Come Christmas Steve Chapter 17 The Naked Truth
The appearance of Uncle Arty with his gunman sucked the breath from my lungs and filled them with cold desperation. Agent Overcoat paused, contemplating his best course of action, but then complied with the order to drop his weapon. Uncle Arty cautiously crept forward and grabbed the gun. He was wearing gloves now. "All right, get on the tarp with these dumbass boys you fucking pig." The agent glared at Uncle Arty but complied. He knelt next to me with his hands behind his neck. The rifle remained trained on him at all times.
I had had enough. I didn't think I could take it any longer. I felt like I was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. I started shaking uncontrollably. I just wanted it to be over with. I almost didn't even care if someone shot me in the head just to be done with it. But it wasn't going to be that easy. "You, tall kid. Get up. Stand up and face me," the judge demanded. Whittaker stood and turned around. His face was blank and emotionless. "I hear you've got a huge dick. That true?"
Whittaker made no response. He didn't even blink. Uncle Arty stuffed the gun in his back pocket and walked up to Whittaker. He unzipped the orange jumpsuit, slipped it off Whittaker's shoulders and down his arms to the handcuffs. Then, the reprobate pervert knelt and pulled Whittaker's dick out. "Ohhhhh, myyyyy gawwwd!" Uncle Arty cooed. "Doctor Bonermaker wasn't exaggerating after all. That is one fine piece of meat. That is the Filet Mignon of penises. That should be on the menu at Flemings. It's a fucking shame to have to waste that." He started stroking Whittaker's long dick with both hands. Whittaker just stood there scowling, naked from the thighs up, and continued to look straight ahead refusing to acknowledge the sleazebag stroking him. The guy in black kept his rifle aimed at the FBI agent, stealing quick, nervous glances at the judge. His body language clearly indicated that he wanted to get things over with and move out. Uncle Arty, on the other hand, had other ideas and seemed to be in no hurry to finish us off. It was like some sadistic power trip he was on.
"You're going down, Arty. Murdering us will only make it worse. I've already got enough on you. Let us go and you'll have a head start. Kill us and there's nowhere you can hide," Agent Overcoat said.
"Shut up, you lying pig!" Uncle Arty screamed at the agent. "You can't make anything stick and you'll be dead anyway." Then, instructing the rifleman, he said coldly, "If he utters one more fucking word, shoot him in the head." Then he turned his attention back to Whittaker's dick.
"What's a matter, big boy? Doesn't this turn you on? I bet you'll get hard if I suck it for you." The fucker lifted King's dong and began slurping on the end of it. I was about ready to jump up and rush the asshole. What would it matter? I was going to die anyway. At least I'd die somewhat nobly. I didn't get the chance, though. Uncle Arty pulled the pistol from his back pocket and stroked the barrel slowly along Whittaker's dick and then pressed it against his balls. "Get hard for me shithead, or I'll blow your fucking nuts off. Then, I'll cut your big dick off for a souvenir and let you bleed out in horrible, agonizing pain."
"Okay, okay. Chill. Put the gun down and I'll get boned for you," Whittaker said amazingly calm.
"Good decision, kid. You're smart, I can tell." The reprobate judge lowered his gun.
"What gets me really hot," Whittaker said, "is to have someone get behind me and suck my balls from between my legs. That'll get me boned super quick."
"Hot fucking damn, you might be a keeper, kid. I might just have to take you home and chain you to my bed so you can fuck my ass every damn night."
"Good idea," Whittaker said quickly. "You'd really like having my big dick up your ass. I've only fucked two guys before, but they both loved it. Wait'll you see it boned," Whittaker teased. "I'll make you scream for mercy. You can tie me up in that cell you held us in and have your sweet way with me every day. I'll totally be your fucking sex slave if you don't kill me. Like you said, man, there's no sense wasting a nice piece of meat." The judge laughed raucously, pleased with himself and his domination over Whittaker.
