OUTSIDE City Hall, with the Mural Project underway across the street, Mayor Villagrana had called a press conference. He and the council had decided to challenge Arthur and the public who supported him on a very crucial subject: school. It was now mid-October, and Arthur’s kids were still not attending school on a daily basis. In fact, hundreds of other middle and high school students continued ditching their own classes to join him on the daily cleanup campaigns.
The Los Angeles School Board was furious with Villagrana for not saying something sooner since school had officially begun for many kids in August, and had berated him publicly for aiding and abetting the king by having those “Mural Kids” continue skipping school to paint the thing. This controversy was exactly what the mayor had been waiting for. The cracks in the king’s armor were beginning to expand, and Villagrana was determined to split them wide open.
Since Helen Schaeffer seemed to be Arthur’s chosen Lois Lane, as he’d heard her called, the mayor made certain to invite her, but all the local media were also present. Villagrana also made sure the cameras caught the out-of-school mural workers clearly behind him as he addressed the reporters. He felt grand and in charge, wearing his best designer suit and affecting his best concerned look.
“Thank you all for coming down here today on such short notice,” he began. “Welcome, Helen, Phil,” he said, pointing to some of the regulars. Helen just scowled. “As you can all see, the city’s mural project is moving along, and we hope to have an unveiling soon. These kids have been working nonstop, and they won’t even let me see the work in progress. Is that gratitude or what?” He flashed that smarmy smile.
“However, we have a problem. My office has been flooded with calls—not true, but these fools don’t know that—from parents of kids who’ve been skipping school to join Arthur’s little parade. And the school boards of Los Angeles and surrounding cities are understandably upset because the schools are showing an increasingly high absentee rate. As you know, every school receives ADA money from the state based on average daily attendance, and Arthur has upward of a thousand kids out there who are not regularly attending school.”
He failed to mention that most of them weren’t attending before they’d joined up with Arthur. “And while I admit a certain gratitude to Arthur for what he’s done in some of our less fortunate parts of town, the fact is, in clear violation of the law, Arthur’s kids are ditching school.”
One reporter shot up a hand. “Yes, Jane?” the mayor called out.
“Mr. Mayor, aren’t you doing the same thing by hiring these children to paint your mural rather than attend school?”
The mayor affected his most pained expression. He wanted to look as guilty as possible, though he’d secretly hoped someone would bring that up. “Exactly my point, Jane. Like you and practically everyone else in our fair city, I’d gotten so caught up in what this amazing man has been doing that I, too, forgot our priorities. Yes, of course these kids behind me should be in school. And starting tomorrow that’s exactly where they’ll be. No work on the mural will be allowed until after 3:00 p.m. I’m only calling on Arthur to do the same.”
Now Helen raised her hand, and Villagrana reluctantly pointed to her, flashing his most welcoming smile. “Yes, Helen?”
“But isn’t what Arthur’s kids are doing just as important, or more so, than school? Even the kids working on the mural? Aren’t they learning more valuable lessons doing what they’re all doing than they would in a classroom?”
The mayor nodded. “You may well be right, Helen. But may I remind you that it is the law for children to be in school until the age of eighteen.”
“And who voted for that law, Mr. Mayor, the children or the adults?”
Now Villagrana gritted his perfect teeth, visibly annoyed. Leave it to that woman to screw everything up.
“I’m not here to debate the semantics of our legal system, Helen. The law is the law.”
“But weren’t you a strong supporter of Prop 21, Mr. Mayor, the law that puts fourteen-year-olds into adult court and thereafter state prison? Do you feel fourteen-year-olds should have the right to vote on such matters, like that, or school attendance?”
Several reporters echoed Helen’s question. Obviously Arthur’s lunacy about kids being treated as adults was rubbing off on these hacks, Villagrana realized. Sensing this press conference was spiraling out of control he said, “That is not the matter before us. I hereby issue a challenge to King Arthur to uphold the law and make his children attend school. Thank you all for coming. Good day.”
