Kept Boy to Made Man - 26. Homecoming

Roland looked at his brother Miles. The ten-year-old was tossing and turning, but at least he had finally fallen sleep. Their lives had been one messed up moment after another since their parents had died the year before. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing that their current nightmare was entirely his fault. It had been his idea to run away together, and Vegas had seemed like a place they could survive without freezing to death in the winter. The fact that the city was full of tourists and money had made it seem perfect in the fourteen-year-old’s mind.

The Martins were nice enough, but they didn’t want to adopt two boys, especially when one was a teenager. Roland felt the weight of his selfishness as he thought about the things his brother had endured because he hadn’t wanted to be separated. The teen allowed his pent-up emotions to drain from his eyes while his brother couldn’t see. Silent sobs wracked his body, his spasming muscles reminding him of the bruises he had acquired fighting against the men who had violated him and his little brother anyway.

It had been simple stealing the money from their foster parents. Getting the college kid to buy the bus tickets had cost him twenty dollars, but the driver hadn’t even glanced at the brothers when they boarded the Greyhound Bus in Denver behind a clueless elderly couple looking forward to a weekend of slots. The boys had been living off the kindness of mostly inebriated strangers for almost two weeks when they had been offered a place to stay with other homeless kids.

“Fuckers,” Roland cursed under his breath; he wanted to scream but screaming only made the men come back to hurt them some more.

The boys were trapped in a tiny room, only big enough for the twin-size mattress they shared and the metal pail they were forced to use to relieve themselves. Roland snorted angrily as he remembered the fat man’s smirk framed by a wide, disingenuous clerical collar.

“A place to stay, with other homeless kids, just like I promised.” The man had shoved them into the small room before locking the door form the outside.

The meals they were given were decent, but the things done to their bodies were far worse than anything they had experienced in the Colorado foster system. Roland shuddered as echoes of Miles’ screams bounced across his mind. He should have convinced his brother to go with the Martins. As hard as it would have been to live apart, it would have been much better than the hellish home the brothers now shared.

. . .

 

Oliver watched as all the adults but one left to set up dividers and desks in the five other interim bedrooms. He looked nervously at Thomas before returning the remaining man’s thoughtful gaze. He had met Juan briefly, but Oliver didn’t yet know or completely trust him. The detective was about the same age as several of the men who had held him and his brothers captive. That coincidence made it difficult to see him as the friend Thomas claimed he was.

He felt Thomas move beside him.

“It’s okay, Oli.” Thomas made sure the boy knew he was there before gently putting his arm around Oliver’s stiff shoulders.

Juan smiled as he saw Oliver relax.

“Qian suggested that we involve the boys in making decisions to keep their minds busy with things beyond the investigation.” Juan avoided direct references to painful memories and abuse in front of Oliver whom he knew wasn't handling things as well as he appeared. “What if we let each of them choose a pod and then make the bed themselves? I could ask some of the Marines to help.”

Thomas played Juan’s suggestion through in his mind trying to anticipate how Micah or even Oliver might react. He remembered how quickly Micah had mentally and emotionally retreated at Brendon’s house, and he didn’t want to do anything to frighten or overwhelm the boys if he could help it.

“I’m think choices and soldiers might be scary. Micah retreated into his head when Brendon’s dad started yelling, and it took days for him to trust anyone again.” Thomas paused as he tried to think of ways to help Oliver and his brothers feel safe.

Oliver thought about his brothers, whom he had only interacted with when they were alone in the barn. Oliver wanted to tell Thomas about the barn and their mattresses in the small stalls that still smelled like wet hay and horses, but Juan was still looking at them. He didn’t realize he was projecting fear again until Thomas whispered in his ear.

“It’s okay, Oliver.” Thomas abandoned his thoughts, holding the boy snuggly against his side.

It didn’t feel okay to Oliver. The boy's emotions began to spiral out of control, making him wish he were back in the dark barn away from Juan and all the overwhelming activity of the past two days. It had become his responsibility to comfort his brothers, but he wasn’t used to being comforted and cared for himself. The unfamiliar feeling of security broke through the dam holding back a deep pool of emotions. He felt Thomas’ grip tighten as the strong front he had been presenting suddenly cracked.

Juan was startled by the boy’s sudden sobs, but Thomas was relieved Oli was finally purging some of his emotions. The teenager held Juan with his eyes and the boy in his arms as he thought back over the afternoon. Oliver had been acting like everything was okay, but almost alone in a quiet space, the boy finally felt safe enough to let down his guard. Thomas smiled sadly as he remembered the tears he had shed in the lonely bunk that had become his safe place in the Cook County Jail.

“Let’s make the beds, Juan. Oliver can help us decide who should stay where, but I want to give each boy a pod of their own as soon as they arrive. They need to know they have a safe space before we ask them to start making choices.” Oliver didn’t verbally respond, but Thomas felt his body relax as his sobs resolved into sniffles. “They can pick out clothes and toys when they are ready, but I think they should have some time alone in their new beds before dinner. No adults. Just brothers.”

“In that case, I’ll go find some bedding.” The seven-year age gap between the young man and teenager would normally have felt significant, but Juan easily deferred to Thomas, thinking of him as a peer rather than the scared kid he had met five days earlier.

. . .

 

Joel Mark glanced in his rear-view mirror. His subconscious mind flagged the black Buick sedan his eyes had seen several times as he made his rounds. Joel’s conscious mind was thinking about the evening to come and didn’t register that he was being followed. He drove around the back of the old three-story brick building five miles from the strip.

