The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology Read online

  Jake kept the ball, held out his hand and said more sharply, "Deal?"

  The teen shook Jake's hand tentatively and said, "Deal."

  Jake said, "Okay. Now go have fun. But be careful where that thing goes."

  The teen and his buddy consulted briefly, then moved a long way down the beach.

  Pam said, "Is that really a beach rule?"

  Jake shrugged. "Naw, I just made that up, maybe a year ago; but it works. So far I've got maybe six or seven footballs and nine or ten frisbees at home."

  Pam laughed, "Verbal contract, huh?"

  "Yup."

  "Good idea.”

  "Thanks. And I used that kind of contract in the book.”

  "Really? How?

  "Two ways that I can think of. First, anyone who comes in to see Donne has to sign a release that says if they lie, dissemble, deflect, demonize, demagogue or hyperbolate to him, they face big penalties; and second, in a tradeoff with business guys, he quits micro-inspecting and micro-regulating their operations, but if they screw up and don't take care of the damages and fix whatever problem caused the screwup, BIG penalties, tripled if they try to cover it up.”

  "Interesting,” Pam said. “Let me think about that for a minute.”

  Jake said, "Take your time," reached into his beach bag and pulled out a cigarette and a magnifying glass, sat up on his lounge, facing the Gulf, and stretched his shoulders, rotating his neck and head right and left. Then he focused the sunlight onto the end of the cigarette, which almost immediately began to smoke. Once it got going well, in about six or seven seconds, Jake puffed on it and put the glass back in his bag.

  Pam said, "That's cool. May I try it?"

  Jake handed her the magnifier and said, "Go for it."

  Pam aimed her ciggie at the sun, put the glass right on the end of it and then pulled it up until the focal point got very small and smoke started. In a few seconds, she puffed on it and gave Jake the glass back. “Thanks.”

  Jake said, "You know, Pam, you're the first person I've ever seen who's done that right the first time."

  Pam shrugged and said, "It's just optics." She smiled and said, "I'll let you in on a little secret, Jake. I may be blonde, but I ain't dumb."

  Jake smiled. "Didn't that blonde country singer say that?"

  Pam said, "Not quite, but close. Someone asked her if she was offended by dumb blonde jokes, and she replied, 'Naw, 'cause I ain't dumb ... and I ain't blonde.'"

  Jake laughed. "I'd forgotten that one. But that reminds me of the blonde joke to end all blonde jokes. Wanna hear it?”

  ”Sure.”

  ”Okay. Why are blonde jokes so short?”

  “Why?”

  “So brunettes and redheads can remember them.”

  Pam laughed. “Oh, I've gotta remember that.” Then she laughed harder, uncontrollably.

  Jake joined her, not quite understanding why, but her laughter WAS contagious.

  Finally, with tears running down her cheeks, she managed to burble out, "Stevie Bruce, Ginny May. Sorry; can't get that outa my head."

  Jake also managed to control himself and said, "Don't forget about Frannie May," and that set Pam off again. “And Lurlene.”

  After a solid minute of gales of laughter, they both breathed deeply and controlled themselves, at least for the moment. Pam took off her sunglasses, set them on Jake's cooler, pulled a small towel out of her bag and began wiping her face. Jake picked up her sunglasses, opened his cooler and offered her her bottle of water. As she swigged from it, he took a closer look at her sunglasses, then handed them to her as she gave him the bottle, which he put back in the cooler. After a bit more stretching, he put his cigarette out, put the butt in an empty pack, then reached into his cooler and pulled out a container of ice cream, took one spoonful, and then a gulp of water, put some more lip balm on and lay back down.

  “Ahhh. I think the main reason I smoke is to give me an excuse to use some ice cream to soothe my throat after each one.”

  Pam, chuckling and smiling, said, "Can I ask you something, Jake? Something I've been wondering about since I sat down."

  "Sure; go ahead."

  "How did you get that scar on your left thigh? Looks like a knife wound."

  "Nah, just sheer dumb luck. Second week I was sitting on the beach, some idiots left their umbrella up while they went walking, and it blew loose and hit me. 13 stitches."

  "Pretty close to the femoral artery."

