PEG BOY (22 page)

“With my
clientele it will take me a year to get back what I put into them with what they’ll
bring in. If you get your place going there are enough pederast in San
Francisco to make it worthwhile and keep you busy. Somebody on the ship got
them addicted to opium and all they did the first few days was ask for it.
They’re really into it! I guess it makes taking the peg, easier. Patrick is
almost at the last peg already”

“The peg?” McIntyre
had not known they were peg-boys. He could not imagine a boy of eight being
able to take a peg the size of a man’s arm.

“Both of them?
Did you train him up to that?”

Belle nodded
as she sipped wine and puffed on a yellow cigarette that she passed to him,
inhaling the smoke deeply until she felt the effect begin.

“No, he could
already do that. Somebody got to that kid real early. He’s so cute. You’d never
guess the little shit is a sex maniac. That’s another reason I can’t keep him.
I don’t have enough customers to keep him happy. You can take both of them. I
think they want to stay together. Separating them wouldn’t be right.”

“That still
doesn’t settle our little problem. I don’t know why you don’t want the boys to
go on tonight.”

She smiled,
winking at him. “Because if they go on tonight there won’t be anything to
wonder about! The more I thought about your plan this afternoon, the more I
wondered if it was the right thing to do. I decided it wasn’t. None of the
guests were told what to expect. So there won’t be any disappointments. Anyway
the way you have that boy dressed, he’s all but naked and doesn’t need to be
put on the stage for folks to appreciate what he carries between his legs.
Christ, Sam, you really know how to show off your boys!”

“My tailor
does it. He puts them into what he’d like to see them in. That’s why I have him
do my work.”

“That old
letch.” Belle belched as she spoke. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t died from a heart
attack by now. I’m sure he goes crazy trying to keep his mind on his work when
he’s so close to them and touching them like that while he measures and
adjusts.”

“Maybe, but
he’s never gotten out of line. I always ask the boys when they get back and
none of them have ever complained. But that’s not what we’re here to talk
about. So you agree to take Vincent and Richard for the twins?”

“Are you sure
you can’t change your mind about Santiago? I’ll make it well worth it to you.!”

“Belle, there’s
nothing you could offer that would be better than my having Santiago right now.
Maybe in a while when I see how he works out, maybe then I’ll be open for a
swap. Will you be willing to give Vincent back for Santiago if he doesn’t work
out?”

Belle knew
there was something about Vincent that she liked –– a quality about him that
attracted her. He would be putty in her hands! But Vincent was a temperamental
and determined boy who did not get along well with other boys. She has heard McIntyre
complain of that very issue many times. Vincent could cause her problems and
that was one thing she did not want.

“I’ll consider
it,” she said. “Let’s agree to get back together in a couple months and see how
everything is working out. But under no circumstances will I be willing to take
back the twins. That’s a part of the deal that doesn’t change. And Sam…,” Belle
leaned forward to face him. “Remember that those boys are still almost babies.
Try to be kind, for once in your life!”

“Belle, babies
aren’t sex puppets and they don’t dream of having fists up their asses.”

He went to the
sideboard and filled the glasses. “What the fuck are you coming across so high
and mighty for? If you think so much of them why not keep them and give them
one of your tits to suck on!”

“Because this
is the way I can keep my eye on them and...,” Belle reached for a handkerchief
and dabbed her eyes. “Because if they stay here I’ll get too attached to them.
I ain’t no mother, and I'm not about to tempt myself.”

McIntyre was
surprised by her admission. It has never occurred to him that she might have a
sense of motherhood.

He rose to
leave.

“I might as
well go out there and tell the boys they won’t be going on. You know I spent
allot of money on him for tonight, but that’s not the reason why I think
Santiago is going to be disappointed. He’s likes fucking Vincent and I think he
also would have liked being watched by an audience!”

Anthony Bolen
had stopped to speak to Vincent only briefly. He knew McIntyre was busy with
Belle and not sure of when they would return and did not want to be seen
talking with the boys, and especially with Vincent.

Their regular
meetings these past three months had been totally out of line with the way McIntyre
conducted his business, and one slip by Bolen could cause each of them trouble.
It would be easy for McIntyre to have someone mention a little piece of gossip
to Bolen’s wife or to either of his two children that would result in a
confirmation of the suspicions he was sure she was having about her
seldom-at-home husband. He had to be absolutely discreet! Yet he was so
infatuated with Vincent that he could not let him go. He knew McIntyre would
not let him see the boy as often as he wanted because the man had lost several
boys to gentlemen who had fallen in love with his best stock and had taken them
away.

