DRIVE

CHAPTER 2

less than thirty minutes earlier before Brian has left the Hotel for his journey home.

Crap, Justin realized too late, he should of went right. This was Vine Street, NOT Design Street!

So engrossed with those thoughts, Justin didn't see the hands that in a New York minute had grabbed him and were quickly hauling him backwards into an alley.

Kicking and screaming, Justin managed to shout out, "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" before his mouth was silenced by a sweaty palm, and he could feel the obscene hard-on of his attacker poking him in the ass as his right arm was jerked and sharply jacked up behind him even higher, causing his bag to slip off and fall to the dirty ground as both of them struggled.

Him trying not to be dragged to what he was certain was his death, as his attacker was just as determined to drag him back there as far away from prying eyes as he could get.
They had ended up somewhere in the middle, as Justin had dug in his small heels, refusing to budge one more inch further.

His adversary's homophobic words didn't match his physical reaction and if Justin wasn't so damn scared, and so damn mad, he might of just collapsed on the dirty ground in a fit of nervous giggles.

"What's a matter pretty boy, cat got your tongue hmm? Mmm, you smell sooo niiice."
Murmured his assailant in a soft husky voice as he nuzzled Justin's neck, slowly licking up the side of Justin's throat to his ear as he then reached around to the front of Justin's cargo pants, and loosened them.

Carefully the man took his sweet time. Justin tried his best not to gag at the mans' acute halitosis as well as the way the guy was making sure to gently feel Justin up and all around his now not so limp dick and balls before expertly lifting and then pocketing the trembling boys' wallet.

Justin was shaking, frozen in fear and anger as he felt his damn teenage dick thicken and harden from the sick asshole stranger's gentle touches as he watched the lifeline to everything he had left in the world being taken away.

Inside his wallet there was plenty of cash, thanks to Brian's obsession to the Gods that were Armani and Prada; because only Brian Kinney, label whore and slave to the high dollar fashions would dare tout around that much money.

There had been at least a good years rent and bus fare and food money as well as his important medical information, with a list of all of his allergies and Brian's home address; not that he could ever forget it, and Brian's business card, a small list of the phone numbers and address's of every one and every place back in the Pitts that he held dear to his heart, and even more important Gus's baby picture!

A jolt of real fear shot down Justin's spine at the thought of never seeing those he loved ever again!

Oh God, he just couldn't let this bastard win!

He was NOT losing the last link to his and Brian's son! He would get free of this crazy fuck or die trying!

"Wow", breathed the other man, who now was hands deep inside the front of Justin's cargo's slowly stroking the blond's growing cock back and forth and rubbing at his small nest of curly hair as he was fingering the heavy nut sac.

"Impressive."

After getting a glimpse of the jerk, the guy had Justin's blood boiling now that he could tell that the bully who was molesting him, the sick fuck that had threatened him, had grabbed him, and now had robbed him, couldn't possibly be much older than Justin himself!

It was at that moment that it hit him, and suddenly, Justin didn't feel as much scared as he was VERY angry!

In fact, with this prick's oh so obvious 'closeted' attitude, his height and his short dirty blond hair, and annoying smirk, the other kid reminded him of another teenage homophobe that just loved to go out of his way to piss Justin off.

Chris. Fucking. Hobbs.

Hobbs and asshole of the year here could of been fucking twins!

Remembering a sensual scene from one of his favorite scary movies, NBK, Justin choked back the urge to vomit and instead he began to moan sexily low in his throat, sensually moving his head back and forth, as well as shifting his hips causing his ass to be pressed even tighter against the other boys' straining hard-on.

Reaching behind, Justin's hands fondled the boy right back, making sure to touch his hot spots as he softly cooed, "Ah, ya like that huh big boy?"

As soon as he felt the other man's slight nod and his breath hitch as he swallowed and began grinding more firmly up against Justin's ass, Justin then slammed his head sharply backwards, feeling a tiny victory as the other boy sharply howled, "OUCH! THAT FUCKIN' HURT YOU SHIT!"