A tap on the horn got the attention of someone inside the seedy bar which occupied the ground floor. Seconds later the large metal door of the add-on garage began to rise, allowing Deuce to pull into the large open loading bay. The door began to close before he had shifted into park. Joel adjusted his physical excitement before stepping from the car.

While he had been planning to lay low in his apartment, Quinton’s order and invitation was a reminder of why he loved his job. The trip to Chicago had been successful, but he was glad to be home. He nodded to the large man who had let him in before pushing his way through the heavy, insulated door between the garage and the original structure.

Joel smiled in anticipation as he headed into the small storage room full of unopened liquor bottles and beer cans stacked neatly on crowded shelves. On general inspection, the room appeared to hold nothing more than booze that would eventually be sold and served to mostly local patrons. He smiled as he stepped through the well-hidden, prohibition era door leading to the lower level speak easy turned showroom, auction house, and gambling hall.

His smile grew as he glanced at the nude silhouette stretching seductively along the back wall of the main space. While the seated, sensual pose was familiar, the thin, flat-chested body depicted lacked all the feminine features and curves commonly seen on cab windows and mud flaps nation-wide.

“Time to go shopping,” he said as he wove his way through the people setting up the small, underground space dedicated to the niche vices of the establishment’s wealthiest and most loyal clientele.

. . .

 

Orlando Mancini disconnected the call and returned the car phone to its cradle in the center console of the Buick Riviera. Next, he checked the matching pair of fifty caliber Desert Eagles he had acquired from a dead man several years earlier. He would have preferred to wear them low against his thighs like a wild-west gunslinger, but the double shoulder holsters were more appropriately discreet.

“The perverts pissed off the big boss in Chi-town. We ain’t supposed to start a war, but if we see a chance to relieve them of their merchandise, no one will complain.” Orlando watched Rocky check his own gun as he grinned.

The men both looked at the front of the bar. Queenie’s was known by many, including the local Italian mob, to host private, high stakes card games while also providing clients unique entertainment options not easily found elsewhere. The sign above the door featured a large Queen of Spades playing card painted on the wall behind the bar’s name which was outlined with glass tubes of garish green light.

“We could run in and say ‘hello,’ but Queenie don’t appreciate uninvited guests,” Rocky said. “I’d love to be the man to finally put her out of business.”

“You mean him?” Orlando said with a sneer.

“Him, her. Who cares. I’d put the bitch down no matter how he’s dressed.” The Italians no longer had control of the city like they once had, and the cross-dressing Queenie had long been a well-hated underworld rival of the Family’s.

“Let’s see what our man does. Queenie is off-limits for now, but his soldiers are fair game,” Orlando said before sharing the limits he had been given. “The boss was clear that he didn’t want any blood trails leading back to the Family, and we’re definitely not supposed to damage any of Queenie’s little dolls.”

. . .

 

Oliver sat on the newly made bed Thomas had assigned him. The Army jacket he had been given the day before was safely stored in the metal box at the end of his bed. Oliver wiped away another tear. He had a bed and a jacket. Thomas said he would get more clothes and other things as well. The boy looked at the teenager who was sitting in the chair with wheels Peter Motts had given him. Oliver realized he also had a chair and a desk.

“Welcome home, Oli.” Thomas hoped he wasn’t lying to the boy, having just been informed that Oliver’s family was on the way.

“When are my brothers going to get here?” Oliver hadn’t seen them for hours, which usually only happened when one or more of them were out on a date; Jim and Thomas had both promised there would be no more dates for any of the boys.

“Soon, bro. Daniel is even picking up pizza. Chicago has the best pizza!” Despite his nervous uncertainty about the upcoming reunion, Thomas tried to show some excitement for boys’ first meal in their new, but possibly temporary home.

Thomas felt as nauseous as he had right before the trial on Monday and then again visiting Brendon afterwards. He had no idea what would happen when Oli’s parents and brother arrived with the other boys. He wished Brendon and Roger were with him as he began to feel overwhelmed and scared himself.

. . .

 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Travis.” Jennifer was barely able to contain the panic she felt as her husband followed the large bus through the heavy, early evening traffic. “What if Oliver won’t even look at us or say anything?”

“Then we will keep loving and supporting him until he feels safe enough to trust us again.” Travis squeezed his wife’s had gently as he thought back over the afternoon. “No matter how he responds, Oli is still our son, Jen. We’re not giving up on him. Qian survived. Oliver will survive too.”

There were so many questions Travis normally would have been trying to answer, but things like where his family would stay that night and how long they would be in Chicago seemed unimportant.

Structure had always been important to Travis White. As a child, he had excelled in school, scouting, and team sports. He liked to pursue challenging goals but always in the context of well-defined parameters and enforced rules. That was one reason he had been drawn to church as a high school student despite being raised in a home that put little emphasis on spiritual development.

When Oliver was taken, Travis’ organized life had been turned upside down. He had struggled to focus on anything beyond the need to do something, but there was nothing for him to do. The local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies had all said the same thing: They would do everything they could to find Oliver. After the first few months, the pointless updates and empty promises began to slow before ceasing entirely. The case went cold, and there was nothing Travis White could do to discover what had become of his eldest son on his own.

