7 comments/  15680 views/  17 favorites

A Boy, A Bookie & A Bet

By: Ford2020



The following is an expanded version of a story I wrote five years ago. In that story I sought to capture some of the intense closeness some men can feel for other men, a closeness borne out of shared experiences and common struggles that can often leave friends as close as brothers. I came back to this story because I really liked its message that nothing is more unpredictable than love, which may comes early or late, but always slips in by the back door. I got some fantastic comments to my last story and learned so much from them. For those of you who take time to read this story please consider leaving a comment, no matter how short. I know what I mean to say in a story, but I'm not always sure that comes through until I hear from readers.

Thanks, the author 







Mike Kronos had made all the stops on his rounds except for one. In the course of one of day he had managed to work his way from one end of Baltimore's Old East Side to the other, tracking down his customers, cornering them, cajoling them, and all too often taking every cent they had. Today, Monday, was a busy day for him because it followed a busy weekend loaded with sports; but the fact was that every day was busy for Mike because he was at the beck-and-call of his clients twenty-four hours a day. In the course of a week he could easily see more faces than the average doctor or priest would; and he had to keep careful track of every one of those faces, not to mention the various sums large and small he regularly handed out or took in. The work consumed his days and nights, and Mike had been at it for longer than he cared to recall—longer indeed that most in his line of work. He had made a handsome profit in the business—but at what cost to his private life? He wasn't at all certain he wanted to continue doing it. But then, somebody had to. Such was the life of a bookie.

Mike Kronos was a tough guy, everybody on the East Side knew that. He had grown up on some of Baltimore's meanest streets. He had been on his own since the age of 17. He had worked the docks. He had been a marine. For five long years he had flexed muscle for Tommy Medina's gang. And he had made book in this working class corner of Baltimore for nearly eleven years. He wasn't afraid of anybody or anything—but he did dread what awaited him on this his final stop, which is why he had saved it for last. 

He mounted the steps to the second floor walkup of his good friend Jake Tarnowa's crumbling old apartment building. Jake was the best friend Mike had ever had, closer to him than his own family. But now Jake owed his good friend money. By the standards of some of Mike's flashier, more freewheeling clients, it wasn't much—pocket change really. But for Jake who lived on a small disability check, it was a fortune. 

For several years Mike had chosen to look the other way as Jake's debt mounted, preferring to keep his old friend safe and close to home. The expense of Jake's small weekly wagers didn't amount to much in the great scheme of things, Mike reasoned, and it was a small price to pay to keep Jake away from those sharks downtown that would have swallowed him and his monthly check in a single gulp. The only stipulation in this very special arrangement was that under no circumstances could Jake tell anybody about it. Time and again Mike had hammered this point home to Jake, emphasizing the disaster that might occur if he didn't keep it secret. And his friend seemed to understand. But then a little over two-and-a-half weeks ago when Mike was making one of his regular rounds, one of his most reliable customers begged off paying his tab, offering as an excuse, "The Jake Exception." With those three little words, Mike felt like someone had ripped a hole in his heart while simultaneously delivering a blow to his gut. Instantly, he was thrust into the painful process of damage control.

No bookie can survive a reputation for going soft, for cutting special deals for his friends or looking the other way on their debts. The long sordid history of street corner wagering was littered with the remains of bookies who had lost sight of this truth, and Mike was determined not to be one of them. But now he was confronted with the situation he dreaded most. As much as he hated to, he would have to impose a payment plan on his old friend and actually enforce it, that or cut him off entirely. Any way you cut it, no way was this not going to be a damned unpleasant conversation. Of course Jake knew what was coming. Mike had let him have it big-time on the phone right after he found out; but otherwise, the two had not talked since then. Mike had avoided Jake and the problem for as long as he could; now there could be no more delay.

How much damage this would do to their twenty-five year friendship Mike didn't have a clue. He could only hope it wouldn't end for good. But what other choice did he have? He was trapped. He knew it. And Jake knew it too.

Mike swallowed hard and pounded on the door. He was dying to get this whole ugly chore over with. He had his speech ready, it only waited to be delivered. When the door opened he launched into his spiel. 

"O.K. Jake, now listen up . . ." But instead of Jake, there stood a tall, lanky, loopy-looking kid with a big grin and a shock of curly blond hair.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Wow, you don't remember me. Gee, Mike, I sure as heck remember you. Come on in."

Not entirely certain he was at the right door, Mike peered in before taking a step inside. Sure enough, it was Jake's ratty old apartment.

"Where's Jake?"

"Towson. He went to see Unca Armin."

"Armin: that goddamn two-bit shyster lawyer, self-righteous son of a bitch," snarled Mike. "What's Jake up to going to see that asshole brother of his?"

"That's pretty funny coming from you, Mike. Can't you guess?" The youth's grin seemed to grow even wider. Mike noticed that the kid had not stopped smiling since he entered the place, and it was really starting to rub him the wrong way.

"I wasn't born with a lot of patience, boy. I would strongly suggest you answer the damned question."

"He went to earn some money, of course. So he could start puttin' a dent in that boatload of dough he owes you. Look, dude, he knows he messed up, like big-time. It really crushed him to see how he let you down. I swear he's been on the phone for days trying to scare up a loan or a part-time job or somethin', just so he can maybe buy back some of that trust he pissed away. He hasn't talked about hardly anything else lately. Callin' Unca Armin was like his last shot. Everybody knows Unca Armin's pretty tight and all, so Unca jake didn't really expect anything come of it, but somehow it did. Unca Armin told him to come out to Towson and he'd find somethin' for him to do for the next coupla weeks. It probably won't come to much money—but every little bit helps—right?"

"Wrong!—you empty-headed little mop top," yelled Mike, driving his fist into his palm. "That's the absolute last thing I would ever want Jake to do: go crawling to that tightfisted sleazebag begging for help. Armin's a pig. He's always looked down on Jake because he didn't become some hot-shot piece-of-shit ambulance chaser like him. He'd love to get Jake up at his place and rub his nose in it by making him do every shit job he could find. And then probably wouldn't even pay him minimum wage. Call him. Get him back here. We'll find some other way to work this thing out." 

"Too late for that, Mike. It's past five o'clock. Day's over. Unca Jake was doing some kind of painting in Unca Armin's house, but now he's finishing up. He called right before you got here and said I should keep you here if you showed up. I think he means to surprise you with a big check or somethin'. I'm tellin' you, guy: he's super psyched."

"Super psyched—what does that even mean?"

"I'm just sayin' he was like totally bubblin' over on the phone. Couldn't keep his excitement inside. I'm tellin' you, dude, it's the best mood I've seen him in all week; hell, since I got here. He has a heck of a lot of pride, Mike. You know—like you."

