The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 20
Do Me A Favor.
Let's see. Where are we at, Shamus asked himself?
Back in his home office, he reviewed his notes from the beginning, adding and crossing out notations in the margins, using a yellow hi-lighter in some cases.
The murder victim, a Mafia hit man. After the dirty deed, the perp probably heading toward either Dickie Lee's place or Linnie Lee's. Based on his interviews so far, it was doubtful Linnie Lee was a central figure. The woman had some serious issues, a drinking problem and a gambling problem amongst them. Women almost always committed crimes of passion. There was no evidence to even remotely suggest this. On the other hand, she had admitted knowing the murder victim.
Orly Keogh continued to be a mystery. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. They found an older Hyundai sedan at the far edge of the parking lot of The Bar and Gas. Orly's prints were inside but the vehicle offered no further information. The VIN was a forgery, belonging to an Audi A8 owned by a Washington D.C. lobbyist. He hadn't registered for lodging at any nearby hotel or resort. Airbnb had nothing on him. How he had gotten over to Ledecker Island was also unknown.
Linnie Lee's connection to the late Mr. Keogh had to do with some kind of real estate deal. Shamus smirked. The first leg of a three-legged stool: motive, the other two—method and opportunity. Might she have paid someone to knock him off? If so, why? If she didn't want to go through with selling her property, she could have just turned him down. That guy she was meeting with in Crosby had mob written all over his face. They'd gotten a couple of decent snapshots of him before he raced away. Facial recognition software was being used to try to identify him. Hopefully, they'd know more in the morning.
Money was a driver in a lot of murders. Real estate was closely intertwined and often murky, along with power, of course. Clark Berg? He definitely passed the sniff test. There were just too many connections to Bay Lake. As expected, a voice mail left for Mr. Berg had been returned by his lawyer, Danny Gopnik. Jeez! That guy was an asshole! He staunchly denied any connection between Dinwiddie Partners and Orly Keogh.
"Nope! Never heard of him!" Gopnik maintained.
There would be no interview with Clark, at least not in the foreseeable future. One more thread connecting him to the murder and Shamus would be more than glad to send a couple of MPD's finest over to his office to collect him for questioning.
Was Clark connected to the mob or, shudder the thought, was the Mafia a different interested party? Were they in cahoots or in competition?
He shook his head, looking at the security video from the train platform. The guy that pushed Louie Lee appeared to have come out of nowhere. Strangely enough, he just stood there for a couple of seconds after he pushed him, almost as if he was surprised himself at what happened. Identification currently unknown. The Feds had opened up an investigation into Louie Lee's death because he had traveled across state lines to get to Chicago. If that was the case, why was the FBI apparently so disinterested in what had happened to Orly Keogh?
Deck wasn't really a suspect for the murder on Ledecker Island itself, either. Did he engineer the whole thing? Possible, but there were other leads to follow up on first.
Then there were two fires, both determined to be the result of arson. Who was responsible? Dinwiddie Partners, the mob, or yet another party? Deck's equipment getting vandalized. Also related?
He looked at his watch. Enough time to pound out a page of his story? Opening the document, he raised his fingers over the keys before plunging in.
Both men's eyes stared straight ahead. Mel Satrom was driving, keeping a careful eye on the lake traffic ahead and behind them on the narrow two-lane asphalt highway between Brainerd and Crosby.
They both saw it at the same time. A luxury black automobile traveling at high speed barreling towards them. Definitely a Jag, the driver barely visible, wearing reflective aviator sun glasses. The two men glanced at each other.
Roy Petty groaned. After Mel picked him up at MSP, the chatter was almost exclusively about fishing. Roy loved to fish. Here was a great opportunity to work and get some angling in on one of the better walleye lakes around, at the same time. He was hoping to get a line in the water before sundown.
Mel was indifferent. He'd rather, well, do almost anything than go fishing. Golf was his thing in the summer time—hockey the rest of the year. As Roy let out a sigh of resignation, Satrom slowed the car, pulled onto the side of the road, and did a quick u-turn. Roaring off the shoulder in their law enforcement equipped unmarked car, he was able to pass a couple of cars, putting them about a half mile behind the Jag.
Careful to avoid detection, they followed the car through one of Brainerd's older neighborhoods. Roy reached over the seat and pulled a camera with a long zoom lens out of a bag behind them, getting some good snaps of the driver dropping an envelope in the side door of an old run-down house.
