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Out of the Woods ©2020 by Gamin Paramour

Comments are incredibly welcome, and I intend to answer everyone.(ail)

1) This is fiction: complete, utter bullshit made up by yours truly. Never happened, and nobody depicted ever drew breath on planet Earth.

2) Stay safe. Don”t break the law.

3) Please donate to Nifty if you possibly can.

Previously:

Eric tricked with Charlie in a motel, with Frank waiting to tail him home.

Chapter 20 Monday, February 8, 1988
11:10 pm

Frank hung back a good two blocks before pulling south onto Cicero Avenue. It was hard to tail a bus because the damn thing stopped every couple of blocks, and a car doing the same behind it would be as obvious as a turd in a bag of marshmallows. He had to watch from a good distance and try to time the lights so that he could plausibly stay behind. Fortunately this only lasted a couple of miles until Eric got off the bus near the huge Ford City shopping mall.

Frank was glad that it was after eleven and the mall was closed, which no doubt was the only thing preventing another dipsy-doodle like Mark had pulled. Eric ducked into a convenience store just across the street, escaping the cold, and Frank killed his headlights and pulled into a parking space where he could watch the entrance.

Before long, maybe ten minutes, a blue Ford Taurus pulled up to the store but nobody got out. It was a rental, evidenced by the sticker in the rear window. Almost immediately Eric came out with a small bag of whatever goodies he had purchased and climbed into the passenger seat. Frank could see the silhouettes of two heads as they came together briefly, probably kissing. How sweet.

The Taurus pulled out slowly, apparently taking no chances of attracting attention, and continued south on Cicero. Frank followed them about a mile down to 95th Street where they turned west and drove several more miles to a tacky little motel in a suburb called Hickory Hills.

It was midnight. Eric and a stocky man in his early forties got out and went casually into a room, chatting and laughing without apparent concern that anyone might see. Frank parked among the used cars in a closed auto dealership across the street and settled in to wait.

There was no radio this time. Just the free pervert.

At one o”clock on the nose the motel door opened and Eric stepped out, waving a cheerful goodbye to the smiling john inside. Frank swallowed the dregs of his spiked coffee and quickly screwed the cap back onto his thermos. He couldn”t believe the guy wasn”t even going to drive the kid back to civilization.

Eric walked about a block — in the wrong direction, no less — and stopped. It took Frank a moment to notice that it was a marked stop for the suburban bus line. Within minutes a bus appeared and the boy climbed aboard. This kid was a lot more self-sufficient than any eleven-year-old Frank had ever known, at least in terms of getting himself around the city.

Frank played cat and mouse with the bus all the way back downtown, where the boy finally got off at Jackson and State. Eric ran across and barely caught a northbound 151, and the slow-motion chase continued through the blue-blood high-rises of Streeterville and the rehabbed glitz of Uptown, then on into the relative shabbiness of Lakeview. Eric finally disembarked at Sheridan and Irving Park and walked two blocks west to a row of old brownstones, where he rang a buzzer and was immediately admitted.

Frank cruised around a couple of blocks but didn”t find a parking space where he could see the building. That was the problem with the damn north side, not nearly enough parking. Sometimes Frank had to park so far from his own apartment he had to take a bus to get home.

There was a little all-night diner on the diagonally-opposite corner from the apartment, so he parked the Chrysler in the middle of the next block and walked back. It was after two and he was actually rather grateful for the chance to get some fresh coffee and maybe some eggs. He grabbed a window booth with a panoramic view of the block and made himself comfortable.

He didn”t think this was Johnny”s place. It could be, of course, but after the stunt Mark had pulled to keep from being followed it didn”t seem likely that Eric would walk right up and ring the buzzer without even glancing over his shoulder. No, this was just another customer, and if it kept up the pattern of the other two Frank figured he had an hour, until a little after three AM. He ordered his eggs.

By four o”clock Frank was starting to re-think his position. Maybe it was Johnny”s place after all, but then again he hadn”t seen any other boys go into the building, or anyone at all, for that matter. Surely Eric couldn”t have been the latest one to come home, prostitution being pretty much an all-night business. Which probably explained it, didn”t it? This last trick had paid for Eric to stay the night. Christ, the little shit might be in there until noon!

God, he hated stakeouts.

“I”m sorry, honey,” the waitress said at ten to five. “The limit on free refills is ten, and I let you slide on the last one but if you want any more you”ll have to pay for another cup.”

Jesus, had he really had eleven cups of coffee in three hours? No wonder his bladder felt the size of the Hindenburg. “That”s fine,” he said. “Fill me up again and put it on the tab. But I”d better visit the facilities and make some room for it.”

