Walls - 10. May 2015

The ground floor retail space was nowhere near completed, and the second floor apartment resembled a maze with cabinets and kitchen appliances strewn over the plastic sheeting protecting the wood floors waiting to be installed, but the suite of offices in the rear were habitable, lacking only a few finishing touches. Brett had pushed Leo Dallas and his Leatherneck Construction crew hard; he didn’t like paying rent at the temporary quarters Third Line Development occupied and moved into the space as the paint still dried on the walls.

“Are you guys doing anything special tonight?” Taisha Kravitz placed a number of checks on her boss’ desk for him to sign.

Brett reached for the elegant fountain pen from its cradle―César had given it to him as a present years before―and glanced at the first document on the pile. “Nah, after we drop you off at home, we’ll grab a bite to eat somewhere and maybe catch a movie.” Brett compared each payment to the corresponding invoice before signing them.

Personable, intelligent, and dedicated, finding and hiring Taisha as the company’s first employee was a lucky strike. She and his second hire―his nephew Rodney―being attracted to each other had the potential for trouble if things didn’t work out between them; Brett would be sitting them both down for a chat as soon as the young engineer moved to Washington over the summer.

“That’s it? Even though it was César’s birthday this week? I would have thought you’d go out for a big celebration.”

“Let me tell you something, young lady.” Brett’s attempt at a paternal approach was a miserable failure when the woman raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Living with a teenager and having his friends over all the time means dinner and a movie are a celebration. It’s downright exhausting to be around all their energy every day.”

“But CJ’s such a good kid. I can’t imagine him being difficult. Plus, I’m sure between school and that hunky boyfriend of his, there’s not much time for mischief.”

“You’d be surprised. He’s a great son, but he’s still seventeen. At his age, trouble follows you around. Anyway, César and I are going away over Memorial Day Weekend. Remember we’ll be closed on Friday too. We’re leaving early in the morning. We’re riding the motorcycles to Cherokee, North Carolina and spending the weekend tackling turnies and twisties. There’s this one stretch of road called The Tail of the Dragon we’ve been wanting to hit for a while. An eleven-mile stretch of pavement with 318 curves up and down the side of mountains.”

“It sounds scary! So you had two birthdays to celebrate this week, right? Your husband’s and your son-in-law’s?”

“He’s not my son-in-law. And yes, Ozzie turned twenty-three yesterday. We’re thinking we may have a bunch of dual celebrations in coming years.”

“Did you all at least celebrate his birthday?”

Brett pushed the stack of documents across the desk to his assistant, and turned to glance at the monitors displaying the security cameras' video feed covering the parking lot behind the structure. “Oh, we celebrated both. Tom and JP had us over for dinner on Tuesday. And yesterday, we had them, their kids, and Ozzie at our place.”

“Did CJ cook? I understand he’s pretty good in the kitchen.”

“That he is. But the three of us worked together. It was simple, nothing fancy.”

“I would have though your son would make a big to-do out of his boyfriend’s birthday! No big presents?”

“He’s not done!” Brett glanced at the monitors again while chuckling. “He gave Ozzie a pair of red PF Flyer hi-tops. You know, those damn sneakers CJ always has on when he’s not wearing his motorcycle boots. Can you believe those two wear the same size shoes even though my kid’s a few inches shorter? I think CJ got tired of Ozzie borrowing his all the time. He’s also taking him out to dinner tonight. And a couple of days ago he came home with a bag full of votive candles and suggested we might be wise to stay away from the basement tonight. Let’s hope he doesn’t burn the place down.”

“Oh… that sounds romantic. Let me put these away. There’s César’s car pulling through the alley right now. I’ll lock up the file cabinets.”

A smiling Brett swiveled his chair and watched the big SUV pull into one of the parking spots. The car’s lights flashed momentarily, and the driver’s side door opened. He watched as his husband stepped out and then noticed a man wearing a hoodie approach him. “Damn panhandlers…” No matter how hard Brett tried to see, the guy's face wasn’t visible from any camera angle.

Brett spun, reached for the bottom drawer of his desk and shouted, “Taisha!” The urgency in his voice must have alarmed the woman enough for her to run back into the office.

She stared at the monitors and raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, god!”

