Ganymede

Paradise

Chapters 9-12

Chapter 9

"So how are we going to let Fernando know where we are?" Joey asked suddenly.

He stopped walking and I closed the gap between us. Conundrum was barely in sight and we were less than twenty paces away. It could probably be spotted from the air, but otherwise, it would be very difficult to see.

"I've been thinking about that."

Joey ran his hands down his lean abdomen, stopping at his hips. His belly was flat, unlike mine. Nut-brown skin, nipples that were almost impossible to see, a belly button that looked delicious. I licked my lips. He smiled back.

"Well? Stop perving at me and answer the question, Dad!"

"I can't help it."

"I not doing it again until tomorrow," Joey laughed.

"Fine by me. We can make out instead. You got any ideas?" I asked.

"We could use Morse code on the VHF. People might think it was static," he suggested hopefully.

"With Fernando? He wouldn't know a dot from a dash," I said cynically.

"True. But Roddy does, Dad. We were doing it with our pencils at school all last week."

"You were what? Why?"

Joey grinned. "To send messages during class. Pretty smart, huh?"

I wasn't sure what to say. No wonder his grades were slipping into the C range. He was bored to tears and his teacher was barely competent.

"How?"

"You tap," he answered flippantly.

"Duh, I know that. How did you do it?"

"Easy. Tap with the point and it's a dot, and the eraser end is the dash."

"You guys know Morse code then?"

"Yeah. We figured it out from one of your navigation books. Once we practiced it a bit, it was easy. We can do it real fast now."

"Hmm 3; I think you've given me an idea. The only problem is how to do it so no one else knows there's a message being sent."

"You don't think people will believe it's static, huh?"

"No fucking way!" I replied.

I rubbed my chin. I needed to shave again. If I didn't, Joey would be sure to complain the next time we kissed. I winked at the beautiful brown-skinned boy beside me. His skin was so smooth and mine was like sandpaper, 60 grit!

"Speaking of fucking? 3;" I said suggestively.

"Tomorrow morning 3; if you're good." Joey grinned and gazed out at the reef and the ocean beyond. We couldn't see St. Angelique although it was only fifteen miles [25 km] away because there was another island in the way. The range of the VHS would just cover it.

"Too many boaters around. It'd just take one of them to pick it up and figure it was Morse code," I mused. "No, we need a better way. Anyway, the chances of Roddy hearing it are about nil, unless we broadcast on Channel 16. Then, you can guarantee the cops are going to pick it up."

It took only a few paces before I stopped again. "You know where the best place to hide anything is?"

"You always say it's where everyone can see it, but they don't know what it is."

"I've got an idea 3;"

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. And it involves those steel drums of yours 3;" I stopped walking and placed both hands on Joey's bony shoulders. "It's so fucking crazy I think it might even work."

"What might work?"

"Your Morse code idea."

"What's that go to do with my drums?"

"You'll see."

We climbed back on board and brought Joey's drums up on deck, along with a cold beer. We shared the beer while I told him my idea. The trick was in keeping the rhythm going while the Morse code was pounded out. I sat down and made several efforts to write out the message I wanted to send to Fernando. It needed to be short.

"NEED YOU 76.21 23.83 ASAP"

The GPS coordinates were essential and there was no room for error. Translated into dots and dashes the message was short enough that it was pushing the limit for anyone to recognize. There even was a slight pattern to it, but it could be accidental. I had Joey play it through. Dots were on one drum, dashes on the other. It sounded funny.

"Give it some rhythm," I said. "Like when you and Roddy were clowning around at Fernie's place playing that island song."

"Macarena Girl? It's going to take more than that," Joey remarked grumpily. He whacked the drums a few times for effect. "You play them as well, okay," he said, pointing at the maracas.

"Yeah, right."

"No I mean it. Don't worry what I'm doing, Dad. Just keep the rhythm going. Kinda like a tango only jerkier. One-two, one-two-three."

We tried it for a while. It still sounded wrong to me. Joey laughed.

"We're getting there, Dad."

"Yeah?"

He shook his head. "Actually, it sounds fucking awful. Let's do it faster."

We tried that, banging and shaking away for several attempts. It wasn't much better, but it was as good as it was going to get. Finally, I switched on the VHS and placed the microphone between my knees, depressing the talk-key by pushing on it when Joey reached the count of 'three'.

"Dese for tha Rod-man on Angie-leek," Joey announced in his island-boy twang. He sounded like a radio announcer, calling songs. "You be da man. Be switchin' it over frum me to yo."

He emphasized 'to', not 'ta' the way it should have sounded. Hopefully, Roddy would hear the broadcast and switch the VHS in Fernando's bar from the hailing channel, 16, to 2. Our timing could not have been better. Rodrigo was probably sitting at the counter looking out over the lagoon or helping out by washing glasses. It took all of a few seconds before someone came back with a squeaky response. Like Joey, Roddy always sounded like that on the VHS radio.

"Yo be callin' dis beach boy un too?"

Another second or two passed before anything else was said. This time it was an angry boater, probably a tourist from Florida. "This is channel 16. It's for hailing and emergencies only. You kids need to keep offa it."

"Go fuck yo ass," Joey snapped, before I could switch the channel to 2.

He began hitting the drums, nodding at me to pick up the beat with the maracas. After warming up with a fragment of the island song that I had heard Joey playing with Roddy, we pounded out the hopefully hidden message. Not once, but a dozen times.

"Yo be getting' tha' tune beach boy?" Joey called out loudly.

Then I released the key and listened.

Roddy answered, but I could tell that it was Fernando speaking.

"Ah got dem drums. Keep luvin' dat boss-man," he said clearly. "Be seein' ya dat boys boat tam."

Then silence. I switched off the VHS. With luck, Fernando would be here to see me at 8.00 a.m. the next day. Eight o'clock was when the boys had to at the village dock for the launch that would take them to the Georgetown school. When I turned around again, Joey was standing by the cabin door, gazing over the reef. He fingered the end of his penis absently.

"You keep playing with that dick of yours and it's going to fall off," I teased.

"You said it's there for me to play with," he rebuked good-naturedly.

"It is, but not all day."

"You got a better idea?"

Suddenly, he sounded testy, not at all the boy I was used to having around. I expected some warning when his mood changed. He breathed out and closed his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently.

"What do you think is wrong? I heard what Fernando said on the radio earlier."

"Oh that. An arrest warrant means nothing, Joey." I did not sound very confident.

He was so beautiful standing there in the golden brilliance of the setting sun that I had trouble thinking about anything else. I loved him so much that it hurt inside. I stared until he turned away. His back and bottom were just as perfect as his front and groin. I licked my lips and tried to think. In Chicago, I would have known what to do. Now, all I wanted to do was have sex with him. It was a habit that was impossible to break.

"Joey," I began cautiously.

He glanced over his shoulder. It was a cold dismissive look, I thought.

"They won't arrest me," I said quietly. I rubbed my forehead.

"Why not?"

"Because 3;" I sighed.

If the police caught up with us before I had managed to find out what I needed to know to prove who the murderer was, he was right to worry.

"Do you want to fuck me?" He was worried.

"No. Do you want to fuck me?"

Joey giggled and turned around. He had not expected me to say that. Maybe something else, like 'yes', or 'not now', but not that.

"Like I could do that to you."

"You've never tried."

"There's all that hair in your crack. I'm not sure I could find it." He tried to keep a straight face.

"It's not that hairy."

"It is compared to mine."

"True."

Joey regarded me thoughtfully. His worries were only suspended for as long as I made him giggle.

"Dad 3; what's going to happen if they arrest you?"

"Fernie will take care of you." I didn't add that that was the main reason why I wanted him to come to Joey Cay. "It's not going to happen."

"Do you think that Adams dude killed him? Or the other guy he was going to meet when he sent Vincente back to the boat."

"We've been through that. What do you think, Joey? You met him too?"

Joey shook his head slowly. "I didn't like him 3;"

"So?" I prompted. "It isn't important whether you liked or didn't like him."

"He wasn't mean to him or anything like that," Joey answered slowly. It pleased me to see he was thinking it through. "I mean if you were going to kill someone, like a boy 3; wouldn't you 3; I mean it doesn't seem like something he would do?"

"Not necessarily," I said quietly.

However, in truth I was thinking along the same lines. The relationship between Vincente and Adams wasn't as good as my relationship with Joey, but neither was it unpleasant. They were both into sex. And then, on top of that, there was the symbol. Two circles and interlocked arrows. It was unusual. To see it once or twice over a long period could be a fluke, but to see it three times in two days was beyond random chance. Coincidences like that were very uncommon. That symbol had a lot to do with the murder of the boy. Suddenly, something clicked into place and I looked up.

"Joey?"

"Yes, dad."

"When you were with Vincente yesterday 3;" Had it only been a day ago? "Did you see anything on him 3; here?" I pointed to my thigh.

"Huh?"

"A mark of some kind?" I suggested. I sounded like an attorney for the defense, leading the witness through presentation of the evidence.

Joey shook his head. "He was always wearing shorts?. Except when 3;"

"What?" I almost shouted.

"When we were by the boat," Joey said awkwardly. "And they were 3;" He smiled slightly. "You saw them fucking too."

"Yes?"

"I think there was. It was kind of difficult to see in the dark, especially with you lying on top of me. There was a weird mark on his leg. At least I think there was. It wasn't very big."

"A mark? What kind of mark?"

"I don't know. A mark. Kind of like a 3; I don't know 3; A circle. It was hard to see because his skin was so dark. It looked a bit strange. I wouldn't mind getting a tattoo one day."

"Fuck!"

"Did I say saying wrong?" Joey asked nervously.

"Wrong?" I laughed. "NO!" I shouted. "I think I 3; no make that we 3; have got something to go on at last."

"I don't understand 3;" Joey regarded me uncertainly. He was slow at putting it together, when he didn't have all the pieces. "The ankle thing?" he asked thoughtfully

"Yes, the bracelet we found. In particular, the ornament on it. I think it's some sort of a symbol." I watched him think. He was like me in that respect. He furrowed his brow from the effort.

"What about it? How do you know it's important?"

"Hm 3;For now, I just do." I rubbed my chin, ready to explain. "Okay. Here's what I know. There was a necklace found on the beach some distance from where Vincente was lying. It had one of the same charms on it. I'm sure of it. I didn't think it was important at the time. At least not until we found one back there," I added, gesturing over my shoulder. "Then I remembered there was another one on the boy who was on this morning's charter, only I didn't see all of it. What I did see was a tattoo on his thigh."

"And there was one on Vincente's leg too. At least I think there was a tattoo about here," Joey finished, pointing to the inside of his right thigh about an inch or two below his crotch.

'There might have been, Joey," I said. "I'll take your word for it. I didn't see it. The thing is, on Vincente's body there was a shark bite there instead. Only I don't think it was a shark bite."

"What was it then?"

"I think someone cut the skin off off."

There was a long silence. "There's one on Roddy too," Joey said awkwardly.

"One what?"

"A tattoo." He did not meet my eyes. Instead he glanced away, chewing on the tip of his tongue.

"A tattoo? Where, Joey?" I couldn't remember seeing any mark on Roddy's body that was permanent besides the usual coral scars on his arms and legs. His knees were a mass of purple weals.

Joey turned back. He considered my question, then he smirked knowingly. "Okay. I guess it's no big secret. It's under his balls, Dad, if you must know. You can't see it unless 3;"

"Yeah, okay. I get it. Let's not go there."

In truth, there was no reason for me to be surprised, or for Joey to be embarrassed. He had spent the last two years having sex with me. Roddy had been his best friend for all that time. They had a lot in common.

"We haven't done anything 3; well other than 3; you know?. He's brought butt stuff up a few times, but I would never do that 3; except with you that is."

He sounded guilty, a little more so than even I expected him to be.

"So that's why you wouldn't mind getting a tattoo?"

"Uh huh. You ought to see it, Dad. It looks really sexy."

I dug into my pocket until I found the ankle bracelet. It was heavy enough to be solid metal and the color was gold. If it was gold, it was probably worth a couple of hundred dollars. I was certain that the necklace my young passenger had been wearing was also gold. It was made of thick links that made it seem clunky, but it was obviously expensive. The necklace that Fernando showed was expensive as well. It was part of the pattern. Gifts perhaps? That didn't explain the tattoos on the boys' thighs.

"Roddy really has a mark there, one like this?" I asked cautiously. I pointed to the ornament.

Joey nodded cautiously. "It means you're a man's boy," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

"You know, Dad. Like me? I'm your boy." He smiled when he said that. "You're a man and you have sex with me? That's what it means."

I could hear the pride in his voice, and it made me proud of him as well. I came back to earth slowly. What we shared was special, but the vast majority of people would not understand.

"Okay, and I'm your man. I guess the thing I want to know is where did you hear that?"

"Roddy told me."

"Huh?"

Joey shrugged the way he did when he didn't think something was important, but I did. "That's what Roddy said when he showed his to me."

"I don't get it. How did Roddy get a tattoo like that?"

"Duh. Fernando arranged it, of course, Dad. He's had it for years. He got it a few months before we arrived."

"Oh."

Fernando had never mentioned it to me. It did not make a lot of sense, although Fernando often struck me as a person who would do things that didn't always make a lot of sense. It didn't make a lot of sense that Joey hadn't told me about it either. Maybe it was supposed to be a secret between them. Boys were like that.

"See 3;" Joey said pointing to the bracelet. "There's a big one. That's the man. And the little one is the boy. See how they're joined. That's how it means they fuck. They're on top of each other and the big arrow goes through the little hole."

It sounded harmless, and perhaps it was. However, warning bells were ringing loudly in my head. My eyes narrowed. Boys with expensive jewelry and tattoos, all with sexual symbols? It had overtones of a cult. In Florida perhaps, or even on Haiti, but here, in the Dry Exumas? It sounded like a boy lover's dream come true, except that one of its members had been murdered.

Dinner was jerk-barbequed chicken and a salad of fresh tomatoes washed down with cold beer. We went to bed early, no reading because I wanted to save the batteries. I did not want to run the engines just to charge them up, and there was no way of knowing how long we would be away. We had sex instead. Lying in the darkness, sticky with heat, kissing and rubbing our sweaty dicks together for what seemed hours before we climaxed. It would have been easy to talk Joey into doing something else even if his ass was still sore. Instead, I let him climb on top of me. My cock pushed into his flat firm belly, reaching from his little boy-balls all the way to his ribbed chest. He felt puny, his scrawny body sliding around while he ground his squat stiffness against my belly. He didn't tire easily. Instead, I lay back, satisfied and weak and he knelt above my knees and licked where my semen had spurted. There was as much of it on him as me, and no sooner than he finished smacking his lips, I dragged him down onto the rumpled sheets and gave him a tongue bath of my own. Licking a naked boy who was ticklish had to be the best thing ever invented for a man's amusement. It was second only to sex for sensory thrills. He squirmed around and giggled and pleaded. He begged me to stop tickling. He wasted his time. I took my time. It was past 10 p.m. when I stopped. There was no part of his body left untouched. We both needed a shower, but it was too late. We fell asleep, my sticky saliva-coated boy pressed up beside me so that my arm could cradle his head and my cock could nestle between his buttocks .

Chapter 10

Truly beautiful, I decided. His hair was disheveled, but that was normal. His eyelids were translucent, a web of bluish veins, Such long lashes, too long for a boy his mother used to say when he was learning how to walk. He had eyebrows just like a girl, not plucked thin but naturally that way. His lips moved slightly, rippling in and out, before he swallowed. I smiled. He had done that as a baby, suckling on an imaginary nipple while he slept. Now, it was an involuntary response, some deep Freudian memory that children retained into adolescence. His eyelids flickered, eyes awakening from underneath. Then, opened, blinking in the morning light. He saw me gazing at him. I smiled in rapture. He smiled back.

"Good morning sexy," I said softly.

"Hi."

His arms stretched back behind his head, giving a little yawn, still blinking in the struggle to get used to the change from darkness. His armpits were smooth and hollow, intentionally lickable in that position except that he would giggle uncontrollably so early in the morning.

