The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 15
See Ya Around, Cliffie.
Just as he was entering a higher level of inner peace and contentment, the Living ECK Master felt the sting of a mosquito biting the side of his face. His sensitivity was so heightened he could literally feel the blood being sucked out of his cheek. Instinctively, his hand shot up and slapped his face, jolting him back down to a lower vibrational level.
After a spirited banquet with his senior advisors, during which they courted a newly anointed member, Sri Mahanta tried to quiet himself with an evening walk along the Contemplation Trail. Darkness was falling quickly, puddles of light from decorative lamps illuminating the trail.
Now broken out of his meditation, Sri quickened his pace as he returned to the Temple. It was rare to have an evening meeting such as this one, but the topic and timeline Owen had presented to him earlier in the day, dictated that some accommodations would have to be made.
When he entered the conference room, the other stakeholders were already assembling. A tech was busy fine tuning the electronic display. One of the coordinators was setting thick documents at fixed places around the table.
"Hal! How ya doin'?"
The Sri Mahanta bristled at this greeting. To be sure, his given name was Harold Klemperer but he'd been the Living ECK Master for many years now. And so, was deserving of being called with the utmost of respect simply, The Sri.
Not so for Tony Falcone. He had only arrived an hour earlier, having landed at a nearby private airport on The Outfit's private jet from Vegas. The Barzini family was a stakeholder in Eckankar, a major stakeholder, in fact. Their investment in Eckankar was pretty much on the down low. At one time, Dino thought he might become an adherence to the Movement. In the end, drugs, booze, and women won out.
Dino showed up once a year or so for a HU. In between, he served Eckankar by filling a role on the Counsel of ECK, delivering threats of dire consequences to anyone who tried to leave the Movement.
Tony and Dino were physically interchangeable. The same build, square and muscular, his black hair gleaming, a perfectly coiffed Las Vegas cut. A diamond studded bracelet on his wrist, a single glittering gem in his left ear, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone to better display a couple of shiny gold chains and a generous amount of wiry black chest hair.
Tony actually hated The ECK, thought the whole thing was a shady cult, and spared no opportunity to ridicule him whenever he had a chance. Dino liked him, though. He liked Eckankar's money even better and was more than willing to put it to work for an annualized return of twenty-five percent or so—for mutually beneficial causes, of course. Like loan sharking, illegal gambling, and prostitution.
The latest cause for Eckankar was apparently Ledecker Island. Arthur, a dedicated follower, had contributed more than a half million to the Movement over the years. His last donation, a most generous gesture, had been ownership of the family homestead. The property had laid fallow since they took it over, waiting for the right opportunity. Now, there was an opportunity.
Using charts and diagrams, a voluminous amount of financial statistics and ratios, The ECK's planning team laid out a scheme to acquire the rest of Ledecker Island, rename it The Eckankar Paradise, and convert it into a spiritual retreat. Eckankar's second home, a veritable playground for Self-Discovery and God-Discovery. At $295 a day plus, plus, plus, conservative estimates projected The Eckankar Paradise would bring in millions to the Movement on an annual basis.
Fingers lightly gripping the edge of the table, Tony sat back and listened to the committee run through various options they could use to gain control of the island. A buy-out was the simplest and most straightforward. Amounts between $500,000 and $2 million per parcel were bandied about as if it were chump change.
The biggest obstacle, according to Owen, was the eldest son, Lee, or as he was commonly known, Deck. He was a stubborn fella (the term son-of-a-bitch almost tripped out of his mouth by accident). He would sell-out only if he felt some kind of pressure, financial or otherwise. Word had it that he owed a lot of money to the Bank of the Ten Thousand Lakes. This was confirmed by one of their board members, a pleasant round fella who was also on the board at the bank.
"Wouldn't that be too bad," one of the members said, in a slightly sarcastic voice.
Owen nodded. "His next youngest brother, Richard," he continued, "who I understand goes by the moniker, Dickie Lee, is a little different."
With that remark, Owen gave a brief synopsis of Dickie Lee's recent "activities," as he put it.
