It’s a ridiculously comfortable experience, and one I’m not really used to. But I’m not inclined to cut the moment short.

I’m not really accustomed to having anyone sleeping with me. I usually don’t let my tricks stay over, except when I’m too drunk or stoned to remember to kick them out before I fall asleep. You see, while I pride myself on being an equal opportunity fag, fucking guys of all shapes, sizes, races, nationalities, and levels of queerness, I admit that I do have a penchant for large muscle queens - but let’s face it, while it might be fun to plow into the ass of some big, sweaty, butch, bear, it’s a whole other thing to have that same sweaty slab of meat snoring up a storm in bed next to you the morning after. So it’s really no wonder I never enjoyed actually sleeping with that type.

Justin, however, is different. He doesn’t snore so much as he purrs in his sleep. It’s fucking adorable. He’s also not sweaty, just warm and good smelling. And though the two of us seem to be drawn together, touching all night long, it never feels burdensome or overwhelming. It feels companionable. It reminds me that I’m not alone.

Whatever this unfamiliar attraction is, though, I find myself feeling uncharacteristically fond of my blond bed companion this morning. So, instead of jumping out of bed and dealing with my fucked up life, I allow myself a moment or two of further procrastination. I roll towards him and gather Justin into my arms. He’s still pretending to be asleep, and just burrows more deeply into my chest. Of course that means I’m even more inundated by the enticing aroma of toasty warm blond boy and even less inclined to get up.

“You better be careful,” the mop of blond murmurs with a happy sigh and a warm wiggle. “If you don’t stop making life here so pleasant, I might decide to stay with you forever.” Then he laughs quietly and I’m captivated all over again by that melodic sound.

“And that would be bad because . . . ?” I respond before I can catch myself and censor my words.

I’m rewarded with a brilliant smile that is only minimally distorted at the edges by his still bruised lips. That smile takes me by surprise and makes something in my gut do a flip-flop. There's just something about this kid that I can’t resist. I’ve never felt like such a pushover before. But when he’s smiling at me like that I can’t seem to think straight. I can barely think at all.

Which is probably why I find myself kissing those slightly swollen lips. It’s our first real kiss since . . . Since before. And even though we both know it won’t go any further, it’s good. He even tastes warm. I soon find myself deepening the kiss. He willingly kisses back and we spend the next however-many-minutes just lying there making out. For a while, I even forget the horrors that brought us to this point. All in all, it’s not a bad way to wake up. Not bad at all.

“Mmmm,” Justin moans when he eventually pulls away. “I would love to stay and keep doing that, but I’m afraid I’ve got to piss, so you’re going to have to let me up.”

I reluctantly let him squirm out of my arms and follow him into the bathroom. We both use the toilet and then wash up at the basin. Unfortunately, the next item on the agenda is pulling out the supplies the doctor sent home from the hospital so I can doctor him. This part of the morning is not only unpleasant but awkward and embarrassing for both of us, even though it’s necessary. Justin’s quiet through the whole procedure. I try to be as efficient as possible, getting it over with quickly and then putting all the supplies away without comment, but the congenial mood of a few minutes earlier has definitely been quashed.

I hand Justin an old pair of my sweats and a t-shirt to put on and then get dressed myself. He wanders out to the kitchen and peeks in the fridge. When he doesn’t find anything other than water, beer and poppers, he closes the door again with a disapproving huff. Same thing happens when he looks in the cupboards.

“I take it you don’t cook much?” he surmises with a teasing grin.

“How’d you guess?” I joke back. “I usually just eat at the Diner or order in. You up for a field trip or should we let our fingers do the ordering?”

I can tell Justin’s a little hesitant to venture out so soon. I don’t blame him. The thought of the usual Monday morning, pre-work, breakfast crowd at the Diner is pretty unappetizing to me as well. Luckily, before we have to make that decision, our deliberations are interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom from the front door. By the ‘Shave and a Haircut’ rhythm of the buzzing, I already know who our visitor is - Debbie Novotny - which, if I know Deb, means our breakfast quandary is solved. I buzz her up and step over to slide the door open in anticipation of her arrival.

“Prepare yourself,” I warn Justin, who’s retreated to a seat on the far side of the kitchen island.

He looks at me funny, but doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Debbie is stepping off the lift with her arms full of grocery bags and her usual busybody bustle.

“Hey there, Kiddo! Good to see you back and, mostly, in one piece.” She announces herself with a smile in my direction before she starts handing off her burdens to me. “Well, don’t just stand there, come give me a hand with all this crap before I drop it.”

