Later that day, the two teams faced-off at Chicago’s legendary Westside stadium. The contest between old rivals was a shocking loss for New York. Shayne delivered a terrible performance. After the final buzzer permanently stamped the loss into the record book, Ben and Shayne quickly changed into their street clothes and made for the dreary garage. The veteran athlete had the look of a schoolteacher who is disappointed with his best student. Ben’s voice growled low, “Shayne, what is up mother fucker? You let Minty get around you all night. Where was the fucking ‘D?’ Where was the drive for the lane on the other end? Davis and I were feeding you pussy shots all night. I want to win a championship, asshole.”
Echoing Ben’s thoughts, a menacing Chicago wind bellowed when their ride pulled up to the loading zone. The giants hunched into the rear seat behind tinted windows. A black suited driver revved the engine and threw the machine into gear, lurching off. Ben’s rant didn’t end there. He added with a sneer, “I mean come on, man. You gotta have some pride. Ever since that tabloid thing your head’s not right… What is wrong with you? Are you trying to say goodbye to your hundred million dollar salary?”
“Get out of my face today. The fucking finals are almost a lock for us. Quit complaining! You couldn’t do shit when you were on your own in Chicago. You gotta lot of nerve reading me the riot act.”
As the city passed in a blur of rushing limestone, Ben gave Shayne a hard stare and forced their eyes to meet. His face was swollen with anger. The pattering rain amplified the tense mood. Shayne knew what was coming next. In a tight voice, Ben rolled it out, “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Are you turning fag on me? You know what that would mean?” Ben maintained an unwavering composure. He wanted to get the issue out there in the open.
“Come on Ben, lottsa guys in the league have their little friends. You know what I mean. I’m not admitting anything to you, either. Cut me some fucking slack. I’m still young and figuring shit out. Tonight was only one bad game.” He looked away.
Ben moved closer. His eyes were bulging. He was almost snorting with rage. “Don’t brush me off! You know they’re joking about you in the locker-room. They’re joking about you everywhere.” He waved his hand round. “Why don’t you search Shayne Wright on the Internet and see what comes up?” Shayne physically turned towards the door. The truck lurched to a stop. Cold silence hung in the air.
Ben broke the spell and added, “I know you’re going through something here. I got eyes. You like this Hadrian. I see that. But, I tell you that he will fuuuuuuck everything up.” Without a word, Shayne got out of the car and loudly slammed the door heading to the lobby.
In another hour, after a second shower and fresh party clothes, the young basketball star went to pick up his controversial friend. When the truck pulled under to the hotel canopy, he smiled at the strapping Viking who waited for him. Hadrian wore an amused look. “How could anyone resist that,” thought the athlete? “I’m doomed.”
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Shayne replied. His body still drooped like a thirsty houseplant.
The prince said, “Why are you all slumped over? Not feeling well? Maybe that’s why there was no energy on the court today.” The prince didn’t mean this as a criticism.
Defensively, Shayne snapped, “Don’t mother me.” Hadrian was ready to deliver a fierce retort and then thought better of it.
Changing subjects, the athlete related their itinerary, “With Ben staying at his brother’s place, we’ll pick him up on the way. I figured safety in numbers, right?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
Any professional sports team supports a fast and furious entourage that also includes a vast baggage train for which Hadrian was being inducted. The pompous scene reminded Hadrian of his father’s court on Teramar. Within the confines of this arrogant club, the prince quickly deduced the roles of each character. Ben Smith was an obvious mentor to Shayne – as Archibald Cox was to he. Unfortunately, the prince’s troubles with the various team personalities started to occur immediately after the tabloid published those photographs.
Like a stagecoach, the van screeched to a halt in front of the prestigious lakefront apartment. Ben was waiting and carefully folded his large frame into the truck. For someone who has spent a lifetime bending to a short person’s world, Ben’s entrance into the vehicle appeared practiced, almost elegant. Shayne said, “Wow. I know your brother is a big time lawyer, but he must really be raking in some dough. Look at this place.”
Ben shrugged. “You’ve met my brother.” Eight cylinders then threw everyone back into their seats. Their driver was a leadfoot Polish man, assigned to them for the weekend.