"He seems to be heavily under the influence of an Asian man. We may be able to put them both into an awkward position, one which will encourage Richard to sell out to avoid being put away for some illegal sexual activity."
"What kind of illegal activity are you talking about?" Tony asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Possibly sex with a minor?"
"Is this something you want to be involved with?" one of the members asked, turning to The Sri.
The Living ECK Master frowned before saying, "It depends upon if the activity Owen speaks of actually occurs. Perhaps the allusion that it may have happened will be enough to cause him some trouble." He turned back to Owen, punting the question.
"We can revisit Dickie Lee's situation," Owen responded, turning to the next page in his notes. "The third Ledecker, Linda, known by those close to her as Linnie Lee, is addicted to gambling and is an alcoholic. She apparently owes money to a, how shall we say, unregulated lender."
Dino nodded. "I think we know who is holding the paper. It's currently just north of two-and-a-quarter."
With this news, a couple of members shook their heads in disgust.
"The right offer, give her a quick out, and I think we can get control of her parcel, too," Owen purred.
"Arthur Ledecker's youngest child, Louis Ledecker, aka Louie Lee, is currently absent."
"What do you mean by that?" one of the directors asked.
"Meaning, we don't know his current whereabouts."
Tony showed no apparent reaction, looking down as he scraped a bit of dead skin from underneath his fingernail.
I guess what they don't know ain't gonna hurt 'em, he thought.
Even though he hadn't actually signed the papers to sell his spot, Dickie Lee had been in their pocket from day one, of course.
As far as Louie Lee was concerned, even now, lawyers and some first rate forgers in Vegas were altering the sales agreement and closing documents that he'd signed. While Louie Lee and that goomba were passed out, their guy had broken into his cabin in the middle of the night and gotten away with the papers. Tomorrow, they would be filed and Louie Lee's property would legally belong to a shell company owned by The Outfit.
And, Linnie Lee? Their guy had sent him a two-word message just as he'd gotten off the plane: "Done Deal." Four hundred and fifty grand was a steal! Their lawyers would also draw up the papers to effect the purchase of her place right after they finished forging documents executing the sale of Louie Lee's property.
The vision of their completed sex haven entered his imagination. He barely smiled as the thought occurred to him. Their first customer? In all probability, The Sri Mahanta. That $295 a day? What a joke! How about $295 an hour??
"I have a question."
"How have you acquired all of this information?"
Owen smiled, somewhat proudly. "Oh, we have a man on the ground."
"Who's that?" Tony couldn't help himself. It came out sounding more like, "Who dat?"
"I'd prefer not to reveal his identity at this time. Suffice it to say he has inside knowledge of the situation."
A few more questions and the meeting wrapped up after unanimous support was given for the development concept.
Back in his car, Tony slumped in the back seat, ready to thumb a message into his phone.
"Wait a minute," he called out to his driver. "Instead of the airport, let's head up to Bay Lake. I think I want to stay the night."
"Yes, sir. I'll make the arrangements."
Talk, he thumbed into his phone.
?, came the response.
F2F. Translation: face-to-face.
K.
The evening was supposed to have ended with a bang. Just not that kind of bang.
Ty had tried to forget about the invitation to go over to that fat guy's place for dinner. A barbecued steak sounded pretty good but the idea of having to put his lips around what was probably a stubby little wiener, in exchange, had far less appeal. At least, that's what the invite implied.
As the hour approached, Zoov corralled him out back of the club by the trash, more or less ordering him into his SUV. When he got in, he turned around to see two Asian guys sitting in the back seat. Nick and another boy. Of all the guys Zoov employed at his place, Nick was the only one who bothered at all to be nice to him. The rest of them treated Ty like he was some kind of second class citizen, ordering him around and sharing with each other what was probably derisive comments about him in their native tongue.
Nick was different. He often helped Ty clean up the debris left by guests, including spent rubbers and random pieces of clothing, a sock here or a pair of boxer shorts there. Skinny like most of the other boys, he had long hair, over his ears and down on his forehead. Nick was the only one who wore eyeglasses which he carefully removed and set aside just before he knelt down to lick around some guy's cock or inside some chick's twat. Smooth shiny skin, his hip bones protruding from his sides, bony shoulders, and a cute ass. His own cock was fairly small and unremarkable. Ty couldn't ever remember seeing him hard.