“Hello to you, too, Deb,” I respond, hustling over and taking one of the two bags out of her hands. “I’m doing okay, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Well, aren’t you just two scoops of grumpy in a bowlful of bitchy this morning,” Debbie teases me and follows up with a playful pinch to my cheek. “Good thing I’m here to brighten up your day, huh?”

The bag I grab seems to be filled with groceries; staples like bread, milk, cheese and the like. While I’m putting that stuff away, she’s unloading the other bag, which is filled with hot food, all of which she immediately starts to serve, dishing it out onto plates which she sets on the bar. Of course, she’s babbling away in a very Deb-like way the entire time, not letting anyone else get a word in edgewise, per usual.

“Well now, aren’t you just the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” She starts off right away, addressing Justin like an old friend. “I’m Debbie and you must be Justin. My son, Michael, told me all about how you were staying with Brian. Which, of course, makes you part of the family now. And can I just say how fucking glad I am that you managed to escape from the monsters that killed those other boys? Did you know that I was the one who found the first boy? He was in the fucking trash outside the Diner where I work. It was just terrible. And that poor kid . . . I was beside myself for weeks after that. Thank fuck Brian was able to help you get away from them. I hope to hell the cops finally catch them! They all need to be thrown into jail for the rest of their unnatural lives, the fuckers!” She slides a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast over to Justin along with silverware and a napkin. “Now, we need to get you two boys all healed up and back on your feet - both of you look like you’ve seen better days - so no arguments about eating all of that. Brian, get your butt over here and sit down too. And don’t be giving me any shit about watching your diet or anything! You’re skinnier than ever and could use a few pounds on you. You hear me?”

I sit myself in front of the second plate of food she’s dished up without a word because, when she gets in this kind of mood, it’s impossible to argue with her. Plus, I really AM kind of hungry. I also don’t really mind being mothered a little for once. It’s nice to know somebody cares.

“Look at that - I love a boy with a healthy appetite!” Debbie praises the way Justin’s shoveling the food into his mouth, almost without chewing, and takes the opportunity to refill his plate between bites. “That’s what I like to see! You eat up, now, Sunshine. You got to build up your strength.”

Justin takes a second to smile up at her with one of his best and brightest smiles, and from Deb’s reaction, I can tell he’s won her over without a fucking word. Of course. Face it, my boy is irresistible. And, yes, I thought the words ‘my boy’ and I don’t even care.

“Damn! Is that the time? Fuck, I’m going to be late for my shift at the Diner,” Deb announces and begins to bustle around to clean up the empty food containers and such. “Now, I know you’re both dealing with some serious shit, so make sure you take all the time you need to get yourselves together again. You especially, Brian - and don’t try to give me any shit about being ‘fine’ - I’ve known you since you were fourteen fucking years old, so I can tell when you’re not ‘fine’. And that means not diving back into work right away. You hear me?” I manage to nod around the bite of toast I just took. “Good. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it, either. I’m always around if you need to talk or anything. And I do mean ANYTHING, you know. No need to be shy; trust me, I’ve heard just about everything.” She wags her finger at the both of us despite the fact that neither Justin nor I would ever dare to argue with her. “Okay. Now that I’ve got you two settled for the time being, I’ve got to run. Lots of hungry boys to feed, you know. You two take it easy. And, remember, call me if you need anything. Bye, Sunshine. Be good, Brian!”

Before you know it, the phenomenon known as Debbie Novotny has once again blown out of the loft. Fuck, I love that woman. She’s just the right amount of caring for me. If she was all doting and emotional all the time, I’d probably run from her screaming. But the foul-mouthed, pushy, in-your-face, take-no-flack kind of mothering she offers is right about my speed. I can tell she cares without being overwhelmed by sentimentality. And, to be honest, Deb’s advice is usually pretty spot on.

“Wow! She’s . . . Sort of a freak, huh?” Justin declares, only now, after Debbie’s left, finding a chance to actually speak up.

“Yeah,” I admit as I finish off the last of my bacon. “But, for all her bluster, you’ve gotta love her. She’s got a heart the size of a mother bear and will defend all her ‘boys’ about as vehemently. She’s also, basically, the only mother I’ve had since I was a kid. And it appears that she’s now adopted you too, so you better get used to her. Once Deb’s taken you under her wing, it’s a done deal.

“Cool. It’ll be nice to have a family again,” Justin declares and then scoops out the rest of the scrambled eggs onto his plate and proceeds to devour his third serving of breakfast.

