A Cache of Killers

A Cache of Killers

By

Rodd Clark

Author of Short Ride to Hell

"A Cache of Killers" is another installment

Of the Brantley Colton Thrillers

Copyright © 2014 Rodd Clark.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilm, and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Dedication

Dedicated to the strongest woman to have supported me

Special thanks to:

R DeVoe for allowing me to have the courage to continue the plan

* * *



"…better being dead that living like those sad old queens…"

Scuz, a.k.a. Jaimie Alexander

Chapter One

It had been over a year since Brantley Colton had felt the air blow off the Willamette River onto his face. It was like coming home. The gray skies of Oregon better suited Colton than any other state he had traveled through. And Colton had been in a lot of states recently. The Panorama of Portland’s skyline glowed against the mirror of the Willamette waters. It was a beautiful sight to see, and Colton was glad that he had made his way back to familiar surroundings. Since Portland was divided into sections, and the Willamette divided the north and south sides, Colton thought getting around town was easier than major cities such as Los Angeles. If you stood in the center of Portland, you could be directed anywhere by a series of simple statements like It’s on the Westside, at John’s Landing, at the corner of Montgomery and Barbur. This gave a native all the information required to quickly reach a destination, and for someone like Colton, it made his life easier. He frequently found himself lost in other major cities, confused by the jumble of mismatched street names and geographic logic.

Colton had driven into Portland proper and decided to take the time and peruse the city streets, sightseeing for all the new exciting shops and stores that had popped up since his last visit west. He enjoyed acclimating himself to the area and drawing in the cool crisp evening air that refreshed and rejuvenated him. Feeling that comforting acquaintance of driving around in your hometown after a long separation made Colton feel at ease, but Portland wasn’t his hometown, he just wanted to call it home.

Colton no longer had a home, there were places he lived in briefly, but the highway had become his only intimate companion. He had been driving cross-country, aimless for so very long! He had forgotten how nice it was to toss your hat on that familiar rack and throw yourself onto a mattress that had only supported your body. To crawl under recognizable sheets and lie on pillowcases, free from foreign DNA. But Colton had been living in cheap motels, B&B’s, and that occasional quality hotel, whenever too many miles on the road had drained him to the point where only the finest amenities could breathe life back into weary bones. Colton had chosen Portland as a respite from the road. He had no idea the city he loved would nearly break him; bury him in a sordid tale of horrific murder and intrigue.

After a circuit through the city’s inner-streets, Colton stumbled onto a midgrade hotel in the downtown area. The ‘Waterfront’ was once a grand hotel. He had not remembered it from his last visit, but the hotel’s discrete signage could have easily been overlooked. Sitting like a stoic guard in a well traveled intersection, the Waterfront had an old money feel, which had lost a valued reputation and deteriorated into begging patronage from middle-income travelers. Colton could sense the hotel’s self-loathing, almost as if the Waterfront hated supplying travelers the sophisticated accommodations which had gained its earlier standing. But the economy of Portland had changed over the years, and even grand hotels were forced to bend their high standards and accept that impoverished traveling salesman every now and again.

What the Waterfront never lost, and boasted frequently about, was the spectacular vistas it offered in the confluence of the city’s two greatest attractions—the Willamette and Columbia Rivers. Colton liked the convenience of being close to the city’s swankiest gay bars, chic eateries and museums which were prevalent in the downtown district. It was this reason Colton had decided to splurge from his usual fare of lower quality motels and fast food, and steered his car into the parking garage at the Waterfront Hotel. After registering and locating his fifth floor suite he fell into his queen-sized bed, basking in the aroma of a freshly laundered comforter. He would enjoy his short stay at the Waterfront and absorb every plush luxury he had denied himself during his long crisscrossing of America. After stowing his luggage and indulging in a lengthy hot shower, Colton dressed quickly, deciding to skip the hotel’s only restaurant, for more adventurous grub. The fine dining experience was a lost extravagance for Brantley Colton, since he preferred the real fare of the city’s great unwashed public. Brantley was just as happy in buying a burrito and cola from a street vendor as any formal dining or macrobiotic cuisine.

