The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (8 page)

Pam stifled a laugh and mouthed the words, "Stevie Bruce?
Thowing?"

Jake shrugged and laughed quietly.

"Billy Lee, Stevie Bruce, I said KIT IT!!!! You wanna
whuppin'?"

Jake smiled. "From Lehigh; lotsa rednecks out there. Her
name's Ginny May."

Pam giggled again, "Ginny May what?"

"No, just Ginny May; Ginny for Virginia, and May is her last
name. Her hubby is Frank May; everybody calls him Frannie."

"Really?"

"Really. Met 'em about a year ago. And see those heavy ladies
with her? That's her sis-in-law, Sally, and her mom, Lurlene."

"Lurlene? No way."

"Way. She's a great cook, I've heard."

"Wow, Frannie May, Ginny May, Sally, Lurlene and ... Stevie
Bruce." Pam started to giggle, then a full-out laugh. "Stevie
Bruce."

Jake put on his own deep Southern accent and drawled, "Who'da
thunk it?" And he started to laugh, too.

Then he paused, got his laughing under control, scratched his head,
and said, "I forgot. Where was I?"

Pam, still chuckling, scrunched up her face, paused a moment and then
said, "Something about a sarcastic guy?"

"Oh, right. There was this one guy named Alan, who sometimes
fishes here from the beach, kind of a sarcastic, arrogant asshole ...
oh, pardon my French ..."

Pam waved it off and smiled. "No problem; that's one of my
favorite words."

"Really? Cool. Anyhow, way back, probably in early February,
this clown said something like 'If you write something like that, the
black helicopters'll be coming for you.' And even though I was
thinking of this all as a sort of silly exercise in total fiction,
that did kind of scare me some, 'cause people in power don't like to
hear anything that might rock their boat, fiction or not. So I kinda
backed off for a while, pushed all those thoughts down, and went back
to just being the guy on the beach who tells good bad jokes and
doesn't take too much too seriously ... and doesn't get taken too
seriously, either."

Jake shivered, took a deep breath and said, "Then a week or so
later, I had my first black helicopter nightmare."

-10-

Saturday, December 10, 2011

7:10 a.m. EST

New York City, New York

Jonathan Payne picked up his usual papers as he returned to his Park
Avenue penthouse from his morning jog, glancing at the headlines as
he rode up in his private elevator. One blared "BILLIONAIRE
BUYS AMERICA," with the subhead "Disaster or Opportunity?"
Another read "OBAMA OUT, DONNE IN," another read "DONNE
DID IT," another went with "DONNE DONE IT," one went
even further, with “DONNE DONE DID IT,” and the bottom
one in the stack, the only paper to remember Donne's middle name,
read "G.O.D. BUYS U.S.A. W.T.F.?"

Back in his penthouse, Payne perused each paper patiently and
persistently, making notes on a yellow legal pad, occasionally
double-checking Donne's directives on his PC, until he had 27 pages
of tightly written analysis and had downed seven large mugs of his
favorite coffee.

When Jennifer, his trophy wife (the third, and twenty years younger
than his second), blonde, with one of those squeaky voices that's
cute at first, but grates badly after about four months, brought him
an eighth mug, Jonathan leaned back, stretched and groaned as she
massaged his neck and shoulders.

“Poopsie, don't you think it's time for a break? You've been
at this for three hours straight.”

“Oh, that's good, Jenn … yeah, right there … a
little higher on the neck … ahhhhh, nice … hey, you
remember Gordy Donne?”

“Gordy, Gordy? Oh, you mean that awkward little guy who came
to our wedding? With the three Amazons with him?”

“Yeah; those were his bodyguards … oh, good; you got it
… maybe a little harder, right there. He's the guy who just
bought the country.”

“Oh, I heard something about that; Marsha and Pat were talking
about it at the gym this morning. That was last night, right?”

“Right.”

“And he really bought the whole country?”

“Right. I can't believe he finally pulled it off; he's been
wanting to do that for years.”

“So is that good or bad?”

“Some of both, but mostly good, from what I've looked at so
far.”

“Okay.”

“I've got to start calling the board, let them know we're not
going to build those new plants in Brazil and China; we'll be better
off building them right here, probably in Florida or Texas, maybe
Indiana or Wisconsin.”