It looked like Whittaker was working his magic and just might end up saving himself. Who would have thought that having a gigantic dick could save your life?
Agent Overcoat spoke up again, and I cringed in anticipation of the shot to his head that was sure to come. "Arty, that's a good idea. Don't kill either of these boys. Take them home and play with them, you perverted asshole. I understand this one next to me gives killer blowjobs. That's what that computer geek told me."
"That's right," Whittaker chimed in, "He's fucking amazing at it. He can even deep throat my big dick. Take us both as your slaves. Don't waste us, use us."
"Hey!" Uncle Arty yelled at the rifleman. "Didn't I tell you to shoot that pig if he spoke again?"
The gunman looked at Uncle Arty with a pained expression and asked, "Really?"
"I guess I've got to do every god damn thing myself." Uncle Arty raised the pistol and the agent turned his face away. Uncle Arty pulled the trigger and I saw a flash from the barrel. Blood splattered all over the back of the agent's head and across the side of my face. I screamed involuntarily.
Agent Overcoat dropped face down onto the tarp completely motionless, the back of his head stained with blood. At least I couldn't see any brains. I was still sickened by it. I gasped and then started heaving my guts out. I'd never seen a man die before. I'd seen animals killed when we'd all go out hunting, but never a person. I was never really into hunting as much as my dad and brothers were. Naturally, Billy was especially good at it, just like everything else he did. The agent's gun wasn't full of fake bullets after all it seemed. I was so confused now, I didn't know what to think or do. Uncle Arty laughed like a maniac. He stood up and towered over the body of the dead FBI agent. "That'll teach you to mess with my empire. Fucking lying pig!"
The gunman in black lowered his rifle and stood watch. He had a concerned look on his face. Stankowski had drawn his handgun and taken a couple steps toward us but stopped once he saw things were in control.
"I'm so fucking horny right now! Killing people is just so fucking erotic," Uncle Arty exclaimed. He started pulling his shirt off and then frantically kicked his shoes off and got out of his pants and underwear. He stood there naked except for his black dress socks and white gloves, with a leaking boner. He dropped to his knees, crawled around Whittaker's legs and tried to stick his head up between Whittaker's thighs. The jumpsuit was in the way. He had the gunman toss him a knife and he cut Whittaker's jumpsuit off along the arms. The rest of it dropped to Whittaker's ankles and he stepped out of it. Whittaker was now naked and he spread his legs to give the perverted judge easier access to his large balls. "Okay, you little cocksucker," he said to me.
"Let's see if you're worth keeping or not. Get the fuck over here and suck my dick while I suck big boy's balls. Once he's boned up, I'm gonna fuck your sweet ass while he fucks me with that monster kielbasa."
I swallowed hard and thought briefly of refusing. Then I realized, this might be our ticket to survival so I crawled quickly over, prepared to deliver the blowjob of my young life. Uncle Arty ordered me to turn around and he slit my jumpsuit up the back of my ass to provide access for my fucking to come later on. Uncle Arty slowly lowered the knife and set it by the gun. Then he tilted his head back and sucked Whittaker's sizable left nut into his mouth. Uncle Arty's large nose was buried in the lower part of Whittaker's ass crack. I turned, took a deep breath and slipped the sleazebag's cockhead into my mouth, gently massaging the stretched frenulum with the tip of my tongue, determined to find ways to make him want me to live but not expecting it to really happen. His copious precum was bitter. I totally expected, once he got his rocks off, for him to shoot us both and dump us in the river along with Agent Overcoat. Still, it was worth trying and I forced myself to focus on pleasing him.
I peered upward and watched Whittaker swiftly and deftly drop his torso, clasp the chain of the handcuffs around Uncle Arty's stretched neck while simultaneously clenching Uncle Arty's head between his firm thighs. Whittaker flung himself backwards and then did an immediate jerk to the right. I heard the judge's neck crack. It was loud. It was immediately followed by an even louder crack of the rifle and Whittaker squealed in extreme pain. He rolled face down into the dirt continuing to scream out in pain. Uncle Arty flopped next to him as his dick was ripped free of my mouth. Uncle Arty lay next to Whittaker, gurgling and gasping and twitching. It was as if it had all happened in one long slow motion sequence after Uncle Arty shot the FBI agent.
