CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER ONE

CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER TWO

CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER THREE

CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER FOUR, PART ONE

"We'll be back later…or maybe not at all?"

Lynn Gordon Matson and Bentley Carswell returned to Senator Nyparmo’s area to find she was still occupied with another visitor.  Muffled angry exchanges rumbled from the walls.  “We’ll be back later,” Bentley advised Nyparmo’s assistant Polly.  “Or maybe not at all…?” quipped Matson.
Bentley turned to face the detective, smiling and trying to be as charming as possible.  “Let’s show you the compartment you’ll be staying in.  I arranged to have one of the best ones reserved for you.”
”Is it roomy enough for two people to stay in?” asked Matson.
”Oh yes, in fact you could even easily have a few people in it for a private conference or entertaining…” continued Carswell as he led Matson down the aisle, certain his charm was winning the detective over.

Noticing that the detective seemed to be getting bored with the tour and waiting for the meeting with Senator Nyparmo, Bentley decided to by some time by taking Matson all the way to the front of the train to explore the engine compartment.  The compartment was dark with subdued lighting.  It was all very high tech looking with many electronic consoles with blue and green displays and an occasional red light here and there.  There was only one engineer on duty, the others had left for the evening to go to their hotel rooms.  The lone engineer stopped grooving on his tunes long enough to remove his earphones and give a brief tour.  All the train’s systems were controlled from this room and through computers, the train almost controlled itself, running self diagnostic tests, monitoring inside and outside conditions, constantly monitoring and adjusting the internal environment of the train cars.  It was all very impressive, looking much like the interior of some space craft.

********
"Two, four, six, eight; who do we asphyxiate?"

After sending off the little text message on his cell phone, Adam Baum turned his attention to the FBI agent, Stuttstudder who in turn was focusing his attention on a large metal cabinet in the baggage compartment.  “What did you call this thing again?  Some doctor’s cabinet?”
“The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari,” answered Adam. “It’s kind of a joke, It reminded us of an old silent film of the same title.”
“Looks pretty elaborate with the tubing and electronic controls on the front, must be for controlling the environment of the interior.  What are you storing in here, plants?”
Adam’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “There is some sensitive electronic equipment inside.”  The faint, rumbling sound of the argument between Senator Nyparmo and Reverend Mighty drifted into the room. “ Sounds like Senator Nyparmo is giving somebody hell.  Like Harry Truman…give ‘em hell, Harry,” commented Agent Stuttstudder.
Overwhelmed by fear and anxiety, Adam’s ability to converse was becoming limited. “Hell.  Giving hell,” he responded feebly.
”I want to see what’s in this cabinet.  Come on, open it up,” ordered the FBI agent angrily.
”Hell. Giving hell,” Adam began to scratch himself and fidgeted about.
“Haven’t got all night.  Open it up.”  The agent glared at Adam Baum.
“I…I need.  A code needs to be entered into the keypad to open the cabinet.  I’ll have to enter the code.”
“Well, do that then,”  the agent turned from Adam and began to study the cabinet.
“Don’t remember the code.  Should have it written down here somewhere.”  Adam ease his way back to entrance of the baggage compartment, fearfully gripping the open doorway.
“Agent Stuttstudder, what is it that you find so interesting in here?” was the sudden inquiry of a masculine voice.  Agent Stuttstudder jolted and turned back to the entrance to the baggage compartment.  “Zhourg and Snitzer!
“The same,” answered Vegas Zhourg.  “We happened to be in the area and thought you might need some assistance.  Finding anything interesting?”
Zhourg and Snizter bumped the near trancelike Adam Baum out of the way as they entered the room.  Adam closed the door and leaned against it, tightly gripping the door knob.  Zhourg moved to where Stuttstudder was and began to examine the cabinet that the FBI agent was interested in.  Snitzer, in an attempt to draw attention to herself began to stroll around the area much like a little girl invited to a party, feigning an investigation of the area.
“So, what you like us to check out here?” inquired Zhourg.  “Nothing really,” was the FBI agent’s response.  “I’m just doing a quick inspection…you know, things that I think might have been missed the first time around.  Don’t need any help on this.  Minor stuff, really.”
Snitzer drew attention to herself by addressing the agent.  “Could it be you don’t want our help because you don’t consider us to be on par with your professional level?  Since we’re just contract agents and don’t officially work for the government?”  Agent Stuttstudder ignored Snizter.  “Or is it you just don’t like working with women?  Is that it, you don’t a woman like me has the ability to conduct an investigation?”  Agent Stuttstudder was clearly annoyed, “Oh don’t be silly,” he replied.
“I think Agent Zhourg wants your attention,” said Snitzer.
Stuttstudder turned to see Vegas Zhourg pointing a gun at him.

While Adam Baum remained frozen at the baggage compartment doorway, a death grip on the doorknob, he watched in horror as Zhourg and Snitzer overcame the the FBI agent, who now lay on the floor after the two had bound him with rope they found in the compartment. Adam, shivering uncontrollably, gasped and began to breath heavily as Zhourg spoke to Agent Stuttstudder.  “We’re going to send you on a little trip, Stuttstudder, down the River Styx.”
Alarmed and desperate, Stuttstudder pleaded, “I’ve got kids.”
Purity Snitzer was not impressed.  “What, is that supposed to make some sort of difference?” she crowed, “So what?  Millions of people have kids, doesn’t make them any better than anyone else. It’s just a biological thing.  We’re supposed to be impressed because you have healthy sperm?”

Snitzer produced some tissue and duct tape from her purse and handed it to Zhourg.  “This should do the trick,” she said.  “ Two, four, six, eight; who do we asphyxiate?” chanted Zhourg. In reaction, Adam produced a high pitched nervous grunt.  Zhourg and Snitzer looked over Adam, “We like to think of our work as fun,” Zhourg explained.  Zhourg stuffed tissue into agents Stuttstudder’s nostrils and then sealed the agent’s mouth and nose over with duct tape while Snitzer watched, captivated with the process.  Soon, the tightly bound agent was struggling in futile attempt to get air.  This clearly irritated Snitzer, who reprimanded him.  “What’s with this fucking drama?  You’re going to die…just face it and die.  Thousands of people die every day. Why should you be any different?  It’s the way the world is, animals breed and then they die.  It’s part of nature, so just…die!”

Adam Baum let out a very audible squeal and Snitzer blew out a bit of air in disgust.  “Fags are pretty much useless when something important needs to be done.”  Zhourg looked over at the terrified Adam and shook his head in disapproval.  After a short bit, Agent Stuttstudder was no longer animated and was gone.  Zhourg and Snizer covered the body in a large plastic bags and discretely removed it from the train, disapearing into the dense undergrowth near the train tracks.  They appeared to be merely hauling out trash, though there was no one around to see them. Adam Baum was left to sit in a chair in the darkened baggage compartment. He would sit there quietly for some time, staring into nothingness and remaining still, with occasional periods of weeping.

********
"You really are a piece of work, aren't you," hissed Nyparmo, "an x-rated Elmer Gantry."

Nyparmo and Mighty continued their deteriorating conversation.  The Senator’s normally carefully and rigidly controlled speaking voice had taken on a loud and angry tone as her long repressed irritation and anger towards the Reverend Spike Mighty was no longer contained.
“You really are a piece of work, aren’t you,” hissed Nyparmo, “an x-rated Elmer Gantry.”
“Oh please,” countered Mighty, “have you been listening to that liberal progressive anti-Christian propaganda?”
“Oh spare me, Spike,” uttered the Senator, “Please do spare me.  If anyone is anti-Christian, it would be your sleazy, piggy church.”
“I beg your…”
Nyparmo ignored Spike and continued. “ A lot of information about you and your organization has been brought to my attention over the years that I’ve withheld and suppressed because our political association.  That didn’t make me like any of it at all.  Some info that’s come into my possession involve your personal indiscretions regarding your hypocritical proclivities.  I didn’t care about that because, that as a human being, you are simply a waste of time.  What concerned me was the way your church treats women.  Some women complained to my office about your church.  Again, I repressed these complaints but I had my people help these women as best they could. Some of the women furnished me with copies of a sex manual that your church produced, a sort of fundamentalist Christian Kama Sutra.  I read through the manual and it’s basic theme is that if you’re heterosexual and the correct kind of Christian, you can do anything you want, fornicate all over the place and it’s OK in the eyes of God.
“It’s a simple philosophy, if we make heterosexuality a lot of fun, no one will want to be gay.”
“Fun?” snarled Nyparmo, “Degrading women is fun?  Turning women into sluts and sex addicts is fun?  This so nothing to do with Jesus but I suspect has a whole lot to do with the libidos of the good old boys who run your church and it is a whole lot of fun for you and them.  I remember a quote from one of your elders that was in your manual, that women need to get ‘poked’ on a regular basis, otherwise they become cranky and antisocial.  That women who don’t get ‘poked’ on a regular basis start down the road to feminism and lesbianism.”
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Nyparmo glared at Spike momentarily and continued.  Women in your church are told to loosen up sexually to help convert all the gay boys.  To actively pursue gay men and have sex with them, whether or not it was even someone these women wanted to have sex with.  Simply to have sex for sex sake without any regard to the women’s personal desires or their safety.

Your philosophy of anything goes as long as it’s straight and telling women what they want to hear, has disastrous results…that women don’t have to worry about unprotected sex as long because they are heterosexual and white and that some homosexual man will become a perfect companion for them, crawling inside their heads and fixing their minds for them.  Another woman told me that she and others were told that if they ignored some of the sleazier things going on in your church, they would be awarded with the companionship of a gay man that had been recently turned straight.  Isn’t that nice, your church has embraced the concept of gigolos.  Good grief Spike, your people are worse than those post-feminists, the ones that say that now the only women’s issues involve money, body image and getting laid as many times as possible.  I personally don’t care how sluty a woman wants to be, that’s her business as long as she realizes what the consequences are to that kind of behavior.  But in your case, Spike, your organization is actively encouraging women to pursue and stalk homosexual men because your personal fetish to heterosexualize gay men.   One woman told me she was encouraged to be as sleazy and piggy as possible, to engage in whatever degrading sexual activity that was requested of her, that since she was engaged in the noble activity of trying to switch some guys’ sexual orientation, that anything she did would be OK in the eyes of God and God would protect her from any of the nasty little sex bugs out there.  You know what, Spike?” shouted Nyparmo. “That’s not what happened. God didn’t protect those women.  I guess God thinks being a slut is still being a slut regardless of whatever reasoning there is behind the behavior.  The women who complained to my people had acquired an encyclopedia of sexually transmitted diseases including the nastier ones, and some women were now HIV positive.  There is no cure for AIDS, Spike, not even if you speak in tongues, attempt to stage miracles and not any of the preaching you do while your big, garish puss is displayed on giant video screens in your mega church will cure it. 

There were also some women who ended up with unwanted pregnancies, that’s something your organization handles in a very clumsy, let’s sweep it under the carpet kind of way.  The same thing about the STDs, your people don’t like to deal with those issues.   How unfortunate for those affected women. I had my people attempt to help these women that your own people were giving mere lip service to. Yet, because of our political association and even because of my own attitudes about homosexuals, suppressed the information of what was going on in your organization.  Suppressing that irritated me most of all.

That was the physical toll, there was also an emotional one.  The women who talked to my people told me how dirty they felt.  Being told to pursue and have sex with strange men because they were gay so that having sex with a woman would turn them straight, and being told it was all right to be ‘poked’ now and then by some horny church elder so they wouldn’t become some cranky feminist.  You people attempted to deal with the emotional issues by having advising women to take and providing them with goodies like crack and meth.  I guess you thought getting the women really stoned would help blunt the revulsion they felt at doing things they felt were disgusting.  I was told that it did help numb them but they then had to deal with the corrosive effects of the drugs as well as some nasty addictions.  No wonder why you are so defensive of Mr. Harold Benedict, maybe his drug cartel friends were providing your church with the street drugs.

Let’s also mention that porn site your organization quietly runs.  Lots of photos of bodacious naked babes so that gay men will look at the site and turn straight. Again, some of the women from your church were encouraged to pose for the site. I was going through you church’s manual the other other day and found it even suggests that t it would be all right for mothers to have sex with their sons if they suspect their sons are gay or sisters to have sex with their brothers if they suspect their brother is gay.” Nyparmo shook her head in pity. “Incest is still incest, even if you hope it cure homosexuality.  What a kinky lot you all must be

Yes, I know, you guys are always exclaiming how devoted you are to your wives, but from all the information I’ve acquired the past few years, I really don’t think you like women.   I may have a strong distaste for gay men but I’ve noticed how much better they treat women than you militant heterosexual guys.  Yes, you and your organization have a mindless fetish about rescuing and curing homosexuals, but I believe at the core of your beliefs lies a sequestered misogyny.   I was even told that your church quietly encourages heterosexual promiscuity among its members as a way to prevent homosexuality.  Prevent homosexuality or libido relief church elders?  Regardless as to how one feels about the homosexual problem, turning women into whores reprehensible.  Fighting that which you consider immoral with immorality?   It amazes me that you have been able to go on this long your carnival side show.  You are so pathetic, Spike.

I believe there are churches that are turning a blind eye to your activities, while others are simply unaware.  If what is going on in your organization became general knowledge, I imagine that the true Christians would become quite ballistic. This is one of the core reasons I am terminating the political relationship with you.  At some time in the future, the stuff, the lawsuits and the tell all books are going to hit the fan and I don’t want to be anywhere near you and get splattered.”

