Balfor and Terry 8

"I'm so sorry Gerald " Said Dr Alejandro Navarro-Cortez, forensic pathologist, coroner and director of the operation to identify the bodies found at Calle Rosario.

Navarro-Cortez dreaded this part of his duty, the grim things he would have to tell Macarthur about his son's fate. He did not think that today would be a good time. He had not thought it wise for Gerald to view the remains. He hoped that the policeman would be ignorant of anatomy and distracted enough by his grief to fail to notice the absence of long bones from the limbs. A father himself, he knew that if they had traded places, he would rather not know the things that these bones were telling him. He would normally have left the explaining to one of his underlings, but Gerald Macarthur's persistence had been integral to the opening of the investigation. He was owed the courtesy of a personal consultation.

He would have done this for Anselmo Nettis as well, but unexpectedly, Nettis's son's remains had not been found in the grave.

He had explored the gutted house with Gerald Macarthur and Anselmo Nettis on the day they had acquired permission to enter it and search for evidence regarding the disappearance of their sons. They had found the basement with its small but capably equipped little hospital, all stainless steel and white tiles. He had stubbed his shoe on one of the eye bolts in the floor around the rusted bed frame. He had heard in his long career in Colon the rumors about what used to happen to the enemies and traitors of a certain drug baron in his City, but had not begun to seriously believe them until he gazed at the bed with the four bolts in the floor.

Now that he had the bones to tell him their story, he knew why the eye bolts were there. To restrain a human on the bed, in such a way as to allow them enough movement to avoid bed sores, and pulling against the weight of a chain would give the victim enough exercise to ensure they stayed in better shape, increasing the chances of survival while pieces of them were periodically amputated.

He knew the pale white bread U.S. policeman and the tired looking, but formidably patrician Italian lawyer looking for their sons, had not seen the bolts among the strewn rubbish and rubble of the little hospital floor, and he'd had the presence of mind not to mention it to them. Let them find the bolts on their own he had thought.

Gerald Macarthur began looking at the bones of his son with a puzzled expression that caused a knot in Navarro-Cortez's stomach. He had noticed the reduced state of his sons skeleton and would require some answers today. There was going to be no postponing the news now.

"There seem to be some bones missing." Said Gerald blankly surveying the grimy, brittle wreckage of his son sprawled out on white linen under cold fluorescent light.

There was no way to tell what the man was feeling. His face was made of stone, his voice calm and evenly toned.

"There are no tarsals or metatarsals, no radii, no ulnae," he continued. "Where are the femurs?"

Human bones had come to fascinate Gerald Macarthur and he knew their names and could recognize all of the major ones, and many of the more obscure ones as well.

"They were not found in the graves at the house." Said Navarro-Cortez as soothingly as possible, reminding himself to be professional. This was really not going to be easy.

"You mean they dismembered him? Why would they do that?"

"He was not dismembered, at least, not immediately before burial, except for the head."

"...What are you saying?"

"The axis vertebra of the neck -here- has been broken and cleaved apart by a powerful blow from the heavy, straight blade of a sword or a machete. You can see the clean edge here, where the weapon made original contact... The limbless bodies all had the heads and torsos interred in the same grave, but disarranged and disconnected from one another... Those circumstances of burial usually indicate that beheading was the cause of death. if this is true then death would have been very swift, almost instant... We may never be sure about that, but we can be sure about this; - Do you see here, the acetabulum, the socket where the femur articulated? There is a foramen, a hole - here - where a ligament and some blood vessels emerge to nourish the head of the femur. This hole has begun to calcify - to fill in with bone. This can only happen when the body lives on after the ligament and vessels atrophy or are removed. It takes time."

"He was alive when they cut off his legs?" The room felt suddenly very cold.

"I'm afraid so, Yes."

"And he survived... They kept him alive like that until they finally... How long?"

"It's hard to say, I would guess seven months at least, probably a lot more. I've scheduled a meeting to consult with a specialist about this, but she lives in Panama City, she can't take time until the middle of next week."

