Tricking At The Fence; All Fall Down

Author's notes: Yes, knowing me and if your follow Matt, Rod and the gang surrounding the barber shop this is fairly long. Gotta tell you, these are some of my favourite characters so the more I can write about them, the more I do. There's some real drama here and a whale of a surprise. As always, this was my pleasure to write and, I hope, your pleasure to read. PJ

Car slides by, old, beat up, head lights are almost crossed; Fuck, if this is business for me, I may be closed for the evening. Bad news, it stops, backs up, stops, window goes down...

"Hey, Shadow, hows tricks?"

I smile, damn, Bennett has a 'new' car, I sidle over shoving my bulge out just to piss him off. "Where'd you get this one? Haul it out of a sewage pond? Jesus Bennie, this isn't undercover, this is....so obvious even I almost backed off, whoever drives this piece of shit is not the clientele I want." 

"Listen, whore breath, this is my car, bought it to fix up..."

"....into what? lead car at the demolition derby?"

"Naw, Shadow, you got no imagination, this'll be a real chick mobile, you gotta look ahead, see the new paint, the suede upholstery..."

"...the exploding windshield wiper fluid. Jesus, Bennie, only chicks you could get in this Detroil reject come with Colonel Sander's label on them....and he'd make you give them back. Not to change the subject but before the Tupperware oil pan wrecks one of the better parts of Sixth Street, you here for a reason or just to, uh, show off?"

"Captain says you're under arrest, get yourself cuffed around Eleven....don't say I never did you no favors.:"

Somehow he gets what he delusions himself as a car into some sort of forward gear, moves it around a corner where there's a noise, not quite an explosion, but even at this distance I can hear...."Well sheeeit." I could go help but, better yet, whip out my phone and call the police impound yard; They're familiar with Bennie and his vehicular disasters and, I happen to know, there's a pool going as to what's the max number of miles he can put on one before...whatever is going to happen, happens; I took 63 on the assumption he can't get it on the expressway where it would be a goner before it even got off the entrance ramp. 

Film at eleven. Cuffs at 10:59. Means I'm going to get hauled off behind the cage in a police vehicle as the Captains car is in the shop. Fine. Also means I'll get a real cop who will really do a real good pat frisk-and if I know the cop, we'll both enjoy that, the way he does them, can take ten, twenty minutes. He knows I'm carrying but that's not what he's looking for and not what he'll find.

Tonight, however, there's bad news; Usually we zip around the corner, I hop up front and suck him off-my way of saying thanks for the lift- but tonight when we round the corner,  the tow truck hasn't made it (Bennie, cop or not, has frequent damage miles with them based on his numerous calls with his unending chain of cheap clunkers, the upshot is that they will show up. Eventually, when they get bored with hauling cars out of no parking zones, no parking between whenever and whenever and, the one that makes them salivate, and they'll grab in two minutes after the engine is turned off, parking in a handicapped zone with no handicapped information. Label that sucker, "Gone Johnson" (In my prime role as street entertainment unit, I'm real quick to call 'O'Haul Yes Towing' when I spot one of those. They're good for a tip on a hot property looking to be entertained, or, if it's Saul, he'll blow me-taught him myself). Bennie and the hunk of junk. Okay, maybe his piece of shit has some use; It's got a back seat, says double fuck to me. These two and I have some history and even though it took me time to teach them how to get paired up, we're cookin' with gas and they can get up my tail the way I like it, slow, easy and gaining girth as they get in. I don't know what part of to protect and to serve this is but it's, I'm here to shout, servicing with a moan, a groan, a lot of noise plus pleasure for all. I get along with the cops, yes I do.

"Captain won't mind?"

"Come on in, I'll let him express his gratitude personally...in his basement, against the wall- one for the X the other for the stocks. Sound like a deal?"

They are suckers for this modified BDSM and Cap knows, given I'm now substantially late, I've been trolling and have some catch to bring home for him to clean and string up.

I remember teaching Cap that whores have many uses besides their fuck holes and  suck mouths. Many. I've spotted crime on the hoof, going through a window, walking down the street, in a hot car (I'm sent a list of license numbers to be on the look out for each morning cleverly disguised as a summons for, again, soliciting.)....and not one miscreant has ever figured that the semi-bargain basement sale on man meat (I'm more of a bargain to some then others. 5 K per whole night is a bargain IF you're the right consumer.) leaning against the chain link fence is also the link to the cop shop. On one notable occasion, I had to fuck one guy, right there against the fence, to hold him until back up appeared. (And since it seemed to be a crime-in-progress, they fucked him as well. Some part of this collar by cock and cop pissed off the Captain; He brought the guys and me in and fucked all of us, not to jizz, just to stick it in as a reminder to know when and when not to mix business with pleasure.). For the look of the thing, they arrested both of us, processed us in-Jesus I hate being sprayed for body lice-then I was quietly 'segregated' as a known major felon, moved to another department and, of course, out the back door where Cap took me to his home, showered me-the lice powder did nothing for him as well- of course fucked me himself-after taking the garden hose and gettint the lice powder off me. As he said, if I was good enough for the common criminal, I as good enough for the common Captain. 

