Lion's Lair - 11. I Hope He's Right

“Ryan, can you meet me at the bar for a drink? It’s been one of those days ….”

“Sure, Clayton, what time?” He sounds tired. “I’m pretty much clear after 4pm. By the way, how’d your lunch with Ben go?”

There’s a long silence before Clayton responds. “Let me fill you in on that; it’s too much to go into right now. How about we meet when it opens at 5pm?”

“That’ll work Clayton. I’ll see ya then. And, oh … I love you.”

Damn if it doesn’t feel good to say “I love you”.

Since Clayton and I opened up with each other after my sometimes-shitty Wednesday, the words just feel right. Natural. Instinctive. Know that this is more than just a crush or flat-ass lust. It’s every bit as much about what I think as it is about what I feel. And I’m still working through the idea of a forever relationship—but know this is what I like and want.

Clayton really sounded more than just tired. Down? Maybe not focused—which isn’t like him. Something’s on his mind.

Had a great day yesterday. Two prospects decided to buy, they’re coming by today to pick up their cars. I’ll go over the features with ‘em, and they’ll be out cruising around in their new cars over the weekend. Not a bad way to enjoy themselves at all. If I’m lucky, I’ll pick up another buyer or two today.

Pull up to the bar a couple of minutes after 5pm. Barry’s Chrysler is parked off on the right side of the building, and there’s one of the shiniest trucks I’ve ever seen parked out front. Ink black paint looks a foot deep—almost liquid—and the chrome wheels and trim look like they’ve been hand polished.

Park on the other side of the building near the patio door. Barry had told me to use this entrance, and it’s worked well to get in and out of the bar, since the patio’s gate opens at ground level and it’s only a few feet to the back door of the bar.

Inside, Barry is on the fun side of the bar, sitting by his lover, Dave, both with cold beers in hand. “Hey, Ryan! Glad you’re here. Come on up, grab a seat.” Barry’s his usual energetically friendly self, as Dave smiles and waves me over. I grab the barstool by its back, pull it out, and using both the barstool and the bar itself, lever myself into place next to Dave.

“Sorry, buddy … you’re our first customer tonight, but you’ve already had your free drinks, what, maybe three months ago? Get your cash ready,” Barry kids, and it’s hard to believe it’s been three months since I found this place. “You flying solo tonight?” as he hands me a beer.

“Nah, Clayton’ll be here in a minute. He’d called and said he needed a drink—must have been a rough day, don’t know I’ve ever heard him say that before.”

Dave turns and smiles. “Hey, we all have days like that. But knowing Clayton, he’ll work past it just fine.”

“Yeah, I’d had a rough day Wednesday, but Clayton helped me past that.”

“I’m sure he did.” Barry winks as he says it, then looks at me funny. “Wait, something’s going on. You look … well, different. There’s more to this story; I can feel it. Spill it, Ryan.”

“Uh, oh. You might as well tell him all when he says something like that,” Dave smiles. “He’s got a sixth sense about these things, and he’s always right.”

Hell, I dunno what to say. Guess honesty really is the best policy.

“Clayton and I got together Wednesday, talked through a bunch of stuff, and, well … we’re now a couple. Made commitments. Shit, I don’t know how to describe it—I’ve never done this before, just that he’s the guy for me, and I know he feels the same way.”

Barry beams, Dave slaps me on the back. “Well, about damn time. Y’all were a great fit from the start. Nice to see ya made it official.” Barry’s words are met by Dave’s grinning, enthusiastic head-nodding.

“Once Clayton gets here, we’ll do champagne, celebrate this the right way.” Dave’s beefy hand squeezes my shoulder and his rugged face has a smile from ear to ear. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, guys. This is all new to me; I’ve never been in a relationship before, so not sure I know how to act, but I’ll tell ya—it sure feels good.” My turn to smile.

Barry’s about to say something when the phone rings. He grabs it, and starts responding to what’s apparently an involved conversation.

“So, Ryan, tell me about you.” Dave’s apparently almost as social as Barry, maybe a little quieter, but his interest is sincere. I fill him in about me, ending up to the attempt to get fitted with my legs and finally getting to walk on Wednesday. Dave’s an attentive listener, only breaking into my story to ask questions or nod or “uh huh” at appropriate times to keep me talking.

Barry’s waving at us while he’s on the phone in what’s apparently turned into a long-winded conversation. He scribbles something down on a nearby notepad. “Vendor”, he holds up. He’ll join us when he can.

“Ok, since Barry’s going to be tied up for a few more minutes, time to tell me about you. I know you’re a Marine, but don’t know much about you beyond that. So, tell me everything I need to know.” I smile as I say it, and Dave smiles back.

