by Jake Devlin
“It was nice to see her and Dave again. And Paul and Gayle, too.”
“Yeah. And did you see his smile when I told him we took his suggestion?”
“Yeah, he fairly beamed.”
“I don't think I coulda even started that without your help. We've definitely got to find a way to give you some credit.”
“No, no, Jake, no need.”
“Oh, c'mon, at least think about it. We could change your name.”
“Okay, Jake; I'll think about it.”
“Ready to get back at it?”
“Back at it? That was five hours ago. But I'm ready.”
“Oh, no, not that; the book.”
“Oh,” Pam fake-pouted. “Sure; let me get my notes.”
“Okay.”
Pam reached into her beach bag, pulled out a couple sheets of paper and looked them over for a moment.
“Okay.
“On the currency swap, are you going granular or macro on that?”
“A little bit of both, I think. Got him doing an announcement and then going into details with some of the players, with dialogue. But when I get into how people react around the world, I think macro'll work better.
“I'm also thinking about trying to squeeze in something that ties in to Bonita, just for fun, and what I'm thinking of is maybe putting in something about the Bali Hai.”
“Bali Hai? What's that?”
“It's an old resort over on Old 41, was a health spa back in the Twenties, built around the spring that gave Bonita its name. I think Al Capone spent some time there in the thirties, and I was thinking maybe I could put something in about him burying some money on the grounds and never coming back for it. But if people started digging for it there and maybe even found it, it'd be worthless.”
“Oh, I like that. Futility.”
“I'll show you the place next time we're out and about. Maybe some rainy morning we can pop up to Cafe Mesureé for breakfast or brunch; it's on Wilson Street, right behind the little grocery store there on Old 41, and Bali Hai is on the way there.”
“Think we can get in? In season?”
“We probably won't have much of a wait if we time it ri- --”
“Hey, Jake.”
“Oh, hey, Birgitte. How's it going?”
“Great. Hi, Pam.”
“Hi, Birgitte.”
“Jake, if you can, swing around and watch this.”
“What's going on?”
Birgitte looked at her watch as Jake sat up and looked toward where she was pointing. Pam swiveled her chair, as well.
“Wait, wait. Okay. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Hmm. Our watches must be off. Any second now.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Ah, there he goes.” She pointed to her husband, Karsten, who was looking at his watch and then stood up and pressed a button on a boom box.
“One for the money,” he blared out, singing with the background music from the boombox.
“Two for the show,” some other people sang as they, too, stood up.
“Three to get ready,” even more people joined in, and they all started dancing toward and around Karsten, breaking into a fairly well choreographed and mostly on-key rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes.”
“Oh, Jake, a flash mob,” Pam said, quietly joining in the singing, but not the dancing, staying in her chair.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” Jake replied, and started to hum along.
“He's good, isn't he, Jake?”
“Yes, he is, Birgitte.”
“He got the whole thing going with the Hysterical Society.”
“The Gator Day people?” Pam asked.
“Yup,” Birgitte replied.
“Cool.”
When the mob finished with that one, they segued into “You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog,” then “Jailhouse Rock,” finishing with “Love Me Tender,” bowing to a noisy round of applause, hoots and hollers, and then all the singers slowly blended back into the crowd, back into their chairs and onto their towels, people near them starting to chat with them, smiling and laughing. Even the Incontinentals got involved.
“Cool,” Pam said, finished applauding.
“Look, Pam. See what's happening?”
“What?” She looked around at the crowds. “Oh, yeah.”
“Not a bad icebreaker.”
“Cool.”
“I'm getting to like the Hysterical Society more and more.”
“Me, too.” Pam swiveled her chair back to facing Jake and held her index finger and thumb an inch or so apart.
“Sooo, big Amellican sodier boy, you wan' ruv me tenda? Cheepy, cheepy, velly nicey-nicey.”
“Oh, god, Pam, Vietnamese, too?”
“Velly nicey-nicey, make Stevie Blucie velly happy.” She held her finger/thumb gesture out again. Jake returned the gesture and laughed.
“Whatever happened to my dear Belle?”
“Oh, Ah'm in heah, too. But yuh'll hafta dig deep ta find me.”
“I can do that. What are we waiting for? Let's go.”
“We'll watch your stuff,” Norm and Janet said, again in unison, and Jill whisper-giggled into her beach bag, “Here we go again.”
Sharon's raspy voice came back over her earbuds. “Oh, joy.”
-108-
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
5:19 p.m.
The Oval Office
Washington, DC
Ms. Skinner climbed quickly out of the chair, her chest heaving, and headed toward Donne's desk, fists clenched.
“You – you --” she spluttered.
She got no more than three feet from the chair before two guards grabbed her arms and restrained her, while she struggled and cursed Donne.
Donne sat placidly behind his desk, looking directly at her with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement.
“Now, now, Ms. Skinner, I'd suggest that you settle down and let us have a nice quiet chat … unless you'd prefer more time in your chair and cage.”
“You have no right to restrain me in that … that … that ...”