Meanwhile, I decide to act on Deb’s advice about not diving back into work right away. She’s right, I’m probably not ready for that. But I do need to stop procrastinating and at least call into work. I don’t have an excuse to put it off any longer.

So, with more than a little trepidation, I make my way over to the desk, sit down, pick up the landline, and dial the direct number for my assistant, Cynthia.

“Brian Kinney’s office. This is Cynthia, his assistant. How may I help you?”

“So, I still have an office and an assistant? That’s a good sign,” I reply to the standard greeting.

“Brian! Thank fuck! I was so damn worried about you - you have no idea. Are you okay?” Cynthia sounds so relieved to hear from me that I feel bad I didn’t call her sooner.

“I’ll survive. I take it you heard the news over the weekend?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports. They didn’t say much though, only that you helped the police rescue one of the Dumpster Boys. It doesn’t explain where the fuck you were all week, although I can probably guess . . . Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Mostly. But I could probably use one or two more days to recover. If I come in now, I’ll only scare the clients away with all the bruises . . . That’s assuming that I still actually HAVE a job.”

“Well, Ryder WAS pretty pissed off all week and threatened to fire you the minute you turned up again, but that was before all the news reports came out. I haven’t talked to him yet this morning. What do you want me to tell him?”

“Fuck if I know,” I answer her honestly. I look over at the kitchen where I see Justin washing the plates and tidying up the remaining detritus from our meal. “Just tell him that I’m taking the day to deal with all this shit and I’ll call him to explain everything later. Somehow.”

“Okay. But I don’t think that will hold him off for long, Boss,” Cynthia warns.

“I know but . . . I just don’t think I’d be much good even if I tried to come in today, Cyn. I’m dealing with a metric fuck ton of shit here. You have no idea . . .”

“I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll hold Ryder off,” Cynthia promises and I feel a huge weight fall from my shoulders. “Do you need anything in the meantime? How can I help?”

“Just email me a summary of any problems that have come up with my accounts over the past week so I can get back up to speed. I’ll go through all my other emails when I can, but I don’t have the energy to wade through them right now,” I direct her, and then we spend a few minutes going through some minor work things. I’m relieved to hear that my ever-able assistant has everything under control for me. “One more thing, Cyn,” I add right before I hang up. “Can you call and cancel my work credit cards - the fuckers stole my wallet, of course. Oh, and I’ll need a new cell phone too. Actually, better order two new phones - I’ve got a friend that needs one too - I might as well get that taken care of now.”

“No problem, Boss. I’ll deal with all that for you. You just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Thanks, Cynthia. Will do. Later.”

Justin’s hovering just beyond my office area when I finally hang up. He looks worried. “Everything okay with your job”

I shrug. “I guess. No idea what I’m going to tell my boss when I finally do talk to him, though. I don’t exactly want everyone at work talking about . . . this.”

“Yeah.” He nods understandingly but of course there’s not much to say about that particular topic. “It sounds like you still HAVE a job, so at least you’ve got that going for you. I imagine it’ll be a bitch getting caught up again, though . . . You know, you never actually told me what you do for a living but, since I’m not doing anything, I’d be happy to help if you need it.”

“I’m in advertising. And, yeah, it’s going to be a fucking headache to get back up to speed with my accounts. I was right in the middle of finalizing two major accounts when I took my little unplanned vacation . . . I doubt you’d be able to help though. Not unless you’ve got marketing experience.”

“Nope. Sorry. Although, for what it’s worth, I do have a pretty good eye for color and design. And I can draw, if that’s of any use. I don’t have any formal training, but people have told me I’ve got some natural talent. I was hoping to eventually go to art school, if I ever managed to find the money. That’s going to have to wait again, I suppose. But until I do find work again, I’d be more than willing to do what I can to help you catch up. I owe you.”

“You can draw? Hmm.” I actually remember him telling me something about that during one of the many interludes between torture sessions. I can also hear a note of eagerness in his voice, betraying how much he’d like to feel useful. “Okay. Let’s see what you can do.”

I quickly log into the Ryder server and pull up the file for one of the accounts I was working on the week before. I can see that, in my absence, the art department has thrown together some initial concept boards based on my prior directions. They’re not very good. Which doesn’t surprise me because normally I have to send work back three or four times before the art department gets it right. So there's no harm in letting my in-house artist take a stab at it; he couldn’t possibly fuck it up more than it is already.

