Kept Boy to Made Man - 9. Awakening

The two men spent the afternoon working their cases and making pickups for Riz. Their shift was finally ending. The crooked detectives dropped the cash they had collected at the restaurant before driving back towards the station. They both felt fortunate that Jason Rizzo hadn’t been there to insult them for a second time in one day. Despite that small mercy, they knew what was expected. It couldn’t be put off any longer.

“How we gonna do it?” Joe Gallo, the thin one, asked his partner.

“Hell, I don’t know. Accident, frameup, obvious hit? Maybe we can make it look natural?” Sal Distefano wasn’t typically the strategic thinker between them.

“I’ll come up with something. Too bad, really. Working at Charlie’s was a real perk.” Joe thought back to his favorite assignment: babysitting before and after sessions.

“Right?” Sal preferred recording as he had always had an artistic eye for composition and framing.

“I wonder if the boss will find another producer. Maybe he’ll take applications,” the skinny man said sarcastically.

“It’s gotta pay better than the county.” Sal allowed his imagination to run away with the idea.

“What if we made a move, Sal?” Joe said suddenly. “How hard could it be? We could make Charlie talk. He’s gotta die, but his secrets don’t gotta die with him, right?”

“You think Riz would let us in?” Sal asked hopefully.

“Fuck, no. But who says Charlie’s the only one that dies today?” Joe both feared and hated his boss. “I got a feeling Riz’ll bury us before long. He’s fuckin’ nuts.”

Traffic was heavy. The men fell silent, tempted by both lust and greed as their unmarked car crawled forward. As his primary enforcers, they knew most of their boss’ business ventures. They had been collecting Jason Rizzo’s cuts from various black and grey enterprises throughout the city for years.

Jason Rizzo now controlled almost all the city’s male sex trade, which personally appealed to the two crooked detectives. Permission and protection made for an easy and lucrative business. Others did most of the work, while Riz sat in his booth acting like the world owed him something. Each imagined themselves sitting in the kitchen of Zia Marie’s, or out sampling their merchandise.

“You think the administration would retaliate?” Sal asked as he considered the consequences of moving on their boss.

“They’d probably thank us. Especially if we fixed the Charlie Miller problem, too.” Joe hadn’t been serious, but the idea was certainly intriguing. “First things first.”

“Yeah. So how we gonna do it?” Sal threw Joe’s original question back at his partner.

“I’ve got an idea, like a have the cake but eat it too, kind of thing. It’ll be easier after the day shift clocks out, though.” Joe’s mind worked rapidly as he looked for weaknesses in his developing plan. “Swing by the pharmacy, Sal. I need to pick something up.”

. . .

“Has anyone seen Detective Ramos?” The man sounded excited, which was in startling contrast to the heavy emotions the other crime lab staff were feeling.

“Not since earlier this afternoon.” Rachel Swanson lifted her lighted magnification glasses as she looked up from the photograph she had been analyzing.

“I got a message on one the bulletin board services, well, I guess Charles Miller got a message. Anyway, the person is demanding a response. There’s supposed to be a session in the studio tomorrow.” The man heard himself using the innocuous language he had been reading throughout the suspect’s chatroom logs. “What do I do?”

Hundreds of the horrible images that she had been analyzing flashed through Rachel’s mind. Her expression hardened.

“Someone is planning to bring a boy to that house tomorrow?” Her voice was calm, but her expression was not.

“Yeah, I think so, but they are asking to confirm their appointment,” the computer tech said as he winced at his word choice once more.

“Confirm it, but make sure you talk and type like Charles Miller,” she said shortly.

“But, what if Jua-, ah, the Detective gets pissed? I should really ask him before talking to these people, shouldn’t I?” Craig Andersen knew computers better than anyone else in the department but had never considered himself a real policeman. He certainly didn’t believe he held any real authority to make such a large decision.