When they docked the small boat at Ledecker Island, that heavy set guy greeted them with open arms. Literally. He hugged each one of them as they climbed onto the dock, saving the longest one for Ty. As they hugged, he unashamedly grabbed Ty's ass. The steaks were delicious and the drinks flowed freely. As the dinner progressed, he noticed Nick and the other boy, Blong, seemed to gradually lose their clothes.
With that guy, Dickie Lee, Ty somehow unable to make his name stick in his head, sitting next to him at the dinner table, he reached underneath and squeezed Ty's thigh.
"Wanna get more comfortable?" With a sigh, Ty grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it off.
"Nice. Really nice," Dickie Lee responded, a smile on his face, his eyes narrowing. That boy was something else, he thought, his joint thickening between his legs. Smooth dark skin across his nicely defined chest, oblong dark nipples.
Ty smirked as he took another bite of his steak, glancing to his left. Nick's head was turned to him, his hair falling into his eyes. His expression was serious and noncommittal. He was already down to a pair of bikini briefs. As he pretended to listen to the insanely boring dinner table conversation, Ty felt Nick's hand rest lightly on the top of his thigh. He used his own hand to carefully nudge Nick's hand between his legs where his fingers slowly wound around his thickening cock. A barely audible gasp, Ty continued to look straight ahead, his eyes beginning to cloud.
Later, Ty grunted only once as Nick's cock penetrated his ass. A glance up at him took the sting away. He's just, so bitchin'! He gripped his ankles, knees tucked into his chest. Moments earlier, Nick had brushed two fingers thick with lube along his butthole, eliciting a groan. Next to him, Dickie Lee had a grip on Nick's hip, thrusting himself against his smooth brown flank. With his free hand, Dickie Lee pulled on Blong's cock. Also naked, Blong held his hands up behind his head, his hips thrown forward.
Nick's eyes were riveted on Ty's attractive form, the muscles of his clenched stomach, his thick black cock, pulsing up and down. Spunk leaked out of the large head. Dickie Lee and Blong glanced at each other, alternately at Nick and Ty.
While the threesome gasped and groaned their way to complete exhilaration inside, Zoov sat on the porch smoking a joint. Personally, he wasn't into that kind of thing. His mind was on the deal. At the moment, there were a lot of balls in the air, not withstanding the ones inside Dickie Lee's cabin. Earlier, his excited text message to his contact about Linnie Lee's agreement to sell was responded to with one ambivalent letter— K.
Two loud pops! Almost like small explosions. Zoov could see flashes of bright light coming from alongside Dickie Lee's cabin. When he peered around the corner, flames were shooting up the side of the structure, quickly growing in size and intensity.
"Fire!" he screamed. "Get out!"
The four of them came piling out of the cabin in various stages of undress. Ty ran out naked, stumbling as he pulled his boxers on. Nick struggled to get his t-shirt on, still naked from the waist down. Blong, strangely enough, had been able to get completely dressed, even down to his flip flops.
Still completely naked, his flesh jiggling, Dickie Lee sprinted to a hose connected to a spigot against the house. He cranked it open, turning the nozzle on the hose and bathing the flames with a hard stream of water.
With everyone yelling and jumping around, the flames quickly began to recede, sending smoke up into the air, well above the tree line.
"What the hell happened, Zoov?" Dickie demanded a few minutes later, once the fire was mostly out. He stood there, still comically naked, directing the hose toward the cabin.
Zoov just shrugged his shoulders. "Bomb, maybe?"
"What the fuck!" Dickie Lee threw down the hose and went to retrieve his phone, punching in 911 as he returned to the front yard, still naked. His four guests were already clambering into their boat.
