Hunter drove a white cargo van with a hidden panel under the back floorboard, and he always stopped at this ratty, single-level motel close to a Dairy Queen. So as the honey wagon approached the motel, the Sheriff looked through the slot and could see the van parked under the one shaded area...with Hunter walking up the corridor, wrapped in nothing but a towel and carrying a load of laundry.
The Sheriff huffed. He was a hot little shit, and knew it. Well-built, hair on his neat chest, abs and legs, no tattoos, and a non-stop smirk that all but begged to be slapped. It was proving harder than they expected to find someone who could replace him because he also spoke fluent Spanish and knew how to make the men he collected ejaculate, no matter how straight they were. He’d also built a reputation for being trustworthy. The Sheriff was close to thinking it might make more sense to just pay his requested rate than have to rebuild this part of the Network, basically from scratch. But it’s always been hard as hell to argue with accountants. All they see is numbers, not reality.
They pulled up behind the van and the Sheriff got out, as did the six Brutal Men...not one of whom even hinted at a smile.
Hunter tossed his clothes into his room and sauntered up to them. Without a word, he unlocked the van and showed its back was covered with empty cardboard boxes and sheets. “If you boys’ll get the boxes out, I’ll show you what we got,” he said.
They removed the cartons to reveal there were seven young men. All bound hand and foot, and gagged. All nicely built. All attractive. Six had dark hair and tanned skin; one was blond and fair.
Hunter pointed to the blond, saying, “Not him.”
The Sheriff looked at the guy, sighed. He hadn’t realized the kid they chose was so damned obviously not Latino. It would’ve been so much better if he’d had dark hair, too, and Hunter not figured it out till after he’d been molested. Except...somehow he always seemed to know when a guy wasn’t Mexican and wouldn’t share his trick for determining that. So he just huffed and made himself growl, “Oh, they fuckin’ didn’t.”
Hunter just nodded.
“Son-of-a-bitch, I thought you was just bein’ paranoid. You gonna handle this?”
Hunter nodded, again, saying, “But that terminates Mexico.”
The Sheriff sighed; that was the last thing they wanted. He turned to his men and noticed they were eyeing the cargo in ways that were anything but sweet and kind...except for a lean, mean muscle machine named Oren; his eyes were on Hunter, and he looked ready to pounce.
The Sheriff smirked, thinking, I wish I could let you have him.
He motioned to the bound men and each Brutal Man grabbed one. Two of them were regaining consciousness so struggled a little, but they were handled with no trouble. Each one’s bindings were cut off then their clothing was torn away, completely. The Sheriff noticed the near smiles this brought to all his guys, but that was why he’d picked these six — their joy in handling fresh inmates was legendary, to say the least, especially once they’d become a pack while in Matagorda State Penitentiary.
The Sheriff noticed one young man was phenomenally handsome in a Telenovela way, from perfect face to exquisite body to nice-sized dick. He looked at Hunter, in askance.
“That’s Oscar,” Hunter said, smiling. “Got him near the university along with those two.” He pointed to a couple of muscular young men. “The one that was in shorts is Juan; the one in jeans, Tomás.”
The Sheriff nodded and fought back a sigh. So these three were off-limits, which was really unfortunate. Oscar, alone, would have paid for everything, twice over.
Hunter nodded to another trim young man being held by a very possessive Sinder. “That’s Emilio.”
Ah, the troublemaker.
“And that one’s Reuben.” Hunter pointed to a stockier young man with wavy hair, being held by Walt, who would have fit in perfectly with a Hells Angels biker posse.
And there was the other little shit who’d fucked everything up. Good to know.
Then Jude, a regular-looking gym rat with a way-too-serious tan and sun-bleached spiked hair, motioned the Sheriff over. He was holding a trim, very sweet-looking young man...the only one who was circumcised.
Hunter followed him, saying, “That’s Theo. He’s Muslim.”
So this was the boy they could keep. The Sheriff eyed him, carefully. Inspected every square inch of him, including his surprisingly elegant feet. He was moaning and starting to squirm, but it did him no good.
“How old?” the man finally asked, holding Theo’s lovely face in his hand.
“Twenty.”
