Be Careful What You Wish For - 12. Chapter 12 'Armed and Dangerous'

Kris and Roberto’s evening out at El Comedor Rodrigo hadn’t gone well. Asked to leave the restaurant, they’d tramped around the resort until they discovered two establishments – an Indian curry house, and an Irish theme bar – that had no history of ever turning anyone away. The bar in particular was delighted to discover that Kris was prepared to surrender his credit card, and be charged for cheap Spanish plonk four times the supermarket price. Thus the night ended, with Roberto having to carry home a very drunk, obnoxious, rubber legged partner.

The following morning it was an irresistible urge to urinate that finally forced Kris to rise from his sick bed, and, blinking back a hangover that would have felled a Russian truck driver, totter to the bathroom. Dr Karton MD, trained to use his not inconsiderable powers of deduction, quickly concluded that his partner had not spent the night with him, and was nowhere to be seen. Kris sighed and threw half a dozen aspirin down his throat, washed down with a small cup of tepid eggnog, left from the night before. He returned to bed, catching sight on the night stand of the note left for him by Roberto.

‘Kris, I’ve taken the car and gone to San Cava. I’m developing a real interest in Moorish architecture and believe I’ll find something of interest in the mountains west of Gran Enculo. See you later this evening’

Kris threw down the missive in disgust, and muttered to himself,

‘Moorish architecture my arse! This is supposed to be our holiday’

But his rant was interrupted by the ringing of a bell,

Nursing his head Kris shambled to the door: he opened it to reveal a small dark man in overalls,

‘Luis, is it you?’

‘Si, Señor’

‘Luis, el jardinero’

‘You like I do your gar-deen?’

The previous evening’s excesses had given Kris breath that would have stripped paint at one hundred yards, but he drew the hapless Nicaraguan closer, making his eyes water,

‘So good to see you, you remembered me from last year?’

‘Si, Señor Kar-tone, you were very kind to me’

‘And I shall be again’

‘I have mucho poison now, I can clear many gatos from your gar-deen?’

Kris pondered. He so admired the robust and unsentimental way Spain deals with the animals, and pets that have outstayed their welcome.

‘No, I don’t think so. The cats have gone, and the garden seems fine, but I do have some plumbing work you can do’

‘Plu-meen?’

‘Yes, my U-bend has a slight blockage, and I’d like you to clear it out for me. I know you’ve got the equipment’

So saying, he dragged the wretched colonial indoors, and upstairs to where that equipment was going to be tested to destruction.

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A cool evening breeze whined through the restless trees encircling the small mountain church. Roberto kept vigil at a distance. Presently, the moment he was anticipating arrived, and the priest came out of the building and walked off in the direction of the village.

The lustful Latino stole into the church and approached the altar. He knew that time was against him. Soon, the setting of the sun would end what little light there was. He gazed at the statue of Saint Bigue, what an enigma she was! He couldn’t escape the feeling that the holy virgin was mocking him with her curled lip and arched brows.

Then he knelt in anguish and supplication. We can never know exactly which god it was he prayed to - presumably the god of superstition - but in that very moment, the dying sun cast its amber rays on the effigy itself, and settled around her genital area, revealing a gash.

‘Exactamente!’

Roberto leapt up and stood in front of the statue. Close examination of the saint’s snatch revealed a sizeable indent in the marble. Hopeful of a miracle, thousands of pilgrims throughout the ages had rubbed on the sacred, stony slit wearing it away. Waiting not a moment longer Roberto stiffened his forefinger, and plunged it into St Bigue’s meat wallet. Immediately there was a groaning of internal machinery, whereupon the saint’s head sprang clear of her body and clattered to the floor.

Roberto placed a chair next to the headless icon, and gazed into the aperture. There, in the body cavity, was the vessel he sought. Heart thumping, the horny Hispanic reached into the depths, and withdrew the ancient jug. For a few ecstatic moments he clasped the container to his chest, but, aware that his considerable manhood was already swelling in anticipation, common sense told him to withdraw and relish the success of his enterprise in safe, comfortable surroundings. But since when has the voice of reason ever been heard when a cock is stiffening?

Wasting no more time Roberto unleashed his mightymanmeat, and prepared to dowse it with the magic water that would confer on him the status of world class dick. Frantically, he splashed the slimy, green brown liquid over his tool, then without warning came a noise from outside,

‘This is the Guardia Civil. The church is surrounded. You must come out and give yourself up. We know you’re in there, and we are armed’

It was a standoff, and both sides had weapons drawn.

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Brad and Justin’s progress through the city was slow. The young FBI agent just couldn’t get over the fact that his guide didn’t have a car. Making any journey from a to b, by foot, bus and tram, was something with which Brad was neither acquainted nor sought to be. But eventually they arrived at their destination, the affluent, tree lined lane that was Kris and Gordon’s home.

Once inside Justin led Brad into the conservatory and brought him something to drink. Justin was keen to learn the latest,

‘So, you said you already have some theory on this Karton thing?’

‘Well, yeah, I do. But it’s just my take and it’s kind of weird. Karton uses a code in the diary he keeps. And that’s where I got my break’

‘You’ve got me excited, now’

Brad wished Justin wouldn’t use language that seemed to him so suggestive.