"What about his arms? They were taken too? While he was alive?" His voice trailed off into a whisper. His son had been reduced to a skull, two clavicles and some ribs, a spine with a blade-damaged cervical vertebra and a pelvis.

"It's harder to tell from the bones of the shoulder joint, but since all of the skeletons that were missing their legs, also were missing their arms, and there was no sign of those bones in the grave at all, I would say most probably yes. There was a complete lack of limb bones in the grave for seven of the ten human skeletons we found at the house. What ever they did to your son, he was at least not alone. Perhaps that is some comfort."

"Why would they do that? What in God's name did they do with his arms and legs?" Gerald wondered out loud. He had expected his hapless and delinquent son to end up in a ditch somewhere, but to find him treated in this even more barbaric manner was both shocking and bewildering.

"We don't know what they did with the limbs precisely," continued the coroner, "but after the discovery of the main grave, and the yard was sifted we found human bone shards and fragments buried in shallow caches all over the yard." Navarro-Cortez really did not want to reveal this. "Most of them were badly chewed. By dogs. Probably the same dogs that were buried in the grave along with the humans. The dogs died at the same time. Used bullets and some shattered bones suggest the dogs were shot to death, rather than beheaded.

"They fed my son's arms and legs to a pack of dogs?" A memory of Jeremy as a boy hitting his first home run flashed across his mind and for a second the room and the bones and Navarro-Cortez became a blur. He wanted to go home. He wanted to throw up. He wanted not to know about this. But Jeremy his son lay on the gurney before him in broken dirty pieces. There could be no retreat.

"They gave at least some of the bones to the dogs yes. Of that we can be sure. We don't know about the rest of the tissue, the muscles or the skin." It was Navarro-Cortez's way to be very precise. He knew the rumors of cannibalism, but there was no need to go beyond his duty to explain the forensic evidence.

"What sort of dogs were they?" Gerald heard himself ask. He had begun to feel dizzy.

"The dogs' skulls were all very similar. We sent several of them to the university veterinary department for scrutiny. The consensus was that the dogs were all German Shepherds, probably pedigree, and in very good condition.

Gerald could make no sense of the other man's words as they trailed off into gibberish and the light seemed to swim in the spinning room. What else had those sick fuckers done to his son? Dog food... They turned Jerry into dog food... They made his grand daughter fatherless to feed some dogs. And that weird little hospital in the basement, that must be where they did it, where they cut him up. Did they make him watch as the dogs ate his arms and legs? Or was it some twisted medical vivisection experiment, and they just used the dogs to dispose of the waste? He could not believe the images that logic and imagination conjured up in his mind from the evidence, trying to fill in the unknown.

How in God's universe was he ever going to avenge this?

It dawned on him that there was no possibility of justice here. Perhaps not anywhere, not ever. How could God be merciful and allow things like this to happen? Obviously there was not God. Never had been. He'd been a church going fool wasting thousands of perfectly good Sunday mornings on a delusion, trying to hold back the chaos which had finally found him anyway.

He was lost in this.

Futile rage gave way as anguish surged over him and he began to drown in a flood of sad fading memories of his only child. His legs buckled under him and he collapsed into a crouching position in the corner, covering his eyes with his arms, crying out uncontrollably.

Navarro-Cortez stared into space, his eyes filling watery, imagining how he would feel if the brown, dirt stained bones spread out on linen white as heaven's light had been those of his own son. He sat on the floor next to Gerald, put his arm over his shoulder, and gradually the police man slumped sobbing into his arms, too distraught to be ashamed for now, about his loss of faith and composure.

Dino liked to spend time propped up in front of his computer. He had only to arch his back slightly and the weight of his body rocking forward would stimulate his implanted glans. Dino had counted twenty three orgasms so far achieved this way, but it required him to be sitting on a butt plug and looking at very arousing porn.

