Ties Stronger Than Blood

Chapter Six

Marko gave directions as they drove. When they reached the block that held the motel, Marko tapped David on the shoulder. "Pull over." David did, and Dwayne and Paul pulled up behind them. Marko peered down the street, squinting at the parking lot. "I don't see the station wagon, but I'd better hoof it from here."

"Are you sure?" asked David. He smiled faintly. "A gentleman always takes his dates to their doors."

The other two boys snickered, and Marko pursed her lips. "That wasn't a date."

"So let's make one. Tomorrow night?"

Marko paused, but not because he didn't want to see David again. "I don't know. I might have to do something." David was silent, hands twisting on the handlebars. "I mean it--she may have something for me to do. I'm not just trying to blow you off."

"I know. What time do they usually go to bed?"

Marko thought. "They're still tired after this last leg. Ruth will probably be in bed by ten, and she won't get up for anything but gunshots or fire."

"You're sure?"

"John was always the one who got up when I had the screaming mimis in the night."

David considered. "Try to get out. Head toward the boardwalk, and I can pick you up around the corner. We'll go see a movie."

Marko felt himself beginning to smile at the thought. "Yeah? Which one? The only one Ruth would let me see that was listed on the marquee at the theater we passed was The Brave Little Toaster."

David put a hand over his eyes for a moment. "No, I don't think so. We'll decide when we get there."

Marko hesitated again, blushing. "I'd like to, but I can't afford it." He pointedly jingled the change in his pocket.

David frowned. "Don't insult me, man. I said date, right? That means I pay."

Marko stared at him. *He really wants to go out with me?* "You're serious?"

Paul said, "Nah, he isn't serious all that often, but he does mean it."

"How about it?" David asked. "You coming?"

Marko nodded. "If I can. If I don't show..."

"It's not your fault. Don't worry about it. You have another few days here, right?" He throttled the engine up. "You'll see me again." He turned the bike, and the three Lost Boys pulled away. As the turned the corner, their engines roared, and Marko could hear laughter and whoops rising on the night air. Marko watched them disappear, then turned reluctantly and began to make his way back to the motel.

He'd just gotten on the bus when he saw the station wagon enter the block. Marko sat quickly, turning on the little lamp that was clipped above one of the back seats, and grabbing his Bible. As the station wagon pulled in beside the bus, he suddenly remembered the sunglasses. He jerked them off as John and Ruth got out of the car. Looking around as he folded them one-handed, he tried to figure out where to hide them. There just didn't seem anywhere likely, and Ruth was coming toward the bus door. Just as she started up the two steps, he dropped them down the front of his shirt and opened his Bible, bending his head over it. Ruth came down the aisle, with John right behind her. Marko looked up, blinking innocently. "Did you two have a nice dinner?"

"It was free of charge." She held out her hand expectantly. Marko dug the change out of his pocket and trickled it into her palm. She counted it quickly, then gave him a suspicious look. "Not much here."

Marko shrugged. "You know how much they gouge at places around a tourist attraction."

"When did you get back?"

*Hell. Do I have to get the third degree every damn day?* "I'm not sure--I wasn't paying attention." He lifted the Bible slightly. "Been busy."

"How many verses have you memorized tonight?"

"Ruth," John said quietly, "You ought to give the boy some time off. He has more verses memorized than anyone else I've ever met."

"It's not enough," she said bluntly. "You know very well that there have been others who memorized the entire Bible. I see no reason why he can't."

"But isn't it more important that he understand the words, rather than just being able to parrot them?" The look she turned on him was so hard and cold that he flinched.

"I'd love to be able to just take a couple of days and..." Marko trailed off as Ruth turned that same hard gaze on him. Then he lifted his chin slightly. "I think I've earned it."

"Ephesians Nine." When Marko just stared at her, she repeated herself, voice snapping. "Ephesians Nine, Mark. Verses one through three."

Marko closed his eyes, sifting quickly through the vast collection of Bible verses stored in his mind. He grimaced. Trust her to come up with that one. Reluctantly he said, "Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth." She was nodding grimly. Then Marko shot her a glance and continued. "And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."

She smiled, but it was more like an animal baring its teeth. "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart."

Marko found that he was almost trembling with anger. "Servant?"

"She didn't mean it like that, Mark," said John placatingly.

"Oh, that's exactly how she meant it, John."

Ruth stood up, saying blandly, "I meant it in the sense that you are a servant of God, Mark. As is John, and even as am I. You've just never accepted it. You need to settle into your place, or you'll never be happy." Her eyes narrowed. "I can promise you that you won't be happy if you try to step out of your place."

John put a hand on her arm, saying quietly, "Verse nine. And, ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening."

Her head jerked, and she glared at him. Then she pushed past him and made her way off the bus without another word. "Oh, Grandpa," said Marko. "I appreciate it, but you're going to hear about this."

John shrugged. "I don't speak up enough for you, Mark--I know that." He smiled weakly. "Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll lock me out."