Mike took a long look at the kid. There was certainly more to him than just a big goofy smile and a mop of blond hair. He was really quite tall, over six feet, very nearly as tall as Mike himself. And lanky, yes, but he was no stick. Underneath that tank top and gym shorts was some decent muscle development, especially in through the shoulders and upper arms. Overall, he was pretty well put-together. Fair complexion, smooth skin, bright blue eyes, and a covering of peach fuzz from his chin down to his ankles. It made for a strong impression, Mike had to admit. But he was young, terribly young—probably no more than sixteen, by Mike's calculation. Jailbait; but just the sort of jailbait to make the man's dick jump.

"That's at least the third time you've talked as if you knew me. I'm usually pretty good with faces, kid. How come I don't know yours?"

"I don't know," said the boy with an almost shy laugh. "Maybe because the last time you saw me, I was like twelve years old. As far as you were concerned, I was just some dumb, pimply-faced kid from the sticks following his parents around while they visited his two uncles."

"Wait a sec," said Mike with a start. "Of course, dammit! You're his sister Marla's boy all grown up. And jeez, don't you look like her too. The spitting image. And as I recall they blessed you with the most god-awful nickname I'd ever heard."

"Yeah, Buzz, short for Barry. According to my mom, when I was a kid I used to careen through the house for hours with my arms extended out, buzzing like a plane. Used to drive her absolutely batty."

"So what are you doing here, kid?"

"Lookin' for work. I graduated high school two years ago, and I'm still just helpin' around the farm. Jobs in Somerset County have dried up and blown away. Mom talked Unca Jake into letting me come and stay with him for a coupla weeks and look for somethin' here, Baltimore being such a big town and all. But I'm still lookin'."

Mike went to the old fridge in the cramped little kitchen and pulled out a beer. He opened it and took a swig, and turned back to the boy.

"So when did Jake say he'd be getting back?"

"It'll be a while yet. He says he still had some cleaning up to do. Then he has to catch a bus back."

"A bus," grimaced Mike with a bitter laugh. "Now isn't that just like Armin. He should've offered to give Jake a lift back after working all day. So, uh, boy, shouldn't a kid like you be off in a college somewhere?"

"I tried junior college for a year. Didn't much like it. I wanna get out and do stuff—maybe like some of the stuff you've done, Mike."

Mike bristled and again cast a wary eye at the boy. "And what the hell do you think you know about what I've done?"

"Well, before your present gig makin' book, I know you were a marine. That sounds pretty neat. Wouldn't mind doin' that. And after that you were a bodyguard for some wiseguy named, uh, Medina, I think. You should hear the way Unca Jake talks about that. I mean, he makes that sound really neat."

"Well, you can take this to the bank: your 'Unca' Jake is an idiot. And he talks too much. And you're a fucking little idiot, too, if you think working for a guy like Tommy Medina was some kinda goddamn romp in the park. Don't get me wrong, kid. You'll never catch me saying a thing against Tommy. He gave me a job when I needed one and got me out of a very big jam. He's even the one who got me set up making book on the east side. But working for Tommy was no picnic. I had to do some pretty unsavory things working security for him, and I got sick and tired of it. That's why I'm not doing it today. And a kid like you shouldn't even being joking around about doing stuff like that."

Mike glanced past the youth and spied several set of barbells in various weights scattered about the living room floor. "So—those yours?"

"Yep, just tryin' to stay in shape," said Buzz, pulling on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. "I had to leave my weight bench behind in the barn. It was a beaut. Built it myself. Unca Jake said I could bring some of these free weights along if I kept them out of his way. I'd better finish up my reps and get this all cleared out before he comes in."

Mike looked on as the boy handled the heavy steel weights with surprising ease, hoisting them to his chest and then above his head smoothly and efficiently. The man was duly impressed. Young Buzz was a lot stronger than he appeared.

"Not half bad, boy," said Mike, sipping his beer and slowly circling the boy, closely observing his workout. "You've got real potential. Listen, I do my work at Sol's Gym on Ninth. They've got a hell of a lot better equipment than just a down home weight bench. Sometimes when I'm heading that way, what'd ya say I cruise by here and take you along?"

"Wow, dude. You really mean that? Cool!" Buzz focused all his attention on the weight, controlling its balance by controlling his breathing. Meanwhile, Mike continued to move and watch and admire what he saw. The boy was like a column of clean youthful lines and flowing muscle, encased in pale cool skin. Mike noted how the paleness was starting to give way to a blush of deep incandescent red underneath the skin, and each exertion only served to intensify the effect.

As the warm full color spread across his chest, neck and face, the youth took on a heated sexual glow as well. Eventually, Mike stepped away from the youth and retreated to a window on the far side of the kitchen which looked out on the street below. From there he could observe the movement of people and cars, and try to force his mind onto something other than Buzz. It bothered him that this kid was having such a strong an effect on him, namely, the growing bulge in his pants. Maybe he should reconsider the offer about the gym. He liked the boy, but considering the problems he was already having with Jake, the last thing he needed was for something to happen between him and Jake's only nephew.

Few people knew—Jake being a notable exception—that Mike had a real weakness for slender, good-looking young men. He had had that weakness since he was a kid himself, but in the neighborhood where he grew up, being 'queer' could get you killed so he had always guarded his secret zealously. Early on Mike had gone out of his way to be the strongest, toughest, most virile young guy on the block so that no one would ever dare question his masculinity. That meant that his sexual exploits were few and far between, and even now he generally limited his liaisons to an occasional anonymous pick-up to make sure his secret stayed just that: a secret. 

Interestingly enough, one of the few people who knew of Mike's secret was the mobster Tommy Medina. Not long after leaving the marines Mike was arrested for soliciting sex from an underage boy and was facing some pretty serious charges. Mike needed a lawyer so he called Jake, but rather than call a lawyer, Jake approached Medina whom he had known from his days as a longshoreman. Tommy was able to get the charges dropped. From then on, Mike felt that he owed both Tommy and Jake for his very freedom.

Jake and Mike's friendship went back even further than that, to when Mike was just 17, a high school dropout and on his own. Because he was big and strong, he had managed to get himself signed on as an apprentice longshoreman, one of the few jobs a young man could get in those days that paid decent wages even without a high school diploma. But his prospects of holding onto the job were slim until Jake, an experienced dockman, stepped in and accepted the responsibility of training him, and went out of his way to help him keep the job. Though Mike left the docks just two years later for the marines, he had made a friend for life in Jake and they stayed close. Back then it was Jake who looked out for the welfare of the eager young Mike. In the years that followed the roles seemed to slowly reverse, and especially after a back injury ended Jake's life on the docks for good.

"Say, Mike," said Buzz, abruptly snapping Mike out of his reverie. "You mind if I ask you a big favor."