  "Yup; more dumb luck that it missed. That's why I always check to see who's got open umbrellas upwind of me when I'm stretching. And if you see Norm over there ... hey, Norm."

  Norm looked up from his puzzle and waved. "Hey, Jake."

  "He uses that drill and the sand anchor to hold the umbrella down, even in strong winds."

  Pam looked over and winced slightly, then recovered her composure. "Good idea."

  "Yup; Norm's pretty clever. He's a retired dentist."

  "Ah-ha."

  "Speaking of doctors, I see you had a great plastic surgeon."

  "No, no; these are real."

  "No, I'm sorry; I mean that bullet wound over your left collarbone."

  "Oh, that. A long time ago, different life."

  "CIA, FBI, DIA, military, what?"

  "No, no --"

  "C'mon, Pam. I saw the DS380/17 in your sunglasses. That's Top Echelon only, no civilian uses."

  Pam's eyes widened. "You know about --"

  She didn't finish, as a loud roar came from the water and shrieks and screams broke out all over the beach, everybody staring and pointing at the Gulf.

  Pam's eyes widened even further, and Jake turned to look over his right shoulder.

  "What the –"

  Then gunfire erupted and all the beachgoers began running toward the parking lots, except for the Mimosa twins, who reached into their beach bags and adjusted the zoom on their equipment.

  -12-

  Saturday, December 10, 2011

  3:15 p.m. EST

  New York City, New York

  The Occupy people began occupying the Upper East Side about noon, marching up, down and across all the streets and avenues, waving the usual hodgepodge of signs that had become familiar to anyone who paid any attention to any news programs, with a few new additions: “Down With Donne,” “No Miminum Tax,” “Money is a Shitty Regilion” and “No Tax on Non-Profets.” There was another which read “We Have Passionate Vague Demands” and another claiming “We Hate Self-Defecating Humor.”

  Wayne and Linda, at Jennifer's request, accompanied her up the private elevator to the Paynes' penthouse on their return from the charity lunch. When the doors opened, Jonathan gaped at the sight before him.

  “Jenn, are you okay? What happened?”

  “It was awful, Jon. They threw, they threw --” She broke down in tears and fell into Jon's arms. Jon looked at Wayne and Linda.

  “What happened out there?”

  “We had no problem getting to the Bernsteins', but on the way back, it looked like it might be difficult. So Linda changed coats with Jennifer – I mean Mrs. Payne – and moved ahead of us as a decoy. Mrs. Payne stayed with me and we followed about eight feet behind. The protesters were all over Fifth Avenue, the street, the sidewalks, scores of them, marching and chanting. We made it through that crowd and the ones on the cross street, but when we turned onto Park, somebody splashed red paint on Linda and yelled at her about wearing fur.”

  “He swore at her, Jon. It was awful,” Jenn wailed.

  “Are you hurt, Linda?” Jon asked.

  “No, but that clown sure is. He won't be using that arm again for a long, long time,” Linda replied.

  “With that melee distracting everyone, I rushed Mrs. Payne here to your building and we got inside; nobody followed us or touched her.”

  “Wayne was wonderful, Jon,” Jenn whimpered.

  “And Linda cleared from the crowd and joined us inside after a few minutes.”

  Linda said, “I made sure I wasn't fol
lowed, went way past this building, around the corner, turned the coat inside out, wrapped it into a ball and came back on the other side of the street with my hat inside out. When the way looked clear, I came across the street and Wayne let me in. Then we hustled into your elevator.

  “And we've got a cleaner who can probably get that paint off the coat, if we get it to him soon.”

  “Oh, that'd be wonderful. I love that coat,” Jennifer said, perking up a little.

  “If you've got a trash bag or two, that'd be great,” Linda said.

  “I'll get some,” Jennifer said, and headed off to the kitchen.

  “You two have done superbly,” Jon said.

  “Just our job, Mr. Payne,” said Wayne.

  “Well, you do it exceptionally well, as always.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I'll be sure to mention that to Amber when I talk to her.”

  “Again, thank you, sir.”

  "And if you ever want to think about making a change, I would love to make you both a very lucrative offer.”

  "Well, thank you, Mr. Payne, but OP-US has been very good to us both and we'll probably stick with them till death do us part.”