I end up being mildly surprised when Justin‘s claims turn out to be more than just empty bragging. We don’t have the equipment or the graphics programs we need to finalize everything, but the kid really does have an amazing eye for color and design. And what we can’t do on the computer, Justin manages to do free hand pretty well. At least until his weak right hand starts to give out on him. By then, though, we’ve actually gotten a pretty good start on the project.

I didn’t realize how long we’d been at it, either. When I finally shut down the computer, I note that it’s already lunchtime. We’ve managed to get through a whole morning together, despite my misgivings that today was going to be rather difficult. I’m counting this as a success.

Since Justin’s hand is really hurting him by this point, I order him to sit down with an ice pack wrapped around his wrist while I take over lunch preparations. Thank fuck for Deb’s grocery delivery. I don’t get very far, though, before the buzzer from the front door interrupts us again. What is with all these visitors during meal times, huh?

“Yeah?” I ask into the intercom.

“It’s Horvath. I’ve got some news,” comes the answer, prompting me to hit the door release button.

While we wait for the Detective to arrive, I finish making sandwiches for both of us, because I figure it’s better to get bad news on a full stomach - at least that’s what Deb has always told me. Horvath arrives at the door just as I place Justin’s plate on the kitchen bar. He’s pretty clearly too nervous to eat, but I point to a bar stool and wordlessly order him to sit before I go answer the door. Justin ignores me and follows a foot behind me all the way across the loft. Oh well, I guess we can always eat later, assuming we still have appetites.

“Detective Horvath. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” I say as I gesture the gruff cop inside.

“Kinney. Taylor.” He nods without smiling as he enters and looks around himself as if scoping out the scene of yet another possible crime. “I tried to call before I came over, but there was no answer and your voicemail is full.”

“Oh, yeah. We turned the ringer off last night as soon as we got home. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation,” I explain.

“Probably not a bad idea. I wish I could do the same. My phone’s been burning up all day.” The cop saunters in and, without asking permission, makes himself comfortable in my new Eames armchair. Justin and I join him, sitting side by side on the sofa. “It seems that the names of some of the more prominent witnesses we’ve started to question were leaked to the press. It’s turned into quite the media feeding frenzy. The news hounds have been sniffing around the station all day. I don't think they’ve tied it to the prior news about you two though. At least not yet.”

“Yet?” Justin prompts, getting only a shrug from our Gravelly Guy. “Do you have enough to start making arrests? What about Sapperstein?”

Horvath gets what I’d call a cagey gleam in his eye and he almost smiles. “Even better - we’ve got at least two of these scumbags who are so piss-in-their-pants scared they’re already signing plea agreements.”

“What, exactly, does that mean, Detective?” I ask, unwilling to celebrate until I get the full story.

“It means that this whole ring is going down,” Horvath confirms, this time with an actual, gloating grin. “Between the physical evidence we got from that party house you led us to, Kinney, and the eyewitnesses that have already agreed to cooperate in exchange for reduced sentences, I expect to see maybe a couple dozen of these perps in jail before the year’s out. And even the ones we can’t convict of rape - or worse - will probably never recover from the scandal of just being associated with this group. It’s going to be huge. We’ve already got a list of at least thirty suspects. And we’ve only just started to interview prior employees from the club - several of whom had similar bad experiences at one of these ‘parties’, but who hadn’t previously come forward because they didn’t think they’d be believed - so our defendant list might end up even larger. From what we can tell, it looks like this shit’s been going on for two or three YEARS. There could be dozens of victims. By the time we’re through . . . Well, let’s just say it’s likely to be the biggest scandal Pittsburgh’s seen in the last century.”

“Great. They all deserve to fucking rot,” I assert vindictively. “But what about The Sapp? He’s the one that was responsible for the whole thing. He’s the one I want to see go down. Him and his fucking sadistic henchman, Alex.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Horvath affirms. “We got them both. We tracked Alex Holmes down at his brother’s place in Wheeler, West Virginia, late last night. And he was more than happy to give us the location of the cabin in the Poconos where Gary Sapperstein was hiding out. Local sheriff picked up ‘The Sapp’ about an hour ago. Based on the evidence and testimony we’ve already got, I’d say convictions for rape and sex trafficking are pretty much in the bag for those two.”

I feel Justin’s hand reaching out to grab hold of mine at this news. I’m not sure I’ll be able to reassure him much, though. I have no idea how to react to what I’m hearing. I’m relieved to hear they finally got the bastards that were responsible, but it also brings up a lot of bad memories all over again. Mostly, I just want this whole thing to be over already.

