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Chapter 17 - After Dinner.

By the time Brian and Justin returned to the dining room, the main course had been cleared away and dessert was just being served. Brian waited until the server had set the crystal dish filled with chocolate mousse and garnished with an almond wafer cookie at his place before he resumed his seat. Justin followed along compliantly, settling on his knees on the floor beside Brian without direction.

It seemed that the atmosphere in the room was relatively relaxed once dessert was served. Several of the diners had moved their PCs closer to the table, allowing the companions to either stand beside them or kneel next to their chairs like Justin. Bellweather even had his boy sitting in his lap and was feeding him tid bits of cookie and allowing him sips of his glass of wine. Brian had made sure that Justin was already well fed before they left the loft that evening, thinking that the PCs likely wouldn’t be allowed to eat at all, but now he followed the others’ example and handed the cookie from his dessert to the boy at his feet, briefly caressing the boy’s face at the same time. Justin took the treat without any fanfare and quickly nibbled it down.

“Well, it looks to me like at least one of your purchases from last week turned out satisfactory, Howard,” Stockwell commented, leaning around Gail to tease his friend as Bellweather fondly petted his PC.

“That’s true. Rex here has been quite amenable. So far we’re getting along famously,” Bellweather chuckled as he leaned over to kiss his PC on the nose in a parody of affection that made Brian scowl. Unfortunately, Howard happened to be looking in Brian’s direction right then and noticed the disapproving look. “What’s wrong, Kinney? You don’t approve? Or maybe you’re just jealous because the PC you picked up isn’t as accommodating?”

“I didn’t say a thing, Bellweather,” Brian responded, trying to avert any argument before it happened - unsuccessfully.

“No. But I saw that look you were giving my Rex. He is quite the pretty thing, isn’t he. And so very user friendly,” the man bragged as he lewdly ran his hand down the PCs chest while those around laughed and spooned up their pudding unconcernedly. “I tell you what, Kinney. How about we trade one night. I’ll let you test drive Rex - who, I can guarantee, handles like a dream - and you can let me have a ride on your pretty blond boy there. I really was looking forward to that boy . . . Maybe if I got a chance to get him out of my system I’d be able to move on.” Bellweather laughed wickedly, winking at Brian and licking his lips as he leered at what little he could see of the blond sitting on the floor.

“I don’t think so, Bellweather. I’ve never been good at sharing,” Brian replied with a proprietary glare aimed across the table. “And, if I ever wanted something other than the PC I already have, I’d have no trouble going out and getting my needs met at any club or bar in town. I definitely don’t need your hand me downs.”

“Now, Brian. No need to be all prickly,” Aleta tittered, laying a calming hand on Brian’s arm. “Howard was just being his usual bad boy self. You mustn’t take offense. He’s always trying to shock the rest of us by saying all sorts of outrageous things. I’m sure you’ll get used to him sooner or later.”

“Although, Mr. Kinney is well within his rights if he doesn’t want to share his PC, Aleta,” the gentleman sitting on the other side of Amanda - he’d been introduced to Brian earlier as Sidney Bloom, a local art dealer - interposed. “There are a lot of PC owners who aren’t into the kinds of parties that Howard throws. Not everyone likes to trade PCs around. And, since Mr. Kinney is still rather new to all this, I don’t think it’s fair to push him into anything too opprobrious. He probably just needs some time to get used to his own PC.”

“That’s true, Sidney,” Jim Stockwell remarked. “I have several friends - especially those who keep small, select, stables of PCs - that are very guarded about how and when they lend their stock out to others. That’s not to say one approach is better than the other. It’s just that different people enjoy the PC Lifestyle in different ways. No harm if Kinney isn’t ready to partake of the full range of the PC buffet just yet.”

From where he was sitting, Brian could see that Bellweather wasn’t at all happy that his friends were providing a way for Brian to squirm off the hook. But he wasn’t bold enough to contradict them right then either. If anything, Brian’s harsh insistence that he wasn’t interested in sharing Justin, seemed to fuel Bellweather’s desire for the boy. The entire rest of the time they were at the table, Brian could feel Bellweather’s eyes on either himself or Justin. And even though Justin was hunkered down so that he was mostly hidden by the table, Bellweather would still stare at the young blond’s head almost incessantly. It creeped Brian out. Not that he could do anything about it, though.