“The detective strikes me as a man who would be even more pissed if we passed up the chance to rescue a kid. Confirm the appointment, Craig. If the boss gets mad, I’ll take the heat.” If they saved even one boy, it would make the nightmares she knew were awaiting her worth it.

. . .

“Yes, please set Charles Miller up in interrogation, I’ll be down shortly.” Joe Gallo listened to the holding clerk’s response through the phone on Detective Ramos’ desk. “Thank you, officer.”

“They’re gonna put him in room one, five minutes,” Joe said after hanging up.

“You think anyone’ll buy the wetback did him in?” Sal was growing nervous, not about murdering Charlie, but about getting caught.

“Probably not, but it will take them awhile to rule him out. No one’s here. We’ll clock out, so we’re not here either. We wipe things down, and they find Charlie in the morning.” Joe knew the plan was risky, but it was the only way he could think of to get the information he needed out of the man without anyone knowing about it.

The pair weaved their way across the empty bull pen, minds preoccupied with the current goal.

“Distefano! Gallo! Have either of you seen Ramos?” Chief Monroe stepped out of the office they had assumed was empty.

The man was tired and angry. Juan Ramos had disappeared that afternoon and hadn’t reappeared. He needed answers to the questions being asked by people he couldn’t ignore.

Sal jumped at the sound of the Chief’s voice. He was about to respond when he felt his partner’s hand grip his arm tightly. Confused, he turned towards Joe, who quickly replied for them both.

“We just got back in, Chief, but I did hear them talking downstairs about moving the kid’s perp to interrogation. I guess he’s finally getting around to doing his job,” the thin man said, as he tried to cover his own shock at almost being discovered.

The two men had spent fifteen minutes confirming the young Detective was nowhere to be found. They finally decided he had left for the night like the rest of their peers. Fortunately for their plan, Juan had forgotten to punch out. The station’s phone records would show that Ramos had made the transfer request from his desk. It all seemed too easy. They hadn’t even thought to check the Chief’s office as he rarely stayed at the station past five.

“What has that boy been doing all day?” Chief Monroe asked the air before addressing the veteran detectives again. “If you do see him, tell him I expect an update first thing tomorrow.”

Sal and Joe looked at each other in relief as their clueless leader headed for the elevator. A sinister grin slipped onto Joe’s face once they were truly alone.

“After you detective. We have a suspect to break.”

. . .

Juan focused on his breathing and his driving. The day had gone too fast, and he felt like he wasn’t any closer to finding any of the victims. His mind created scenarios that he knew could be playing out somewhere nearby at that very moment. Closing his eyes only made the hellish scenes in his mind clearer. He almost looked forward to the distraction Daniel Janick’s invasion would create.

Juan pulled into the station’s fenced-in lot, parking his car in a visitor spot near the building, deciding that anyone complaining after hours was unlikely. A large black Suburban with darkly tinted windows pulled up beside him. Juan laughed as he opened his door and stepped out to greet his new, not-so-subtle federal friends.

“Oorah,” he said once more as a short, trim man stepped down from the rear passenger door.

“Detective Ramos?” The man’s jet-black hair, greying at the temples was cropped in military fashion.

“Special Agent in Charge Janick?” Juan snapped into a salute before the slightly older man, who responded in kind.

The FBI boss allowed his military persona to melt and held out a hand. Juan shook it as his eyes drank in the petite but hard man in front of him. The attraction he felt was surprising to the detective as he typically preferred petite women. He decided that the case was getting to him more than he had realized.

Daniel found himself looking as well, but he didn’t find that surprising in the least. He liked the solid, stocky man with caramel complexion who didn’t tower over him like everyone else seemed to. The federal agent was the first to shake himself free of his wandering thoughts.

“Detective, I brought a few friends. Special Agents Thompson, Fisher, and Chang.” Daniel indicated who belonged to each name as he introduced them. “Guys, this is our CPD liaison, Detective Juan Ramos. He is one of the good guys. Until we know more, he is the only one we trust. Any last questions?”

