Anthony Blaine didn't broach the subject with Griff as soon as he arrived for his weekly relief. Griff was too much in a state when Blaine arrived to hear what Blaine had to say. Griff didn't even say anything about Blaine being there two days earlier than usual. He just ranted on about wondering what was happening at Stallion Station.
"Who's gone," Blaine asked.
"Matt and Jason. The first guys in the operation. Matt apparently went off with a client, and Jason took off after some monster African guy did him totally. Did Joey too, and he hasn't come out of his room since. He's threatening to leave too when he can walk straight. I don't know what's happening at--"
"What's happening is that I'm here to get laid. Get naked and mount me."
Griff wasn't focusing on what Blaine was saying. He was still moving around the room and ranting. So Blaine did what he'd never done before. He grabbed the little blond, spun him around, and bent him over the bed. Blaine pulled down Griff's shorts and briefs, unzipped himself, thrust inside Griff's ass, and fucked him hard.
Blaine had never taken the aggressive position with Griff before, but it was working in terms of calming the young man down. The rent-boy went docile fairly quickly, subsiding into sighs and stifled sniffling. Blaine pulled out of him, as he hadn't rolled on a condom, remedied that, and then returned to stroking Griff's ass hard and deep, with Griff whimpering and his fists opening and closing on wads of the bedspread in rhythm to the fuck. From the sounds he was making, it was clear he was enjoying this change of routine.
When Blaine had ejaculated, he lowered his torso onto Griff's back and ran his hands up Griff's arms and grasped his wrists.
"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to either," he whispered in Griff's ear.
"What do you mean. This is my life. I can't go anywhere else. Leastwise on the drop of a dime."
"I have an opening at the house for a pool boy and groundskeeper. A cottage you could use too."
"And fucking privileges too?"
"Yes, of course."
"You got a wife? And kids at the house."
"Yes, so what? We wouldn't be doing anything in the open. You'd just have to do it only with me."
"I don't see why--"
"You don't have to decide right now," Blaine said, as he raise himself off Griff's back, zipped up, and moved to the door of the room. He opened the door and motioned in police detective Joe Reilly, who had been lurking outside.
"Come in and cuff this one somewhere in the room where he can't get away. Then we'd better go on over."
"Tony?" Griff asked in a shocked voice as he rolled over and started to pull up his shorts and briefs but was intercepted by the police detective, who had a pair of handcuffs out.
"As I said, you'll have time later to think whether it's a good idea," Blaine said from outside the door. "But it may be that I don't need to make the offer. Depends on how this next bit goes."
Griff was sitting, cross-legged, crouching under the bathroom sink, handcuffed to the flow pipe when he had been left alone.
"You might be able to pull that pipe out, but you'd get awfully wet before you could get out of here. And I don't really think you have anywhere to run to anyway," Reilly had said before he left the room and joined the commonwealth attorney out on the porch.
* * * *
"Going someplace on short notice, Jess?"
Jess Gordon, who was in his cobbled-together apartment in the motel wing of Stallion Station and cleaning out his bureau drawers and closet into a couple of suitcases, whipped around to face the door. Arrayed just inside the doorway were Judge Raymond Snyder, Commonwealth Attorney Anthony Blaine, and police detective Joe Reilly.
"Yes, I managed to clear time for a short vacation," Jess answered. "Anything I can do for you gentlemen?"
"Looks like you're packing for a much longer trip than a short vacation," Judge Snyder said. "We don't want to stop you from going on a long vacation, though. Were you thinking of abandoning Stallion Station?"
"No, of course not. Why would I abandon Stallion Station? It's setting up to be a gold mine for me. I've left Dino Mucci in charge while I'm gone."
"I think Mucci's already gone himself, Jess," Joe Reilly interjected. "I just had a talk with him on what's going down here, and he made an instantaneous decision to return to construction work at least until the dust settles here."
"Dino gone? What do you mean until the dust settles here?"
"You've already been overreaching, Jess," Blaine picked up the conversation. "You could have had a good thing going here, but you stepped up the service too fast and too high profile."
"I don't know what you mean. What's this all about, guys?" Gordon asked. "You've all had it good here. What the fuck are you up to?"
"What the fuck we're up to is that we're taking over the business and putting it on low profile," the judge said.
