Children of the Knight (59 page)

J
ACK
and Lance were once again patrolling in and around Hollywood Boulevard, but this time up and down cross streets and side streets to any place Jack thought Mark might have gone, any place he might have forgotten to check. This was now their second full day, and all they’d found out was that Mark had been seen in the area, and he’d looked like he was using again. That news had deepened Jack’s depression, and Lance fought hard to keep both their spirits from flagging.

After the incident involving the john who’d wanted to buy him, Lance felt even worse for Mark and Jack than he had before. To have to live like that, to be used and humiliated by guys like that—he couldn’t even imagine it.

Conflicting thoughts and feelings about the previous night, especially his reaction to hugging Jack, coursed through his mind all day as they trudged first this way and then that. Of course, their celebrity status tagged along wherever they went, and he dreaded each new encounter with their fans. They ever more reluctantly posed for pictures with gushing strangers, accepted phone numbers from insincere girls, shook hands with those who thought their crusade was “awesome,” and tried to ignore the constant pointing and gawking as they navigated their way along the streets.

It was late afternoon when Lance finally insisted they stop, sit, and rest a little. He was dog-tired. They slept very little last night because they’d needed to keep their eyes open for Mark, and it wasn’t enough. They were flaming out.

Spotting a bus stop bench up one of the side streets, both boys trudged over and plopped down heavily. Jack was exhausted too. They sat a moment in silence, their hearts heavy with failure.

Jack sighed. “Any word from Arthur?”

Lance made a noise like a snort. “No.”

Jack looked up at him. “What’s goin’ on with you two?”

Lance looked quickly away. Too quickly. “Nothing.”

Jack just shook his head. “Don’t bullshit me, Lance. What happened?”

Lance just sulked a moment, running the exchange over in his mind for the hundredth time. “Just somethin’ he said, ’fore we left.”

Jack shook his head, bewildered. “I was there. Don’t remember anything to make you mad.”

“He said,” Lance began, then stopped to gulp and pull his breathing under control. “When I asked if I could go with you to look for Mark….”

Jack squinted in the harsh afternoon sun, trying to read his friend’s face.

Lance sighed despairingly. “He said it was fine cuz anyone could carry the banner.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, so, anybody could. What’s the—”

Lance turned on him furiously, those green eyes blazing. “I thought I was more important to his crusade than that, Jack. Didn’t know I was just a fucking flag carrier!”

Jack leaned away from Lance’s vitriol. “What you talkin’ about? Don’t you know… you got no clue who you
are
to him?”

Now confusion washed over Lance, his anger dissipating in the face of Jack’s question. “What do you mean?”

Jack shook his head in amazement. “Oh man, Lance. You are one of the smartest kids I know and the hottest fucking boy I ever laid eyes on, but man, you’re blind as a bat, dude!”

Lance was mystified, a tightness slowly creeping around his heart. “What’re you talking about, Jack?”

“Arthur, man!” Jack exclaimed in frustration. “Don’t you know what you are to him, haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? Dude, I used to be so fucking jealous of you when I got there and saw you guys together.”

Lance still stared at Jack blankly, that tightness increasing.

Jack placed a gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. “You’re his
son
, man, didn’t you know that? It’s all over his eyes and face, the pride he has in you. God, he loves you more’n all the rest of us put together!”

Lance’s mouth had dropped open at the word “son,” and stayed open in shock until Jack finished. The tightness felt suffocating. Could it be true? Could what he so hoped for…? Could Arthur
really
love him? Him, who wasn’t
worthy
of love? He shook his head.
No.
Not me.

“If he loves me so much, how come he never said nothing, huh?” He tried for strength of conviction, but his voice cracked and broke.

Jack pulled his hand back and shook his head, anguish flooding his face, remorse drowning his soul. “I don’t know, man! Same stupid-ass reason I never told Mark I loved
him
, I guess.”

Lance sat back against the bench seat in astonished silence. The tightness had nearly stopped his heart and choked off his breathing.
Could it be true?

Jack was shaking his head again sadly. “Man, if my dad ever looked at me once the way Arthur looks at you, I’d have had a heart attack and died right there.”

Lance turned his head to see a tear drop from Jack’s eye. He rested one hand gently on his friend’s shoulder.