"What's the time?" he smiled slightly. "Old man," he added softly.

"Old man?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you ever get tired of getting fucked?"

"Nope. Just like you don't get tired of doing it."

"Hm 3;" I had to turn over to see the bedside clock. "Damn!"

"How long do we have?"

"Not long enough. Fernando's supposed to get here at eight. It's seven-thirty."

"So? Let's make it a quick one." Joey grinned.

"My, but you're incorrigible," I laughed. I patted his bare bottom, marveling in the smooth roundness of his firm, pinched flesh.

"You don't know when you'll get the next chance," Joey warned huskily.

"That's true. However, I figure we have the whole weekend."

"And Monday too. I figure we could fuck at least a dozen times," Joey added hoarsely.

I smiled and nodded. There was only one problem. However, Joey's little prick jabbed mercilessly into my thigh. He was in the 'fuck-mood' and nothing would stop him, except 3;

"Okay."

Joey sat up, throwing off the sheet that I had placed over us during the night. He was brown and gorgeous. His suntanned boy-dick stood up stiffly, curving upward. It was not large, but it was perfect to my eyes, as much boy as any man could ever need. It quivered and Joey giggled, flexing it continuously with hungry expectation. He did that even though any pleasure that part of his body might receive was very distant. He scrambled over me, straddling my chest so that he could reach the squeeze bottle of oil. He grinned satyr-like, reminding me of a happy little jockey sitting on a horse. In the rush of excitement, he squirted out more oil than he needed, spilling some on the bed. No matter. I had all but given up washing the sheets. There were spots and streaks of oil everywhere on the sheets, even on our pillows from when I used them underneath his hips. He slathered the oil over my cock, rapidly getting it slippery, even harder. We were both breathing quickly.

Joey licked his lips and repositioned himself, shifting from sitting over my knees to kneeling next to my chest. He sat back, rubbing my greasy cock between his cheeks.

"You do it," I hissed.

He needed no further instruction. His bottom lifted up. His hand slid between us, grasping my cock boldly then searching. He trembled as he drew it down his crevice, then back up again. His hole had tightened up during the night. His pelvis wriggled. He had it in the right place. Another tremble when he squeezed back. It was centered on his anus. I felt the outer muscle squirming, adjusting, opening up. The head was almost inside him. His eyes were closed in concentration. He knew better than to force it into him, but he also knew that if he relaxed his muscles it could push through without too much difficulty.

"You're tight this morning."

"Yeah 3; I know 3;" Joey replied huskily. He took another breath, filled his lungs, settled back again. "Go in, you stupid thing." He pushed harder.

"Don't force it," I warned.

"I'm not." His pelvis undulated, massaging my cock-head, spreading the drool around his anus. "You push too."

I could hardly not obey, not when Nirvana was concentrated on the end of my dick. His opening was almost wide enough. It was hot, like molten metal, melting around my cock. I lifted up as Joey pushed down. His hand held my maleness tightly. There was nowhere else for it to go. It squeezed through. He groaned loudly, quaking as his muscle relented and allowed my cock back inside him.

"That's far enough," I whispered.

"Further!"

"In a minute. God, you feel so good, Joey."

"So do you, old man. Do you think we'll ever get tired of doing this?"

"Not me."

I grinned at him. His eyes were open again. He enjoyed looking at my face as much as I loved watching him. The moment of penetration always made me marvel that our love could be so wonderful.

"Deeper."

"Let's wait a bit."

"I need you in me."

His voice was becoming increasingly strained, but so was mine. We were poised to complete our union. Nothing could stop us. It made sense to wait for his body to adjust.

His anus tensed and relaxed. Another spasm. Weakening every time. The next one was feeble, barely grasping at my cock-head. It was already embedded inside him. All it would take was a good push to complete the penetration. He swallowed, breathing deeply, ready to go again.

"Here goes 3;"

As if I needed any warning? I could see it in his face, the intensity of his longing that was matched only by mine. God, I loved him so much that I could barely stand it. He began slowly, not forcing down but pushing firmly. My cock bulged into him, the flared head still held back by the rim of his anus even though the tip was far enough inside that his muscle was pulling it forward. Then, harder, both straining together. We both gasped at the instant it passed through. I would never tire of that sensation, of the realization that our bodies were joined together. There was still a long way to go before it was fully inside him, but this was the point of no return. My cock would stay inside him until I deposited the sperm that made him mine.

"Yeah."

Even though having sex together had become a daily habit over the last two years, his expression, like mine, was still triumphant. Yet again, we had achieved the miracle of joining a man and a boy. Most people would say it was unnatural. It wasn't. Nature allowed it to happen. We both got pleasure from it.

"Feels good huh?" I asked.

Joey merely nodded. He was supposed to wait for the pressure to diminish. He didn't. Only a few seconds passed, not nearly long enough for his body to adjust. Not that it really mattered. He wasn't that tight that it would cause real pain. His bottom lowered suddenly, driving my cock deeper, further into his bowels. There had been a time when he had howled, even when it entered slowly. This time he groaned and shuddered. The next thing I saw was his balls resting on my belly, his buttocks hiding my pubic hair.

"Jesus."

I was always held in awe, not that it was possible, but by the sheer wonder of the sensations that were unleashed when my cock was inside his rectum.

"Yeah, him too," Joey cackled. His amusement faded. "I did it in one go."

"Uh huh."

"You going to do the work or do you want the bucking bronco?"

Joey grinned. "How about both?"

"You think you're up to it?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"I'm always up to it."

"So fuck me, old man."

I fucked him, but not like an old man. More like a young stallion. He rode me like a cowboy, slamming his body down while I bucked up and down. It was wild, frantic, almost painful to watch. It soon became much hotter, slapping sweaty flesh and groaning as we moved faster and faster. And the sound? It was like pumping the bilge out with the hand-pump, loud and squelching. But it was good, especially good because we climaxed together. My jerking spurts were matched by his shuddering spasms, the grasping pulses of the muscles inside him. He shouted, then screamed something in Spanish that was mostly garbled except for the one word, 'cajones'. His balls! His little boy-balls were drawn tight under his limp dick. Maybe this was the time they would release the first of his watery semen. I watched and hoped, but there was nothing to be seen. Still dry.

He flopped down, deflating onto my chest, gasping for air, dragging my cock nearly out of his anus. Then, barely breathing, too exhausted to move.

The violence of his orgasm and the 'fucked-boy' stupor that followed came as no surprise to me. He was usually like that in the morning. Sometimes, he went back to sleep for another fifteen minutes until I woke him to go to school. My cock softened and slipped out. It was followed by a dribble of semen. I stroked his bare lean back to calm him, to let him know that above all else, there was someone who loved him dearly. Then lower, gliding my hands over his little bottom, feeling each flattened globe as I brought my fingertips ever closer to his crack. It was oily and slick and fabulously hot. His hole was stretched, drooling my juices in a trickle that ran down over his balls and pooled in my pubic hair. Sex with boys could be messy sometimes, but not that morning. My fingers smelled musky with the aphrodisiac of 'boy'. The taste wasn't bad either.

I licked them clean, savoring Joey's wrinkled nose of pretended disgust. Sometimes he sucked my cock after it had been inside him, but never more than that. I kissed him, gave him tongue, to prove the point. It wasn't dirty, not when two people loved each other like we did.

"You want me to suck him?" Joey asked softly.

"Sure." It was easy to agree. "Turn around though."

"You're going to lick my ass? Gross!"

He tried to make it sound disgusting. I laughed. He turned around awkwardly and lay back down so that his face was above my slime-covered cock and balls. He had to bend his knees back because of the head of the bed. I pushed his legs further apart. There was cum and oil on the insides of his thighs.

"What a sight! You ought to see your ass-hole, fuck-boy," I teased. "You could store coconuts in here."

I poked my finger into the opening. It was glistening wet, and like a prepubescent boy, still ready for more. Joey fiddled with my cock, teasing hopefully, brushing my balls with his nose. The cool air felt nice. I returned the favor by blowing over his crack. He giggled.

"Do it some more."

"If you do mine."

We had a deal. Blowing air soon became licking. The first touch of his tongue was enough to bring life back to my cock. It began to stiffen and he licked again. His fingers pressed into my balls, massaging. He knew what to do. His head began to move around, slurping quietly. I responded by pushing my tongue into his wide-open anus. He responded by opening his mouth and playing suck games with my balls while he rubbed my cock against his silky cheek. I nuzzled him, pushed my tongue into him as far as it could go. Joey responded by taking the first few inches of my nearly erect cock into his mouth. We stayed like that until I heard the distant sound of an outboard engine. Fernando was endeavoring to navigate a way through the reef. Gently, I lifted Joey's head away. For the last few minutes if had felt like the head of my cock had been nudging his Adam's apple.

"Can't you take anymore?" he asked gleefully over his shoulder. His lips were ruddy and shiny. He licked them anyway.

"You're good, kid."

"What's wrong?"

"Listen!"

Joey listened. I was surprised that he hadn't heard the low growl of the idling engine.

"Damn!"

"You can say that again."

"Damn!" We both laughed. "Why couldn't he be late for once?"

"We don't have to stop," I suggested. "But we probably should." The idea of Fernando and Rodrigo seeing us having sex yet again made me think twice.

"No, we don't," Joey said adamantly. "You want to see that tattoo thing under Roddy's balls, don't you?"

"Yes." I smiled.

What Joey had in mind was as good as way as any. If I asked outright it was sure to arouse suspicion. Only then, lying with Joey sprawled out over me with his lips nibbling on the tip of my cock, did I realize the gravity of the situation. If the symbols meant anything at all like what I expected them to mean, there was a strong possibility that Fernando was involved. I swallowed, barely realizing that Joey was in the process of swallowing my cock. He had taught himself to deep-throat my cock, and he was good at it. Perhaps too good for a boy who was approaching twelve-years old. I went back to licking out Joey's ass, waiting with mixed feeling for the sound of Fernando's boat to approach.

"You be fuckin' dat boy ass, 'gain dis mornin'?" Fernando boomed from the cabin door.

I gave Joey's bottom a playful slap. "This, and every other morning, Fern old friend. He can't get enough."

"Needer can dis boy," Fernando laughed. "I fuck 'im good 'fore we leaves."

His arm was around Roddy's bare shoulders. All the dark-skinned boy wore was a pair of shorts. Like Joey, he seldom wore underpants when he wasn't going to school. Roddy smirked knowingly at Joey. There was no question of what he was thinking. There was a bulge in his shorts that was unmistakable. It was impossible for him not to be aroused by what he saw. The squeeze bottle of oil was sitting on a shelf next to bed where it could easily be found. The lingering smell of anal sex filled the cabin. The naked boy who he called his 'best fren' was fingering a man's erect cock.

"Dere a fire las' night at de bar," Roddy dutifully informed Joey. He sounded almost enthusiastic about it.

"A fire?"

"In dat store room," Fernando explained. "Next where we's sleeps."

"Oh! What happened?"

Fernando shrugged. "We was sleepin', me 'n Roddy, but dat ole lady next door, she see de smokes. She calls out 'Fernando you's burnin' up' 'n Roddy wake me up. I got dat big fire extinguisher on dose flames, 'fore de fire din't burns dat much. Mostly, dem ole boxes."

"How did it start?"

He shrugged again. That was the island way. If there was no damage and no one was hurt, life went on. He probably didn't bother to inform the police.

"You want to join us on the bed for a while, you're welcome," I suggested. "Otherwise we'll be done in a few minutes. Make yourself some coffee if you want."

Fernando laughed. "Maybe we watches yo 'n dat sex-boy 'nstead." He winked crudely, as excited by what he was watching as his nephew. I had long suspected that he found Joey sexually arousing.

"Maybe your Roddy wants to suck himself man-cock?" I suggested slyly.

Roddy grinned and nodded eagerly, flashing white island-boy teeth. His hands moved to his shorts. In a second or two they were off and lying on the floor. I smiled and looked, taking in his barely pubescent body. He kept grinning, appreciative of my attention.

It took about a minute for them to join us on the bed. It took that long because Fernando began to change his mind. We had watched each other having sex before, but never in the light of day. He wasn't religious, but the Catholicism of his youth lingered. It was different in the dark. Finally, he relented to Roddy's teasing and shucked his shorts as well. Needless to say, his cock was hard and leading the way when he approached the bed. I scooted over to the other side with Joey to make room. Of course, he looked. So did I. Fernando's cock was big, but not so much bigger than mine that I felt envious. Mostly, it was straight and thick. I wondered if it felt as good to Roddy as Joey said mine felt when it was inside him.

Roddy was dark-skinned compared to Joey, although not as dark as some of the boys that they played with on the beach. I loved the satin glow of his skin, the way that a sheen of sweat glistened like tiny crystals, but I was a one-boy man. My admiration was entirely of the boy and had nothing to do with sex. My hang-up didn't seem to affect Fernando. He gazed at Joey with shameless appreciation of my son's body. It was enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I couldn't tell how Joey thought about it. Perhaps he liked the extra attention. He sat above my thighs, playing with all three inches [7½ cm] of his hard little dick. It was definitely the center of my attention.

"Dat boy ese bootiful sexy," Fernando said at last.

Joey grinned. "You like my dick?" he asked. He took his hand away momentarily, then callously pulled his cock down. When he let it go it slapped against his lower belly.

Fernando laughed. "'ese cute. Ese curved jus' like yo papa."

"Uh huh. Like father like son, I guess," Joey admitted cheekily. He risked a quick glance at me. "Yours is big." He made it sound awed and teasing at the same.

Fernando winked at me. "Dem boys likes beeg men-cocks. Ese more to suck."

"Yeah. And fuck."

"Dat too," Fernando agreed.

"It looks like your Roddy's getting himself some nice big balls," I said, smiling at Roddy.

His legs promptly moved apart a few inches to give me a better view. I couldn't see more than a few stray hairs. He had a nice body except for the dark-brown skin.

"He hasn't started cumming yet, has he?" I asked.

Fernando shrugged. "Jus' spit 'n dreeble," he replied, confirming what I already knew from Joey.

"Nothing white, huh? Well, it won't be long if he's making spit. What are you going to do when he does?" I asked.

Fernando affectionately ruffled the tight curls on Roddy's head. Maybe that was what I didn't like, the Afro-hair that never grew more than an inch [2½ cm]. Joey's mahogany-colored hair was an unruly mess, and not just in the mornings. I loved to run my fingers through it, and tickle him behind the ears where it was soft and furry.

"Maybe I fucks ese leetle brother."

Roddy scowled good-humoredly at his uncle. Not a lot got past him. Like Joey, he owned his lover. "Dere ain't no way ese fuckin'. He's only five."

"There's always your sister," Joey suggested.

Roddy scowled at him too. "Like dat's gonna happen. If it don't have a dick, fer sure he ain't fuckin' it."

"That sounds like me," I laughed, pulling Joey down onto me so that his back was on my chest and his bottom above my groin.

I groped between his legs. He struggled for a moment, pretending he didn't want me to touch him, but once I had his balls between my fingers that was all it took. With a wistful sigh he gave up and relaxed. His legs parted to take up a position on either side of mine. I fondled him, shamelessly enjoying the hard boy-stalk and the little soft purse of eggs. Fernando watched. He was envious of me, but what man wouldn't be. The crowning jewel was the precious ruby-colored cock-head. It was small compared to Roddy's.

After a while, Fernando and Roddy soon took up a similar position, which was unfortunate because all I could see was Roddy's satin-sleek belly and the prong that stood up. I wanted to see if there really was a tattoo underneath his balls the way that Joey had described it. Fernando slowly masturbated him, taking advantage of the boy's foreskin to give that extra pleasure that my son would never know thanks to his mother. Roddy wriggled around. It was not about getting into a more comfortable position. He was rubbing himself against Fernando's cock. Joey noticed it as well. I saw him smiling slightly, not saying or doing much of anything. He was perfectly content to have me play with his boy-dick while he watched Roddy getting off.