Once his arm and his face was loose from the strong grip, Justin was finally able to bite down hard at the flesh on the palm of his attacker.

But before he did, he couldn't resist hissing back, "Oh yeah? Well fuck YOU scumbag! This pretty boy is SO gonna kick YOUR loser ass!"

Using the distraction of the pain the other boy was in, Justin turned around and drew back his fist and then let it fly.

He felt pain and satisfaction in equal amounts as his small fist connected with his attackers jawbone, and at the same time he quickly lifted his knee, once, and then twice, crushing the boys' nuts.

In his pre-mature victory haze, Justin hadn't heard the stranger's warning shouts, nor had he seen the angry kid pull a large silver serrated knife as he suddenly yelled, "No, DICKHEAD, FUCK. YOU!"

"HEY BLOND KID, LOOK OUT! DERRICK, NO! STOP! DROP IT! Oh MY GOD DERRICK, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Justin let out a grunt of surprise and a howl of anger at the boys' duplicity, followed by a blood curdling squeal of pain as the knife came crashing down on his left arm, cutting a long jagged slice, opening up his flesh to the edge of his wrist just before his large radial artery vein, slicing past the muscle, clean to the ghost white bone, and splattering them both with Justin's hot blood.

Justin was in shock as he watched his would be murderer as the boy slumped against the brick wall and slid slowly down and then fell over to his side still crying and screaming like a little pussy, clutching at his balls with one hand in obvious agony, while his other hand still held a death grip on the razor sharp blood covered knife.

Seeing that he hadn't yet dropped the knife just really pissed Justin off.

Lifting his foot up as high as he could without falling over himself, Justin brought it crashing down again and again, relishing in the sickening crunch of bones until the screaming boy had been forced to let go of the weapon, or loose his hand.

Justin took great pleasure in letting the boy know that he could and would gladly stand there all fucking night long if he had to, just stomping away until all that would be left of the kids fucking hand would be a bloody stump.

Holding his smashed and broken fingers and his broken wrist to his heaving chest, large tears and snot was streaming down the shocked boys' contorted face as he quickly released the knife.

But Justin felt no mercy for the kid as he just looked coldly down at him and then had kicked the knife as hard and as far away from them both as he could.

Turning back around, despite his severe wound, he began to Queen out, jumping and shouting, pointing and screaming out curse words at the top of his lungs that would of make a Sailor blush.

An evil smile marred his beautiful features and to the other guy he knew he must of looked like a blood covered version of an angel of death as he kept an angelic smile plastered on his face.

Well perhaps more like a demonic version of his normally sunny trademark Sunshine grin as he drew back his leg and started to kick the living shit out of the fallen boy, relishing in the way his soft tennis shoes were making a dull 'thud' noise while he's yelling at the top of his lungs, "What do ya gotta say now Mr. Tough guy, HUH?! Oh, that's right, you big nelly bottom, so-deep-in-the-closet-you're-seriously-outa-touch-with-reality-stupid-bone-headed-crybaby, I'm the faggot? You just fuckin' slit open my arm you sick fuck and ya don't see me fucking boo hooin' 'bout it! YOU FUCKING CUNT!"

