English Lads

by Adam Carpenter

  Yeah, it wasn’t vodka.

  It tasted like…water.

  Jake made his way toward the bottle of Grey Goose, nearly empty now after several hours of drinks and cards. He sniffed the bottle before taking a swig. Once again he tasted nothing…just water. Hunter had pulled a fast one, replacing the vodka with pure water, which meant he hadn’t been drinking at all tonight, instead letting Nevil get trashed alone. One keeping his wits about him while the other lost his cognizant reasoning. So Hunter had cheated, sort of. He’d taken advantage of a known weakness of Nevil’s. Heck, Jake had seen it firsthand at the birthday party, the way Nevil had consumed beers and shots, and then he’d gotten loud, and he’d gotten horny…

  Jake suddenly turned around. The glass dropped to the floor, shattering. He ignored it, and instead made his way out of the kitchen and down the long corridor toward the game room. Sounds were emanating from behind the closed door, and they were sounds Jake well knew. He knew the grunts, he knew the howling, muffled as they were behind the thick wood. He approached the room quietly, gazing around first for any sign of Junior. He appeared to have left, or perhaps was waiting outside in the car. Jake leaned an ear against the door, and he could hear heaving panting, words being murmured, and then finally came a loud screech from Nevil. Jake knew exactly the reason behind such a guttural sound. Slowly he opened the door so as not to disturb. The sight before him neither surprised him nor shocked him.

  It just saddened him.

  Nevil was face down on the billiard table, his hands locked in the corner pockets. Ass high up in the air. A naked Hunter was plowing him from behind, hard and fast and angry, his face locked in a potent picture of pent up desire. Nevil was screaming for more, “give it to me, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh do me, do me now and all night…yeah, hurt me…”

  “Take that big cock, take it all,” Hunter was bellowing.

  He thrust harder and Nevil howled from pain. The kind of pain he asked for.

  Jake’s cock was hard just watching this sexual scenario play out. Hunter’s sexy, hairy chest was on full display, and he rubbed at it, pulling the thick tufts even while he fucked Nevil’s pliant ass. His eyes were closed, as though desire had blinded him. Instinct ruled here. He pushed and he plowed, and Nevil took and received. Hunter thrust, groaning with wild abandon, Nevil asking his hairy best to never stop. But as hard as Jake was, he knew that was just a physical reaction. His mind was swirling, and his heart was beaten down. He’d lost all sense of purpose, of who he was and what he was doing here in this stuffy old house, thinking all was bliss with the sexy man who’d invited him here, thinking that love and sex somehow were the same, and that he’d found what he was looking for. Now he knew he’d just been blinded by the sex, attracted too much to Hunter’s body to see the forest through the trees.

  He slunk back to the kitchen, pouring himself a real drink, contemplating what to do. He heard the cries of orgasm float through the hallways, and then he could hear the echo of feet on the hardwood floors, the laughs coming from both men. They had left the confines of the game room. Ironic, since all they seemed to play were games. With each other, with their twisted relationship, neither of them seeming to care who got hurt in the process. Jake had had enough, and suddenly, fueled by the strong drink coursing through this bloodstream, he made fast tracks for wherever the voices took him, ready to confront them.

  But they were nowhere to be seen, much less heard. Perhaps they each had their cocks stuck in their mouths. Jake turned on his heels, uncertain where to go. Finally he found his way to the game room, and seeing the display before him: discarded chips, cards on the floor, an over-turned chair, clothing strewn about, Hunter’s plentiful winnings, condoms and lube beside the billiard table, Jake just shook his head. Geez, those two must have exploded the moment they had the room to themselves, wasting no time in fucking their brains out.

  Stupid them, leaving all this money out like this. Jake should just take it. Serve them right.

  “Yeah, right,” Jake said.

  But then he eyed the stacks of money again. He went over, touching the 20s, the 50s, running his hand along the contours of the Queen’s face. Suddenly she was a lot more attractive, but maybe that’s because Jake was feeling that all men were scum. About to set aside his thought of just taking off with the money, he then heard the voracious sounds of sex again. Hunter and Nevil had resurfaced.

