The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (20 page)

“You were very good with him,” Jake said, patting her
hand, which she turned up to grip his tightly.

“God, I hate Alzheimer's.” Her tears welled up again and
she began sniffling.

“Someone close to you?” Jake asked.

Pam nodded and said, “My father.”

“I'm so sorry, Pam.”

“His name was George, too, and he looked a lot like him.”

“Oh, geez, I'm really sorry. How long has he been gone?”

“Four – no, five months now. And my mom died two weeks
after he did. So it's just me and my sister Judy now. I haven't
seen any of them much, but when the two of them went so close to each
other, it leaves a kind of emptiness behind.”

“Oh, Pam.”

Pam pulled her hand away, took another paper towel and dabbed at her
eyes and blew her nose again.

“I'm sorry, Jake.”

“No, no, Pam, that's okay. Take your time.”

Pam took a long sip of her drink and dabbed a few final tears from
her face, then sighed and smiled weakly at Jake.

“Okay. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

“Anything else.”

“Okay.” Jake took a sip of his wine, wiped his lips with
his thumb and then said, “How about your plans after you
retire?”

“Oh, I don't know yet,” Pam said, still sniffling a bit.
“I do want to take a few weeks or months and just unwind, and
then who knows? I've got offers from a forensic accounting place and
a private security firm. Or maybe I'll finish my master's.”

“Master's? In what?”

“Physics.”

“Physics? Really?”

“Yeah, that was my bachelor's, but it was a long time ago.”

“And the accounting?”

“MBA in finance.”

“And you did some modeling, too, right?”

“Even a longer time ago, but yeah.”

“And sometime in there in the CIA.”

Pam glanced sharply at Jake. “How did – oh, right.
Yeah, also a long time ago.”

“Now, if you were a piano or violin virtuoso, you'd be a real
Renaissance woman.”

Pam looked at Jake in total surprise, then saw the expression on his
face, and laughed.

“Amazing. Piano, but far from a virtuoso. But how did you
guess that?”

“Long fingers,” Jake said as he held his hand up to hers,
palms together. “See?”

“Okay. But yours are pretty long, too. Which was it for you?”

“Guitar and banjo, but also no virtuoso, and it was a VERY long
time ago.”

“Do you still play?”

“Geez, no, not in maybe ten years. And since I've been doing
the book, I haven't really done anything; too focused, I guess.”

Jake glanced out at the canal next to the patio, then back at Pam.

“Like two weeks ago at the beach, there was a herd of manatees
mating right at the shoreline, lots of people gathered around taking
pictures and videos of it, and my only thought was how to put that in
the book, even though it's mostly set in DC; no manatees up there.”

“Mating? Wow. I've never even seen a manatee.”

“Oh, they come by the beach a lot when the water's warm enough.
And some of the people sent me pics and videos of them mating; I can
forward those to you if you want.”

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

“Okay. Manatee porn for Pam.” He wrote in his notebook
while Pam laughed, then glanced out at the canal again.

“We get a lot of dolphins down here, too, and sometimes they
put on quite a show.”

“Dolphin porn?”

“No; sorry. Just occasionally jumping all the way out of the
water and once in a while chasing fish really close to shore.”

“I'd like to see that sometime.”

“Summer before last, we had a guy on vacation from the East
Coast, Miami, I think, who was a marine biologist at one of the
research places over there, and he taught us how to call dolphins and
manatees.”

“Really?” said Pam, incredulous. “How?”

“Well, you stand in the water up to about mid-stomach, facing
away from shore, concentrate, hold your hand out like this, and then
you go, 'C'mere, dolphins!' and beckon them in.”

Pam looked at Jake quizzically.

He continued, “Now, for manatees, since they're so much bigger,
you go like this, 'C'mere, manatees,'” in a much deeper voice.

Pam laughed and then, deadpan, asked, “And just how often does
that work?”

“Oh, maybe five percent of the time,” Jake deadpanned
back.

Pam chortled. “Oh, Jake.”

“Had you going there for a minute, didn't I?”

“Yup; definitely a gotcha.”

Just then, Beverly came over with Jake's doggie box, laughed and
said, “Now, now, Jake, are you calling manatees again?”
Jake just smiled and nodded … and shrugged very slightly.

“Okay. Can I get you some refills?”

Jake nodded at Pam, who nodded back.

“Sure, Bev; thanks.”

“I'll bring some more ice water and lemon, too.”

