Street Kid Page 12

  Sandy was now feeling strong enough to begin telling us something of what had happened.

  A fairly bland man, who said that his name was Simon, had approached Sandy on ‘The Hill’. He claimed to be thirty–five years of age. The guy was shortish and thick set. Unfortunately, Sandy had taken no notice of the car and it certainly didn’t enter his head to take in the number plate.

  A long drive ended at a lonely, medium sized barn, far from the city boundaries. As soon as they entered, Sandy was hit on the head from behind. He was stunned and, before he could fully recover, the monster pounced and hurriedly bound Sandy hand and foot. A large flick knife was produced and threats were made. The process of tying Sandy even more securely was a trial, because ‘The Evil’, as he was quickly dubbed, poured into his victim’s ear what to expect. He detailed everything which was about to be performed on him and what he would have to do in return.

  I really don’t want to go into the details of Sandy’s horrific ordeal except to say that various large items, which ‘The Evil’ must have brought with him, were introduced into Sandy’s body. And still not satisfied, ‘The Evil’ forced him to undergo a catalogue of degradation which made us, the listeners, gag. All the time, Sandy had to beg to be used and worked over harder. After this initial stage had finished, the creature used the knife to hack at Sandy’s clothes and flesh. The slashing was performed with great precision as the wounds, though deep, did not appear to be life threatening. He then laid into Sandy with his fists and a rubber hose.

  Finally, when ‘The Evil’ had satisfied himself in a particularly sadistic way, for some peculiar reason, known only to him, he drove Sandy back to the city. I can only assume that he didn’t want the scene of his evil act to be discovered. Sandy, with shredded jeans around his ankles, was untied and, before he could do anything effective to draw attention to his plight, ‘The Evil’ dumped him from the car and into the gutter about twenty yards from where I found him. The car screamed away and Sandy was left to his fate. He’d struggled to crawl into the alcove and had managed to pull up his jeans before momentarily passing out.

  Sandy’s retelling of the story had exhausted him. Throughout, he frequently paused in the narration to take some deep breaths, more sips of brandy and a chance to recover before continuing. At such times, Will held back tears as he gently stroked the back of Sandy’s hand and Andy’s face became thunderous. Finally, Sandy relaxed. It was over. We all murmured warm platitudes and noises of affection to him. The relief of the confession had depleted what little strength Sandy had left. That, combined with the effects of the pills and brandy, caused him to drift off into a restless doze. For a while no one could speak. It was easy to feel the anger in the room. Will smiled and gently made the sleeping Sandy more comfortable. Andy was deathly quiet. His red face was contorting to an alarming degree. Out of respect for our wounded soldier, we remained silent.

  Eventually and with some reluctance, Andy and I thought it politic to leave, promising Will that we would return shortly. Will refused to return my blood stained clothes but insisted that he should get them washed. “Come on, it’s the least I can do.” He then added, “If I can’t get the stains out, I’ll buy you some replacements.” I tried to tell him that he needn’t worry about them but he seemed determined. I can only think that this was something positive he could do to save his sanity.

  Our walk from the flat was tense. I knew that Andy was upset and angry, but I didn’t realise the full extent of his fury – I soon did.

  When we reached the end of the road, Andy exploded. He let out a long, loud, anguished “NO!!” His very soul must have been suffering. He then lost it completely. I have seen extreme anger both before and since but I don’t think I have ever witnessed such wrath unleashed on the world. And I pray that I never see it again. A torrent of abuse came flooding from him and he began lashing out at everything his feet and fists could reach. I threw myself at him in a pathetic attempt to try and stem such a display of violence. For my efforts, he rammed an elbow into my stomach which sent me flying. I lay on the floor, badly winded. This attack on a friend, momentarily, brought him to his senses. He knelt beside me and started to tell me how sorry he was. Tears were gushing down his face. I was upset myself, but this intense display of grief frightened me. I couldn’t work out why he was so out of his mind with rage.