Mike looked around and was surprised to discover that not only had Buzz completed his workout, he had put the weights away and was now standing in the middle of the living room, running a large towel over his head, neck and torso. The youth had dispensed with the tank top, and the man's eyes were immediately riveted onto the boy's smooth hairless chest, now shiny from an oily sheen of sweat.

"You can ask."

"I heard that you used to be a pretty fair amateur boxer. That true?"

"You might say that. I, on the other hand, would say I was pretty damned good boxer. I took it up in the marines, and for some reason I was just a natural at it. Still got the trophies to prove it. Every so often I like to climb in the practice ring at Sol's and go a few rounds with the young guys training there, just to see if the old reflexes are still workin'."

"Then why not train me? I did a little boxing in my senior year, and was on the varsity wrestling team all three years. My coach actually said that he thought I might be able to compete if I really worked at it."

Mike chuckled. "And that, sunshine, is why there ain't a high school coach worth a Canadian penny. Put you in the ring and all anybody is gonna do is go for the pretty mug of yours. You'd be a sitting duck."

"I already know how to fight, Mike," said Buzz, visibly bristling at the man's implication. "What I need is somebody to help me polish my technique."

"Your technique? Who are you kidding, boy? You don't know what it means to fight. Just look at you. There's not a mark on you. You see this nose: it has been broken more times than I can count, not to mention my collarbone and a couple of my ribs." 

Buzz's face registered indignation and exasperation all at once. "I get it. You don't think I'm good enough . . . or tough enough. Well, I'm plenty damn tough. I guess I'll just have to show you."

The youth set his jaw and began pulling chairs away from the rickety old dining table in the middle of the room. He shoved them in a corner. Next, he began moving all the tattered furniture in the room back against the walls, clearing a wide swath in the center of the living/dining room. Mike stood quietly by, watching with curiosity.

"What's up, buttercup?" he said, mindful that he had just tread on the boy's feelings. "Getting ready to start some new exercises?"

"No," snapped Buzz curtly. "I'm clearing enough room so you and me can spar—right here, right now. I figure the only way I'm ever gonna convince a dinosaur like you that I can fight is to show you what I can do." 

"You're kiddin'—right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Nope, you certainly do not. Jesus, kid, no way was I trying to hurt your feelings—really, I wasn't—but boxing happens to be a subject I know a little something about. And while I'm sure you were a cracker jack little boxer in your high school, amateur boxing at the competitive level: that's a whole different story. I'm just saying you may not be quite ready for that. And I can see I'm not getting through to you at all—am I? OK, tell you what, maybe tomorrow, you and I can go to Sol's—"

"No, now!" insisted the boy, fixing Mike with a fierce stare. "Besides, I may not even be here tomorrow. It has to be now." 

Buzz crossed his arms and stood his ground. Mike was caught off guard by the boy's intransigence, and uncertain what to do. He felt guilty about having been so dismissive of young Buzz's capabilities, and the boy's defiance left him feeling a bit confused.

"I'd get rid of that shirt if I were you," said Buzz, getting ready to fight. "Wouldn't want to rip it. And those nice shiny shoes, too. It would be a shame to see them get all scuffed up." 


A Boy, A Bookie & A Bet



Not sure what else to do, Mike started unbuttoning his shirt and preparing to step out of his shoes. He snorted under his breath and shook his head, pretty certain that Jake would not be too keen on the two of them using his living room for a sparring ring. But something about this kid had managed to crawl under his skin and put a knot in the pit of his stomach. So for now at least, he decided to go along with this screwy idea.

"All right, Buzzhead," said Mike, surrendering a sigh after he was stripped off his shirt and kicked aside his shoes. "We need a few rules here, so this is how it's gonna work. When I put my hands up like this . . ." said Mike, holding up his palms in front of the boy, "and I say 'go,' that's your cue to assume the stance, get your balance and start moving. Then when you're ready, you give me a nice little demonstration of your, uh, technique. Just remember: Go for the hands, not the face. Now, if I feel you're holding back, I may throw in a few little jabs of my own, just to loosen you up, test your reflexes. But don't panic, bright eyes, I wouldn't dream of hurting you."

And with that, Buzz delivered a quick hard blow to Mike's gut and then leveled him with a swift uppercut to his jaw. Mike fell back into one of the wobbly old kitchen chairs and crushed it.

"Oh, and by the way, don't hold back on account of me," said Mike, pulling himself up into a sitting position on the floor and rubbing his aching jaw. "What the flying fuck was that?"

"My, uh, technique," responded Buzz.

"Incidentally, I'm fine, thanks for asking." 

Mike climbed up from the floor. "OK, you made your point . . . and then some. That's a hell of a right hook you've got there . . . for a skinny kid. Tell you what: I'll swing by in the morning—say, 9:00—and pick you up on my way to the gym. Looks like you're gonna get that favor you were fishing for, kid. You should feel honored. I don't agree to train just anybody; in fact, I haven't done it in ten years. But you've got something, and it might be fun seeing how far you can go with it."

"No, Mike," said Buzz, stepping forward. "That wasn't the favor I had in mind—though I sure wouldn't pass up a chance to work out with you, Dude. It's just that I sorta had a different form of training in mind."

"Like what?"

"Unca Jake says you've been working your territory for a long time, and it's got to the point where it's way more business than one man can handle. And he says that you really need somebody to, like, back you up and help you out. You know, like and assistant. And I got to thinking—well, how about me?" 

"Son of a fucking bitch!" snarled Mike, suddenly absolutely furious. He was so incensed that he turned his back on Buzz, spit, and repeated the curse under his breath again. Finally, still shaking his head, he turned back to the boy. "Now listen, boy: I don't know what the fuck has gotten into Jake. I swear he's gone off the deep end. He knows, or he damn well fucking should know by now, to never go dangling something like that in front of anybody without checking with me first. Goddammit, this is fucked up. Look, boy, I'm strictly a one-man operation. That's how I work. That's how I've always worked. And that's how I want it to be. No offense to you, but I don't do partners."

"No, Mike, not partners. Nothing like that. I mean, I get it. This is your game, and it always will be. I would just be around to do whatever you wanted me to do. Listen, I'm a real fast learner. I swear you wouldn't hardly know I was there."

"Sorry, Buzzhead, but it's not up for discussion. Subject's closed."

"But why? . . ."

"It's not personal. You seem like a good kid. Heck, I even like you. But what I don't like is being in a situation where I owe somebody, or I'm responsible for somebody. Shit, that's why I left the docks, and the marines, and even Tommy's gang. I gotta be on my own."

"Mike, please," said Buzz instinctively grabbing the man's shoulders. "Don't say no. Not right now. Give it day. Or a night. Sleep on it . . . or, better yet, why not wrestle me for it."

"Oh hell yeah, I'd take those odds!" laughed Mike, proudly flexing his bicep which was as thick as Buzz's thigh.

