by Don Quine
Reimer wanted to have the Oregon Pigs sneak into the nudie camp while the eggheads were sleeping. Bash some brains for distraction while he got the goods from Scarface. Fred told Reimer it would be better to go with a daylight plan, without any distraction by the Pigs. She explained to her brother there was a good chance Ventures Nest had surveillance cameras surrounding the property and the big tree where he hid the files, so it was better to hire some dickhead to go in and get the videos for them.
If they caught him, they’d go to a Plan B.
If they didn’t, Plan A proved the dickhead way was the way to go.
Reimer wanted strange young pussy.
Reimer told Fred he wanted to get hold of a convertible and check out the bus depots and malls for some teenyboppers who loved to have fun. Young dumb bitches that liked having laughs until he bit off one of their nipples and turned the laughs to muffled screams for a good cumski.
Fred didn’t want Reimer to get too frustrated or he might act out, so she told him that the convertible idea was cool but not practical and she drove Reimer over to Fauna which was a ghost town about thirty-five miles north of Enterprise on Route 3, ten miles from the Washington border.
Fauna used to have farms and ranches and logging, but when the post office closed in the mid-60s, everyone left and now nobody lived there except a dozen or so down and out vets in crappy campers, a banged-up truck, some coonhounds, and an old couple who lived in an RV and had a barn that was back off the highway where they did an occasional wedding.
On Friday nights they hosted a pussy party.
The barn held up to eighty people, room for a mechanical bull and some mattresses up in the loft. Brought hookers in from Boise. You’d get keg beer, Fritos and some pussy for a hundred bucks.
The horny college boys kept the barn doors open.
The couple hired the vets to keep order, only the vets were really the Oregon Pigs pretending to be vets with their military tattoos and beat-up combat boots.
The old couple didn’t care if the Pigs were goats just so long as they got paid not to give a shit. If the Pigs used the land way out back, out past the rotted wood school house and church, the spindly houses where the Pigs hid their expensive dirt bikes, if they went down in Cougar Canyon to do whatever they did and had to bury whatever it was, then the couple got paid three hundred dollars per burial. No questions.
Fred got Daddy-O’s okay to use the Pigs to babysit Reimer, keep him occupied, get him laid by the Friday-night hookers, take him out hunting for a few weeks until Fred had a chance to look into a matter; handle some business. Fred told the Pigs that Reimer liked to go after rattlesnakes and trap bears and wolves, reminded them to make sure her brother didn’t get in a car and drive off somewhere to look for strange pussy.
She made sure the Pigs understood that the cops were after Reimer.
CHAPTER 32
After Fred left the ghost town, after Reimer agreed with her that the dickhead way in daylight was better than sending the Pigs in at night and much cheaper, after Reimer finally said okay, Fred drove to a coffee shop in Baker City called Hang Loose that had a surfer vibe with classic rock tunes over funky outdoor speakers. It was a hangout for down-on-their-luck drifters and local losers.
Fred was dressed in her Wallowa Lakes Security outfit, wore dark glasses, sipped coffee in the Hang Loose patio and after a few refills chatted up a dude at a nearby table who said he was a singer-songwriter. The dude picked up his guitar, strummed until Fred asked his name and asked if he was interested in making some fast cash.
The dude said his name was Sonny Highway, and he loved fast cash, and he wondered if Fred had a spare doobie. Sonny was down to his last roach. But he wouldn’t do nothing illegal.
Fred asked Sonny where his car was and Sonny said he used his thumb; sometimes grabbed a bus. Fred told Sonny to pick up his guitar and take a walk with her. While they walked, Fred said she was trying to win a security contract with a research company and the company wanted to see if Wallowa Lakes Security could survey the property and remove a package from a big tree that had a bear trap protecting the package.
Didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Wanted the package under the trap delivered unopened. Needed someone with nimble fingers to trigger the trap.
Sonny said his fingers were nibble and he was her man and he took the two hundred dollars in twenties that Fred gave him as a down payment for his services. They already did the survey so all Sonny had to do was pretend like he was doing it. Like he was in a nature documentary. Just act natural. Be his self. He’d get a ranger uniform and identification and all he had to do was stroll around like a park ranger would and so forth.