Derek Mint or “Minty” lived in a penthouse that was in the same building as the world’s most famous woman, a talk show host of twenty years. The top floors of the building flew out over the water with large decks and gardens. Sauntering through the palazzo of a lobby, the staff greeted the well-known faces with “good evening gentlemen.” The vestibule already showed the signs of a large group moving through.
Minty’s party would offer plenty of characters from the old neighborhood. Hadrian was getting used to the circus. Anything could happen here – sex, drugs, fights or all of the above. There was always plenty of alcohol and dancing among the lightly clad revelers. When the elevator grandly opened, Hadrian could hear the high priced DJ pumping a beat into the walls. Without knocking, the three entered the apartment. Humidity greeted them, driving the Chicago chill from their bones. Standing there was Minty holding court. The host looked up and recognized the New Yorkers.
“Shaney and Ben. Thanks for coming.” He looked over the prince, “Oh yeah, I heard about you. So this is your little buddy, Shayne? He’s cute.”
Ben bristled, “Who’s got their own little harem of buddies, Minty? I’ve seen how you are.”
Greened eyed, Derek Mint smiled. “Nothing passes by you, gramps.” Minty’s hands flashed three or four large rings. The Bull’s star inclined his head toward the party, “Get in there and get yourselves drunk and put today’s loss behind you. Other shit’s circulating too. Just ask round.” With a naughty wink, Minty turned back to his people.
The three shambled into a vivacious crowd that sprawled about a hall of a room with stunning views of the city. The space easily accommodated the very tall. A hush of whispers greeted the new arrivals. Two young women immediately glided toward Ben and Shayne. The girls adeptly angled Hadrian to the side. As the interlopers rubbed shoulders and presented their smooth skin, the prince left the group to get a drink. He’d seen this before.
Shouting his order over the music, the bartender assuredly poured a generous dram of something. After a liberal tip, she immediately made shots for each of them. The prince couldn’t stop looking at her. “This place is filled with attractive people.”
One of the youngest players, one of the new-breed who had skipped university entirely, quietly assumed a position next to the prince and nodded a greeting. “I saw you got bumped over there,” said Robbie Washington.
Hadrian didn’t understand.
“You and I are lower tier,” he explained in a slow drawl.
The two were near the same age. The prince appreciated how Robbie didn’t follow the gossip. The two had become cautious friends. With Shayne’s encouragement, they even played a game or two at the gym. Changing the subject, Hadrian said, “I thought you personally did well today. Sorry the team lost.”
“Your boy, Shayne, had a bad one.” Robbie smiled and nodded his head. He offered that sympathetic look they all wore these days.
Angered, Hadrian shouted into Robbie’s ear over the music, “Come on! Shayne’s had shit games before he ever met me. You can’t blame me.”
“I didn’t mean that. Don’t be so sensitive, man.”
“I need more to drink.”
After another refill or two, the room started to slither with dark bodies and music. Pointing into the throng, Robbie said, “Now over there. That’s one they say
Minty dips into once in awhile.” Across was a milky Puerto Rican with lots of tattoos befitting everyone else in the room. The boy wore an oversized baseball hat off to the side. Through the haze, the young man caught them watching and quickly turned into the crowd.
“Awwww, he saw us.”
“Yeah he did,” Hadrian slurred. The prince leaned into Robbie. The other didn’t seem to mind. Tonight, they were two boys spying on the adults from the kid’s table. But the adult beverages they consumed conjured adult thoughts. The same beverages also weighed on the prince’s bladder. Hadrian lurched to the call.
“I gotta go. You know where the bathroom is?” The prince bounced on his heels.
“You mean pee? I think around the corner by the entrance.”
“I’ll be back.”
Hadrian had to push. Close to the edge of dance floor, the writhing throng forced everyone to a standstill. The party had gotten extremely crowded. The prince felt a big hand slide down one of his thighs. Hadrian drove forward to get away from it. In one seismic shift, the dancing mob pulled him through. Hadrian saw Minty’s face disappear in the confusion. The tall black man wore a wily smile.