Justin screamed, un aware of his own tears falling faster and his adrenalin was really pumping, and as he kicked the now defenceless body he shouted, "SO MR. BIG SHOT, YOU THINK I'M A FAGGOT HUH? WELL, IF MY MEMORY SERVES ME RIGHT, AND TRUST ME WHEN I SAY I USUALLY AM, ALWAYS, YOU WERE THE ONE GETTING ALL HOT AND BOTHERED BY FEELING ME UP, SO LISTEN UP, AND DO IT WELL SHIT FOR BRAINS, BECAUSE NEWSFLASH, YOU JUST MESSED WITH THE WRONG SON OF A BITCH TONIGHT! BECAUSE THIS FAGGOT JUST BROKE YOUR FUCKING WRIST, AND NOW? I"M GONNA KICK YOUR FUCKIN' HEAD IN, KNOCKING OUT A FEW OF YOUR NASTY SKANK TEETH, TRUST ME WHEN I SAY, DUDE, I"M SAVING YOU A DENTIST BILL CAUSE WHEW AND PEEU, THOSE BAD BOYS NEED TO GO! OH AND, BY THE WAY? JUST FOR THE FUCK OF IT? I"M GONNA BUST A FEW MORE OF YOUR FUCKING RIBS TOO! WHEN I GET DONE WITH YOU, YOU MOTHER FUCKER, YOU'LL NEVER FORGET MY NAME, AND IT SURE AS FUCK ISN'T PRETTY BOY YOU JACKASS, IT'S JUSTIN, JUSTIN CRAIG TAYLOR, THE LITTLE BLOND FAG FROM PITTSBURGH, THAT IS KICKING YOUR STUPID ASS! DIE MOTHER FUCKER DIE! "

With every sickening 'crunch' Justin felt dizzier and dizzier.

God, he'd never seen so much blood!

Reaching down, with his right hand as he cradled to his chest his wounded left, Justin roughly jerked his wallet out of the thieving jerk's front pocket and carefully slipped it into the front of his own pants pocket.

The movement had cost him though.

Looking over at the barely breathing victim, his smile slowly melted away as he said quietly and brokenly, for his voice was almost gone as he'd strained his throat so badly.
"You sick fuck, you don't touch what belongs to me, you hear me? And you don't ever touch what belongs to Brian Kinney."

Closing his eyes, Justin bit his lip against the searing and throbbing pain, as he prayed that someone, anyone had seen what had just happened and had heard his earlier cry for help.

It was then that he remembered hearing a strong voice calling out a warning to him, and then ordering, no make that demanding someone named Derrick to stop what he was doing.

'Ah ha!', he thought, 'Derrick must be the name of my fucked in the head molester/attacker.'

Justin again cradled his numbing bloody arm against his bruised body as he tried his best to walk/crawl out of the alley, and toward the street.

He'd just reached the spot to where he'd lost his bag just as the ambulance had come screaming up at him, scaring him so badly, he fell back onto his ass in the dirt.
Suddenly he felt two strong arms gently lifting him.

His small body stiffened until he realized the person was only trying to carry him to one of the two gurneys by the waiting ambulance.

Before Justin can even register who his rescuer might be, he's hoping beyond hope that it just might be Brian.

Just then, the back doors burst open and several men and women dressed in the thin orange jackets of the emergency med techs were suddenly swarming all around him, taking him from his warm snuggle spot and carefully lifting him up onto a waiting gurney.

He feels all of these hands on him at once as his wound is carefully attended to as they attempt to staunch the bleeding.

Justin watched as the tall black haired stranger dressed like any good gay boy's wet western dream was informing the remaining techs about the boy still inside the alley named Derrick.

Soon, Justin caught sight of the extent of the life-threatening damage he'd caused the now unconscious boy, as the team of tech's wheeled the broken and bloody body of the boy right by Justin and lifted it up and into the ambulance.

But when they tried to move Justin's gurney so he could join Derrick in the back, Justin just shot them a dirty look as he croaked, "Your kidding right? That fucker just tried to kill me!!! No way IN hell am I riding anywhere with that jerk! Fuck it, send me another ride, or I'm walking to the damn Hospital!"

Justin cringed, and with his good hand crooked a finger at Tall dark and handsome who was staring down at him with the strangest _expression.

Then using his right arm, Justin pulled the man's head down until his lips touched the edge of the dark haired mans' ear lobe as he whispered loudly, "Your friend Derrick tried to kill me, he attacked me so I won't apologise for defending myself, but I am sorry for going over the top like I did, and I hope he'll be okay."

Justin then pulled back and looked seriously at the man as he stressed, "Now, In my wallet in my front pants pocket, I have a list of shit I'm deadly allergic to, PLEASE, make sure the ambulance crew gets it and fucking uses it as well as shows it to the Hospital staff!"