Deciding to walk the downtown area wasn’t always a safe-bet in the wee hours of morning, but it was early dusk and the streets still had a sizable throng of those leaving work and just heading to dinner. The air was crisp and dry, and Colton noticed a lot of couples walking arm in arm, heading to that upscale eatery for dinner. There were small intimate groups crossing the streets and Colton could hear their laughter. They might have been heading to any one of a number of trendy hotspots Portland offered, such as The ARTBAR and BISTRO, or The Driftwood Room, or the Voodoo Donut, with its world famous cock and balls confection. The oversized pastry is a treat regardless of its salacious shape…and yes it is big enough for two to share. It has become a city tradition that tourists drop in at the Voodoo, if only to ask the counter agent that single question.

Excuse me, sir; can I personalize my cock and balls? The tourists invariably burst into raucous laughter, despite the blank stare from the counter sales person. It is after all an old joke and stale tradition. But if anyone needs to know, the establishment does indeed personalize the cock and balls donut. So many natives may still order a pastry with a roommate’s name emblazed in pink frosting on the top…for shits and giggles.

The swarm of well-dressed young people walking the downtown streets, headed to places like The Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hal, the Winningstad Theatre, or the Keller Auditorium, made Colton slightly jealous. They walked arm in arm or just held hands as they ran across the street trying to beat a traffic light. It had been a very long time since Brantley had someone to share those traditional social niceties that couples engage in. But with all Portland’s sophisticate out and about, Colton felt safe walking those charming streets alone. Later, as Colton remembered the atmosphere would alter drastically, and being downtown after bars closed, with that void of traffic and people, raised the alarm. It told him to run home nipples to the wind, talk to no one and lock your door upon arrival. It was a safe destination, but only in the traditional sense. Colton had seen his share of hustlers and addicts roaming around after two o’clock, stumbling around downtown streets which were barren and dark. It became a haunting place, but Colton liked the danger it represented.

But in the early evening hours, he only wanted to grab a bite then hit a night club. Colton remembered a bar off Davis Street called ‘The Oblivion’ from his last visit…and he thought he wanted to try it again. The bar was a stereotypical gay haunt, wood dance floors, the abundance of neon and monitors, the walls were lined in mirrors and the ceiling was black pressed tin. It could have the same design for all the bars Brantley had ever entered. But he had remembered it had a multitude of types of guys, and he remembered they were fairly hot! Nothing beats taking a vacation from the highway and buying a hot dude a cocktail, enjoying his conversation, then rushing him back to your fancy-schmancy downtown hotel for great sex! Brantley walked the streets from the hotel and located a city grill, ordering a sandwich and indulged in a tall beer, from one of the city’s famous breweries. Colton occupied his time between bites by reading a local newspaper. As he sat in a patio table enjoying his meal and paper, he noticed the ashen clouds highlighted against the evening sky. It might rain, he thought. Colton had forgotten how much it rained in the Northwest; he had failed to remember to carry his umbrella.

Taking a left out of the grill, Colton headed back in the direction of Davis Street in search of the Oblivion Club. He wanted to take his time walking, since it was still too early to be hitting a bar. Pulling his jacket collar up around his neck, he tried to fend off the evening chill. Colton began to consider those days, just prior to pulling into Portland, feeling like he had been pulled on a leash across the country by unseen hands and unknown circumstances. Brantley Colton wasn’t dead yet! The sound of that statement in his head made him smile, since everything had become so upended in recent years. There could be nothing normal in statements like that…there wasn’t much that he considered normal these days. It had been two years ago that he had been diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer. The news had floored him, and came after another great tragedy in his life. Brantley had been already reeling with the news that his best friend had been murdered, when he had chosen to see a doctor. He believed the odd sensations he had been having were attributed to his grief and despair. At first Brantley had noticed he wasn’t sleeping well, he seemed dizzy more often than not. At first he credited it to his poor diet in those days after Virginia’s death. But as he sat in that sterile office atop one of that paper covered beds, waiting for the doctor to pop back in, he had given himself his own examination, and the diagnosis bellowed in his head.

You are fine, you just are run down, and existing without sleep or a proper diet, he told himself. The physician would ask the necessary questions, and when Brantley told him of his recent events, the man in the white coat would prescribe him some sedatives to help him sleep. Colton would listen to the doctor explain how he needed to take better care of himself and Colton would agree to do better with a nod. Then he would get dressed and head home.

