SNOWSHINE

Chapter 1

         Once, in the great city of Pittsburgh, there lived a young man named Justin Taylor. He was 25 years old. He had white hair. It had been blond once. But more on that later. He had blue eyes that shone when he was angry or happy and a bright smile that lit up his room when he chose to use it. He was the youngest police officer in his precinct.

         When he was almost eighteen, his father found out he was gay when his parents found his sketchbooks filled to capacity with practice sketches of the male form, many of them anatomically correct....and some incorrect, to the point of being caricatures. Anyhoo, when his father found out, that was it. Justin was disowned and kicked out of the house. The very night that Justin had been planning to go out and check out a gay bar, to discover himself changed drastically into a night of survival. He packed a backpack full of things, swallowed his pride and made his way downtown and checked into a homeless shelter for the night. And the next day, after seething with the injustice of it all, he made a solemn vow to uphold justice in any way he could. He went to the precinct overseeing Liberty Avenue where he had been planning to cruise and volunteered and then hired himself out as a police artist. He used the very skills that had got him kicked out to sustain himself and catch and identify crooks to boot.

         And as soon as he had turned eighteen, he enlisted in the police academy. The rest, as they say was history.

         In spite of being a very good cop and in spite of being...mostly happy...Justin always felt an emptiness, a strange feeling that something was missing, that he had missed....something...like an appointment.

         He supposed it had all gone back to that night he had been kicked out. He was going to go down to Liberty Avenue in his cutest cruising clothes, which would include a stellar pair of tight jeans, and hang out and ask other fags questions about what to do, where to go, and maybe in the process lose his virginity.

         Instead, he had dressed in layers, had been all baggy and had a heavy backpack to worry about. He was wearing three hoodies with one of the hoods up, covering his buttery blond hair. The outside hoody was white, the hood was white and it blended in with the snow that was on the ground. It was old snow but Justin could smell new snow in the air. It was bitterly cold and his fingers and toes were numb. So instead of lingering he had hurried.

         On the other side of the street was a club called Babylon. It seemed to tower over everything else in the area like the real Babylon of old. Justin passed under a streetlight and just then a group of men came out. Justin stopped a moment and watched them come out stamping and blowing on their hands in the cold, their breath coming out like smoke. He could tell immediately which one was the leader. They all looked to him the way flowers look toward the sun. He had brown hair, a sneer that said I'm hot, and I know it. And he was hot! Justin looked out of his hood, knowing his own face was in shadow and knew he was looking at the hottest man he would ever see in his life. He was classically handsome and it seemed to Justin he was looking into the face of...

         "Get lost, hippy!" Justin felt a hand on his shoulder and shove. His sneakers slid on a patch of slick black ice and before he could stop himself, he had slid three feet sideways and tumbled into the arms of a huge guy coming out of a place called Meathook.

         The bruiser looked him over and pulled down his hood but said, "Sorry kid but I'm looking for someone with a bit more...meat, if you catch my meaning."

         Justin didn't.

         "You'd better stick to Boytoy." But before Justin could ask what that was, the hulk had shoved him in the right direction, causing Justin to bump into someone else. That one shoved him along to another and that one to another and soon there was a lively game of "twink pinball" going on. By the time, Justin had extricated himself, he was half way down the block and thoroughly disoriented and pissed off. He was going to consider losing his virginity to one of these knuckleheads? What was he thinking?

         He looked back along the street at the beautiful man and for one moment thought, "Now him...Him, I'd let."

         However, that dream was dashed by the next thing he saw.

         The asshole blond twink who had shoved him out of the way was leaning against the lamp-post. His skin was creamy, his hair all blond and "messy on purpose" He was dressed warmly but casually in all the right things, dressed for cruising, not for wearing what you own and surviving like Justin. His blond hair shone in the lamplight. His blue eyes made doe eyes and he was looking up at the beautiful brown haired man who had seen him and moseyed over.

         "What are you up to?" the gorgeous face of God asked.

         "About 7 inches. How about yourself?" answered the twink.

         "Aren't you a cheeky twink?' said the man but it wasn't a question.

         "In more ways than one," said the twink, pressing his crotch into Brown Hair. "Care to find out?"

         Justin turned and hurried away. He hunched his shoulders against the cold but it did nothing to quell the ice that had lodged itself into his soul. He did not want to hear Brown Hair's answer. And he never saw the beautiful man again.

%#$#Summer's Heat makes thing's grow... Soon Winter's Wind will bite and blow$%#@%

         Until now.

         Justin walked around a corner of a hallway in the station on his way to his desk and nearly walked into the chief of police with Brown Hair walking right at his right hand.

         "Taylor! Glad I ran into you! I'm going to be making a general announcement later but this gets one grunt out of the way right now. Brian, this is Justin Taylor, one of our top men in the drug squad! Justin, this is Brian Kinney! Kinney owns Kinnetic, a top advertising firm who's agreed to be my campaign manager. I'm running for mayor!" finished Chief Stockwell.

