Alan Malloy pulled up the case file on his computer and typed up his final report of the morning. He should have been pissed at the amount of time he'd wasted on this one, but then cops did more standing around than in any other profession. Too much like a garbage man, he thought, always at the scene only to clean up the mess.

That's why Alan had helped put together the fledgling internet crimes squad; they were proactive in their approach to enforcing the law. But it wasn't just the law that motivated these guys in the office around him, it was the stink they could smell emanating from the internet these days.

Culling the chat rooms for contacts had become an immediate nightmare; the world was just too big. But for Alan and the other three guys of the squad there was enough local business to keep them on their toes.

Case in point, what would motivate a seemingly normal fourteen year old boy to have an explicit sexual conversation on the internet with a total stranger? Did he feel the anonymity; the thrill of sexuality in a remote conversation that would protect him from danger? Blew that when he met someone and trusted them, end of game...this time a dead kid.

Alan knew the source of a kid's moment of stupidity, frustration pure and simple. Of course the perps knew about that too. After a while the words just didn't score a hit in the pleasure centers of the mind, there was no personal contact.

But many of those 'kids' he chatted with were the very perps Alan was after, the predators who reveled in this new means of snagging a victim. The internet was global and technology made it easy for someone with an above average mentality and a devious mindset.

Ok, he had to admit that he ran across some genuinely caring people out there who just wanted to help these lonely kids. But those folks didn't pose as teenagers. Maybe the world was producing a bunch of social worker wannabes, and it made him wonder just who was lonelier.

By now they had computer models established, programs that analyzed speech patterns while looking for inconsistencies. Did the contact use the same words, slang, or abbreviations? Over and over again the programs compared the contact's patterns with others and identified the similarities....they had a list of suspected perps.

Faking a way into the teenage world was hard work, for perp and cop alike. The lexicon of slang terms these kids used seemed to evolve overnight and Alan had to know them all or get stamped a faker. Then the word would spread, access would be blocked and an investigation stymied.

He had dozens of accounts, twice as many names to throw around and the use of a sterile credit card. He belonged to a growing number of law enforcement officers that channeled, shared information about suspects, but they were still behind...and the body count was growing.

Back when he was a beat cop right out of the police academy, Alan had seen first hand how people could be so cruel to one another. Three years of domestic violence disputes, shootings and robberies on the street had scared him. He couldn't take it any more.

But he had invested in the job; he couldn't run away so he went back to school at night. It wasn't the lure of a bigger degree that motivated him; it was the trash he'd seen and some things that still haunted him from his own past.

That first year as a rookie cop in the 9th District he was partnered with a twelve year veteran. Gregory Malakas ... married to Betty, father of Steven and Sally, an adorable family. But Greg was tired of being a cop by then and it colored his reactions to situations they encountered. Alan still blamed himself and his inexperience for not seeing what was right before his eyes.

It had all gone wrong in a minute. The call they responded to was another domestic dispute, only this time there was a gun involved. There had been three shots fired inside the apartment before they even reached the door and Alan immediately called for backup.

They could hear a woman's hysterical screams from behind the door as they approached the second floor hallway. Greg drew his weapon and motioned for Alan to stay back. He remembered the screams and another shot was fired before Greg said, "We're goin in there."

Alan knew the rules, wait for backup ... and then it was too late. Greg kicked the flimsy door of the apartment and the frame shattered, tearing the door right off the hinges. Greg led the way, weapon up and ready. They burst through the doorway and split left and right. Alan's half of the room was empty, trash strewn about, broken furniture scattered against the walls.

The perp was in the other quadrant and he fired first, clipping Greg in the neck. Alan swung at the sound and pulled off two rounds, both of them dead center on the perp's chest. The man went down, losing his weapon in the process. The whole time a woman huddled in the corner kept up this incessant screaming.

Alan went for the perp's gun and retrieved it before turning to aid his partner. Greg was covered in his own blood, the artery in his neck pumping the life out of him with every heartbeat. Alan covered the gaping wound with one hand as the other reached for his radio.

"Thirty-two baker, officer down ... we need an ambulance at four eight five Tildon," He recalled saying calmly, but the dispatcher's recording told a different story.