  Jake felt annoyed again.

  Betrayed.

  He grabbed the knapsack from which they’d unpacked the money.

  He counted out 50,000 pounds, the same amount he’d previously carried.

  And then he grabbed Hunter’s shirt, which he tossed on over his bare chest. He was still wearing the ridiculous shirtless butler outfit. No sense standing out in a crowd. Off went the bow tie and on went the suit jacket, and soon, knapsack on his back, Jake Westbury made for the front entrance. He gazed up one last time at the stairs at Voignier House.

  Hunter and Nevil were fucking at the top of them. Neither saw him. Nevil was too busy bouncing up and down on Hunter’s thick cock. Fine, let them satiate themselves, let them fuck long into the night and fall asleep till noon. Let them discover the missing money at the latest possible moment.

  And then Jake left, the sound of Nevil’s howling orgasm ringing in his ears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gone were the mornings of acrobatic sex. Gone were the quiet walks along the lush green lawn. Gone were the feelings of love that had been blossoming inside his aching heart. Here now, returned to reality, was the real Jake Westbury. He was as organized as ever, planning his days down to the last possible minute. Motivated to get done what he’d set out to do, driven to depend on the one person he could count on, himself. For the better part of three weeks, he’d been on a steady diet of writing, touring museums and taking shows in the West End, returning home to write again late in to the night. This was the summer excursion Jake had expected when he’d booked his Virgin flight way back before Memorial Day. Now he felt broken in for sure, certainly no virgin anymore. He’d learned about the way life can take you to new highs, only to deliver a brutal landing when you came down. Now, as the bright and sunny July waned and a rainy August waited around the corner, he felt renewed and relaxed, as though the adventure of earlier this summer had been but a dream.

  Except he knew it hadn’t been.

  Mostly because he was still in possession of the 50,000 pounds he’d stolen.

  Was stolen really the right word? After all he’d experienced with Nevil and with Hunter, all he’d done for them, the high price his broken heart had paid in his recruited efforts to reunite the crazy couple, he felt he’d more than earned the cash. As for where he was keeping the money, he had little choice. He had it positioned strategically around his flat on Deodar Road, 5,000 pounds here, 5,000 there, etc. He had a small map of the apartment that he kept in an email he’d sent to himself, so he knew the location of all the cash while maintaining security. Life with Hunter had forced him to take such precautions.

  For the first week back in London, Jake had walked on eggshells, expecting Junior or Nevil or even Hunter to appear at his front door, demanding the return of the money. After all, look at all the effort they had exerted in securing the money in the first place. Why wouldn’t they go full hog in getting it back? Especially from such an easily manipulated person as Jake. Ha, no longer. Taking the money had steeled his resolve, changed him. He’d taken the bull by the horns, as they say, exacted his own brand of revenge. But he’d seen no sign of anyone, no followers, no trails on him as he made Central London his hanging place, no possible break-ins at the house. His neighbors and landlord Jennie and Steven had noticed his skittishness a few times as they dined outside in the yard, or shared pints at the Railway. They commented on the change in him, but Jake did not give them the satisfaction of an explanation. He just claimed to be homesick.

  When nothing untoward happened to him, he began to let his guard down a bit. His new schedule took s
hape, and as a result he was now 100 pages into the novel he’d wanted to write when he first set down in the British capital. He’d also seen a series of shows, including some fabulous Shakespeare, some revisionist Sondheim, some over-the-top Lloyd Webber, an unnecessary O’Neil. One particular Thursday night he had gone bar hopping in Soho, finally checking out the bar scene on Old Compton Street. He promised himself he’d be a good boy, no pick-ups, but then this cute Asian guy had eyed him, talked to him, felt him up, invited him home. Kid was like 25, and it made Jake feel young, desirable, and wanted, a far cry from the manipulation and insanity that went with sex with Nevil or Hunter. He went home with the guy, named Yu, and they had a good time exploring each other’s bodies. It felt strange to be with such a hairless guy after all those nights with the furry Hunter, and for that night Jake had touched the smooth, silky feel of his golden skin. There were no strings attached to their night, and when Jake left in the morning he was happy with the encounter.