When Nyparmo finally finished speaking, the Right Reverend Spike Mighty, breathing deeply, spoke, “You’ve painted a lurid picture of my organization, but that may because you don’t understand the needs and desires of normal heterosexual people.  As long as we are sharing our true feelings about each other, let me bring up a few points about you, not that I would want to cause any tremors on that high moral plateau you are on,” stated Mighty with a vicious smile. “Let me start with a story about a little girl named Kathleen Burgstaller.”

The Senator remained silent, intrigued as to what the Reverend Spike Mighty might say.

“Little Kathleen, with her Aryan, blond hair, blue eyes looks,  was the favorite of her conservative billionaire Grandfather.  In fact, Kathleen, well up to the days when she attended college, was usually seen publicly with her grandfather; she seem to be his primary companion.  Because of his great wealth grandfather was also able to get Kathleen anything she wanted.  Grandfather also had an interest in politics and primed his granddaughter for a political career.  Then one day, Kathleen met Jeff Nyparmo, the young, handsome progressive politician.  Kathleen went to her Grandfather and rumor has it that soon afterward, Grandfather Burgstaller made Jeff Nyparmo an offer he couldn’t refuse and Kathleen and Jeff were wed soon after.  Bolstered by Grandfather Burgstaller’s warchest, Jeff’s political career took off.  Not that Kathleen’s career stood still.  With her law degree, she went to work for some major corporations and soon developed a reputation as a super aggressive, ball busting, no prisoners taken lawyer.  There’s some audio on you can find on the internet of Kathleen threatening a nineteen year old coed with a thirty year prison sentence for downloading a Limp Bizkit song.  There’s another of Kathleen telling a sixty-eight year old grandmother that she was going to seize her house because the woman wrote and published some unauthorized fan fiction on the internet.”

Senator Nyparmo fidgeted but didn’t interrupt Spike.

Jeff Nyparmo’s career was going gangbusters for awhile until he seemed to lose interest in his liberal politics and apparently began concentrating on compulsive philandering. What is that old saying?  Three’s a crowd, four is plenty and five, you’re dead?  People began to ask if Jeff Nyparmo doing anything outside of screwing around and suddenly his career crashed and burned.  While Jeff Nyparmo declined a run for the Senate, his wife instead decided to run, when she was elected, that’s when you became Senator Nyparmo, Kathleen.

You did quite well in office, using Jeff Nyparmo’s and your grandfather’s political skills you built quite the political machine in your state.  Your abrasive style got things done, but it was Jeff’s easygoing style that was the glue that held things together.  Jeff always managed to soothe the discomfort.  Your first term as senator went smoothly but after you got elected for your second term, things started getting bumpy.  People assumed that you were a progressive because Jeff was regarded as one.  However, during your first term, you used your influence to dismantle the progressive organizations in your state and put neocon moles and ringers in charge of them.  You even placed people from ex-gay groups and your state’s health department in positions of authority to run gay organizations with the intent on dealing with homosexuality as a disease which must be controlled.  So essentially, you successfully neutralized the liberal movement in your state.  But then, the Democratic party began loosing elections to conservative Republicans and the party began pointing fingers at you since you were supposed to be one of the heads of the party.”

“It wasn’t my fault they began loosing elections,” interrupted Senator Nyparmo.  “I was only doing what they told me to do.  The party bigwigs felt the party was moving too far to the political left, and their big corporate contributors didn’t like that, plus some of their contributors didn’t care for homos or gay rights.  After I was elected, the bigwigs came to me and said the Joe and JIll Bigshot didn’t like the leftward tilt in the political atmosphere and wanted me to shove the party to the right.  They felt that since I was chummy enough with the queers and the progressives, I could do that easily without anybody suspecting what was going on.   I was a team player. I did that for them, I got rid of the liberals and the fags. It was easy, they all thought I was a progressive, so no one would question anything I did or defend themselves, the fools. The party bigwigs were happy.  However, in doing the political shift, they alienated their political base, people lost interest in the party and they started losing elections.  Why vote for one political party when it is exactly like the other party?  That was not my fault.”

“I guess that wouldn’t be your fault, Senator Nyparmo, if you were just following orders,” stated Reverend Mighty.  “However, some correspondence was leaked to the press, some memos to and from Phineas Answitz, the extremely wealthy telecom and media mogul and a long time friend of your late grandfather.  Answitz is an excellent person to have on your side if you are a politician, with all of his media enterprises.  The memos indicated that old Phineas was giving you instructions to torpedo liberal legislation he did not like and also telling you to make sure legislation favoring his many corporations did pass.  Your voting record in the Senate dovetailed Mr. Answitz’s wishes.”
“Trumped up and coincidence,” snarled Senator Nyparmo sarcastically in a deep voice, Just because I like to both sides into the political dialogue.”
“But then,” continued Spike Mighty, “Another memo from Phineas Answitz surfaced, this was suppressed in the press, but did find its way to party headquarters. The memo from Answitz congratulated you on secretly pirating money from the Democratic election war chest over to the coffers of conservative Republican candidates, some of whom were your best neocon friends in college.   Great fun to pull this little joke, but the Democrats were not amused.

I guess the Democrats didn’t mind you playing footsie with the other side, and they did want you to shift the party to the right, but they just didn’t want the Republicans using their campaign funds.  Like I said, almost nothing about this got into the media, but the news was shared in party and they asked you to leave the party…though you were actually being kicked out.

I heard you tried switching over to the Republicans, but that episode was kind embarrassing for them since a lot of them didn’t know about the money being laundered from the Democratic war chest and the Republican bigwigs felt that you were someone that just couldn’t be trusted since they didn’t know whose side you were really on.  That’s why you became an independent.

Still, without the support of a party, you did have your grandfather’s people, your husband Jeff and people like Phineas Answitz.  Imagine, going through all that and now you discover the country is going to be broken up into little pieces.  No wonder you decided to take a little train trip.  Of course, it’s a shame that your husband Jeff won’t be accompanying you on this trip.  Jeff had that terrible accident while back country sking.  He’s lucky that a cross country skier came across him when he did.  Though, with the brain injury, Jeff is a mere shell of his former self.

It’s a shame that two of you never had any children.  Oh, I’m sorry.  I should correct myself.  Jeff does have a child.  Seems all the rumors of Jeff’s philandering was just a smoke screen to draw attention away from a long term relationship he had with another woman.  All those years you were married, Jeff was quietly maintaining a relationship with her and bringing up their child.  It’s amazing that you never suspected…”

“Get out!“ erupted Senator Nyparmo. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Get the hell out of here!”

********
"I've got the homosexual part down extremely well and I've been told that now I'm very much the expert at it."

Arriving right after Polly Bland had quickly and quietly hustled the Reverend Spike Mighty to a rear exit of the train, Matson and Carswell made the trip to the back to Senator Nyparmo’s private car. Polly motioned them forward.  Senator Nyparmo was now ready to meet the private investigator.  Polly had a chilly demeanor, she gave Beef and Bentley a frosty glare as she led them into the Senator’s reception area.  No offer was made of any beverages nor was there even a request that they sit down.  Senator Nyparmo had an expression on her face like that of an approaching thunderstorm.  The awkward moment convinced Bentley that he this was a place where he didn’t want to be.  He excused himself and began to leave.  Nyparmo called out and Carswell froze like a cat burglar in a spot light.  “You don’t have to leave, this won’t take long,” she admonished.  Carswell fidgeted, while valiantly trying to maintain a cheerful smile.
“So, Mr. Matson,” stated Nyparmo provocatively, “the news media states that you are a practicing homosexual.”
“Certainly not, ma’am,” replied the detective, “I’ve got the homosexual part down extremely well and I’ve been told that now I’m very much the expert at it.  If they start handing out awards for being gay, I may receive several of the top nominations.”
Nyparmo seemed to be mildly startled at Beef’s statement, yet her unfriendly expression remained welded to her face. Instead she looked down at Matson’s wrist and his watch.  “That’s an interesting watch, may I see it?”  The detective remembered Carswell’s warning not to give Nyparmo any personal items, she would immediately decide the item was a gift and keep it.
“No,” replied Matson glibly, “I have a fetish about people not handling my personal possessions.”
“I imagine that’s not the only fetish you have,” she wise cracked.  “So…” huffed the Senator, “What is this about again?  Why did Bentley think you needed to meet me?”
Bentley smiled submissively, “You remember…I told you the corporation had hired Mr. Matson as the head of train security for our first cross country trip.  He’s famous for just discovering that lost gangster vault here in Milwaukee.” Matson was going to interject that he had neither been hired nor accepted any position, but Nyparmo immediately began speaking, so the detective held his tongue.
“I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself to you and your corporation.  I am having my own people come on board to handle all the facets of this trip, including security.  My people are professional, I don’t need some celebrity fag on board pretending to know about security.”
Matson did not react to Nyparmo’s statement, he remained calm and impassive. He was used to expressions of bigotry, in fact, such statements gave him a sense of security and empowerment.  When a person vocalized in such a way, Matson immediately knew what kind of person he was dealing with and what their feelings were.  Lynn Gordon Matson had also become very secure in himself, trying to shame him for being gay was pointless.  In addition, he would automatically regard a person making hateful and hurtful statements as being morally inferior to himself and therefore, he would have very little regard for anything that person might say.

Trying to maintain a voice that was as non threatening as possible, Bentley tried to reason with the Senator. “The corporation is very adamant that the staff we trained for this inaugural run is to stay in place…”
“Bentley, I don’t give a flying… “ paused the firm speaking Nyparmo, “I’ve worked for and dealt with large mutl-national firms, so I don’t care what the little attempt at a corporation you work for says.  All I have to do is make a couple of phone calls and all your corporate people will develop a bad case of diarrhea.   The only employees from your corporation we will need around are the train engineers and you personally will allowed to swish around the train as you much as you please so that your corporation will have a representative of their staff on board.   When my people come aboard in Chicago, there won’t be any need or room for anyone else.”
Bentley Carswell pressed, “Mr. Matson comes very highly recommended and the corporation is very concerned with security issues since this being the first cross country trip of this train, plus they are also concerned about your personal security.”
“My personal security?” barked Nyparmo, “What sort of joke is that?  If there’s some sort of personal threat to me, what is Mr. Handsome here going to do, stand and pose?  If there is a security need, I’ll have one of my own people, someone with actual ability,  tend to it professionally.”

There followed a very pregnant silence with Bentley noticing that Beef Matson had very much lost interest in the meeting.  Bentley forced himself to say something much like a car being forced to start on a very cold morning.  “Well, I did want you to meet Mr. Matson.  And I…er…hear your concerns and those issues…will have to be addressed by the corporate, ah…people.”  Nyparmo gave Carswell a look like she wanted him to eat something poisonous and die and turned away, not even acknowledging Beef Matson. Looking at Carswell, Matson shrugged his shoulders and the two left the Senator’s compartment and headed back down the corridor.

********

“Why thank you, Bentley,” spoke Matson.  “That was absolutely delightful.  I imagine that everyone on this train are going to be one incredibly happy family.”
Bentley instantly began a machine gun apologetic rap, insisting that Senator Nyparmo was just in a bad mood and that the rest of the trip would be much better, in fact, Matson did not have to have any contact with the Senator at all, and above all, would Beef please, oh please, take the job.
“You know, Bentley,” continued Matson, "The last few assignments I’ve had were relatively rewarding and involved only a small amount of aggravation. I’d like to keep things that way and taking this job would seem to guarantee copious amounts of aggravation.  My assistant Randy has been encouraging me to take some time off and spend it in some snowy mountain lodge curled up with some hunk.  My assistant is one smart little dude and I think I should take his advice.  So good luck with your maiden train voyage…my opinion is that you’re going to need it.  For myself, as cool as this train is,  I intend to use my plane tickets to return to San Francisco and be in my office there later in the week, probably looking at the web sites of mountain resorts with absolutely no one like Senator Nyparmo around to contend with.”

********

Immediately after Matson and Carswell left, Senator Nyparmo conferred with her assistant Polly.  “How outrageous!  Imagine, trying to dump some fag detective on me.  What gets to me is when a white male of obvious good stock proclaims homosexuality.   It doesn’t bother me when one of the lesser ethnics takes to the rainbow road, but a white male with obvious good Aryan genes…” The Senator paused, “I remember something else about that detective.  He’s pretty chummy with that dyke lawyer, Berry Starr, the one that made so much grief for us awhile back.  I’m pretty sure he does some snooping for her from time to time.  It’s probably nothing, but I want to make sure that the only reason the corporation wants to hire that guy is because they want a pretty boy semi celebrity that photographs well on board the train.  I just want to make sure that he’s not here to snoop on me.  Tell Purity and Vegas when they’ve finished helping Adam that I want them to check up on that Matson and while he’s in the area, see if he’s connecting with anyone that might be a threat to us.  Also, make sure Snitzer and Zhourg don’t forget that I want them to retrieve the envelope and its contents I gave Spin Waffle.  When Adam Baum is finished doing what he’s doing, tell him I wish to see him.  I have a little assignment for him that he might enjoy, involving his old friend, the Reverend Spike Mighty.

********

Bentley wandered down the shadowy, deserted and silent train corridor. The unpleasant and embarrassing meeting with Nyparmo was one sizable chunk of stress in his life that he did not need; at least it was over and done with.  His job certainly had become a complicated, stressful one.  Fighting to keep his staff from losing their jobs while playing the football between the company he worked for and Senator Nyparmo, was stressful enough, then suddenly federal agents started taking interest in the train and asking all sorts of questions without giving any reason why.  In particular, the very secretive agent named Gary who was pressuring him to hire the private detective Matson as a security officer for the train.  Bentley didn’t even realize they had any security issues with the train, this was supposed to be nothing more than a pleasant trip out west on a very luxurious train.  He was beginning to have a suspicion that something was going on that he was clueless about.  Poor Carswell began to long for his previous position supervising pleasure cruises on Mississippi River boats.

