The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 21
I Think That's About All I Can Take.
"Let me know if you see Dickie Lee," he said over the phone. "I need to speak to him," he added quietly.
The way he said it, in a dark low tone, made Ethel a bit queasy.
"You know his brother just got killed. He was pushed off of a subway platform," she said.
"So?"
"So, he's probably got other things on his mind right now," she replied with a huff. Then, it suddenly occurred to her that he might have had something to do with Louie Lee's death. "Don't tell me," she started to say in an alarming tone of voice.
"Just do what I tell you to do." He rang off.
Ethel had long made the business of observing people's behavior her specialty. Maybe that was part and parcel of what tending a bar was all about. Getting paid a little extra for it was a just reward, she thought. A steady stream of information and gossip had already yielded a tidy sum.
Each wad of cash she received was being squirreled away in a secret account along with the money she was steadily skimming off of Ten Ethyl's business. Some day, hopefully some day soon, she was going to buy that condo in Fort Lauderdale. Over and over in her mind, she played out how she was going to tell Vern. She could just see his cute, crooked smile. Together, they'd quietly disappear, living out the rest of their lives in Florida. Of course, Ted would never know what hit him. He wasn't dumb but he was so damn focused on his stupid business, he wouldn't realize until the last second that the rug had been pulled out from under him. Just the other day, he mused about buying a franchise and starting to sell boats and motors.
"Where ya going to get the money for that?" She asked him, dryly.
He just shrugged his shoulders. Of course, he assumed Ethel would miraculously come up with a couple hundred grand for a franchise fee. Fat chance!
A cold day last winter. The Bar was dead, this being the slowest time of the year. He was the only customer, having taken a seat at the far end of the bar.
"I'll have a Fresca," he said, after she put a cocktail napkin down in front of him.
After Ethel set it down, she started to walk away.
"Say, can I ask you something?"
"What's that honey?"
"You know much about what goes on in this little corner of world?"
"Enough," Ethel huffed. She stood there, one hand on the bar, the other on her hip. Who was screwing whom, literally and figuratively, what deals were about to come down, who was in trouble, and who was riding the crest of a wave. Pretty much everything.
She looked at him, a doubtful expression on her face, after he made his pitch. Who is this little twerp, anyway? He certainly didn't look the part of an operator. Slender, more like skinny, from what she could see under his jacket. A wide brimmed cap pulled down almost to his eyebrows, dark hair pulled back into a man bun, some light scruff on his face. He cocked his head in a kind of cute way, as if he was appraising her.
"I dunno. Let's see how it goes."
"Fair enough," he said. With that, he flattened a bill down on the bar. "Here's a little encouragement." As he got up to leave, he glanced at her in a way that made her feel immediately uncomfortable. Plus, he had a funny smell.
After he left, she glanced down at the bar. A one hundred dollar bill, brand new, as if it had been freshly printed.
"Shut up, Romey!" He yelled over the sound of the outboard.
Thayer shook his head in disgust. That kid was being so annoying. Just like the other day, he wanted Thayer to take his cap off so he could see his hair blowing in the wind.
They were on their way to Ledecker Island to see how Cutie was doing. After hearing the news about Louie Lee, Thayer didn't really know what to do. Consoling people who'd experienced the death of a loved one wasn't really his thing. Thayer knew it would be awkward. But, this morning, his mom had ragged on him about it.
"Isn't Cutie a friend of yours?"
"Well, yeah."
"Then I think it would be nice if you paid a visit."
He asked Rome to come along, basically for protection. Not that he was certain she'd grab him again, especially today. He just wanted a little insurance.
Cutie saw them coming when the boat was still quite a distance away. The fastest application of eye shadow, eye liner, and the tiniest bit of blush in the history of woman kind. She even had time to change bras and put on one of her favorite tops. Looking in the mirror, she fluffed up her hair, and applied a bit of cherry flavored lip balm.
A soft rap on the door. Maybe she wasn't home. Then, he could, at least say, he tried.