"Jeez, dude, not arm wrestling!" yelped Buzz in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "Real wrestling. Full body contact. One-on-one. Basic freestyle. We keep the rules simple: The first to dump the other on his ass five times—your basic takedown—wins."

"Fuck that," snorted Mike. "What if I pin you?"

"Then game over, you win. Free and clear. And I never ask you for anything ever again. Same for me though. If at any point I pin your ass, then I get a shot at that job. And like I said, if nobody pins, then the match goes down to those five takedowns. You're a betting man, Mike. You up for a little challenge?"

Mike had to laugh at the boy's proud demeanor. It was almost too easy. He had at least 30 pounds of pure muscle on this kid. Probably more. And what Buzz couldn't know was that in addition to boxing, Mike had also been a champion wrestler in the marines as well. In fact, in a lot of ways, he even preferred the close contact of hand-to-hand to the stiff formality of the gloves.

"OK, kid. Sure, it's your funeral."

Abruptly remembering where he was, Mike looked around the room.

"But first, we'd better clear a bigger space. Jake would go off the deep end if he knew we were roughhousing in his living room."

Mike pushed the old coffee table into a corner and was about to do the same with an ancient-looking rocking chair when he was suddenly tackled by the youth who sent him and the chair flying. Angrily, Mike got to his feet.

"What are you: a goddamn fucking idiot? I didn't say I was ready!"

"And you didn't say you weren't either. You snooze you lose, dude."

"I'm gonna fucking snooze you, beanhead. That was Jake's favorite chair."

Without warning Buzz lunged forward again and caught a thoroughly shocked Mike around the waist and toppled the two of them into the table and chairs. The table collapsed and the chairs went flying in all directions as both men came down hard onto the thinly carpeted floor. Buzz attempted to shift his weight up and climb onto Mike's torso so as to pin him; but the man acted quickly and used his superior strength to grasp the boy and fling him roughly aside.

"Get the fuck off me! I'm gonna cream you. So that's how you fight: you're a damned little cheater."

"Sorry, Grandpa. Still not ready?"

"Listen up, punk. You don't know Jake like I do. We trash his place, and he liable to come after us with a shotgun. Jesus, what a mess."

"OK, OK," said Buzz, grinning sheepishly and getting to his feet. "It my fault so I'll take the rap. He's always accusing me of being reckless with my weights anyway. I'll just say one of them slipped out of my hands and hit the table and chairs. That stuff was already pretty rickety to start with, you know." 

Buzz helped Mike move the shards of the table aside, and then just as they began picking up what was left of the chairs, Mike dropped the two he was carrying and lunged for Buzz. The boy shoved the chair he was holding at Mike, blocking his legs and causing him to stumble; then Buzz reached out, grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him forward, causing him to fall flat.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" yelled Mike who then scrambled to his feet, lest the boy fall on him and attempt to pin him. "You're one slippery little eel, I'll give you that."

"Speed demon, Mike," said Buzz beaming with pride. "Speed was always my thing, that and being able to think on my feet. Coach said you can't hit what you can't catch."

"Oh, I'll catch ya," said Mike with a devilish grin. "We had a few speed demons in my day too. I know your game. I've beat your game. Hit and run: that's what we used to call it. But nobody can run forever."

Slowly, surely, Mike began to counter the boy. He started by backing Buzz away from the center of the room, cutting off his escape routes. As Buzz went through his dance-like motion, bouncing lightly on the soles of his feet, his balance began to grow more tenuous as he tried to keep one eye on the man and the other on obstacles in the room and the rapidly decreasing amount of space left to him to operate in. Finally, he tripped over some debris and went to his knees. Mike opened his arms and flew toward him, but Buzz, waiting until the very last moment, rolled on the floor, extended his long left leg out, and knocked Mike's legs out from under him, toppling the man right into the old coffee table. Now loudly muttering in frustration, Mike shook his head and got to his feet once again.

"I don't fucking believe this."

"Believe it, Mike. That's four-zip."

Just then, someone banged on the wall and began yelling that he was ready to call the cops if the racket in Jake's apartment didn't stop. The boy remained in his stance, but Mike straightened up and raised his hands in an obvious show of backing off.

"Well, that's it for me, kid. I always take a step back when people start talking about calling the cops."


"Are you conceding?" asked Buzz, relaxing and also straightening up.

"Me: quit? You've gotta be kidding. I don't give up a fight. I'm just suggesting we call a truce for now—king's X—and then tomorrow we can take this thing to where it should have been in the first place: the gym. I'd say we've done enough damage for one day—wouldn't you?"

Mike noticed that the boy was still eyeing him suspiciously. The hint of a sly smile formed along the edges of the man's mouth. He suddenly took a step toward Buzz and extended his hand, startling the boy who quickly jumped back.

"Shall we shake on it?" said Mike.

"Heck, no!" said Buzz, shrinking away from the hand. "I don't trust you."

Mike chuckled. "Now what are you afraid of? You're the one up four-one."

"Four-zip, Mike."

"Damn, right. Four-zip. Look at you: you're sittin' pretty. You know, kid, you really oughta take me up on my offer. When I put my hand out, it means something." Mike took another step in the boy's direction, and again Buzz shied away.

"I'll bet," said Buzz half under his breath. "Can we just call a timeout without all the damned handshaking—OK?" said the youth, continuing to keep his distance. Mike finally shrugged and gave up, and turned to survey the damage. He was genuinely shocked by what he saw.

"When the fuck did we find time to destroy the place? Well, I can tell you right now: Jake's gonna go plumb crazy."

"For sure. And I don't think that bit about me dropping a weight is gonna fly now. What are we gonna do, Mike?"

"We do what we can," said Mike with a sigh. "Cone on, let's get some of this mess cleaned up." He grabbed the overturned table which was basically a big square wooden top with a thick base attached and attempted to right it, but the heavy base attachment promptly fell off. 

"Damn," muttered Mike.

"I got it," said Buzz who lifted the base. "Where are we gonna put this?"

"In the corner," said Mike, nodding to a position in a far corner of the kitchen. Buzz followed Mike into the kitchen and observed as the man stood the square top against the wall. When Buzz moved in to place the base alongside it, Mike reached over and hooked his arm around the boy's waist.

"Let go, you cheat!" exclaimed Buzz dropping the heavy base.

"Who you callin' a cheat, sweetheart? There wasn't a single regulation move in that little demonstration you just put on out there." Already Mike had spun Buzz around and clasped the boy from behind, locking him up tight by drawing his arms securely across his body. He clasped Buzz close to him and then pulled him into the living room where he leaned over and spoke softly into his ear.

"A word of advice, boy-o. The next time I offer my hand, take it. I always honor a handshake deal."

"OK, great" said Buzz, struggling and breathing heavily. "Let me go and we can shake hands now."