"Nooo! I screamed instinctively and rose to my feet, unsure if I should rush to Whittaker or make a run at the gunman. Neither choice was a good one since I was tethered to a cinder block. When I reached the end of my rope, I fell flat on my face, sprawled out in the dirt and grass. I looked up and locked eyes with the rifleman just as he trained his barrel on me. Then suddenly and without warning, the rifleman's head simply exploded. Blood and brains burst through the side of his skull and he dropped like a gunny sack full of oats. I screamed again from shock and horror at the unexpected event. Whittaker continued crying out in pain and Uncle Arty continued gasping and gurgling.
Stankowski came running up the trail, shooting randomly in our direction and into the nearby trees to the west. I stayed pressed flat to the ground and lifted my chin just barely enough to see where Stankowski was headed. I wondered if I could untie myself and get to the pistol that Uncle Arty had used to shoot Agent Overcoat with. Instead, I found that with some effort, I could drag the cinder block as I tried to move towards the gun. I was just reaching for it as Stankowski arrived, panting and sweating. He aimed his gun at me and I gritted my teeth in anticipation of his bullet. Then, just as with the rifleman, Stankowski's large, blocky head exploded like a prize pumpkin hit with a club. Blood, and what little brains he had, splattered all over as he dropped dead three feet away from me. At last, it seemed to be over with and time sped back up. I immediately became aware of Whittaker crying out my name. "Shane, Shane, Shane."
I crawled to him dragging the block behind me. "I'm here Whittaker."
He rolled slowly over with great effort and I could see blood flowing from a hole in his neck near his collar bone. I knew from my Boy Scout training that I had to stop the bleeding but my hands were cuffed behind my back. I crawled around and pressed my knee against the wound. Whittaker cried out in pain but I had to do it to save his life. I realized quickly that was not going to work, so I crawled over to the sleazy judge. I managed to pickup his discarded trousers and folded them crudely into a makeshift compress, doing the best I could. With my back to Whittaker, I pressed firmly against his bleeding wound. He winced and cried out. I felt bad but knew I had to keep it applied if there was any chance to save his life.
"Shane," he moaned, hoarse and weak.
"I'm here Whittaker. It's all over now. I'll get you help. Hang in there." My offer was shallow. I was handcuffed behind my back somewhere in the woods surrounded by the dead and dying.
Even if I could get him to the van, I could never drive it. I never felt so helpless. A noise coming from the shadows to the west, startled me. I heard something crashing through the brush and all I could think of was, "Oh dear God, what now?"
I turned nervously toward the sound and thought for sure I was hallucinating. Out of the brush emerged Steve and with him was my brother, Billy, carrying a high powered deer rifle. "Steve! Steve!" I shouted. "Oh my god, is that really you?"
"Yes," he called back, "Yes, Shane, it's me. I'm here. I'm here. Are you okay?" He started running across the clearing. Billy followed but didn't run. He was cautiously scanning the tree line with his rifle at the ready.
"Whittaker," I blurted. "Steve's here. He's alive. He's alive. He's come to save us." I was half laughing and half crying. I started shaking once more. Whittaker smiled and forced out, "So, we found him. I'm glad for you." Then he squinted and said with great effort, "Shane, promise me something."
"Anything, Whittaker. Anything at all."
"Promise me that you'll tell my parents that I love them. Tell them I'm ...." He had to pause and swallow hard. Then he forced himself to continue. "Tell them I'm sorry I never really said that to them, but you tell them for me. Tell them that I really do love them."
"Oh, Whittaker. You can tell them yourself. We'll get you help. Steve's here and we can get you to the hospital now."
He grinned. "I don't think I'll make it."