We chat for a few minutes. I learn about Dave’s growing up in Wyoming on a farm, his military service, including his security work, his moving into government as an analyst for onsite security measures, his first lover, and his meeting with Barry that turned into what will be a two-year relationship. Yup, the black truck outside is his. And all of this told in a relaxed, laid-back manner. He’d glance at Barry occasionally, and it’s obvious he’s crazy about him.

He really comes across as a good guy—personable but more of a thinker/planner, maybe a little more introspective--and a good match to Barry’s outgoing ways. The quiet solid type.

We’d been chatting maybe 10 minutes or so, and I’m really feeling like I’m getting to know Dave. Really enjoying it and I tell him so when Clayton walks in.

Damn, Clayton looks … worried.

He makes a beeline to me, leans in for a quick kiss, grabs a quick hug from Dave just as Barry walks up carrying a couple of splits of champagne and 4 glasses.

“Hiya, Barry. What’s the champagne for?” Clayton’s curious at the broad smile and the glasses now on the bar.

“We’re celebrating, Clayton. Understand you’ve made some great changes in your life, and it’s worth a solid acknowledgement. Here ya go,” as he passes a filled glass to each of us. “To a new and great relationship, much happiness and prosperity to you both,” Barry toasts as Clayton lifts his glass.

“Here, here,” as Dave raises his glass and reaches toward Clayton’s and mine to “clink”.

“You told them?” Clayton has a light blush going on as he questions me. I nod my head “yes”.

“I guessed, Clayton—he only confirmed I was right.” Barry’s chucking response has Clayton smiling.

“Between you and Rex, you guys know everything, right?”

“You got it, Clayton. Rex taught me everything I know.” Barry’s almost full-blown laughter tells me there’s more to this story, and I fully intend to quiz Clayton about it later.

We all sip our champagne, but it’s gone quickly. Barry gets Dave and me another beer, as Clayton orders a Bombay Sapphire martini.

“Well, let’s talk about another happy occasion before I get your advice on something. Jenay and Dixie’s little girl should be here in six weeks or two months or so. They’re buying a house from Rex, and I’m guessing every penny they have is going into that—which won’t leave a lot for a new baby. I think it’d be a great idea for the bar to host a baby shower for ‘em. Would that be possible, Barry? Host the party for them here?”

Barry beams. “Great Idea, Clayton! Let’s shoot to get it in a month. That way, if there’s any last-minute things they need that they don’t get in the shower, we can help take care of it just before the baby arrives. I’ll check the date, we’ll get it set up for one Saturday afternoon before the bar opens, and I’ll let everyone on our email list know about it—except Jenay and Dixie.” He’s excited about this, and it’ll be a good thing to help ‘em out.

“Ok, now, that’s out of the way. What’d you need our advice on, Clayton?” Dave’s leaning forward, interesting in his response, focused.

“Ok, guys, here goes. I had lunch today with Ben, and I’m really concerned. Things are badly fucked up for him.”

It must be really bad for Clayton to curse like that.

“Yeah, Dave told me what he’d heard over at the crawfish cookout at Rex and Joe’s.” Barry is leaning in on the bar with obvious interest. “I’d kinda quietly asked around, but no one seems to know anything.”

“It’s far worse than what we knew about at the cookout. I had thirty minutes with him at lunch. We met at the courthouse, walked across the street to get a sandwich at Subway, he filled me in, then walked back. Keep that in mind, it’ll come into play later.

“Ben looks like death warmed over. He’s probably dropped 30 or more pounds since I last saw him in here maybe ten weeks ago. He’s skin and bones, his color is off—pale. He’s got deep circles under his eyes; well, under the one eye that wasn’t black from a nasty punch. I grabbed him in a bear hug, and he winced—he later pulled his shirt up, and he’s black and blue all over. It was like grabbing a skeleton.” Clayton shuddered just remembering it.

Shit, what’s going on with this guy?

“You remember that he’d hooked up with Benoit. Well, Benoit is nasty news. He’s now dealing drugs out of Ben’s house, but it’s worse than that—Benoit likes rough kinky sex as well as the drugs. He first started taking Ben to the rowdier leather clubs in the Quarter, Ben went along with it, as well as an occasional joint. Before he knew it, Benoit had him tied up in a sling, and was directing the traffic of guys to Ben’s mouth or ass.”

Barry is wide-eyed; he knows Ben, and all this has caught him totally by surprise.

“It gets worse,” Clayton continued. “Benoit will slap Ben around, punch him, beat him. It started strictly as a part of the rough sex, but it’s now spilled over to everyday—that’s why he had the black eye and body bruising. And it just keeps going downhill. One night after a few joints or drinks, Benoit convinced Ben to do a couple of lines of coke. Ben didn’t know that Benoit had him do lines of snowballs ….”

“What’s snowballs?” Hell, I don’t know anything about this stuff; I had to ask.