“Call nine-one-one! Get the cops here now! And stay in the office. Stay put ’til I come get you.”

• • •

César was looking forward to a relaxing evening with his husband. A satisfied smile crossed his lips as he thought of Brett. Life sure had changed a lot in the past two years. Here he was at thirty-eight, a successful businessman, married to the man he loved, and with a wonderful son who brought joy to their lives. And things were about to get even more interesting. In a few weeks they would have a second teen living with them. A caring, sensitive one, who was still fragile from losing both parents at the beginning of the year, but full of spirit and promise. Funny how life threw one curves, but he was ready for the new chapter in their lives to begin.

Turning off Wisconsin Avenue, he ducked to peek at the front of the old Georgetown Theater’s façade; he looked forward to when the restored sign would hang in front of the structure once again. The building was another symbol of how much their lives had changed. After being injured in the helicopter crash last year, Brett’s decision to leave the Marine Corps and concentrate on managing the family’s wealth had been a gamble. Realigning their real estate portfolio was still in process. Divesting themselves of properties on the west coast and finding suitable replacements within the DC Beltway would take time. They might even have to look at other options along the I-95 corridor at some point.

He drove through the narrow alley next to the building and slipped the car into one of the parking spaces in the empty lot. The smile on his face grew as he turned off the ignition and opened the door. Stepping outside, a man wearing a hoodie hiding his face in shadows approached him.

“Hey, mister. Could you spare a dollar or two so I can get something to eat?”

César automatically reached in his pocket for his money clip. Homeless people begging for a dollar weren’t uncommon even in the posh Georgetown neighborhood.

“Sure, buddy.” César looked down at the folded bills in his hand and peeled off a five. “Do you have a place to sleep? There’s a shelter―”

“I sure as shit do, motherfucker.” The guy shoved César against the car, pulled a switchblade from his pocket, and pushed the edge against his intended victim’s throat. “Not as nice as yours, but my crib’s good enough. Hand over the money. All of it. I like the fancy watch you’re wearing. Take it off. And don’t try anything funny or I’ll slice your throat. And the car keys. Your boy’s gonna be riding in style tonight.”

“Easy, buddy, easy. No need to do anything you might regret. You can have the money, the watch, and the car.”

“Damn right I’m gonna take it all. I’ve been checking you and the blonde guy out for a while. I think you and him are a couple of rich fags. Figured you’d be easy to take down. All of you fudge packers are the same. Looking all macho but―”

“Drop the blade, dude!” Illuminated by the security light, Brett stood with feet slightly apart in the back doorway holding a Beretta M9 aimed at the assailant. “Drop the blade and back off. You can take whatever you want and leave. Don’t make me shoot. I don’t wanna kill ya.”

“Fuck you! You come any closer and I slice him.” The guy took his eyes off César momentarily to stare at the retired marine shouting at him.

The little space between them didn’t allow César much mobility but he raised his knee trying to connect with the hooded man’s groin. “NOW, Brett!” he shouted as he felt the blade cut his skin.

Taking a step back, the mugger lowered his arm. He stared at Brett and César in rapid succession. An angry glint in his eyes made César recoil. The man cocked his arm, his intention to stab his victim clear. But before he could plunge the knife in, two shots rang out in quick succession. The sound drowned out traffic noise coming from Wisconsin Avenue.

One bullet hit the assailant’s shoulder and spun him away from his intended victim. The second struck lower as his body turned towards Brett. A crimson splatter hit César’s shirt. The man dropped his knife, clutched the wounds where the bullets had pierced him, and turned to run. César once again raised his knee, this time connecting with the man’s groin, making him bend over. “I got him! Call the cops, Jarhead! Call the cops!” Using his size advantage, the accountant jumped on the wounded guy and dragged him down, smashing his face against the parking lot’s asphalt. He couldn’t care less when he heard the man scream.

Brett rushed to his husband’s side, placed a foot squarely on the prone man’s neck and aimed the gun at his head. “You move and I shoot again, fucker. And this time it’ll go right through your useless brain. You okay, babe? You’re bleeding!”

César felt the trickle of blood sliding down his neck and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket to hold against the wound. His breathing was ragged. He felt the staccato beating of his pulse, and knew his blood pressure was through the roof. “Yeah, all fine. I think I pissed my pants, but I’m okay.” He was still shaking. It must have been a reaction to the adrenaline surge; as soon as he looked at Brett he started chuckling. “Nice shooting, Jarhead. What the fuck took you so long?”