“This is the
boy who lost the gold. I told him about you,” Vincent whispered as he
introduced Santiago. “He is working for McIntyre, now.”

Bolen extended
his hand and he went weak when Santiago took it. The youngster was more
beautiful than Vincent had described and he understood why his boy-lover had
appeared worried about the meeting, wondering if Santiago would become
competition. For this reason Bolen tried to appear unaffected and uninterested.

“Your property
is safe in my keeping and it will be made available to you whenever you are
ready to leave, or when you need it, Santiago. I am happy to be of help and I
am also happy that you and Vincent are friends..., friends are very important
in this town. You can consider me your friend, as well. He is s good boy..., a
very GOOD boy,” Bolen winked to indicate his appreciation for Vincent’s assets.
“Now I must leave you. I see McIntyre has come back. Until Wednesday...,
Vincent?”

McIntyre
spotted Bolen leaving.

“What did he
want?”  He looked at Vincent suspiciously.

“Just saying
hello, and of course he wanted to meet Santiago.”

McIntyre
snickered. “That surprises me. My boys tell me he’s been into street boys,
recently..., the really dirty ones..., and that he’d rather pick up somebody
without knowing names.”

The effect of McIntyre’s
words, what he had hoped for, was evident in Vincent’s eyes as the jealousy
rose and he became angry at McIntyre for saying it, confirming his suspicion.

“By the way,
you boys will not be performing tonight. There’s been a change of plans.”

Vincent
smiled.

Santiago
frowned.

I
t
was not easy for Santiago to adapt to Vincent’s absence. He had become
accustomed to sharing the room and bed with his friend. Even when Vincent did
not come back until the early morning hours he always knew that he would be
back. They had talked about things and Santiago felt he could discuss almost
anything with Vincent. And he liked that the boy did not belittle him for his
lack of sophistication as other boys did.

When McIntyre
had announced that Vincent was to go to work for Belle, he had seemed almost
happy with being given one day to get his things together and move to his new
location. Santiago wondered if they would see each other. In the five weeks
they had been friends and that he had been working for McIntyre, he had seen a
number of boys come and go. Some did not work well and were moved elsewhere and
some ran away when they found that more was expected of them than what they had
thought. Occasionally a boy would return from an appointment and beg McIntyre
to choose his clients more carefully after showing the marks of perversity they
had been forced to endure. Once a boy left he was not safe on the streets and
would find trying to work for himself almost impossible, and many would return
asking to be reinstated. But McIntyre never took a boy back if he had run away
and those that did, usually drifted into oblivion.

Not a day
passed without Santiago wondering about his friend, and the room itself was a
constant reminder. Much of his time was occupied by a continuous flow of men
who praised the outstanding beauty and achievements of McIntyre’s new boy. But
the in-between hours when his time was his own were spent recalling his past
life in Peru with Fidel, whose face he had begun to forget. His mind would also
drift to the terrible times in the mountains of the Sierras where he had become
a man and murderer all at once. So much had happened to him! So many people had
crossed his path and each had left a mark –– some had left a stain on his
spirit.

Santiago Cali
was reserved for the high-paying customers. Like most of McIntyre’s boys,
Santiago had begun consuming large amounts of opium and hashish. There was
always at least one boy on each floor with a good supply. The rumor spread
among the boys that McIntyre planned to open a peg-house and many wondered if
they would be selected to service the new venture. It was not a popular
aspiration. From what Santiago had understood from McIntyre, it seemed that
most of the current boys would be too old for the venture. Excepting the twins,
Santiago, now fourteen, was the youngest in McIntyre’s stable. He had seen the
twins on the morning they had arrived by carriage, well shielded from public
view. They were roomed somewhere on the third floor, to which no one was
allowed access. Meals were brought to them and only at night were they allowed
to go out for a walk with one of McIntyre’s men. That they were already trained
pegboys gave them a certain notoriety.

Santiago had
just finished with a man who had been coming to him regularly when one of McIntyre’s
men walked in on them.

“Session’s
over, boys! McIntyre wants to see you, Cali.”