  “I’m gonna get that fuckin’ sicko, if it’s the last thing I do!” Andy’s voice had become low and intense. “I’m fuckin’ gonna hack off his fuckin’ bollocks and stuff ‘em down his fuckin’ throat! I’m goin’ to make the fucker eat ‘em! I’ll stick a fuckin’ pitchfork up his fuckin’ arse and smash it home with a fuckin’ great sledge hammer!! You fuckin’ see if I don’t!!! I’ll…!!! – I’ll…!!!!” He was almost yelling in my ear. Because all words and threats deserted him, he let out another giant, anguished cry. I made a futile attempt at calming him down again. It was no use as Andy was too far–gone in his fury. “Sandy?” He yelled into the air, “I promise you, here and now, I’m going to search every inch of this fucking city ‘til I find the little cunt!!”

  “But, he’s satisfied.” I gasped, still recovering from my winding. “He’s got what he’s after. It’s pointless. He’ll have gone back…”

  “…back to the fuckin’ shit hole he crawled out of!!!” He spat.

  “Okay, fine, but he won’t be around, will he?” My pleading was all in vain, Andy stormed off.

  The news of Sandy’s terrible encounter with ‘The Evil’ spread throughout the rent community like wildfire. Over the next week, Andy disappeared completely from the scene. I was worried. I had glimpsed a side of him which was totally at odds with what I’d come to know and respect.

  It was Paolo who filled in the missing details as to why Andy had appeared to react with such extremes.

  Sandy and his flatmate, Will, had never been an affair. They had been close friends from the orphanage. It was Will who helped Sandy run away. Although gay, Will wasn’t ‘on the game’. He didn’t relish the way Sandy earned his money, but left him to his own devices. Andy, it turned out, had ‘adopted’ Sandy in much the same way as he had later ‘adopted’ me. There developed a strong bond between them which, I suppose in modern parlance, would be termed; ‘soul mates’. Sandy was even godfather to Andy’s child. Thanks to Andy and Will, Sandy was saved from going off the rails and the bond had grown stronger as the years went by. I also had the feeling that Sandy was the first boy with whom Andy had actually fallen in love.

  Later, when I arrived home, my mother was beside herself. Why was I wearing such strange, ill–fitting clothes? I told her that I was with some school friends, playing by a rancid stream and that I had slipped and fallen in. When she heard that my friend’s mother was going to wash the smelly garments, she sniffed with relief. She eyed my replacement ensemble and plainly didn’t delight in the idea of cleaning them.

  Prodigal Sons

  Life on the streets continued but there was a noticeable reticence and caution infecting the racks. At every pick–up point ‘The Evil’ managed to stalk our thoughts, fears and actions. It was the sole subject of gossip – although, ‘gossip’ is a tame description considering the terror he’d engendered in everyone. We tended to seek mutual protection by hanging out in large groups. Even staunch rent rivals put aside their differences in the face of the communal danger. There was a feeling of concerned expectation pervading all the streets. None of us risked going with anyone unknown.

  On the Saturday, following Sandy’s ordeal, I happened to go into ‘The Green Goddess’ and, as I approached the counter to buy a Cola drink, Renata fished under her counter and presented me with a parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. Clutching both my drink and the package, I went over to a table to sit with Wyn, a Welsh lad who had gravitated from the valleys to earn better wages in the city. Inside my prize was a note from Will, along with my clothes which were beautifully washed, pressed and folded. I have no idea how he managed to get the blood stains ou
t of the material, but there wasn’t so much as a spot of Sandy to be seen. Will must have been some sort of miracle worker. The cleanliness of the washing even managed to pass my mother’s piercing scrutiny.

  Two further weeks crawled by slowly but there was still no sign of Andy. I started to get concerned for his safety. I missed him terribly. Selfishly, I enjoyed telling him about my little adventures. Naturally, almost every client I knew, Andy had probably serviced many times. He knew all there was to know about them yet he never looked or sounded bored at my tales.

  One, quiet, warm afternoon in ‘Hell’, you could count the population on two hands. Even Jacko, the cottage’s ‘ever open manhole’ wasn’t in his usual doubled up position over the lavatory pan. With a lack of anything better to do, I was conversing with a man called Tom who wasn’t interested in me. He was searching for someone who could take the full length of his massive eleven inch weapon (he boasted). He had approached me with an offer I could easily refuse. I made it plain that I didn’t ‘take it’. He didn’t push his desire and, instead, started to talk. Tom made delightful company. We watched the comings and goings and he introduced me to various friends of his. Some I had seen before but they hadn’t hired me (yet!); others I knew intimately. A lad of about twenty, carrying a briefcase came over and, although he spoke to my companion, his eyes, mongoose like, were mesmerised by my hidden but bulging trouser cobra.

