The Guardian

young boys. He believes that there is nothing wrong with that.
    He didn’t care. His roommate would let him bath her youngest and he slept with the 14 year old. Life was good.
    Martin Dorsey was so full of himself, so self-confident that he marched out of that courthouse, holding his head up high strutting down the sidewalk as if he’d just won the battle at Valley Forge.
    Across the way, totally invisible to the people around him was a lone dark figure. He wasn’t missing a thing. That, was one of the things he did best.
    Starting his bike, he thought to himself, “Enjoy it now, for soon it ends.”
    Dorsey found his car. He unlocked it, jumped in and fired up the engine. It was a piece of shit Dodge, but it ran good enough to get him from point A to point B. That’s all that mattered. He backed out of his spot, exited the parking lot, and headed for home. Martin didn’t notice the black, sleek motorcycle that followed behind him. He was too busy thinking how nice it would be to take a nice hot bath when he got home.
    The Guardian followed Dorsey as he headed north out Las Vegas Blvd. They went out past the Silver Nugget Bowling Center, down past Cheyenne Ave. They kept going past Craig Ave. They were nearly at Nellis AFB. There was a small housing trac off to the left. They sat right next to the 25 Club. It was an all GI bar. It had been there forever and probably would be until the end of time.
    He passed by and pulled into the parking lot of the club. He did a small circle and stopped by the edge of the road. He cut the engine, sitting there watching. He saw the beat up Dodge pull into the driveway and watched as Martin got out. He went into the house, closed the door, and was out of sight.
    This was not good. The Guardian didn’t like the set up. For one thing, getting in would be a major hassle. The houses were too close together. There were too many neighbors. Most of the people living in them were more than likely GI’s. He couldn’t count on getting in or out with out being seen. There would be people working all hours, coming and going day and night.
    There was the bar right next door. There would be traffic going in and out 24/7 there also. The fact that the parking lot was lit up quite well for security reasons didn’t help him. No, doing anything here was going to take some planning. He would have to take his time and sort this one out. That was okay. He couldn’t expect all of them to work out in his favor.
    He fired up the bike, checked the traffic, and pulled out. With nothing he could do, he just headed for home. The one thing he was going to do was to get as much information as possible on the father of the children living there.
    Apparently, the father had been trying to regain custody. He knew what was going on with his children and the perverted pedophile that lived thee. He was constantly going to court only to be shot down by an uncaring judge. No one saw him do it was always the reason. The other problem, it was near impossible to prove a woman an unfit mother. This was especially difficult in the state of Nevada.
    The kids’ father felt very confident with this last case that he would finally get the kids back. However, because of the dysfunctional justice system, that was not going to happen.
    Once he had finished with this vermin, the father would be able to get the custody that he was unable to obtain. The children would be safe with their father. The mother was incapable and unfit. The courts were wrong. Forget the fact that she was a boozer, she willingly allowed this monster to abuse them. The hard part was in proving it.
    As he rode for home, the one thought that kept crossing his mind was the 14 year old. If Martin had been doing this to the point that the boy was willingly sleeping with him, the serious damage had already been done. He wasn’t exactly convinced the boy would willingly separate himself from the older man. That didn’t matter. He was only 14 and the law would have to protect him. There would be counseling and treatments for what he was sure was some sort of trauma.
    Slicing through the warm, late afternoon air, he was barely aware that he was on his bike. His mind was so occupied with all the other thoughts that he missed the turn off to take him home. Cussing himself for not paying better attention, he turned around and got back in the right direction. Missing the turn was one thing. Letting his mind wander like that was a good way to get himself killed.