Max & Roy: Vol. 2 - Part 10: Shit Creek (Patreon)

MAX

MAX: Jamie, why don’t you start from the beginning? You say you’ve dealt with these people before and they call themselves The Rookery, was it?

JAMIE: (Sigh) Right. That’s right. Um, I’m sorry if I spooked you, Roy. It’s just I’ve been trying to get in touch for such a long time. 

Could the mystery caller who's been trying to get in touch at MorganCorp have been this kid? I presumed Lester, being the pest that he is, but now... I’m not so sure. I don’t know what to make of this yet. 

ROY: It’s alright. Can we get you some more coffee? Or a snack? 

JAMIE: No, I’m fine, thank you. 

ROY: Please, go on with your story. 

JAMIE: Okay. Well, I guess you might already know, but The Rookery likes to take on younger guys; they frame it as sort of a mentorship thing, almost. That’s what they prefer, though I have seen them take on all ages. They like to wine and dine you, spoil you and offer the earth. That’s how it usually starts. Often they make out like they want to help you get bigger, bulk up or something, or just offer some kind of help - usually financial - in exchange for putting on some weight for them.

ROY: I remember that part, yep. 

JAMIE: Well it’s all BS. They’re doing it to lure you in. I guess it works easier on young guys, maybe who’ve got less to lose. 

They got Roy when he was young and his folks had gone. That makes sense. 

But Jamie could have read that somewhere. 

JAMIE: They - The Rookery - are... If I say ‘powerful’, that’s understating it. They’re a vast organization. I mean vast. They’ve got their hooks into every facet you can think of - the police, for example, so that no-one ever comes looking for the guys The Rookery take on, since they usually whisk you away from your home eventually. 

Sorry this is a lot all at once. I'm probably rambling a bit. It's just hard to know where to start. They’ve got tabs on the justice system, the courts, the government, big business, everything. So it's like... they can do whatever they want, with pretty much impunity.

Do I wanna believe any of this? I gotta admit it sounds a little… tin-foil-hat-ish.

MAX: But wait, didn’t you say you were rescued by a police officer? 

JAMIE: Yes, but him and his partner - they didn’t seem corrupted. I guess... That hadn't happened yet.

ROY: So The Rookery doesn’t get to everyone. There are gaps in the net there, maybe. 

MAX: Go on. You said they like to fatten guys up for fun?

Isn’t that what Roy has been doing with me for the last 3 and half years?

JAMIE: Yeah, but it’s not... There’s no fun involved for the men they kidnap. I mean, it starts off that way - material gifts, cash incentives - but then they’ll take you away from your friends and family, and it becomes forced. You’re more like a prisoner. Some of them even treat men like animals, or objects. Just things to use. It's all done kind of slowly and insipidly to get you to that point.

ROY: Where do they take these people?

JAMIE: All kinds of places. I was moved around a lot. This was back home in England but I know they’re in other countries too. Definitely here in the US. I was taken to a Lodge, A Tower. I ended up on a Farm, where they were doing... just horrible things... 

I don’t wanna talk about that... 

MAX: It’s okay.

JAMIE: I’m sorry...

I don’t know what this kid has been through. Whether he’s making any of this up or it really is connected to what Roy’s dealing with. But whatever the truth, it’s clearly traumatized him. The poor guy’s hands are shaking. He can’t look either of us in the eye. 

He needs a doctor, not a fat CEO and his expanding husband. 

ROY: Jamie, do you need a minute?

JAMIE: No, I’m... I’m okay, honestly. I want to get this all out. I need to. 

I actually - Listen, I promise I’m not a nutter or anything, stalking you guys - but I read an article online about you two, this was after I’d gotten away from The Farm. It was about Max actually, all about how you gained tons of weight for the love of of your life.

MAX: That’s right, I did. 

And I’m damned proud of it.

JAMIE: Well, it piqued my interest, 'cos I guess I just associated that much weight gain with what The Rookery were doing. Sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting or anything. 