  Briefcase man made me a proposition but, as it involved going back to his flat, I refused. I couldn’t see any back up to verify the safety factor.

  “Let’s go over there then. It’ll be safe and quiet,” he was indicating one of the ruins. “Tom’ll act as lookout. Won’t you, Tom, me old mate?” Tom grinned and nodded.

  I thought it was worth taking the risk so I agreed. When we entered the shell, he told me that he had a strange request. ‘Not another,’ I thought. Aloud, I said, “Well, all right, if it’s not too kinky.”

  Opening his briefcase, he dug deep inside. ‘What now,’ I wondered, ‘a selection of giant dildos? Handcuffs?’ He produced and presented to me a glass pint beer mug.

  “Thanks,” I said, “and what do I do with this?” I turned it casually in my hand, inspecting it.

  “I want to watch you widdle into the glass and then make me drink it.” I blinked. He gave me a fiver.

  ‘Jeez,’ I thought, ‘why me?’ I shrugged and undid my flies.

  As I flopped out my prick and prepared to urinate into the receptacle, he stooped down and began to lick my testicles so that my liquid was squirting out a few inches from his face. His wide eyes were locked onto the amber fountain. When I’d finished, and before I could shake, he grabbed my cock and licked off the remaining drops. He then, still on his haunches, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and told me to force the stuff into his mouth. I had to pull his head back by his hair and press the rim of the glass to his not too unwilling lips. He slowly imbibed all the contents whilst jerking himself off. After standing up, he made a move to kiss me. Instantly, I thought about the recently drained contents of the glass. I drew a firm line by refusing his kind puckered offer. He didn’t mind.

  The young man left and I returned to my seat. Tom had departed so I was alone. I wanted desperately to tell Andy about this latest experience. Where was he?

  The following weekend, there was still no information as to his whereabouts. I placed yet another message with Renata and hung around a lot with Paolo.

  “Don’t worry about him,” reassured Paolo. “Andy’s his own man. She’ll come back when she’s good and ready.”

  I thought of going to visit Sandy but decided against it. Will would be there and I didn’t think he’d welcome a comparative stranger, even if I was a friend and the saviour of Sandy. It was plain that Will didn’t like Sandy’s home life to be infected with his professional one, so I listened to the grapevine for any new information.

  Another week passed. Now quiet and deserted, the streets had become a great winter landscape. ‘The Hill’, scene of Sandy’s pick–up, was particularly glacial. In this thick permafrost, I assumed most of the rents had gone into hibernation. Because there were fewer boys around for hire, even the tricks must have got wind that something had gone terribly wrong. Prices began dropping. Even the police presence almost vanished. ‘Lily Law’ must have been toasting themselves with the falsely congratulatory thought that they’d personally and finally broken the male prostitution network.

  Finally, the following weekend brought me a joyful message from my dear, lost Andy. Knowing I must have been concerned, he lodged a short note with Renata, telling me that he was fine. He went on to apologise for his absence but he was still preoccupied with his detective work. Trying to track and hunt down ‘The Evil’ was taking up all his time. There was also a message from Sandy. He was recovering well and promised that he would soon be back on the scene. He was looking forward to seeing us. Will sent his regards and hoped I’d received the package he left for me.

  These scraps of first–hand news made me feel a great deal happier. To celebrate, I sauntered over to book into ‘Alfio's’ to cruise ‘Calcutta’ which, because of its set up, had become even more popular. There was safety in numbers. Plus, we had the additional safeguard of Alfio and Carlo's restrictions on ‘Calcutta’s' clientele. The slight problem of the blackness in the backroom was solved by each of us calling intermittently to one another to make sure everyone was okay.

  Yet another week went by. ‘The Evil’ hadn't struck again. We began to think Sandy's was an isolated case. The streets returned to something resembling normality when an unwanted development occurred.

