David Burns was whistling 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' and dreaming of the day the National Mall in Washington, DC would sink below sea level as he placed the last of the bombs in his briefcase. When the phone rang, his mind was a million miles away, "The Only Good Bug is a Dead Bug" he said. "We aim to kill."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The clock ticked three minutes past midnight and Danh Nguyen had barely closed the door leading to his part time job as a security guard in L'Enfant Plaza, when Adman smashed Danh's car window with a rock, unlocked the door, slid inside, and rifled through the glove compartment, checking behind the sun visor and side door pockets, and digging his fingers under the seats pulling out gum wrappers, a used condom, a broken pair of sunglasses, a Metro map, a quarter, what appeared to be a badge and an address book. Then he popped the trunk.

"Hey, look at this, the little fucker's a D.C. cop." David laughed as he turned the badge right side up, then he slipped it in his pocket, wondering how even a moon-lighting police officer could be stupid enough to leave it in the car. "Let's see what else he's left us. If I find his revolver, we can count this as our first coup." David had watched too many westerns when he was young. No one takes coup anymore either, he thought, no one makes cowboy movies anymore. Now they create art noir films displaying interpersonal relationships of indigenous Americans having high tea in a rustic western setting-but just once I'd like to take me a God damned Indian scalp-just once. David spit.

Adman opened the back door and dug deep under the seat, finding a photo of Danh with another man, "I bet it's a picture of the queen's boyfriend.": He stretched out the sound of boy-y-y until it became a pejorative, reading, "'Love and kisses from your adoring Michael.'"

"Look for his gun. We need to find the God damned gun." David was already thinking of the damage they could cause with a cop's gun.

"I don't see a gun, but here's his registration. He lives at 2243 Q Street-that's Q for Queer." He laughed so hard he almost pissed himself.

"Then we can get his gun," David knew there was only one thing worse for a cop than stealing his badge: "We'll get the gun at his place."

"The eighteen hundred block of Q is just around the corner from the office, did you know that? We got a queer living around the corner from us. Holy fuck!"

"We're in Dupont for a reason. When Sunday comes and they die in the flood, we'll buy their properties at a deflated value. We'll beat the fuckers one way or another."

"I didn't think you were looking for remuneration."

David choked. He couldn't believe Adman knew the meaning of any ten-cent words, "Where'd you learn that?"

Adman laughed, "It's a Bugs Bunny word. I used to spend hours watching cartoons when I was at Elliott Junior High. Once Bugs Bunny stole Elmer Fudd's carrots and Elmer said, thanks for the r-r-r-r-remuneration.' My mom told me what it meant and I never forgot it. I loved how Elmer stuttered all the time; it made me feel better than him."

David reached into the side pocket on the driver's side, "A house key and a twenty-dollar bill. How Fortuitous!" Call Terrill. Have him meet us outside the fag's apartment building.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At 5:30 A.M., David Burns used Danh's keys to open the front door of his apartment on Q Street. Then he, Adman, and Terrill burst into the bedroom where Michael Parker slept naked waiting for his lover.

"Isn't that a pretty sight," Adman said as he wrapped and tied a black hood over Michael's head as Terrill tied Michael's hands behind his back.

"You're coming with us, little naked boy," he drawled out the word little until it was a marvelous diminutive, then he slapped Michael's penis and nuts with his right hand a half dozen times. "I wonder what your fairy cop friend will say when he finds out you've been fag-napped."

"What's going on? Who are you? Where's-?"

"We're the FAG-BALLS, boy, that's all you need to know. The FAG-BALLS."

"The FAGBALLS, what the hell's the FAGBALLS?"

Adman kneed Michael in the nuts, "It's FAGBALLS, boy, we're your neighborhood Faggot Ball Busters."

Terrill backhanded Michael, hard across his hooded face. "And use 'sir', otherwise we'll nut you."

Michael shivered inside the hood, wondering what was going on, wondering how strangers had gotten inside his triple-locked security door.

Terrill hoisted Michael over his shoulder like a piece of meat and carried him out the front door, "Straight down Q for Fag Street," he said, as the door slammed behind him.

"Hush, we'll get the rest of the faggots later, just give it time and play the game, okay?"

Terrill knew what David was talking about. He'd been injured as a boy in a freak horseshoe tossing incident at the Calvary Baptist Church on First and Rhode Island Avenue, when the preacher's wife, Big Matilda White, chucked her horseshoe backwards, accidentally whacking Terrill on his head, and even though the church parishioners believed only in divine intervention, the pastor had called the ambulance, and seven-year-old Terrill was taken to Children's Hospital, where he spent a month in therapy and learned to hate homosexuals because of the touchy-feeling male nursing staff.

Michael, whose testicles and head were both aching in pain, felt as if he was riding a bucking bronco as he was carried down Q Street. He tried to scream, but his voice was muffled by the hood and the only sound he could make was a soft barely aspirated "ummphff."

