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Chapter 22 - Intrigue and Intimacy.

Cynthia was impatiently waiting for Brian when he arrived at VanGuard on Monday morning. She handed him his latte, as usual, but didn’t even bother with the regular morning banter. Brian raised an eyebrow questioningly at her. Cyn tilted her head in the direction of Brian’s office but said nothing. Brian shook his head, took a deep breath to steel his nerves for whatever was likely to come and then led the way.

As soon as he’d set down his briefcase and pulled his chair up to the desk, Cynthia was there, shoving an opened file in Brian’s face. “I’ve been working on this all weekend and I just keep coming up against dead ends. It’s driving me crazy. But I think there’s something really fishy going on . . .”

Brian looked over the file of information his assistant had presented to him, but didn’t know what, exactly, she was talking about. It looked to him like the copies of Justin’s medical records that he’d brought back from the doctor’s office on Friday. Scanning over it briefly, Brian saw lots of medical notations but nothing that really drew his attention. Instead of floundering through it, though, he pushed the file away from him, sat back in his chair and sipped at his latte, waiting for Cynthia to explain, as he knew she would

“When you told me about meeting Amanda Hobbs at the Lapointe dinner the other night - and the fact that she’s Senator Jim Stockwell’s cousin - I got curious. It seems like just too much of a coincidence to me. So I started to look into things a little more closely.” Cynthia leaned back in the guest chair and took a swallow of her own coffee while she organized her thoughts. “I mean, is it just me or does it seem rather suspicious that right after Justin was attacked by someone with ties to the PC trade, his father contracts him out?” Brian shrugged but nodded and Cyn continued.

“I did a lot more research into Craig Taylor over the weekend and there’s nothing that would indicate he needed money at the time Justin was hurt. His property tax records show that he owns his home over in the Sewickley neighborhood outright. No mortgage at all listed and a quick market check I ran said the property was worth over three-quarters of a million in today's market, maybe more. He could have borrowed against the house without even blinking if he needed money for Justin's medical bills. Since his business is privately held, I can't get any tax records for it, but according to the trades I looked at, he's doing great. There's no sign of any financial trouble on the business end. The only other public records that came up for Taylor were some probate court filings from about five years ago - from what I could tell, he inherited a shitload of money from his wife’s estate when she died. That's probably what he used to pay off the mortgage on his house, but there should have been plenty left over even then. The bottom line is that there's no way in hell Craig Taylor couldn't pay his son’s hospital bills, Brian.”

Brian frowned, flipped through the copies of the public records search documents Cynthia had pulled and had to agree with the woman’s assessment. There was no way this man needed money desperately enough that his only choice was to sell his son. It made no sense. Then Brian recalled some of the comments Amanda Hobbs had made about her poor, misunderstood son’s legal problems, and it clicked.

“At dinner, Hobbs’ mother said something to me about Stockwell helping to negotiate a settlement ‘out of court’ so her kid wouldn't have to go to jail,” he informed Cynthia, who was already nodding as if she expected that news.

“Which might have made sense if this was a simple civil suit . . . Except that, you CAN'T settle a fucking criminal case out of court,” Cynthia insisted, slamming her empty coffee cup down on the edge of Brian's desk and pulling a different printout from the file. “A criminal case isn't in the hands of the parties. You can't just pay someone off to get them to drop criminal charges. Especially not felony charges like first degree assault or attempted murder. Any ‘settlement’ of criminal charges has to go through the District Attorney and be approved by a judge. There's no such thing as ‘out of court’ in criminal cases. In criminal cases, that kind of thing is known as ‘Interfering With A Criminal Investigation’, 'Witness Tampering’ or even plain old ‘Bribery’.” She pushed the piece of paper she’d extracted in Brian’s direction and pointed to a section she’d highlighted. “I called in a favor from a lawyer friend of mine who pulled the court records for the case against Chris Hobbs. As you can see, there’s no record of any court approved plea bargain. The case was just dropped . . . For lack of evidence.”