While the government failed to provide answers, the structure and promises of his faith no longer felt comforting either. God had certainly given them more than they could handle, despite the Biblical promises to the contrary which well-meaning but tactless friends insisted on repeating. He couldn’t help but question where God had been when Oliver needed him.

Work accomplishments became meaningless as well. As the administrator of the religious school operated by his local church, Travis spent his days surrounded by children and parents enjoying the wholesome and privileged middle-class life he and Jennifer had taken for granted for so many years.

“Raise up a child in the way he should go, and he will not turn from it.” Travis thought about the Proverb he and his wife had strived to build their family around.

Travis could see the structure that governed their lives for the false security it had always been, and he recognized his many failures as both a husband and a father. He left his eleven-year-old son unprotected and alone in a crowded, public campground the previous year. Since then, he had allowed everything in his life, including his family, to slowly fall apart as he struggled with his own insecurities, anger, guilt, and fear.

For months, Travis had begged God to return his son, despite the platitudes his community threw at him urging him to trust that God had a plan. Oliver had been kidnapped. He and Jennifer had lost their son, and as much as it shamed the man, he had long since given up hope of seeing Oliver again this side of heaven.

The call that morning had been a shock, convicting him for his lack of faith while also offering him a slim chance at redemption. For the first time since the abduction, Travis felt like there was something he could do not only for Oliver, but for Jennifer and Jasper as well.

“Where are we going?” Jennifer hadn’t been able to focus when Robert explained their son was waiting for them at a school.

“We are going to see Oliver at the his and the boys’ new home, hun.” Travis’ remaining pride bristled at the thought of his son calling anywhere but their house in Colorado home, but he had promised Qian he wouldn’t pull Oliver away from the other boys until they were safe and ready to be separated.

Travis’ thoughts rewound to Jasper’s refusal to leave Mark’s side as they prepared to leave the FBI Field Office minutes before. His youngest son was on the bus in front of them since Mark had to ride with the armed agents responsible for the boys; the boys everyone called Oliver’s brothers.

His eldest son had been taken, beaten, and raped. Even though Oli had been repeatedly assaulted and exploited, everyone kept telling them how Oliver had taken it upon himself to care for and protect other boys. Jasper may have immediately adopted Mark, but Oliver had long ago adopted all nine of the broken boys he and Jennifer had met.

Qian believed the boys gave Oliver purpose and would be like a sea anchor, steadying him in the violent mental storms to come. The man who had somehow survived his own abduction and sexual enslavement had said Oliver needed the other boys as much as they needed him.

Suddenly, getting Oliver back to Colorado to resume the naïve life they had once known didn’t seem like the right goal. Oliver and Jasper naturally and immediately accepted a higher purpose when all he had seen was sadness and despair in the broken boys he met. Travis’ pride for his sons almost outweighed the anxiety and guilt he felt. Almost.

“Home.” Jennifer White tried to find the meaning and emotion she knew that word was supposed to evoke, but their house in Colorado Springs had been a sad and empty place without her oldest son.

Unlike her husband, Jennifer White wasn’t thinking about the past, or even what the future might hold. She was minutes away from Oliver. He had been hurt like the other boys who had refused to accept the love and care she desperately needed to provide. The woman was fixated on the fast-approaching moment she would see her first born son.

Travis’ response to her deepest fear held her up as his words often did. It didn’t matter how broken her boy was or how he responded when she finally saw him again. She was his mother, and she would pour herself out for him until their bond was restored or she had nothing left to give.

She squeezed Travis’ hand. She had been overwhelmed by the idea of another long summer break full of worry, but for the first time since packing up her fifth-grade classroom several weeks before, Jennifer was grateful for the long break her job afforded her. Nothing would get in the way of her fully devoting herself to her family and the son who had been missing for so long.

. . .

 

Elio sat on the soft bed his great-grandfather had given him after his father had been arrested. For months he had thought of it as his, but now he knew he wouldn’t be staying with the old man he had begun to think of as so much more than the Capo di Tutti Capi. The boy looked at his twin, who was similarly lost in thought on the identical bed across the large room.

“I’m scared, Em.” Elio would never have admitted that to anyone other than his brother.

“Thomas said it’s okay to cry.” Emilio told his brother quietly.

“That was just because you told him our mom died.” Their father often told them that De Luca men don’t cry, but even he had cried at their mom’s funeral mass.

“Maybe.” Emilio didn’t feel like arguing with his know-it-all, ‘I’m older than you’ brother. “I’m scared too, but what if Bisnonno gets killed or the police arrest him like dad?”

The younger of the two boys had been thinking about that possibility ever since they moved to Chicago. Every phone call and every visitor his great-grandfather received sent a wave of panic across his young mind. He had been listening in the car and didn’t think Bisnonno hated them like his brother kept suggesting.

“We’re De Luca’s,” Elio said again but less emphatically than before.

“Yeah, and De Luca’s all get killed or go to jail, El.” Emilio was no longer certain being a De Luca was a good thing to be.

Elio opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when he thought about his great-grandfather who was the only other De Luca not in the ground or prison. Emilio was often the voice of reason between the boys, and Elio relied on his younger brother more than he would ever admit.

Begrudgingly, Elio let his brother’s observation further color his slowly changing worldview. He didn’t want to live like his father had, and their great-grandfather said he wanted a better life for them as well. It was hard to set aside his learned familial pride, but recognizing the truth of his brother’s well-founded fears made it easier.

“But if we’re not De Luca’s, what are we?” He asked vulnerably.