“Even better,” Horvath continues, apparently not noticing the fact that both Justin and I have gone perfectly silent, “Alex also gave us information on the ‘special clients’ that Sapperstein rented his captives out to after the parties - the ones who paid extra for one-on-one time and were sometimes rough enough that the victims didn’t survive the experience. We’ll be taking that information to a Grand Jury starting tomorrow to ask for indictments on the charges of murder and attempted murder.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath from the boy sitting next to me and feel Justin’s grip contract, squeezing my hand painfully tight. I have to pry his fingers apart in order to free my hand. Instead, I put my arm around his shoulders and hang on that way. I can feel the way his whole body is now trembling. I hope I can hold him together through the rest of this. I also hope I don’t fall apart myself.

“Which is where you two come in again,” Horvath plows on without stopping. “See, we're going to need your testimony to get these guys. There’s some big names. Important people. Too important to simply arrest like the rest of the fuckers. The D.A. wants to make sure these guys can’t get out of the charges on some technicality so she’s going all out. But it’s not going to be easy. I need to make sure you’re still on board with this plan.”

Fuck! I thought I’d have more time before I had to confront this. I know what I told Horvath yesterday, but I’m not sure I’m ready. Just telling Horvath my story almost killed me, and now he wants me to bare my soul in court in front of a room full of strangers?

They’re all going to know. Everyone is going to know. Everyone. My friends, my family, my tricks, my boss, my clients, and everyone else I’ve ever met or ever will meet.

I’ve never approved of hiding in a closet. I’ve never been ashamed of being gay. Hell, most of the time I’m outright proud of the fact that I’m a fag. But it’s one thing for people to know you like dick, and maybe even occasionally like it shoved up your ass, and a whole other thing to admit to the kind of thing that happened to me. To admit to having been used like that. It’s not even my fucking reputation I’m worried about. I could probably handle no longer being seen as the most macho top in the world, but I’m not sure I can handle all the pity I’ll be subjected to as soon as everybody finds out about this. This isn’t something that I’ll ever live down or that people will forget. Primarily because I’ll never be able to forget it myself.

I’ll forever be ‘that guy who got raped’.

How exactly does that fit into my world view? How can *I* be that guy? And how will I deal with the way people will see me after they all know?

*****Flash*****

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” Emmett asks as Ted slumps up to the bar with his usual defeated look.

“Nothing. Just the same old, same old. I suppose it wouldn’t be Friday night if I didn’t get turned down by at least a dozen guys,” Ted grumbles, taking the beer that Michael offers to him with a sigh.

“They just don’t know what they’re missing,” Michael comments, trying to cheer his friend up with a sympathetic pat to Ted’s shoulder.

“Yeah. What do these losers know? If they were smart they’d snap you right up, Honey,” Emmett chimes in, patting Ted from the other side, and then they all three stare dejectedly into their beers for a moment.

While the silent, sad-sack sisters do their weekly ‘woe is me why don’t all the men simply fall at my feet’ chorus, I just lean back against the bar and chuckle at them. They’re so fucking predictable. And pathetic. I debate with myself for thirty second before I decide to try and - AGAIN - give them some much needed advice.

“Why do you care what everyone else thinks?” I ask pointedly. “If you really want to hook up with someone, it’s not what they think about you that matters - it’s what you think about yourself. Confidence is sexy, Theodore.”

“Easy for you to say, Bri. I’m not like you. I wish I was. But I’ll never be able to pull guys like you do.”

“Not with an attitude like that you won’t.” I shake my head at the man, knowing it’s hopeless, just like he is.

“Don’t be such an ass, Brian. We can’t all be supremely confident and flawlessly beautiful. At least not all the time. Everyone has occasional moments of self-doubt. That's just part of being human.” Emmett’s the only one with the balls to argue the point with me.

When will these guys learn? Even MY image is only about fifty percent how I look - not that I don’t work hard to look the way I do, of course - and the other fifty percent is all about the image I project. It’s about the marketing. It’s about projecting the kind of image you want them to believe and then selling it. It’s about internalizing your own reputation. You have to feel it yourself before the guy you’re trying to pull will buy it. But try explaining that to these three . . . Maybe what they need is another demonstration.

