Anwar would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised to find out what it was Gregory had offered. “Pay these clients a little attention and they will handsomely reward you.” Words Anwar would never forget from someone who was supposed to be a man of God. But the way Anwar saw it, Gregory’s hypocrisy had nothing to do with him wanting to get ahead in life. He was just thankful for the door that had been opened. Jorge would have to find someone else to dive for his pathetic conch shells, Anwar thought, because he did not intend on going back to his poverty-stricken past.
The buildings were large and opulent, just the way that Anwar imagined his new life would be. If it had been told to him two weeks ago that he would be staring his dreams in the face, he would have probably slapped that person silly. But now it was real and he sensed that it was just the beginning of opportunities being presented to him. Nothing like being in the right place at the right time. Stuffing the little black pamphlet back into his pocket, Anwar continued toward the lobby area, feeling large and in charge. He made eye contact with one of the clerks behind the front desk, different from the one he’d seen the other evening. They were all pretty, except for this one, whose nose and lips looked as if they had been filled with embalming fluid.
“Hi there. I am here to see Ms. V,” Anwar greeted.
“I didn’t get your name.”
“Anwar Daxon…she’s expecting me.”
The clerk turned away from Anwar and spoke rapidly into the phone. A short while later, she refocused her gaze on Anwar and offered him one of those smiles that said, ‘I-know-exactly-what-you’re-up-to. But Anwar couldn’t care less; she had a job to do just like everyone else.
“She is on her way down. Would you like to take a seat on the sofa over there?”
“No, thank you, I would prefer to stand,” Anwar said.
“No problem.” The clerk kept that perceptive smile on her face. Although she worked for the ‘organization’, it didn’t mean she agreed with everything they did. As in exposing unsuspecting kids to a life that was both manipulative and destructive. “How old are you?”
“Huh?” Anwar was thoroughly surprised that the clerk had made an attempt at conversation. He stared at her swollen nose and lips and almost laughed in her face. Knowing he could not pretend any longer as if he hadn’t heard her question, he said in a proud tone, “I’m nineteen, will be twenty in a few weeks.”
“Not getting into your business and all, but you seem a little young to be coming around these parts.”
“Come on, nineteen is not that young,” Anwar grinned. “My mother was already married by that age. How old were you when you did something you weren’t supposed to do?”
The clerk sensed that she was being mocked. To salvage a bit of her pride, she managed a tight smile and concluded her advice in a clipped tone. “You be careful, because I’ve seen many your age come and go, and today they are either dead or their lives are one big mess.”
Anwar noticed Ms. V through his peripheral vision, sauntering as if she was modeling the latest designs. He returned the same tight smile to the clerk, which he knew came off as offensive. “Thank you for your advice,” he said. “But I don’t think I will need it.”
Ms. V gave Anwar a minuscule wave, signaling him to follow her. The clerk behind the counter became a faded memory as scenes of the property began to unveil before Anwar. At first look, Anwar thought it was a spot where rich retirees would come to live out their final days on the warm sand. Everything was pristine and breathtaking. However, as Anwar had recently learned, the place was owned by a self-made billionaire who only rented the units to those who were members of the secret sect. Getting in would be next to impossible, because its location was carefully concealed from the general public.
It was a place where people lived out their sadistic fantasies. Doctors, lawyers, politicians, pastors, bankers, athletes and other persons of high standing, could all be seen, slipping in and out of private rooms. Some were local names; others flew in from all over the world. Anwar was amazed to see some of the familiar faces he’d either seen on TV or roaming the main streets of Bliss Haven. However, his shock was immediately neutralized by the irreversible oath he had been made to take.
“Are you studying the material in that black book that was given to you,” Ms. V asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes, every night.”
“Good, because there will come a time when you will be required to repeat every bit of it back to me. I’m hoping you will stick around until then.” She handed Anwar a bag of some sort. “Get changed,” she said. “You have a client waiting for you.”