“Asshole!”

• • •

“Thank you for dinner, CJ. I haven’t had such a tasty, juicy piece of meat in a long time.”

It was close to midnight. They were returning home after a romantic, candlelight dinner to celebrate Owen’s birthday. He glanced sideways at the man and smirked. “I hope you’re ready for a little more meat. I plan on feeding you Tiny before I stick it up your ass.”

“Jesus, CJ! You’ve been watching porn again? That has to be the cheesiest line you’ve ever used on me. You’re disgusting.” The chuckles coming from the Aussie showed he didn’t find the idea of getting fucked unappealing.

“Yeah? Too disgusting to take a hot beef injection from me?”

“Shut up! And why do you call your dick, Tiny? False modesty doesn’t suit you. Anything but tiny. The thing’s―what the fuck?” Owen stared at CJ’s house and the one next to it. It was late enough everyone should have been asleep or maybe watching TV. Instead, it seemed every light in both residences was on and there were two police cruisers parked in front.

“Oh, shit!” CJ took the turn into the driveway between the two houses at full speed. He slammed on the brakes before hitting the garage doors, turned off the ignition, and jumped out of the Jeep, running for the back door. “DAD? PAPA? What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Storming into the kitchen he found his father standing shirtless behind the counter, his big hairy chest on display but still wearing his suit pants. A small bandage covered his throat.

“Down, boy.” César smiled at his son in a reassuring way. “Relax. It’s all good. We’re both fine.”

“What happened? Why’s everybody here? Why are the cops here? Why do you have a bandage?” CJ was frantic, he looked around the room seeing Tom, JP, Brad, and Patrick sitting at the dining room table with his other father and two police officers.

“Dude, you should see your face!”

Brett’s laughter hit him like a punch to the gut. He took a step backwards, bumping into Owen, who stood immobile. “It ain’t funny, Papa. What the fuck’s going on?”

Brad spoke up before any of the adults could. “Dude, some slime-ball punk tried to mug Uncle César with a knife but Uncle Brett shot his ass! Too bad he didn’t kill the fucker.”

“BRADLEY!” Tom didn’t sound pleased with his son’s comments. “In a nutshell, that’s what happened, CJ. Brett wounded the guy and in the process may have saved your dad’s life.”

“Dad?” CJ looked at César with worry, his eyes moist and his voice quivering. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Brett replied. “Wouldn’t even let us take him to the emergency room. The paramedics cleaned the small wound and bandaged it.”

“I’m okay, CJ.” César accepted the hug his son gave him and stroked the back of CJ’s head while talking to him. “Nasty experience, but GI Joe came to the rescue. Damn, am I glad he’s a marksman and he keeps a gun at the office. And stop being angry at him for joking about what happened. You know he’s the type to crack a joke whenever he’s worried or scared. Much like you.”

“I want to learn how to shoot.” CJ was his self-assured, decisive self once again. “We talked about it before and we ain’t done shit. Uncle Tom, you promised to take me to the range and I’m calling you on it. I may not be able to own one yet, but by the time I can buy a gun I want to know how to use it.”

“Well, shit. I guess Brett and I did say we would, didn’t we?” Tom looked at his sons and at Owen who’d taken a seat at the table. “You guys want to start going to the range too?”

“Hell, yeah!” Bradley answered.

“Yeah, I guess.” Patrick’s tone was hesitant. “Not sure I want to own one, but since you keep guns at home I might as well learn how to handle them properly. Including knowing how to shoot. In case I have to one day, god forbid.”

“Ozzie?” Tom looked at the man sitting next to his sons while rubbing his bald head.

“Nope, count me out.” The Australian sat with arms across his chest, he looked and sounded disturbed. “I’ve fired a rifle while hunting but have no interest in a hand gun. Ever! I understand you need to keep one at home because of your job, but I’d rather not be near one otherwise. I can even handle Brett owning one. His training and experience make a difference. I’m glad he was able to save César today. But I don’t want one near me.”