MAX: You’re fine, heh. I’m a huge man, and I know it. Roy loves me being this size and I love being big for him. There’s no shame here. 

JAMIE: That’s good. Sweet, actually. 

So, well, after I read about you guys I found more stories in forums, rumors that Roy had been bulked up by a rich bloke when he was younger. Some were claiming you’d been... funded to get as big as possible, even.

ROY: That’s right. 

JAMIE: And then you had to run away and change your name and everything. 

ROY: Uh-huh. 

Not filling me with the greatest of joy to know so much of our laundry is all over the internet. Maybe that’s my fault for being a big fat someone in the business world. Then again, who knows how many folks Teddy or Ezra blabbed to.

JAMIE: Well, I - I know this sounds mad but I wanted to see you, Roy. It sounded too similar to my own experiences with The Rookery. The wealthy benefactor, the bulking, the having to escape. I wanted to talk to you, maybe compare stories. And warn you. Tell you everything I know about these madmen. 

I wanted to have this conversation, basically. 

But I didn’t realize that I was already too late. 

ROY: Too late? What do you mean?

JAMIE: They’ve gotten to you again. They’re blowing you up. I saw that man in grey. I know what that means. The Greys are like... like the enforcers of The Rookery. Like an internal policing department, sort of. 

Wait a minute...

MAX: You were outside our house, weren’t you? In the woods?

JAMIE: (Sigh) I know... I know how that must seem. But I can explain. 

I promise you both I’m not crazy, honestly. 

I tried calling your office, Max. But MorganCorp doesn’t let just any old person get through to you. And I tried emailing you, Roy, but your system kept bouncing my messages back -

ROY: I’m sorry, that’s my fault. I haven’t got it properly set up yet. 

JAMIE: So, I got desperate. I came here to the house, but then as soon as I saw that man in grey, I had to hide. The Rookery are technically still looking for me, after all. 

But I tried again. I came back. This time there was a whole group of you and everyone came outside and... I guess I got spooked by that, and I ran. I’m sorry. I know it sounds mad...

Getting onto Roy’s photography waiting list was my last ditch effort. 

You know what? No, it doesn’t sound mad to me. I believe him. I believe this kid. 

I’ve been in business for a LONG time, and I know how to spot a liar. 

Jamie is no liar. He’s scared. I can see in his eyes that he’s been to Hell and back, and that he’s telling the truth. 

I know it in my gut.

MAX: Jamie, say, do you wanna stay for dinner? 

(AND SO)

JAMIE: Wow, this is quite a spread. 

ROY: We’re big fellas and we eat a lot. Please don’t feel like you have to, though. I mean, considering...

MAX: Take as much or as little as you want, buddy. Can we get you a drink? We got beers in the fridge.

JAMIE: Thank you, guys. This is - This is really tasty, what do you call this?

ROY: Pot Roast. You don’t got Pot Roast back in England?

JAMIE: We have like Sunday Roasts but it’s a bit different...

MAX: Please dig in.  

If you don’t mind my asking, you said earlier something about The Greys being enforcers. The guy who’s been hounding us - this guy Lester - Does that mean he’s a Grey? What else do you know about them?

ROY: I’ll grab you that beer. 

JAMIE: Thank you. 

Mostly that the Greys are meant to be in service of the Masters, like beneath them in terms of the hierarchy, but there always seemed to be some friction there. I think if a Master messes up somehow, the Greys are allowed to punish them. Or something like that. It was hard to tell. 

There’s a whole tiered system that I didn’t fully understand. 

ROY: Masters? 

JAMIE: You know, like the guy you first met who got you all bulked up when you were younger? I presume he was a Master. They all have stupid bird codenames like Mr Swan, Mr Goldfinch, Mr Heron - that’s who got me into the whole mess in the first place -

ROY: Wait, Mr Heron? 

JAMIE: Yeah. 

