The Gentlemen's Club

The suit fit well, though he struggled briefly with the tie. The twenty minutes passed quickly, and the bald goon was back again to escort him down the stairs, into an awaiting limo outside. The car didn't move after the door slammed shut behind him, and there was no one else but the drive inside. Ten minutes more, and Gregory entered the car, too, this time flanked only by the man from before, which Taylor figured to be some kind of security. With a wave of Gregory's fat finger, the car was moving..

Gregory stared, dead-eyed, at his phone for five blocks before glancing up and seeming to notice Taylor for the first time.

"What's that?" Gregory asked, nodding slightly in the boy's direction.

Taylor raised an eyebrow, hesitating to annoy the man with a question, but not knowing how to respond. "The suit?" he ventured.

"Your wrist. What is that?"

Taylor glanced down, and spotted the edge of a yellow-green bruise creeping from outside his cuff. He looked at the other wrist, but and found a similar one along the palm.

"Bruising, sir," Taylor said quickly. Gregory seemed even more confused. "From the Club," he added.

"They're brutes up there," he said, though he didn't seem terribly bothered as he went back to his phone. After a pause, he went on, still not troubling to look up, "There was a time when this was about money. About actual power." Gregory shook his head, apparently mildly saddened by the development. He set the phone down suddenly, undid the latch of his watch, and slid it off his wrist to hand to Taylor. "Put it on. It won't hide all of it, but it's something."

Taylor accepted it silently and slid his hand through the band, uncertain if he should feign gratitude.

"Your father is not a very well-liked man," the man said.

Taylor found it hard to keep the man's gaze. He had a hard face, and there was harsh judgment behind his eyes. He waited for Gregory to go on and, when the man didn't, Taylor found it hard to hold back.

"He might not be a good man, but he wants the world to be fair," Taylor said. "I don't blame him for that," he added after a moment. "Sir."

Gregory snorted. "If fairness was all he was after, we might let him be. Runs against what we do, of course, but it would be commendable none-the-less." Gregory shook his again. "That's not what your father wants. And it's not fame or power either. Men like him... Do you read the Bible?"

Taylor shook his head.

"David and Goliath. You know that one, at least. And your father," Gregory paused, seeming to debate it, "he doesn't want to be either of them," he said, leaning closer. "He just wants to be the stone. He wants to be thrown at something grand and see it all comes crashing down around him, knowing that he did the damage. He ended something bigger than himself, something glorious. And that makes him just a bit glorious, too." Gregory leaned back, and gestured toward a cigar, which the bald man clipped and lit. "That's what I think."

"I thought you said he didn't want fame," Taylor said.

Gregory waved him away. "Glory, I said. That's not the same thing. The suicide bomber isn't doing it to have their name in the history books. It takes balls to die for a cause like that. Even if it's stupid. And cowardly."

"So you believe it then?" Taylor asked. "That this club is doing good in the world?" Gregory raised a bushy eyebrow, and undid the button to his jacket, saying nothing. "I haven't seen much of what you people-"

"Hey, I thought they were your people now."

Taylor nodded. "I haven't seen much of what we do day to day, so I don't know about that. But I've been inside the club." He waited until Gregory nodded for him to continue. "I saw extortion, blackmail, wasted billions... Even now with me and my father. If he's in it for glory, fine, but I've seen some of the work he does. If you take him away from that work, I think the world's a little worse off." Taylor frowned, trying to work out the words. "There might be plans he interferes with, but he does work that helps a city. I don't see a way that it can be right to stop that."

Gregory puffed at his cigar, and said nothing.

"I'm not just here to save my father. I want to believe The Gentleman's Club actually does collude for some... higher purpose. Frederick said that's what we do. If that's true, that's something my father would join willingly. It's something I'd fight hard for, too."

Gregory looked away and thought for a long moment. The security sat stone-faced through all of it, watching the seat ahead of him blankly. Taylor watched a vent in the room suck the cigar smoke up in a neat line, carrying it off to spill outside.

"Well," Gregory sighed after several minutes, "Some of us try, at least," he said, with a weary expression. "And f this meeting doesn't go well, perhaps we've fallen short once again."

