Marc Jesmond - 12. Chapter 12 'The Threeway'

Jim Appleby had seen the world; in fact, he’d sailed around it too many times to count, spent more nights than he cared to remember in bad company, and fought his way out of numerous tight scrapes. But Jim was finding life onshore a tougher challenge. With few family, and even fewer friends it was difficult for him to acclimatise.

He never expected to make contact with his old sweetheart Amy Sadowitz - it was anybody’s guess where she was - but, working steadily through information given him by neighbours, police, social workers, and so forth, Jim began to build a picture of the son she’d borne him, the boy he never knew.

The final stage of his search had been the most painful, the day the social workers told him Leon was living in the Gay Village. Jim may have thought himself tolerant and broad minded, but this news gutted him. For a while he tried telling himself that it might just be a coincidence, the village was home not only to the city’s gays, but also to a variety of homeless and rejected individuals. Might that not include Leon?

It had taken just one trip to Rockbottom to blow that hope out of the water!

Jim’s first sighting of Leon was at the sauna; he’d been told he would find the boy there. He wondered how he’d react if one of the men he was so casually chatting with in the Jacuzzi followed his son to the steam room. But worse was to follow. It was becoming clearer by the day that Leon was gay, and was for hire; Jim had seen with his own eyes the escort profile, hadn’t he?

The smart thing would be to walk away, it was a situation he could neither understand nor empathise with; but one thing stopped him. He’d already turned his back on the boy, eighteen years ago, and he believed that, in their different ways he and Leon were alone in the world; one day, his son might need him.

Standing in the quadrangle beneath Wellington House Jim Appleby passed a dreary hour watching the apartment he knew was Leon’s home. Mystified, he’d just seen six men enter the modest accommodation, then five leave, followed some time later by another two. None of these men was Leon. Did he really have the correct address?

Jim recalled a million situations of real danger that had not fazed him, but this encounter frightened him to death.

Taking the exterior stairway of stone steps, Jim reached level 3, and walked stealthily along to the apartment. He knocked on the door, there was no reply. Here he was, outside his son’s home. He mustn’t give up so easily. He knocked again, much louder, and shouted through the letterbox,

‘Leon, are you there?’

Moments later he heard a thump, inexplicable and disturbing, followed by silence. Jim tried the door. It was shut, on the latch. Stepping back he threw himself at the door and it sprang open. Jim stepped cautiously inside; there, before him on the living room floor was Leon, semi-naked, gagged, and strapped to a chair that was now lying on its side.

Jim howled in pain, like a fatally wounded animal,

‘Sweet Jesus, no, please don’t let this be’

Tears ran down the man’s face as he ripped wildly at the bonds. He removed the gag and cradled his son in his arms

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The Dolphin Hotel had seen better days. Nestling close to Newcastle’s High Level Bridge, its Chesterfield sofas and flock wallpaper spoke of an age when the poor paid a farthing to walk across the bridge, and gentlemen tuppence to ride. The first floor boasted several shabby-genteel rooms where various societies and groups, including the A Team held their meetings.

When the barrister and clerk finally caught up with the team they found one of their fellow members trying to prevent Glen Roberts from entering the hotel. Campfire bundled him and Parnaby indoors, then turned to the escort, who was shaking,

‘You need to lose yourself, you’re not welcome here’

Glen appeared traumatised,

‘Come on, man; Christ, what are we all gonna do?’

Campfire glared at him,

‘You are going to make yourself scarce. There are a million places in this city somebody like you can spend the night’

‘Can’t I go in there with you, just for a couple of hours till I get my head straight?’

‘No!’

‘But Christ, I mean for fuck’s sake, some of my stuff’s still in that flat, what am I gonna do?’

The clerk eyed him without blinking,

‘That’s your problem’

‘What about my money, you said, you’d...’

Gerald Campfire lunged forward into Glen’s face and held a flattened hand at his throat. Nothing more needed to be said.