Bentley paused in the hallway, reflecting on what a disaster the meeting between Matson and Nyparmo was.  He had been certain that when the senator met the handsome, masculine and charming private detective, she would have been won over; that certainly wasn’t the case.  Lost in thought, Carswell was unaware that he was being watched from a short ways down the shadowy corridor.  The more association Bentley had with Nyparmo, the more he was convinced that her reputation as being difficult was an understatement.  Suddenly, as he remembered how much Beef Matson liked the seating in the Ultra First Class section, Carswell had an idea.  He would de-stress himself by sauntering to the first class section, sit in one of the seats, page Melissa to bring him a cocktail made with the train’s best liquor, turn on the seat massage unit and wait for Melissa to bring him his drink.

The eyes that had been watching Bentley from down the hall were now moving much closer and were rapidly closing in on him. As Carswell turned to go to the first class section, he jolted.  The secret agent named Gary was standing nearly nose to nose in front of him.  “Good sweet everlovin’ Jesus!” stammered Bentley.  “How in heaven’s name do you do that?” he complained.  “You need to get some hard leather soles put on your shoes, the noisier the better.” Gary smiled a tiny smile. “So, when is Matson coming on board?  I can arrange for someone to pick up his bags from his hotel.” “Ah…” Bentley averted his eyes, “Ummm, slight problem.  He said he didn’t want the job.” “What?” Gary was not pleased. Bentley Carswell told him that all went well with Matson until he met with Senator Nyparmo, then suddenly things went downhill, as in a landslide.  Gary continued to not be happy and told Bentley he should have never introduced Nyparmo to Matson, in fact, she should have been kept out of the loop completely.  Gary then told Carswell that he should have a compartment set aside for Matson, that he, Gary, would personally make sure that the private detective would take the job.  Gary would handle the situation directly, Bentley was not to say anything to Nyparmo about Matson, when the train was ready to leave Milwaukee, Lynn Gordon Matson would be on board as the new security officer and Nyparmo would find out about him then.  Gary then quickly and quietly hustled down the corridor on his way to exit the train. “The man moves like a damned cat,” observed Bentley quietly.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Secret agent Gary is not happy with Bentley when Matson refuses the security job.

********

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Matson returns to the Our Place Too bar after the meeting with Senator Nyparmo.

Leaving Bentley Carswell and the train Lynn Matson did a quick hike through the desolate warehouse area returning to the Your Place Too bar.  Once there, Matson dumped himself onto a bar stool and threw his arms onto the bar.  “Jeez-loo-wheez,” he complained to himself, “this would have been one excellent adventure if it had not been for that last little episode.” The bartender noticed Beef, “What’ll it be, bud?” Matson smiled gently and replied, “Oh just give me a…” the detective paused, “No, I think I’ll do something with a bite this time.  What do you recommend, I’ll be an adventurist.” “Well.” replied the bartender, “We’ve got some special Halloween drinks, there’s the Wicked Witch’s Tit…” “I’ll pass on wicked witches.” “How ‘bout a Jack-O-Lantern Supreme then?” “That’ll work,” replied Matson. A bar patron paused as he passed Beef.  “I know you…you’re a celebrity, aren’t you?” “Well, maybe…” said Beef, “Guess I’ve been on TV locally.” “TV?” puzzled the man, “No, I’ve seen you perform at Pridefest.” “No…you wouldn’t have seen me at Pridefest.  I’m not a performer.” “Yes, you are.  You sing. You’re Andy Northrup.  I saw you sing on the stage at Pridefest.  Yeah, that’s right.  I like that Christmas song of yours, ‘Christmas, I Need You’”. “Yes, that’s a great song,” agreed Matson, “But that’s not my song, I’m not a musician and I’m not Andy Northrup.” “You’re not?” the man again puzzled, “You look just like him.  Well, who are you then?” “I’m Beef Matson,” Beef Matson smiled a friendly smile, “I’m the detective.  The one who discovered the hidden gangster rooms here in Milwaukee. I was interviewed on your local TV about that.” “No…” grunted the man, “Haven’t heard anything about that.  Guess I don’t know who you are then.”  The man abruptly continued on his way.  Matson shook his head in amazement and turned back to face the bar.  The bartender had his drink waiting for him, a somewhat exotic looking concoction.  The handsome detective smiled.  “I guess I could use this now.”  A sip of the drink revealed that it was indeed potent. “What’s in this Jack’O Lantern thing?” he asked of the bartender.  “Some soda, bitters, flavoring…and a lot of Jack Daniels,” was the reply.

As someone who rarely imbibed on alcoholic beverages, it was a rare event for the private detective to sit in a bar and get mellow on a strong drink.  Matson did find the experience entertaining, feeling the buzz and the people watching was interesting for someone with strong observational skills like Beef, especially on a night when the bar was having a costume contest.  

After several minutes of watching a mass of humanity swirl about the bar in a fantasy costumed ballet, a handsome, clean cut young man plopped himself down on the bar stool next to Matson.  It was Gary, the secret agent.  He smiled a tiny businesslike but sincere smile.  “Lynn Gordon Matson,” he announced and offered his hand for a greeting shake, “Very pleased to meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“Thank you” responded Matson, shaking Gary’s hand, “And you didn’t mistake me for Andy Northrup.”
“What?”
“Nothing…and your name is?”
“The name’s Gary.”  Matson took note that no last name was offered and the detective immediately began to make mental observations about this stranger who just didn’t quite fit in with the bar crowd.  “I have an excellent assignment for you that I think you’ll find very interesting.  How would you like to come to work for me?”
“Would it be something that would involve the removal of my clothing?” inquired Matson.
Gary chuckled, “Why would you think that?”
“You remind me a bit of a porn producer I once knew.”

Gary produced a whimsical smile and continued, “Actually, this is a very important assignment.  I’ve done a background check on you and was very impressed with your background in military intelligence, the police and your own investigative agency.  There aren’t that many people with your kind of background and experience.” Matson did not respond, taking a sip of his drink instead.  He wanted to see where this man was headed with all the flattery.
“I’ve just been informed,” continued Gary, “that you turned down the position of security officer on the new Starfire train.  I want you to accept the position, except that I want you to know that you won’t be working for the corporation that owns and runs the train, you’ll be working for and reporting to me.”
“Really…” replied Matson guardedly, pausing a moment to study the man seated next to him. “You’re a fed, aren’t you.”
Gary paused momentarily and spoke, “Yes, that’s right.  Don’t take the matter of the security position lightly.  This is something that involves a very important matter related to national security.  You’re being given an excellent opportunity to serve your country.”
“Where have I heard that before…” muttered Beef cynically.
“Bartender,” shouted Gary, placing a twenty dollar bill on the bar, “Get Mr. Matson here another of whatever he’s drinking and keep the change.”
“Yes, sir!” trumpeted the bartender.
“If you’re expecting a John Wayne, ‘Let’s go marines’ response from me,” voiced Matson, “you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not interested in the position.”
Gary grimaced in frustration.  “You don’t understand.  This is something that is very, very important to national security.”
Lynn Gordon Matson paused again, studying Gary and made another observation.  “You’re a spook, aren’t you?  A fed spook agent.”
Gary smiled knowingly.  This man obviously knew a little of the inside of things.  Any other person would be asking him for all kinds of identification, but Matson didn’t, because he knew.  The bartender arrived with another drink for Beef Matson and banged it on the bar.  “Anything else, gentlemen?” he asked eagerly.
Gary dismissed the bartender and continued with Matson.

“Why don’t you insert one of your own people into the security position?” queried Matson.
“Because of time constrains and political sensibilities.  We don’t have the time to set up an inside investigation on the train and we don’t want anyone who might be identified as one of our agents on board because an undercover investigation might be upsetting to some of the passengers.”
“Would the initials of one of those passengers be Senator Nyparmo?”
“Yes,” admitted Gary, “She can be territorial.”
“Understatement.”
“What are your views on Nyparmo?”
“I’d prefer not to view her at all.”
“What do you think of her politics?”
“I don’t think at all of her politics or think much of politics in general.  I’ve been in the investigations business long enough to know not to place a politician on any kind of pedestal.”
“Do you have any thoughts about Nyparmo at all?”
“That she would be the absolute last person I would want to be stranded on a desert isle with.”

Gary then endeavored to sell Beef Matson on taking the job as security officer on the train and working undercover for him.  When Matson pressed for more information as to the exact type of information Gary would be expecting him to uncover, the federal agent was vague, that Matson would be helping Gary find some stolen government property and information would be passed on to Matson on a need to know basis.  Gary stressed that Matson would be perfect for the position, no one would suspect him because he was a private investigator who be the sort of person who would be hired for this kind of position and that finding someone else with Matson’s qualifications would be virtually impossible in the short amount of time required for the investigation.   The cover story would be Matson was hired because of his fame resulting from his discovery of the hidden gangster vault in Milwaukee and the corporation running the train wanted to drum up as much publicity as possible regarding the inaugural run of the Starfire.  Gary stressed all the positives and opportunities that working undercover would bring to Matson; adventure and the possibility for future undercover work.  Beef was still not sold on the idea.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Beef Matson remains unreceptive to Gary's proposition.

"Bullshit is still bullshit.  If you force yourself to put up with it everyday, the only thing you'll ever get out of it is a bad smell."

“Ah yes,” said Matson, ”the opportunity of a career full of ambiguity and adventure and the chance to meet interesting new people…and kill them.” The private investigator repeated what he told Bentley Carswell.  All he wanted to do was to hop on a plane back to San Francisco and then concentrate on taking some time off, maybe in some peaceful snow bound mountain lodge.  As nice as the Starfire was, Matson didn’t want to put himself in the middle of all the political squabbling that seemed to be taking place on that train, not to mention what might happen if the parties on the train found out he was snooping on them.

Gary again stressed the opportunities that might come Matson’s way as a result of the undercover position as well as calling to Matson’s sense of duty to serve his country.  Matson responded with an anecdote.  He related that during his days working in military intelligence he had become highly regarded, assembling an impressive record of high rated performance evaluations and many commendations.  “Then one day,” related Matson, “I was called into the office of my commanding officer’s commanding officer.  The man told me they had found out I was a homosexual.  It was not because of anything I did or because I said anything to anyone.  Guess they ran some sort of profiling on me and decided I was gay.  They just didn’t want anyone who was gay in their private, heteros only club.  Tossed me out of the military and did it in the cruelest way they knew how.   It was all really amazing since I was such the Mr. Clean and Mr. team player.  I helped cover up, as I was expected to, for some total fuck-ups in my unit.  Man, those guys could get themselves into some real messes and had some totally scary personal lives, but since they were straight, all that was excused.  Then there was me, celibate, squeaky clean, by the rules, Lynn Matson.  In fact, my nickname was Mr. Clean.  Ironically, all the other guys finished their terms of service, I was the only one who was discharged.  So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t respond to that sense of duty thing.  Been there, done that.

One thing that experience taught me is that playing by the rules, at least someone else’s rules, doesn’t work.  Even if you play by their rules, it won’t matter if you’re gay or something else that people don’t like.  So I play by my own rules and my own sense of morality, which I find is often superior to those who believe they are morally superior to me. 

The other thing I won’t put up with is taking any crap about my sexuality or anything else about my life.  I realized that what I’m doing with my life is not anywhere outrageous enough to upset anyone else.  In fact, I usually find the people who like to point fingers at others have personal lives that are pretty well checkered.  So I make a point about not putting up with any crap.  Bullshit is still bullshit.  If you force yourself to put up with it everyday, the only thing you’ll ever get out of it is a bad smell.  So as far as taking the job on the train and putting up with the crap that Senator Nyparmo and others might toss at me, absolutely not.  You need to find someone else.”

Finally, Gary gave up trying to convince the stubborn Matson.  Yet the conversation and the insight into Matson’s background impressed the agent of the nobility of the detective and he was more determined than ever that Matson would be a perfect fit for the assignment on the train.   “Never say never again, Mr. Matson,” said Gary, “I’m noted for getting my way.  I may yet find a way to get you to take the assignment.”  As Gary left the bar, he reflected on his impressions of Beef Matson after his first meeting with the detective, “The dude abides,” he thought.  Then as Gary strolled out the front entrance of the bar he voiced his frustrations about Matson refusing the undercover job, “Oh…poopie!”

********

Unknown to Gary and Beef Matson, they had been observed by a couple on the other side of the bar room.  One individual was wearing a George W. Bush mask and a shorter individual was wearing a mask of Barack Obama.  It was Vegas Zhourg and Purity Snitzer.  They had bought the masks off people in the street and came into the bar in disguise to observe who Matson talked to.  They watched as Gary approached Matson and talked with him, though they weren’t able to hear a word that was said. “Well, well, well,” Zhourg said to Snitzer. “It looks like our pretty boy homo private eye hangs with some heavy hitters.  Of all people, Gary the spook.  Do you think Gary is a little light in the loafers?” “Hmmph,” snorted Snitzer. “It’s obvious that he doesn’t like us but it apparently doesn’t bother him at all to hang with the homos.  I also noticed that he didn’t show any interest in me at all.  Maybe it’s because he doesn’t like girls.” “I think this Matson guy needs to be interrogated,” stated Zhourg.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Snitzer and Zhourg (in masks) observe Matson and Gary.

