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Chapter 47 - PC Investigations.
“Senator Stockwell? I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir, but there's a call on line three from Jake at the Pittsburgh office. It sounds important. Would you like to take it or should I tell him you're unavailable?”
Stockwell sighed and put down his copy of the Wall Street Journal to look up at his aide. She looked a little flustered, which wasn't normal for his usually efficient staff. He figured the phone call must be important if she was that perturbed.
“Thank you, Amber. I'll take the call,” he directed and swiveled his chair around so he was facing the desk straight on. Then, picking up the handset, he answered in his most statesman-like voice. “Stockwell here.”
“Senator Stockwell, Sir, I'm so sorry to bother you with this . . .” Jake sounded even more flustered than Amber had been - Jim wondered what the hell was going on. “There's a Craig Taylor here to see you. I told him you were in Philadelphia through at least the weekend, and offered to make an appointment for him to see you next week, but he’s being quite insistent that he MUST speak to you right away. He's very belligerent, in fact. I was going to let security take care of him, but he said you'd want to speak with him.”
No wonder Jake was acting so agitated, Stockwell thought - Taylor really could be a whiny bitch. If the man wasn't so useful, Stockwell would have cut his ties to Taylor long ago. Oh well, best to just deal with the fussbudget now and get it over with.
“No problem, Jake. Put him on the phone and I'll handle him,” Stockwell advised with a sigh.
“Jim? Where the fuck are you and what kind of shit are you getting me involved in now,” were the first words Taylor yelled into the phone as soon as he picked up the line.
“As I'm sure my staff already told you, Craig, I'm in Philadelphia for the week. Now calm the fuck down and tell me what’s got you so worked up,” Stockwell said using his best ‘placate the loony constituent’ tone.
“I'm not going to just calm the fuck down, Jim. Not till you explain to me why a cop came to my home this morning - my fucking HOME - and started asking me all sorts of questions about Justin going missing. You told me you were going to fix this mess. I thought, after the fucking auction, I'd never have to see or hear about the damned brat again. So why is this coming up again?”
“It’s nothing, Taylor. I just thought that it was better to get the kid away from Kinney. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ve got this handled,” Stockwell told the irate man.
“Yeah. You’ve been saying THAT since day one, but if it were true then why the fuck is a detective at my house asking all the WRONG questions? Huh?” Craig blustered into the phone line. “This guy asked me about you and Bellweather. He knew about the PC PAC donations. What the hell is going on, Stockwell?”
“He asked about Bellweather?” That fact not only surprised the Senator but might put a cramp in his plans. “Who was it that came to talk to you? Which detective?”
“Some frumpy, donut-swilling lardass named ‘Horvath’. What the fuck kind of name is ‘Horvath’ anyway? He was right on the money with all his questions though. You’ve got to get this under control, Jim. I’m not going down for you and your fucking nephew,” Taylor threatened.
“Whoa. Back the fuck up, Taylor. Your ass is as much on the line as mine here, so don’t threaten me,” Stockwell shot back angrily. Then he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down enough to think things through. “Look, Craig, I don’t think it’s as bad as you seem to fear. I know Horvath. He’s a washed up hack at best. He never made it past detective first class. More likely than not, he didn’t know anything and was just fishing for information. What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Taylor assured. “But for someone on a fishing expedition, the guy sure knew the right questions to ask”
“Trust me on this, Craig,” Stockwell promised. “Just go home and relax. I’ll handle things on my end. The boy is someplace where he’ll be safely away from Kinney and can’t cause any more trouble. If Horvath comes back, don’t say anything to him. He’s got no proof of anything. If we all just keep our heads down, we’ll be fine.” Taylor was grumbling on his end of the call, but didn’t say anything. “And DON’T go to my offices again. If they do get suspicious, they might start watching you.”
“Yeah, well, you said not to call you either, so how the fuck do I get a hold of you then?” Craig asked.
“You don’t. At least not till after Kinney’s out of the picture and Bellweather’s got official title to the boy. After that, I promise you, we’ll be home free.”
“We better be,” Taylor asserted. “I’m sick and tired of this mess. That fucking inconvenient brat has caused me enough trouble already. He’s been nothing but a pain in my ass from the day his spoiled bitch of a mother died. I can’t wait till I’m rid of him for good.”
