If you are reading this and haven't seen the first twelve Chapters of The Dover Brothers go to Chapter One--GO NOW! Shoo, shoo! Once you've read the disclaimer there and you want to continue then--enjoy! If you didn't do what I just instructed on your own head be it!
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Thanks to those of you who were kind enough to write and tell me what you think of the continuing adventures of The Detective and the Druid. (I even got a note from Josh in the south of France--thank you!) If you are enjoying reading my work as much as I am writing it, we are both pretty happy! Questions, comments, suggestions and complaints are always welcome. Drop me a line at HonableRonable@gmail.com; I love to hear from you.
I lifted the name "Catfish" from a series of stories by Bob Archman AKA bldhrymn@yahoo.com . Aside from the name and the fact both characters are short I don't think there's much in the way of similarities. Still, you might want to check out his work. You may well enjoy it; I know I did.
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Catfish at the Firehouse
CHARACTERS
Ben Dover, Age 46 - our unlucky-in-love Hero
Nils Gustafsen, Age 32 -- Neophyte Magician
Sgt. Sam Southwick, Age 26 -- Kings Harbor PD
Fiona Foxworth-Cleighbourne, Age 55 - Realtor
Caleb "Catfish" Calhoun, Age 33 - Damaged Afghanistan War Veteran
Cliff Dover, Age 38 -- Ben's younger Brother and Archdruid
John-Thomas Bilodeau, Age 41, Druid specializing in mental magic and Cliff's live-in boyfriend
"Fuck me! Fuck me! God damnit FUCK ME!" Ben found the peace of his walk in the Seacliff Sequoia Grove shattered by a familiar tenor voice. Nils Gustafsen, a former drug-addicted crime victim and abused spouse was seemingly getting himself well fucked and if the delighted screams and happy grunts were any indication both parties were having a grand time. The Texan wondered who the blond triathlete had lured up into the treehouse. Curiosity got the best of him so the man decided to solve the mystery by a little judicious investigation.
Ben found the initial clue at the base of the stairs leading to the first level of the Tree House. Nils had tossed off his expensive running shoes with gay abandon but a pair of sturdy yet inexpensive hiking boots were lined up neatly with socks carefully arranged inside. The boots were scuffed so the owner was likely not nearly as wealthy as Nils Gustafsen. He was a big man--or else a small man with HUGE feet! Next up was a Kings College T-shirt in size Medium that likely belonged to Nils; it too was tossed aside with no thought for later. A bit further up was a neatly-folded plaid shirt in 2XL from JC Penney. (Nils didn't care for sloppy fat men so its owner was clearly a big, in-shape dude. Next up was a pair of Under Armour ™ shorts and a jock in a waist-size that would just about fit a runner like Nils. The next level up yielded a pair of carefully arranged Plain Pockets ™ jeans and a pair of Fruit of the Loom ™ Boxer Briefs in white.
Ben was beginning to have a pretty good idea who he was going to find in the hanging bed at the top of the tree house and his suspicions were confirmed when he found Nils going to town atop Sgt. Sam Southwick. Both men were clearly thoroughly enjoying themselves. The Texan cleared his throat.
Sam, at least, had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed but he kept thrusting upward into his partner's grasping hole. "Um--hey Ben..." he said. "Hope we weren't disturbing you..."
"I was curious," the Texan rumbled. "I was pretty sure it was Nils up here. I wondered who was with him since Orlando Ojeda is out o' th' picture f'r good `n' all."
Nils ground his willing ass down on Sam's thrusting rod. "They say the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone else!" the blond commented with a wicked twinkle. "I was under sweet Sam the last round! Now it's my turn to be on top!"
"So--what `r ya doin' here Nils?" Ben wanted to know. "I thought you'd moved back t' Farpoint Station..."
"Oh--umnh--I did!" the blond man replied as he humped a little harder on his lover's erection. "I finally discovered my path--Runic Magic! We were trying one out!"
"It's a `stamina' rune," the young Cop said, glancing down at a complex pattern painted on his chest. "I've come three times--hard! And there's no telling when I'll go soft!"
"Be careful o' erections lastin' more `n four hours!" Ben quipped adopting a line from an ED medication commercial.
"I cleared it with your brother!" Nils told him. "He says as long as we have a protein-heavy meal we'll be fine! So--you want to come join us?" He gave Ben a saucy wink. "There are plenty of open holes and I know Sam would love to have another go at you!"
"I think I'll pass..." Ben said. "I'm goin' downtown t' look at a piece o' property..."
"The Firehouse!" Nils said with a broad smile. (Since Ben knew he hadn't said anything to anyone but Ethan about wanting to buy the place he realized the other man had just had a moment of awen. "It's going to be a great place when you're done with the refurbishment!"
"Nice t' know!" Ben replied. "I'll leave you boys t' y'r sport then..."