"You have to. You can't die on me dammit. Hang in there, Whittaker. You hear me? Don't give up."
"Shane, thank you," he muttered.
"For what?" I asked.
"For being my friend even though I'm a royal ass sometimes."
"Oh, Whittaker. I should be thanking you. You're the best friend ever." He smiled as wide and beautifully as he ever had, then closed his eyes and relaxed.
"Noooo! Dear God, No!" I sobbed and threw myself across his bloody chest. I felt Steve's strong arms wrap around me and I buried my face into Steve's chest and sobbed. I don't have any idea how long I cried, not long though, because I stopped when I became aware of Uncle Arty's pleas for help.
"Hel' me," he called out. "Hel' me, please." I pulled away from Steve and crawled over to him. "You want me to hell you? I'll be glad to send you to straight to hell, you perverted asshole. All this is your fault, you slimy piece of dog shit."
Steve knelt beside me and Uncle Arty's eyes widened "Steve? Is that you my boy?"
"Yeah, it's me," Steve answered coldly.
"Steve, I can't feel my arms or legs. Hard to breathe. Thank God you're here son. Hel' me. Call an amblants."
"You don't deserve help. You're a disgusting, sick, depraved man and you've done so much harm to so many people and to so many boys - boys who trusted you, boys who needed your help - and you just exploited them. And now my good friend is dead because of you. I hate you. I fucking hate you!"
"I know son, I know. I'm sorry. But you can't just let your own father die out here like this." His voice was strained and raspy from the damage to his neck and throat that Whittaker had inflicted.
"SON! FATHER!" I exclaimed, startled.
Steve hung his head and said softly, "Yes. He's my father. Sperm donor is more accurate. My mother came before his court over a custody fitness issue. She had my half-sister and was doing drugs. He took the baby away from her and put the child in foster care. Then he promised to keep my mother out of jail if she would get clean and go to work for him. He put her up in a motel, got her in a detox program, and once she was cleaned up, he explained that the work he had for her was prostitution. He was going to pimp her out. Before he did, he took her for a couple test drives. She got pregnant from it with me. He wanted her to abort me but she refused and ran away. After she had me, she knew she couldn't keep me and took me to the fire station and left me there."
"Oh my god," I said.
Billy finally made his way over to us, satisfied that there were no more threats. He looked at the guy in black and then at Stankowski's splattered head. Billy started to hyperventilate and then dropped to his knees, gagging and then vomiting pools of greenish-brown bile. Steve moved over to Billy and held him until he finished retching. "I killed them, I killed two people," Billy muttered. When he gained control of himself, he looked at me and smiled wanly.
"You okay, bro?"
"Thanks to you, I am. You saved me, Billy. You had to kill those guys to save me. It had to be done. It's okay. You had to." He nodded solemnly.
Turning back to Steve, I asked, "So what about this asswipe being your father?"
"Eventually, dear old dad here found my mother. She told him what she'd done with the baby, but a respected family law judge couldn't exactly take on a child from a druggie prostitute. So he left me there in the boys' home and just saw to it that I got some extra privileges. I was smart, so they let me attend a nearby private school. Uncle Arty, as I knew him, as everyone knew him, started donating to the school. He bought a motel not far from the boys' home and he would take me and some of the other boys I was friends with over there to swim. Then he started giving us some spending money in exchange for modeling swimsuits and underwear. He said the companies paid the home for the pictures to use in their advertising. He said the home needed the money real bad and we all felt really good that we were helping keep the home open. That led to having us get boners before we put the underwear and swimsuits on. He said that's what the buyers wanted to see, how they looked with bulges in them. That was weird, but we did it. Eventually, he just dropped the whole modeling pretense and just made us take naked pictures together. As we got older, he made us do sex things with each other and with him. He sells the porno and is into other things. Drugs, porn, prostitution, you name it. He's sold a few boys as sex slaves to wealthy drug lords in South America and Asia and then faked the adoption paperwork that he, of course, signed off on. When the cops started nosing around because some boys talked about what was happening to them, he made me take the fall for it. He faked some shots of me posing naked with the boys and put it on a computer that he gave me. The cops took the computer and blamed it all on me. They had a perpetrator, case closed and my father here, or good old Uncle Arty as we all called him, was off the hook. He worked it so I only spent a little time in juvenile hall and had to be on the sex offender's list. The boys who talked, disappeared. Uncle Arty and Simba claimed they got adopted."
