The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (50 page)

“I'll take it.

“Good afternoon, Your Honor. It's your dime; go ahead …
yeah, I'm meeting with them soon and we should get it done by the end
of the day … yeah, they should be all back up and running
tomorrow … well, I'm happy if you're happy … what? …
no, I won't; you're stuck on that one … well, it was a stupid
move in the first place … nope, double refunds, immediately …
wait, slow down … too bad; live with it … don't make me
come up there … that's better. Now, I've heard some rumors
about you wanting to ban large soft drinks. What the hell is that
about?”

Donne listened patiently, asking a few clarification questions, and
then said, “Absolutely not. That's way too much nanny statism
… well, get over it … that's my policy. Now, if I'm
gonna get the theaters open up there, I've got to go. Have a good
day … if you want to.”

Donne hung up the phone and turned to his overflowing inbox, which he
emptied in less than half an hour. He noticed that the approved pile
was now larger than the disapproved one, and both were smaller than
usual. He smiled and said to himself, “Ah, they're learning.”

Then he took a nap before meeting with the boys from Broadway. As he
drifted off, he murmured, “Let there be light,” and
chuckled.

-103-

One Month Earlier

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

1:23 p.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

”No, no, no, Jake. Put it there first, then do that and then
back there next.”

“You sure of that, Pam?”

“Absolutely. And we need to keep our voices down; too many
people might hear.”

“Hey, it's season; they're always close,” but Jake
dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Okay, I can do it that
way. But then I'll need to tweak this over here.”

“Oh, yes, yes. But if that's too tricky, we can try it the
other way.”

“No, no, Pam, I think it's great; in fact, it feels just
right.”

“I'm glad you like it, Jake.”

“And then just stick it in there?”

“Only if it really feels right to you.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, it does.”

“Really, really feels right?”

“Oh, yeah. Really.”

“But if you change your mind, that's okay with me.”

“I'm glad you're so flexible, Pam.”

“One of my many great features,” she said, giggling.
Jake chuckled.

“One of many I love.”

“Why, thank yuh, suh,” Pam drawled. “Ah do so
appreciate your lovin'.”

“It ain't hard, ma'am.”

“Okay. Anything else you want to stick in there?”

“I don't think so; it feels a little too long already.”

“Better a little too long than too short.”

“Yeah, I know. But if it gets really long, then it doesn't work
right.”

“How about this? Split it in two and put it in front and
behind?”

“Split it? How would we do that?”

“Right down the middle. Let me see. Ah, right here. Does
that feel okay to you?”

“Oh, there? When the screaming starts? Or should we keep the
gunshots in the first part? I could tweak that a little bit and then
pick it up with the gorilla head deflating after something from the
Donne timeline. What d'ya think?

“Wait, wait. Isn't that when Jennifer gets back to Poopsie
after the Occupiers and the paint on her coat?”

“Oh, right. Let me see. Ah, yes, there it … yeah, that
works for me. Gunshots, screaming, Occupiers, paint, Poopsie,
gorilla head.”

“Cool,” Pam said, chuckling. “I like it.”

“Oh, geez. That was the scariest day of my life, bullets
flying all around. I really thought I was gonna die. I still get
nightmares.”

“Really? You've never had them when you've stayed over.”

“Guess I have other things on my mind on those nights.”

“But when you do wake up in the middle of ...”

“Oh, yeah; or when you wake me up ...”

“Mmmm. Yeah. I love it when --”

“Ohh, that's hot,” a squeaky alto voice intruded.

“Yeah, and it's dry, too, Ron,” Jake said flatly, not
moving his head at all. Pam looked over Jake's shoulder and saw Ron,
dripping wet after a quick dip in the Gulf.

“The news said it was 61 degrees, I think,” she said.

“Right; it's hot,” Ron squeaked. “Like you.”

“Oh, put it to rest, Ron,” Pam said.

“So you got a part for me in the book yet, Jake?”

“Matter of fact, Ron, I do.”

“Secretary of Defense?”

“Nah, sorry. Pam and I talked it over and we've got a very
special part for you. Right, Pam?”

“Oh. Right, Jake.”

“It's a very, very special part,” Jake said.