It came as another bolt from the heavens when the doctor entered the examination room with that look of concern and pity in his eyes. Brantley had sat stunned. He wondered how many people had to sit in their underwear, wearing that ridiculous smock which covered very little, and listen to someone else tell them that they had limited time in this world. The minutes after he was told became hours for him. Brantley was never really sure how long he sat there, but when others around you are compassionate and tenderly touch you on your shoulder and hang their head…you are sometimes given to unreasoned rage. The doctor had told him there was nothing concrete yet, not all the tests were back and there were many more to do. As he spoke about Brantley admitting himself in the hospital for a standard run of testing, his voice began to fade away, too distant for Colton to hear the entire speech. There was nothing more to do but nod and agree and sit quietly in absolution, at least until he could get out of the sterility of that goddamned building!

Colton needed to run, to break out and race against everything he had been told that year. First Virginia’s sister had phoned him to tell him that Virginia was abducted and raped then murdered, but before he could fully process all that that entailed, this doctor had entered the examination room and coolly told him that he was going to die. Not die, like we all are going to die, but die soon…with the constant ring of a bell telling you that time is winding down. Life’s last call, telling you to better prepare, grab the nearest warm body and then get the fuck out! They don’t care where you go…but you can’t stay here!

Being gay Colton had always had the specter of death looming in the distance, he had had friends die from AIDS, it was gratifyingly rare those days, but it did happen. It was because of that plague, and the deaths that circled him, that Colton was tested regularly. But considering that he was gay and negative of the virus, he failed to consider other shadows around him. It reminded him of a fucked-up trucker he had met once at a gay bar and become somewhat friendly with; the man was about forty-seven years old when they met at that cheap dirty bar. The man called himself Dana, and he was sporting a god-awful dress. Dana was a transsexual, and Colton had met many of those in his life, but what made the man/woman so unique in Colton’s eyes was that he was in every aspect, a man’s man. Dana had been a trucker, car aficionado, and a supremely good mechanic. The picture of that built trucker, talking cars and sports while wearing a frilly outdated dress had been somewhat shocking for Brantley. Dana was cordial and nice, and spoke to Brantley about saving up for ‘the operation!’ Dana apparently wanted to shed his former life, and get all the workings that would bring him the relief that she so desperately desired.

Dana did save up the money, Colton had heard. The operation had been a success, in so-much as it could ever have been, and the woman named Dana was reborn! Even after Brantley had seen her out at that same dirty bar a year later, Dana was boasting of her new body. She had become quite happy with the work the plastic surgeons had done, she even tried to jiggle around comically, so that her new breasts danced for all to see. Quite the dichotomy since she stood next to gay males, unappreciative of their quality! The tragedy was in the fact that same year that Dana had gotten her titties; she also suffered a major heart attack. The next few years Dana would find remorseful, her big beautiful breasts were now separated by a horrific scar running the length of her new chest. No more low cut dresses for that tranny! It was sad…but it reminded Brantley of how tenuous it all was. Dana had waited too long to give herself what she needed to flourish in life; the ending picture was a sad typecast of a hulking trucker dancing around in a flowery dress, which he had found in a goodwill box at a thrift store, now unable to wear the outfits she had waited a lifetime to acquire.

It was those bends and twists in life that fascinated Brantley these days. Being a gay male, who falls in love with a straight woman, then has her pulled from her life in a violent horrific manner, by a predator who wanted only her sex, the same sex Colton may have denied Virginia. This was indeed some sardonic fate working hard to fuck up his life by utilizing new and unusual methods. At least he would not have to be party to the joke for much longer. Still thinking back about all that transpired…Brantley was amazed that he was still alive. He rather thought he was going to be dead sooner than later. There were prescription pills for the discomfort, but Brantley had refused all other treatments. On the heels of Virginia’s murder, or maybe because of it…he had decided that time was too precious to risk the therapies provided. No one had much faith in their success anyway, least of all Colton!