Dave’s got a grim look as he replies, “It’s a mix of cocaine and heroin.”

Fuck!

“Once he was high, Benoit proceeds to tie him down, then called someone, got a drug deal done—apparently for a large amount—the guy comes over to pick up the stuff he’s bought, Benoit offers Ben’s mouth and ass to him as lagniappe for completing the purchase. He also films Ben in the middle of this drugged forced sex, with the buyer’s face blacked out digitally. He kept Ben tied in place most of the weekend, forcing him to do more and more of the drugs.”

Clayton downs the remaining half martini, and motions to Barry to refill it. No one says a word while Barry quickly makes and serves the drink, then settles back on to his stool to hear the rest of this hellish tale.

“From that point on, Benoit has been in charge. He keeps Ben at home naked, generally tied in place either on the bed or in a sling, other than when Ben needs to meet clients or do court appearances. He regularly injects heroin into Ben when he’s tied in place, so Ben is now hooked. Every one of his clients gets full use of Ben for whatever they want to do, and word has spread so Ben is getting worked on damn near every night—and it’s all rough stuff and raw unprotected sex.

“Two weeks ago, one of the guys fisted Ben, tore his anus and he was bleeding. Benoit laughed about it, put some kind of drug on a pad and swabbed it down, after telling him it’d numb it and help it heal. He then put him on a liquid diet for a week and a half to reduce infection risks—‘we can’t have our party boy out of commission for long’-- and Benoit and his clients would inspect Ben’s hole every night to see when he could be used again. He never took him to a doctor.”

Thank God there’s no one else in the bar at this point. We’re all in shock.

Clayton polishes off the top half of the fresh martini just served him, clears his throat, ready to plow on with this story. “Benoit has sold off most of the stuff that Ben had—his TV, microwave, some furniture, the watch his dad gave him for entrance into law school, who knows what else. He’s driving Ben’s Jeep, and has already had a couple of fender benders in it. It’ll be toast before long. He’s drained Ben’s bank accounts.”

Clayton swallows the lump in his throat—this is tearing him up just to retell it all. Can’t imagine what it was like to hear it first hand from Ben today; no wonder he needed a drink.

“Ben has already lost half of his clients; Benoit has made Ben miss client meetings, or Ben’s too drugged, hungover, sore, whatever, to leave the house. He thinks his partners are about to let him go, and with the reputation he’s developing, he’ll not get on with any other firm in the state.” Clayton’s staring at his half-empty drink.

“So why hasn’t he gone to the police and reported all of this?” Dave’s question is perfectly logical but ….

Clayton picks back up with the rest of it before I can finish my thoughts. “Benoit has the video sessions of all the sex, and he’s threatened to post them online. With the conservative firm and mostly conservative client base, Ben’s job would be history.

“Ben is also hooked. Benoit has him convinced no cop will believe a junkie, and that no one will sell him the stuff, so he’ll have to go through withdrawal alone. And, Benoit tracks Ben, using one of those “find my phone” apps. If Ben turns off his phone or leaves it somewhere, Benoit beats him or, now that he’s hooked, withholds the drugs. He let Ben go for 12 hours once, just to show him what withdrawal was like. He also has Ben turn over his schedule daily, so he knows where Ben is at all times. So he can’t sneak away to report anything to anyone. Since he had to have lunch, Ben had his secretary call and confirm meeting me so it wouldn’t appear on his call log or itemized bill that Benoit demands. And I think Ben would have told me more, but he was afraid Benoit was tracking him even during our lunch.

“The bottom line is Ben is now being held as an addicted sex slave, and is about to lose everything. I can’t sit by and let this happen to my friend, but Ben made me promise to not go to the police. What the hell am I going to do?” Clayton’s eyes cloud with tears, and he looks away.

Your man is hurting—do something.

All I can think is to throw my arm across his shoulder and pull him in close. He closes his eyes and leans into me, taking a deep breath.

Dave speaks up. “Look, I know some law enforcement guys, lemme talk with them. We’ll figure something out, buddy.” His deep voice is soft but solidly reassuring. “I just need to get Ben and Benoit’s names—I don’t remember Benoit’s last name--their address, and some way to get in touch with Ben. That may be something we have to do through you, Clayton; we don’t want to tip our hand to Benoit if anything goes down.”

“Anything you need, Dave.”

Barry reaches across the bar, puts his hand on top of Clayton’s. “Don’t let this get to ya Clayton, Bubba will make something happen, you watch and see.” There’s an almost invisible nod between Barry and Dave, and something unspoken flows between them.

The next thing I know we’re in a group hug just as the first patron of the day comes in the bar.

“Try not to worry about this, Clayton. We’ll get it fixed, you’ll see.” Dave’s voice is just a rumble as Barry nods agreement. I pull Clayton in closer.

I hope he’s right.