“What more evidence did they need? Justin’s head was bashed in and the news reports said there were eyewitnesses,” Brian read over the printout and was just as stumped as Cynthia by the conclusion.

“Exactly. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but it looks to me like somehow the Hobbs family - or maybe an influential Senator they happen to be related to - got the DA to just drop all the charges cold. And Craig - the father of the victim - didn’t say a damned thing about it. Which meant the whole thing was just swept under the carpet and forgotten. Justin was of course only a minor at the time, and didn’t have standing to really do much legally. But if Craig, as his legal guardian, had made a fuss and gone to the press about how unfair this was, I doubt the DA would have been allowed to drop the case like that. Craig didn’t say anything though. And Justin was probably still too hurt to even know what was going on. Not to mention that, by the time the charges were officially dropped,” Cynthia pointed to the highlighted date on the court records, “it was already three weeks after Craig signed the PC contract for his son.” She pointed to another date on the PC Bill of Sale that Brian had been given the night of the auction, showing the initial contract date for the purchased PC. “In other words, Craig contracted Justin out before the case was dropped, so that, when it happened, Justin would have had no legal right to object. Only his owner at the time would have been able to say anything, and that never happened.”

Brian looked through all the records again, and came up with the exact same conclusions Cynthia had arrived at. “So . . . somebody paid off Craig Taylor to keep his mouth shut when the charges against Hobbs were dropped.”

“That’s what it looks like to me,” Cynthia leaned back in her chair again with a knowing sneer. “Only they were smart enough to make the payoff look like a standard PC contract deal. Adding in the story that Craig was ‘forced’ to contract out his son because he couldn’t pay the hospital bills, just made it more palatable to everyone. It’s the perfect solution. Craig got paid for his silence. Hobbs got off scot free. And Justin, who was the only one who might have objected, was neutralized because PCs have no legal rights outside what their owners say.”

“Shit!” Brian closed the file and shoved it away from him so hard it flew off the far side of his desk. “It all makes perfect sense, except for why Craig would do such a for shit thing to his son.”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Brian. I personally can’t imagine ever agreeing to something like that for my child,” Cynthia agreed. “But nothing else makes sense. I refuse to believe in that many huge coincidences. And I refuse to let a smart, talented, beautiful kid like Justin be used like this.”

“What do you mean?” Brian leaned forward, his elbows propped on the edge of his desk, scrutinizing the woman across from him as if trying to see into her brain. “Even if we could prove that Craig agreed to this deal, I would imagine it’s too late to go after Hobbs. He’s off in Arizona or somewhere living the All-American dream. The damage has already been done. Justin’s life has already been ruined. Maybe, with a ton of therapy, he might get back the full use of his hand, but I doubt all the psychological problems are ever going to fully go away. What good would it do to expose Craig Taylor for accepting a bribe?”

“Don’t you see? It’s not about Craig Taylor. Or even whether or not we could implicate Stockwell in this scheme. It’s about Justin’s PC contract . . .” Cynthia insisted, scooting forward on her chair so that she could lean forward, almost nose to nose with her boss. “If we can prove that the whole contract scheme was a fraud meant to serve an illegal purpose, we could get Justin’s contract invalidated . . . He’d be free again.”

“Fuck . . .” Brian clasped his hands together and rested his chin against them as he thought through the implications of everything Cynthia was saying. After reaching the only conclusion he could, he sat up straight and nodded decisively. “We have to do this. I don’t know how, but we have to find some proof. Only, don’t tell Justin yet. I don’t want to get his hopes up, you know. I’ve already let him down once and I’m not going to set myself up to do the same thing a second time. Okay?”

“Okay. That’s probably not a bad idea,” Cynthia agreed readily. “But how do we prove any of this, Brian? And, even if we can prove it, who do we go to with that proof?”

“Follow the money, right?” Brian offered. “We have to be talking a pretty hefty sum of money. Craig Taylor was already pretty fucking well off before, so there’s no way he would have done this without getting a huge pay off.”