Staring up at the coming night sky, Colton knew that his resignation to the diagnosis had not been the root from which all his recent branches had grown. Brantley had spent an entire year tracking Virginia’s killer. He had cashed in his coins, closed up his so-called shops, and taken his life on the road. A path no one could have expected. Brantley had found some measure of success…he had killed the man who had abducted, then murdered Virginia, the same way that man had abducted and killed many women. When Colton found him at standing beside his truck, he had another woman tied up and naked in the eighteen wheeled-trailers. He drove around looking for victims. Colton had beaten the man to death and then freed the victim. With all that pent up revenge sated, there wasn’t any more he could do. Colton had murdered a man with cold, calculated intent…then he ran! It’s not like he could have headed back to his hometown in Kentucky and blindly picked up the pieces of his life. Colton had never been certain that the FBI were still not looking for him; besides he had that cloud of death lingering just overhead! What else could he do but drive off into the sunset and enjoy whatever time he had remaining before his ticket was punched and he was called home to Jesus! That thought made him smile one more time, the picture of that savior dressed in white robes with the glow of light engulfing him, arms extended in invitation for that ghostly spirit of the cold-blooded killing fag known as Brantley Colton. Quite the image…and one that made him grin from ear to fucking ear!

But Colton had done his best to live well after he ran from the events surrounding that murder. Traveling from state to state, in a drifty-nonsensical way, using all the money he had at his disposal, after all, he couldn’t take it with him. Colton would choose a random city on a map by the dropped weight of a finger on paper. It was that calculated, that precise! After pulling his car into town he would take up residence for a few days or a few weeks. Usually a ratty motel was where he had to call home. But on occasion he splurged with a stay in nicer digs, like he had chosen here in Portland. The Waterfront was a much nicer spot to call home than his usual, but Portland was a city Colton loved, so he would stay in a grander location for a change. When you have nothing but time to pull you forward, time becomes your only sidekick. It is ever present as something that is tenuous, and something that is mission. Colton could be dead tomorrow, so why not stay at nicer spots, while you could afford it? Then Colton has to consider that time is the only reason you are in a city in the first place, Portland included. There was no job; no remaining individual important in Brantley’s life, no one to spend time with, and nothing vital left to do at all. Time was a master with a whip who beat you at his whim. You are allowed a breather on occasion, while other times the whip was the hard reminder on your back and ass…that you were his bitch!

But Brantley had allowed himself the breather on occasion. He still enjoyed bars, good restaurants and movies, he fucked when he could and drank because he could. Always doing his best to maintain the semblance of normalcy in the hidden truths that he was a murderer, he was terminal, he was a homo, and he may even be wanted by authorities! Brantley Colton had become quite the catch! For now he was strolling down the downtown streets of one of his favorite towns, heading to another gay bar to listen to music, enjoy a drink and stare at the dick dancers and patrons in one of the city’s trendiest nightclubs. Colton was going to keep it light tonight, choosing to wake up next to a warm body, rather than drink too much and feel the weight of the grave. When properly fueled by adult libations, Colton could be quite charming, or so he preferred to believe! Whenever Brantley pulled into a strange city, he knew by instinct how to locate a gay bar, there was more skill in it than just looking for green awnings, cheap neon or fern plants hanging in the window. You have to just know how queers think, and you can guess the buildings we drink in are not going to be positioned where bodies cannot scatter in all directions…should that be required. No building fronts facing dark alleys, no building-locked entrances or exits. We may have won our freedom, but Brantley remembered the earlier days when gay bars never had signage out-front to even indicate it was a gay club, there had never been windows, where Molotov cocktails could be tossed in by passing cars, and there was never a parking lot that could be surrounded. Patrons had experienced evenings when walking to their cars, they looked up to find themselves surrounded by a gangs of thugs and rednecks, all holding sticks and bats. Gay people had learned a great deal from those days, so if you are traveling into a new town, you can look for those tell-tale signs of a building’s face…the face that screams Come in girls, we’re serving up a great time in here!! Then again if you were ever in doubt you could just call a cab company!

But the Oblivion was a bar Colton had been in before, during one of his last visits. When you have the freedom of travel, or the curse of it, you tend to gravitate to some cities more than others. For Colton, there were not a lot of great cities he preferred across this country, and he had visited his share in these last couple of years. It was his preference that drew him back to Portland; he never even employed his usual method of waving a finger in a circle above a map. He had decided on Portland unswervingly, finding himself headed in that general direction. Or maybe found his direction changed, after thinking about his last visit to the city of roses. It had been one helluva good time he remembered. Brantley had driven into the city just a couple of weeks after he first went on the run. Portland had been the farthest point he knew of from the marshes of Florida, when the murder had occurred. He had driven like a crazed man across country, racing the highways with that dread of capture lingering in his wake. Colton was scared, fearful of being picked up by police for what he thought was a justifiable homicide. The northwestern corridor seemed a likely place to hide, close to the border and of a country not too keen on extradition yet close enough that he could learn what news had broken of the murder and any leads by authorities. But he had heard nothing.