“Well, Aleta, my dear, that was a truly wonderful dinner. Thank you,” Lapointe raved to his wife as if she’d personally cooked the repast. “I feel completely stuffed. *Hahaha.* What do the rest of you gentlemen say about us fellows taking a little stroll while we let some of this food settle, hmm?” There were nods and a general murmur of agreement from most of the men. “How about we head downstairs and take our cigars and brandy down there? I was planning on giving Brian a tour of the PC quarters anyway, so we might as well take our half of this party to the rec room. You ladies will excuse us for a bit, won’t you?”

“Of course, Walter. You boys go have fun and smoke your smelly cigars down there. And we women will enjoy our wine without having to wear gas masks while we drink it!” Aleta joked, gathering together her ladyfolk and chivvying them out the door, presumably back to the Salon, while the men moved along at a slower pace.

Brian, as the guest of honor, was obliged to walk along next to Lapointe. Both Justin and Lapointe’s PC trailed along behind their masters at the ends of their respective leashes. The rest of the men from the party followed along behind. As they walked, Lapointe gave Brian a cursory tour of the preposterously large house. Based on the number of rooms they passed, Brian thought they could probably turn the place into a hotel and still have enough space to house the entire Lapointe household. Proof again, if anyone needed it, that the PC trade was more than just ordinarily lucrative. No wonder these people managed to push through whatever legislation or regulations they wanted. With this kind of money, they could probably buy themselves a small country of their own.

After they’d walked the length of the main floor, Lapointe led the group to a staircase at the end of the west wing. This flight of stairs descended to a basement that obviously housed all the employees’ quarters, the laundry and other utility rooms and, of course, the PC quarters. Walter pointed out and explained each of the rooms that they passed - play rooms, discipline rooms, training areas, etc - lecturing Brian all the while about his preferred methods for training and controlling his PCs. The rest of the group would occasionally make their own comments or add in helpful suggestions, all aimed at teaching ‘Brian The Tryo’ the best ways to keep his PC in line. Brian simply nodded, tried not to gag and said nothing.

“These are the PC housing rooms,” Walter announced as they came to the end of one hall where it branched off into two other wings. “We, of course, keep the males and females separate. Our females are here on the right,” he pointed to the door next to him, “and the males are down there. We tend to keep more males than females, for whatever reason, so those quarters are bigger. Sam, if you’d like to leave your girl here, we’re going to set ourselves up in the rec room in the male quarters,” Lapointe directed for the benefit of the one guest who had a female with him and, after that PC had been shown into the women’s room, the group continued on to the section that appeared to take up most of the rest of the basement.

The space they were shown into was quite extensive. The main room was a huge, open area set up sort of like a large living room with sitting areas, an entertainment center, some recreation equipment and a small kitchenette off to the side. Along one wall there was a separate room, its walls consisting of floor to ceiling glass panels so that anyone inside had an unimpaired view of the main room, furnished with comfortable chairs and couches, a green baize-topped poker table in one corner and a fully-stocked wet bar in the other. Leading off the far end of the main room was yet another hallway, which Brian presumed led to bedrooms and such.

As Lapointe pointed out all the amenities of the facility to Brian, the rest of the group unleashed their own PCs and moved off towards the glass room, where they all proceeded to help themselves from the bar. It seemed this was the ‘Rec Room’ where the men would be having their after dinner drinks and cigars. Brian was about to follow them when he was stopped by Walter Lapointe.

“It’s okay to let your boy loose down here, Brian,” the host directed.

“I’d rather not. As I said, he hasn’t finished out his punishment yet . . .” Brian tried to explain.

“Sorry, Brian, but I insist.” Lapointe reached up himself and disconnected the leash from the hook at the back of Justin’s collar. “It’s a house rule - no leashes in quarters.” Brian opened his mouth to object, but Lapointe held up a hand to stop him before he could get a single word out. “Here in the PC quarters I don’t allow any discipline or training at all. We have separate facilities for those things. In here, I want my PCs to feel like they can relax and not have to be at attention all the time. Even a well trained PC can’t be kept on alert 24/7 you know. That’s a sure fire way to incite disobedience. You need to give them SOME down time.” Lapointe waved to two of his own PCs who were lounging on a nearby couch. “John. Joseph. Will you two take Mr. Kinney’s PC and show him around while we’re in the rec room.”