He spent a lot of time on the web learning this and that, looking at porn, and answering queries and a trickle of fan mail from castration fetishists and body modification enthusiasts all over the world. His net presence was completely pseudonymous, his chosen name being "Athos Hermes" because he so closely resembled an ancient Greek marble sculpture fragment of that name in the collection of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.

His head bobbed as he typed the keys with the prod that reached out in front of him from a head band. When necessary, with another prod attached to his shoulder, he could hold down the [SHIFT], [CTRL] or [ALT] key to pull down menus or tab backwards through the links on web pages. He saved his neck muscles with voice recognition software when large blocks of text were required.

More often than not when on his computer there would be a butt plug in his arse in case he became aroused as he dipped into various porn sites, rocking back and forth on his cock head hopefully.

He needed Carmen to set up for this but he would stay there happily working away for hours at a time. She often went out shopping and left him there. Once she met a nice leather woman, went home with her for sex and then fell asleep. On her return the next day poor Dino was lying on the bathroom floor in agony, his shoulder harness still attached, though he had managed to remove his head band.

Carmen's three neutered siamese cats, Balthasar, Casper and Melchior were also in the bathroom, mocking him with their proud tails and arched backs.

"Take it out!" He had pleaded, meaning the butt plug, which had been a new, cruel looking one that he had not used before. He had seen it in a sex shop on one of his outings and suddenly was overwhelmed with desire and lust. But his eyes had been too big for his belly, as they say. Big, heavy, black and hard it was, and unlike the other, smaller pink ones he was used to he had been unable to expel it by himself. It had become horribly uncomfortable and he had writhed all night on the floor, exuding a slick of precum, cursing his helplessness and cursing Carmen and her nasty supercilious cats as the latex monster tortured his poor tired rectum and prostate.

A copiously apologetic Carmen quickly donned her customary disposable latex gloves and took out the plug. The gloves were not only to protect her from the odious anatomical location of her current task, although not exactly a lesbian, Carmen was a deeply obsessive compulsive woman and would never willingly touch a man with any part of her bare skin.

There was no part of a man however, that she was unable to probe or manipulate as long as latex protected her from masculine contamination.

He did not speak to her again for more than a week.

He still suspected that she had done it on purpose, just for old time's sake.

One day after three hours trawling the net for porn - a much more conservatively sized plug up his arse and proudly achieving his orgasm, Dino was browsing the web glassy eyed and satisfied and found himself logging on to his favorite search engine "Ask Jeeves."

Then watching the prod as if someone else was controlling it , he typing the words "Dear Jeeves, where do you suppose are the bodies of Balfor Cooper and Manuel Friedrichs?" Dino often asked Jeeves all sorts of whimsical questions. He realized that he had been bound to get around to this one sooner or later.

Jeeves stood there on the screen helpfully, a glowing little god made of pixels, his supercilious smile seeming to say "Be careful what you wish for."

[ENTER]

He had expected a whole page of useless, unrelated links to appear as usual, and most of them were, but among them was one that chilled him to the core.

[TAB] [TAB] [TAB] [TAB] [TAB]...

[ENTER]

A recently posted missing persons web site began to take shape. Text flooded onto the screen instantly as usual and then a grainy black and white scanned photo of Freddy and Balfor standing by a jeep with a dead boar on the hood, proudly holding rifles, appeared stripe by horrifying horizontal greyscale stripe.

Tears welled in Dino's eyes as panic, grief, terror and twisted reminiscent love echoed like shots, one after another through his heart. It was the first time in over ten years that he had seen an image of Freddy, the man who had destroyed him, and Balfor, the man he loved even as he let it happen, that had not been conjured by his memory. He realized that most of the time, his experience of those days came to him second hand, and wrapped in a blanket of denial, as if it had all been a nightmare from which he could wake up if only he could remember what normal life felt like.

But that was not how he felt right now looking at this jpeg.

