Rentboy

“You’d better go.
    I’m going to get out of here until I know what to do next.”
    Stung by the rejection but not surprised, Fox made no further attempt to touch him. “Where will
    you go?”
    “I’m hardly going to tell you, am I? Your father is a psychotic nut, and according to you, if he
    wants you to do something, he’ll beat you into submission. I need to stay as far away from you as
    possible. You’re in on this whole thing.”
    “Why the hell would I be in on it?” Fox asked. “I’ve admitted I stole your computer for them, but
    that’s where it ends.”
    “So it’s just a coincidence that you knocked on my door at the same moment that those thugs
    arrive and try to kidnap me?”
    “Yes!”
    “Pull the other one; it’s got bells on,” Eddie said. “You got me outside for them. I want you to
    leave. And actually I might just as well tell you, I’m going to join my parents in Paris to give myself a
    breather.” Eddie dragged the desk away from the door. He was about to open it but hesitated.
    Poor bloke was scared shitless.
    Then with a look of determination he opened it. “Out!”
    Fox stepped outside, and Eddie slammed the door behind him. A moment later Fox heard the
    scraping of the desk and a thump as it hit the door.
    His life had always been crazy living with his parents, but this! It had suddenly become insane.
    Dudes looking like the Men in Black were trying to kidnap his boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—while he
    was asking a vicar to do relationship counseling with them. No wonder Eddie was pissed with him.
    On the street he looked left and right. No sign of the car. It was either the police or talk to
    William Baillie and try to negotiate with him to keep Eddie safe.
    “Fox.” Godfrey appeared before Fox so suddenly he bumped into him. “What’s going on?”
    “Er… He wasn’t there.”
    “He was there. I saw everything. It all happened in seconds, but I saw those men in the car and
    the fight that ensued. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
    “I’ve got to go home. Sorry, God.” He took off at a run past Bloomsbury Square toward Holborn
    Station.
    Forty-five minutes later, Fox ran up the sweeping drive to the house. He had his key in his hand
    from the moment he alighted the bus. Thrusting it into the lock, he hurried inside and directly to
    William Baillie’s office. It was empty. At the desk he looked for his father’s guns, but they weren’t
    there. “Aliens!” he called out, running through the house. After not finding them, he took the stairs two
    at a time. They were in bed asleep. They often took an afternoon nap.
    Fox opened the door of his mother’s bedroom. The curtains were open, and she lay awake,
    looking at him. “Where have you been, Afton? The twins were asking for you.”
    “They asked?” That didn’t sound right.
    “Not with words. They came in looking for you. Your dad was charging around the house like a
    maniac, and they were scared. You know how they get when he’s home.”
    “I know how we all get.” Fox sat down on the side of the bed. “Where is he?”
    Tara smiled. “He’s gone for a while. Off to Uganda, he said, to do security work for one of them
    big British companies out there.”
    “He’s a lying bastard. He works as a mercenary soldier for rebel groups and military
    dictatorships all over the world. That’s how he affords this big house and your booze.” More quietly
    he said, “Not to mention my school fees.”
    “Is he still helping people, like when he was in the army?” Tara asked hopefully.
    “Oh, Mum.” Fox sank his head into his hands. She neither knew nor cared what her husband did
    as long as the credit card worked when she phoned the off-license for more booze. “I need to talk to
    him about something. Did he say how long he’d be gone?”
    “He said a few weeks.” She broke into a spontaneous smile. “It might be longer if we’re lucky.
    Do you remember”—she dropped her voice—“you said you were going to get rid of him.”
    “I’ve tried. I just don’t have it in me. I don’t think I do, anyway. You know how he’s a killer; it’s
    just in him. It’s who he is. It’s not who I am. I’ll have to find another way. I just don’t know what yet.
    But I will get rid of him somehow. I promise.”
    “Fox.” The twins stood in the doorway holding hands, nervously glancing over their shoulders.
    They were in matching pink T-shirts, and both wore boys’