The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 12
They Can't Do That, Can They?
"I dunno, Zoov. I dunno," Dickie Lee muttered.
He had just briefed Zoov on his late night meeting, the previous evening, with Deck.
"He go for it or what?" Zoov pressed again.
Dickie Lee just glared at him.
They finally squared off, Dickie Lee cornering him in his small office late that morning. A washer/dryer sat in the corner, laden in rust and dust. When Zoov's actually functioned as a house, this was the laundry room. They had gotten together to try to get their arms around the situation. Nothing so far had gone as planned.
"Deck is makin' a play. I don't what he's got up his sleeve. I'm clueless here!"
"You told me he looking at our offer for a million."
"Well, yeah. But, he didn't take it either."
Earlier today, Zoov stopped for gas in Deerwood. As he was watching the gallons and dollars add up on the pump, Tookie appeared out of nowhere. Zoov literally jumped in alarm.
"You scared the shit out of me!"
Ignoring his reaction, Tookie spoke in a low tone, "The Outfit wants you to get the ball rolling a little faster."
"How I supposed to do that?"
"You're gonna offer Dickie Lee half of your share in Zoov's."
With that, Tookie turned and lumbered away.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Zoov shook his head in disgust. So, now his share was down to thirty percent of the whole fucking club!
After arguing back and forth for a few minutes, Dickie Lee took a long breath in and blew it out through his lips with a whoosh.
"Okay, Zoov. What do we do now?"
"New plan." Zoov answered with a sigh.
Dickie Lee's eyebrows shot up when Zoov mentioned that he would get a million AND a piece of the club. Incredibly, the same thought had come to his mind just last night, when he was talking to Deck. In a flash, the idea sounded too good to be true. Then, all of a sudden, doubts set in. Deck hadn't budged. He had no idea where in the hell Linnie Lee was. He could probably get Louie Lee to sell, but he hadn't seen him either.
"That's gonna be hard."
"You afraid of a little work? Remember, you get a million and thirty-percent of Zoov's. That's golden!"
"Well, yeah." Dickie Lee couldn't think of anything else to say. Just then, he glanced out the door.
He only saw him from the back. But, he liked what he saw. A young slender Black guy, loose fitting grey sweat shorts, a black wife beater on the upper half of his body, black braids with multi-colored beads woven into the knots, and a baseball cap. Narrow hips, a nice high tight butt.
"You branching out?" Dickie Lee asked, pointing his chin toward the guy. He was quickly disappearing around a corner of the hallway.
Zoov turned his head, seeing the young man, and smirked. "Bus boy," he responded.
Zoov encountered him just a couple of days ago when he was at the deli counter at the Super One in Crosby. He took Zoov's order, writing slowly and carefully on an order pad. He had a wide face, flat nose, thick lips, and narrow eyes. A half-hearted attempt at a thin mustache, a deep raspy voice, devoid of any accent at all. All of these attractive features were framed by long braids that swirled haphazardly around his face.
"What's up?" he asked when Zoov approached him.
Zoov was delighted to see he had an attractive build. He looked taller when he was behind the deli counter. Standing in front of him now, Zoov realized he was only around 5'9." His name was Tyrone. Just turned nineteen.
"But everybody calls me Ty," he responded when they exchanged names.
After he described his club, sparing no subtleties, Ty looked out in the distance, as if thinking, then down at Zoov, before he agreed to new employment. It sounded kind of skanky but, hell! Twice his current salary.
There wasn't much to the job because they only used disposable plastic cups for the drinks. No beer bottles. Zoov didn't want to take a chance that one could be used as a weapon or a substitute for a dildo. Plastic bowls of mini-pretzels were replenished from large containers purchased at Costco. So, it was mostly clearing and wiping a few tables down and, of course, submitting to random grabs and pokes by some of the patrons, both men and women. Zoov was pleased the boy was fairly compliant, allowing one gal to unashamedly grab his joint through his shorts, letting another guy snake his hand under his shirt and pinch his nipple.
"You know where Ledecker Island is?" Dickie Lee asked.
"Nuh, huh."
Dickie Lee snagged Tyrone as he was leaving the club. Zoov had ended the meeting a couple of minutes earlier.
"You get sister to sell first. She ready. That's what I hear," Zoov ordered.
In response, Dickie Lee just grunted.
"How come I've never seen a good-looking guy like you around until now?"