It was the lid of Girl Scout Cookies that Fred got from a beauty operator who got it from a pot shop up in Lake Meadows that sealed the deal with Sonny. Fred thought it was a nice coincidence, the pot shop being in Lake Meadows. She’d have to check it out. When she was up there a week ago to get the lay of the land so she could tell Sonny what to do and where to go she was blown away by the changes since she’d been there years ago.
She definitely wanted to check out all the chic shops.
But first things first.
Fred had Sonny drive the stolen pickup that the Joe painted to look like a U.S. Forest Service vehicle like Daddy-O had, and had Sonny drive the truck from Lake Meadows to a Discount Shopping Center on the outskirts of Baker City. Sonny was to be there no later than 2 p.m. Plenty of time to take it nice and easy on the road. Fred gave Sonny a map and directions and told him to drive to the parking stall at the end of the first row of stalls by the Animal clinic: Neutering and Spaying. Leave the keys in the ignition and put the package from the tree under the seat. Go to the trashcan over by the donut shop, reach inside and take out the brown bag on top. Take the bag and walk across the street over to the corner of Chestnut and 4th and wait there.
Sonny did like he was told and thought what a cool gig it was.
Sonny waited five minutes on the corner during which he looked inside the bag and found a lid of plump sticky buds. Under the lid was a roll of hundred dollar bills. Eight, just like Fred said there’d be.
Ducats from heaven. His luck was changing. Thank you, Lord.
Sonny felt a song coming on when Fred drove up and he got in the security truck. Fred was going to drop him off back in Baker City but first she had to make a stop along the way in Porterville where she wanted to check on her two Akitas. Feed them, take them for a walk around the block.
Fred took a joint from her pocket, told Sonny to fire it up. She’d join him, but was fighting a cold. Wished she could though, it was some trippy sativa. Sonny lit the joint and Fred wanted to know if anybody in Wisconsin stayed in touch: family or friends?
Sonny took a monster toke, held it a long time, exhaled without any smoke coming out of his mouth.
Fred looked amazed.
Sonny said, “That’s a ghost ripper,” and then he said he was a rolling stone like the song and the magazine. Said that the only one who gave a shit about him back in Wisconsin was his sister, Abby, a hopeless drunk who rang bells for the Salvation Army when she’d get sober once a year.
Sonny told Fred he wrote a song about Abby that brought tears when he played it at coffee shops and bars.
Fred told Sonny he was a stud muffin and when the job was finished he’d have to play the song for her.
Sonny took a regular toke and told Fred he’d love to.
CHAPTER 33
Oliver had dinner with Ray Stewart at Cock-A-Noodle-Do. The campus kiosk waited for them to finish eating before it closed. Everyone at the Nest was already in town to celebrate America’s independence.
Ray had chicken and dumplings, explaining his concerns.
Oliver sipped Udon soup and listened.
Ray said that during the last month several dozen townsfolk mentioned to him and several Guides
that they’d read or saw on the news that the man who went to prison for abusing Chip Bickford had escaped from prison. They wondered how Ray and his Lake Meadows security guides were handling Reimer Gore being on the loose. The folks in town wanted to know if there was reason to be concerned. Ray said he told the townsfolk that the state mental pen that Reimer escaped from in Salem was almost four hundred miles away. There was no reason for Reimer to return to Lake Meadows. He was most likely in Canada—the U.S. border being only two hundred miles from the prison.
Oliver reminded Ray that they should keep the blackmail possibility to themselves until they saw how things went. If they felt the town was in any danger, they could adjust their strategy accordingly. Ray wanted Oliver to purchase some Vortex Ring guns, Stingball grenades, and upgrade their Mobility Denial System. He wished Oliver would carry a weapon and told him about one that had an electronic safety that automatically disables the pistol when it’s not within a few inches of the custom wristwatch that it comes with that’s worn on the shooting hand.
“Intuitive firearm, trust me.”
