Max sped down the interstate, headed for his hotel. Once there he would spend the next several hours catching up on his reading, reviewing fallback plans, exercising and resting. He has always been a fitness buff and the past several months of forced inactivity had wreaked havoc on his body beyond the affects of the disease that had nearly killed him.

A local cop stopped him on the way back to the hotel. The law did not take kindly to violations of the Indentured Confidentiality Act. When questioned about how he had learned his nephew’s whereabouts he lied. He explained that when he got well enough to understand what had happened to his family he immediately sent a representative to the nearest center to try and locate Brandon. When that didn’t get him anywhere he went in person and appealed to the head of the center directly. The woman had been sympathetic but completely unhelpful beyond advising him of his rights and options under the law, all of which he already knew.

That part was actually true. Max had sent a rep because he was still not supposed to be out of bed at that point. He had known what would happen but half of what he did was create plausible covers for all the otherwise inexplicable shit that happened around him. When the proxy hit a wall he ignored his doctors, hired a driver and showed up at the same center in a wheelchair and pajamas, the very picture of misery.

Most of the staff had felt bad for him. It really was a pretty tragic scenario when you thought about it. But they couldn’t help him without risking jail and unemployment. Max had played the distraught and thwarted relative role even as he plundered the minds of everyone around him. When you knew how, telepathy was easy. Covering up how you actually came by all manner of information you weren’t supposed to have was the tricky part.

“Somebody must have felt sorry for me because a few days later I got an anonymous note.” Max told the officer. “The return address was actually from a local pizza place. It contained Chastain’s name and address. I copied it down, tore up the note and envelope and flushed them. So I’m afraid I can’t help you out. Sorry.”

The cop scolded him about violating confidentiality but really there was nothing he could do. The law forbade giving out the information or seeking to bribe Bureau personnel to acquire it. Acting on an anonymous tip was frowned upon but technically legal .

At six pm Max pulled back up in front of the Chastain residence. Owen was already home, his late model SUV parked in the drive. Owen was waiting for him on the porch. He was, like most people, taller than Max. An engineer by trade and almost ten years Max’s senior the overweight, balding man was just a couple years shy of being three times as old as the teenager he’d spent the last three months fucking in the ass on a nightly basis. A quick peek inside the house showed Brandon upstairs locked in dog kennel.

Max decided enough was enough. He reached out with his mind and cracked several of the pipes that fed the underground sprinkler system. Then he turned the water on just enough to send it through the pipes but not enough to activate the sprinkler heads. By morning the lawn would be a swamp.

“Mr Krier.” Owen greeted him. If there was no overt hostility in the words neither was there any particular warmth.

“Mr. Chastain.” Max replied. The two men shook and Max helped himself to several key pieces of information from inside his opponent’s brain. The way things looked to be heading they would prove useful in the coming days.

“I’ll come right to the point Owen.” Max said “May I call you Owen?”

“I prefer Mr. Chastain.”

“And I prefer my nephew not get ‘disciplined’ for something he didn’t do. I’ll make this simple.”

Max set the briefcase he was carrying on the porch railing and opened it up. He pulled several bundles of cash from inside, dropped them carelessly on the porch and re-closed the case. Then he stacked the bundles atop the case and presented it to Chastain, holding it like a pizza delivery guy holding a fresh pie for a hungry customer.

Owen looked at the top of the briefcase. Max had carefully stacked fifteen one-hundred count bundles of one hundred dollar bills on it in five stacks of three. More money was still inside the case. A lot more. And Krier was treating it like it had been printed by Milton Bradley rather than the US treasury.

“This right here is double what you paid for my nephew.” Max told him. “Now personally, the idea of buying my own flesh and blood from someone turns my stomach. But I’m trying to be reasonable about this. The way I see it, even with food and clothing, additional utilities and wear and tear on your house you’re still ahead by a serious margin. You can take this, lie to the feds, tell them whatever purchase price you like for tax purposes and I’ll sign off on it. Then you can go out tomorrow and buy yourself a new kid . Or two if you like. I honestly don’t care. All I care about is my sister’s son. Where is he by the way? I was hoping to see him.”

“I’m sorry Max but I’m going to have to decline.” Chastain said. “I’ve grown very fond of Brandon and I’ve no interest in letting him go. Now, if you’d like, we can arrange a visitation schedule. I understand you travel out this way frequently. I’m not against letting him see you. You can even send him birthday and Christmas presents if you like. Maybe even the occasional care package. I’m not heartless.”

No. Max thought You’re just a fucking middle-aged pervert who likes who to cornhole kids, lock them up in dog kennels and zap them with electricity when you get in a bad mood. Asshole.

What Max said was. “Could I get you to hold what’s on top for just a second please? I don’t want it spilling everywhere.”

