The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 24
Game, Set, Match.
"Game, set, match," Tony stated, his voice in a monotone, a fait accompli .
They were sitting in the back seat of The Outfit's black Jag. The Ghost took a deep breath in, for the moment, enjoying the fragrance of the rich leather appointments and an expensive cologne. That pleasant moment quickly disappeared—he was deflated. This was a first for him. Not only had he been outed, but he had been totally out maneuvered, from start to finish.
Earlier, The Ghost had just parked his car in the lot next to The Bar and Gas. He observed a small group of men and women wearing FBI windbreakers chatting away before they began dispersing and getting into vehicles parked on the other side of The Bar. He'd had every intention of boating over to Ledecker Island. He wasn't sure who he would find there. Deck or Dickie Lee—didn't matter. He was desperate to get one or both of them on the dotted line.
Him again? Thayer thought. He saw him coming, that same guy who appeared to have little interest in fishing but always needed a boat. He looked down for a moment, securing a line to the dock. When he stood back up and prepared to greet the guy, he had vanished. Thayer scanned the shoreline but he was nowhere to be found.
Grabbed by the collar, his right arm cruelly twisted behind his back, The Ghost was pushed hard against the backside of the boathouse.
"We're goin' for a ride," the man growled into his ear. With lightning speed his wrists were zip-tied and a blindfold shoved over his head and onto his eyes.
"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" The Ghost protested.
No response. Just like that, he was unceremoniously dumped into the trunk of a car.
When the vehicle reached its destination, the trunk was opened and he was pulled out, banging his head, knees, and hip against the frame and the trunk lid of the car. He felt and heard the zip-ties being snipped. Then the blindfold was removed. He swiveled around, preparing to either hit or be hit by someone he assumed was an enforcer type. Instead, he found himself glaring in astonishment at a slender young man with dark hair, pulled back into a man bun, a bit of scruff on his cheeks. He didn't look anywhere close to someone who could have taken him like that. He looked like nothing more than a kid.
"I guess you're the one they call The Ghost," he said, a smirk on his face.
Before he could manage a response, a voice called to him from behind.
"Leonard, care to step into my office?"
Tony was leaning against the side of a black Jaguar, his arms folded across his chest. When The Ghost glanced around, he discovered they were in the parking lot of the Bank of the Ten Thousand Lakes.
Bristling, Leonard listened as Tony told him they had taken total control over Ledecker Island.
"Not so fast!" The Ghost retorted. "We own Linnie Lee's property. I've got the papers!"
"Guess you should check with your office. They just assigned that deal to us," Tony said quietly.
"How would you even know about that?"
"Gopnik," Tony replied.
"The fuck!" Leonard gasped in disbelief.
"Danny has been helping us out for awhile now," Tony said matter-of-factly. Seeing no response, he went on to tell Leonard that Clark had agreed to take a fee for developing Ledecker Island, instead of an equity position. As they were talking, Gopnik was already structuring the deal.
"Awww, Leonard. All is not lost," Tony continued in a sympathetic tone. "We kinda like the whole development concept you guys had in mind. You know—the one with all the upscale homes."
"What about me?" Leonard blurted. Mentally, he began to put together a resume, running quickly down the list of people who might give him a job after Clark fired his sorry ass.
"Oh, we're gonna need some help, You know, permits and easements and government stuff like that."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"I think you're acquainted with someone by the name of Gretchen Millerberg," Tony said.
"Oh, right," Leonard answered solemnly, with a nod. I guess these Dagos know everything.
Ozzie sat glumly on a hard metal chair, his hands crushed between his knees.
The interview room in the Deerwood Police Department was barely larger than a closet. A small table with a couple of chairs, a two-way mirror on one wall, plain off-white walls.
The de la Renta's attorney in New York was preparing to jump on a plane. In the meantime, O had tracked down a lawyer by the name of Austin Pendleton to act as counsel for Ozzie.
"Look, we're not implicating you in anything. We just need to know what you know about your, ahem!" Agent Satrom cleared his throat, "Your friend Elliott Winehouse." He pushed the vague sketch of Stuart Churchill in front of him.