“If the man we met accepts us, we’ll be Cicero’s.” Emilio wasn’t sure what that meant, but he hoped a firm identity would help ease his brother’s distress; Unlike his father, Thomas Cicero had made him feel safe and loved.

. . .

 

Miles jerked awake as the lock was turned. The exhausted and frightened boy hadn’t meant to fall asleep. His eyes met Roland’s before they both turned to see the door open. Two men stood in the dark hallway. Their now familiar expression scared the brothers, as did the fact that they only recognized one of the hungry, lecherous faces.

“They’re fresh. Tonight’s auction was going to be their debut on the block. They were supposed to be the big-ticket item.” The men discussed the boys with little concern about the impact their frightening words would have on the brothers; The boys had become Queenie’s property the moment they had been pulled off the street. “If your boss wants one or both, my boss will expect to be well compensated and will want them returned in good condition or replaced.”

“There’s no one in town looking for them?” The question offended Deuce’s host, but the man swallowed his initial response, not wanting to offend the Card who had interrupted his work.

“They’re orphans – runaways from up north. Been in town a week or two. They’re clean.” Miles fought his fear as he watched the oily smile slide across the unknown face.

“Get them dressed, and none of that doll shit. The Jack prefers his boys to look like boys.” The Two of Spades significantly outranked the man employed by the Queen of Spades, and they both knew Quinton would find a way to repay his fellow Face Card for any offense or lost revenue.

Roland felt Miles’ hand slip into his own absorbing his brother's quivering fear through the contact. Miles had been afraid of separation, and Roland had been too selfish to let him go. The young teenager allowed his brother’s terror to harden his guilt into resolve. He would find a way to protect Miles. His brother would have a chance at happiness with a real family, no matter the cost to Roland himself.

. . .

 

John Renkin stepped onto the curb in front of his Lincoln Park Brownstone before leaning through the cab’s front window to pay the fare. He hadn’t intended to spend the entire afternoon at the old school, but it had felt good to be a part of something that obviously mattered in the lives of Micah and the slightly older Oliver.

His muscles were sore, and he felt filthy. He wasn’t used to manual labor, but carrying furniture and scrubbing toilets had seemed surprisingly honest to the man who lived his entire life behind an intricately painted mask. John sighed, hoping Rebecca wasn’t yet home.

Returning without his children had been a calculated risk. Their absence would further anger his wife but would also protect them from the fight John knew was coming. Peter had offered to bring them home after dinner. His father-in-law’s presence at the school would hopefully outweigh Melissa’s when Rebecca inevitably found out her sister had spent several hours with her niece and nephew.

The cab pulled away, and John moved towards the front door like a man walking to his own execution. The analogy felt far too accurate when he finally stepped into the house.

“Where have you been?” Rebecca asked as she stepped from the sitting room just off foyer, only fifteen feet away. “Where are the kids?”

John watched his wife’s annoyance turn into something more visceral. He took his time untying his shoes and placing them in the large closet to the right of the front door.

“Mary and Joshua are with your father,” he said, hoping he could make it to the master bathroom without further explanation.

“You spent time with my father?” Rebecca knew there was little love between Peter Motts and her self-made husband. “Rosa is gone as well.”

Rebecca knew better than to feel jealous or suspicious of the housekeeper. Rosa’s son was a larger threat to the perfect but fragile domestic facade she had built. Rebecca accepted the challenge of winning John Renkin’s attention when she met him as a summer intern with her father’s firm. He was classically attractive, smart, and already well on his way to wealth, despite only being a sophomore at Northwestern University.

That John’s roommate was her main competition had only intensified her need to win. She had won, and Rebecca wasn’t about to allow a pretty, young immigrant to destroy the fragile family she had literally labored to create.

“Why didn’t my father just come here? I came home, hoping to join my family for dinner.” John could hear the hint of accusation in Rebecca’s tone.

John pushed down the anger he felt. It had been her choice to avoid the time he set aside for family. In his mind, Rebecca had no right to expect him or the kids to simply wait around for her to return when it was finally convenient for her and her social calendar. He didn’t respond as he made his way towards the stairs.

His wife followed him to their bedroom, before demanding that he answer her questions. He spent several sentences explaining the events of the afternoon, carefully avoiding anything he thought might trigger Rebecca’s temper.

“How noble of you to jump when the nanny’s big-eyed brat begged for even more charity from mommy’s employers.” As often happened, Rebecca’s formal and proper pretense was forgotten in the privacy of the master bedroom as she attacked her husband.

John often chose submission, both as a penance and to avoid further pain. Rebecca’s callous words were impossible to ignore, however, when he thought about the pain and trauma that had surrounded him all afternoon. While he begrudgingly admitted to himself that Juan’s involvement had likely influenced his decision to engage, he refused to acknowledge his wife’s suspicion even with anger or words.

“I don’t understand why my father was there,” Rebecca said when it became clear John didn’t intend to stand up for himself. "Did you call him?”

“I had no idea Peter would be there. I barely even talked to him once he and your sister realized Mary and Joshua were with me.” John’s mouth clamped shut as he recognized the subconscious jab he had unintentionally flung at his wife; he moved to the bathroom, hoping that walking away from Rebecca would distract her from his Freudian slip.

“Melissa is with my children?” Rebecca’s tone was suddenly dangerously calm.