Pausing to take a breath, he babbles on, "OH, AND for God's sakes make sure these eggheads don't give me any fucking Tylenol cause it will stop my heart, and I really don't want to die! I'm just a kid! Who are you? Why do you feel like Brian and you smell like him too? PLEASE CALL HIM for me, his name is Brian Kinney, and let him know where his Sunshine is! Also, I am trusting you with all of my money, well, um I'm not saying you would but, just so ya know, I know how much is there and I want you, not the orange koolaide crew here to watch over my stuff. I have a dark blue bag and my wallet, and right now mister, that's all I have left in the world. Well, that and Gus and Brian. YOU will call Brian for me right? You promise you won't forget? Oh, and call Mrs. Spitchz, and tell her Justin Taylor, the student, will be happy to take the room, and could you take her the first month's rent out of the money in my wallet? I'm so sorry to bother you, and you probably think I'm a bit crazy to trust a total stranger, but I have no one else, I'm all alone here. I do have insurance, so be sure and let them know this at the Hospital in case I pass out, okay?"

Justin then looked kind of embarrassed as he said, "Oh and if I do pass out, because there is a 50/50 % chance of that happening cause I'm feeling very dizzy, all of the information about me that you'd need to fill out any forms with is in my wallet too. My cell phone is in my bag, and all of the important numbers in my life are programmed in it. Hit one for Brian's cell, and hit 2 for Gus's mom's. Please use Mrs. Spitchz's address, as my home address if they ask. It's 12th and Design Street, room #10. Uh, if I had walked down the right side of the street, I wouldn't of been attacked. I had been on my way to meet her and secure my new room. So, if it's not too much trouble, can you please let her know I'm sorry I missed our appointment?"

Justin then got red faced as he said shyly, "Um, it's a bit hard to get to, so can you reach into my pocket and get my wallet out for me?"

"Okay, and for the record, Derrick is not any friend of mine, he's just some kid me and my friends have tried to help before."

As Blackie looked down into the most beautiful face housing two of the brightest, bluest eyes he'd ever seen, he soon found himself promising to do just about anything to help Justin Taylor.

Even if it meant finding this kid's Brian Kinney, he would, if it was the last thing he ever did again.

Carefully so as not to further injure the boy, Blackie gently slid his hand into Justin's front pocket and extracted the thick wallet.

When he was rewarded with the brightest smile, he then knew just who 'Sunshine' was.
And, although the nickname fit the boy's sunny little grin, in Blackie's mind, it was Justin's colorful kaleidoscopic amazing blue eyes that captured his own artistic eye, and it also gave Blackie a nickname from him for the boy.

'Blu,' He thought, 'Little Boy Blu.' Those eyes reminded Blackie of his High School Senior trip to Cancun Mexico that he had begged Corn Dawg and Mocha-Mello to sneak off to with him.

So, being the good big brothers that they were, they had ditched their College classes, and pretended to be from a different High School, and had blended in quite well.

Blackie had spent most of the 2 week trip with his sketchbook and colored pencils and water colors, trying to get the breathtakingly colorful ocean's various shades of blue's just right; instead of hitting on a honey, and Corn and _Mocha had relentlessly teased him about it.

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~Present tense, earlier that evening~

21 year old Brendan James Storm, or 'Blackie' as his friends called him had just finished his regular Taxi shift, and was just beginning his route for AOW, 'Angels on Wheels', a runaway youth self-help group founded by himself and the two men he considered to be as close as brothers to him, and the only family he'd even known, as well as the very best buds a guy could ever ask for.

Their names are 22 year old Corn Dawg, or Clevis Ray Dillon and 23 year old _Mocha-Mello, or Melvin Albert Morris, and all 3 young men were former runaways.

~Past tense~

They had met as boys, stuck in the same Philadelphia orphanage when Brendan had been only 6 years old, and Clevis 7 years old and Melvin had been 8.

