Rentboy

slurp of tea before looking at the twins.
    “Fucking idiots.”
    Keeping his voice carefully respectful and quiet, Fox said, “Please don’t call them that. They
    can hear, you know. They’re not idiots.”
    “What the fuck’s wrong with them, then?” Baillie banged a thick-knuckled fist on the counter.
    The twins flinched and stopped eating.
    “I don’t know. They should have been taken to a doctor years ago.” Fox moved over beside
    them, knowing they took comfort from his proximity. “Eat up,” he whispered.
    “They’re not going to no fucking doctor. I don’t want everyone to know I fathered a couple of
    soft-brained kids.” Baillie snorted. “What happened last night? Did he show up?”
    “Yes, sir. You were right. He was back at Tisbury Court looking for a rentboy.”
    “Did you pick him up?”
    “Yes, sir.” The offensiveness of a father sending his son out to prostitute himself was clearly
    lost on William Baillie.
    Fox glanced at the twins. They never appeared to be listening and rarely looked directly at
    people, but he knew they understood more than they appeared to. Alder took the last piece of banana,
    bit off half, and fed the other piece to Arden.
    “You two!” The twins jumped when their father’s voice split the air. “Clean the bathroom today.
    I don’t want to see a speck of dust. I’ll be inspecting everything.”
    The house boasted three bathrooms, so which one did Baillie mean? Their bodies rigid with
    tension, the twins waited for further instructions.
    “The main bathroom upstairs.”
    Nervously, they looked at Fox.
    “Go on. Hurry up,” he told them.
    Holding hands, the twins hurried from the kitchen.
    “Useless little fucks.” Baillie’s face twisted with hatred. “The only thing they’ve ever been able
    to learn is how to clean the fucking house. At least I could train them to do that.” And train them he
    had, from the age of nine, by standing over them, watching their every move as he gave them detailed
    instructions on cleaning floors and shower stalls, vacuuming the living room, and washing dishes.
    Now he set them to work each morning cleaning the house one room a day. The house was spotless,
    and their mother never had to lift a finger.
    “Go on, boy. What happened?”
    Every day Fox had fantasies about killing his father, but most days he never even had the nerve
    to answer him back. “I went back to his flat with him, and I waited for him to fall asleep.”
    “Where’s the pictures?”
    “Everything needed passwords. I couldn’t open the files to take pictures of the information.”
    Baillie flung the tea mug at Fox’s head. A sharp pain ripped through his head where the mug
    caught him, and hot tea scalded his face and neck. Fox sank to the floor, using his T-shirt to wipe the
    tea from his face, but he never took his gaze off his father, who was rolling up the morning
    newspaper. Baillie flew at Fox, clobbering him repeatedly with the paper as if he were an errant dog.
    “Stupid little fuck! You should have taken the fucking computer.”
    Cowering on the floor, his hands over his head, Fox whimpered. “I never thought of it. I’m sorry.
    I’m sorry! Anyway, you told me to make sure he never knew what I was after. ”
    William Baillie stood up straight, the newspaper still held aloft threateningly. “You go back
    again tonight, find that shirt lifter again, and get back into his flat. And this time get the fucking
    information even if you have to steal the computer and every frigging disk and memory stick he owns.
    Got it?”
    “Yes, sir.” Curled up like a hedgehog, his clenched hands up against his face, Fox asked,
    “What’s it all for? What’s he got that you want?”
    “None of your business. You just do what I tell you, or you’ll suffer the consequences.” Baillie
    paused for effect but could not stop a grin spreading over his face. “And them twins will suffer as
    well.” He thwacked the air with the newspaper, an obvious threat to beat the twins. “Understood?”
    “Yes, sir.” Several more hard whacks landed on Fox’s shoulders before Baillie sent the
    newspaper flying across the room.
    “I’m going out for a while, and when I come back, you keep those fucking twins out of my way,”
    his father said as he exited the kitchen.
    Fox waited, not taking a breath until he heard the front door slam and knew William Baillie was
    out of the house.
    For the next few minutes he sat on the floor, leaning against the