“Leave it. They are with your father. He promised to bring them home before if got too late.” John turned on the shower before stripping off his dirty shirt.

Rebecca felt like screaming or even hitting the man who had left her kids with her disturbed and disgusting older sister. John’s disregard for her no-contact rule infuriated her, but she was far more concerned by the news that her father seemed to be speaking to Melissa once more. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do that in the presence of the man she both needed and deeply despised.

Cursing God once more for trapping her in a feminine body, Rebecca Renkin stormed out of the now-humid bathroom. She should have been born the son Peter Motts had always wanted. She had married John to meet social expectations and legitimize her claim over her family’s dynasty. Dominating the weak man was often thrilling, but in the eyes of the public, John Renkin would always be the head of the household. That fact infuriated the woman who believed she was more of a man than her husband would ever be.

Melissa’s orientation had been the excuse Rebecca used to claim her sister’s birthright. As the youngest sister, Rebecca had given up her own happiness in pursuit of an inheritance never meant for her. She couldn’t afford for her older sister to slip back into her father’s life, or more importantly his will.

John was grateful for the reprieve, but he knew it was only temporary. His wife would be doling out punishments and demanding changes soon enough. Buried memories resurfaced, causing what if’s and why’s to bounce around his already emotionally exhausted mind. John thought about the young man he had rejected for the normal life he desired even more than happiness.

Like Rebecca, he had made his choice. Despite the long-dormant emotions and purpose discovered over the past several days, John knew it was too late to go back to choose a different life. He wished again that he could be normal, but knew the best he could do was continue to pretend.

“Welcome home,” he grumbled as he tried to scrub both grime and guilt from his soul.

. . .

 

“There he is,” Rocky said unnecessarily since both men were seeing the same thing.

Their quarry spent more time in Queenie’s than he had at all the previous stops combined. Orlando watched Joel Mark’s car pull out from behind the bar and onto the street. Both men saw a head pop up in back seat, causing the driver to stop the car suddenly. The head slipped quickly from view.

“Looks like we get to have a little fun after all,” Orlando growled as he shifted the large, powerful Riviera into drive.

The early summertime heat was already trapping most residents indoors, and Queenie’s location worked in the Italian’s favor as well. The bar was well off the strip, surrounded by warehouses and low-rent business which were noticeably abandoned on Saturday afternoons and evenings.

Without the manpower or time to plan a proper ambush, Orlando decided to rely on luck and old-school tactics. Mr. Mark was expendable, but the owner of the small head he had seen so briefly was not. He accelerated, closing the distance as Joel Mark turned a corner slipping briefly out of sight. He slowed as he swung around the same corner, now much closer than they had been before.

“He’s got a kid in the back, agreed?” Orlando was technically in charge, but he wanted to know Rocky would back him up.

“Yep. You said the boss was after their merchandise.” Orlando glanced at his partner in time to see him pull a case from under his seat; he was obviously thinking along the same lines.

Rocky grinned as he pulled a heavy metal cylinder from the case. He secured the suppressor to the small SIG Sauer P228 he preferred over the ostentatious, too-big hand-cannons Orlando carried.

The car in front of them slowed as a timed stoplight turned yellow, even though the side streets were void of any cross traffic.

Orlando maintained his speed, quickly devouring the remaining space between the large Riviera and the man who had gone from quarry to target the moment Roland’s head had popped into view.

Joel Mark’s mind was already in Quinton Klein’s flat reveling in his depraved fantasies. The usually alert man didn’t register the large, black car quickly approaching from behind or the suddenly too-quiet kids slouched low on the seats behind him.

Roland nodded urgently at the door handle as soon as the car came to a stop. The boys’ hands had been taped together, but their feet remained free. Miles shook his head as tears blossomed in his eyes. The younger boy knew what his older brother wanted him to do, but he didn’t want to leave Roland behind now any more than he had in Colorado several weeks before when he had been told the Martins were interested in adopting only him. He feared the man driving the car, but he was even more scared of being alone in the world without his big brother.

Roland hardened his expression despite the intense fear and emotional pain he was trying to push away. He nodded with all the confidence and authority he could muster. Miles reluctantly reached to the latch before turning his pleading eyes back towards his brother.

Defeated, Miles pulled on the latch and pushed, seeing his brother moving simultaneously in his peripheral vision. Roland raised his arms over the head and headrest in front of him, throwing all of his weight backwards as soon as the tape binding his wrists cleared their current captor’s chin.

Joel was slow to respond but much larger and stronger than the brave boy trying to cut off the oxygen to his brain. He slammed the shifter into park while opening his own door. With the vehicle stopped and his door open, the Two of Spades grabbed the boy’s straining hands and pulled his thin, adolescent frame forward. He easily ducked under the arms before twisting his body down and out of the car.

. . .

 

Rocky and Orlando were surprised by the young boy who suddenly fell to the pavement before scrabbling awkwardly to his feet. Instead of running as the men expected, the boy turned frantically back towards the open, rear door even as the driver’s door flew open.

The Riviera screeched to a halt as Joel Mark slid out of his car. Rocky moved surprisingly fast and was standing by his own open door before the man finally registered the car he had seen so many times but failed to take notice of.

Orlando’s door opened as soon as the large car as safely in park, further distracting the suddenly confused Card. His eyes moved from Orlando back to Rocky who now held the elongated gun barrel steadily out in front of his body, arms fully extended and elbows locked.