"I need to believe it," Taylor said, and the older man looked confused again. "Not that you'd hurt him, that this place is capable of good. He needs something to work toward, if there's any chance of him joining us. It's not enough to threaten him."

"The time for threats is past, son." He held up a hand, as the boy tried to cut in again. "But I understand you're point. And that's been accounted for, believe it or not. He wants improvements to public transportation, he wants to hold several developers accountable, he wants to see better numbers in the education budget. Etcetera. There are colleagues of his, and staff of his, that are ours." Gregory shrugged, "We could alleviate these issues, until he sees the bigger picture. If he truly cares about these ends, he can take our help without cost, while he gets to live and see his wife unharmed.

"A three month grace period," Gregory said. "That's the last and final offer we grant, do you understand?"

"Three months is nothing." Taylor said. "I'm sorry, but that's nothing in his work. He won't have-"

Gregory held up a finger to silence him. "I said we assist him. In three months with us, he'd finish two years of projects. But know this: I'm not here to debate you. You're here as a show pony. He sees you're unharmed, he listens to my deal. That's it."

Taylor bristled at the word "unharmed", but let it go. The gesture with the watch suddenly seemed a lot more hollow.

"Need I remind you," Gregory said, "That you need me a lot more than I need you. If your father says no, Sam here's severing his windpipe in the parking garage and no one's going to try and find out why. Then you don't get your vote, and your best bet is to keep them satisfied for on your knees for as long as you can. Remember to struggle. They fuckin' love that over there. They're goddamn brutes, remember?"

Taylor felt the spittle against his flushed cheeks, but the threats were nothing new. "You're not my only option for another vote."

Gregory scoffed. "Is that so?" Taylor sensed the trap, but nodded. "Well, I look forward to seeing how you win over Old Nelson Braugh, king of textiles in Southeast Asia, owner of the largest fleet of cargo ships in the world. Faithfully married to a wife of forty-seven years. Outside of a sincere belief that those outside the white race don't qualify as human beings, and the kind of crushing greed that leads a man to prey on impoverished nations, you'll find it hard to pin a vice on him. I've heard the man condemn Bingo as the devil's work. Now why didn't Frederick send you into Thailand, I wonder?" Gregory said, his eyes cold. "Maybe he just fancied some of our world famous brisket, I suppose."

Taylor felt his heart racing, and tried to remember it probably wasn't as bleak as that. If Gregory hadn't wanted his help, he wouldn't be trying to scare him. It's what the other man had said, George, the Jersey thug. They only try to scare you when they want something.

"I've taken bigger risks," Taylor said slowly. "I'll help you in anyway that I can, but... not at any price."

Gregory pulled a hard pull from the cigar, and spat it back out. "From what I gather, the only help you have to offer, I can already get for free. But you're right," he said, readjusting himself in the seat. "I think I do want some help. Get on your knees, boy."

Taylor watched him back blankly.

"I'm not talking to Tom here, boy. Get on your goddamn knees. You owe me four weeks of work, little cub."

Taylor tried to swallow, and found his throat suddenly dry. "You said you wanted me to talk-"

Gregory shifted his hips and began to undo his belt. "Come on now, you can talk to him" he said, ignoring the boy. "Don't mind Tom here, he doesn't care."

Taylor froze.

"Quick with it, boy. Tom, help him."

The bald man turned, but Taylor held him off. There had been enough of that.

Taylor stepped forward, kneeling onto the carpet of the limo. The older man had undone his belt and zipper, but his pants were still around his waist. Gregory lifted himself and allowed Taylor to pull them down to his thighs, dragging a pair of purple silk boxers down with them.

His cock was limp, and buried in coarse black hairs. He was cut, and had a belly that nearly protruded over it, but it was otherwise all the same as the rest he'd encountered this week. Except for Frederick, he thought, as he wrapped his lips around the head, and gently slid it inside his mouth, wetting it.

He slid his way down the short shaft slowly, drawing the skin taught, sucking hard as he glided back again, making sure to flick beneath the head with his tongue. Slowly, but surely, the man stiffened against his tongue. Taylor pulled his mouth away, and gently scooped the man's sack into his mouth as he stroked Gregory's cock with hands sticky from his own saliva. Gregory pulled him away quick, though, and pushed his swollen head back between the boy's lips. After a moment, his hands wound their way into Taylor's hair, and he began to pump his hips, stroking himself against the boy's tongue. Taylor closed his eyes, feeling the fattened head punching closer and closer into the opening of his throat, waiting for the end.

