If It Fits - 5. Chapter 5

April 15, 1995

We managed to dock in Acapulco around noon, with plenty of time for Lou to catch his flight. I took a cab with him to the airport to see him off.

“I feel bad, leaving you like this,” he said.

“Do not feel bad. I am excited for you. I have never seen you so focused and energized.” It was as if once Lou had a career plan, a direction, he was unstoppable. “Besides, I have been with you for almost two weeks and I am exhausted.”

“You just want to go back to your Swedish axe,” he said, teasing me about Skip.

“You know that you are so much better than him,” I said. We got to the airport and he hugged me goodbye. Neither one of us wanted to risk getting the shit beaten out of us in a foreign country.

“Where to Señor?” the cab driver asked me.

“Back to the ship,” I said. I relaxed then, thinking about Lou and his fresh start. We stopped at a light and a man jumped into the car, scaring the shit out of me.

“What are you doing?” I asked him in Spanish, irritated. Then his fist slammed into my face.

“Shut the fuck up and say nothing.” He pulled a gun, nodded to the driver and we sped off away from town, out into the country, through villages wracked by hunger and poverty. I ran my hand over my face, trying to rub away the pain, glaring at him. “Fucking Yanqui whore,” he said. I said nothing, just studying him and the driver. They were short, swarthy men. I was too mad to be afraid, pissed off at getting hit.

Unfortunately, as the anger faded, the fear increased. I controlled my mind, controlled my emotions, forcing myself to do what I'd seen JP and Brad do for years. “What do you want with me?” I asked calmly. I could tell he wanted to hit me again, but I'd asked the question so nicely even this guy had no reason.

“You will yield us a small fortune in ransom. If we do not kill you first.” I just nodded matter-of-factly, my attitude clearly frustrating him since it was so peaceful. In fact, I just sat there, watching my surroundings, pretending that I was on an outing into the Mexican interior. Would this be the end of my life? From the Paris slums to palatial Malibu, only to be killed and tossed to the side of the road in some Mexican town that wasn't even on a map?

The man in the back seat poked me with his gun. “Why are you not afraid?”

If only you knew, I thought. But his curiosity, and the fact that he'd noted my calmness, was strengthening. I shrugged. “Why should I be afraid? You will ask for a ransom, it will be paid, and I will go free, no?” He stared at me, stunned. I didn't tell him that inside I was boiling over with fear, that being in this world, out of control, was absolutely terrifying. I smiled, thinking about how much I'd learned from JP. I was doing just what he would be doing.

And that was another reason for my calmness. I knew that once JP and Brad found out that I'd been abducted, this area would be swarming with people looking for me. These guys picked on the wrong man.

“And what if we kill you instead?” he demanded.

“Then you and your families will be hunted down and shot,” I said calmly. He stared at me now. Then he hit me again, his fist smashing into my jaw, sending shockwaves of pain through my head. Good, I thought. Now the pain was back to block the fear again.

“Do not threaten me gringo.”

“I am not threatening you. I am just answering your question.” He was going to hit me again when the car stopped in front of a ramshackle abode. He pulled me out of the car roughly and pushed me inside. There was another man, much younger, with an automatic weapon.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked.

“We kidnapped him from his ship. He is loaded. He will yield a huge ransom.”

The young man stood up. He was much taller than the other two, almost as tall as me, and very handsome. “What is your name?” he demanded.

“Stefan Schluter,” I said simply.

“You are American?”

“I live there now. I am French,” I said. He reached up and touched my face where the other man had hit me and I cringed.

“They hit you?” I nodded. He looked at the two swarthy men and they withered under his gaze. “You idiots. You will only make things worse. He will not be touched, unless he tries to escape.”

“He tried to escape,” the guy who hit me said.

The young guy looked at him and laughed. “He looks like a faggot. You cannot stop a faggot from escaping? Maybe it is because you are a faggot too?” The swarthy guy just glared at him. I ignored him, even though he was really pissing me off.

He turned back to me. “You will be treated with courtesy, at least for as long as we keep you alive.” He sneered then. He led me into a dark room with no windows. It was hot and stuffy. It smelled of animals and urine. A good thing I was not here in July, I thought. There was a mattress of sorts, but I ignored it. I carefully examined the room, trying to find a way out. It was actually pretty sturdy. In the end, I resigned myself to my fate, at least for right now, and collapsed onto the mattress.

I must have dozed off when I heard the door open. The young man looked at me, his sneering smile full of disgust. “You will come with me, your chance to pee and shit.” I followed him outside and he stood there, watching me, holding his gun. I turned slightly away from him and urinated on the ground. Thank God I didn't have to shit. That would be pretty uncomfortable, crapping in the open while he watched me, gun in hand.