At least, that was what I thought. Without any warning at all, Joey's legs tensed, lifting his buttocks off me. His hand slipped between us, grabbing my cock and pulling it downward. He released it, took his hand away, eased back down again. My cock was pointing up between his skinny thighs, right next his greasy little boy-balls. And his hips began humping slowly up and down, with his hot little hand holding my rigid cock so that it pressed up against his dick. He had covered his hand with oil and it was slippery and grasping, squeezing us together, grinding his immature balls against my shaft. My cock was so much larger than his that it towered above his erection by an inch or two [5 cm] when he pushed down onto me. What did they call this? Frottage? Except we weren't face to face. We were front to back. God, but it felt good.

It felt a bit like I was fucking him because it was so slippery, even more so when he stopped humping and clamped his other hand over the heads of both of our cocks and held them together. I took over then, lifting both of us up, pumping my cock only an inch [2½ cm] or less, but it was more than enough. Never was the difference in size between a man and a boy more evident. It took nearly all of his hand to hold the end of my cock. Joey's little stiffy just to fit in, but it managed to poke into my cock. It was hard like a bolt, but it was covered in skin that was so soft I had to think twice to convince myself that it was next to mine. Occasionally, he trembled when his swollen cock-head bore the brunt of his pleasure .

"Ohhh. Yeah! That feels so fucking good," I breathed. I was not going to last much longer the way things were going. It was worse, or better depending on your perspective, that Fernando and Roddy were watching.

"Yeah. Dat Joey's all boy. He sure give a man da fuck feelin'," Fernando growled.

"Better than my ass, huh Dad?"

I didn't answer. I sucked his ear, all of it, not just the lobe. He giggled, not letting go of my cock, but holding it even tighter if that was possible. I wrapped my arms around his narrow chest, binding us together, not caring that Fernando and Roddy were next to us. I stuck my tongue inside his ear and swiped it around, humping faster, erratically. Joey wriggled and giggled some more. His hand clenched tighter, his own pelvis beginning to jerk involuntarily. It felt like he was vibrating against me. Shaking. Gasping. I felt his legs straining, my cock pumping, getting closer and closer. He had a powerful grip. His boy-dick was straining alongside my cock. His balls weren't loose any longer, but knotted up and wrinkled. The pulses started. First him, then me. Little boy spasms that made his dick jump around like a Mexican jumping bean as it tried to expel invisible fluid. Mine spurted out into Joey's fist. It was hot and thick, but there was not nearly as much of it as there had been earlier. Some of it escaped from between his fingers, ran down his thumb, oozed along my pulsating shaft to coat his quivering dick as well.

Joey gave a few more pumps of his own and then stopped. He knew better than to continue doing it , even if he could have gone on doing it all day. I held him tightly against me. Then, the amusing thought came that already we'd both climaxed together twice and we hadn't even gotten out of bed.

I gave Joey a fond kiss on the cheek and turned to give Fernando a 'what did you think' look. He smirked back at me. Needless to say, Roddy's cock was still hard, Fernando's dark hand with its strange pale palm was still going up and down, albeit slowly. I pushed on Joey's side until he released his grip and slid off me. He inspected his hand, decided that the oil was not something he wanted to put in his mouth, wiped the remnants of my orgasm on the sheet. He turned and smiled at me, then took up a position so he could Fernando and Roddy go at it. Neither of is could see Fernando's cock, but it was obvious where it was, stiff and pointing up along Roddy's back.

"That's quite some dick Roddy's got, isn't it Dad?" Joey remarked.

"Sure is. A real mouthful unlike yours."

I winked at him so that he realized my comment was intended to be funny, even if it was a little too close to the truth for comfort. However, Joey knew that I liked small dicks, especially on young boys.

"Don't be getting ideas, Dad," Joey chided. "The only dick you're sucking on is mine."

Fernando laughed, slapping his hand up and down so that Roddy's foreskin was tugged back and forth over his purple cock-head. Roddy groaned, straightening his long dark brown legs out like he was doing the splits. His balls were clumped underneath his rigid cock, making a rounded lump unlike Joey's much smaller flattened pouch.

"Jack that boy, Fern," I said, coming into a sitting position with the hull of the boat behind my back.

"Ars workin' on it, boss. Dis boy likes it fast."

"Don't they all?" I hugged Joey, giving him a friendly squeeze. "Now those are what I call balls, son. It won't be much longer until he's squirting everywhere. I wonder if yours will get to be that big."

Joey snorted in contempt and slapped at my arm, showing what he thought of that comment.

Not one to take a hint, I teased him further. "Man just look at those big nuts. He'll probably be shooting white stuff in a month. And you're still shooting blanks."

Joey snorted again. "So? He's probably even got pube-hair down there. Why don't you take a look?"

It was the opening I needed and without waiting for Fernando to say okay, I leaned over Roddy, pretending to squint. I could see peach-fuzz, nearly invisible down that wasn't much different to what was on Joey's crotch. With his legs wide apart, it was easy to see the small tattoo. It was right where Joey said it would be, midway between his balls and ass-hole. It wasn't large, about the size of a quarter, but the design was unmistakable. Two circles, both interlocking, two arrows pointed in the same direction.

Feeling a growing awareness that Fernando was not all that he seemed, I moved away.

"I've seen a mark like that before, Fern," I announced softly.

Fernando stopped rubbing Roddy's cock, poised mid-stroke. He held his breath.

"What does it mean?"

The silence continued. "Fernando?"

"Ain' nuthin' special."

"Maybe. What's it mean?" If anything I was persistent.

"Nuthin' special."

There he went, repeating himself again. I hoped I wasn't ruining a good friendship, or worse.

"It means something about a boy and man, doesn't it Fernando?"

His head barely moved. Roddy was tense as well. Joey's eyes shifted back and forth between them, then to me.

"Fern 3;"

"Yeah?"

"Is it some kind of club for guys like us? I found an ankle bracelet yesterday evening. It had a symbol on it like the one under Roddy's balls. Come to think of it, it was just like the one you showed me on the beach."

Silence.

"It's a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Silence until Roddy said almost inaudibly, "Tell him."

Almost angrily, Fernando pushed Roddy away and got up from the bed. His cock stood straight out, not pointing up like mine. The end of it was bloated and shiny where it had been oozing pre-cum under Roddy's back. He stalked away, slapping his hand against the door. He turned back, as surly and threatening as I had ever seen him. Only one time had I seen get angry and that was when a customer, a tourist, claimed that he had no m oney to pay a sixty dollar drink tab at the bar.

"Ain' nuthin' ta do with yo," he grumbled. His eyes were sullen, mean, menacing. I had a sense that danger was lurking not far away.

"But tell me anyway."

After a lifetime on Chicago streets there was nothing that Fernando could do to scare me.

"s a club," he barked.

"A club for men and boys?" That had to be it. A club that ritually marked its younger members and rewarded them with jewelry.

He nodded slightly.

"Where?"

He hesitated to answer. His gaze shifted to Joey. Then, back to me. He wanted privacy. I nodded, climbed over Joey and Roddy and followed him to the door. At least my cock wasn't hard like his. Instead, it dangled down, still wet with semen and oil that had come from Joey's hand.

We stood on the aft deck, leaning on the chair my customers sat in to fight fish like tuna and marlin. It was scuffed and worn and the vinyl was cracked and torn in a dozen places. I needed to buy a new one, but it would cost close to five hundred dollars plus shipping.

Fernando stared out to sea. I waited. If I was patient he would tell me in his own good time. Our friendship extended that far. He sighed from deep inside.

"Dem boys is lucky livin' here."

I thought he was talking about Joey and Roddy. "Yeah, they are."

"t'ain' so bad."

"It's a pretty good life as far as I'm concerned. I reckon Joey would agree with that except when his butt's sore."

"Dat boy sellin'?" Fernando asked abruptly.

"Huh? Selling?"

His expression of surprise slowly faded to blank misunderstanding. Finally, he shook his head.

"We're talking about different things, aren't we?" I asked.

"Don' yo ever let dat boy yers sell 'is ass," Fernando said. He shook his head again. Back and forth, as if that would somehow drive his point home. "Ese too good fer dem."

He was talking about Joey, almost a reprise of my earlier conversation with him when we talked about what Vincente did with Steve Adams. Before he died. I could feel my face becoming hot in the morning sun. It was about the same time when I first saw Vincente's body lying by the side of the fishing boat. After nearly twenty years in Chicago, many of them working homicide, I was well past the nightmare stage, if I had ever been there, yet the memory was as vivid at the reality of the day before. Even in death, his body was beautiful. It was like the body of any well-proportioned boy. There was a hint of belted muscles in his belly, long lean arms and legs where the rapid growth of puberty was already occurring. His sex had been hairless, like Roddy, but their balls were big. Not like a man's balls, but not small like a little boy either. In the cabin down below, Roddy's balls had made Joey's look tiny. It was almost as if he didn't have any. I had an unsettling feeling that Roddy and Vincente both been shaved, or plucked or whatever had to be done to keep a boy's groin smooth.

I stared outwards, away from where Fernando was standing, watching me, waiting for a reaction. I couldn't even begin to imagine Joey selling himself to men, certainly not like Vincente. I found my thoughts wandering, listening to the screech of the parrots. They had found another place to gather further up the crescent-sweep of nearly white beach. It was even more beautiful than I remembered, more so that St. Angelique Cay if only because it was more private. I had long been thinking of the island as the place I would like to spend the rest of my with Joey, but I much preferred where we were at that moment. Deep inside, I realized that I would always love him, not just as a boy, but when he was grown up. If he ever did, I reflected ruefully.

In truth, my worries on that score were never far away. They lurked in the back of my mind and sometimes forayed to the front. That goddamn piece of bone. I could see it still, not just in the x-ray, but in my mind. A shard, a splinter really, where it wasn't supposed to be. Even the doctor couldn't explain how it got there. Starting from the fracture at the base of Joey's skull, it had somehow managed to get past the cerebral cortex at the base of his brain. It was like a poison dart pointed to his hypothalamus, a dart that had been driven forward by a baseball bat. Beyond the reef, the waves crashed and surged, never a roar, but always there. I missed the roar the traffic in Chicago. Maybe it was time to go back and face reality. Although I hadn't heard a word to suggest it might have happened, maybe if I was lucky, some more information had surfaced about the murder of my ex-wife and the brutal injury to Joey.

His mother, my ex-wife was dead and buried. The man who murdered her, who had almost extinguished Joey's life as well, had gotten away with it. It wasn't enough. Whoever did it should have gotten 'death by lethal injection'. The only motive that made any sense at all was that Joey's mother was a hooker. Not a street-walker, but a high-class hostess. She liked sex so much that one man was never enough for her. I was bitter but thankful in a way that Joey was ignorant of his mother's occupation. As far as he knew she made a living by arranging parties for businessmen when they came to Chicago for conventions.

I glanced back at Fernando. He had not said a word in several minutes.

"You want to tell me about the mark on Roddy?" I asked kindly

"Ese mine. Ah don' share 'im wid dose mens."

He sounded defensive. I waited, becoming the shrewd calculating detective that I had been in Chicago. There was more. There was always more if you were patient.

"Dat Vincente boy, ese too loose. 'e takes de money, not like Roddy."

I nodded. It was starting to make sense, but only just. It sounded less like a sex club for men and boys and more like a brothel. I gazed beyond the reef, not disbelieving. There had been rumors of one in Chicago, rumors that had surfaced on the Hardy case. Only rumors, a few boy-sex pictures on his computer. I wasn't in 'Vice' so it was beyond my jurisdiction.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs. The air was clear, still cool. In another hour, it would be hot and hazy until the breeze picked up again. The horizon was maybe fifteen miles [25 km] away. There were a hundred tiny islands in the way. Some were inhabited, some were privately owned, a few were resorts. The rest supported small fishing communities that had probably been there when Columbus arrived.

"You knew Vincente already, before yesterday I mean, didn't you?"

Fernando nodded. "'e come from Puerto Rico. 'coupla years 'go. 'fore you 'rive."

"By himself?"

"Nope. Dey's find 'im. 'im 'n ese bro."

"Vincente has 3; I mean, he had a brother?" Who were they? These men that Fernando kept alluding to?

"'e wuz nine."

He was nine? "Where is he now?" I asked, harboring a vision of a nine-year-old version of Vincente lying dead on another beach somewhere in the Caribbean.

"Wid dem."

It was like pulling teeth, one at a time, but I had to be patient. At least Joey was out of the way. I had a feeling that I wouldn't want him to hear what Fernando was going to tell me, but perhaps he already knew. Like he knew about the mark under Roddy's balls. Boys grew up before their time. They grew up unless they were like Joey with that goddamn sliver of brain pricking his hypothalamus. He would have to have surgery. I could feel it deep down. I wasn't sure I could face seeing him in a hospital again. Now not, not after all we had been through and done together.

I breathed out and glared at Fernando harshly. I was beyond being patient. I turned away again. We were supposed to be friends. Over the last two years we had done everything friends did, except share our boys, and there had even been times when I found myself thing that wasn't out of the question.

"Who's dem?" I spat the last word out, insulting him with how I said it.

Fernando caught the change. Nice cop was gone. Bad cop had arrived. His eyes shifted from side to side. He was hiding something, a lot.

"Jus some mens."

"Who, Fernando?"

He shrugged and attempted to seem nonchalant. "Mens. Dey come 'ere fer de boys."

"Men come here? Where?"

Fernando smiled slightly. 'ere."

"You mean here?" I pointed my finger downwards, then realizing it might be construed to mean the boat, waved it to and fro and the surrounding coconut trees so there was no doubt.

"Dey's have parties 'ere. Gets drunk and dey fuck dem boys." He hesitated, still with that trace of a smile. It was wistful, like he was recollecting something. "Like yo fucks dat Joey ass."

I wanted to tell him to leave Joey out of it. "Where do they come from?"

"All overs?" Fernando was reluctant to say more. I could see his eyes flicker from side to side even though I was still looking out to sea. I waited again, holding back my anger. It was the only way he would tell me the truth. Besides Joey, Fernando and Roddy were the only people I could call 'friend'.

"Dey comes fer de boys," Fernando repeated. I wanted to shake him. Perhaps he sensed my frustration. He waved at the islands beyond d the reef. "Dey got a place, boss. Wid lots 'a boys."

"Young boys, like Vincente?"

"Some's leetle."

"And you think that's okay?"

"Dey's happy."

"Who? The boys? Or the men?" I asked sarcastically. It was water off a duck's back. Fernando was like that when his mind was made up.

"Both." Fernando chuckled. "De mens gets to fuck and dem boys gets de money."

"The boys? They all have that tattoo on them, don't they? One like Roddy's?"

Fernando shrugged again. It was as good as saying yes. I breathed out. "The one on Vincente was cut off, wasn't it Fernando?"

"Shark. 'e bite dat boy leg."

"Cut out the crap, Fernando! We both know it wasn't a shark."

"Dere wuz teeth bites."

I shook my head. The wound was jagged and torn, but not by a knife. A piece of shell perhaps?

"One of those men killed Vincente, Fernando. You that as well as I do."

Fernando shook his head. His face showed disbelief. Maybe he knew the men better than I did. All I could think of was Vincente's pallid face, a penis that was about the size of my finger with a foreskin still intact, and his ravaged ass-hole. His anus looked a lot like Joey's after we had sex. I rubbed my forehead. I had no right to be self-righteous.

"Dey loves boys. Dey don' be hurtin' dem."

"Someone killed Vincente," I reminded him. "They fucked him, Fernando and then they strangled him with Joey's costume."

"Not dem!"

"Where do these men come from, Fernando?"

He gave an everywhere gesture to the horizon. "Comes by planes mostly. Somes like dat Adams comes by boats."

"From the U.S.?"

Fernando nodded. "Most. Dere's somes from udder places. Germans 'n such. Dey's rich."

"Yeah, I suppose they are. They're tourists aren't they?" My cynicism went unnoticed. "Where do they stay?" I asked bluntly.