Colton couldn’t have suspected that there was no FBI tracking his movements, no police hot on his trail. Even when he used his laptop to search for news footage of the murder, he had come up clean. There was no word on the body he had left bloody and beaten to death…nothing that alerted him that police even knew the name of the killer. But one could never be too careful, so Colton had run like a jackrabbit, weaving the highways in a darting fashion, all while trying to make it as close to the border without having to make it over, as he could. The only comforting aspect of the last few months in his efforts to keep from being spotted, was that if he had been captured by police, and sent to jail to await a trial, he could delay it as best he could, hopeful that death would take him before he had to report to a prison and open his ass to the lifers who would call it their own. It was something anyway!

After making it to the Northwest and pulling into Oregon, he felt more at ease. The distance in miles from the murder was significant, and even the changing climate had offered him some cause to relax. Leaving the humidity and sun behind him, Colton had found the gray cloudy skies a sumptuous lull from those hurried days on the road. It seemed Oregon beckoned him and wrapped in that blanket of reprieve he needed. Oregon had been far more forgiving than Florida, and he was glad to have it at his backside. Portland may have been the first chance for him to take a few days and walk in the daylight. Brantley didn’t fear arrest so much in Oregon. He afforded himself the time to relax and enjoy a meal, a few days respite from the highway and the chance to concentrate on more carnal needs. It had been the Oblivion that he found himself in that year or so ago, after having a few much-needed drinks, and was beginning to feel the warm effects of whiskey in his core when he saw a hot looking target sitting alone, like he was. Colton sauntered over and took a stool near the younger looking man. He was from Portland, Colton guessed; he wore the appropriate clothing for the area, a mix of scarves and outer garments layered to give that personality that used to be called Seattle grunge; but now was a combination somewhere between, L. L. Bean, and frankly I don’t give a shit!

Brantley pulled out his phone and played at it, appearing to be getting some texts from his non-existent friends. See, I am social. He tried to convey to the stranger. There has never been a popular serial killer, has there? Colton called to the bartender to refill his glass, and turned and smiled to engage the young man into conversation.

Sup? He nodded.

Colton, at times, felt far too old to use the vernacular of youth, it fell like a strange sound falling from his lips, it always made him seem as if he was trying too hard to disguise his age. He didn’t think himself old yet, and although he was on the dark side of thirty-seven, but he had yet to receive all the sympathy notices from those on Grindr! The social fuck app had been a huge thrill to many up-and-coming sluts in his hometown, but now social media apps for gay and bi-curious men were popping up all over. It had been too much a struggle to determine which app was being used more frequently. It made Brantley think about high school, and keeping up with the cooler kids. Johnny was cool, just Johnny smoked cigarettes in the west hall bathroom! Lots of bullshit when you’re facing your own mortality, Colton knew! The man turned and smiled back at Brantley…always a good sign…then said,

Nadda, just hanging out, waiting for buds to arrive!

Buds meant friends, not lovers, so maybe the young man could be turned like a screw, a broad and far too rarely used analogy, thought Colton.

Cool…me too! Colton lied, and smiled back to allow the man to size up his worth. Brantley Colton was attractive, he had been told that on numerous occasions, and he hoped it still held true. He was terminal, not dead after all! But Brantley was a couple of years older than the one he was facing, that could be the death-strike to some. There were toned, charismatic men who only wanted to bed younger guys than they were; it was a curse of gayness that growing older is never appreciated when sex is the subject at hand. Brantley was out and proud…but he was not stupid, and he knew that gay males are a vapid sort, driven by lust more than even straight men. But you can only throw yourself out there and hope for the best. And so Colton did.

Hey…I’m from outta town, here on business…are there any clubs doing anything special tonight?

Really…what sorta business? The man sidestepped his question, but Colton was prepared.

I’m a buyer for a large auction-house…here to pick up some good deals…you know how gay men love to shop! Colton used the memory of an old friend for the ruse. His murdered friend Virginia had once been a buyer for an auction house in his hometown of Richmond Kentucky, he had heard her talk about work enough that he could carry the lie with some dexterity, but as it happened he didn’t need to.