He turned and stepped down from the podium amidst myriad follow-up questions tossed his way in vain. Furious at Helen for starting trouble again, Villagrana stomped up the steps of City Hall in a huff. Despite the way it had ended, however, the mayor felt confident he’d made his point about school. Now the ball was in Arthur’s court.
TO HER journalistic credit, Helen had anticipated that the school issue would arise and had already been interviewing parents of Arthur’s knights. Upon returning to the studio, she had her editor put together a short montage of comments by some of these parents, to run as an accompaniment to the mayor’s pompous press conference. Most of the parents, especially those of former gang members, expressed nothing but gratitude toward Arthur. Through translators, the Latino moms expressed sentiments such as, “This is the first time my son do something good. School never helped, and he didn’t go anyway.”
Darnell’s mother, a heavy-set jowly woman wearing a flowery housedress and curlers in her mop of hair, enthused about her son’s exploits. “School? That never did no good. Since he be small he never wanted to go. Always runnin’ the streets with them gangsters, always in trouble. Can’t tell you how many trips I done made to juvy court fer him. No, he be much better off with Arthur than he ever done be in school.”
To be fair, however, Helen also aired comments from parents of nongang members whose kids had been ditching school to work with Arthur. While they admired what the man was doing, they worried about their kids not getting an education. However, rather than have Arthur change what he was doing, they wanted the school system to change its hours so the kids could do both.
Preparing her montage for air, Helen chuckled to herself. Chew on that, Mr. Mayor!
LANCE and Jack had searched all day, up and down Hollywood Boulevard and all the side streets and little spots Jack knew Mark had been known to frequent. A couple of the locals said they’d seen him walking around but had not spoken with him. After their painful realizations earlier in the day, both boys were physically and emotionally frayed by the time they reached the one place Jack dreaded above all others—Santa Monica Boulevard.
It was late at night as they approached the corner where Jack and Mark had originally met Arthur. He experienced almost post-traumatic stress symptoms as his eyes gazed upon the lamppost that had been his spot for so long.
Oh, Mark, please don’t be out here….
His body trembled, and he paused to compose himself.
Lance stopped beside him.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Having never lived in this area, Lance didn’t realize the significance of where they were.
“This…,” Jack began haltingly, his voice almost a whisper, “this is the place where, you know, Mark and I… worked. The streets.” He dropped his gaze in embarrassment.
Lance sucked in a startled breath and looked up at the corner. Now it made sense. Now he saw the three teen boys, their tight undershirts and pants, the cars cruising back and forth.
“Oh God!” he whispered. “Please don’t let us find Mark here.”
Jack looked at his friend in helpless abandon. “This is the only way to survive out here, Lance.” His voice choked with apologetic emotion.
Lance nodded, his stomach tightening into a knot.
They continued on to the corner, and Jack made hesitant eye contact with a skinny redhead now occupying his old lamppost. The redhead recognized him and grinned. “Didn’t think I’d
see your ass back out here since you’re so famous now. And you brought the pretty one too.”
Lance blushed again—man, he had to break that habit!
Jack nodded at the redhead. “You know you don’t need to be out here anymore, Sam. Arthur will take you in.”
The boy smiled a sad, hopeless smile. “Maybe. But I’m kinda addicted, you know?”
“To drugs?” Lance asked.
The boy shook his head. “Sex.”
Jack nodded, having known several of these guys to be sex addicts. They’d take it any way they could get it. He shivered, but not from the cool night air against his skin. “You seen Blue Eyes out here tonight?”
The redhead shook his head. “Thought he was with you.”
Jack frowned. “Long story. Listen, you wanna join up, you’re welcome any time. Arthur don’t judge us the way most adults do.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
Jack patted him on the back, and he and Lance strolled off down the street. The other two boys told pretty much the same story, except they were relatively new to the street and didn’t even know Mark except from the news. And they genuinely seemed excited about joining Arthur’s crusade.
“All you gotta do is just show up and you’re in. Tell ’im Lance and Jack sent you,” Jack informed them distractedly, his mind and heart fixed on Mark.