He led me back into the room and gave me some wine, and some food. The food was actually pretty good, surprisingly enough, even though Mexican food wasn't one of my favorites. Greg had loved it, I thought, and then I remembered that he was gone. I held back the tears, not wanting my captors to think I was despondent, and sat there on the mattress.

I was about to go to sleep when the young guy came in and approached me. He pulled down his zipper, that condescending sneer still on his face. “Suck my dick, faggot.”

I swallowed and moved forward, taking his dick out gently and stroking it a few times, watching it harden in my hand. Then I lowered my mouth down on it, getting him nice and hard now. “If I feel teeth, faggot, I'll beat you to death.”

I giggled to myself. That's one thing he didn't have to worry about. I knew how to give head. He grabbed the back of my head and began fucking my mouth now, slamming into me. My jaw still hurt from being hit, but I tried to block it out. I could take six and a half inches if a guy was going to fuck my mouth, maybe seven. This guy was smaller, probably a little less than six, so it was pretty easy for me.

In a weird twisted way, I felt like I owed this kid something. His attitude sucked, the way he called me a faggot and sneered at me, but he hadn't hit me and he'd told the others to treat me well. In a way, he was my protector, so I put some effort into it. His movements got more erratic and frantic as he got close, and then I was rewarded by his salty taste as he blew his load in my mouth. “Swallow it,” he ordered, so I did as I was told. “You're a good cocksucker, faggot,” he said, and left me alone. I already knew that, I thought.

I lay on the mattress, wondering what would happen, wondering how many kidnapping victims actually survived. Would they take the ransom and kill me anyway? Probably, so I couldn't identify him. I thought about my situation. It was entirely likely that I would die here in this hovel.

I thought about my life, how much I had achieved. There was the material success, the money. I had built a business empire, with real estate holdings primarily in the Bay Area, and stock holdings in several companies, mostly tech oriented. Some of them were huge, some weren't. Some had potential, some would fail. But my investments had given entrepreneurs money to make dreams a reality, and it had put lots of people to work.

But that wasn't the thing I was proudest of. I was most proud of my family. Of Brad, who had turned into such an honorable young man, and his family, three young boys with lots of potential. Of Robbie, his partner, who would carry on Greg's mission, only he'd do it better. Of Claire and her kids, Ace and his wife. Of Marcel and Max, two guys whom I'd helped out along the way, made their lives easier, and had been rewarded by seeing their happiness and success. And now Lou, who was hopefully still on his way to a new life. I sighed contentedly. Let them kill me. I'd leave behind an amazing legacy, and another generation to carry it forward.

April 16, 1995

I was stiff and smelly from sleeping on the mattress. I decided that night was better than day. They left me alone, and it was cooler. No one had said anything yesterday. I was really surprised, but this being my first real kidnapping and all, I wasn't too sure what to expect. The young guy was the only one I saw; the two swarthy men were both gone. The young guy, the protector who seemed to hate me unless I was sucking his dick. I smiled. I was certainly taking care of his needs.

As if by thinking about him I summoned him, he burst into the room that sneer still on his face. He walked up to me and pulled out his dick. I blew him again, the same way. “You do that so well, faggot, we may just keep you here,” he sneered at me when I was done. I said nothing.

I sat on the floor, bored. At lunchtime he came in and I blew him again, then he let me shit in the outhouse. I could tell the time by the sun, which poked through the roof. I thought that was a neat feature until it rained late in the afternoon and the room leaked like a sieve. I finally found a corner to stay dry in, and I pulled the mattress, or at least part of it, over to keep it as dry as I could. I didn't think things could smell worse, but adding the moldy smell of the wet mattress proved me wrong.

I heard a bustle outside and figured that it must be dinner already. Then I heard yelling. “You idiots. This whole fucking province is crawling with Federales. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“They won't find us,” said the young guy. I could see the sneer on his face.

“Yeah, well they are not your biggest problem.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the young guy demanded.

I heard a crash, something banging into something, and figured that this new guy had hit the young guy. “Show some respect or I'll gut you right here.” The young guy said nothing.

“El Jefe wants to see you. We're supposed to bring the two idiots that captured this gringo, along with the gringo, to see him.”

“El Jefe? He wants to see me?” I could hear the terror in the young guy’s voice.

“Yeah. And he's pissed. You think to ask him before you kidnap a foreigner? Fucking dumbass.” The door burst open and the new guy walked in, carrying some sort of automatic weapon. He looked like the young guy. In fact, they looked like brothers.