“True . . . Maybe a huge enough payoff to pay for that brand new flagship store that Craig opened up about three months after Justin’s accident?” Cynthia posited.

“Possibly. But it won’t be enough to prove that Craig got the money,” Brian reasoned through what had to be done. “I mean, he’s already admitted he got the money - he signed the PC contract for his son. We have to prove that the money came from the Hobbs family or Stockwell. Somehow tie the PC contract to the deal to let Chris Hobbs go. And that’s going to be a bitch.”

“Let me see . . .” Cynthia picked up the file of information off the floor where it had landed when Brian had shoved it away from him. “Yeah . . . I thought I remembered seeing this.” She turned the file around so Brian could see what she was reading. “Sapperstein wasn't Justin's original owner like he told everyone at the auction. The medical records you got list Sapperstein only as the Handler. According to these records, the name of the guy that originally contracted for Justin is Ron Hutcherson. It doesn’t sound familiar, but I can research him. There's contact info for this Hutcherson in here too. I should be able to track him down. If he’s part of this scam, he would have to have ties to Stockwell or Hobbs, right? Nobody’s going to just put up the kind of money Craig would have demanded without a good reason. Especially not if you’re buying an already injured PC that might have brain damage - which is what Justin’s doctors were saying at the time.”

“Good point,” Brian agreed with his assistant. “You see what you can find on that front, Cyn. I’ll make a few calls around to some buddies of mine and see if I can find out anything more about Craig Taylor. Maybe, if we work this thing from both ends, we’ll figure out how they connect in the middle.”

********

“No, Mikey . . . Do you not understand English? I said ‘no’ already . . .” Brian was arguing on the phone with his best friend as he came through the door of the loft after work. “Because - as I tell you every single time you call me and ask me to go out with you on a Monday - it’s Karaoke night at Woody’s and I HATE Karaoke . . . Michael, listen to me. Are you listening? . . . I do not want to go to Karaoke night . . . So what if you’re meeting up with some new guy. What the fuck does that have to do with me?” Brian dropped his briefcase off next to the desk and unthinkingly leaned down to kiss the blond boy sitting there in greeting. “What? Are we still in Junior High? I can’t believe you’re going to make me come meet your new beau. Why does it matter if I like him or not? I’m not the one going to be dating the schmuck . . . Mikey . . . Oh, fuck. Fine . . . Yes, fine, I’ll be there. But I’ll be in a bad mood the whole night and it’ll be all your fault, so be prepared to grovel . . . Whatever. But do NOT even attempt to try and make me sing - no matter how drunk I get - or I WILL hurt you!” Brian ended the call and tossed his cell phone on the kitchen counter.

While Brian had been talking on the phone, the industrious PC had stacked up all his work and tidied up the desk. Then he quietly trotted over to the kitchen and stood at the end of the bar, waiting patiently for whatever directions he might be given. Brian grinned at the obsequious display, shaking his head at the boy who insisted on maintaining this mute slave act even though they both knew it was only make believe. Or at least mostly make believe.

Brian walked up to the boy and insistently wrapped his arms around the tempting young man, drawing the slight frame towards him. Ever since Brian had heard the boy speaking to Gus the day before, he’d been trying to encourage him to say more, but Justin had stubbornly remained silent. It was driving Brian crazy. He could still hear that sexy low tenor voice in his head and, for some reason he wasn’t willing to analyze, he really wanted to hear it again. The sure knowledge that the boy was intentionally withholding his words, made Brian want it all the more.

“Hey, you.” Brian leaned in and claimed another kiss, this one full on the plump sweet lips. And, while the boy didn’t exactly kiss back, he didn’t fight Brian’s advances either. “Mmmm. I think I could get used to that when I come home from work on a daily basis.” Justin turned his head away slightly so that Brian couldn’t see directly into his eyes. “You know you’re killing me here, right?” The boy steadfastly continued to look away. “Okay. Be that way. You’re still in charge, but you know I’m always available, right?” Brian thought he caught a hint of a smile on the boy’s face, and figured he’d count this as a win and not press for more.

