CHAPTER ONE

 

This is Book Two in the City of Sinners trilogy and can be read as standalone. However, for your enjoyment, I highly suggest reading Book One.

 

New York City – July 1977

 

Richard Miller lay on the sweat-soaked sheets of his bed next to his boyfriend, Tyrone Jackson. His body still buzzed from the sex they’d just had, but that wasn’t what made perspiration pour from every part of his body. New York City was suffering a record-breaking heat wave. All the windows to the apartment were left wide open and two fans blew directly on Richard and Tyrone, yet they still felt as though they were going to melt.

Despite the heat, Richard turned on his side and put an arm around Tyrone, tracing a finger along the other man’s beautiful ebony skin, which was such a contrast to his own pale white flesh. Tyrone always joked, “It’s better to date a white boy. Easier to find in the dark.”

A slow smile stole onto Tyrone’s lips. He turned on his side to face Richard. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a minute.

“You want some orange juice?” Richard asked.

“Sure. You want to rehydrate me before getting it on again?”

“You’re hot, but the weather is hotter. Maybe tonight.”

Tyrone nodded wearily.“Good idea, Country.”

That had been Tyrone’s nickname for him since the very first day they met. Richard was a country boy. Eighteen and fresh out of high school, he’d come to the Big Apple to find himself, because back in Chillicothe, Missouri, there was no place for homosexuals. He’d shown up in New York wearing cowboy boots, jeans, a big belt buckle, a checkered shirt, and a Stetson. That got a lot of odd looks and more than a few jokes, but Tyrone seemed to like it. Richard had posed for the skin mags a few times wearing only his boots and the Stetson. They had become his hallmark. Sometimes he even has sex with Tyrone dressed like that.

Not today, though. It was too damn hot to wear even just a cowboy hat. The thermometer had topped 100 degrees and the humidity must have been about the same.

Richard pulled himself out of bed and trudged down the hallway of his apartment. Actually, it wasn’t his. The utilities were in his name, but the place was owned by a photographer named Anton Black, the man who had given Richard his first break in his modeling career.

The guy had his own motives, though, and Richard had nearly ended up enslaved for all time. Now Anton had disappeared. Richard doubted he’d come back but dreaded the possibility that he might. In the meantime, he felt no guilt in using Anton’s apartment as his own.

Heading for the kitchen, Richard passed a closed door. A lock securely bolted the room from the outside. Richard tensed. He always felt unsettled when he passed that room. Nothing lay inside, at least nothing that normal eyes could see. But for someone with his special powers, it opened up vistas of a world most people never guessed existed—a world of demons.

Richard hurried on to the kitchen. Flicking on the transistor radio, he opened the fridge.

“The notorious Son of Sam still eludes police forces. The manhunt has been escalated by the involvement of a special investigation team, including experts on serial killers brought in from Chicago and Los Angeles. In a speech last night, Mayor Beame announced that he was confident that new clues would lead to the arrest of the murderer, also known as the .44 Caliber Killer, within the next few weeks. In other news, the National Weather Service reports that there is no indication that the heat wave will let up this week. Temperatures are expected to remain in the high 90s and low 100s for at least five more days.”

Richard stood with the refrigerator door open, letting the cool air waft over his skin. He didn’t know why he bothered listening to the radio. It only told him bad news.

The cool air felt delicious on his damp skin. The refrigerator’s motor kicked into high gear as it struggled to maintain the temperature inside. Reluctantly, Richard pulled out a carton of orange juice and closed the door. The electric bill was going to be crazy this month.

Back in the bedroom, he and Tyrone sat on the bed, sharing the carton of orange juice between them.

“You got a photo shoot today?” Tyrone asked.

Richard shook his head. “None until tomorrow. I thought the release of Hot Young Virgins would get me more work, but things are slow. The studios say that a lot of photographers have left to take their vacations early, hoping the heat wave will pass.”

“Be patient. Work will come in time. That was a hell of a cover you did for that mag, and the photoshoot inside? Whew! I’d be jacking off to that every day if I didn’t have the real thing.”