“Oh, I love Florida. Are we gonna go back there soon?”

“Maybe in January. But I'm going to be pretty busy for the
next few weeks.”

“More than usual? You're already working too hard. I'm afraid
you're gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

“Oh, Jenn, you worry too much. And you know I get bored when
things are just … ahhh, that feels great. Where did you ever
learn to do that?”

“Massage school. Those spots right behind your ears are
super-sensitive. And I've got good thumbs, of course.”

“Best thumbs on the Upper East Side.”

“Don't you know it, Poopsie.”

“Love you, Jenn. But I've got to get to the phone now.”

“Oh, damn, I was hoping to entice you into the bedroom before I
have to get ready for that charity lunch at the Bernsteins'.”

“Feeling a little frisky, huh?”

“Oh, more than a little.”

“Maybe when you get back, okay?”

“Okay, Poopsie. Your neck feel better?”

“Absolutely, Jenn.”

“Maybe I'll need you to zip me up after I shower.”

“Maybe I'll do that. Off you go now.”

“Okay, lovey. Remember, don't work too hard.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Okay, then. Ta-ta for now.”

Jonathan stretched one last time and picked up his phone.

“Hey, Phil; it's Jon … fine … have you been
studying Donne's stuff? Me, too. Look, I think we need to
reconsider the China and Brazil plants … right … oh,
you, too? Good. And we might think about bringing more of our
overseas profits back and paying a big dividend in Q1 … yeah,
a big one. And we might look at buying some plants here instead of
building; lots of vacant stuff around … right. I was thinking
that one in Tampa; we could get a good deal on that if we move fast.
But I think a lot of CEOs are thinking like I am now, and I don't
want to get into bidding wars … precisely. Look, have your
staff get a proposal done on those three issues and we'll get it to
the board Monday, so put a rush on it, okay? What? No, I've been
focused on Donne's stuff, haven't had it on. Hang on … oh,
geez. Is that those Occupy gangsters again? Look at 'em. Christ,
haven't they learned anything? 'Gimme, gimme, gimme.' Like little
spoiled teenagers … I know, I know; right. Oh, that reminds
me. How are we doing on setting up those intern and apprenticeship
programs? Remember, my goal there is thirty cities by the end of next
quarter, thirty thousand new … oh, good, nineteen? Good
progress, Phil. Okay; give me a buzz whenever. I'll be available.
Bye.”

Jonathan stretched again, rolled his neck and made another phone
call.

“Hi, Amber. It's Jon Payne. Very good, thank you. I'll need
a guard for my wife in about an hour; she's walking over to Fifth
Avenue, and that Occupy movement may be on her route … no, she
insists on walking … I know; can't live without 'em, either …
no, I think one'll be enough … Wayne? Yeah, he'll be fine.
About eleven. Just have him buzz when he arrives and I'll let him
into the elevator. And she'll be coming back later … hang on a
second.”

Jonathan hit the mute button and walked into the master bath suite,
where Jennifer had just started her shower.

“Hey, Jenn, how long will that lunch take?”

“Oh, Poopsie, I can leave early if you want me to.”

“No, no, no, take your time; I just need to give the bodyguard
a rough idea of how long you'll be there.”

“Ohhhh, shucks. Why do I need a guard, anyhow?”

“The Occupy gang is out again.”

“Damn. Okay. I think we'll be done around two, maybe
two-thirty.”

“Okay.”

“Can you get Wayne and Linda? I like them.”

“Okay. Holler if you need a zip.”

“I may need more than that, Poopsie, and I'll do more than
holler.”

“Okay.”

“Be sure to take your little pill about two-thirty, Poopsie,
okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Relieved that he'd hit the mute button before talking with her,
Jonathan returned to the living room and hit it again.

“Hey, Amber, can we get both Wayne and Linda? Jenn likes 'em …
great. And it looks like she'll be in there till about two-thirty or
so… ah, the Bernsteins … yeah … oh, they do?
Good; so they can just wait in there, then, with the others, okay?
Good. By the way, do you still have that no-tipping policy? Okay.
But your folks are so good, sometimes I'd like to tip 'em. Okay.
Thanks, Amber. I'll keep an ear out for them about eleven. Bye.”

