The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (27 page)

“No, not that Deb. The one right up there in the parking lot.”

“Oh, the little stand with the umbrellas? I saw that when I
walked over from the condo.”

“Yup, that's it.”

“Cool. But didn't you say you're supposed to wait an hour
after swimming before eating?”

“I did?”

“Yup, back at the Seafood Shack just before we got the
Fischers.”

“No kidding?”

“No, you were kidding, but you did say that.”

“Boy, you have a great memory.”

“Yup, nearly photographic. And you can just call me Pam.”

“Okay. Pam. And by the way, noodling ain't swimming.”

She got up and looked at Jake, chuckling. “Ready?”

“Yup.”

“Want some help up?” She held out her hand; Jake took it
and climbed up out of his lounge, knees cracking.

“Sorry; forgot to warn you to plug your ears. I've deafened
nine people in the last month with those.”

Pam chuckled.

“In fact, I've been thinking about getting them replaced …
maybe with hands.”

Her chuckling turned into laughter. “C'mon, old man; let's go
feed our faces.”

As they passed the Incontinentals, Jake nodded to them, and a few
waved back. But all of them leered at Pam.

“Pam, ever hear the one about the Buddhist who went up to a hot
dog stand?”

“Nope,” Pam said, twining her arm around Jake's.

“He said, 'Make me one with everything.'”

Pam laughed and they continued up the beach, heads turning as they
went along.

Back by the Collier boardwalk, the Mimosa twins switched their
recording equipment off and went back to be-bopping and towel-
dancing to the music on their earbuds.

-47-

Monday, December 19, 2011

9:00 p.m.

The White House, Basement

Washington, DC

In the cellblock, the four union bosses were still rummaging in the
remnants of the platter of sandwiches that had been delivered by one
of the silent guards a few hours earlier, when a heavy door clanged
open and closed.

Then they heard a noise of casters rolling and water sloshing,
followed by a male voice humming unmusically.

Richard got to his feet and walked quietly to the cell door, looked
out to his left and said, “Hey, kid.” He got no
response. He tried again, louder.

“Hey, kid!” Still no response. So he yelled and banged
an empty soda can on the cell bars.

“Hey, hey, hey, kid!!!!!”

Twenty feet away, a young man mopping the floor jumped, looked at
Richard and screamed, dropping the mop.

“Wh-wh-what are y-y-y-ou d-d-doing? No-b-b-body's su-p-p-posed
to b-b-be in h-h-here.”

“Take it easy, kid, easy. We're not gonna hurt you.”

“B-b-but who are y-y-you?”

“We've been prisoners here for days.”

“Gee, that's t-t-too b-b-bad. At least y-y-you've g-g-got the
b-b-best cell, p-p-private b-b-biffy and all. B-B-But y-y-you
s-s-sure s-s-scared m-m-me.”

“What's your name, kid?”

“J-J-Jimmy, Jimmy C-C-Corn. And d-d-don't m-m-make n-n-no
cracks ab-b-bout it, ok-k-kay?”

“Okay, I won't, promise. So Jimmy, what are you doing here?”

“I c-c-clean up every M-M-Monday. N-N-Nobody here l-l-last
w-w-week. N-N-Nobody here, nobody here. Oh, I'm g-g-gonna g-g-get a
s-s-spanking.” He bent over, curling his arms around himself
and wailing, his thick glasses wobbling on his nose.

“Hey, kid – Jimmy, don't cry. Please. Hey, kid, look at
me.” The kid looked cautiously over his curled arms. Richard
gave him a wide smile.

“Y-Y-You're n-n-not g-g-gonna s-s-spank me, are y-y-you?”

“Of course not, Jimmy. I'm not gonna hurt you at all.”

Jimmy kept his arms curled, but straightened up some.

“P-P-Promise?”

“Promise. Come closer so I don't have to talk so loud. I know
it can sound scary when I have to talk loud.”

“Yeah, it c-c-can. N-N-No t-t-talk l-l-loud, no loud.”
He started to shuffle toward Richard, arms still curled around
himself.

“Yeah, Jimmy, no talk loud. That's good. Can you come a
little closer?” Jimmy shuffled further, then stopped about
five feet away.

“That's fine, Jimmy, just fine. Now we can just talk
normally.”

“N-N-Normal t-t-talk. G-G-Good. T-T-Talk good.”

“Yes, it is, Jimmy, yes, it is. Normal talk good. Now, Jimmy,
can you tell me how old you are?”

“H-H-How old? I'm tw-tw-twenty-n-n-nine and s-s-six m-m-months.
I'll b-b-be th-th-thirty in J-J-June.”

“Well, happy birthday next June, Jimmy.”