In the two, almost three years, since Cap first cuffed me, stuffed me then stuffed me on the other side, I've collected enough rewards, what I call 'prize' money, to add to my 401k-and yeah, whores have 401ks. Held at the same bank as most of the cops use and the bank says 'Thank You' every time I make a nice deposit. (Rod and I set up the accounts using the barber shop as our employer. I may be loose morally, but I'm a fiscal conservative; One of my regulars for both a shave and a fuck is a hot shot broker who has never, given us bad advice. Lets just say we bought Facebook at 27, today it closed around 185, you do the math.)

The only thing....is this neighborhood has gone from dicey to dangerous and Rod, my buddy who runs the barber shop where I work days, or some days depending on the offers I have for my other services, wonders how long until not only do we know it's time to move but our buddies at the police  station tell us to get out: As much protection as they do provide, it won't, can't be enough....not enough guys and where we are, we're at the bottom of the barrel in terms of what they need to do; They see the difference between nicking a throat when using the clippers and finding someone with their throat cut-who claims to have been out walking the dog when he tripped.....

Worse, I have my own place above the shop which means I'm not only a target but a sitting duck...one thing that scares the shit out of me are the numbers of fires in businesses that have become almost routine. I could get out, I do have the Cadillac of fire and smoke detectors as well as an emergency exit that isn't obvious from anywhere but the other side of worry is maybe having to deal with the street thugs and punks who set the fire and might be lounging around to see if, specifically, they can flush me out. That's only one reason I'm licensed to carry a concealed weapon and I do, two of them, one in a holster under my arm-the cops and I both want it to be obvious-and one in my boot in case obvious doesn't work out. I've been quietly taken to the police range and Cap made damn sure I knew how, when and where to shoot; The expression 'to kill' pretty  much answers all the above. 

On the sunnier side, business at the shop is limit up; Rod and I can only take so many clients a day and still do the great job for which we're known. Until Jerry Keller parked his Rolls out back, giving all of us hiccups, we didn't quite know how upscale our trade had become. Downtown in many of the office buildings you could get a hair cut, manicure, many services BUT  if you wanted a first class razor shave, you came to me as that's my specialty. Damn good haircutter, almost as good as Rod, almost. We offered our guys things downtown never considered such as a good sauna, our version of a locker room with a larged tiled area with two showers, benches, capacious lockers, a place just to sit and relax...and since our phone number was even more difficult to find then the one to the Red Phone on the President's desk, no one calls looking for their husband/boyfriend/sweetie/shithead who hasn't been home recently, needs to stop by the market on their way home or is warned not to come home. Easy to see how our select Gents Only club, with running water and BYOB-we do provide set ups and ice, no charge-has kept us popular and actually increased our business. A recent addition to the club was a set of bunk beds; Too drunk to drive? On the lam from whatever? Just want to not have to go home? The Gents has a place for you. (And, yeah, fucking behind closed curtains is allowed- not me but...if you've got a buddy...) Almost like paired berths in old fashioned railroad passenger cars, closed off by heavy curtains and, during normal business hours, could be folded up leaving enough room for the poker table. (We took a cut of each pot, not much, five bucks per hand, whether it was thrown in or not.) If we'd wanted an early death caused by exhaustion, we could have opened around five am and closed after ten that night; Success? we had it.

At one point I'd had a fake mini-dungeon but the conversion to the semi private mens club paid for itself in that we charged a very minimal membership, ten bucks a months, didn't take anything but cash, for the club or our cutting and shaving, and even if you didn't need a cut or a shave, you were welcome to drop in, have a steam, a sauna, one of our 'famous' showers-we hyped that a bit, they were just fancy shower heads that could produce anything from a gentle rain to a monsoon-turn your ass to it and you'd be cleaner than if you took a plumbers friend and Lysol as a rinse. And, after that, those great bath sheets, 100" by 60" which we supplied at no charge, kept laundered and guaranteed, if you could find a bigger one that dried better, you'd get a years' free membership. No one had produced anything even close.

Without most of our clients knowing it, this was also a cop hang out. Nobody came in uniform but if you knew what to look for-shedding guns in a locker was a clue-it was an easy guess; younger than most of our members, cropped hair....we're a concealed carry state but when the artillery reached four per body...some assumptions should be made. They were also our buddies and part of why we could keep our location as long as we did, allow Jerry Keller to park his Rolls in back then not find only a grease stain when he came out. They weren't intentionally protecting us, it was just instinct with them. Plus, as opposed to a cop bar or pool hall, the barber shop was easier, less directed at their work unlike some places that catered specifically to cops. Play a hand of poker? Have a drink? Have a shower? Never have to have your hair cut or a shave, just pitch in ten per month-we ran the honor system, your name on an envelope and whatever added up to ten inside, drop box on the lockers, easy. 