For the next five years they had been as tightly woven together as a rope and as thick as thieves, until one day, when Brendan was but 11, and the other two, Clevis then 12 and Melvin then 13, had found him weeping in his bed.

He was clutching the big pink stuffed frog that they had gladly spent their allowance on to win it for the younger boy at the County Fair two years prior.

Crying softly, Brendan’s thin chest was heaving, shaking his small body with hard wracking sobs.

It had taken a while, but soon, Clevis and Melvin had drug it out of the sad little boy just what had put him into such a blue funk.

Miss Marple, Brendan’s snooty social worker had come to see him today bubbling with the good news that she'd found him a family that wanted to adopt him.

He'd been happy as she sweetly had nattered on and on, while she had described to Brendan all about the large house out in the country, until he had innocently asked if Clevis and Melvin could be adopted there as well.

Looking down her long pointed nose at him, she had meanly said, "Now Brendan, don't be so silly my dear. Why, do you know how hard I worked to find you this good home?"
She screeched.

"They wanted a cute little white boy." She said hatefully as she smirked nastily, "Thank God you don't look like the little Indian half breed you really are! The Home has backed me up on this, so don't you DARE mess this up for me, or for yourself, you, you little ingrate!"

Her pale blue fish-like eyes flashed fire as she hissed, They wouldn't want Clevis, as he is half Mexican, and they sure wouldn't take Melvin, as he is half Black!"

The combination of her mean words against him and the two boys he loved so dearly that he claimed them as his big brothers, and her stupid tinkling laugh had shamed him, and had enraged him so much, that in that moment, something snapped inside of him, and in that moment he had hated her then even more than he had ever had.

It was like the clock had been turned back, and it was once again that sad rainy day long ago at the edge of the road leading to his Reservation, when his tiny five year old self had been torn from his young mothers arms by the same smirking Government bitch now standing over him, who was still yelling at him.

Back then, he had taken a lot of pleasure in the fact that his little hands had caused her some pain too.

Just knowing that made it all somehow a bit more easier to deal with, even as he screamed and cried, beating his tiny fists against the back window of the car as it sped him away, his mommy becoming a tiny dot in his teary vision.

Throwing his small body at her, it was like history was repeating itself as he grabbed handfuls of her long bleached red hair, pulling it clean out at the roots, yanking on it as hard as he could, and then hitting her in the face with his small fists as he screamed at the top of his lungs his displeasure at being sent away from his brothers by shouting out the sparse yet useable choice curse words he knew.

But, what he hadn't known was this.

Not only had the wealthy Upstate New York family that wanted to adopt him had seen his rude behaviour, they had heard her admit his true nationality and had dropped their petition to do so immediately.

They also had refused to send anymore charity in the form of their annual big Christmas donation check, until the Home rid the premises of Brendan and any other children like him, Half breed trouble makers.

They had demanded that Brendan be removed to a Delinquent center, right after the Holidays.

After all, they weren't totally heartless.

It was on that cold November night, that Brendan, Clevis, and Melvin after supper and lights out had raided the hidden money nests of all of the adults living at the home.
Because it had been the first of the month and all of the employees of the home had already cashed their employment checks.

So, with that money as well as the added bonus's for the upcoming Holiday's, between the three of them, the boys had hit the money stash jackpot totalling well over 5,000 dollars!
Silently they packed only what they could carry and had walked halfway to their destination, only stopping long enough for a quick snack and then Melvin being the oldest had called them a cab to take them the rest of the way into the nearest big busy city where they had then taken a bus.

Before they knew it, they were stepping off of that same bus.

After hugging the driver, who they had discovered through several of their long chats on that long trip, had once been a young runaway too, the three runaways set foot in Chelsea New York. They had never looked back.

~Present tense, earlier~

Brendan had just started his AOW shift for Blue Collar Cabs, also owned by the three young men, and as he quickly dialled up to his favorite radio station, and cranked up the sound, he snickered when the DJ sarcastically screeched, "THIS IS 91 ROCK! SO KICK IT UP AND THROW AWAY YOUR VOLUME KNOB MAN, CAUSE IF IT’S TOO LOUD, YOU'RE TOOOOOO OLD!"