Emory LaBille, the seventy-three-year-old Hostess Cream Filled Cupcake baker who lived across the street, heard the sound, but thought it was just another tree branch falling on his roof, like the one that had crashed in September when he was making love to Lucinda Pardo, his fifty year old mildly retarded girlfriend. Emory was too tired to investigate and, besides, ever since he lost his prostate, Lucinda was nothing but a distant memory . . . just like the tree.

The six-term Republican Congressman who was driving his powder blue BMW convertible, tore down the twenty-second-hundred block of Q Street, more concerned with getting away from the gay bars and sneaking home to his pregnant wife and four year old daughter than of helping a man in need. Later, he would admit that he saw two men carrying a hooded naked man down the street on their shoulders, but he didn't stop or call for help. Dupont Circle, he thought, is the only neighborhood where love conquers all, no matter how kinky.

The only other eyewitness was eighty-eight-year-old Nancy Flournoy, the last native heterosexual living on Q Street. Nancy's father had built her house in 1887, and she refused to move even when her entire neighborhood was invaded by, as she put it, "that bunch of sissy fru fru girls." Miss Nancy (as she was fondly referred to by everyone in the neighborhood) carefully lifted one of the slats in the Venetian blind, making sure only her right eye, the good eye, was able to peer through the slats. She saw three men carrying a naked man out of the building across the street. Don't they ever sleep? She thought, as she reflected about her late husband, Mandrake Flournoy, the man she had fallen in love with before the Great Crash and of the times they had run naked through this, her five-story house. Manny would always catch me-even though it took him a while toward the end. Miss Nancy lowered the slat and went back to bed, dreaming about her sixty-two- year marriage, instantly knowing why she stayed even when the neighborhood changed, as her heart stopped beating and she dropped her box of Kleenex to the floor.

As soon as they reached the garage behind David's mansion, Adman grabbed Michael's ass, "I'm first," he said, as Terrill dropped Michael onto the concrete floor.

"I brought him, I'm first," Terrill yelled.

"Calm down, we'll all get a chance. Let's have some fun with him first, okay? His boyfriend will be looking for undamaged goods, so let's not damage him . . . not too much, anyway." David laughed as he, too, began to unzip. "How do we want to do this, biggest or smallest first?"

"Biggest," Adman said, as he unzipped, holding out both hands, measuring his tool, growing harder and thicker by the second. He smiled at the other men, knowing he'd won.

"Fine by me," Terrill said, growing so hard he scratched himself on his zipper before realizing that as last, he'd be able to go longest. "Go for it, just save some booty for me."

Adman was never gentle at making love and he didn't want to make love to the faggot in front of him. He kicked Michael in the head, making sure to leave the hood firmly in place just in case they decided to let the boy live, then he hoisted Michael's limp body up and sat him on his manhood, shoving it all the way in in one quick lunge, pulling Michael up and down, making him ride his stallion as he twisted Michael's nipples, playing with them, squeezing them as if they belonged to his girlfriend, Sissy.

"Don't get carried away," David said, "fuck him like we're gonna fuck the rest of 'em and get on with it."

Adman finished quickly, knowing he'd go for a second and third round when the others finished. I can get all the women I want so why am I wasting myself on this fag? Then he realized how much better man ass was. There's so much more resistance and it's tighter his thoughts dissipated as he came.

David tapped Adman on the shoulder, almost as if he was dancing at the Southern Cotillion when he attended the Georgia State Military Academy. "May I have this fuck?" He asked, as Adman withdrew and dropped Michael to the floor. David mounted him, taking him slowly, wanting to enjoy the moment, wanting to let the boy suffer, wanting to let all the damned fags suffer. If it weren't for their faggot lawyers, I'd still have my land-my ancestral land-but they took it all and they've had it for two hundred years, but my time's coming. I'll whip their asses next week. I'll whip all their God damned asses. With each word, David's thrusts grew longer and deeper and Michael screams filled the garage. "Kick him in the head if he screams again; kick his head off if you have to. I don't want this punk screaming any longer."

Michael was wise enough to muffle his screams. His entire body ached, his head felt as if it was going to explode and his ass was on fire. I have to survive; for Danh's sake, I must survive.

David withdrew, stood, and zipped. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, I must calm down. I must keep focused if I want to blow up this God damned city. I can't get caught doing something stupid. We'll have to snuff this boy-we can't afford to have any witnesses.

After the third go round, Terrill pissed all over Michael. "Gonna mark you, bitch. Anyone wanna join me?" He laughed as David unzipped.

"Let's hose him down for the wetlands we'll have when we blow up the city." David smiled, thinking about revenge. Then Adman checked Michael's ropes as he screamed in Michael's ear, "We're the FAGBUSTERS, boy, we're the Faggot Ball Bashers-and we're gonna bust your balls tonight."