"Holy shit!" So, you really were involved in his porno ring? You knew about it and were helping him?" I asked.
"Kind of. Not willingly, though. I didn't ever ..." There was a groan and we looked up in astonishment to see Agent Overcoat slowly rise from the dead. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head. Billy grabbed his rifle and pointed it toward him, shaking.
"No! Billy, put the gun down. He's a good guy. He's actually an FBI agent. You definitely don't want to shoot him."
Billy looked at me to be sure and then lowered the rifle and walked over to him. Billy offered him a hand. The agent took it and used it to stand up with. "What the hell went on here?" Agent Overcoat asked. "Who shot all these guys?"
"I did, sir," Billy said. "Only the ones what needed it, though." Billy looked a sight, still quivering, pale as a snowdrift, and smelling of fresh vomit. The agent grinned a little at what Billy had said. "Well then, which ones needed it and who did you accommodate?"
"The rifle guy over there, he shot my brother's friend. I think he just died from the wound. I shot the rifle guy in the head just before he could also shoot my brother. My brother's dead friend there broke the neck of the fat guy over here after he shot you in the head. I guess the fat guy is Steve's father or something, I don't know. I'm way confused. Anyway, the other guy over there came running up shooting at me and at my brother and all over the place like a crazy idiot and I had to shoot him too." Then Billy asked Agent Overcoat the same thing I'd been wondering, "I saw you get shot in the head, how come you're not dead?"
Agent Overcoat rubbed his head again. "They were stage bullets filled with fake blood. But at that close range, they pack a real wallop. I'd never used them before. The impact knocked me clean out, I guess. "So how in God's name did you manage to get here?" Agent Overcoat asked Billy. I was also wondering that.
Before Billy could answer, Whittaker twitched. Agent Overcoat moved quickly over to him, wet his own cheek and held it near Whittaker's nostrils to feel for any sign of breath. "He's not dead, but he's not far from it. Lost a lot of blood it appears." The agent grabbed the trousers and held them back against the wound even though it appeared to me that it had stopped bleeding. I was mortified. I'd given up on Whittaker without double checking. We'd lost valuable time getting him help. The agent pulled his cell phone from his overcoat and dialed.
"Yes. Code Philly. Air evac to phone coordinates, NOW!" Agent Overcoat left the phone on and set it on the ground. Then he asked again, "So how did you get here? How did you find us?"
"Well, Steve here needed my help and I tried to show him how to shoot but honest to god, he's awful. So I came with him."
"Wait. You're .... You are! You're Steve Fahrenheit. Holy shit. This is getting stranger by the minute. Half the free world has been looking for you. Where the hell have you been?"
Steve looked at me and then quickly away. "Well, uhh, I've been up to Shane and Billy's family ranch in Kalispell," Steve began.
"You've been where?!?" I interrupted.
"I didn't know the FBI was looking for me or that you were in any trouble," Steve explained, "and I needed a place to hide until I could figure out what to do and who I could trust. I was sure Uncle Arty, dad, and his thugs were looking for me. I had no idea Shane had gotten involved and was in danger or I never would have left or stayed away. As soon as I found out what was going on, I raced back and Billy insisted on coming with me since I couldn't shoot a gun. Thank goodness I let him come or I'm afraid more of the wrong people would be dead."
"Caprino. Caprino, hel' me," Uncle Arty begged as loud as he could, which was not very loud at all. "Stop jackin' yer jaws and hel' me."