Lance found himself drawn to one of the boys, a well-built, handsome, longhaired Latino named Ricky who looked remarkably like him in size and appearance and who bashfully asked for an autograph. As Lance hesitantly signed the front of the teen’s wifebeater, Ricky gushed quietly, “God, I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”
Stepping back, Lance wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Unlike all the girls who’d flirted with him so shamelessly, this wide-eyed boy actually seemed genuine and sincere. His open, expectant face and current homeless plight touched Lance to the heart.
“Uh, thanks, man. Come join up, okay?” Lance said, feeling oddly connected to this boy he’d only just met.
Ricky looked equal parts joyful and miserable, but he nodded nervously. Lance flashed his winning smile and patted the boy on one shoulder. “We gotta bounce, Ricky.”
As they left Ricky behind, he threw an appalled glance back at the boy, who gazed after them longingly, and said to Jack, “That kid looked my age, Jack.”
Lance wondered why he suddenly felt so close to a total stranger. He cast one last look over his shoulder. Ricky stood beneath the pool of streetlight looking like he wanted to follow, and Lance was tempted to invite him. But then he thought of Mark, and their mission, and turned to catch up with Jack as he hurried along the busy street.
Jack shrugged sadly as Lance rejoined him. “He probably has parents like mine. Or Mark’s. He was only thirteen when I met him out here.”
Thirteen. Lance just shook his head, trying to imagine how Mark must’ve felt out here, all alone, having to live under such horrific conditions. Sometimes I’d pretend they loved me, you know, just cuz I was so lonely. Mark’s words came back to haunt him because now he understood what his friend had meant. And you never told him you loved him, did you?
Jack noted with some joy in his heart that the street was almost devoid of boys selling themselves. Most, thankfully, had joined up with Arthur, and he hoped these others would too. And there was no sign of Mark—thank God!
Lance stood and watched some of the cars cruise slowly past, the drivers obviously checking them out. A chill rippled through him. “Are all these cars, you know?”
“Johns, looking to fuck us?” Jack spat out with more vehemence than he’d planned. “Yeah, they are.”
Lance shivered again with revulsion but didn’t respond. They stopped at an unoccupied corner and looked around.
“Well?” Lance asked. “What now?”
Jack shuddered a moment, pulling himself together, and then quickly stripped off his shirt before he could change his mind and tied it hurriedly around his waist. “This,” he said, disgust in his voice.
Lance sucked in a startled breath, both at the action and at Jack’s muscular upper body so clearly visible beneath the light from the lamppost. “What’re you…?”
Jack turned and looked him soberly in the eye. “It’s the only way, Lance. I gotta act like I’m selling to talk to these assholes. When they stop, I can ask about Mark. You go over there––” He pointed to a dark alcove. “––and hide.”
Lance shook his head. “Hell, no! I’m not leavin’ you out here alone.”
Jack shook his head. “You got to, or nobody’ll stop.”
“Why not?” asked Lance naively.
Now it was Jack’s turn to blush. He pointed to Lance’s clothes. “Cuz you don’t look like you’re selling.”
Lance considered but a second and then stripped off his own shirt, tying it around his waist. “Now I do.” He knew he wasn’t anywhere near as buff as Jack, but all their heavy lifting these past months and Jack’s techniques had built him a decent chest and abs and pretty okay arms.
Jack shook his head immediately, turning red again as he gazed at Lance’s naked torso. “Hell, no, Lance! I can’t let you. Some of these guys are dangerous.”
Lance stood firm, his muscles tight with anticipation. “I can take care of myself. Now let’s do this!”
Jack reluctantly nodded. And so they stood and waited. Jack flexed and unflexed his chest and arms as a lure, and Lance couldn’t help but stare. He couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else, despite his best efforts.
Fortunately, they didn’t have long to wait.
A dark sedan cruised past and made a quick U-turn back in their direction. Jack tensed up. “Let me do the talking.”
As the car slid to a stop at the curb, Jack involuntarily stepped in front of Lance to prevent the man from getting a good look at his friend.