Owen took the money after making it clear to Max that he wasn’t accepting the offer. Max opened the case again and pulled out another seventy-five k. He pilled that on top the same way he had the original amount.

“Ever seen a quarter million dollars in one place Owen?” he asked. “Because there’s double that here. Think about it. We’re talking almost three times what you make in a year. And for what? A kid you know doesn’t want to be in your bed, no matter how obedient he might be when you summon him there? Come on!”

“Now, I don’t blame you for what happened three months ago. Shit, I blame myself. You saw a young, good looking kid available for sale and you did what most guys with the resources and the law on their side would do. You whipped out your wallet and bought yourself a prime piece of ass. Perfectly natural and reasonable thing to do under the circumstances. No way you could have known at the time that there was someone out there with the interest and resources to rescue the boy.

But I’m here now. And I’m making you an extremely generous offer. So why not be reasonable? Take the money. Shit, take all of it! You think I care ?”

Owen actually gave the offer some thought. He would have been stupid not to. Max Krier was much as Brandon had described him; rich, relentless and focused to the point of obsession on retrieving the boy. The problem was, he had meant what he said. He had come to care about Brandon a lot. He was good looking, charming and fun to have around. And for all that he was hetero the kid was fantastic in bed. He had no intention of giving him up for any amount of money.

Max sighed when Owen said as much. “You know Mr. Chastain,” he said as he put the bundles of cash back in the case “I really wish we could have come to an understanding. It’s too bad really. But it doesn’t change anything. Whether you decide to be reasonable or try and fight me the result is gonna be the same. Brandon’s coming home with me. I promised him and I promised my sister.”

“I thought your sister was dead." Owen said "And for all your confidence Mr. Krier you forget; the law is on my side.”

“She is dead.” Max snapped. “Thanks for reminding me. The promise I made was when Brandon was born. I was in the delivery room and I promised her I’d always look out for him. As for my confidence, it comes down to resources and priorities. I’ve got more at my disposal than you ever will. And only one priority;" Max punctuated his next words with a jab of one finger at the house behind Owen. "that kid.”

He handed Chastain a business card from his store. His name, cell phone and where he was staying were written on the back.“You take twelve hours and think about it. The offer’s good til then. Half a million in cash for somebody you paid seventy-five thousand for. After that, I start exploring less expensive solutions. Good night.”

Max got in his car and drove off then. As he drove past the Carmody home the fasteners holding up their fifty-six inch flat screen TV came loose from the wall. It fell to the floor, smashed into several thousand dollars of useless landfill fodder and nearly squashed the family’s weird, alien-looking bald cat.

When he got several miles away Max pulled over in a secluded spot and took out the pre-paid he had used the previous day. Charlize answered on the third ring.

“Yes Mr. Krier?”

“Hey, how’s everything at home?” Max asked.

“Everyone’s fine. I managed to reach April’s grandmother. Her flight leaves tomorrow. You did say first class was alright?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, no problem. And Sonya?”

“Her Aunt is proving hard to reach but I left a message. It may take a little longer. How are things on your end?”

“Not going as well as I’d hoped. Some people just don’t respond well to diplomacy. What’s the status on the website upgrade?”

“I’ve got most of the graphics you asked for but some of the coding is proving tricky. Why? When did you want to go live?”

“Tomorrow, day after maybe. Think you can get a working rough by then?”

“With the right language, I should, yes.”

“Good girl. Got some other info for you on that, got a pen?”

There was a rustle of paper on the other end. “Go ahead.”

Max proceeded to give her everything he had plundered from Chastain’s mind. It would fill in the missing gaps Charlize needed to handle things on her end if Owen decided to continue being a hard ass.

“I know it’s short notice hon but I’d really like to go live this time tomorrow. If you can make it happen I’ll see if I can’t find a few bucks in the budget for a nice bonus.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“All I ever ask. Talk to you tomorrow. Hug the girls for me.”

Max went to bed early that night. He went back to the hotel, did some cardio and a few minutes of boxing and kung-fu forms, had dinner and was asleep by ten. His body was mending fast from the disease that had devastated it but he knew better than to overdo it, especially over the next twenty-four hours.

The alarm went off at five am. Max groaned and said several bad words. He had never been a morning person. Very little happened in his life before nine or ten am. Still, business was business and you worked the job, not the hours. His grandfather had taught him that.

After a shower and some time in the fitness center he hopped in the car and drove back to Owen Chastain’s neighborhood. The briefcase full of money and a bag of clothing in Brandon’s size were in the Impala’s trunk. Who knew, maybe his intuition would be wrong and Owen had seen the wisdom of playing ball.