When we talked about it, and we did, it was obvious the guys who came to us also were a form of protection in less obvious ways. Like Jerry's Rolls. The first time he brought it, I called the cops to put damn near a fence of uniforms around the modest parking lot in back; that kind of car was so easily ripped off, hell, given the right group of strolling thieves, they could have it gone in no time and Jerry wasn't the sort to wonder, "Dude, where's my car?". This 'Dude' would simply have laughed, called whoever locally sold Rolls and had them send over a new one.

My trained tail was smiling, as was I, when we went down the alley and through the opening in the back of Cap's place. By the time we arrived, if you were a nosey neighbor, you saw at least one or two cops and another guy, probably just out of uniform. That I'd never been in uniform, except when I'd acted as his kind of kinky cop in his dungeon-leather boots, tight puttees, a sprayed on shirt, full helmet, whip in hand, you knew my Harley with the fancy star painted on the gas tank was parked outside while you...were parked inside and not eligible for clemency, at least not for a while. Cap believed if you were having guys in for a weekend of games, on television, games, not on television as well as games in his dungeon, the bottom line to this was hospitality of whatever sort. And, since most of his guests, were also coworkers plus guys from similar service, sheriffs, highway patrol, some military, things went further than might otherwise be the case. Let us just say that on Monday, officers who normally spent the day riding in cars, tried to find duties that allowed them to stand up. 

The Captain and I had met during a ceremony in which he presented Rod and myself with Citizenship medals and a handsome check, reward money, for our catching a couple who, up until the day they decided a shave and a hair cut seemed a good idea, had also been on several 'Wanted' posters. Flopped back, faces covered in hot towels, the guys who dropped by to make the collar strolled in as if they were 'next' and strolled out two "wanteds" down and never got the shave. Rod and I were deeply aware of the protection the cops gave us  so always gave half the reward back to their fund for fallen officers and their families. (A practice we continued as rewards for other collars, which we initiated, came along as well as the reward. Little Jeff, the shortest cop ever, said I had a nose for picking out felons with high dollar money attached to them. Could be, never thought about it, just keeping up our end of reciprocity for their protection and our information. Big Mama Morton has some thoughts on this, listen to her [Well, Queen Latifah] in 'Chicago' for further elaboration when she discusses "Reciprocity".)

This barbering garden of Eden worked just fine given what we did, as did others, to keep it as it was. Imagine the favorite playground for youngsters who were determined to keep it that way and you have the whole picture. Including me, leaning against the fence about 50 yards away for sale for whatever dirty, lowdown, sex was on your mind. Most of the guys, excepting the cops, had no idea about my side job although if they'd expressed an interest in finding out what man sex was about, well, we offered that service as well; Only two or three times had that happened. 

To be fair, there were some of our customers, Jerry Keller and his man Jake, had started out not knowing each other but being clients who ended up in the same bed in the same home. I must, modestly, take credit for that. Each of them had thought I was their permanent, forever, best man but...I saw it differently and, litterally pushed Jake into a bed where a naked Jerry was sleeping.

In some of the strangest advice ever given by an unlicensed match maker, I'd told the surprised pair, better to stay together now and fall in love later than to part, then fall in love and have to find one another. Surpise! They took my advice, did fall in love and were now a prominent couple. And I can say that- remember the Rolls?-as Jerry was one of the wealthiest men in the city. Whether you approved or hated the gay life, Kelcon as well as Kelcor were the two biggest construction firms in five states. If your disapproval of the private life of Jerry was an issue, find another contractor, he'd help you. 

In a quiet way, Jake was the perfect companion for the more dynamic Jerry. He'd worked in various construction trades since he was out of high school, was instinctively smart about how things should be done, could and did backstop Jerry perfectly but in such a way that it wasn't obvious; No one ever said, "Hey, get to Jake and you've got Jerry in your pocket". That didn't happen as Jake wouldn't let it happen.

I've been avoiding him but...back to Cap's home, dungeon and bed. This one slipped up on both of us. At the awards ceremony I'd found him attractive, interesting and in a position to run my ass into jail for a very long time whenever he chose. Whores, even male ones, even with a heart of gold are still breaking the law which makes them subject to arrest. Morally, knowing fully well what I did, apart from barbering, the Captain could have felt some sort of impetus to take me off the street and see me in the cement hotel, complete with bars, that didn't serve anything. Inconveniently for both of us we fell heavily in like and, though we tried to keep it there....it didn't. One day in his official car, the one with lights in the grill not on top, he threw his head back, took my hand then announced what we both knew; we loved each other. 

Well, what to do? Couldn't live with him, the cop and the neighborhood whore? Maybe in the movies but not in our part of town. We did finally come up with the fiction of my being arrested and carted away in a real cruiser but taken to his home. Along the path, we found some officers who, shuffling one well shined shoe or boot behind the other, told the Captain that, uh, well, they, uhm, ya see Cap...At that point he'd usually get up, close the door, slap them on their ass, tell them he knew and who was it? Another cop? That made it easier. A civilian? (In his mind he once told me he hoped, oh Jesus did he hope, it wasn't a hooker of either sex. To date, that hadn't happened and virtually all the guys were interested in a partner who was also a cop.) He really was a good guy and to assist the semi-happy, if frightened pair, he'd ask them to his house for a drink and they'd 'talk it out'. That's when they found out that their straight arrow Captain also had a lover, one they knew, me.