"Thirty-two baker ... shut up bitch ... officer down. Oh God, we need an ambulance ... shut the fuck up bitch ... four eight five Tildon ... "

They played it at the inquiry two weeks later. Alan's hysteria and eventual sobbing had all been recorded as he held the transmit button down in his panic. Somber faces on that panel, heads slowly nodding.

"Don't die Greg ... Oh God ... please don't die," were the last words accompanied by the wail of sirens in the background.

Alan had broken down at the funeral. The sight of Greg's young son trying to be brave was too much to endure. The department gave him a month's leave and counseling. Greg's family got a check from the policeman's benevolent association and an insurance payment.

They took Alan off the street for a while. Not for disciplinary reasons, but to check him out ... standard procedure they explained. No one felt sorry for him, cops who screwed up died on the job and Greg had paid the price.

Chicago was a large city and the police force was like any other major organization, there were good and bad elements. From Alan's perspective he knew he was just a small fish in the sea of faces that came and went about their duties. But he'd heard all the stories by the time he'd been put back on the street.

So and so took bribes, this one stole from the drug dealers, that one had his hand in the protection racket. Dirty cops, dirty politicians, dirty town, but he managed to steer clear of the debacle most of the time.

He had told the counselor that he'd become a cop to help people live a normal and prosperous life. Protecting and defending the honest citizens of the community in which he worked. It all sounded like propaganda to his ears but he knew there was some truth in all that. He saw the people in his district as an extended family ... something Alan knew he would never have.

His parents had raised him to be responsible and forthright, at least from their middle class perspective. He knew they had hoped for him to become a banker, a doctor, a lawyer ... anything besides a cop. His father had carried a detective's shield for twenty-eight years and felt the guilt of any father whose son followed in those same shoes.

But they were off in a Winnebago now, traveling the country with a group of retired ex-cops; Alan was alone for the time being. His older brother married, and his sister as well, both as far away from this city as their desires took them. The successes of these family members gave him peace of mind...at least until he looked in the mirror every morning.

Irish to the bone, his mother used to say of his rugged good looks. He looked like a cop, acted like a cop, but inside there was a different person ... a person he suddenly didn't know all that well. Life was a struggle to balance what he knew of himself.

Alan hadn't fully understood those feelings until he was sixteen. He dated because his friends did but he lied about the results. He shared his money with that same bunch of friends when they needed to buy condoms for their conquests, but he never had any use for them himself.

Alan began to work out at the local gym because he thought it would take his mind off the feelings he was beginning to have. But then the gym was full of the temptations he so feared, and eventually he gave into them when the right guy came along.

At first he felt scared by the eyes that checked him out in the locker room, and there were several pairs he noticed turning his way. He couldn't be sure if that handsome thirty-something guy was just being friendly or if there was a subtle undercurrent of sensuality in the man's quiet smile. But he had the answer when the man began to touch him in the gasping heat of the steam room.

Brian Daniels was his first, their friendship giving Alan a glimpse of incredible sexual pleasure and what he thought could be love. He'd never thought he could fall for an older man but he did very quickly. In those dark early-evening hours at Brian's apartment, Alan learned what a man could do for him and he marveled at the feelings.

But Brian only showed him what was possible between them and never spoke of love in return. In all his youthful foolishness, Alan posed naked for the man's camera, allowing his body to be used in hopes it would bring them closer. And then the scenario changed.

Brian it seemed had friends who enjoyed the photos ... and other boys that were willing to participate. Before he knew it Alan found himself in bed with younger boys, willing boys who seemed to enjoy his attentions. Of course Brian was there, camera in hand, and sometimes there were other men as well.

Three months after it started the whole picture shattered. Alan was almost in the middle when the police broke down Brian's door for the bust. But as luck had it he was in the bathroom getting dressed when the door collapsed to the battering ram and the vice squad entered the apartment.

Alan climbed out the window and worked his way down the fire escape before the cops could get the bathroom door open. He stood in the dark alley across the street and watched as the police pulled Brian and the other two boys out of the building and into the waiting squad cars. He almost didn't go home that night, fearful that they would know him and come looking.