Brian let go his hold on the boy and turned to make his way up to the bedroom so he could strip out of his work clothes. He was pleased that Justin followed along behind and stood meekly off to the side, surreptitiously watching Brian as he strutted around nakedly. Brian chuckled under his breath. He could tell the boy was interested - maybe against his will - but interested nonetheless. It was a good sign.

“So, you probably heard that Michael’s forcing me to go out with him tonight. He insists that I be there to meet some new guy he’s interested in. Like it’s going to matter if I like him or not. Whatever.” Brian pulled on a pair of jeans - commando, of course - and then started to rifle through his club shirt collection. “But, anyway, I was thinking you should come with me. I know you don’t like crowds much, but it’s Monday night, which is the least busy night of the week, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Besides, you can’t spend all your time holed up here in the loft. What do you say? Wanna get out of here for the night?”

Justin didn’t say a word or even move a muscle. Brian hadn’t actually expected anything different. But since he didn’t hear a refusal, he figured that was as good as he’d get. He rifled through the closet for a minute or two and then came up with a shirt that Michael had donated to Justin - one that had a collar on it that would at least partially cover the PC's tat - and tossed it over to the boy. He had to remember to go do some real clothing shopping for the kid sooner or later.

“Why don’t you go put that on and get ready. We can stop and get something to eat on the way if you’re hungry, or you can just eat the crap they serve at the bar if you don’t mind pub food. You’re still a little on the skinny side, so you can probably handle the grease and carbs. And I’ll just stick to a liquid dinner.”

Justin compliantly pulled off the baggy sweatshirt he’d been wearing before shuffling into the bathroom to wash up a bit. Brian followed, drawn like a moth to a flame by the sight of the slight, alabaster torso with it’s barely there but perfectly formed musculature. The kid was definitely one of the pretty type. There was no way around that. And, while Brian tried not to react to Justin on a physical level alone, not wanting to reinforce the boy’s assumption that he was only there as a sexual companion and therefore that was his only value, the man couldn’t deny that there was indeed a strong physical attraction between them. Not that he’d ever do anything to force matters, but it was getting harder and harder, the longer they were together, to keep his hands off the kid. Brian caught himself kissing or touching the boy a dozen times an hour. It was like his hands had a will of their own.

This one time, Brian let his hands have their way. He strode up behind the boy who was standing at the sink washing his face and ran his hands over the boy’s shoulders and down his arms. Brian noted that Justin rarely flinched away from his touches these days, which pleased him more than he would admit. All he did was pause in his motions as if waiting patiently to see what Brian would do next.

What Brian WANTED to do next was to rub his rapidly filling cock against that plush backside and then, maybe . . .

Nope. He wouldn’t do that. He would never push the boy for more than he was ready to give. Brian simply had to learn to control himself. And hope that he’d get some release when they went out tonight. Because, frankly, he was getting a little tired of hand jobs in the shower two and three times a day.

“Oh, what you do to me, kid,” Brian allowed himself to bend and leave one last kiss on the exposed shoulder with a deep sigh before he forced himself to take a step back and leave the boy be. “Don’t take too long. Mikey will be going ape shit if I don’t show up in time to give him my blessing.”

Twenty minutes later they were walking through the door of Woody’s, both now fully clothed, and with Brian convinced he finally had his hands mostly under control. Justin was a little hesitant because of the unknown location and the bunches of people inside the bar, but even so he obediently plodded along in Brian’s wake. The usual crowd at Woody’s parted to allow Brian’s entrance, just like always. And also, just like always, there were several appreciative men who noted his arrival with hopeful glances. Brian ignored them for the moment, sure that they’d still be there when he was ready, and led his charge over to the table in the back near the pool tables - and as far away from the karaoke stage as possible - where the gang usually held court.