"That's good!" Nils said. "I'm CUMMIIIIIIIIIIIING!"
Sam grunted and thrust his hips upward in his own orgasm. "Have fun children!" Ben said as he headed back down to the ground.
"So," Nils told his new boyfriend, "how about we do it doggie-style again? That way you can fuck me really hard and deep!"
"Thanks f'r meetin' with me Miz Fiona," Ben said as he and the woman sat down at his "favorite" table at Dedrich's Coffee. "I realize buyin a buildin' like this might be a bit out o' y'r expertise..."
"Frankly Ben dear, marketing the Firehouse is a bit out of every Realtor's expertise!" the woman replied with a smile. Fiona Foxworth-Cleighbourne hardly looked her fifty-five years; her hair was still as red as her son Rod and her nephew Charles (who Ben knew as CC) and her skin was still smooth. Ben guessed this high-class Southern Belle was either the product of excellent genetics, expensive plastic surgery or maybe some "exotic" assistance. Maybe a combination of all three. Still, she was kind, helpful and above all, highly professional. "I was surprised when the city seemed amenable to your purchase but a commission is a commission!"
"So--what c'n ya tell me `bout th' property Ma'am?"
"Fire Station #2, sometimes called the Canal Street Station was first opened in 1926," Fiona told him after consulting her tablet. "It remained in use until 2006 when the new Portside Station took it's place; the dock at the old building was too small for either of the city's Fire Boats! That part of town had begun gentrifying at the same time so the NIMBYs were just as happy to see it gone. There have been several proposals to either refurbish or tear the place down since then but they all fell through!"
"I guess it's m' lucky day then!" Ben commented as he sipped his Chai.
"This is going to be a pretty major renovation..." Fiona said. "Are you up for that kind of a challenge? I'd hate for you to buy the place and get buried under all the unexpected challenges! If you'd rather I can show you some lovely, already done, or minor-reno properties...."
"Ma'am--I need a project..." Ben rumbled. "I need somethin' t' take m' mind off--things..."
"Oh God Ben, I'm so sorry!" Fiona gave the Texan's hand a comforting squeeze. "Charles was the reason you were at Rainbow's End the night of the shooting! Is it still bothering you?"
"Some," Ben admitted. Experiencing Sully's death both physically and psychically had rocked him to the core and the Texan still had the occasional restless night where he laid awake wondering if there was something, anything he could have done to change the outcome. "Even as a Cop y' never get used t' havin' t' kill someone..." He didn't mention the carnage or the fact that the massacre was orchestrated by the Sons of Purity for their own reasons. "I need somethin' t' take m' mind off that mess. If I have a real-world problem there won't be time for woulda/shoulda/coulda!"
"I want you to know the Foxworth family is eternally in your debt," the woman told him. "You saved my Nephew Charles and God-knows-how-many others by what you did! It would have been so much worse without people like you and Officer Sullivan there..."
Now it was Ben's turn to offer comfort. "Ma'am I was just doin' m' job!"
"Are you ready to go look at the property?" Fiona asked after taking a moment to get her emotions under control. "Midday will be a great time to look the place over since I don't think the city has the power connected."
The pair finished their drinks then Fiona drove them to the Canal Street address. Ben stepped out of her BMW SUV to examine the imposing brick structure. "Four o' them five roll-up doors have got t' come out," he observed, "an' I'll need t' get rid o a lot o' this concrete! I want a tiny bit o' green space to soften the structure a bit."
"There's a pocket park on the next block if you ever get a dog," the Realtor told Ben. "But, yes, I think a bit of greenery would be nice!"
"That buildin' over t' th' side," Ben said, indicating a one-story structure, "is that mine `r does it b'long t' another property?"
"It comes with the Firehouse," Fiona replied. "That's a five-car oversized garage. They used to park ambulances, paramedics vans and the Chief's car in there; the driveway goes clear back to the canal and has dock access!"
"This much parking in this neighborhood?" Ben commented as he walked back toward the canal. "I'm s'prised nobody has bought th' place just f'r that alone!"
"That and the fully-functioning boat lift the city installed!" Fiona quipped. "They put it in a few months before the Firehouse was decommissioned. Very likely because someone on the City Council or Planning Commission owed or wanted a favor."
"I understand that's how things r' done round here," Ben observed. "How many palms am I gonna hafta grease b'fore they let me buy this place?"
"With any luck--none!" the Realtor replied. "Now that the Reformers have a foothold on the City Council our established Politicians are striving to make sure they stay in office--hence no hanky panky! Would you like to see the inside now?"
"Lemmie take a quick look at th' Boat Lift," Ben said. "Since I'm livin' near th' Ocean I might actually want to think about buyin' somethin'..."