“Yeah?” CJ wasn’t happy. He thought they’d settled the issue about gun ownership while in Australia. “Well, you better get used to it. I want the dads to keep one downstairs from now on. And as soon as I turn eighteen, I plan on getting one myself. We already talked about this. It’s legal in the United States. And as a law abiding citizen I plan to exercise my Second Amendment rights.”

“Those rights are crap in my opinion.” Owen wasn’t loud but he was firm with his counter argument. “They’re due to a faulty interpretation by the Supreme Court. There’s no valid reason for most of us to own firearms.”

“Oh, yeah? A fucking gun saved my dad’s fucking life tonight. I think that’s as valid a goddamned reason as any. If you took your head out of your ass, maybe you’d see we ain’t living in nice, quiet Pokolbin. There’s some nasty ass people out there on the streets of Washington. And one of them tried to fucking hurt my father tonight! Brad’s right, Papa should have killed the scum. One less jackass running around hurting innocent people.”

The silence following CJ’s outburst was oppressive. The men in the room glanced back and forth between the arguing couple, not one of them uttering a word. The sound of chair legs scraping against the hardwood floor seemed loud in the quiet. “We are definitely not going to agree. César, Brett, I’m awful glad both of you are okay. It’s been a long day, I think it’s time I went home and got in my bed. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

CJ watched his boyfriend stand and walk towards the back door, neither one saying a word. He was too upset to speak.

“CJ?” César’s gentle tone made his son look at him. He motioned with his head in Owen’s direction. “Shouldn’t you go talk to him?”

“No! That’s the way he feels and I can’t see him changing his mind. Let him go. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” He turned towards his fathers and then glanced at the two cops who’d remained quiet through the exchange. “Is Papa gonna get in trouble because of what he did?”

Both officers shook their heads but it was Tom who replied. “Aside from the usual investigation following a shooting, everything should be fine. We’ll keep the gun for a while but return it once the case’s closed. Your father has all the necessary permits to own it and he acted to save the life of his spouse.” Detective Kennedy paused; his tone was firm but gentle when he continued. “I think you should give Owen a break, CJ. There are major cultural differences in the attitudes towards handguns between Australia and the United States. The man’s been here for less than a year. Those ingrained beliefs aren’t going to change overnight.

“It all comes down to culture. I grew up in a place where the majority of people owned firearms, and many of them owned more than one. I was surrounded by cops in my family and most of their friends. My dad had a mini-arsenal in the house, and we were always taught the safety and respect which goes along with handling and using firearms. You think those people engaged in gun violence were ever taught the same respect?

“No. Many were handed a gun at thirteen and ordered to go kill somebody for a guy higher up in the gang food chain. They were never taught to respect people or firearms. So what is the difference between where I grew up and everyone had guns, and in the streets of many large urban centers? Culture. Give Ozzie some time and don’t push him away. As for going to the range, it’s good you're all willing to learn. Brett and I will try to teach you the right way.

“Now I’ll agree with Owen: It’s been a long day and we should all get some rest. There’s nothing else we can do tonight. Is there anything else you need, officers?”

His fellow cops shook their heads and stood as did everyone else in the room. “Let me see you out.” César walked ahead of the officers and held the door open for them. “And thank you for your quick response this evening.”

Brett stood behind CJ, massaging his son’s shoulders. “Dude, are you okay?”

“I… I’m not sure.” The tremor in CJ’s voice made his father wrap his arms around his son and pull him back against his chest. “I’m pretty sure that was our first fight ever. I don’t like it, but he’s wrong. It just feels weird, though. I’m pissed at him but it’s like I’m pissed at myself too for being pissed at him.”

“Sounds like a lot of pissing to me…”

“Stop being an ass, Papa.”

“Tell you what. I hope that’s the first of many disagreements between you. Anyone who tells you couples don’t argue is a liar. That shit only happens in cheesy romance novels. César and I have had a few doozies in our years together. And yes, we’ve gone to bed mad with each other more than once. But in the light of day, we’ve realized our love for each other trumps any differences we may have. Go to sleep and tomorrow you talk to your boyfriend. I like the boy too damn much and I think you do too.”

• • •

Cordial but frosty would be the best description for the relationship between CJ and Owen during the days following their confrontation. There was minimal contact and no sleepovers; both concentrated on school work instead of spending time together every evening.