"Nice try, Buzzhead. But it's about time I finished this."

Mike lifted Buzz off his feet and then simply lowered the youth to the floor. Though the young man struggled mightily and attempted to use his legs to prevent Mike from grounding him, the man knew just how to use his frame and balance to counter everything Buzz tried. Ultimately, it all came down to a question of pure raw strength. 

The man used his thighs to lock the boy's hip and legs flat, then leaned forward and extended the boy's arms out and away from his body. Despite that, Buzz was still able to keep one shoulder elevated just barely off the floor. But Mike was in no hurry to pin him, and was in fact thoroughly enjoying this exercise in domination. He knew, and could see in Buzz's desperately flashing eyes that he also knew, that the final outcome of this match had already been decided and was now only a matter of time.

Mike slowly pushed the boy's arms further out, making it excruciating for Buzz to keep his shoulder even an inch off the floor. Then still straddling him, Mike inched forward until the full weight of his legs and thighs were on top of the boy's upper torso, and young Buzz, exhaling one last desperate cry, could hold out no longer and simply collapsed flat onto the floor.

For Mike, whose eyes had never left the boy's face, this was a moment of sweet triumph, made all the more so by the fact that his young and clever challenger had tried every trick in the book to beat him and still had failed. Not bad, he thought, for an old man of 42.

"Another thing you should know about me is that I really, really hate to lose," grinned Mike. 

Looking up at the man still sitting astride him, Buzz also smiled, and then leaned forward licked his tongue across the tip of the erection now clearly visible along one leg of Mike's dark pants.

"What the fuck! . . ." Mike sputtered and jerked back violently, landing flat on his back. As Buzz sat up and looked at him now smiling lustfully, Mike stumbled back until finally coming to rest against the bottom of the sofa. He glared at the boy.

"I don't do that kind of shit, boy."

"I do," said Buzz, grinning broadly. "And I've wanted to do that to you since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

"Little fucking slut. You've gotta be out of your mind . . . and I'd have to be, too, to even consider laying a hand on the nephew of my best friend. Shit, how'd a fucking queer like you ever worm his way onto a wrestling squad?"

Buzz just laughed. "Shoot, Mike, half the damn team was queer. And the other half was leaning that way by the time I graduated. Of course there were only four guys total on the team, and the other gay guy happened to be my best friend Randy. But gee whiz, it's like Randy is always saying: You can't roll around half-naked on a mat with a guy too long before somebody comes up gay."

When Buzz's eyes trailed down to the bulge in Mike's pants, the man knew that, in effect, the boy was calling him out. Even as the youth shifted forward onto his hands and knees and began a slow crawl toward him, looking for all the world like some sleek young panther stalking his prey, Mike draped one hand over his crotch in a vain attempt to conceal his obvious desire. When at last the kid was mere inches from his face, moving in for the kiss, Mike extended both hands out and held the boy at bay.

"What are you afraid of, Mike?"

"I can't . . . do that," said the man, avoiding his gaze. Mike's breathing was shallow, his whole bearing uncertain. His heart was pounding so hard, it felt as if it might jump out of his chest at any moment. Mike was burning with a shame borne of the fact that this boy, not even half his age, had seen right through him.

"So are you really gonna tell me that you've never gotten super lonely sittin' around in that nice big apartment of yours, and gone out late at night sometimes, and drove around until you spotted some skinny kid on the street with his thumb up. And picked him up. And took him to some back room somewhere. And paid him to do all the stuff I want to do to you right now?"

"Damn you, boy. Don't go pretending like you know me. You don't get to tell me how I feel. If I ever did something like that—if!—then that was different from this and you damn well know it. That was just . . . It didn't mean anything. He was nobody to me."

"OK," said Buzz, taking a deep breath. "If that's the only way I can have you, then close your eyes, pretend I'm that skinny kid. Name your price, Mike."

Buzz lowered his head to the man's lap while still managing to keep his gaze on his stricken face. As the boy's tongue flickered out and began lapping at the lump down Mike's pants leg, Mike's grasp on Buzz's shoulders began to weaken, and the stiff rigidity that had seized his body began to dissolve, until finally, Mike dropped his hands to his side and collapsed back against the sofa, and released a great long sigh that seemed to well out from the deepest part of him.

"Oh, fuck!" groaned Mike moments later when he felt Buzz begin to unbuckle his pants, then groaned again when the boy reached into his boxers and fished out his meat. Mike looked down to see the youth sensually massaging his still stiffening rod, and clenched his teeth at the near magical effect the boy's touch was having on him. Then, abruptly, Buzz grasped and began tugging at the man's pants, pulling them down. Mike lifted his hips and helped get them down his thighs and then shoved his boxers down too. His eyes were glued with rapt anticipation on the boy, anxious to see what he would do next.

With Mike's long stiff weapon fully exposed to view, Buzz smiled and showed his appreciation for what was before him by lightly stroking and squeezing it before bending forward and planting his mouth over the slick mushroom head.

"Fuckin' shit, boy!" gasped Mike, his hips involuntarily thrusting up as a sharp jolt of electricity shot through his groin. Even as he settled back down and caught his breath, he continued to shudder and moan. He could not ever recall feeling anything so piercing and yet so utterly exquisite at the same time. The boy wasn't just sucking him; he was bathing his shaft in a variety of sensations as he maneuvered his eager tongue all around the intensely sensitive dickhead. It was obvious Buzz was no novice to cocksucking; he knew exactly what he was doing. Mike felt another sharp pang of pleasure and it made him jump. He reached down and forced the boy's hyperactive mouth off his aching cock. Already in just a matter of seconds he was on the verge of coming.

"Mike—"

"Shut up! Goddammit!" snarled Mike as he pushed Buzz away and climbed to his knees. With a fierce look he lunged forward and caught Buzz around the waist, taking them both to the floor with a thud.

"Don't . . . talk to me, you damned little punk! You don't know me. You don't know one goddamn thing about me. Fuck, I oughta take you apart right now."

In an instant Mike was all over Buzz, kissing him, licking him, biting his erect scarlet nipples. The boy twisted himself about and managed to shove his gym shorts and jockstrap down his legs and kick them aside as the man climbed on top of him. Mike pressed the bulk of his body into the slender youth and then crushed him in a kiss. Buzz welcomed the kiss; in fact to him it felt like a double kiss, their warm wet mouths merging while below, their feverish cocks melting together in a welter of heat. The kiss was hard and physical, tongues dueling and teeth clashing, as boy and man tried to consume the other. Finally, Mike broke the kiss.

"This is crazy. I can't do this."

"I think this says you can," said Buzz, wrapping his fist around Mike's rigid cock. "It's beautiful, Mike. I can't wait for you to fill me up with this thing."