"You can't do that. This is my business."
"Which you have only managed to establish with our protection," Blaine said. "What this is about, Jess, is that black guy--that Jamaican college student--you allowed to be brought in here and worked over without his consent a couple of days ago."
"What black guy? What nonconsent?" Gordon's response was an automatic defense, but he was looking more wary now, more circumspect. "And what the fuck about a Jamaican? I don't know anything about a Jamaican. When's the last time you saw a Jamaican in south-central Virginia?"
"Three days ago, apparently," Blaine shot back. "I didn't know he was Jamaican, though, at the time. I saw some big, black bruiser manhandling him out of a black Mercedes into the video studio of yours. You were standing in the door, ushering them in, so you saw him too. What do you bet I can find some film footage in your studio of a special client of yours pounding his ass? We didn't sign up to protect you from that kind of shit, Jess."
"I don't know--" Gordon was backing away from them, clearly knowing very well what they were talking about.
"That special client of yours grabbed a college student off the street in Kingston, Jamaica, and brought him down here and fucked the shit out of him. Dumped him on the doorstep of the Jamaican embassy in Washington before taking off to who knows where."
"I don't know what this has to do--"
"The Jamaican student's father is a government minister, Jess. All hell broke loose. And the student saw that damn sign you've got stuck way up on that pole for everyone in the county to see. He saw the Stallion Station sign. I walked into the office this morning to face enquiries from Washington on what the hell a business down here in Farmville named Stallion Station was up to."
"It wasn't all that it seemed," Jess declared. "Much of it was fantasy. The black kid had signed a waver and been paid. It wasn't really nonconsent. He just didn't know when and how--"
"So you did know more about it than you claim," Blaine broke in. "That will be nice going for you in court."
"Shit," Gordon said. His knees gave out and he sat down hard on bed. "So, what are we gonna do?"
The judge took up the conversation. "There's no we. You are going to do one thing and the three of us are going to do another. You are going to go ahead on that long vacation of yours, Jess. And you're going to sell the business to us. We'll put it back on a discreet footing. And the first thing we'll do is take that damn sign down. Everything simmers down and maybe after a while you can come back to manage the gym and the movie studio. But you won't own a piece of the action anymore or make the big decisions, like what the services are going to be."
"I've already e-mailed Washington that we shut this business down yesterday, and that the owner is on the lam," Blaine added. "You need to make that true."
"But sell it to you? For how much?"
"Considering the trouble we've gone through and now have to go through again," the Judge said, "I think one dollar is a good sales price. I already have the paperwork here. All you need do is sign the papers and clear out."
"One dollar. No fuckin' way. I'll--"
"You'll do just that." This came from Detective Reilly, who had a more menacing growl than the other two did. "Think about it, Jess. We could be here to arrest you on this claim. You could be in jail in fifteen minutes. You could have suffered a fatal accident two hours from now. And who would be charged with checking this out? The police? Me. The prosecutor? Tony. A judge, maybe? Ray. Use your brain, Jess. You're in a heap of trouble here. We're giving you an out. I bet you scored big from whatever client you let do this."
"Where are the papers?" Gordon said, with a sigh.
* * * *
Andy Roberts was sitting in a club chair in his uncle Bill's bedroom, watching Bill fuck Matt Munson in a close-hold missionary position while taking mental notes in the art of being a bottom. Matt was groaning and had his fingernails buried in Bill's shoulder blades and his ankles crossed on the small of Bill's back. His face was turned toward Andy, and his expression was one of such pleasure that Andy could hardly wait to go out and say yes to some of those hunks who had propositioned him when Matt was too scared and nervous to cross that barrier.
Now he would do so enthusiastically, given the right top. Matt obviously was finding Bill Cain the right top and Bill was clearly pleased with the arrangement too. Both had said as much even before the three of them had heard the news of the Stallion Station sign coming down on the complex out on the Richmond road and Jess Gordon having left town.
None of them knew for sure what this meant yet, but all three knew that it didn't mean much for them anymore. Matt was out of the operation, and with Matt out of it, there was no reason for Bill Cain to go out there anymore either. And, as for Andy, he was grateful for what he'd learned and experienced there, but he had no trouble having men nose around him wanting it. For a good many years to come, he could pick and choose without the aid of anything like Stallion Station.