Mark snorted. "When it comes to inflicting physical discomfort as opposed to emotional discomfort, you know where her choice is going to lie. You don't have to walk into that. Stay here tonight. If the bed is too cramped, I can sleep on one of the seats. I have plenty of times before."

"No, son." He patted the boy's shoulder. "You're going to need to get your rest. Besides," he sighed, "it'll only be worse if I try to avoid it." Marko nodded sympathetic agreement, and watched his grandfather make his way off the bus. The older man paused at the door to Ruth's room, hand on the knob, and Marko saw his shoulders slump wearily. Then something happened.

The next door opened, and Luther peeked out, then called quietly to John. The change was instantaneous. John's head came up. The sickly outside lights made him look jaundiced, but it couldn't disguise the brightness of the gentle smile that broke across his face. He walked over to Luther and they conversed for a few moments.

Luther was barefooted, wearing a plain white Fruit of the Loom undershirt, and he was hugging himself, as if chilled. They spoke earnestly, Luther's eyes darting toward the room John shared with Ruth. John rested his hands on Luther's shoulders, as if making a point. As he spoke he let his hands slide down till he was gripping the smaller man's upper arms. Luther glanced over John's shoulder, toward the bus, and said something. John rubbed Luther's arms for a second, then patted him briskly and let his hands drop. Both men looked back toward the bus.

Marko turned off the reading light. He hated it that John didn't feel like he could show any form of closeness in front of Marko. Marko knew that Luther was his grandfather's best friend--perhaps his only friend. He also suspected that there was a little more than friendship there. That was fine by him. John deserved someone good in his life, and Luther was a great guy. Luther stepped back into his room. John stood staring at the closed door for a moment, reaching out to touch it lightly. Then he turned wearily and entered his own room.

Marko sat in the dark for a little while, thinking. He remembered the first time he'd realized that there was something more than friendship between his grandfather and the group's piano player. It had been right about two years before. Marko had known that the two men were close. They spent hours together, practicing and working on arrangements, and Marko noticed that his grandfather was always more relaxed after he'd spent time with Luther.

They had been in... He frowned. Illinois? Yes--Chicago. It had been the dead of winter, with fresh snow falling every day. Of course 'fresh' was only a relative term when applied to snow in a city like Chicago. It seemed grungy almost before it hit the ground, and it turned to slush quickly, churned by pedestrians and cars. It was close to Christmas. Marko was sulking as much as he dared. He'd been lobbying for a vacation most of the year, but Ruth, as usual, had them booked solid. She wasn't about to give up the fat fees they could command for Christmas Eve and Christmas day performances.

The good thing was that Ruth didn't like the cold weather, never going outside their rented rooms unless she absolutely had to. It was the closest thing to freedom that anyone in the gospel group had experienced for ages. Luther and John had said they were going to the city library, which was within walking distance, even considering the weather. They offered to take Marko along, but he'd said that he wanted to stay in and read a book that belonged to his current roommate. It was a sword-and-sorcery fantasy--one that Ruth would have wanted to burn as Satan inspired.

After a few minutes, though, he'd begun to feel guilty. He could sneak illicit literature any night, but there weren't all that many times he could spend time with John without having to worry about Ruth coming along and spoiling it. He put on his winter gear and trudged to the library. The building was huge and quiet, the books lining the walls seeming to act as bafflers, absorbing sound. Shadows seemed to gather in the corners.

Marko stopped at the front desk and described the two men, and one of the librarians mentioned that she thought they were back by the newspaper section. That was a cluster of comfortable looking chairs, gathered around several racks, which held a variety of newspapers threaded on long, split bamboo holders, which kept the pages together, and unrumpled. At the moment there seemed to be only one elderly gentleman, perusing a copy of The Village Voice, but Marko walked back anyway. There were several parallel racks of periodicals to the side, and the men he was looking for might be browsing there.

He walked beside the aisles, his footsteps hushed by the carpet that had been laid down for exactly that purpose. A magazine cover caught his eye. It was some sort of entertainment magazine--the sort that Ruth considered to be such a waste of money and time--but Ruth wasn't here right now. Marko paused and took down the magazine. There was an article inside about Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, and Mel Gibson dominated the cover. Dominated seemed the right word. He was dressed in dusty, scuffed leather, chin rough with stubble, and his icy blue eyes seemed to look right through Marko.

He wasn't sure exactly what it was that caught his attention--a scrape, a sigh, perhaps a soft murmur. He knew he should mind his own business, but... He had so little contact with the outside world, and he was curious. Silently, he leaned over and peeked around the corner.

They were standing at the far end, where the racks came up flat against the wall. The still wore their coats (no one in their right minds would leave a good coat just laying around in public in a city like Chicago), but they were open. They were holding each other, and their arms were inside the open garments, as if they couldn't bear to have that extra layer of cloth separating them. Luther had his head resting on John's chest, and his eyes were closed. John was stroking Luther's hair, and his expression was more peaceful than Marko could remember ever seeing it. Then he reached down, took Luther's chin in his hand, tipped his face up, and softly kissed the younger man.

