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Patt's getting a tad bit bogged down in real life, so I'm taking over for her on Courage Under Fire for a bit. My name is Kel, my address is dragonbane4@aol.com
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Frank Osbert hung up the phone after his chat with Stephen Ellison. //I'll be damned if I tell you that I think your father is fucking someone over the phone!// he swore to himself as he pulled out the video tripod. The whole assembly would sit near the window and catch all the action. He settled things and peered through the shooting lens, and got a clear view of William moving around in the house.
--Flashback--
Stephen had been correct when he'd said the back door would be unlocked; it was. Old man Ellison had been upstairs soaking in the tub--Frank had just caught the tail end of a physical scuffle between him and his other son Jim, and then he'd gone to examine some of the papers he'd found on the kitchen table while William was in the tub. Cancelled checks thrown out in a bank statement, written for five hundred bucks a pop to Martin Wilkinson. He pulled out a pocket calendar and checked, and the dates were once a week for the past few months. //Looks like someone is getting a regular payoff.// The phone bill was also in the trash, and it took a couple of phone calls to track down the phone number called most often, a bookie that ran out of the back of a strip bar in downtown. //We've been trying to bust that guy… either Martin's got a gambling problem and William's paying it off or William's got more than one problem on his plate.//
Frank was leaning against the window, his rifle mike pointed towards the window when he heard William's call to Wilkerson. //So he's paying off Wilkerson's debt to the bookie…wonder what Wilkerson is giving in return.// A feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he already knew.
As soon as William had gotten off the phone and settled in the living room to wait with his newspaper, Frank picked up the phone and called Stephen.
--End Flashback--
Frank wasn't sure how long he'd been ruminating, but he was shocked out of it by the rumble of a car pulling into the driveway. He aimed the mike at the window again, and then sprinted over to the bedroom window to make sure that the camera was in place and ready to go. The still camera hung around his neck, no flash needed for this camera. //God, please let me be wrong,// he thought as a quick, fervent prayer. Silently, he watched through the window.
Martin Wilkerson knocked at the front door, and William got up and silently answered the door. "Get upstairs," was the only thing that William said, and Wilkerson meekly climbed the steps.
Frank silently thanked the incline that allowed him to climb the hill and then suddenly be eye level with the second floor, and he adjusted the video camera, as he set the still camera up. It could take up to forty eight exposures, and Frank had loaded it with a new roll of film and set the timer to snap every minute. If their little meeting was longer, he'd have to change film, but the video would run for up to six hours. //I sincerely doubt either is that good.//
He trained the video camera on the door, and Wilkerson came in first, followed by Ellison. Ellison sat down at the small desk in the bedroom and pulled out a checkbook, and started writing a check. He zoomed in on the check as Ellison's hands moved across it; //Pay to the order of Martin Wilkerson, $500, five hundred and 00/100, but unsigned// Frank noticed. William got up and carried the check over to Wilkerson. "I'll sign it when we're done today."
Wilkerson nodded, and Frank made sure to catch that agreement on the camera. //Stephen will love this.// He kept the camera on both men as Wilkerson pulled off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his tie, and then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his zipper. There was a definite feel of impersonality to this, and Frank swallowed hard as the fear he'd had earlier suddenly crystallized.
Wilkerson's pants fell around his ankles and stayed there, as William's hand went to the back of Wilkerson's neck and pushed him down, over the footboard of the bed. William made few concessions to this quick, dirty fuck, pausing only long enough to unzip his pants, roll a condom over his erection and to stretch his companion's anus with a few rough strokes of his fingers before thrusting the slick latex-covered cock into Wilkerson's unresisting body.
At the first touch of condom to cock, Frank started the still camera shooting, and kept his video camera trained on the action in the room. His training, both as a cop and a PI kept his hand steady, but his thoughts were revolting. //What father fucks another man and then tries to ruin his son's life for doing the same thing?//
Their coupling was over in a matter of minutes, and William came, the name of his eldest son on his lips. Frank was too shocked to feel disgust //Dear God Stephen, what have you gotten into?// He watched, transfixed through the camera lens as William peeled the condom off his cock and Wilkerson, red faced and eyes closed, knelt before William and cleaned the older man's cock off with his tongue while jerking himself off, and coming at the last stroke into a handful of tissues that William thrust at him. "Get dressed," Ellison ordered, as he put his softening cock back into his pants and went to sign the check.
Wilkerson's embarrassment and discomfort was evident as he pulled his underwear and pants back up, tucking in his shirt and putting his jacket back on. When he turned back around, he found the check for five hundred dollars on the desk and William gone from the room. With trembling hands, Wilkerson shoved the check into his pocket, and as quickly as he could, he fled the house.
Frank turned off the video camera, and shuddered. //Stephen.// He checked the still camera, which was still snapping pictures of Ellison's now-empty bedroom. He turned off the camera and carefully rewound the film, and put it back in the canister. It took him almost no time to pack everything up, and he took the videotape out of the camera. //I should copy it in case something happens to Stephen's.// He packed his things back into the back of his car, and then drove off, and parked in the parking lot of the closest drug store. Finally his hands shook as he called Stephen.
"Stephen, it's Frank," he said, cutting off the other man's greeting. "We need to meet. My place. I've got to develop the film myself, and I'm copying the tape in case anything happens to you or your copy."
