TWENTY-FOUR

 

Certain they were about to sustain serious physical injuries and possible permanent disfigurement, Adam and Carter ran for the house. Adam cried, “Holy shit, holy shit!” as Carter cried, “Fuck me! Fuck me!” They ran with arms stretched out rigidly ahead of them, like characters in a Scooby-Doo cartoon running from a mummy. Together, they slammed into the heavy dark oak door and pounded it with their fists as they screamed.

Adam: “Openthedoor openthedoor openthe—”

Carter: “Fuck me fuck me fuck me—”

Adam glanced over his shoulder. Stopped shouting and did a double take.

The pit bulls jumped up on Billy, paws leaving dusty tracks on his clothes as he talked to them cheerfully. “Hey, guys, how’s it goin’, huh? Huh?” Grinning, he roughed them up, let them chew playfully on his hands.

“Hey,” Adam said as he poked Carter with a knuckle.

Carter stopped screaming, turned. He and Adam watched the playful dogs for a moment. Caught their breath, waited for panic to recede.

Billy shook his head and laughed at them. “Y’know, I like you guys. But you’re, like, way big pussies.”

The oak door opened as a few harsh, wet coughs sounded from behind it. Wheezy, rattling coughs. A man’s voice said, “What in theeee fuck is going on out here?”

A narrow head peered around the edge of the door wearing what appeared, at first, to be a furry cap. It was, in fact, a black toupee sparkling with a few strands of silver. The face beneath it was in its late sixties, but the voice was older. Strings of smoke rose from a long cigarette in a short, shiny black holder clenched between his teeth. His gray eyes moved up and down their bodies one at a time.

“You all right?” he asked. “Sounded like somebody was bein’ circumcised out here, Jeez-iz.” He stepped out from behind the door wearing only a white towel around his waist. Beneath it, an erection pushed willfully at the terry cloth.

Oh, terrific, wonderful, Adam thought. We’re never gonna be seen again.

Adam said, “Sorry to drag you out of the shower, but we—”

“Nah, I wasn’t in the shower,” he said, wheezing with asthma or emphysema. “I was workin’. I’m always workin’. Well, come on in.”

Adam looked back at Billy, who was still romping with the pit bulls. “Hey, Billy?” he called. Billy had forgotten all about them. He was remarkably talented at making masks and prosthetics, but he did not give the impression of being one who engaged in a great deal of critical thought.

The man held his cigarette holder between two knuckles as he stepped back and waved them into the house. He was short and wiry, but his pasty complexion gave him a look of ill health. The nicotine-yellowed silver hair on his sagging chest and belly did not match his toupee.

Adam and Carter looked at one another. Carter shrugged. Adam gestured for him to go first.

“You been here before, or what?” the man asked.

Adam replied, “Well, we just came with—”

“I got so many comin’ in and out now—you know, this bidness has just gone through the roof. I got six websites, I can do two-three videos a day, every day if I so fucking choose. I could do a lot more, but my doctor tells me to slow down a little ’cause of my pump. But still I got boys comin’ and goin’, I can’t keep up with all the boys around here.” He closed the door and turned to them in the foyer, laughing. “But we can always use some more!”

The foyer walls were bare. A small surveillance camera watched from an overhead corner. Looked directly at Adam.

The man stepped between them, put his arms across their backs, cigarette holder clamped between his teeth like Franklin Roosevelt. Led them around a corner and down a hall, his erection pointing the way. He smelled of gin.

Another camera watched the hallway.

The man said, “I seen you boys around here before? Who sent you?”

Adam gulped before saying, “We came here with—”

“You want something to eat?” the man asked. “I got all kindsa sammiches and snacks in the kitchen. Beer, soda, milk, whatever you want.”

Adam said, “Uh-uh.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Carter said. His voice was dry and coarse. Neither of them had recovered yet from the pit bulls.

“Right in here.” He pushed them through a door.

It was a long room, and a camera high in the corner kept an eye on it. A wall had been knocked out between two bedrooms. Four digital cameras stood on tripods facing four small, spare sets, one in each corner. The first was a sofa with an end table and lamp at one end, a simple wooden coffee table in front of it, and a velvet painting of John Wayne in cowboy hat and kerchief on the wall. A half-empty fifth of gin stood on the end table. The next set looked like an adolescent boy’s bedroom, then a Jacuzzi, a weight room, all separated by cheap divider screens. Near the Jacuzzi, two naked boys—fourteen, maybe fifteen—shared a fat beanbag chair, leaned on each other as they passed a joint between them. They sat up when the man walked in.

He puffed on the cigarette compulsively and a cloud of smoke encircled his head. “Dougie and Brandon,” he said, gesturing to the naked boys as he went to the end table and retrieved the bottle of gin. Took a healthy swig. “They just finished a live show on the ’net. You boys ever done anything like this?”

“That’s illegal,” Adam muttered, frowning at the underage boys. He had not intended to speak the thought out loud and regretted it instantly.

“Illegal,” the man said, voice hard as steel. “Did you just say ‘illegal?’ That’s what I just heard you say, right? ‘Illegal?’ In my house you said that?”