“Come out here into the light,” he ordered. I got up and walked out into the other room, the one with windows. “Did they hurt you?” he demanded. I looked over at the young guy, who was terrified that I'd turn him in for blowing him.

“He has treated me well enough,” I said, gesturing at the young guy. “The man who abducted me hit me a few times.” He put his hand to my jaw, much more gently than I expected. “I will be alright.”

“You are going for a ride. You will be hidden in a trunk. It will be uncomfortable, but it is necessary. If you know what is good for you, you will shut the fuck up. You make any noises, and I will shoot you.” I nodded. “Stay here. I will be back for you tonight.” I nodded again as he led me back into the room. They were taking me to meet the boss. Once I met the boss, once I knew him and what he looked like, my life wouldn't be worth a shit. I sighed. My ruminations last night had seemed like closure, and had made me fatalistic about my fate. It was a serenity that I never expected.

I heard him leave and then the door opened. It was the young guy, only his attitude was much different now. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For not telling him about what I made you do.” I smiled and motioned him over. When he was in front of me, I undid his zipper and pulled out his cock. He smiled down at me as I started sucking on him, only this time, instead of slamming into my mouth, he thrust into me in a rhythmic, gentle pattern. And when he exploded, it was a much more intense orgasm. He smiled at me as he put his cock away. I'm not sure why I did that. Maybe because he was just a horny young guy. Maybe because I thought I might need someone who didn't hate me. Maybe because I like to suck dick, I thought, making myself smile.

True to his word, the older brother (at least that's how I thought about him) pulled up in an old Chevy Impala. It was late at night, or at least that's what I guessed. They'd put a mattress down in the trunk for me. At first it was so smelly I thought about doing without it, but after a few miles over the bumpy roads, I shut up and went with it. We drove for a long time, and we turned so much I had no idea what direction we were going. Being confined in the trunk, hot, stuffy, and smelly, gave me enough to think about, trying not to puke and make the smell even worse. In the end, there were small rusted out holes in the floor of the trunk, and I found that by placing my nose near them, I could breathe air that was somewhat fresher. I could see the road surface below too. It had changed from dirt and gravel to pavement now. It was getting lighter outside. Then the world outside seemed to wake up. I heard the sounds of civilization, other cars, vehicles, even some people. I thought about yelling, but decided that probably wasn't my best move. The two brothers had been courteous, but that would end quickly if I tried to escape. Besides, if I yelled, would anyone notice? Would anyone care?

We stopped briefly and I heard them talking to someone, or something, then I heard what sounded like a gate opening. The car drove over a smooth surface now, and stopped abruptly. The trunk opened, and the bright morning sunlight almost blinded me. I blinked, trying to adjust to it as the two brothers helped me out of the trunk. I stood in front of a massive house, not quite as big as Escorial, but definitely in the same league. El Jefe. The Boss. This must be his place.

“This way,” the older one said, leading me to the door. Or I should say doors, two massive doors. They opened as if by magic and then I was in a huge entry hall, covered with beautiful tiles. And there was air-conditioning. I felt my body return to normal, the sweat receding. There were several armed men watching us, not with malice, but with caution. “This way.”

I followed my four captors down a hallway and stopped in front of another set of double doors. The older brother knocked twice and then entered. They led me into a large study, decorated in that massive old world style, with dark wood and bulky furniture. There was a man standing behind a desk, looking away from me. Then he turned around and stared at me.

“It is you,” he said in perfect English. I blinked a few times, unable to believe who he was. That this was the teenage waif I rescued on the beach, who'd been sexually abused by one of my employees, and whom I'd taken home to Mexico and left with a shitload of money.

“Joaquin?” I asked. He was handsome then, and he was handsome now. His good looks were set off by his dark business suit, perfectly tailored. He came around the table and gave me a big hug, then a kiss on each cheek, then another big hug. “It is so good to see you! And look at you. All dressed up with a nice house!” For the first time during this whole long ordeal, I felt there was a much better chance that I'd live than I would die.

He laughed at my joke. “I have become successful and powerful, but I have not always done it on the right side of the law.”

I held out my open palms. “You do not see holes in them do you?” I said, making an irreverent reference to Jesus. “I am not here to judge you.”

“And as I recall, holiness was not your area of expertise,” he joked. We suddenly became aware of the other men in the room. Joaquin glared at them. “And why have you kidnapped my friend?” They blanched under his stare, saying nothing. “Did you mistreat him?”

