********

Chapter 46 - PC Search.

The boy dozed off and on for a while after having awakened in the dark cell. Luke stayed next to him, holding the smaller boy protectively the whole time. It was cold and dank but their enforced closeness was at least comforting to the both of them.

Eventually they were roused by a metallic clanking noise coming from the door. Luke startled fully awake in seconds, groaning, “shit. He's here.” The big man pushed the boy away from him and rolled off the mattress. The boy felt him moving away and whimpered slightly. “Hurry, Little One. Get into position on your knees, like a proper PC, or he’ll punish you.”

The boy hurried to follow directions, hampered by the chains around his ankles which slowed him down considerably. He’d only just managed to crawl into a properly submissive kneeling pose when the door creaked slowly open. The small cell was flooded with light to the point that the two prisoners were instantly blinded. The boy bowed his head to avoid the worst of it, keeping his eyes hooded to protect them from the light. Even so, he still caught a glimpse of the hulking backlit figure that strode menacingly into the cell and stood there towering ominously over the two kneeling men.

“Good morning, Campers! Who's ready for some PC retraining fun this morning?” The detestable voice of the Handler boomed out with evil jocularity. “I see you're both up and rarin’ to go this morning. Your obedience pleases me to no end, boys,” the smarmy man avowed while he circled around his waiting victims, trailing his greasy fingertips over Luke's shoulder as he passed. “It's always gratifying to see that my efforts at training you are being rewarded.”

Then the Handler moved closer to where the boy was kneeling and let his hand drift down to the thick, mop of golden hair. The boy tried to hold himself perfectly still but it was so difficult. He managed not to cringe from the touch but couldn't help the fact that he was shaking from a combination of the effort, the fear, and the cold.

Apparently the Sapp didn't approve of trembling. He grabbed hold of a handful of hair, using it as a handle to wrench the boy’s head backwards. The boy bit back the cry that wanted to escape, squeezing his eyes shut to quench the tears too.

“Open your eyes and look at me, boy!” he was ordered. “Still a stubborn little shit, I see. Guess Kinney didn't do a very good job at disciplining you, did he boy? If you'd gone to Bellweather like you were supposed to, you'd have been well broken in by now and all that sass would have been knocked right the fuck out of your insolent little ass.”

The Handler let go of his handful of hair with a violent shove that threw the boy forward face first onto the cold cement floor. “No matter. Now that I've got you back, I'll make sure to break you properly.” He squatted down so that he was close enough to run his hand over the boy’s back, stroking the pretty pale skin from shoulder to buttock, and then digging his broken fingernails into the tender skin he found there with a malignant snarl. “And this time I won't have to hold back like I did before you were sent to auction. This time I'll grind you down till you learn exactly what happens to smartass little sluts like you. I'll have you so well turned out, you'll beg me to beat you just to please me. Now won't that be fun?” He punctuated his words with a stinging slap to the boy’s ass and a malevolent chuckle.

Sapperstein went back to fondling the boy’s ass suggestively. “But, unfortunately, our playtime will have to wait a day or two until your new owner gets a chance to come and test drive you. Bellweather insisted that I not touch you until he gets here. He wanted to be first, you see, and he's a little disappointed that he didn't get to crack your ice box, so if I were you I'd be prepared for a bit of a rough ride. Howie can be a little heavy handed when he's in a bad mood, I'm afraid,” Sapperstein cackled with laughter as though his joke was the funniest thing ever said.

“And when he's done fucking you senseless - assuming your ass is still functional when he's through with you - then I'll get MY turn with your pretty little hole. Of course, you won't be pretty or little after I'm done. Cause I'm going to break your ass in even harder than I break in your lilly white back, boy. After I'm done with you, you'll be able to take a pile driver up there. Now, doesn't that sound fun!”

The Handler was still laughing at all the pleasurable torture he was planning to inflict as he stood back up and, just to be spiteful, aimed a kick with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot right into the boy’s ribs. The boy groaned and tried to scuttle away, but that only sent Sapp into more of a hate-filled frenzy. He put his shit kickers to good use for the next couple of minutes, landing one kick after another, until the boy was no longer able to move enough to evade the blows. Then the Handler paused, smiling down on his bloody handiwork with pride.

“That should tide you over until it's safe for Bellweather and his buddy Stockwell to get here. Too bad they have to be out of town making sure their alibis for your kidnapping are solidly set in place. I'd prefer to get started on your education right away.”

Through the blurred haze of his pain, the boy saw the way the Handler rubbed at his erection through the fabric of his jeans and licked his lips as he stared down at the helpless PC lying at his feet.