"You hold my cum, boy," Gregory said, his voice broken and husky. "You hold it all night. I'm going to make sure you don't say a goddamn word." He continued to pump wildly, the wet sounds as he penetrated the boy's lips growing louder. "You swallow a fucking drop, and I'll kill him in front of you. You understand me boy? I'll stab his fuckin' face apart on the goddamn table," he growled, peeling one of Taylor's eyelids back to stare at him in the face. Gregory came as their eyes met, the old man grimacing hard as his load splashed against Taylor's throat, which the boy was nearly too slow to gag back up into his mouth.

"Let me see it," Gregory demanded, before he'd even pulled himself fully out.

Carefully, Taylor opened his mouth wide for Gregory to inspect, which took longer than seemed reasonable. After a long moment, the man nodded, and pulled his cock back into his boxers.

"A single drop less than that, and he dies in front of you. Do you understand?"

Taylor readjusted the slippery mess onto his tongue, and nodded. And, more importantly, he believed him.

"You sit there, you say nothing, you communicate nothing. You do nothing he says. You do everything I say, when I say it. You don't make eye contact with anyone."

Taylor, seeing no way to argue, nodded.

"You do this, your father leaves alive. And if you are on your absolute best behavior, I'll give you my vote in one hour's time." Taylor had to brace himself, to stop from swallowing in surprise. "Hell, we could be teaching you how to hide your money before you get the taste of me out of your teeth." Gregory was all smiles and grandfatherly warmth again.

Sam waited for the old man to button his belt before swinging open the door and letting them both outside. A crowd dressed in black suits and white gowns was surrounding the limo, and what looked like an usher was peeking inside to lend them a hand out. Taylor waved him back and did his best to make his face look normal as he stepped out, the bitter taste in his mouth sloshing back and forth across his tongue.

It was easy to see the place was filled with other politicians. All picturesque and heatedly reciting statements to the nearby cameras that lined the door. Gregory charged through the center of them, attracting not a single glance as they passed through the great glass doors that lead to the wide state room inside. The seats were sparsely populated, with most of the guests still removing jackets or standing to talk with others.

Wordlessly, Sam gripped Taylor by the arm and lead him to a table near the far corner, seating him in a chair that faced the center of the room. His eyes scanned the faces of the people around them, never once falling on the boy. His grip remained in place. Looking down at the table's seating chart, it certainly didn't seem to be set for them, unless they were using assumed identities. It seemed as plausible as anything else that had happened.

He sat in silence, watching Gregory make his way from group to group, leaning in close to talk, laughing at their jokes, seeming to be without a care in the world. It was a surprise then when the man suddenly nodded in his direction, with Sam lifting his arm to wave in return. A head peaked from behind the crowd to see, and Taylor felt his stomach plummet in a way it hadn't before, even in that first terrible night. It was his father.

Whatever conversation followed, Taylor couldn't see it. They were both hidden again by the crowd of strangers. It seemed to drag on for hours. The seats were filling quickly. It wouldn't be long before the rightful owners of their table showed up, and then what? Would they have to leave?

And then, Gregory was headed back to them, his face suddenly hard again. To Taylor's absolute dread, his father followed behind. It was a long walk back across the hall, and with every step they took, Taylor felt the heavy puddle pooled around his tongue, and the unbearable weight of guilt that came with it.

"Jesus, Taylor. I'm so sorry," his father said, when he reached the table. "Are you okay?"

"You may nod," Gregory said, his eyes locking on Taylor's.

The boy nodded.

"I want to hear him speak for himself," his father said, turning to Gregory with what seemed like barely controlled rage.

"I haven't allowed him to. And so he will not," Gregory informed him.

They both turned to Taylor, who sat in perfect stillness. He felt the sweat that had suddenly began to spill from every pore in his body.

"He is alive," Gregory went on. "And he is here. You will be free to take him with you, if you've changed your mind on my offer. Your wife, too, will be allowed free."