********
Outside the office building where Senator Stockwell had his Pittsburgh offices, Detective Horvath was waiting in his plain, dark blue, unmarked, American-made car. He’d parked in the perfect spot with a direct line of sight to the building’s entrance. He also had his camera ready when Taylor stormed out of the building looking just as agitated as he had when he’d gone inside. Horvath thought Craig’s harried expression was perfect for the candid photo he snapped right as Taylor passed by the office building’s large sign clearly showing the street address.
Taylor went straight to his car and got in. Horvath set aside his camera and flipped on the Bluetooth earpiece to the dashboard phone system. As Taylor pulled out of the parking lot, Horvath followed suit, a few car lengths back. It looked like Taylor was headed back to the burbs.
“Call Headquarters,” Carl directed the phone system. A few minutes later, just as Taylor was maneuvering onto the freeway, Horvath finally connected to the person he’d been hoping to get through to. “Hey, Sandy, it’s Carl . . . Yeah, I need you to pull some phone records for me on this new case . . . The suspect’s name is Craig Taylor. Oh, and while you’re at it, I need records for a Howard Bellweather and a Lindsey Peterson too . . . I’ll text you their addresses as soon as I pull over . . . Oh, and can you check on the status of that PCRA Tracking Order I sent in a request on yesterday. I don’t know why the hell it’s taking so damned long . . . Thanks, Sandy.” Horvath hung up and continued to follow Taylor.
“Assuming I see what I suspect on those phone logs,” he said, talking to himself as he worked through his plan for this case, “I should be able to justify pulling the not-so-good Senator’s phone records too. And then we’ll just see what other goodies crawl out of the ants’ nest. Won’t we, Jimmy Boy?” *hehehehe* “I might have finally found a way to get to you even after all these years, Senator Stockwell. Wouldn’t that be something? You get away with covering up murder but get taken down by a little missing blond boy. Let’s just hope I get to the blond boy in time . . .”
********
“Simon? Oh good, you're here. I really needed to talk to you.”
Craswell cringed when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blonde head leaning in through the door of his gallery office. When he looked up, Craswell confirmed it was the bitchy art teacher accompanied by her brat in a stroller. Shit. He really did not want to deal with this today.
“You shouldn't be here, Lindsey,” Simon growled.
“I'm sorry, Simon, but I didn't know what else to do,” the annoying blonde whined as she wheeled her stroller into the office and made herself at home in one of the guest chairs despite not having been invited. “I’m really starting to get a little worried . . . A police detective came to my house yesterday to question me about that boy. My wife happened to be there at the time and she knows I wasn't at home all morning like I told the cop. We had the worst argument we’ve ever had after the detective left. She wants me to come clean and tell the police what I know. I didn't tell her anything but . . . What am I going to do?”
“Listen to me, Lindsey,” Craswell ordered, setting aside his tablet computer and focusing on the nervous woman. “You're not going to do or say anything! You're going to calm the fuck down, go home and keep your mouth shut. You hear me?”
“But, Simon . . . That cop knows I had a key to the loft,” Lindsey whimpered.
“You were the one who mentioned to me that you wanted the boy gone, Lindsey,” Simon chided, conveniently neglecting to mention the fact that it was his friends that had prompted the entire enterprise, not the stupid cunt’s groundless complaints.
“I know, but I didn’t think . . . Those men you sent to the loft to take him, they were so rough. I didn’t want the boy to be hurt. I just wanted him out of Brian’s life,” the woman sniveled. “And you said your friends would take care of everything - that I wouldn’t be involved except for getting you into the building. Now I’m being questioned by the police . . .”
“Lindsey, you were the one running your mouth off everywhere you went about how much you hate PCs. Especially THAT PC. It’s no surprise that the police are going to question you when the kid disappears,” Simon accused, stating what he thought was obvious. “But I seriously doubt they have any proof that you were involved. The cops are just questioning everyone. If you play it cool and just keep quiet, you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know. Are you sure?”
Craswell felt like slapping the weak-willed woman. This is why he hated women in general. They were always so stupid. This one seemed especially annoying though. Thank fuck he was gay.
“Go home, Lindsey. And DON’T come back here again until we’re sure that the cops aren’t watching,” he ordered, making his voice firm and backing it up with a stern look.