-11-

Six months earlier

Sunday, June 12, 2011

11:19 a.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

Jake shivered, took a deep breath and said, "Then a week or so
later, I had my first black helicopter nightmare."

Pam smiled gently and said, "Just from that asshole's comment?"

Jake laughed. "And some other folks, too. It was running
around in my subconscious for a while and finally resurfaced. And it
kind of fit in with a joke I'd made up a year before or so, that by
2020, someone in this country would be arrested for smoking a
cigarette in their own home by a SWAT team that was high on legal
marijuana."

Pam chuckled. "We may be headed that way, I guess."

"Yup. But it wasn't a SWAT team in the helicopter; I think that
would have been overkill."

"Standard overkill procedure, of course."

"Oh, yeah. But it was two FBI agents, one old and fat and kinda
dull and the other an eager, gung-ho, arrogant young punk, probably
just out of the academy. They jumped out of the helicopter wearing
business suits and sunglasses right into the water, sank in up to
their knees, and finally clambered up to me, right here." Jake
paused, reached into his cooler, pulled out a water bottle and a tube
of lip balm, took a long sip and then put some balm on his lips.

Pam pulled a bottle out of her bag and took a sip.

Jake asked, "Want me to put that in my cooler? Plenty of room."

"Sure; thanks."

Jake put it in his cooler, and then Pam asked, "So what did the
FBI guys do?"

"Oh," Jake replied, "they came at me with guns drawn,
and the young one accused me of being unpatriotic and divisive, and
then they argued about whether that word was pronounced
'div-eye-sive' or 'div-ih-sive,' with a long I or short 'I.'"

Pam laughed and said, "You know, I've heard it both ways ...
sometimes in the same newscasts."

"So have I. So I guess the word itself is divisive; it does
what it says, makes people argue about it. Anyhow, then I told them
that this was MY dream and I could make them into gargoyles or give
them clown noses if I wanted to. And suddenly they both had clown
noses. And then they were walking back into the water toward the
helo, yelling at each other: 'Div-eye-sive,' 'Div-ih-sive,' back and
forth, and when they got in up to their chests, I woke up."

Pam laughed and then said, "So do you think your book will be
unpatriotic and divisive/divisive?"

"Unpatriotic, no; Donne is totally about genuinely fixing the
government for the benefit of the country and its people.
Divisive/divisive? Absolutely. And he's got to do stuff that pisses
off a lot of powerful people in order to motivate the assassination
plots."

"Assassination plots?"

"Sure; got to have some drama in there to offset the tedium of
him talking about policy stuff."

"So are you still worried about the black helicopters coming for
you in reality, here?"

"Hmm; for a silly little novel, compared to all the real
anti-government stuff on the Web? Not really, but I guess it's
always a possibility ... not helicopters, but maybe a visit from the
feds, one way or another. But that would be politically motivated,
and depending on the IQ and bias of whoever might show up, I don't
think I'd have a real problem. Plus there's the whole free speech
issue. As an aside, I've actually been thinking about doing another
one about a guy who's sort of an anti-Donne, does exactly the
opposite of what he does, opposite policies; a bad guy. I may
actually do that after I finish this one, just as a kind of
experiment. I haven't mentioned that to anyone till now, and I
haven't tried writing anything on that, either.

"But, Pam, I've just been blabbing away here. What about you?
What's your background? I'll bet you've done some modeling. And
those sunglasses aren't cheap."

Pam furrowed her brow and said, "Well, that's a long --"

Just then Jake's arm shot up and he managed to catch a football
inches before it struck Pam's head. Pam, startled at Jake's quick
movement, started to reach to block his forearm, then stopped herself
as she saw what was happening.

The teen who'd been trying to catch the football ran over, casually
mumbled, "Sorry," and reached for the ball.

Jake held onto the ball and said, "Just a second, son. Before I
give this back, let me tell you about a little beach rule we've got
here. If this comes this close to us again, it's mine for ten
minutes, and after that, if it gets this close once more, it's mine
forever. Okay?"

The teen shrugged, said, "Okay," and reached out for the
ball again.

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."