Jimmy brightened and let his arms uncurl, then smiled a wide smile,
revealing yellowed, blackened, scraggly teeth.

“H-H-Happy B-B-Birthday t-t-to J-J-Jimmy, H-H-Happy --”

“Yup, happy birthday to you, Jimmy.”

“-- B-B-Birthday t-t-to m-m-me.” He straightened his
glasses.

“Now, Jimmy, my name is Richard and I'd like to be your friend,
maybe get you something for your birthday in June. Would that be
okay?

“Oh, ye-ye-yes. I'd l-l-like th-th-that … R-R-Richard.”

“What would you like for your birthday, Jimmy?”

“Oh, umm, umm … I g-g-got it. M-M-Maybe a t-t-teddy
b-b-bear?”

“That's great, Jimmy. I'll get you a really big teddy bear --”

“N-N-No, n-n-not a b-b-big one. S-S-Scary. T-T-Too big.”
Jimmy started to back away.

“Okay, Jimmy, not a big one. Would a tiny one be okay?”

“M-M-Medium, m-m-medium is g-g-good.”

“Medium; you got it, Jimmy. That's what friends are for, isn't
it?”

“I g-g-guess s-s-so.”

“Would you be my friend, Jimmy?”

“I g-g-guess s-s-so.”

“Say my name, Jimmy.”

“R-R-Richard, r-r-right?”

“Perfect, Jimmy. And I'm your friend, right?”

“R-R-Right. F-F-Friend. R-R-Richard.”

“And friends do things for each other, right, Jimmy?”

“I g-g-guess s-s-so.”

“Would you do something for me, Jimmy, friend to friend?”

“I g-g-guess s-s-so.”

“That's nice, Jimmy, my friend. Can I borrow your phone for a
minute?”

“I g-g-guess s-s-so. I j-j-just u-u-use it t-t-to c-c-call
m-m-my m-m-mom. H-H-Here, R-R-Richard, f-f-friend.” He pulled
an older model cell phone from his jacket pocket and gave it to
Richard, who pulled it through the bars into the cell.

“Thank you, Jimmy.” He checked for a dial tone and
smiled.

“Whew.” He dialed, waited and then said, “Dawson?
Richard … no, no, no; Donne stuck us all in a cell in the
basement … I know, I know … yup, Thursday afternoon,
totally out of touch since then … no, some retard's phone ...”

“I'm n-n-not a r-r-retard; I'm j-j-just im-p-p-paired.”

“Quiet, Jimmy. I'm talking here.

“Look, Dawson, you've got to get us out of here … no,
now, right now … I don't care; wake one up … me, Andy,
Bob and Lee … okay, fine; call 'em all, but get this done,
now. And check all the accounts, make sure everything is still there
… what? Shit; that sonofabitch … can you …
okay, okay. Just get us out of here, now!” He hung up.

“Okay, guys. Dawson's gonna get all our sharks and get a
habeas corpus, tonight, get us outa here.”

“C-C-Can I h-h-have m-m-my ph-ph-phone b-b-back n-n-now,
R-R-Richard?”

“No; I'm gonna keep it for a while, retard.”

“I am N-N-NOT a r-r-retard. I'm j-j-just im-p-p-paired.
Y-Y-You're n-n-not m-my-my fr-fr-friend any-m-m-more.” He
started crying and ran out of the room, slamming the heavy door open
and closed.

“Retard,” Richard said, and dialed the phone again.
“What? What? 'No connection'? What the fuck?”

“Let me see that,” Andy said. “Shit, no bars,
nothing.” He reared back, ready to throw it against the wall,
but Richard grabbed it out of his hand.

“No, don't; maybe it'll come back in a while.”

* * * * * *

A few moments later, Jimmy walked into the Oval Office, pulled the
fake teeth off his very white real ones and smiled at Donne.

“Pizza cake, Gordy; just like Munich. They bought it, f'sure.”

“Superlative, Tony; go have a good rest. Now we wait.”

“Good night, Gordy. Good luck.”

-48-

Four Months Earlier

Saturday, August 13, 2011

12:10 p.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

“Hey, Deb.”

“Hi, Jake. What'll it be?”

“Two jumbo dogs. Deb, this is Pam. Pam, Deb.”

“Hi, Pam. Love your suit.”

“Nice to meet you, Deb, and thanks.”

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”

“And there's your change.”

Jake was putting ketchup and mustard on his hot dog while Pam put
ketchup, mustard, onions and relish on hers when Debra pointed at a
stack of bright green fliers on the table.

"Hey, Jake, Pam, what do you think about this? The Hysterical
Society is doing another 'Swim With The Gator Day' next month."

"Another what day?" Jake asked, picking up a flier.