“Brian! You made it!” Michael popped up out of his seat and practically ran over to greet his friend. “Come on over and meet David. David, this is my best friend, Brian Kinney. Brian, this is David Cameron,” Brian took the seat that Michael shoved him towards, openly eyeballing the man who had stood up to welcome him. “I’ve told David, like, everything about you Brian, and all the crazy things we used to get up to as kids, so don’t be surprised if he gives you a bit of shit,” Michael continued on a bit nervously. “Oh, and David, this is Brian’s PC, Justin. Hang on a sec, Justin, and I’ll grab you a chair too.” Michael bustled off to borrow a chair from another table while Brian and David sized each other up.

“So, Davey, I guess this is the part where I ask you what your intentions are towards Mikey and then chase you away with my shotgun if you don’t measure up,” Brian teased, reaching up to grab Justin’s hand and towing the boy over into his lap without waiting for the chair Michael was supposedly bringing. “What do you think, Justin? Does Davey here strike you as a gentleman that we should encourage to walk out with our boy? Provided, of course, that they’re properly chaperoned at all times. Or should we send him packing?” Brian joked and couldn’t help adding in a little poke to the boy’s ribs in an attempt to get an actual laugh out of him. When it didn’t work and all he got was a silent squirm, Brian was the one who laughed. “Oh, you are SO stubborn, aren’t you, J?” Then turning back to David, he added, “well, since Justin has nothing bad to say about you, I guess you pass muster. You have our blessing to continue seeing Mikey. Just don’t bring him home knocked up.”

“Briiiian!” Michael whined, overhearing the last of the conversation and blushing a lovely shade of pink. “Ignore him, David. He’s the biggest kidder you’ve ever met.”

“Hello, hello, hello! What did we miss and who is this hunk of handsome goodness!” Emmett waltzed up to the table and took possession of the chair that Justin hadn’t yet assumed.

Emmett took over the conversation from that point on and quizzed David about everything a gay boy would need to know about a potential steady. Ted arrived about ten minutes later and chimed in whenever Em needed a second opinion. Brian added in the occasional snarky comment but otherwise let his more chatty friends guide the show while he spent his time consuming the beer that David bought as his treat for the table and languidly playing with Justin’s hair as the boy sat in his lap. David shot Brian a few quizzical glances but mostly ignored the pair since he was kept too busy responding to all of the gang’s nosy questions to devote much attention to Brian and his PC.

Since Brian wasn’t doing much of the talking, he ended up doing a lot more of the drinking. He polished off two beers before anyone else at the table had finished their first. Then he signaled a waiter and ordered a double Beam for himself and another beer for Justin even though the PC had only barely sipped at his first. Brian downed the shot and then drank down Justin’s beer too.

At that rate, Brian was feeling the happy haze of alcohol quite soon and it certainly didn’t help him insofar as the restraint department was concerned. His hands had found their way back onto Justin’s body, snaking their way up under the hem of the boy’s shirt so they could tickle the soft skin of his stomach. His lips repeatedly found their way to the boy’s neck, his cheek and even occasionally to his lips. Justin kept his perch on Brian’s lap and docilely endured all the petting without protest. He even returned one or two of the kisses, to Brian’s delight. All of which led to Brian experiencing a persistent and rather uncomfortably firm problem, which was just then pressed up against the tractable boy’s backside, the whole experience nearly driving Brian nuts.

“Shit, Justin,” Brian murmured into the warm flesh at the back of the boy’s neck as he let his hands wander around and down until they were ghosting along the kid’s jeans-clad thighs. It didn't help at all that Brian's fingers had detected a bulge beneath the boy’s zipper that was at least equal to his own. Luckily, he wasn't yet so inebriated that he'd lost all vestiges of reason. He knew he couldn't take this any further. He had promised himself as well as Justin that he wouldn’t press. Even if the sexy little tease sitting in his lap was killing him. “I can't . . . I . . . I . . . I have to . . .” Brian jumped up out of his chair, dumping Justin unceremoniously onto the floor and was already five steps away before anyone could react. “I'll be back. Make sure nobody bugs Justin,” he yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed the first likely looking man in his direct path and pulled the guy after him into the men's room.