  Jennifer returned from the kitchen with two large trash bags. “Will these work?”

  “That should be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Payne,” Linda said.

  "Did I hear you say 'Opus,' Wayne?”

  "Yes, you did, Mrs. Payne; Optimum Protection, U-S, the company we work for.”

  "Oh, right; I forgot. Sometimes I can be such a ditz.”

  Wayne held one bag open while Linda stuffed the coat inside, and then they used the other to double-bag it, careful to avoid dripping any paint on the expensive carpet.

  Linda added, “I'm pretty sure I didn't let any drip in the foyer or the elevator, but I'll double-check on our way out. And we'll call you as soon as the coat has been cleaned.”

  “Anything else you need us for, Mr. Payne?” Wayne asked.

  “Not right now, Wayne. But if you want to bash a few of those damned animal rights idiots out there, feel absolutely free.”

  “I'd love to, Mr. Payne, but only defensively.”

  “Oh, well; too bad. And from now on, feel free to call me Jon, okay?”

  “Okay, Mr. – I mean Jon.”

  Linda said, “I guess we should be on our way and get the cleaner started on this coat.”

  “Be sure to send me the bill.”

  “Okay, Mr. – I mean Jon. But that won't be much at all.”

  Jennifer gave each of them a hug and whispered, “You two are real life-savers. Thank you so much.”

  “Glad we could be there for you. Bye,” said Linda, and they both got into the elevator and headed down.

  “They are so cool, Poopsie.”

  “They're amazing, Jenn. And thanks for not calling me Poopsie in front of them.”

  “Oh, I know that's just between us, Jon.”

  “You feeling better now?”

  “Lots better. They both really helped calm me down.”

  “How about a drink?”

  “I've got a better idea. Did you take that little pill?”

  “I told you I would, so of course. But you're sure you're okay?”

  “I'm fine now, really. Let's go see if that pill has worked its way down to Stevie Bruce. Ginny May is getting anxious for a visit.”

  “Okay, Punkin. Let's go.”

  And they headed off to another room in the penthouse.

  -13-

  Six Months Earlier

  Sunday, June 12, 2011

  11:26 a.m. EDT

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  BANG! One gunshot, then two more: BANG, BANG!!!

  Who was shooting? Jake and Pam saw that It was the pale, muscled young man south of Norm and Janet, holding a handgun in a two-handed stance, firing out at the Gulf.

  Then three M-16s joined in, as three Marines in sand camouflage suits burst up from the sandy beach where they'd been buried since before dawn, sighted on the target the pale young man had first shot at and fired on full automatic.

  Millie, struggling to get her rotund self up from her red blanket, along with Fran and Alvina, cried out, "Something just goosed me!!!"

  The man on the PVC lounge pulled his right hand back out from underneath the fringe, scratched his left elbow and calmly watched events unfold.

  Pam, still in her beach chair, but with a handgun of her own in her hand, shouted in a stentorian, commanding tone, "Cease fire, Marines, cease fire!" The gunfire immediately stopped. Jake looked at her in amazement.

  A hundred yards further south, the teen in the Master Bait T-shirt hurriedly closed his tackle box, tossed it and his pole into the skiff and motored at full speed south toward Naples, no longer giggling. A small metal box with a small red button, a toggle switch and a green light on it bounced about on the bottom of the boat.

  Jake looked out at a rapidly deflating and shredded King Kong head, about fifteen feet tall and ten feet wide, as it fell back into the Gulf, floating on the light chop, about ten yards south of the Hat Squad, who were all paddling north as fast as they could with their noodles, boogie boards and lifebelts.

  Fifty yards further out on the Gulf, a jet ski had stalled out and was smoking; the kid who had rented it had disappeared.

  Millie fell over as a fourth Marine finally emerged, M-16 at the ready, from his hiding spot directly under where she had put her blanket two hours earlier.

  The Incontinentals and others on the beach pulled out cell phones and began taking pictures and videos of what was going on.

  The four Marines converged on Pam and Jake, their weapons all pointed at Jake, who cowered, his arms crossed in front of his face.

  "No, no, no," Pam commanded. "Weapons down!" The Marines complied. "He's clear."