When they reached the airport, they pulled off to the side with a good view of the Jag.
"What do we do now?" Petty asked.
There was no movement. No one got out of the car.
"We wait," Satrom said.
"Well, there goes any hope of fishing for today." Roy pulled his cap over his eyes. "Wake me up if anything happens."
"Nice work, Neal."
Tony had been too busy on the phone, realizing only intermittently, that the car was jerking left and right. Using GPS, Neal used a hodgepodge of state and county roads to serpentine from Crosby to Brainerd. He figured the cops would try to trail them. As they entered the outskirts of Brainerd, he glanced once more in the rear view mirror and smirked—all clear.
A quick stop in town. Tony handed Neal the envelope with the documents meant for Dickie Lee. Making a quick exit from the car, he slipped it between the screen door and the side door of a run down older house. Less than ten minutes later, they were at Brainerd International Airport.
"Well, shit!"
No plane. A quick phone call.
"I guess we wait," he told Neal with a sigh.
The Outfit's jet was en route from Las Vegas back to Minnesota, having dropped off another passenger earlier.
"That's quite the view," Owen said, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Dino's penthouse. He arrived a short while ago, transportation courtesy of The Outfit, of course. Night was now falling on Vegas, the bright lights of the Strip twinkling in sharp contrast to the urban sprawl and the desert surrounding it.
"Sir," the uniformed butler said, offering Owen a drink. Vodka martini, very, very dry. One olive.
"Yeah, something different, every time you look out," Dino replied, reaching out to take the crystal tumbler of Macallan 25 off of a tray, held by another butler.
"I always enjoy visiting Las Vegas. I don't get here often enough," Owen said in a quiet even tone of voice, his signature way of speaking.
"We're always glad to welcome you to our fair city. Next time, bring the Sri Mahanta with you."
Owen smiled. "I doubt that will happen. The Living ECK Master prefers to have the party brought to him."
Dino didn't respond. He turned to the butler nearest him.
"Would you see if Claire is ready to join us?"
One final glance in the full length mirror inside the wardrobe. Everything appeared to be in the right place.
"Showtime," she whispered to herself, hearing a soft tap at the bedroom door.
She had already alerted Washington of Owen's arrival. As she understood it, Ed Nugent, the head of the Bureau's Cults and Religions section had been brought in. Valdespino was monitoring the situation from home, having just scooted his kids into bed.
"Hee-yoo-oo!" Owen blurted out, unable to maintain his usual sense of decorum.
He had just laid eyes on Claire.
Wearing a skin tight silver lamé dress, sleeveless, a round neck, shimmering as she walked up to them. Short, straight platinum blond hair, almost taking on some of the color of her dress. Every curve was fully visible. If she had a mole anywhere on her body, it would have shown up against the fabric. You would have never known she was mic'd up, the tiny receiver clipped into the fabric near one of her armpits. Make-up done perfectly, black eye liner, a very pale lipstick with a light gloss. The final touch—ice blue eyes together with an expression that could only be read as, "I dare ya." Positively disarming!
"Thank you, Tom," she said in a low voice, taking a glass filled with ice cubes and some kind of clear liquid, from one of the butlers. Then, turning to Owen, a stare just shy of a glare, she asked, "What did you say?"
Owen was so embarrassed his face felt like it had been burned to a crisp.
"My apologies, miss. Please forgive my utterance. It was meant with the utmost respect. HU is an expression, a love song, as it were, when one experiences the beauty and brilliance of God."
Claire stared at him, contemplating, with an expression that looked as if she was trying to decide if he was out of his mind.
"Well, thanks," she finally responded.
The remainder of the cocktail hour and well into the private dinner served in Dino's apartment, the conversation was light on topic and sporadically a bit heavier on sexual innuendo, most of which was delivered by Owen.
"I think your vision of The Eckankar Paradise is a bit unrealistic," Dino said, opening the door to a more serious phase of the dinner conversation.
The next few minutes were taken up by Dino and Owen bandying about diverging scenarios for the future disposition of Ledecker Island. Claire was silent, eyes down, as if she was indifferent to the conversation. She was actually making mental notes, listening for any reference to The Outfit's illegal activities.
"Owen, to be fair, I don't see how you're going to able to do it."
"Why do you say that?" Owen asked in a soft tone.