There were none. The impromptu team traded handshakes as they sized each other up. Daniel Janick reveled in the active role the spontaneity of the transfer demanded. He missed the action of field duty. He now spent most of his time behind a desk.

“Trust your guys, your guts, and your guns gentlemen. I don’t expect trouble, but we have reason to believe we are entered hostile territory.” Juan couldn’t hide the smile, nor the pride he felt as he heard his former CO’s favorite line coming out of the startlingly beautiful man’s perfectly thin lips.

“After you detective. We have a suspect to secure.” Juan gave his head a quick shake as he led the group of suits forward into the unknown; he tried to forget Daniel’s knowing smirk.

. . .

Hank Monroe needed a drink, followed by a long vacation. His thirty-nine years on the force had caught up to him, and he knew it. He had lost his edge as well as the passion he had once had for the job. The world had changed faster than he had, and the kids that surrounded him made him feel older and more obsolete than he was.

He was only months from full retirement. Detective Ramos had dropped a big bag of snakes in his lap, and it frustrated the man who had been content to quietly coast into his pension. The man knew he wasn’t being fair to the kid.

Juan had a respect and a maturity that most of his peers didn’t, but he was also an outsider that the man didn’t understand. Every interaction reminded the career cop that Detective Ramos was a soldier first. Hank had been a kid during the second world war and too old for the draft during Vietnam. His life had been spent on the streets of Chicago rather than the beaches, jungles, or deserts of faraway places.

He had patrolled and policed through nine presidents, the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, the Cold War, the current AIDS epidemic, and the recent breakup of the Soviet Union. When he joined the department, he had been proud of his badge and honored to be a part of the CPD Brotherhood. Now, everything he did was criticized by both the public and the press. Hank Monroe often found himself hiding in his office, wishing for the good old days and the problems of the past.

The elevator door opened on the first floor. He missed the days when he mattered. Stepping out into the hall, Hank Monroe sighed. His hand absently caressed the antique Colt .38 Special on his hip. The old, long-barreled revolver was the one constant in his career, although it had been years since he had fired it. It had been years since Hank had done anything he considered real police work.

He turned towards the lobby but paused as his curiosity got the better of him. He turned again and headed towards the station’s interrogation rooms. There was no one waiting for him at home. His wife had left him almost a decade ago, and they hadn’t had any kids.

“Let’s see what your learned in the Corps, kid,” the tired cop mumbled as he slipped into the newly upgraded observation room of Interrogation One.

He almost growled as he saw the intimidating equipment that had been added only months before. Ignoring the buttons and cables, Hank Monroe stepped up to the large one-way mirror separating him from the suspect.

Charles Miller sat awkwardly in a metal folding chair with his hands cuffed to a ring in the center of the heavy steel table positioned in the center of the room. He was a big man, Hank saw. His clothes and hair were both a mess. It was obvious that the man had been in lockup overnight.

Again, the Chief found himself annoyed that his young detective had been so focused on the lab instead of his suspect. Juan’s priorities felt off to the veteran cop. Everything about this case felt off to Hank.

The man before him seemed nervous, which wasn’t a surprise. Hank imagined him working his illegal trade, but immediately recoiled from his own thoughts. He remembered some of what Detective Ramos had told him. This man had filmed over eighty boys in various sex acts, many with grown men.

He had grown up believing that boys didn’t get raped, but that attitude was something the department had been trying to change for years. Hank found himself caressing his gun once more as the room’s only door opened.

“What the hell,” the old cop whispered as his long-dormant instincts sputtered to life.

First Joe Gallo and then his partner Sal Distefano entered the small room. The expression on Charles Miller’s face was one of relief. Something wasn’t right, and Hank Monroe could feel it deep in his gut. He glanced again at the fancy, high-tech gadgets to his right. He, like everyone in the station had been trained on their use, but the embittered man hadn’t even tried to follow along. Fortunately, the company the county hired had made things as simple as possible.