Minutes earlier, Cornish was crouched between a small tree and a sapling, a few yards away from Dickie Lee's cabin. That fire over at Green's had ignited, no pun intended, his imagination. When he set the fire, he had no idea it would burn that hot. He'd only been a minor pyromaniac as a kid, setting small fires to bird's nests and piles of scrap wood. His largest fire, previously, was to an abandoned ice fishing shack left near the shoreline.
Around town, that being Bay Lake and Deerwood, he'd pick up the gossip that traffic and business activity, particularly real estate, had suffered a definite down turn since the murder and the Green fire, now officially labeled as arson. If they could get rid of a few thousand tourists a year, life for everyone, himself especially, would hum along at a much more enjoyable snail's pace.
Tonight, his plans were to bring a whole new level of crazy to the area, this time to Ledecker Island. After studying recipes for Molotov cocktails online, he'd decided on a mix of kerosene and dish soap which he carefully poured into plastic pop bottles. Two for Dickie Lee's place followed by a quick run over to Deck's monstrosity with two more.
Taking the small lighter out of his breast pocket, Cornish flicked it open and lit small rags stuffed in each bottle, watching them fire up before heaving one, then the other, at Dickie Lee's cabin. The explosion and the immediate blast of heat surprised even him. Watching the building catch on fire gave him a rush. He quickly picked up the other two bottles and lumbered off quickly through the woods toward Deck's place.
Cornish never saw that tree coming. As a matter of fact, in all his years, he'd never seen a tree up and jump out in front of him like that. It wasn't a tree, though. By the time he would have figured it out, he was unconscious, flat on his back. His face had come in direct contact with a hard fist.
Vern shook his hand out, trying to get some feeling back into it. His fingers ached. He'd have to ice his hand but, that would have to come later. With a grunt, he reached down and grabbed Cornie under the arms. With considerable effort, he was able to drag his bulky limp shape through the woods. Rounding one of the older oaks on Mr. Ledecker's property, he proceeded to drag Cornish over to a dilapidated outhouse behind the cabin. Using some twine he kept in his tool box, Vern bound his legs and wrists. He ripped off a piece of Gorilla Tape and secured it tightly across Jago's mouth. Grunting some more, he slow rolled Cornie's body into the outhouse, securing the door with a large padlock.
"This better be good."
Concannon was just about to lay down a straight, good enough for ten whole bucks on this hand. His weekly poker game, in full force.
"Sorry to bother you, Sheriff, but we have another situation over here on Ledecker Island," his deputy said.
"Jesus H. Christ! Now what, Troftgruben?"
By the time he got over to Ledecker Island, the "situation" was well under control. He watched as firemen bathed the house down using several large hand pump fire extinguishers. After viewing the damage and consulting with the fire chief, he thumbed in the phone number for the state's Chief Fire Investigator.
"Trotter, I got another one for ya," he told him.
Just as Shamus Bueller arrived, one of the deputies ran up to Concannon.
"Sheriff! We've found something back in the woods!"
Minutes later, they were all standing around an area filled with broken branches and forest undergrowth. Two pop bottles were scattered near each other, small rags stuck in their openings. The pervasive smell of kerosene enveloped them.
"I knew it!" Dickie Lee exclaimed. "Just like I told ya. That goddamn Deck! He's trying to burn me out!" His fists were clenched. He lurched towards Deck's house, the lights from it just visible through the trees.
"Take it easy, take it easy!" Concannon yelled, holding his hands up to block Dickie Lee's way.
Shamus was kneeling down, a hand supporting his chin, his eyes studying the area around the two containers. A couple of powerful battery powered lights had been brought in to illuminate the surroundings.
"See that?" he asked the assemblage. "It looks like something or someone was dragged along the ground. An attempt was made to cover up the trail."
Flashlights swept over the area, revealing two narrow shallow trenches in the sand and undergrowth, visible only intermittently, leading in a parallel fashion deeper into the woods.
"What's over there?" Concannon asked.
"That's my folk's place," Dickie Lee responded, a confused look on his face.
A thorough search around Arthur Ledecker's place yielded nothing. The trail seemed to die away. One of the deputies got hold of Vern. Looking like he had been rousted out of bed, he arrived a few minutes later. Vern opened up the cabin and let the law enforcement personnel do a thorough search.