"'Swim With The Gator.' It benefits the Historical Society, you
know, the ones who do the Mayor of Survey fundraiser every two
years."

"Yeah, I remember that from last year, but 'Swim With The
Gator'? What's that?"

"Oh, they bring a six-footer over from the zoo on Old 41, put
him in the city pool by the library, and any daredevil who gets in
and stays in for one minute gets a $25 gift certificate, and they
charge ten bucks a head for the public to come in and watch. Last
year, they raised over five grand."

Jake raised his eyebrows and said, "Wait a minute. People
VOLUNTARILY get in the pool with a live alligator? That's crazy."

"Oh, yeah. Last year they had over forty guys give it a shot,
and all but three came out unscathed."

"What happened to the three?"

"One minor bite, one scraped knee and one broken arm ... but he
did that after getting out of the pool, tripped on his seeing-eye
dog."

"Oh, geez. They all go in together?"

"Oh, no; one at a time."

"Well, at least that's -- wait a minute. His seeing- -- he was
blind?"

Debra grinned. "Gotcha."

"Oh, geez. So no Gator Day?"

"No, that's for real. Just that the guy actually broke his arm
tripping over his walker."

"Now you're pulling my leg again, Deb."

"Yup, you got me. So what d'ya think? Wanna give it a shot?”

“Me? Get in with a live gator? No way, Jose. I might pay the
ten bucks to watch.”

“Maybe Pam would; you look kinda fearless. What d'ya think?”

“I think I'd rather just watch once, Deb.”

“You know what you could do, Jake? Donate some copies of your
book.”

“Yeah, I could do that – but it won't be out until
December.”

“Gift certificates. Then leave the copies at the Historical
Society once it's out and they can pick 'em up there.”

“Yeah, that's doable. Good idea, Deb.”

“Just a thought. By the way, did you hear the one about the
Buddhist hot dog vendor?”

“Nope.”

“So this guy orders a hot dog, gets it, gives the guy a twenty
and waits … and waits … and waits … and waits …
and waits. Finally he says, 'Hey, where's my change?' And the
Buddhist hot dog vendor says, 'Change comes from within.'”

Pam laughed and Jake chuckled. “Not bad, Deb, not bad.
That'll go into the database.”

“Thought you'd like that one. See ya later.”

“Biz, Deb.”

“Nice to have met you,” Pam said.

As they walked back to the beach, Pam said, “'Biz'?”

Jake nodded. “Kind of our code word. Instead of saying 'Bye'
for 'Goodbye,' I say, 'Biz' for 'Good biz.' Just jargon.” Pam
chuckled and took a bite of her hot dog, chewed and swallowed.

“Mmmm; that's good. Where does she get them?”

“She won't say; it's a secret. Maybe we should turn her over
to the CIA,” Jake said, smiling.

“Oh, Jake, don't joke about that. Those guys can be deadly,
for real.”

“SCR.”

“What?”

“Sorry; Couldn't Resist. Sorry; just an acronym I made up a
while ago.”

“Ah. But I'd be careful about talking about those guys.”

”Okay; I'll be good.”

As they continued walking back to their spot, Jake nibbling at his
hot dog, Pam wrapping hers for when they got back, a cute young
blonde woman came by and said, “Hey, Jake.”

“Morning, Laurie,” Jake said, making it sound like
“Morning Glory.”

“Pam, this is Laurie, our beach bun-walker. Laurie, Pam.”

“Hi, Pam.”

“Hi, Laurie. Bun-walker?”

Laurie patted her butt. “Gotta walk this off.”

“You look fine.”

“Now, Jake, no flattery; I know what I know.

“Love your suit, Pam.”

“Thanks.”

“So how's Jeff doing up nord dere?”Jake asked.

“Fine. Got his cabin in the woods all done and he's enjoying
his solitude. He'll be back late September.”

“Great. Next time you talk to him, tell him hi from me and
tell him you two'll definitely be in the book.”

“Oh, cool. Will do. Nice meeting you, Pam.”

“Same here, Laurie.”

As Laurie walked on, she smiled at Jake and held her thumb and index
finger out horizontally, about half an inch apart. Jake replied
similarly, but holding his digits maybe an inch and a half apart.
Pam looked on quizzically as Laurie laughed and continued on.

“What was that about?”

Jake blushed under his tan. “That's a VERY long story. Some
other time, okay?”

“Okay. But I'm intrigued, so I'll hold you to that.”

“Promise.”

“And what was that about the Mayor of … Survey, was it?”

“Oh, that was the name of this area before it was Bonita
Springs, and every two years, people run for mayor, asking for votes
any way they can, and it's ten cents a vote. The person who raises
the most money wins and gets the title for the next two years. It's
kind of fun, but I'd bet not as much as that gator thing.”