Richard smiled, but felt troubled inside. It had been a hot series of photos, and being the cover boy for the premiere issue of a new skin mag sure would help his career in the long run, but the lust that radiated out of his body during that photo session with Anton Black, the youthful hyper-sexuality that caught the eye of so many guys in the porn shops, had been brought on by the proximity of the Hooded One, a demon who still stalked his dreams and fantasies. Richard feared the demon’s return even more than the photographer’s, and longed for it at the same time.

“So what you have tomorrow?” his boyfriend asked.

“Well, it’s not actually a paid photoshoot. It’s a tryout for Blueboy magazine.”

“Whoa, aiming high!” Tyrone said, slapping him five.

“I hope I get in,” Richard sighed. “I need to get some more modeling work soon. I may be living rent-free, but New York is a whole lot more expensive than Chillicothe. I don’t want to have to get a day job. That would cut into my modeling time. From what I’ve seen, if you can’t make a shoot, nine times out of ten they just give it to another guy.”

Tyrone shook his head. “You don’t want to jeopardize your career by getting some waiter job. Like you say, there will always be another hot young thang looking to get into the mags, not that any of them could look as hot as you.”

Tyrone planted a kiss on his lips. Richard tensed a little. He returned the kiss and smiled to cover his discomfort. He’d slept with so many men in so many different ways in the past couple of months, but a simple sign of affection from a man he deeply cared about still made him feel a bit awkward.

Be patient, he told himself, echoing his boyfriend’s words. Two months ago you were a clueless closet case. Now you have a wonderful boyfriend, lots of pals in the gay community, and you’re a nude model. That’s a hell of a transition. It’s going to take time for your feelings to catch up to your new life.

Tyrone got up. “Well, you may not have a day job, Country, but I do. Gotta get to the corner.”

Richard grimaced. Tyrone was a drug dealer in Times Square. While he didn’t have any moral objection to his boyfriend’s job—a lot of that money went to Tyrone’s sick mother—he worried. Dealers got arrested or knifed all the time.

“Be careful,” Richard said.

“I always am.”

“You staying here tonight?”

“Sorry. I have to go back to the Bronx and see her. She’s been suffering like hell in this heat.”

“Maybe you can buy her an air conditioner?”

“Shit, Country, where am I going to get the bread for that? You don’t even have one.”

“I would if all the appliance stores hadn’t jacked up the price.”

Tyrone put on a red silk shirt with frills down the front. Still naked from the waist down, he moved into the bathroom. Richard followed and leaned against the doorjamb as Tyrone started tidying up his afro with his hair pick, a black plastic one with a handle shaped like a fist.

“Why you always watching me pick my hair? You ain’t used to it yet?” Tyrone said with a grin.

“Actually, I was looking at your ass. I miss it when it’s not around.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I miss your pearly white ass when I gotta work too. What you going to do today?”

Richard shrugged. “Look for more work. Maybe go out tonight.”

Tyrone caught his eye in the mirror. “Planning on having some fun without me?”

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Of course not. We both get our rocks off when we want, that’s the deal. And I have to say, my white brother that you’re the horniest motherfucker I have ever met. You play around more than I do, and it’s all right. I just don’t want you falling for another man, you dig?”

Richard smiled. “I won’t.”

They’d had this conversation several times. Richard knew Tyrone didn’t have a problem with his sleeping around, and Richard didn’t mind when Tyrone went off to have some private fun, yet it still made Richard uneasy somehow. He guessed that was due to his upbringing. He’d been raised with the idea that you had to be loyal to only one partner. Well, actually he had been raised with the idea that you had to be loyal to one woman, so he was already breaking that rule.

“I’ll walk you to Times Square.”

Tyrone smiled. “Cool.”

Tyrone finished dressing in some blue suede shoes and white cotton bellbottoms. He’d been going through a “red, white, and blue” phase with his clothing, saying he wanted to show his patriotism. “Nothing more patriotic than keeping cats high,” he’d say. “Spreading the love helps us progress as a nation.”