“Sounds like,” Oliver said. “Jack and I used the new semi-automatic dart guns on those weasels that were after Molly’s hens. We found them comatose about fifty yards from the coop.”
“Those tranquilizing needles can prick a wolverine. To my way of thinking, you got the right equipment and attitude, you don’t need to kill something to put it in its place, teach it what it needs to know.”
Oliver agreed and said he’d make a requisition for the Vortex Ring guns. He also said they should get going. Ray needed to get with his Guides before Main Streat got crazy, and Oliver had to make an appearance at Randall’s.
If God was into pyrotechnics, Sunday evening’s 4th of July fireworks reflecting off the lake made everyone feel they were in seventh heaven. Few in Lake Meadows knew God employed the Pyrodigital Firing Computer System like the big theme parks. The dazzling show of skyrockets, spark wheels and air-bursting fountains launched off floating docks, all were scored to music from pyro pioneers like Pink Floyd, Kiss, and Green Day; Creedence blasting Fortunate Son for the tricked out tourists who painted the town red, white, and blue as they mobbed Wonder Way with party poppers and credit cards.
Monday wasn’t actually the 4th, Tuesday was, but in Lake Meadows it was celebrated on the 1st and 2nd which fell on the weekend. Next to Labor Day, the 4th of July was the busiest weekend of the year.
Across the lake the waterfront estates were lit up and festive, but none as jubilant as Randall Robert’s outside terrace that illuminated his serpentine pool and bubbling spas with erotic sculpture that shot confetti blizzards for the pleasure of his select company.
The guests were wealthy, long-time residents who loved nature, nudism, and hanging out in Heightened Delight, their term of endearment for Lake Meadows. They petted one another’s well-bred pets, a miniature pig and pony here and there, but mostly dogs, many of whom were trained for pleasure. They flaunted their racy July 4th costumes, shared saucy secrets, and their favorite flavors of Poo-Pourri.
A young gay blonde guy in sparkle shorts said, “Randall, is it true EcoErotica’s going to carry L’Agent lingerie?”
Randall said, “Not sure Penelope’s people are interested, but if we did it would be a limited knickers line, Rory.”
A middle-aged busty brunette in a colorful corset, pearls lounging on her pushed up breasts, said, “Nudism confirms the values that Heightened Delight was founded on and we should promote those values with Gimmie Some Skin, on that we’re agreed.”
“Indeed, Lake Meadows is long overdue for an au naturel parade that liberal-minded folks can relate to,” Randall said, and squeezed Ingrid’s tit.
Ingrid made a sexy moan, said teasingly, “You’re so randy, Randy.”
Randal took his fingers from the nipple, pointed to Jack’s groin and a pair of briefs with an American flag on the crotch.
“Jack, I love that patriotic statement on your studly stump, but Simmons Haversfield, Charles Gershon, Loretta Ferguson, all of the great founding members of Nature Lovers Retreat, including your renowned Riverbottom forefathers, would they not be appalled if we didn’t promote the body beautiful up Snake Canyon? Tell me I’m wrong.”
Randall calmed a gorgeous Doberman who was snarling at a Toy Poodle trying to hump it, then turned to Leon who wore an Aloha outfit with a stars and stripes necktie.
“And God knows the Bickfords would be crushed to know we weren’t doing our best to further public nudity. Don’t you agree, Leon, that eternal truths will be neither true nor eternal unless they have fresh meaning for every new social situation?” Randall winked at Leon, flashed a smug smile, loved to flaunt his wit. “Of course, truth is sometimes hidden when nature-loving motives become perverted by enterprise.”
Randall raised his martini to his guests.
“To the land of the free and the home of the brave!” He waited for glasses to click, then added, “And the right to personal perversion!”
Randall let out a rich raunchy laugh and the guests played it up with indecent reactions. Leon and Jack smiled politely at their host.
Dressed in a white silk suit with an American Flag scarf and codpiece, white slippers with contrast stitching and the EcoErotica Emporium serpent logo, Randall tossed back his drink, sucked the olive from its stick, and held up his empty glass.