********

Lynn Gordon Matson was a bit hesitant about starting in on the second Jack-O-Lantern Supreme the federal agent Gary had bought for him,but then he decided, what the hell, he didn’t have to be anywhere tomorrow.  A couple of sips gave him more of a warm feeling and added to the buzz he had from the first drink.  Matson reflected on his trip to Milwaukee, it had been much more interesting and rewarding than the detective thought it would be.  Plus the offer of the job on the new Starfire train was intriguing, but the display of corporate and government politics on the train and the just plain rude behavior by Senator Nyparmo was an extreme put off.  Matson had allowed no time in his life for office politics, that was something for the rats in the office cubicle maze.  The mysterious visit by the secret agent named Gary was also intriguing but it brought a flood of bad memories of Beef Matson’s stint with military intelligence.  Best, he thought,  to keep a wide berth between him and that spy versus spy business.  He only wished that his assistant Randy had been here.  He thought Randy would have enjoyed this trip, especially finding the old gangster rooms.

Taking another sip of the Jack-O-Lantern Supreme, Matson decided to put himself into good mood mode.  It was rare for a teetotaler like Beef to sit at a bar drinking, such an activity seemed to be a monumental waste of time to the private investigator.  However, now he would allow himself some down time, enjoy the buzz from the drinks and watch the parade of people in costumes, some of which were very clever and amusing.  Mentally, he patted himself on the back for doing a good job on the Milwaukee case and also for turning down the train security officer job. What nightmare that could have turned into.  He had come a long way from the days he had to take assignments he didn’t want to out of financial concerns.

Matson gave his muscular torso a stretch and quietly muttered to himself, “Aw gawd…politics…who needs it?”  As the private detective swiveled on his bar stool, he found himself with face to face with two people wearing masks of two presidents, Barack Obama and George W. Bush.  “Whoa…” exclaimed Beef, “Are you two guys looking for political campaign donations?” “Oh, the masks,” said the taller of the two, wearing the George W. Bush mask.  The couple removed the masks revealing themselves as Vegas Zhourg and Purity Snitzter, who were of course, unknown to Lynn Matson.

Matson quietly thought to himself that the two would have been better off leaving the masks on.  The male had a not charming face with features reminiscent of a rodent.  The female was shorter with a slightly pudgy figure and a stern, almost angry face with all the attractiveness of a prison warden. The woman suddenly flung herself in front of Matson, presenting herself in an exaggerated clumsy sexiness, that seemed to be taken from a badly done 1940s film noir movie, her arm lifted so her heavy coat flopped on the bar between Matson and his drink.  You’re Lynn Bordon, aren’t you,” she asked, “the private investigator?”  Matson paused, flashing an “are you for real” look at the woman.  “ That’s Lynn Gordon Matson,” he corrected.
“Oh yes, my mistake,” laughed the woman, shaking her head in another film noir move, though looking more like a bird after taking a dip in a bird bath.  She pulled her coat from off the bar and Matson pulled his drink closer to him lest this woman knock it off the bar.  What the detective did not realize was that the woman had quickly emptied a small packet of powder into the detective’s drink when she flung part of her coat over the bar.  Matson took another sip of his drink, feeling uncomfortable as the two strangers stared at him.  A thought pranced through the private investigator’s mind that the couple were two ugly bookends, two toadlike trolls that belonged with each other.

Vegas Zhourg flashed an identification at Matson.  “I didn’t quite get that…you’re a contractor for the federal government?”
“Our paychecks may come through different channels but we are on the same team as the man you talked with a short while ago.”
“Is that what this is about? I thought I had settled that.  I’m not taking the job on the train.”
Zhourg glanced at Snitzer.  “Still, Mr. Matson,” continued Zhourg, “We’d like to ask you some questions about the train and how the position of security officer was presented to you.”  Zhourg and Snitzer began to ask Matson questions, mostly about Gary, the agent he just met.  Sensing something was not quite right, Matson replied only with simple answers when asked about himself and he honestly told the agents he had just met the other agent, Gary.  Matson was also beginning to not feel very well.  He was beginning to feel very out of it and slightly dizzy.  He decided that drinking the second Jack O’ Lantern had not been a good idea.   He was beginning to find the questions of the two agents very irritating.  They kept asking him questions about the agent named Gary and Matson kept repeating that he had just met the man, that if they wanted information from the other agent, they should ask him themselves.  Then the man told Matson that he and his companion were investigating the recent vampire murders in Wisconsin, that the information they needed to discuss with him was highly confidential and it would be better to discuss it at another location away from the noise and possible prying ears in the bar.  Lynn Gordon was finding it difficult to concentrate, all he wanted to do now was get a cab and go to his hotel room, he’d come back for his rental jeep in the morning.  The two agents continued their tag team approach to questioning and wanting Matson to leave with them.  Matson refused to go anywhere with the couple but finally agreed to talk with them outside on the sidewalk.  The trio left and led Matson around the block to where their car was parked.  As he approached the car, Matson suddenly had a feeling that the sidewalk was floating on jello.  As he stopped and tried to steady himself, Purity Snitzer opened the car’s rear door, with her companion grabbing Matson and pushing the very wobbly and limp private investigator inside.
As Matson landed in the backseat of the vehicle, it was becoming clear to him that he had been drugged, it was becoming difficult for him to move and he had a very powerful feeling of involuntary relaxation.  The couple drove their captive a short distance to a downtown hotel and hustled Matson in through a back entrance.  By the time they got the private investigator to their room, the very compliant Matson was walking, but barely.  The couple dragged Matson to the bathroom and then let him fall to the floor.  By that time, Matson was not responding well to their questions, at least with nothing that was very coherent and he seemed to be barely conscious.  The male agent Zhourg turned to his companion Snitzer, almost furious.  “You put a double dose in his drink, didn’t you?” he accused.
”A double dose works faster,” she replied.
”Yeah, and look what we end up with,” countered her companion. “All we can do now is see what we can get out of him.”

********

Moments after agents Zhourg and Snitzer absconded with his boss, a cab with Randy Hardwicke arrived at the block where the Your Place Too club was located.  Instead of turning the corner the cabby paused his vehicle and turned around to Randy speaking in a kind of Milwaukee accent.  “Looks like dey gots some doin’s at dat bar you want to go to.  Ya mind if I let you off here?  Dis street just dead ends up in the train yards so once I leave you off I’d have to come back again dis way through all dat traffic.”
Randy agreed, the cabby let him off on the corner and he began the short half block walk to the club.  Instead of putting on the cap with the Matson Investigations logo, Randy stashed the cap into his jacket pocket and began to walk down the street.  As Randy walked down the sidewalk, his blond hair flashed in the light of a street light and was noticed immediately by the Reverend Spike Mighty who was haranguing passerbys at the other end of the block about the evils of homosexuality.  Young, blond Caucasian males were at the top Reverend Mighty’s must convert-to-heterosexual list.  The evangelist zeroed in on Randy, bumping other pedestrians on the sidewalk out of the way like a runaway snow plow in his zeal to reach the young man.

Randy almost made it to the canopy covered sidewalk leading up to the entrance of the Your Place Too club when the Right Reverend Spike Mighty stepped into his way and began to badger the young blond man.  Reverend Mighty thundered into Randy’s face how important it was for a young man like him undergo a therapy to become straight.  How strange and rude of someone, thought Randy, that someone would feel that had to the right to go up to someone on the street and demand that they change a basic and very personal aspect of themselves.
”Sorry, I am just so not into electro shock and being immersed in ice water,” replied Randy flippantly.  “However much you might get off on that sort of kink, I just not into that.”  The Right Reverend Spike Mighty brushed off Randy’s comments and the antigay evangelist continued to pursue the young blond, telling Randy how he personally would take interest into changing the young man’s sexuality so that he would become exgay.  Still, Randy shrugged off the preacher, rejecting the notion of having any part of him changed. “Making gay people go straight,” replied Randy, “is like buying a top of the line, pimped out Cadillac and then stripping out all the accessories until you just have a bench seat and a lot of holes in the dashboard…just doesn’t make any sense.”
Spike began to turn rather naughty, “Listen you little bottle squatting freak…keep thinking the way you are and you’re going to go straight to…”
Reverend Mighty’s words were cut short when a heavy set bouncer from the bar interceded, gently giving Randy a gentle shove towards the direction of the bar entrance and standing in between the preacher and Randy. Randy quietly quipped to the bouncer, “Well, I’d end up in hell if I listened to him, ex-gay hell.” The bouncer reminded the preacher that Randy was now on private property. Other patrons coming to and from the bar arranged themselves so they formed a human barricade blocking the reverend’s access to Randy.  An expression of deprivation came over the Reverends face as he watched the cute blond male continue walk towards the bar entrance and disappear into the bar.  He then suddenly changed his expression to contemptuous smile at the people who were blocking him and turned away to focus his evangelical zeal on another part of the block.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Randy arrives at the Your Place Too club looking for his boss, Beef Matson and imagines he sees his old lover, Brett on the dance floor.

As Randy entered the club, it was crowded but not as yet wall to wall people.   He paused a bit in an empty corner of the foyer, standing next to a straw stuffed scarecrow with flashing red eyes and holding a sign advertising Halloween costume contests. As he surveyed the bar, Randy saw numerous people in costume, but his boss was no where to be found.  Reaching into his jacket pocket for the cap with the Matson logo on it, he donned the cap, hoping that it might help in someone directing him to his boss.  
First, Randy went to the bar to get a drink and describing his boss, asked the bartender if he had seen Matson.  The bartender told him he had just started his shift and had seen no one who looked like Beef Matson. Finally, Randy decided to get a drink and, describing his boss, asked the bartender if he had seen Maston.  The bartender said he didn’t think so, but then again he had just started his shift.  

Wading through the crowd, Randy finally found himself near the dance floor, nursing his drink and realizing that other guys were beginning to find him very interesting.  Randy also found the parade of people in costumes amusing and he found himself being brushed occasionally by passing feather boas and chiffon.  A scattering of costumed people were on the dance floor, dancing witches, clowns, animals and drag queens adding a surreal atmosphere.

A dance track started, “Love On My Mind” by the Freemasons that reminded Randy of the song he and Brett regarded as their special anthem, “This Time Baby” by Jackie Moore. A wistfulness came over Randy as he remembered a line from the song, “I promise to be true only to you”.  He remembered the times when he and Brett were in a bar just like this one.  He remembered how he always felt being part of Brett.  If Brett had to leave him for a few moments, when he’d return, Brett would grab a hold of one of Randy’s belt loops and pull him close, especially if another guy was trying to strike up a conversation with Randy.  Brett would then throw an arm around Randy’ shoulders, pulling him close.   “What’s happening Shugabug?” Brett would say, announcing to those around that Randy was his.

The memories and loneliness caused Randy’s mind to project an image of Brett Parker onto the dance floor in front of him.   Brett’s image formed and gained focus, until he stood there crystal clear in the dance floor spotlights, in jeans and a white pullover shirt gleaming in the light that nicely displayed Brett’s muscular chest.  A smile on his face, Brett focused an intense glare at Randy and began to walk towards him with a confident strut.  He stopped a few feet from Randy, put his hands on his hips and looked on with approval as he took in Randy’s appearance.  Brett then reached out his right arm and beckoned with a finger for Randy to come and join him on the dance floor.  Randy returned Brett’s smile, eagerly accepting the invite.  Then a sudden tap on Randy’s arm made the vision of Brett disappear.  “You like this song?” asked a guy standing next to Randy.  Randy answered in the affirmative.  “Do you want to dance?” asked the young man.  Randy declined, and after a short while watching the dancers, decided to wander about the bar again to see if he might come across his boss.

********
"…it's not a good idea to kill off someone we want to interrogate because it is notoriously difficult to get information from a corpse."

Back at their hotel room in downtown Milwaukee, contract agents Zhourg and Snitzer were trying to figure out how to interrogate the nearly unconscious private investigator, Beef Matson.

“I’ve got a vial ready for him on the cabinet next to the sink,” announced the woman, “if you want to try that.”
”You just don’t get it, do you?” reprimanded Zhourg, “if he’s this messed up on the stuff already, giving him more of it will not work.  You can’t get any information out of a subject who’s dead or brain dead.  No more junk.  Try to see if you can get him to say something.”
The woman pushed Matson so his back was up against the toilet and began screaming at him.

Matson was fading fast.  Even though the woman’s face was right up to his, the questions she was screaming at him seemed to be coming from a distance.  “What do you know about Cashdollar?  How do you know Cashdollar?”  The questions had no meaning to Matson, he tried to pull a response from himself thinking the woman wanted money from him.  “All the money I have is what’s on me,” he replied weakly.  His interrogator’s eyes widened in rage, her head quivering as blood vessels in her neck and on the side of her head began to bulge.  “Is Cashdollar gay?” she screamed, “Is that how you know him?”  The questions meant nothing to Matson and he said nothing.  His surroundings were becoming more and more of a dream to him as the woman’s screaming became more distant and less threatening.  “Is Cashdollar gay?” screamed the woman again, and Matson responded with an unknowing expression. “How  do you know cash dollar?  Who brought you together?”  Matson was able to grasp the woman’s statements only as fading bits of reality.  “Who else is involved?” the woman demanded.  “Sophie Snitmueller*,” was Matson’s reply.  “Who…?” demanded his tormentor again.  “Sophie Snitmueller,” Matson stated confidently and promptly lost what bit of consciousness he had left.