"Ain't been around," Ty replied.
The fact of the matter was that, up until a month ago, he wasn't around. For Ty, the decision to pull up roots in north Minneapolis was binary—stay and die, leave and live.
He was in the unfortunate position of having been recruited by two competing gangs, the Highs and the Lows. Recruited, not for his knife skills or gun handling, but for his mouth. Ty wasn't Gay, at least as far as he knew, but even still, he had a remarkable talent when it came to sucking dick. He didn't even realize it until the first time, when he was forced to strip completely naked, pushed down on his knees, and presented with a thick, nasty projectile owned by Mingo, the head of the Highs. A sort of right of entry or ritual into the gang, the first of many.
A couple of gangstas stood around watching. One of them, Tookie, eyes hooded, licking his lips. That "bow-ah" is the jam, he thought. Narrow waist, nice round bootie, oblong nipples, well defined abs, not to mention his unit, seven plus, bobbing around, back and forth so provocatively. I hope I'm next , he thought.
"Damn," Tookie muttered, when he witnessed Mingo's euphoria, his head thrown back, as he grunted out some kind of violent orgasm.
"I guess it come natural," Ty shrugged, as he wiped his lips off.
It wasn't just the sucking. Swirling with his tongue, light pressure with his lips, taking every third or fourth stroke all the way to the back of his throat, and some stroking with his fingers. He did it the way he would want it done to him.
The gang thing? Well, it wasn't really his thing, either. For Ty, the final straw came when he was assigned to a rip crew. The job—flash rob a Home Depot in Robbinsdale, one of the northern suburbs of the Twin Cities. Dressed all in black, stocking caps pulled low over their faces, ten or fifteen guys, Ty amongst them, ran into the store, grabbed shopping carts, and threw all kinds of power tools and other shit into them.
Ten shopping carts full of merchandise. Running at first, once they left the store, then trotting, and finally just ambling up to a panel truck parked at the far end of the parking lot. Ty pulled his stocking cap off, tossed it into the back of the truck, and just walked away.
Within a couple of hours, he was packed and on a Greyhound, headed north.
"So, come over later. We can, ah, hang out. Grill some steaks." Fuck like there's no tomorrow, Dickie Lee thought, but didn't say.
"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe." Ty looked over Dickie Lee's shoulder. Wondering—s hould I go, or not go? Another binary choice?
Thayer was bent over, pondering whether or not to take another bite of his sandwich. His mother had some mistaken belief that spam was still his favorite food. Not since like forever, was he attracted to the salty, spicy, sort of hammy flavor. And, that mushy texture! Yuck! He dropped the partially eaten sandwich into the wax paper, just as a shadow crept into view.
"Oh, hi!"
A million thoughts went through his mind in an instant. First, oh shit, my breath stinks! Then , what can I do to get C.O. to kiss me like he did the other day? At the same time, I can see the outline of his dick through his shorts! I love the hair on his legs. He felt himself flush in embarrassment. What do I do? What do I say?
"Hi, Boy!"
C.O. smiled as he looked down at Thayer, his blue eyes bright and twinkling. With that, he slumped down on the bench next to him. Thayer giggled.
"Ah…what's…ah what do…?" Thayer couldn't put the rest of the words together.
"I just came over to see how you're doing."
Thayer could have melted into a puddle right then and there.
"I'm okay. Just working. You know." He looked out at the docks, empty except for vacant boats waiting for customers. His mouth fell open when he looked at C.O., who was, in turn, staring back at him.
"It looks pretty quiet," C.O. said.
"Yeah, it's been kinda slow since…" The words just trailed off.
"You have amazing eyebrows," C.O. said in a soft voice.
Thayer's breath caught in his throat, afraid to turn his head. Then, summoning some hidden strength, he did turn his head to look at C.O.
"I was wondering," he stammered. "Maybe we can, um, hang out again later." Pausing to try to read a response in C.O.'s eyes, he continued, "Somewhere, you know, private."
"I'd ask you over to my place," C.O. responded, "but the place kinda stinks. Well," he chuckled, "it stinks, for real!" The smoke smell in their house was pervasive. He let his legs fall open, his left one brushing against Thayer's right thigh. The slight pressure made Thayer's leg feel instantly warm, causing his dick to instantly plump up.
"What about Bird Island?" Thayer asked. He shook the hair out of his eyes as he looked at C.O.
