Chapter 7 - The Daily Grind.
Brian had only just got to sleep when his phone started ringing. The alarm clock on the bedside table said it was two am. He grabbed his phone and hit the button to answer the call, noting with dread that it was Deb calling. He feared that something else had happened to Michael. Still he answered the call.
"Deb, what's wrong?" Brian growled into the cell phone.
"They found Emmett," Debbie sobbed into the phone. "He was mugged and left for dead. The hospital called Ted - he's still Em's primary emergency contact. Ted's at the hospital already. Carl got called into the station earlier. Can you come pick me up, Brian?"
"Shit. I'm on my way!" Brian said curtly then slammed the phone back onto the nightstand and jumped out of bed, pulling on the first pair of pants he found.
An hour later, Brian, Debbie, Drew and Ted sat together in the ER waiting room at Allegheny General Hospital. For Brian and Deb it was their third night at the hospital in as many days and the strain was getting to be too much. Both looked worn out and Deb, in particular, was starting to show her years.
A uniformed police officer approached the group politely and nodded to Debbie who was snoozing on Ted's shoulder. Ted shrugged, jarring the older woman's head and knocking her wig askew slightly. Deb blinked up at the tall stocky officer only half awake.
"Ms. Novotny?" the young policeman asked, smiling at Debbie's small nod. "I'm Robert Winston. Detective Horvath sent me down here to see about what was going on and make sure you were okay. I've already taken a statement from the ER doctors. It looks like your friend was mugged and then his body dumped down a sewer access tunnel that was open due to construction."
"He's lucky that some homeless guy who was sleeping under a loading dock down there saw what happened and called the police. He gave the EMT's a partial description on the perp but the homeless guy was half drunk and pretty far away when it happened. It doesn't look good for catching the guy unless your friend can give us more when he wakes up."
"Why is this happening?" Debbie moaned and turned to bury her head into Brian's strong shoulder.
"The doctors still haven't told us anything about Em's condition," Ted complained. "Did you get any update?"
"I'm sorry, but you're better off talking to the doctor directly about that," Officer Winston advised. "Here's my card though. Please call me when he wakes up so I can take his statement."
The officer took his leave and Ted bustled off, waiving Em's Power of Attorney in his hand, to try and get some word from the doctors. The others sat back down again. Ted came back a few minutes later with a loopy grin on his face.
"He's going to be alright, they think," Ted practically crowed. "He's got a dislocated shoulder and a broken collar bone. He also has a nasty gash on the back of his head but the skull wasn't damaged and there's no swelling. Thank god that boy has such a thick head. They're moving him to a room right now and we should be allowed to see him as soon as he's settled."
Debbie mumbled, "Thank you, Lord," and crossed herself. Drew looked angry and only slightly relieved. Brian slumped back into his chair, covering his eyes with one hand to hide any sign of the strong emotions he was feeling. Which left Ted standing alone in the center of the waiting room with a relieved smile.
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Justin awoke to the clank of metal and the feeling of something cold and solid bumping against his back. His head was still pounding but his vision had cleared tremendously. He was still lying on his right side on the floor. He managed to move his head enough to look over his left shoulder towards the ceiling. Even that tiny motion of his head made him dizzy, but he clenched his eyes closed tightly and breathed deeply until the spinning sensation stopped. Then he carefully opened his eyes again.
The cold solid thing behind him appeared to be a metal gate of some kind. Justin couldn't see much beyond the wire mesh grating. He heard movements though, the sounds still distorted and echoing, almost as if there were empty spaces inside his head where the sounds were bouncing around without obstruction. He was too weak to keep his head up for long and had to let it fall back to rest again on the cold floor.
When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes again, scanning the area in front of him. There was a new bottle of water along with a new grease-stained paper bag. The old bag that had been soaking in the puddle of vomit had been removed, although the rest of the mess was still there.
He was trying to work up the energy to reach for the new water bottle when he heard another clanking noise and the solid metal at his back disappeared momentarily. He was too slow to react to turn and find out what was going on. He felt something soft fall onto his shoulder and partially onto his face. He could see an edge of something blue.
