The Apartment

Elsewhere in town...

Randy sat in the diner listlessly, toying with the last few french fries on his plate and nursing his Coke, trying to figure out what to do next. He was glad he'd been saving up his allowance for a Guitar Hero set; it was all he had, now. He'd had no reason to plan for this, after all. Sure, he'd gotten mad at his parents occasionally; what teenager doesn't? But he had to admit that as parents went, they'd been pretty much outstanding: they loved him and showed it, not so much in demonstrative stuff but in lots of little ways. It was beginning to come home to him how much he would miss them.

Last weekend, for example, they'd agreed to let him invite Karl for an overnight. Karl was cool; they both were into hockey, and fans of the Yankees and of State's football team. They both liked Chinese food and, they discovered, Brussels sprouts – a guilty secret they kept, by mutual agreement, from their other school friends; if vegetables were not cool, Brussels sprouts were the extreme of uncoolness. And Karl absolutely loved the sleepovers and spending time with Randy and his parents. Life in the group home was horrible for him – the jerks that found little ways to make his life miserable, the adults who ran it who didn't seem to care, the sense he was a burden begrudged more than the necessities of life.... Spending time with Randy's family had been a respite from all that, and Karl had bloomed. Randy was proud of his parents and glad for his friend, that he'd been the agent to allow them to give him that.

And if Randy hadn't done what he'd done, his future was going to be just like Karl's.

The last 24 hours were like a nightmare. The business dinner his Dad had to attend, and take his Mom to. The cop at the door, serious faced, telling him about the drunk driver and the accident. The hours at the hospital, hoping and praying desperately as first one, then the other, faded away. The officious social worker, taking him back to his home – to pack. The panicked realization that he was going to end up in a group home. Up to his room to pack, and the decision. Out the window, across the roof, down the tree, and run! Anything was better than unresistingly accompanying her to a place like the one Karl hated. Getting away from the social worker and the bleak future she represented was his only thought at first. He'd found places to hang out during the day, and had ended up here at this diner.

The kid in the bomber jacket who sat down next to him made him nervous at first. Dark hair, narrow eyes, a face that Randy might have considered 'cute', and a build that straddled the line between slender and muscular. But he struck up a conversation, and slowly set Randy at ease. They talked for a while; Randy was reluctant to say why he was there, but the kid seemed to have guessed. The kid seemed relaxed, at his ease, jacket open and legs apart on the next stool. Randy couldn't help but notice the bulge in the boy's jeans. He shook off the thought with the idea that now was no time to be noticing something like that, but his gaze kept drifting back there, almost against his will.

One too many pointed looks from the counterman spoke volumes to Randy – if he didn't want problems, it was time to take off. "Well, be seeing you," he said to the kid.

"Wait up, I'll walk with you," the kid said. He zipped up his jacket as Randy was doing the same, and they paid their bill and left. Randy put his wallet back in his hip pocket, pulled his coat down over his hips, and they walked out the door.

"Where're you bound for?" the kid asked.

"Um � nowhere special, I'm just hanging out," Randy answered, a bit flustered.

"You need to be back home by some special time?" the kid asked in a sort of leading way.

"Um, no, not really," Randy said, wondering what the kid had guessed.

"Well, listen, a bunch of us have a kind of private space in an old building that we hang out at, you know, when we want to be doing something that, well, parents and such might not go for. A couple of the guys live on the streets, and stay there most nights. Want to come over and hang out for a bit?" The kid's smile hinted at shared secrets, heady 'adult' stuff.

For Randy, who was slowly realizing he needed to make some plans where to stay and how to survive, it was an offer too good to be true. "Sure!" he said gladly.

The kid led him down a side street, across some railroad tracks, and into an area where over half the houses were boarded up as condemned. He turned down a driveway next to one boarded-up house, and headed for an old wooden garage behind it.

The kid walked up to the door on the side of the garage, opened it, and motioned Randy in. Closing the door, he said, "Listen, the hangout is a couple of houses down from here, but I wanted to do something first." He paused and smiled. "I saw you checking me out back at the diner." He held up his hand as Randy reddened and started to stammer a denial. "No sweat, it's just that most of the guys don't, you know.... Anyways, I kind of wanted, before I take you to our hangout, well...." He knelt down in front of Randy, glanced up to make sure it was okay, then undid the front of Randy's pants.

Randy was instantly hard, and the kid stroked him briefly, then bent his head and took him in his mouth, expertly giving him oral pleasure as his hands cupped Randy's buttcheeks, caressing them. Randy was in heaven; this was far from what he'd expected to encounter his first evening on the streets.

All too soon he felt the pressure building up, barely had time to tell the kid that he was going to come, before it was too late. His orgasm was intense, and shook him. As he was recovering from it, enjoying the sense of afterglow, the kid stood up, said, "Wait here a minute. I'll go make sure the coast is clear, then come get you."

Randy agreed, and the kid slipped out the door while Randy fixed his pants, pulling down his shirt over them and automatically checking his pocket.

'My wallet! It's gone!' he thought in a panic. He'd had it when he paid for his meal. He checked the floor; no sign of it. And it wouldn't have slipped out of his pocket, tight as his pants were, without him noticing on the walk there. All the money he had, his ID and everything, were in it. He realized that the kid had probably used the blowjob as a distraction to pick his pocket.

He headed for the door, saw nothing, gambled that the kid had probably headed for the street, ran out, and began chasing the kid, whom he saw in the distance running. "Stop, thief!" he called out, realizing it probably wouldn't do any good.