Ozzie started to open his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Pendleton.
"You don't have to say anything!" He yelled.
Satrom glared hard at Pendleton. Who is this guy, anyway? Bad haircut, pointy nose, Men's Wearhouse suit, a tie from the three for ten bucks table. He turned back to Ozzie.
"Look, young man. We're just looking for a little help."
Ozzie sighed, looking down at the sketch for a moment, then back up at the FBI agent.
In halting language at first, then with more fluidity, he wove his tale, leaving few details out.
On the other side of the two-way mirror, Shamus watched and listened along with Concannon and Agent Petty.
Arms crossed, Shamus poked a finger against his lips, a smile beginning to form on his face. The boy is actually starting to enjoy this , he thought. The description of Ozzie's encounters with Elliott became increasingly graphic. Perhaps he has some other stories to share , Shamus thought.
"Okay, that's enough," Satrom interrupted, clearly grossed out. "I'll be right back."
"I think we've taken this as far as it's gonna go," Concannon said. "Let's release him."
A few minutes later, they all met in the squad room.
"I concur," Petty said, looking down at a flash report just sent to his phone. "Those $500 bills, the ones found on Keogh and Jago?" He stopped and chuckled. "Guess what?! Apparently, that's Stuart Churchill's calling card. Found on victims in numerous states, Singapore, and several European countries."
"It's fair to say, Winehouse, Churchill, or whatever else he calls himself, is the perp," Shamus surmised. "Connect the dots between the murder victims and anyone else, and we've got the ones that hired him."
"Where do we go with this next?" Concannon asked.
"I'd say the Ledecker's," Petty said. "We need to conduct some hard interviews."
"Before you guys get too ahead of yourselves, Louie Lee's funeral is coming up in a little while," Concannon said.
"Pick 'em up after that. All three of 'em," Petty said.
"I'm wondering about Winehouse's prior employment. Morey's was it?" Shamus asked. Then, answering his own question, "I think we should send someone over there to sniff around. Lonesome Pine Restaurant, too."
They all nodded in agreement.
Thayer grabbed a tie-line from the boat after which he held his hand out to help Cutie step onto the dock. His mouth dropped open. He'd never seen her in a dress before. Her hair was all done up, complete with a small amount of eyeliner and eyeshadow. She looked cute, almost hot in a way.
"Are you okay?" Thayer asked.
"Oh, I dunno." She wrapped her arms around him, head against his chest.
Thayer surprised himself. Cutie actually felt good, crushed against him. She smelled good, too. All of a sudden, he had mixed up feelings, yet again.
"Wanna hang out later?" Cutie asked. "You know, after the funeral."
"Ah, well, I'm going camping." Thayer's mind immediately fast forwarded to his date with C.O.
"Oh, yeah? Where?"
Thayer's mouth fell open. Think fast , he thought! "Church Island, maybe. Or, around there somewhere," he lied.
"Oh? Who with?"
"Boy!"
Saved by the bell , Thayer thought.
"See ya later, Cutie." He quickly ran off in the direction of Mr. Elwinde's call.
"We got something here," Porter called in.
"Where are you?" Troftgruben replied, ignoring law enforcement code. He was supposed to say, "What's your 10-20?"
"Lonesome Pine."
A minute later, Troftgruben was in the squad room giving his report to Shamus and Concannon.
"Not much on Winehouse over there, except one thing. Someone at one of his tables left him a $25 tip the other day. They apparently were all talking about it."
"So?" Concannon asked.
"Well, that's a lot on a $25 check," Troftgruben replied. "They're going through the slips right now. I'll have a name for you in a minute."
A minute later they had that name—Fred Bartholomew.
"You know him?" Shamus asked Concannon and Troftgruben.
"Yeah, maybe," Troftgruben replied, looking off in space, trying to place him in his mind. "He's a local, for sure. I'll get Porter and Blaisdell over to his place right away."
"What's this all about, Fred?" His wife asked him, a concerned look on her face.
They were standing around the island in their kitchen, Deputy Porter on the opposite side. Freddie rubbed his chin as he looked alternately at a rough sketch of Stuart (Elliott?) and a photo copy of his credit card receipt.