"You had to fucking puke on the sweatshirt, didn't you," a disembodied voice said from behind him, the words strangely elongated as if they were part of a recording played at the wrong speed. "This thing reeks. It worked, though. Your fairy friend, Emmett, thought I was you. He, he, he. He let me just walk right up to him. Then I bashed his brains out with the tire iron and dumped him in a hole in the ground. He, he, he."
The too-slow echoing laughter went on and on. It was like a bad horror movie with the world spinning and the eerie laughter beating at him, seemingly from all sides. Justin tried to concentrate solely on his own breathing to block out all the noise. The words being made by whoever was talking went on for a long time, but he ignored them. Eventually the words and laughter stopped and the lights were switched off. The peaceful silence was a balm to his frazzled nerves, allowing him to finally relax.
After several minutes Justin pulled off the item that had been dropped on his shoulder. It turned out to be his sweatshirt. He realized then that he was cold but there was no way he could manage to get the sweatshirt back on. Instead he waded it up and stuffed it under his head, relieving some of the strain on his neck.
Then, taking another deep breath to ready himself, he reached out for the water bottle which was standing about a foot and a half away. He was able to grip it and pull it over but his right arm still wasn't functioning. He again managed to wedge the bottle beneath his body and twist the cap off with his left hand. This time he carefully laid the cap on the ground. Then he tipped the bottle so he could drink without spilling too badly. After drinking about half, he set the bottle down and put the cap back on, saving the rest for later.
Now that his immediate needs had been taken care of, Justin tried to focus on what he should be doing next. He couldn't remember how long he'd been in this place or even how he got here. In fact, he had no idea where 'here' was.
The room he was in, or at least what he could see of it from where he was lying, was about ten foot square. It was night again so he couldn't see much, but there was enough ambient light to see that the walls were unfinished concrete blocks and the floor he'd been lying on was rough poured cement. There was metal shelving lining the entire left-hand wall and the shelves were filled with odd shaped items but in the darkness he couldn't really tell what it all was. The right hand wall had the same type of shelving at the far end. Nearer to where he was, there were cardboard boxes piled against the wall and on top were what appeared to be several bulging canvas tote bags stacked precariously. There was a small window on the right which was partially blocked by the shelves. Justin could see a street light shining through the part of the window that was visible. The window had leaked at some point, a rusty water stain dripping down the wall from the corner of the window sill. Everything was dusty, including the air, except for the floor which seemed slightly damp.
The room seemed somehow familiar but he didn't know why. He didn't think he was strong enough to investigate the shelves. He'd been staying awake for longer periods of time, which he hoped meant he was getting better. But it would likely be a long time before he'd feel up to scrounging around through the equipment being stored in the room.
That brought into question what exactly had happened to him and why he was lying here obviously hurt. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten hurt. He actually couldn't remember much at all. Justin tried to focus on the last thing he did remember clearly before he woke up in this room.
It seemed difficult to think clearly. Everything was hazy and his memories seemed mixed up. He thought he remembered a fire? There were ambulances and fire trucks. And he remembered kissing Brian.
That was a good memory. He was getting tired again and the more he tried to remember, the worse his head hurt. But thinking about Brian didn't hurt. Thinking about Brian helped stave off the fear and panic. So, Justin concentrated only on Brian and slowly his body relaxed, letting him drift off into sleep once again.
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It was after two before Hobbs left the cage. He had stopped by primarily to get rid of the bloodstained clothing he was wearing and clean up. He didn't want anything like that back at his apartment. As an added bonus, Taylor had been awake and it had been fun to torment him with the news about how Hobbs had taken out his big old flaming friend.
He was too elated to head back to his apartment, though. He was still on the adrenaline high he'd got from finally taking out one of those disgusting fags. He felt so fucking powerful. No way was he ready to head back to the pit now. He wanted to go out and celebrate. He wanted to drink and party like he used to in the good old days before Taylor.
It had been a while since he'd been out to any bars or clubs just for fun. He didn't want to go back to any of the old dives he used to haunt, either. He felt good. He was excited. It was time to try something new.