"Nope. Everything looks the same," Vern said. "Mind telling me what's going on?"
"Don't worry about it Vern. We've got it under control," Troftgruben reassured him.
Shamus squinted his eyes, looking at Vern. Something about that guy didn't ring right, he thought. He filed that feeling away for further consideration.
C.O. and Thayer missed all of the excitement by mere minutes. They piloted their boats in tandem back to the main land. Rather than go back to his own house, C.O. docked his boat alongside Thayer's next to the Dunn family slip they leased at one of the private piers.
Thayer was still trying to get his boat secured when C.O. came up behind him.
"Thayer?"
He stood up and whipped around to face C.O.
"Yeah?"
"Can I get a hug?"
"Oh, sure," Thayer responded listlessly. After cumming so hard, he was tired, embarrassed, and humiliated. He looked at C.O.'s chest, avoiding his eyes. C.O. clutched his arms around Thayer, quickly letting go when he realized he was getting no response.
"I'll see ya," he said, turning and heading quickly to his car. C.O. just stood there watching him, and wondering to himself. Did I do something wrong?
A few minutes later, C.O. was at Auntie M's to get an ice cream cone. He would have treated Thayer to one if he hadn't fled like a scared rabbit. Instead, he tried to assuage his disappointment with the way things had ended with a double chocolate chip cone. Mid-summer at Ruttger's and their confectionary store was mobbed with vacationers and locals alike.
"Hey there! How ya doin'?"
C.O. had just stepped off the front step of Auntie M's when a voice called to him from the gloom.
"Oh, hi," he chuckled, a bit uncomfortably.
Ron stepped into the light, a dish of ice cream in his own hand.
"Nice evening for a creamy treat. Tasty, isn't it?"
C.O.'s mouth fell open. He could feel the heat from his face turning red. What the hell did he mean by cream , he asked himself? He didn't see anything, did he?
Before C.O. could respond, Ron turned to the side.
"You remember my daughter Maddie, don't you?"
Two girls suddenly appeared, having gotten up from a nearby picnic table. C.O. immediately started to relax.
"Oh yeah! How are you?"
C.O. vaguely knew who she was. In a phrase, she was cuter than a bug. Her cat like brown eyes seemed to light up the night, illuminated by a shell necklace around her neck. Sleeveless shirt, board shorts, and red canvas sneakers.
"I could not be better," she laughed. "You go to Brainerd, right?"
They chatted it up for a few seconds, Ron standing next to them, smiling as he scraped the remainder of his ice cream from the bottom of a plastic dish.
"This is my friend, Ozzie," Maddie said, grabbing a couple of her friend's fingers.
A cough and a chuckle, "Oh hi!" She wasn't a girl. She was a he!
C.O. was immediately thrown for a loop. Now that he realized it, he also was instantly aware this girlie-boy was cute as all fuck-out. Razor thin, wearing a shirt that he now saw was completely unbuttoned, revealing a smooth chest and stomach. A little necklace around his neck spelled out the word, "Tricky." Loose shorts hung down well below his navel. The crease between his hips and tummy led tantalizingly to the middle of his abdomen, below which a nice package appeared to be laying there between his legs. A narrow face, brown eyes, a nubbin of a nose and a small mouth. Dirty blond hair cut in a swooping comb over. He could easily be taken for a girl.
C.O. instantly felt something between his legs, dried spunk on the tip of his cock momentarily stuck to the inside of his shorts. After the encounter with Thayer, he was still totally horned up.
"Nice to meet 'cha," Ozzie breathed, holding up his right hand and lightly shaking C.O.'s. His hand was so soft, almost like a baby's.
Some more chatter. Unbelievably, Ozzie was going into his second year at Brown. He looked more like an adolescent, C.O. thought.
"Say, are you eighteen now?" Ron asked, cutting in to the conversation.
All of a sudden, C.O. realized he'd been staring hungrily at Ozzie. "Yeah, just," he replied, the moment broken.
"Well, isn't that something?" He replied with a big grin.