“He been tested?”
Hunter nodded. “He grew to about eight inches.”
“Virgin?”
Hunter nodded.
The Sheriff did a careful examination of Theo’s lovely ass and agreed the Mayor’s suggestion was excellent.
“This one’s in room three,” he said. “You first in the shower. An’ be careful.”
Jude frowned at hearing that, but quietly carried Theo to his door in the honey wagon.
The Sheriff pointed to Emilio and said, “Him in number four, shower next. Him in number two, shower last,” while pointing to Reuben. “Those three in number one,” he told the rest of the Brutal Men. “No showers.”
As they did what they were told, the Sheriff escorted Hunter back to his van. “That Theo boy’s gonna cover the cost of all this shit, plus a little.”
Hunter smiled. “So long as he’s not hurt; he’s too pretty.”
“No need worryin’ ‘bout that. This client’s high-end. He ain’t goin’ off-roadin’ in no Ferrari.”
Hunter laughed.
The Sheriff continued, “If you’d just brought him, we’d been happy. Dumb as shit, what you did, an’ goddamn lucky you got away with it.”
“I had an ace.”
“No more. That Border Patrol agent you’re buddies with...he turned on you. They’re lookin’ for drugs.”
Hunter had growled and was silent for a moment, then looked around, wary. “But I must be under surveillance, now. Isn’t all this suspicious?”
“Yep. But...there’s a movie shootin’ out in the desert. Honey wagon’s headin’ out there. Told ‘em I’d do a search. If they stop the semi, nothin’ in it but car parts. Just a guy got lost, stopped by, and you give him directions to Cochise. GPS sucks out here. The driver...uh...let’s just say, dressed like you are, with your history, they can put two an’ two together an’ make if forty seven, if they want. But as of now, they think your dealer’s comin’ in through Lordsburg, after midnight.”
“Horace is showin’ up, at midnight. So he is in on bustin’ me.”
“Horace, huh? He’s buyin’ his way out of trouble.”
Hunter’s voice grew sad. “Doesn’t work,” he said. “They’ll fuck him over, anyway.”
The Sheriff shrugged. “Leave the van,” he continued. “There’s a Chevy ‘round front. Take that.” He gave Hunter a set of keys. “See Phil in Anaheim. He’ll set you up fresh docs. Coordinator’s got a plan for LA, and you’re part of it. We’ll handle your boy...”
“No,” Hunter said, cold and angry. “Don’t.”
The Sheriff eyed him. “What you up to?”
Hunter showed the Sheriff a photo he’d taken on his phone. It showed a very well-built, cowboy-like Border Patrol agent, standing at parade rest, hands behind him, everything about him close to perfection, with his well-proportioned dick at full attention as Hunter kissed it.
The Sheriff hesitated. “He’s Border Patrol.”
“He’s in big trouble. He might run.”
“Still pretty iffy. Trouble ain’t that bad.” The Sheriff eyed the image. Once again, Hunter was bringing forth a prime piece of meat worth its weight in gold, and with an excuse for it to vanish, so he had to ask, “How’s his ass?”
“Virgin, he says.”
That increased the price, nicely. “Mouth?”
“Virgin, he says.”
That doubled his value. “Can you verify?”
“I will.”
The Sheriff eyed him, almost smiling. Hunter drove him crazy with his I’m-all-that attitude, but oh, could he deliver. “When?”
“Give me a week. How much you think he’ll bring?”
The Sheriff looked long and hard at the photo, his eyes cold and calculating, his body unmoved.
“Gotta do some checkin’,” he said, “but I’d say half a mill, with no strings.”
Hunter nodded. “Make it so.”
The Anglo kid was starting to come around...the Sheriff couldn’t remember his name; some kind of rat or rodent or something...so he just helped Hunter move him into the room and flop him on the bed. Then he left without another word and got in the cab of the honey wagon. They headed for the AZ80, back to Sierra Vista, as the semi aimed for the 191.
They’d have to find a way to take care of that kid, since he knew what’d been planned for Hunter. Maybe hand him off to the Network as well, once Hunter had dropped him off. He had a nice ass on him. Something to think about.
But that could be decided later.