Richard dressed as he usually did: in boots, jeans, checkered shirt, and his cowboy hat. That’s what he’d always worn back home in the summer because to wear anything else would have marked him as different, and Chillicothe, Missouri, didn’t do different. He could have changed his wardrobe in New York like he had changed everything else, but it was one habit from his old life that he hung onto. It felt comfortable somehow, reassuring, even if it did make him sweat like a pig.

The two men left the apartment, taking care to lock all three locks behind them. Even in this neighborhood of well-kept brownstones, there were plenty of break-ins, and Richard feared that one day Anton might come back. The last he’d seen him, Anton Black was running off cradling a hand ruined by Tyrone’s gunshot, fleeing with the survivors of his cult. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Richard had changed the locks just in case. He wasn’t allowed to do that since the apartment wasn’t in his name, so he’d gotten a locksmith Tyrone knew from his underworld connections to do it. The job cost three times as much, but the peace of mind was worth it.

Richard only wished that peace of mind could be complete.

The pair strolled through the oven of summertime Manhattan, keeping to the shady side of the street for a bit of relief. The city stank from the uncollected trash and human filth in the empty lots. They had to work their way around people who had taken chairs or even sofas out of their apartments and put them on the street, desperate for a breath of cool air. People sat in shorts and T-shirts, fanning themselves and pulling drinks from coolers. Others, those who had somewhere to go, trudged wearily along the streets, shirts stained with sweat, damp hair plastered to their heads.

The streets were full of vehicles as usual, though, a honking bumper-to-bumper mass of cars, trucks, and taxis sending out a wave of heat that felt like a wall crashing into the two men as they walked.

They were almost worn out by the time they made it to Times Square. This early on a hot morning, the scene was fairly tame. A few men stared at the shabby movie marquees advertising porno films and 25-cent peep shows with live nude girls. Hustlers, hookers, and dealers stood on street corners waiting for customers. A man with a large sign reading “REPENT OR BURN” walked up and down the sidewalk screaming his head off.

“Maybe if we repent it will break this heat wave,” Richard joked.

Tyrone went to his usual spot in front of a gay porn theater. Richard always got a warm feeling in his heart when he came here. This is where he’d first met him, and where he had his first gay sexual experience. That warm feeling was always touched with a darker one, however, because that sexual experience had been with a closet case who wouldn’t even look at him and had run off when Richard tried to start a conversation. Also, it had been here that he had found the advertisement for Randy Goat Publishing, which led him to Anton Black and opened up a frightening parallel world of demonic lust.

“Better get on the hustle, Country. See you tomorrow.”

Their eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of Tyrone’s mouth. Then he grew serious and looked to the left and right. Richard did the same. It wasn’t safe to show too much affection for another man in public, especially standing in front of a gay theater. They knew several people who had been gay-bashed.

“I’m going to check out the porn shops,” Richard said. “See if there are any notices up for models.”

“Right on. Good luck.”

“Say hi to your mom for me,” Richard said, knowing he wouldn’t. When Tyrone went to the Bronx he entered another world. There he was straight in a culture that demanded that men be men and not show affection for anyone but women. It was his own Missouri. Tyrone’s friends and family in the Bronx would never know he had a boyfriend, any more than Richard’s friends and family back in Missouri would ever know about Tyrone.

Richard did a slow circuit of Times Square. Many porn shops had noticeboards on which, for a quarter, you could put up a card with your phone number and preferences. Some of the smaller studios also put up ads looking for new models for skin mags and pornographic films. A lot of these operations paid crap, or only wanted hardcore stuff. Richard hadn’t done any actual porn, just nude shots. While doing porno films could make him steady money, he felt reluctant to get sucked into that world. He wanted to make all his income just posing in the nude. Now he wondered if that goal was realistic. He’d made good progress in his career and gotten several gigs, but if he hadn’t been living rent-free, he’d have either been forced to get a job waiting tables or start sucking dick for the cameras.

