Santiago heard the voice of the priest speaking to an elderly woman and remembered where he was, sitting in the shadows. The smell of candles and incense, the muffled rustling of women’s skirts as they knelt and then stood again as they observed the stations of the cross, the echo of a place built for hundreds but only attended by a few, infused him to manifest the phantoms that had become visions before his eyes and a cry of anguish sounded throughout the church as the priest looked up to catch a glimpse of a boy running through the heavy doors. There had been something familiar about the boy but the priest could not remember.
Neither of the two men he was to service that night, kept the appointment. Sometime around eleven o’clock Santiago felt hungry and realized he had not eaten that day. But there was another hunger. He wanted to be touched, to be held. He also wanted to smoke to soothe the pain in his heart. Santiago made the rounds of the rooms that did not have the little card tacked to the door that showed the boy within was occupied. Those who were not occupied spoke to him but did not open their doors as they were accustomed to doing. None admitted to having anything he could smoke or snort and he knew some were lying. He had offended none of them yet they seemed to be shunning him. He had to find relief!
There were no lights in the café and the door was locked. He made his way to the rear of the building where a candle glowed through the window and he saw the kitchen deserted. Santiago knocked on the window and its frame rattled. A cat, frightened by the noise jumped from the shadows and startled him. He knocked again. Somewhere within he heard movement. Again he tapped at the pane when saw Wexler, kerosene lamp in hand, lifting it to the window to see who was demanding entrance.
“I am Santiago Cali, the boy you helped several weeks ago. Please, can I come in?”
“But it is late, boy! What do you want? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt?”
“I am not hurt. I wondered if I could have something to eat. I would spend the night with you.”
Wexler’s heart instantly went out to the boy because of the way he had asked for help. He knew Santiago’s problem. McIntyre had discussed it over dinner that evening. And as always Wexler had pretended to look busy while he had stayed close enough to hear McIntyre say he had put a freeze on the boy until he agreed to do what was expected of him. McIntyre was sure the boy would come to his senses and comply.
Wexler hoped the boy had not been followed. It was against his better judgment to help but he could not turn Santiago away. He could also not turn down the offer to keep his bed warm.
“Give me a moment to find the key. Walk around the block and see if you are being followed. If you see no one, come back.”
Santiago did what he was told and saw no evidence of being followed. Once inside, Wexler sat him down after he covered the windows with burlap and put kindling on the coals.
“Have you been thrown out? I thought you were at McIntyre’s place?”
“I am. Something has happened and I did not get a chance to eat. To tell you the truth, McIntyre is trying to have me do something I do not want to do. I think he has told the other boys to have nothing to do with me.”
Wexler said nothing of what he knew.
“How does a chorizo omelet sound?”
“Wonderful!”
“And pan-fried potatoes?”
“Yes, please..., I would be happy to have it.”
“And a slice of apple pie? Wexler’s apple pie is known all over San Francisco”
Santiago’s mouth watered. He heard the sausage sizzling in the pan and smelled its spicy aroma. Along with the sausage Wexler fried slices of boiled potatoes and then poured an egg mixture all over it to produce the thick, juicy omelet that he topped off with melted cheese. Wexler drank coffee as he sat near Santiago to watch him devour the food. The last morsels of egg and sausage and juices were wiped up with a chunk of sourdough bread.
“You were hungry! Santiago, I don’t expect for you to go to bed with me just because I fed you. You owe me nothing!”
Wexler noticed Santiago’s glazed eyes and the dark circles under them, and he could see that he had been taking drugs and had not been resting properly, evidence of McIntyre sinking in his hooks.
“But I do owe you something! Please, I want to stay with you tonight.”
“Are you frightened..., are you afraid to return to the rooming-house?”
“I want to be with somebody who has not bought me!”
The boy had such a sadness in his voice that Wexler wanted to hold him in his arms and comfort him. He restrained his impulse.
“You roomed with Vincent.”
“Yes. I have not heard from him since he left McIntyre. I miss him.”
“Were the two of you very friendly?”
Santiago knew what Wexler was asking.
“We were not lovers, but we did make love. I liked him and he liked me. I can love someone in bed and have no feelings. Sometimes it is necessary to make love with someone for whom you feel nothing.”
“And with me tonight, will there be any feeling?”
Wexler surprised Santiago with his straightforward question
“Señor Wexler, Vincent said you were a kind man. I have found that he was correct. You helped me when it would have been bad for me without help. You like me..., I mean..., you would like to make love with me. I would like to make you happy. It will make me happy to do so.”
“That sounds like a lawyer’s answer, my boy. Very diplomatic indeed and well said! I’ll not push my luck but take your answer to mean that you are doing it freely. Thank you for not saying anything to anyone about the last time. I’ll ask that you do the same about tonight. McIntyre could make it bad for me if he finds me helping you.”
Santiago found Wexler to be a gentle man of deep sensitivity who spent much time touching and stroking him as he kissed him all over. He woke three times during the night to find Wexler’s arms wrapped tightly around him, almost as though he were afraid Santiago would slip away. The contact was what Santiago had craved for and being held allowed him to quickly go back to sleep.
