Bad Son Rising

by Julie A. Richman

  Heading to the back with Brian and Liz, Zac counted four ass grabs and three cock squeezes. Not a bad night at all. They signed up on the clipboard for the next available pool table, and waited for one to become available.

  Liz was always amused as she watched girls migrate over to Zac and Brian, sometimes leaving their dates behind to do so.

  “I hate when you guys get more pussy than I do,” Liz pouted.

  “Always happy to share,” Zac hit her with his killer smile.

  “You’d probably just be happy to watch.” Since their conversation in Paris, Liz had decided that Zac got very little real pleasure from sex, aside from the physical release and maybe some control aspects.

  “I’d be happy to take you both on,” Brian added cheerfully.

  Across the game room, Zac caught Britt’s eye as she was leaning over a pool table to take a shot. Her low cut black shirt offering a fine glimpse of her best pool playing asset — her Weapons of Mass Distraction. No red-blooded male could properly focus when Britt was laying those bad boys on the felt.

  He smiled at her, knowing exactly what she was doing to her competitor and she smiled back, surprised to see Zac and more than happy to have caught his attention, especially in one of her best positions. Her partner turned around to see where her smile was directed and to each of their surprise, Zac and Prescott Lodge found themselves staring at one another.

  “Looks like he put that twenty dollars to good use,” Zac quipped to Brian.

  Brian looked at his watch, “How long do we give her until she dumps him for the night?”

  “Depends on how many smiles Zac gives her,” Liz assessed the situation.

  “Or if he ignores her. That would drive her crazy. Or how many other chicks hit on him. We have a lot of variables here to consider.”

  Zac laughed at his friends, “You guys are bad.”

  “One thing is for sure,” Liz was smiling like a Cheshire cat, “we know who she is not going home with tonight.”

  All three sets of eyes focused on Prescott, who was trying to act cool, but knew that his chances of scoring with Britt had just gone from long shot to virtually impossible.

  “I hate that little prick. How many times has he tried to weasel out of the money he owes us? What? About six times now?”

  Brian nodded, “The crazy thing is it seems like he does it specifically to antagonize you.”

  “One of these days, I am going to kick his ass.” Zac smiled, “But for now, I’ll let him enjoy his date with Britt.”

  Britt’s eye contact with Zac was continuous and hot across the raucous room, punctuated with smiles, lip licking and continual readjustment of her Weapons of Mass Distraction in her tight black shirt. Looking at her as if he wanted to fuck her right on the pool table, with her ankles wrapped around his neck, as he plowed down into her, she was beyond concentrating on anything except what Zac Moore was going to be doing to her later that evening.

  By the time she left Washington Tavern, Zac was engrossed in his game with Brian and Liz. Leading Prescott past Zac’s pool table, she leaned down to Zac, who was taking a shot, and whispered, “See you later?”

  “I’ll be over in about an hour,” he didn’t bother to whisper. “Hey Prescott, how’re you doing?” There was nothing sincere in his smile.

  Zac Moore could be a cold dick.

  Their first “911” text came one week later. The guy was a financial advisor in Paul’s firm and his first date with their dorm mate Jennie had gone well and without incident. She had described him as personable and easy to talk to, and was totally down with seeing him again.

  Zac was up the street in a pizza place working on homework for his Linear Algebra & Differential Equations class, when his phone buzzed. His stomach muscles immediately contracted upon seeing the three numbers. Gathering his books quickly, he was out on the street in a nanosecond. Jennie wasn’t answering her phone and his level of alarm was escalating rapidly.

  Something caught his eye, a movement in the alleyway next to the restaurant. Typically, he would have cruised right on by without even glancing down an alley filled with parked cars and dumpsters, but his adrenaline was flowing rapidly throughout his blood stream and all his senses were sharpened and poised on high alert.

  It was the bright pink flowers on Jennie’s dress caught in a floodlight mounted on top of one of the buildings that had actually pulled his eye down the alley. Pinned against a brick wall, the guy had the skirt of her dress around her waist.