         "He still looked like a god. His brown hair was styled, his features had matured a little but otherwise he looked exactly the same as she did on the street all those years ago. Justin was glad his police cap was pulled down snugly over his own hair. He wasn't ready to let that cat out of the bag straight off. Brian's eyes were hazel, the color of rich chocolate and his lips were thin but his mouth was wide and expressive, that is Justin would bet they were if he wanted. However, at this present time, Brian's lips were pressed into a thin line that didn't seem to be planning on doing much else. His shoulders were wide, his hips were thin. His suit fit him deliciously. It looked Armani. Brian held himself erect; his eyes were cold, assessing, but beautiful. Somehow, Justin could imagine him from another era and he could imagine if he had a crown, he'd almost look regal and...dare he say it...like a prince.

         Justin held out his hand. "Mr. Kinney. How are you?" He smiled brightly and gave Brian's palm a quick stroke with a finger and felt a jolt of elation when he felt an answering stroke on his own. Brian was putting up a good front for Stockwell's sake but somewhere in there, Brian found him attractive.

         "I'm doing well. Nice to meet you, Officer Taylor. But you can call me Brian. Mr. Kinney makes me feel old."

         "Something you won't have to worry about for a long while, I'm ..." Justin did a double take. "Wait! Did you say mayor!?" he asked Stockwell, shocked.

         "Indeed I did. Onward and upward, Taylor, onward and upward! Well, as I said, I'll be making the general announcement later today. Until then, it's hush hush. Understand?"

         "Yes sir!" Justin saluted smartly and stood to one side to let the bigger, more imposing men pass by and on to Stockwell's office. "Nice to meet you Mr. Kin - Brian. I trust I'll see you again?"

         "I think you can count on that, Officer," returned Brian smoothly. And then he was gone. Again.

         But this time Justin had no intention of letting Brian get away. He had no idea what was going on but for that brief time that their hands had touched, Justin had felt...complete. That emptiness had been filled, the missing part of him had melted away like a finger-numbing snowball in a hot August sun. He didn't understand it, but he knew now, Brian was somehow the key. And he would find out more. After all, he was a cop. It was his job.

         In the mean time, he ran off to find Marge and Florence, the office gossips. Hush hush, his ass! Marge and Florence prided themselves being the grapevine in this precinct. Once they knew, the entire station would know that asshole's plans in ten minutes and the entire Pittsburgh Police Force in ten minutes after that.

%$#@%Splashing cold water on your neck will cool you down all over#^%&$#$

         As Justin rose through the ranks of the police force, he had eventually, as Stockwell had said, gravitated toward and chosen to join the drug squad. And he was good at it too. He earned his pay, went undercover a lot and made a lot of drug busts. Mary Jane, crystal meth, E, coke, crack, he sleuthed his way through his cases, sniffed his way straight to drug lords and busted many of them, shutting down many drug rings. But no matter how many he did, it seemed 6 more cropped up in their place, like an evil hydra of old that could not be beaten.

         And once upon a time when he was 22 or so, he was on a case involving a coke ring. But the bust went bad. Justin and his partner, Cody's cover was blown, there was a terrible showdown, a gunfight, and a desperate run for their lives and in the end both the drug lord and Cody lay dead. Justice lost a vile criminal to punish and Justin lost a best friend.

         Justin was heartbroken and traumatised. He went to bed blond but when he woke up the next morning his hair had turned completely white. It did not thin. It did not fall out; rather it grew even softer, thicker, and more luxurious than ever. After the shock had worn off, Justin tried to pass it off as being white blond but it was no use. Eventually he had to face facts. It was white. Old man white. As white as snow. And after a certain time had passed and because people are cruel, because it had happened because of a coke bust, because, eventually Justin started to specialize in coke busting, and because his skin was almost as flawless, fair, and white as his hair, people and especially his fellow cops called him Bunny or White Rabbit during the warm weather. Justin found this most grievous, as he was not albino. His eyes remained as piercingly blue as ever. Although the warm weather seemed to grow shorter and shorter every year, and the winters seemed to stretch longer and longer and eventually it seemed to be winter all the time. And it was during the winter, they would call him Snow or worst of all, they would call him Snow White.

%$$#@Ice cubes on your forehead@#%$^$

         Brian walked into Stockwell's office and Stockwell shut the door, shutting out the noise of the police station and giving them privacy. Both men took seats, Stockwell behind the desk and Brian in front of it. Stockwell booted up his computer.

         Brian had his calm and composed mask on. Most of his faces were masks. The calm and composed one he wore now. The straight one he wore when he went out with Lindsay and Gus. The disdainful one. The smirking, sneering, one that said, I'm so hot and you think so too. The holier than thou mask he would wear while visiting a church until he had picked out a hot parishioner (Brian loved it when they were a father as well) whereupon he would deliberately wink at the guy, and drop the holier mask for seconds at a time through the service and flirt outrageously. The minute after the service had ended he and the guy would be in the bathroom making out, sucking, even fucking quietly in the stall. And every time, as soon as the guy had cum, Brian would lean close to the guy's ear, lick it and whisper: ‘Where's your God now?' The stunned, shellshocked expression on the guy's face each and every time would make the whole boring churchgoing experience worth it.