“Only reason I played football was to make him happy, and I worked my ass off, worked out like a crazy man to get buff and tough. And I liked it, too, don’t get me wrong, Lance. But I was
never
good enough. Even when I scored a touchdown, in his eyes I
always
coulda done it better. And oh shit, when he found out I was gay that was the end. I was
nothing
anymore except what he told the coach I was—a disgusting faggot lusting after my teammates. That’s
my
old man, Lance. But Arthur? He’s so fucking proud of you, for everything you do, man, for everything you are, but you can’t see it, and I can. Crazy, huh?”

Jack’s shame and rejection seemed to fill the air, smothering them both under a thick blanket of agony. Lance removed his hand slowly, his mind beyond confused by Jack’s declaration.

Was it all true, or was it merely Jack’s perception of the truth? Could he actually
be
worthy? It was true, he reflected back, that Arthur had certainly complimented him a lot in the beginning, and encouraged him, even though he hadn’t ever truly felt he’d earned that praise.

And yet, ever since the Round Table had gotten bigger, the man’s attention seemed to be on everyone
but
him. Arthur never asked for his help or advice anymore, never seemed to want leadership from the boy. All he’d really done of late was carry that stupid banner. Had he done something to let the king down? If so, he couldn’t think what it was, and his stomach twisted painfully as he struggled to understand what he’d done wrong.

Okay, maybe Arthur’s crack about carrying the banner, well, maybe that
was
just cuz he was upset about Mark….

Lance eyed Jack uncertainly, his stomach still tight, his heart racing with uncertainty. “Maybe I should text him, huh?”

Jack twisted his tear-streaked face around knowingly. “Ya think?”

That made Lance actually smile.

As he reached for his phone, Jack suddenly grabbed Lance’s arm excitedly. “Hey, that reminds me! I know a guy who might have seen Mark. Let’s go.”

They were up and on their feet instantly, Lance’s text to Arthur forgotten.

As they hurried back up to Hollywood Boulevard, the crowded sidewalks and heavy traffic made their progress much slower than Jack would’ve liked. In addition, the more people who saw them, the more who recognized them from the news or the Internet, and waylaid them to stop and talk.

One cute girl with facial piercings who looked no older than thirteen, actually gushed, “I wanna have your baby, Sir Lance!” Lance’s mouth dropped open amid his blushing cheeks, and he hurried away before she could make a grab for him.

While Lance continued to fend off the autograph hounds and gawkers, Jack explained about the guy they were going to see. He was a gay geek who ran this little electronics and phone place on the boulevard. He, Mark, and Jack had become friends over the nearly two years the boys had lived in Hollywood. His name was Marcus, and he always gave them cell phones so they could keep in touch and find each other no matter where a john might dump them in the morning. If Mark was out here, Jack reasoned, he might have crashed at Marcus’s pad.

The store, called “Phones, Etc.,” was on the boulevard near Schrader, and after what seemed like an eternity dodging fans, with Lance flashing that famous smile of his and charmingly excusing himself from his adoring public, they arrived at the little place. There were two display windows with various models of prepaid and contract phones, as well as other electronic junk like mini slot machines or wind-up elephants that could shoot actual water.

Marcus, a skinny, late twenties, African-American wearing a ball cap backward and huge gauges stretching out his earlobes, beamed with delight at seeing Jack. “Jacky, my man, what’s crackin’?”

He came around the counter and threw his arms around Jack, even kissing him on the cheek. Lance blushed and looked away. Marcus eyed Lance but a moment before snapping his fingers. “I knew it! You’re—”

“Sir Lance,” the boy replied with an extended sigh. “Yeah, I’ve been told that a few times today.” God, he hated being famous.

Marcus blew a kiss Lance’s way, which caused the boy to blush again, and then squeezed Jack’s biceps like it was his favorite hobby in the world. “Still buff as fuck, Jacky, my man. What brings you back to the ’hood?”

Jack’s face instantly darkened. “It’s Mark, man, he’s gone missing, and we been searching since yesterday. You haven’t seen ’im, have you?”

Jack looked so desperate that Marcus wished he
had
seen Mark. He loved those beautiful blue eyes on that boy. “He got his phone on ’im?”