C. O. laughed. "Sure! That's a great idea!" He swiped the blond hair out of his own eyes.
Thayer was referring to a tiny slip of an island, small as a bird people said, between Battle Point and the northern shore of Ledecker Island. It was barely large enough to hold one small cabin. Not quite abandoned, it belonged to an elderly couple who now resided in a nursing home.
Thayer was suddenly proud of himself for coming up with such a stellar idea. "After dinner?" he boldly asked. His heart was throbbing in his chest.
"Hi guys!"
Before C.O. could respond, they were interrupted by Cutie. She appeared to have shown up out of nowhere.
"Move over," she said as she squeezed between the two boys.
The topic quickly changed, of course.
"C.O., how's your head?"
"Oh, it's ah, you know. It doesn't really hurt anymore. It just feels a little weird." He patted the top of his head. He had actually done a decent job of combing his hair over the top of the bare patch and the small bandage that was on top of the wound. It was hardly noticeable.
"That was so-o-o strange the other day with that old guy from the police. You know, taking us back behind our cabin like that? C.O, do you really think you were pushed down?"
"Aww, I dunno, Cutie. Maybe I just slipped or something."
"What were you doing back there, anyway?"
"I was, ah, lookin' around, for you guys." This felt extremely awkward so C.O. quickly tried to turn the tables. "What were you two doing?"
Thayer started to blush. He looked down.
"Oh, we were making out!" Cutie had a proud smile on her face. She grabbed Thayer's fingers.
"Like the young ones, huh Boy?" C.O. teased, his eyes twinkling.
Thayer blushed an even deeper red. He chuckled uncomfortably.
Just then, Ten Ethyl stuck his head around the corner of the boathouse where they'd been sitting. "Jesus Christ! There you are, Boy! Come here! I need you!" He stalked away toward the docks.
"Yes sir! Yes sir!" Thayer bolted off of the bench, crushing the sandwich into its wax paper wrapper, and throwing it into a nearby trash barrel. "See you guys," he yelled as he ran away.
"Just a quick question, Dickie Lee," Shamus said into the phone. He was calling from an office he'd been given for his use at the Crow Wing County Sheriff's Office. "Are you, by chance, entertaining an offer to sell your property on Ledecker Island?"
"No," Dickie Lee wheezed into the phone. Caught off guard by the call, his throat immediately tightened up.
"So, those visitors at your place the night of the murder? They weren't there to discuss any real estate deals?"
"No."
"Were they associated with anyone who might have made you an offer?"
"Ah…no."
Shamus could hear Dickie Lee breathing into the phone. Before he could get out the next question, Dickie Lee interrupted him.
"I'm in the middle of something. Catch ya later." With that, he ended the call.
Shamus sat for a moment, thinking.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch the name," Shamus said a few minutes later, leaning in to make sure he'd heard her correctly.
"Gretchen Millerberg. That's M-I-double L, E-R-berg," she replied, punctuating each letter with her voice.
"And you are?"
"County Commissioner. I need to know what kind of progress you've made concerning the murder and fire investigations."
Gretchen had caught up with Shamus in the hallway of the Sheriff's Department in Brainerd.
"Regarding the fire, you'll have to speak to Mr. Trotter. He's the State Fire Investigator."
"And, what about your investigation?"
Shamus scratched an itch on the side of his neck. "We have no suspects at this time."
"Well, when are you going to have something?" Gretchen's voice quickly reached a sharp, high pitched, level.
Luckily, a deputy interrupted them at that moment.
"Inspector. Those people are waiting for you in the interview room."
"You'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Millerberg," Shamus said, a soft rather gratuitious smile on his face. Looking at the deputy with a frown, "And that's Agent Bueller, deputy."
"Miss Ledecker," he nodded a minute later as he sat down in front of Linnie Lee.
"Austin Pendleton, representing Linda Ledecker," the man accompanying her said, nodding as he shook Bueller's hand. A thin pointed head kind of guy, eyes too close to his nose. Slick lawyer, except for an unattractive cowlick. Cheap suit, cheaper tie. I wonder where she got him from or, more importantly, who supplied him? Shamus asked himself.
The conversation that followed included many questions punctuated by Pendleton interjecting comments like, "You don't have to answer that."
"All I know is the guy I talked to on the phone the other day, his name was Clark," she finally admitted, in spite of the fact Pendleton was trying to shush her up.