Hobbs decided to try a new place he'd overheard some of the guys at work talking about. It was a strip club called 'The Daily Grind'. The guys said the chicks there were super hot and plenty easy. Chris decided that he'd treat himself to a lap dance, have a few beers and then see if he could talk any of those easy chicks into coming home with him.
The parking lot at the strip club was full. He had to park in the farthest corner of the lot. The whole area was poorly lit except for the flashing neon signs advertising 'Girls, Girls, Girls' and 'Live Nudes'. The structure itself seemed badly maintained - pieces of trim were falling off the roof in the rear, one rain gutter was rusted through and dripping, and the cement of the parking lot was cracked and uneven.
Chris Hobbs maneuvered around the ragged rows of parked cars and made it to the front door. The burly bouncer checked his ID and took his ten bucks for the cover charge. The interior was just as dimly lit as the exterior. He made his way to a table along the far side of the room where the brighter lights from the stage spilled over onto the floor. Hobbs seated himself on the wobbly caned-backed chair and signaled to the nearby waitress.
The petite brunette waitress wearing stiletto heels, skimpy white satin shorts and a lacy lavender bra, cruised over to his table. She batted her long false eyelashes at him and, in a seductive voice, asked him what he was drinking. Hobbs barely noticed the waitress though, his attention was diverted by the long-legged redhead currently up on the stage, writhing against the stripper pole and clad only in a black leather thong. Distractedly, he ordered a beer from the waitress while ogling the entertainment on the stage as the dancer finished her number amid a musical flourish and then flounced off stage to a smattering of applause.
Hobbs was already sipping at his cold bottle of beer before the next act came on. The speakers started blaring out the pounding beat of Gary Glitter's classic 1972 hit, Rock 'n' Roll - Part 2. The spotlight shone on the curtained stage entrance where a tanned blonde with short cropped, spiked and glittering hair came strutting out wearing a sheer nylon camisole top and matching, lace-up booty shorts in the Pittsburgh Ironmen colors. The dancer had black stripes of makeup smeared under each eye and was carrying a football helmet which she proceeded to grind against, using the prop to bring to mind the ultimate 'fantasy football' dream of most hetero men.
Hobbs slammed back his beer and ordered another while he watched the blonde gyrate around on the stage. The woman was on the petite side with fewer curves than most of the strippers you'd see in this kind of joint. She didn't have the type of gravity defying breasts that a lot of the women boasted, which Hobbs had always found to be such a turn off. This woman, especially with her short hair and football costume, was almost boyish. Hobbs found her very arousing.
He chugged his second beer and watched the blonde wiggle around the stage to the pounding beat of the music. She flounced in his direction and smiled seductively down at him, bending over to place the helmet on the stage with her ass pumping provocatively into the air. As she stood up, rolling her spine slowly vertebra by vertebra, her hands trailed over her body, caressing her own thighs, hips, stomach and breasts.
Hobbs stared, mesmerized by the display. He barely took his eyes off the football chick as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and extracted some ones. With the bills in his hand, Chris stood up and reached towards the sparkling pale skinned beauty and promptly slid them into the waistband of the girl's shorts. She glowed at him appreciatively for a moment or two before backing away and moving on to work the next guy sitting a couple chairs away from Hobbs.
At the end of the song, the girl took her bows and backed off stage, blowing kisses to her admiring, if mostly inebriated, fans. "Let's hear it for Jurissa," said the slovenly looking emcee who waved the blonde off stage and told a few lame-assed jokes before ushering on the next act.
Chris didn't wait to hear the weak jokes or see the next jiggling hussy. As soon as the football girl was through the stage curtain, he got up and headed around to the far side of the stage where there was an open doorway topped by a glowing neon sign advertising more "XXX" entertainment inside. Hobbs approached the skanky, too-thin, too-old bottle-blonde standing beside a small hostess podium just inside the archway. Behind her, the ill lit corridor was lined on both sides with closed doors. Thin muffled moans accompanied by muted music escaped through the cracks around the doors.
"What can I do you for, honey?" asked the skank as Hobbs neared.