"We live out on Queen Elizabeth Island," Fiona told him. "My husband and the kids are out on the water most weekends while I'm working! Still, they love it and it makes me happy to see them enjoying themselves."
Ben was tempted to ask what the woman thought of her son having a relationship with another young man but decided that was really none of his business. Rod seemed to be nice enough and Ben knew he and his boyfriend Scott were both smart as whips. He also didn't feel the need to mention anything about the boys' "daddy" fixation but instead concentrated on examining the Boat Lift until something else caught his eye.
"Is anyone meetin' us here?"
"I--don't think so..." Fiona replied. "Why do you ask?"
Ben pointed. "Th' back door is open."
"Damn!" The Realtor reached for her phone. "We've probably got some squatters; just let me call the Police--they'll run them out!"
The awen seized Ben in an unexpected flash. "Don't do that!" he snapped. "We'll handle this rselves..." The woman looked surprised but was quick to comply as she followed Ben inside. Most of the downstairs was one large open room with roll-up doors on the front and back. "I guess this is where they kept the Engines," the Texan observed. "Floors r' concrete and stained beyond repair but we c'n lay wood over top!"
"The Captain's Office is through that door," she said. "Down the hall is a store room, lavatory and the stairs to the second level."
"Stay close t' th' exit," Ben instructed. "I'll check th' Office an' other rooms on this level--see if we have anyone t' home!" The man was making plenty of noise to give whoever was in the building plenty of notice that he was coming. The Captain's Office had signs someone was camping in there but there was nobody in evidence at present. The downstairs bathroom showed signs of use but again nobody was there and the Storage Room was empty as well. "I'm goin' t' check the Second Floor Miz Fiona," he announced: then, in a quieter voice, "you catch wind of a scuffle upstairs y' beat feat f'r your SUV, close `n' lock th' doors then call th' Cops! Got it?" She nodded as Ben setoff.
Upstairs the place was considerably dirtier but this gave the Texan a clear set of footprints to follow. Ben took a brief notice of the large Lounge space and a big old-fashioned Kitchen in need of a lot of love before following the trail to what he assumed was a corner bedroom. The door was closed so Ben knocked politely. There was no answer so the man swung the door open. Inside he was confronted with a well-constructed loft bed, a battered but tidy desk and a few random bits and bobs. Huddled in the corner was a man in a green army jacket doing his best to be invisible. The awen told him the man was frightened so he spoke softly. "Howdy Son--c'n we talk--please?"
The stranger looked up at Ben with wounded green eyes. "Are ya gonna take m' house away from me?" he asked in a voice straight from the Great Smokey Mountains. "I knew I'd hafta move on eventually..."
"This isn't exactly YOUR house..." Ben pointed out. "You're just squatting here. Sooner `r later somebody was bound t' come along an' move ya out."
"I s'pose I better git mah things `n' move along then..." the stranger said with a dispirited nod. "Too bad--this place was mighty nice while it lasted!"
"I won't MAKE ya move..." Ben promised. "We'll find ya some place safe! I promise!"
A brief flash of hope crossed the man's face and Ben realized the stranger could be quite handsome if he was cleaned up. "Y're a might kind man Sir," he said. "I c'n feel that! Ya ain't lyin'..."
He's some kind of Psi! Ben realized. {{Can you hear this?}} he projected.
"I don't get words Sir," the man replied. (Which made the Texan wonder if he was unconsciously picking up his sending.) "I just read feelin's..."
He's an Empath! Ben realized, probably strong and completely untrained. "Son--is that your jacket?" The big man was broadcasting a feeling of calm reassurance that seemed to ease the stranger.
"Yes Sir!" the man replied. "I've had it since I was in th' Marines..."
"My name's Ben," the big man said, still broadcasting cool, calm thoughts. "I can't keep callin' ya `Son'--what's y'r name?"
"Catfish Sir!" the stranger told him. "Actually, mah first name is Caleb' but ever'body has called me Catfish' since I was a tadling!"
Bit by painful bit the big man drew out Catfish's life story. Born and raised in Appalachia he grew up feeling "different", coming soon to the realization that difference equaled "bad". His empathic abilities kicked in early allowing him to sense the emotions and feelings of those around him and he never had training to learn to deal with sensations that overwhelmed him. In his teens the young man began a tentative exploration of his sexual side with an older Cousin but when the two were caught fooling around in the barn Catfish was exiled from his family.
The State forced the parents to keep Catfish until his eighteenth birthday (although Ben could only imagine the hellish year-and-a-half the boy had with them). Once he graduated from High School the boy enlisted and was promptly shipped off to the Middle East--certainly no place for a strong, untrained Empath. A caravan Catfish was escorting got caught by a surprise attack and most of the men were killed--and the young man experienced every death as if it were his own. That had left him so traumatized he couldn't function and the Marines (in all their kindness and wisdom) had simply dumped him stateside.