When the door opened just a few inches, she peered out at them, as if she had no idea who was there. Cutie put on her saddest face, eyes cast downward, resisting the urge to squeal out, Thayer!
"I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said a few minutes later, tears brimming over her eyelids and rolling down her cheeks.
The three of them sat on a bench on the edge of the wide deck.
"Aw Cutie, that's ok," Thayer put his arm around her shoulders as a gesture of comfort.
Ohmygod, that feels so good , she thought, allowing herself to be pressed against him, tucking the side of her head into Thayer's shoulder. She instinctively wrapped her arm around his waist. This is working, so far , she assured herself.
As subtly as he could, Thayer tried to pry himself away from her. But, Cutie tightened her grip on him, the effect of which created heat between their two bodies. Thayer felt sweat forming. Cutie, in contrast, interpreted it as the heat of passion.
Rome frowned as he observed what was going on. "How's your dad doing?"
Reluctantly, Cutie eased up on Thayer, the moment somehow broken.
"Oh, I dunno," she responded softly. "I guess he's busy with the funeral and all. And, taking care of my Auntie Linnie and Uncle Dickie Lee."
"Taking care of?" Thayer asked.
"Yeah," she grimaced. "They're both a mess. I've never seen two grown-ups bawl so much."
On the way back to The Bar and Gas, Thayer and Rome glanced to the side as they passed Deck's Chris Craft, apparently idling in the middle of the bay. Deck sat in the captain's chair surrounded by Dickie Lee and Linnie Lee, both sitting on the luxurious seating.
"Are you shittin' me?" Linnie Lee yelled.
The three of them had just laid it on the table, revealing the last, least, and greatest offers that had been rendered by confusing and conflicting parties.
"Four-fifty for me when you two are walkin' away with a million, each?"
Earlier, most of the conversation had been about Louie Lee after they dispensed with the damage to Deck's Navigator.
"What the hell happened?" Dickie Lee asked with a chuckle, after he got in the passenger side of the car. Linnie Lee had just crawled into the back seat.
The dash was a complete mess. Deck had managed to stuff most of the airbag back into the hole that it came out of. There was white powder, residue from the air bag, on most of the right side of the vehicle's interior. Behind the front tire, a gaping hole where the fender previously resided, exposing the chassis right up to the passenger side front door.
"Air bag problem," Deck grunted. He refused to elaborate.
Most of the way to Koop Funeral Home and back, they had all been bereft with sorrow over the loss of their brother. Deck had insisted on seeing the body, after which he felt faint, the mortician's assistant having to help him into a chair. The three of them more or less mumbled their assent to the funeral director's guidance through the choosing of the casket and the service details.
Once they got back on Deck's boat and cast off from The Bar and Gas docks, Dickie Lee broached the subject.
"So, what's it gonna be, Lee?" He asked in a sarcastic voice.
"I've got options," he replied.
Halfway across the bay, he cut the engine and turned the captain's chair around to face his siblings.
"I don't know about you guys, but I got two offers right now."
Dickie Lee and Linnie Lee glanced at each other, then turned to look at him, neither one responding. In short order, he outlined the framework of both deals, each one giving him enough to pay off his mortgage, take care of some "issues" at the bank, as he vaguely put it, and secure that hospital contract. Left out—the options to get the Green's lakefront for a new house and the distasteful idea of giving up some equity in his business.
"You must be a popular guy. Two offers! I only got one, but it's for a clean million cash. I sorta kinda like it," Dickie Lee bragged. Left out—a stake in Zoov's that held the potential for unlimited fun and fantasy. The vision of The Oasis instantly played itself out in his mind.
"Who are these people?" Linnie Lee asked. It was Deck's turn to stare back at Linnie Lee. Dickie Lee also remained silent.
"You got a point, there," Deck finally responded. His mind went back to the deafening blast from that gun yesterday.
Linnie Lee shook her head in disgust. She was thinking about yesterday, too. She'd come within a hair's breadth of selling her property to a guy who was so slimy it made her skin crawl.