This is really bad, Adam thought. He and Carter stammered over each other a moment. “This is a mistake,” Adam said, “a terrible, awful mistake, we came with Billy, we’re here to see—” His mind blanked and he turned to Carter, snapped his fingers rapidly. “What’s his name, what’s his name?”

Billy hurried into the room. “Sorry ’bout that, guys,” he said. “Hey, Mr. C.”

“Billy.” Mr. C.’s suspicious eyes never left Adam. He took a couple more swallows of the gin, nearly finished it. Clamped the cigarette holder between his teeth. “I can’t believe you brought somebody into my house who’d say the word ‘illegal,’ Billy. And in my fucking presence!”

No longer laughing. Billy looked at Mr. C. seriously and said, “We’re here on business. We gotta see Diz. I just got distracted by the dogs, assall. Sorry about surprisin’ you like that.” It was the most alert and articulate he had been all day.

“On business, huh?” His eyes moved back and forth between Adam and Carter. “You sure these two’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. C.,” Billy said, nodding fast. “I’ve known ’em for years, Mr. C., I’d, um, I’d put my life in their hands.”

Mr. C.’s right eye narrowed and he plucked the cigarette holder from his teeth. “Are you two Hollywood? I know Billy’s Hollywood. You Hollywood?”

“My dad’s a screenwriter,” Adam said as Carter nodded.

“I wanted to go the Hollywood route,” Mr. C. said, nodding. “You know, make some low-budget teen sex comedies, maybe a slasher flick or two. I didn’t have no delusions, I wasn’t after an Oscar, nothin’ like that. But in Hollywood, you gotta have the right look, the right clothes. You gotta be the right age, know the right people. Gotta have the right color eyes. They never let me join in any of their Hollywood reindeer games.” He tipped the bottle back, emptied it. Handed it to Billy. “Get ridda this and get me another one.” Billy took the bottle and rushed out of the room. “But now? Hell, now I got alla Hollywood connections I need.” He grinned and his dentures clacked. “I got Hollywood connections comin’ outta my ass.”

“You...do?” Adam asked cautiously.

“Oh, sure. Lotta big Hollywood players buy my tapes, my CD-ROMs.” He became animated, gestured with his arms, cut trails of smoke in the air. “They want boy porn, they come to me ’cause I’m the best.” He turned to Dougie and Brandon and said, “Hey, you two hit the shower. And tell Eric and Tony and, uh, lessee, Sean, tell ’em to come in here, ’kay?” To Adam and Carter again: “Some of ’em even rent my boys once in a while. Now that, see, that wasn’t even my idea. I wasn’t inta that. I play it safe, and that’s a treacherous trade, the meat trade. But all these big Hollywood agents kept showin’ up, flashin’ their cash, tryin’ to get me to let some of the boys go to this party, that party, in Malibu or Beverly Hills, whatever, and pretty soon they convinced me. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you some of the big names I do bidness with.”

Without missing a beat, Adam nodded and said, “Yes, I would.”

“The fact is, we’re in the same bidness, Hollywood and me. Difference is, they do their work out in the open, and I’m out here in the fuckin’ Mojave desert with the kangaroo rats and the fuckin’ sidewinders and tarantulas I have nightmares about every fuckin’ night. Well, that’s one difference. Another’s that I’m honest about what I do, I’m not a fuckin’ hypocrite. And I got less overhead and a bigger markup. And best of all, I got a lotta Oscar-worthy material in my archives, I can tell you that. You know what I’m sayin’? Huh?” He grinned and his dentures shifted. Voice lowered, became gravelly. “So, if there’s somethin’ about you two that my friend Billy doesn’t know, and you’re plannin’ to hand me over to the feds, you keep that in mind, okay? I go down, everybody goes down. Understand? Everybody.” He held the cigarette holder like a pen and pointed the cigarette’s ashy tip at them. “That might include somebody you know. Somebody you love.” He coughed up a cold chuckle, pointed the cigarette between Adam’s eyes and grinned. “Ya just never know with them Hollywood types.” He smiled at Adam for a long moment, with no friendliness, no humor.

Billy jogged back into the room, handed Mr. C. a new bottle of gin. Said, “Well, um, we should, uh, find Diz. You know where he is, Mr. C.?”

Mr. C. waved his cigarette again. “I dunno, he’s around someplace, I think.”

Billy looked at Adam and Carter, gestured toward the door. “Okay, um, guys, less go find Diz, huh?”

Mr. C. stopped them as they were leaving the room. “Hey, you boys, you ever wanna make some extra cash, I got work for ya. Two hundred bucks a session. You’re just what I’m lookin’ for,” he said to Adam. Then, to Carter: “And I gotta line of chubby videos you’d be perfect for.”

“Chubby videos,” Carter said. “Imagine that.”

Adam said, “We’re straight.”

“Fine, just whack off in fronta the camera. Pays the same either way. Nobody does nothin’ they don’t wanna do, know what I’m sayin’? Just as long as we get a pretty dick in fronta the camera. This is a very friendly operation we got here, and everybody’s happy. Like a big happy family.”