ROY: That was my guy. I mean, years ago. That’s who got me bulking, made me sign the contract, all of it. He was the one who started this whole thing.

MAX: Yeah and we’re still battling with him now, just through this Lester punk - the Grey guy, as you put it. He’s Mr Heron’s slimy little go-between.

JAMIE: I don’t understand. That’s impossible.

MAX: What’d’you mean?

JAMIE: You can’t still be dealing with Mr Heron. 

MAX: Why not?

JAMIE: Well, he’s dead, for one thing. 

ROY: Hold on, what?

What? ... WHAT?!

MAX: But he sent Lester. 

There’s gotta be some mistake here.

ROY: Yeah, he’s punishing me for walking out on him all those years ago. This is all a revenge trip for him. I’m not normally THIS big!

JAMIE: Sorry but it’s just not possible. 

It was all over The Farm during my time there. Everyone was talking about it. Mr Heron is dead. Has been for, gosh, over a year now. I don’t know how, exactly, but I do know his real name was Edmund Fenton. He was a politician back in the UK. We weren't supposed to know that, but word used to spread about fast on The Farm, a lot of the guys there would overhear things and gossip. 

There was an obituary for Fenton and everything, in the papers, I mean. Of course, the press didn’t know anything about his alter ego. Or rather they didn’t print that part - The Rookery are all over the media too. They can control narratives, dissuade public opinion -

MAX: Wait, wait, wait. This makes NO sense. How can Mr Heron be chasing Roy with this godforsaken contract, if he’s been dead this whole time?

JAMIE: I don’t... I don’t know. I’m presuming you never communicated directly with him?

ROY: No. We’ve only been dealing with Lester...

This isn’t right. Doesn’t make a lick of sense. Does it?

What the Hell is going on here?

MAX: What does this mean? 

ROY: I don’t know. That Lester’s been lying to us?

MAX: I don’t get it. 

ROY: Do you think this changes anything? 

MAX: What, like contractually? 

Could this be something? Could this really BE something?

MAX: Jamie, are you totally sure about this? 

JAMIE: I’m sorry, I thought you guys already knew. 

MAX: Oh, don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry at all! This could... This could change everything.

ROY: You really think so?

MAX: I’m gonna call Cooper and ask him. 

ROY: It’s like 8pm, sweetheart. You think he’ll pick up?

MAX: He’s on a goddamned retainer, he should! But you make a good point. Maybe I should shoot him a text instead. 

(TEXTING): "Cooper we just found out that Mr Heron passd away. He’s been deceased this whole time. Looks like Lesters been acting alone. Does this change anything re: the contract?"

Let’s see what he comes back with.

JAMIE: I feel bad. I honestly thought you guys knew already. 

ROY: Oh, don’t feel bad, dude. This could be a deal-breaker, literally! I’m gonna grab another beer. Babe, you want one? Jamie, you good?

JAMIE: I’ll take another, thank you. 

MAX: Same for me, big guy, thanks - Wait, Cooper’s replied already!

ROY: What’s he saying?

MAX: “The contract states that in the ‘event of the expiration of the original instigator during a period of emergency clause activation, all contractual obligations, future and present, are nullified indefinitely’”

... Oh my God...

ROY: Does this... Does this mean...?

Roy’s free? Is this really what it means?

MAX: There’s more! Cooper just sent another text. Hold on... “Furthermore ‘if any representative party is found to be acting in bad faith (detailed in section 79C), they summarily shall become subject to disciplinary measures equal but not limited to punishment deemed suitable and/or necessary by the ruling party’ in this case, Heron’s company”.

ROY: What does that mean?

JAMIE: The Rookery love their long-winded, deliberately confusing contracts. 

MAX: I’m pretty sure it means... you’re free, sweetheart. 

ROY:... 

... Fuck... 

... Really? 

After all this time? All this weight?!

MAX: Not only that. But from the sounds of that last part. I think our old pal Lester is, to put it bluntly, up Shit Creek.