Fernando stepped back. His eyes moved to the side, to where Joey and Roddy had stopped on their way out of the cabin. They were still naked. Side-by-side the differences were startling. Joey was suntanned, but compared to Roddy he was light skinned. His bronzed Hispanic body was pale compared to Roddy's African hue. And Roddy wasn't as dark as some of them. Some of the boys were black like diesel soot. Roddy was a hand's breath taller, not just the one or two inches [5 cm] I had imagined. And his uncircumcised dick was like a pendulum, a short pendulum, but one that was still long enough to dangle down between his thighs. Joey's boy-dick was a snub-nosed thing, scarlet-tipped where it had been rubbed too hard. There were no prizes for guessing what the boys had been doing down in the cabin. I wasn't surprised. They would probably progress beyond masturbating at some point, if they already hadn't.

A brusque movement of my head suggested to Joey that he and Roddy should get lost for a while. He contemplated me, his eyes slowly lowering from my head to my groin. He stopped there, staring at my cock. It had dried in the morning sun leaving a trace of sticky residue on the shiny oiled flesh.

"Dad?"

"Yes. What is it?"

Joey glanced at Roddy, then back to me. "It's near Nassau." I assumed Roddy had told him that.

I had taken Joey to Nassau by boat about a year ago when he needed to see a real doctor for his headaches. We ended up flying to Miami and spending two days with some specialists. The bill was almost paid off. I liked the pediatric neurosurgeon more than the one in Chicago even though she was a woman. The endocrinologist, Doctor Lamar, was a breath of fresh air. He was careful with the terminology, using words that both Joey and I could mostly understand. It was time he went back for a check-up.

"Nassau?"

Fernando nodded eventually. "Yo go pass Hawksbill Cay, jus' coupla islands."

It was a long way up the Exuma chain, but not so far that an inflatable boat with some heavy-duty horsepower could not reach St. Angelique in an hour or so. The inflatable boat that had brought my customers to Georgetown the day before had such a boat.

"You know a boy by the name of Adam, Roddy?" I asked tersely.

Roddy glanced at Fernando, then back at me. He shuffled his feet. It was like seeing Joey caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Maybe I seen him." His voice was a give away.

"Maybe you've seen him?" Even to me, it sounded testy.

"Dad?"

I glanced at Joey. He was fingering his dick. Sometimes he did that to take my mind of something, but he also he did it when he was nervous.

"Don't be mean to him, okay?"

"I'm not being mean," I replied. "I want to find out what's going on."

"I knows Adam," Roddy muttered. "Ese candy."

"Candy?"

"It's what we're called," Joey explained. I stared at him, waiting for an explanation. "Me and Rod is candy," he said awkwardly.

"Sorry. That one you're going to have to explain."

Joey smiled nervously. "We have sex with men."

"That helps a whole lot."

He gave me a 'be serious' frown. He took a deep breath, his eyes watching Fernando for a sign. Fernando shrugged. "It's called the Candy Club."

"What's called the Candy Club?"

"Where the boys are. Because it's on Candy Cay," he added tentatively.

"Candy Cay?"

I couldn't remember seeing Candy Cay on a chart of the Exumas, but then Joey Cay wasn't more than a tiny dot. It was bigger than a 'dot', in the same way that Roddy's dick was bigger than Joey's. I smiled.

"Okay, I think I'm beginning to get it."

I leaned on the fishing chair, stretching my arms. The sun felt good on my bare skin. No wonder Joey spent most of his life naked. Being bare was one of life's great sybaritic pleasures.

"This Candy Cay place? It's close to Nassau and privately owned, right? Men come there from up-north and elsewhere. To be with boys?" I looked at Fernando. He didn't look away. "Meaning the men have sex with them?"

No one said a word. Joey stared at his feet. Suddenly, he looked up. His eyes were dark like his mother's eyes, not like mine.

"Like we have sex, and Roddy and Fernando. It isn't bad what we do. It's just who we are," he added, parroting me almost word for word.

"I didn't say it was bad. These men, they pay the boys for sex?"

"That Adams guy paid Vincente two-hundred and fifty bucks a day. You said I could get double that, remember?" Joey reminded me.

I shook my head and gave him a 'don't go there' look. "Where do the boys come from, Fernando?"

"All overs. Mos'ly dey's poor boys. Some's from Puerto Rico, some's from round 'ere. Most's like Joey. Dem U.S. boys dat no ones wants. Dey's gays mos'ly."

I nodded thoughtfully. He had described Adam. If you knew where to look in the U.S., there were boys like him. Throwaways, because their parents couldn't support them or didn't want them, or because the boys were gay and ran away rather than live with parents who hated their guts. They ended up in the big cities like Chicago, L.A. and New York, selling their butts and doing drugs. A lot of the boys caught AIDS within a year or two.

"It's better than living on the street," Joey said argumentatively.

I didn't contradict him.

"Dey's gotta be cute boys," Fernando added pointedly.

"Cute like Joey, huh?" I asked, thinking not of Joey, but of Adam from the previous day.

Adam was cute. Cute enough to have any man he wanted. Vaguely, I wondered what Adam charged for a day. Five hundred bucks? What Joey was worth? No wonder he had two men hanging around him. They probably split the cost. Maybe they took turns. One took photographs of the other having sex with him. The Internet was full of kiddie porn. I had stopped looking the day that Joey moved in with me. Then, there had been no need to satisfy my perverted desires by looking at a computer screen. I had a real live boy of my very own to keep me satisfied.

Blushing, Joey gave me a 'drop dead' look. I deserved that one.

"Dem mens loves dose boys," Fernando repeated loudly as if I had forgotten.

"Yeah, I'm sure they do. Only one of dose boys is dead, isn't he Fernando?"

Fernando nodded. His eyes were sad. "Ain' none o dem!" I shrugged. "Dey's like us. Dey's loving boys. Sure dey fuck dem, but dose boys likes that. It don' matter dat dey gets paid. Likes yo Joey and dat Rod-boy a mine. Dey likes mens' cocks same as we likes dem boy-cocks"

I shook my head. I wasn't ready to dispute that there were boys who wanted to have sex with men, boys like Joey and Roddy who had been capable of having sex since they were nine or ten years old. My own experience was an unequivocal 'yes' to that. Instead, I wondered how Fernando and Roddy had come to join the Candy Club. I would have a hard time, make that impossible, allowing Joey to have sex with another man.

"Because they pay the boys, Dad, it doesn't mean they love them any less," Joey interjected.

I wasn't about to dispute that either. Not with Joey. Not when he seemed to be on the other side of the fence. Damn, but he had raised the idea of him doing exactly that! Selling his body to make money! I hadn't realized that he was being serious. He understood our financial situation. It was his way of trying to help. He could work for a single day and, after costs, make more money than I made in two weeks. I shook my head. I loved him too much, that was the problem.

"De mens go dere 'cause dere ain' no where's else," Fernando said quietly. "Dey's careful wid de boys. Dey do de proper health stuff. No boys gets hurt. Dey use de rubbers. Dat 'spensive silver stuff."

"I think he means KY," Joey said with a smirk.

"Dey don' be hurtin' dem boys. Not never!"

"How do you know?" I demanded, turning on Fernando.

"He knows 3; okay? He knows because Roddy lived there for a year when he was nine," Joey said quietly.

His eyes flickered, his bottom lip trembled. He was afraid of what I would say. I waited for him to say more. It was a short wait.

"I didn't know about till now." He swallowed, then licked his lips. "Dad, he did it to make money for them. So Fernando could buy the bar."

"My God!"

It sounded true. Fernando had told me once or twice that he'd been a fisherman before opening the bar. Fisherman didn't make the sort of money needed to save that much in a lifetime. I had assumed he'd come into some money from his family, perhaps for the same reason that I assumed he'd taken on his nephew's care after his parents died in a hurricane.

"It isn't what you think, Dad."

"How? 3; Joey, how can you possible say that? He sold his ass for Christ's sake!"

Joey shrugged. "The men didn't do anything to him that you haven't done to me, Dad." He smiled brashly. "Lots of times," he added pointedly.

"But he was nine?"

"So? I'd just turned ten the first time you fucked me. So what? In case you've forgotten you used to play with my dick all the time when I was little. I was a sexy kid. I liked you doing it. If I'd known what to do back then, I would have found a way to get you to fuck me."

"Joey!"

"It's true, Dad. You don't get it, but Fernando's right. I like big cocks. I can't help liking men any more than you can help liking boys. The kids on Candy Cay get paid to do what I do for free. They need the money and they get loved as well."

I shook my head. "It's 3; Joey, we have sex only because we love each other. It's how we show that love."

"You think I don't know that, Dad," Joey said vehemently. He gestured at Roddy, who had been standing quietly next to him. "Tell him what you told me, Rod."

Roddy hesitated, but not for very long. "Dey wuz nice, Mister Joey," he murmured.

He called me that sometimes, not as Joey's father, but because I was the man who loved his best friend. I was Joey's master, in a way. I nodded for him to continue.

"De mens?. Dey din' makes me do nuthin' bad. Only if I likes de man 3; den we fuck."

"You spent a year there, at this Candy Cay place?"

Roddy nodded in response.

"And the tattoo under your balls? Tell me about that, Roddy?"

"All de boys got dat. Mos' dem go next to de dick, cause it look more sexy dere." He smirked at Fernando. "'e want mine where no one see it."

Roddy touched his thigh, right next to his cock. It was the same place where I had seen the strange mark on Adam when he climbed into the tuna tower, and where the 'shark' had supposedly bitten Vincente. It still didn't sound right. Certainly, I had a few more facts to go on, but there was nothing to suggest who Vincente's murderer might have been. All I could think of was that it was one of the men who visited Candy Cay, who paid to have sex with under-aged boys. None of it made much sense. I suspected Joey knew more than he was letting on. I scratched my head. There was only one way to get to the bottom of it, so to speak.

"Maybe we need to pay this Candy Cay a visit," I said thoughtfully.

Fernando had brought his beat-up sixteen-foot [5 m] Bayliner runabout. It was ten years old and greatly in need of repair, but it would draw less attention to us than if we traveled in Conundrum. If that piece of sun-faded fiberglass could make it up Exuma Sound, from Georgetown to Joey Cay, it could probably go the rest of the way to Candy Cay by keeping on the lee-side of the island chain. I glanced at Joey, reluctant to take him to a place where men openly had sex with boys. On the positive side, I couldn't think of a nicer friend for Joey than Roddy, and he had lived there for a year, having sex with any man he took a liking to.

"We'll take your boat, Fernando. Assuming you've got enough gas?" I asked. Fernando shrugged. "Does the radio work?"

He shrugged again. His runabout redefined the word 'seaworthy', or lack thereof. There was nothing for it. I went back into the salon, then down into the main cabin. Calling out to them, I tossed Fernando and Roddy's clothes up, then found a tee shirt and shorts for Joey to wear. I found the old VHS radio lying in the bottom of a drawer. It was wrapped in plastic, with all the connections ready to go. I kept it for a spare. I took my wallet, checked the contents by habit. There was a couple of hundred dollars inside, enough to pay for the next fill-up for Conundrum and to get us through the next week. My venture into the fishing charter business was rapidly losing money. It was the off-season for tourism. 9-11 hadn't helped business either.

Chapter 11

A few times, much to my consternation if not Fernando's, the outboard coughed and spluttered. It might well have been water in the gasoline, as he claimed. It sounded more like the engine was about to die. However, every time it sprang back to life. I was glad that Conundrum had diesel engines, two of them, massive metal monsters from Perkins. Nothing could stop them, not even being immersed in seawater for a couple of days.

Finally, even the villages and tourist boats disappeared. By then we were about midway up the chain. Most of the islands were struggling, low, windswept trees that looked very different to the lush vegetation further south. The Dry Exumas deserved their name.

Yet, as we steadily neared Nassau, I began to sense the change. It wasn't much at first, just an occasional palm tree, curving out over the beach. Lots of birds, eking out their seasonal vacation from northern climates. One of them had to be Candy Cay. I would never have found it without Fernando's help. Indeed, from the ocean on either side, all that could be seen was a dense thicket of trees and the towering crowns of Exuma palms.

Fernando did what I could not have done with Conundrum. He ran the runabout up onto the beach, kicking the outboard up at the last moment as he killed the engine. We ground to a halt, the bow buried into the sand so far that it probably wouldn't need an anchor to keep it there.

We climbed out. As soon as the boat stopped the heat returned. It was hotter than St. Angelique even on a bad day. Beads of sweat instantly formed on my forehead. It got to Joey right away. He shuddered and lurched forward, dropping to his knees to gasp for air. "Ese sea sick?" Fernando asked. The heat never seem to bother him or Roddy.

I shook my head, using a cloth from inside the runabout to get some water for Joey's forehead. He was flushed. His eyes were closed. A headache was coming on. Maybe a bad one from his tense fists. It didn't get that bad usually, but when it did, it was more like a migraine with blasts of light hurting his eyes and endless sweating. All because of a tiny piece of bone sticking into his hypothalamus.

"It's not that 3; Fernando, he's sick. He has a problem controlling his body. Sometimes when the temperature goes up, he gets headaches. Most times, it's at night, but if it happens during the day, it's worse than anything I could say."

"'e goin' ta die?" he asked apprehensively.

"No, not that. He'll be okay in a while."

There was no point in explaining further. Even I didn't understand. It was caused by the cessation of hormones flowing from the hypothalamus to the pituitary gland. That was all I knew. That, and to get him cool again as quickly as possible. Sometimes, I could take him into the lagoon and let the water wash over him, but now, in the heat of summer, the water was luke warm. The best thing was to get him in the shade immediately. I picked him up. He wasn't much heavier than he had been two years ago when I carried him into my home the first time. Except, during those two years, his Hispanic puppy fat had become hard boy-muscle. He shivered suddenly. The chills were part of how his body tried to fight back. It was almost as if his teeth chattered non-stop from the beach. He couldn't talk, except to say 'dad' again and again. I felt so helpless.

The shade helped, that and the small white tee-shirt that Roddy dutifully waved up and down. For the next ten minutes I explained to Fernando as best I could what the problem was. By the time I finished there were tears in his eyes. Mine too. It was a painful story, worse because I had to whisper so that Joey and Roddy could not hear.

"Dat poor boy. 'e be okay," was all that Fernando could say. He said it over and over again, like a mantra that could somehow cure my son.

"Dat doc, 'e make him better?"

"I don't know about the surgery, Fern," I said blankly. "No one can give me a straight answer. Even if he gets it, it won't be for a year or two. We have to wait and see if he starts puberty normally."

"Dis puberty thing, 'e get dem beeg hairy balls like Roddy?" Fernando asked with a smirk.

"Yeah, more or less. I guess bigger balls are part of it. The doctor thinks he'll be slow getting hair."

"Ese small now," Fernando observed.

I'd taken Joey's shorts off to help him cool down. His tee-shirt too. His penis had shriveled up, a nubbin above his loose little pouch. His balls were tiny, about like peanuts without the shell. Sometimes I teased him by calling them jelly beans, or little-boy-balls.

"Yeah."

"Dem headaches do dat to 'im?"

Fernando really didn't understand. "No, the piece of bone," I explained for the third time. 'It's stuck into part of his brain."

"Dat boy don' grow up 'cause dat bone?"

"The doc told me last time that even if he doesn't have surgery they can give him drugs," I said emptily.

"Dat boy mine, 'e don' be takin' dem drugs," he replied pointedly.

"It isn't that kind of drug, Fern."

"'e perfect de way 'e is," Fernando said poignantly. "'e don' need growin' up."

I glared at Fernando. How he could possibly say something like that? And yet, there had been times when I had found myself thinking much the same thing. Doctor Lamar had suggested that delayed puberty was very possible. It was the main reason why he wanted me to closely watch Joey's physical development. At the last examination, Joey had been at the age when there should have been some signs of the onset. That there was nothing, was hardly problematic because some boys simply started later, but after a year there should be something. If there was, I couldn't see it and I inspected him thoroughly just about every day. One thing was certain, his balls weren't getting any bigger. Would it be so bad if Joey took a few more years to go through puberty? What did it matter if a few more years went past before he started ejaculating, getting hair in places that I much preferred to be smooth and soft?