The waitress chuckled as Frank hauled his stiff body out of the booth and made his way slowly to the can. It was surprisingly clean and odor-free, and he felt a lot better after finishing his business and washing his face with cool water. Heading back to the booth he was looking forward to one more cup of joe when he glanced out the window and gasped in surprise. Eric was on the move, jogging across to the bus stop right outside the diner, and wouldn”t you know the bus was less than a block away.

“Shit!” Frank hissed, and threw twenty bucks onto the table as he grabbed his coat and hurried to the door.

“This is way too much!” the waitress shouted after him.

“Keep it!” he said, and stepped as casually as he could out onto the sidewalk next to his young quarry. Just as the bus pulled up before them the boy looked him over appraisingly, and when Frank glanced back the kid smiled.

“Hi,” he said, his breath clouding in the pre-dawn cold.

“Um, hi yourself,” Frank replied, authentically flustered. The boy giggled and climbed aboard the nearly empty bus just ahead of Frank, scooting quickly into a window seat. Frank sat two seats directly behind Eric, where he could keep a close eye on him but not be easily observed himself.

They had gone only a few blocks when Eric got up out of his seat. Frank was glad that he hadn”t gone for his car because it looked like Eric would have been off the bus already by the time Frank caught up to it. But a second later the boy astounded him by not moving to the exit door at all, but rather plopping down in the aisle seat right next to Frank!

“Hi again,” he said with a knowing smile.

Frank could only stare for a second. “Hi again yourself,” he said. He tried to sound casual but he couldn”t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Eric said in a playful sing-song, “You”re following me.” He wasn”t the slightest bit frightened. It was Frank whose heart was pounding.

“No I”m not.”

“Sure you are,” the boy said smugly, making unflinching eye contact. “You were in that restaurant and when you saw me your mouth came open and your eyes got real big like this…” He made a funny, goggle-eyed face and then laughed.

How embarrassing if this little kid had made him so easily. Maybe Charlie could have tailed him just as well after all. He regained some composure.

“Why would I be following you?”

Eric smiled impishly. He leaned in close to Frank”s ear and whispered, “Because you like boys!”

Frank must have looked astonished because he certainly was, but whatever face he made it tickled Eric to no end. The boy laughed out loud, steadying himself with a hand on Frank”s arm as if he”d fall out of his seat without it. Frank glanced around nervously, glad the bus was nearly empty. A guy could get the shit kicked out of him if people thought he was following a kid around like that.

“Don”t worry, nobody”s paying attention,” Eric said. “I think it”s neat that you followed me. I like it when guys go ape like that.”

Frank swallowed. It was much better, of course, to have the boy think he was following out of sexual interest than to know the real reason. It still screwed up the surveillance, though, because now Eric knew his face and would surely notice if he continued to follow.

“So,” Eric said softly, “do you live alone?”

Uh-oh, Frank thought. Here comes the pitch! He had to play it out, of course, and now that he thought of it maybe he could even get some information while he was at it.

“No, I”m married,” he said just above a whisper, and noted the disappointment on the boy”s face. “Do you have a place, maybe? Like when your Mom”s not home or something?”

Hell, maybe he could get himself invited right into Johnny”s hideout!

“No,” Eric said flatly. “It has to be your place, or a hotel or something.”

“Well, I guess a hotel would be OK.” Frank tried to smile. He was still uncomfortable playing this part but there was nothing else to do. “I”m on my way to work now,” he said. “Can I get your phone number, so we can set something up?” Even unlisted numbers, pagers and cell phones can be traced if the phone company thinks you”re a cop.

“Nope, it doesn”t work that way, either,” the boy said. “Not until I know you better. I”m sorry it”s so hard, but if you give me your number I can call you.”

Frank hesitated, then decided to go ahead. If he lost Eric now because he couldn”t follow as closely at least there would be some hope of picking up the trail again. He rummaged in his pockets for something to write on until Eric produced a small spiral notebook and a pen. Frank wrote his home number and the name Charlie.

“OK, Charlie,” the boy said with a smile. “You know it costs money, right?”

“Yeah,” Frank assured him. “I understand.”

“Cool.” Eric looked around with a mischievous leer. “Here”s a free sample,” he said, and before Frank could react the boy”s hand was between his legs giving his Johnson a solid tweak. Frank jumped and banged his head against the bus window and Eric burst out in guffaws. He got up and moved to the exit.

“My name”s Eric. Bye bye, Charlie,” he said, and jumped off the bus the second it stopped.