“Yes, Master,” the older of the two, a well-built man in his late thirties responded and then put a hand behind Justin’s back to guide him away.

Justin looked over at Brian for one brief instant, before allowing himself to be led away. Brian had recognized the flash of panic in those worried blue eyes, but he didn’t know what to do. Lapointe was already leading Brian in the opposite direction. The only reassuring thing was that the room had an open floor plan and, since the rec room where the men were going to be sitting had glass walls, he should still be able to keep Justin in sight pretty much all the time. He didn’t see any harm in letting Justin go off with the other PCs. Especially not if Bellweather was going to be in the walled off glass room with Brian and away from Justin.

Lapointe was being very solicitous of Brian. He led the PC tryo over to a plush arm chair, made sure Brian was comfortable, offered him a fat Cohiba Habana cigar, and then personally hurried to pour his guest a large brandy. Brian wasn’t sure what he was being buttered up for, but hoped it didn’t involve anything else to do with Justin. Nevertheless, he accepted Lapointe’s offerings, lit up his stogie and sipped at the excellent brandy along with everyone else. For the time being, even the conversation was unobjectionable, with someone having brought up the topic of classic sports cars and Brian weighing in along with all the rest on a subject he actually liked to discuss. Added to the wine that he’d already had at dinner, the brandy quickly relaxed him and before he knew it he had let his guard down.

Brian was well into his second brandy and the conversation had moved on to architecture, when the outer door to the PC quarters opened and who should enter, but the last person - other than Bellweather - Brian would ever want to see . . . Gary Sapperstein.

“Gary! What are you still doing here?” Lapointe stood up and yelled his greeting to the Handler as he bustled out of the rec room over towards the newcomer. “I thought you’d finished up hours ago.”

“No. I had a little trouble with a couple of your boys and decided to stay late and get it all sorted out so I wouldn’t have to come back tomorrow. Hope you don’t mind, Sir,” Sapperstein apologized as he unhooked the leash from the collar of the man he’d led in, permitting the tall, thin, African American PC to walk away, limping a little as he scurried off.

“Gary is helping me evaluate some of my stock that I’m planning to resell,” Lapointe explained to the rest of the group who had all followed him out to see what the fuss was about. “Aleta and I don’t like to keep more than about twenty-five to thirty on hand at any one time. Any more than that and they become a lot of work to manage. So we change them out fairly frequently. This time around, a few of the ones we’re getting rid of will need some re-training. And Sapperstein’s the best in the business when it comes to stuff like that.”

“Most of your group seems just fine, Mr. Lapointe,” Gary reassured his client. “June is going to need a little work, but I think she’ll come around. Tom and Luke, though, might need more attention. Luke, especially, is gonna be tough. He’s stubborn as hell. I think you’d be better off putting him back into a full, intensive re-training program for the next six months or so and not even trying to sell him until then. Otherwise, you’re going to lose money on that one. He’s borderline unstable at this point.”

“That’s a pity. I really liked that boy, too,” Lapointe said as he looked over at the black man that Sapperstein had brought in, who was now seated in the far corner of the room. “He showed such promise when I first got him. But he just hasn’t lived up to his potential. I have to agree with you, Gary, he’s just too stubborn for his own good. And I refuse to sell a disobedient PC and just pass the problem off to someone else. We’ll have to go the full re-training route, as you suggest.”

“Glad you agree, Sir. If you like, I can take him with me tonight when I leave. That’ll save you the trouble of transporting him later,” Gary offered politely.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll tell my PC Manager to come down and help get him ready for you. Thanks, Gary,” Lapointe clapped the Handler on the shoulder and then walked over to the wall phone next to the door to call the Manager.

Gary Sapperstein nodded to Lapointe’s remaining guests - giving Brian an extra-long glare - before heading over to the far end of the room to talk further with the PC that was to be taken away that night.