"Crazy little fucker," said Mike, grinning and shaking his head. "I'm gonna make you eat those words."




A Boy, A Bookie & A Bet



Buzz watched as Mike quickly shed his clothes, peeling off the undershirt and socks, and wriggling free of the pants and boxers that had become bunched up around his ankles. It was the first really good look that the youth had of the man's body, and he was not disappointed by what he saw. Mike was angular and strongly built, a fighter's body conditioned by years of physical work and training. Buzz admired not only the mature musculature of the man's body, but also the generous brush of dark hair on his pecs and abs that contrasted with his own smooth, more youthful frame. There were several prominent tattoos on both of Mike's arms, but the boy was especially drawn to an oriental design etched on the man's hairy chest. Buzz reached out and traced it with his finger.

"It's Japanese," explained Mike. "Got it when I was stationed over there."

Buzz leaned forward and kissed Mike, then bent down and took the man's dick back into his mouth, allowing it to penetrate deep in his throat. The boy moved his head up and down the shaft until he could feel Mike responding, pulsing in and out of him in a steady rhythm, and holding Buzz's head in place as he began to gently fuck his face. After several minutes, Buzz looked up at Mike.

"I can't wait any more, Mike. Let's fuck."

The man moved back into position over the boy, but Buzz stopped him. "No, I wanna be able to see you."

Buzz pushed Mike back against the edge of the sofa, but then got up and disappeared into the bathroom at the far end of the hallway. He soon returned with a tube of oily salve which he began spreading over Mike's heavy rod. The cool feel of the ointment, plus Buzz's sensual touch as he worked it up and down the shaft sent instant chills through Mike's body, causing him to catch his breath. He could hardly believe how sensitive he was to the boy's touch, which made his rock-hard cock ache all the more. Seizing an opportunity, Mike grabbed the tube, squeezed some the salve onto his fingers, and began working them into the boy's peach-colored hole. Buzz squirmed in delight at the delicious sensations suddenly invading him.

Mike withdrew his fingers and began lifting the youth into place over his twitching erection. Buzz aided in the positioning by crawling over the steely thighs and bracing himself against the man's firm chest. He could feel the sticky fingers opening him up, probing him, and guiding into him the tip of that long stiff missile poised to blast him open. For the first time Buzz felt some butterflies fluttering inside him. He wasn't scared so much that Mike would hurt him or that this wouldn't be what he wanted, only that maybe that he couldn't be everything that Mike wanted. He closed his eyes and braced for the breach to come.

Mike pushed into the boy. He was slow and deliberate, looking for any signs of distress in Buzz's face. Above all he didn't want to hurt the boy. In the end it was Buzz who decided to force the issue by literally spearing himself on Mike's fearsome weapon. Mike was caught off guard by the sudden move and groaned aloud. Buzz groaned too, but more from relief than pain. He was, in fact, surprised by how little actual pain he did feel, only an awesome fullness and excitement at having absorbed the entire length of the man's blue-veined, crimson-headed wonder.

It took several minutes for both to adjust to the swirling mix of emotion that boiled inside them, and so they briefly froze in place, catching their breaths. Mike was the first to move. He lifted his hips and thrust into the boy, tentatively at first, but soon with increasing power. Buzz started to move as well, sometimes complementing Mike's moves, sometimes opposing them. The boy began to groan heavily, reacting to every hot stab of the cock, shuddering as one stinging wave of pleasure after another was being driven into his body.

"Jeez, Mike, that feels . . . so fuckin' good!"

Mike kept his eyes on the boy, watching for any sign that this was too much, that his hot hungry weapon might be tearing that slender boy-ass apart. But what he saw amazed and gratified him as Buzz rode his cock with evident delight, chuckling and murmuring with each bounce like a small child being tossed about on a wild carnival ride. 

Mike scooted lower so he could thrust higher. A powerful tension was building in his loins, like some hotbed of desire he had not tapped before. He lifted his hips and thrust up hard, bucking deeply into the boy, driven on by the fact that no matter how hard he fucked, Buzz just threw his head back and laughed, enjoying it all. Finally the man rose up balancing on his knees, and lifted the boy up as well. He pushed away from the sofa, and then with a tremendous effort he bent forward and deposited Buzz flat on his back on the floor. And then without missing a beat, he dived forward and drove his cock back into the seething hole, going so deep the boy could not help but cry out. 

The penetration—the fiery feel of it—was sharper and more overpowering than anything Mike could ever remember feeling. Now even more than before, he felt a craving for the boy, like a wave of pure white lust engulfing him. He could no longer hold back. Mike slammed the boy, and then began an all-out assault on his butthole lacking only in restraint.

"Oh god, Mike!"

The man slowed and then stopped. The sudden sound of his name jerked Mike out of his miasma of lust and back to his senses. He became intensely aware of his body and then his breathing: ragged and raw. His eyes burned. He wiped the sweat out of them and then wiped his dripping brow as well. He was wracked and soaked, and now could see that Buzz was, too. Even the air itself was soaked with the heady scent of sex.

"Jesus fucking Christ, boy, what are you doing to me?"

"Don't stop, Mike. That was fucking fantastic!"

Mike picked up the tempo again, this time fucking with smoother, more even strokes. But the fires of hell still raged inside him, and he knew he could not hold out much longer. Then without warning, he felt Buzz choke and convulse; and suddenly the boy was firing long cummy strands of white across his chest and belly. Mike pounded on, determined to give the boy the fucking of his life, determined to give them both everything he had. 

And then in mid-stroke Mike choked too, and suddenly he felt the hot tide in his blood rise to a flood. Overwhelmed, his senses running wild, he lost all will to hold out. He tightened his grip on the boy, strained forward and drove deep; and then with a wild yell he began blasting Buzz full of his warm seed.

Shocks and aftershocks began rattling both man and boy, and they locked each other in a desperate hold on the creaking, carpeted floor. The two clung to each other even after the tremors began to fade, almost as if their lives depended on it. And maybe there was some truth in that, too, because Mike could have sworn his guts were spilling out of him, and Buzz felt like he would soon wash away in the gush of cum filling him. Time itself seemed to come to a halt until the boy finally pulled himself free of Mike's embrace and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He peered over at the man still lying supine and virtually motionless beside him.

"Wow, Mike, that was absolutely fucking awesome!"

"Thanks, kid, we aim to please."

"I'll say. Let me know when you want a rematch."

"Horny little bugger," shrugged Mike as he roused himself and sat up, looking around. The youth was already on his feet, busily wiping himself with the large towel he had used earlier to wipe away sweat. His head finally clear, Mike again surveyed the damage to the apartment and was appalled by what he saw.