Although they had the photos, the police somehow didn't discover Alan's name. He laid low for several months after that, following the story in the news as first Brian and then several other men were arrested, tried and convicted of child pornography. From what he understood at the time, the men wouldn't get out of prison for twenty years if they were lucky enough to survive the experience.

Sixteen, almost seventeen, and Alan was scared out of his mind that those photos would surface somewhere and he would be discovered. He cut off all his hair, affecting a military look that seemed to change his facial characteristics as well.

Alan avoided the gym and most public places for a while, but a change of lifestyle didn't stop the feelings. His needs eventually led him to visit an arcade one Saturday afternoon. And there on the video machine against the back wall was his answer.

Matty Green was one of Brian's little friends, and fortunately not present when the bust went down. He was young, probably the youngest in Brian's stable of boys. But at fourteen, Matty had the experience and the looks Alan desired. And when approached the boy looked him over and smiled in recognition.

"Hey Alan ... where you been hiding?"

"Exactly that ... I was there you know," Alan replied.

Matty looked amazed. "Oh my God, did you get caught?"

"Nope, I flew out the bathroom window like a bird ... they have our pictures you know."

"Yeah ... no one has said anything to me though ... you?"

"Naw, I guess they caught the big fish they wanted, but they got Stevie and Joe ... haven't seen them around have you?" Alan asked.

"Nope, they went to my school too. I hear they're up at Carter Detention," Matty said.

Better them than me," Alan laughed. "What you been up to?"

"Nothin much ... you still in the game?" Matty asked.

Alan grinned. "Not until I saw you."

And the game took on a whole new meaning after that. Matty was his boyfriend throughout high school and they fell in love, true love for the very first time in their lives. The boy was a wonder, in bed and out, and smart enough to understand that the feelings they shared had to be kept a secret.

To the world they were like brothers and Alan's parents accepted the friendship without question. Matty lived alone with his mother and she was happy her son had an older boy around to mind him when she worked all those late hours.

And in the modest apartment building where Matty lived they discovered love. Alan still recalled those quiet evenings and endless weekends where they lay in Matty's bed professing those deep feelings to one another. It still seemed like a dream come true now ... almost fourteen years later.

Matty was a bright kid and he had a computer with access to the fledgling internet. The whole world seemed to be at his fingertips and yet Alan was told this was just the beginning. It was at the hands of this young master that Alan learned the basics and they surfed the net together.

And as luck would have it they got an answer to a very serious issue, Matty discovered a photo on a European web site.

"Oh shit, Alan ... look at this," Matty yelled one evening.

They had been doing homework together, Alan into his math book and Matty finishing up his history only moments before. Alan dropped his pencil and stood up to look over the boy's shoulder.

The photo was of Stevie, one of the boys caught up in the bust. He was flat on his belly and taking a large stiff one up the backside. Alan knew that stiff cock very well, it was still dangling between his legs.

"It's you, isn't it ... ?" Matty asked.

"Yes ... that was the first time I met Stevie ... are there more?" Alan asked.

Matty scrolled down the page, so many boys to look at, and then a window popped open on the screen.

"Aw, it's a pay site ... this is just a teaser. Shit. We can't get into it like this ... uh wait one sec ... " Matty mumbled.

He reached into his desk and thumbed through a notebook. Page after page of web addresses, names, and numbers ... Matty scanned them all looking for something.

"Bingo ... here's one," he said.

He entered a name in the members sign in box and carefully entered a password. The screen flashed dark and then lit up with a 'Welcome' button, that's all.

"We're in," Matty said.

"How the hell did you do that?" Alan asked.

"Hmm trade secret ... but not from you. I belong to a little club that trades things like passwords and codes. These are real computer fans all over the world I met online, you know, the news is starting to call us hackers."

"My sweet little hacker," Alan laughed and kissed the top of Matty's head.

"You go starting that and we won't get to see anything," Matty giggled. He clicked on the Welcome button and the screen changed.

"Oh shit, it's a Russian site ... they have our photos now," Matty yelped.