I glanced at Joey and Roddy. Joey was sitting up, holding his head between his knees while Roddy fanned him gently. He was starting to feel better. Perhaps my prompt attention to getting him cooled down was working. I hoped so.

"What cause dat boy get sick?"

"I'm not sure. It's the heat. He can't adjust to changes in temperature, not like you and me. I need to get the air-conditioning on the boat fixed for him. The fuckin' hurricane ruined it," I said glumly.

"What yo need?"

I shrugged. "A whole new system, according to French's. I had them look at it last month. They figure maybe three grand if I can get the parts in Miami."

There hadn't been much point to getting an estimate. I didn't have one tenth of what was needed. Just about everything I owned was invested in the goddamn boat and Joey's college fund.

Fernando turned away, hearing the sound of approaching motorcycles at the same time that I did. Only the sound wasn't from a motor cycle. It was a four-wheel All-Terrain-Vehicle, an ATV with fat knobby tires that allowed it to traverse rough ground. It was ideal for driving through sand and water. There was one boy on each bike, each about the same age as Joey and Roddy. Both of them were lean and brown, and very naked. I recognized Adam immediately, and not because he stood up on the pedals and waved at me. The other boy sat on his shiny black seat, staring at us. Neither boy made any attempt to hide his private parts. Apparently, they were used to other men and boys seeing them naked.

"Hi, Adam," I said, walking up to him. He smiled and held out his hand to hi-five me, New York style. I couldn't help but feast my eyes on his nude boy-body. I saw details that had been covered up before. His cock was in early pubescence, about the same size at Roddy's, maybe thinner. His balls hung down lower. The tattoo on his right thigh was hard to overlook, that and the fact that he was circumcised like Joey. The other thing I noticed was that there was not a single hair below his head.

"Hi, Mister Kingston."

"The last time I saw you, I think you had clothes on. I like you more like this, I think."

He grinned shamelessly. He had a nice body. He was as lean as Joey, and like my son, he was all brown from head to toe.

"What yer doin' here?"

"Looking for candy," I quipped.

He grinned again, bolder now that he knew that I was aware of what happened on Candy Cay.

"Yeah? Lookin' fer boys more like. Hiya, Rod!" He waved.

Roddy waved back. Fernando smiled and nodded. Like me, he was looking, but at the other boy. He was dark-haired and as good looking as blond-headed Adam.

"Where are Robert and Peter?" I asked bald-facedly.

"They went back to New York last night." He pointed at Joey. "Is yer boy-friend okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Actually, he's my son. He's sick."

His smirk vanished. "No shit! Can we help?"

"Yeah, if you've got air-conditioning somewhere around here."

Adam grinned again. I liked him much more by himself than in the company of the two men who I'd taken fishing. Suddenly, I realized that I'd assumed to be sulkiness was more than likely a reaction to why he was traveling with them. I had no doubt that they were sharing him for sex. No boy likes to be put down like that.

"Sure. Every cabin's got air. Only they're still a ways from here. Do you wanna carry him, Mister Kingston? You put him behind me 'n I'll go slow," Adam offered generously.

I placed Joey behind Adam, telling him several times to hold on tightly, even though Adam promised to go very slowly. Looking at Adam's bronzed bare body, I had no qualms that Joey would fall off. If I was him, I'd be holding on for dear life. Adam cautiously engaged gear and slowly motored along the beach. He had only gone a few yards from where Fernando beached the runabout before he turned right. He began to follow a bumpy track that was made of sand and coral with brush and branches laid crosswise to give traction. I walked close behind the ATV, keeping one hand behind Joey's back in case he was dislodged. The slight breeze seemed to help him.

There were eight cabins , each with low metal roofs that extended all around to form a wide verandah. The landscaping of low brush and coconut trees had been allowed to encroach among the cabins, creating a setting that was both private and very romantic, even for the Dry Exumas. Adam stopped outside one of the cabins. Even as he switched the engine off, a man came down the stairs to greet us. He was dressed in a pair of boxers that looked as if he'd just put them on when we arrived. His erection still formed a bulge underneath. It pointed up and to the side, making creases in his boxers.

"Is there a problem, Adam?" he asked calmly.

"Yeah. We met 'em on the beach, Mr. Williams. He's sick," Adam explained.

He turned back, glancing over his shoulder at Joey who continued to hold onto him even thought the ATV was stopped. His eyes were nearly closed. His face was covered with beads of perspiration. It was obvious he was sick. His back felt clammy to my touch.

Williams glanced at me, then at Roddy and Fernando. "Roddy?"

"Yeah, 's me, Mister Williams." Roddy grinned brashly.

"You know them, Roddy?" It was impossible to miss the emphasis on 'know'.

"Dey's cool. Dey livin' on Angelique, Mister Williams."

"I asked if you knew them. You know what I mean?"

"I knows. De boy, ese Joey, 'n dis Mister Kingston, dat's 'is dad. Dey's bin fuckin' fer years. Dey's nice too."

Williams nodded slowly. "I thought we had an understanding, Fernando? About bringing non members here."

Fernando slowly looked around. It was nearly midday and the sun was almost directly overhead. There was no one else around, yet my intuition told me that people were there, inside the cabins where it was cool. His eyes came to rest on Williams. "Mr. Williams, de boy sick. 'e need coolin' down."

Williams nodded slightly, thinking it through. "Let's get him inside."

I lifted Joey from the back of the ATV. He slumped against me, his eyes opening slightly in recognition.

"It's okay, Joey," I said with what I hoped was confidence.

"Dad, it hurts bad," Joey murmured.

He looked worn out. It was like having my heart torn out every time he was like this. Life would be easier for him if we lived further north, but Joey wouldn't hear of it. In two years going back to the U.S. was the only thing we'd ever fought about.

"I know sweetie. You need to rest and cool down. It'll go away."

His eyes closed again as I carried him up the stairs and onto the verandah. Williams opened the louvered door. It was lined with plexiglass to keep the heat where it belonged.

"Put him on the couch," Williams instructed.

When I stood back up again, I noticed the boy. He was nine, maybe ten, dark-skinned. An island-boy, like Roddy. Good-looking, cute even. Naked, not looking at all out of place given what I'd already seen of Candy Cay. Shyly, he backed away from me, shifting his glance from me to Williams. One small hand was cupped over his compact groin, yet his little boy-dick poked out to the side.

"Go see your brother, Carlos" Williams said. "He's waiting outside with your uncle."

"Fernando n' Roddy's 'ere?" he squeaked. He didn't wait for an answer. He darted out.

"He's nine," Williams offered, even though I hadn't asked the question.

"That's up to you."

Williams smiled slightly, turning to watch Carlos bare bottom before it disappeared. He turned back, looking down at Joey. "Is he going to be okay?"

I had not intended to like Williams. He was scum, selling young boys for sex, although I was hardly in a position to criticize him given my relationship with Joey. Yet, his sincerity stopped me in my proverbial tracks. He cared. I had been a student of people's body language for far too long not to see that he was worried about my son.

"Yes. He needs to cool down for a while."

"Heat stroke huh? I can get the doctor in Nassau on the phone?"

"No. It isn't that. He has a problem adjusting to temperature sometimes."

I reached down and gently stroked Joey's hair. Silky soft. Long enough to need a haircut soon. Somewhere inside his beautiful little head was a tiny piece of bone.

"He's a very handsome boy."

I glanced at Williams. He spoke my thoughts, and it came from the heart, that deep emotion that made men love boys.

"Thanks," I murmured.

"He is! I'd heard there was another one of us boy-lovers somewhere near Georgetown. He's supposed to have a drop-dead gorgeous kid living with him." Williams smiled and glanced at Joey. Drop-dead gorgeous was right on the money. "He's Hispanic too, I hear. You're him, right?"

I shrugged, then smiled. "Probably." What was the point of saying otherwise when he already knew.

Williams glanced down at Joey. He was finally asleep. When he woke up again he'd feel much better. I sighed. Three or four hours was all it ever lasted. Williams raised his finger to his lips, then pointed to the door. I followed him outside. Fernando was waiting on the verandah, sitting on a bamboo-framed settee. It was covered in pastel-patterned fabric, the same sort of island floral print that all the resorts used. I sat down next to him, wondering whether I was taking a risk by being there, by bringing Joey with me. Until recently, I had trusted Fernando. Now, I was not quite sure.

"What brought you all the way up here, Mr. Kingston?" Williams asked after he had taken a seat opposite us.

"Roddy finds dat Vincente boy, yes-day," Fernando said before I could answer. "'e dead, Mister Williams."

"Yes, I heard last night. It's all very sad. I hear there's a warrant out for your arrest?" he said to me.

"How?" I demanded. Just one word, but the intensity made up for it.

"I heard about the warrant on the radio. It's been on VHS-16 a couple of times now, a request for anyone to report seeing 3; um 3; a deep-sea fishing boat by the name of Conundrum?" Williams smiled. "However, I already knew about Vincente because Steve Adams called in here yesterday morning," he explained. His expression was very serious. "He didn't do it, Mr. Kingston. Someone else killed Vincente. You'll have to trust me on that."

"You expect me to trust you? I don't even know you. You're running a boy brothel and you expect me to trust you?"

Williams cocked his head towards the door, towards where Joey was lying. Somewhere, not far away, I could hear boys laughing. They sounded like boys everywhere. They were born to be happy.

"Why do you have sex with him?" he asked in a subdued voice that got my full attention.

"Because I love him," I said simply.

"Yes 3; I think you do. You're really his father?"

"Yes."

"So, you fuck your own son's ass. That's incest."

I didn't like the tone of his voice or what it said about me. "Yes it is."

Williams smiled knowingly. "Your Joey likes it though, doesn't he?"

Carlos reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, taking my mind of what Williams had just said. I watched him come over, grinning at his uncle. He climbed into Williams' lap like he belonged there. It was like watching Joey. Joey acted as if he owned me, which in a way he did. Williams cuddled the boy for a few seconds, then, realizing I hadn't answered his question, continued.

"Being your boy I mean."

"I know what you mean. You'll have to ask him that yourself when he wakes up."

"I will. But I expect he'll say yes."

"What's your point?"

I watched Williams' hands roaming over Carlos. The little boy giggled softly. His skinny brown legs parted further. Williams didn't need a second invitation. One hand crept across Carlos' velvet brown skin, down over his taut belly. His hand completely covered the little dick and balls, most of his lower belly for that matter. With his legs spread wide, the little tattoo had nowhere to hide. Even nine-year-old Carlos had been marked. My eyes glanced down. The ankle bracelet was there as well. Carlos smirked and settled back in the man's arms. Fernando nodded appreciatively, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for another man to be playing with his nephew's sex organs.

"As you can see, Mr. Kingston, there are some boys who like having sex with men," he answered. He said it perfunctorily, yet it was more proving his point. I could see Carlos' happiness in his dark eyes.

"And?" I prompted. "That makes it okay for them to sell their asses to any man who comes along?"

"No, of course not." Williams nodded smugly. "You probably won't believe me, but young Carlos here hasn't had sex with anyone but me. And one or two of the other boys, of course. He's been here for nearly a year now. I've never have to use a condom with him."

"That's nice for you. Am I to assume that you love him?"

"Actually, Mr. Kingston, I do love him. I know that you think what happens here on Candy Cay is disgusting and immoral, and that I'm a very bad person who takes advantage of young boys, so I don't expect you to believe me. I don't plan to get into an argument about it. But let me change to someone else who you do know. How about Fernando and Roddy? How do you think they feel about each other?"

"I don't know." I smiled, thinking of the many days and nights that I'd spent with them over the last two years. It was obvious to any one who took the time to watch them together. "No, I'm wrong. They love each other," I replied honestly.

"I happen to agree with you. Now, let's move to the crux of the matter. Why do you think Roddy worked here for a year? He did, you know."

"Yes, I heard." I tried to keep the contempt out of my voice. There was no point in antagonizing him.

"Let me ask you this then. Would you let Joey work here?"

"No! Of course not!"

I felt my anger begin to build. It was made worse because Williams was fingering Carlos' penis right in front of me. I watched it become hard. At full erection, it was a shade under three inches [7½ cm], almost the same length as Joey's dick. It was wedge-shaped like Roddy's, a precursor or what Roddy had been like three years earlier. A beautiful little boy. How could Fernando had allowed him to go with other men? My eyes locked onto Carlos' dick. With his thicker, straight shape compared to Joey's slim banana-curved dick, nine-year-old Carlos was actually better endowed than my son. Then, Williams eased the foreskin down. It came back easily, too easily for a little boy. The cherry head was exactly that.

"Because you love him right?" Williams asked.

I replied with a deprecating look. Williams smiled and nodded. "You can relax. I'm not trying to recruit him, Mr. Kingston. As you can see, I've got my hands full with Carlos. Not that I wouldn't want to have sex with your son. I would. He's absolutely beautiful."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

"I hope so. It was intended to be one. My point is that Roddy worked here because there was no other way for them to get the money to buy the bar. It's a beautiful place down here in the islands, but it's also a very hard life when you're poor, Mr. Kingston. The boys who come here typically have nothing to loose and everything to gain. I go to great pains to select them. Usually they have no parents, no one who loves them, they've got nothing to look forward to. That's true even for the few boys we've brought down from the U.S. . However, the boys all have one thing in common. They like men. They're ready willing and able to have sex. Unless I'm very much mistaken, they're just like your son."

"You're including Roddy in that group too? I figure he was nine years old when he started at your little resort here."

"Ah, yes, that's true. I won't lie to you. I like young boys. Carlos is the same age as his brother when he started. I took Roddy in only as a favor to Fernando. Carlos, well, all I can say is he wanted to. Let me ask you this. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. How old was Joey? I'm talking about the first time you went all the way with him?"

I swallowed hot humid air. "He was ten." I didn't add that he had only just turned ten.

"Would you have started younger with him if you could?"

I shook my head abruptly. He probably recognized the lie. He smiled again. So far he was ahead on points.

"He's gay, isn't he?"

Whether Joey was exclusively homosexual was something I was still uncertain of. There was simply no way of telling for sure. I could only hope that he was. There had been only a few times during the last two years when he gave me cause to question it. Gay was increasingly likely, given what I perceived to be a complete lack of interest in girls. When he talked about the girls at his school it was nothing more than to compensate for his having sex with another male. It was his way of trying to maintain a semblance of the 'maccho' image that most Hispanic males have ingrained into them from birth. At the same time as he jumped into my bed at night with a well-oiled ass and put my equally well-oiled cock inside him, he talked about the 'chick' he liked at school. It was a different girl every time, and it was as much his way of teasing me as anything he really felt for them. Still, it was a little disconcerting, if not all that surprising.

Some boys have a strong resistance to being a 'bottom', but not Joey. That was the proof, if any was required. Not only did he desire men, but he was partial to the subordinate role once my cock was inside him. He was happiest on his back with his heels at his shoulders. There were a few times when I would have liked to feel his little boy-dick buried inside me, to feel his squat boy-sized hardness pumping away with aggressive passion, but it was not to be. He had no interest in doing that to me. Not that I really wanted anything else from my son. One 'bottom' was enough in a family.

"I'll take that as a yes," Williams chuckled. "Besides, I can spot the gay ones at a hundred yards. Don't get me wrong, but a lot of gay boys start getting the urge at eight or nine. Roddy was just nine, but he was a hot little kid. He was as queer for men as any boy I've seen, and I've seen quite a few over the years, Mr. Kingston. He didn't sleep with every man who wanted him and he still made close to fifty thousand dollars."

"Dat year Roddy was de candy boy, 'e wuz happy. Dem mens was good ta 'im." It was hard to believe that Fernando could look me in the eye and say that. He didn't stop there. "Den, wid Carlos, Mister Williams make 'im happy too. If dat boy work de cabin, ese okay wid me."