The morning broke in a drizzling rain. Santiago heard it long before he opened his eyes as he listened to the comforting sound made on the tin roof and did not hear the sounds coming from the kitchen. Wexler was always up by five o’clock to prepare the food of the day and to begin baking bread and biscuits for breakfast. At seven o’clock he thought the boy had slept long enough as he wanted him fed and out before the morning traffic of patrons became heavy. He could not afford to be found having harbored the boy all night! Wexler tugged at Santiago’s toes and tickled the soles of his feet until the boy sat. Seeing Wexler, Santiago smiled.
“Buenos dias. You are already up and already working. Can I help you?”
“You can be of help by getting your pretty ass out of bed and being on your way. There will be customers soon. Get yourself dressed and I will bring you breakfast.”
In ten minutes Wexler returned with coffee and a plate of hot biscuits smothered in gravy with sausages.
“When you finish, leave everything here and leave by the back door. Don’t be seen!”
Santiago could not leave without asking for a favor that he had been thinking about since his arrival.
“Do you have opium, or something else I can smoke?”
Wexler had expected the request having recognized drug withdrawal. With a different boy he could have exploited the situation by trading drugs for sex, but there was something different about Santiago who was not yet hardened by his newly adopted lifestyle. The previous night had proven that. Where other boys would have given a perfunctory performance, Santiago had given Wexler time and attention. But Wexler took no drugs. Although he sometimes kept opium on hand for boys he would bring home, he had nothing at present.
“I’m sorry, Santiago. I have nothing to give you. I wish I could help with your discomfort!”
“Do you want me to come back?”
“My boy, you can come knocking at my window pane any t
ime. But remember that you must not be seen. I will do for you whatever I can.”
Santiago came to Wexler and put his arms around the man’s waist. Wexler stood two heads taller than the boy as he looked down onto his head.
“....So young...!” he thought.
“Santiago I am serious when I tell you to please take care of yourself. I like you and I would like to see you again and would not like to hear that something had happened to you. The man you work for is not one to cross. He is ruthless. Remember that!”
Wexler watched as Santiago walked down the alley, cautiously looking not to be seen. As the boy disappeared from sight the room was suddenly filled with emptiness.
It was early. The corridors were deserted. From one of the rooms Santiago heard a voice begging, urgent, in the final throes of sexual frenzy. It was the only sound to break the silence. He reached his room and stood at the door, looking at the stairs that led to the upper floor. Since the twins had arrived, no one had been allowed up there. Santiago was curious about what he would find and the relative safety of the time of day made him bold. He cautiously climbed the stairs, looking for one of McIntyre’s men somewhere in the corridor but found no one. The corridor was lit by the weak light from a small window at the other end. Each room he tried was unlocked and empty, save for odds and ends of furniture. He made his way cautiously down one side and up the other until he came to a locked door. He jiggled the knob and heard the voice of a young boy.
“Lose your key, you bastard?”
The boy had been standing right on the other side of the door because Santiago could hear him breathing. He said nothing and stood silently, listening, knowing the boy was doing the same.
“Who is it,” the boy asked. “Is that you, Preston?”
Santiago heard another voice, one subdued and in the distance asking what was wrong.
“Somebody’s out there” Santiago heard the boy answering back to his brother. “I don’t think it’s Preston. Don’t worry Kim..., the door is locked..., don’t worry!”
There was fear and worry in both their voices. Santiago knew they were scared.
“I am one of the boys from below,” he whispered. “No one else is out here. I know about you. Why do they keep the door locked?’
The boy behind the door became excited.
“You say there’s no one standing nearby?”
“No.”
“Please, will you help us?”
Santiago listened for anyone’s approach. The building was silent.
“What is wrong?”
The boy behind the door tried the knob in attempt to jar the door open.
“Do you have any opium,” he asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” Santiago whispered. “Why are you locked in?”
“Because we would run away, you fool! Please look around and see if you can find a key. They leave one somewhere nearby. Can you look?’
Santiago ran his fingers along the door sills and looked behind several old pictures hanging askew. He got down on his hands and knees and inspected the worn carpet.
“I see nothing.”
“Then can you find something to pry open the door. Please, you must try to let us out. My brother is very sick. He needs a fix and McIntyre hasn’t given us anything in three days.”
“Why is he doing this to you?”
“My brother refuses to let himself be pegged. He keeps pulling them out. Please..., who are you..., what is your name..., will you help us?”
Santiago was resistant to tell the boy his name, yet he did not want to ignore the brothers who seemed so desperate, fully understanding the horror of being at the mercy of tormentors.
“I will tell you, but you must promise not to tell anyone I was here. Otherwise I will not be able to return to help you. Promise me!”
“We promise..., yes my brother and I promise.”
This time the voice was not that of the boy who had first been at the door, but of the other one.
“Can you find something that will make me feel better...., please...., get chandoo..., I must have some!”