Frank rode one more sakarya escort block, rubbing his head, then hurried back along the frozen sidewalk before Eric turned out of sight. He followed the boy two blocks down a side street, one block over, then two blocks back the direction they had come. Eric wasn”t being nearly as careful as Mark had been and it wasn”t hard to stay out of sight on these deserted residential streets. There were plenty of porches and poles and bushes to use for cover and Eric was the only one on the sidewalk, impossible to lose. At high noon it might be another matter, but an hour before sunup it was easy.

Tuesday, February 9, 1988
7:12 am

It was relatively easy for Charlie to find the location, thanks to Frank”s careful directions. The phone call had woken Charlie from the best sleep he”d had in weeks, but it was just as well because he felt guilty even about that. It wasn”t bad enough that a willing eleven-year-old was all it took to make him forget Andy”s peril in favor of his own pleasure; now he had guilt over sleeping peacefully while Frank worked all night. Charlie found him huddled in a bus shelter on the corner.

“Oh, shit, it”s freezing!” Frank complained as he hurried into the Pontiac”s passenger seat. “Blast that heater, man! Jesus!”

Charlie turned the blower on full speed. “How long have you been out here?”

“Damn near two hours,” Frank said, rubbing his hands and blowing warm breath on them.

“I”m sorry it took so long…”

Frank cut him off. “No, it”s OK. Actually you got here pretty fast.”

“OK, so what”s going on?” Charlie asked.

“I”m pretty sure this is Johnny”s place,” Frank said. “I tailed Eric here, and since then I”ve seen two other young boys go in and one come out.”

“It”s a pretty big building. Families with kids could live here.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn”t all sneak in and out through the alley,” Frank said. “My bet is Johnny lives on the top floor. There are names and apartment numbers on the four doorbells for the lower floors, but not for the two up top.”

“So what do we do now?” Charlie asked.

“One of us goes home and goes to bed,” Frank said. “That would be me. You get to stake the place out and watch for Andy. I”ll try to spell you in four or five hours.”

“You want to take my car?”

“No, I”ll grab the bus back to where mine is parked. What are you gonna do, stand out in twenty-degree weather all day? You”d be a perv-sicle.”

“I see your sparkling wit didn”t get frozen,” Charlie said.

“Easy target,” Frank replied. “There”s a spot next to a green garage in the back alley where you should be able to park and see the door. Pull around there as soon as I leave. And listen, don”t run the engine more than you have to. The exhaust is visible, and somebody will notice you.”

“OK. What do I do if I see Andy?”

“Nothing. At that point we”ll know where he lives and we can fall back and figure out the best way to approach him without spooking Johnny. We don”t want to go off half-cocked and end up blowing it.”

“Should I follow him if he goes someplace?” Charlie asked.

“No! Look, no offense, OK? But we”re too close now to risk ruining it with an amateur tail. This Johnny character may be watching Andy closely. Why take a risk if we know where to find him?”

“Yeah, OK,” Charlie said. “I guess you”re right.”

“Here comes the bus. I”ll meet you in the alley about twelve-thirty, one o”clock.”

“Right,” Charlie said as Frank climbed out of the car and ran to the bus stop.

The spot between the trash bins and the green garage was pretty sheltered, but Charlie figured anybody walking or driving by would surely see him unless he ducked down. He noticed that the bins were marked with recycling symbols: paper, glass, plastic.

An environmentalist pimp, evidently.

Charlie”s first hour of surveillance brought no new information except that February gets goddamn cold in a parked car with the engine off. The sun was fully up but it hadn”t brought significant warmth with it. He wished he”d had the foresight to stop on the way and buy about six cups of hot coffee, though of course they”d be cold by now anyway.

He wondered what it was like inside Johnny”s lair. Warm, he”d bet. Eric was in there. Sweet, soft Eric. He felt a stirring as visions came uninvited into his mind; tender, naked flesh and soft, searching lips. He tried to banish the image but failed, and he could almost feel the satiny smoothness of Eric”s lovely body. One second it was Eric in a memory and the next it was Andy in a fantasy, and between them it seemed more than he could stand.

God, what a selfish jerk he was! Here was Andy prostituting himself just to survive, something no human being should ever have to do, much less a child, and all Charlie could think of was what he”d be like in the sack. The guilty thoughts continued to pummel him and he couldn”t stop himself from wondering if somehow he could actually have Andy just once before sending him to Oklahoma City. Quite the rescuer, wasn”t he? Here, kid. I”ll save you from Johnny the Pimp because I”m so morally superior to the likes of him, but first, how about hopping onto this cock for a test drive?