“Hang on a second there, Sapp. I’ve got a question about another PC for you,” Bellweather spoke up, halting the Handler before he got too far away, and then continuing to walk in tandem together towards the waiting boy.

Brian looked over at the tall, black PC. The man had already noticed that Sapperstein and Bellweather were heading in his direction and he looked worried. By Brian’s estimation, the guy looked to be in his late twenties, but his eyes as he watched the heartless Handler coming towards him looked ancient. His body showed evidence of some hard handling too - he was painfully thin, had some bruising around both wrists and over much of his rib cage, and even one large scar running across his lower abdomen. Brian didn’t know what the guy’s story was, but he didn’t think this man’s life had been a bed of roses, either before or since he’d been contracted out. And, by the sounds of it, the ‘retraining’ he was about to be sent off to, wasn’t going to be fun either. Brian quickly looked at the other grouping of couches and chairs and made sure that Justin was still okay. He was more determined than ever to keep his own stubborn little PC out of the hands of the retraining experts like Sapperstein.

“Sorry about that, gentlemen.” Lapointe hurried back over to his guests. “I'm glad to get that business handled though. It's always best to act quickly when a PC gets moody like that. If you're not careful they can infect your whole stable. Gary will sort him out though. That man can do wonders. Just make sure you don't ask him HOW he gets the results he does - gotta have plausible deniability if the PCRA ever comes around asking questions, right? *Hahaha.*”

Brian was so thankful that his cellphone rang right then - saving him from having to engage in a discussion of the relative merits of the kind of training techniques the likes of Gary sapperstein pursued - that he could have kissed whoever was calling. he was even happier when he looked at the caller ID and saw it was Cynthia. This was just the excuse he needed. Maybe he could get himself and Justin out of there sooner rather than later.

“Sorry, Walter, but I have to take this. It’s work,” Brian advised, standing and moving towards the rec room entrance. “Is there someplace I could talk without disturbing everyone else?”

"Of course, Brian,” Lapointe answered quickly. "Feel free to use one of the privacy rooms. Either of the first two doors on the left as you head down the hall.”

Brian nodded his thanks, tapped the icon to accept the call, and trotted out of the room in the directions Lapointe had indicated. “Hang on, Cynthia, let me get to somewhere I can speak privately.”

He was happy to find that the first door he tried was unlocked and the room unoccupied. He ignored the fact that it was furnished with only a bed and a St. Andrew’s Cross. He really didn’t want to think about all the kink the overweight, middle-aged Lapointe was apparently into. Or was it Mrs. Lapointe that dug bondage? He didn’t know and didn’t care. He was just glad to get the save from Cynthia and rushed to close the door after him.

“Hey, Cyn,” Brian responded. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you? Your timing is impeccable. I am so ready to be out of here.”

“I can imagine. How’s it going so far?”

“It’s fucking horrible - that’s what it is. These people are monsters. I just have no idea how they can’t see that themselves. Maybe they’re all just really well adjusted psychopaths with enough money to hide their conditions. I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want to get the fuck out of here,” Brian insisted, trying to remember to keep his voice low enough that no one in the corridor could hear him.

“I tried to tell you, Brian, but I guess you just have to experience something like that to believe it,” Cynthia replied sympathetically. “Who did Lapointe’s guests end up being. Anyone we would want to go after as a contact later?”

“I doubt it. I don’t want anything to do with any of these people,” Brian reiterated. “I’ll give you one guess, though, who Lapointe’s most obnoxious guest is . . .”

“You’re kidding? Bellweather is there?” Cynthia guessed right off, as always totally in sync with her boss and longtime friend. “That total shit! Is he still slobbering all over himself with lust every time he even looks at Justin? I bet that was fun. Is Justin okay?”

“I guess. We both almost lost it at various points through the dinner. The kid’s pretty fucking brave though, Cynthia. I couldn’t do this in his place.”

“Yeah. He is pretty amazing,” Cynthia shared Brian’s respect for the young man they were both, slowly, getting to know. “So who else is there? I’ll make notes just in case you change your mind about going after any of them.”