Agent Overcoat or Caprino, I guess, looked over at Uncle Arty. "You have no idea how much I'd like to step on your neck and take you out right now. But you have valuable information about your operation that I'm sure you'll want to share. So you'll get help once this boy's taken care of."
"I ain't tell you shit," Uncle Arty eked out.
"Well in that case, I guess I can just go right ahead and twist on your fucking neck." The agent reached directly toward Uncle Arty's neck and Arty panicked. He started gurgling and gasping again like he had at first. The agent started to laugh. "You miserable, pathetic asshole." Turning to me, the agent asked, "So what's the deal? Why is he just lying there like that?"
"I think Whittaker broke his neck. He told us that he can't feel his arms or legs," I answered.
"Hah. No one deserves that more than him. That's perfect. Somebody put his head between their legs to immobilize it until I can get paramedics up here." Then Agent Caprino slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten about how sore it was, and cried out in pain. Then he said, "Calvin. I have to get a team over to protect Calvin. They took him to his apartment to retrieve the flash drive."
"Save yer breath," Uncle Arty gurgled. "He's dead by now. Orders were to get the flash drive and take the stupid fuck out."
"You son of a bitch," I spat. "Calvin and Whittaker were innocent in all of this. They were just trying to help find Steve and find out what was on the drive. I ought to rip your head right off your damn shoulders!" Agent Caprino grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Uncle Arty.
"Someone other than Shane needs to immobilize Uncle Arty's head. I don't want him to die on me. Not yet anyway. Billy, put your gun down and you do it, please." Billy complied. He knelt and pressed a knee on either side of Judge McMahon's head to prevent accidental movement that might finish him off. Agent Caprino picked his phone back up and made another call. "Get me an ambulance along with the air evac. Also send an MIT."
"What's an MIT?" I asked.
"Murder investigation team."
"What?" Billy cried out and twisted to face the FBI agent. "I didn't murder anyone. It was all in self-defense and to protect my brother and his friend!"
"Ahhhhggghh," Uncle Arty groaned and gurgled.
"Oh, crap," Billy apologized and turned back around.
"Don't worry. If it all went down like you said it did, then there won't be any charges against you. I do wish you'd gone to the police and not just rushed up here with a gun like a couple of stupid vigilantes, but given the circumstances, you should be fine. I was actually thinking of Whittaker's shooting as the murder, in the event he doesn't make it. That one's on Uncle Arty here. Technically, so is the death of his two goons."
Billy relaxed a little. I didn't. "No one had better accuse my brother of doing anything wrong here. He's the freaking Lone Ranger."
"Don't worry, Shane. I'm sure it will end up fine," Agent Caprino said.
I moved closer and knelt down by Whittaker. I stared down at Whittaker's motionless body and shed caustic tears. "Oh Whittaker, Whittaker, I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I never should have involved you in this mess." Intense hatred welled up in me against Steve's father. 'His father, for hell sakes' I thought. Just another lie to add to the long list of lies Steve had told to me. Was his professed love for me a lie too? All the time I was risking my life and Whittaker's and Calvin's and even Jensen's, Steve was at my house with my family, probably sleeping in my bed. I wondered how many more lies I would learn of before it was all over.
Steve came over to me and put his arm around me. I shrugged him away. "Not now," I said sternly. "I need to sort this all out." Steve shook his head in pained understanding and moved away. Then he dropped to his knees and started to cry himself.
"You fucking asshole!" Steve yelled out at his father. "Look at the mess you've made of everyone's lives! I wish I'd never been born. I wish mother had aborted me like you wanted her to. Then maybe none of this would have happened. I hope there is a hell and I hope you burn in it for fucking eternity!" Uncle Arty remained silent, except for the gurgling with each labored breath.
There were so many questions running through my head. I wanted the truth this time. I wanted nothing but the truth. The naked truth.
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I hope you have enjoyed this event filled chapter. Look for more to come soon. Hans Schreiber, h.schreiber@hushmail.com