“Well, um, they’ll think it over, Mr. C.,” Billy said, nodding. “See ya later.”

In the hall, they followed Billy. Adam was so angry, his hands shook. Drugs, guns, and explosives were bad enough. But minors being used in pornography in an isolated desert compound was more than he could take. Over the throbbing of his heart in his ears, Adam listened for the sound of helicopters overhead. Doors being smashed open by FBI agents, machine guns spraying bullets.

“Hey, thanks, Billy,” Carter whispered. “But could we, like, not get separated in the future? Okay?”

“I want out of here,” Adam said.

“Oh, well, we can’t leave yet,” Billy said, ‘“cause we haven’t found Diz.”

The kitchen was very roomy, separated from the dining area by a long, broad bar. Trays of sandwich sections, raw vegetables, and potato chips were arranged on the mosaic tile top. A large chrome industrial refrigerator and freezer were set into a wall. Another camera watched from a corner overhead.

A thin olive-skinned boy of about fifteen stood at the bar eating chips, sampling the dips. He had stoned eyes, wet hair, and wore only a pair of boxer shorts.

“Heya, Tony,” Billy said.

“’Sup, Billy?” the boy said with a smile.

“Brandon said Mr. C. wants you on th’set.”

“Shit, I gotta dry my hair.” He grabbed a fistful of chips and started out.

Adam stopped him. “Hey, Tony. Are you...well, you know, are you all right?”

Tony looked at him with narrowed eyes and a smartass smirk. “All right? The fuck you talkin’ ’bout, dude?”

“Well, I mean...being here. Doing this. Wouldn’t you rather, you know, go back to school?”

Tony grinned. “What, and leave show business?” He hurried out of the kitchen laughing, disappeared down the hall.

“You guys, um, stay here,” Billy said. “I’m gonna go find Diz.”

“Hey, Billy,” Adam said. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Billy pointed to an open doorway. “Straight through there, end of the hall.”

“Thanks.” When Billy was gone, Adam turned to Carter. He was eating a sandwich. Adam slapped the back of his head with a loud smack.

“Hey, what the hell’s your problem, man?”

“Your friend Billy is a retard, Goddamnit, that’s my problem.”

“I can’t believe you hit me. And he’s not retarded. He’s just...slow.”

“Maybe he had a lobotomy, ever think of that? What did I ask Billy in the car? Huh, Carter? What did I ask Billy?”

Carter thought about it. Closed his eyes a moment and nodded. “If there was anything else we should know.”

“Right. Like pit bulls and child pornography!”

Carter took another bite. “That’s not really child pornography, is it?”

“They’re minors. These guys are fifteen years old tops, people go to prison for this shit! Who knows how young the other ones are? Doesn’t that bother you?”

Carter shrugged, chewed. “Yeah, it’s illegal. But a lot of things are illegal.” He sucked his teeth for a few seconds. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s putting a gun to their heads, does it? You were making all your own decisions at their age, weren’t you?”

“That’s not the point. It’s just...wrong.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, it’s probably wrong.” He finished the sandwich and said, “Have one of these, they’re great. Some kinda sandwich spread.”

Adam’s surprise registered on his face.

“What? Why’re you staring?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I’m going to the bathroom.” He walked down the hall, less upset by Carter’s apparent acceptance of Mr. C.’s livelihood than by his own. He was about to do business with Diz. That was a form of acceptance.

At the end of the hall, the bathroom door stood open a foot. Adam stepped inside and said, “Oh, my God.”

A mountainous woman stood facing the rectangular mirror above the sink. Well over three hundred pounds, Adam guessed. Black leather straps studded with shiny silver crisscrossed her body. White rolls of flesh stuck out between the straps and waggled like useless limb stumps when she moved. An intricate dragon tattoo emerged from the crevasse between her great breasts. Perhaps gulping air. She applied the last of her lipstick and smiled at him in bright red, face as big around as a medium pizza.

“Hi, there. You new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” She spoke with an inelegant southern accent.

Adam’s mouth moved a few times before anything came out. “I-I’m here with Billy. A friend of Billy’s. I am, I mean. Billy and I are friends. And we’re here.”

“Well, I’m Mrs. C.,” she said. “Is my Biwwy here? My widdoo-biddy Biwwy?”

The baby talk made him afraid she was going to squeeze his cheeks hard.

Mrs. C. dropped her lipstick into a small black bag and zipped it closed. “The room’s all yours. I gotta show comin’ up. You tell my widdoo Biwwy I said hi!”

Adam had to step into the hall and stand in the open doorway of a bedroom to let her pass. In the bathroom, Mrs. C. had left behind perfume fallout that smelled like Fruit Loops. In sour milk.

He turned on the ventilation fan and closed the door. Locked it. After emptying his bloated bladder, he washed the dust from his hands and face. Raised his head and watched droplets of water fall from his eyebrows onto his cheeks in the mirror.

Am I really doing this? he thought. It appeared that he was. And he was doing it out here in the fuckin’ Mojave desert with the kangaroo rats and the fuckin’ sidewinders and tarantulas.

Overhead, a camera watched him with a shark-like eye.