Page 31 of Troy

“Can I help you?” I inquire, getting to my feet, hoping he will move away but he doesn’t. His face darkens with an angry flush and then I recognize him. Ferdie Deschamps.

“I think we need to have a talk, Mr. Ballantyne.” He sneers at my name as if its distasteful.

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t have anything to say to each other. Good day.” I step past him but his hand strikes out and captures my arm.

“It won’t take long, I just need to clear up a couple of issues. Both regarding my sons.” His grip tightens and, as much as I want to make a disturbance, something inside me wants to hear what he has to say.

“Fine, you can have five minutes of my time.” I shake loose of his grip. “Lead the way, Deschamps.”

He bristles at my improper use of his name. “It’s Senator to you, you cock-sucking faggot!” He whispers angrily at me as we make our way to the front entrance.

His driver opens the passenger door of a luxurious car and for a moment I’m uneasy. Something tells me I shouldn’t do this. A sharp nudge in my back has me backing away.

“I don’t think so, Ballantyne; get in the fucking car.” Deschamps hisses in my ear then pushes me forward, and I stumble into the black town car. Deschamps next to me, the car speeds down the street. As his agitation grows, he scrubs his hands up and down his thighs.

“What the fuck are you on, Deschamps? Because right now you look high as a kite.” My hand is in my pocket, holding my cell phone. I’m trying to swipe the screen to open it. I’m sure the last person I spoke to was Raff but I don’t give a shit, so long as someone answers.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re filth, you’re nothing but a rapist and a pedophile. You need to have that mouth of yours silenced for good.” Spittle, collecting in the corners of his mouth, flies out as his arms flail.

It only takes a few more minutes before the car starts to slow down. Looking around, I discover we are down by the lake, in the built-up, factory area. It appears empty; I suppose, as it’s the weekend, there isn’t much going on.

I catch myself saying something I never thought possible. I’ve never been defined by my lifestyle or my profession. “You know who I am, right?” This catches his attention, “I mean, you know that I’m well-known, especially in this city. People will have seen me in the hotel coffee shop, they have CCTV cameras everywhere. I’m damn sure your face is well-known, too. Do you want that? Do you want to be seen with ‘someone like me’?” The air quotes bother him.

“It doesn’t matter: they won’t be seeing you again. And I was just there looking for my honored and decorated Army vet son. We had some unfinished business.”

Somehow that doesn’t seem like a happy, ‘welcome home’, father-son reunion in the making. Then the car stops and the nutter next to me lashes out, his fist ploughing into my cheek. Pain explodes across my face as his ornate signet ring splits the skin below my eye. Funny how I’d noticed it earlier and thought it ugly, but, Christ, this hurts.

The driver opens the door and drags me out by the scruff of my neck. I know I need to keep my head down and ride with the punches. This is either going to kill me or kill Rafferty; the fear of what is going to happen to me is overshadowed by the thought of Raff’s pain. My only saving grace is the phone in my pocket. Someone calls my name but it is too muffled to know who answered. After being dragged across the rough ground, I’m tossed into a corner between a warehouse and a dumpster. There’s no fucking way I’m going down without a fight!

I push myself up and glare at the fucked-up asshole in front of me. Even with blood dripping down my face, I manage to make him take a pace back.

“Is this your answer to your son’s… I don’t know what you want to call it, an aberration? To take me out? What does that do? What do you actually hope to gain from this?” I wipe the back of my hand over the cut on my cheek and bring it between us. “Is it just about beating down another ‘faggot’ or do you actually get a kick out of this?”

I look him over and spot him take something from his pocket. Shit! It’s his leather belt. “Did you bring that to use on me or to take it to your son’s back again? Which son do you intend to use it on? Raff or Corrie?

The fury on Deschamps face builds, his hand clenches hard around the belt, and he takes a step towards me. I hear his driver calling him to hold back as he rushes up to him.

“Give me the belt, Sir.” I wait to see if he is going to stop this but Deschamps pays him no attention.

The man looms over me but I’m still standing. “Scum like you should be wiped off the earth. Dirty animals, that’s all you are. Filth that needs to be put down like a dog.”

His eyes are wild, deranged even, as I stand my ground and laugh. “You’re the sicko here, Deschamps; preaching family values when you terrorized and beat your own. Did you start on Corrigan when you kicked your firstborn out?”

His eyes widen with shock and surprise. “That little shit deserved everything he got, he turned Corrigan gay, too. He got to him first, I should have killed him when I had the chance. At least the fucker is a cripple now. He’s not going to attract many cocksuckers now.”

Laughter erupts from me. “You can’t turn someone gay, you prick. It’s something you are born with, like your eye and hair color. If Corrigan’s gay then good for him, it’s fucking awesome. He left you, too, didn’t he? He got out as soon as he could, where’s your family to brag about? Where’s your wife? Do you take your fists and belt to her now?”

His fist connects again, breaking my nose. With blood gushing out of the new injury, I manage to smile. “You’re such a loser, Deschamps. I’ll out you, you know that, right? I’m a damn sight richer than you and I won’t stop till you are rotting in jail. You had to bring your thug with you, you had to drag me downtown simply because you don’t like to lose. You know, with your sons back together, you will go down because I will help them: I will ruin you.”

Deschamps loses it and throws another punch. This time I block him and twist his arm back until I hear him squeal. Releasing him, he snarls as he massages his injured arm for a second, then he whirls on me and blows rain down on me. The kicks and snaps of the belt buckle are relentless. I drift away as consciousness flees. The pain stops and there is nothing but darkness.

“Stop! Enough, Senator; you’re gonna kill him.”

“Tesoro, wake up. It’s not your time yet. Wake up, amore mio.” Franco’s voice fills my mind and then I see him, holding my hand while pushing my hair away from my bloodied face. “Go back to him, Troy. Raff needs you. I love you, Troy, but so does he. It’s his turn, tesoro; go back to him.”

Weightlessly, I move but I don’t know how. The pain is back and I choke as blood fills my throat. An insistent beeping sounds in my ear, I hear voices but don’t recognize them—if this is supposed to be heaven, then don’t bother. It’s too loud, too confusing, too many hands on me, and I struggle to break free. There is another sharp pain in my arm and I’m back at peace, in the dark again. I hunt for Franco; I can’t do this on my own.

“I think I’d better get home, Corrie; Troy will think I’ve been kidnapped.” I chuckle, I’ve had such an amazing time with my brother. We never stopped talking, wanting to know everything that happened to each other over the last ten years. Although he mentioned our father, it was only to confirm his hatred of him. He started on Corrigan after I left, but now our mother did intervene and threatened to divorce him if he did it again. Shame she didn’t have the balls to do that for me!

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