Justice by InSilva
Disclaimer: sadly, nothing has changed since the last chapter.
A/N: as has been pointed out to me, just in case anyone thinks Rusty sounds cheap in this, please bear in mind the scene is set in the very late Seventies. Not sure about the States but in the UK I'm pretty sure we were still making public phone calls for five pence.
Chapter Twelve: Absolution
As soon as the door closed behind Danny, Rusty started to wish he had the power to turn invisible so that he could slip out of the room after him.
Danny had stood in the doorway and said to Saul, "He needs another dose of pain-killers about now. And he didn't sleep well the past two nights so he may-"
"I understand."
"I'm sat right here," Rusty had pointed out. The pair of them had ignored him.
He'd seen Danny say Go easy on him to Saul and once more Danny had looked over and yet again apologised with his eyes for leaving him to the inevitable. Then Danny had ushered Turk out and Rusty and Saul were left alone.
"Here." Saul pushed two tablets at him and a glass of water and Rusty knew better than to disobey.
"How long you been sitting there anyway?" Saul asked gruffly. "You want you should move to the couch?"
Rusty nodded and carefully stood. Saul held an arm out to steady him and Rusty took it. When he had collapsed on to the softness, he saw Saul take up residence in an easy chair opposite.
"Now. We have all the time we need. And you are going to explain it to me."
Right. And how Rusty wished he could run and hide.
"Gino didn't do it, Saul," he began. "I could tell that the first time I looked at him. He didn't do it and he's going to go down for it. And it doesn't matter that he's been paid to take the fall. He's still innocent."
"Not good enough." The words came back like bullets and Rusty almost flinched.
He tried again. "It's twenty years inside, Saul. Twenty years of being locked up in…"
He couldn't begin to describe it. Every time he tried to imagine prison, he got lost in words like "routine" and "oppression" and "soul-destroying" and he'd never know how Danny had coped for four years: it would have eaten him from the inside out.
"Twenty years, Saul," he managed. "That's a lifetime."
"It's not your life," Saul said and the words were hard. "And it's not worth the risk."
Neither of them had gone into details about the delights Vincente had introduced him to the previous evening. Saul knew enough to get the picture; Vincente meant business.
"Saul, it's up to me if I choose to-"
The glare from Saul cut him off.
"What about Danny?"
And Rusty felt the three words hit well below the belt. He dropped his gaze.
"I've tried to send him home."
"He won't go."
"No."
"And Vincente knows he's your friend." Relentless.
"Yes."
"At the very least he's going to think he's your friend."
"Yes."
"At the very most he's going to know about you. If he's that good, Rusty. If he can read you like you say. If he can sum you up and know when you're lying and if he can look at your face and know how much pain to inflict."
Rusty said nothing. He bit his lip.
"He won't understand it. People don't. But he'll use it, Rusty. He'll use it and you'll find Danny taking the punishment on your behalf."
Rusty tasted blood.
"How will it feel, Rusty?"
It would feel like death. It would feel like hell. It would be worse than anything he'd ever experienced. And Saul knew it.
"So tell me," and Saul's voice was suddenly gentle. "Tell me why."
Rusty looked up at him, his eyes full of the pain of what might be and he said simply, "I need to do this, Saul. I need to let Gino know that life can be surprising. For the right reasons."
He saw Saul's face change. He saw him look away and close his eyes. And he knew he didn't have to say any more. Because once upon a time Rusty hadn't had a choice either and there hadn't been anyone there to save him. No one except Saul.
It was later. Rusty had fallen asleep on the couch and Saul had tucked a throw around him. He watched him breathing shallowly but sleeping soundly and he shook his head. He'd been sure he was going to win the argument and Rusty had just blown him out of the water.
It was an overcast September afternoon. Saul sat with a coffee at the window of the diner and idly looked across the street. There was a young man, barely a man, dressed in faded jeans and a zipped up top, collar pulled high, head buried in a red cap. He was leaning against the wall doing his best to be invisible and watching the entrance to the diner.
A brief rainburst exploded and passers-by scurried along, pulling coats around them, battling with umbrellas. Saul saw the young man pull his cap off and stand with his face upwards, eyes closed, letting the water run over his features, as if he were standing in the shower.
The rain stopped and he ran his hands through his blond hair and shook off the water droplets. He dug out a handkerchief and wiped it over his face. In that moment, Saul saw him properly and caught his breath: he was overwhelmingly beautiful.
Cap back on his head, hunkered down in the collar of the top, the boy saw whoever he was waiting for and headed towards the diner moving with an unusual poise and grace. Saul watched him enter, followed by a middle-aged man with a wide smile. As they got closer, Saul could see the man's eyes as they tracked the youth in front of him. There was no lasciviousness in his look: instead, there was a bright, mercenary edge; this man was all about the money.
"Two espressos and a plate of toast," the older man ordered from the counter as he walked past.
They took seats at the table in front and to the left of Saul, the young man facing him. Saul watched the conversation covertly.
"So, how are you keeping?" The man with the very wide smile asked.
"Fine. Just fine." The boy's voice was tight and controlled. So was his face. He was giving nothing away.
The waitress brought the coffees and the toast and Saul watched as one of them grabbed a slice of toast and the other silently ladled four sugars into the small espresso cup.
"Got a possible for you tonight," the older man said as the butter dripped down his chin. "If you're interested, come by about eight, OK?"
"Eight." Sipping the coffee and watching the other start in on the second and last piece of toast.
"He's asking for a type. Figure I'll show him a few, let him choose."
"Sure."
"Although if you ask me? I think once he's seen you, he'll have to have you."
It was said by way of encouragement and he didn't seem to notice the way the boy's fingers tightened on the coffee cup. Saul did, though.