The prince ignored the host and forged into the heart of the apartment. He was near leaking and had to hunch over to relieve the pressure. Unfortunately, closed doors greeted him at every turn. The long hall carried the vibe of a bad cartoon. Sharp sounds and sarcastic laughter barked at him through the walls. Finally, one door sprang open as a herd of titivating divas left to rejoin the party. Hadrian rushed the opening and found the room yielded a private bathroom. He ripped at the earth zipper and let it all pour out in a grateful rush, “Aghhhhh.” After a very long and breathtaking release, Hadrian opened the door and was surprised to see Derek Mint standing there with his shirt off and hand tucked into sweat pants.
“Where did you go? I’m going to have to teach you not to run away like that.”
Straight or gay, Derek Mint was a magnificent physical specimen. The muscles of a consummate athlete rippled across his chest. Foggy eyes tried to find Hadrian. The star swayed slightly as the loud bass rumbled through the walls. A tiger had cornered its prey. Hadrian shook his head to clear confused thoughts.
Minty said in a low, confidant voice, “You’re curious, baby. Don’t fight it. We’ll go slowly. I’ll be better than Shayne.”
Used to getting what he wanted, Minty casually placed both hands on Hadrian’s waist. A sweet smell rolled off the athlete. Hadrian had an inclination to rest his head on the large chest. Someone started stroking his hair. It felt so natural. There were always the rumors that Minty occasionally dabbled in the pretty boys. A big talker, Minty was known to say often and loudly, “Who cares what they call it in the dark!” As the motive was more about gratifying an oversized ego, his colleagues in the locker room gamely looked the other way.
Hadrian pleaded, “Minty, you look pretty fucked up. Maybe we should take it easy?” A hand rolled down the prince’s back – grabbing him. Hadrian loudly shouted so anyone behind the door might hear, “I need to get back, Derek.”
As the prince proclaimed his disinterest, he inadvertently released the tiniest gasp of pleasure that he unsuccessfully cut short. The basketball star measured this as certain encouragement. Hadrian felt Minty pull his chin and then a wet, rug-like tongue flowed into the prince’s mouth. The other man’s breath smelled like oranges. Dizzy from the alcohol, Hadrian vaguely realized that Minty maneuvered him over to the bed. The prince tried to pull away, but Minty extended an arm pressing him down. Hadrian had to shove, verging on a tussle. Minty was fully aroused and confused. “I’m sorry, Derek. You’re one attractive guy, but this is not for me. I can’t.” They were both standing now and breathing hard.
Minty looked as if he was going to say something. He reached for Hadrian who quickly stepped aside. The basketball star said, “Ok ok. Maybe I am a little fucked up but I can still treat you better than him. Starting with - do you want some coke? I hear you like it.” Minty wasn’t used to the word “no.”
When Hadrian swept purposefully toward the door, the other went for him. The prince suppressed the urge to snap the man’s neck. “Please stop.”
Minty playfully grabbed at the prince’s belt loop. “Relax baby. Door’s locked,” he whispered pressing his mouth against the prince’s ear tickling it. Hadrian resolutely pulled his mind up and out from roaring temptation. Military sensibilities clicked on.
“I warned you.”
In one fast flash of strength, Hadrian grabbed Minty’s right arm and pushed him off with a clever trip. The bigger man fell flat on his back. With lightening alacrity, Hadrian applied his full weight on Minty’s chest and punched hard at the throat with a pointed fist. He used a measured force that did not cause permanent damage, but enough where intense pain screamed through the body. Minty gasped for air, wheezing like a bag of holes.
Hadrian unlocked the door. He saw Minty’s posse standing there. When Hadrian tried to slam it shut, Minty’s gang pushed. Hadrian fell back. Silently, all their eyes surveyed the scene with their boss withering around on the floor and gasping for air.
“What you do, mother fucker?”
The prince threw full voice command at them, “Out of my way.” Due to all the alcohol, Hadrian couldn’t find the right pitch. Minty was waving hysterically and reaching for his throat. There were three of them. One had a rabbit’s face. The other two were clones of their master, who unconsciously formed a battle line at the door. Hadrian could smell trouble. He tried to walk - leaning forward. The men went to grab his arms. The prince evaded their clumsy reach. In seconds, two more were on the ground in the same condition as Minty.