  Zac pulled him off her by grabbing a handful of the guys hair, “Get off her, you moron.”

  Spinning toward Zac, the heel of guy’s palm slammed Zac under the chin, forcing his jaw closed. Immediately, Zac tasted the metallic tang of blood and his anger escalated.

  “I paid for her, you privileged pissant,” the guy’s eyes were wild.

  Those were the last words out of his mouth before Zac let loose on him, slamming him into the brick wall and landing multiple punches to the man’s now bloody jaw.

  “If you’re thinking retribution,” Zac hissed, “then I’m thinking attempted rape.”

  Leaving the guy seated against the wall, Zac walked down the alley toward the street, not feeling very victorious. Brian had been right. Letting their initial core operation expand had substantially escalated the risk over the reward.

  This is done, thought Zac, totally done. What could have happened to Jennie sent a shiver up his spine.

  “Are you OK?” Jennie was waiting on the sidewalk.

  Zac nodded, “How about you? Are you OK?” he asked with a hand on each of her shoulders.

  “I’m OK. I’m so sorry, Zac,” she started to apologize.

  “No, Jen. I’m sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

  “You were just trying to help me.” Tears finally started to flow from her big waif-like eyes.

  Putting an arm around her shoulder, they started to walk.

  “Zac, you might need stitches,” another round of tears commenced.

  “I’m OK. I just bit my tongue when he slammed me.”

  They hadn’t walked five feet when Zac found himself face-to-face with Prescott Lodge.

  “Trouble tonight?” the shorter man smirked.

  “Get the fuck out of here, loser.” Zac spat out a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. The last person he needed to run into, and be provoked by, was this runt.

  All “dates” were cancelled from that moment on, the girl’s safety being of more importance than anything else. Tara had almost enough money to pay her grad school bill and a very generous check from newfound admirer, Perry, took care of the rest and quite a bit more.

  The note that accompanied the check read,

  Thank you for sharing your company with me, Tara.

  You are a delight and I look forward to hearing from Liz

  about all of your accomplishments. Enjoy graduate school

  and if there is anything you need, I hope you will not

  hesitate to come to me. Again, I enjoyed every moment we

  shared. Fondly, Perry Baker

  Chapter Eight

  Spring Semester Sophomore Year

  Bryson College

  Brookline, MA

  They were heading into the home stretch of the spring semester with finals just around the corner. The days were longer and it was hard to study when the evenings finally begged for being outdoors after a long northeastern winter cooped up inside the dorms and frosty windowed bars.

  As Zac crossed the campus, he was taking a mental inventory of the assignments he needed to complete before hunkering down to study for finals. This was the semester it had all kicked into place with his engineering and math classes and he was positive that would be reflected in his grades — finally.

  The muffled ring emerged from the front pocket of his faded out jeans. Digging, he pulled out his phone and looked at the number. The call was from somewhere on campus, but wasn’t one he recognized. />
  “Hello.”

  “Is this Zac Moore?”

  “Yeah,” Zac waited for a car to pass as he crossed the road.

  “This is Jean from Dean Golding’s office. The dean would like to see you.”

  “Me? Why?” Zac was caught off-guard. Why would the Dean of Student Life want to see him?

  “I’m really not sure, Zac. Please come to the administration building.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, the dean is waiting for you.”

  Zac turned around, heading back to the area of campus where he had just been. What the hell could the dean want with me? Zac wondered. He had just been focused on studying. The sports betting had ended with the NCAA’s and after Jennie’s close call they had abandoned the other things — and that had been weeks ago.

  Finding his way to the dean’s office, he climbed the marble staircase to the second floor of the old admin building, a stone building which dated back to the 1870’s.

  “Hi, I’m Zac Moore,” he introduced himself to the dean’s PA, making sure to bestow his best smile upon her.