This was and was not good news to them. Some of them did not like the guy leaning against the fence who seemed to have immunity but...who also had a way of knowing what was around, what was shaking, what they might find interesting. To find out that guy and the Captain....he always gave them a time to think it through and, if it was going to be a problem, he'd see they were transferred elsewhere but kept their buddy with them. That only happened once and, frankly, not only the Captain but a number of the rank and file were not sorry to see him go, whether they knew about his romance or not. You may have heard this but....cops are pretty tight lipped, even with each other so gossip about who was doing what with whom didn't get spread. Sure, get engaged, get married, have a steady, your kids, talked about all the time but if your steady wore pants and those were uniform pants, never mentioned. Whether it was known....? Maybe but talked about? No. Except in the club by the  barbershop where, typical of places where the same group of men hung out, there wasn't much that wasn't known.

One other resident was Clippers, Rod's Great Pyrenees. Friendly as a puppy and only slightly smaller than a miniature horse. Clippers had joined us when, one day, Rod had gone home to find it....empty with the exception of what the vanished Mrs. Rod considered to be his things. There were also papers, stapled to the front door, explaining they were getting a divorce, she wanted only the children, no support and he could have the dog. Later that same day I had a client at the fence I hadn't thought I'd ever have, Rod. And Clippers. Over time he had become my best friend-hell, we went back to being in the Air Force together, he was the one made me go to barber school-and now it was time for me to keep up my half of the bonded male friendship bargain. 

Apart from hearing about it, on the quick he needed a place to stay; Done, he'd bunk in with me. What Mrs. Rod considered as hers was virtually everything that wasn't nailed down except the dog. Thoughtfully, she'd packed some bags, plus two duffels for him so he was ready to move out and move on. While moving in with me wasn't exactly moving on up to the East side to a deluxe apartment in the sky, it was solid comfort and the bed was more than generous for two. The first night was spent with him in some place else plus me trying to keep Clippers off the bed; Waking with no feeling caused by a large, heavy dog having slept across your legs isn't fun, particularly if you don't notice you can't feel anything then fall flat on your ass in an attempt to stand up.

Our first night wasn't much of a night as Rod was in shock, kept getting up and, effectively, giving me a monologue about his confusion; I've seen guys not quite seeing the divorce coming, but they usually had an inkling that all was not well. Not Rod. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. Dealing with a buddy who's drunk and needs to spend the night is one thing, dealing with a buddy who is in shock is another. He was not tracking, kept just staring at me, at the dog then back at me. I don't drink so had nothing alcoholic, thought about checking the 'club' to see if anyone had something left over, abandoned that thought. Slipped away, called Little Jeff and Skip, rattled off the problem, told them to "drop by" " unexpectedly" with liquor, beer, whatever. They were confused but had known Rod for a long time and for me to ask for help....they were on it. 

Meanwhile back in unreality land, Rod had laid on the bed to be pretty much covered by Clippers. In I cannot think how many other situations I would have known what to do but not this one. Rod and his wife weren't a part of work, he always took the bus, until rather recently when the bus company deemed our part of the woods too dangerous and discontinued it. What I knew about-and I didn't even know her name, he always referred to her-if at all-as 'my wife', was almost nothing. Well, that was succinct. I knew she was a vice president of a bank somewhere in suburbia but which one? Their children, whom I'd never seen, not even pictures of them, were in their late teens, one may even be in college. That's how little I knew. Whether by design or just because it had no place in the shop, his private life was just that, private. 

On the other hand, my life as a for sale street entertainment unit was well known to a cast of hundreds. Whore on the go, good guy, good lay, good shaver, almost as good a barber as Rod....name a vital statistic about me and someone probably knew it. The cops, if they had nothing to do, would cruise by, fake a collar, put me in their car and we'd shoot the shit for a while. It was an easy matter to circle a couple of blocks, maybe sound the siren as we pulled away from the fence, drop me in our parking lot and go on. One thing I never did was go out the front door in my street worker clothing. Guys who were good clients of long standing of the shop had passed me, okay, in their cars, and never connected the whore on the fence with the guy in the shop who did terrific shaves. 

As is typical of this sort of residence over work, there was an outside stairs that I used to come and go to my fence; Another dodge to keep the clients of the shop from finding out I did something else for a lot more money. It was the 'cheapness' of the look of me on the fence, on a street that brought the big bucks; Many men had a 'thing' for a cheap and sleazy fuck and that was mine to deliver. Over time, I made both cheap and sleaze into an art form which, not surprisingly, improved as I aged a bit. No one mistook me for some green kid out to turn a trick for a quick fifty. (After much resistance, Rod had made me get my barber's license. For years he'd had hiccups when a health inspector called. We had a clean shop, never a complaint however, my working without a license could have shut us down. By sheer luck, a shop to which we referred children, men wanting manicures and women, had always called us to say they'd just been inspected and we were next. Worry about my unlicensed status increased from one inspection to the next and, finally, I took the test, passed and was fully licensed; I felt so cheap. In fact, I'd gone to barber college, taken some extra courses in styling and not having a license was my way of giving the finger to authority. In another sense, I frequently gave the finger to one authority figure when I'd finger fucked the Captain: If authority can be said to like being fucked, he did.)