“So tell me.”

“Okay. First, you've got no lines.”

“No lines?”

“Nope. When we first see you, you're dead.”

“Dead?”

“And gay.”

“WHAT??? Gay?” Ron said, his face turning a deep
red-brown.

“And you're a transsexual.”

“No.”

“Yup. And you've got AIDS.”

“Nooo!” His throat tendons started to throb.

“And you're a dwarf. Tried out for that pest control
commercial, but you didn't get it.”

“Shit, Jake.”

“And you're a Republican.”

“You son of a --” His fists clenched.

“And a member of the Tea Party.”

“What? You can't do that.” He shook a fist at Jake.

“Well, maybe, just maybe, if you get Jenny to make us some more
brownies, I could leave it at dead and gay.”

“Now, now, Jake,” Pam cut in, “that sounds like a
bribe.”

“Naw, just letting him do some lobbying.”

“Ah,” Pam said, laughing and glancing up at Jenny, who
was smiling back and laughing quietly.

“Oh, I'd also have to leave you as a Republican.”

“No, no, Jake. I'll talk to Jenny. How many to take that part
out?”

“The Republican part?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, probably a couple dozen might do it. No, make it four.”

Before Ron could turn around and see Jenny, she flashed Pam an okay
sign, then a thumbs up, smiling. As Ron turned, she buried her nose
in her book, trying unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter.

“Of course, you'll always be an asshole,” Jake said, only
slightly under his breath.

“I heard that,” Ron squeaked as he walked away. Ken and
Marsha, Ned and Joan, both Barbaras, Bill, Peggy, George, Will, Lucy,
Rosemary, Patrick, Norm and Janet, Paul and Evelyn and a couple of
strangers within earshot all laughed. Ron glared at them all and
plopped down into his chair next to Jenny, sulking. The Mimosa twins
focused on a cell phone, trying to justify their giggles.

“That was a little cruel, Jake,” Pam whispered.

“Just that guy thing, remember?” Jake whispered back.
“He calls me a schlub, I call him an asshole, and Jenny gets
complimented on the baking she loves to do. Balance.”

“Her brownies are delicious.”

“And they freeze well.”

“You freeze 'em?”

“Of course. If I ate 'em all, my belly would look like his.”

“Ewww.”

“Hey, that's my word,” Jill whispered to Carie. “Maybe
she's got us bugged?”

“Shhh,” Carie whispered.

“So, Jake,” Pam said, “what's next?”

“I think my shoulders need a break. We've been at this for a
couple hours. How're you doing?”

“I could use a break, too. Massage swap?”

“Sounds good.”

“Let's go.”

“We'll watch your stuff,” Norm and Janet said in unison
as Pam and Jake got up.

“Get ready, Sharon,” Jill whisper-giggled into her beach
bag.

-104-

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

4:35 p.m.

The Oval Office

Washington, DC

Emily and six Secret Service agents and four of Donne's private
guards escorted five handcuffed union bosses from the Broadway
theater industry into the Oval Office.

Donne looked up at them all, his mouth full of cheeseburger, and
waved them to a point in front of his desk. He left them standing
there, fidgeting, while he slowly finished his meal, took a final sip
of his soda, carefully wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and leaned
back in his chair.

“I understand some of you are mob-connected,” he began.
“So I think it's best to keep you all restrained while we have
our little chat. Keep a close eye on them all, guys.” The
guards all nodded.

“Now, boys, it's come to my attention that your members have
gone on strike and that Broadway has gone dark. That violates my
no-strike directive and my no-encouraging-strikes directives.

“So my question is this. What do you have to say for
yourselves before I find you guilty and sentence you?”

“I want to speak to a lawyer,” one of the bosses said.

“Me, too,” said another, and the other three concurred.

“Well, kids, that ain't gonna happen. Your due process rights
are only what I decide they'll be, and for you they do not include
lawyers.

“Now I'll ask it again. What do you have to say for
yourselves?”

All five remained silent.

“Well, boys, that makes things pretty simple.

“I've gone over the contracts you have with all the producers,
and they are the most appalling, disgusting, restrictive and
downright criminal contracts I've ever had the pain of reading.