Most of the porn shops had nothing but the usual ads for guys looking to hook up, plus a few ads for studios he knew only did porn. He was beginning to get frustrated, but pinned his hopes on another shop, one of the bigger ones, that he knew had a little gay theater in the basement. This one had a good noticeboard that had led him to some work before.

Unlike in most of the shops, the noticeboard was in the back, possibly to encourage men to be more explicit with what they wrote. Richard entered the shop through a door left open in a futile attempt to catch a breeze. An Italian guy in a mesh shirt sat behind the counter and gave him a smile and a lusty look. Richard smiled back. Perhaps he recognized him from the cover of Hot Young Virgins. A lot of the store owners did.

Richard strolled along the aisles, casually looking at the skin mags. Mandate: The International Magazine of Entertainment & Eros had a new issue out, and so did Playguy. He scanned the rack, looking for a magazine called Exhibit. He was going to be in the next issue. They told him he wasn’t going to make the cover, just an interior spread, but it had been a nice shoot and they’d paid him a hundred bucks.

He found the magazine but was disappointed to see it was still the older issue.

Damn, he thought. I hope it comes out soon. I need more exposure.

To cheer himself up, he kept scanning for a cover he knew he was on.

And there he was, on the glossy, full-color cover of Hot Young Virgins, with one of the best shots he’d ever posed for. It had been taken from above, as if from the point of view of a man standing while Richard was on his knees before the viewer. Richard’s massive erection rose up, pointing to the camera, while his face was upturned, eyes half-closed, and mouth open.

Richard felt a tingling all over. This photo was the first time he imagined having sex with the hooded figure in Anton Black’s photo portfolio. Richard had assumed it was another model, and only later discovered the figure was far more than that.

This shot had come from his very first photoshoot, and it led to his very first time being penetrated. It had led to so much.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Richard remembered what he had come here for and continued to the back of the store. Passing a rack of paperbacks with titles such as Chicken Hawks on the Prowl, and Prisoner Passion, he came to the noticeboard. It stood on the wall next to a dimly lit stairway leading down to the basement. There, he knew from experience, sat a little counter where, for a dollar, you’d get a ticket and go into a stuffy, dank concrete room where a Super 8 projector showed gay porn. The seats were nothing but four rows of folding metal chairs. It was definitely a no-frills sort of place.

That didn’t stop the action, though. He’d gone there one weeknight and ended up leaning against a wall, spread-eagled as though he was getting arrested while three guys took turns fucking him. The other six or seven guys sat and watched, touching themselves as they looked back and forth between the sex on the screen and the hot scene playing out in real life in front of them.

His cock stirred at the memory. He loved being the center of attention in that way. He guessed that’s why he was so good as a model, and why he was generally the bottom when in a group. He liked being on top too, but the bottom always got more attention.

Richard looked at the stairway speculatively. Would there even be anyone down there this early?

“Work first,” he reminded himself, and studied the noticeboard.

Skimming through the usual ads, and skipping an ad for a photo agency he’d heard regularly ripped off their models, he saw an ad he’d never seen before.

“Leather Library seeks real men and smooth teens for its exclusive photo books. Top dollar paid for the right look. Not into the leather scene? Don’t worry, we’ll show you the ropes! We have a full array of clothing and equipment. Models don’t need to provide anything except a hot body and a good attitude.

“Call Mitch Stone at 555-1145.”

Richard didn’t know the leather scene. It was one of the New York gay scene’s subcultures that he hadn’t yet explored. His cock stirred even more. Something new always excited him.

Richard pulled out a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket to write down the number, and then hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t for him? That talk of “showing you the ropes” and a “full array of equipment” sounded like a code. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what it was a code for, although he could guess.

He shrugged and wrote down the number. He’d see how his audition for Blueboy went. If he didn’t get the gig, it couldn’t hurt to check out this Leather Library thing.