Then another photo, this time in color, of a toothy and freckled young red-head in a base ball uniform and cap standing in a field by himself. Dino recognized him instantly, and then another photo, a close up of Jeremy this time, smiling, a green shirt collar with a salmon tie setting off his coloring. He looked slightly awkward, as if his mother had bought the clothes and talked him into wearing them when he would rather be in something casual with more street credibility. Perhaps it was Sunday and he was dressed for Church.

"You look so much better with ears Germy, even though they do stick out like a pair of handles." Said Dino to the charmingly vacuous face on the screen. "Germy" had been Jeremy's high school nickname and it had comforted him to have Dino call him that as well.

The gist of the hypertext outlined contact details and offered a cash reward of twenty thousand dollars American for anyone who could lead a man called Gerald Macarthur, father of Jeremy to any of the people on the screen, alive or dead. There were lesser rewards for less significant information, last known address etc, as long as it came with some sort of proof.

There was a final plea for any information at all that could help Mr Macarthur piece together what had happened to his son. A small photo of Gerald Macarthur occupied space right at the bottom of the page, as if he was embarrassed to be there.

Having been Jeremy's chief confidante and room mate for over four years, Dino was in a very good position to provide Mr Macarthur with information, but he had no intention of doing so.

"Be careful what you wish for Mr Macarthur." Warned Dino.

Freckled and snow white, but very fit and well developed from years of baseball training, twenty two year old Jeremy Macarthur had lain naked and terrified on his side, his alabaster buttocks, ginger pubic hairs and tiny frightened acorn-like dick exposed to the hot, fume stinking air in the boot of a sedan. His ankles and wrists were all bound tightly together behind him with sash cord. A dirty sock had been jammed into his mouth and his lips sealed over it with duct tape.

He'd been kneed hard in the groin as they lifted him into the boot, and now his ample balls rolled around in their sac trying uselessly to get comfortable, pulling tight to his body and then relaxing again, two knots of sharp pain in his scrotum to echo the duller pain of the fear-induced lump in his throat as the car jostled him toward death.

He had gotten into too much debt with his captors and had tried to abscond with around fifty thousand dollars worth of cocaine.

What the fuck had he big thinking? Was he high?, Well of course he had been high. What a combination he thought to himself, mindless optimism, youthful impatience and drugs.

He had wanted to keep up with the lifestyles of his better paid base ball team mates to impress his girlfriend Melanie. He wanted her to have the same nice dresses and furs that their girls had, he wanted them to have his and hers Ferraris.

He doubted that these guys were going to sympathize with this excuse for his getting into trouble with them however. Soon they would cut his throat, or he would have a bullet in his head, or maybe they'd just weigh him down and through him off the end of a peer as he was. How unreal this had all seemed, this drug world game. He now knew that he'd been like a toddler who had wandered in front of a tv horror movie and was too young to know that the monsters were frightening.

The monsters had rapidly become very frightening. Having a gun to his head while a big middle aged, pot bellied and badly facially scarred Central American gagged him with what was handy during a badly needed change of socks, had the effect of bringing focus.

"Take off your clothes." The man had said.

When Jeremy balked at removing his bug's bunny print cotton boxer shorts he received a clout on the head and the man pulled them down for him and then Jeremy stepped out of them as his arms were held behind him and lengths of sash cord were wound around his wrists.

Then he'd been manhandled into a kneeling position and more sash cord went around his ankles and over the knots holding his wrists together.

Then three men had lifted him like trussed game into the boot while Mr sweaty sox kneed him gruffly in his very vulnerable and exposed balls.

He had only made three trips so far to colon, and though he had felt pretty tight with his contacts down here, this was not reciprocated, He had heard nothing of the rumors about Calle Rosario. He was not really in the loop because they thought he was just another cocky little gringo with a rich daddy and a complacent U.S. superiority complex.

They had almost been happy when Freddy gave the order to haul him in.

Of course the people down here were going to figure out that he was unable to pay. Of course they would monitor him and make sure he and Melanie could not leave.