“I call it the Madonna cage, Ms. Skinner, and I have every right to restrain you or anybody whose behavior, attitude or verbalization calls for it … totally at my discretion. You are a guest in my house, however you choose to interpret that.
“Now, are you prepared to have a reasonable conversation about your client's behavior and his future … and your own?”
Deflated but still belligerent, Ms. Skinner only nodded.
“Good.
“Now I am going to speak directly and solely to your client and the other three clients, and you will remain silent … or go back in the cage. Do you understand that?”
Ms. Skinner, arms crossed over her still-substantial stomach, nodded.
“I need a verbal response for the record.”
“Yeah.”
“A clear verbal response.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good.
“Now, gentlemen, you heard what I told the five guys who just left this office. Did you understand everything I told them?”
The four union bosses all nodded. Donne pointed to his mouth, and the four all responded, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.
“Everything I told them applies to you and your memberships, other than military oversight … for now; I reserve the right to call them in if and when I deem it appropriate. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” the four said simultaneously. Ms. Skinner turned away and walked over to her fellow attorneys. Donne glanced at her only briefly, then back to the four union guys.
“I am imposing and temporarily suspending the same punishment I did on them on all four of you, as of this moment. And I will put this in language the four of you can definitely understand. Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up. Got it?”
All four again said, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.
“Now, Ms. Skinner, do you have anything to say?”
“I object to --�
��
“Overruled.
“Anything else?”
“You can't --”
“All right, Ms. Skinner. I see we're going to get nowhere. You are hereby disbarred in each and every state in which you are licensed … permanently. That punishment is NOT suspended, but takes effect immediately, right now.
“Additionally, all of your assets … again, not your liabilities; you keep those … are hereby forfeited to the United States Treasury. I will not incarcerate you, but I reserve the right to do so at any time I deem appropriate.
“Emily, have these people escorted back to their cells to gather their belongings, give each of them a DVD of both this and the previous discussion, at our expense, and then have them escorted out to the street and their freedom.”
“Yes, Mr. Donne.
“Gentlemen, ma'am, follow me.”
The nine left the room, escorted by both Secret Service agents and guards. As they left, Donne returned to his inbox.
Ten minutes later, Emily returned and said, “All set, Gordy.”
“Thanks, Em. By the way, did it look like I actually forgot she was in the cage?”
“Oh, yeah; you pulled that off really well.”
“And the oops on the blue vapor?”
“Same; looked like you really meant it.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“And the Madonna cage worked perfectly.”
“Come a long way with that since Vienna, hasn't it?”
“Absolutely, Gordy.”
“Well, I think it's ready for market.”
“Want me to let Wes know?”
“Sure.”
“Ready for some dinner?”
“Yup; surprise me, but my style, not yours.”
Emily frowned, but said, “Okay, boss.”
-109-
April 8, 2012 (Easter Sunday)
7:36 a.m.
Bonita Beach, Florida
Another lovely spring day in Bonita, 73 degrees, clear skies, and now, the annual sunrise service held by a local church was in full swing, having begun at seven a.m. Nearly three hundred were in attendance, most sitting on beach chairs or blankets, some standing in the back, closer to the water. A few of the more curious morning walkers stopped to watch what was going on, but many just passed on by, keeping up their pace, from shuffling to jogging to sprinting.
George and Marion Herman had driven from their riverfront mansion to enjoy the service; they were sitting in beach chairs about in the middle of the crowd, having arrived ten minutes before the service began. George had his hearing aids turned down, and he was a bit groggy, this being two hours before his usual waking-up time.
Jake and Pam had arrived about 7:10, setting up in their usual spot on the high tide line, a bit south of the periphery of the church crowd, and had gone for their southerly morning walk. They chatted briefly with two middle-aged fishermen, one of whom was calling out, "Here, fishies, here, fishies," and laughing with his buddy.
Neither of them had had any luck yet, although one told Jake that he'd caught a four-foot sand shark a couple of years ago from the same spot. His buddy, standing behind him, shook his head and held his hands about two feet apart.
A little further south, near their usual turnaround point, they noticed a teenager fishing near a small red skiff, which he'd pulled onshore; he was standing knee-deep in the water. As he got closer, Pam saw his T-shirt, which said, "How Come They Call It Season If We Cain't Shoot 'Em?" Laughing quietly, she pointed it out to Jake.
Chuckling, he called out, "Hey, I like your T-shirt." The teen made no response. Jake tried again, "Catch anything?"
The teen, scowling, turned and said, "Naw, nuthin' yet," and faced back to the Gulf.
Jake shrugged, said, "Well, good luck," then, under his breath, “Punk,” and he and Pam headed back north, hand in hand.
At they passed the gazebos, the Mimosa twins turned on their equipment.
When Pam and Jake got to about ten feet from their stuff, Jake a bit winded and looking forward to horizontalizing himself, they suddenly saw a giant bright red-orange devil's head popping up from the water, perhaps 30 feet from the shoreline, and a loud, deep voice roaring, "Jesus was gay! You're all going to Hell! Jesus was gay! You're all going to Hell!" repeatedly.