"Because you'll have to go through me to get control of the island." He paused. "I have something else in mind." Dino spent the next few minutes outlining The Outfit's plan for The Oasis, a place for something more tawdry than spiritual. "I just need you to give us your piece," he concluded.
"I don't think Eckankar is interested in making that kind of contribution," Owen responded.
"You don't understand, Owen. The game is practically over. We already own one parcel of the island and we're gonna own the rest of it within the next twenty-four hours. For all practical purposes, we already own it."
"As I understand it, another party is also interested. Perhaps we will…"
Dino cut him off. "I don't think they're going to be interested for too much longer."
"Yes? Who else are you planning to knock off?" Owen asked, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic edge.
Say it! Say it! Say it! A voice screamed in Claire's mind. Her pulse quickened. Her dream moment. She'd never had the chance to jump up and scream, "FBI! Hands in the air!"
"Gee, I have no idea what you're talking about," Dino replied.
Claire groaned, at least inside.
Except for the sound of the wheels turning around in Owen's mind, there was complete silence.
"What do we get ," he hammered that word, a bit caustically, "for our contribution?"
"Peace of mind, is what you get." He looked at Owen, letting it sink in. "And, The Sri? He can come over any time he wants and get his jollies off."
"So, we're just supposed to give you Arthur's cabin?" Owen asked incredulously.
Dino just looked at him, a soft smile returning to his face. The expression on his face was his answer. After a couple of more innocuous comments, Dino turned again to Owen.
"We have some exquisite private entertainment available to you for the rest of the evening. Your choice—Black, white, brown, male, female, a selection of domesticated animals, any or all."
Owen smiled back at Dino.
Then, glancing at Claire, he said, "I'll take her."
Ron stared blankly at his laptop's screen. A quick glance around to make sure Maddie wasn't around. Last he had seen of her, she was on her bed, messaging her friends about her most recently acquired obsession, that de la Renta boy.
Turning back to the computer, he mentally soaked in the image in front of him of two naked teenagers, definitely under age, both slender and smooth, one standing behind the other. The boy in front looked as if he was laughing a bit uncomfortably. He was a good looking kid with nice facial features, handsome jaw line, and longish brown hair fashioned in a blunt cut. He had a cute boyish figure, nicely defined shoulders, and a narrow butt that was just round and high enough to be drool worthy. His arms were being held lightly behind him by the other boy. That boy, his half hard cock, just touching one of the butt cheeks of the other one, a grin on his face.
It was one of those photos he kept coming back to. What had occurred just before the photo was taken? Was the boy making a weak attempt to escape? Having been caught, was he trying to humor his way out of an uncomfortable situation? Had he been caught naked or persuaded to get that way? What happened after the photo was taken? Did the boy give in, bending over slightly, arching his back, to receive the cock that was about to penetrate him? Or, would he politely push the other boy aside, continuing to give him a cute dimpled smile. Maybe sometime, he would say. Just, not now.
With a sigh of resignation, Ron clicked over to Grindr. Nothing ever came of his surfing through the endless profiles on this app but he searched mindlessly, nevertheless. You never know , he thought. In the meantime, he continued edging the impossibly stiff member between his legs.
Elsewhere, C.O. rolled around on his bed, playing some video games on his phone while he messaged a couple of his teammates. It was just a few hours ago after Ozzie had showed up at his place. It was the fulfillment of an ongoing fantasy, getting off while someone else watched him. And then, as he looked on, staring at Ozzie while he hungrily lapped up his love juice, the skin and flesh on his stomach and hips tingling with each lick of his little tongue. He should have felt exhausted. A rigorous scrimmage, two orgasms. But, as he laid on his back, arms extended straight up, he clicked on the message from Thayer. How the hell did I miss that?!?
"Shit!" He howled out loud.
There he was, in all of his cute, half naked glory, wearing just a t-shirt, nothing at all on the bottom. An impossibly perfect butt, the arch of his back, barely visible shoulders, and that face. In the first one, staring languidly into the camera, lips slightly open, those gorgeous brown eyes, fucking hot eyebrows, bangs on his forehead. The second, eyes closed, as if he was in a state of rapture. Those impossibly long eyelashes.
He instantly made up a lie.
Sorry, just got this. My cell has been down . He added a couple of hearts.
No response.
Rolling on his side, one arm hanging off the bed, he started thinking. Thayer, then Tyrone, and, of course, Ozzie. How far would he go? How far could he go? All of a sudden, his loins were unsettled.