Santiago was puzzled. “Even if I could find some, would you have the means by which to prepare it?”
“We have what we need. Can you get some?”
Santiago heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Someone is coming. I must go. I will try.”
“Wait,” the boy sounded as though about to cry.
“Please help us!!”
“I will try!”
Santiago saw that his only escape was the stairs, where he surely would get caught. The room he chose to hide in was the first one by the stairs. Perhaps once they had passed, he could slip away undetected. He left the door open just enough to be able to spy up and down the hall. His end of the corridor was in near-darkness. The footsteps reached the top of the landing and as they passed he saw two men. One of the men was McIntyre. When they entered the twins’ room and closed the door Santiago descended slowly as he heard the sounds of someone being slapped repeatedly. One of the boys was screaming profanities as the other wailed in pain. In the noise and commotion of the moment Santiago saw his opportunity to descend the creaky stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Within the homosexual community the news of McIntyre’s new venture traveled quickly but discretely. There were those who felt strongly against the exploitation of children, but they held their tongues for fear of retribution. In actuality the numbers who were aware of the Peghouses were few in comparison to the city’s population. This sort of venture had always been given the highest confidentiality. Even Belle, who dealt more in the business of young men rather than children made sure her services were made available to only those who came recommended by existing customers. McIntyre used the same criteria to sell his boys.
The renovated warehouse chosen for the new venture had been divided into living quarters for the boys; a series of small rooms all quite elaborately decorated. A spacious parlor would be used for socialization where customers could drink or purchase an opium pipe (the opium being free for the price of two boys). McIntyre had a small kitchen installed that was to be open all night. The boys needed to be fed and the customers often got hungry between boys!
Several days had passed since Santiago’s encounter with the twins on the third floor. Although he had been unable to locate the drugs he and they so badly needed, he had tried to get back to them but had found the hallway guarded each time. The move to the new location had taken place, followed by all manner of disruption.
Santiago reluctantly agreed to service in the peghouse in order to obtain the drugs McIntyre promised him. His body ached and there was little else to do. The room he was given was small but more luxurious than the one he had occupied at the boardinghouse. But unlike the previous room, this one had no windows. The absence of daylight made it difficult to judge the passing of time and each day became indistinguishable from the next. The boys ate when they needed, slept when they could; often roused from sleep to be displayed to customers. Everything was structured and scheduled around the service and pleasure of McIntyre’s patrons. The Peghouse was at its busiest in the evening, making it possible to gain a sense of time.
The first two days after the move were spent in organizing and arranging furniture and applying the final coats of paint. McIntyre gathered all nine boys into the parlor in late afternoon of the second day. Sumptuous divans and elegant pillows scattered about the room showed that it would be the focal point of operations. To one side was a bar that ran half its length, followed by a raised stage. There the boys would sit on pegged stools with the pegs protruding from the stools’ bottoms to show its diameter and length, thereby demonstrating each boy’s anal capacity.
McIntyre surveyed his stable as they filed into the parlor and smiled at his accomplishment. The first to enter were the Australian twins, Kim and Michael. One was peaceful and subdued and the other, cantankerous and volatile. After the twins came a boy McIntyre ha
d recently purchased from a ship’s captain. The price of the boy had been one week’s free use of the peghouse for the captain. The lad had been a cabin-boy in the habit of jumping ship each time it made port. Weary of the search each time and weary of the boy’s ass as well, the captain had decided to cash in his investment. The boy was addicted to the coca leaf and exhibited wild and sometimes dangerous sexual practices in order to obtain it. McIntyre thought this a great asset as long as the boy could be controlled and he had no doubt that his men could enforce his will. This new boy would require additional training on the peg-plug but given the boy’s reputation, McIntyre was convinced he would adapt to the insertions with ease. Then followed Santiago, a most uncommon boy who loved and hated what he did. Of all the boys who were there, he seemed the most promising. It was for this reason that McIntyre was so intent in having Santiago develop drug dependency. Without forceful means, McIntyre would have lost him. He saw now that Santiago would become all he had hoped.
Sitting at Santiago’s feet was the strange little fellow McIntyre had bought in Mexico from a woman who claimed to be the child’s mother. The child’s beauty would bring in many customers throughout its childhood and adolescence; a special attraction that pleased a certain kind of man. It was his very strangeness that made him so sensual, for the child was both male and female. Of all the children McIntyre had known, this was the one who most fascinated him. Mariposa, a Spanish word for butterfly, until last week had been cared for by an elderly woman paid by McIntyre to protect his investment. Time had come for the butterfly to begin his work, as he had already been introduced to the peg-sizing and had grown into accepting a size much larger than McIntyre had hoped for, taking a two inch dowel without complaint.
Mariposa said no words and therefore told no tales. He was mute. The remaining boys were from McIntyre’s regular stable and had been brought to the peghouse only until other boys, younger and prettier, could be found. All were kept drugged and with the sluggishness that resulted, little thought was given to escapes because pain. Each sexual encounter required continued use of drugs to deaden the senses.
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