Well, there’s a poker night at CJ’s I hear, I don’t play myself…but I hear it’s cool. There is also a drag show night at Mama Sam’s…and I think the dick dancers are going to be full-force here tonight somewhere after nine o’clock.

The stranger was smiling, Colton could sense that he was amiable and genuine, and there was an open and engaging look to his expression. Colton smiled back and truly looked at the man. He wore a black baseball cap that bore not insignia of any product or sports team. Colton much preferred when men did not become tragic billboards to their favorite team, or walking advertisement for their beer of choice. Even hidden by the cap, Colton could see his hair was brown cropped close and hopefully all there. The man’s jaw-line was pronounced and his razor had recently escaped his top-lip and the shadow of a pending goatee was rising to the surface. He was attractive without being overwhelmingly stunning. Brantley had always been able to see the best qualities that a man possessed, which enabled him to be in the company of attractive men which were more comparable to him, no one wanted all the attention drawn to their partner. Acquaintances might have suspected Colton had money or something, and his date had been a more recent purchase!

Name’s Brantley… He extended his hand in greeting, and found his grip returned.

Jonah…er Jonah Hernandez…so where you from…if not from here?

Kentucky originally, but I tend to travel these days.

Colton stared at his new friend’s big, brown eyes and turned up his cocktail and drained the glass…strange, he didn’t seem the type to have hot Hispanic origins. Not that it mattered to Brantley; he enjoyed his flavors across the board and it always depended solely on his mood. There had been many beautiful Latin boys in his past. Days of remembered glory for Brantley, days when he had more time than brains. The two men sat for a bit and Jonah graciously kept him company while he waited for friends. Colton figured sooner than later the young man’s circle would stumble in and either Colton would be included in their festivities, or find Jonah apologizing and saying goodbye as he shuffled off and out of Brantley’s view. As it turned out, his friends texted Jonah they would be extremely late. Colton guessed this first, even before Jonah conceded to the news, because his expression was priceless. Colton knew that look all too well. While at the university, Brantley regularly agreed to meet friends out at local bars. On multiple occasions Brantley instead found himself gazing solely on the ice-cubes racing the edges of his glass. Gay people were notoriously famous for making plans they never kept. It was that same insipid, frivolity that becomes their trademark, but it’s their equally most difficult challenge.

Consider it like walking a male dog at the park, the pup is confused with all the tantalizing sights and smells; he is straining at the leash with wild abandon by the mere whisper of better panoramas ahead. In short gay men are DOGS.

Colton noticed the man’s expression as he stared at the phone reading. After he watched Jonah silently mouth the words fuckers! he felt a renewed hope.

So how long before your mates arrive? Colton asked, the mischievous makings of a grin hitting the corners of his smile.

Actually they just told me they were gonna be late…but if I wait for them much longer, I might get too drunk to hang with ‘em! Jonah dropped the cell on the bar and turned his attentions to his new companion. You waiting for anyone?

Nope…flying solo…can’t be disappointed if you’re the only one you count on!

At that Jonah offered a nod of appreciation and the two began to chat with the indifferent continence of two single gay men who were forced to make their own fun. It was easy to talk to Brantley, Jonah thought. He wasn’t making moves on him, and there was a casual comfort in his company. Brantley had requested another drink with a small wave of his hand in the bartender’s direction, and even bought Jonah his next round. Here’s to being drunk by the time your friends show up! he said as he clicked his glass against Jonah’s vodka tonic. They talked for a bit about everything from the weather, the best spots to get a meal and all the lies that Colton could develop that created his legend. Confidently he offered up stories of what brought him to Portland, the antiquities market in the failing economy, and many other such fraudulent tales. Spinning a background that was far from reality had become a knack for him in the last year, and he was getting pretty educated in it, enough so that his falsehoods became more familiar than his truths. Colton didn’t really enjoy lying, but it was a necessity to the creature he had become, and if you’re gonna be bad, he thought…be really bad!

Jonah offered up his generalized background, and though usually Brantley found the stories of others rather dull, he found himself engaged by his words. Maybe it was those beautiful dick-sucking lips, maybe it was because Jonah seemed a tad unconventional to Colton. His name suggested something