"We're going to have to get a look at your mobile to check on those phone numbers," Shamus said.
"Not a chance," Pendleton said angrily.
Shamus gave him a side-long glance and shook his head in disgust. Linnie Lee didn't know who the guy was she had been talking to on the phone. She only knew him as "Clark." The other guy, the one who she first met at the casino, worked for him. They apparently were behind some kind of scheme to get control of the island. They were the ones who deployed Orly to help execute the deal. At least, that's what he told her.
"This guy who you met at the casino. Tell me about him."
"He never said his name. I just can't really say what he looked like."
Linnie Lee was visibly upset after Shamus told her Orly was connected to a Mafia family from Vegas. It was obvious she was being used and coerced. What's the end game? Shamus asked himself. Get control of Ledecker Island, a seemingly innocuous pile of sand, rock, and trees. And then what?
Shortly thereafter, Gretchen was sitting across from Deck, emptying a packet of sugar into her coffee. They were occupying a window booth at the 371 Diner in Baxter. The smell of burgers and fries on the grill, the sound of the malt mixer whirring away. Busy, a boisterous lunch crowd, both tourists and locals.
"Deck. Believe me, in my role as County Commissioner, I have everything under control."
"How's that workin,' Gretch, because I'm not seeing a helluva lot of progress?"
"I just received a briefing that leads me to believe that the investigation is closing in on a suspect," Gretchen said, lying through her teeth, trying her best to sound as if she was in the know.
"Oh yeah? And, just what did you learn in that briefing?"
"I'm not at liberty say. We can't compromise the investigation right now, Deck!"
"Listen, Gretchen. For the love of God, we've gotta get this, ah, incident, off the front page. It's fucking up my deal and now it looks like it may hurt my business."
"How could it possibly be hurting your business?" Gretchen huffed.
"I got a call from the chairman of the hospital board this morning," Deck replied. "They're reviewing all existing bids and contracts in light of," he raised his fingers to form air quotes, "changing market conditions, due to the recent incidents at Bay Lake." Deck glared at Gretchen. "You know how much that contract is worth to me? I got two new dozers on order!"
"They can't do that," Gretchen exclaimed. Then she leaned in and whispered, "Can they?"
Before he could answer, Deck's phone buzzed. Looking at who it was from, he picked up.
"Yeah!" He listened for a few seconds, his face turning red. "All right, all right! Settle down, Gus. I'll be right there." Pushing himself out of the booth, he continued to glare at Gretchen. "Do something, will ya?" And left.
Watching them through the mirrored back wall of the diner, a keen sense of hearing that had picked up the entire conversation, The Ghost took a bite of his mushroom burger and swiped through various screens on his phone.
There she is , he smiled to himself, staring at her photo on the Crow Wing County web site. Politicians were his favorite, always a leg up and a hand out, the most corruptible class of people on earth. In her case, a leg up would be most welcome, especially if her nether regions were exposed. I bet she has one hot box , he thought. Long, flowing brown hair, an oval face, thin cheeks. From what he could see, a tight body. Probably does Pilates, he thought.
The Ghost had decided to stop at the diner for lunch on his way back to the Cities. A nice treat for himself after a rigorous day and night. The burger, those lovely crinkle fries, and a vanilla malt. Yum!
A kind of victory lap, in a way. Even though the plan was to finally lock Linnie Lee in, getting Louie Lee to sell for a mere three hundred was a home run. He mentally calculated how this might figure into his year-end bonus. He wasn't taking any chances with those papers by handing them over to Louie Lee's driver. They were currently secured in a locked leather briefcase, safely ensconced in the trunk of his car.
Overhearing Deck and witnessing his frustration was another treat. He could tell right away this gal was bullshitting. No one knows a bullshitter like a bullshitter, he thought, smiling at his reflection, glancing quickly at the woman behind him who was now tapping away furiously on her phone.
She was still there when he finished eating. Wiping a napkin across his mouth, he grabbed the grease stained bill, twirled around on his stool, and stood up. Gretchen looked up briefly and smiled.
"Say, excuse me," The Ghost said, "but aren't you the County Commissioner, Miss Millerberg?"
"Why yes! Why, yes I am!" she exclaimed, with a bright smile.