In stops and starts, they shared descriptions of the people they'd been in contact with. Zoov, a young slender guy who neither Deck nor Dickie Lee could clearly describe, Clark, so far just a voice on the phone, and some barrel chested Italian guy with a slick haircut. He had introduced himself as Tony. Deck and Linnie Lee had both spoken to another man with a salt and pepper beard and a receding hairline. Apparently nameless. And, of course, there was Orly Keogh.
"Oh God!" Linnie Lee blurted out, tears immediately welling in her eyes. "That guy was so freakin' scary!"
As her brothers listened, she told them about her one and only meeting with him. She was just pulling into her dock when he appeared out of nowhere.
"It was the way he said it. 'We can help you out of your little problem.' Not in a friendly way." In halting words, she told them what she had been directed to do. She was authorized to offer each brother up to eight-fifty each for their parcels. The lower she got each one to go, the more she got, starting at five hundred for herself.
"This is unbelievable!" Deck exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell him to take a hike?"
"Because he knew all about the sharks. Maybe he was workin' for them. I dunno. If I didn't do this, he said, there would be more pressure. He called it the first twist of the arm. And, the interest is killing me. Then, Dickie Lee really twisted my arm and got me to agree to sell-out for four-fifty." She glared at her brother. "Thank God I didn't sign. Who the hell is that guy, anyway? What a grease ball!"
Dickie Lee blushed for a moment, then tried to change the subject.
"Do you think the cops got any leads on his murder?"
"Do you mean Inspector Bueller?" Linnie Lee asked.
"Him? What a joke!" Deck responded. "And Concannon? He's got nothin' going on the vandalism or the fire."
"Two fires," Dickie Lee reminded him.
Fred's face was buried in the restaurant's menu. Tough choice, he thought. Should I have the fried chicken sandwich or the beef dip? He was sitting across from his wife at the Lonesome Pine Restaurant.
"Here's some water for you two. Any questions on the menu?" Elliott asked.
Fred's head jerked up, his mouth first open in surprise, then breaking into a big smile.
"Hey there!"
There he was, in all of his cute glory. The cap was gone, his dark hair now loose around his head and shoulders. Elliott's azure eyes blazed in the noontime sunshine streaming in through the windows and skylights of the restaurant. That same scruff and that adorable smile, offset by a twinkle in his eyes. Slender frame, narrow hips. Fred instantly conjured up the memory of spreading his butt cheeks apart, revealing a most perfect winking asshole.
Fred's wife also looked, at first with no expression, then with a slight frown.
"Honey, this is the boy, I mean, young man I was telling you about. The one who works over at Morey's who was such a big help."
"I don't remember you saying anything about a young man, but hello, anyway," she replied with a quick smile.
Fred immediately blushed, "Oh well, then." He pretended to focus his attention back on the menu.
"I'll check back," Elliott said, glancing to his left.
Ozzie had just taken a chair at the next table with The Brockster just opposite.
"You guys want a menu?"
Elliott's eyes locked with Ozzie's instantly. They stared at each other before a slow smile came over Ozzie's face.
"Nah. I'll just have a foot-long," he replied, in a light airy voice.
"You want anything on it?"
"Maybe something sweet and salty ," he replied, twirling his wrist.
"Relish and mustard, then. Anything else? Or, is that gonna be enough."
"Oh, well," Ozzie replied, trying to keep a straight face. "I think that's about all I can take."
Brock looked at Ozzie with a puzzled expression before shrugging his shoulders and ordering a cheeseburger and fries.
Should I be jealous? Naw, he thought. Ozzie was, well, Ozzie. That guy is such a degenerate! After the waiter left the table, Brock just grunted, recounting to himself how Ozzie had delivered his double entendre, metaphor laden food order. Their short illustrious history together was definitely on the decline. Lately, the sex had become mostly one-sided. Maybe it was always one-sided and he hadn't noticed it before. But, Brock was heading to Italy tomorrow. Six weeks with a college tour group, practicing his Italian, soaking up the culture, eating a lot of great food. Once he got back, it would be time for school. So, this was it.