Randall was tall, dark, and almost handsome after the plastic surgery on his nose and ears and the hair implants. Like most rich narcissists, he dismissed the fact he was obnoxious and lauded his blustering monologues.
In an eye-blink, a sexy young hostess, one of many EcoErotica employees that were servicing the party in gartered lingerie, took Randall’s empty glass, handed him a fresh martini, then asked suggestively if she could get anyone anything.
She couldn’t help staring at Jack’s briefs with the colorful flag on the pouch just like Ingrid and many others at the party did, which pleased Jack as he was marketing Randall’s briefs for 20 percent of sales, online, and retail.
Jack was also trying to get the Wonder Way shop, Pockits, to come up with a Pockit where you could stash cash and weed and vitamins next to your jewels, made from high-tech material that could also protect your balls in a fight. A handy all-purpose codpiece.
A Prickit Pockit.
Get a celebrity endorsement. Justin Bieber was hung. So was Liam Neeson if you wanted to go older. The Pockits manager liked Prickit, but Jack had to speak with the owner about endorsement ideas when she returned from Ghana on a fabric-buying trip. Celebrity agents were killers.
Randall Roberts had handpicked Jack and Leon and eighty-five others that he invited to his annual 4th of July party. He carefully calculated them to be in the top ten percent of the town’s property owners. Many were intimate friends who had meaningful influence on the other eight hundred Lake Meadows property owners that didn’t own estates, most were smaller homes, some tiny, but nonetheless their owners had a vote on the things that took place in town. Like Randall’s casino proposal to the town council in October.
The guests loved Randall’s blinis smothered with chilled Iranian Beluga and served on dishes of colored ice. Only the best for his friends. Gambling on the lake was going to be a blast. You could mix and mingle with the big-name entertainers playing the casino’s state-of-the-art showroom and you got exclusive membership to the Celebrity Parlor for the first twenty investors to ante up a million.
Randall’s potential investors were having fun trading jokes and sharing stories. An elegant man named Clifford dressed in a Stars and Stripes diaper said to a lewd lady named Hillary who was dripping in diamonds, “Did you hear about that poor man arrested for masturbating on an Air France flight to Paris?”
An attorney named Ken who was Cliff’s lover spoke up indignantly, “Be serious. On what charges?”
“Hi-jacking!” Cliff said as he pseudo-strok
ed his dick and waited for laughs. Hillary smiled and turned to a young woman framed in patriotic body paint.
“Before I fly I have a milk and honey massage and never once have I experienced in-flight dryness.” Hillary’s hand slid over the young woman’s ass. “When I land at Charles de Gaulle my skin’s softer than snowflakes on kitten fur.”
The young woman pulled Hillary close for a kiss.
Randall’s guests were getting it on, cared less that Oliver walked into the party in sneakers and jeans. Oliver took a shrimp roll from a sushi tray, strolled over to Leon and Jack and Randall who were discussing Scrabble with Hannah and Hank who were near-nude contortionists from Austria. They were going to display unique sexual positions later on.
Ones they couldn’t do in EcoErotica’s storefront window.
After a few remarks about staying flexible, Oliver, Leon, and Jack eased Randall away from Hanna and Hank.
They had something to tell Randall on the QT.
CHAPTER 34
Oliver, Leon, and Jack followed Randall down a dark hallway with spotlit paintings of celebrities like Elvis, Marilyn, and George Hamilton, all on black velvet.
Randall stopped in front of Liberace.
The flamboyant entertainer sat at a pink keyboard in a silver silk suit featuring music-themed details like the rhinestone-piano brooch on his bow tie, a cape of ostrich feathers, jewels, and crystals flowing down his shoulders.
Randall touched the corner of the painting and a recording of Liberace’s voice, or someone who sounded like him, said, “I didn’t get dressed like this to go unnoticed!”
Randall never stopped taking pleasure in his guests’ reactions.
“Michael and Madonna, Nicki, Rihanna, they all owe their sparkle to The King of Bling,” Randall said, then opened an impressive door next to Liberace marked Den of Iniquities in gold-plated engraved letters.