A middle-aged man, with professionally styled hair, leaned his head out the window as it slid down. The man looked ordinary, Lance thought, trying not to stare from behind Jack’s shoulder. Like a doctor or something.
The man looked at Jack, and his face lit up. “Well, if it isn’t Great Guns!”
Jack groaned. The man glanced around, saw the street was essentially empty of boys, and turned back to Jack. “My favorite muscle stud is back. I thought you retired, buff boy, off to join the crusade. Missed me, I bet.” He winked lasciviously, and Lance’s stomach did a flip-flop.
But Jack held his breath, fought down the shakes. “I’m looking for Blue Eyes.”
The man scoffed. “I can fuck you much harder than that little boy.” He laughed. “And I pay better too.” He wiggled his eyebrows seductively.
Jack stepped forward with clenched fists, but Lance pulled him back, catching the man’s attention. His eyes bugged out of his head. “Whoa, what have you brought me?”
“No one! He’s not for sale!” Jack tried to push Lance behind him, but it was too late.
The man practically leapt from the car. He was dressed in a button-down shirt, sports jacket and slacks, and looked like he’d just come from a board meeting. Lance stood his ground as the man came around the car and virtually drooled at the sight of him, undressing every inch of the boy with his eyes, making Lance squirm with disgust and tremble with dread.
“You are the famous Sir Lance, the most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes on,” the man cooed, his wide eyes pooling with hunger. “God, the things I’ve dreamed of doing to you.”
Lance recoiled.
Jack pushed the man back. “I told you, we’re not selling. We’re looking for Blue Eyes.”
Now the man looked cannily from Lance’s bare, ripped torso to Jack. “And what if I know where he is.”
Jack grabbed him by the lapels, his muscles bulging. The man merely eyed him as though the boy were pond scum. He squeezed the biceps a bit and said coldly, “Take your guns off me, boy, or I’ll have your ass in jail so fast your head will spin.”
Jack knew this man well. Too well.
He could make good on his threat. Jack released the man and stepped back. “Sorry, Mr. D., I’m just worried about my friend.”
The man’s icy-hard eyes flicked from Jack to Lance. His eyes seemed to brim with lust, and he licked his lips lasciviously. Lance felt nauseous, his body tight with fear, adrenaline coursing through his system. He shuddered, frozen with terror.
Suddenly he was six years old again….
“You like that, don’t you, my little fag boy….”
Holding his breath with fear, Lance cowered as Mr. D. reluctantly tugged his ravening eyes from the boy’s body and turned them back on Jack. He raised his eyebrows slyly. “And what’s it worth to you to find him?”
Jack understood the man’s intent, even though Lance did not. “No,” Jack insisted. “You can’t have him. I’ll go with you.”
Now Lance saw Jack in potential danger and stepped forward recklessly, shaking off his past. “No, Jack, he’s lying. He don’ know shit about Mark!”
The man just smirked. “Maybe, maybe not. See, Sir Lance, Great Guns, here, is a great lay, let me tell you. Awesome ass, unbelievable stamina.” Jack lowered his head in humiliation, and mortification swept over Lance in waves. “But I’ve had his ass often. I want yours, and I’m willing to pay. Big. I’ll clue you in on your little boyfriend and pay you, say, a thousand for the both of you? We’d make an awesome sandwich, don’t you think?”
Lance blanched with humiliated revulsion, and fury. How dare this prick talk about Jack the way he did?
“No,” Jack said firmly, swallowing his fear. “We’re done here.”
But the man wasn’t finished. “We’re not done till I say so, bottom boy. I’m talking to Sir Lance here. How about it, pretty one?” That hungry gaze swept over him once more. “I have to have you. I’ll up it to two. Now that much could certainly buy a few trinkets for this beautiful bod, eh?” And then he made his mistake. He reached out and placed one hand on Lance’s chest.
The boy whipped out one of Arthur’s dirks so fast and pinned it to the man’s throat that even Jack stepped back in fright. His eyes blazed with a fury and hatred Jack never thought he’d see in the usually gentle boy.
Children of the Knight Page 32