Just as he finished writing the note, a hand brushed his ass. A heavyset man passed by him, half turned his head to glance back at Richard, and went down the stairs to the basement theater. He had a dark blue handkerchief in the right rear pocket of his suede bellbottoms. That was a signal that he liked to get fucked. Richard often wore an identical handkerchief himself.

Richard had discovered there was an entire code involving handkerchiefs. A rainbow of colors signified various acts the wearer was interested in. Dark blue meant the wearer was into anal, while light blue was for oral. Red was for fisting, something Richard had never tried. Black was for S&M, which didn’t interest him much, although he was a bit curious. Gray was for bondage, something that had also piqued Richard’s curiosity. The colors brown for scat and yellow for water sports didn’t interest him at all. Purple was for piercing. That was another subculture he knew nothing about, although he’d seen a few guys in the bathhouses who looked like pincushions. Orange was for anything goes. Sometimes he felt like wearing an all-orange outfit while out cruising, but considering what some of the other colors stood for he decided that wouldn’t be wise. And then there was green, which showed the wearer was a hustler. Some of the sleazier photographers and porn shop owners had encouraged him to go into prostitution and promised to hook him up with agencies that would get him dates with high-flying businessmen, big spenders who would show him the good life. Richard didn’t want to do that, though.

If the guy wore the handkerchief in the right rear pocket it meant the man wanted to receive. If he wore it on the left it meant he wanted to give, and since the guy who had just groped him had a dark blue handkerchief in his left pocket, that meant he liked to fuck, that he wanted to be on top. Instead he had it in his right, meaning he was going to that dark little basement in the hope that some stranger would bend him over and fuck him up the ass.

Richard’s pulse quickened, and then he controlled his desire. The guy wasn’t all that attractive. Did he really have to chase after everyone who gave him the eye? Hell, he’d just gotten it on with his boyfriend a couple of hours ago! Tyrone was right; he was a “horny motherfucker.”

Who could blame him? He’d gone through his teenage years with no relief, and now he was finally getting to be himself and able to make all his fantasies come true.

Shaking his head, he tucked the note in his pocket and left the shop, promising himself that he’d have some fun tonight. Right now, though, he had to get home and out of this damn heat.

A half hour later, he’d made it back to his place, flung open all the windows, and stripped naked. There was a small park across the street, and beyond that the nearest building stood far enough away that probably no one over there would see him.

And so what if they did? New Yorkers were rarely shocked. That was one of the things he loved about this town.

He went into the kitchen, chugged half a carton of orange juice, and passed into the living room. Anton had done a good job decorating and he had the money to do it right. The living room had the latest hi-fi stereo with a record player and 8-track, a bearskin rug, a large television, and plush couches. Turning on the TV, he flicked through the channels but found nothing but soap operas and game shows. He turned it off in disgust.

He plunked down on one of the sofas. It wasn’t even noon and he was totally bored. What could he do for the rest of the day? The heat made him listless. He didn’t even feel like listening to the radio or reading. Plus, he was horny. The casual hand on his ass had set his hormones buzzing. Besides, walking around naked in the apartment always got him stiff. He touched his cock and then stopped. No, he wouldn’t jack off. That was stupid when he could get real sex anytime he wanted.

His eyes strayed to the hallway. He resisted the urge to get up, but knew it was in vain.

A minute later he stood with his ear pressed against the locked door, the summoning room, the weak spot in the barrier between two worlds that Anton and his cult had prepared in this apartment.

He didn’t unlock the door. He didn’t dare. At times, late at night, he heard sounds in there, whispers and footsteps. Tyrone never heard them, because Tyrone was a regular human being. Richard was sensitive. He was more open to the demon world. That’s why Anton had chosen him for the virgin sacrifice.

And now that sensitivity made every nerve ending in his body come alive. He pressed his entire body against the warm wood, moving his hips just a little to give a bit of friction to his cock. He kept his ear pressed against the door, hand on the lock but the key safely tucked away in another room. Richard stood there and listened to the whisperings and distant footsteps, the faint sound of wind blowing over a blasted plain. He listened to the other world.

The world calling to him.