"I don't know honey, honestly. I guess the tip might have been a mistake." He could feel beads of sweat forming just over his eyes. "I don't really know this guy."
"Mr. Bartholomew, the staff at Lonesome Pine said you had a long conversation with him, just before you left the restaurant."
"Oh, yeah?" Freddie chuckled uncomfortably. He glanced at his wife, who now had a disgusted look on her face.
While they were in the house talking, Deputy Blaisdell was roaming around their extensive back yard. He admired the palatial swimming pool surrounded by elegant patio furniture. He shook his head at the size and opulence of the pool house, bigger than some family houses in the area. On a whim, he went around the back of the pool house and peeked into the trash enclosure, gasping when he saw numerous large brown plastic containers. They were all emblazoned with Hersheys Chocolate Syrup labels.
"Mr. Bartholomew, what can you tell me about Ledecker Excavating?" Blaisdell asked Fred when he stepped back into the kitchen.
Backpedaling as fast as he could, arms spread wide, he attempted to block as much of the court as he could. Ty feinted left, then rolled right, lowering his hip, and squeezing past C.O. In a flash, he reached the basket and easily dropped the ball through the net for a layup.
A couple of guys clapped and hooted. C.O. shook his head and smiled, wiping the sweat away from his eyes.
"C'mon man, tell me where you played ball," C.O. chided Ty after the scrimmage was over.
"I'm done s'plainin'," Ty laughed.
It was just the two of them now, standing on the court, bounce passing the ball lazily back and forth. The late afternoon sun washed over them, shadows now creeping onto the basketball court.
"I'm guessin' you probably need a ride," C.O. said.
"I'm needin' a shower, is what I need," Ty responded.
"Come over to my place, if you want."
They looked at each other for a long moment, ending with Ty barely nodding, a serious look on his face.
"My place" ended up being a cabin at Woodland Beach Resort. The Wilson's had decided to move out of their house for a few days while it was being repainted and refurnished. C.O.'s parents had one small cabin. He was given his own one-bedroom cabin nearby.
As soon as they got inside, Ty stripped off the two shirts he'd been wearing. He much preferred the smell of knotty pine instead of the salty sweat from his clothes. C.O. flopped down on a couch, a smile on his face.
"Why don't you go first?"
Ty smirked as he entered the bathroom and closed the door.
With the shower running, C.O. stripped off his own shirt, giving each breast a squeeze, a pinch to each nipple. Just like that, he could feel himself plumping up. It was strange, he thought, how he always got horny after a vigorous work-out. For a brief moment, he was going to pull his shorts off, but then thought the better of it. The visual of him sitting on the couch with a hard-on when Ty came out of the bathroom might look a little too…whatever.
"Can I borrow some clothes?" Ty asked after his shower. He wore a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Sure!"
A minute later, C.O. was in the shower himself. As he soaped up, his erection raged on. It wouldn't take long to jerk-off, he thought. But somehow, it didn't seem right, with Ty in the next room. When he finished showering, he quickly dried off, exiting the bathroom with one towel wrapped around his head, the other around his waist.
He found Ty flat on his back on the couch, fast asleep, the towel still around his waist.
C.O. sat cross-legged on the floor, next to him. This gave him a chance to look closely at Ty without him knowing it. Everything about Ty was so different than him! Wiry dark hair, tightly braided, falling across his face. C.O.'s was the texture and color of straw. His broad face and equally broad nose, in contrast to his own more oval face and narrow nose. C.O.'s lips were thin—Ty's lips so full.
His shoulders were smooth and square, under-developed muscles on his upper arms. Less definition to his chest—a sign he probably didn't work out very much. Ty's stomach was tight, his waist narrowing, set-off more so by wider hips, indicative of the attractive Black bootie C.O. had observed on the court. Skin like velvet, completely unblemished, almost shiny. Between his legs, he could see the faint outline of Ty's dick. He visually measured it from its base to where the tip must have been. That thing must be huge! Unconsciously, he gave his own cock a tug with his thumb and the tips of his fingers.