He pulled up in front of the house a few minutes after seven. An en route fast food drive-thru had provided breakfast. The front yard was a flooded-out marsh thanks to his little stunt the night before. Max grinned into his second cup of coffee and looked inside the house. Brandon was downstairs making his “master” breakfast. A trip through his nephew’s thoughts revealed that Owen had spent the night reminding him of who was the real power in his life. Still, he was in good spirits, confident that his ordeal was heading to a conclusion.

Upstairs, Owen was showering, unaware of either Max’s presence or the thousands of dollars of damage done to his yard. Max had picked the timing of Chastain’s morning routine out of his mind and had arranged things so that his arrival would coincide with the older man hosing down his bulk. Max glanced at the car’s clock. Seven oh four am. He distinctly remembered saying twelve hours.

Max clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Some people just won’t listen to reason.” He said to himself. “Tragic really.” Then he focused on the house and kicked Mr. Owen Chastain’s morning straight into the shitter.

The first thing to happen was down in the basement. An invisible hand turned the house cold water valve completely off, then buried the needle on the dial that controlled how hot the house water supply was allowed to get. To someone unaware of what was really happening this created an affect identical to an unexpected and perfectly explainable temperature surge.

The scalding water hit Owen just as he was washing his privates. He screamed, covered himself and tried to turn his back to the shower nozzle. At that moment the soap squirted from his hand and landed in just the right spot to be underfoot. Funny how that sort of thing always happened at the worst possible moment.

Owen pirouetted, windmilled his arms and went down hard in the tub face-first. His skull cracked into the edge of the tub just below the hairline on the right hand side. He slumped, semi-conscious but still screaming as near-boiling water washed over his back and ass. Blood began to color the water from a cut on his scalp.

Downstairs, Brandon heard the commotion and came running. Max felt a surge of pride in his nephew. All the abuse the dirty old bastard had heaped on him and he still had enough compassion to go investigate when it sounded like Chastain was in distress. He really was a great kid.

Max let the water run until Brandon reached the second floor landing. Then he reset the water controls to where he had found them. When Brandon banged on the door and tried open it, inquiring after his owner’s well-being, Max held it shut a few seconds, simulating a jam. He finally let Brandon in and sat there grinning as he finished his breakfast.

He watched the show while he ate. Chastain was down hard, bleeding from a split scalp. He had a mild concussion and there were some second degree burns blistering his back. Nothing life threatening but it would be awhile before he slept face-up again. The hot water hadn’t done his crotch any favors either. Max figured it was only justice given what he had been up to with Brandon since day one.

Brandon turned off the water and tried to help Owen out of the tub. It was no good though. Chastain had an easy seventy-five pounds on the boy and was slippery from the shower. It was like watching a spider monkey try to lift a greased sea lion.

Max popped the last bite of his breakfast into his mouth, opened the trunk of the car and, still chewing, strolled up the walk. He rang the bell and waited while Brandon struggled some more. Then rang it again and waited still longer while the boy called 911.
Brandon finally opened the door, phone in one hand distraught manner writ large on his face and body language. On top of everything else, the smoke alarm was going off as Owen’s breakfast began to burn.

“Hey kid.” Max said cheerfully. “Everything ok?”

Brandon frowned in confusion. “Uncle Max? What are you doing here? No, no everything’s going all to hell. Master, I mean Mr. Chastain slipped in the shower and is bleeding all everywhere and I can’t get him out. And now the kitchen is catching fire. One sec, I’ll be right back.”

Brandon sprinted off to deal with the crisis in the kitchen. He would have burned himself on the hot pan if Max hadn’t shielded his hand. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later and took the situation in hand. Brandon hovered around his uncle and explained what he understood to have happened. When a squad car showed up and the cops started asking questions Max explained that he had stopped by to see if Mr. Chastain had thought about his offer the night before and found everything in turmoil.

They loaded Owen into the ambulance. Max made it clear he intended to follow. When Brandon indicated he wanted to ride with his uncle, Chastain had just enough faculties to order him not to. So instead the boy rode shotgun in the ambulance while the driver's partner worked on Owen.

When they got to the hospital Owen and Brandon were hustled into the inner recesses for a fast bout of treat em and street em. Max hung out in the waiting area. He spent his time monitoring events with his telepath and x-ray vision. A head and neck x-ray, a few stitches, a scrip for some pain meds and some burn ointment and the orderlies loaded Owen into a waiting taxi. Max followed them home in the Impala.

Back at the house Max renewed his offer. Owen was still a bit out of it but was still lucid enough to give a very clear, one-fingered answer. Max just shrugged.

“Have it your way Owen.” He said as he left. “Nice lawn by the way. Fixing to plant water-lilies were you?” Brandon watched his uncle go and knew that somehow the morning’s drama was entirely his doing.