“Is this guy troubling you, kid?” Rocky asked without taking his eyes off his underworld rival.

Miles wasn’t sure what to do or say and was relieved when his brother managed to climb through his still open door to stand between him and the man with the gun.

Roland’s impromptu plan hadn’t stretched beyond Miles' freedom, and he couldn't have planned on the large men now standing between captivity and freedom. They clearly weren’t cops, but one was pointing a gun at the man Roland knew meant them harm.

“They kidnapped us and made us do stuff. Just… Please… I won’t fight, but let my brother go.” Orlando was impressed by the boys who were clearly terrified but trying to remain calm and brave.

“You’re both safe with us kid, unlike Mr. Mark here.” At the mention of his given name, Joel frantically thought through his options before abandoning his captives and diving back into his car.

Rocky grinned as he aimed through the back window and squeezed the double action trigger with his strong, steady index finger. The long pull first cocked the gun and then dropped the hammer against the 9mm parabellum round waiting in the chamber.

Joel Mark heard the loud cough as he reached for the shifter. The hollow point round pierced his right shoulder mushrooming as it passed through muscle and impacted bone. He saw his own blood splatter against steering wheel as his ruined arm slumped uselessly over the car’s center console.

Orlando pulled the injured man from his seat as he screamed in agony. The pull of a small lever on the floor popped the vehicle’s trunk.

The boys watched in frozen, fascinated horror as their bleeding captor was roughly shoved into his own trunk. From their place beside the vehicle, they only heard the sickening, crunching thud as Orlando smashed one his heavy handguns against Joel Mark’s temple. If the strike didn’t kill him and he didn’t bleed out, Mr. Mark would likely wish that he had when he finally came to.

“He won’t be bothering you again, boys.” Orlando closed the trunk as he addressed the shell-shocked boys who were struggling valiantly to maintain their composure.

The older boy stood protectively in front of the younger, clearly related boy he had called his brother. Their wrists were still taped together in front of them. Both boys looked from him to Rocky’s now lowered gun and back.

“We aren’t going to hurt you.” Orlando holstered the gun he had used as a club before pulling a small folding knife from his pocket and raising it slowly in front of the boys for their inspection. “I will remove the tape. You can take your chances that Mr. Mark’s friends won’t find you again, or you can take your chances with us. It’s your call, kid, but if I were you, I’d get into the Buick. You have my word that we mean you no harm.”

Roland’s eyes flicked over his shoulder at the eerily quiet industrial area surrounding them. They had nowhere to go, and the large man’s mention of being recaptured and returned to the tiny room made up his mind. He stepped fully in front of Miles and held out his hands, testing the man’s promise with his own safety before letting either man any closer to his younger brother than they already were.

. . .

 

Roger waited just inside the front doors of the old school once more, trying to stand clear of the Marines unloading a truck full of boys’ clothing sent from a national department store chain with a nearby distribution center. Roger had completely given up trying to track everything happening around him. It was easier to trust Tony Fatone than to constantly ask for updates.

Roger was used to being a one-man army with only the extremely capable Melissa Motts to aid him. Rescuing Thomas had introduced him to a growing network of influential and capable people eager to help. That morning, he had been grateful for the small three-person team of Thomas, Brendon, and Sandra, but throughout the day that team had grown into a veritable army of people working on behalf of the boys he represented.

He watched the bus pull into the crowded lot, followed by a late-model, compact hatchback. Roger Cicero took several deep breaths, unsure of what would unfold in the next few minutes. Agents and kids disembarked, while a man and woman who Roger correctly assumed were Oliver’s parents, stepped out of the car. The new arrivals all appeared drained and nervous, only a few showing any interest in the large military transports parked near the front door.

Following the boys with his eyes as they slowly shuffled forward left the attorney feeling guilty that he had not been there to represent them throughout what had clearly been a grueling day. Roger reminded himself that he trusted Daniel Janick and Robert Fenton. Roger held the door, directing Qian and the boys down before intercepting Oliver’s parents.

“My name is Roger Cicero. Welcome to the future home of Liberty Academy,” Roger said, stopping them as they tried to follow the boys.

Jennifer White looked like she was going to be sick while her husband’s determined face turned towards Roger. Robert Fenton stepped up beside the couple, easing the uncertainty each was feeling.

“Roger is the attorney I told you about. Roger, meet Oliver’s parents, Travis and Jennifer White.” Roger held out a hand which was accepted by Travis but ignored by Jennifer who was looking up and down the old hallway that reminded her so much of the building where she and her husband worked before it had been renovated.

“Oliver is helping the other boys get settled. Let’s give them a few minutes, while I tell you about the plan for this place.” Roger watched Travis White’s eyes narrow before darting to the stairs the boys had descended moments before. “I promise, Oliver will be brought up shortly.”

Roger led the three newcomers into Major Tony’s commandeered command center. He smiled at the kid-friendly name Oliver had innocently bestowed upon the man when he forgot the retired soldier’s last name earlier in the day.

“I’d like you to meet Anthony Fatone. He was one of the first people to meet your son after he escaped the farm. Tony, meet Travis and Jennifer White. They are Oliver’s parents.” The Major adopted the persona he had often employed when delivering hard news to the families of fallen soldiers.

“Mr. and Mrs. White, your son is an amazing and brave young man. You are to be commended for the role you have played in raising Oliver.” Tony watched a complex series of emotions play across Travis White’s face identifying both disbelief and guilt. “Please, let me tell you about your son.”