And it took them only moments to find their faces in the crowd of naked, sexually compromised boys. It was as if he were glimpsing the recent past but Alan shuddered as he saw his face, his penis and the things that he had done at Brian's insistence. Matty felt pretty much the same when he saw himself.

There had been only one session with Matty in Brian's apartment, but here they were together on display in vibrant color. The kissing, the foreplay, the penetration ... all of it was out there on the internet for anyone to see. There was no escaping the feeling, they had been used ... and so had many, many others.

It took them over an hour to view all the photos, hundreds of pictures at least and many of them boys they knew from Brian's apartment. It puzzled Alan that several of the boys had never been to Brian's but he knew them from school or Matty did. They had to be the victims of some of those other men Brian had over, the ones who liked to watch.

"They made a lot of money with this," Alan said. "You ever get more than a dime?"

"Nope. Just a hundred bucks and the occasional beer ... I didn't smoke the weed either."

"Fuck, what can we do about it?"

"Nothing," Matty said. And then those prophetic words, "We're gonna be out there forever."

And so it was, Alan knew. Long after Matty had graduated high school, and gone off to college in California on a scholarship, they had corresponded with email and then moved onto instant messaging. It was by this medium of communication that Alan first learned of Matty's biggest problem.

That final year in college, when success was bringing Alan so much joy, he received the bad news. The boy, for even at nineteen that was what Matty would always be in his mind, had contracted AIDS.

Alone in the darkness of his room Alan wept, for his fears and for the helplessness he felt these many miles away. The internet had kept them together over the years and yet now it seemed Matty was an insurmountable distance away.

Alan blew his savings on a plane ticket to Los Angeles, ditching school to be with the one person in life that kept him whole. The cab from the airport took him up the highway, past signs pointing the way to those famous places he had only read about ... Hollywood, Culver City and Burbank, yet Alan felt nothing. This place was alien, this place had made Matty sick, and a sense of dread crept into his mind.

The address in Venice Beach seemed nice enough and Alan paid off the cab driver. The man who opened the door gave Alan one look and then embraced him with genuine affection.

"Matty ... Matty ... he's here," the man called, looking towards the living room of the house. And from within this apparition came shuffling towards the hallway to greet him. The man standing beside him must have felt Alan's shock.

"The drugs are finally working ... he'll get better."

And it was Matty, so thin, so fragile, but with that same twinkle in his eyes Alan had always remembered. The man at the door was introduced as Stan, and the love in his glance said the rest.

Alan stayed for a week ... and then two, renewing the relationship with Matty, catching up on old times. Stan was a famous artist and a professor, but to Matty he was simply "my angel." It gave Alan such comfort to know that someone else cared, someone who could keep Matty from harm.

The gay community here had been ravaged by the disease and that only seemed to pull them together in solidarity. They threw a party the last night of his stay and Alan met so many men he couldn't begin to remember their names.

But Alan saw that each of these men cherished the young man who had been his first love. Matty would always be a special part of his life and Alan knew in his heart that he would always think of Matty as a boy.

It was unsettling to feel that he could only find love with someone younger, but there it was. Matty had chosen a man twice his age and seemed quite content. Alan had become something that he had first seen only in Brian, a lover of young men and boys.

The next few months were swallowed up in graduating from college. But with that diploma in hand Alan went and applied for the police academy. With his family name he was immediately accepted.

The haunting memory of those internet pictures, and then the ones he now saw from the morgue drove him onwards...Alan had a plan. He served his rookie years, carefully following the rules after the incident with Greg, and began to lobby the department to establish a computer crimes department.

"We're gonna be out there forever," Matty had said, and how true that was. Time and again Alan encountered those same photos on various websites. He managed to get the Chief to assign him part time in investigating these sites. All it would take was one case, one solved crime, and Alan would begin to have what he wanted most ... revenge.

Deep in his mind Alan knew he had an affinity for these boys and yet he didn't act upon that feeling. The opportunity presented itself on several occasions, a place or time where a boy could have been his for the asking. Situations did arouse him but he shied away, knowing that there was an even greater goal down the road ahead.

