Edgartown, FLA Ch. 01

Yeah, right, I thought sarcastically. I wasn't falling for another one of his tricks! My dad used to say, "Fool me once shame on YOU -- fool me twice shame on ME!"

As if on cue, two mosquitoes suddenly landed on the back of my neck and plunged their stingers into me. I crushed them and suddenly the quiet of the night was broken with what sounded like a dull roar coming from the swamp and quickly heading our way.

"DAMMIT -- they're here!" cried out the bartender and he began running towards the door.

The 'dull roar' began to sound like a fast approaching freight train and I ran so fast I beat the bartender to the door. Once inside, we both slapped at some real and imaginary mosquitoes until they were dead.

"That was a close one, boy," he said. "Rumor has it they once carried off a German Shepard and he was found picked clean!"

Hot damn, after what just happened I believed him!

While the bartender was locking the door I saw a chance to grab my clothes and make a run for it but my damn logical mind stopped me.

Where are you going to go, John? Back outside and be eaten alive?

"C' mon boy," he said, and I followed him around the bar to an unmarked door I assumed led to an office.

When he flipped on the lights in the room it shocked the hell out of me. The room was huge and very expensively furnished. Overstuffed leather recliners -- oak and mahogany tables and desks -- a fully stocked cherrywood bar to my left. I saw the four corners of the room hidden by ornate partitions.

There were so many chairs my first thought was the room was some sort of gathering place.

"You have meetings in here?" I asked.

He chuckled and said, "You might say that, boy, those of us who own businesses get together from time to time here."

"Oh, so you hold like, uh, Chamber of Commerce meetings here?" I said.

"Heh-heh-heh...that's a good one boy...yeah, sure -- The Chamber of Commerce meets here! heh-heh-heh...."

I didn't know what was so funny - I simply followed him thru the room in my undies. On the far side of the room I managed to peek behind one of the partitions and saw a double-bed with a single clean white sheet on it.

I cringed. It felt like bugs were crawling all over my flesh. This isn't a meeting room, it's a sex room! This must be where these creepy old men bring god-only-knows who here to have sex with them! I shivered with revulsion.

As we came to another door, I looked to my right at a glass display case filled with random and senseless items: a belt buckle; a scuffed tennis shoe; a set of keys; a dirty white tee shirt and then I saw it and my heart skipped a beat -- OH-MY-GOD -- it can't be, can it? My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst.

Right there next to what looked to be a rather smallish-sized jockstrap was a Minnesota Twins baseball cap -- identical to the one my cousin Timmy was wearing the last time I saw him! Good God, who else in this shithole town would have a Minnesota Twins baseball cap?

The bartender saw me looking at the glass display and said, "That's our trophy case, boy, some pretty interesting stories there" then his attitude took a 360-degree turn and he barked at me, "Nothin' to see there, boy, get in my bedroom -- I'm hornier than a three-peckered goat!"

***

When he finally escorted me out of the building I went straight to my motel room and found the half-full, big plastic bottle of Mountain Dew and guzzled it until 'that taste' was gone from my mouth and tongue. It wasn't enough though. I went to the vanity sink and squeezed Colgate into my mouth and swirled my tongue in the thick toothpaste. Gawd I hate the taste of cum!

After I saw what looked like Timmy's ballcap in the display case, I was bound and determined to get a closer look at it so I sucked the bartenders cock the best I could to make him cum fast. I did a damn fine job of it too -- I had him shooting in my mouth in less than four-minutes.

I thought the geezer would fall asleep after his intense orgasm, but noooo, he pulled his skinny legs back to his chest and pulled them apart until I was staring at his puckered, brown hole.

"Stick your tongue in my asshole, boy, - get my dick hard again!" he almost shouted at me.

For the next twenty-minutes, to take my mind off the perverted sex act I was performing, I told myself over-and-over Timmy's here -- I found him...Timmy's here -- I found him...Timmy's here -- I found him....''

The nasty bartender finally fell sleep once he came in my mouth one more time. It wasn't much of an ejaculation, I had literally drained his balls. I scooped-up my clothes and hurried into the meeting room to get a closer look at the ballcap.

I pulled on my clothes and went straight to the display case. I tried to open it but it was locked.

I squinted at the ballcap and suddenly my heart stopped. There it was -- the old, dried mustard stain on the bill of the cap Timmy had gotten when I took him to a Twins game. He tried hard, but never could wash it out completely. I bit my tongue to contain the jubilation I was feeling.