The man was
left standing naked as Santiago was hurried to slip on his pants and shirt. He
followed Shanks, worried about the reason for being called by McIntyre so early
in the day. To the best of his recollection he had followed all the rules McIntyre
had drilled into him in his first week. Perhaps it was about the unsuccessful
visit he had made to Belle’s to see Vincent. Maybe McIntyre had had him
followed to see what he would do? Maybe it has something to do with Bolen, who
had come looking for Vincent. When Bolen had been told that Vincent was away
and not available, he had been offered Santiago and he accepted. They had made
love several times that afternoon and Bolen had returned every day that week.
Then he had not come back after Santiago had taken the risk of telling him
where Vincent could be found.

Santiago and
Shanks went by carriage to the Eldorado Hotel. McIntyre was surrounded by
drawings and sketches of buildings. He looked up quickly and motioned for
Santiago to wait while he completed business.

“I have
received good reports about you,” McIntyre said, inviting Santiago to sit
closer. “They tell me you are doing well. And you’re customers are saying that
they are very satisfied. You are quite a lad! I knew that the afternoon we had
sex that you were born for this kind of work!”

Santiago was
unimpressed with the praise. That McIntyre thought that he was born for the
work he was doing, made him irritated.

“I have a
special assignment for you. As you probably heard, I am going to expand my
operation. The place is almost completed and we should be ready to move in two
or three days. I bought a warehouse and have had the insides completely
refurbished so that we will be able to offer our customers as many as thirty
boys, all of whom will have their private rooms. There will be a place to
gamble and a place where the boys will be on display. There will also be steam-bath
and message rooms.

“You are going
to be one of the first to inaugurate McIntyre’s Peg House. Right now, I have
six other boys ready for work. I want to meet with all of you and answer any
questions you might have, before we begin operation.”

McIntyre sat
back, hands folded on stomach, smiling the kind of smile that Santiago had come
to recognize as one that said
you will do what I say!
. As he was
speaking, McIntyre opened a tin and pushed it toward Santiago. The boy dipped
the fingernail he had let grow long, into the powder. McIntyre lit a
long-stemmed pipe, puffed several times, then passed it on. The smoke had an
immediate effect. Santiago noticed that it took less time for him to feel the
effects of the pipe each time he smoked it. Sometimes he would lie awake at
night unable to sleep because he could think of nothing else but smoking and he
would make the rounds of the rooms looking for someone who had something to
give him. Santiago took the pipe greedily. McIntyre smiled.

Santiago had
heard the other boys talking about the peg-houses. He did not want to be cooped
up all the time in such a place. Although he had not been allowed much time
into the streets, it was not as if he was being held prisoner. But it was what
he had heard happened in such places. Obviously it was where McIntyre wanted
him. Yet it seemed that McIntyre was asking him to make the decision. Could he
say no?

“Señor, I am
not unhappy doing what I have been doing for you. And as you say, the men who
have come to me have been well treated. I have heard about these peg-houses and
I think I would prefer staying here.”

McIntyre’s
frown made it obvious that it was not what he had wanted to hear but he stayed
calm.

“My boy, there
are some things that we are born to do. Sometimes we need to see what those
things are by being forced to look at our options. Take my advice when I tell
you that it would be to your advantage to decide in favor of my request. Would
you like to do that?”

Santiago was
surprised that McIntyre was not raging, as he was not used to having his orders
refused. Normally he would have exploded and yelled, forcing what he wanted by
threats or physical punishment. He had seen the man react in a similar fashion
many times with other boys. This time he was making an effort to withhold his
wrath.

Santiago
persisted.

“Please, I
would like to stay at the rooming house.”

A shadow
passed over McIntyre’s face and his eyes narrowed as the muscles around his jaw
bulged. He sat up and reached for the half-smoked pipe that Santiago had just
put down.

“So be it! You
may go now. Come to see me when you change your mind..., and you will!”

The dismissal
had been curt, with no mistaking the threat in the tone of voice. Santiago went
outside to find the carriage gone. He would have to walk back to the rooming
house and he did not mind doing so as it offered some time to think before he
would be put back to work. The weather was sultry with the wind blowing off the
bay. Although the sun was shining he could see the bank of fog spilling over
the western hills, and he knew that soon the air would turn cold and damp. It
was May and although the winter has passed, its presence could still be seen on
the mountains to the East.

