The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (9 page)

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 followed, 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.