He finally received his gold shield and as a full fledged detective he assumed the power to run a four man department. They set up shop in a small three story building behind Central District headquarters. Nothing glamorous, it couldn't be like that because they were the new guys. But it was everything he had wanted...and at the same time feared.

The city was faced with a growing number of internet crimes and Alan knew they had better get a handle on it and soon. Too many people didn't understand what they did, and that meant pressure to perform. And then they caught a break.

He remembered the day exactly, Friday, April fourth ... the day Austin was lead into his office. The uniform pushed the kid down into the interview chair and snapped the cuffs to the arm. Alan looked up and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Is this necessary?"

"Solicitation and now assaulting me out there in the hallway ... little punk," the officer said. "He had this in his pocket."

The shiny plastic disk was handed over; the case cracked as if someone had tried to destroy it. The cop handed Alan a thin file folder which meant the boy probably had no previous record.

"Thanks," Alan said. "I'll take him downstairs myself after we're done."

The cop looked relieved, now he didn't have to wait around. The uniform left and Alan looked at the boy. Fifteen ... sixteen maybe ... sweet face, beautiful hair, tight clothes ... he even looked the part of a hustler.

He got up and closed the door. "So ... Austin is it?" Alan said, reading the name off the folder.

Austin Bates, DOB: March 18, 1992, no previous record, no incarcerations. Yup, the kid was sixteen and was already facing time in juvenile lockup ... well maybe. The boy wouldn't look at him so Alan smiled in a show of patience.

"You thirsty ... bet it was a long ride down here and that booking process they put you through can take forever ... want a coke?"

"Fuck you," Austin said.

"I thought you were out there hoping to get fucked yourself, or was the officer wrong? How much do you charge?" Alan asked.

"Fuck off," the boy said.

"Coke or no coke?"

"Give me the fucking soda, but I ain't talking to you ... I want a lawyer."

"And you may have that lawyer right after they take you downstairs. This is just an informal chat, strictly off the record, ok? I'm not with the vice squad, the only reason you're here is that disk."

"Sure ... everything you cops say is a lie," Austin threw back.

Alan pulled a soda from his cooler and opened the tab. Setting the can within easy reach of the boy he leaned back in his chair. Austin snagged the can with his free hand and downed the contents in fifteen seconds, followed by a huge belch and a smile.

"I see someone taught you good manners," Alan laughed. "I bet a hundred bucks would probably get me one hell of a good time with a boy like you."

Austin's eyes opened wide and he stared across the desk. "You'd pay that much?"

"Aw come on, don't tell me you've been selling yourself short all this time? Handsome boylike you ... a hundred is the going rate I hear."

"Shit," Austin said. And then he mumbled something under his breath.

"Someone been pimping you low out there, holding back cash on you perhaps?" Alan asked.

"Fuckers," was Austin's only response.

"Does your mother know what you've been doing lately?" Alan asked.

"The whore doesn't care unless her crack dealer don't come through."

Ahh, Alan thought, the picture gets clearer. He picked up the disk off his desk and held it up. "Wonder what this is all about?"

"Nothin but music," Austin said, but his eyes looked scared.

Alan reached over to his computer and slapped the disk in the tray. He glanced over at the boy as the unit spun the disk up to speed, yeah the boy was frightened. And when the window opened Alan knew why.

"Hmmm, got yourself a little business goin I see. You sell this stuff?"

"No, I found it," Austin lied.

Alan laughed and scrolled thru the icons. It was almost pathetic; there were half a dozen files with Austin's name on them. He clicked on the first icon and the boy's naked body appeared. And a fine body it was too in Alan's opinion. Unfortunately there was no sign of the cameraman or his confederates. But there sure was a lot of Austin showing up, the boy had talent.

"Amazing how your photos just managed to get on this disk, lucky you just found it. Wouldn't be right if anyone saw these things.....wow, can you really do that?"

Alan turned the monitor screen so that Austin could see the image clearer. The boy was bent over and several inches of his own cock was stuffed in his mouth. Amazing, Alan had seen stuff like this before but never met the star of the action.

"It isn't me, just looks like me," Austin said.