The young man swallowed. “Pedro hit him a few times, Jefe, that is all.” Pedro looked terrified now.

Pedro fell to the floor. “I did not know he was your friend Jefe. I did not know. Please do not kill me.”

I intervened. “Back to my holiness or lack thereof, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Perhaps you can find someone to hit Pedro a few times, and then we will be even.”

He nodded. “You are lucky he is merciful.” They knew they were dismissed, and filed out silently.

“I am sorry for this,” he said. “I had no idea they were kidnapping people, much less kidnapping you.”

“I know. I am not angry. I am glad that I got to see you again. You are happy?”

He smiled. “As happy as I can be when I have to always watch my back. But I have a wife and four sons. Most of them are sons to be proud of. One is, well, he is artistic. He does not fit into this rough and tumble environment. The other men and his brothers make fun of him.” He sighed.

“Do you think he is just a free spirit, or do you think he is gay?” I asked.

“I do not know yet. He is only 15. How would he even know yet?” He was clearly disturbed by this.

“I cannot be sure, but he probably knows. He would be too terrified to tell you if he was,” I said calmly.

“You are suggesting that I would not love him if he was gay?” Joaquin asked, clearly irritated now.

“I am not saying that at all. You do not have a problem with me, and I am gay,” I said, as much a question as a statement.

“That is true. But here it is different. And it is dangerous. In the Latin culture, gay men have not gained acceptance as they have in the US.”

I laughed. “I'm not sure if you'd call what we have acceptance. I think we are just happy not to be beaten up all the time anymore.”

“Compared to here, that is a major achievement,” he observed. I wasn't sure if that was true in all of Mexico, but based on the attitude I'd encountered from the young guy, it was certainly true in his world.

“What is his name?” I asked.

“Alejandro.”

“Does he speak English?” I asked.

“Of course. You think we are uncultured bumpkins?” I laughed at that and shook my head.

“Send him to the US. He can stay with me. As long as his being there would not endanger my family.” I added, thinking of crime wars.

“You have watched too many mafia movies. I appreciate your offer, and I will consider it.” He paused and looked at me very hard. “You are a good person Stefan. You have helped me out when I was at the bottom, and even though you have suffered from my men, you offer to help my son. You are a true friend.”

“Well, you have intervened to save me as well. Is that not what friends are for?” He smiled again. “If you want to send Alejandro to the US, let me know. I'm sure you know how to get him paperwork no?”

He smiled. “Through the tight sieve of US Immigration?” We laughed at that, although I didn't know how funny it really was.

“I will send you home then, and end this nightmare you have been through. Before I do though, there is someone who wants to see you. If you will excuse me, I have to make arrangements for your return.” He shook my hand and then left. Who did he want me to see? Alejandro? My mind whirled from all of the twists and turns I'd been in on the last few days.

“Hi Stefan,” I heard a familiar voice say from behind me.

I turned to face him. “Jason,” I said his name flatly. I tried to hide my anger at him, the sense of betrayal I felt, but I knew it was coming through.

“I'm sorry about Greg. I just wanted you to know that.” I studied him. He wanted more. He wanted me to forgive him. Again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“After the problems, I, uh, ended up down here and Joaquin gave me a job.”

“You mean after you betrayed me by leaving me and starting your own brokerage firm, spitting on me after I helped you. And then after you could not find your moral compass yet again, and you committed securities fraud and lost it all, lost everything. Is that what you mean when you say problems?” I asked him, the pain and anger there in front of us.

“Yeah. That's what I meant,” he said sadly. He didn't look down; he looked in my eyes trying to face up to what he'd done.

“Well, at least you have opted for a business where it is not necessary to be on the up and up,” I teased, smiling at him.

“I wanted to tell you I'm sorry Stef. You're right. I'm a flawed person. But working in this environment, where everyone else is flawed too, I think I've found my place.” A tear fell down his face. “I just don't want you to hate me.”

I thought about that. I really didn't have room in my heart, or my psyche, for hate. It was such a destructive emotion. “I do not hate you Jason. I do not trust you, and I am not sure that I like you, but I do not hate you.”

“Thank you Stef,” he said, and left the room, making me feel as if we had even more unfinished business than before.

Joaquin came strolling back into the room. “I hoped maybe you could ease his demons a bit.”

“I am not sure that anyone can do that Joaquin, but I told him I did not hate him. If that does the trick, then your goal was achieved.”

“You are probably wondering why I took him in after he fucked you over so badly?” he asked.

“Not really. I have let Jason in and out of my life several times, given him a second, third, twentieth chance. He is very compelling. And I know you were his friend. I do not expect you to throw him out to make me happy. It would not make me happy anyway.”