  I bumped into Paolo on ‘The Steps’. He looked worried. “Hi, Carl. Bad news I'm afraid. You know Martin?” I nodded. I felt I didn't want to know what was coming. “I've just come back from visiting him – in the hospital.” Martin was a relative newcomer on the scene and, as such, was still learning its unwritten rules. He was of medium height and slight of build. In many ways, he was remarkably similar to Sandy. His hair was about the same colour and he had much the same look about him.

  Fearing the worst I said, "What's the matter with him?" Did I have to ask?

  “‘The Evil’!”

  “Oh, no. Not again!” A chill went through me. “That bloody Martin! What is he, stupid or something?” The silly boy knew about ‘The Evil’ – and where it had picked up Sandy. It was the talk of the racks.

  “I know.” Paolo's voice was flat and lifeless.

  “Where was he picked up?”

  He looked at me quizzically. "Where d’you think?"

  “Why, for Christ's Sake? He must have known that's where it got Sandy.” I couldn't believe it. “What, did he think all that happened to Sandy couldn't happen to him?”

  Immediately, I went with Nick, a friend of Martin's, to visit our latest victim.

  He was in a truly dreadful state. If Sandy's attack was vicious, Martin's must have verged on the murderous. ‘The Evil’ seemed to have pushed his sick fantasies a lot further. The boy had been even more violently attacked and raped. He'd been kicked in the face and consequently lost quite a few teeth. His hair had been yanked out by the handful and, worse still, after asking about his bandaged eye, I discovered he'd lost the sight of it. Martin told me ‘The Evil’ had repeatedly kicked him in the back. The prognosis was – he would, in all probability, spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I had to retreat into the corridor to avoid letting Martin see me cry. His brief time on the streets had come to a sudden, swift and violent end. What the fuck was happening to us?

  Silently, I pondered, ‘Andy'll go ape–shit when he hears about this.’

  The hospital staff wouldn't let Nick and I visit Martin for long. He told us the Police had paid him a visit and he’d given a reasonable excuse to get them off his back. He told them that he had been ‘set upon’ by a gang of drunken louts. He didn’t think they believed him but what could they do? They knew the score. A promise was given about an extra police
presence. We, naturally, assumed a big operation would be mounted to clear the streets of rent boys. It never happened. The expected crack down never took place. There was no extra protection for the rents. It made us wonder if ‘Lily’ was in some perverse way, pleased to have an effective deterrent for all us pesky brats.

  I didn’t visit the centre for about a month. There was no suggestion that it would be profitable. To keep all my friends from worrying, I left an open note in ‘The Green Goddess’. I don't know how many of them actually read it because, I later discovered, most of them took the same course of action as myself.

  This self enforced exile made me extremely depressed. I didn't think I would miss the townies so much. At school, I was a medium fish in a vast lake. At home I was the eternally failed schoolboy – a constant reminder to my mother of the physical and academic failure she’d produced. In the centre of the city, I was an equal. My family didn’t notice I was going through a major, personal crisis. I tried to fill the hole by mooching around my old, rural haunts but they no longer held the same attraction or appeal. Apart from the ever–loyal Brian, my school friends bored me to distraction. I stood it as long as possible. The urge to return to my real friends finally broke down my resistance. The pull of the racks proved much too powerful for my fragile ego.

  On the day I chose for my return, I expected nothing but hoped for everything. I simply couldn't forecast what would happen. I feared the whole rent scene could have disintegrated and been utterly abandoned. I had visions of myself being the only boy who would still be available. Lucrative, yes – lonely, and how! I underestimated the pull everyone else had experienced. Happy to report, my fears were unfounded.

  Most of the rents and tricks had drifted back. In fact, I was one of the last who responded to the call of the wild side. Ironically enough, my return to the city also coincided with Andy’s. His search for ‘The Evil’ had taken over his reason for living. It had become a personal quest. He was Parsifal, looking for his personal Montsalvat’s stolen spear. Nevertheless, by the time he returned he’d almost given up. His Klingsor had proven highly elusive. His search had been entirely fruitless. There was now an imperceptible change in his demeanour. He was still as friendly and funny as ever but the anger that I had seen was still faintly detectable. It was in his eyes. True, the anger had changed but now it had become colder. He looked and acted as if there were a force inside him which, though hidden, was waiting to pounce should the occasion demand. He showed the frustration of a man who had unfinished business with the world and wouldn't rest until that business had been completed.