The escort turned and retraced his steps to the Gay Village. He couldn’t bear to go near the flat, so he detoured around the block and descended to the basement, reckoning that if all else failed he’d spend the night in the laundry. Drawn on by the light and the comforting smells of washing Glen sauntered into the launderette, trying to look casual. The place was deserted, save for two of the block’s residents slouching against the machines. The kids were the sort of guys he’d ordinarily never have spoken to, but tonight was different,

‘Hi guys’

The boys sucked on cigarettes, and fidgeted with mobiles in a valiant attempt to look cool, but they knew Glen was a player, several leagues above them.

‘Hi, Glen’

‘Is this the best you guys got on a Friday night, doin’ the fuckin’ laundry?’

The boys simpered in protest, Glen drew breath; he needed to look in control, even if his heart was pounding,

‘Fancy checking out In-Sertion? I’ve come into a bit of money; I’ll get you a couple of doubles to kick things off’

Neither twink could hide his surprise at being the object of the escort’s attention,

‘We were planning to stay in tonight, save a bit of money’

‘Come on! I never see you guys. How about I grab a bottle of voddie, and we can chill at yours; then hit the scene later?

The teens looked at one another, seeking approval. The stench of desperation was clinging to Glen, who was now hopping from one foot to another in agitation; he studied the more attractive of the two boys,

‘I know you, you’re...

He squeezed shut his eyes, name on the tip of his tongue,

‘I’m Dominic, and this is Selby’

Relieved that the boys had made it so easy, Glen relaxed,

‘Yeah, I remember seeing you in the leather bar’

‘I don’t think so!’ protested Dominic. ‘We wouldn’t be seen dead there! It must have been somebody else. So where did you say you’re going to take us?’

‘We’ll have a few drinks, grab something to eat and go clubbing. How’s that sound?’

Selby looked Glen straight in the eyes,

‘Clubbing? OMG, sounds great, the washing should only be another hour’

‘Fuck the washing. Just leave it. No-one’s gonna nick your smalls and tittie-tops anyway!’

The boys giggled, Glen was relaxing and gaining ascendancy over his audience. Then Selby turned the tables,

‘Well we’ve got nothing better to do. The most excitement we’ve had today was seeing that ambulance in the quad. I think it’s still there. It looked like it was somebody on level three, didn’t you see it?’

Glen’s stomach churned, all the dread returning,

‘No, I haven’t seen anything. I don’t live here now, I moved out, but I’m looking for somewhere to crash tonight’

The boys exchanged glances,

‘I was thinking maybe you guys could put me up, and we could have a bit of fun?

Putting him upwas exactly what the boys had in mind, and so the plan was settled on. But they were puzzled about one thing; with an ambulance still lingering in the quadrangle, Glen suddenly developed an unaccountable interest in laundry, and was in no hurry to leave the basement!

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The A Team never drew attention to themselves at their public meetings. The Dolphin Hotel was ideal for this, with its discreet first floor banqueting suite, overlooking the river. The team, correctly guessing that their real activities would win little favour with the general public, had bizarrely re-branded themselves the Peculiar Friends of Charles Avison, one time famous C18th composer, and son of Newcastle.

The table was set for six, with Parnaby and his partner at either end. The place cards for the other four showed Thomas Hetherington, esq; Jonathan Swindley, esq; Ernest Milner, esq; and James Cunningham,esq.

Not a word was said as the waiting staff set out the dishes, topped up the wine and took their leave, assuring the gentlemen that they would not be disturbed. Predictably Parnaby broke the silence,

‘For God’s sake, somebody say something’

A few moments elapsed then the barrister’s invitation was taken up by a man in his late fifties, well built, with a florid, round face, and grey moustache. Sweeping back what little hair he had, he took a gulp of wine,

‘It would have been better to let Ernest check the boy out. As it is, we’re sitting here not knowing if he’s alive or dead. Even you must see that, Parnaby’

‘Must I, indeed? And what do you say Ernest, our eminent, world famous oncologist? I didn’t see you rush to the boy’s aid, weren’t you the first out the door?’