Blackie smiled in total agreement, as a familiar song blared, "SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU'RE TO BLAME, darlin' YOU GIVE LOVE," Blackie's grin quickly became a frown as he noticed the little red light on his CB radio blinking.

'Crap, he thought, not a moment's peace!'

Turning down the volume of the radio playing the song to hear the volume of the radio at the base, he picked up the handset, and then dropped it when he heard the terrified shout for help and saw a beautiful young blond boy being assaulted and then drug into an alley way by one of the street boys Blackie had at one time tried to help.

The very boy he had once been so sure could of been turned around, was now proving him right once again.

That their just was no hope for him, this was obvious, as he was really fucking up. Again.
And, knowing Derrick Andrew Evans, aka the evil little fuck as well as Blackie did, after all he did have the scar to prove it, Blackie didn't hesitate to call the sick little fuck's latest victim an ambulance.

Well, Corn Dawg could do it quicker, Blackie was needed down that alley way, and fast!
Picking back up the handset he shouted, "EMERGENCY! BLACKIE TO BASE, DAWG!" Get an ambulance down to the corner of 12th and Vine! AND FOR God's sake HURRY! Don't ask me questions! Just let them know it's a stabbing victim, and they need to fucking hurry! OVER AND OUT!"

He'd deal later with Corn Dawg's hurt feelings as well as any FCC fines for his cussing on the public ham, right now, he had a kid to rescue!

Bouncing up on the curb, Blackie drove as close as he could to the alley.

Slamming his cab into park, he threw open his door, not caring that he'd left it still running.

Out of the corner of his eye as he ran toward the mouth of the alley way, he caught the sight of Tiny 16 year old Julian, a former AOW recipient, and he sighed in relief, and then in gratitude as he knew his cab would now be safe.

But, even if it wasn't, he couldn't wait for help, because the minutes he would of wasted to find someone to watch it, could possibly cost the blond child his very life.

~past tense~

Derrick Andrew Evans had been a hard case.

He'd been on his own since age 12, a typical throw away kid.

His mom hadn't even known the name or where abouts of the kids father, and it had been the boyfriend who had driven the small terrified young boy deep into the city, raped him, and beat him up, leaving him for dead in a pool of his own blood.

Now, at 17 years old, Derrick was a nut case, street tough as nails and just as dangerous, and street wise to boot.

He had not fitted in at the home, screaming at the top of his lungs that, "He'd rather sleep in the shit on the streets than around any fucking fags!"

He had even refused any and all help to finish school, and he had refused to work, period.
One night, Blackie had come in early from shift, bearing a stack of large pizza pies and had caught the angry dark blond boy standing over Corn Dawg, with a knife drawn, ready to pounce.

The pies had taken a header, and Blackie had got a good deep mark on his arm as he'd wrestled the large serrated knife from the young boy and away from Corn Dawg's jugular.
That night, despite Corn's tears and _Mocha's pleadings to give the young troubled boy another chance, Blackie had turned a deaf ear to his friends, and then had stood over the boy watching as Derrick had packed, making sure he left with only what he'd brought.
His bleeding arm wrapped up in a dish towel, Blackie was firmly refusing to seek medical help until he was certain the garbage was out of their home.

Blackie had then bodily tossed the little ungrateful fuck and all of his shit he'd brought with him which hadn't been much, out into the streets and into the pouring rain, shouting to him that Derrick was, "Fucking lucky Corn refused to press charges! If it had been me, you sick evil little fuck, you'd be covering your bubble ass by now and crying like a pussy in jail!"

But, Derrick had played them all like a violin, getting the last laugh.

When one day, he'd just walked out of the office with their latest cash contribution for the home.

Somehow, he had slithered his way back inside the home and had been in the front office and had sweetly told one of their best elderly donors Mrs. Spitchz that the organization now only took cash, not checks, or even money orders.