  He caught her slight gasp before she quickly regained control. Lifting the phone, “I’ll let him know you are here.”

  A moment later, “The dean will see you now.”

  As Zac made his way toward the heavy wood door, he could feel the rising bile burning his esophagus. This was not good. Someone had ratted him out. Where was Brian? Had they already called him in?

  Zac knocked on the door and heard the dean telling him to come in.

  As he entered the spacious, dark wood office, he noticed someone standing by the windows with their back to him. At six foot two, with his broad shoulders, well-defined biceps and dirty blonde hair, he’d be a recognizable figure from a mile down the road.

  What is my father doing here? His first thought made his heart knot — something had happened to his baby brother Nathaniel and he’d come to tell him in person. But when his father turned toward him, arms crossed over his chest, the look on his face was not grief, and Zac’s first thought was overwhelming relief — Natie was ok. His relief, however, was extremely short-lived — the look on Schooner Moore’s face was chilling in the heat of his anger — seething anger.

  “Dad,” it was out of his mouth involuntarily.

  Schooner nodded at his son, but didn’t speak.

  The cold blue eyes, the flaring nostrils, the muscles in his neck tight wound cords. Zac had seen it before. Not often. But he had seen it. You did not want to get Schooner Moore this mad.

  “Have a seat,” the dean was saying to Zac, although he could hardly hear him, his father’s silent rage was deafening.

  His cell phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced down quickly. There was a long text from Brian. All he could catch in the brief glimpse was the first line, “I’m on probation” and Zac took a deep breath. Ok, probation’s not too bad, he thought. But something wasn’t adding up. Why would his dad be here for that? Things like probation were a given with Zac.

  Zac was smart enough to know not to speak. Silently, he sat there as the dean pulled out folders and forms. It was the forms that scared him the most. This was big. They were making him sign things and his father had not spoken a single word to him.

  “I think you know why we’re here,” the dean began.

  “I’d appreciate some specifics,” Zac hadn’t meant for it to come out with attitude, but it had.

  “Fine,” the dean smirked, “specifics you will get.” Opening a manila folder, he pulled out a typed document, several pages, stapled and made a show out of leafing through them.

  Zac was tempted to tell the man to just fucking get on with it, but knew that was akin to shoveling himself in deeper.

  “Let’s begin with the illegal betting on college and professional football and basketball.”

  Zac shrugged, insolently.

  “Any comment?” the dean seemed clearly surprised that Zac was not vehemently denying the charges or begging for mercy.

  “No,” he shook his head.

  “What the hell were you doing?” his father spoke for the first time.

  Turning to his dad and looking him square in the eye, “Nothing anyone involved didn’t want to be doing.”

  “Let’s talk about your second business. The prostitution service.” The dean was chomping at the bit.

  Zac’s head whipped around to look at the dean. With brows drawn tightly together, “With all due respect, sir, you need to get your facts straight because you have been grossly misinformed, and I would’ve hoped that you would have had a conversation with me directly, prior to having my father drive five hours and it getting to this point based on erroneous information.”

  “Zac,” Schooner’s voice was stern.

  “No, Dad,” Zac was now angry. “When I’m guilty, I’ll be man enough to take the heat, but I don’t appreciate being wrongly accused.”

  “So, you are saying that you were not running a prostitution service?” the dean’s tone was patronizing.

  “That is correct, sir. And I am sure your main source for evidence actually had an ulterior motive in all of this.”

  The dean was not going to be told by an arrogant undergrad that he was wrong or hadn’t done a thorough enough investigation, even if said undergrad’s father was paying full tuition for his overtly privileged son.

  Pulling out what looked to Zac like a contract, the dean began, “For over 150 years, Bryson College has prided itself on providing an exemplary secondary education and graduating leaders in industry and the arts. Our reputation is of the utmost importance to the student body, faculty and alumni, as I’m sure is your father’s reputation as a businessman and a humanitarian.”