"Maybe I should call in our medical examiner to check you out. Not a pleasant experience I must tell you, all that probing and stretching."

"OK ... fuck ... what do you want from me?"

"The truth ... who the hell took these pictures?" Alan asked.

"I don't know," Austin said.

"Aw come on, a name at least," Alan said. "Right now your cooperation means a whole lot, you haven't been charged yet and that assault business out in the hall is gonna get you some time if it sticks."

"I don't know his name, not his real one anyways. Bucky ... something was all I ever heard. Online he calls himself Bratfucker ... no lie."

"Bratfucker ... really? Bratfucker? And yet you hang around this guy ... are you crazy?"

Austin just glared across the desk but the look wasn't menacing, in fact it made him look cute. And that was something that had been in Alan's head since the boy was brought in ... something familiar that was just now becoming clear. The boy was just like he was at that age, and obviously into the same things ... like a fool.

OK, Alan had never sold himself, but then he'd always had money in his pocket, what did Austin have? Nothing at home it seems ... so did he take up with the first guy he found on the internet that would pay attention to him? That was the next question ... who was this Bratfucker and why was he so blatant about it?

Alan opened his top drawer and took out his case book. Everything was supposed to be in the records department down the hall but all detectives kept a book like this close at hand. It was a tickler file, a list and more of everything important they had worked on, especially if the crime went unsolved. And Lord knows he wasn't supposed to show any of this to a civilian.

He opened the cover and looked at the statistics he kept right there on that first page. It still shocked him, and he hoped Austin would get the point.

"In the past three years, there have been eight young boys gone missing in the Greater Chicago area. They were finally found ... assaulted and killed by guys like your Bratfucker ... eight. And each of them seems to have met the killer online in a chat room ... thought he was OK and agreed to meet.

"That's eight boys who never came back from that meeting ... eight that we know of. We've only found that many bodies. Who knows what the real number is? This isn't a game Austin ... there are some serious hurtful people out there."

"I know that ... I'm careful ... " Austin began and then thought better of it.

"Let me tell you what I see sitting in that chair," Alan said. "I see a kid who grew up fast, didn't have any of what you might call normal privileges in life, and so he set out to make his own way. His mother doesn't care if he comes home late or comes home at all. This boy has latched onto something now and he doesn't know how to get out of it, probably because they know how to find him, manipulate him as they see fit. How am I doin so far?"

"It's your fairy tale, you tell it," Austin said.

"Ok, chapter two. This boy may or may not be gay, doesn't matter to him what I think either, he'll say he's in it for the money, for survival. So he sells himself cheap, probably because he likes sex with men and the attention that brings him."

"I am not a fag," Austin blurted out.

"But gay sex works for you, doesn't it?"

"It's just sex man, what's the big deal?"

Alan turned the page in his case book and the photos began. He pulled the first one out of the book and laid it on the desk for Austin to see.

"This boy was raped, beaten and then strangled ... he was fourteen years old." He took out a second photo. "This one was sodomized, then raped before the killer cut his little penis off and shoved it up the kid's ass ... he was only twelve. Should I go on?"

Austin's face was turning pale and he looked like he was going to vomit. The photos were graphic and painful to look at, but the bodies clearly showed the devastation the killer had wanted to leave behind. Alan swiped them off the desk and put them back in the book.

"I don't want to see you end up like these boys ... I mean that," Alan said.

Austin cleared his throat, some color returning to his face, but his eyes were moist, tears glistening in the corners.

"Why ... " He croaked, and cleared his throat again. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't have the answers, Austin. I suppose they were abused as children, well some of them, it made them sick ... they don't think right in their heads. But if they kill then they need to be taken off the streets and put away forever ... that's my job."

"Well your job sucks, man."

"Yeah ... tell me about it," Alan replied. "Look, you can help me and help yourself at the same time. Who took the photos?"

"I'm serious, I just know him as Bucky. We got together at the arcade on Jackson ... I think he hangs there," Austin said.

"If I brought in an artist do you think you could describe him ... let her make a sketch of what he looks like?"

"I suppose ... you gonna put in a word for me with the judge?" Austin asked.