It seemed to work. Lindsey gathered up her courage and her child and started to leave. She hesitated once again at the door, and Simon almost groaned aloud, fearing she was going to come back and beg for more reassurance. Luckily she only turned and gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes before finally leaving.
Thank fuck!
Craswell watched as the woman’s form disappeared down the hallway towards the Gallery’s exit. As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned back to his desk and picked up the phone. While he was distracted dialing the phone, he completely missed the fact that his partner, Sidney, was peeking around the door jamb with a concerned look on his face.
“Jimmy? It’s Simon. I think we might have a problem . . . Yeah, it’s that Peterson bitch. I think she’s about to cave. The police went to her house to question her and she’s freaking out . . . I already told her that. I don’t think she’s the type to sit tight and keep her mouth shut though. Got any other suggestions? . . . Yeah, I told her not to come back here till the heat’s off, but who knows if she’ll take the advice . . . Okay . . . I’ll do my best, Jim . . . Of course. Just make sure that boy is kept under wraps . . . Yep. Good thing you’ve got those contacts at the PCRA who will conveniently LOSE the police tracking requests until you can get the kid someplace where you can jam the GPS signal . . . *hahaha* . . . Good deal . . . Okay, I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything more on my end. Talk to you later, Jim.”
Craswell hung up the phone, reassured that his friend had matters well under control. Not only was Stockwell a smart man, but with his law enforcement background, he knew better than anyone how to buck the system. If you were going to do something a little shady, he was the best ally you could have on your side. Simon felt much better after having called the Senator. Now he could get back to his real work and feel confident that someone else was taking care of the problem that Lindsey Peterson represented.
If only Simon had looked up at that moment and noticed the look of rage that was suffusing the face of the gallery manager who had been listening in on his phone conversation, he might not have been quite so complacent.
********
Rex followed Duke into the Master’s office reluctantly. Today was the first day he’d even managed to get out of bed after the thorough beating he’d received at Stockwell’s overly enthusiastic hands the prior week. He really was NOT ready to go back to work, but he knew his wishes on the matter wouldn’t be considered. He should probably be grateful that he’d been given six whole days to recover. Although, since the damage he’d suffered had been bad enough to require Bellweather to call in an actual Doctor, he really didn’t think it was asking too much that he be allowed to at least wait till the stitches came out before he was forced to resume his duties as a sex toy. Fucking Bellweather.
But the Master was back from his trip to New York City and apparently required some company, so Rex had been dragged out of bed and led upstairs to see to the man’s needs. Just his luck he was one of the monster’s favorites. Rex couldn’t wait until he became yesterday's news and Bellweather moved on to another ‘pet’. That day couldn’t come fast enough for him. In the meantime, though, all he could do was try and keep himself in one piece long enough to survive the Master’s attentions.
“Oh, Rex! Good to see you up and around, boy,” the Master greeted him as soon as he caught sight of the Playtoy-of-the-Moment. “I missed you while I was in New York. It’s probably for the best that you got left behind, though. I got a lot more work done with my editor without you there to distract me.” The Master reached out to run his fingers down Rex’s cheek in a gesture that might be considered tender if you didn’t know the depravity that was underlying the intimacy. “I’ve been dreaming of that pretty mouth of yours boy.” The fingers trailed over Rex’s lips, brushing lightly at first but then ending with an insistent shove as he thrust his thumb roughly between the boy’s lips. Rex swallowed his revulsion, shut his eyes so he at least wouldn’t have to look at the man he reviled, and pretended the thumb he was sucking on belong to Britney Spears instead of some repulsive old letcher. “On your knees, boy. I need to feel your lips around my dick right now,” the man ordered, disrupting Rex’s happy fantasy.
Rex, of course, obeyed, happy that it was only his mouth that the man was going to use, since his ass was still far too tender to hold up to the likes of Bellweather. Dropping to his knees, Rex compliantly unzipped the Master’s slacks and took out the repulsive limpness that the man assumed qualified as a dick.