Most of the equipment sat inside a metal cage. He recognized the TV, showing almost the same view he could see through the glass, but from a different angle. It sat on a box that looked almost like his own VCR, but simpler. There were only two large buttons on the front, one red and one black.

Hank found it impossible to interpret the tiny white letters above each button in the dark room. He pushed the black button first. Nothing obvious happened. He debated briefly, before trying the red one. He was rewarded with the letters REC flashing in the corner of the television screen. He could also clearly hear what was being said in the small room beyond.

“-took you fucker’s so long? You’ve got to get me the fuck out of here!” Charlie Miller was talking to the veteran detectives.

“We will, Charlie Boy, but it will take some time. You really fucked up,” Joe told the man.

“I know,” Charlie was suddenly angry. “I was afraid they’d try to stick me with him, but that would have ruined my business. I couldn’t let him just wonder off, but I didn’t think the kid would have the guts to rat me out. Then the brat’s lawyer got me wound up. I still want to break that fucker’s face.”

“If you say so. We don’t have a lot of time, Charlie. The boss is pissed. You need to tell us what we need to know to get the studio running again.” Hank found himself paralyzed by the shocking conversation unfolding before him.

. . .

The five-man posse made its way to the station’s holding area. Detective Ramos approached the clerk.

“Evening, Detective. The suspect is ready for you as requested. We also set up the recording equipment in case you needed it,” the clerk said cheerfully.

“Excuse me?” Juan asked, his confusion evident both on his face and in his tone.

“Charles Miller is waiting in Interrogation One, Detective,” the clerk said somewhat less cheerfully.

“Who requested that and when?” Juan asked, his gut slowly twisting.

“You did, sir, about five minutes ago.” The officer in charge of the holding area wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or annoyed.

Juan glanced meaningfully at Daniel, before turning back the way they came.

“Lock down the station, officer. Nobody in or out until you hear from me, and send some uniforms to interrogation,” he was already moving quickly and didn’t hear if the clerk responded to his requests.

. . .

Sal put his notepad back in his pocket. He would need to find someone to translate all the computer mumbo-jumbo, but he was feeling excited. Charlie had explained his entire operation. They would have to take care of Riz and find a new place to set up shop, but he was confident they had everything they needed to go into business for themselves.

“Anything else we should know, Charlie?” Joe asked as he walked behind the man still secured to the table.

“I’ve got nothing else to tell that shit head, Riz. If he wants the studio running again, he needs to hurry up and get me the fuck out of here.” Joe’s small but surprisingly strong hands began to massage Charlie’s neck and shoulders; Charlie Miller felt some of his anxiety dissipate as he naturally responded to the intimate touch.

“Relax, Charlie. You won’t have to wait long. Riz hasn’t forgotten about you. He’s the reason we’re here.” Joe’s voice was soft and soothing, almost loving, as he pressed his growing erection against the hard cool back of the metal chair.

Hank Monroe was shocked. Joe and Sal had been around long before he had taken the station’s top spot. They had received a few citizen complaints, but who hadn’t. He now wondered how many more of his men might be dirty.

The Chief had seen and heard enough. He knew he needed to find a way to confront his detectives without endangering himself or Charles Miller. His thoughts were paused as he watched Joe Gallo reach into his back pocket, quickly extracting and uncapping a huge syringe. Hank Monroe had no more time to consider. The aging lawman started moving even as Joe pulled the long plunger back.

Sal watched his partner’s actions. His own excitement grew as Joe’s empty hand slid over Charlie’s shoulder and moved sensually over the man’s chest. Sal longed to be watching the scene through a viewfinder. Joe suddenly and viciously grabbed Charlie’s chin. He yanked the man’s head backwards and stabbed the needle deep into Charlie’s neck.