All the folks on shore for the service looked at the apparition, shocked. Some screamed, beach chairs were overturned, and a few injuries, none serious, occurred as people were trampled in a rush for the parking lots. Marion stood next to George, protecting him from the onrushing crowd; George, oblivious to the surrounding rush, asked Marion, "Jesus was gay? Who knew?" Marion said, "No, George, it's just a prank," and continued to hold off the crowd. The roaring voice continued from the water.
The pastor, recovering slowly from his own shock and outrage, finally grabbed the mike and pled for the crowd to calm down and return to their chairs. "Folks, it's just a balloon! Come back! Just a balloon!!!!"
A few people in the crowd, realizing it was an inflatable, began to snicker, but the true believers were outraged, along with their pastor, and they started yelling for someone to turn off the noise. Two of the younger men in the crowd, who were wearing swim suits, swam out and searched for a way to disconnect the speaker.
Meanwhile, Jake glanced south and saw the teenaged fisherman looking north and giggling. Jake grabbed his binoculars and focused on him and his little red boat. He saw a small metallic box in the teen's hand, and as he refocused on the teen's boat, the teen tossed all his gear in and took off. But before he got turned fully away, Jake got his registration number and wrote it down and handed it to Pam.
Pam pulled out her cell phone and called 911. The operator had already received several calls, but Pam asked to speak to Sergeant Dooley, telling the operator that she might have the boat registration number of a possible suspect, and that the boat was heading south toward Naples. The 911 operator took the information and said she'd pass it on to Dooley and to the marine division.
Finally, the two men in the water managed to disconnect the speaker and the service continued, until the arrival of Sgt. Dooley and four Collier deputies, as well as two Lee County deputies and their sergeant. But the devil's head stayed inflated.
As the Lee and Collier sergeants conferred, they concluded that while most of the servicegoers were sitting in Lee County, about a third of them were in Collier, the devil's head was in the littoral waters of Collier County and the suspect had been in Collier. So, after a bit of ego competition, they agreed that Collier would be primary and the Lee deputies would assist with the witnesses north of the county line.
Sgt. Dooley headed over to Pam and Jake, scrutinized Pam and said, "You?”
“Hello, Sergeant,” Pam said, smiling.
Dooley just hissed. “Okay, you two, what the hell happened here this time?"
Jake smiled and said, "As to this inflatable event, of course?"
"Of course,” Dooley said, glancing suspiciously at Pam.
Just then, his radio squawked, and he was informed that the marine division had stopped the red skiff and was bringing it and the teenager back for identification; they said they also retrieved a metal box that the teen had thrown overboard, but which stayed afloat long enough for them to scoop it out of the Gulf.
Pam and Jake both gave statements, as did the pastor and scores of people at the service. Several people also provided cell phone videos. The teen was arrested and taken to the Collier County Jail. A trailer was brought in and the skiff removed from the scene.
The pastor fought hard for the teen to be charged with a hate crime, but his lawyer successfully argued that there was a fine line between mischievous and malicious, and the US Attorney declined to press those charges.
A federal investigation of the gorilla head incident, which the teen admitted, placed the blame for the shooting part on an albino Marine private named Murphy overreacting. The fairness of that investigation surprised everybody involved, including the teen and his lawyer. No f
ederal charges were filed. Sgt. Ron Danuski's death had previously been ruled an accident, and no charges were filed against Norm or Janet.
The teen ultimately pled guilty to state misdemeanor charges of disturbing the peace, two counts, one for each inflatable, and spent sixty days in juvenile detention.
Seven years later, he was hired by a major New York-based department store as a designer of balloons for their Thanksgiving Day parades.
-110-
Friday, April 27, 2012
8:30 p.m.
The Oval Office
Washington, DC
via a 24-hour news channel
Gordon Donne smiled at the camera from behind his desk, his colorful red-blue-and-green tropical shirt contrasting with the bland curtains in the background. A stack of papers about six inches tall sat in front of him, and he drummed his fingers on them as he began.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, fellow citizens; tonight I've got five announcements.” He slid the papers to one side and tapped them.
“First, these papers summarize the current results of our corrupt proceeds clawback efforts, which I announced in February and which are ongoing. So far, we have recovered nearly five billion in direct clawbacks and over eleven billion in confiscated assets from over four thousand individuals and corporations, including five ex-Presidents, four ex-VPs, nearly eleven hundred ex-Congressmen, and over five hundred senior ex-military officers. We have posted a searchable list of all of these people on the __________.gov web site.
“Of those, only approximately ten percent came forward on their own, which is about what we expected. Of the other ninety percent, approximately twenty percent have begun or will soon begin serving prison terms ranging from several months to several years. There have also been seventeen suicides of people on the list, and we are investigating six other suspicious deaths, which have been classified as homicides by the medical examiners involved.
“We still have several hundred individuals and corporations to go, with more being added every day, thanks to ongoing journalistic investigations. Bravo, guys and gals. Keep up the good work.