When I calmed down I stared at the small container next to it. What the heck are those? I wondered. A cold shiver raced up my spine -- I was staring at teeth -- twelve of them to be exact and they didn't look like adult teeth either. Next to the teeth was a single white sock -- next to that a blue-jean wallet - next to that, attached to a piece of scotch tape were about twenty or thirty strands of blonde hair.

It struck me like a bolt of lightening -- these weren't some random objects thrown into a glass case -- they were souvenirs -- oh my gawd, what is going on in this town?

I counted the 'souvenirs' -- there were twenty-nine of them. HOLY CRAP -- have these perverts really kidnapped twenty-nine boys? How can this be? For what purpose? What the hell is going on in this town?

I looked at the top row one more time and an icy shiver raced up my spine. There was one last open space for another 'souvenir' right next to Timmy's ballcap.

EIGHT DAYS EARLIER

It's been one week to the day since I expected my cousin to join me in Tampa. When he didn't arrive I simply thought he was running late and he decided to spend the night in a motel. I didn't become concerned until I didn't see or hear from him the afternoon of the following day.

I called his cell phone once-twice-three-four times with no answer. I was determined to stay positive though. I told myself he may have had car trouble -- that he might be stuck in one of those small towns off I-75 with lousy cell phone reception. I drank more Jack Daniels than usual that night.

When I still hadn't heard from him by noon the next day, I broke out my road atlas and studied southern Georgia and northern Florida. He called me from a motel outside of Valdosta, Georgia, not too far from the Florida state line. He had driven ten-hours that day and the only reason he stopped for the night was because the rain was so heavy he had a hard time seeing the highway. That was the last time we talked.

I had to take some action. I called the police departments in Valdosta and Lake City, Florida -- they didn't know a thing. I called hospital's and clinics along the route -- nothing. I talked with small town sheriffs and still nothing. I became so overwhelmed with guilt and worry I had a few drinks to calm down. The next thing I knew it was noon the next day.

I don't make the smartest decisions when I'm hung over. I know that and try to act accordingly, but when I woke at noon I had a brilliant idea: I would drive to the motel he stayed at outside Valdosta and begin searching for him there. If I didn't find him there, I would backtrack down I-75 and stop at every rinky-dink, tiny town along the way until I found him.

I was in-between jobs and my unemployment wouldn't run out for another month so I could pay for everything with my debit card.

I packed a few things and threw 'em in the trunk. I poured two quarts of oil in the engine then checked the dipstick -- perfect. I was about to leave when I thought of one last thing so I went into my kitchen and put the half-full jug of Jack Daniels in a plastic bag -- just in case. Now I was ready.

It's a three-and-a-half hour drive to Valdosta if you don't make any stops. I thought about it and decided I'd go straight there and if I didn't find out anything about Timmy, on the way back I would get off at every exit to look for him.

I got to the motel at four in the afternoon. I described Timmy to the desk clerk and when he said, "Oh yeah, I remember that kid!" I became so elated I almost peed my pants.

He added: "...the kid looked so young I carded him to make sure he was eighteen...he was from some place up north -- Wisconsin -- Iowa..."

"Minnesota," I blurted out.

"Yeah, that could be it," he said.

"Did you see him leave here?" I asked.

"No, but I heard him the next morning...his engine made such a racket I couldn't help but hear him..." the old man squinted over his glasses at me and said, "...kinda like YOUR car -- don't you yankees believe in using oil?"

It was too late to turn around and drive back south so I got a room. I was feeling so great that Timmy had stayed there I cracked open the J.D. and had a few celebratory shots.

I was feeling no pain from the booze when it occurred to me I didn't really find out anything helpful. Timmy had stayed there, sure, but so what? Where was he?

I INTENDED to get up early in the morning and start searching for him, but like my dad used to say, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions!" I didn't pull out of the motel parking lot until noon.

***

I ate a couple tacos I had leftover in the car from yesterday as I drove south on the interstate. I drove slower than normal searching left-and-right for anything that might seem out of the ordinary -- whatever that would be.

A half-hour after Georgia became Florida, I began having sharp pains in my belly. A few minutes after that I REALLY-REALLY needed to take a crap. I almost pulled over to the side of the interstate when I remembered the truck stop/rest area in between the north-south lanes was coming up so I buried the needle of my speedometer until I saw the rest area just ahead on the left.

