PEG BOY (17 page)

Santiago still
had two hours before meeting Vincent. The day had begun cold and seemed to be
getting colder. The wind blew across the bay and by the time it reached the
town it was damp and uncomfortable. Clouds were collecting on the eastern
horizon and hung heavy in the mountains. He looked at those mountains and knew
that somewhere in them the spirit of his father still remained. Before the
tears could begin he wiped his eyes and pushed ahead toward the deserted docks.

Santiago
pulled his collar more tightly around his neck to cut the wind at his back. He
wondered what to do with his time and where he should go until it was time to
meet Vincent. He thought of looking for a room, but had barely enough money to
last a few days. The gold was being kept secret until he could figure out how
to exchange it for cash without raising suspicion. Perhaps Vincent might be of
help.

Going in and
out of shops along the way, affronted by rudeness, he felt unwelcome. Only near
the waterfront had he felt unobtrusive and accepted, so it was there that he
went until his meeting. Santiago sat among piles of cargo, ignored by the
seamen. He noted few spaces left open for mooring and the bay, dotted with
incoming and outgoing traffic, was dark and choppy. On the day he had first
arrived, the town had been bathed in sunlight but now it was cold and
unfriendly.

Santiago noted
one ship nearby that seemed to have many women passengers. These women looked
like those he had seen leaning from the windows of boarding houses and
dance-halls. They called to the men waiting on the dock, and as soon as the
ship anchored, the men scurried aboard. Sounds of the waterfront were all
around him as he saw seabirds squawking overhead and heard the creaking of
pulleys that lifted and lowered cargo. He pulled his legs against himself and
tried to hide from the wind in the shelter of piled boxes. The rhythmic swaying
and sound of masts soon lulled him to sleep.

Santiago was
suddenly awakened by a tugging at his collar. A man was trying to tell him he
had to move.  Running east on Sacramento with the wind in his face, Santiago
worried he had overslept and missed his meeting with Vincent who was nowhere to
be seen when Santiago arrived at Portsmouth Square. He walked around it twice, and
then sat beneath a tree with a vantage of all sides. Then he heard the sound of
bells from a nearby church announcing the noon-time
angelus
and realized
he had been early.

From a
distance he recognized the boy’s familiar clothing. Vincent walked with a
swagger that was most appealing and Santiago stood to wave. Face to face,
Vincent addressed Santiago like they were old friends. He was no longer lonely.

“Where is your
companion?”

Vincent looked
around, trying to spot Ramón.

“Are you here
alone?”

Santiago began
to respond in Spanish but Vincent stopped him.

“Here you must
learn English. You must speak it all the time to learn it quickly, so from now
on we will speak only English.”

“I know you
are right, Vincent. I will try to remember it. Ramón left this morning. He had
to return to his store.”

“What will you
do, then?” Vincent suspected Santiago’s intentions.

“I want to
learn to do what you do.”

Vincent took
him by the arm. “You have little to learn! Cone, we go for coffee and get out
of this cold. We have much to talk about.”

They walked
past the dance-halls to a small café near to the place Ramón had taken him to
dance. The owner called Vincent by name and took their order. When asked about
the whereabouts of someone called
McIntyre
, the man shrugged and looked
at Santiago suspiciously.

“Don’t worry,
he is with me and can be trusted. We will be working together. I want to tell McIntyre
about him. This is new trade!”

The man stood
above them and his face turned into an ugly smile as he reached down and laid a
hand on Santiago’s leg, feeling the bulge in his pants. Santiago hit the man’s
arm.

“Tell this
little asshole that if he’s going to sell that thing, he’d better be ready to
have it inspected. Is he new? Has he done this before?”

Santiago had
stood and was ready to leave.

“Sit down,
Santiago. Be patient and listen to me. You can not react that way. If someone
is willing to give you money for your pleasures, you must expect this as well.
They will only want to make sure that what they are buying is real. Some of the
boys put things in their drawers to make themselves look larger than they are.

“Wexler is
harmless,” Vincent said when the man had gone for the coffee. “He appears much
more dangerous than he really is. And you will find he can be a good friend
when business goes bad and you need food. Wexler feeds many boys, and they pay
him back the best way they can. Everyone benefits.”

“Vincent,
there is much I do not know. My village was a simple one and the ways of the
city are strange to me. There is one thing that I have learned,” he said,
remembering the events of the past week. “I will not allow
anyone
to use
me in a manner in which I am not willing.”

The
pronouncement was said coldly and brutally, and the hatred in Santiago’s eyes
was alarming. Vincent knew the boy would not be easily swayed or fooled.

“Here is what
we should do. McIntyre runs a little business nearby. He provides rooms and
makes sure that people who could give us trouble, leave us alone. He assures
that no others come into our territory and that business is good. We give him a
part of what we earn.”