"I want the football chick," Chris stated plainly.
"Fifty bucks per lap dance," said the uninterested woman in a tired, raspy voice. "No touching the merchandise, fifteen minutes max."
Hobbs plunked down the fifty dollars on the top of the podium. "Right this way, sugar," the woman responded and led him to a door on the left opening onto a small cubicle. "I'll send Jurissa right in for you. You just sit tight, tiger."
Hobbs entered the small room and sat on the padded seat of the solitary metal chair in the center. The room was lit with a single black light bulb, making it tough to see anything else except that the room was bare, dingy and the paint on the walls was peeling. He might as well get ready, he thought, closing his eyes as he unzipped his pants and began rubbing himself through his cotton briefs, trying to concentrate on the image of the girl in the skimpy football costume.
When the girl came into the room a few minutes later, he wasn't even fully hard yet. She didn't even look at him as she bustled into the room, placed a portable CD player on the floor near the door and pressed the 'play' switch. When she finally did turn towards him, he saw that the black light made the lacings on her shorts and the lettering on the 'jersey' glow brightly white. The chick immediately started to swing her hips to the music, touching herself and pouting in her client's direction but never making actual eye contact.
"So, baby, tell me what you like," the girl said, her voice high with a nasally whistle that instantly grated on Hobbs' nerves and caused his already soft dick to deflate even more.
"Just shut the fuck up and dance," Hobbs growled at the girl, his vehement tone finally getting her full attention, a hint of fear flitting across her countenance.
The girl did as she'd been asked though. She didn't say anything further, she just moved a step or two closer to the seated man and started to grind her hips against his torso. She ran her fingers through his thin sandy hair and trailed her fingertips across his stubbly cheek. Then she bent over, her smallish breasts hovering millimeters away from Hobbs' face, shaking her tits at him and trying to provoke some reaction from the staring, unmoving man.
After several minutes of this, still without any noticeable reaction from the client, the woman moved back a step and started to squat down between his legs.
"Turn around," Chris ordered brusquely before the twat's face could get anywhere close to his crotch.
The blonde did as directed and sashayed her backside around till her ass was shaking practically in Chris' face. The man leaned back, squinted his eyes almost closed and finally a smile curled up the corners of his thin lips. The dancer rolled her eyes and huffed a quiet little laugh to herself, only now understanding what was up with her difficult client.
Hobbs watched the slim hips undulating in front of him. With his eyes half closed he could block out the room and everything else around him, focusing only on the plump round ass cheeks, the sparkling alabaster skin and the shock of white blond hair glowing under the blacklight. He freed his dick from the confines of his briefs and started pulling on it with gusto. At last he was hard, aroused and in control.
Hobbs imagined long nimble fingers gripping his rigid cock, stroking him with the perfect amount of pressure. He could feel the blood pumping to his dick, his skin heating up and that delicious warmth spreading through his balls and up his spine. He remembered the feel of a warm, strong body next to him. He could almost smell the dust and sweat of a hot autumn afternoon topped with a whiff of Bay Rum aftershave lotion.
Hobbs peeked again at the lithe hips waving just out of his reach. The sight triggered a fantasy image of his dick sliding between two firm, pale globes of flesh, with a flash of bright crystal blue eyes and the glint of shining blond hair. The mental picture was so vivid, so clear, it jolted through him like a bolt of lightening, igniting every nerve ending in his body and causing his muscles to spasm as he shot long streams of jizz into his hand. As the final shudders of his orgasm rocked through him, Hobbs involuntarily groaned out the name of his fantasy lover.
The dancer, who by this point had realized her presence wasn't really needed any longer and who was just standing there waiting till the inevitable conclusion, thought at first that she might have been wrong. When the man started to yell out a name, she briefly thought maybe he was actually fantasizing about her after all.
"J-J-Justin," the man cried at the height of his passion.
Nope. The dancer knew she'd pegged this guy right. She hated dancing for the closet fags. They were lousy tippers. She knew better than to waste any further time on this hopeless case. She picked up the CD player, hit the pause button and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.
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