“We need to talk some more.” CJ held the door to Defiant open and whispered to Owen while the Kennedy brothers climbed in the back. “I’m not happy right now.”

Owen nodded and smirked. “With me?”

“Nope, with us.”

Harley’s eighteenth birthday was on Wednesday and the gang had enjoyed cupcakes CJ brought to school during lunch. Today, they were headed to an actual birthday party―a bar-b-que hosted by Danno along the grassy area between his warehouse and the C & O Canal. CJ’s dads’ group was invited―they would be acting as chaperones―and admittance to Rogo’s was prohibited for the day to the high school students. There would be no alcohol available if they were underage.

“Bruh! You guys finally made it.” Harley ran towards Defiant as soon as CJ pulled into Danno's warehouse. The overhead gate was open and Danno told CJ he could park Defiant in the same spot he’d seen it for the first time during his own birthday party a year and a half before.

“Duh! Of course we made it. And it looks like we’re the first ones here. What the fuck, Harley? You a little excited?” CJ took a large flat package from the back of the Jeep and handed it to his friend. “Happy birthday, bud. This is from me and the dads. Don’t make a big fuss about it, okay?”

Harley’s eyes glittered as he placed the package atop the hood, and in a slow, careful way, removed the Harley-Davidson gift wrap. “I’m saving this. I’ll do something with it in my room.” He used one of the blades in the Leatherman Multi-Tool he carried most of the time to slice open the wrapping paper and the tape holding the box together. He returned the tool to its holster and lifted the lid. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! A Perfecto?”

Owen, Brad, and Patrick matched CJ’s chuckling. “I told ya not to make a big deal.”

“A Perfecto? You got me an honest-to-goodness Perfecto?” Harley removed the black leather motorcycle jacket from its box and slipped it on, closing his eyes while running his hands along the arms and front of the garment. “How the heck can I not make a big deal? You guys got me a frickin’ Perfecto.” Harley launched himself at CJ and wrapped his arms around the guy. “I frickin’ love you, CJ!”

“Hey, hey! Back off! That’s my bloody boyfriend you’re mauling.” Owen struggled to get the words out, he was laughing so hard.

“Damn! How the hell do you get to park in here, dude? We had to walk two blocks.” Chipper strolled in with Doc, followed close behind by César and Brett.

“CHIPPER! DOC!” Harley walked towards the new arrivals bumping fist with the first two before rushing towards Brett and hugging him. “CAP!” He let go of Brett and repeated the process with the other man. “CESAR! I frickin’ love my present. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I can’t believe this. A Perfecto! I wanna blow off the party and go ridin’ so I can wear it.” Harley began tugging on Brett's sleeve. “Wanna go, Cap? We can―”

“HARLEY!”

The simultaneous shout from several of his friends made the guy jump and glance around him, a sheepish look on his face. He let go of Brett’s shirtsleeve and skipped over to greet other arriving guests. An hour later, there was a large crowd of teenagers milling inside looking at cars while others hung out on the grassy side knoll by the canal enjoying snacks and drinks, all waiting for Danno to start dishing out what he had cooking on a large grill.

CJ grabbed Owen’s hand and dragged him outside, away from the crowd. “Come on, let’s walk up the side of the canal. We can sit on the retaining wall past the locks and talk.” Hand in hand they strolled along the small path, past the old mechanism used to raise and lower barges between the uneven sections, until they were out of earshot of the party. CJ looked around to make sure his parents weren’t watching, grabbed Owen's glass, and took a sip. Being over twenty-one, his boyfriend was allowed alcoholic cocktails. “Damn, that’s good.”

“So, that’s why you wanted to get me out here away from the others.” Owen's chuckles reminded CJ of how much he missed being around his boyfriend. “You just want me for the alcohol.”

“Nah, you’re confusing me with Brad.” CJ lowered himself to the concrete and sat with his legs dangling over the side. He tugged on Owen’s cargo shorts and patted the spot next to him.

“I know. He was trying to get a drink but none of the adults will give him one. I told him to fuck off and leave me alone.”

“He needs to get himself under control. If his grades don’t improve, he’s gonna be in a shitload of trouble. At school, with Uncle Tom, and with me.” CJ stared at the water flowing underneath his feet and placed a hand on Owen’s leg. “Anyway, I told you I wasn’t happy and it’s because I hate fighting with you.”