Not only was the table and chairs mostly rubble, but even the coat rack beside them was smashed too. And then there was the coffee table and Jake's favorite rocker—now both on their sides. And scattered about were the wreckage of lamps, end tables, and—well, lots of other stuff Mike couldn't begin to tell what they had been. It was nothing short of a disaster scene.

"How are we ever gonna explain this, Mike?"

"Well, we don't explain it, because to tell you the truth, I don't even remember how half this happened. There's something about you, boy: You cloud my brain. Nah, we don't explain it; we find a way to make it right."

While Buzz did his best to straighten up the apartment, Mike slipped on his clothes and went down to his car where he retrieved a large black leather cash pouch from a secure compartment in his trunk. Returning to the flat, he took out a large stack of bills from the pouch, inserted it into an envelope, and stuck the payment inside a kitchen cabinet for Jake to find. Buzz looked on anxiously, but finally had to say something when Mike began resealing the pouch.

"So how much are you leavin' him, Mike?"

"Five g's. I figure that oughta about cover it."

"Five . . . grand? Are you for real? Dude, that'll about cover everything in the whole goddamn place, a coupla times over. But . . . considering that's just about what he owes you, don't you think it's likely he'll just hand it right back to you to clear his debt?"

"What do you take me for, kid: a shark? I don't give with one hand just so I can steal it back with the other. The debt's kaput—history. I know a kid like you don't get it, but one way or another Jake's been taking care of me for the last twenty-five years. It's about time I started returning the favor."

"Why do you think I wouldn't get that? But Mike, isn't it just gonna cause you more trouble when word gets out that you wiped out his debt?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, bright eyes," said Mike with a devilish smile and a wink to Buzz. "Why would I need to clear his debt, since, as you know perfectly well, old Jake just come into some money from an insurance settlement he got? Seems somebody trashed his apartment."

"I see what you mean," said Buzz with a laugh. "You've got it all covered. It's like you're a superhero swooping down to save the day. I don't suppose that while you're in the mood to rescue folk, you wouldn't want to reconsider giving me a job."

"Seems to me we had that conversation already, or did someone forget who won our bet?"

"Didn't forget. I was just hopin' . . . But you're right, Mike. Hands down, you won fair and square, and that's the way it is. You don't get to change the rules of competition afterwards just because you lost. I know that, and I accept it like a man."

"Hey, kid, cheer up. What's the big deal? So you lost one. I've lost a million bouts in my day. Tell you what: I was planning on heading over to Gio's Pizza after I finished up here. Why don't you tag along and we can talk about improving your conditioning?"

"I wish I could, Mike," said Buzz, looking quite dejected. "But I should probably stay here."

"Why the hell not? It's just pasta and pizza."

"Because I'll be heading out first thing in the morning. I should probably start packing so I can get to bed early. It's a long drive back to Somerset County."

"Why the big hurry to get back?"

"Unca Jake only agreed to let me stay for two weeks, and tomorrow my two weeks are up. Like you say, a deal's a deal."

"Well, what kinda stupid deal is that," said Mike, looking a little peeved. "Who gives a kid just two weeks to find a damned job? Look, when Jake gets in I'll take him aside, and have a nice little talk with him. Nobody knows better than me how stubborn he can be, but if there's anybody who can get through to that thick skull of his, it's me."

"Yeah, and that's exactly why I don't want you to do it. Come on, Mike, you said it yourself: A deal is a deal, whether you like it or not. Win or lose, you accept it and don't go whinin' about it, and don't go tryin' to change the rules afterward the game is over. It'd be easy for me to let you talk Unca jake into lettin' me stay, but, dude, it wouldn't be right. Unca Jake is like 60 years old, and this little apartment is like all he has. And he's tried to make the best it, having somebody like me around here for a while, but, dude, he really, really hates it. I mean, you would too if you were used to having a place all to yourself, and all of a sudden you had to put up with some young kid like me clomping around all day, eating your food and drinking your beer and lifting weights and talking too much and using all the hot water and . . ." 

"I get it, kid," said Mike, raising his hands. "And you're right. I mean, that kinda stuff wouldn't bother somebody like me, but Jake—yeah, for sure. I imagine the two of you probably have been driving each other crazy—huh?"

"A little bit."

"Well, I can't deny it: a deal is a deal—that is a very important principle in my line of work. But you do know, don't ya, that that's not the only principle I live by? What about the one that says you take care of your friends? To me, that's just as important as the first one, maybe more so—to stand by the people that stand by you. How's that one sound to you, Buzzbrain? You like the sound of that?'

"Sure, I guess so."

"Good, then why don't we jump in the shower and get cleaned up so we can go for a nice hot pizza and beer? Call it a celebration of your new job. " 

"What new job? I don't have a job."

"Contradicting your boss: that's no way to start out a new job, kid."

"Yike!" yelped Buzz letting out a squeak of excitement before drawing back and collecting himself. "Mike, this isn't a joke, is it? I mean, you just said—"

"For Pete's sake, boy, I know what I said. You're like a dog with a bone. And I'm tellin' you right now you're gonna be opening us up to a world of grief if you keep trying to hold me to everything I say. Let's just say I changed my mind, and leave it at that. You showed me a lot of pluck today. I like that, and if the truth be told, I guess I really do need somebody after all. Besides, I'd be pretty damned stupid to let my best sparring partner get away—"

This time Buzz let out a shriek so loud that it went through the entire apartment and probably into the surrounding ones as well. The boy jumped on Mike and threw his arms around the man, still whooping and laughing. Mike laughed too and had to take a step back or risk being knocked off his feet by the boy's enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around the boy, and couldn't hide the fact that the embrace by this beautiful youth, naked except for the thin nylon shorts he had slipped back on, was giving him plenty of stimulation. He let his hands slide down to cup Buzz's butt.

"And another thing, Buzzhead: you gotta keep the screaming to a minimum. You pull this kinda stunt in front of my clients and I swear they'll run the other way."

"OK, boss man, whatever you say," grinned Buzz who quickly calmed down, shoved his shorts down his legs, and began kissing the man. As one kind of celebration rapidly turned into another, Buzz abruptly separated from Mike and began undressing the man as well.

"Shit, I can't believe the effect you have on me," mumbled Mike as he helped shed his clothes. In a matter of seconds he was naked. He grabbed the boy and pulled him back into his body, their rock-hard cocks smashing into each other. 

"Mike, I—"

"Tell me later," groaned Mike who suddenly scooped up the boy and laid him flat on the sofa. The man lifted the boy's butt, gave it a few quick preparatory licks, and then began pushing his stiff rod into the smooth warm hole. Gone was the slow deliberation he had shown the first time around. Burning inside him now was a hot urgency which wouldn't wait. He sliced into Buzz in one fierce move, rocked his cock out, and drove in again. The inside of the boy was all silk and molten flame, like fucking a volcano, and the feel of him made the man's heart throb. Buzz was no less caught up in the heat of the moment. The very touch of Mike's cock set off a fiery energy in him, and every blow sent his head reeling. Buzz grabbed the man and held tight, unable to focus on anything except the intense waves of feeling sweeping him every time Mike pounded his pleasure center. 

