Sons (21 page)

Colin’s head swiveled from left to right, taking it all in. Floodlights, some lit, burned everywhere. Microphones covered with furry sleeves dangled from arms that telescoped from portable booms. In the center of it all was a brightly lit set. This display of what Colin imagined a movie studio to be, allayed his first, uneasy impression.

Hell, what do I know about how a place like this is supposed to smell?

Colin said, “Wow! This is so cool. I always wondered how a place like this would look.”

Louis took Colin by the arm and said, “Come on, there’s a lot more I want to show you. Let’s start with my office.”

The windowless room was not as large as the one they had just left. The requisite steel desk and matching file cabinets, along with assorted metal chairs and a conference table, claimed the lion’s share of floor space. Still photographs littered every flat surface. A video camera whirred, quietly filming all who passed before it.

An eerie blue light flickered fitfully from a row of fluorescent bulbs, their normal brilliance absorbed by a wooden floor, dulled through a century of wear. A soiled blanket hung in limp folds off the arm of a 1970s vintage sofa. The brown and orange upholstery, made slick with use, hosted crumpled fast food wrappers, plastic cups, and straws.

However, the main feature in the office was a one-way glass partition from which the drapes had been drawn back to reveal filming already in progress.

Colin approached the glass, eager to see his first live performance, a real movie in progress. His happy smile collapsed into slack-jawed shock as his brain processed the action before him.

Under glaring floodlights was a huge platform bed covered in shiny red plastic. A nude black woman was on her back trying unsuccessfully to look as if she were in the throes of passion, while a pasty-white man with limp blond hair and angry red pimples on his ass tried valiantly to impale her.

The woman’s unconvincing voice oozed from a metal speaker hung from the ceiling over the window, “Oh, yeah, baby! That’s the way! Fuck me! Harder! Harder!”

A man approached the bed holding a camcorder against his shoulder. As he filmed, he shouted, “Come on, Troy! You heard the lady. Fuck her! And don’t forget to pull out this time! And when you do, stroke that big dick of yours slow, just like I showed ya. Shoot it on her tits, not on the sheets. And remember, Troy, no cum shot for the camera means no nose candy for you afterward. So c’mon, you can do it! Go! Go!”

When it became evident that Troy lacked the performance skills necessary for a successful finale, the cameraman yelled, “Hey, Billy, get in there and help Troy out.”

From behind the cameraman, another naked man appeared from the shadows. Unlike Troy, who was having trouble keeping an erection, Billy was a beefy football type, with tight muscles and a raging hard-on a superhero would envy. Crawling onto the low-slung bed, he searched beyond the lights for more direction.

“Okay, Billy. Get behind Troy’s asshole. Yeah, that’s it. Lube up. Okay, now mount him, yeah, that’s right—just like that. Find his love button in there, and let’s get the juices flowing!”

Under Billy’s eager lust, the trio gasped and grunted their way to an explosion of award winning orgasms.

Colin stared dumbly at the scene before him.

Faggots! These guys are queer!

Bile boiled up from his guts, burning the back of his throat. His hands and feet tingled as if suddenly deprived of blood. He reached up to his forehead to wipe away sweat that should have been there, but somehow wasn’t.

Stunned by disgust and what was now a confirmed feeling of betrayal, he staggered back, bumping into the desk and pushing over a chair as he turned to leave.

Louis blocked Colin by placing his hands on his shoulders. His voice was soft, almost mesmerizing.

“Easy, kid, just take it easy. Just sit down for a second.”

Loathing, fear, and above all panic, hopscotched around Colin’s brain. He heard Carew’s voice as if through a waterfall. He shook his head, pushing words and images away with all his might, but he couldn’t banish the vision of the two naked young men or the stinging salt of his tears.

His mind screamed,
Oh God! I’ve gotta get out!

With Louis blocking his path, Colin stood passive for a moment, hoping there was an explanation for this horror, but he knew the truth before he asked, “What is this place? I don’t understand. I thought you liked me! I don’t do this stuff! Why didn’t you tell me this is what you wanted?”

He shot Louis an angry look and tried again to pass around the now hated man.

“I gotta go.”

Louis, taller and stronger, gripped Colin’s shoulders tighter. He guided the stricken teen to the dirty couch and forced him down.

From where he sat, Colin could clearly see Billy, Troy, and the woman gyrating in feigned happiness.

No longer able to contain himself, Colin burst into sobs.

Louis sneered at the boy’s blubbering.

“This place is where I make my living, and it’s where I get my nookie on the side.”

Colin leapt up.

“I’ve heard enough! Let me outta here!” he said, pushing past Louis.

He stopped short when he saw a man sitting in a shadowed corner of the room, silently waiting for the charade to end. The Arab, who called himself Ben, had watched the scene with amused impatience. He shifted slightly in his seat, reaching out to switch on a reading lamp, and then adjusted something hidden under his wool coat.

Colin tried to gauge his chances of bolting across the room and out the door. They weren’t good. He looked back at Louis, grinning like a jackass with a briar caught in its teeth. He looked at the Arab. Colin’s voice cracked. “Wha… what do you want with me?”

Unknown to Colin, he was looking into the eyes of the man who had beheaded dozens of bound captives in the name of Islam, Soo Kwon among them.

“Mr. Phillips?” Ben said softly, his accent pronounced.

The man’s formal manner, so out of place with the situation, made Colin take a closer look at him. His instinct to run away as fast as he could was momentarily smothered by characteristic teen curiosity.

“You are the son of Jan Phillips, is that not correct?”

“Yes!” Colin foolishly confessed. “And if you know that, then you know he’s an important man, so you’d better not touch me!”