Brian quickly ran through the list of the night’s attendees, giving Cynthia all the details he could remember. So far, the only one of the bunch that Brian thought might have even a shred of humanity left was that Sidney Bloom guy - the one who’d stood up for his right to not share Justin. Brian could definitely live without the rest of them.

“Oh, and get this,” Brian continued regaling Cynthia with the last member of the guest list. “Lapointe’s wife actually set me up with a fucking DATE!”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?” Cynthia chuckled, thinking about just how pissed off that would have made her loner boss.

“Try HER name . . . Don’t laugh, but Aleta Lapointe set me up with a woman. Some friend of hers from college named Amanda who happens to also be Jim Stockwell’s cousin.” Brian could hear Cynthia laughing over the phone line. “Even worse, this woman was a total ditz. She spent the first twenty minutes of dinner babbling and didn’t even notice that I wasn’t paying attention at all. She even thanked me for being such a good listener. But seriously, why the fuck would I care about her divorce or want to listen to her endlessly going on about her fucked up son’s legal problems. It sounded to me like the little fucker deserved whatever shit he got. But she just kept prattling on about how poor Chris was so misunderstood, blah, blah, blah . . .”

“So, I assume you won’t want me to get her contact info and keep her in mind next time you need an escort to a function?” Cynthia kidded. “What was her name again?”

“Amanda something . . . Shit. Let me think . . . Hobbs? Yeah, that was it. Amanda Hobbs,” Brian eventually pulled the name out of his memory.

“Fuck!” Cynthia practically screamed into the phone and Brian had to pull it away from his ear. “Brian, don’t you know who that is? I showed you the articles. I can’t believe you didn’t recognize the name . . .” When Brian didn’t respond, the PA answered for him. “Amanda Hobbs is the mother of Chris Hobbs. And Chris Hobbs is . . .”

“Fuck me! Chris Hobbs is the guy who tried to bash Justin’s head in with a fucking baseball bat!” Brian finally remembered why that name had seemed vaguely familiar to him. “Shit! No wonder Justin got so panicked when the cunt started talking about her son. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. I guess I was just too busy freaking out over Bellweather and the rest of the shit going on to actually listen to her.”

“That must have been horrible for him. And he couldn’t tell you or get away. How is Justin doing now?” Cynthia asked.

“I guess he’s fine. He’s out in the other room with the rest of Lapointe’s PCs right now,” Brian explained, beginning to be worried and thinking that he should get back out there and check on things. “I had to leave him for a minute to come in here and talk to you.”

“You left him alone?” Cynthia screeched indignantly. “What the fuck, Brian? The plan was that you two stay together the whole time. Especially if that cretin Bellweather is around.” Brian totally agreed with her and was already starting for the door. “Okay, here's the plan, you go get Justin right now. Then you tell Lapointe you've got a work emergency and have to leave. You get the fucking check from him and you guys get the hell out of there. Call me as soon as you leave so I know you’re both okay. Got it?”

Brian had just gripped the doorknob, anxious to follow Cynthia’s directions, when there was an insistent knocking on the other side of the door. Brian yanked it open and discovered the reserved guy that had stood up for him at dinner - Sidney Something-or-other - nervously jittering in the hallway. Brian pulled the phone from his ear for the moment and stared at the guy expectantly.

“Sorry to interrupt, Kinney, but I thought you'd want to know that Howard is sniffing around your boy again. I tried to stop him but . . . Well, I'd get out here now if you truly don't want to share the kid,” Bloom insisted, already leading the way back towards the main room.

“I gotta go, Cynthia. I'll call you back when we get out of here,” Brian growled into the phone then ended the call and pocketed his phone.

By then, they were already leaving the confines of the hallway and entering the openness of the main living quarters. Brian immediately scanned the area, expecting to see Justin on the couch where he'd left him, maybe with Bellweather hovering nearby, but hopefully not yet causing the boy too much distress. However, when they arrived, there was no blond boy in sight anywhere. There was also no Bellweather. Not a propitious conjunction of circumstances, in Brian's estimation.