*Note:  Sophie Snitmueller is the name of the imaginary person Matson's clients said they would blame things on as children.  See chapter three.

Snitzer then yanked Matson around, lifted him up by his shoulders then, grabbing his hair, pushed the private investigator’s head into the water of the toilet bowl.  Matson was limp in the water for a short bit, then inhaling the water made him lurch, he coughed weakly, but would not respond to any more questioning.  The woman agent pushed his head back into the water.  This time Matson made a slight gurgling sound, went limp and his upper torso began to slide away from the toilet bowl.  The woman pushed his head back towards the toilet.  

“Damn,” barked Zhourg, “What in the hell are you doing?  I think we are losing him.”  The woman shrugged her shoulders, the concept of concern was alien to her. Her companion restrained her, pulling the private investigator from the bowl.  “If we lose him, we’ll lose any info he might have. “ Snitzer responded with a clueless stare.  “That is the reason we are doing this…” reminded Zourg, “to get information from him.”  The male agent looked at Matson’s unconscious face and then felt his pulse. “He’s fading.  Next time, don’t double up the dose.  Look what happened.  We barely got him here before he passed out, and now he’s just an unresponsive pile of flesh.    Doesn’t matter how many times you stick his head under water, he won’t respond, his body is responding to the chemicals you gave him.”  The woman responded with a slightly irritated frown, “You would think with a man built like he is, it wouldn’t matter.  You think maybe it’s because he’s a sissy?”
The agent looked at his companion dismissively, “Drugs are going to do their thing regardless how somebody’s built…just a chemical reaction.”
”Well,” retorted Purity Snitzer with much irritation, “What are we supposed to do then?
”I’ve got something in my briefcase that will counter this.  If we had time we could just let him be for awhile, if his heart doesn’t stop ticking first, he will eventually come around.”  The male agent pulled Matson away from the toilet and propped his body up against wall in a seated position.  The private investigator made a very faint wheezing and gurgling sound as his head fell to one side and his body splayed out like a discarded rag doll.   “Oh dear,” remarked Snitzer with a coy sarcasm, “I think my dolly is broken.”
“Leave him that way so he gets air,” ordered Zhourg, his expression becoming very serious.  “I need to get a hypo from my briefcase and stick him with something that should bring him out of this.  I barely got a pulse rate from him so if you want to play with him don’t stick his head under water and don’t get silly and give him any other drugs. Having somebody die while being interrogated involves a whole different set of rules when it’s done inside the states as opposed to being in another country.  I don’t look forward to all the forms we’d have to fill out. ”  The agent stood up and began to walk out of the bathroom.
”You’ve got some meth and coke in your little magic suitcase,” noted the female agent, “If he croaks on us couldn’t you just dump some of that stuff into him and say he died because of misusing some rec drugs?  Isn’t there a stereotype that fag men love meth?”
“Pussycat,” replied Zhourg, “I think we should focus instead on keeping him alive, at least for a little while.  Slipping him that extra dose of drugs along with the alcohol he was drinking was an exceedingly bad idea.  I should point out to you again Pussycat that it's not a good idea to kill off someone we want to interrogate because it is notoriously difficult to get information from a corpse.”
Is there a disco in this building?” asked Snitzer as she tilted her head next to the wall near where Matson lay crumpled.
”What…?” responded her companion with a frown.
“I’m hearing what sounds like old disco music, coming in from some where.  Don’t you hear it?”  The man shook his head in the negative and walked into the next room.
”Gawd,” continued the woman, “It’s like someone’s playing it really loud somewhere.  Like who would even listen to that crap?”

********

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Matson suddenly finds himself in a mysterious alley.

Matson found himself dizzy and stumbling along in some dark place.  A mental firewall blocked his attempts to recall how he had gotten to where he was or the events leading to his arrival.  He didn’t even know where he was or where he was walking to and that wasn’t even an issue, he just seemed to know he was going somewhere and needed to continue walking.  Around him grew some dim light and the forms of some old multi story buildings took shape.  The a streetlight emerged from behind a building and he could see he was walking in an alley.  As he walked into the street, all he could see was a street lit only with streetlights, the building were dark.  There was one building directly across the street, there were lights in some of the windows and a light blazed above a nondescript entrance. There was no sign on the building indicating what it might be, but the private investigator continued towards the entrance, for some reason he felt that’s where he was supposed to go.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Matson exits the alley.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: "Woo hoo, you're looking good, man".  Matson gets a compliment.

Matson paused momentarily in the street.  The night air was still, cool and without a breeze. Beef still felt a bit groggy, but was feeling much better now, energized, confident and this place made him feel secure for some reason.  The block was totally deserted but he could hear music, distant music echoing off the sides of the buildings yet clearly audible enough for him to make out the songs. It was old disco music, the song playing kept encouraging him to “Do it, do it…do the hustle”. Mixed with the music, he could hear voices and laughter, the combined sounds giving life to the deserted area,  somewhere close by people must be having a party.   Suddenly, he heard the sound of a car turning onto the street.  As the vehicle, a 1970s model in mint condition, approached him, the car slowed and with “Get Down Tonight” by KC and the Sunshine band blaring from the car radio speakers, the male driver called out to him as the vehicle passed, “Woo hoo, you’re looking good, man’”.  Matson smiled at the driver, and the car continued up the street, turned the corner and was gone.  The compliment from the driver invigorated his self esteem and Matson strutted jauntily in the mysterious neighborhood towards the entry of the building that looked like an old factory.  The closer he got to building the more fortified Matson’s spirit and physical self seemed to be.  Pausing near the entrance of the building, the detective looked back behind him at the street.  The formerly empty block now had cars parked in every available parking space.  Matson shook his head at what must be his sudden lack of observational powers, he hadn’t noticed all the cars before.  As he opened the door, his ears were welcomed by a burst old disco music.  The doorway led to a large foyer and a massively built black man sporting a serious expression nodded a greeting.  “This is a nightclub,” thought Matson, “this guy must be the bouncer.”  Matson waited for the man to card him, but the man instead silently motioned Beef onward into the bar.  The next area was a big open room with a large oval shaped bar.  There were a few men sitting here and there at the bar and at small tables that lined the walls on both sides of the bar.  The lone bartender’s welcoming smile wrapped Matson with sparkling warmth.  “The doorman didn’t ask me for my I.D.,” reported Matson, “do you need to see it?” Note: The building and bar shown in the illustration at right and the bar in the story are inspired by a real place.  For information about the actual bar, click here.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: A mysterious doorman greets Matson.

"He's ancient and justified."

“What doorman?” asked the bartender. Beef turned back to the foyer, “That guy…oh, he’s not there anymore.” ”He left to deal with a woman who’s been giving people poison and doing other assorted nasty things,” reported the bartender,  “one of the boss’s least favorite people, a damnable person.” ”Drug problem?” “In that she likes to dish them out.” “In this place?” “Of course not…”the bartender laughed, “Nothing like that ever happens here.  She does her work someplace else.” ”The way he’s built I guess the bad guys don’t like dealing with a bad ass character like him.” The bartender winked, “He’s really an angel”. ”I imagine he is,” winked Matson back. “He’s ancient and justified,” added the bartender with Beef shrugging his shoulders, not understanding the comment.

Louder music began playing and a show of flashing lights drew Matson’s attention to the far end of the bar. “You’ve got a dance floor down there.” ”Good observational powers, you must be a private investigator.” ”You must be a little shit,” replied Beef. ”Actually, I’m a little angel,” smiled the bartender. “I bet you are. It’s kind of old music, but I like it,” added Matson as he tried to get a better view of some men who were dancing. ”Why don’t you go down there and get a better look,” suggested the bartender, “You don’t need a drink, do you?” “Nah,” replied the private investigator, “I don’t really drink that much anyway.” When Matson arrived at the dance floor, an old fashioned looking set up with a floor of translucent plastic panels with lights flashing from beneath them, flashing lights on the ceiling and a glittering mirrored disco ball, there were a few male couples dancing, shirtless and dressed in jeans and athletic shoes.  Matson did not make anything of the sudden appearance of many young males around him as he stood by the dance floor.

Want to hear what the music in the disco sounds like?  Click here.  or here.

The young men were dressed in a kind of old fashioned way, 501 jeans with polyester shirts unbuttoned nearly to the waist, or tight fitting t shirts.  Regardless of whether their clothing was out of style, these men were hot, handsome with beautiful bodies.  Matson suddenly found himself in a masculine candy store.  The attraction was mutual and the men formed a tight admiring circle around the detective. There was some initial minor chitchat that soon developed into some petting. Matson did not resist as a couple of the men began to explore his upper torso, with one man pulling up Beef’s shirt, licking his chest and finally chewing on a nipple.  The scene was so dreamlike and Matson mused to himself he could not believe he was being this uninhibited.

Suddenly a handsome young man with dark blond hair  appeared out of the darkness and elbowed his way up to Matson.  “Mr. Matson,” the young man exclaimed, “I want to talk to you about Randy!”
”You mean my assistant Randy?” asked Beef, “Why do you want to talk about him? Who are you?”
”Randy is my man,” asserted the young man, “My name is Brett…I’m sure Randy’s told you about me.”
”Brett…” the detective tried to recall, “Randy told me that you were…wait a minute, didn’t you two meet in Illinois?”
“Yeah, we were together in Illinois.”
“Oh, OK,” reasoned the still groggy Matson, “then you must have come up here to Milwaukee to visit.”
“Yeah, I’m visiting.”  Brett jostled the other men out of the way and stood face to face with Beef.  “I want you to know Randy is my man, he’ll always be my man, so don’t try stealing him away.  He’s my guy.”
”No problem,” chuckled Matson, “If he’s your man,  he’s your man.  I have the highest respect for relationships.  Randy’s told me that he’s very fond of you.  In fact, seems that there was something else Randy told me about you…”  Beef Matson paused trying to remember.  The other men became alarmed, afraid that the detective might become aware of something he wasn’t supposed to and began to tug Brett away. Brett resisted, “There are some bad things that are going to happen…keep Randy safe. Protect him.”
“Don’t worry,” assured Matson, “I’ll keep in mind that Randy’s your guy…that’s my pledge and I’ll look after him.”

“You’re going to wake him up and that’s not a good thing for him right now.”  Other men pulled Brett away from the private investigator.  “You’ve said your bit dude, now leave the man alone.”  A man grabbed Brett by the arm and began pulling him towards the dance floor. “C’mon, Brett let’s go dance.”

“Guy’s a little intense…” commented Beef.
“Oh, he was raised as a Mormon,” was a reply, “You know how Mo-mo guys are.  Once they get married, they think they’re married forever…beyond death.”
”Wait a minute,” Matson added, “Now I remember Randy telling me that his Brett had died.”  The men surrounding him had anxious looks.  “You know the tales guys tell about ex-boyfriends,” was one answer.  “Brett looks awfully spirited to me,” was another reply.

Another voice made Beef turn away.  “Lynn Gordon Matson!  That’s what it says on your office door, now I get to actually meet you in person.”  Matson saw the smiling face of a very handsome man, blue eyes, brownish blond hair and mustached.  The man’s shirt was opened to reveal a hairy, muscular chest with a thin gold chain about the man’s neck.  Beef looked about him, Brett and the other men were gone and the sight of this magnificent man drove whatever concerns he had about Brett away. “You know me, but I guess I’m at a loss about you. Your name is…” ”Ken Frietag,” was the answer. “Sorry about the guy harassing you.” ”Aww, he was just concerned about my assistant Randy.  An old boyfriend of Randy’s. Strange, but Randy is from Illinois, guess Brett has moved here to Milwaukee or is visiting. A coincidence probably.  Still kind of intense about Randy, though.” “That’s what happens when you kill off a group of people,” answered a man who was walking by, “You can destroy the body but never the soul.  When you have a lot of souls bouncing around all angry about the same thing, that can brew up some naughtiness in the long term.”

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Ken Freitag is pleased to finally meet Beef Matson in person.

“A lot of guys here are intense, strident…angry,” added Ken, leading Matson away from the group.  “It’s what happens when a large group of people dies at one time.  It generates a lot of anger which doesn’t dissipate.  The guys here will occasionally try and channel their anger through one of the people in your world, but that doesn’t always have the results it’s meant to have.” “My world?” puzzled Matson.  “Whatever you were trying to say, you kind of lost me.” ”I guess I was just being philosophical, but a disco is no place for philosophy.” ”You’ve been to my office? I still can’t place you.” ”No, you haven’t met me.  I used to have a little shop in your building years ago.  I…like to come back from time to time and have a look around.  I’ve caught a glimpse of you in the building and in your office. I’ve seen your assistant Randy, too.  He’s sort of your Dr. Watson, isn’t he?” ”I really don’t see Randy as a Dr. Watson,” replied Beef, “Though I’ve thought of maybe some day having him write my cases in story form and publish them.” “Don’t bother,” advised Ken, “The guys here already have somebody doing that.” Matson chuckled, taking Ken’s comment as a joke. ”It’s strange I’ve never seen you in my building,” the detective smiled a beautiful smile, “I would have remembered a guy like you.” ”No, you would have not seen me,” Freitag stated in a matter of fact manner, “I kept out of sight. It’s great to finally see you in person like this.  You are a magnificent man!” ”You mind if I keep you around for my own personal cheerleader?” asked Matson. ”You can keep me around for as long as you like.”