"I'm Peter Woodcock," The Ghost said. He held out his hand, which she took, shaking his with a firm grip. Peter Woodcock, a name he'd made up and used whenever he needed it. Just saying it almost made him crack up every time.
"It's so nice to meet you," Gretchen replied, still smiling.
"I thought it was you," he said with a wink. "I've seen you on the public information channel."
"Oh, yes!" She was obviously delighted at being recognized. "And, it's Mrs. Millerberg," Gretchen smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "But, you can call me Gretchen."
"Well, gee, okay, Mrs., I mean, Gretchen." He smiled, the wheels turning. How long would it take to get this girl in the sack? He asked himself? Could he have a little fun and still make it to the office by 5 p.m.? He looked at her a little more closely. Definitely worth the effort, but it would also take more time than he had.
"So, are you a resident of the county?" Gretchen asked.
"About to be, Gretchen. We're, I mean I'm, looking at some property north of here."
"Oh, where?"
"Kind of near Bay Lake."
"Oh really! That's such a nice spot!"
"Yes it is, yes it is."
They looked at each other for a long moment.
"Well, you be sure to let me know if I can help you, in any way. We'd love to have you here in Crow Wing County!"
Ozzie caressed his butt cheeks for a moment before spreading them, well aware that his asshole was proudly on display. He turned slightly and smiled at his laptop's monitor, the sound of one token after another adding to his total for the day.
TikTok was fun enough for building his brand, whatever that was. Chaturbate was a whole other level. From day one, he seemed to have the ability to draw viewers and admirers like flies to shit. Five hundred tokens was kind of entry level, the minimum to get naked, a thousand to start jerking off. And, two thousand to show his boy pussy, which is where he was, at the moment. Over two hundred were watching. The chat window was filled with comments of adoration, most of them utterly raunchy.
Today's haul amounted to around a hundred bucks, which added to his previous stash, would yield around four hundred by the middle of the month. That's when he could get the cash transferred to his Venmo. Enough to keep the weed flowing for awhile.
Ozzie turned his hip, exposing his thick seven to his fandom, quelling the urge to cum before he could extract a few hundred more tokens.
Sound from just outside his bedroom door. Ozzie quickly flipped his laptop shut, pulled on some fleece shorts, and jumped onto the bed just as his father threw the door open.
"Jesus Christ, Ozzie," his father yelled. "It stinks in here! Whaddaya been doing?"
Ozzie just looked at O, one leg crossed under him, the other one, still on the floor, just off the side of the bed.
"Nothin.'"
"Get showered and get the hell out of here! Didn't you know it's already after noon? Maria needs to get in here and clean."
Their housekeeper peered over the top of O's shoulder.
Ozzie slumped a little, feeling a little embarrassed and somewhat relieved, having almost gotten caught literally with his shorts down.
"All right, Oscar."
"And don't call me Oscar! I'm your dad!"
"Okay, d-a-a-a-d!"
O smirked, unable to hold back a chuckle. He shook his head and stalked off.
Just last night, O had shared the joke with Ozzie and his wife, Kara, one that he'd picked up on the golf course that day.
"A man is driving by a field. He looks out and observes the farmer screwing a sheep. Enraged, he drives up to the farm house and rings the bell. A kid comes to the door. 'Did you know there's some asshole out there fucking a sheep?' The kid responds, 'That's no asshole. That's my d-a-a-a-d!.'"
Awhile later, having showered and brushed his teeth, Ozzie stood with his back against the kitchen island, idly crunching on some cereal and milk in a bowl. He'd taken the time to shave, not so much around his face, but more around his pubes and around his butt hole. An expensive body cream kept his skin silky smooth, avoiding the itch that sometimes came with shaving his tender parts.
Ozzie contemplated his next move, which was nothing. First, he texted The Brockster, frowning when he didn't immediately reply. Next, he sent a message to his supplier, placing an order for a bag, only to get the response that he wouldn't have any for a couple of days.
"But, I got some jack if ya want it," he messaged.
"Sry no," Ozzie replied. They messaged back and forth, his supplier offering numerous options. Finally, he agreed to hook him up with some 420 as soon as the next shipment arrived. Elbow up on the counter top, his chin supported by the open palm of his hand, he mentally ran through a bunch of options for the day. The list was way too short and way too boring. For a brief moment, he thought about calling Edgar. Maybe I can show him a few more of my tricks , he thought. But, then the vision of Mavis came into his mind. Ugh!
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