There was a long, quiet pause. "I know why you develop photos yourself, Frank," Stephen finally said softly. "They're fucking, aren't they?"
"If you could call it that."
The next pause was even longer. "How long?"
"I'm on my way home now. Meet me at my place in half an hour."
"That will be fine. Thanks." Stephen hung up, and Frank sighed. //Fuck I hate that part of the job.//
Back in the Dean's office, Stephen collected all the documents from Murdoch. "Leave all these with me; I will return them to you tonight or tomorrow." //Nobody else needs to know what's going on here.// "Get out, Terry."
"As you have it, sir," Murdoch said, inclining his head. As he walked out, Stephen consulted his watch. //Blair will be out of his classes in an hour or so. That'll just give me enough time to get this stuff from Frank.// He left a note for the Dean and hung it on the door. //Meet me at Blair's office in an hour. Stephen Ellison.// He left as soon as he pinned up the note, knowing how long it would take him to get to Frank's place from the college.
Twenty eight minutes later--Stephen knew, he'd counted them in traffic--and he pulled up outside of Frank's house. His PI office was down in the basement and he went straight there, knocking on the door.
Frank's voice came out immediately. "I'm in the darkroom finishing up--come on in, I left the door open when I heard your car."
Stephen put his hand on the knob and opened the door, sitting on the other side of the desk. A few minutes of waiting, and Frank came out of the darkroom with an envelope of eight by tens. "I've got some other things you should see first," he reassured his friend.
"No. Let me see those first. I've steeled myself for it, it's not like it's going to be a shock. I knew my old man had sex, Frank. I just… I couldn't believe it because this is what he's trying to wreck Jim's life over."
At that, Frank sat back in his chair. "Wreck… Jim's life? Stephen, I think you better tell me everything so I know just what the hell I heard today." Stephen related the entire story to Frank. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, when Stephen was done. "Now I know where all this crap fits in together."
"Frank… what crap?"
"This." There was a VCR set up on the desk, and the PI picked up the remote and forwarded through the video. "I'll let you see the whole thing in a minute, but this is what you need to hear." He stopped it at the part where William was coming, and he thumbed up the volume. Jim's name was clearly audible in the silence between the two men. Then Frank silently rewound the tape and put it in a case, passing it to Stephen. "This is your copy. I got the original." Stephen didn't take the tape at first, and when he did, Frank was slightly frightened by the blankness of Stephen's face. "Stephen?"
"I'm fine. What else do you have to show me?"
"Pictures, receipts, cancelled checks." Frank slid envelopes over as he named each one off. Stephen barely flipped through the pictures, but Frank couldn't quite blame him. Then he thumbed through the checks and payment slips.
"So let me put this together. Martin Wilkerson is hooking for my father who has some sick thing for my big brother in return for his debts to this bookie being paid off?"
Frank nodded. "That's about the size of it."
"And I'm guessing my dad is saying he'll cut off the money and blow the lid off the sex thing if the Dean doesn't go along with firing Blair and getting Blair out of Jim's life so my dad can have him." Frank nodded again, this time not saying anything. "Jim doesn't need to know," he said pointedly. "Not about that anyway. He knows I hired you but as far as anyone knows, they're just fucking for money. Jim doesn't enter into this at all."
"You know you can count on me, Stephen."
"Yeah, I know." He put another envelope on the table in front of Frank. "This isn't buying your silence--I know you too well for that. This is to say, I'm sorry. If I'd known how fucked up my dad was, I never would have asked you in on it--I would have gotten in myself."
Frank shook his head and slid the envelope back over to Stephen. "Keep it, Stevie. You may need it. It's a risk of being in the business, you find out things you didn't want to know. You want to make it up to me, you keep that sick bastard from breaking up your brother's life."
"You got it," Stephen promised. "It's about time I returned the favor to Jimmy."
Frank showed Stephen out, and then shook his head. //Godspeed, my friend, youwill need it.//
Back in his car, Stephen realized the meeting had taken less than twenty minutes though it had felt much, much longer. He drove like a bat out of hell, and pulled back into the University in fifteen minutes. He hurried down the hall, finding… //Dear God, what is everyone doing here?// he thought to himself. Brian, Jim, Joel, Blair and Dean Wilkerson were all crowding around Blair's office as he unlocked it. "Brian. Can you and Joel give me and Blair and the Dean a few minutes alone? Jim… you look like shit, you okay?" he asked, giving his brother a quick hug.
"Better now that he's here," Jim said, finding Blair's hand with unerring accuracy, and it made Stephen's throat tighten.
"Jim, go with Brian and Joel, okay? Wash your hands and face, you'll feel better." Stephen looked to Blair, pleading with his eyes to back him up.
"Jim, yeah, Stephen's right. I don't know what happened but look at your hands, Jim, they're crusted with… God, Jim, is that blood!"
Brian jerked Jim's hands out of sight. "Yes, it's blood. We'll get him cleaned up."
"I got first aid in the office… hang on a second." Blair finally got the door of his small office open and dug through the mountain of mess on the desk and came up with a first aid kit, and tossed it to Joel. "Take care of him, okay?"
"We will." Joel's arm was protective around Jim's shoulder as he pulled the big man down the hallway.
Stephen followed the Dean into Jim's office, and had a seat behind the desk beside Blair. "Now… I think it's time we all had a little talk." Wordlessly, Stephen spread out the photographs on top of Blair's desk.
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