The toast gone, his message passed on, the older man gulped down his coffee.
"See you later," he beamed and exited, throwing a few dollar bills on the counter and clicking his teeth appreciatively at an indifferent waitress.
The young man stared off into space for a moment or two and then down at his coffee. He drained the cup and got to his feet. As he stood up, he became aware of the scrutiny and he turned a cool, blue gaze in Saul's direction.
"If you're interested, you need to talk to MacAvoy," he said flatly.
Interested..?
"I'll have you know I'm a happily married man!" Saul exclaimed and then saw the humourless smile on the boy's face. Of course, that fact alone might not actually preclude him from being a prospective customer.
"I assure you, I'm not interested in that way," Saul said hastily and watched as the gaze turned gimlet-sharp as if the truth were being sought.
"Just curious, old man?"
"Yes and no. I mean, I heard…and I can see…"
"No pity," said the boy, and he could not have fitted more ferocity into the two words.
Saul sat back in his chair.
"No pity," he agreed with respect.
"I know what I'm doing."
Saul looked at the face with the inert beauty and the eyes, by contrast full of intelligence and life and indeed full of the knowledge of what he was doing, what was being done to him and where it was all headed. Saul came to a sudden decision.
"Take a seat, son."
"I told you, I know what I'm doing, I don't want your pity and I don't deal direct. You want me, you talk to MacAvoy."
"I just want to talk. And buy you a meal. You look like you could do with it."
The gaze was on him again and then the boy made his mind up and swung himself down in the chair opposite in one easy, graceful movement.
Saul signalled the waitress to come over.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked and the hesitation on the boy's face caught at him. It was a question he'd obviously not heard too often.
"Slice of cherry pie?" he asked looking up at the waitress and across at Saul.
The waitress's head was bent over her notebook but Saul nodded.
"With cream, hon?"
"Yeah."
"Anything to drink?"
His eyes flicked back to Saul who gave a small gesture as much as to say "Order what you like".
"Strawberry milkshake?"
"Sure." She turned to Saul. "Anything else?"
"That'll do."
Saul watched and waited as the boy ploughed through the heavy-looking dessert and the thick pink gloop as if all his Christmases had come at once. Only when he had finished, did Saul reach across the table and hold out his hand.
"Saul Bloom," he introduced himself.
The boy looked at Saul, then at the hand and cautiously reached over and shook it briefly.
"Rusty Ryan."
"Your parents called you Rusty?" It seemed unlikely.
"My parents called me Robert Charles. Rusty's just…" he tailed off.
"A name MacAvoy gave you?" Saul guessed.
"No." The gimlet gaze was back on him. "MacAvoy isn't about names. Rusty's…Rusty's just something I got stuck with when I was young."
Saul nodded, inwardly multi-thinking that Rusty was still young and that MacAvoy was indeed not about names. He was about exploitation. He was about making money from misery. He was about labelling young men as meat. But he was not about names, about identity, about someone being a person in their own right. Carefully, Saul stretched his fingers and let some of the tension dissipate.
"You want my life story?" Rusty asked and there was aggression in his voice. "Is that the price for this meal? Shall I tell you the whats and the whens? 'Cos I'll be honest, I don't know the whos. And if you don't know the how and the why then…"
"No," Saul said firmly. This wasn't about prurience. "Look, I understand that life can screw you over. I know that choices can be limited to very last resorts. And I can tell you that the last thing I planned to do when I sat down here for a coffee is what I'm about to do."
Completely lost, Rusty frowned at him.
Saul leaned in. "I want to help. I want to show you that sometimes life can be surprising for the right reasons. I want to let you know that not everyone is like MacAvoy."
Still frowning, Rusty said slowly, "How can you help? What do you want to do? Take me away from it all?"
Saul nodded.
"You're not serious."
"I'm in town for the next three days. I'll come here at this time for the next three days. If you want to come back home with me, come and find me and let me know."
"Come home with you?" The incredulity and the distrust were rife.
"I told you," Saul said patiently. "I'm happily married to a wonderful woman who-"
"Who would understand and forgive and welcome-"
"Yes," Saul said simply. "She's that sort of woman."
He calmly returned the piercing gaze.
"Why?" The 64 thousand dollar question.
Saul shrugged. "Many reasons. I hate to see beauty trapped and dying. I particularly abhor people like MacAvoy who prey on the innocent. But more than anything, when I look at you I can see the aptitude for so much more than you are currently engaged in. You have brains. You're blessed with good looks and grace. And those facts can get you a long way in life."
He opened up his wallet and said matter-of-factly, "What does MacAvoy charge and what do you get paid?"
"Thirty dollars," came the equally matter-of-fact response. "I get twenty."
Saul handed over sixty. "This is for tonight and the next two days. Take your time. Decide. If you want to, come back and find me."
Rusty picked up the money and pocketed it with a speed that made Saul smile inwardly. The boy looked like he had natural hands. The blue eyes were all over Saul again.
"I'm going to get out of it," he said fiercely. "It's only short-term. It's not forever."
"No," and Saul could see the fire in him that meant that was true. But later and it would be more difficult and later and there would be more damage. And the boy looked like he knew details but had no real plan.
They held each other's gaze for a moment.
"You're crazy," Rusty whispered.
"Probably," Saul agreed.
Without another word, Rusty rose and left. Saul watched him go and then remembered the dreadful things imprisoned in those eyes and felt his heart crumple.
He'd appeared on the third day when Saul had pretty much given up hope.
"Alright, old man," he'd said. "I'll give you the benefit."
He'd saved a soul when he'd taken Rusty home. It sounded dramatic but it was simple truth. And he couldn't deny Rusty the chance to do the same.
A/N: Oh, long chapter again, I'm sorry. Have deep fear of people giving up halfway through. :)