Derrick had then skipped town, with a hefty 5,000.

Blackie had tried to get the other two to press charges, especially the Dawg, but, both of them had steadfastly refused.

To Clevis and Melvin, Derrick was one of them. He could still be saved.

But, to Blackie, hell even tiny kind hearted Melba Spitchz agreed, Derrick was totally a pathetic loser and SO a lost cause.

Luckily for the Home, Melba had replaced the cash.

~Present tense earlier~

'Well, well,' thought Blackie as he walked into the mouth of the alley, his dark-green cats eyes taking but a moment to adjust before he could clearly see not too far away what looked like a small blond angel getting the best of tough boy Derrick Andrew Evans.

'It looked like the little bastard was back in town and back in business, doing what he did best, robbing people, and scaring other gay boys.'

As he watched the blond boy get loose and then throw a good right hook as he was holding his own, mentally Blackie cheered him on.

And, when he saw that small but firm knee quickly go up once and then twice, Blackie wanted to grab at his own nuts as he imagined the intense pain Derrick must of been experiencing.

And when Derrick who obviously had had just about enough of blondie's abuse and had whipped out his trusty weapon of choice, Blackie had felt his heart drop as he watched the feisty little boy being attacked by Derrick.

From his own experience he knew first hand what that fucking razor sharp serrated blade felt like.

So he had yelled to warn the blond, and he had yelled out to Derrick, praying and hoping that the irate boy wouldn't do what Blackie already knew he would.

It was in that moment that Brendan James Storm had ever felt so damn helpless.
Even if he'd of run as fast as he could, and he could run very fast, he'd never make it in time to stop Derrick.

But, after seeing the glint of the serrated silver blade, Blackies' blood ran cold and he started running toward them both with his hands raised, shouting a warning for the blond and for Derrick as he cried, "HEY BLOND KID, LOOK OUT! DERRICK, NO! STOP! DROP IT! Oh MY GOD, DERRICK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Horrified, Blackie saw the knife plunge and then rip downward. Turning his head he puked after he saw the kids' white bones and muscle tissue being displayed in a most gruesome way.

And, he knew he should of stopped it, but he was in pure shock and he just stood there as he watched the smaller boy freak out and try to kill Derrick.

The disgusting things the blond did to Derrick had Blackie tossing his cookies yet once again and the small alley echoed with Derrick’s screams as the little stranger broke bones as he tried to stomp and kick the young hoodlum to death.

As Blackie listened to the blond rant and rave, a part of himself understood the fury, the bloodlust, and he decided that he'd let the boy finish dishing up the can of whoop ass, because after all, Derrick DID pop the top off of it first.

As far as Blackie was concerned, Justin Craig Taylor was doing the world a huge favor.

~present tense, earlier~

Justin's vision was a bit blurry, and he could barely make out the tall good looking man who was stalking into the alley waving his fists and shouting, obviously not even caring that he'd left the door to his running taxi standing wide open.

He squinted, as he lifted up his good arm to wipe at the blood trickling down his face and into his eyes and saw that a few people were standing near the mouth of the alley as well, and were obviously gawking at him.

But, once the tall man started screaming at them too, they quickly dispersed, making room for the approaching ambulance.

His breath caught as he could of sworn he saw Brian in his Jeep nearly getting creamed by the said screaming ambulance that was heading straight toward him.
'Na' he told himself, 'Brian was probably still in the shower, or he'd decided to just take that nap after all.'

Thanking God that the fucker had only messed with his left hand and arm, not his right, Justin felt himself shiver at the mere thought of never being able to draw again.

Suddenly, he felt a warm pair of strong arms lifting him.

~Present tense, Later that night at the Chelsea General Hospital~

Blackie wanted to throw Justin's cell phone against the nearest wall, so frustrated was he that every time he called Brian Kinney, the man's stupid phone still just rang, and rang. Again!

'Fuck it, this time, I'll let the fucker ring 20 times if I have to!' Thought Blackie darkly, as he waited, remembering the way Justin had trembled in the back of the second ambulance, trying to fight back his tears of pain as they were rolling out of those amazing blue eyes.