He was such an asshole!

It was nearly eleven before Charlie saw the first face he recognized. The fire door opened a crack and two small sets of eyes carefully peeked out. Charlie ducked down and listened as Eric and another boy burst out the door and romped down the alley, jabbering and fooling around in a kids” world all their own. Charlie suppressed the impulse to shout out to them, and wistfully peeked as they scampered away. These two could have been him and Stevie about a million winters ago, hurrying off to the sledding hill or a snowball fight with the warm flavor of each other still on their tongues. Their happy, high voices faded far too quickly, and Charlie was alone once more with his friends the trash bins.

He was stiff, cold and hungry. Another ninety minutes passed and five more boys had come out the door but there had been no sign of Andy. Charlie had by this time convinced himself that Andy wasn”t even in there. With as many Johnnys as there must be in Chicago it would take all the dumb luck in the world to have stumbled upon the right one.

What did they really have to go on, anyway? A street hustler said he made a porno with a kid who maybe kinda sorta looked like Andy. But to get that hundred bucks wouldn”t he tell you whatever you wanted to hear? Was it even possible that Andy could have been in a porno film already? He”d only been in town for three weeks and Gerry the director didn”t recognize the description of Andy, even with the mention of facial scars. Great little cocksucker, the hustler said. Like he was born for it. That sounded like Eric, but of course they hadn”t known about him at the time.

Then Mark gave up the name Johnny and Andy”s letter mentioned a Johnny and that seemed like a lead, but Frank had described Andy perfectly and got Eric instead, which certainly had its perks for Charlie but they weren”t sure it put them any closer to Andy. It was the only clue they had and so they would follow it until it played out, but if Andy was in this building Charlie would consider himself the proverbial monkey”s uncle.

The throaty growl of a powerful engine startled Charlie alert, and he crouched down in his seat seconds before a current model, onyx-black Corvette roared up the alley. It stopped with confident precision exactly in front of the fire door, like an Olympic gymnast sticking a perfect dismount. Charlie had to duck quickly as the driver”s head turned to check out the Pontiac, but he was pretty sure he wasn”t seen because when he did peek over the dashboard again the man appeared wholly unconcerned about anyone watching.

He was three-quarters turned away, but even so this Johnny cut an impressive figure. The total picture was of a handsome and successful young man with the world by the short hairs, from the brand-new “Vette to the fine leather coat to the designer sunglasses and fifty-dollar haircut. Pimping boys was apparently a lucrative venture. Of course, this could be the landlord or the local coke dealer or anybody else who rakes in a good buck, but somehow Charlie just knew that this was the man himself.

Then the fire door opened and Charlie”s heart began to race, for there in the doorway was the beautiful face he”d feared he”d never see again. Andy was grinning and gabbing animatedly as he threw his backpack into the rear compartment and happily climbed into the shining new car. Charlie felt a stab in his heart as the man and boy embraced and deeply kissed, but what did he expect? That Andy was screwing every boylover in Chicago except for his own pimp? Besides, Charlie had no claim on this boy. He”d done everything he could to keep Andy from even suspecting the truth of his attraction.

Suddenly he wasn”t so sure if Andy would even want to see him. Maybe being rescued was the last thing he needed. The kid looked great; nicely healed, well dressed and apparently happy, and he was tongue-kissing a gorgeous man in a brand-new top-of-the-line sports car. When Charlie was eleven would he have wanted to trade that for an orphanage in Oklahoma City? By comparison this looked like Disneyland with boners.

Johnny picked up the car phone but he didn”t dial so it must have been an incoming call. He spoke for a few seconds then tucked the phone under his chin and began unfolding a road map as he listened. Andy leaned over to see as well, and when the boy pointed to a spot very near the top of the map Johnny smiled at him and nodded in the affirmative. Road maps and backpacks don”t usually mean a trip to the grocery store. This had to be at least overnight.

Suddenly the Corvette roared away and Charlie”s thoughts swirled like a snow globe after a damn good shake. Frank had told him not to follow — ordered him is more like it — but that was based on knowing where they could find Andy whenever they were ready. But what if Johnny was moving him somewhere? What if Johnny had another pad, in another city, even? North. They had pointed to the top of the map. Did Johnny have another operation up north, like Milwaukee maybe? But why would he need a map to find his own place? No, it had to be somewhere else, a place Johnny had never been before. He had to decide! Christ, Charlie had just found the kid and two minutes later he could be losing him again!