Looking around, Brian could only see a few of the house PCs left. He didn’t know where the rest had disappeared to but, thinking back, he seemed to recall that most of them had got up and left about the same time that the Sapp and Bellweather had headed into the room. Stockwell was also conspicuously absent. Over in the glass walled rec room, Lapointe and the guy Brian hadn’t really spoken with much - Sam Weatherall - were laughing like hyenas, downing yet more glasses of brandy and jointly fondling a twenty-something redhead that seemed bored by the attention. They were probably far too distracted to have noticed what happened to Brian’s PC. But since there wasn’t anyone else around that might have the authority to help, Brian stormed over to Lapointe ready to make some waves.

“Where’s my PC?” Brian demanded furiously, pushing aside the disinterested redhead so that he could tower directly over Lapointe. “I was only out of the room a couple of minutes and he’s gone. Nobody had my permission to take him anywhere, especially not without my knowledge. I want to know where he is right now!”

“Huh?” was the less than brilliant reply from a Lapointe that was obviously more than just a little tipsy at this point. “He was just here a little while ago, I thought. Did you see where the little blond went, Sam?”

Brian didn’t wait around for the other guy’s response. He had a really, really bad feeling about this. He knew every minute counted and he needed to find Justin without delay. But where?

“This way!” Bloom, who’d been dogging Brian’s steps, grabbed the anxious brunet and urged him to follow. “There’s a lot more of those ‘Privacy Rooms’ down that hallway. They’re probably in one of those.”

Brian took off down the hallway, easily outstripping the older and slightly overweight Bloom. He dashed past the first room - the one Brian had been using for his phone call - and tore open the second door. That room was unfortunately empty. Bloom skipped ahead and grabbed for the third door, which opened to reveal the ill-fated black PC who was about to be shipped out with the Sapp, along with an older, stockier, white man, who Brian assumed was Lapointe’s PC Manager. Brian zoomed past that door and grabbed the handle of the fourth door . . . which was locked.

Brian quickly sped back to the prior room, grabbed the Manager guy by the wrist and towed him around to the locked door so quickly that the guy almost stumbled and fell on his face. “Get this door opened, NOW!” he demanded, pointing at the locked knob with an unyielding expression. And despite the fact that the man had no way to know who Brian was or what the situation was, he immediately complied, pulling a large bunch of keys out of his pants’ pocket and fumbling through them till he found the correct one.

Brian recklessly pushed the Manager aside and barged into the previously locked room like a bull charging a matador. As expected, he found the absent Bellweather, flanked on one side by Sapperstein and on the other by Stockwell, all three of whom were looming over a small, struggling blond figure on the bed. The main instigator had one hand on the waistband of the leather shorts and the other on the boy’s right ankle, caught in the act of trying to pull him down the bed even as the rescue squad barreled in. Bellweather’s two accomplices were each holding onto one of Justin’s arms, trying to hold the boy down. All three of them looked up in alarm as soon as Brian, Bloom and the Manager entered.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Brian demanded, taking only three huge strides to cross the room, grab Bellweather by the shoulder and yank him around so violently that the scumbag fell backwards and landed in a heap on his ass. “I said to get away!” Brian screamed at the two remaining attackers, who both promptly let go and stepped away.

Justin scrabbled backwards as soon as he was loosed and hunkered down in a shuddering ball against the headboard of the bed.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I did NOT give any of you permission to touch MY PC, let alone take him into some locked room and molest him. How fucking dare you?” Brian rounded on the contemptible men.

Bellweather gingerly levered himself up off the floor, brushing his pants off nonchalantly and trying to act unconcerned. “We were just having a little fun, Kinney. What’s your problem? Shit, you act like a jealous housewife or something. The boy’s a damn PC, for fuck’s sake. This is what PCs are FOR. Or don’t you get that? Fucking newbies . . . don’t know anything . . .”

“My problem is YOU, Bedwetter!” Brian stepped closer so that he was chest to chest with the vile man, literally spitting in his face with rage. “I already told you to keep your hands off Justin. But you intentionally disregarded that directive. Didn’t you? Isn’t that, like, a felony offense or something? And I have witnesses. So, are you going to back the fuck away right NOW, or do I have Lapointe call the police and haul your ass to jail? Cause I WILL do it - in a fucking heartbeat - you sadistic pig.”