Today, when he went to pick him up for their final date, Ozzie wasn't ready, naturally. Brock found him lounging out by the pool—naked. Nearby, a gardener was trimming around some trees. Of course, Ozzie didn't give a shit. Actually, he probably liked it.
"Take some pictures of me, will ya?" He asked, handing Brock his phone.
For the next few minutes, Ozzie went through a variety of poses, directing Brock to take pictures when he was ready, quickly reviewing each shot before nodding his approval. The most tantalizing one was where Ozzie was on his back, his legs open and up, with his arms interwoven around them. That incredibly delicious asshole, a perfect set of balls, and a thick cock were prominently on display. The gardener glanced over a couple of times, finally stopping his work and leaning on a rake, as he looked on.
Later on, as Fred waited for his wife to return from the ladies' room, he signaled to Elliott.
"Can I see you tonight? I think my wife will be out."
"Possibly. I have a few things to take care of after work," Elliott responded, smiling as he tipped his head to the side and ran his fingers through his hair.
After Fred and his wife left, he set the check down on the table in front of Brock and Ozzie.
"Wha-cha doin' later?" Ozzie asked, rubbing a spot on the side of his neck.
Elliott just shrugged and smiled.
"Ya wanna hang out?"
"Maybe. I'll havta see."
With that, Brock slapped his credit card down on the table.
"Here!" He said in disgust.
After Elliott left the table, Brock continued to stare hard at Ozzie.
"What?" Ozzie asked, in a shocked tone of voice.
"You are somethin' else," he replied, shaking his head.
"You can come, too—it'll be fun," Ozzie giggled.
Roy Petty frowned as he read through the BCI investigative notes. Mel Satrom was on the phone with Valdespino getting a further update. They both were sitting in a conference room at the Sheriff's Department in Brainerd. Concannon flipped through his note book while Shamus reviewed notes on his laptop.
"Anthony Maisano," Satrom said after hanging up, thrusting the photo Deputy Porter had texted to his phone of Tony as he exited the car in front of the Iron Range Eatery. He had just received the news from Washington, identification being made from facial recognition software. "Lieutenant in The Outfit, Tony Barzini's right hand," he elaborated. "He's the same guy we saw exit a vehicle at Brainerd Airport and board a private plane yesterday—tail number registered to some company located in the Bahamas. The FAA gave us their flight plan—Vegas."
Concannon used the heels of both hands to rub his eyes. "Nice," he said in a wry tone of voice.
"Who is that woman?" Petty asked as he examined the photos.
"Linda Lee Ledecker," Shamus responded. "I've interviewed or tried to interview her twice, the second time with an attorney present. Tried to get her to talk when she left that place, but she refused." He revealed what they knew about her possible involvement in the murder.
"Pick her up," Satrom said flatly.
"Yeah, I dunno," Concannon said. "Her brother was the one that got pushed off of that train platform at O'Hare. Might be a problem short-term with a funeral coming up and all."
"I don't care," Satrom replied. "If you don't wanna do it, we'll do it."
"I thought you guys didn't care who offed Orly Keogh," Shamus said.
"Well, we do," Petty responded. "The FBI is in the middle of a multi-phased investigation of the Barzini gang. We've already got 'em pretty much nailed on a long list of offenses. If we can pin this murder on them, we can make a bunch of arrests. And, I'd love to add Louis Lee Ledecker's death to the pile."
"If I may ask, how are you collecting all of this information?" Shamus asked. He wrapped his fingers around his chin, one elbow up on the table.
"We have a couple of people inside—one in Vegas and another in the Twin Cities."
"Interesting," Shamus responded, as he tried to mask the surprise on his face.
"And, by the way, Barzini has a cell in Minneapolis. We think they've been up and around here, too," Petty said.
"Doing what?" Concannon asked.
"Not sure exactly. But, we think they might be fronting a business up here."
"What kind of business?"
"Some kind of adult entertainment."