He started the engine and gunned the Pontiac out of the parking space, nearly swiping a utility pole in the process. He barreled out to the corner and frantically scanned the traffic in both directions on Irving Park samsun escort Road, but the Corvette was already out of sight.

“Dammit!” he said between clenched teeth. They were going north, they”d want the expressway. What the hell was it? The Kennedy, the one that goes to the airport. Yeah, but where was that from here? Charlie said “Shit!” really loud and peeled out to the left, fishtailing on a patch of snow and scaring hell out of an old man and his dog.

Charlie swerved in and out of traffic, cursing at everyone who didn”t seem to want to go sixty in a thirty-five zone and alternating his foot between hard on the gas and hard on the brake. He slipped through a stale yellow light at Ashland Avenue, which actually was red long before he was through it, and almost had heart failure when he saw the blue and white patrol car waiting in traffic facing the other way. He hit the brakes and held his breath as he watched in the rear-view mirror, but the cop”s roof lights never came on and Charlie was soon out of sight.

“Don”t push it, Coleman,” he said out loud. “You can”t help Andy from a prison cell.”

He slowed a little but still worked his way between the cars to inch ahead as much as possible. Unlike most of the city streets Irving Park Road was four lanes wide, which helped, and it hadn”t snowed in a week so the street was clear, but with the stop lights and traffic it was still slower going than he would have liked. At least he was reasonably sure he was going the right direction, because he knew Johnny”s place was only a mile from Lake Michigan and the Pontiac wasn”t floating yet. He figured he must be going away from the lake and that sounded right, and then he spotted the blue Interstate sign, “To West I-90/94”.

“What the fuck…?” He wanted north, not west. A block later he spotted the airport sign, just a little green diamond with a picture of an airplane and the word “O”Hare.” The Kennedy went sort of northwest, he suddenly remembered from the map, and he decided to go for it.

He had to follow a confusing little jog at Irving Park and Pulaski to get on the entrance ramp, and he almost missed the second turn because it made no sense at all and must have been designed by someone with a very sick sense of humor, but finally he was on the Kennedy.

The midday traffic was light, which of course was heavier than Paxton could get if every car in town came out at once, but it was moving at the speed limit and he was able to slalom the lanes and pick up some time. In less than a minute he was at a major fork, half the lanes going right and half left, and he had to make a fast decision. The lanes going right said “Edens Expy North Milwaukee” and so Charlie shrugged and followed the magic word “north”.

It felt very weird to be hauling ass like that. He had been so careful for so many years not to attract the attention of the cops that he didn”t really remember how to drive this way, and it was white-knuckle time. A lot of other cars were also setting land speed records so he wasn”t too worried about the cops, but skidding out of control into a viaduct wouldn”t be a lot of fun, either. And if that black Corvette was one of the leadfoots he might as well forget it because there was no way his rusty old six-banger was going to catch three hundred and forty-five horses of high-performance V8.

In five more minutes he passed an exit called Petersen and started to think about throwing in the towel. It was probably the better idea anyway. Andy only had a backpack”s worth of stuff with him. He was probably just going to spend the night with some trick — the lucky bastard. Andy would be back at Johnny”s place tomorrow and he and Frank would pick up the trail again there. Trying to follow was rash and stupid. Locating Andy in this enormous city had been as lucky as finding a contact lens on a sawdust floor. This was no time to screw things up playing detective.

He eased off the gas and coasted down to the speed limit, looking right so he could get over and exit this damned expressway before he got thoroughly lost. A tractor-trailer was moving up fast in his blind spot and so he watched and waited for it to pass, but then his eyebrows went up and his breath failed him. There behind the truck was a jet-black Corvette — the black Corvette — and the handsome man and the beautiful boy smiled and sang along with the stereo as they cruised at precisely the speed limit.

Big old jet airliner
don”t carry me too far away.
Whoa-oh-oh
Big old jet airliner
“cause it”s here that I want to stay.

Johnny grinned at his little duet partner. “Hey, how come you know old Steve Miller songs? You weren”t even born yet when that was out.”

“Billy”s Mom always played old records. I know lots of old songs.”

“You”ve got a good voice,” Johnny said, and when Andy blushed he added, “No really, you do. You”re a boy soprano, really clear and high.”

“I like to sing,” Andy said, still red in the face. “You sound good, too.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I”m a regular Vic Damone.”

They listened to the radio for a few seconds until Andy asked, “How long before we get there?”

“Oh, a couple hours I”d guess,” Johnny said. “Are you in a hurry?”

“No!”

“What”s the matter, kiddo? Scared?”

“Maybe a little.”