Anwar entered one of the dressing rooms and looked for an empty cubicle. The open space was teeming with boys and girls his age, all undergoing some form of transformation. Some of the boys were dressed in female costumes, applying heavy makeup to their chiseled faces. The first time Anwar laid eyes on the scene, he gagged with disgust, but when he noticed one of the boys tallying up a wad of U.S one-hundred-dollar bills, he relaxed and began to accept the exchange. The patrons paid top dollar for what they wanted. No matter how kinky or how gross the service rendered, at the end of the day, there was an abundance of money to be made. This was an underground world of perversion the general public hadn’t any idea about.
As Anwar began to undress in his cubicle, an Asia-looking girl playfully poked him in his side. She looked like Bozo, the clown, with her white-covered face and her rainbow-colored dress. Anwar wanted to laugh, but he hid it by raising his brows.
“Steven, is it?” she queried. “Rumor is that you’re meeting with a very important person this evening. Do you know what this means?”
“Yes, it means to keep your nose out of my business,” Anwar said, not bothering to even correct her about his name.
“That kind of attitude is not gonna work around here,” the girl snapped, clearly injured. “Just because Ms. V has a soft spot for you, doesn’t mean you should be so snobby. Just remember, in a place like this you will need a friend.”
Anwar kept his comment wedged in his throat, watching as Bozo quickly swayed to her cubicle. A little smile began to mess with his lips. He was not aware of that tidbit of information about Ms. V. The woman was tall and strikingly beautiful, but she reminded Anwar of Morticia, the wraithlike character from the TV show, “The Addams Family”. She appeared to be void of emotion, only showing an air of stately professionalism. But it was exciting to know that his presence was already causing a stir.
In a full-length mirror attached to the wall of his cubicle, Anwar admired his form. He had never worn a pair of leather pants in his life, but it certainly made him look desirous. He poured some scented oil in his hands and then slapped it against his chest, and other areas of interest his client may want to explore. He’d serviced two female celebrities so far and had made close to three thousand dollars. A wave of guilt was surfacing, but Anwar’s lust for money and power was beginning to rule his conscience.
I’m not really hurting anyone, Anwar tried to convince himself. Everything was being done undercover, controlled by codes and secret gestures. There was no way the ‘organization’s’ mode of operation could be penetrated. The patrons had more to lose than the boys and girls who provided the service. With such rare opportunities of wealth coming into his path, Anwar refused to let a little guilt ruin his evening. Fully dressed in his leather getup, he pulled out a whip from the bag and let it dangle to the floor.
Whoever his client was, had to be one of the craziest freaks he had ever encountered. Why in hell would someone want to be beaten as if they were a prisoner from Alcatraz? It was impossible for Anwar to imagine that pleasure could be derived from such torture. Well, Anwar thought as he grinned, as long as he was getting paid, he wouldn’t waste time stressing about it. If his client wanted to be disciplined, Anwar would make sure his client’s backside glowed like fire.
Chapter Twenty-Three
9:11a.m.
Chazz was sprawled on one of the lower
steps of Dana’s art gallery. When Dana saw him, her first instinct was to put her Mercedes in reverse and escape for her life. But she questioned the maturity of such a decision. It was obvious she and Chazz had some unresolved issues, despite her telling him she had moved on. But it was not okay for Chazz to start making these sudden appearances. How could he act so irresponsibly, knowing her marriage was already treading on thin ice? Dana jumped out of her car, ready to give Chazz a piece of her mind.
“I thought I made myself clear, Chazz.”
“I had to come see you –”
“You had to come see me?” Dana parroted sarcastically. “If my husband catches you here, he’s gonna kill you.”
“Maybe he would,” Chazz said. He sprang from the steps and followed Dana to the entrance of her art gallery. “I came here to talk to you about your husband, anyway.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Chazz.”