If they last that long, David thought, as he turned out the lights, pulled the garage door closed, and padlocked it. "Fags do their best in the dark, don't they? Let's make this fag feel at home." The men laughed as they headed around the corner to David's house on Massachusetts Avenue.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael opened his clenched fist. He had almost been knocked unconscious but had managed to hold onto his cell phone. He lay down flat on the concrete as he shifted his body weight, propelled himself a few inches and pushed the hood up enough to realize he was in total darkness. I'd better keep the hood on. If they think I've seen their faces, they'll kill me for sure.

Michael held his cell firmly, switching it open, feeling the numbers on the keypad, looking down from the hood, trying to acclimate his eyes to the darkness. Then he struggled to his feet and walked along the perimeter, feeling for an opening, but all he found was the garage door and when he tried to open it, he realized it was locked.

He focused on his phone, Okay, think. On computer keypads, the numbers start at the bottom and work their way up from zero. Is it the same with phones? Michael started at the bottom and pressed the first key on the bottom left. I've got to get this right . . . I don't know how much time -. He pressed the bottom right, then the button in the middle, but nothing happened. I've got to figure this out. Then he remembered he had a hot key: the second button on the top of his phone. It's Danh's number.

Danh's phone rang five times, "This is Lieutenant Nguyen, please leave a message at the sound of the beep."

"Danh, it's me, don't panic, but I've been kidnapped," Michael thought for a moment and wondered if he should mention he'd been molested, "I'm okay. I'm not sure where I am. I was home in bed. Some men broke in and put a bag over my head. They carried me naked out of the house; I'm near Q Street. I'm in a dark place, perhaps a cellar or garage. There are no windows here. I don't know what the men are going to do to me, but you have to-"

Michael's phone went dead. "God damned battery!" Michael sobbed uncontrollably for the first time since he was kidnapped. Then the phone slipped out of his hand and he heard it clunk on the concrete. Double dead.

Michael fell to his knees and picked up the phone. It's not broken and I have GPS. If it still works, Danh can trace me here. He crisscrossed the garage, looking for a place to hide his cell, finally stumbling onto a tire in the middle of the garage. He placed the phone as deep as he could and then he stopped thinking-he didn't want to visualize what would happen if Danh didn't find him in time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lightning danced off the concrete and seeped under Michael's hood, nearly blinding him as the garage door opened.

"Is the mother fucker still out?"

"Don't' know."

"God damn, he's one tight little fuck."

"You got that right."

"Get some water, let's wake him up."

"There'll be plenty of water when the Tiber overflows."

"Yeah, when David's shoots the works from Morris Road."

"Morris, you're shitting me. Why Morris?"

"Because it's the best view of the city."

"Better than this?" Terrill kicked Michael's head as Jason kicked him several times in the nuts.

"Don't kill him. Not yet!" David said as he came into the garage. "I thought you wanted to go around one more time." David dumped a quart of oil over Michael's ass cheeks as he rubbed it deep into the crack. "Should give a little extra lube, boys, if you want to ride him again."

The men made fast service, deciding they really liked the warmth, love, hospitality and comfort of women far more than ravaging blubbering queers. "I thought it'd be hot the first time, but I'm ready to drag his hairy ass out to the woods now and set it on fire," Jason said. "Wanna watch it burn?"

"Yeah."

"No," David said. "Let's not attract attention. So far, nobody knows who or where the FAGBUSTERS are. We can't afford to be sloppy. Get the car; we'll toss the faggot in the trunk and take its sorry old oily sticking ass to Rock Creek. The cops are always finding bodies in the creek," David laughed, "And it'll take them a month to figure out who this fag was after the foxes and coyotes have their turn."

Michael began to scream as Jason kicked him in the head half a dozen times. Then the men wrapped him in a blanket and dragged him to The Only Good Bug van and tossed him in the back as if he were Cleopatra gift-wrapped for Caesar as Jason and David sat in front giggling their sorry asses off.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the van headed toward the shallow Rock Creek, Terrill cleaned up, changed his clothes and headed to his new job at the Foggy Bottom Metro Station.

After signing in, Terrill went directly to the Washington Post recycling bin, reached inside his jacket, removed a fifteen-inch pipe bomb and stuck it in the trash can. Papers on top, bomb on the bottom. How convenient. Then he hoisted the heavy top and reattached it.

Terrill's evening's work was light. He emptied two trash cans, patrolled the vacant employees' bathroom and jabbered with the night watchman. Then he punched out and grabbed the first Metro home. By the time I get my salary for tonight's work, Metro will be fifty feet under waters. Terrill laughter bounced off the Metro walls as he rode the escalator, heading home for a good night's sleep.


On to Chapter Five
June 2nd
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May 31st
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