What if I touched it? Just a little? Looking first at Ty's face and seeing his eyes closed and his breathing even, C.O. held his own breath for a moment before reaching over and lightly running his fingers over the mound. Ty remained still. He brought his hand up to the top of the towel and very carefully pulled at the knot holding it closed.
C.O. stopped abruptly when Ty coughed once, just as he loosened the top of the towel enough that it fell open and partially away from his stomach. His eyes remained closed. C.O. could hardly breathe but, nevertheless, he slowly pulled both sides of the towel open, revealing Ty's cock and balls. It's amazing ! He thought. The first thing that struck C.O. was the color. Some unique shade of dark brown and gray—no wrinkles, no veins—silky smooth. Large full balls lightly covered in hair. Smooth thighs. Back to his cock. Thick, a large perfectly conical head. Just then, it twitched!
C.O. glanced up at Ty's face. His eyes were still closed but there was the hint of a smile on his face. Carefully, very gently, C.O. slid his hand underneath Ty's cock as he watched it thicken and rise. He couldn't help himself—he wrapped his fingers all the way around it, somehow both cool to the touch and hot as hell. Ty let out a long sigh.
It came natural to both of them. In seconds, Ty was completely erect and C.O.'s mouth was, at first, lightly kissing and sucking on the head. His first taste of spunk, salty and stinging, from the pre-cum leaking out of the head. A second later, he took all of it in, at least as much as he could.
Ty tipped his head back, his mouth opening with a groan, followed by a gasp. C.O. nudged one hand under Ty's butt, flexing his hips against the pressure from his mouth. At first, Ty reached his arms over head and held his hands behind his head, then bringing them down to the sides of C.O.'s head. For a brief moment, Ty held C.O.'s head still as he raked in the sensation. Then, feeling an urgency, he plunged his cock deep down C.O.'s throat.
When it was over, and it was over way too soon, C.O. had swallowed a huge load of cum, his first ever. It was a first for Ty, too. Of course, he'd gone down on other guys because he had to. But, he'd never been serviced. For C.O., a week of firsts, this one right up there with…
"Oh, shit!" He exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" Ty asked, now up on his elbows.
"Oh, nothin.' I just remembered, I got a date."
"Who's the lucky girl?" Ty chuckled.
C.O. blushed deeply. "Not a girl, ah, a boy."
Ty stroked his still half-hard cock, still oozing cum. "Do I gotz ta be jealous?"
C.O. looked down and away, embarrassed.
"They took her away!" Vern sobbed into the phone.
Between the crying and his garbled speaking, Owen was having trouble understanding him.
"Who took who away Vern?"
"The FBI! They came and took Ethyl away. My girl friend!"
"You say the FBI?" Owen was starting to sound a bit hysterical himself, an emotion he had carefully trained out of his consciousness. He turned to Tony. "You know anything about this?"
"Them's the breaks," he shrugged.
Ethyl's mouth had finally caught up with her. Earlier, she had been in the far corner of the bar, on the phone.
"I'm telling you, the FBI is here. I think they're hot on your trail!"
"Not a chance," he replied. "Look, just keep your trap shut. Our relationship is now over, you understand? Your final payment is behind the toilet in the women's bathroom. Don't call me again!" He clicked off.
When she turned, two FBI agents were standing there, one of them holding a bag of chips he had intended on purchasing. They both had concerned looks on their faces, having obviously heard her side of the conversation.
Soon after, she was in that same interview room at the Deerwood Police Department, Austin Pendleton at her side. After some vigorous drilling, they got it out of her. Over Pendleton's protests, she even gave up her phone. While the interrogation was still in progress, they traced the number she'd received calls from. It was a burner, of course.
"So, we're going to have to detain you, Ms. Merz, pending charges," Petty said.
"What the hell kind of charges?" Pendleton snarled.
"Oh, Accessory to all kinds of shit," Petty replied. "Murder goes to the top of the list."
On the way out of the station, Pendleton congratulated himself. It's gonna be a helluva year! He quickly called his wife.
"Honey, you know how much you wanted to remodel the kitchen? I think we can go ahead with that now."
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