“Sorry, Charlie. Riz thanks you for your service.” Joe’s thumb found the plunger’s end even as the door to Interrogation One burst open.

. . .

Juan led the federal agents towards the station’s interrogation rooms at a controlled run. His heart was pounding, not from the exertion but at the idea of arriving too late. They turned the last corner in time to see Chief Monroe throw open the door to Interrogation One.

“Get away from him, Joe!” Juan was still several yards away when Hank Monroe’s forty-year-old service revolver roared to life for the first time in the line of duty.

Juan burst into the room just as Sal tackled his boss. It took all five of the new arrivals to pull overweight detective off the Chief and secure him in restraints. Panting, Juan surveyed the small room in shock.

Charlie Miller was frozen in place, clearly afraid to move due to the almost comically large syringe hanging from his neck. Gore covered the back wall. The detective’s gaze followed the still dripping blood towards the floor where he saw Joe Gallo’s dead eyes looking straight into his own. A small hole in the center of the detective’s forehead almost looked like a third eye. By the mess, Juan guessed the chief’s gun was loaded with hollow point ammunition. He felt his stomach turn, forcing him to look away.

Daniel Janick wasted no time in assuming control. Carefully, he pried the heavy revolver from Hank Monroe’s hand. The man was clearly in shock. He checked again to confirm the large man they had subdued was under his agents’ control before approaching the man cuffed to the table.

He pulled his pocket square free and used it to carefully pull the empty syringe out of Charlie Miller’s neck. He was relieved to see that the plunger was still almost completed withdrawn.

“Air embolism,” he said. “Clever. It looks like you’re going to live, Mr. Miller, but I think we can safely say you have outstayed your welcome in this fine establishment. My name is Special Agent Daniel Janick with the FBI. I’d like to invite you to be my guest for a while.”

It was then that two uniformed officers entered the room, guns drawn and out of breath. The small room had grown incredibly crowded.

“Freeze!” One yelled in a shaky voice as he took in the hectic and bloody scene; The other began to wretch.

“For fuck’s sake, lower your weapons!” Chief Monroe’s senses were returning.

“Would anyone happen to have an evidence bag?” Daniel Janick asked almost offhandedly as the officers quickly obeyed their station chief.

. . .

“Thank you for inviting us to dinner. You have a beautiful home, Roger.” Sandra and Roger were both standing in front of the wall of windows looking out over the lake.

They had intended to eat out, but Brendon was still sore and self-conscious. Thomas had suggested Chinese which they picked up in Chinatown on their way back to the Gold Coast from Hyde Park.

“You are both welcome anytime, Sandra. Are you sure you are okay with Brendon spending the night?” She knew what Roger was really asking and paused to formulate a response.

“In my heart I am, but my head is still trying to catch up,” she said honestly. “I don’t know how to keep them safe, and that scares me.”

“I will talk to them about safely loving another man. They will be safe as long as they remain exclusive.” Roger felt uncomfortable talking to Sandra about the boys’ intimate relationship, but he also understood her need to protect her son; He felt the same way about Thomas.

They both turned, looking lovingly at the young couple snuggled together on one of the couches. They weren’t talking, but seemed content simply being close. Sandra was reminded of her relationship with Brendon’s father. She missed the days when they expressed their love in such a simple and meaningful way.

“Tell me they are going to be okay, Roger.” Sandra wiped away several tears.

“They are stronger together. It’s not an easy life, but I think they will be more than okay.” Roger inventoried his feelings and realized that what he felt most was happiness and hope.

Watching the teens together was profound. Roger hadn’t cried so much since the early days with Eddie, but he felt his own tears yet again. He couldn’t deny the deep love he had developed for Thomas and for Brendon as well. That love had scared him.

The man had confused what he had with Eddie as love for so long. Roger’s love for the teens was nothing like the lust that had driven Eddie. Roger appreciated the beauty of the young men, but he felt no claim or desire for either boy. He finally felt free of the fear that he was repeating Eddie’s mistakes.