“Not only that, but you have all been abusing your members for
decades, skimming money from their dues for your own personal
lifestyles and your mob bosses, sending more money to national
lobbying groups and requiring your members to buy overpriced health
and life insurance from companies you control. And that's just the
tip of the iceberg.

“I find you all guilty of violating the two directives I
mentioned before, and in addition to a prison sentence starting right
now in the cellblock in our basement and continuing for ten years in
a federal prison with no amenities and only minimal sustenance, for
which you will be billed, I am also confiscating everything each of
you owns or controls, leaving you and your families destitute. I am
also clawing back any and all payments you have made to other cronies
or mob bosses over the last twenty years.

“Emily, do we have room for these five downstairs?”

“Afraid not, Mr. Donne. Those cells are all full. We do have
some empty cells in the EOB, but they are the D level cells.”

“Well, guys, those'll have to – oh, wait. Emily, are
those four other union bosses and their attorneys still over there?”

“Yes, they are, Mr. Donne.”

“Oh, dear, I completely forgot about them. It's been …
what? … three months, I think. Can you have them brought up
here?”

“Now, Mr. Donne?”

“Yes, Emily; right now.”

“And these gentlemen?”

“Hold them somewhere until those others get here.”

“Yes, sir.”

-105-

Tuesday, March 13, 2012
12:35 p.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida

The Mimosa twins, Jill and Carie, finally got fed
up with the five drunken spring breakers who'd sat too close to them
and had been leering at them and making lewd comments about them for
the past half hour. The twins knew they were beautiful and looked
younger than their real age (30), but these 19-year-olds' behavior
had finally crossed the line when they started goading the biggest
one. He lurched over to Jill and slurred, "Hey, babe, wanna
suck my dick?" HIs buddies all laughed.

"Excuse me?" Jill asked, removing one
of her earbuds, glancing at Carie and nodding; Carie nodded back,
imperceptibly.

"I said, 'Wanna suck my dick?'" the kid
slurred again, leaning closer and stretching his hand out toward her
chest.

Jill snapped her arm out and gripped his hand,
twisting it into a kote gaeshi wrist lock. The boy's eyes widened
and he tried to squirm out of her grasp, but she just gripped tighter
and twisted more, and he started writhing in pain, falling to his
knees on the sand next to her towel. Carie kept a wary eye on the
other four, shaking her head and raising an index finger at them.

"Now, sonny, I want to make sure I understand
exactly what you said. What was it again?"

"Ow, ow, ow, let go!"

"No, no, I'm not sure that was it.”
She squeezed tighter.

“Oh, Christ! Let go!”

“Was that what he said, Carie Berry?"

"I don't think so, Jillybean. Doesn't sound
anything like what he said."

"I agree. Sonny boy, we agree that that's
not what you said. I'll give you a second chance. What was it you
said, precisely?"

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Ding, ding, ding. Wrong answer. One last
chance before I break your fingers. What. Was. It. You. Said.
Precisely?"

“Okay, okay. I asked you if you'd suck my
dick."

"Close, but no cigar. Precisely?"

"Ow, ow. Okay. I think I said, 'Wanna suck
my dick?'"

"And just before that?"

"I don't remember. Ow!"

"Try."

"Umm ... ow, ow. I don't remember."

"I believe he said, 'Hey, babe' to start it
off, JB."

"Why, thank you, CB; I do believe you are
correct."

"I do believe I am, JB."

"So, sonny boy, is my sister correct?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so. I don't remember.
Ow, geez."

"So you agree that what you said, precisely,
was 'Hey, babe, wanna suck my dick?'"

"I guess so ... ow. Okay, okay. I agree."

"Now, sonny, by what stretch of your insipid
little imagination do you believe that that is in any way, shape or
form respectful to me?"

"I -- I guess not."

"Ding, ding, ding; not responsive. I'll
rephrase the question. Did that question show any respect at all to
me ... or to women in general?"

"Uh -- ow. No, no."

"No what?"

"No, it did not show respect."

"Well, at long last, some awareness. Now I
have a few more questions for you. And I expect a prompt and totally
truthful answer; otherwise, I'll twist harder and that'll feel like
this."