Chapter 39 Colton’s Wild Ride #2
Another figure emerged, maskless, from the shadows and stood facing Colton for only the second time in the three years they had shared the campus at MCU: William. Skinny, big-headed, effeminate William assessed his former lover in the headlights.
“Hello, dahling,” William said. “As to your first question, we’re the Gay Mafia, and I am their godmother. As to what we want, the answer is simple: You. It’s Judgment Day.”
Colton regained his haughtiness. “Of course, a fairy mafia would have a fairy godmother! How did you get the job? Limpest wrist?”
Matt dropped the bolt cutters. “Lion! Pirate!” he barked, “Teach Colton some respect for the Godmother!”
Josh—the Lion—with his All-American boy physique, lunged forward and drove his fist into Colton’s gut.
Colton doubled over, sputtering.
Josh grabbed Colton by the shoulders, hoisted him upright, and held him in place while Evan punched him in the gut as well.
“How’s that for limp wristed?” Evan asked. “Shall I try again?”
Colton collapsed to his knees, leaned forward and heaved up the contents of his stomach. Vomit splashed on the gravel. He sucked in air and then hurled up more.
Finally, gasping, he wiped his slimy mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, then sat in the gravel moaning.
A cloying, acrid smell wafted through the air. Matt’s eyes watered.
William, who had winced and turned away from the violence and its aftermath, walked over and knelt in the gravel beside Colton, careful where he stepped.
William reached around his neck and unclasped the chain that held the ring Colton had once given him. He examined the ring, re-reading the inscription, then held it out to Colton.
“I’ve worn this for the last three years,” he whispered. “I hoped you would return to me.”
William’s voice broke. He paused to gain his composure.
“There’s a part of me that still loves you, Colton,” he said, “but I have to let you go.”
Colton looked up. Locked eyes with William. Reached for the ring. He held it briefly…smiled…then dropped it into the soupy, salmon-colored pile that surrounded him.
“That’s probably where it belongs,” William sighed.
He leaned in and kissed Colton’s forehead. “Goodbye.”
William stood, wiped his eyes. “I’ll wait in the Jeep,” he said to Evan. “Tell Matthew to let me know when to make the phone call.”
Evan nodded grimly, looked at Matt, who had been standing right beside him.
Matt sighed. He had hoped that one of the outcomes of this day would be William’s forgiving him and speaking to him again, but that was obviously not happening.
“Stand up!” Matt ordered Colton.
Colton struggled to his feet.
Evan and Josh took positions flanking him, periodically wincing as the stench washed over them. It rolled in and out like the tide.
Clown, Princess, and the Devil closed in.
Matt noticed Bella standing in the shadows, watching. She had never met Colton. It would be good for her to get a first-hand impression of the guy’s charms.
Matt shot her a smile.
“Colton Langley!” Matt barked. “You stand accused of waging war on your fellow gays. How do you plead?”
“Since I’m not queer,” Colton said. “I’m not your ‘fellow’ anything.”
Matt addressed the GM members, the jury who would decide Colton’s fate. “You should all know that the defendant told me earlier I would have to suck his cock tonight. He implied that there would be future encounters involving more than my mouth. But—for the record—Colton Langley is not gay.”
Laughter pierced the air.
Colton stared at his feet. He mumbled his normal “any port” refrain.
Kevin, in his Devil mask, spoke up. “Has the defendant ever docked in a female ‘port’ during any of these so-called ‘storms?’ Or just guys’ mouths and guys’ holes?”
“Any male port in a storm!” Luke/Princess quipped.
More laughter.
Colton glared.
Matt held up a hand for silence. He turned to Colton. “On the drive here, you admitted to your crimes against gays. You even bragged about them. You showed no remorse. Do you deny that?”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Colton said. “Wrap up your little show trial and find me guilty, if that’s what it takes for you to feel better about yourselves.
Then, we’ll get down to business and cut a deal.
I mean, you’ve scared me, right? Message received, loud and clear.
I’ll leave you fairies alone all the way through my next term as president of SGA.
That’ll get you to May ’97, when I graduate and move on. Deal?”
Matt gave a cheshire cat grin. “So, are you admitting guilt about getting Adam kicked out of school? Blackmailing Paul? Getting Debbie fired? Planning to steal William’s ‘fairy letters’ and use them to get him expelled?”
“Sure. Whatever. Guilty as charged,” Colton said airily.
“You heard him,” Matt said to the GM jury. “It’s time for your verdict. Raise your hand if you find Colton Langley guilty.”
Five hands shot up. Matt raised his as well.
“It’s unanimous,” Matt announced. “Guilty.”
“There!” Colton crowed. “You’ve had your ‘Kumbaya’ moment! Feel better? Can I go now?”