Sandra watched Roger’s expression soften. It was like she could feel his relief. She saw his love and knew that her son was beyond safe in this man’s home.

“I’m ready to go home, Roger. I’m looking forward to a night off.” It was both true and a lie.

Roger glanced at Eddie’s watch. It was 6:36.

“Thomas, Brendon? I’m going to drive Sandra home. I have some work to do at the office, so I won’t be back before nine.” Roger winked at the boys as he headed towards his shoes and his keys.

. . .

The door closed, leaving the teens alone in the condo. Thomas fit nicely against his boyfriend’s taller body. Brendon kissed the top of Thomas head, before deeply inhaling the scent of his new shampoo.

“Roger’s pretty great, Tommy. Do you think he really has work to do?” Brendon had seen the wink and immediately understood the opportunity before them.

“I don’t think so. He knows about us, Bren. He knows what we were doing when- when I killed my dad.” Thomas tensed, but Roger had been encouraging him to accept his past.

Brendon wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply tightened his hold. He could feel Thomas body shake as he cried softly. After several minutes, Thomas pulled free. Standing up, he held out a hand. Brendon extended his own and found himself being pulled first to his feet and then through the condo. They entered Thomas’ bedroom, hand in hand. Both were nervous but excited.

“That’s a big bed.” Brendon’s observation made him blush.

“I felt lost in it last night.” Thomas looked at his boyfriend nervously.

Thomas knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure he was ready. Roger’s bravery and willingness to be so open earlier had meant a lot to Thomas, and he found himself wanting to feel as close to Brendon as he did to Roger. Honesty.

“I’m scared Bren. My head is a mess. Every time I close my eyes, I see dad or Uncle Charlie. I want to touch you, to be touched by you, but they won’t leave me alone.” He cursed his emotions as fresh tears fell once more.

Brendon hadn’t had anyone to talk to after Thomas was arrested. He had been hiding his feelings from everyone, including himself. He was inspired and emboldened by his boyfriend’s honesty.

“I’m sacred too, Tommy. The things I feel for you feel so right, but they also make me feel dirty. It’s hard to explain. My heart wants to be with you, but my head says it’s wrong. My parents and their fucking pastor are in my head telling me that the things I want are evil. I tell myself I don’t care, but I do.” Brendon felt tears on his own cheeks as he looked away in shame.

Thomas suddenly found himself laughing as he closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms gently around his confused boyfriend.

“We might be the only horny teenagers in Chicago trying to get out of each other’s pants!” Thomas felt a deep love for Brendon. “Someday, I’m going to close my eyes and see you instead of my dad or uncle. Someday, you are going to hear my voice in your head telling you how amazing you are and how wonderful our love is.”

Thomas looked up at his boyfriend who was looking down at him thoughtfully. The nerves remained, but the awkwardness had been broken. Their lips met. There were no fireworks or angelic choirs, but they both felt the other’s love bleed through their intimate connection. It was enough.

. . .

Roger Cicero sat behind his large desk. He glanced at the pile of open case work. He had spent the last hour and a half determining which cases could be handed off to Donald. Thomas had awakened something deep in his soul. The Attorney felt a need to do something with his life beyond making money that he would never spend.

For years he had believed that nobody needed anything he could offer, but there were two teens in his condo at that very moment who needed him. How many others were hopelessly waiting for their lives to end, simply because no one was willing to fight for them?

He cleared his desk for the second time that day. He didn’t know how to find his new target clientele. Roger would never have found Thomas if it hadn’t been for the call from Mike Schultz. Perhaps he simply needed to wait for the phone to ring again. Roger laughed to himself at the absurd thought. Hardly anyone even knew he existed, and even fewer knew that he cared.

As he often did, the man decided to sleep on it with the hope that the answer would be clearer in the morning. He turned off the lights and locked the door. He felt like a new man, and tomorrow was a new day.