A block and a half later, they were still the same distance apart. If Randy couldn't catch the kid, neither could the kid get away from Randy; they were evenly matched in speed. As the kid neared an old diner – the same one Donny had taken Andy and Ray to, though Randy of course didn't know that – three people came out its door: a chunky middle-aged woman holding the hand of a small Asian-looking girl, and a uniformed police officer.

"Stop him! He's got my wallet!" Randy yelled out.

The policeman stepped forward and grabbed the kid, who'd attempted to veer away when he saw him, but had too much momentum built up. Randy jogged the intervening block-and-change and caught up. The cop meanwhile was detaining the kid.

"He stole my wallet, officer," Randy said.

"He's lying," the kid retorted.

The policeman handcuffed the kid, frisked him, and found Randy's wallet in the kid's jacket pocket. He flipped it open, quickly checked on the money inside, then looked at the picture ID card. The face matched Randy's well enough. "Tell me your name, son,"

"Randy Hollister," Randy answered.

"And how much money was in your wallet?"

"I'm not sure, exactly; I had a hundred ten dollars this morning, but I bought a meal. Um, probably a hundred and four," Randy answered, calculating fast.

"Okay. And what's your home address?" the cop asked.

Randy told him where he had lived, feeling a twinge of pain that t wouldn't be his home any more. The policeman noticed the pained, saddened expression cross his face; his own features showed sympathy.

"Well, this here appears to be yours," the cop said to him, then turned to the kid. "I want your name, and don't lie to me; giving a policeman false information is a separate charge, and you're already in deep enough water without it."

"Billy Barstow, sir," the kid said. "It's not what it seems like, really."

"I'll let Judge Markham be the judge of that; that's what he gets paid for," the cop replied. He pulled out his police radio. "Kowalski to HQ – yes, I did go off duty. Took my wife and little girl out for dinner, and walked out of the diner to have a juvenile pickpocket running just about into me. I'll hold him here until you can send a juvenile officer to collect him. – He says his name's Billy Barstow; I found a wallet belonging to a boy named Randy Hollister on him, with the Hollister boy chasing him and yelling out 'Stop thief!' – He is, huh? What for? – Just last night? – All right, I'll hold him too."

Kowalski clicked off his radio and looked at Randy. "There's a pickup order on you, too." Randy tensed to run, but Kowalski was still holding his wallet. He eyed the situation. "Before you run off, tell me the story. We've got a little time before the juvy officer gets here.

Mrs. Kowalski asked her husband, "Want me to take Liang home?"

"No, wait a few. There's no danger from these two, and I have a hunch." Kowalski was smiling. He turned his attention to Randy, ignoring the handcuffed Billy. "Son, I'm very sorry to hear about your parents. I knew your mother casually; I got my insurance from the office she worked at. Tell me why you ran – and be honest; there's a chance I can help."

"Well, sir, the social worker told me I was going to go into a group home, and my friend Karl lives in one – not the one they were going to put me in. I know what things are like there." Randy decided to be honest. "I don't look forward to being beat up and all my stuff taken, and Karl says the food's awful and they don't care anything about you if you're sent there."

"You'd probably be safer there than trying to live on the streets," Kowalski said, "but I may have something better than either, if this works out." He turned to his wife. "Radomila, give me your cellphone." He pulled out the notebook he'd used earlier, rummaged through it, and found a business card.

---

At the apartment

"Well," Gil said, "if you guys agree, we can replace that lunch date with a dinner one. And this time, I'll call a cab, and we'll ride together, in my car and the cab."

"Sounds good," Donny said with a smile, after polling the others with a glance and getting nods of agreement. Andy was prepared to give Gil the benefit of the doubt for the moment, though it was obvious he still had misgivings.

Gil took a head count. "We'll probably need two cabs," he said, getting out his cellphone to call. He was, however, startled when it buzzed at him to signal an incoming call.

"Gil Christenson here, – Yes, of course, Stan." He listened for a long pause, then said, "We'll be right there," and hung up. "Chay, hand Donny your cellphone. Donny, call two cabs to meet you guys here. Chay, Andy, come with me."

"Are you going to be giving us orders now?" Andy was quietly defiant.

Gil smiled. "Only when it involves a kid getting put in a group home if we don't intervene. That's where we're heading."

"Oh," Andy said. "In that case, ja wohl, mein kapitan!" in a passable imitation of the Sgt. Schultz character from Hogan's Heroes, which the boys watched syndicated reruns of. He grinned.

---

"All right!" Officer Stan Kowalski said. "Randy, the man I just talked to is one of the leading lawyers in this city, Mr. Gilbert Christenson. He has a group of boys under his wardship who have an apartment together, not with him but by themselves, with the oldest of them being the guy officially in charge. I just met them this morning, but I got the distinct impression that they watch out for each other. All of them are kids who ran like you did, for one reason or another. It may not be your cup of tea, but he's coming by to meet you, and will take custody of you if you want him to. It's got to be an improvement over the group homes; I know just what you're talking about with them, from past cases where I had to go there. Want to at least give him a try?"

"You mean I don't have to go with the juvy officer and be put in a group home?" Randy was relieved.

"Not if Attorney Christenson agrees to take you as a client and ward, and he sounds willing." Kowalski turned to his daughter. "Liang, the boy I told you of is coming," he said, in her native language. The little girl broke into a delighted smile.

To be continued....

---

Editor's Notes: It looks as if we have another rescue close at hand. I love it when a plan doesn't even have to come together.

Maybe, somehow, they can rescue Randy's friend, too. Wouldn't that be cool?

I wonder what will happen to the Prick pocket? He seemed like a real scum bucket.

Darryl AKA The Radio Rancher