C.O. smirked, immediately feeling uncomfortable. Ron had that same look on his face, just like the one he had when he spied the butt plug in his nightstand. At the same time, he could sense Ozzie's eyes apparently evaluating him as he lazily licked around the side of his ice cream cone.
A bit more chit-chat, C.O. still weirded out and still half hard at that. He had to get out of there.
"Well, I gotta be going."
"Hey, what does C.O. stand for?" Ozzie asked, just before they parted.
"Well, my first name is Clifford," he responded, blushing slightly.
"Ok," Ozzie giggled, a twinkle in his eyes. "See ya around, Cliffie."
Tony finally got settled into the small cabin after 11 p.m. It was the only one his driver could find at this hour. He sure as hell wasn't going to share the one double bed with Neal so he was sent off to a similar place a few miles away at another small resort on Turtle Lake. Tony's accommodation, at Woodland Beach Resort, was situated on the southern shore of Bay Lake, just a couple of bays away from Ledecker Island.
He had just finished taking a whiz, washing his hands using the tiny bar of motel soap they supplied and drying his hands with what must have been the thinnest roughest hand towel ever made.
When Tony opened the bathroom door, he was sitting on the textured vinyl covered sofa in what was supposed to be the living room, a space just big enough for a couple of pieces of furniture and a cheap floor lamp. He wore a wide-brimmed cap, pulled down over his eyes. The rest of his ensemble consisted of a gray t-shirt trimmed in navy blue around the neck and sleeves, a pair of cheap denim jeans, and weathered canvas runners.
"Don't you knock?" Tony asked.
"No." A one-word response.
"How'd you know I was here? I was just gonna message you."
He just huffed, shrugging his shoulders. He looked up at Tony with a glare. "What do you want?"
"I wanna know what's going on. I just came from a meeting at Eckankar. Owen was bragging up some guy he's got around here."
"Who's that?"
"That's what I want to know. Oh, and by the way, for what you're getting paid, you should already know."
Their guy just smirked.
In a more civil tone, they spent the next few minutes exchanging information. Tony recounted what he'd learned at the Eckankar meeting. Their guy summarized what he knew. Zoov seemed to think Dickie Lee would sell for a million. He would probably go for less, a lot less. Given enough pressure, there was no telling how far down they could get him to go.
"I'd like a spiff if he sells for less than eight-fifty," he said.
"Why do you even care?" Tony huffed.
Their guy shrugged. "I dunno. I just can't stand that faggot." He paused momentarily as he cocked his head slightly. "What are you gonna do about Deck?"
"What the fuck do you mean by what am I gonna do about Deck?" Tony was livid. "That's what we're paying you for!"
Their guy smirked. "I know that. I was just checkin' to see if you had any ideas. Apparently not." He paused for effect. "Don't worry. I got an idea about Deck."
"What's that?"
In a few words, he laid out a new plan.
Tony looked at him for a moment, before replying, "You're startin' to catch on to the way we like to do things."
"There's something else," their guy replied. He told him about the fire bomb he observed going off. He saw it happen over on Ledecker Island from his position through an abandoned cabin window on a tiny slip of land called Bird Island.
"By the time I got over there, the only thing I saw was some guy boating from Arthur's place to the mainland. He was towing another boat."
"What was that all about?"
"How the hell should I know? It was less than two hours ago."
"Well, find out, will ya?" Tony muttered.
Their guy just glared at him.
"I'm gonna get Linnie Lee's signature. Dickie Lee's, too. In the meantime, you gotta get to work on Deck. And, try to keep 'putz and butts' outta this."
"I'll use whatever means I feel are necessary, pops," he responded with a quiet smile.
It took the barest amount of friction. He had just turned over on his tummy to flip off his bed side lamp. When the underside of his cock brushed against the bottom sheet, that numb feeling came over him. In a second, he was hard as a rock. Again!