"What the hell!" Concannon blurted.
Petty just smirked.
"On a related front, adding arson to the list wouldn't hurt either," Satrom added.
"We don't see a connection to those two fires," Concannon said.
"We'll see about that. Have Trotter email everything he's got on the fires to us, too."
"Any thoughts about Dinwiddie Partners?" Shamus asked.
"They're adding a measure of stink to the pot," Petty responded. "This report here says they use a lawyer who lives around here?"
"Yeah, Rhennie Wilson. He's got a place two doors down from Green's. You know, the house that burned down."
Petty smirked. "I wanna see how we do with Ms. Ledecker first. Then, we'll have a chat with Wilson."
"Another question. You know anyone around here by the name of Vern?" Satrom asked.
Concannon smirked. "Yeah, why?"
"Seems he might be in the middle of all of this, too."
"You've gotta be shittin' me," Concannon responded in a low tone.
Satrom went on to brief the others about information Valdespino had received from a "well-placed under cover," as he put it, in Las Vegas. Of course, he was talking about Claire. Last night, she winced only once when Owen entered her from behind, his diminutive prick barely able to reach her, as he thrust his ample belly against her upper thighs.
Following Owen's obscene request, Tony seemingly ignored Claire's nasty look, his eyes darting around the room, a lazy smile on his face. Awhile later, she hoped the sight of her naked might push him quickly over the edge. He was already half undressed, his purplish penis leaking and about ready to erupt. But, just as she swiveled her hip, giving him a generous view of her ass, his phone rang.
"Yes, Vern," Owen purred. "We might have to ask you to pour some more water on that gentleman's fire, as it were." He paused to listen. "You say your girl friend is providing some young ruffian with information?" More listening. "If there is an opportunity, perhaps you should try to trip him up a bit, at the very least." Owen smiled as he continued to get some more information. "Yes, I concur. I believe that young man is employed by some people I am currently in direct contact with. Vern, we trust you to use your very best judgment, and," he paused to take a breath. "We thank you very much for your service to The ECK."
Later in the afternoon, Linnie spilled most of what she knew after some pressure cooker interview techniques were applied by both Satrom and Petty. Her attorney, Austin Pendleton, did everything he could to shut her up, at one point even holding his hand over her mouth. She slapped it away, disgusted.
"Dickie Lee was the one that finally got me talked into it," she blurted, the tears running down her face.
Shamus and Concannon watched everything from an adjacent room through a one-way mirror. After a brief confab, Shamus, Petty, and Satrom headed back up to Bay Lake. Concannon stayed behind to attend to other business.
"This is getting kind of fun," Satrom said as he drove, a smile on his face.
"Yeah, but I still wanna get in some fishing," Petty responded, looking glumly out the car window.
"Is your dad home?" Shamus asked C.O. when he answered the door.
"Yeah." He turned his head, yelling, "Dad?!"
"No. I do not know what you're talking about," Rhennie said firmly a few minutes later. Within the blink of an eye, he went from a laid back laker wearing a navy blue polo and linen shorts, bare foot, to a hardened lawyer.
"But, you will acknowledge that you represent a Clark Berg and his company, Dinwiddie Partners," Satrom flatly stated.
"Do you know if they have employed or are employing people to represent them in negotiations to purchase Ledecker Island?" Petty asked.
"Again, gentlemen, I have no knowledge of what you are talking about."
"Ever seen this man?" Satrom held up a mug shot of Orly Keogh.
Rhennie colored a bit before responding, "No. I have no idea who that is."
The three men stood in front of Wilson's house after they left.
"You know. The boy was somehow involved in all of this," Shamus said.
"That kid?" Petty asked.
Shamus gave them a brief rundown of his previous interviews with C.O.
Satrom shook his head. "Let's track down Dickie Lee. We'll be getting back to the Wilson's, both father and son."
Inside the house, Rhennie watched the three men talking. He picked up his mobile and quickly punched in some numbers.
"Clark. I think we need to have a conversation."
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