         Yes, Brian had many masks to satisfy the many heteros that he hated so much who ruled the world he lived in. But the one face he never managed (not that he could remember) was a smile. A wide, expressive genuine smile. He never laughed and he never genuinely smiled.

         He managed a fake, wan smile now for the biggest hetero bigot of them all. Heteros ruled the world and soon this sexist, egotistical homophobic hetero bigot would rule the city as well and Brian would get him there. He felt a perverse sort of pleasure in doing so, like picking at a scab or being sickly sweet to a hated relative. It was inevitable, so why not? Not to mention, he would make a dump truck load of money by doing so.

         Yes, Brian wore his composed mask right now, and he had to work hard on it for he was rattled. Running into that absolutely sc'rump'tious cop with the electric blue eyes and smile that could light up a room had done that to him. He had felt that sensuous tickle on his palm and knew that he was silently and secretly (right in front of his boss to booty) ((uh, boot)) being propositioned and had returned the signal. He wanted that ass but more than that, he wanted to see that smile again, the smile he could never manage, never feel himself. And so, he wanted to make Justin smile like that...over and over and over. To do that...to do that would be like...basking in sunshine.

         "That cop we ran into in the hall...what's his thing again?" Brian asked, in his most bored voice as if he had already forgotten, it was so unimportant.

         "I told you, he's just a grunt in the drug squad. Specializes in cocaine busts. Goes undercover a lot. In fact, I think he's up for another promotion soon."

         "Sounds like he's quite a bit more than a "grunt"."

         "I call all my men grunts. That's all they are, after all. Besides, I'm the chief. I can call them whatever I want!"

         Brian sighed. "Chief Stockwell, you are running for mayor now. People are going to look up to you. We have to make them want to be you, like you, respect you. We have to make them want to shake your hands and kiss their babies. No one will want to have you do that if you don't humble yourself and if you call people names. So the first step is showing your own employees that you like and respect them. You can't call them grunts, especially the higher ups, the one who work hard and get results."

         "Hmmm, good point. Good thinking, Kinney!"

         "Something you would have thought up yourself if you bothered to use that packing peanut you call a brain," thought Brian. Out loud he said, "That's why you pay me the big bucks, sir." They both laughed.

         "Say Kinney, check out this site. I check it every day." Stockwell swivelled his screen and showed it to him. "People sign in and tell stories about positive experiences they've had with officers and a tally is made every day and the most popular cop is chosen based on the top twenty. The site's called Top Cops."

         "Interesting," said Brian who of course thought that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard of. "And who's number one?"

         "One guess," Stockwell gloated, "Come on baby, tell me what I want to hear! Who's the Top Cop of them all!?" he ritualistically chanted as he pressed refresh. And of course he was at the top of the page as number one with his picture larger and more prominently displayed than everyone else's. "Bingo!" he ejaculated triumphantly.

         "Goody for you," Brian said drily as he scrolled down the page ogling the handsome men as he did so. Ahh, I see Taylor made the cut. Seems he's less and less of a grunt as time goes on."

         "Bahhh! He way down at number 18! I'm number one! I've always been number one!" he bragged.

         "Humility, Stockwell, humility, remember! I'd keep this site to yourself for the next little while, like a guilty little pleasure. If you don't care that you are number one, or appear that way, it'll keep you there. As well..."

         The rest of the hour continued along this thread, with Stockwell being a complete ass, and Brian gently correcting his behaviour, instead of smashing his fist into his face and watching him bleed onto his expensive carpet. Finally, Brian could stand it no longer, and glancing at the time on his cell phone, feigned needing to go to another meeting.

         "A meeting with Jim Beam," he thought to himself. Out loud, he said, "If we're going to announce this thing, we might as well do it now. Sooner better than later."

         Stockwell agreed and they made their way out onto the floor.

         "Listen up, Grun...uhhhh, Men!" Stockwell yelled, in response to Brian's quick elbow jab. "I have an announcement to make! Your leader, the Chief of Police is..."

         "Running for Mayor!!" somebody screamed, "Three cheers for the Chief! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip Hip..." This was followed by a rousing rendition of "Hail to the Chief". Balloons with Congratulations and Good Luck and the like were released. A spontaneous party broke out with music and freshly ordered pizza and donuts and other pastries gotten from a local bakery forty minutes ago, and a cake thirty minutes ago.

         Stockwell was furious. His thunder had been stolen. His face grew redder and redder until it resembled a beet. But there was nothing he could do in the face of a party. And so, as soon as he could, he swallowed his rage and humiliation like a bitter ball of a pill and smiled and started to accept his congratulations.

         But it wasn't soon enough. Someone had seen his red face of rage and smiled. Someone who had eyes only for the regal figure next to the Chief. Someone in the back of the room, with his cop hat pressed snugly down, concealing his white hair.

TBC