“Mrs. Beaufort…Dana…” He gently pressed his hand against the door, preventing Dana from going inside. “I’m not here to create problems for you. I’m here to clear my conscience. When I’m done telling you what I’ve come to say, I will leave you alone.”
Somehow Dana didn’t believe that. But with Chazz being so close to her, she could barely breathe. His maleness was all up in her face, bringing those sensual desires to the forefront of her imagination. Dana couldn’t understand what it was about Chazz that made her feel so out of control – so out of her element that in order to keep her flesh tamed, she had to constantly remind herself that she was twenty-five years older than him. What a disgrace for a full grown woman like her to be so turned on by such youthful innocence.
“Chazz, I am really not comfortable with you being here,” she said. “You must know that.”
“I know, and I’m sorry that I’m making you feel that way, but I need to talk to you face to face. Things are getting worse – not only for me, but for this entire island.” Chazz paused, as a pang of fear seemed to twist his stomach into small knots. His thoughts had suddenly switched somewhere else and it showed in his disjointed words. “I’m having trouble sleeping at night…too many bad dreams about my past…I wish I could go back and change some things.”
Dana turned to face Chazz. She searched his gaze for interpretation, but all she saw was a man wanting to bare his soul. His boyish looks made her want to cuddle and protect him, which was causing so many conflicting feelings within her. However, Dana knew it was better to keep her hands to herself than to start an inferno in front of her business door.
“I hope this isn’t one of your ploys –”
“Mrs. Beaufort,” Chazz cut in respectfully, seeming to come to himself. “Give me ten minutes and then make your judgment.”
“You have five minutes,” Dana said resignedly. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Chazz removed his hand from the door, relief appearing in his expression. “I’d prefer to take this inside,” he said.
The look in Dana’s eyes held enough emotion to send Chazz scampering for cover. It was obvious she found his suggestion preposterous.
“Don’t be upset with me,” he winced. “I just feel a need to protect you.”
“I don’t need you protecting me!”
“That’s because you don’t have a clue about what’s going on around you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I am trying to explain it to you.”
“Then, say whatever is on your mind, Chazz, and stop speaking in riddles! I don’t want you hanging around my place.”
Chazz felt the ground shifting beneath him. After all that time they’d spent together in sexual ecstasy, how could she talk to him like that? He cared deeply for this woman, but she wanted nothing to do with him. But could he blame her for the way she was lashing out? He had ripped her world to shreds. What else did he expect?
He sputtered out unevenly, “It was Gregory’s idea to set you up and I was paid to go along with it.”
“Paid to do what?” The last word in that question landed heavy on Dana’s tongue.
“To seduce you, Mrs. Beaufort…your husband paid me to have sex with you and then plotted to catch us in the act.”
Dana drew back and connected her palm against Chazz’s face. “You waited three years to tell me this nonsense? Get out of here before I call the police!”
Chazz ignored the sting and kept his intense gaze on Dana. “It’s the truth,” he insisted. “Gregory wired five thousand dollars to my bank account; I couldn’t even spend the money. The guilt was killing me because by that time I had ended up falling in love with you.”
“Stop it!”
“Listen to me, Dana. Your husband is not who you think he is.” He gripped Dana’s shoulders, desperate for her to lose the suspicion in her eyes. “There are things you need to know that are going on in Bliss Haven. Gregory knows everything about it. There is a secret organization, located just outside of Crystal Bay. Every filthy thing that you can imagine goes on there. Perversion at its worst. And I’m sad to say that it was Gregory who recruited me and introduced me to a woman named Ms. V –”
The glass in Dana’s showcase suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces. Chazz instinctively wrapped himself around Dana, as he barely glimpsed a black limo gliding by in slow motion. He felt a searing pain strike up his spine. Then he heard the thundering of gunshots, peppering at them without mercy. It seemed as if he had gone deaf for a second. Maybe his breath had left him and came back. The pain burned like fire, but he had to protect Dana. It was his fault that he had gotten her caught up into this mess and he would die trying to get her out of it.