“What”s to be scared of?” Johnny asked. “You”ve done lots of tricks already.”

“Yeah, but not like this one.”

“What”s so special about this one?”

“Well, isn”t he…” Andy hesitated. “Isn”t he gonna fuck me?”

“You figured that out, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, Kenny did.”

Johnny scowled. “Kenny needs to mind his own business.”

“Don”t be mad at him, OK Johnny? I asked him how come you never did that to me yet, like maybe you didn”t like me that way. But Kenny said you liked me a real lot and there must be some other reason why you didn”t do it, like maybe you were saving it for some special hawk.”

“Kenny told you that? That I like you a lot?”

“Yeah,” Andy said, looking at his hands self-consciously. “He said you called me your new treasure.”

“I”ll be damned,” Johnny muttered, turning back to his driving. That kid was one surprise after another. Johnny knew Kenny was jealous as hell over him and Andy but he still stuck up for him when Johnny needed it. And though he should have kept his nose out of Johnny”s business with regard to Green, it didn”t seem to have put Andy off any. The kid knew he was on his way to get his butt reamed by a total stranger and here he was singing away like it was a Sunday School picnic. Kenny must have put one hell of a spin on it.

Andy blurted, “Why don”t you like Kenny anymore?”

Johnny didn”t say anything for a moment. It was a damn good question, really, one he”d asked himself more than once. Was he pissed at Kenny for growing pubes? That was hardly rational. Or was he pissed at himself because he couldn”t seem to let go? Kenny had been a great hustler but it was over. Andy had come along wonderfully, much faster than most. He wouldn”t need a mentor anymore, especially after tonight. The time had come for Kenny just as it had for dozens of boys before. It was a simple business decision. So what was the problem?

“Who says I don”t like him anymore?” he finally asked, staring intently at the road ahead.

“Remember when him and Barry were fighting that day? And you hit Barry for stealing money?”

“Of course I remember, but that had nothing to do with Kenny.”

“They were fighting because Barry said you were going to kick Kenny out for being too old. He was real upset. He even cried a little, but he tried to hide it. Are you really gonna make Kenny go away?”

How could Johnny clue this boy in without freaking him out? He could probably bullshit him, get him through today”s special trick just by saying Barry”s got it all wrong, but for some reason Johnny wanted to talk about it. Maybe he needed to figure some things out too.

“Well kid, it”s like this,” he said. “There”s all different kinds of chickenhawks out there. Some like their boys really little, like five years old, and some like teenagers with hair on their bodies. In my business I”ve always catered to the guys in the middle, who like bigger boys but who still don”t have any hair yet. Maybe that”s because it happens to be what I like.”

“So Kenny has to go away because he has hair now?”

“You have to give the customers what they want,” Johnny said, annoyed at the pleading tone he detected in his own voice. He didn”t have to justify himself to this little shit, but on the other hand he was the one who had started down this road.

“What am I supposed to do? Feed him and take care of him forever when he”s not bringing in any money?”

Andy”s eyes were wet. “So then when I grow hair you”ll kick me out, too?”

Johnny sighed. It had been a big mistake to start this conversation. What the hell was the matter with him lately? He just couldn”t think straight when it came to Kenny.

“That won”t happen for a long time,” Johnny said. “And by then you”ll be bigger and you”ll be able to take care of yourself. And don”t worry about Kenny. He”s a smart kid. He”ll get along OK.”

“What will he do?” Andy asked in a small voice.

“There”s plenty of hawks cruising for teenagers,” Johnny said, a little too forcefully. Who was he convincing, Andy or himself? “Kenny will get so much work he won”t know what to do with all the money.”

“But won”t you miss him? I sure will.”

“Yes, I”ll miss him.” Hell, he missed Kenny already, and he wasn”t even gone yet.

“And Mark will be sad.”

“Yes he will,” Johnny said. “But the time comes when every man has to strike out for himself. I was on my own when I was twelve and I did pretty damn good. Now it”s Kenny”s time, and someday it will be Mark”s time, and then yours. That”s how life works. Deal with it.”

The Edens Expressway swung left a few miles, then right again and joined Interstate 294, the Tri-State Tollway. The toll booth caught Charlie by surprise and he suffered a moment of panic when he realized the Corvette would be right alongside him as they inched up to the cash box in adjacent lanes. He thought of wedging into the next lane, or letting someone in front of him, but it was too late and so he just put his hand to his face as if he was scratching and looked the other direction, hoping fiercely that Andy would not spot him or the car. From the one glance he allowed himself at the “Vette it seemed they were embroiled in conversation, and that apparently kept Andy occupied enough to let Charlie pass unnoticed. Back on the open road he stayed well behind and took cover behind several large trucks that ankara sarışın escort conveniently paced them at the speed limit.