Jack nodded. “But he don’t pick up or answer texts.”

Marcus looked over at Lance and winked. “This boy is buff as fuck and can throw a football better’n them NFL dudes, but he don’t know shit about technology.” He raised his eyebrows at Lance questioningly.

The boy shrugged. “Me, neither, man. Just know it works.”

Marcus shook his head in despair. “Kids.” Then he turned back to Jack. “Gimme your phone.”

Jack pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. Marcus slipped around behind the counter and sat in front of a computer screen. He fished around until he found a USB cord to connect Jack’s phone to his computer. “Thing is, see, all these new phones got global positioning chips and locator technology built right in. I can use his number to track his phone, Jack. Show you exactly where he’s at.”

“Shit!” Jack exclaimed, looking guiltily toward Lance. “I never thought of that.”

Lance also felt like a fool. “Sorry, Jack, I didn’t think of it either.”

“That’s cuz you guys’re too hot to be geeks,” Marcus said, waving Jack and Lance over to the counter.

Both boys gazed expectantly while Marcus triangulated on Mark’s location. A map of Hollywood appeared on the computer screen and then began zooming slowly in. And in. And in. Finally it stopped, and Jack leaned as far over the counter as he could.

“That Vine Street?” Jack asked, squinting to get a better view.

“Yeah,” Marcus confirmed. “But see this little street just up from Vine?” He pointed to the screen. “Cosmo? That’s where the signal is. Phone’s not moving either. Looks like he’s right on that street, maybe an alley?” He turned with a grin. “See, piece of cake.” He disconnected the phone and handed it back. “Left the map on it for you.”

Jack almost wanted to cry he was so happy. He reached out and clasped Marcus’s hand and shook vigorously. “Thank you, Marcus, thank you ssssooo much!”

“Anything for you, buff boy. Give my love to Mark.”

“C’mon, Lance,” Jack said, bolting from the store. Lance nodded his thanks to Marcus.

“Take good care of him, cutie,” Marcus said, winking, and an embarrassed Lance dashed after Jack.

Now they ran and ran hard. Every bit of exhaustion was gone, and adrenaline had taken its place. They dodged people and cars and wheelchairs and dogs and even cops. They were frantic with excitement that their quest was nearing its end.

Finally, just ahead, loomed the world-famous and heavily trafficked intersection of Hollywood and Vine with its theatres and trendy shops, but Cosmo was half a block before that. They stopped to catch their breath, and Jack glanced down at the map on his phone screen. The little stickpin was to their right. They turned and pelted down Cosmo and stopped again. It was a tiny little street with no traffic. Jack and Lance both consulted the map, and Lance looked around. Across the street behind a building were some dumpsters, including a huge industrial-sized one in a tiny little alley.

He glanced back at the phone and then nudged Jack, pointing toward the alley. “There.”

The boys jogged across the empty street as Jack slipped the phone into his pocket. They halted at the mouth of the alley. It looked deserted.

“Mark?” Jack called out hesitantly.

There was no response.

He and Lance exchanged a look of fear. Then they began walking slowly into the alley. Dumpsters lined the walls on the right side and Jack knew they could get jumped by some strung-out junkie or crazy-ass homeless person. He’d seen it happen before.

As they walked quietly, Jack whispered, “Oh please, God, don’t let Mark have lost his phone.”

Lance glanced at him. That thought hadn’t occurred to him.

Suddenly Jack stopped and pointed. Lance gasped. What looked like two feet, twisted up, were sticking out from behind the industrial dumpster. There were leather boots on those feet. Exactly like the ones Jack and Lance were wearing.

“Oh no,” Jack whispered, dread welling up in him even as a tear worked its way from one eye. Petrified, Jack couldn’t even move, terror planting his feet, the asphalt clinging to him like quicksand, fists clenching and unclenching.

Lance’s breathing almost stopped as he inched his way forward around the dumpster, his wide eyes fixed upon those boots.

Don’t let it be…. Please!

There was trash scattered around near the overflowing dumpster. Gradually more of the body came into view. A shirt became visible from beneath the garbage—a
sky blue
shirt. Lance put a hand to his mouth. His heart thumped, his legs wobbled, his breath froze in his throat. He forced himself to step closer.