The third, the giant rabbit, put his hand up in surrender and backed away. Guests had gathered on both sides of the hallway. Hadrian pushed through. The gawkers easily made way. When Hadrian reached the foyer, he rode the elevator to the ground floor and walked out the turnstile doors. The police were already pulling onto the building’s driveway.
Stepping across the street where the dog walkers congregate, Hadrian whispered, “Jessica, drop me an anti-grav.” In seconds, the prince caught the device in a snap. After strapping it to his body, he softly said, “Go.” Jessica pulled him up into the black night like a rag doll. The prince didn’t drive. He just fell into her protection and sped away from the raucous scene.
Back at the party, young Robbie Washington rushed to Shayne’s court of characters. The group hadn’t moved and was getting close and comfy. Ben always encouraged Shayne with the ladies. Excitedly, Robbie interrupted, “Shayne, there’s been a fight. I think Hadrian took out Minty and some of his boys. Look at the crowd heading to the bedroom wing.”
“Damn it. Anybody hurt?” Shayne wasn’t worried for Hadrian’s safety. He worried that Hadrian would get into trouble with the police – again.
The Huntsman’s Bugle
A glittering armada glided past the frontier coordinates of the Termarian system. The fleet generated a wake of space particles that curled round each of the great ships. Huge swaths of debris rolled off the enormous engines. The flagship was galaxy class equipped with a large complement of attack hovers and military personnel, all stored neatly inside with origami efficiency. The other warships in the armada bore thousands of crack storm troops and a secondary complement of hovers to act as reinforcement. This indomitable force assured favorable probabilities for the prince royal’s capture and return. Riding with this irrepressible power, Cataline fully integrated his nexus into the flagship’s systems. The computer’s undivided attention was now on this mission and the successful return of the heir of Teramar. The Uriah high command anticipated a difficult reception.
When the Computer Jessica forwarded Prince Hadrian’s location to Sineas Alimar, and ultimately to the queen and her cronies, the Uriah leadership opted for a grand preemptive move. Better to engage the usurper’s son on Uriah terms, before the young man appeared on their doorstep with a modern warship at his disposal. Lord Ch
arles therefore authorized this deployment, drawing from military assets that were reserved for the defense of Teramar itself.
Through a grand halo-screen, Livia watched the armada pass. She intuitively knew they would meet success locating and eventually capturing her son. “At least, Hadrian’s life would be spared.” Those were the orders. With regards to her husband, the still living king, Livia continued to harbor a sympathetic view for his fate. He was after all the father of her three children. She argued to her brother that the current king was indeed a good man and had genuinely worked to bring the families together, offering high office and responsibility to “even you, Charles.” Regardless of these assertions, Livia knew she didn’t have the authority to spare his life. Her brother had six clones of the current king baking in the royal incubators. The growth process took time and then the Uriah scientists had to imprint a passable personality. Rehearsal was required. Livia knew the moment the first two clones were presentable; her brother would sign the death order, also insisting that her own royal signature appear underneath. “Would young Hadrian know the difference? Yes. Probably. He will promptly kill all the clones.”
Consumed in thought, she gazed out upon her rolling garden. Livia had renovated much of the grounds adding more water and more forest. She wanted a thicker ring of trees around the palace. This required that the royal gardeners uproot a number of ancient arbors from the forest to repatriate them within view of the palace. Although most of the renovations were near complete, the newly minted landscape still represented only weak comfort against the ruthless backdrop of these past months.
Most troubling in recent history was Alian’s reckless attempt to rescue her father from the state detention facility. “She lost a foot for god’s sake. Worse - she came close to succeeding in this insane mission - flanked by something that easily overrode years of tried security measures.” Unfortunately, the queen could do little to ease her daughter’s treatment now that she was a resident of the prison itself. Charles’s men were having their way. Livia assumed Alian had now lost her guarded virginity many times over. “Worse things could happen.”
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 19