  Otherwise, Jake Westbury kept very much to himself. Writing was solitary to being with, but with his newfound determination to make a dent on the novel, he’d shut himself away with an un-Jake like reclusiveness.

  Now, with the calendar set to turn to August the next day, Jake considered he needed to give himself this last day of July off from his dutiful schedule. It was tough to do, since storms had racing over London for the past three days, torrential rains that had the Thames threatening to overflow in certain areas. Going out in such weather was far from appealing. But the walls of his flat were stifling his creativity. Maybe he could just take his laptop and head to the local pub and do some writing there? It was the middle of the afternoon, and few working people had such luxuries as being able to set your own schedule. You want a beer mid-day, go and enjoy one. So Jake packed up his computer and ventured out into the rain.

  The Railway Pub was doing slow business on this Tuesday, and that was just perfect for Jake. He ordered himself a pint of Pride and a bag of Walker’s crisps, onion and cheese flavor (flavour?), and made his way over to an empty table. He fired up the computer and the latest chapter he was working on and set about his happy task. Pint emptied, he went for a refill. He only had his back turned to his table for a second, but when he started back, pint in hand, he noticed that he had company at his table. It was the first hint that the first half of his London trip was beginning to seep back into his life.

  “Hello, Sandy,” Jake said.

  “Ah, Jake, nice to find you here,” the banker said. He was dressed as Jake had first seen him, three-piece suit, tie, beads of sweat on his brow. No knapsack.

  “Am I supposed to think our running into each other is coincidence?”

  “No,” Sandy said, “but what brings me here it’s also not what you think.”

  “Hunter didn’t send you?”

  “On the contrary.”

  “Nevil? Or Henderson...whatever name he really goes by?”

  “My affiliation with both men does not extend to our meeting today.”

  “Okay. So then, what can I do for you?”

  “It’s what I can do for you.”

  “Wife not giving you much lately?”

  “Ah, Jake, a comment that cuts very deep, and one I’m surprised a man of your quality would go for. A bit below the belt, if you will.”

  “Sorry, that wasn’t nice. You’re right, that wasn’t like me. Guess when I saw you, my defenses went straight up. Though you can hardly blame me, what with how things went down at Voignier House. God, even just saying the name of that musty old place makes me cringe. I think I’ll never enjoy white wine again.”

  “I tried to warn you that day on the bridge, don’t fall in love with Hunter Abbott.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m over that now. Over him.”

  Neither man commented on the fact that Jake probably wasn’t over Hunter at all.

  “So, Sandy, tell me what I can do for you.”

  “Maybe I should get myself a pint first, then we can talk.”

  “I’ll get it,” Jake said. “I can afford it.” He paused. “I think.”

  Sandy nodded. “You can.”

  “They’re not coming after me?”

  “Get my drink, we’ll talk.”

  Jake returned to the bar, where he ordered Sandy’s pint. He returned in short order and then the two men clinked their glass as a toast, neither of them sure what they were toasting to. New found wealth? The loss of an impending threat? The fact that Jake could finally let his tension-filled shoulders down below his ears? They drank before setting their glasses on the worn table top.

  “I assume you are still in possession of the cash?”

  Jake said nothing. He just listened.

  “Fine, don’t answer, probably smart of you. But I’m going to offer you a solution. As I’m sure you’re aware, you can’t exactly hop aboard your return flight to the States with more than $10,000 in cash—whether carry-on or packed in your luggage. The authorities get curious when someone is carrying that much cash with them. And let’s not forget, you are in possession of 50,000 pounds—nearly $100,000 or ten times the allotted amount allowed by our governments. What I’m offering you is the chance to safely store you money. Simply put, I will deposit your cash into several different accounts and give you ready access to them once you return home.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Well, I am a banker.”