C.O. clicked on Grindr. He'd created a profile there a few weeks ago. Fearful of posting a face picture, he took a photo of his bare upper arm, one shoulder, and his armpit, the side of his face just on the outside of the frame.
"Uh-h," he expelled a half groan in exasperation. It seemed the only taps he ever got were flames or devils. Likewise, chat bubbles were often perfunctory questions like, Wanna fuck? Contacts were frequently from guys halfway around the world, places like Germany and Russia. If you clicked on, Who's Nearby, a whole host of profiles came up, none of which were actually nearby. What made Grindr think that Omaha was nearby? As if!
He was about to click off when a chat bubble appeared. A simple, Hi . C.O. shrugged. He was indifferent but willing to take it a bit further.
After the hower u's, whuzzup's , and hangin's , the unknown guy asked, Where's your bp? C.O. instantly felt his face heat up. How would he know about his butt plug? Maybe the guy was just fishing for information. He shrugged. A lot of guys owned butt plugs.
In a dark, dark place , he thumbed in, smirking, but still feeling a little freaked out.
Night stand or in your sweet ass? The guy responded.
"Shit!"
Now C.O. was truly freaked out. No one knew about his butt plug or where he kept it. No one, except… Doubtful , he thought. Only one way to find out.
U kno so much what color is it then?
Purple.
Ron! The insurance adjuster! Maddie's dad! A million thoughts went through his head in an instant. Gross, distasteful, awkward, embarassing, humiliating, all in the negative. Then, those same feelings, but with a reverse twist in the more positive. There was a long pause in the chat while he thought about it.
Oh hi, he finally typed in.
Hi CO.
Ron leaned forward, his knuckles on the underside of his chin. Honestly, he didn't know what had gotten into him lately.
Just yesterday, he was at a house south of Walker, close to the casino. A small but violent super cell had ripped half of the roof off of a vacation home. By the time he got there, the owners had already gotten a tarp over the exposed part of the roof. That section now resided in the upper branches of a nearby tree. That didn't stop their kids from having a good time. A spirited water balloon fight was in progress in the back yard between three boys, all apparently brothers.
The oldest, at least the tallest, was the one who caught his attention right away. Ron guessed he was fourteen or fifteen. Long skinny legs, probably about 5'8," slender. Long straight blond hair, well past his shoulder blades. It looked as if someone, likely his mother, had recently straight cut it in the back in a rather crude way. He was shirtless on the top, a pair of white board shorts on the bottom. He had a rather flat face, wide mouth, and crystal blue eyes that danced when he was able to hit one of his brothers with one of the water balloons.
Ron stood at the far end of the yard making notes, using his iPhone to snap pictures of the house, the boys' father next to him. Nearby, the war of water balloons continued, their father admonishing them from time-to-time to keep away. Just as he was completing his inspection, that kid ran in front of them, narrowly dodging a water balloon that had been hurled at him. He was soaked, the water glistening off of his summer sun-toned body. His board shorts were also soaked, the white material now translucent. The outline of his cute ass was clearly visible, even the narrow dark crease of his butt crack, caught in an instant by the click of Ron's camera.
Last night after he got home, he spent a long time reviewing that picture, salivating, edging himself, and finally squirreling it away into an obscure secret folder on one of his external drives. Never, ever, ever, would he try anything with an underage kid, but even the idea of it was tantalizing.
Of course, his imagination had been further piqued after Maddie, Ozzie, and he ran into C.O. at the ice cream shop. Finding out that kid was now eighteen gave him an instant rush. Legal! Gawd Dang!
Ron rubbed the tips of his fingers against each other before tickling the keyboard.
I don't think you ever answered me, the other day, when I asked you if you knew how to use that.
Yeah .
C.O. could feeling himself getting red. At the same time, revealing this little tidbit of information fueled an instant erection.
Wanna show me?
Nothing happened for almost thirty seconds. Then, Ok .
You want to meet up somewhere?
Here?
You want me to come over?
No. On here.
Video call?
Y .
Ron had never done a video call on Grindr but he figured it out pretty quickly. Eyes roving to a corner of the chat box, he noticed the small video icon, clicked on it, and waited a couple of seconds until C.O. accepted the request and came into view.