He nodded. “And now,” he said, “we must send you home. You will not mind if we try not to implicate ourselves?”

“I will tell them that I never saw my captors and that I was blindfolded the entire time,” I said firmly. He smiled at me. He knew he could trust me.

“You are on the outskirts of Mexico City. We will take you downtown to the US Embassy, or close to it, and leave you there.” He gave me another hug, and led me to the hallway. “One moment.” He yelled up the stairs and a young man came walking shyly down the stairs.

“Alejandro, this is Stefan Schluter.” Joaquin must have married a fair haired wife, because Alejandro's coloring was much lighter than his. His looks were more Spanish than anything, and he was already a very handsome boy. He shook my hand shyly.

“It is nice to meet you Alejandro.” He looked into my eyes and my heart went out to him. I could see the sadness and pain that he carried, the hell his life must be as a young gay teen in the Mexican criminal subculture. “I am hoping you could come visit me in Los Angeles sometime.” He just smiled and nodded. He caught a look from his father, and tore back up the stairs.

“It is hard for him,” Joaquin said.

“Send him to me. I will help him,” I said.

He put me into a limousine this time, with windows so dark no one could see in. There were two men in front and one in back with me, but none of them said a thing. We fought our way through the traffic to the city center. The limousine circled a park and the man across from me finally spoke.

“We are going to drop you off on that corner,” he said, pointing across the park. “The embassy is down that street.” I nodded. The car pulled up and stopped in traffic and he pushed the door open and I hopped out, a free man once again. I quickly got my bearings and headed toward the US Flag. I was stopped, of course, by a security guard.

“And you are?” he asked rudely.

“I am Stefan Schluter,” I said firmly.

“Do you have any identification?”

“I do not.”

“Then I cannot let you in,” he said arrogantly.

“The reason I do not have identification is because I was kidnapped. My abductors just released me five minutes ago. They were not thoughtful enough to return my passport.” He stared at me, and then understood.

“Yes, of course Mr. Schluter, they've been looking for you.” He motioned to another guard and they led me into the embassy. And there, waiting for me, was JP.

“God damn it, Stefan. Kidnapped?”

I smiled at him. “And you came to save me? How gallant.” He glared at me. “I did not plot my own abduction just to inconvenience you JP.”

He relented then, and pulled me into a hug, a long hug, much longer than normal, which told me how worried he was, and how important I was to him. “You just worry the shit out of me sometimes.”

“Because you love me,” I told him.

“Because I love you,” he agreed, shaking his head as if it were a curse.

“So you are the only one who came down to get me? Where are my other fans and supporters?” I teased. My flippant attitude was amusing him and pissing him off at the same time.

“I had to put my foot down and make them stay home. Brad and Lou were the toughest. I almost had to tie them up.”

I smiled. “They both have a kinky side. They may have enjoyed the bondage.” I looked around. “Are we allowed to leave?”

“You should be so lucky. You need a shower, probably some food, and then investigators will want to question you.” He ran his hand over my cheek lovingly. “You were beaten?”

“I was hit twice,” I said, removing his hand from my cheek and holding it in my hand. “I am alright.”

A few embassy officials came up and tried to question me, but JP was adamant that I be allowed to clean up first. “Come on Stef, I'll show you where the shower is.”

“Good. Then you can join me,” I teased. Only I wasn't teasing, and he did.

April 17, 1995

Everyone was frustrated with me. The American government wanted to hunt down and find the kidnappers. The Mexican government wanted to help them. My attorneys were hoping for a long, drawn out trial, and the enormous fees they could expect. The embassy staff had to make me a new passport. And JP wanted vengeance, revenge against the people who had hurt a member of his family. I smiled. Of all those players, JP was probably the scariest.

“You do not remember anything?” the Mexican investigator asked for the millionth time.

“I do not. We are going in circles. I do not want to investigate this. I do not want to hunt them down. They released me. I am alive and well. I just want to go home.”

“Well what if these criminals attack someone else?” the American investigator asked.

“Then perhaps those people will remember more,” I said flatly. A man came into the room and handed the Mexican investigator a note. He seemed disturbed, and got up to leave. The rest of us sat there staring at each other blankly.

In no time at all, the investigator returned. “Mr. Schluter, you are free to go.”

“What?” the American investigator asked.

I ignored him. “Then I will go home. Thank you, Señor.” I turned to the Embassy officials. “May I please have my passport?” The official stared at the investigator, and caved to the inevitable. Two hours later, JP and I were on my plane heading back to the United States.