  “Besides that,” Jake said. “What’s your cut?”

  “A mere ten percent,” Sandy said.

  “Five percent,” Jake said.

  “Sorry, no bargaining,” Sandy said.

  Jake closed his computer, started to pack it away.

  “Okay, okay,” Sandy said, “five percent it is. My goodness, I think our fair Hunter has underestimated you.”

  “You’ve spoken to him?”

  “Obviously. It’s how I know about the money.”

  “What does he say?”

  “The fact that I’m here to help you should answer your question.”

  “So, how do we go about this?”

  “Simple. You give me the cash and I’ll deposit it into new accounts.”

  “All in one swoop?”

  “If you want. Or we can do this over several transactions, a few visits.”

  “You expect me to just hand over the cash and trust you?”

  “You insult me, Jake Westbury.”

  “I’ve grown cautious. Your ale isn’t the only bitter thing in England.”

  “Touché,” Sandy said, straightening his tie even though it didn’t need to be adjusted. It was just something to do to distract from his newly reddened face. “Have it your way then. When would you like to arrange the first deposit?”

  “How about I call you?” Jake said.

  “Fine.” Sandy reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew a business card. He slid it across the table. “Call anytime. Day or night. My personal mobile is on the back.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Jake said with a gentle nod.

  “I hope so.”

  Sandy finished off his pint, then bade Jake a goodbye “for now.” As the man left the bar, Jake’s eyes scanned the rest of the bar, looking for a plant, someone who might have been curious about this meeting between himself and the banker. A curious onlooker, as they say. He saw no one, and he began to think that perhaps Sandy had been on the up and up. Maybe he was feeling as tossed aside and rejected as Jake was now that Hunter and Nevil had reunited. Maybe Sandford Berenson, banker, husband, upstanding citizen, was actually a nice guy who was confused over his sexuality and stuck in a loveless marriage while living a life of obligation. Jake suddenly felt bad for the curious man, realizing how good he himself had it. On holiday in London all summer, not a care in the world anymore, and it looked like he’d be returning to the States richer for the experience.

  Unless of course he was somehow being double-crossed.

  Jake had never before been paranoid.

  He didn’t like the
feeling.

  He went for a third pint and gave up on the writing, too busy contemplating his next move.

  * * *

  It took Jake four days to call Sandy.

  They arranged a meeting for the following Wednesday, with Jake coming to his branch office located in Holborn. It was a local English bank called Manchester Savings Limited on the busy Kingsway, and at 2:00 on the rainy afternoon Jake strode inside the classic, old-style building, making his way to the information desk. He had stuffed 10,000 pounds inside the same old knapsack, amused by the irony of the situation. He still expected to see Hunter or Nevil waiting to pounce on him, but nothing such happened. Jake was escorted into a large, private office, where he was greeted with business-like authority by, as the nameplate before him said, “Sandford Berenson.”

  “Ah, Mr. Westbury, so glad you could stop in today,” he said, extending his hand, all of his actions done for the benefit of the bank employee who had escorted Jake into the office. Once the door was closed, Sandy dropped the act and asked pointedly for the cash. A wary Jake opened the canvas bag and set the money on the desk. Sandy busied himself with forms, which Jake read and signed, and as he did so he realized he had no reason to be suspicious or worried. The transaction went smoothly, so smoothly in fact that the next day he returned with another 10,000 pounds to deposit. Each of those two visits he was gifted with a receipt, as well as a tracking number to his account in the Cayman Islands.

  “Thank you, Sandy,” Jake said, shaking his hand. Sandy’s grip was strong, and he could feel the thick hairs on the top of his hand. “You’re been…uh, surprisingly helpful in this matter. Part of me still cannot believe what’s happened. During those weeks I lived at Voignier House with Hunter, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to alert me to the fact that my little fantasy life with him would be coming to an end. I suppose I always knew it would, but I was having too much…fun.”