Jeff and Skip showed up, I feigned surprise, and we got Rod downstairs then into a double something or other-Skip had a part time job as a bartender in a leather bar. If nothing else, it relaxed him as did the second one. Skip, used to men having just been dumped, alerted us that the water works were about to appear....tears flowed. Along with a really nasty diatribe about what a bitch she'd been, seldom let him fuck her, and on and on. This was all news to me, even Clippers, who'd been around at the same place, same time, seemed interested. 

I did the best friend thing, held him, patted him on the back  then almost fell over when he said he wanted me to fuck him. Now. On the floor if necessary. Skip shrugged, this was not, apparently, part of 'Dumped Husband' as he knew the drill. One thing I remembered was that some while back Rod had more than wondered what every man liked about fucking with me; I was his best friend, I should fuck him. Well, no and it never happened and it wasn't going to happen now. 

"Jesus, he's got a barber pole inked on his dick...." Jeff was fascinated. I hadn't realized that Rod was stripping for action which meant our pair of friends were seeing stuff the rest of the world had not....such as the barber pole tat. Having shed his clothes, he started in on mine even though I resisted. With effort, I tried to get the guys to help but they just stepped back, he got my pants down and my cock out. 

Well, it wasn't rape and I did everything I could to prevent it but...finally, I fucked him on the floor-one of my least favorite places to fuck anyone. Understand, after a certain point, fucking a man is just what I do, auto pilot of the erectile tissue. Also, I had an audience something else I don't care for unless I'm paid to perform as occasionally I am, this was not one of those occasions.

Whether it was the liquor or the excitement or his problems, once he'd had his virginity taken he passed out. Now the pair did help, commenting on his numerous piercings and tats, as they got him upstairs while I got dressed. Clippers, who'd sat and stared, seemed to be fond of me, gave signs of wanting to lick my dick, another thing I was against; When Rod first started bringing him (never had him neutered-said he couldn't do it to a fellow male; He knew too many men who were and never had the operation, just a wife.) to the shop, I would have sworn he was addicted to shaving foam; All I needed to do was turn my back when a guy had his first lathering then Clippers was on his hind legs licking his face. 

Depending on who you where mandated how you viewed Clippers; On our side? Almost too friendly. Against us? You saw 130 pounds of white avalanche ready and able to knock you flat then chew off your nuts-the plain clothes guys took to carrying doggie treats until he had their scent and would simply flatten them with the simple intent of showing affection. Also not everyone was a dog lover which presented a conundrum; Couldn't leave him upstairs but having him in the shop not only detracted from the atmosphere we tried to present but...,.he was virtually banned from the Gents Club for a variety of good, if personal, reasons. (Just remember he liked to lick cock...) There was a small alcove, typical of the era in which our building was put up  which was his home as well as sentry post. Some of the cops loved him, would pause, beep their siren, he'd hop in for several hours of being on patrol. The K9 guys resented this but....they couldn't get him out of the cruisers of other officers...the Captain liked him which settled all gripes. 

Rod was my buddy, easily my best friend but....he could not and should not bunk in with me on the forever plan. He was used to a house plus Clippers was used to a lawn-when a dog that big takes a dump, the residue is noticeable; By the shop was not where we wanted it noticed.  (One of the virtues of having him riding with cops was that they took him to the park, or grass some place which he used as a latrine. Most of them were young so, while there, they'd throw the Frizbee with him so, in addition to getting him internally emptied, he also got some exercise.) It was clear he couldn't go home-nor did I really want him to having seen the wreck that had almost made of him but, as some comedienne said, "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here". No home so staying 'here' was the obvious plus only quickly available option. 

Sometimes the simple application of money solves the problem which not only suggested but screamed 'Jerry Keller'. Not quite meaning to, I was spending the night with Jake and Jerry-I claimed that privilege on the basis of forcing the arrangement-when I dropped the subject of Rod and his lack of domicile-we'd already all fucked (I'd taught them how to double fuck me the way I really liked it, they liked it also plus breaking them up seemed poor form.) so it was time to loll about, review and renew whatever, obviously Rod fitted in one, or more, of those categories. 

Great wealth is sometimes displayed in lack of the holder of the gold's awareness of it. Jerry's large, grey eyes, with their extraodinary eyelashes (I'd once said you could paint with them.) looked into the ether then said....:"Why doesn't he live in one of my homes, I've got a coupla subdivisions...don't I? Jake?" His man raised his head from where it had been on his husband's chest, joined in the ether looking then allowed as how..."Uh...something Run? Meadow? Field? Some bird, you built it before I came on board. Wasn't it a default so Kelcor took it back...still own it." 