Walking along
Kearney Street Santiago slowed as he passed Dennison’s Saloon. Thinking that he
had seen a familiar face, he stopped and looked in. Although the man did
resemble the captain, it was not Alvarez but the thought of the man brought
forth a flood of  other memories about a time not so long ago when he had been
a young boy fresh from the hills of Peru on board ship with his father, heading
for a land of gold. They would return to St. Cecilia as the wealthiest of men!

It had been
some time since Santiago had thought of Don Emelio. That realization depressed
him. He was struck with a heaviness of the fact that in the past few weeks he
had seldom thought about those who had been dear to him. Santiago saw his
mother, her quiet form sitting by the window looking toward the hills. May had
been the month of her birth. The date had come and gone without his notice. He
heard the sound of his brother’s voice..., its teasing and commanding quality
and even though he had disliked Emelio just before he had been killed, he ached
to touch him now. And there was Fidel! How could an emotion that had been so
compelling now be so weak as to have resulted in so few thoughts in the past
months? Santiago reached into his soul to sense its contents, feeling for the
emotions that seemed lost and he found emptiness.

The harbor was
only a block away and it beckoned him. He walked in thought, tears falling
freely. There was such an overwhelming ache in his heart and such a need to
touch someone or be touched that he began to run and only when he came to the
edge of the pier did he stop, realizing he had almost plunged into the water.
He sat on a piling. The sun was hidden by fog. Everything was gray. The water,
land, and the hills in the distance became vague as he was enveloped by a cold mist.
From behind he heard the tolling bells of Mission Dolores announcing vespers.
It would take much too long to walk there to be in time for the service. It
would be better to be there alone so that he would not be recognized by parishioners.

The interior
of the church was almost empty. Save for the few candles lighting the altar,
the rear of the church was in darkness. Santiago walked to the small chapel to
the left of the main altar. The benches he and his father had carved were now
all stained and varnished. He fingered the scroll-work of the end panels and
ran his hand along the smooth finish beneath the seats where no varnish had
been applied. He felt the wood grain, silken, cool. He remembered another place
where he had often felt the grains of wood..., where the smell of wood had been
the only smell that had been with him since he could remember. When Santiago
had been old enough to crawl to the wood shop, he had watched Don Emelio plane
the planks, enthralled by the curled slivers that peeled away and had fallen to
the floor. They had been his first playthings.

Santiago heard
the voice of the priest speaking to an elderly woman and remembered where he
was, sitting in the shadows. The smell of candles and incense, the muffled
rustling of women’s skirts as they knelt and then stood again as they observed
the stations of the cross, the echo of a place built for hundreds but only
attended by a few, infused him to manifest the phantoms that had become visions
before his eyes and a cry of anguish sounded throughout the church as the
priest looked up to catch a glimpse of a boy running through the heavy doors.
There had been something familiar about the boy but the priest could not
remember.

Neither of the
two men he was to service that night, kept the appointment. Sometime around
eleven o’clock Santiago felt hungry and realized he had not eaten that day. But
there was another hunger. He wanted to be touched, to be held. He also wanted
to smoke to soothe the pain in his heart. Santiago made the rounds of the rooms
that did not have the little card tacked to the door that showed the boy within
was occupied. Those who were not occupied spoke to him but did not open their
doors as they were accustomed to doing. None admitted to having anything he
could smoke or snort and he knew some were lying. He had offended none of them
yet they seemed to be shunning him. He had to find relief!

There were no
lights in the café and the door was locked. He made his way to the rear of the
building where a candle glowed through the window and he saw the kitchen
deserted. Santiago knocked on the window and its frame rattled. A cat,
frightened by the noise jumped from the shadows and startled him. He knocked
again. Somewhere within he heard movement. Again he tapped at the pane when saw
Wexler, kerosene lamp in hand, lifting it to the window to see who was
demanding entrance.

“I am Santiago
Cali, the boy you helped several weeks ago. Please, can I come in?”

“But it is
late, boy! What do you want? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt?”

“I am not
hurt. I wondered if I could have something to eat. I would spend the night with
you.”

Wexler’s heart
instantly went out to the boy because of the way he had asked for help. He knew
Santiago’s problem. McIntyre had discussed it over dinner that evening. And as
always Wexler had pretended to look busy while he had stayed close enough to
hear McIntyre say he had put a freeze on the boy until he agreed to do what was
expected of him. McIntyre was sure the boy would come to his senses and comply.

Wexler hoped
the boy had not been followed. It was against his better judgment to help but
he could not turn Santiago away. He could also not turn down the offer to keep
his bed warm.