I’m just trying to get my head together.  I can’t remember how I got here outside of walking in from the street.  I don’t even know what this bar is called.”
“Don’t try to remember,” warned Freitag, “If you do, you’ll suddenly leave.  The only thing that is important is that you are here.  There’s a good reason for you coming, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
”And that reason is…”
“Redemption.  Maybe just for tonight, the name of this bar is called Redemption.  When a country exterminates a group of people, deliberately or through depraved indifference, it brings a grievous weight upon itself.  No getting around that, it’s a cosmic sort of rule.  The universe regards that country as corrupted and it will soon decay and crumble.  A country can avoid that if it redeems itself, mostly it doesn’t happen, in the case of a nation like Nazi Germany, it kept pursuing the wrong direction until it just ran over the cliff. 

The reason you are here Lynn Gordon Matson, is that you have some part in a redemption.  I really don’t know what and if I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.  I do know your assistant Randy has some part in it as well, I think it has something to do with some prayer he will offer up in the future.  You were brought here to a safe place and maybe a little R&R.  That’s all you have to know.”

“Oh man…” laughed Beef, “I respect most everybody’s spiritual views, even when they’re way out there in New Age land, but in all due respect, Ken, I think you’re stuffed full of wild blueberry muffins.”  Ken laughed as well and Matson noticed that while he had been talking to Ken, the bar had become more alive, the music more vibrant and there was crowd of men gathered around the dance floor, almost as if they had popped in out of thin air.  Viewing the dance floor, Lynn Gordon notice a group of men forming a line and beginning a coordinated dance.  “You wanna dance?” asked Ken.
”I want to watch those guys,” replied Matson, “What kind of line dance is that?”
”It’s called the Hustle,” answered Ken.

Beef Matson watched the young men , some dressed in tight bell bottom trousers and polyester shirts opened to below their chests continue their dance, their line moving back and forth in rhythm to the music with one or two of the guys occasionally twirling.
”Man,” commented Matson, “this place really is retro.”
“Let’s dance,” urged Freitag, gently tugging at Beef’s shirt, “Afraid you won’t be able to dance to our sophisticated kind of music?”  The private investigator shook his head right into Ken Freitag’s delightfully handsome face.  “No, I’m not afraid of a little dancing.  Then locking a couple of fingers into the young man’s belt loops, he ushered Freitag towards the dance floor. As if on cue, the song that was playing suddenly stopped and a new track began playing.  Matson asserted the lead and began to skillfully glide his partner around the dance floor, displaying impressive dancing skills by leading Ken effortlessly through twirls and dips.
“You’ve been practicing,” joked Freitag.

When the tracks became harder and bouncier, Matson displayed his abilty to bump and grind with the best of them.  The detective’s attention was fixed onto his dance partner.  Ken’s looks and body were a complete fit to Matson’s tastes.  The man’s dark blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, handsome face with a bushy mustache, were a visual delight to Matson.  Freitag’s open shirt revealed a beautiful hairy chest and his snug clothes complimented his athletic body.  As Ken gyrated to the rhythm, Matson found the man’s movements to be seductive entertainment.

While Beef focused his attention on his partner, he did not notice something about the dancing men about him, when Matson turned away from them, the men would become transparent and nearly disappear, apparently not needing to maintain a solid appearance, then when the detective would turn again facing a group of men, they would immediately become visible, like a lighthouse shining on its surroundings.  It also seemed to be that the energy that Matson brought to his dancing, would also bring more energy into the disco and then even more men would begin to appear.  When the hunky Matson began to crank his body to “Dance (Disco Heat)” by Sylvester, the bar suddenly gathered much more detail it did not have before and a sparkling shower of bits of light rained down upon the place, the orbs of light congealing into human forms and adding to the throng.

Matson found himself to be immune from fatigue as he danced with Ken, in fact he seemed to be infused with joy.  Everything was so perfect, the beautiful man he was dancing with, the music, the crowd, the entire atmosphere, it was all just right.  The normally detail focused detective was instead just going with his feelings and those feelings felt so good.  Especially being with this handsome man he had just met. Matson felt a feeling flowing into him of connecting with this man named Ken, as if he had just met the other half of his being.   When Ken turned away and shared a rhythm with a nearby dancer, Beef inserted some fingers into a belt loop of Freitag’s slacks and spun him back to face him. Maybe it was the old disco, the gentle, sophisticated rhythms with a kicky, sometimes funky beat, like the music was protecting him from gravity, the more he danced, the better he felt. He felt a strong sensation that everything at that moment was exactly as it was supposed to be.

"When I look at you, it's like burn my clothes, I'm going to heaven."

As the small dance floor became jammed packed, Ken began to tug Beef off the dance area to near the entrance to a hallway.  “You don’t have to leave or something?” questioned Beef.
“No, I just…” attempted Ken.
”Good,” replied Matson, “because I won’t let you leave.  You’re staying with me.”  Lynn Gordon’s gleaming blue eyes stared directly into Ken’s face.  Ken swallowed, startled by Matson’s statement and then pulled himself into Matson, embracing him.  Beef eagerly accepted the contact, nuzzling Ken’s forehead with his lips. “I just wanted to make a suggestion,” said Freitag, “That we could go into the back bar.  There’s a larger dance floor there and some quiet places if you’d like to talk.  That’s if you want to get to know me a bit better.”
A very gentle smile came to Matson’s handsome face, “I would like to know you a whole lot better.” The detective tilted his head forward in a submissive tilt. “This place has got to have the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, but you…I’m not saying this as a come on, this is for real.  You’ve got the rest of them beat. Man…you are…” Matson chuckled, searching for the correct words, “When I look at you, it’s like, burn my clothes, I’m going to heaven.”
”I could arrange the going to heaven part,” quipped Ken.
”I bet you could,” replied Beef.

Ken Freitag led Lynn Gordon Matson by the hand through the short, people jammed hallway leading into the back bar area.  One man, headed in the opposite direction, gave Matson an approving look and exclaimed, “Man, you’re a stone fox!”
“That means something good,” explained Ken.  Beef Matson smiled, tightening his grip on Ken’s hand and wrapping an arm around the handsome man’s waist.
The back bar was impressive.  It looked like a hotel lobby, a large carpeted area with couches and chairs and a bar.  On the opposite end there was a huge dance floor with the walls of the dance area decorated with the false fronts of buildings giving it a Disneyland like appearance.
“Man,” exclaimed Matson, “This place is freakin’ amazing!”
“The club is a composition of everyone’s memories,” explained Freitag.   Ken got Beef and himself a drink and while they chatted Matson enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of feeling Freitag’s body up close against his.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: "Man, you're a stone fox!"

CATCH A FALLING STAR: The back bar.

Suddenly, the ringing beginning of “Don’t Leave Me This Way” by Thelma Houston echoded off the walls.  “I love this song,” announced Ken.  “Let’s dance.”  He followed the request with a smile and a kiss on Matson’s lips.  The couple lost themselves in a paradise of dance. Lynn Gordon was totally awash with a sense of well being and happiness, all other concerns had left his mind, all that was left was a complete sensation of freedom, a feeling that he was with a man that he was destined to be matched with, and the physical delight of surrendering his body to the beat of the music. 

Behind Matson as he danced and turned to face the lobby area, streams of light and energy streamed down onto the dance floor and large numbers of men appeared and began to dance.  The normally detail focused detective was lost in the pleasure of the situation and did not even notice the arrival of the new dancers as he turned back, facing the dance floor.  The dance area was warm and Matson did not resist when Ken tugged at his shirt and began to pull it up over Beef’s head.  The shirt came off exposing Matson’s upper torso and Beef anchored the shirt into his jeans.  Kenneth Freitag grinned, “You’re beautiful, Lynn.”  Matson smiled back. “Your turn.”  He unbuttoned Ken’s shirt and soon the shirt was tucked into a belt loop of the other man’s slacks.  The couple danced shirtless with a hoard of bare chested men, though Matson barely noticed the other men, he was completely satisfied with the beautiful Ken, he was completely content to be with this man.

After a long session of dance, Ken led Matson back to the lobby area and helped Beef put his shirt back on.  Matson helped Ken with his shirt and then followed some tender chatter with Matson gently pawing and massaging the newly found object of his affections. Matson and Freitag explored each other with conversation while “The Love I Lost” by Harold Melvin and The Blue Notes echoed from the dance floor.  After a while of tender chit chat, Ken suggested that they go to an outside deck off the lobby where it might be quieter and more private.

It was slightly cooler on the deck, the hazy night sky given a slight glow by the lights of the city.  The view from the deck was humble, a parking lot with trees and older factory buildings beyond.  Beef wrapped himself around Ken, nuzzling his face against the other man’s neck.  “This is nice,” uttered the detective in a low, soft rumbling voice, “So very nice.”  The couple stood quietly, music from the bar was barely audible, sounds of car doors closing, and voices from the street, and distant vehicle sounds were background noises.  A car with a loud radio paused at an intersection, the song, “Talking In Your Sleep” by the Romantics could be heard momentarily until the car drove off.

Then an angry voice, slight but distinct called out Matson’s name.  Ken curled back in terror and tried to get Matson back into the bar.  Beef resisted, “Who’s calling my name?”  “Don’t listen to it,” warned Ken.  It was a woman’s voice calling Matson’s name, it was aggressive and threatening and it kept getting louder.  Ken was visibly alarmed now and kept pulling his companion back towards the entrance of the bar, yet Matson was curious as to who was calling his name.  “You don’t have to go back,” urgently advised Ken to a confused Matson, “You can stay here with me, with us. You’ll be safe here.  It’s a dangerous place you’ll be going back to.”  Suddenly the deck was filled with men from the bar.  They also encouraged Matson in a similar manner.  “You don’t have to go back.  You can stay here with us.  Stay here, deny the other existence.  Deny it, deny it.  Stay here!” the other voices wailed.

The woman’s voice kept growing louder and louder and Ken grew resigned to what he knew to be the outcome.  He looked directly into Matson’s eyes, “It was so nice to finally meet you in person,” then with uncontrolled tears, “Maybe sometime in the future you can come back for a visit.”  Matson was confused, not knowing what to make of Ken’s sudden sadness as well as the ominous threatening tone of the woman’s voice calling his name and growing louder each time.  Trying to understand, Lynn Gordon looked sympathetically into the beautiful face of Ken Freitag as the other man drew Matson into a protective embrace.  “Stay in grace and be kept safe.  Stay in grace and be kept safe,” Ken chanted.  He repeated, “Stay in grace and be kept safe, stay in grace and be kept safe.”  As Ken’s voice faded the last of his words Beef heard was, “Don’t forget me, Lynn.”

Note: Will Beef Matson ever meet Ken Freitag again?  Find out in the very last paragraphs of the first Beef Matson story, A PERSON IN A POSITION OF TRUST.  Click here.

********

"Stay in grace and be kept safe."

Matson opened his eyes, revealing the bright, cold grey green fluorescent lighting of a bathroom and the hostile grimace of the female agent Purity Snitzer.  Matson was propped up against the wall on the floor next to the toilet.  Ken Freitag and the bar immediately dissolved from his memory. “Well, the dead marionette has come back to life,” sneered Snitzer in a harsh rasping voice.  Still confused, Matson suddenly found words coming from his mouth,  he gasped, sputtered up a bit of water and said, “Stay in grace and be kept safe.  Stay in grace and be kept safe,” he repeated loudly.  The agent was not impressed.  “Awww, is the sissy fag saying a prayer?  Why is it you losers think that something as useless as prayer is going to help you? You know what?  I don’t believe in prayer because I don’t believe in God.  When I interrogated the ragheads in Iraq and they started to pray to Allah, I would tell them from now on my crotch was their god.  So if you want to pray to something, homo, I’ll give you something to pray to.”  Matson glanced up to the bathroom mirror and saw the reflection of a large black man standing just to the other side of the room, his hands folded in front of his face, silently contemplating the situation with great interest.  Matson suddenly remembered, it was the bouncer from the bar.   He turned his head to the other side of the bathroom where the image shown in the mirror should have been standing, but no one was there.

Grabbing Matson’s hair, Snitzer yanked his head back to face her.  “Look at me, faggot” she hissed into his face, “Before I stick your head back in the crapper, I’m going to show you my crotch so you can pray to it.” Matson closed his eyes, he could now remember the bar he had just been in.  He tried visioning Ken Frietag in his mind.  “Ken,” he asked quietly in his mind, “I want to stay with you.  Ken, come and take me back.  Please Ken, where are you?”  Matson opened his eyes again.  “Fold your hands and pray to my god, gay boy,” the woman snarled into his face.  A large black hand suddenly came down upon Snitzer’s shoulder and grasped it.

In the outer room of the hotel suite Vegas Zhourg sorted through the pharmaceuticals in his briefcase and picked out a new hypodermic needle in plastic wrap and removed a glass vial filled with a clear liquid from a small box.  He began reading the empty box containing the drug they had already given Matson.  The lettering read, “If pain persists…”  “If pain persists?” said the agent chuckling, “Enough of this stuff and you can’t feel anything at all.  Let’s see, what do I have that will unrelax muscles?”  He then heard a sudden clatter from the bathroom, next a thump with pictures on the wall next to the bathroom jumping slightly, then some banging and splashing of water, and finally a moaning yell from his compatriot. “I told you sticking his head in the toilet won’t bring him out of it.” Zhourg yelled towards the bathroom.  “In his condition, he’ll probably just drown on us.  Then we’re going to have to explain a dead fag.”  The man then walked to the now quiet bathroom, needle and vial in his hands.  “This stuff should bring him out of it,  if it doesn’t seize up his heart first…”  Zhourg lurched to a stop as he entered the bathroom.  In it he found his female companion bracing herself against the bathroom counter next to the toilet, her hair was drenched, her face beet red and Beef Matson was no where to be seen.