Taylor stopped himself from swallowing again in his rush to talk. His father didn't seem surprised by the news, but Gregory flashed him a warning look to stay silent.

"This is insane. You won't get away with it."

"But we do, Mr. Senator," Gregory assured him. "And we have for time out of mind. Think of the shame and scandals that will follow them. Think long and hard, Senator. Not just what your voters will think, but what they themselves would need to live with when you're gone."

Taylor watched his father grow from red to purple. He'd never seen his father get angry before. He could shout to make a point, but it was in the deliberate way of politicians making a point. But never got truly angry. He went right passed it and into blind rage. It took quite a lot to get him there, but here he was at the edge of it now.

"Or," Gregory added delicately, "We give you every assistance you may need. We bury this information we've acquired. Your wife and child we vow to leave unharmed. And we give you this choice to join us again in three months. If you decline, we'll have you ended humanely, with no others involved. It is our final offer."

The veins in his father's face were pulsating wildly, and he shot glanced between Gregory and Sam like a trapped animal deciding which limb to bite off.

"It is not about you, Senator," Gregory chided him. "It is about the suffering they will live through. Taylor, stand up."

Taylor was on his feet by instinct.

"Come here, dog."

He stepped to Gregory's side, facing his father, but keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. His father's hand grabbed him gently by the arm.

"Spit."

He knew the stakes, even if his father didn't. He let the milky load spill from his lips onto his father's chest. His father, far from being pushed over the edge, instead staggered backward. Gregory didn't try to help him, and instead watched as he stumbled and regained his footing again.

After a very long silence, his father nodded.

"Excellent," Gregory said.

11

His father held him for the briefest moment, before pulling him into the car behind him. Gregory had allowed it, losing interest the moment the deal was done.

As the door snapped shut, Taylor remembered the threat. The other way the night could have gone, with his father on the ground, right here, his throat slashed open. He knew Gregory would have slept just as well either way.

His father wasted no time in raising the partition up, once the driver started moving.

"Whatever they did to you, I swear-"

"Don't," Taylor said, cutting him off. "I'm serious, Dad. You can't understand what kind of power they have. You haven't been hurting them. They're just toying with you for fun. This is them being gentle."

His father was turning a darker shade of red again.

"Where's mom? Did they take her?"

His father stopped breathing for a moment, and shut his eyes, but said nothing.

"Is she okay?"

His father kept his eyes shut. "They took her before." Taylor frowned. "What do you mean? When?"

It took a long time, but finally he said, "Last year. We told you she was... skiing."

His mother had been gone for three weeks on a trip to Vale. When she'd returned, she still had the bruises and a new fear of the outdoors after hitting ice and tumbling down a patch of rocky outcroppings. At least, that had been the story he'd gotten.

"And you didn't take the deal then?" Taylor asked, his own blood pressure rising now.

His father shook his head. "They didn't offer one. I didn't know about them until after. She went to the police..."

"And they threw her back out?" Taylor asked. His father nodded.

"Said the results came back that it was... my DNA inside of her. That there was evidence I had done it. Witnesses had come forward," he said, his voice cracking. "My own staff. They said... there was evidence of others I'd..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"And they said it would all go away if you did as they asked?" Taylor ventured.

His father shook his head. "Only if we tried to talk to the police again."

"What did Mom say?"

His father flashed him a dark look. "Not to do a single thing that would help them."

Taylor nodded. It certainly sounded like her. But, he couldn't help but also remember it was the last time the Senator had spent his time at home. He'd taken an apartment in the city soon after. He'd always assumed there was another woman."

"They were going to kill you, Dad. Tonight," Taylor said. "You don't know how hard I've been trying to keep you both alive."

"It's not your job to keep me alive. You're not responsible for what they do."

Taylor shook his head. "I am now. I... I joined them." He knew it would hurt to hear, but it had to be said if the family was going to get through this. They had to know the plan. The look of fear in his father's eyes made him regret it immediately, but there wasn't time to explain as the car suddenly pulled to the side of road, seemingly in the middle of the nowhere. There was a single black car waiting for them.

"What is this?" his father shouted out, dropping the screen between them and the driver. "Jonathan, what's going on?"