“Let's hope they hurry back, so we can get on with the really fun stuff. Right, boy?” *hehehehehe* “But I guess I'll just have to be patient. I mean, I’ve already waited for more than a year to get my dick in you. A few more days won't matter. And then, after Bellweather’s had his way with you, you and I are gonna get to spend the next couple of months - at the very least - getting to know each other very, very, very well. So, better get used to your accommodations, boy, cause you're not going anywhere.”

The boy let himself fade away at that point, drifting into the welcome oblivion of the waves of pain, hoping like hell that he would never have to wake up.

********

“Well, I don’t see that you have an option. You’re going to have to give all this information to the police,” Tricia Trapper, the APC attorney that Cynthia had dragged Brian to see that morning, stated unequivocally. “Based on what you’ve shown me, I think there’s more than enough evidence to raise suspicions as to both Taylor and Stockwell. At the very least, there’s enough here to show that both of them have an interest in keeping Justin out of the way. And I think it’s unlikely that it's just a coincidence Justin disappeared right after you two started to dig into the ties between those two and Hobbs. This thing stinks to high heaven and I’m pretty sure the police are going to agree.”

“I don't know whether to feel pleased at being proven right or to be scared shitless by the idea,” Brian offered, looking to Cynthia who seemed just as worried. “I'm still not sure, though, exactly who we should confide in about this. Stockwell has a lot of pull around here and he used to be the Pittsburgh Chief of Police. What reassurance do we have that the police will take what we tell them seriously and won't just tip off Stockwell so he can get rid of the problem . . . and us?”

“You don’t. And I agree that you’re right to be concerned about Stockwell’s pull,” Trapper responded, seemingly just as unsettled as Brian and Cynthia. “But, for what it’s worth, I think Detective Horvath is actually a pretty decent guy. I worked with him when I first started out in the DA’s office, back before I started my own practice. He’s a good, thorough, no-nonsense cop. In fact, Horvath has actually stood up to Stockwell on a number of occasions - most notably, Horvath was the only cop that fought against Stockwell on the Chief’s decision to close the investigation of that series of murders involving gay youths a few years back. Unfortunately, those cases were never closed and Stockwell used that failing, in part, to fuel his run for the Senate. Rumor has it, that’s why Horvath’s been repeatedly passed over for promotion.” The lawyer closed the file full of paperwork that had been sitting on her desk and leaned back in her chair. “Trust me, there's no love lost between Horvath and Stockwell, so he’s probably the best bet you have to get these claims taken seriously. But, regardless, you really can’t keep this information to yourself if you want to find your PC. This needs to be looked into.”

“Okay, counsellor. If you say so. I’ll call Horvath as soon as we’re done here,” Brian agreed, hoping desperately that the information would help him find Justin as soon as fucking possible - if it wasn’t already too late.

“In the meantime,” Trapper continued, “I’ll start working on a Petition for a Writ of Mandamas based on the evidence you have already. Which is fancy legal speak for a request to the court to have Justin’s Personal Companion Contract ruled invalid. Hopefully, by the time you find your young man, the court case will already be well underway. Please keep me updated if you find out anything else though.”

“Thank you, Ms. Trapper.” Cynthia stood up and shook the lawyer’s hand. “We appreciate your advice.”

“Definitely. And please rush that Petition. WHEN I get Justin back, I want him officially freed as soon as possible,” Brian added as he followed Cynthia’s suit with the handshake and then followed her out of the lawyer’s offices.

“Do you think this will work?” Cynthia asked as they walked together towards the parking lot.

“I don’t know. But we have to do something. I HAVE to get him back,” Brian insisted as he handed Cynthia the keys to his car. “You drive while I call Horvath.”

Cynthia got behind the wheel. While she was pulling out of the parking lot, Brian initiated the call to Horvath, putting it on speaker as soon as the detective picked up the phone. With the two of them adding details where needed, it didn’t take them long to explain the entire background about how Justin was fraudulently pushed into the life of a PC. It was gratifying that Horvath seemed to take them seriously from word one. He asked a few pertinent questions throughout, but mostly he was silent while he absorbed what they related. In the end, all he wanted to know was whether they had documented what they’d discovered, and seemed glad to know that the answer was yes.

“I’m gonna want copies of everything you have,” he advised, right as Cynthia was pulling up in front of the loft. When they assured him they already had a complete copy of the entire file ready to drop off, he continued. “I gotta say, you raise a LOT of interesting questions. Unfortunately, I don’t think the Pittsburgh P.D. has jurisdiction over a sitting U.S. Senator. The others, maybe, but Stockwell won’t be easy to reach. And, even with the evidence you do have, it’s not enough to prove that they're responsible for kidnapping your boy. It certainly makes me wonder, though. And it’s more than enough justification to ask a few questions. So why don’t I stir up the anthill a bit and then we’ll just keep an eye on what crawls out?”