“Where in the hell’s the fag!” he demanded. “What happened!”  The woman responded with furious anger, coughing up water as she did.  “The bastard stuck my head in the toilet.”
”Where is he?” the man demanded again, “He would have had to go past me to leave.”  Snitzer made another couple of watery coughs and spoke with a Beelzebub like growl, “He’s behind the…”  As the woman spoke the word door, the man holding the vial and hypodermic needle was slammed by the very same bathroom door by the gay private investigator they had been interrogating.  The needle and vial both sailed to the floor, shattering. The force of the door pushed the man a couple of feet to the side and he then quickly turned only to be greeted by the fists of a very angry Matson.  Beef’s offensive was overpowering, landing several direct hits into his tormentor’s face and stomach and then Matson grabbed the man and shoved him into his female companion still leaning on the bathroom counter. The woman quickly grimaced and shoved back, her coworker tripping over the toilet and landing on the floor, crumpled up against the wall.

Without saying a word, the private investigator stormed from the bathroom and stomped through the adjoining room.  Like Godzilla wreaking havoc on a march through Tokyo, Matson spied the open briefcase, grabbed it and hurled it along with it’s pharmaceutical contents across the room into a wall making an explosion of glass shards, pills and liquid spray and then slammed the door behind him as he left.  Matson’s male interrogator attempted to gather his wits about him as he very slowly picked himself off the floor.

“Ass!” screamed the woman.
”Don’t yell at me,” the man countered while rubbing his jaw, “I didn’t know he was behind the door.  You should have said something.”
”No,” screamed Snitzer again, “There’s something in my ass.”
The woman turned her lower half slowly and looked down at her posterior, the hypodermic needle that was on the counter top was now firmly implanted in one of her ass cheeks.  She must have been impaled on the needle when her coworker was pushed into her.  The man pulled the needle from the woman and looked at it.  “The hypo is empty; you got whatever was in it.  Hopefully, you didn’t put a double dose into this one, too.” The woman shot back a glaring stare. “Quick, give me a shot to counter this one,” she demanded.
”I can’t,” answered her companion. “All I had of that is what got smashed when that Matson guy tore into me.”  The woman looked with widening eyes at the broken vial on the bathroom floor.

“Come and lie down on the couch, pussycat” said Zhourg still rubbing his punched jaw while heading for the living room area, “you may have to sleep it off until I get something to counter act the drug.”
His woman companion started following him but quickly began making motions like a rubbery stork practicing ballet.  “Did you have a double dose in that hypo?” demanded her partner.
”Yeah,” admitted Snitzer in a slow motion drawl. “So whaaaat?”  The man began helping her towards the couch and heaved her on a cushion like a large, limp rag doll.  Not having to stand helped the woman regain some composure and she began to speak, her words spoken with varied volume like a verbal roller coaster.  “The reason I couldn’t get any information out of him is that they took the gay P.I. and hid him in a gay disco bar.  Then they stuck the hypo in me so we wouldn’t chase after him.”
”Who do you mean by they?” demanded her companion,”What gay disco? He was here all the time with us.”
”He’s got a lot of friends and they’re all these fag guys,” squealed the woman. “The bar is where all the disco music is coming from.  Must be next door…because it’s so loud.  Gawd, I hate disco music.”
The man grimaced at the woman in irritation.  “There’s no music, the drug is making you freakin’ loopy.”

********
"Remember, Shangri-La and success."

Around the time Vegas Zhourg and Purity Snitzer were talking with Matson in the Your Place Too bar, Senator Kathleen Nyparmo was talking to one of her aides, Adam Baum, in her train car office.

“Vegas and Purity phoned me a little while ago that the Reverend Mighty is still preaching at the gay bars, making a royal fool of himself as usual.  I’ve come to the conclusion that the Reverend is an immediate threat to our enterprise so I’ve decided it would be a good idea to take advantage of his proximity.  What I need you to do, Adam, is take our pet for a walk and introduce it to Reverend Mighty.  I think that would be an excellent way to deal with him.”

Adam immediately protested.  He did not like the idea of using the pet to eliminate the Reverend, especially in such a crowded area. “The control device is not like a remote control. It just sends out electronic signals that the thing responds to and it can send out an electrical charge to repel it.  It’s like trying to herd a…duck”.  Releasing it out in the country and trying to control it was hard enough, I don’t know how it will react in a city where there’s many electronic signals and a lot of people around.  The only reason it returns to the train is that it’s compelled to return to that box because it contains the soil that the creature sprouted in.  It is like a vampire, having a need to return to a coffin that contains the soil of its grave.

Senator Nyparmo smiled dismissively and waved her had as a signal to Adam to stop speaking. “I don’t need to know these technical things.  That’s your area.  I give you an assignment and it’s your job figure out how to do it.  You’re no longer a homosexual, Adam.  It’s time for you to take on male responsibilities, accept your assignment, figure out how to do it and get it done; that’s what a man does. I would have not put you in charge of the pet if I didn’t think you could do the job.  Now that you’ve been cured of homosexuality, your masculinity is beginning to assert itself and you should be able to handle tasks like these.

“I can do the job,” assured Adam.  “It’s just the idea that the train was made to stop here, in the middle of the city, right up next to the gay bars, where Reverend Mighty is street preaching…I have a feeling that something is not right.  If something were to happen to the Reverend here, it might draw suspicion. Just too much is happening at the same time…”

“Oh dear…does our Adam think that God made our train end up here, parked in a train yard next to a gay bar district?” mocked Nyparmo.  “That God arranged this all just to temp Adam Baum?  You flatter yourself to think that God is obsessing about your sex life.  Obsessing about homosexuals is only something a fool like the Reverend Mighty does.  The reason the train ended up parked here is that this is a maintenance yard for one of the railroads.  The feds are checking all incoming freight only because they are obligated to react to the vampire murder scare.  That’s all.  The government has a lot more important things to deal with right now, believe me.  The fact that the Reverend Spike Mighty is still hanging around because he likes to harass the fags at the gay bars should be regarded merely as a stroke of luck.

Having the preacher meet his end because of our pet would be a great way to avoid any suspicion.  His demise would be regarded as merely the latest in the series of the vampire murders, or whatever the media is calling it now.  I also think it would be deliciously ironic for Reverend Spike to meet his end in a gay bar district due to some, um…supernatural means.  The supermarket tabloids would have a sensationalist field day.”

“But we don’t want the pet to be seen,” complained Adam, “at least not so people would associate it with us.  In an area with so many people, I don’t know what would happen.”

“From what Zhourg and Snitzer told me, the streets next to the gay bars are the only places where there are a lot of people.  However a short walk away there’s nothing but deserted and lonely warehouses, vacant lots and right up next to the train some very dense shubbery.  Lots and lots of bushes which should offer dense cover.

Adam,” added Nyparmo, “I would think you would be more motivated about this, especially because of your past association with the Reverend Mighty’s organization.  You told me how you believed his organization would cure your homosexuality and how you looked up to the Reverend Mighty as your hero.  How honored you were when he invited you along on one of his personal retreats.  Then you woke up one night and found the Reverend was sodomizing you.  Then you found out that sort of thing happened all the time and no one thought anything about it.  That everything about Spike and his organization was a lie.  Of course that was bad enough, but then having Spike introduce you to crack and meth use, supposedly to loosen you up in order to change your sexual orientation, but the use developed into an addiction.  You remember how you hit bottom, selling your body in order to purchase meth before you finally entered rehab.”

Then Nyparmo, with an evil glint in her eye added, “If you really are a man now, I would think you would be eager to introduce Reverend Mighty to our pet, especially after what he did to and how much he lied to you.  When I met with Spike tonight, he asked about you.”  Adam Baum flinched.  “All you would have to do is to let Spike catch a glimpse of you outside.  I’m sure he will leap over fences to get to you.
From what I understand, Agent Stuttstudder has been dealt with, so you should have a fair amount of privacy with this little project.  I think all you have to do is take our pet outside for a walk, then wait until you see Spike.  Then allow him to see you and when sees you hanging around outside, I’m sure he’d be very interested in seeing what you were doing.  When he gets close enough, encourage the pet to do whatever it is that it does.”

“I’m sure you will do a fantastic job, Adam,” encouraged the Senator as Adam was leaving. “Remember, Shangri-La and success!”

********
"What an honor, to be the first president of our new little country."

The failure of the Reverend Spike Mighty to dissuade the handsome young blond male from going into the gay bar was sticking in the craw of the antigay evangelist and the steam faded from his sidewalk crusade.   Afterward, it did not appear to the Reverend Spike that there was anyone else on the street in as much need of saving as young blond he lost to the gay bar.  Besides, it was getting late, it had been a long day and the autumn chill of the evening was becoming very pronounced. Finally, Spike gave up on his quest and headed back to his vehicle, parked on a nearby side street in the industrial district.  On his way, the Reverend Mighty called someone on his cellphone.  “No, Nyparmo was totally unreceptive.  She was in one of her famous bitch moods. She’s not being a team player and I couldn’t get her to come on board.  My take is that she actually thinks she can prevent the transition with some populist politics fantasy.”  Spike paused momentarily to listen to the person on the other end of the connection. “Oh yes, tell them most certainly I would accept.  What an honor, to be the first president of our new little country.”

A short ways from the bar, near where one of the streets crawled under a railroad overpass, a place thick with impenetrable looking bushes, Spike thought he saw a quick, darting movement in the bushes. “Let me call you back.”  As he walked closer, one of the beams of light from a nearby streetlight highlighted what Spike thought was a young man’s face.  Were the homosexuals using the bushes for clandestine sexual activity? The Reverends stare was riveted to the bushes and as he got closer, the face appeared again.  This time the face appeared familiar, Spike was convinced it was Adam Baum, Senator Nyparmo’s assistant. Judgmental suppositions  began exploding in Rev. Mighty’s mind.  Was Adam Baum really cured of being gay?  Not if he was lurking about in the bushes looking for anonymous sex partners from the nearby homosexual bar.  The Right Reverend Spike Mighty now saw a chance to embarrass the uppity Senator Nyparmo by unmasking the unsavory activities of one of her close aides.  What a feather in his cap this would be, the Reverend thought.  How wonderful that God had set this up for him so he would have some nasty scandal to throw into Nyparmo’s face. Reaching the place where the bushes clawed at the sidewalk, and where he had thought he had seen Adam Baum, Spike found there to be pathways through the shrubbery.  Dirty, arched tunnels wound into the bushes with the ground littered with trash, old cigarette packages, empty liquor bottles and beer cans.  Some old furniture cushions were stashed against the bushes in one spot, probably where a homeless person spent the night, but the Reverend Mighty saw the cushions as evidence of where sodomy had taken place.  Suddenly, the man appeared again, in dim light near the end of one of the brush lined tunnels.  This time Spike identified the man for sure as Adam Baum.  Loudly, he called out Adam’s name.  The man, however did not react.  He did not move and stood silently with an emotionless expression.  Spike called out Adam’s name again.  This time Adam quickly moved to the side, disappearing from view.  “He’s scared shitless,” thought the Reverend, “Didn’t think anyone, especially not me, would catch the damned pervert in the act.”  Spike quickly moved into the tunnel, stumbling a bit on some broken branches lining the ground in his attempt to pursue Adam.  He continued moving forward when he noticed a shadowy figure quickly moving towards him and Spike paused.  The figure moved into one of the shafts of light coming from the street light and it was highlighted.  The revelation of the figure was at first startling, then terrifying as the figure continued its rapid approach.  Unknown to the Reverend, the creature was zeroing in on the electromagnetic radiation of his cell phone.  The sound of Spike’s shriek was combined with a loud crunching as several large fangs came down upon the preacher and savagely pierced his neck and shoulder, then Spike uttered a low pitched bellow before he was quickly silenced.  Moments later, the Reverend Spike Mighty’s body rolled out of the bushes onto the sidewalk, lifeless and, for the most part, bloodless.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: The Rev. Spike Mighty meets the creature.

******** "Bastard!" After escaping Zhourg and Snitzer’s hotel room of horror, Matson made his way out onto the street and realized that he was in downtown Milwaukee.  Quickly orienting himself, the detective made his way to the hotel where his room was located.  He would worry about retrieving his rental jeep from where he parked it at the bar tomorrow.  Slamming the hotel room door behind him, Matson started shedding his clothes, making his way to the bath.  He was going to take a shower, a long one until he felt he had washed all the degradation he had just experienced from his self.  Beef Matson barked out several expletives as headed for the the bathroom.  Physically, the private investigator now felt pretty good, in spite of the drugs he had been given.  Matson’s memory of the incident was mostly clear, he remembered talking to the two agents in the bar, realizing that the woman’s awkward flinging of her coat on the bar must have been when a drug was put into his drink.  He remembered going outside with the agents, being thrown into their vehicle, taken to their hotel room and the questioning.  He must have passed out then because he remembered having a dream, remembering only that it was a pleasant one.  He vaguely remembered commotion when he came to, the female agent yelling, then hiding behind the door and giving the male agent what he had coming to him before he left their hotel suite.  The incident had Matson remembering how he had been mistreated in the military.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Beef Matson has an unexpected visitor to his hotel room bath.