The screen was dark and fuzzy at first. C.O. slowly appeared. He was on his bed, side lit by the lamp on his nightstand. The rest of the room was dark. He was laying propped up by a couple of pillows against his headboard. Of course, he was crazy good-looking in a rumpled t-shirt and what looked like flannel cotton sleep shorts of some kind. His blond hair lay neatly across his head and forehead, as if he had just put a comb to it. Amazing blue eyes and those perfectly straight eyebrows set off so nicely by his pink cheeks. Was it the light or was his face flushed in embarrassment.
With one foot, C.O. pushed the covers on his bed back a bit, jostling the phone as he tried to get the sheets and comforter to support it.
"Well, hi there," Ron smiled, one hand propping up the side of his head.
"Oh, hello."
His legs were open and his knees bent. Those smooth inner thighs looked so appetizing Ron instantly wished he could jump right through the screen and give them a tongue bath.
"You look pretty comfortable, there," Ron said.
C.O. shrugged. "Guess so."
That was a lie. He was extremely uncomfortable, nervous as hell, afraid to move his arms for fear they would give away that his hands were shaking like leaves. He could feel the sweat forming in his armpits.
"Your face is flushed. Maybe you're a little warm."
C.O. shrugged again.
"You'd probably be more comfortable if you slipped your shirt off."
"Nah, I'm good."
"No, really. Why don't you?"
Ron smirked. He absolutely loved the idea that this kid was playing shy and in need of persuading. Likewise, C.O. was only hesitating to add a little tension. He was, in fact, resisting the urge to rip all of his clothes off at once.
It was C.O.'s turn to smirk. With a weak smile, he pulled one arm through the sleeve followed by the other arm. From underneath, he grabbed the neck of the shirt and pulled it off, giving his head a shake, and sweeping his hand across his hair.
"That's better," Ron said.
C.O.'s mind echoed exactly the same words. He absentmindedly scratched a non-existent itch on one of his biceps, automatically flexing his arms and chest. Ron's eyes were glued to the screen. Such wonderful definition to his chest and shoulders!
"Are your nipples sensitive, by chance?"
"Yeah." He flicked his left nipple with the index finger on his right hand, the feeling instantly coursing down to his dick. This went on for several seconds, C.O. flicking and then scratching his nipple with his fingernail.
"Show me what you look like when you put your hands behind your head."
C.O. chuckled uncomfortably as he obliged Ron with the pose, knowing that his armpits were exposed. The only thing that would have been better than this is if the audience for this little show was a little bigger. If only Thayer was watching, maybe even Ty. Just the idea of it juiced him even further.
Just as Ron licked his lips for a second time, he asked, "Wanna show me?"
Reaching down to the side, off camera, C.O. pulled the butt plug off of the nightstand. He waved it back and forth with another slightly embarrassed chuckle after which, he put it in his mouth and sucked on it.
"You mean this?"
Ron could hardly breathe.
Still, he was able to rasp out, "Keep going."
Letting the butt plug fall out of his mouth, C.O. reached his hands down and slowly nudged the sleep shorts off of his hips and down to his knees before kicking them off. He looked down at his cock, thick and throbbing, watching it bounce up and down lightly off of his stomach. This was exactly what he wanted, where he wanted to be.
If Ron only had a gray beard and old man eyes. Getting naked in front of someone's grandpa would be a thrill. He would let an old guy, even Ron, run his hands up and down his body, between his legs, rubbing his fingers along his butthole.
Right on cue, Ron half-whispered, "Let me see your sweet hole."
C.O. brought his knees up a little higher, digging his heels into the bed, and slightly raising his hips. He could feel a bit of air on his nether regions, his anal muscles automatically relaxing. Pulling the butt plug out of his mouth, he quickly slathered it with some silicone and, with little hesitation at all aside from a short grunt, plunged it all the way in, up to the handle.
Nothing was said for a couple of minutes, the stroking momentarily interrupted when C.O. thought he heard noise just outside his bedroom door. He jerked up suddenly, looking to the side. After a few seconds, he relaxed, laying back again.
"Feet!" Ron managed to squeak out.
C.O. obliged him by raising his splayed legs, the result being Ron got to enjoy seeing the bottoms of his feet along with the darker skin around his butthole, the crease as it narrowed to his cheeks, as well as his smooth perineum.
A few minutes later, when it was over, C.O. lay gasping, his legs collapsing to the bed. The butt plug remained where it had been inserted. Ron sat back with a smile, having cum well before the boy.
"Do me a favor," he said quietly.
"What's that?"
"Leave it in for the night."
C.O. chuckled.
"Be glad to."
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