Once more, Roger allowed the Major to take control away from him. Robert’s thoughtful gaze rested on the retired soldier as he soaked in the man’s bearing and approach. Tony began to speak as soon as his audience was seated.

“It takes a strong man to put his life on the line for others.” Tony started, reminding himself that the warrior he was praising was still a boy rather than a soldier. “I’ve met many strong men throughout my long military career. I’d like to think I am also one such man. If Oliver was in my chain of command, I would award him both a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star without hesitation. Your son isn't a soldier, but I believe he is even more remarkable because he acted without the benefit of military training or the promise of an Army doing their best to free him and his brothers from enemy hands.

“Despite being in extreme danger, Oliver put his brothers’ lives before his own. He bravely chose to attempt escape because he recognized the need for help in rescuing the other boys. He was armed only with the skills and values he received from you.” Tony’s eyes bore into Travis White’s soul, directly combatting the lies crippling Oliver’s father. “I know you are wonderful parents, because I have met your wonderful son. The love and guidance you gave Oliver kept him alive and saved nine other boys as well.”

. . .

 

“OLI!” Thomas and Oliver hadn’t heard the boys’ nearly silent procession to the building’s lower level, but they certainly heard the seven-year-old’s desperate but hopeful exclamation.

Jasper had been almost frantic as he popped his head into each room, dragging his frightened new friend behind him. He had been told Oliver was waiting for him, and Jasper was no longer able to hold back the strong need he felt to be with Oli. The boy raced towards his big brother as soon as he saw Oliver’s too-sad and too-gaunt face.

The small boy slammed into Oliver’s paralyzed body, sobbing as he wrapped his small arms around the brother he hadn't seen for over a year.

“Jasper?” Oliver whispered in both wonder and disbelief. “Jasper!”

Thomas smiled as happy tears streaked his face. He noticed Mark, looking scared and lost as several more boys looked cautiously into the room to see Oliver reunited with his brother. He motioned all the boys forward, pulling Mark towards him when he was within reach.

“How?” Oliver sobbed.

Jasper started babbling through his own tears about phone calls, airplanes, birthdays, FBI agents, brothers, and presents. Oliver’s mind didn’t even try to decipher Jasper’s words as he clung desperately to the brother he believed he would never see again.

Jim Thompson watched from the doorway as the small army of boys circled their leader. He left his own tears to fall where they would. Only thirty-six hours before, the boys before him had only existed theoretically. Now, they were a very real and important part of his life. He would always remember the hectic first minutes and hours he spent with Oliver White, but this moment was the one he would cherish most for the rest of his life.

. . .

 

“Mom? Dad?” Oliver’s small voice brought five heads quickly to bear.

Jennifer White stood but immediately collapsed to her knees as inhuman sounds poured from her mouth. All fears and painful suppositions were forgotten the moment she heard her boy speak. Seeing her lost son standing nervously next to Jasper and Mark was almost too much. Her hands reached forward desperately.

Oliver’s own fears of rejection retreated for the moment as primal emotions drove him forward, followed closely by Jasper who wouldn’t soon allow Oli out his sight.

Thomas held Mark against his legs as they watched the family come together on the floor in a sobbing tangle of limbs and emotions. Thomas tore his eyes away finding Roger’s as the man looked at him in return. They nodded to each other, acknowledging the satisfied emotions they both felt. The future was still uncertain, but it was clear to them both that a loving family existed for at least one of the boys they were committed to protect.

Hearing the screams, many poked their heads in to witness at least a part of the emotional reunion. Thomas felt lithe arms snake around his torso as Brendon slid into a comfortable embrace. Billy and Sally Morrison didn’t step away as most others did. Instead, they joined the Major who wrapped his arms around his friends much as Brendon had just done with Thomas.

Daniel Janick peaked into the room that seemed to be the epicenter of activity after finding the front door unmanned. He smiled as Roger acknowledged him. The SAC could see that his team had once more gone above and beyond for the boys they were working to rescue while he had been focused on feeding the boys as well as numerous volunteers.

The senior FBI man backed out of the office, stepping directly into Juan Ramos as he also hurried to investigate the commotion. Juan’s arms automatically wrapped around the smaller man to keep them both from falling. Their typical roles were reversed as the strong young detective held on to the suddenly submissive older man. For several seconds, everything around them disappeared as Daniel looked over his shoulder at the gorgeous man supporting him.

Juan shook his head as his tunnel vision widened several seconds later.

“I’m glad you’re finally here,” Juan said huskily.

“Me too.” Daniel wasn’t sure what Juan had meant, but he knew he was overjoyed to find himself in the man’s embrace. “I’d like to spend a lot more time here if you’re interested.”

Juan stuttered as the confusing thoughts and emotions of the past week combined with a physical reaction he couldn’t ignore. He tried to pull away, but Daniel held his arms tightly against his chest.

It was Jim Thompson who rescued a very confused and aroused Juan with the clearing of his throat.

“The pizzas are getting cold,” the agent said after recovering from the surprise of seeing two men he respected lost in the obviously intimate moment of discovery.

Juan’s terrified expression made Jim laugh as he looked fondly at his boss and friend.

“You’re secrets are safe. I’m happy for you, as much as it surprises me to say so. The boys are probably starving, however, and deep-dish pie is a lot better when the crust is still warm and soft.” Juan visibly relaxed at Jim’s light-hearted response to the compromising contact.