I shook my head. "You let Roddy sleep with strangers, Fernando. God, he could have caught AIDS."

"I can assure you of three things, Mr. Kingston. First, he didn't get much sleep when he shared his bed, and the second, the men who he did sleep with weren't strangers," Williams expounded with a smile. "The men who come here are just like you and me. They love boys but they live in a society that calls them evil pedophiles. They have nowhere else to go. I don't cater to perverts or men who want to hurt the boys. They're close friends who also happen to be boy-lovers."

"Except that one or more of your boy-loving friends murdered Vincente," I reminded him cruelly.

"You don't know that to be true."

Williams stroked Carlos' thigh. The little boy-dick was standing up proudly. It quivered, demanding more attention. Williams took hold of it between two fingers and his thumb and began to rub, gently, the same way that I masturbated Joey when he getting in the mood. Carlos smiled, obviously feeling good. Fernando certainly didn't seem to care one way or the other. It obviously wasn't the first time that he'd watched his nephew being masturbated by Williams.

For a while, I considered disputing Williams' claim. However, he was right. There was no link between Vincente and any of the men who visited Candy Cay. At that moment in time, I could not see the point of pursuing that line. At least, not in a direct fashion.

"What about the third thing you were going to assure me of?" I prompted testily.

"Ah that! Yes, AIDS. My boys are tested regularly. It's important to make sure they're in the peak of health. It's as much for their benefit as it is for mine."

"What about their sleeping companions?"

"That's important too. They're tested too, as soon as they step off the boat, Mr. Kingston. Most of the men who have stayed here, I would trust with Carlos. They'd probably fuck him if I said it was okay, and I wouldn't need a rubber afterwards."

"You'd do that to him?" I asked argumentatively. "Make him sell his body?"

"I don't make the boys do anything," Williams replied emphatically. "If I allowed Carlos to work the cabins, he'd be safe. That's all I'm saying. The only boys my friends have sex with are the ones here. It's a house rule. The thing is, it really doesn't matter because my boys are properly trained to use condoms whenever there's the slightest risk. To be honest, that's all the time as soon as they start having anal sex. These boys of mine understand the dangers. They're a lot safer here than working some street in New York, or pulling tricks in the tourist resorts."

"I don't doubt that, Mr. Williams. But they still have sex with any man who comes here, don't they?"

"I don't make the boys do anything they don't want to do. Let me tell you how Candy Cay works. Basically, we have get-to-know-you parties whenever someone new arrives. The boys spend time with him. If they like him, what they do is up to them. They get paid what their companions think they're worth. The boys keep one third of whatever they make."

"One third. That's very generous."

"Considering what the boys get out of it 3; Even if they don't have sex with anyone, I still take care of them. At the moment, there are six of them, not including Carlos. They're all safe, healthy, and well fed, Mr. Kingston, and far happier than if they lived on the streets where I found them. I encourage the boys to keep in contact with their 3; friends. We have e-mail here mostly for that reason, although some of the men need to keep in contact with their businesses. There's even been a few times when one of my boys takes a special liking to someone, and I've been able to arrange adoption. What's more, I tutor them, so the boys can catch up in their schoolwork when they're not working. I used to be a middle school teacher in Rhode Island. You probably won't believe me, but my graduation rate so far is better than the public school on Nassau."

I finally had to laugh. The image of half-a-dozen naked boys with sore butts learning Math or English under a coconut tree was amusing. However, it was more than that. Williams' Candy Cay was achieving what society had been unable to achieve since Ancient Greece.

"Okay, I'm convinced. Just don't ask me to let Joey join up."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Kingston, although I can assure you he'd be very popular with my friends."

"Dat boyo 'e work de month, yo got monies for da boat," Fernando chuckled. "Fix it all up nice."

"Not going to happen," I said adamantly.

"'e work de year, dat buy de beeg boat yo needs," Fernando teased.

I shook my head. It was all so open, so natural. It was a simple, formula. Boys had sex with the men they liked, and the men paid what they thought the boy was worth. It was supply and demand at work. I watched Carlos. He was clearly enjoying the man's attention. His eyes were half-closed, dozing in the afternoon heat. He was Roddy's younger brother, Fernando's other nephew. He was happy, as happy as Roddy or Joey, as happy as a boy could be when society wasn't looking over his shoulder and saying 'bad touch'. Williams was surprisingly tender with him. Sure, he petted the boy a lot, but I did that with Joey as well. It was how I showed him how much I loved him. One of the ways, at least. In private, more than likely they'd be having sex. That was what men like us did with boys. I glanced back at Williams.

"When he called in here, Steve told me about you. You used to be a homicide detective in Chicago, didn't you? So tell me, how did you end up becoming the suspect in this one?"

I shrugged. "It's a long story."

"We have plenty of time."

There was no point in not telling Williams what had happened the night that Vincente died. Fernando had probably figured out most of it for himself after Roddy returned with Joey's yellow costume, 'de slip' that had been used to kill Vincente. More than likely, Roddy had removed it from around Vincente's neck in order to protect us.

"Joey and I went for a walk on the beach that night," I began. I sighed ruefully, remembering. "We walked all the way down to the village, where the boats are kept?"

"So you had sex with him there, next to the boat, right next to where Roddy found Vincente's body the next morning?" Williams asked with humor despite the otherwise grim nature of the situation. It was the first question he had asked in several minutes.

"Yes."

"That still doesn't explain how the police found something to link you to Vincente."

He was still stroking Carlos' dick. He did it gently, not too quick, not too slow, stimulating the boy just enough that he was always near orgasm, but never taking him over the edge. I did the same thing with Joey sometimes as well. It was fun just to have his boy-cock as hard as a nail, pulsing and dark-skinned with veins swollen out, but not allowing him to climax. It was torment of the most delicious sort.

"More than likely someone saw him with Joey when we were in Georgetown the afternoon before he died. That wouldn't be enough for a warrant for me, although they've issued one for Joey as a material witness. I don't know what he's got on me, but one thing is certain. He's sure to have something on me. He wouldn't have taken out the warrant otherwise. He knows I used to be a cop. I suppose I must have dropped something that night. Probably in the boat. Anything in the sand would have been washed away by the tide. Maybe a hair or something. I looked the next morning. I couldn't see anything."

And then I remembered. I groaned. "Fuck!" Williams waited for me to speak. "Joey blew a load out his butt while we were messing around. I wiped it off on the boat."

"So?"

"My fingerprints would have been left in the oil."

"Oil?" Then, Williams, as if silently disputing what I had said, shook his head.

"It's probably one of the better mediums around for recording fingerprints if it's not too thick or greasy," I explained.

"Probably a good reason to use KY," Williams joked. "It would have dried up long before morning."

"Yeah, that's probably true. But at the price they charge in Georgetown for a tube, I'd need to be a millionaire."

Williams laughed. "It sounds like your boy gets it in the butt fairly often?"

I had to smile. "Either that, or we're pretty wasteful. Damn, but it was stupid of me to forget wiping my hand underneath that rope. No wonder he's got an arrest warrant out for me. He's got my goddamn DNA and all."

"So that's why you're here?" Williams summarized. "You're suspect number one in Vincente's murder. I'd say you were in a boat load of trouble, Mr. Kingston. It sounds like there's evidence to show you were."

"It does indeed."

I didn't counter that the same DNA tests would probably also show that the mucus did not belong to Vincente. The problem was that even the most inept technician would find the genetic similarity between my semen and Joey's rectal juices. That was one complication, I didn't need in my life. Put the facts together and even Detective Brown would end up with father and son having anal sex.

"Do they have a case if they don't have your son's costume as the er 3; murder weapon?" he asked.

I nodded. "It isn't all that difficult to come up with a motive. Joey's my only alibi and I don't want to drag him into it if I can help it. As I see it, to get off the hook, I have to find out who really did it."

"Look, I'll help as much as I can but to be honest with you, I don't know what it is that you're hoping to find out here. Sure, Vincente came from here, and Adams has been coming here for about three years now, but other than that 3;" Williams acknowledged, while pointedly leaving the statement unfinished.

What was I hoping to find? I glanced around the compound. Eight huts, not included Williams. I wondered how many men had visited over the last few years, who had made Vincente's acquaintance by sharing the same bed. By then, little Carlos had scampered off to join the other boys. It seemed very quiet given that there were as many as sixteen other people within a hundred feet [30 m]. Maybe they were all asleep.

Chapter 12

"Here's the entry for May," Williams began after turning several dozen pages.

He pointed with his finger and I leaned across to examine. His writing was neat and legible, as one expected from a teacher. After I told him of the events that brought Joey and me to the Exumas, he elaborated on his personal history. It amused me somewhat to think that he had been fired from his position because a twelve-year-old boy had brought allegations of sexual abuse. What should have been disastrous had ended up as the best thing that ever happened to him. He left the grim life of shoveling snow and settled in an island paradise where he was surrounded by good looking boys who wanted nothing more than for a man to molest them. It was a paradise for me as well, if only because Joey was with me. For close on two years we'd been lovers. They were wonderful years.

"This was when Vincente started. The P-R means he came from Puerto Rico. I think Sal found him on the beach one night," he continued. "The six means that he was in cabin six. I had him start out sharing with Marcus until he got the hang of it." He gestured across the compound. "That's six over there. The boys call it the tea house because the inside looks like a Japanese tea room. Let's see, his customers were 3; The first one was Ted Grooms. He's an accountant from Louisiana. He got a B. That's about seven out of ten. Not that bad for his first time, but it's only because he didn't want to do anal."

"Pardon?"

Williams smiled. "The boys are rated by the men. They rate the men as well. It's the best way I've found to keep track of what happens in the cabins."

"So a B is okay under the circumstances?"

Williams laughed. "It's very good for a first timer. They're usually a bit uptight. And tight too, if you know what I mean. Now, the following week he was with Gary Brown. He's an interesting guy. He's a major leaguer. Comes all the way from the west coast. He's usually here twice a year, but only for a couple of days at a time. He's very popular with the boys. He gave Vincente an A and paid him $400 a day. That's because he was only nine at the time." He scanned down the list, using his hand to cover the names so I couldn't see them. "No one with him for the following week? He probably needed a rest. Yes, there it is. Gary's about average-size, but little Vincente still had a couple of fissures. I treated him with antiseptic cream. Ah, here's the next one. Not till the middle of June. I remember now, he got an infected leg from playing on the coral. Hm, I see he was with Bob. You don't need to worry about him, I'm afraid, Mr. Woods. He's dead!"

I nodded. Something was dragging at my thoughts, pulling in a different direction. It was like that sometimes when the pieces began to fall into place. Could Bobb be Robert Hardy, Junior? Had he been at Candy Cay? He'd slept with Vincente? He'd also been a friend of Steve Adams, Vincente's last customer. Again, it was one of those things that could be coincidence.

"Tell me about him?" I asked slowly.

"Bob Hardy?"

I nodded.

"Hm, not a lot to tell. He's from Chicago." Williams stopped suddenly. He glanced up to meet my eyes. "You know him, don't you? Of course you do. That's what Adams said yesterday. You interrogated him a couple of years ago. I didn't make the association with Hardy."

"Yes, I did. Tell me about Hardy?"

"He ranked Vincente as an A-." He winked meaningfully. "He's not that bad. The poor boy must have gotten tight again. They do, of course, if they don't do it regularly."

"That's a problem then? Being tight I mean?"

Williams smirked. "Well 3; I think it depends on what you like. But if a boy's too tight, it tends to hurt him, so he doesn't enjoy it all that much. Once they loosen up inside, they always enjoy it." He regarded the ledger in his lap. "Bob was one of my regulars until then. He was supposed to come back in December, but he postponed that trip. I believe he met a boy in Chicago. A young boy too, nine years old, I think, which was exactly how Bob liked them. I heard on the grapevine that he was a real little doll." He flipped pages quickly, stopping suddenly. "See, there's a International Florist charge of $50 for the flowers I sent to the funeral."

The amount in the ledger was notated with an address that belonged to a funeral parlor. I scratched my head. Williams turned the pages back again. Again, I had the sense of something missing. It wasn't all that far away and it was important. Again, that pulling sensation inside my head, like neurons trying to form connections between things that weren't quite ready to be connected.

"He was a good customer?" I asked.

"Good? He was wonderful. The boys adored him. He was very generous with them. He paid Vincente three thousand for the week. That's almost double his usual rate. Whoever his young friend was in Chicago, he was a very lucky boy."

"Do you have any idea of who murdered him?" I asked absently.

Suddenly, the Hardy case was wide open again. Two years ago, I had been working on the assumption that one of Hardy's business clients had pulled the trigger on a 38 caliber handgun. It was the logical way to proceed at the time. Now, I wasn't quite so certain that revenge for being swindled was the only motive.

"No, not really. Adams thought it was one of his business associates. I expect you know that already?"

"He was an investment manager for some very wealthy people," I explained. "There was evidence that he was churning their accounts, buying and selling stock in order to take a commission."

"I didn't think an investment manager's commission was so large it would be worth doing something like that," Williams commented.

"It is when you're moving around hundreds of millions of dollars at a time. I wasn't able to prove it at the time, but I had the impression that a few of his clients might have had connections with the Mafia. That would account for the single shot to the head."

"Why is that?"

"It's their standard way of executing someone," I elucidated. "They make the victim knee down and someone walks up to him, puts the gun to his head, and, bang."

"That's how Bob was killed?"

"Yes."

I didn't add that pieces of Hardy's skull and brains were found twenty feet [6 m] away. His head exploded like a watermelon hit by a shotgun blast. I heard a sound from within the cabin, the sound of the bamboo-framed couch creaking as Joey began to sit up. I wanted to go inside and find out how he felt. Yet, that nagging feeling that I was onto something kept me there on the verandah.

"Let's see, now after Bob, there was Kevin Landers. He's relatively new. He was here again just last week. It was his 3; hm, his third time, I think. Actually, he was here when Bob was here. He stayed two weeks that time. He stayed with 3; Hm 3; that's interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing really. It's just that most of the men settle down with one of the boys after a day or two. Kevin didn't. He was with 3; Let's see. Roddy was with him on the third day 3; then 3; No one the next night. Or the next. And then there was Jeff on the second last night."

"Jeff?" I asked. I hadn't missed the tone of what he said. 'Jeff', the same way that I said 'Joey'. Was Williams in love? or had he been in love until Jeff became too old to interest him.

"Jeff was quite a boy. I don't get that many blond boys down here as you might expect. He was a doll. He regularly got a thousand dollars a day. It was rather a pity when he finally went off with Graham Day, although I did like to see him happy, needless to say."

"Graham Day?"

"The singer? From Las Vegas?"

I shrugged. After two years in the Exumas, my knowledge of current singers was limited to hearing Joey's CD collection pounding out through the boat's speaker system again and again, that and the island steel-bands that played at Fernando's bar. Joey's CD collection definitely did not included Las Vegas lounge lizards.

"Graham adopted him the following year," Williams continued. "Lucky man. Some of my clients were very upset. Jeff was very popular. He was good at it. I'm sure you know what I mean. I used to have him work with some of the younger boys to improve their style."

His voice had changed, becoming flatter, without emotion, as if remembering something from the past. I didn't pick up on it right away. I was thinking of something else. Not counting myself and Fernando, other than Williams, I had not seen any men on the island. Somehow, that did not make a lot of sense. It wasn't the tourist season, but there were six oversexed boys who should have brought men running no matter what the season was.

"Now then 3;" He looked at the ledger, running his finger down the column. "Who was Vincente with during the rest of June. Ah yes, the German contingent. Despite what you might think they're rather fond of dark-skinned boys."

"Huh?"

We both heard the creak through the cabin wall. Joey was turning over on the couch. Perhaps he was waking up. We waited for another sound. Finally, Williams shrugged.

"He went back to sleep again, I'd say?. Vincente was with Rudi Schrieder the following week. He's from Hamburg. Actually, he's back this week as well. If you want to speak to him, I suppose it would be alright. After that 3;"

So, there were other men around. The island wasn't that big on the chart, but it was certainly large enough for a man and boy to find somewhere where they wouldn't be disturbed for a few hours. Given the heat of the day, it was likely they were in the air-conditioned cabins with the boys. There was an occasional burst of laughter from one or two of the cabins that confirmed something was happening.