“Now, now, Kinney. No need for that,” Stockwell cautioned, advancing towards the pair, hands held up in a placating gesture, trying to diffuse the situation. “There’s no harm done. Your PC is fine. Nobody meant any offense.”

“What’s all this ruckus?” Walter Lapointe came in through the door, further adding to the crowd in the tiny room.

“Your buddy, Howie, was just about to violate my PC and these two were helping him,” Brian accused pointing to the culprits.

“I’m sure that’s not the case, Brian. You probably just misinterpreted what you saw. Howie and Jim would never do that. Would you guys?” Lapointe scrambled to find some way to restore peace. “Why don’t we all go back to the rec room, sit down, have a few drinks and cool off. Nobody needs to get all riled up about a little thing like this. Right, guys?”

“I don’t think so, Walter. I’m not interested in having a drink, or anything else, with these assholes. I think I’m done for the night,” Brian asserted, still so spitting angry he could barely see straight. “If you’ll just hand over the check for VanGuard, I’ll take my PC and be on my way.”

“Of course. Of course. I think it’s back in my jacket pocket. I’ll just get that for you . . .” Lapointe trotted off, back in the direction of the rec room, to find his jacket.

“I suggest the rest of you losers back the fuck off,” Brian commanded, staring down the three men who were still standing between him and Justin. Bellweather seemed willing to stay and argue, but Jim physically pulled him far enough to the side so that Brian could get by. “Justin? You okay?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry very far and bending down so he could look the boy in the face even with the way he was crouched. “Shit. We’re leaving, okay? Just hang on a minute,” he ran his fingers through the blond hair, not caring who the fuck was watching at the moment, hating the way the young man flinched frantically away from even that small touch.

Then Brian stood back up and turned to confront the roomful of waiting men. “If you hurt him in any way, you WILL be hearing from my lawyers.”

“We didn’t hardly even touch him, Kinney,” Sapperstein spoke up for the first time. “You should know by now the kid’s a bit flighty. He used to act like that all the fucking time around me. I told you from the outset that he was a bit touched in the head. This is nothing. All you have to do to get him back in line is use that Enforcer I gave you. A zap or two and he’ll come around. It always worked for me.”

“Great! So, your excellent training technique is to basically electro-shock the kid half to death every time he’s scared? Making him even more scared and traumatized, to the point he’s completely useless? That’s your plan? You fucking moron!”

Brian advanced on The Sapp another step with every sentence until Gary was backed into the corner of the room and unable to move further. Brian only just barely stopped himself from slugging the guy - reminding himself that getting into a brawl wasn’t going to help get Justin out of there any faster. Luckily, both Bloom and Weatherall stepped up and pulled Brian back. And, even better, Lapointe returned a moment later waving the promised check in his hands.

“Here you go, Kinney. All signed, sealed and delivered, just as promised,” Lapointe handed the check over with a little flourish, smiling jovially and displaying a forced cheerfulness. “I daresay, that should make your boss a happy man. And you too, I would guess, since your boss says you’re gonna need the bonus you’ll be getting from that check to help pay off your bid on the boy over there.” Brian snatched the check out of Lapointe’s hand without comment - cursing Gardner in his head for spreading his business around to fucktards like Lapointe. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying a little longer though? The night was just getting started. And I hate to think of you rushing off with your nose all bent out of shape. I’m sure, once everybody’s cooled down and relaxed, this whole mess will seem like water under the bridge. Can’t I tempt you to stay? There must be something from my stock that you would enjoy?”

Brian fumed silently, wishing he could just tell this blowhard off. But then all the shit he and Justin had been through that night would have been in vain. So, no. He needed to choke back his outrage, make polite excuses, try not to antagonize the client, and just get himself and Justin out of there as soon as fucking possible. Biting his tongue, he answered as tactfully as he could.

“I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to, Lapointe. That call I took earlier was from my office. I have to go take care of an emergency for another client,” Brian dissembled and moved over closer to Justin. “So I’ll just take this,” he folded the PC Clearinghouse check and stuffed it into his suit jacket pocket, “and my PC,” he scooped Justin into his arms, glad the boy weighed practically nothing, “and be on my way.”

And without another thought for anyone other than the shaking boy in his grasp, Brian swooped out of that dreadful room.