Ernest Milner looked around the table, canvassing support. None came. Then he turned to his fellow diner James Cunningham,

‘You’re a police superintendant’

‘Was!’ added Cunningham quickly,

‘Well, what happens now? The police will be all over the place, surely’

Cunningham turned his head away wearily, and fondled his wine glass,

‘In a gay ghetto? God knows how long it will be before he’s found. And anyway, how interested do you think they’ll be by what appears to be an accident?’

Parnaby broke in,

‘Exactly! They’ll go through the formalities, no more, no less. Now for Christ’s sake let’s drop this and enjoy the evening’

But there was no enjoyment to be had, and all diners to a man were glad when the meal was wrapped up.

First to leave was Parnaby; liquored up, he excused himself and staggered out of the place. As he and the clerk drifted towards the car park he turned to his partner in crime,

‘Why did you turn Glen Roberts away, tonight?’

Gerald, somewhat surprised rallied,

‘I imagined he was the last person you’d want at dinner’

‘Not at all, he’d have been like a breath of fresh air amongst all those fossils’

Gerald, sensing unwelcome resonance in this loaded comment went on the offensive,

‘I don’t get you. Any other time you’d regard someone like that as little better than gutter trash, now, suddenly he’s the star of the show’

Parnaby spluttered,

‘We need him. He occupied that flat, has access. And, above all, we have to get his phone off him’

The clerk froze,

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you recall? I took the boy’s picture and saved it on Glen’s mobile. We need to erase that, don’t we?’

Campfire stood silently by the car, watching, as Parnaby drunkenly struggled with the key. There was something in the way the barrister had said ‘Glen’s mobile’ that made him uneasy; why not say ‘the escort’ or ‘Roberts’ or ‘that piece of scum?’ No, it was Glen.

Parnaby wouldn’t let it go,

‘So why don’t we ring him now, pop round and get it sorted?’

Campfire replied with unaccustomed ferocity,

‘I’ll sort it in the morning’

Parnaby whined on,

‘But it would be..’

‘I SAID I would do it in the morning. I don’t want to hear anymore about it now’

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Clubbing was not to Glen’s taste. In no mood to drink, and stoically declining offers to join his friends on the dance floor, he passed his time at the bar fending off past and prospective clients, some of whom wanted to know why he’d suddenly lost his sex drive. In fact he’d rarely felt hornier; a result of, rather than despite the ghastly happenings of the past few hours.

Leon would be discovered; for that matter he may have been already. Somehow Glen would need to get into the flat and remove his own personal belongings. But that could wait until the morning. There was still a night to get through and he was determined to wring what enjoyment he could out of it.

An hour past Midnight, and the boys finally consented to leave In-Sertion. Glen’s libido was raging and ready for real insertion; for hours he’d been eyeing teen boys dancing, their provocative anti-fit garb revealing acres of pert bottom. He’d nursed a powerful erection most of the evening. Someone was going to have to take the full force of that!

The three males linked arms as they staggered over the precinct back to the apartment. Glen squeezed his new found friends,

‘So ladies, who’s Flo and who’s Joe?’

The boys giggled, Selby spluttered,

‘That’s so pathetic, it doesn’t work like that’

Glen smiled to himself. He’d know soon enough.

Back in the apartment the boys topped up on further soft drugs, liquor and amyl nitrate before undressing. Glen needed no stimulants. Stone cold sober he was now like a cock in the hen run. He looked from Selby to Dominic and back again.

‘How about a threesome?’

Dominic, slightly apprehensive dithered,

‘We’re not really up for that, em, ‘cos... it’s Selby, he’s, em..’

Glen had a twinkle in his black eyes,

‘I mean me. I want you two guys to fuck me. Dom, you take the back, and Selby, you get to face fuck me. Fuckin’ gag me, OK! Get it right down my throat. I want to choke on you’

Glen revelled in the awkward embarrassment of the kids. And there was a sadistic irony in his proposal, the mirror image of his true plan. For he’d already settled in his mind exactly how things would go. Yes, there would be a three way, but he wouldn’t be the filling, he’d do the filling, all of it!

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