He wasn”t in the city anymore, Toto, but it wasn”t the farmland he was used to, either. Huge industrial parks and corporate campuses lined the highway on both sides, broken by wooded areas and yuppie subdivisions. He passed an immense amusement park, its massive wooden roller coaster silent and shrouded in snow, and he couldn”t help imagining the thousands of boys the place must attract in the summer. Charlie could walk around a place like that all day without ever getting on a ride and still enjoy himself thoroughly. Just past the park was a shopping mall that looked even bigger. Everything here was on a gigantic scale.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as a billboard welcomed him to Wisconsin. Did Johnny”s map cover the whole fucking northern hemisphere? Whatever it was they were going nearly to the top of it. It was ten after one and he figured Frank would be cursing his name right about now for not being where he was supposed to be. How exactly did it work out, anyway, that all the orders came out of Frank”s mouth but all the money came out of Charlie”s wallet?

Frank”s wrath notwithstanding he was glad he”d decided to follow. Who the hell knew what could be happening to poor Andy? This Johnny asshole could be selling him to the highest bidder for all Charlie knew, and he could end up as some Saudi sheik”s Royal Dick Warmer. Anyway, he wasn”t about to lose him again after all this and so the chase would go on as far as it took. He just hoped his gas tank and his bladder were both big enough to make it.

Up ahead the Corvette moved to the right and the blinker stayed on as it slowed down. Johnny was getting off the Interstate, apparently at State Route 50. It was a major intersection crowded with all sorts of stores and restaurants so it could be a lunch or pee break, both of which would be welcome to Charlie. Most of the nation”s fast food franchises were represented, one after another along the frontage road. The “Vette pulled into McDonald”s — no doubt at Andy”s request — and Charlie cruised past and into the Taco Bell next door. He was glad to see them park and go inside to eat as it gave him a chance to take care of his own business.

He ran straight into the Taco Bell”s rest room. A few minutes later the much-relieved Charlie made sure the Corvette hadn”t moved, got back into his car and hurried to the gas station on the corner, where he topped off his tank just in case. Burger King had no line at the drive-up so he bought a couple of plain burgers (to minimize the slop), fries and a Coke and pulled back around to a parking spot where he could keep an eye on his subjects. Presently they emerged, laughing and talking, and soon the miniature caravan was on the move again, doing fifty-five on westbound Wisconsin 50.

The strip malls soon gave way to farmland and at least Charlie felt a little more at home, though he still had no idea where he was and the only map he had was a tourist guide to Chicago, which might as well have been for Sri Lanka. It was not a sunny day but the acres and acres of white snow still made for a hell of a glare and he envied Johnny his sunglasses.

It was much harder to follow them on this little two-lane state highway than it had been on the wide-open Interstate. He used a semi for cover but he couldn”t see around it to keep an eye on the Corvette so he had to watch every side road he passed to make sure it hadn”t turned off. This was tiresome, but even worse, if Johnny stepped on it and got out of sight up ahead he”d never find them again. When the truck turned off Charlie decided to take the risk of staying in sight, a couple of cars back. It seemed almost too much to hope that Johnny wouldn”t notice an old gray Pontiac with Missouri plates but what choice did he have?

At the town of Lake Geneva the Corvette turned north onto US Route 12, a divided highway that gave Charlie a little more breathing room again. On they went, always driving precisely the speed limit and not a mile over, past exits for the towns of Elkhorn and Whitewater, and further and further into the hinterlands where Route 12 dribbled off into two skinny lanes again. Just past a burg called Atkinson the Corvette made a right and Charlie was pleased to see one of his cover cars make the turn as well.

Wisconsin has an annoying habit of naming county roads after the alphabet, as if in homage to Sesame Street — this highway brought to you by the letter C. That was the collection of potholes they now navigated. With only one car between them Charlie decided it was prudent to fall back aways, and then when the middleman inconsiderately went and pulled into a farm driveway he was forced to drop back further still until the Corvette was only a black dot in the distance. He could only hope it wasn”t just as easy to spot a gray dot as a black one. The saving grace was that the farmland was so open and flat — and white — he could see that black dot for a mile, losing it sometimes behind a hill or stand of trees but picking it up again quickly.