Melanie. Yesterday she had told him she was pregnant with his child. The sex that evening was the best they'd ever had. To know that there was already a life of his making inside the girl he had decided to marry had turned him on tremendously. Today he had been going to ask her the big question. He had no doubt she would say yes. He'd bought her a brilliant engagement ring at Colon's best jewelry store.

And outside the jewelry store he had met the men with the concealed guns who took him into a nearby lane and bundled him with unnecessary roughness into the boot.

When the men delivered Jeremy to the house, Freddy was not there. He'd gone to Rio de Janeiro to attend his daughter's wedding.

It was Balfor who took delivery of him.

He carried Jeremy downstairs to the dungeon and dropped him on the bare concrete floor of a musty cement rendered chamber with nothing but a toilet and some eye bolts in the walls.

"That's a nice pair of cojones you have there." Said Balfor toeing them not very gently with his boot. "Pity your dick is so pathetic. I bet you girlfriend dreams of some other guy's cock while she's fucking you."

"Mmmph mmmph" Said Jeremy knitting his brows, outraged that brute would dare say something so crass about Melanie.

Balfor went away and returned with a bentwood chair.

He placed it next to Jeremy and sat down. He placed one boot on Jeremy's head and with the other he resumed his toeing of Jeremy's balls, this time jiggling them up and down more vigorously, and then pushing them down between his legs, or batting them gently with the sole of his cruel looking boot.

Jeremy became wide eyed. This man had gotten himself a chair. Obviously he was going to get comfortable and hang around for a while.

"Oh look, you're not so small after all." Said Balfor as Jeremy's cock became involuntarily hard, "You're a grower, not a shower. Good for you!"

Jeremy wallowed in the misery and shame of having obtained an erection due to the relentless manipulations of anther man. He was in no mood to swell with the reception of a compliment under these circumstances, and yet amazingly he did. He even almost smiled.

After two hours of this continuous treatment however, Jeremy no longer felt like smiling. His face had gone very red and sweat and tears were running down his face. His breathing was raspy and deep. His poor balls had become hard and swollen and suffused with a full, raw feeling.

His cock had softened and hardened again several times, but Balfor showed no signs of slowing down or stopping.

Balfor started swinging his leg a little further out with every bat. Soon the gentle bat became a lazy kick. And Balfor set in kicking him like that, not hard enough to rupture his balls, or tire himself out, but hard enough so that Jeremy started a muffled sort of helpless yelping into the sweaty sock which still fouled his mouth.

He strained uselessly against his bonds, his body arching and bucking pointlessly as Balfor's left boot ground into the side of his face and his right boot continued to punish his twenty two year old balls with a monotonous relentless rhythm.

A small pool of pre cum had gathered under his rhythmically wobbling rock hard cock. Stringy and glistening, it seeped from his piss hole in greater and greater quantity, splashing on Balfor's boot as well as on the floor.

He had tried to think of Melanie, but an image of her face would not form. He was glad that she was pregnant, he doubted that he would ever be fertile again after the treatment he was getting.

He tried to think of anything besides Balfor's boot banging against his balls but no thoughts came to distract him from the terrible anticipation of the next agonizing kick.

Gradually in the midst of his torment he felt the tingling beginnings of an involuntary orgasm. The feeling grew as his hips began thrusting all by themselves, his crotch galvanized with pulsing pain from his endlessly bouncing and rebounding balls.

One end of the foul sock in his mouth had worked its way down his throat with his muffled screaming and suddenly he found that he could not breathe. His lungs felt close to bursting as his diaphragm strained to fill them with air.

Somehow his desperation for oxygen increased the speed and intensity of his developing orgasm. Turning rapidly blue, his eyes rolling up into their sockets he blew wad after wad of glistening white, bread smelling semen all over Balfor's boot and onto the floor.

Balfor had planned to continue kicking the kid to see if he would eventually pass out from it, but what ever was in his mouth was obviously choking him, so he got reluctantly up off the chair and then tore the duct tape off Jeremy's mouth and extracted the long rank football sock, like a magician pulling a scarf out of a hat. He laughed - a sweaty sock this time! That could only have been Diago's work. What a joker.