"Pheasant? Quail? Partridge? Not Turkey....any of those sound familiar, Jesus, that was years ago, before Dad passed, he was the one that contracted for that..."

"Nah, some other animal...Horse? Stallion-no, although Stallion Acres has a good solid ring to it, make a condo project for bachelors...Pony?"

I hated to interrupt this visit to the petting zoo but I had a question; What sub division? Jerry stretched that good post sex stretch, really got his arms out there which meant he without thinking about it scratched two sets of balls. "Dove Valley, Christ, no wonder I couldn't think of it. 'Dove Valley, a peaceful place for peaceful people'...first day it was open for viewing, a realtor got shot when his client found out he'd been balling his wife, the papers had a field day with that one." I had to bury my face in Jake's well muscled side to hide my laughter.

"Wasn't funny at the time, Dad had a 'thing' about that project, hand flew it himself; The picture  on the front page of cops, a covered corpse....and all you could see behind them was, 'a place for peaceful people'. That was almost like 'Dewey Defeats Truman', people framed it...plus that's part of why it finally fell through, the peaceful image just never got out from under the police tarp and walked away." Jerry started to laugh himself. "NOW it's funny but then, Jesus I felt sooooo sorry for Dad, nothing he could do, couldn't take back that fucking front page, people were driving by, having their picture taken with the name blocked, just the peacerful place part showing....Why doesn't he live there? He and that pit pony." See, great wealth solved the problem and went on to other things. 

Few pairs of guys did the whole gay marriage thing as well as Jerry and Jake; I knew it would work but finally gloated too much about my part which led to my being held, upside down, from the twentieth floor of a building under construction attached to a crane. Some distance from the stucture. Again, it's funny now but I'm pathologically afraid of heights, this prank could have been from the third floor and would have had the same effect. While waving in the wind, Jake attached a flag to me, the two of them, wearing hard hats, leaned against an 'I' beam, unzipped, jerked off and made me promise to never, ever mention how happy they were plus my participation in aforesaid happiness. Maybe twenty floors below some guy pouring concrete must have wondered about the strange addition falling from a cloudless sky but he kept on pouring. Part of what had fallen, in addition to freshly minted sperm, were my tears of hysteria; I would have promised anything, anything, cut off my nuts just please, GOD, plus Jerry and Jake, let me down. As I said about something else, it's funny now. I had to be blindfolded, after I'd been reeled in and uprighted, held between them in the excuse for an elevator that is common on building constructions. Once down, after I'd quit having the chittering willies, I tried to punch both of them out; Hard to do as they were laughing so hard there was no easy target. ....It's funny, now. My credit claiming not withstanding, they were happy, were in love and very married-it had been unusual for one man to be the Best Man to two men at their wedding-held (on the ground floor although that hadn't been the original plan) of a construction site. Jake still wore a collar but just for safety it was now stainless steel links as opposed to the beautiful gold solid circle but had been welded closed. Another reason I love Jerry? He, too, had a collar but with only one modest exception; In one steel link there was a knock out fucking ten carat square cut diamond. As with Jake, it was welded shut forever something virtually no other man would have done to demonstrate his love. Privately? I actually think Jake was more dominant if only because Jerry's casual attitude about everything made it necessary for someone to find a stopping point on occasion. Jerry ran the business but Jake ran Jerry's life not only because he loved him but because someone had to, as Rod said about Jerry, "tell him his fly was open." 

In Jerry's mind Rods place of residence was a done deal, he, the dog, furniture, silver ware, pool filled, all done. Jake steered him back and mentioned that, okay, but which home? Some of the residents might find it annoying if Kelcor, their mortgage holder, moved a man and his dog into what they thought of as their exclusive property. Jerry was very detail oriented but not when he believed he'd solved the situation, was onto a new topic so this return was slightly annoying. Again, it was Jake telling Jerry his fly was unzipped. "Jer....just tell me what you want donated or sold or whatever to Rod and I'll take care of it but...you have to approve this, conversation after fucking isn't something I want to present as your say so on whoever runs that place...assuming someone does. Here," he fumbled around and found a note pad lifted from a hotel in Dubai, "just write 'Rod, home, peace, give...then sign it." Again, Jake got his zipper up. 

The only problem I had wasn't my problem at all; Cap liked Jerry well enough but...he was too aware of A. His money and, more importantly, B. I'd been there before he and I semi-paired off. Which irked him more? Depended on the day, if I'd just seen either of the guys and how he felt about life in general.

