Chapter 2 Robert sits in his office looking over the accounts that are set out in front of him. Something is definitely out of place with the receipts from the gay bar called Golden Eye. There isn't nearly enough money showing up in that ledger column. Who the hell did Jeffrey Lambert think he was dealing with? If he wanted protection -- especially protection from Robert -- he was going to have to pay for it. Robert picks up his phone and buzzes out to Marsha. "Send in Sam and Andy right now, " he says. After a short pause, there is a knock on the door. Sam and Andy walk in, looking forward to whatever assignment Robert has for them. It has been far too long since they have had an opportunity to break a few limbs or heads. They have a zeal and gusto for that part of their job. Robert looks up at them, indicating for them to have a seat. "We have a problem over at the Golden Eye. What the hell have you two been doing over there?" Sam and Andy look sheepishly at the floor, not wanting to meet Robert's gaze. They are both bigger than him, but he is the boss, the man with a few cops in his back pocket. You didn't mess with Robert. Sam decides to suck it up and speak first. "The guy is refusing to pay up. He even had a gun behind the bar the last time we were in." Well, thinks Robert, we need to pay this fag a visit, and soon. As he glares at Sam and Andy, Robert picks up the phone to dial the loft. To his exasperation, he gets the answering machine. Waiting the appropriate time to leave a message, he sits there and rubs his forehead. "Justin, tomorrow night I have a job for you. Charlie will pick you up at 8:00. Be on time. You know how I hate tardiness. By the way, I won't be over until 10:00 tonight. Wear something nice." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Justin sits on the bleachers in the park watching the kids play soccer. It is a beautiful early spring day, something uncommon this time of year in Pittsburgh, and he decides to lay his sketch pad to the side and just soak in the sun. As he sits back, he closes his eyes and thinks back to better times. The memory of one particularly good day comes to mind, and he smiles. He sees himself at 10, sitting on a dock that juts out into a small pond. Sitting on the dock with him is his sister -- well, technically stepsister since he was adopted. His mom and dad had always been honest with him and told him about it when he was old enough to understand; that he was loved as much as their biological child, but he was special because they had chosen him. Justin and his sister are throwing a stick in the water for their chocolate Lab, Hershey. God, how he had loved that dog. Across from the dock is a small dingy sitting in the water, and in it are Justin's mom and dad sharing a laugh. Quite frankly, at this point he doesn't know if the memory is actually how it all looked, or if he has started to idealize all of the past moments in his life. It's funny how time can erode your memory and make things look different. Just then a soccer ball comes crashing into the bleachers and pulls Justin out of his reverie. He looks up and notices the sun has slipped considerably lower in the sky. My, God, he thinks, what the hell time is it? Looking at his watch, he sees that he has been sitting here doing nothing for at least three hours. Shit, I have to get back. If Robert gets to the loft and I'm not there, there will be hell to pay. Even if I am there, there is sometimes hell to pay. Justin practically runs all the way back to the loft. He decides to forego the stairs and the possibility of running into Brian Kinney, even though he thought it wouldn't be such a bad idea. As his anxiety starts to kick in, he calls for the elevator instead. Arriving outside the door to the loft, Justin takes a deep breath and unlocks the door. "Robert," he shouts. No answer. Thank God. Seeing the answering machine blinking, he listens to the message that was left earlier. Ah, free until 10:00. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Robert arrives at his home late. He knows he's late, and his wife is going to have his balls for dinner if he doesn't play it right. Getting out of the car, he tells Charlie to leave it running; that the family will be out shortly to go to the concert. Opening the front door, he can hear his son practicing his violin. Robert slowly closes his eyes, thanking God that this will be the last time he has to hear his son practicing this particular piece of music that the Pittsburgh Junior Symphony will be playing tonight. I have truly come to hate Mozart, he thinks to himself. As he is standing there pondering this, Sarah, Robert's wife, appears at the top of the stairs. "You're late," she says. Don't you fucking think I know that, Robert thinks. Of course, he would never speak to Sarah like that. There would be hell to pay. "Yes, I know," he simply says. "I'm sorry. I got caught up in meetings." "I've already laid out your tux on the bed. Please change quickly so we can be on our way." Robert ascends the stairs, already untucking and removing his shirt to put on the tux that Sarah has laid out for him. After changing and freshening up a bit, Robert opens his son's door and lets him know it's time to go. "It sounds wonderful, Scott. Don't worry about tonight. Everything will be fine. Come on. Charlie has the car running, and we need to go." ------------------------------------------------------------------------- After all is said and done, Robert has to admit that the concert was quite good. He sits comfortably in the back seat of the Mercedes with his hand on Sarah's knee. Scott sits in the front with Charlie, who is carrying on a conversation with Scott. Sarah turns to Robert and says, "I don't understand who has business meetings at 10:00 at night." Robert sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "I told you," he says, "it's a businessman from Rio, and he only has this time available. He has to leave early tomorrow morning to go back home." "Well, if you come home smelling of whiskey and cigars, just sleep in the spare room." Fine with me, thinks Robert. As they pull up in front of the house and Scott gets out of the car, Robert puts down his window and lets his son know what a wonderful job he did. Sarah just turns and walks away. Charlie turns to Robert and asks, "Where to, boss?" Robert sighs impatiently and practically yells out where the fuck do you think I'm going this time of night. Instead, he reigns in his emotions and calmly says, "The loft." Charlie can't help but smile a bit. God, how he wants a taste of what is at the loft. It has been denied to him for two years. He wonders if he will ever be able to get his dick in that ass. One can dream, can't one? Charlie pulls up outside the loft about 20 minutes later. As Robert is opening the door he says, "Pick me up at midnight. And don't be late." "Yeah, right," Charlie says. "I know you have a punctuality fetish, boss. Jesus, I've only been driving you everywhere you go for the last five years." Robert smiles and gives him a smack to the back of the head. Can't have the hired help thinking they can get away with everything. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- For most of the evening Justin sat on the sectional channel surfing. After hearing Robert's message he had decided to take another shower and get ready for him. Black leather pants, a button-down silk shirt with only the two middle buttons buttoned, and his hair just so. Yeah, this would meet with Robert's approval. God, am I bored, he thought, as he took a drag off of his third cigarette in the last hour. Just then he heard the key in the lock. Straightening up a bit, he clicks off the TV and heads into the kitchen where all of the liquor is kept. Robert walks in and sits on the sectional, eyeing his boy. Justin prepares Robert's scotch and sits it in front of him taking a place across the sectional out of Robert's reach. Robert looks down at the coffee table, seeing that Justin has laid out his usual fare: A shot of scotch and two lines of cocaine. What a good boy. Robert picks up the mirror and does his lines of coke. He offers the mirror to Justin, who shakes his head no. He always shakes his head no. You'd think Robert would get a clue that Justin does not do drugs. Alcohol, yes; hard drugs, no. Robert eyes Justin sitting there smoking yet another cigarette. "Come over here," he says. Justin looks at Robert and grinds out the cigarette in the ashtray and walks over to him. Standing, Robert takes Justin's face in both of his hands and kisses him, almost tenderly. He reaches down and slowly starts to unbutton and remove Justin's shirt. He sits Justin down on the sectional and kneels between his legs, kissing along his thighs and running his hands up to Justin's cock. That's when the coke and scotch kicks in, and Robert feels this evil streak start to run through his body. He wants to take his boy rough. "We've got a new neighbor," Justin informs Robert. "What the fuck do I care about that," says Robert, as he cocks an eyebrow at Justin. "Well, we might need to be a little less noisy. He lives right below our loft." Fuck that, thinks Robert. I'll do what the hell I want in my place. The comment by Justin actually pisses Robert off a bit more than he's already feeling. If Sarah can put him in his place, then he can put Justin in his. Hierarchy can be a bitch, especially when you're at the bottom of the pile. Robert pulls Justin back up to a standing position and spins him around and grabs him around the waist, roughly unbuttoning and unzipping the leather pants. Robert, none too gently, reaches in and grabs ahold of Justins's cock and starts to rub it up and down. Justin leans his head against Robert's shoulder and lets out a sigh. That's my boy, thinks Robert. Having had enough foreplay, at least for Robert, he pushes Justin onto his stomach on the sectional and pulls his leather pants the rest of the way down. He had trained Justin well; no underwear for his boy. Robert doesn't bother with a condom. Never has, never will. Justin is the only one he fucks, and he is the only one who fucks Justin without one. All of his associates have had it explained to them that they have to wear one if they are to have his boy. Justin grabs ahold of the back of the sectional to give himself some support as Robert grabs his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other. He pushes in rough, hard and dry. Justin lets out a yell and Robert reaches around and puts a hand over his mouth. Can't have the new neighbor calling the cops, now can we? Although any cop that shows up will probably, in all likelihood, be one of his. "Tell me, Justin, who do you belong to," Robert asks. "You. I belong to only you." "Who are you ever going to belong to?" "I will only belong to you." "That's right," Robert hisses in his ear, "you best remember that you are only Robert's and you will always be Robert's." After finally cuming, not worrying about whether Justin cums, Robert pulls out and stands there panting. He rode his boy hard tonight. Justin lies against the sectional trying to catch his breath. He tries to bring himself back to the present. You see Justin has learned, over the years, a good coping mechanism -- at least for him. He just goes somewhere else in his mind while his body is being used. Well, Justin thinks, at least it's done and he will be going soon. As he starts to stand up, Robert back-hands him and knocks him to the floor and places a few well-aimed kicks into his back. Justin lands with a hard thud, a small yell, and just stays there. That's going to leave a few new bruises for my collection, Justin thinks to himself. Robert composes himself and steps over Justin's body. Just then the buzzer sounds, signalling that Charlie has returned to take him home. "Justin, remember tomorrow night; 8:00, and don't be late," Robert says as he adjusts his tie and walks out the door. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Brian is sitting at his computer as he hears the elevator motor start up. He walks to the door and listens, just to make sure it doesn't stop at this floor, even though he knows he didn't let anyone into the building. He wasn't expecting company. As he stands there listening, he hears it move past his floor and go up to the top floor. Must be the kid, he thinks. As Brian heads back to his computer to do some more work, he thinks he hears someone cry out. No, must be his imagination, or maybe someone on the street. After about 30 minutes passes, he swears he hears a thud and then another cry. He raises his hand to the phone to call the police, but then he puts it back down. Brian sits there looking at the ceiling, but no other sound seems to be coming from upstairs. He hears the elevator start again, going all the way down this time. It's none of my business, he thinks. If the kid likes it rough, that's his business; or whatever the hell is going on up there.