Mike wasn't thinking either, just plowing ahead on pure lust-driven adrenalin, his head in a fever over the swirl of emotion the boy was able to summon up in him just by the merest touch. Just as before, Buzz arched his back and opened his body, surrendering to the heated thrill of it, sucking the man's ramrod deep inside with every stroke. The sounds of his grunts and groans filled the apartment, and merged with the rhythmic pounding of flesh on flesh, as Mike climbed over the boy, and quite literally tried to force his cock right through to the core of the athletic young body clinging to him. 

And then as quickly as it had started the storm began to break. Mike unleashed a deep growl, and shuddered, and began blasting the boy's chute with fresh new rounds of cum. Seconds later Buzz came too, thrashing about in Mike's strong embrace, splattering his load on himself and all over Mike, too.

"Oh, fuck, Mike, that was incredible!"

"Not so bad for an old guy—huh," sighed Mike falling forward onto the sweat-drenched boy. It had all come and gone in a matter of minutes, and yet both man and boy felt drained and intensely alive. When Mike had regained his breath he sat up and looked at Buzz who was grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"What are you so goddamned happy about, kid? You're a total fucking mess."

"So are you," giggled Buzz.

It was true and Mike knew it. He was streaked with sweat and sticky with the boy's load. He grabbed Buzz and pulled him up, then gave him a playful slap on the rear. 

"Shower time, Buzzbrain, and no argument from you. And then we are going to go for that pizza. For some reason I'm starving. Hey, I got an idea. What d'ya say we save Jake some hot water and just shower together?"

"I wouldn't object to that!"

"And one more thing: After we're through eating, I think we oughta swing by here and move your stuff over to my place. I got lots of empty space that would be perfect for your weights and junk, and it's only logical that you move in with me, considering I'm gonna have to start training your butt night and day."

"You promise?" grinned Buzz, fairly brimming over with excitement. "But wait, Mike. Before we do that, I'd better call Unca Jake. He's gonna be coming through that door most any minute and I have got to warn him about this mess. If I don't, he'll freak."

"He won't if you tell about the envelope in his cabinet. And mention that I may slip him a few more bucks if that's not enough."

"Jesus, Mike, I really do think it's enough. But I'll tell him. Why don't you go and grab us some towels and get the water started? This won't take long."

"Good, cause I'm counting on you to wash my back." 

Buzz watched Mike amble down the hall and into the bathroom before he dialed a number on his cell phone. Not too far away, another phone rang in a tavern.

"That you, Buzzy?"

"Yeah, Unca Jake. It's me."

"Well, gosh darn, boy, it took you long enough to call. I've been waiting around here for hours. Is everything OK? Can I come home now?"

"You bet, Unca Jake. You can definitely come home. Everything is perfect."

"Now hold on. Don't tell me that screwy plan of yours worked."

"It didn't just work. It turned out way better than I ever thought it would."

"Huh," grumped Jake, sounding rather skeptical. "Well, I'm glad to hear you got the job, but I sure hope you didn't make too big a mess doing it. You said a few things might get busted. Now if you and Mike ended up breaking my favorite chair, I swear—"

"OK, Unca Jake, calm down. Yeah, the chair is a goner, and a lot of the other stuff in here, too—"

"Goddammit, boy! Now what did I say?"

"But . . . the good news is Mike is leaving you five grand to replace everything . . ."

"Five grand!"




A Boy, A Bookie & A Bet



"And, even better, he's wiping out your debt. Unca Jake: you're free and clear!"

"Oh, my god. I never thought . . . So you really did it? You actually got him to wipe it clean. Never in my wildest dreams did I think for a minute you could pull off that damned crazy stunt you were running around here talkin' about. I mean, sure, I figured there was an outside chance you might talk Mike into givin' you a shot at a job—cause, let's face it, boy, you do have the gift of gab. In another life you musta been a con man. And to tell the truth that part was good enough for me. He needs the help and you need a job. But the other part . . ."

"I told you I could do it, Unca Jake. Didn't I tell ya? I figured that if I could trick Mike into sparring with me here, I was certain I could get him to bust up some stuff. And if he did, I just knew he conscience would get him, and make him want to cancel your entire debt."

"And you can see how I would think that was the screwiest plan I ever did hear. Nothing in there is worth a plug nickel, let alone the six grand I owed him. How did you get him to do that?"

"OK, well, maybe I didn't totally get him to do it myself. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but it was sorta like something Mike decided all on his own. He's a really good man, Unca Jake."

"You're not tellin' me anything I don't already know, Buzzy. Mike is good in ways that even he don't know. And that's why I won't be taking his money, boy."

"You've got to, Unca Jake. We talked about this. You've got to take it, and you've got to make him believe you really deserve it. If you don't, Mike is smart enough to likely see through this whole thing, and it'll go down the drain."

"You're asking me to swindle my best friend, boy. That's something I can't do. Look, the only reason I was willing to go along with this crazy thing was for Mike's sake. He's working himself into an early grave doin' this damn job, and he won't let it go. He needs somebody like you—a smart, fresh, young go-getter with brains to burn—and I'll make sure he don't let you go."

"But what about the rest of it, Unca Jake? You know how I feel about him. If I can't have him like that, then I don't want to work for him."

"He'll see that, boy. I'm sure he will. You're not just a go-getter, you're a great kid, a wonderful kid, just right for him. I'm sure he'll see that."

"Not if he thinks he can't trust me, Unca Jake. I know Mike better than you think I do. You tell him about this and it's all over between us before it ever really starts."

"I know how you feel about him, Buzzy, but you've got to ask yourself a question: Do you really want to start out a life together by lyin' to him?"

Buzz paused and took his time answering. "If I thought there was any other way I'd do it, Unca Jake. I'll take Mike however I can get him. You said it yourself: He's so damned proud and so gosh-darned stubborn, he'll never take a partner without a little push. And so I guess this has to be his push. I've been in love with Mike since the first moment I saw him . . . eight long years ago. I know he didn't see me—all I was to him was just a pimply-faced twelve-year-old kid following in behind his parents—but I sure as heck saw him. I never saw anybody more perfect, and I fell for him—so hard that I've been looking for a way to find my way back to him ever since. This is my chance, Unca Jake, and you've got to let me have it. And I really, really do believe Mike is the one who gets the most. I get a job, sure, and you get your debt cleared out. But Mike finally gets something he never had: somebody who'll always look out for him, no matter what. Somebody who'll accept him just as he is. And somebody who'll always be waiting there for him at the end of the day. If that's not worth a little larceny—what is?"