One thing he wanted and was far beyond what he could get was me in perpetuity. He had me but....only if you could see the transitory permanence we had as good enough for him. Bottom line here was...I was a whore and he was a cop, the two cannot be put in the same equation and have it work out. Beyond that, and lets say I quit, confined myself only to the barber shop, how many hundred, maybe a thousand, men knew me, knew what I'd done mainly because I'd done it with them. Hell, I'd fucked or sucked a certain number of the guys assigned to him, the genie was out of the bottle, my tail was for sale, even if it quit being for sale that it had  been would linger on forever. In a very frightening, sober moment, he'd said he'd quit the force, we'd move a thousand miles away...that's where I stopped him. Sure, we could move far, far away-Melbourne do it for you?-but it changed nothing. Plus, we both knew this. someone would see me on Flinders Street just walking along, remember me and....There was a rigidity to both our pasts that made the future...complicated. 

Something I didn't say....he loved being a cop, he gyrated to it, he was a pro, he could no more have given up being a cop than I could have had my cock removed; Some things are just attached in perpetuity and this was one of them. Like it or not he was....some years older than me-and I was in my early forties-but it still made a difference. The saving grace was that virtually all his friends were cops who expected him, as Captain, to be older, that's what senior officers were, older. Retirement was a dirty word that was never, ever said but....the city while not making things hard and fast, had 'suggested' guidelines for when things like retirement might happen. He knew he'd had his last major promotion, he was at the salary cap limit so the only way for him to go...someday...was...out. As the King of Siam (okay, Yul Brynner in "The King and I) said, "It's a puzzlement".

Jake called to announce Jerry had made him tour leader of real estate in Dove Valley for Rod so...be ready for a tour late Thursday after work, he'd pick us up. He did.

"Jesus, Jake, the Rolls?"

"Ever since we bought him that stupid Raptor, he won't get out of it, the Rolls, the Jag....Herb is getting worried." As keeper of the garage at Keller Tower, Herb was almost old maidish when it came to the cars, he called them vehicles, under his care. Jake had also said that Jerry lacked the skill it takes to really drive a pick up plus the Raptor was souped up....all in all, he, too, wished he go back to driving the Rolls but, for today, he was going to show Rod his new home-I wondered if Rod had any say in this?- and he was told to use the Rolls; All Real Estate Agents drove the fanciest cars they could afford and, with the Rolls, he'd maxed out that idea. 

Rod, a little taken aback, plus Jake were in front, Clippers and I sat in the rear. I was grateful it was a cool day as Clippers, used to riding with the cops, liked to stick his head out the window however that let in a cool to cold stream, of air. If Clippers sat on me, he was warming even though I could not speak without getting a mouthful of dog fur. 

The 'burbs were not as far as I thought they'd be also this 'burb didn't match my idea of the polyglot places with six hundred homes in five styles, your choice of paint or siding. Jerry's Dad had designed this so that it looked more like an organic neighborhood, one that had just evolved over time. What it must have looked like when it was first opened, even without the corpse and the unfortunate name, hard to say but now, with trees that were approaching maturity        manicured lawns, even repairs to cracks in the street, gave it the feeling of a very nice place, up scale, to live. 

Mr. Keller Senior hadn't gone for Beverly Hills but some combination of that only without the stranger architectural numbers that had been built; No Italian country home hunkered next to a strict tudor turreted semi-estate. Jake pulled up on the circular drive of quite a nice ranch style that looked like one of the older homes...but who could tell? Easy to see why his Dad had been sad when this didn't work out as all had hoped. Now, of course, it was exactly what he had wanted only his son appreciated that. 

"Well, Rod, here it is, home, personally selected for you by Jerry....he hopes you'll like it and be happy here...come on in!!" We all sat without moving. I'd never seen his previous home, the one now being sold by his ex wife, but I sensed this was more. A Lot More. 

"Jake, are you sure? Jerry wants to give me this? I'm kinda puzzled. This is a lot of house and that's just the view from here. How big is it?"

Jake tried to mumble a number but, impossible to do, "Five thousand some odd hundred square feet. Not including the basement or he garage." He let that sink in, finding it wasn't sinking, he added what he hoped would be a good selling point. "There's a great pool, real deep end, custom designed....." 

"For one person?"

"Thought you had kids? Jerry thought you had two or three kids...." I really wished Jerry had asked me several questions, one about children would have told him something, Rod's fear of water was another...

Jake gave it the old college try but even he was having trouble punching up his enthusiasm. "Wanta see the inside, it's great. Already furnished."

Any neighbor watching would have seen three men exiting a very expensive car walking up to a large front door but looking as if behind that door was a noose for each. Even the dog seemed hesitant. Jake tried to make a show of throwing open the door but got snarled when the key wouldn't come out of the lock dragging him in as the door languidly slid open; The only thing it didn't do was creak. I had Clipper's leash, even he was reluctant to cross the threshold. 

Well, as Jake had said, it was decorated and beautifully; Hilary Farr from "Love it or List it" given all the money she wanted, couldn't have done better. Rod made a noise that was between a swallow and a gulp. "Sure is nice." No one seemed to be interested in going too far in, even Jake who, I supposed, had been in so he could lead the tour. 