“Whoa. What the fuck was that all about,” David asked as Emmett helped Justin up off the floor and onto Brian's vacated chair.

“Don't mind Brian. He probably just saw a trick he had to have. He's like that sometimes,” Michael waved off his friend’s erratic behavior.

“Okay,” David shook his head as he eyed the PC whose typically neutral expression had been replaced by a discountenanced glare aimed in the direction Brian had disappeared. “I just didn't expect that. I mean, one minute your friend’s sitting there looking perfectly content playing with his boy, and the next he's literally running off. Doesn't make much sense to me,” David took a swig of his beer and then pointed to Justin with the neck of the bottle. “I mean, if I had something as tasty as THAT available whenever I wanted, I'd probably never leave my house.” Justin dropped his chin self-effacingly and David laughed. But when nobody else at the table joined him the man obviously remembered where he was and turned back to his date. “Which is I why I'm glad I don't have a PC, because then I never would have met you,” he recovered and winked at Michael who beamed at him with a besotted smile.

By the time Brian sauntered back to the table fifteen minutes later, looking much less frantic, the conversation had long moved away from Brian's sex life. He ambled over to the chair where he'd been sitting before, but Justin stubbornly refused to look up at him, let alone move so Brian could sit. Rather than make a big deal about it, Brian just pulled over yet another chair.

“So, what did I miss? Have you boys already covered Liza’s weight problem and how to feng shui your bathroom?” Brian kidded as he picked up his forgotten drink and tried to get back into the conversation.

Before anyone could answer him, though, they were interrupted by Brian's trick approaching the table holding out a small slip of paper. “Call me if you want to hook up again, Kinney.”

“Not even vaguely interested,” Brian scoffed and pushed away the hand holding out the number.

The guy looked a little miffed but shrugged it off. “Your loss,” he said and then strutted away.

Brian didn't even bother to watch the guy leave. He had already scooted his chair closer to Justin's and reached around to rest his arm over the boy’s shoulders. But when the boy once again flinched away from his touch and refused to look at him, Brian gave it up and turned his full attention back to his beer with a frown.

“Sorry, but I HAVE to ask,” David interjected after watching this strange interplay. “Why the hell would you prefer some mediocre trick over your own PC?”

“I don't,” Brian answered without even really thinking. “The guy was just convenient.”

“More convenient than your own PC who was sitting in your lap at the time you ran off?” David asked further.

Brian scowled over at this presumptuous newcomer. “What business is it of yours who I'm fucking?” he growled.

“None at all,” David shrugged and relaxed back in his own chair as he continued to regard the interaction between Brian and Justin. “Sorry I asked.”

Brian shot the man a mirthless fake smile but didn't otherwise respond. He tried to relax himself, but felt the uncomfortable attention of the rest of the table all still directed at him. Damn the nosy little fuckers. They really all needed to get sex lives of their own so they could lay off speculating about his. Brian felt like an exotic bug pinned to a card while his friends dissected him with their eyes. He subconsciously extended his arm, reaching out for the reassuring comfort of Justin's hand, but was disappointed when the boy twitched his body around so as to prevent the touch.

“Justin? You okay?” He leaned forward and whispered into the boy’s ear. “Someone say something to you while I was gone?”

When Brian didn’t get any response, though, he sat up again and looked over at the kid with growing confusion. What the hell was going on here? Justin's body language showed a completely closed off stance. He was partially turned so that Brian only saw his back. Both arms were crossed tightly over his stomach. His head was turned even more aside so Brian couldn't see his expression at all. Trying one more time to connect, Brian placed his hand at the nape of the boy’s neck and was alarmed when the kid shrugged away from the touch, jerking his body till Brian's hand fell away.

“Oh . . . Fuck me!” he mumbled into his beer, slumping back into his own chair in unhappy confusion, unsure what the hell he was up against now or why the closeness they’d been experiencing all day seemed to have evaporated without explanation.