The man with the foreign accent smiled as one confident of his own strength. He said, “Mr. Phillips, the irony of worldly importance is that, once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back into the same box. However, for this moment in time, I, too, am an important man. Therefore, when you are in my presence you will be so kind as to lower your voice and be respectful.”

To Louis, Ben said, “Close the drapes. It is not fitting for a son of Allah to witness the sins of the depraved.”

Louis pressed a button on his desk, and a black curtain swept across the observation window. The show was over.

Ben nodded. “That is much better.”

Louis shrugged. “They’re finished anyway.” He checked his watch. “They’ll be outta here before we are.”

“I don’t know what you people are up to. I just know it doesn’t have anything to do with me! Now let me go!” Colin shouted.

“Very well, we shall be leaving soon,” Ben said.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

A wicked smile painted itself across the Arab’s mouth as he thought of the moment when he would hack this boy’s head off. Such sweet revenge, if Allah wills it.

Ben’s smile drooped into a frown. “I am afraid I must insist,” he said smoothly.

Colin sensed a movement from behind him as Louis moved up and attempted to slip a leather belt over his head and down around his arms.

Ben fingered the stun gun hidden in the breast pocket of his coat. He waved Louis off. “Restraints will not be necessary. Besides, if we are unfortunate enough to be stopped by the authorities, it would be difficult to explain a leashed boy in our company.”

Ben reflected on Colin’s panic and his over-the-top reaction to the male on male sex he had just witnessed. Seizing on this vulnerability to further break the boy’s will to fight, he said, “Mr. Phillips, how would you like to star in one of Louis’s feature films?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, “I’ll fuck you myself, ya little asshole. How’d ya like that? I’ve never raped a boy before. Might be fun at that!”

Colin shook his head… a terrified, silent
NO
!

Ben chuckled. “I thought not.”

The Arab paused in mock thought. He walked around in a small circle, as if considering some weighty problem of state. Then he said, “Mr. Phillips, I am a reasonable man. I will strike a bargain with you. If you remain calm and do as I say, I promise you will live out the rest of your life in respectable obscurity. Fame will not be yours, at least not in this manner. How is that? Agreed?”

Colin slumped onto a metal stool and hung his head. His voice, barely a whisper, trembled. “What do I have to do?”

Ben looked at his accomplice.

“You see, Louis? That was not so difficult, and all without force. So much more agreeable.”

Thirty-Three

J
AN
caught up with Amal at half past seven as he completed his prayers for the setting of the sun. Normally, he would not seek Amal out during prayer time. He waited respectfully for the Egyptian to stand and slip on his sandals.

Amal turned, surprised to see Jan.

“Effendi, I did not hear….”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Amal, but have you seen Colin?”

“He has not yet returned from the city?”

“No. I thought he might have come in and gone out again, but the security log only shows him leaving.”

Jan had set aside the evening to have a talk with Colin about Louis Carew. He needed to know the exact nature of Colin’s dealings with the man. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and Jan was going to put a stop to it.

Jan’s eyes darted around the sparsely furnished room Amal used for prayer and private time, unsure what to do next.

“Effendi, perhaps you should contact the parents of Master Colin’s friends. Perhaps he went to the home of his lady friend.”

The reference to parents and Colin’s lady friend was Amal’s tactful way of suggesting Jan call Marsha Betterman to see if his son was there banging her daughter.

Jan gave Amal a knowing smile as they left the room and walked the long hall.

“Thanks, I’ll do that now. Umm… Amal, would you please have another look around?”

“Of course.”

Amal watched Jan walk on and descend to the lower level. He then climbed the stairs that led to the top floor observation deck. Amal knew that Colin often went up there to watch the ships as they docked farther down river. He also knew his master’s son was nowhere in the house.

J
AN
walked briskly to the office and straight to the phone. He snatched up the receiver and punched in Marsha Betterman’s home phone number. Four, five rings, then an electronic voice answered and encouraged the caller to leave a message.

Jan slammed the phone into the cradle.

“Damn!”

“Jan! Such language, and on Sunday too! What is eating you?” Michael said.

Jan turned. He hadn’t noticed Michael huddled on the floor, surrounded by boxes full of import invoices—all in Chinese.

“I can’t find Colin. He hasn’t come home yet. Did he say anything to you about where he was going?”

“No. I have not seen him since lunch. He did not mention going out to me, but then he does not say much to me anyway.”

“Where could he be? He’s been gone for hours! What could he be up to?” Jan said, his own words adding to his mounting anxiety.

“Have you tried Marsha’s house? Perhaps he is with Alexandra,” Michael offered hopefully.

“That’s who I just phoned. I got an answering service.”

“You did not leave a message.”

“No,” Jan said, “what was I going to say, where’s my little boy?”

“Well, Jan, he is a teenager with a girlfriend. Love does not always look at the clock.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You know, sometimes I think you are getting old.”

“Old eh? I’m not the one with gray hair.”

Michael gave a shrug, shoved aside the box he had been examining, and frowned.

“Lose something, old man?”

Michael, who was younger than Jan by several years, had aged, not in his body, yet something was missing in his spirit.

Michael raised his gaze with what looked to Jan like tears in his eyes.

“I have been sitting here for a half hour, searching these boxes, and I can’t remember what I was looking for. It must be important. I think I need a vacation. Can we go to the beach house soon?”

Jan knelt beside Michael.

“Come here. You need a hug. We’ll go to the beach as soon as I round up my wayward son.”

Michael replied with a thankful grin.

Jan returned it with a troubled smile and said, “Michael, I think I’ll drive over to Marsha’s, just to make sure.”

Thirty-Four