Once inside the ambulance, the boy had become frantic as he'd begged Blackie to,
"Call Brian! I need Brian, please, Mr. PLEASE! Brian will know what to do, he always does, he kinda sorta cares for me, I think, well I hope he still does, but, so call him for me! The number is in my wallet, you have it now, I think I gave it to you didn't I? OH that fucking DERRICK!

I hope to GOD his nuts are so sore that they fall off! Oh, that mean little mother fucker! SHIT my arm is killing me! Oh, and don't forget to let them know Mr. I'm allergic to almost everything, especially Tylenol, so don't let them give me any, or any codeine, or any..."

And, the list of allergies the boy had rattled off were pretty impressive too.

Luckily Blackie had thought to write them all down before the boy had passed out, so he could compare the list Justin had mentioned with the list in his wallet.

Lucky for Justin Craig Taylor, Blackie was a bit of a pack rat, so he just happened to have the little pad and a pen that he'd picked up that morning at the office.

Jinks, or J. J. Waters their resident base and home mother was a huge helper at getting things off the ground as well as finding the ways and means to raise the monies needed for their runaways home and their other AOW activities as well as their cab business.
She had nagged all three young men to pick up some of the pads and pens as well as a handful of business cards too, to hand out to their clients and potential donors of their cause.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Blackie winced as he flexed his fingers of his writing hand. Damn but there had been a ton of forms to fill out on the kid!

Then, he'd had to deal with dumb and dumber, aka two poor excuses for cops.

Lucky for Justin, Blackie didn't use the boy's fake ID.

21, huh? Yeah. Right.

And, Blackie had been shocked to learn that Justin Craig Taylor was, in reality, only 17 years old. He looked 12 if a day!

And, it had pissed him off and scared him shitless when the boy had crashed twice, because the fucking ER nurse wouldn't listen to him when he tried to hand her his copy of Justin's danger list and to warn her of the tons of allergies the boy had, just because she couldn't discuss the boy with him as he wasn't a relative.

Once he knew the kid would be okay, Blackie had enjoyed throwing his weight around, especially to that needle nosed bitch of a nurse that almost cost Justin his very life.

As his lawyer and friend Corby Hum and himself had laid into her, and let her know very loudly of the unnecessary dangers she had personally through her own neglect put that poor child through, they'd make sure she lost her Nursing licence, and it was funny to see her turn almost grey as Corby happily informed her and anyone listening, that he represented Mr. Taylor, and that his client would be seeking any and all damages!

After that little drama, Blackie as well as Corby had been given carte' blanc concerning anything and everything about one Justin Craig Taylor.

Corby had left an hour ago, with strict instructions for Blackie to call him, as soon as his new client woke up.

Corb's bright white grin had been shark big as he gleefully told Blackie that Justin C. Taylor was soon going to be a very wealthy little boy!

With a huge yawn and sigh, Blackie put away Justin Taylor's cell and pulled out his own and punched in the speed dial number to the base.

He couldn't help but smile as he heard the familiar, "Blue Collar Cabs, where would you like to go?"

"Dawg, it's me, Blackie." Blackie said quietly.

"What, no screaming in my ear and Queening out on our base radio this time Brendan?" The other man said coolly.

'Shit,' Blackie thought, 'Clevis is using the first name, he must really be pissed!' He heard some angry mumbling in the background and he almost hung up when he heard, "Brendan, Melvin told me to tell you that this is the 4th time this month that the FCC has fined us for your language on the system!"

Blackie knew he was whipped, and he was gonna have to kiss some major ass to get out of this pickle.

From experience he knew that the truth will set you free was much more than an expression, and he hated lying any how.

Taking a deep breath, he asked Dawg to please put him on speaker so he only had to say it once.

And, Clevis, Melvin, Jinks, and Melba all were shocked as could be as Brendan explained to his friends about what all had happened, and how he had met Justin Craig Taylor.