  The Marine who'd been under Millie looked at his fellows and asked, "Where's Ron?"

  The pale young man pointed toward Norm and Janet, who had run toward the parking lot when the gunfire began and were now coming back to their chairs. "Danuski? I think he was somewhere in there."

  Pam pointed at two of the Marines and said, "Hunsucker, Babcock, see what's going on with him. Miller, Schwartz, crowd control ... PEACEFULLY, no weapons." She looked at the pale young man, "Murphy, get out there and see what the hell that thing was. I'll hold your weapon." Murphy nodded, handed Pam his handgun and his sunglasses, revealing pinkish-red irises, and headed for the water and the deflated gorilla head.

  Hunsucker and Babcock ran over to Norm and Janet, calling for their compatriot both aloud and into their throat mikes, getting no response. They pulled Norm's drill out of the sand and saw blood on it, about a foot up from the tip.

  Janet said, "That's Norm's; he cut his toe on it." Norm showed them his bandage.

  Hunsucker threw their chairs aside, then reached for the umbrella. He pulled up on the shaft, but it wouldn't budge. He reached down to pull up on the handles of the sand anchor; still no movement.

  Norm said, "Twist it ... no, the other way."

  Hunsucker twisted and the anchor slowly came up, exposing more blood mixed in the sand on the blade. He and Babcock began digging in the sand with their hands, revealing the top of a helmet, then even more blood mixed with the sand.

  "Oh, shit," Hunsucker muttered.

  "Oh, Ron, no," Babcock cried.

  Norm looked on as more sand and blood came out in the Marines' hands; he covered his mouth, looked at Janet, and croaked, "Oh, my god."

  Babcock and Hunsucker finally got enough sand out to be able to pull Ron up and onto the beach. They rolled him over, revealing a mangled, bloody throat. Hunsucker checked for a pulse, found nothing but dried and drying blood. Babcock started crying.

  The beach crowd shrank even further back, but several kept their cell phone videos recording. Janet turned away and vomited. A flock of twenty or thirty seagulls swooped in and began gobbling up her breakfast muffin.

  Babcock leaped to his feet, grabbed his weapon
and pointed it at Norm. "You killed him, you killed him," he screamed, tears still running down his cheeks.

  Norm cried out, "I didn't know he was there!"

  Pam yelled, "Stand down, Marine. STAND DOWN, dammit!"

  Hunsucker jumped up, grabbed Babcock's weapon and forced it down to the ground. "Cool it, Babs; cool it."

  Pam ran directly between Norm and Babcock, got right in Babcock's face and in a measured but intense tone said, "I said, STAND DOWN, Marine!!!"

  Babcock, snarling at Norm, looked back at Pam, said, "Yes, ma'am," and backed away.

  Pam said, "It was an accident. How could he know Ron was down there? Think, Marine." Hunsucker pulled Babcock away from Norm and Pam, toward the water, talking him down as best he could.

  "Goddamn Cheney," Pam muttered. Jake wondered why she was cursing the former vice president, but before he could think further about that, Murphy hollered from the Gulf.

  "Ma'am, I think you'd better see this."

  Pam responded, "Any immediate danger?"

  "I don't think so, ma'am."

  "Okay. Give me a minute. Babcock, help Miller and Schwartz with the crowds. Hunsucker, cover him up with something."

  Norm said, "Here, take our towels."

  As Hunsucker covered the body, sirens sounded in the distance, rapidly approaching the beach.

  "Oh, shit; locals," Pam said under her breath. She pulled a radio from her beach bag, flicked it on and said, "Chopper One, Beach Gang. We need you back here right now."

  "On our way, Beach Gang; ETA, five."

  "Make it two."

  "We'll do our best, ma'am."

  "We also need a body bag."

  After a brief pause, Chopper One responded, "One body bag, confirmed. Chopper One, out."

  Pam turned to her men and ordered, "Marines, prepare for backup." The Marines arrayed themselves in a semicircle behind her, facing the parking lots, M-16s at the ready, but pointed slightly toward the ground.

  Three Lee County and four Collier County sheriff's cars pulled into the parking lots and a dozen deputies emerged, running onto the beach, some guns holstered, some drawn. The onlookers moved even further away, cameras still recording.