Owen made to speak but CJ squeezed his boyfriend’s knee and shook his head. “No, let me finish, please.” He leaned into Owen, rested the side of his face on the taller man’s shoulder, and stared at the water again. “We disagreed on something and I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you. I hate not being with you every night. Or even trading texts during the day. Been thinking a lot about something Uncle Tom said the night of the mugging and I’d like to offer a compromise.”

“Okay…”

“We have different views on guns. Uncle Tom explained some of it is due to culture and how we were raised. My step-father was in the Air Force and my father in the Marine Corps. I’ve grown up with firearms in the house. That’s not going to change. Papa and Dad both own them and I’m sure that’s going to continue. I want to learn how to use them. If something happens like what they had happen last week, fumbling if I have to use a gun could mean someone I care about might get hurt. I’d prefer not to injure myself or someone else by accident. So, can I have your permission to do so? To go to the range with Uncle Tom or Papa and learn?”

Owen seemed taken aback by the request. “You don’t need my permission. As long as your dads agree, you can―”

“I know that!” CJ backed his head off Owen’s side and turned to stare into his face. The dark sunglasses hid both their eyes but he could feel his boyfriend staring back at him. “But I’d still like you to be okay with me doing it. You don’t have to yourself. And I’ll tell the dads not to store a gun in the basement so you don’t have to sleep near one. It ain’t a perfect solution, we still disagree on the basics. But it’s a way to get around it for now. Hey! You never know. One of us may change our minds at some point.”

Owen draped an arm over CJ’s shoulders and somehow scooted even closer to him. “I’ve not had a good week either. And I’ve also been thinking. This is a different country. You do things differently, and it’s not right for me to come in and try to impose my views. Maybe it’s fate telling me something that I end up splitting my time between two houses, both with guns. And since I’m going to be here for a while, I think I need to learn too. I’ll join the classes.”

CJ’s smile said more than words could; he tilted his head upwards and clamped his lips to Owen’s, prying them apart with his tongue before slipping it inside the man’s mouth.

“Get a room!”

The guys pulled apart, their smiles morphing into smirks before both chuckled. “Hey, Trip.” CJ waved at the man walking towards them. “What you doing?”

“Watching. Taking mental notes so I can write what I saw later.”

“You still doing that shit?” CJ rolled his eyes and turned to Owen. “Trip’s been wanting to write a story about me for a long time.”

“Hey, I’m well aware I can’t publish anything, but one day…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. One day you think I’m gonna be famous and you want to be my official biographer.”

“So, you keep like a notebook on him or something?” Owen asked. “And am I part of it now?”

“You got it, big guy. But I jot down little things in a notebook and then I transfer it to the computer. Backed up to an external drive and the cloud. Don’t wanna be losing any of that stuff.”

“You know what, Trip?” CJ raised his glasses and made eye contact with the journalist. “With my mother and step-father dead, the agreement we made to avoid publicity is gone. Dad’s always going on about people not knowing he and Papa have money. And after the mugging, it’s been the worst. The jerk telling him he’d followed them around and knew they had to be rich confirmed his fears. So he may want a say if you publish something. But I’ll agree to sit down with you now and then and let you interview me.”

“Really? That’d be awesome! You know I wouldn’t publish anything without your permission first. Or your dads' for that matter. You’re still a minor.”

“That’s cool.” CJ paused for a few moments and smiled. “But I may want you to do something for me in exchange.”

“Sure thing, kiddo. Anything you want.”

• • •

“Damn, it’s good to be back to normal.” César closed the door to the bedroom and kicked off his shoes.

“I know, right?” Brett was already naked and slipped under the covers. “I missed having Ozzie with us for breakfast last weekend and this morning. That man has wormed himself into our lives.”

“Yeah. Are we turning into a pair of hopeless romantics? Our kid has a fight with his boyfriend and we’re more upset than they are.”

“Bite your tongue! No sappy romance stuff allowed in this household.”

“Fuck you, Jarhead. Who was it who sent me a dozen roses every day the week after we first met?”

“Must have been somebody else. It sounds so mushy. I’d never do that.”

“Fuck you!”

“Okay…”