With his remaining strength, Chazz pushed their bodies through the door, both of them landing on the floor with a painful thud. Quickly, blood began to seep around them, as the final blast of shots tore Dana’s art sign to shreds.
****
Gregory gestured for Izaiah to join him on the veranda. Coffee cup in one hand and a fountain pen in the next. He had gotten back from the beach and was feeling refreshed. For the most part, it appeared as if he’d succeeded in pushing Frank Dubbin’s words out of his mind and was now able to refocus on the business at hand. Of course, Izaiah did not want to interrupt when he noticed Gregory’s disposition, but when he remembered he also had reasons of his own to meet with Gregory, he gladly obliged. Before Izaiah sat, Gregory stealthily minimized a file on his laptop, which contained photos and information about dozens of young, handsome men between the ages of sixteen and thirty. Gregory had been gazing at an unretouched photo of Izaiah, trying to decide what to do with him as per the mandate placed on him by the organization.
“Would you care to give me an update on what is going on with my daughter?” Gregory said without preamble. “I noticed she can’t keep anything down in her stomach.”
Izaiah wondered how he knew Asia was sick. Gregory was not around when Asia had wobbled up the stairs last night.
“Miss Rose doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut,” Gregory said in response to Izaiah’s curious expression. “She told me that you took Asia to St. Elmo’s Valley. Is that so?”
“I took a team with me to share their testimonies with the natives,” Izaiah said. “I asked Asia to accompany me. Was that a problem?”
“I trust you, Izaiah. Do you trust me?”
Izaiah was beginning to hate that line that came out of Gregory’s mouth. “What does that have to do with –”
Gregory interrupted, “Let that be the last time you or anyone else visits that Godforsaken place. You need not waste your time on those pitiable stragglers. Do you know that they are infected with incurable diseases?”
Izaiah raised his brows in shock. It was not so much because of Gregory’s rude inflection, but rather the fact that Gregory despised the very people he had an obligation to lead to Christ. Such words should never come out of a bishop’s mouth. A righteous man, who had the love of God in his heart would never ignore the needs of those who were lost. It led Izaiah to belie
ve that Gregory was not all he purported to be.
“In the parable of the lost sheep,” Izaiah began, “Jesus said that ‘it’s not in the Father’s will that even one of these little ones should perish –”
“Stop…” Gregory raised his hand. “I don’t need a spiritual discourse on the salvation experience. I’m quite aware of what this island needs and you’re not going to get things done by tossing your pearls to the swine.” Gregory sipped a little of his coffee and then placed the mug on the table between them. “Frankly, I think you are out of line and if I was not fond of you, I would have dealt with you a bit more harshly. Please, follow my orders and do not go back to St. Elmo’s Valley.”
Izaiah decided to challenge Gregory’s authority with one word. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Wow…” Izaiah slouched back into his chair, thoroughly confused. The whimpering of the Alsatians suggested a change in the atmosphere, but this time Izaiah was not afraid of them. He was too busy trying to piece together what kind of man Gregory Beaufort truly was. “May I ask you a question?”
“By all means,” Gregory said.
“Does the ‘organization’ still intend to close the doors of St. Donovan’s Chapel?”
“I don’t know. And I have never given you a definite word that they would.”
“But you brought it up,” Izaiah pushed. “I was under the impression that things were rapidly heading downhill. Excuse me for lack of a better description, but part of the reason I accepted the youth minister position was because I believed that I could be of some use. To put into practice my few years of experience.” Izaiah sat back up to the edge of his chair. “Sir, my life’s mission is to win the hearts of the young people for the kingdom of God and now you’re preventing me from doing that.”
“Very commendable traits, Izaiah, but don’t get yourself into a hissy fit. You’re young, good looking, and have all of the trappings of an eligible bachelor. The only heart that I’m concerned about you winning is my daughter’s. Get Jorge Bentley out of her system!”