“You work for
someone?” Santiago wondered who McIntyre was. “So all the boys I have seen on
the streets work for someone?”

“No, some of
them are on their own. They are the ones who get harassed by
The Hounds
.
Watch out for those bastards! They would sooner cut your throat on the street
than step aside. Santiago, you look Peruvian. You could have some trouble with
them.”

“Who are
they?” Santiago had heard the name mentioned before in a conversation between
his father and Padre Juan Carlos.

“The
Hounds! They are a group of men who have set themselves up as a form of police.
They get paid by ship captains for bringing back men who jump ship. And it
happens that many who they capture, were never sailors! You see, it is not safe
to walk the streets alone, here. Unless you are known to be protected, you
could find yourself onboard some vessel and your ass available to any who want
it!

“We all stay
together whenever we go anywhere. The Hounds know which boys who work the
triangle are McIntyre’s, and they leave us alone. The triangle is where you and
your friend were walking when we met. It is where boys sell themselves and
where those who look to buy, come. Sometimes a boy will last no longer than a
day. They are kidnapped and sold into ship-slavery and eventually into slavery
in other countries.

“You see,
Santiago, they hate anyone who is not white and has an accent. The Hounds are
ruthless! No day goes by without someone being beaten to death by them.”

“But why are
they allowed to do these things?”

Vincent
laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“No one has
the courage to oppose them.”

Wexler
returned with the coffee and brought each a plate of hot tortillas. When
Vincent went to pay, Wexler refused.

“I don’t take
charity either. Tell the kid this is pay-back for the feel,” he said
good-naturedly.

Vincent
explained. “The man is one of the few good men you will find in this city and
especially in this part of town, remember that! Speaking of this part of town,
stay away from Portsmouth Square. That is the straight part of town and if you
hustle there they will put you in jail. You will have little trouble around
here once people get to know your face and know you are one of McIntyre’s
boys.”

“Will this McIntyre
have me?”

“If McIntyre
did not have you and he saw you on the street, he would make it a point to
enlist you. You are going to make much money for him and for yourself. With
what you have between your legs and the way you look, you will be guaranteed
employment!”

Santiago felt
a sense of excitement mixed with fear. This would be a completely different
world than any he had known. These people were foreign to him. They lived by
different standards. He understood he would not be his own master but would be
answering to someone else.  Someone would own him. It was this aspect that he
disliked. Yet, had Vincent not said he would be taken care of?

They finished
the meal. Vincent felt he had found a prize that would bring him more in favor
with McIntyre. The boy, Santiago, was extraordinary and still in possession of his
innocence. McIntyre might even let him have a few days off, seeing that the new
boy could take over his customers for a while. Perhaps McIntyre would forget
the fight of a few days before when he had discovered Vincent servicing unreported
customers with the hope of hiding enough money to run away. Santiago Cali might
be his ticket out.

M
ichael
McIntyre had come to San Francisco from Dublin, having left his country in
haste when it had been discovered that he had in his employ, some three dozen
of Dublin’s finest youth. The work they were doing for Mr. McIntyre was not of
a nature to make a parent proud and when one of the young men saw the error of
his ways and informed his parents after they had become suspicious about his
new-found wealth, the police were notified. It got too uncomfortable for McIntyre
to continue his business when it became known that he had been operating a
successful child-prostitution ring. The newspaper turned the story into a significant
crusade that rallied both the Protestants and Catholics like nothing else had
been able to. Had McIntyre not left when he did he would not have survived the
wrath of the parents who descended upon the address given in the newspapers,
and proceeded to burn down the house in hopes of catching Michael McIntyre in
the conflagration. Fortunately for McIntyre, someone in authority who had also
used his services warned him of the impending doom. With all records disposed
in the fireplace, he escaped to a ship with passage that had been arranged for
him and within eight hours of when the news had broken, McIntyre was sailing
out of Dublin harbor to establish a new business in America.

Not being a
man inclined to labor, he saw no reason to change what he knew best. He had
heard stories of what it was like to prospect for gold and although the thought
of it seemed quite adventurous, it was work none the less! McIntyre obtained
his gold second-hand by way of those who came to satisfy their sexual urges
long ignored in the hills. His decision was reinforced by the apparent lack of police
authority in the new town.

Within two
months he had enlisted two dozen boys and convinced them that it would be to
their advantage to work for him and allow him to be their benefactor. With the
help of a continuous supply of opium he was able to develop their addictions
and dependency from which it was impossible to escape. The boys worked until
becoming too dysfunctional then McIntyre would sell them off to sea. Sailors
long at sea were not as discriminating of who or what they fucked!

With a
combination of friendliness and threat, Michael McIntyre ran an operation that
became profitable. He liked what he did and was always on the lookout for new
talent to replace those who became wasted. He immediately recognized the value
of the boy who stood before him and patted Vincent on the back for a job well
done and slipped him an additional supply of white powder.