‘OK. Karton writes that one day at the lab they ran out of the brand of cigarettes they usually use on the dogs. By chance he had a pack of 200 cigarettes of his own he’d gotten when on vacation. Problem is they were menthol. No matter, he went ahead and tried them out on the beagles. This is where it gets really weird. According to him, the dogs reacted to the menthol cigarettes by turning gay, and when they were let loose for recreation and toilet they started licking and mounting each other’

‘God, Karton could be on to something there. Did he do any real research?’

‘I guess. It’s in code and I need more time, but he tested different kinds of tobacco, American, Eastern European, Turkish, you name it. Each time the response varied slightly but the basics were the same. For instance, after they’d smoked the French menthols Karton reckons the dogs were even shagging in threes! And the Dutch cigs, Jeez, the beagles were sticking rubber bones up each others’ asses!’

‘This could be dynamite. Think what it would mean if foreign powers got hold of it?’

‘Absolutely, I totally agree. That’s why I’m here. The world’s biggest producer of menthols right now is China. We think they could flood the South East Asian market with these cigarettes, then guys from Laos to the Philippines, Cambodia to Singapore, Viet Nam to Borneo would be on a 24/7 shagfest. The whole Pacific Rim would be aquiver. If the Chinese invaded any of these countries they’d find the natives wanted to fuck not fight them’

Brad and Justin stared at one another for several seconds, but the latter’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. Unable to contain themselves any longer both men burst into laughter. Just then a knock came to the door. Justin went into the hall, and checked the house door’s security eyehole. He returned to the kitchen without answering the door,

‘It’s that guy Greene. Gordon teaches with his sister. I don’t know why he’s here right now. He must realise that Gordon’s at school. Come on, we don’t want to be disturbed, let’s go upstairs’

Justin occupied the spare bedroom at the rear of the house, and had a fine view over the large back garden; but the room itself was small, and stuffed with Kris and Gordon’s surplus possessions, leaving space for only a compact four feet wide bed. The boy had managed to personalise the space to some degree, and one of his favourite adornments was the wall calendar depicting fire fighters in almost total undress.

Brad noticed it at once.

‘Bet you can’t wait for December to come round?’ he quipped,

Justin nimbly flicked back the pages and revealed December in all its majesty, hunk and hose alike. Brad tried to remain cool.

‘So when did you know you were gay?’

‘Who says I’m gay’ Justin replied mischievously,

Brad, looking slightly irritated gestured towards the calendar: Justin sensed this at once,

‘Well, yeah, OK. It’s obvious to me I’m gay. But I hate labels. I don’t want to be put into some compartment, acting the same way as everybody else. That’s almost as bad as being straight’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Simple. Say I watch some girl band, and the lead singer looks hot, great hair, legs, rack. I can say that. Doesn’t mean I fancy her. But straight guys can’t say that about another guy. Christ, half the men in England fancy David Beckham but they haven’t got the guts to say it. It’s pathetic. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Sort of, but there must have been some experience – something that happened to you - that left you in no doubt, no?’

Justin looked thoughtful,

‘I was on a school trip; it was to see the AA Motor Rally up in Scotland. I didn’t want to go, it wasn’t my thing, but there was this kid at school called Don, he asked me to go. Don was arty, and had wild shoulder length hair, looked great on him. He wasn’t gay, or anything, but we just got on well. So, this night we were travelling back in a mini bus, and we were in the back, sitting together. It was about two in the morning and we were both wrecked. He fell asleep. It seems stupid now, but his head just rested on my shoulder, nothing else.

There was a moment of silence between the two, then Justin continued,

... everybody thinks there’s gonna be some big moment. It’s not like that. Don was asleep, if he’d known his face was so close to mine he’d have been embarrassed and pulled away, but he didn’t. It stayed like that for ages, just us two in the back, in the darkness. And I knew then that was what I wanted. I wanted him. My mind was going wild thinking about how good it would be if we were together’

He stopped. The mood had changed now and both men were quiet. Brad was summoning all his courage. Justin was younger but had grown up fast. Now it was time for Brad to do the same,

‘May I lie with you on the bed?’

To Brad’s relief Justin didn’t make fun or dismiss this,

‘Yeah, I’d like that’

Brad removed his jacket and lay down on the bed, next to the wall, Justin lay beside him. For several minutes they talked, each with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The young American spoke quietly and earnestly about his background, his family, his career, his girlfriends,

‘I don’t mean to pry, but in some ways it’s easier for you here’

Brad paused; he could almost hear Justin suck in the air in irritation,

‘I just mean that you have legislation in Europe. You don’t have the religion thing going on, and all the other societal pressures’

There was a longer pause, then Justin replied,

‘You’re right. That’s all true, but in the end it’s up to you. Only you can find out what you want and, make it happen’

He turned away, facing the wall. Brad reached over and put his hand on his arm.

‘Here’s the deal. I know what I want, but I need support. And I feel stupid opening up to a kid like you, no disrespect but....

Justin had heard enough; he turned quickly and grabbed Brad’s head between his hands, then kissed him. For the briefest of moments the young American resisted then sank back into the bed. He took Justin’s mop of curly hair in his hand and went with the moment.

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