"I'll do more than that ... and I"ll buy you lunch," Alan said. "Does your mom know you're down here?"

"Nope."

" We'll have to call her. Do you want to cooperate with my investigation?"

"Nope ... but I will."

"Good man, smart move. You sit there for a minute ... " then Alan laughed, "Um, suppose you have to, I don't have a handcuff key on me. I'll go get that officer to unhook you and then we'll go see what the artist's schedule is like. If she's busy we'll go do lunch first."

Alan got up and started for the door. The question when it came was quiet, as if Austin was afraid to even ask.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Alan stopped and squatted down beside the boy, looking up into those pale blue eyes. "Because you need someone to care about you, it's all you've ever needed."

The boy's eyes watered ... his feelings close to the edge of tears, this all had to be pretty stressful. Alan gazed at this face and the beauty of what he saw astounded him. He could not allow himself to become involved ... no, not yet ... but maybe there would be a time for that. Austin would need guidance and support...he'd already had entirely too much sex.

The kid didn't know it but he was about to enter the system and without an advocate he would feel lost. Alan knew he was sexually attracted to the boy, but that wasn't what Austin needed, he needed a strong hand of support. It was the least he could do if the boy helped bring some resolution to any of these killings.

Austin gave a little smirk. "You like me don't you ... I didn't know cops were into that kind of thing."

It was a simple observation based upon the boy's experience with men. Alan wondered how long the boy had been a prostitute ... probably much too long if he was able to see something in a man's eyes. But the kid deserved some kind of truth if they were going to continue this relationship.

"I like kids," Alan said, "I don't want to see them get hurt. You're very close to the edge, my friend; I don't want you to take a fall. When this all goes down I will make sure you are safe, I can do that. I just want you to know it's not going to be easy, for either of us ... ok?"

Austin smiled ... a genuine emotion this time. "Nothing good comes easy, it always has a price."

Alan shook his head. "You're mighty young to be so cynical ... but I understand."

He patted the boy's arm and rose. "I'll be right back ... don't go anywhere."

"Naw, I'll be chillin' right here when you get back," Austin replied, rattling the handcuffs. "Don't forget the key ... please?"

Alan smiled and left the boy alone, not like he could go anywhere, the chair was bolted down. He asked around for the sketch artist, Jill Abrams, and discovered she was out until one that afternoon. OK, lunch it is then. Officer Riggs was in the break room when Alan approached.

"That kid giving you any trouble?" Riggs asked.

"Nope, what's with this assault business?"

"He bumped me in the hall coming up here, I figured it might give you some leverage," Riggs said.

"Hmm, well drop it, he's cooperating just fine. Where exactly did you find that disk?" Alan asked.

"Back right hand pocket, it was all he had, no ID at all."

"No money either? So what made the solicitation charge, did he approach someone?"

"Yeah, a guy from the convenience mart on Jefferson said the boy was hanging around out front, talking to guys, trying to sell that disk or himself I suppose. It was a judgment call, he doesn't have a rap sheet," Riggs said. But the look on his face said he knew where this was going.

"Well we'll need to drop that one too if he cooperates. Panhandling without a license is about all this one is worth to you." Alan said.

"Aw crap, detective, they'll laugh me right outta here on that one," Riggs groaned.

"No report, no foul for you ... he's gonna give us a real perp ... maybe even a kid killer. I'll make sure your name is in my report for the arrest, how's that?" Alan smiled.

"Damn ... that's mighty considerate of you ... thanks."

"Don't mention it; you did the best thing for him. Now I just need to keep him off the streets. That arcade on Jackson, is it on your beat?"

"Yup, grubby little joint," Riggs said.

"Well if you see this boy there again I wanna know about it. It's going to be under surveillance by this afternoon, the perp might hang there. I'll make sure you guys get a sketch."

"You going to do a stakeout?"

"Nope, not yet ... I think there are bigger fish to fry on this one," Alan said.

"Let me know if you need any help, I hate fucking child molesters."

"Don't we all," Alan said.