“Why don’t you
and Santiago take a little holiday before he begins work?”

Vincent had
brought Santiago to the Eldorado Hotel, McIntyre’s unofficial office, where he
could be found almost any time if he was not at Wexler’s kitchen. McIntyre
asked Santiago many questions and asked them in a kind and caring manner. He
seemed genuinely interested in hearing all about the boy and had such an
engaging way about him that Santiago found himself answering all the questions
without objection. It was good to feel he had friends! They seemed concerned
for his welfare and were kind to him. McIntyre suggested Santiago room with
Vincent, seeing as they had become such good friends. Vincent was told that
Santiago was to have
everything
he needed!

Their meeting
had occurred over a sumptuous dinner that had been especially planned to
impress the new acquisition. Vincent had already taken Santiago to his room
that afternoon where Santiago had left his bag. He had transferred his nugget
and dust to the pouch around his neck and he could feel it now, hot against his
skin and weighty on the thong. He could hear the sound of the crowds through
the heavy curtain that ensured each booth, privacy. In the faint glow of
lantern-light, the effect of wine that seemed to flow without end made him
lightheaded. Santiago felt happy and wanted.

When the boys
returned to the room, Santiago watched Vincent prepare powder and smoke it from
a long-stemmed pipe. The air was filled with a sickening sweet smell that made
his head spin. Vincent offered him the pipe.

“It’s like
wine, Santiago. It will make you drunk and you will feel wonderful sensations.”

Santiago found
he did not like the taste but it did not stop him from smoking. The room began
to grow warm and the edges of his vision blurred, giving everything a
dream-like quality as they became less distinct. Santiago felt himself getting
lighter and sometimes he even floated above the room and he found that his
limbs acted of their own volition so that they did not move the way he intended,
and it sometimes took minutes before they obeyed his brain. His arms seemed
unable to stay at his side. His shirt was off and he did not remember having
removed it. Some distance away, Vincent was holding it and tossed it in a
corner and then came closer and lifted Santiago in his arms. Santiago looked at
his friend and although he knew he was being carried, he could not feel
Vincent’s hands but he saw the hands attached to arms that stretched across the
room to where Vincent had moved. Santiago began to laugh at the illusions and
saw his pants being pulled down and he let them come off as he raised his ass
to help. His limbs began to blend so that he could no longer tell which was
which and therefore was unable to move them. He knew he was on his back and
that Vincent was between his legs, but it was the ceiling above his head that
commanded his attention. Cobwebs began to grow so that they spread from corner
to corner, pulsating wildly. He tried closing his eyes to reduce his creeping
fear and found he could see through the lids and he heard voices calling to him
and the voices asked for more pain..., and he could not understand why anyone
would beg for pain and he realized that his lips moved each time he heard the
voice and that it was he who was speaking. He wondered if the sharp aching in
his rectum was associated with the pain he was begging for and the face above
him held no familiarity as it liquefied and washed across his vision..., yet he
knew the face as something familiar..., someone..., many..., the Captain’s...,
Fidel’s.... The face was almost against his own as he felt the lips pressing
his mouth and a hand moving over his penis and it was his own.... When he
looked down between his legs he saw someone plunging in him and the turgid
penis kept sliding in and out and he laughed because the body being fucked was
not himself even when he knew it was. Santiago watched transfixed as a boy with
a knife drew it across a man’s throat and plunged it deeper so the wound opened
like a smile and blood poured forth as the head, held to the shoulders by a
thin strip of flesh, rolled and bounced each time the cock between his legs
plunged into him. Suddenly he was filled by terror so real that he felt himself
go stiff as he smelled and felt the blood that drowned him. Somehow he knew
that if he smoked more, the visions would go away.

Santiago had
never felt this way and never imagined the world could bend and twist so. He
was saying something to Vincent but he could not focus on his words. On the
edge of his mind was a concern for the gold, for he knew he was vulnerable and
that he had to safeguard it. He had taken the small pouch from his neck when
they had first arrived and tucked it into his bag. Somewhere in his mutterings
he had asked Vincent if he could be trusted. Intrigued, Vincent had feigned
smoking each time they had passed the pipe and plied Santiago with questions of
what he had to hide.

Sometime
during the night Santiago thought he had opened his eyes to find Vincent going
through his belongings. He knew he shouldn’t sleep but try as he might, he
could not stay awake. The morning was a series of vague impressions, bits of
awareness that filtered into his brain but could not completely rouse him. A
part of him called out for his attention and try as he might to wake, when he
turned on his side he felt as though the movement took forever and that his
body was heavy and sluggish as oozing sap.

Santiago knew
he had been in half-sleep for a long time and when the door of the room was
flung open, he was able to see the movement of figures all blending together.
He watched as the swiftly moving figures tossed and tore through his clothes,
throwing things about. Somewhere in the mass of bodies he saw Vincent standing
outside the door, pointing and directing the action. Santiago raised himself on
one elbow and called out to him. He managed to put both feet on the floor and
when he tried to stand, he was slapped across the face so that he fell back
into bed. Blood dripped onto his bare chest. He tried focusing to see who these
people were and caught sight of the foot that came his way and he was unable to
move fast enough to avoid it as it slammed into his face. Then there was
sleep..., a deep sleep!

As long as he
kept his eyes closed, darkness was a comfort. But it was impossible to ignore
the light. He also could not ignore the pain in his left side. Santiago felt
his face swollen and bruised. As he felt his injuries with his fingers, he
vaguely recalled the activity of the previous evening. There was a stench all
around him and he thought himself about to vomit. His gut went into spasms and
the bile came up. He tasted the acidic sputum and smelled the foul aroma of his
own retching as he was covered with it.

Santiago was
lying in an alley, the pavement slimy beneath his hands. From somewhere near he
heard the sounds of a main thoroughfare. Carefully he tried to rise, supporting
his weight against piles of trash and boxes. Although it was daylight, not much
of it reached the alley and the fog had begun to drift in from the bay. He knew
it had to be late afternoon. Rats edged closer, sniffing. Looking down, he saw
his naked foot and realized they had even stolen his shoes. His clothing was
soiled and his hands were dirty and bloody. He smelled foul, his hair matted
and his mouth so painful that when he began to cry, pain filled his head. Every
bone in his body ached. He had thought the episode a dream but the reality of
his condition forced him to admit the truth. He had been betrayed!

Santiago had
difficulty piecing together the order of events. The last clear memory was of
seeing his Vincent among the strangers. He knew he had been drugged but he
could not believe his friend had been a part of the attack. He recalled Ramón’s
warning of men and boys often being kidnapped if found alone and without
protection.

It took some
effort to rise from the heap of trash in which he had been tossed. As he moved,
pains shot through his body that gave evidence of the degree of his beating.
Edging closer to the alley’s entrance he looked onto a gray twilight, laden
with confusion and dread. Santiago was not sure what to do, the impact of what
had happened superseding his still somewhat-drugged state. He did not
understand why it had happened. If someone wanted to rob him they could have
done it while he was drugged and asleep. This had been a purposeful attack! A sense
of vulnerability overwhelmed him when he realized how little he could do about
what had happened. He was most concerned about Vincent and his part in the
incident. How easily he had allowed himself to be misled! But there
was
something he could do! He could find Vincent, administer justice as he had done
to those who had abused him in the last few weeks, and reposes his belongings.
Would there be anything left?

Santiago
cautiously made his way into town. Avoiding public places and the busy streets,
he stayed to the alleys and narrow lanes that wound their way about the
waterfront. He found his bearings and located the building where Vincent had
brought him to his room. Santiago spent some time watching the entrance from
across the street, observing the comings and goings of many boys and men, some
of which arrived in expensive liveries. One waited while the driver went in and
emerged a few moments later with Vincent following. Santiago watched as they
rode north. He waited until the street was clear, then crossed and slipped into
the building. Guardedly he climbed the stairs, carefully stepping on the edges,
remembering how they had creaked.

As he reached
the top of the landing a door opened somewhere down the corridor. Santiago
slipped into a closet before two individuals walked past and descended to the
street. The door to Vincent’s room was locked. Santiago went back to the closet
and removed a small metal hook with which he pried open Vincent’s door.
Santiago found no trace of his belongings in the room as he rummaged through
the closet and underneath the bed. He looked into all the drawers and
underneath a pair of stockings he found his leather pouch, empty.

Santiago had
no doubt that Vincent had been involved in the robbery and beating. He was
crushed that the first friend he had made whom he thought an ally, had deceived
him from the start. Although he wanted to confront Vincent, he knew waiting for
him would solve nothing as the boy had been but an accomplice to someone with
greater influence and power. That culprit would be McIntyre. It was he who had
planned the robbery. It was McIntyre whom he had to find!

Depressed and
feeling abandoned, he remembered Vincent’s comments about Wexler and he went
where he hoped he could find food and a helping hand. There was no one he
recognized at Wexler’s when he arrived. Wexler was behind the counter and he
watched Santiago as he came in, trying to recall the face.

“Don’t I know
you?”

“Si, Señor...,
yes, I was with Vincent. We were here yesterday.”

“I remember!
You were the one whose cock was too precious to be touched. Well, it looks as
though life had been hard on you since we last saw each other. What do you
want?”

“
Por favor,
señor
..., let me clean myself? I would do work for you for your help and
some food. Vincent said you were a kind man. I know no one here but you and
Vincent.” Santiago said, displaying himself fully. “I would do whatever you
wish...”