Daniel felt at home in Juan’s arms. For the first time in his adult life, he considered throwing away his career to pursue a romantic and lasting relationship with another man. Jim’s accepting response surprised him, but he was grateful the man didn’t seem inclined to report him for moral failure. Daniel looked forward to exploring Juan Ramos’ feelings and body further somewhere more private than the much-too-crowded hall.

. . .

 

Many opted not to stay once the boys were seated in their new cafeteria, tentatively exploring the culinary bliss of bread, sauce, meat, and cheese. Roger and Thomas stood together thanking people as they left and accepting promises of continued support.

Roger and Thomas both turned as thirteen Marines approached. The attorney shook the Corporal’s hand, thanking him for the soldiers' time and surplus equipment. Many rooms in the building had been transformed, filled with things the soldiers had either brought from Fort Sheridan or picked up throughout the city after they had arrived.

“On behalf of the boys who are already here and the ones we have yet to find, thank you,” Roger felt his eyes grow moist as he remembered the quiet shock and pride he witnessed as the boys from the farm explored the pods labelled with their own names.

“It has been our honor, Mr. Cicero,” he said before turning to Thomas with a wink and a respectful nod. “Mr. Cicero.”

Thomas broke all decorum as he wrapped the man in a tight hug. He and Oliver had been working closely with the soldiers the entire afternoon and had seen firsthand how much they had done to make his dream a reality. The hug was enthusiastically returned.

The sound of a metal chair sliding across the tiled floor drew Roger’s attention. He cleared his throat to get the attention of Thomas and the Marine squad. They followed the direction of his nod to find Oliver White standing at attention with tears in his eyes. He was joined by the Major and then Billy Morrison. Juan Ramos and Daniel Janick snapped to attention followed by several FBI agents who had also served.

“Holy hell,” the Corporal whispered as he wiped at his eyes.

The Marines stood for several seconds before returning the boy’s salute. Rosa Ramos began to clap. Soon the sound of applause came from every corner of the large room.

Travis White whispered his pride into his eldest son’s ear before placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He had learned the hard way not to startle any of the boys with unexpected physical contact. They watched as the Corporal wove his way through the tables and chairs the soldiers had set up earlier. Soon the man stood before the boy who had shattered his heart with his simple but profound show of gratitude.

“You’re an amazing young man, Oliver. You are as brave as any man I have ever fought beside, and I am proud to call you my friend. Take care of your brothers, bud. I’ll be back for a visit soon, but if you ever need anything, one soldier to another, just call me. I’ll make sure Roger and Thomas have my number, okay?” Oliver nodded as he fought with the fear that held him back.

Slowly, Oliver pulled free from his dad and approached the man who had literally built the rooms he had been able to give to his brothers. After several agonizing seconds of indecision, Oliver cautiously slipped into a hug like he had seen Thomas initiate moments before.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered.

“You’re very welcome, Oli.” More words weren’t needed as they pulled apart.

. . .

 

Quintin Klein lifted the cordless handset and pressed the redial button again. He listened to the same never-ending ringing he had heard several times throughout the evening.

“I’m going to kill you, Two.” The Queen of Spades had called hours before, angry that the Jack's man had taken his new Dolls from the Dollhouse.

The Two of Spades had seemed off when he had asked him to pick up entertainment for the weekend earlier, but Quinton hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Joel had picked up two fresh boys as requested, but the man never arrived at Quinton’s flat. Deuce was a pro, which eliminated the possibility that he had run into trouble. That led the Jack to the only conclusion that made sense. Joel had obviously been inspired by Charlie Miller’s stablehand named Lips, running off with the Deck's property to start a business of his own.

He had been anticipating an evening of release, but Quinton was instead wound even tighter than he had been when he landed. The Jack would find a way to appease the irate Queen, but as soon as he had, Quinton would begin his hunt for the two men who believed they could steal from the Jack of Spades.

. . .

 

Daniel Janick said goodnight to Qian and Devon before they led Melissa, Sam and the tired twins towards Qian's SUV. Peter Motts had already left with Mary and Joshua. Micah, Juan, and Rosa were the next to leave. Daniel regretted asking Juan to stay with his mother as the assignment meant he couldn’t ask Juan to come home with him. He waved at the young detective’s car as it disappeared, heading North.

Standing in the lot alone, Daniel thought over the past week. He was tired, but his heart was more full than it had ever been. His thoughts were interrupted when his cellular phone began to ring.

“Special Agent in Charge, Janick,” he answered, eyebrows raising as he listened to his counterpart in the Las Vegas Field Office.

“They just walked up to the front door and asked for me by name?” Daniel asked, looking for confirmation.

“They won’t say a thing to anyone, insisting to talk only to you or a man they claim is their lawyer… A Roger Cicero, also in Chicago.” Daniel rolled his eyes as his brain began to fill in the gaps.

“Alright. I am pretty sure I know what this is about. If I’m right, we’re going to need to get the boys to Chicago, but flying commercial is out.” Daniel rubbed his eyes, realizing he had more work to that evening. “I’ll call DC to request a jet from the Bureau. If that doesn’t fly, I’ll talk to Mr. Cicero. I wouldn’t put it past him to charter a flight or maybe purchase a plane himself. Of course he just as likely might find a way to talk POTUS into picking them up personally with Air Force One. Roger Cicero will somehow move heaven and earth to get those boys home as quickly as possible.”