And he meant that honestly because he wasn't one of them. It had been hard to keep his hands off, easier said than done. The boys he had slept with were all adults, but barely. The law said eighteen for consent; it didn't say how old they had to look.

Not that he prowled the streets, but he did use an escort service on occasion. They had the sweetest boys, all legal, he checked them out first. But he had never come close to a boy like Austin before; it was going to be a trial.

He grabbed a hand cuff key from the desk sergeant downstairs and walked back up to his office. Austin hadn't moved an inch, he couldn't. But the boy looked grateful when the cuffs were off.

"We're set for the artist at one o'clock, are you hungry?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, but I gotta pee real bad first," Austin replied.

Alan took the boy down to the Men's room and followed him inside. The boy quickly stepped to the urinal and let out a sigh as he began to urinate. Alan leaned against the wall watching, rules were rules, and he was waiting.

Austin finished and a sly grin came to his lips. "You wanna see it?" he asked.

Alan laughed. "Why? I have a whole disk full of your cock. Pack it up and let's go eat."

Austin zipped up and washed his hands, but as he passed by Alan grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Let's get one thing straight, don't go soliciting me like that ever again, OK? If I wanted to fuck you I would have picked you up out of the gutter. Selling yourself is a thing of the past, Austin, I'm gonna make sure of that. You want sex from now on you are gonna have to earn it like everyone else. You want a boyfriend; I'll find you a nice sixteen year old to play with ... OK?"

Austin cringed at the hand on his shoulder, and he almost whimpered at the pressure. "I'm not a fag ... OK?"

"Sure, and I'm the Easter Bunny, but you think I'm a fag."

"Uh ... sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that," Austin said.

"No offense taken. I don't really think you understand yourself just yet ... give it time." Alan said.

And then Alan saw the blush on the boy's cheeks and thought it was adorable, what could he be thinking? Austin was at that age when sex should be something he was just curious about, instead he was an expert, or so he thought. Damn this was going to be tough; it would be like bringing a junkie down off drugs.

But the adults that had used the boy knew about his sexual proclivities, and the sweeping sexuality the boy exuded. It had been that means of gaining attention which finally bit him in the ass. Now it meant Alan had to turn the boy against his former masters ... a delicate task at best.

They took Alan's car south, out of the downtown area and on towards Washington Park.

"Where are we going?" Austin asked.

"To lunch ... aren't you hungry?"

"Yeah ... but why here? This is a scary neighborhood."

"No it isn't ... do Hispanic people scare you?" Alan asked.

"Yeah ... sorta ... well I don't really know any," Austin said.

"So you came all the way down from Belmont just to hustle businessmen in the Loop?" Alan said. "I'm not buying that. A bus ride like that would take ... oh, say two hours with all the stops. Where do you stay when you're downtown? You have a crash pad somewhere don't you?"

"Uh ... yeah I know some people."

Alan looked over at the boy. So far the kid hadn't volunteered anything beside this Bucky character; it was time to dig for more.

"So how many kids crash at this place? I don't imagine you have a suite all to yourself, are there a bunch of guys you hang with?"

"Uh ... look I am not allowed to say anything ... " Austin began.

"You haven't figured this out have you? The party is over for you, it's gonna be cooperate or do juvy time, we both know that. So work with me here, tell me the setup."

Austin shrugged. "It's just an apartment, a couple blocks away from Jackson. Uh, there are three boys staying there now, sometimes more, there are some other people around too."

"Who is in charge ... this Bucky character?"

"Nope, I only meet him about once a week. All our cash goes in an envelope that Kevin keeps."

"All right ... and who is Kevin?" Alan asked.

"He has the apartment next door ... we're not allowed to go over there. He calls us on the phone; we each have a cell phone.

"And where is yours?" Alan asked.

"Umm ... I ditched it in the sewer when the cop chased me...Kevin told me never to get caught with it."

"This Kevin sounds pretty smart, so he must be your boss. Is he a tough guy?"

Austin laughed and shook his head. "Kevin is a geek ... a real computer nerd. Hell, he's only a year older than I am."


On to Chapter One

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page

"On the Wire" Copyright © 16 November 2008 by Chris James. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Christmas Stories | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer