Pick Up the Pieces: The Light in Your Eyes Book 1 - A Spy vs.Spook Spin-off

Pick Up the Pieces

The Light in Your Eyes Book 1

By Tinnean

* * * *

Copyright 2020 Tinnean

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Dedication

This is for Bob, because…Bob. It will always be for him.

* * * *

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who wanted to see this in print: Tisha, Anita Guerrero Dockery, Cardeno C., Laurie Famigletti Choate, Robert Solon, Jr., Trisha Harrington, Santy D'Lthyn, Robb of CRVBoy, and of course, Tony. A very special thanks to Gail Morse, who was here from the beginning and helped more than I can say.

* * * *

Pick Up the Pieces

By Tinnean

Prologue

As much as the Greek girls of our community in Tarpon Springs had their lives mapped out, so did the boys.

Once I grew up, I’d become a fisherman like my father. Eventually I’d marry a nice Greek girl, and we’d give our fathers a new grandson or granddaughter every year.

That was the way it was supposed to be, only….

When I was fifteen years old, my father threw me out for being gay.

I knew what my father thought of homosexuals, had heard him and his friends, the fishermen down at the docks, sneer and tell coarse jokes about them.

But he was my father. He was supposed to love me, just as I loved him.

Instead, and as I probably should have expected, he shouted, "Teodore Bascopolis, you stop being gay right now, or else you get the fuck out of my house!"

Ma cried and wrung her hands, and Acacia, my eight-year-old sister, threw herself at me and held on, but Poppa just stood there with his hands clenched into fists, his face set.

I had no choice. I couldn’t obey the one, so I obeyed the other, and I got the fuck out of his house.

Since that time, I’d been a rent boy.

But it didn’t start out that way…

* * * *

Chapter 1

It was getting late, and it was starting to drizzle, unusual since this was the dry season in Florida.

Was this God’s way of punishing me for being gay?

I sat on a park bench trying not to cry.

Whatsa matter, kid? The young man standing before me slouched casually, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The rain didn’t seem to bother him.

I tried to look away, but something about him held my gaze.

He wore black motorcycle boots and jeans so tight the only place to keep his pack of cigarettes was rolled in the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He had a tattoo of coiled barbed wire around his upper arm and numerous piercings—along the cartilage of his right ear, along his eyebrow. Through the dampness of his T-shirt his nipples were prominent. His left nipple bore a ring.

He took the cigarette, dropped it to the ground and crushed it, and blew out a stream of smoke.

He looked so sexy that in spite of my predicament, I felt my dick hardening.

I shouldn’t have said anything—he was a stranger—but he also looked so sympathetic that I found myself pouring out the story of my plight.

And…and then Poppa told me to get out. I sniffed hard.

That’s tough. You’re a sweet-looking kid. What’s your name?

I glanced away, reluctant to tell him in case he was a social worker or something and was going to take me in to the cops, who’d put me into some kind of juvenile home after they called my father and found out he didn’t want me anymore.

He laughed softly. Well, I’ll call you Sweetcheeks. He ran his fingers over the curve of my cheek and down to my chin, and I shivered. Ma used to pet me like that, but this was so different; I wanted to feel it again. My name is Franky. How old are you?

My birthday had been a few weeks before. I’m fifteen. I bit my lip. I hadn’t even thought of lying to him.

Yeah? His eyes were hot as they ran over my body. Sweet fifteen. I blushed. You’re getting wet. Why don’t you come with me, Sweetcheeks? I’m pretty sure I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge, and I’ve got a bed you can use.

Sure. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with him, if that was what he wanted in exchange for a place to stay. I’d fooled around with some boys in the men’s room at the multiplex, and I’d liked it, but I’d never done much beyond mutual hand jobs.

We had to walk a bit to catch the trolley that would take us to where he lived. Cabs won’t go there, he said, his smile apologetic.

I guessed it was a good thing Poppa had thrown me out on a Friday, when the trolley ran until midnight.

The trolley driver gave us a bored look. Franky showed the driver his pass and gave him the fare for me without even asking if I had the money, which was a good thing, because I’d used my last couple of dollars at McDonald’s.

I walked ahead of him to the back of the trolley.

Hey! You’re a redhead! I just noticed! It was too dark to tell before we got on the trolley, and I guess your hair was too wet. Franky tipped his head to one side. Does the carpet match the drapes?

I stared at him. What carpet? What drapes?

He must have seen my confusion. Are you a natural redhead?

Excuse me? Was he flirting with me? I liked the thought that he was.

Are you a redhead…all over?

I realized he meant the hair that covered my groin, and I blushed and nodded. I got the deep-mahogany coloring from Ma’s side of the family. There was at least one redhead in each generation. I would have preferred to have brown hair like Poppa, but my sister, Casey, got that.

Cool. He winked at me.

I opened my mouth to tell him about Greeks having red hair—not many people knew that—but he started talking.

I sat beside him and listened while he talked about the cities he’d lived in: New York, Las Vegas, Los Angeles—exciting, glitzy cities I’d read about and wanted to see myself but knew I never would. There was little chance I would ever get out of Tarpon Springs.

I hung on his every word, at first barely noticing that the trolley driver was watching us through the rearview mirror.

But then I did notice, and I began to worry that maybe he would call dispatch, and dispatch would call the cops, who would call my father…

No, that was dumb. Poppa didn’t care. Why would anyone else?

Something wrong, Sweetcheeks?

I shook my head.

Well, as I was saying, in Vegas I had this fantastic run of luck. It would have lasted longer, but…

The driver pulled up at a stop and opened the door. A bunch of people got on, showing him their passes, and when the trolley started off again, I was relieved to see the driver was no longer watching us.

After about another ten minutes, Franky pulled the cord that let the driver know a passenger wanted to get off and reached up for the overhead strap. This is our stop.

Our stop. I liked the sound of that. We got off the trolley.

We still have a bit more to walk, Sweetcheeks.

Fortunately, it had stopped raining. I’ve never been in this part of town. I looked around.

It’s kind of shitty, but don’t worry about it. I’ve got street cred.

Street cred? Are you in a gang? I didn’t know whether to be terrified or gratified.

He just grinned, rested his big hand on the back of my neck, and gave a slight squeeze.

The neighborhood was run-down, rusted trailers, houses missing roof tiles or slabs of siding. In one front yard I could see the mangled corpse of a small animal—a cat, maybe, someone’s pet?—and I shivered and forced myself to look away from it.

Why do you stay here?

Oh, I’ll be moving soon. I’m just waiting for some money to come in. He turned up a cracked and broken walk. This is my place.

It was as shabby as its neighbors. The St. Augustine grass in the front was overgrown, and the streetlight glinted off hubcaps and abandoned bikes.

He led me into his kitchen and opened the small, dingy refrigerator. Guess I don’t have as much as I’d thought.

That’s okay. I’m… I licked my lips, unable to take my eyes off his body, off the way it was bent, his butt stretching the material of his jeans even tighter. I’m not really hungry.

No? He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw my eyes on him, he grinned, and I was mesmerized, unable to stop staring at his full lips. Well, maybe I can offer you something that you will be hungry for. Come on.

He caught my wrist and pulled me along after him, leaving the fridge door hanging open.

His bedroom wasn’t very tidy. Ma would have been mortified if any of the rooms in our…her house looked like that.

But then I forgot all about that as he murmured my name—Sweetcheeks—and began making love to me….

* * * *

It wasn’t all about sex, though.

The next morning Franky said, We’re going to McDonald’s for breakfast.

Okay. I followed him to a shed at the rear of the property.

We’ll take my friend’s motorcycle. He stores it here, and he won’t mind if I borrow it.

Uh…don’t we need helmets?

Helmets are for candy asses. He swung his leg over the motorcycle and settled himself on the seat. Coming? He waggled his eyebrows, and I blushed but climbed on behind him. I held onto him and grinned into his T-shirt. The wind blew through my hair, and I felt wild and adventurous.

And when we arrived at McDonald’s, he draped an arm over my shoulder and swaggered into the building.

After he’d paid for our order and we sat in a booth to eat it, he told me what we were going to do as soon as the mall opened.

I’m gonna buy you jeans and shirts and—

Motorcycle boots like yours?

He smiled and ruffled my hair. If that’s what you want.

Cool! I gave a little bounce and poured syrup on my pancakes. I took a bite, chewed, and needed the bland coffee to wash it down. The pancakes were okay for a fast food place, but the ones Ma made…

Thoughts of the family I no longer had caused my eyes to well with tears, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from bawling like a baby.

You okay, Sweetcheeks?

Yes. I inhaled and blinked rapidly, but finally I could meet his gaze dry-eyed. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for being so kind to me.

You’re my boy, aren’t you?

Yes, I was.

* * * *

Franky bought me all the clothes I’d always wanted, the brands the cool kids at school wore. Poppa had said he didn’t intend to pay good money for underwear some guy put his name on, or for jeans with a fancy label on the back pocket, but what did Poppa know about it?

Franky knew, and he cared about me. He wasn’t going to throw me out because I was gay.

Best of all, he took me to a place that carried the same kind of motorcycle boots he wore. We found an awesome pair in my size. They were genuine leather, with the store’s logo embossed on the front, an inside zipper, and metal loops at the ankle. When I saw the price, though, I put them back in the box.

Don’t you like them?

They’re perfect. But they cost so much.

You let me worry about that. Put them on.

They felt great, like I was walking on a cloud, and I didn’t want to take them off. Franky must have realized that.

Give me your sneakers. They were still damp from the night before. He put them in the box and took the box up to the cashier. He’s going to wear the boots.

The young man at the register smiled at me and rang up the sale.

Without blinking an eye, Franky paid for them in cash. We left the store and mounted the motorcycle,

I asked, What are we going to do now?

He looked over his shoulder and gave me a slow grin.

Oh!

* * * *

He also bought me McDonald’s whenever I felt like it and didn’t rag me about eating vegetables. I didn’t have to go to school anymore, and he didn’t mind if I stayed up until one or two or three in the morning playing video games until he came home from his job, whatever that was. He shared his joints with me, although he’d never let me do even one line of his coke, and….

And he made love to me every night.

* * * *

I’d been with him for almost two months when he came home one night with a video camera.

And I let him film us, because it made him happy.

A few nights later, he brought home another boy. The boy was about my height. He had dirty-blond hair and light-brown eyes, and the clothes he wore were ragged and filthy. I stayed as far away from him as I could when I thought I’d spotted lice in his hair.

This is Jaybird. He’ll be staying with us. Before I could object, he said, He needs a place to stay, Sweetcheeks. You remember how it was when your old man threw you out, don’t you? Be nice to him.

Okay, Franky.

Tomorrow we’ll get him some clothes. His gaze went from the boy to me, and he nodded and muttered something to himself, something about doing it in the fitting room?

No, that couldn’t have been right.

Meanwhile, show him where the bathroom is. He needs a shower.

It’s this way. I walked toward the back of the house, watching him over my shoulder. The boy looked around but didn’t say anything until we entered the small bathroom.

You been wit’ Fast Franky long?

Fast Franky? Uh…a while.

How does he treat you? He took off his shirt, and I was bothered to see track marks up his arm. He scratched them and then vigorously scratched his scalp.

He’s good to me. He’s my boyfriend.

Jaybird laughed. Yeah? That’s a good one. He pushed his pants down his legs. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and I jerked my eyes away from his dick. You can look at me. I don’t mind.

He was thin, with a narrow chest, a sparse growth of pubic hair, and a small, uncut dick.

How old are you?

Thirteen. He leered at me. I been thirteen for four years now.

"Huh?"

He laughed, not a nice sound, and turned on the shower.

Uh…I’ll get you a towel.

Sure. You do that. He was in the tub when I got back. Wanna join me?

I already had a shower.

He laughed again. You really ain’t bright.

I ran out of the bathroom. Franky… I found him in the bedroom. He…Jaybird made a pass at me.

Good.

"Good?"

Yeah. I want you two together.

But…

Take your clothes off.

Automatically, I obeyed him. Franky…

You want to make me happy, don’t you?

Yeah, but…

Jaybird walked in, drying himself off with the towel. How do you want me?

We’re gonna have us a sandwich. You’re the filling.

But…but…Franky, you’re my boyfriend. How could you want to—

I do what I want, and what I want right now is a change. He rose from the bed, barely giving me a glance. Now, lay down in the middle of the bed. No, the other way.

Numbly, I changed positions. In spite of the shower Jaybird had just taken, his dick smelled, and for the first time in weeks, my gag reflex kicked in and I started retching.

Jaybird pulled away from me. You ain’t yakkin’ on my dick!

I scrambled to sit up, swallowing frantically so I wouldn’t puke.

Goddammit, I thought you were gonna be nice to him! And then Franky hit me. He’d never hit me before. Even Poppa had never hit me in the face, not even when he’d found out I was gay.

But…but… I held my hand to my nose. Blood dripped through my fingers onto my chest.

Get the fuck out of here! You can sleep on the sofa! He turned to Jaybird. C’mere.

Jaybird sent a triumphant sneer my way.

I grabbed up my clothes and ran from the bedroom to the bathroom. It took a while for my nose to stop bleeding. It took a longer while for me to stop crying.

* * * *

I was making a pot of coffee when Franky came into the kitchen the next morning.

He looked unhappy when he saw my swollen nose. Ah, baby, I’m sorry.

I knew he hadn’t meant it. I rushed into his arms, and he held me and rocked me. Everything was going to be okay. He’d send Jaybird away, and it would be just the two of us, the way it should be.

But then he said, You like him, don’t you, Sweetcheeks?

I leaned back and stared into his eyes. He let me go, went to the cabinet, and took down a mug.

He’s okay, I guess, I conceded reluctantly. I knew that was what he wanted me to say, but I couldn’t muster more enthusiasm than that.

He’s had a tough life, you know. He’s thirteen and—

He’s seventeen.

What?

That’s what he told me.

Motherfucking cocksucker. He slammed the mug down on the edge of the counter, breaking it, and stalked out of the room, and after a minute I heard the sound of a slap.

Ow! Hey! What the fuck—

Lying little motherfucking prick!

The front door opened, slammed closed, and Jaybird was gone. I shouldn’t have, but I breathed a sigh of relief.

Franky came back into the kitchen. I’m sorry, baby. I thought he’d make a nice little brother for you.

I don’t need a brother, Franky. You’re all I need.

Yeah?

Yeah.

You’re my good boy.

Relieved, I sighed and leaned into him. What had happened last night would never happen again.

* * * *

The second time Franky hit me, he cried and begged me to forgive him. I’m just so stressed, baby. The landlord’s after me for the rent, and since you’ve come to stay with me, I have barely enough money for groceries. All the clothes I bought you, and there’s the electric bill…. You do like to play a lot of video games.

I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I cradled him in my arms and stroked his hair. What can I do to help?

Ah, Sweetcheeks, you’d really help me?

Franky, you know I’d do anything for you. I’ll stop watching TV and playing video games. I’ll get a job at McDonald’s. Or Arby’s. Or—

Well…they really don’t pay too much.

I know. I sighed. I’d need a diploma to get a better job, though. I could go back to school. Do you want me to go back to school?

He shook his head.

So there isn’t much else.

There is one thing you could do. If you really want to help me, if you’re serious about it. And if you do this for me, I’ll never, ever— He scattered kisses over my face. —hit you again.

You know I’ll do anything for you, Franky, I said again.

That night I turned my first trick.

* * * *

Franky lied. He did beat me again, and I knew I had to work harder so he wouldn’t keep beating me. Only sometimes it seemed like nothing I did was enough. If I didn’t bring home enough money, if he found out I had my john use a condom…After the first couple of times, when he slapped me when I said yes, I began to lie to him.

I couldn’t understand why he didn’t feel the same way, unless he thought they would pay me more.

The nice clothes he’d bought me were gone, and my motorcycle boots as well. I woke up one morning to find he’d pawned them. Not that I begrudged him the money he was able to get for them, although I did miss my boots. I just wished he’d used the money for something other than cocaine.

He replaced what he’d pawned with sneakers that pinched my toes and clothes from Goodwill that were a size too small. These are perfect. They’ll show your customers what you’ve got.

Sometimes I’d think of leaving him, but then he’d spend the day making sweet love to me, telling me what a good boy I was, how much he loved and needed me, and I’d stay.

Besides, where could I go?

* * * *

It had been raining all day, and most johns seemed to have decided to stay at home with their families. I came home early that night to find Franky high as a kite on heroin. He smelled of sex and his lips were swollen.

Franky? Are you okay?

Had a vis’tor. He peered up at me, a weird look in his eyes. What’re ya doin’ home so fuckin’ early? Never min’, don’t matter. Ya ain’t gonna be my worry no more.

What are you talking about? I’d never heard his speech so slurred.

I sol’ you.

"You what?"

I’m speakin’ English, ain’t I? I sol’ ya. To Haskell.

No! I felt myself turn cold. I’d been on the street long enough to have met some of Haskell’s boys. They were all crack-addicted, thanks to Haskell. He got them hooked, knowing that would make them so desperate for their next fix that they’d let man after man after man fuck them.

I treated ya too fuckin’ good. Let ya have my weed. Not the coke, though. A furrow appeared between his brows. Cos’ too mush ta share.

Please…please, Franky. Call Haskell. Tell him it was a mistake. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t ask my johns to use a condom. Please—

Ya will. Gonna fuck ya one las’ time… He caught my chin and turned my face toward the light. What the fuck did ya do to yourself? I’d been punched by a john earlier, but if I told him that, I knew he’d hit me too. Franky threw me away from him. Never min’. He reached for the waistband of his jeans and slid the zipper down. He took his dick out, but it was limp, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it hard. Suck me!

For the first time ever, I said no. I backed away from him.