Matt pasted on a smile. “This calls for a drink, wouldn’t you say?”
Colton shrugged.
Matt retrieved the bolt cutters from the ground, held them out. “Clown,” he said to Jake, “take these to your car. When you return, please bring the vodka. Both bottles.”
Jake left with the bolt cutters, returned a minute later with two bottles of vodka.
Matt opened the bottles, handed one to Colton, and kept the other.
“Cheers!” he said, clinking Colton’s bottle and taking a swig from his own.
Colton returned the gesture and took a drink.
“Again!” Matt tipped his bottle to his lips.
Colton did the same.
When Matt suggested a third round, Colton declined.
“I’ve had enough,” he said, holding out his bottle. “I need to return to campus. Can you have someone move the Jeep or the Jetta? They’re blocking me in.”
Matt shook his head. Any trace of a smile was gone. “You’re not going anywhere. Take another drink. I need you wasted when the police arrive.”
“Police?” Colton’s eyes went wide with surprise. “You fairies do realize that none of the stuff I confessed to is an actual crime, right? That the police can’t do anything about it?”
Evan draped an arm over Colton’s shoulder, squeezed it menacingly.
Josh took hold of Colton’s vodka bottle and guided it towards his lips. “Drink up, buddy.”
Colton screamed and tried to wrench himself free.
“Listen to me, Colton!” Matt said. “You’re getting drunk one way or another. You can either ingest that vodka through your mouth and preserve what little dignity you have left, or—”
“Or w-what?” Colton’s voice was soft, scared.
“Or Pirate and Lion will pull your pants down and hold you by your ankles while I shove the bottle in your ass and let gravity do the job. Either way, in about fifteen minutes, you’ll be drunk. You have my word on that.”
Colton started bawling. Begging. Offering money from his trust fund.
“SUCK IT UP, BUTTERCUP!” Matt snarled. He’d waited a long time to say that. And, yes, it felt good.
“Get his pants down!” Matt ordered Josh and Evan.
Josh secured Colton in a head lock with one hand, held the vodka bottle with the other. Evan grappled with Colton’s pants, unbuttoning them and tugging.
Colton screamed and squirmed, even tried biting Josh’s arm.
“SHIT!” Evan exclaimed. He scrambled backwards, almost slipping in the vomit pile.
“What?” Matt was alarmed.
Evan pointed to Colton. “He SHIT himself! The fucker SHIT himself!”
“YUCK! GROSS! EEEEEEW!” Josh released his headlock, jumped back, taking the vodka bottle with him.
Colton stood there wailing William’s name. His pants and underwear hung around his thighs, leaking goo. He held both hands over his shriveled dick, whether to protect it from shit splatter or from modesty, anyone’s guess
Pandemonium ensued.
The stench of shit, piss, and puke had Evan gagging—not vomiting per se, but bent over, contemplating it—definitely in cookie tossing territory.
Colton was a basket case, vibrating like a possessed blender, agitating the vomit at his feet and the shit in his shorts, calling out to God and William—anyone really. Sobbing himself through all the stages of grief and going through them again.
Josh sought refuge from the smell, and squatted, sipping from Colton’s vodka bottle, seeking his happy place.
Princess, Clown, and the Devil looked on in morbid fascination, like looky-loos at a train wreck.
Matt felt like the universe was mocking him.
Time was on Colton’s side. It was close to 7:00 p.m. Molly had to have her pictures snapped, developed, and submitted to the Daily Oklahoman by the 10:00 print deadline.
Otherwise, all of this would have been for naught.
If the Langley family had the opportunity to unleash their myriad resources, the whole story would be buried.
Matt still clutched his bottle of vodka. It was tempting to follow Josh’s lead and drown his sorrows away.
And then Bella Bottoms joined the fray!
Her 3-inch heels teetered in the gravel. Her glossy, black wig—French twist and curls—wobbled precariously. She towered over them all. A large handbag swung from one arm like a pendulum bob.
She put a hand on Colton’s cheek. “Calm down, baby,” she soothed, a modern Edith Cavill tending to battlefield wounded.
Colton stared up—UP—at Bella and stopped his caterwauling. His mouth gaped open.
Bella assessed the situation. “Colton,” she said. “That’s your name, right? Quit worrying about your willie and let’s get you cleaned up. Reach in your pocket and retrieve your car keys. Hand them to me for safekeeping, ‘cause those clothes you’re wearing need to be blowtorched.”
Matt, watching and listening, expected Colton to refuse. There were plenty of words to describe the guy, but na?ve and trusting were not among them.
And yet—unbelievably, Colton surrendered his keys without protest.
“Who are you?” he asked Bella in a little boy voice.