Mark very quietly pulled back, then just as quietly replaced the magazine and went back to the hotel. He had a lot to think about. It wasn't long before he decided that it not only made sense, but seemed right. John was happy when he was with Luther, and you certainly couldn't say that about the time he spent with Ruth.

Marko smiled a little at the memory. *I have to talk him into coming with me when I leave,* Marko thought. *We could do all right together. I'm sure Uncle Gene would put us up till we could get on our feet. Maybe Luther could come, too. Yeah, Luther would HAVE to come. But I bet Gene could help those two find some sort of work with music. If not... I'm pretty sure John would be willing to wash dishes and live in a cracker box if it got him away from the woman who's made his life miserable for almost forty years.*

As Marko went back into the cramped sleeping area, he thought, *And let's see how much business she can keep going when it's just her singing on her own.* He found himself smiling, knew it wasn't a nice smile, and didn't care at all.

Marko stripped to his jockeys, and left the door open. Why not? No one was going to come on the bus--not until morning, anyway, and he knew he'd be up before Ruth. He lay there for a bit, then got up and went back to the seat Ruth had occupied earlier in the day. He grabbed a large handful of the special soft tissues that she favored--and didn't like sharing, then went back and laid down.

He lay in the dark, staring up at the low ceiling. The streetlights filtered through the many bus windows, then through the open door. If there had been anyone to look, they would have seen the boy's body silvered by moonlight. He stroked the fly of his jockeys almost idly, then pushed them down. Despite Ruth's suspicions of his carnal nature, Marko didn't masturbate very often--usually only when something he had seen during the day gave him inspiration.

He pushed his waistband down, easing his half-hard member free, and began to touch himself slowly--almost thoughtfully. He closed his eyes and replayed certain things in his mind. Cool darkness, the sound of waves and scent of brine, the sharp malty taste of the alcohol on his tongue, and...

Whispers, sighs, moans... A voice rough with passion. *Cocktease. We can't... But they did, didn't they? Oh, yes, they did. What did they do?*

Marko had only the roughest idea of what might go on between two men. He wasn't formally informed, but he wasn't naive--or ignorant. He knew there were only so many physical possibilities between two men, and given the time limit and place when Dwayne and Paul had been together, it was more limited still. He pictured Paul pinning Dwayne against the piers, reaching into the smaller boy's unzipped jeans, caressing him. Perhaps he opened his own jeans, then pressed against him, moving, sliding hot, hard flesh together. Maybe they simply gripped each other, stroking their partner to a mutual satisfaction. As he imagined each scenario, Marko's own member thickened and lengthened till his hand was full of firm, slick, eager flesh.

As his climax approached, he carefully wrapped the wad of tissue around the weeping head of his erection. He turned his thoughts to David--imagined him sliding across the sand, pushing him back and crawling over him. He could almost feel the heavy press of solid muscle, and his lips parted, as if begging for a kiss, as he shuddered, and came.

After a moment he made sure that no drops of sperm had escaped the tissue trap, then tucked the wad into a hamburger wrapper, stuffed the ball into a paper bag, and wadded that up, and deposited the whole thing in the litter bag that hung on the wall. He pulled his jockeys back into position, reflecting that it was ridiculous that an almost grown man had to take such precautions.

He was about to drop off to sleep when he felt a flicker of... He wasn't sure exactly what. It was a prickly sensation, the sort of thing one might feel, then turn around and find someone staring at them. He propped himself up on his elbows, staring through the door, through the bus, out at the night. *Nothing. I really need to get away from Ruth. She makes me paranoid.* He lay back down, and was soon asleep. There was a shifting in the shadows near the corner of the motel. If someone had an infrared scope, they might have been able to make out the three figures, but the Lost Boys were very good at going unnoticed--when they wanted to.

Paul whispered, "Damn."

Dwayne said, "Yeah, bonus time. I didn't think we'd get a show."

"I seriously doubt that bus door is locked," Paul commented. "And people have a tendency to mind their own business around here."

Dwayne shook his head. "You've got three or four fairly clean living gospel musicians right there. I think that if they hear a squeak, they'll come running."

"So? It's not like we couldn't handle them if they did. Nothing has to happen on the bus, anyway. We could get in, get the songbird, get out, and be back at the cliffs in no time."

"Yeah? Suppose he objects? Kind of hard to carry a reluctant passenger on a bike, Paul."

Paul shrugged. "David can hide his bike and fly him out. What do you say, David?" David was silent, still staring toward the bus. "David? You want this one, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I want this one, but not tonight. Not like that." He looked at his chosen brothers. "It has to be like you two. He has to want it."

"David," said Paul hesitantly. "I know he's been friendly, but..." Paul gestured at the logo painted on the side of the bus. The word Glory reflected the moonlight. "You know what he comes from. What if he doesn't want it?"

David looked back at the bus, and red embers flared in his eyes. "He'll want it." He breathed deeply. "I can smell it."