"Yes?" I prodded.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something."

"Which is?"

Williams smiled wryly. "My, but you are persistent. Steve did warn me, so I shouldn't be all that surprised." He paused. "Tim Lewis was here then. He managed to convince Graham to put on a show for us one night down on the beach."

"Who's he?"

"Tim? He's one of my friends from college. We used to cruise the malls in Pittsburg together on the weekends. Tim was always looking out for cuties."

"For boys?"

"Of course, for boys," Williams smiled weakly. "He wasn't with Vincente. I lined with up with another boy." He shook his head sadly. "I figured Tim was probably watching a boy when he was hit." He sighed. "He was on life-support for a few weeks. I went up to see him, but it was a waste of time. He didn't know who I was. It was all very sad. His wife pulled the plug the next day. At least I had the chance to say good bye."

"Car accident?"

"Hit and run, actually. The police told me he was on the side walk at the time."

"Tell me more about Landers," I said.

If Williams had asked why Landers was of interest to me, I probably could not have said what it was. Perhaps it was something that Williams said. Looking around me, and knowing what I knew of the boys who lived on Candy Cay, it didn't make much sense that a man would waste a single night by not taking one of the boys to bed. It made as much sense as Vincente's death.

There was no motive that I could think of except that someone, one of the other men more than likely, had become jealous of whom Vincente was sleeping with. That argued for killing the other man, or men, but not for murdering Vincente. Perhaps Vincente would not have sex with one of the men. There might be grounds for some sort of perverted retribution, justification for his murder, but that wasn't the case for Landers. It sounded as if he had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted with Vincente. Somehow, I wasn't at all sure why, but it all came back to Landers.

"There's not a lot to tell. He's a regular. What I mean is that for the last couple of years he's come here about this time. The boys aren't particularly fond of him, I think. He's the religious sort. Actually, I'm not exactly sure what he does for a living. He might be a minister from the way he talks. He's involved with some sort of mission for homeless kids in New York. That's how he found out about us. We've recruited a couple of our best kids from there."

"Adam?"

Williams nodded. "He's one of the best to come along for quite a while. Everyone likes him. Jeff came from there too."

Vaguely, I wondered if there was some sort of connection with Landers and the mission in New York. There might well be. Again, the coincidence factor as I called it, was working overtime. However, that connection did not extend to Vincente. It was another dead end.

"Landers," I prompted.

"You don't let up, do you? Okay. What else can I tell you? Hm 3; He doesn't mix very well at our get-to-know-you parties."

I wasn't surprised by that. He sounded like the type to be difficult to get on with, the type of man who would avoid social situations. A bit like me. The only person I had ever really cared about was lying on a couch not more than a dozen feet [4 m] away.

"How did Roddy rate him?" I asked. Again, I wasn't at all sure why I wanted to know. Not often, but frequently enough, I relied on my intuition when I ran up against a dead end. This was one of those times.

Williams glanced down at the page. "Hm, a C. That's better that what Jeff gave him. That was an F!"

"Pretty bad in bed, huh? Maybe he couldn't get it up."

"That's not something my boys have a problem with," Williams quipped.

"It sounds like Jeff had higher expectations."

"He probably did. But it is unusual to see an F. The boys usually won't go lower than a C unless 3;"

"Unless what?"

"The man tries to hurt them. They're supposed to report it if something unpleasant happens. The boys, of course. But they usually don't. The unwritten code of boys, I suppose? They think they're so grown up. They tend to keep quiet about what they do, except to each other. I don't hear a lot of what goes on, unless there's physical injury 3;"

"You think Landers tried to hurt Jeff?" I asked thoughtfully.

"Oh no. I remember quite clearly talking with him afterwards. It wasn't that at all. Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened?"

"Exactly. Landers didn't do anything."

"Huh?"

"Jeff said all they did was talk, mostly about what he did with other men. It sounded like he lectured Jeff for a while. Some men get their kicks from things like that, I suppose. I think it's a bit sad really. The boys really want to have sex. That's why they're here in the first place. Jeff was a bit worried about it when Landers showed up here the following year, but that was when Graham came down to take him away. It's just such a shame."

"What's a shame?"

"What happened?"

"Well, the plane wreck of course."

"What plane wreck?"

"You probably missed hearing about it. Graham was flying his private plane from Las Vegas to San Diego. Jeff was with him. Anyway, there was some sort of mechanical problem and it went down in the mountains. They were both killed instantly. Jeff had only been with him for a month or two. I got an email from him a day or two earlier. He was very happy, but what boy wouldn't be living in a luxurious hacienda with a man like Graham."

"That's too bad."

We sat in silence for a while. I kept thinking of Joey and how happy we had been for the last two years. It wasn't just the sex. It was being around him, watching him experiencing life, just being him. Chicago seemed like a very long way away. So did seeing Vincente's body lying in the sand next to the boat. It was all surreal. Only a day earlier, he'd been grinning at Steve Adams from the stern of the motor yacht as Conundrum pulled away from the Georgetown dock. There were no prizes to be given for guessing what they were going to do as soon as we were out of sight. Then, again in the night, when Joey and I watched Adams put his huge cock inside Vincente's little butt. Again, no prizes. The boy liked it. He liked it as much as Joey did, or Roddy, or any other boy who had sex with men.

"Vincente had a lot of men that first year," Williams said absently. He had been turning the pages of the second ledger. "There's not many open weeks. Ten or eleven, I'd say. He spent a couple of weeks in Georgetown with Fernando and Roddy when they were buying the bar, but that hardly counts. Fernando probably fucked him a couple of times anyway. Roddy probably did it too."

I smiled. "Why am I not surprised by that?"

"I'm not."

We both laughed. It wasn't funny, not really. I had a terrible feeling. Perhaps Fernando had murdered Vincente? It wasn't hard to come up with a reason: Roddy. And it was also possible, wasn't it, that Roddy had killed the boy? The motive was the same. Jealousy, because Vincente was having sex with Fernando. None of it made any sense. Including Landers. Then, there was the fire the night before at Fernando's bar. That made even less sense.

"What else can you tell me?" I asked.

"That rather depends on what are you're looking for, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. The problem is I don't know what to look for. All I have to go on is that Vincente was strangled. It might have been by a woman, but knowing what he did for a living, more than likely it was a man."

"These forty men who were with Vincente in his first year, Mr. Kingston, I know them. They're good men, they just happen to love young boys. They're all regulars. They've all been invited back afterwards, most of them have asked for Vincente. I can't see that there's been any sign of trouble."

I nodded thoughtfully. He was right. Further, it wasn't just the men who Vincente had sex with. There were other men who visited Candy Cay. I did the math in my head. Maybe as many as 240 in a year. Six boys times forty. It was like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. I sighed.

"Hi."

Joey's voice plunged into my thoughts and startled me back to life.

"Hi yourself, kid. How do you feel?"

Joey smiled weakly. He was always slow to recover for the first few minutes of waking up. He looked much better. His skin color had returned to normal, a warm satin brown.

"Okay. The headache's gone." His voice was subdued.

He glanced at Williams, not shy, but not forward either. He was naked but it didn't seem to bother him.

"Hi ya," Joey said lightheartedly.

"Hello," Williams said warmly. "I'm Ted Williams. You're Joey, right?" Joey nodded slightly, barely moving his head. "You can call me Ted, if you'd like."

"Thanks for letting me use your couch 3; Ted."

"Sure. You looked like death heated up when your dad brought you in."

Joey shrugged. His smile was reassuring to me. "I'm feeling better now."

"So I see."

Williams' eyes lowered, gazing over Joey's naked body, lingering at the important places. He wasn't well-endowed, not like some boys with their pubescent cocks and low-hanging balls. However, what Joey had, was even more interesting to look at, because after all was said and done, he was what men lusted after. His smooth hairless athletic body and glabrous skin had Williams entranced.

"You're quite a boy," Williams said suggestively. "Your dad's a very lucky man to have you."

I nodded in agreement. What could I do? Deny the obvious truth?

"There's not a hair on him, is there?" Williams observed. "Other than on his head, of course. You have no idea how much men prefer their boys like that."

"That's why you shave them?"

"Oh, you mean Adam and the rest? Actually, shaving a boy is a bad idea. The hair grows out too soon and it's coarse. I use the Lex system. There's a spray and wip-off remover, an inhibitor to keep the hair from growing back, and moisturizing lotion to make the skin feel like a young boy again."

"It sounds expensive."

"It is, but the results are worth it. It's usually around $20 a bottle. God knows what they'd charge down here. I usually buy it in bulk when I'm in Miami."

"Where's Roddy?" Joey asked suddenly.

I could tell that Williams made him nervous. Not that Joey was afraid of being seen naked. He'd spent the best part of the last two years without clothes on. He knew that his body was nothing to be ashamed of. It was the way that Williams kept looking even while he was talking about removing the hair from a boy's body, examining Joey like he was about to buy him, imagining touching his bare flesh, all at the same time. I felt a surge of pride that my son could have that effect on another man. It was also disheartening.

Williams pointed at the cabin at the far end of the compound. It was where Fernando had gone. He'd been there for a couple of hours, almost the entire time that Joey had been asleep. Even as we looked in that direction, another boy emerged from the cabin. He jumped instead of going down the four steps, laughing and shouting as he went. He ran across the compound, giggling, oblivious to the sweltering summer heat. Unlike Joey, whose first ten years of life had been spent in Chicago, Carlos had grown up in the Caribbean. He leaped onto the verandah of Williams' cabin and came to a foot-splintering stop on the verandah. He was still giggling.

"Yo won' 'lieve what dey does," he announced brashly.

"Try me," Williams said.

His hand cupped Carlos' bottom, like my hand could completely cup one of Joey's cheeks and still have room for most of the other cheek. Carlos bent down, putting his lips next to the man's ear. He whispered, exaggerating, telling all. Williams smirked, fondling between the boy's brown cheeks. He elicited a muted giggle, but the boy stay where was was. Joey smirked shamelessly. From where he was standing, he had a better view than I did. More than likely, Williams had a finger inside Carlos' crack. He listened to what the boy said, although I was certain his attention was distracted.

"Really?"

Carlos nodded energetically. "Dey done dat, Ted. Dat taste awful."

"Trust me, it isn't as bad as you think. It's an acquired taste, dear boy," Williams chuckled. He looked up at me. "It seems Fernando just pissed in Roddy's mouth."

"Gross!" came Joey's immediate response. However, he still smiled at the thought. Perhaps he found it amusing because we'd made jokes about doing things like that, even if we'd never done it ourselves.

"Each to his own, Joey," Williams chided. "If they're both willing, I don't see why they shouldn't do it, do you?"

"Because it's dirty for one reason," I replied.

"Now, Mr Kingston, surely you don't believe that? You put your semen in Joey's butt, don't you? And in his mouth too, more than likely. Most of us boy-loving men like getting our cocks sucked. I don't see that there's all that much difference between the two."

"He licks my butt afterwards sometimes too," Joey blurted out amid giggles.

"Ah 3;" Williams smirked. "A man after my own heart."

He lifted his hand from Carlos' buttocks and brought it to his nose. Carlos shook his head agitatedly. The implication was obvious, but as Williams smelled, I saw him smile. It was only his way of teasing the boy. I teased Joey the same way. The smell was really quite pleasant, not at all like what one might expect to find. Williams crudely licked his fingertips, smacking his lips for effect. Carlos snorted demonstratively.

"Ah 3; I'm afraid it's mostly mine this time. There's nothing quite like the taste of a freshly fucked boy, is there? Your dad likes the taste too, I bet. Although I'm sure Kevin Landers would never agree."

I did agree, but I did so without direct acknowledgement of the fact. Not that it was needed, Joey's boyish guffaw was enough to confirm what Williams suggested.

"How much did Roddy tell you about this place?" he asked Joey bluntly.

"Candy Cay?" Joey asked, just to make certain. Williams nodded. "He told me there were a bunch of boys here who have sex with men. They get paid to do it, but no one forces them. Um, Vincente came from here 3; and, Roddy said that he used to live here, but it was couple of years ago."

Williams smiled. "You know it's a secret, don't you?"

Joey grinned. He glanced at me. "If my dad says so, then I'll never say a word."

"That works for me," Williams continued.

His hand moved back to Carlos' rear where it was almost out of sight. I didn't need to see what he was doing. The expression on Carlos face was more than enough to guess where Williams' fingers were. Joey was the same way, both of them very aware of the sensitivity of that part of their young bodies.

"Your dad thinks the man who killed Vincente was one of the men who've visited here," he said without enthusiasm.

"My dad's pretty smart about stuff like that. He used to be a detective in Chicago," Joey announced.

"Yes, I know."

"While you were asleep we've been going through some of the men who Vincente slept with," I explained. For no reason at all, I added, "The weird thing is that one of the first men who Vincente had sex with was the man whose murder I was investigating right before we left Chicago."

"Bob Hardy," Williams said. "The boys really liked him at lot."

Joey's face paled and he seemed to slump against the railing. It took me by surprise. I could not remember him ever having two heat attacks in the same day. He breathed in and out quickly, gasping.

"What's wrong?" I asked apprehensively.

Just the possibly that his problem was getting worse, frightened me. I could visualize the tiny piece of bone penetrating further into his hypothalamus, destroying as it went. Eventually, it would reach his brain and he'd go crazy. Doctor Lamar said that was impossible, but it didn't stop my imagination.

"Nothing," Joey muttered weakly. "I feel hot, that's all."

However, his face was drained of color, not flushed and sweaty the way it usually was when he couldn't adjust to a change in temperature. We were out of the sun, and while it wasn't cool on the verandah, it wasn't so hot that we were uncomfortable. Usually, the temperature had to increase substantially before it would spike an attack.

"You'd better sit down and take it easy for a while," I said, patting my thighs. "You need to rest a while longer I think."

Joey swallowed and hesitantly approached. He eased down onto me, straddling my thighs. He was naked and cool compared to me. I could feel his uneasiness. His body was tense, not relaxed. He shivered, trembling even as my arm came around his shoulders to comfort him. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I stroked his cheek tenderly. He cuddled closer, placing his face on my shoulder. I held him, not too tightly. His breathing was uncertain.

Several minutes passed. There was a slight breeze off the ocean that managed to find its way through the openings in the brush. Between that and the shade, it was almost comfortable on the verandah. I nuzzled Joey's hair, realizing just how much I loved him, wondering how I had ever managed to survive when he was living with his mother. If I listened carefully, I could hear the waves breaking on the reef, and somewhere, much further along the beach, the sounds of seagulls fighting.

"It's very quiet," I mused aloud.

"That it is." Williams let out a sigh. "I think it's partly the heat that keeps them away, but I can't help wondering whether it's something else. I used to have a full house this time of year. It was a good crowd. They were very generous with the boys and they all got on well together."

"Hm. How many are here now?"

Williams scratched his the back of his head, seeming to ponder what to say.

"I have all of two guests at the moment," he admitted with a sigh.

"Well, the middle of summer isn't exactly the tourist season," I said.

I smiled, wiping my forehead with my hand for emphasis. Sitting in the shade, I wasn't sweating, but if I walked into the sun for even a minute, I would be covered with perspiration.

"True enough. It's just that 3;"

Williams shook his head, thinking to himself. He glanced at Joey, beginning to build a tentative rapport. I wasn't surprised. Joey had that effect on men like him, and me. I wasn't happy about it. I wondered what was going through his head. Both of their heads, for that matter.

"Three years ago I was ready to add another cabin," Williams continued. "There was no such thing as an off-season. I was turning men away. Then, it all started to go wrong."

"How so?"

Joey wriggled again to get comfortable in my lap. He was beginning to relax. I stroked his thigh, appreaciating that his knees were wide apart, exposing his boyhood to Williams' eyes. I thought about making him sit another way. It disturbed me. It was almost as if he was showing himself off. Williams smiled appreciatively, making eye contact with Joey for a fraction of a second. he quickly looked away when he realized that I was aware of his interest.