The true blue, patriotic and trusting Lynn Gordon Matson ready to serve his country, only to be abused, ostracized and betrayed by those he thought were his friends.  Leaving the bath door open, Matson stepped into the shower and began lathering himself up.  Steam filled the bathroom and began to spread into the adjoining room. Matson remembered the federal agent Gary and how the man tried to sell him on working undercover.  The detective mistakenly assumed that the two agents that drugged him were working for Gary.   “Bastard!” Beef’s voice echoed off the walls. Beef took a long shower in an attempt to wash away all the anger and disgust he felt.  The hot water felt good and the smell of deodorant soap filled the bathroom.  At the same time, the lock to the hotel room door was being manipulated and then the door quietly opened. A figure entered the room and quietly closed the door again.  Pausing at the bathroom door the figure silently watched Matson showering and then began to approach him.

After a while in the long, hot sudsy shower in his hotel room, Matson began to recover his sense of dignity, gradually washing away the terrible feeling of violation he felt after the interrogation and drugging at the hands of the two agents. In the shower, he was feeling back in control of his own person, the suds he was rinsing from himself symbolizing the washing away of the evil of the experience he had just had.  The detective felt much better now, thoroughly clean and his nakedness offering a sense of freedom.  Physically, he felt very good now and he suddenly had a taste for a cup of freshly brewed hot coffee.  In fact, he actually began to smell coffee in the steamy bathroom. “You’ve got company,” announced a voice from the other side of the steamed up glass door of the shower. Though the tone of the voice was matter of fact and non-threatening, Matson recognized the voice and a sudden distress filled him.  Beef slid open the door and saw the visitor.  It was Gary, the secret agent, calmly leaning against the bathroom counter.  There were two large paper cups of coffee and a paper bag that Gary had obviously brought with him, sitting on the countertop.  Using a few choice expletives to order Gary to leave, Matson swiftly flung the bar of soap at Gary.  Matson’s aim was dead on with the bar of soap headed for an impact in between Gary’s eyes, but the agent’s reflexes were equally impressive, quickly snatching the soap and dropping it calmly into the bath sink.  Wiping his hand on a small towel Gary observed, “Good to see that physically, at least, you’re not too worse for wear.  Sorry for not knocking, but under these circumstances, I thought I’d like to make my visit with you as quiet as possible.”

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Beef Matson is unhappy with Gary's unexpected presence in his hotel room bath.

Matson, towel in hand, grabbed a coffee and the paper bag and headed out of the bathroom followed by Gary who grabbed the other cup of coffee.  Matson placed his coffee cup and paper bag on the table across from the hotel room bed as the secret agent plopped himself down into one of the chairs next to it and watched as Matson finished drying himself off.  The detective then threw the towel on the chair, sat on it and put some creamer he acquired from the paper bag into his coffee.  Gary looked at Matson with a bit of concern. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in some clothes?” he asked. “No, I’m fine just the way I am,” was the reply. “At least put some briefs on,” “No.” The two men rapidly reached an impasse.  Gary was not going to leave until Matson provided him with some information and the private investigator simply was not going to put on any clothes. “Mr. Matson,” complained Gary, “couldn’t you at least cover up your naughty bits? “No,” was the terse reply. “Matson!” “It’s my hotel room and I have the right to be as comfortable as I want to be here.  Whereas you are an uninvited guest.  I'm not asking you to get naked so, love it or leave it.” Beef Matson shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of coffee. Quickly, the two arrived at a compromise, Gary could stay and ask the detective questions and Matson would remain nude.  Initially, the situation warranted that the  private investigator would be the one who would be put ill at ease, naked and in the shower.  However, in this situation Lynn Gordon Matson did feel relaxed being totally nude, like sitting around in a locker room after a shower and this other man was the one becoming quickly unnerved by Beef’s nudity.  As such, Matson had turned the situation completely around, the detective now being the one in control.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Gary is uncomfortable with Matson's nudity.

“I think they wanted money from me…” recalled Matson. “Money?” puzzled Gary, “Why would they want money from you?” “Maybe it has something to do with a code name for some secret project they thought I knew about.  In fact, the woman asked if it was gay, like there were some gays involved with it.” “Do you remember the name she asked about?” “Oh yeah, very clearly.  She was certain I was familiar with it.  She kept asking what I knew about Cashdollar and how I knew Cashdollar.  And if Cashdollar is gay.” Gary began laughing loudly.  “Cashdollar is not gay,” he announced. “So what is Cashdollar?” asked Beef. “Not what, who,” revealed Gary. “That’s me.  I’m Cashdollar. Gary Cashdollar.”  Gary Cashdollar mused silently for a bit, still chuckling.  He had now become completely drawn into Matson’s revelations to the point where the detective’s nudity was no longer an issue.   “So that’s what those two bastards were up to.  Maybe  they’re trying to get into a little blackmail.  It’s obvious now that they had seen us talking, so they were trailing one of us.  More than likely it was you they were trailing since mine is not an easy trail to follow and if they were to try to trail me, that would draw too much attention to their own activities.  The big question is, who set them on your trail and why?  What is it ol’ Sherlock would say, ‘The game’s afoot?’.  Another reason for you to come work for me Lynn Gordon, you’re already involved.” Cashdollar glanced down at an electronic tablet he was holding.  “I think what I will do is have our people put up a lot of chatter on our wireless network, that Zhourg and Snitzer made one el grande mistake in picking you up, that you don’t have any connection with anything the agencies are doing and now you’re asking many questions which might threaten exposure to some things we don’t want exposed.  Our little way of embarrassing Zhourg and Snitzer and their employers so they make a point of keeping their distance from you and keeping you safe in the future.” Gary glanced down at the electronic tablet again.  “One other minor thing.  Zhourg and Snitzer’s report mention another person you’re working with, somebody who’s pretty bad ass.  The name is Sophie Snitmueller, Is that a local contact of yours?  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, it’s not important.” With silent amusement, Matson recalled mentioning, while under the influence of the drug the agents had given him, the name of the imaginary person his Milwaukee clients said they would blame things on as children.  “She’s someone that can cause a lot of problems if she wants to,”  informed Matson.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: "That's me.  I'm Cashdollar.  Gary Cashdollar."

After Randy explained to the cab driver that he had just arrived from San Francisco and he needed to get to the downtown hotel where his boss was staying, the cab Matson’s assistant was riding in was moving northward at a fast clip on South First Street.  Randy watched street signs bearing the names of Bruce, Virginia and Florida go whizzing by.  The cab made a right turn onto another street, rounded a bend and then the tires of the cab made a whirring sound as the vehicle crossed a drawbridge. The driver announced the river they were crossing was the Milwaukee River. The driver rushed northward on another street, into a more built up area comprised of what looked like older factory buildings.  Immediately after crossing under a freeway underpass, the neighborhood seemed slightly reminiscent to Randy of downtown San Francisco, slightly hilly with older office buildings. Immediately, the driver spied a well dressed middle aged couple walking down the near deserted street and began to slow his cab.  The male half of the couple spotted the cab and waved to it.  The driver then asked Randy if he would mind getting out the cab, that the hotel where his boss was at was only a block away.  Randy agreed, paying the driver as the middle aged couple scurried up to the cab. Randy was pretty good at determining the location of addresses and in getting his bearings he suddenly realized that his boss’s hotel was not just around the corner, but more like three plus blocks away. The strong smell of Lake Michigan air and the moaning sound of a fog horn made him sentimental for San Francisco and had him wishing he were still there. Randy began to walk towards an intersection a couple blocks to the north that appeared to have a lot more activity than the deserted block he was walking on.  As he walked along, Randy suddenly had the notion to turn and look behind him.  There, a half block behind him, on the other side of the street, a man stood under a light pole observing Randy’s progress.  Randy had to do a double take.  It was the same man who had guided him to the cab at the bar and opened the cab door for him.  The same black man, dark suit, white shirt and black tie.  Randy was concerned.  How did the man end up in the exact same place Randy came to and at the same time?  Randy decided he did not want to make eye contact with the stranger and instead averted his eyes forward continuing up the street, conspiracy theories suddenly flooding his mind.  Was he being stalked?  Was he being stalked by some guy who looked like an FBI agent?  An FBI agent who had a thing for young blond males?  Did the FBI think he was part of some conspiracy?  Did the FBI think his boss was up to something?  Was someone out to hurt him and the FBI had agents keeping an eye on him? Maybe the FBI protection went beyond just putting him on a plane and sending him off to Milwaukee to be with his boss?

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Beef Matson's assistant Randy arrives in downtown Milwaukee looking for his boss's hotel.

Inside Beef Matson’s room, there was silence.  Matson had taken the cap off Randy’s head and gently dropped it onto a chair.  He was tightly holding his assistant in his arms and Randy found his face buried in Matson’s naked chest and biceps while his boss was rubbing his face against the top of Randy’s head.  The couple stood like this for a while with Matson in control, gently rocking the two of them back and forth in the dimly lit room.  Finally from within his boss’s tight embrace, Randy made a comment. ‘This has not been a good day for you, has it?” “I need to protect you and keep you safe.” was Matson’s only reply. Matson released his grip and softly informed Randy, “I need to ask a favor of you,” “Sure, whatever,” replied Randy. “I need to have someone cuddle with me for awhile.” “That’s fine.” Beef led Randy towards the bed and gestured towards a darkened mass. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.” “Uh-oh”, thought Randy. Matson bent over and picked up an object from the bed. “This is Fred and he’s my new teddy bear.  Fred, say hello to the best assistant in the entire world, my man Randy.” Matson animated one of Fred’s paws so he waved at Randy.

Without him realizing it, Adam’s act of contrition had lessened the grip of evil and, as a result, the visiting angel was now more empowered.  The angelic entity now decided to materialize in a vacant lot close to the Your Place Too club.   The vacant lot was a shrub and grass filled litter strewn place.  Traces of what once was on the lot were here and there.  The remnants of a building foundation, an old wooden fence with many slats missing and a scattering of bricks and aged lumber lay among some gnarled trees that were gradually being stripped of their leaves by autumn.  The ballad, “Sing” by Wynnona, could still be faintly heard in the background of the Halloween like scene.  Then the song abruptly faded to be replaced by an upbeat dance mix of the same song.  A sudden shower of bits of energy rained down in a spot near the old wooden fence among the rugged trees.  The show of light immediately coalesced into the entity who now appeared wearing a dark knee length coat over his suit.  The angel looked about at his surroundings, more of the decay and decline so prevalent in this world.  Next to him was an old rose bush still thriving in the same spot it was planted in so many decades before.  However, exposure to the cool autumn nights had left the bush vulnerable to mildew and it was going dormant.  The few blossoms on the plant were becoming dark and dry.  The entity gently cupped one of the rose blossoms in his hands.  The plant shuddered and the blossom immediately became moist and filled out and blushed with a deep red color.  The rest of the rose bush responded as well, the mildew disappeared and the leaves became a bright glossy green.

“Sounds like the fairy is trying to abuse me,” announced the driver who started to open his door, “It’s time to cleanse three more faggots from the city streets.”  As Corey and his companions braced themselves, the entity stepped into the street and walked up to the SUV.  For a short moment he contemplated the SUV then reached out and gently touched the right front of the vehicle with one finger.  Instantly the SUV was flung to the other side of the street, jumping the curb, going over the sidewalk on the other side of the street and smashing through large bushes and an old wire fence.  Copious amounts of dust followed by dried leaves, bits of lumber, branches from bushes, and discarded litter billowed into the air.   The occupants of the vehicle bounced around inside while the driver who had just gotten his door opened, fell out into some shrubbery.  Smoking dark skidmarks indicated that the vehicle was either dragged or pushed violently across the street.

Comments:

rcp1679:  Is Senator Nyparmo supposed to be a satire on an actual politician?  Seems like you modeled that character on either XXXXX or XXXXX.

R.C.:  Senator Nyparmo is compilation of all the bad character traits that over the years I've noticed that politicians can display. The character is not modeled after any specific individual, male or female.  Specifically, the Nyparmo character is drawn from a person who was a management officer at a company I had the misfortune to work at years ago.  That individual was active in local womens politics and supposedly was liberal and  gay friendly - neither of the latter two were true.  I remember her asking me for information about other employees she thought might be gay so she could "help" them.  Turns out, years later, I was told that one of the woman's projects was to purge the company of it's homo employees.   The Senator is not meant to be a caricature of specific person but rather a symbol of deceit and hypocrisy.

Ron S.:  You got me hooked with this strange story.  I can't imagine where it's going to end up with all these different parts.  Also, I think this story would make a great movie, it would be fun to watch it on the big screen or even the little one.  Very much enjoyed when rev. spike met his end. I thought it was very ironic that a social vampire was killed off by another vampire.

jjk: When I played the Wynonna clip, it was wow.  The song is perfect for this scene. I could see in my mind the whole scene with the music playing.  The two of them in bed with the teddy bear and all the furniture he had piled up against the door to keep them safe.  Brilliant, brilliant!

Dan: Favorite chapter four moments:  Matson saying he's not a practicing homosexual - he's an expert.  Zorg and Snizter in the Obama and Bush masks.  Matson's 70s disco trip (too young for 70s but sounds fun and would love to visit).  Matson waking up and asking Ken to come and get him (cry-cry).  Matson punching out Zorgh.  Rev. Spike Mighty getting chomped on.  The hotel scene with a naked Matson plus the idea of Gale Harold-Brian Kinney as secret agent Cashdollar - yeah baby!  Matson and Randy and the bear cuddling on the bed - so sweet.

Bonnie: Enjoyed reading it Rick. Your very talented!

John B: There's much more to Agent Gary than even HE is aware of! ;).
R.C.:  That is a VERY observant comment!

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