"Uhm, what'd ya like to see first? The kitchen? bedrooms? Man cave?..." I tried to help and pulling Clippers worked my enthusiasm to a full Watt and asked to see the man cave. Okay. Well, I was wrong, Jake had never been in this place, found it thanks to a very quiet GPS machine up front so when he arrived, he was as surprized as all of us, I wasn't even now sure he'd even seen a picture. Typical of Jerry, this was a fine house, one he'd picked to please on the theory that it would please anyone but forgetting it was for one man and one dog. Even if he and Jake and I and six other people moved in, it would still seem like a cavern. 

"Jake, this is really kind of Jerry, I'll tell him myself but..."

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll tell him, he'll understand..." He had one last hurrah. "It is a place to stay until you find something permanent." While that was true, the only way to make it better and even seem like a place to stay temporarily was put in a reception desk, add room service, a bar and coffee shop. Rod could rent the Master Suite which, I felt sure, was beyond comfortable...for one, even two people. Clippers didn't quite count as a human although.....

Again, when will I learn? "Jakes got a point, any port in a storm and this is some port. Better than bunking in with me...you never know, what if I wanted to bring home clients?" With the exception of Jake, no client had ever been in my place above the shop. Well, sure, the cops, the Cap but they didn't officially count as 'clients' at least as I meant them. 

"Hey, Matt, I'm sorry, I never even thought about you...it's your home...."

Ever feel like a heel? Lower than a snakes belly? Dumb? "Rod, that's not what I meant just that..." I shut up, I could only make it worse. 

Jake slapped his hands together, a sound that echoed back and forth. Even shocked him. "Well, lets head out, maybe find a saloon, have a drink...Matt, where's that place you and I...." and that died on his lips. There was a bar that catered to guys in construction who were also gay. It was great for Jake, he'd also taken Jerry once but that proved an error-everyone knew him and his presence put a damper on the usual climate, it was one of respect for a man to whom many of the patrons owed their jobs. It also didn't seem quite right for Rod, although Clippers, who could have a good time at an actuarial convention, would have loved all the guys. 

Back in the car, Jake didn't know quite what to do, where to go; His palatial apartment with Jerry didn't seem right but neither did going back to the shop; Nothing there, sun had gone down, street lights on. "Any one want to grab a bite to eat before we...." That died. Before we what? Jake was a helluva nice guy but, usually, after a certain point, Jerry carried the social skills and graces. Absolutely lost as to what to do, he headed back to the shop and, just to kill time, took the long way. Two blocks away we found a cruise with Little Jeff and, without his latest heap, Bennie. We did the cop thing of facing two directions, opening the windows and yakking. 

Light travels faster than sound so we saw the red mushroom surrounded by black clouds in the sky before we heard the 'BOOM'. All of us did a version of Holy Shit/What the fuck/ Jesus S....and then bricks started to fall. Pieces of glass and right on the hood of Rolls, part of a barber chair. Jake floor boarded it until I grabbed him and told him to stop, even Jeff wasn't moving. While debris was still raining down, best place was in the car, assuming the roof didn't get crushed. 

It seemed like seconds but maybe a minute went by until sirens of all sorts from all directions headed for the sound as well as the plume of fire in the sky. I think we all knew...Jeff yelled at us to stay put while he pulled around us and, slowly headed that way. A few minutes later, nothing had fallen so Jake slipped into drive and we followed Jeff, all the sirens not to mention the glow that looked as if it were clouds over an annoyed volcano. 

Because we got there so soon was the only reason we got even near. The cops knew us, the fire guys did not and weren't pleased to see three men and a dog pull up to a fire clearly not under control. Jake backed up to the extent that we were in nobody's way, got out and just...watched. If you liked explosions and fires, this was going to make your list. If you were Rod and me...it was the end of an era. No one said it but that's what we were watching. 

For all the years the shop had stood, it was next to an abandoned bank that was on the corner. You could easily see where name sign had hung, maybe even a clock but that had been decades earlier. The only active businesses were Rods and, beyond my fence, an auto parts store which, I figured even before the fire was out, would move. All we ever knew or were told was that the shell of the bank was used occasionally for storage although of what and for whom....? Very infrequently at night I'd hear some noise, like sound of a truck but over time, we just stopped noticing it or caring about it; Maybe we should have been nosier. One thing, Rods Barber Shop was closed for good. 

Later that evenining at Jerry's on one of his monster screen televisions we had the pleasure (?) of watchijnhg it all over and over. The plethora of security cameras had captured it from every angle, some in astoundingly good color and sound. Off duty, Jeff, who told Skip where to find us, the Cap-who had momentarily had the shit scared out of him when he realized where all this was-it was Lucky Jeff could tell him all was well and a couple more of our cop buddies watched again and again. Early reports said that explosives used in mining had been stored there for years-the company who used them long ago out of business, but their tools of the trade were abandoned. Time and disintegration just took all of it to a point where it spontaneously  combusted and, well, we watched the result. On a couple of the local news shows, there was mention of the barber shop, two even had videos of the refuse that marked where it had been....but the one thing that survived, well, sort of, my fence. Wondered where I could move it or was I, like Rods, closed for good?