“Thanks, Detective,” Brian said, feeling a little more encouraged. “Just, please, do your best to find him as soon as possible. If Bellweather or Stockwell do have Justin, I’m afraid . . . Fuck! Just find him before it’s too late.”

********

Horvath strode up the brick-lined path and admired the well-maintained lawn in front of the large house in the affluent Sewickley neighborhood. He purposefully made his way to the stately front door. Looking at the house and the surroundings, the detective had to agree with Kinney that there was no way this man would have had to contract out his son in order to pay for the kid’s medical bills. This was one of - if not THE - wealthiest neighborhood in the Pittsburgh area. Something just wasn’t right here, and Horvath intended to get to the bottom of it.

A knock on the door brought a dough-faced, well-coiffed, thirty-something woman to the door. She greeted him with a demure smile and politely asked if she could help him. After seeing his badge and hearing his request to talk to Craig Taylor, she quickly invited him in, looking around furtively as if worried that the neighbors might be looking and notice the cop at their door.

“Can I ask what this is about, Detective?” the woman inquired once they were safely inside, her voice tinged with a hint of disapproval, as if it was inconceivable that the police would dare to invade the sanctity of the wealthy subdivision.

“I’m here in regards to an ongoing criminal investigation and I have some questions for Mr. Taylor. Is he at home?” Carl responded, refusing to give any information out to the woman who still hadn’t identified herself.

“I see. If you’ll please wait here, I’ll go see if my husband is available,” the woman offered and immediately trotted off down the hallway.   

Carl slowly walked around the entryway, admiring the rich furnishings and paying special attention to the row of photos lined up on the foyer table. The largest of the photos, set in the place of honor at the center of the grouping, was a wedding portrait showing the woman who had just left him with a much older-looking man. Both were smiling. The woman’s wedding dress, the man’s tux and even the background shown in the picture all looked expensive. The woman didn’t look any older today than in the picture, so the detective surmised that the wedding had happened fairly recently.

Before he had a chance to widen the range of his snooping, Carl was interrupted by the entrance of the man he’d seen in the pictures.

“Detective? I’m Craig Taylor. My wife said you needed to see me? What’s this about?” Taylor asked brusquely, his florid complexion betraying the man’s displeasure at a visit from the police representative.

“I’m here investigating the disappearance and probable abduction of your son, Justin, and I’ve got a few questions I need to ask you, Mr. Taylor,” Carl stated succinctly.

“I don’t have a son,” Taylor retorted, getting far angrier than was really called for by the circumstances. “If that’s all you’re here about, then we have nothing more to say.” Taylor started to turn, already mentally dismissing the inconvenient police detective so he could return to wherever he’d come from.

“Hang on a second there, champ,” Horvath reached out and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder before Taylor could get away. “I haven’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. So, unless you’d prefer to come down to the precinct and answer my questions there, I think you better cool your jets a bit.”

“Fine.” Taylor huffed, pursing his mouth up in an unhappy moue of annoyance. “Why don't we talk in my office,” he offered as he turned back around, gestured with his right hand to the hallway and then waited while Horvath preceded him down the corridor.

Once they were both in the ornately decorated, wood-paneled and bookshelf-lined room, Taylor indicated the detective should take one of the large, leather-bound wing back chairs while he assumed another seat behind the highly polished mahogany desk.

“Now, what exactly is this about, Detective?” Taylor asked, glaring at Carl as if HE were the one being investigated.

It made Horvath chuckle. He loved messing with guys like Taylor. So full of empty bluster and pretension. They were fun to play mind games with. And they were so ridiculously predictable.

“As I said before, Mr. Taylor, your SON, Justin - whom you might remember, since you contracted him out as a Personal Companion a little over a year ago - has gone missing. He was taken from his home yesterday afternoon. Would you happen to know anything about that?” Carl asked, giving a smug smile back to the little tyrant Taylor.

“Of course not. I haven’t seen the boy for almost a year and a half. How would I know anything about him or what might have happened to him?” Taylor insisted vehemently, acting as if he was offended by the very notion that he might have a relationship with a Personal Companion who was once his son. “And the little fairy is NOT my son. Not any longer. That was part of the arrangement pursuant to the contract.”