Catfish was left homeless in Los Angeles where he eventually made his way to King's Harbor; he'd found a little peace in the City by the Sea and a refuge in the empty Firehouse but now was terrified that he was going to lose the only "real" home he had. The man wasn't without talent; the loft bed he'd put together from "liberated" scrap wood proved that as dd some amazing art object made from upcycled trash Ben knew there was good bones to work with here and that he'd found another project.
"Catfish," he said once the long meandering story had drawn to a close, "I think ya sh'd come with me. I know a place with some nice folks that c'n help ya deal with what's botherin' you."
"Ya ain't takin' me ta the VA, are ya Sir?" the young man asked, suddenly frightened again. "I HATE that place! All them angry, hurt, sufferin' folks with overworked people tryin' t' help `em! I can't go there again!"
"I know," the big man replied, projecting calm confidence and gentle reassurance. "Ya ain't ready f'r th' VA an' Lord knows they ain't equipped t' deal with y'r problems! No Son--I want ya t' come t' m' brother Cliff's house. He has a friend livin' there who understands mental stuff! He helped me through a dark time an' I'm sure he c'n do the same f'r you!"
Catfish looked up at Ben, daring to hope. "Why would ya do this f'r me Sir?" he asked. "Ya don't even know me!"
"Son, we're a lot alike," Ben told him, still carefully broadcasting what he wanted the other man to feel. "I was a Veteran an' I know how tough th' Middle East c'n be on anyone--let alone an untrained Empath like y'rself!"
"Is that where ya lost y'r eye Sir?"
"Nah--that came later," the Texan replied, "an' that's a story f'r another time! All ya need t' know is that I WILL be there t' help `n' pr'tect you! I know about Special Powers; I've got one m'self. It's sim'lar t' yours an' I know how difficult it c'n be. John-Thomas helped me through m' dark times an' he'll help you too--if ya let im... Once th' Firehouse is made into a proper home you c'n come back here an' stay with me as long as ya like! You've got a talent f'r woodworkin' an' carpentry ol' Son; I think ya c'd do right well f'r y'rself once you've got your Empathic abilities under control!"
"They'll help me?" he asked.
"They're kind men," the brown-haired Texan replied. "Seacliff Manor is a safe `n' peaceful place. You've got nothin' t fear there!"
Fiona, unable to control her curiosity finally came upstairs and peeked into the room where the two men were talking. "Is everything OK up here?" she asked. "I got a bit worried!"
Ben looked up and gave the Realtor a reassuring smile while still projecting feelings of calm and ease. "This is Catfish Ma'am," he rumbled. "Th' two of us had a nice chat; I'll be takin' im back t' Seacliff with me. Maybe th' Druids c'n help im out a bit."
The redhead tried to keep her doubtful thoughts off her face but both Ben and Catfish caught it. Still, she spoke pleasantly. "Charles and Rod both speak highly of your brother and John-Thomas," she finally said. "Ben--are you sure about this!"
The big man nodded. "Ma'am--sure enough t' make a full-price, all cash offer with zero-conditions!" he told her. "We'll take care o' Catfish n git im fixed up then he c'n move back here with me once the place is done!"
"I'll go write the offer and present it to the City!" Whether the woman was blinded by an easy commission or utterly convinced by Ben's calm certainty she no longer seemed willing to argue.
"Catfish--gather up th' stuff you think you'll want," Ben told the younger man. "Ya won't be livin' here for a while..."
Later in the day Ben, his brother Cliff and Cliff's live-in boyfriend John-Thomas were strolling in the Sequoia grove enjoying the westerly "Sundowner" breezes. "Ben--you were always one to pick up strays!" Cliff teased the older man. "Now you're bringing home people? What would Mom say?"
"Prob'ly thank ya f'r y'r act o' Christian charity!" the man replied.
"Well that's true enough," the blond Archdruid agreed. "So--why did you pick up some homeless rando?"
"He's hardly a `rando', as you put it!" John-Thomas rebuked. "Catfish is an untrained Empath--probably one of the strongest ones I've ever seen! Add to that he might also be a nascent Telepath and you've got somebody who desperately needs help!"
"Which I trust you c'n provide?" Ben said.
"I think he wants help," the tall brown-haired Druid replied. "We're lucky he didn't try to fry himself with drugs or alcohol or kill himself to make the feelings stop. That's a good sign right there!"
"I'll provide him a safe haven while he recovers," Cliff said. "John-Thomas has the skills so your boy is in good hands!"
"I want you to help!" John-Thomas told Ben. "Catfish likes and respects you so you'll be an anchor for him when the psychic seas get rough..."
"Count on it!" the big Texan said. "We may not be able t' save ever'body but it makes all th' difference in th' world t' the one we can..."
END CHAPTER THIRTEEN