Not for the first time, Rex wondered how in the hell he had ended up here. The funny thing - if by ‘funny’ you meant horrifying and unimaginable - was that Rex wasn’t even gay. He was as straight as the day was long. And when he’d signed the contract to become a PC so that his parents could get the money needed to pay for his sister’s leukemia treatments, the recruiter he’d talked with had assured him that he’d most likely end up as the pampered pet of some rich old lady. It wasn’t till after he’d signed away his life and been in training for a couple months, that his Handler decided a sweet-looking young man like Rex would be worth far more on the gay market, especially since he could be marketed as a ‘virgin’ having never experienced the ‘joys’ of anal sex before. Which is how the Boy had ended up on his knees with a scabby dick fucking his face while he desperately tried not to gag.
He’d only just managed to lick and suck the Master’s dick to a decent level of hardness when the cell phone still in the man’s pants pocket rang. Bellweather reached into the pants and pulled out the phone, answering the call without even pausing in his rhythm. Damn, Rex had hoped he’d get a short reprieve.
“Hey, Jimmy! How’s the City of Brotherly Love treating you?” the Master joked as soon as he saw the ID of his caller. “Yeah, I just got back this morning. I know you said we should both stay out of town for the week, but I really needed to get back home. I was missing my boys. And I think, based on this excellent blow job I’m getting, that Rex missed me too . . . No, no, no. I’m not letting you get your hands on him again for a while, Jimmy. You were a little too rough on the poor thing last time and I don’t like having my favorites out of commission for that long . . . *hahaha* . . . Yeah, that was hot, but I still can’t let you do it again. At least not till he’s one hundred percent healed. But maybe we can do it again in a few weeks. I’ll let you know when his ass is ready for the likes of YOU, Senator . . . You mean you didn’t just call to plan another play date? . . .”
Rex continued with his sucking, but he noticed that the Master's interest, and his dick, seemed to flag a little bit at that point. It seemed that he wasn’t happy about whatever he was being told by his friend. Damn. That meant Rex would have to work even harder to finish this fucking blow job. He just couldn’t catch a break some days. He took a deep breath through his nose and redoubled his efforts, bobbing his head faster and sucking at the half-hard cock until his cheeks hurt.
“Damn, I didn’t think the cops would be so hot and bothered about one measly PC going missing. You say they’ve already questioned people and filed a tracking request? . . . How much longer before your friends at the PCRA are forced to implement the GPS tracking? . . . Well, let’s hope that Sapperstein’s jamming system works . . . How much longer do you think before the cops back off? . . . Damn it! I was hoping I could go over there this afternoon. I just can’t wait to get my hands on that sweet little blond boy’s ass. I told Gary that he needed to hold off until I’d had the first go at the boy, but I don’t trust him to keep his dick to himself for too long. That's one PC that’s just too tempting for his own good . . . I know. I know . . . Fine. I’ll hold off until after the weekend at least, but I’m not happy about it. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted an ass as badly as I want that one. And when I finally do get ahold of him, I’m going to ride him so hard and so long that it’ll be a miracle if the boy can walk after I’m done. *hahahaha* . . . Okay. Thanks for the head’s up, Jimmy. I’ll be careful. You do the same. Talk to you later.”
Bellweather ended the call and put the phone back in his sagging pants pocket before returning his full attention to his PC. Unfortunately for Rex, the discussion of the stolen PCs hot little blond ass had renewed the Master's hard on. More than restored it, actually. Bellweather was now ridiculously turned on and fucking Rex’s face like he could shove that tiny dick all the way down the PC’s throat to his stomach. Even as practiced as Rex was by this time, he was still having trouble not choking on the invading protuberance. And based on the frantic noises the Master was making, it wasn’t enough.
“Get up, boy. I need more than your pretty lips right now,” the man directed, pulling on Rex’s hair to remove his mouth from around the tumescent dick.
“Master, please, I’m not completely healed yet,” Rex pleaded as soon as his mouth was free. “Let me finish sucking you off. I’ll make it really good for you,” the boy offered, trying to project a sexy and inviting leer at the man hovering above him in the hopes that the Master would relent.
“No. I need a good hard fuck. And, since I can’t get access to my newest acquisition for at least a few more days, your ass will have to do. Now get up and bend over the desk!” Bellweather ordered.
Rex watched as the Master pushed his pants down over his hips so that they slithered down his scrawny legs and sagged around his ankles, the buckle of the belt clanking loudly against the wood of the floorboards and the phone slipping out to land half under the edge of the desk. The boy tried to clear his mind enough to think through what he should do but he was frozen in place.