At the top of one such rise he panicked a bit. The road ahead was clearly visible but devoid of dots of any color. A smaller country road crossed County C ahead, and there a half mile to the left he spotted the low-slung tail of the black Corvette just topping a rise. Charlie took the turn and hit the gas, then let up again with a yelp of fear as the tires slid on the snow. This little road was not nearly as well-plowed and salted as the county blacktop and he had to take it a good bit slower. It would be a bitch to lose them now, since not only might he never see Andy again he himself might have a hard time finding his way back out of America”s Dairyland.

A small sign claimed Spring Lake was two miles ahead. Charlie didn”t know if that was a town or an actual body of water. Both, perhaps. The terrain became more hilly as he approached and at the top of a crest he spotted the Corvette making a right onto an even smaller road. This one was little more than a country lane cut between the fallow fields, essentially a common driveway for the farmhouses he passed every half mile or so. It wasn”t plowed at all and his tires followed the ruts in the snow like one of his old slot cars he loved as a kid. There were a lot more trees now and he completely lost sight of the Corvette, but there was nowhere to turn except into the farm yards and there were no Corvettes in any of them, so on he drove.

He finally reached a crossroads but that was no quandary either because two of the possible directions were snow-covered with no fresh tracks. Charlie made the obvious left and soon saw between the trees the frozen expanse that must have been Spring Lake. There was a large home right on the shore, quite expensive with a tarp-covered in-ground pool and a boathouse. There were two tricked-out four-by-fours and a Porsche parked in the circle drive but no black Corvette. Charlie kept on driving, passing several more lakefront homes of the rich and possibly famous, but still didn”t spot the “Vette. He supposed it could be in a garage but he decided to press on. If he came up empty he could always return.

After a while there weren”t any houses for some distance and the shoreline cut away from the road. Charlie began to think Johnny must have pulled into one of those garages after all and was looking for a place to turn around when the road curved toward the lake again and into a heavily wooded area. A strange, apprehensive feeling came over him and he slowed to a crawl. The trees opened into a clearing, where began a tall stone wall that had decorative iron spikes all along the top. Charlie stopped the car and cut the engine.

He stepped out into the cold. There wasn”t a sound except the wind in his ears and the crunch of snow under his feet. Boots would have been nice, the wet snow in his loafers forced him to observe. No one seemed to be around, but people don”t build eight-foot stone walls around farm fields so there had to be a house somewhere. Charlie slogged through drifts up to his calves and approached the wall. He could just reach the spikes, and with tenuous toeholds on the rough stone he managed to pull himself up to where he could see.

The house was enormous, easily twice the size of the places he had earlier ascribed to champagne wishes and caviar dreams. With all the pools and boathouses and patios of the others only on an even grander scale, this house was ostentation itself. The real estate man in Charlie put it at two, two-and-a-half mil easy, even here in Nowhere, Wisconsin.

It was low and modern, with odd-angled asymmetrical roof lines; a Frank Lloyd Wright knockoff with a half dozen skylights just on the side Charlie could see. Two of the house”s three chimneys wafted smoke gently to the sky. There was enough glass in this house to get rich on the Windex concession, and Charlie could see clear through at several points to the lake beyond. He saw no people though, as heavy drapes hid the entire center section where he presumed they were keeping themselves.

His bloodless fingers finally forced him down, and as he rubbed feeling back into them he made his way along the wall looking for a gate. He trudged for what seemed like a mile, though when he looked back at his car he realized it wasn”t even a quarter of that. Then he spotted the electrically-activated gate. He didn”t approach it for fear of security cameras but instead grunted his way up the side of the wall again to peek over.

The Corvette was in the courtyard along with a gray Mercedes limousine that looked like it could fit the “Vette in the trunk. The image of that Arab sheik popped back into Charlie”s mind. Then he spotted movement and he froze.

A man approached the cars from the direction of the house, a brick wall of a guy who was only a pair of gold tights away from Wrestlemania. Blond and square-jawed, he lumbered to the Corvette and popped the rear hatch open with the key. A manservant, Charlie thought, sent to fetch the luggage, but he nearly fell off the wall a second later when the Hulk”s jacket opened and revealed a shoulder holster bulging with big, black, mean-looking handgun.

Charlie scarcely breathed as he clung to the spikes. The Hulk never looked up, just grabbed Andy”s backpack and Johnny”s leather roll bag, swung the hatch closed and went back to the house. Charlie dropped to the ground and stood a moment, his heart pounding. What the hell was poor Andy involved in? And more to the point, what could Charlie do about it?

Wait a minute! Charlie was just the wallet here. Guns and shit were Frank”s end. Charlie needed a phone, and he hurried back to the car.

Next time:

The big trick.

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