Jeremy coughed and wheezed and sputtered and got his breath. Clear fluid continued to dribble from his cock and his hips still thrust and jerked slightly.

He looked up glassy eyed at Balfor, pleadingly, expressively, but he found that he could not dare to speak to him.

"Clean my boot." Said Balfor, placing his semen and precum soaked black Blundstone Boot against Jeremy's mouth.

I think I can smell the sweat from my own balls on his goddamn boot, thought Jeremy bleary eyed and revolted, as he licked it clean. Or worse - is it someone else's? Balfor's mildly bored demeanor gave him the correct impression that he did this sort of thing all the time.

His boot clean, Balfor took the chair away and returned with his deep throat flange.

He hung Jeremy upside down on chains by his knees so that his mouth was conveniently crotch height, and his throat was well positioned for fucking up into.

Jeremy's face went scarlet as the man's warm hands explored his body, lingered on his downy buns for a while, appreciating their firm roundness. He examined his tender balls, and satisfied that they were hurt but intact, he prepared to install the flange.

Jeremy was mechanically minded and knew exactly what was going to be done to him as his jaw was stretched open and Balfor clicked the stainless steel flange piece into his strained open mouth.

He tensed himself as Balfor eased his already hard cock out of the substantial bulge it had made in his jeans. It swayed heavily to and fro upside down as Balfor approached him.

Steeling himself for another horrible ordeal, Jeremy felt Balfor's big strong hands clasp the sides of his head like a melon.

Balfor aimed his cock and unceremoniously pushed it right in.

Ignoring the panicked retching and gagging, Balfor fucked throat with abandon, his low hanging balls rhythmically banging into Jeremy's eyes until they tightened up as he approached his climax.

After getting his rocks off which did not take long because he'd been so turned on by the kid's performance of dismay and indignity during the ball kicking, he left his softening cock in the kid's gulping and spazming throat until he was sure he'd swallowed all his cum, then he took him down, removed the flange and jaw spreaders and left him on the floor with a dog bowl full of water without bothering to untie him.

After pissing all over the bound young man, and making sure a deal of it splashed in his dog bowl, He walked out pulling a steel barred door closed behind him. He threw a bolt and padlocked it.

Jeremy wanted to cry. He was desperately thirsty and this bastard had just pissed in his water.

"Sleep well." Balfor said. "Tomorrow I'm gonna hang you up by the nuts for a while. I hear you've been a very bad boy and a spanking isn't going to cover it. Mind you I might give you a hiding anyway, you've got a nice pale little bottom that should redden up nicely."

Two of Jeremy's teeth were chipped from the torture instrument. His mouth was raw and tasted of metal and blood. His back ached but he couldn't straighten it with all his limbs bound behind him.

He stewed in the disgusting reek of his torturer's piss, knowing beyond doubt that the man would be true to his word in every detail.

Worse than this was that he felt utterly destroyed as a man. He did not know after this total humiliation how he was going to face his family or Melanie again. He knew would never be able to look them evenly in the eye.

The single forty watt light bulb in the cell went out and all became darkness, discomfort and apprehension.

At some point in the vastness of that night, thirst overcame disgust, and he found himself wriggling to the bowl for a drink, unaware how familiar this mode of getting about would become to him in the years ahead.

Dino logged off from the Macarthur's web page, and drew a draught of cranberry juice that Carmen had left with him.

He changed his mind and logged back on. He wanted to save the photos to his hard drive. To his surprise and amazement the page had been updated in the tiny period since he had loaded it the first time. The meek looking photo of Gerald Macarthur had been replaced with a new, more recently taken one. This time he was not alone in the photo, but standing resolutely next another formidably angry and vengeful looking man.

Dino gagged, coughing ruby droplets all over the screen.

"Papa!" he cried.