“Yeah . . . that’s another thing I’m curious about, Mr. Taylor. See, I’ve got two sons of my own, and I don’t get how you could do that. I mean, contracting out your own kid to be a Personal Companion? How in the world do you justify something like that? You would have had to be pretty desperate to stoop that low, now wouldn’t you?” Carl leaned back in the comfortable chair after giving this little speech and watched with interest as Craig’s face contorted in displeasure at the thinly-veiled criticism.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Detective,” Taylor shot back aggressively.

“I’m just saying, after looking at this fancy place you got here, I can’t really see why you’d feel the need to sell your son into the sex trade. You certainly didn’t do it cause you needed the money,” Carl prodded, getting the expected contemptuous glare from his host.

“I don’t see what that has to do with any investigation into where the boy has disappeared to,” Craig answered, carefully avoiding the question that had actually been asked.

Carl decided to let him get away with it for the time being, convinced he wouldn’t get an honest answer out of the man in any case. Instead, he decided to try and throw Taylor off balance by abruptly switching subjects. He could always come back to the issue of the original contract later, and it was far more critical that he focus on finding Justin’s current location.

“How well do you know Senator James Stockwell?” Carl asked, as if from out of the blue.

“What? . . . I . . . I don’t know why . . . What has that got to do with anything?” Taylor’s polished mien instantly gave way to a panicky confusion.

In the interest of stirring up the anthill even more, Horvath took a stab in the dark. “From what I hear, you’re a big supporter of the Senator and have contributed heavily to both his campaign and his political PAC.” Taylor didn’t even blink at that pronouncement, which told Horvath that he must have scored a direct hit. “So, when was the last time you talked to the Senator?”

“I . . . I . . . I don’t recall,” Taylor answered, opting for the faulty memory defense used by all shady characters.

It was important to note that Taylor did NOT deny knowing Stockwell or being a financial supporter of the powerful politician.

“Okay,” Carl replied noncommittally, making a show of noting the response in his ubiquitous notebook - mostly just for the fun of riling up the self-absorbed man. “What about Howard Bellweather?”

Carl watched as Taylor took in a sharp breath, his face going comically blank a moment later. Horvath counted that as another direct hit. Taylor obviously knew something about Bellweather, whether or not he would admit to the association. The fact that these three seemed to be well acquainted went a long way towards supporting Kinney’s suppositions that they were all in collusion. It wasn’t a huge leap from there to believing that the three were somehow involved with the PC’s disappearance. Yep, things were getting more and more curious.

Now, if Carl could only figure out how that ditzy art teacher friend of Brian’s played into things. The only real connection between them seemed to be that they all either had money or came from money. As a rule, Carl wasn’t really the type to believe in conspiracy theories, but this case seemed like it might just end up being the exception to the rule. And the way to unravel any conspiracy was to ‘follow the money’, so that was what the detective would have to do.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that name,” Craig lied, but his increased rate of breathing and the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his brow betrayed him.

Horvath made a show of noting the response in his notebook and then spent another ten minutes or so asking additional Taylor questions, including asking about his whereabouts at the time of Justin’s kidnapping and the like. As Carl had expected, Taylor had a solid alibi for the entire day. Taylor wasn’t the sort to get his hands dirty though. If he HAD been involved with what had befallen the boy, he would have hired somebody else to do it. And the seasoned investigator knew he wasn’t going to get much helpful information by directly confronting the man, so he really didn't waste much effort on it. His purpose in coming there had already been fulfilled.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Taylor,” Carl said when, by his calculations, he’d spent sufficient time with the man to get him just worried enough. “I need to go check out the information you’ve provided so far and then, if I need anything more, I’ll be getting back to you.” Carl handed over one of his business cards to the man. “If you think of anything that might help us find your son, please give me a call.” Taylor took the card but tossed it down on his desk without even looking at it, effectively dismissing the police request in the process.

Then, right before Carl turned to leave the office, he added the zinger that should get the ants scrambling. “Oh, just one more thing. Since this is an active investigation, I have to advise you not to talk about this matter with anyone else. We don’t want any of the OTHER suspects getting word of what we’re up to, right?” Carl smiled amiably, gave Taylor a nod, then walked out of the office and out of the house, leaving Craig Taylor standing alone and looking agitated.

Detective Horvath proceeded to get into his car, pull away from the curb, drive down the block far enough so that nobody in the house could see him and then swung around in a neatly-executed u-turn. He pulled into the curb between two larger vehicles so he wouldn’t be easily visible and waited. Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, the door of the Taylor’s three car garage began to roll upwards and a sleek silver Jaguar backed out of the driveway before driving off in the direction of downtown.

Horvath shook his head. It was too easy almost. He carefully pulled out of his parking space, making sure to leave plenty of room so that the Jag’s driver wouldn’t know he was being tailed, and followed the ant he’d just stirred up.