I made it to the men's room just in time. I stayed in there until I was sure everything I wanted out of my stomach was out. I was in there a long time.

I had plenty of gas and thought about topping off the oil but it'd been alright when I left Valdosta so I hopped into the car and continued southward.

I didn't make it four-miles before my right front tire went flat. There I was all worried about my leaking oil when I suddenly get a flat tire. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I pulled the car off the highway as far as I could and sat there cursing myself.

You're such a lazy dumb-shit, John! You knew you had a slow leak in that tire and never even checked it! Good gawd, now whaddya gonna do?

It hadn't been four-minutes when I saw a vehicle pull off the road and park right behind me. I laughed out loud when I saw it was a tow truck.

You're such a lucky shit, John -- you better buy some lottery tickets when you get home.

I got out of the car and watched a big, slow-moving man wearing overalls lumbering towards me. He was shaking his head from side-to-side.

"You know, boy," he called out from twenty-feet away, "I was gonna tell you about that tire back at the rest stop but you were in the john so long I forgot all about you! What's your name, boy?"

"John," I replied, and we both shared a laugh.

"Open the trunk, boy, and I'll help you change the tire," he said.

"I'd really appreciate that, mister -- thanks!" I said.

I took two steps towards the rear of the car then abruptly stopped. I again felt sick to my stomach only this time it wasn't from the food.

"What's wrong, boy?" asked the tow truck driver.

I sheepishly admitted, "I was having the spare tire patched and forgot to pick it up before I left Tampa..."

"Wasn't very bright of you, was it boy?" he said. His attitude suddenly softened and he added: "No problem, kid, we're close to Edgartown, I'll tow your car there -- Ol Norman will give you a good deal on a used tire!"

***

The driver's name was Verlon, and he was an inquisitive person to say the least. By the time we got to the tiny town of Edgarton he pretty much knew my life history.

When I told him about my missing cousin he became very concerned -- he even went so far as to promise to help me find him.

"I know everyone within fifty-miles of here, boy," he said, "I'll put out some feelers and if your cousin is anywhere around these parts I'll sniff him out like a coon dog sniffs out rabbits!"

It had been such a frustrating and emotionally exhausting couple days his heartfelt promise almost brought tears to my eyes.

***

"Gosh durn it, I got some bad news for ya," Verlon said when he walked into the small, greasy office where I'd been waiting. "...that tire of yours is a goner...putting a patch on that would be as useless as a band-aid on a stuck pig..."

My heart sank. I didn't have the money for a new tire.

"...but that's the least of your problems, boy, you been leakin' lotta oil -- it's a real mess under that hood a yours!"

Uh-oh, I knew I should have put those other two quarts of oil in the car before I left Georgia.

"Is there anything you can do to fix it?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, "I gotta 12-gauge shotgun that can put it out of its misery!"

When he saw the desolate look on my face, he apologized for his tasteless joke then asked what I knew about cars.

"Not too much," I admitted.

"Well boy, you gotta blown johnson rod -- that's bad -- REAL bad, but I think I can find a used one in Lake City and get you back on your way to Tampa late next week!"

A glimmer of hope, I thought -- wait a minute -- did he say 'late next week?'

"Since you're not workin' you don't gotta be back any time soon, right? And like I told ya, I'll get ahold of some of my friends to be on the lookout for yer cousin!"

Although his words did comfort me, I didn't have the money to live in a motel for a week and I told him just that.

He furrowed his brow then suddenly smiled and said, "Ya know what? Mrs Beasley came down with a bad case of the croup and my boss needs someone at the store -- lemmee give him a call!"

Another glimmer of hope, I thought as I listened to his conversation with the man who owned not only the service station, but the motel and convenience store, as well.

"I found a boy to take Mrs Beasley's place at the store while she's out sick, daddy...yeah, that's right, Mrs Beasley's place...uh-huh, yup, yeah, ha-ha-ha, his car broke down on the highway, ha-ha-ha...yeah, he looks fine -- I think you'll like him, daddy...okay, good, how bout I put him up in room number seven? Yessir, I think he's purrr-fect, daddy...uh-huh, okay, I'll get him settled in...aw shucks, thanks daddy - jus doin' what you taught me, daddy, that's all...."

AND NOW....