  You little fuckwad, piece of shit, douche monkey, bald headed asshole, threatening my father’s reputation. Zac was livid, but kept a neutral face, not wanting to give the man anymore satisfaction than he was already getting.

  “In return for keeping this out of the press and ensuring that the matter is closed,” he pushed the paper across his desk to Zac, “we are calling for your expulsion from Bryson College, effective immediately.”

  “But we’re a week away from finals,” Zac protested. “Can I at least finish or somehow take my finals and get grades for the semester?”

  “We have paid for the semester in full,” Schooner reminded the man.

  The dean sat back and thought for a second, he clearly had not considered that this would be requested. “I’m sure we can make an arrangement for you to take finals in a proctored environment.”

  Signing the document before him and passing it over to his father, “Good. Because I’m clearly on track to make Dean’s List this semester.” Zac smiled at the man.

  As they exited his office, the dean threw out what amounted to an unwarranted fishing expedition, “It’s a shame that you and Brian got yourselves involved in such uncomely activities.”

  Knowing that Brian had not been expelled, Zac was not going to fall for the transparent attempt to get him to rat on his roommate.

  Passing through the doorway, Zac stopped dead in his tracks and the dean plowed right into him. Zac couldn’t suppress his smile at nearly knocking the smaller man on his ass.

  Turning to the dean, “Brian? Brian wasn’t involved in any of this,” he lied with ease. And he left it at that, knowing anything more he said might negate the sincerity and credibility of the last statement. There was no way he was taking his buddy down.

  Word amongst the friends was already out and they were waiting, crowded in the door of the dorm room when Zac and Schooner arrived. Arms flew around Zac, and tears were shed, cries of “I can’t believe this is happening,” “This is so unfair,” reverberated down the hall.

  With each mounting accolade it was clear that Zac’s father was getting angrier and angrier with both his son and his son’s friends.

  “Mr. Moore, I really need to speak to you,” a young woman touched his arm. Dragging him down the hall, away from Zac’s
room, “I’m Tara. Liz’s roommate.” She searched his eyes, but he was giving away nothing. “I don’t know what you were told, but Zac hasn’t done anything wrong, Mr. Moore. I’m going to be able to go to grad school because of him, because he helped me out.”

  “And you saw nothing wrong with what you were doing? Taking money from men.” Schooner appeared totally perplexed by the conversation.

  “We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Tara repeated. “You should be proud of Zac. He’s an amazing friend. He’s giving, and selfless and creative. He wanted to do the right thing.”

  “Starting a gambling business and an escort service? The right things?” Schooner shook his head, “Tara, the future is a scary place when your generation looks to my son as the moral compass.”

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Moore.”

  “Well, I hope you are right, Tara. I hope you are right,” and he left her in the hall, heading back to Zac’s room.

  Zac’s dorm mates cleared out as his father entered the room. Schooner cut an imposing figure, and the small dorm room became significantly smaller when occupied by the two Moore men and the heavy air that hung between them.

  “We’ve hit some pretty low spots, Zac, and this is right there with the best of them,” Schooner’s jaw was tight. “How much lower are you going to sink, hmm?”

  Zac didn’t answer his father, at least not verbally. His eyes spoke volumes, overflowing with self-loathing and resignation. His usual defiance was nowhere to be found.

  Liz stood in the doorway watching the exchange. Why couldn’t Mr. Moore see Zac? Why couldn’t he see what she and their friends saw — this amazing guy — so willing to lend a hand or do what he could to put a smile on someone’s face?

  “You don’t understand…” she couldn’t continue her silence.

  “Oh trust me, I understand all right.”

  “With all due respect, no, you don’t, Mr. Moore.”

  “Liz, don’t.” Zac held up his hand indicating that she should stop.

  But she was beyond stopping, “You don’t know Zac at all. Not the Zac we know. He would do anything to help a friend. That’s what this was all about. He just wanted to help Tara with grad school.”