"There wasn't any reason for it. Of course, it didn't help that Bob and Graham, and then Tim died. Jeff too." He sighed again, contemplating the other cabins. "I lost track of a few of the others who usually came this time of year. They didn't answer the E-mails I sent. I tried to find out what happened to them, just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"In case something bad happened to them. I'm not stupid enough to think we're safe here. There's always a chance one of my customers gets caught and lets the cat out of the bag. That's why I don't allow cameras of any kind on the island. I'm always worried about a police or FBI investigation."

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing much. One of them, what was his name, Something Morgan 3; Paul? Peter? How quickly we forget." He examined the ledger, scanning the rows. "He was here the same time as Bob. Poor bastard!"

"Pardon."

"He died in a fire. Apparently, it started in his garage. I didn't send flowers."

"Why?"

"I didn't find out until after he was buried. There didn't seem any point. It's all very sad," he lamented.

"Which leaves how many others?" I asked.

Williams gestured emptily. "Three or four from that week."

His eyes crept back to Joey. Again, I felt that awkward, anxious feeling when someone else coveted the only thing that was important to you. I tightened my grip on Joey's bare thigh and pushed it closer to the other one. Williams glanced away again.

"Doesn't it seem strange that half of your customers are dead?" I asked boldly.

"I put it down to bad luck. The week after next I have seven men staying here. Actually, it gives the boys a chance to rest up."

"I suppose their butts need to take a break sometimes," I said sarcastically.

"Like his?" Williams said, nodding at Joey.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When a young boy is having sex with a man, there are plenty of signs, if one knows what to look for," he said obscurely.

"It's not like I'm hiring him out to strangers," I rebuked defensively.

Williams winked. "I wouldn't do that either, if he was mine. From what I've seen there's not much point in asking him, is there?"

"Asking him what?"

"I was going to ask him whether he likes being your boy, remember? I think his answer is pretty obvious."

I shrugged. Joey and I loved each other. It was no big deal except to us!

"I love my dad," Joey mumbled. His hand sought mine, binding our fingers together. "We're never going to be apart again. Never," he added for emphasis.

The way he said it made my heart glow with happiness. Yes, we said we loved each other, and yes, we made love a couple of times a day to prove it, but other than to Fernando and Roddy, we'd never admitted it. Now, in the space of an afternoon, both of us had told a complete stranger that we were lovers. Joey settled back against me, inhaling, breathing out, content and soft, and sharing his body's heat with me. It was this place, of course. I glanced around, looking over his head, inhaling the faint trace of sweat. The boy smell, I called it.

"He fucks me because I want him to," Joey added. "He wouldn't do it if he didn't love me."

"Would you?" Williams asked. "Would you have sex with someone else if the opportunity presented itself?" He folded his hands together. "Let's say if you were going to get 3; hm 3; let's say a thousand dollars a day?"

Joey shook his head slightly, but without conviction. I could tell that he was thinking it through. A thousand dollars for a single day, and the night too. He swallowed and shook his head again, but it was with even less conviction.

"Not if my dad didn't want me to, I wouldn't," Joey said quietly.

Williams smiled. He had made his point. There were boys who needed to have sex men, just as there were men who needed to have sex with boys. Love, at least not the sort of love that I felt for Joey, didn't enter into it. Joey stretched back, arching his back and tightening the skin of his chest and belly until it was like a drum, a very beautiful drum of smooth brown skin.

Through the bushes and coconut trees I could just glimpse the pristine white beach and the turquoise lagoon beyond. A man could be happy here. So could a boy. If Joey wasn't with me, I would want him live here. Candy Cay was dedicated to the love of men and boys. We were safe there, safe in that haven where society couldn't impose its laws. Safe, except for the fact that one of it's boys had been murdered just two days earlier and some of the men who had visited two years ago were dying like flies. I returned to the last thing that had made any sense to me. The coincidences surrounding Kevin Landers. He was the only constant in my equation of hundreds of variables.

"What else can you tell me about Landers?" I asked.

Williams considered what we had already discussed. "There isn't much to tell."

He came across as a reluctant witness. As I waited, I rubbed Joey's head, brushing back the unruly locks that nearly covered his forehead. The little rascal took my caress as an invitation to play. He reached down beside his hip and began to fondle the end of my cock. I considered moving his hand away, but for some reason, a reason that I didn't even begin to understand, I wanted Williams to see.

"Let's start with what he looked like," I prompted.

"Hm 3; ordinary, I guess. I mean he was about average height. White, of course. I don't think he got much sun in New York. He would lie under the trees when he went to the beach." Williams glanced at Joey, appreciative again. He watched Joey's hand with hawk-eyes. Men who loved boys were always like that, I decided. "Your son has a tan most of my boys would die for."

"He spends a lot of time outdoors," I said abruptly.

"Without clothes," Williams jibed.

I nodded. "Most of the time. It's fairly private at our end of the island so he gets to go nude most afternoons after school."

"Lucky you! Of course, if he lived here, he could go nude twenty four hours a day. Where was I? Landers 3; yes, He's an average guy. Between forty and fifty years old. Short hair, brown eyes, nothing special to remember him by. There might be a few photos of him in the scrapbook, but if the boys didn't like him very much 3;" He let the thought go, unfinished for the moment. "The only thing about him that really comes to mind is how he made a big deal over the religion thing."

"A Bible basher?" Joey murmured.

"A what? Yes, Joey, you very well might call him a Bible basher. Actually that's a pretty good description of him. That's exactly what he was," Williams agreed wholeheartedly.

"He sounds a bit like the guy I saw on the dock."

Something clicked again. It was like putting pieces of a jigsaw together. I sat up! "Saw when, Joey?"

"I told you about him Dad. You called him a Bible basher, remember?"

"I did?"

"Duh," Joey said in a frustrated voice. "I told you there was a guy who was standing where the trucks are supposed to park. He said stuff to me and Vincente when we were coming back from the store."

"What sort of stuff?"

"Religious stuff. That's why you called him a 3;"

"A Bible basher," I finished. It was coming together in a rush, but it was always like that when I solved a case. More pieces were falling into place, the connections becoming stronger. I took a deep breath. "You said something then, Joey. I forget what it was 3; something about seeing him before 3; where was that?"

Joey didn't answer for a while, so long that I began to wonder whether he had forgotten the question. However, he was thinking, not thinking where he had seen the man, but thinking of a way not to tell me. How did I know that? I just did. It was twenty years of experience as a detective, listening to people lie, watching their faces while they try to invent a believable story. I bided my time. A minute nearly.

"Chicago," Joey finally whispered.

He trembled as the words left his lips. I didn't want to revisit Chicago either. It was two years in the past, two wonderful years of loving Joey.

"Joey?" I said, trying to sound patient, even though I was certain that he was mistaken. What happened in Chicago had little or nothing to do with Vincent's murder. I did not start what I was about to say.

"I only saw him there the once," Joey muttered.

Again, that rush of possibilities, some ridiculous, some feasible, one standing out from the crowd. I gulped, thinking quickly, reassembling what I knew into a different pattern.

"Which was when?"

"When 3;" He stopped and breathed out. His head rocked into my shoulder. "Dad 3;"

"Yes, Joey?"

It didn't make any sense that he was close to crying. Williams was sitting up, his hands on his knees, listening. Joey's voice was close to breaking, but not from puberty.

"Joey," I said firmly. "Tell me."

"Dad 3; Daddy 3; I 3; I 3;" He tried to inhale, but there was nothing, just empty painful shudders. "I 3; I can't 3; I promised. Mom 3; Mom said 3; I can't 3; That's all!" His head shook again. "I can't tell you, okay."

"Yes, you can." I pressed my fingers to his lips. He had such soft lips it was difficult to believe they could be so passionate.

"Dad 3; I wanted to tell you 3; I wanted so bad. I was so scared 3; I couldn't help it 3; She wouldn't let me see you 3; no matter what I said 3; and 3; and 3; she knew what I wanted 3; and 3; and I promised I'd never tell anyone 3;"

He sniffed loudly, trying hard not to burst into tears. Twelve-year-old half-Hispanic boys didn't cry, not in front of their fathers, their lovers, or complete strangers.

"Tell me, Joey," I said, this time more gently.

I needed to protect him against the fear he felt inside, the horrible memory of that night not all that long ago, that night in Chicago when a baseball bat had smashed his skull. My hand cupped over Joey's groin. It was pitifully small and soft, not like Joey at all. It was if all his desire had been drained away, never to return.

"He was at Bob's house one day."

"Bob?"

I swallowed when I said that word. I knew what was coming. Kevin Landers was at Robert Hardy Junior's house. I waited, hoping I was wrong.

Joey trembled. His hand clenched mine, tighter than I could ever remember even when he was frantic and tormented by orgasm. His voice was almost incoherent, but the truth still came out. It had waited to be heard for two years. I could feel his heart pounding inside his narrow chest. No wonder he was frightened.

All he said was, "Mr. Hardy, he was nice and 3;Mom used to take me to see him 3; so 3; so we could 3;have, have h-h-have s-s-sex."

"Oh, my god!"

Epilog

It took another two days of busy work on Candy Cay before I was ready to meet with Detective Brown. It took that long to make some phone calls, fill in the missing gaps, find the evidence by tracking credit card receipts. My life with Joey, our life together, had been turned upside down, yet our love persisted throughout it all. The proof of how much I loved Joey? Well, for those two days when I wasn't on the telephone I was making love to him. That was the way our loved worked. Yes, there was a spiritual side to it. I had only to be thinking of Joey and my heart began to beat faster. For most of my awake life, I thought of nothing but Joey. However, love also has a physical side. There were always lots of kisses and hugs that quickly become more intimate.

On Candy Cay, we were freed from inhibition and society's restrictions, and our love blossomed to new levels. Once, I even fucked him in front of Williams. Joey was into it as much as I was. Then, we lay back and watched as Williams ploughed Carlos into oblivion. The boy made a lot of noise throughout, but it was the sort of noise that said 'more', not 'less'. It was the same noise that Joey made, a string of little whimpers and groans that sounded like a boat being washed back and forth against a dock.

As I expected, Detective Brown was the classic public servant with a low IQ. He had difficulty believing anything that wasn't his idea, even when it was laid out in front of him, but then, to be fair, he only had half of the pieces that I had found. Some of those pieces involved Joey and what happened on Candy Cay. Other information pertaining directly to the case I also held back. I made sure that he would never be able to find out without my cooperation. Brown had Landers arrested in New York and then flown back to Georgetown on an extradition order. Then, with the prosecutor at the table he soon discovered the gaps in his case. It was only then that I made my deal. My evidence in return for some of his evidence. No questions asked, just hand it over. The DNA samples and my greasy fingerprints from underneath the boat's gunwale disappeared into the bureaucratic jungle and later sank into 300 feet [90 m] of water. I told them how Kevin Landers murdered Vincente, not why. Neither did I voice my opinion on the 'shark bite' on Vincente's thigh. Fernando had done that with his penknife early in the morning in order to remove the only connection between Vincente and the dozens of other boys who had passed through Candy Cay. Landers got life in prison, island-style. Eventually, I got Joey's yellow swimming costume back. Life returned to normal, in so far as sex three times a day is normal.

I never pressed Joey to find out more about his relationship with Robert Hardy Junior. All I knew was that he hadn't been a virgin when I re-entered his life two years earlier. By that point, I was beyond caring. Love does that, you know. I forgave him everything, if there was anything to forgive. Instead, I blamed his mother for everything, but maybe, in a moment of honesty, I wondered whether she had been doing him a favor. From all that I discovered, Bob Hardy seemed like a nice person. He was the sort of man that a nine-year-old boy could easily fall in love with. There were far worse men around for Joey to be intimate with.

On the other hand, Kevin Landers was psychotic, in the same way that any serial killer is psychotic. His excuse for murder was that he'd been sexually abused as a child. Not loved, but abused. He claimed he had been anally raped in a family three-way, by his grandfather and his father. Maybe it was true. It sounded more like an excuse.

At age thirty-six, Landers joined the Children of God, a Fundamentalist sect whose sole purpose was to eradicate child abuse by any means possible. He worked part-time at a New York mission for homeless children. That was where he found out about Candy Cay. It happened when Jeff was recruited to go there. Landers visited a few months later and made contact with a dozen other men. He began to track them down after they returned to wherever they came from. Along the way, he met up Joey, then Jaivin Navarro. A day or two later, he executed Robert Hardy Junior with a bullet at close range in the head. To complete his extermination project, he went after Joey, smashed his skull with a baseball while he slept, then killed his mother. There was a perfect match on those two bullets, another thing that Detective Brown never knew. Joey's partial amnesia stayed that way. His memory of meeting Landers and Bob Hardy's house was nothing more than a blurred face and the hypocritical tone of voice that he had heard again when he walked though the parking lot of the Georgetown dock.

I could not prove that Landers also murdered Graham Day and Jeff, or that the other missing or recently deceased men had anything to do with Kevin Landers. As far as I could tell, only the German survived of the men who had been at Candy Cay when Landers was there the first time. One thing was certain, and that was all that mattered as far as I was concerned. Landers murdered Vincente, and he probably would have killed Steve Adams too, except that a convenient opportunity did not present itself before Adams returned to Candy Cay. I had the credit card receipts to show that after murdering Vincente, Landers left Georgetown and flew to New York. More than likely, it was then that he strangled Peter Jacobs, one of my charter passengers who had taken a day off from the activities of Candy Cay to do some deep-sea fishing. I didn't like Jacobs very much. Robert Gaynor I liked, and so did Adam. The last thing I heard, Gaynor had left his wife of fifteen years and was spending an entire month with Adam at Candy Cay. Joey wasn't sure who was the luckiest of the two.

After the trial, I went back to my charter business and devoted my life to loving Joey. For the next few months, we fucked like crazy. It was like we were making up for ten lost years. However, it was more than that. I think I was proving to myself that his earlier experience with Bob Hardy did not stand between us. Not that I resented what had happened to Joey in Chicago. If it hadn't been Bob Hardy, more than likely it would have been someone else.

It's now almost a year after Vincente was murdered on the beach near Fernando's Bar. It seems like a long time ago, but not much has changed. That's life in the Exumas. We live day to day, or night to night. I'm happier than I've ever been. And Joey? Well, if you didn't know by now, he's 100% gay. I have my own real live live-in chicken; that's b-o-y as in 'boy-pussy', but, I'm repeating myself, aren't I? Joey's growing up before my eyes. The signs of approaching puberty are definitely visible in a still hairless scrotum that's filling out nicely with two plump if undersized balls. More than likely they'll be producing sperm within a few months, but that's thanks to Doctor Lamar's injections. Despite the almost total lack of pubic hair, he has about three strands, sexually maturity is fast approaching for my son. He says that he likes being the way he is and he talks about not getting the next round of injections. I'm not sure about that. It's something of a Conundrum, I suppose. Not that it matters either way. I love Joey just as he is. I always will.

Joey and I still eat a lot of tuna because I'm not going to waste what my customers catch, but somehow we always manage to celebrate Friday with barbequed jerk chicken at Fernando's bar. Sometimes we did more than eat chicken, sharing the bedroom at the back of the bar with Fernando and Roddy until late at night when Joey and I amble back along the beach to our private cove. And one more thing, we finally got the money to have Conundrum's air-conditioner replaced. Joey did it for the two of us. He earned the money all by himself. However, it wasn't the way that you're thinking. Sure, it would only have taken him a few days on Candy Cay. Instead, he spent most of two months working in Grendals' Store after school finsihed for the day. I'm still not sure why he did it, because when we have sex, we always turn the air conditioner off. He says that he enjoys slipping and sliding over me, but perhaps he wants to prove something to himself amd me. If he's trying to prove how much he loves me, he doesn't have to! That's why we fuck so often. A long time ago I realized that the more you love someone, the more you need to make love to them.

The End