He stumbled to the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife. "Ya gonna learn who’s the boss ‘round here! Gonna cut ya nose jus’ like Jack Nicholson’s in Chinatown. And then ya gettin’ the fuck outta here."

I didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was waving the knife in front of my face, and the next he was lying on the floor, the knife sticking out of his ribs and a pool of blood spreading out under him.

I couldn’t stop shaking, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Haskell would be coming for me anytime now.

There was no money in Franky’s pockets. He must have spent whatever Haskell had given him on the junk. Or maybe Haskell had paid him in drugs.

I had twenty bucks, all I’d been able to earn that night. Franky kept some cash in the bedroom—I’d seen where he hid it—and if I was lucky, it would still be there.

A minute later, I stared down at the five and three singles. Son of a bitch. I scooped up the bills, folded them, and stuffed them into my pocket.

And then I ran.

* * * *

Chapter 2

I’d killed a man.

Were the cops looking for me? Did every cop car that went past have a picture of me on the dashboard?

I had to get away, get out of Florida.

I was afraid to turn any tricks in case I was recognized, and the twenty-eight dollars didn’t last very long. By the time I reached the truck stop off I-95 in Jacksonville later that week, I was down to a couple of bucks.

I ordered a small bowl of soup, which was all I could afford, and as many packets of crackers as my puppy dog eyes and the sad story I’d spun about a sick grandma could persuade the waitress to give me. I was lucky there were thick pieces of ham in the soup.

As I ate my soup, I kept my ears open and my mouth shut and listened while the truckers talked and joked. None of them were going in the right direction; they were either heading south or west across the Florida panhandle.

A trucker walked in, and I paused in my eating and watched him. His walk was limber. He was good-looking, younger than Franky, and a little taller than average height. A baseball cap sat back on his dark hair, and work boots were on his feet.

Hey there, Shane. The waitress grinned at him and sashayed to the table he’d taken, just across from me. How you doing, sugar?

Doing good, Belle.

Glad to hear it. She fluttered her lashes at him, but it was as if this was routine for them, nothing serious.

Where you headed this time, Shane? one of the truckers asked, and I could have kissed him. It was what I wanted to know.

Up to DC.

Another one of your mystery runs?

He grinned but didn’t answer.

What can I get for you, sugar? Some pea soup like this young man is having, or some pot roast like Abe, or…

I’ve only got time for a cup of joe and a slice of your fabulous key lime pie, angel eyes. I need my thermos filled up too. He handed it to her.

You got it, handsome.

Belle, if you’re thinking Shane is handsome, you better get yourself some glasses, honey, one of the other truckers called out. Everyone laughed, and again it was as if this was routine for them, as if they’d done it so often they could do it by rote.

Shane snorted and started to say something to him. His gaze fell on me, and he saw me looking at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

I haven’t seen you here before.

No, sir. I gave him a little smile, then dropped my gaze and went back to spooning the thick pea soup into my mouth. When I thought enough time had passed, I peeked at him from under my lashes.

You looking for a ride, boy?

Yes, sir. One thing I’d gotten good at was being able to tell if my advances would be accepted. That and being able to spot a cop at twenty paces.

Where’s your family?

At home.

Where’s home?

Oh. I waved my hand vaguely. South.

South, hmm? And what’re you doing here, all by yourself?

I’m on my way north to see my granny.

I suppose your granny is doing poorly, and that’s why you have to get to her.

How did you know? I gave him the big eyes that usually got me an extra ten bucks, especially if my lips were around some john’s dick when I gazed up at him. She lives up in Philly.

I’d never been much good at geography, the extent of my knowledge being that New York City was north and Los Angeles was west and Las Vegas somewhere in between, but I’d heard one of the truckers talk about coming from Philadelphia on the run he was just finishing.

How do you expect to get there?

I was supposed to take the bus, but I lost my money, I lied easily. I’d gotten good at lying since I’d lived with Franky. Poppa finally thought I was mature enough to go by myself, and if he finds out I was that careless, he won’t let me go again.

Yeah? He stared pointedly at the side of my face which still bore a fading bruise, and then at the jacket sleeves that didn’t cover my wrists, which had been all I’d been able to scrounge in the used clothing bin. He lowered his voice. I know a runaway when I see one. Your father do this to you?

Oh, no! I swear Poppa never…. My father didn’t hit me.

I’m not…. He fell silent when Belle brought him his pie and a big mug of coffee, then continued once she left. I’m not supposed to pick up hitchhikers, you know. Especially not when I’m hauling…. Well, I’m not.

No, sir. It was the rainy season now, and if I didn’t cadge a ride from him, I could look forward to getting drenched.

"I’m going to