He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand up and present his ass to this raging monster. He was still so sore. The fucking stitches the doctor had used were still in, for fuck’s sake. Bewllweather couldn't seriously think he was ready for anal intercourse. He just couldn’t believe the man. Didn’t he care at all about the fact that he’d mostly likely be tearing the boy up even further? What the fuck was WRONG with this man?
“Please, Master. I-I-I still hurt so bad. You can’t . . .” Rex begged again, only realizing after the words were out of his mouth that he'd said the wrong thing.
“I CAN’T? How dare you tell me what I can and can’t do boy!” *Swack* The hand that shot out to slap him hard across his cheekbone darted out so swiftly that the boy almost didn’t see it coming. Rex fell to the floor in a heap. “You do NOT get to tell ME what I can do, boy. You don’t get an opinion. You’re a fucking PC and you will do what I say, WHEN I say it. Do you hear me?” The kick to the side of his head that followed hurt so badly that Rex screamed out even though he knew it would only enrage Bellweather further. “Insolent little worm! I’ll teach you to talk back to me, boy!”
The kicking continued hard and fast after that. Rex managed to get his arms up to protect his head but that only meant his body was left unprotected. Even curled up in a ball as he was, Bellweather managed to land several blows to sensitive areas. The only thing that saved him even a little bit was the fact that the Master’s pants were still strangling his ankles and therefore restricting his range of motion, which also limited the power behind his kicks. Even so, Rex knew there was no help for it. That impediment wouldn’t hold Bellweather back for long. He was probably going to die right then and there. He just hoped it was over quickly.
Just when the Master’s berserk rage looked like it was going to crest, there was a small *Ahem* from the doorway.
*Argh!* “What the fuck is it, Duke?” Bellweather growled, pausing in his efforts to kick a hole all the way through to Rex's intestines.
“I’m very sorry, Master. I don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s a Detective Horvath here asking to speak with you. He showed me his badge - he’s with the Pittsburgh Police Department. I didn’t know what to tell him. Should I try to send him away?” Duke asked, looking very nervous at having to interrupt the Master in the midst of one of his rages. It was always possible that Bellweather would take his temper out on anyone that dared to butt in - it had happened before on more than one occasion - however there was no help for it this time. That police detective didn’t seem like he’d leave until he spoke to the Master.
“Fuck it!” Bellweather snarled, giving Rex’s body one last, well-aimed kick out of sheer frustration. “No, Duke. I’d better talk to the fucker.” Bellweather huffed out a furious snort but then shook his head and regathered his composure before bending to pull up his pants.
He ran his hands over his almost bald skull to arrange what hair was left and make himself at least minimally presentable. It wouldn’t do to appear before the cop all disarranged looking. Fucking inconvenient timing though.
Before leaving the office, Bellweather turned back to look at the bleeding ball of boy on his office floor. “Duke, have Sammy take THAT mess off to Sapperstein's. I think Rex needs one of Gary’s usual attitude adjustment sessions. Make sure Sapperstein knows I want the boy to have the full treatment,” he directed ominously.
Rex’s stomach lurched. He knew what the ‘full treatment’ meant. He was in for it now. Unfortunately, the Handler was far too professional to go off the handle and just kill him the way Bellweather was wont to do. No, Rex wouldn’t be that lucky. The Sapp wouldn’t let him die. That would be too easy. He’d just torture him endlessly till Rex WISHED he could die.
While Bellweather gave a few last minute directions to Duke, Rex silently contemplated a dismal future. So much for his goal of surviving with his psyche at least partially intact. But even then, the resilient young man’s nature refused to let him give up altogether. Instead, his subconscious drew the boy’s attention to the phone that had been forgotten, lying on the floor under the desk, right in front of his battered face. And a desperate, probably futile plan, popped into Rex’s head. There was very little chance it would work. But he didn’t have any other plan at the moment, so what the fuck.
Rex’s hand snaked out and grabbed hold of the phone, quickly slipping the device into the thong that he was luckily still wearing. He silently thanked whatever fate was out there that Bellweather had just recently purchased a new, super-compact, ultra-slimline phone that actually fit into the tiny swatch of material without causing a noticeable bulge. Now he just had to have a smidgen of luck and hope he’d find the one person who might be able to help once he landed at the Sapp’s training facility.