Thayer had been unable to parse out what had happened earlier on Bird Island. Something in his brain had flipped. After wanting it so bad, when faced with it actually happening, he'd wimped out. Half of his brain yearned to have C.O. between his legs, the pressure from what he imagined to be the most beautiful cock ever, plunging itself into him. The other half warned him that losing his cherry was a one-way street. Crossing that line would not only mean he'd lost his virginity but that he was also, definitely Gay. Or something like that. I mean, he thought, how can someone constantly fantasize about girls while at the same time wanting to stick his tongue down another guy's throat?
With a sigh, Thayer nudged his sleep shorts down to his knees. His left arm swept down under the bed and grabbed his jerk-off towel, after which he threw the covers off. Pressing his hips into the bed, up on his elbows, he began to thrust back and forth. Twisting around, he tried to get a look at his own ass. Unable to get a really good view, he reached over and grabbed his phone. His finger quickly punched the camera app, mirroring the live view. Now he could see himself and get a clear idea of what he looked like. His ass looked pretty good, all in all. Some roundness to it, made to look a bit rounder by his narrow waist, just shy of what he would call a bubble butt. His crack opened a tiny bit when he raised his hips between thrusts.
Mouth slightly open, eyes closing and opening, he clicked the shutter button over and over. After he came, he laid there with the spunk creating yet another sticky mess underneath him. Reviewing the pictures, he couldn't decide which one he liked the best. Eyes open or eyes closed?
Selecting the best two, one of each kind, he sent them to C.O. adding a heart emoji.
With Dino laying flat on his back, snoring away in bed, Claire, now dressed, retreated to the bathroom. It was the only room in the whole place safe from the cameras. She knew that because her earlier sweep had revealed hidden cameras everywhere, even in the bedroom. She wondered who was getting their jollies off after watching the two of them go at it multiple times in the last twenty-four hours.
Earlier in the evening, she'd managed to get Dino's phone away from him just long enough to insert an app that secretly ran in the background. It enabled her to listen in, record, and even create a transcript of Dino's conversations on her own device. He'd taken and placed several calls while they sat in a luxurious banquette, watching one of the Vegas shows that displayed enough tits and ass for a lifetime. Most of the conversations were comprised of grunts, no's, yeah's, and get back to me's.
A quick review of those calls revealed little. Cryptic language, vague references. The Minneapolis shoplifting squad was planning a hit on a Tractor Supply in Prior Lake. She shrugged. They more than likely already knew about it, since they'd turned Tookie. He'd performed like a champ, so far. His tips had been right on the mark. The lines were already dotted in the Barzini gang's direction. DC was apparently waiting. A big score was in the offing. Claire had a strong suspicion her role would provide the critical piece, whatever that was.
"Whaddaya got? Dino asked, as Claire listened in. Now awake, he'd just received a call from his right hand, Tony.
"Our guy just left," he responded. "We move Deck and it's game over."
Tony proceeded to fill Dino in on all that had transpired that evening. The meeting at Eckankar, the news about The Sri's plant up at Bay Lake, Linnie Lee, and the incident at Dickie Lee's cabin.
"So, Orly wasn't workin' for The ECK?" Dino asked.
"Dunno. Don't think so."
"Does our guy know who he was working for?"
"Not yet."
"I got a feeling," Dino said. "There's another player. We gotta find out who it is," he continued, "and take him out."
Tony grunted.
"You tell that little shit I'll double his retainer if he takes care of this."
Tony smirked. "Knowing him, that don't make much difference. He does it because he likes it."
With two clicks, Claire created a transcript of the call and forwarded it to the Intelligence Unit at FBI HQ. In seconds, a tech glanced at it and forwarded it to the Officer on Duty. After reading it more thoroughly, he sent a ping to Valdespino who was at home, just brushing his teeth before bed.
"Yes sir, I'll set the meeting for 6 a.m.," the OOD replied a minute later.
"Get the Deputy Director there and, while you're at it, find out if we have anybody in the Minneapolis and Chicago field offices who wants to take a fishing trip up to Bay Lake," Valdespino ordered before hanging up.
Dino raised his head off the pillow. Where is she? Just then, the bathroom door opened. Claire stood there, hands on her hips, wearing a tight black t-shirt. And nothing else. She gave him that bitchy look that just absolutely slayed him.
"C'mere!" He growled.
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