The last thing I clearly remembered was the Sheriff and his slow-witted Deputy coming into the store. The Deputy was wearing the same goofy grin he always wore when he looked at me.

The Sheriff called out to my boss on the other side of the store, "Good news, Merle, we finally got the kid's background check and he's clean as a whistle!"

Were they talking about me? Why would they run a background check on ME? I've never broken the law in my life!

The three of them briefly huddled near the magazine rack and spoke in hushed tones so I couldn't hear them.

My boss turned to me and said, "Johnny, come over here, will ya?"

"Yessir," I called out and did what I was told.

My boss was smiling when he looked down at me. "Good news, boy, you're gonna become Edgartown's newest permanent resident!"

I was trying to figure out what he meant by that comment and didn't notice the Deputy had snuck behind me. Suddenly, my arms were violently yanked behind my back and I panicked and tried to struggle, but I was no match for the Deputy's strength.

The Sheriff simply smiled at me and said, "Calm down, lil fella, your boss is gonna put you in la-la land real soon and you're gonna love every minute of it like you have every night in the motel!"

Uh-oh, what the hell does THAT mean? I wondered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my boss holding a syringe with a long needle -- that's when I tried to fight back again but it was useless against the stronger man holding me.

I heard my boss say, "Relax boy, this won't hurt much" then felt a sharp jab in the back of my neck.

My world slowly began to fade to black. I was helpless when the Sheriff tousled my hair, gave me a shit-eating grin and said, "Don't worry yer purdy lil head over anything, boy, we're gonna take r-e-a-l good care a you -- we're gonna teach you e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g yer ever gonna need to know - yer gonna l-o-v-e your new life as one of the purdy lil boys of Edgartown!"

***

When I woke up on the floor and saw wrought iron bars all around me I thought I was in the town jail. I had been stripped of my clothes except for my yellow, string bikini briefs.

I shook the cobwebs from my head and realized I wasn't in jail at all but a cage. What the hell? Oh my God, these animals are keeping me in a cage!

Thru my screaming headache I heard voices. I first noticed I was in that building, the one I'd called 'The Chamber of Commerce' then I saw Verlon and a young guy I didn't know. They were setting up tables and chairs around a raised platform, no, it looked more like a stage.

I tried to yell at them but my voice was weak and squeaky. I coughed and cleared my throat and this time my voice was loud and clear:

"GET ME OUT OF HERE -- YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS TO ME!"

Verlon was startled, but quickly regained his composure. He looked at me but said nothing. Instead, he took out a cell phone and made a call. When he shoved the phone into his pocket he slowly sauntered over to me with that dumb-hick grin I was all too familiar with plastered on his pock-marked face.

"How ya feelin' lil fella?" he asked me. "Got a lil headache, do ya?"

I fought hard to shake the cobwebs out of my head. "Why am I in a cage? Get me out of here!"

"No can do, cutie, but don't worry yer purdy lil head over it -- the Doc's on his way here -- he's gonna give you a shot that'll send you back to la-la land -- yer gonna feel r-e-a-l good -- just like those nights in your motel room!"

What the hell does THAT mean? "Verlon, please, I'm begging you -- I'll do anything you guys want -- just get me out of here, okay?" I pleaded with him.

Verlon turned to the other guy and they both laughed.

"Hear that, Packy? The lil fella will do anything we want" and 'Packy' said to me, "Don't matter none nohow, boy- in a couple a hours yer gonna be pullin' a train anyhow -- I can wait til then to use yer purdy lil mouth!"

HUH? What the hell does THAT mean? I am sooo tired of the way these hillbillies talk!

For some reason I felt a surge of hope when the door on the far side of the building swung open. Someone's here to rescue me! I thought. My heart sank when I saw the Sheriff and the Doctor walking towards me.

What a silly, foolish man you are, John, I told myself, NO ONE is coming here to save you!

I managed one last plea: "Let me go, Sheriff, and I promise I'll NEVER tell anyone about this town -- I PROMISE!"

Both of the men smiled. Neither of the men even glanced my way.

The Sheriff said to Verlon and Packy, "When I open the gate, you boys grab him and hold him still so the Doc can give 'em some more goofy-juice!"

"Sure thing, Sheriff," the hillbillies answered in unison.

I took a deep breath when I heard the key slide into the lock -- 'Okay, John, get ready' I told myself, and when the door swung open I shoved the gate as hard as I could and burst out of the cage and made a mad rush for the door.