I put down my empty beer bottle, pull on my best Sexy Stud mask, and assume an air of casual but self-assured indifference. Then I look around and find my next target. And when he looks up, I pierce him with a stare that’s calculated to make him believe that I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

“Unless, of course, you’re Brian Kinney,” Michael narrates as I begin to stalk away towards my latest prey. “Then it’s, ‘who gives a fuck what you think. You’re lucky to have me’. And they all fall at the feet of the Stud of Liberty Avenue without so much as a whimper.”

*****Flash*****

Yeah, like I’ll ever be able to feel that confident again.

Assuming, that is, that I even still WANT to be that guy anymore - something I’m not at all sure of at this point. Because it was THAT guy, and his overblown confidence, that took the stupid risks which got me here. I guess I bought into the Brian Kinney Personna too much, huh? If I hadn’t been so convinced that nothing could ever touch me, maybe I wouldn’t be where I am right now. But do I really want the entire world to know about my failures like this?

“Listen, I know I’m asking a lot,” Horvath presses, obviously made aware by the resounding silence that both Justin and I have our reservations. “I get that this will be tough for both of you. Hell, I can’t even imagine being put in a similar position. But you’ve got to understand that we can’t stop these guys unless you’re willing to go public. And we all know that creeps like this will never stop unless we put them behind bars. They WILL do this again. Some other kid WILL get hurt. It’s only a question of when.”

Even though I can still feel Justin shaking with fear beside me, I can also feel the instantaneous resolve this statement imparts to him. Whereas he was leaning into me before, relying on my strength and barely keeping himself upright on his own, he’s now sitting up straighter. And I know he's still scared, emotional and in physical pain, but I also know he won’t let any of that stop him. Because even though he’s physically smaller and frailer than me, Justin has got balls of titanium. He’s one of the bravest little fuckers I’ve ever met. He’s not the type to let someone like The Sapp stop him from doing what he knows is right.

I already know Justin’s going to tell Horvath that he’ll do whatever it takes to stop the fuckers that hurt us.

“They’re going to know it’s me testifying against them, right? I mean, I know Grand Juries are secret and all, but who else could it be?” Justin sounds so tentative and lost when he speaks up, although even now I can hear a note of determination in his tone. “The Sapp . . . I heard him bragging that he had a lot of powerful friends. That they’d protect him. His friends . . . Is there . . . Is there any way they could . . . He won’t be able to find me, will he?

“I’ve already assigned an officer to keep an eye on this building,” Horvath reassures. “But, short of taking you guys into protective custody - which I don’t have authorization to do, at this point - I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t think Sapperstein would try anything like that, but you never know. And, based on the list of names we have so far, there’s no knowing how far up the food chain this thing might eventually go. I suppose that there might be some increased risk if our suspect list expands to include the wrong person. But if that happens, we can always rethink your protection needs.” The detective is now looking at us both with this sorta sympathetic frown that makes me cringe. “Frankly, even if you don't come forward, you’d probably still be at risk. As long as they know there’s a witness out there, you’ll be a potential target. Once you do testify, at least then your statements will be on the record and it wouldn’t do them any good to come after you.”

“So, you're saying that testifying is the best way to stay safe?” I ask. “That sounds to me like self-serving bull shit.”

“I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t need your testimony, Kinney. But I get that you’re both risking a lot here. There’s no way around that other than to make sure the bad guys are put behind bars as soon as possible. And I’m committed to getting that done any way I can.”

“Shit,” Justin mumbles shaking his head and exhaling in a long, slow, resigned breath. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to escape this completely anyway. Hell, if Brian hadn’t gotten me out of there, I’d probably be dead by now, so what’s a little more danger, right?” I feel him push away from my side, sitting up independently and finally lifting his head so he can look directly into the detective’s eyes. “Fuck Sapp and all his fucking ‘clients’. I won’t let them get away with this. I won’t let him do this to anyone else. I don’t care what else they try to do to me.”

Like I said, he’s a brave little fucker.

Horvath looks at me next. He’s got an expectant expression. But I knew I was fucked from the moment I sensed Justin’s resolution hardening. I can hardly refuse to be at least as courageous as an eighteen year old go-go dancer, right? And, like Horvath said, I probably wouldn’t be any safer even if I declined to testify. Besides, my reputation is probably already fucked, or at least it will be as soon as this case goes to trial. So, my choice is to either be the hero that stands up to the bad guys despite the inevitable negative consequences, or be the wimp who can never get past his ‘victimhood’. I was never big on being a victim.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to show me up, Sunshine? Next thing you know, you’ll have Horvath thinking you’re the one in charge around here,” I tease him before looking over at the detective. “So, what do we have to do to put these guys behind bars forever?”

**********