“Thanks, Bev; you're a love.”

As Beverly headed back into the restaurant, a huge body-builder type
in a tight T-shirt, accompanied by a stunning brunette, came in under
the archway from the parking lot and took an empty table two down
from Jake and Pam.

“Hey, Joe, Angela,” Jake called after they got settled
in.

“Oh, hi, Jake. Didn't see you there,” the body-builder
replied.

“Got my camouflage shirt on.”

Angela smiled and asked, “So how's the book coming?”

“Coming along. Angela, Joe, this is Pam.”

Angela and Joe chorused, “Hi, Pam.”

“Hi, Joe, Angela; nice to meet you.”

Jake said, “Joe coaches over at Silva's Gym. Right, Joe?”

“Right.”

“You known Jake a long time?” Pam asked.

“Maybe … what? … a year or so,” Joe
replied. “Remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“Um …”

“The bench press?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.”

Angela said, “What was that?”

Joe said, “He told me he'd bench-pressed 700 pounds the week
before.”

Angela looked at Jake's body skeptically. “Really?”

“Yup. And what did you say, Jake?”

“Two five-pounders, ten reps a day, seven days; 700 pounds.”

Pam laughed loudly, while Angela looked puzzled, then giggled
tentatively and looked at Joe, who whispered in her ear.

“Oh,” she said, and laughed louder, blushing a little.

“And I built this whole body without any steroids.”

Pam and Joe cracked up, but Angela again looked puzzled and blushed.

“So,” Joe said, “you found a place for us in your
book yet, Jake?”

“Still working on that, but I'll find something for you;
promise.”

“I think Joey would make a great general,” Angela said,
caressing his bicep. “He loves to drive his boat.”

The deafening silence that followed was broken, mercifully, by Bev's
arrival with a tray of drinks for Jake and Pam. As she set the last
glass down, she glanced out at the canal, then at Jake, and said,
“Oh, wow, Jake. Look at that.” All four turned in their
chairs, Jake very carefully, and stared at the water.

-33-

Thursday, December 15, 2011

10:25 p.m. local time (4:25 p.m. EST)

The Papal Chambers

Vatican City, Rome, Italy

Hanging up the speakerphone at the end of the report from his
emissary to Donne, his neck and face as red as a Cardinal's fascia,
the Pope turned and glared at the five members of his inner inner
inner circle and roared in his native language what could best be
translated into English as “Who the fuck does this prick think
he is?”

(Author's note: A second translator watched the tapes of this
meeting and came up with this: “What does this zucchini
believe is his real identity?” A lip reader then reviewed them
and claimed he'd said, “Who's gonna bring me a banana? I'm
hungry.” Frankly, I can't tell who's right on this, and the
same goes for all the dialogue in this section, so I've just gone
with sort of consensus translations. I don't suggest that any reader
take any of this as absolutely accurate. JD)

The four Cardinals and one military officer in the room all buzzed
with shock at the Pope's choice language. Never before had they seen
him so upset, and considering his age, they were appropriately
concerned that he might give himself a heart attack or stroke.

“Half? He wantsa HALF?” the Pope continued, seemingly
verging on apoplexy. “Sonovabitcha. We gotta kicka hizza
ess.”

The financial Cardinal spoke first, “Bennie, Bennie, calm down.
We'll take care of that. Let me get you some water.”

“I don't wanna no wine-a. I wanna deas onna how to deal with
this pyla peanudda butter.” He glared at each in turn.

Finally, the marketing Cardinal took a deep breath and said, “I've
been thinking since we met last Saturday, and maybe we could go with
denouncing him as the Antichrist.”

The legal Cardinal piped up, “No, no, no, we can't do that.
You can't imagine how much liability we'd open ourselves up to.”

“Liability, schmiability; I could sell it. I've studied
gobbles and all his techniques. I can sell anyzing.”

The doctrinal Cardinal said, “No, the Antichrist plan doesn't
come until 2022, after the India-China-Arab war.”

The financial Cardinal put in his two euros. “No, you're all
seeing the problem wrong. How do we get Donne to rescind the tax on
the Church? That's the real challenge. Focus, people, focus.”

The Pope cut in, “Hey, you watcha you language!”

“No, Bennie, I said, 'focus.'”

“I told you to watcha you language and you justa say it again.
Whassa matta you?”

“Oh, Bennie, I – never mind. I apologize,” the
financial Cardinal said, rolling his eyes. “How about we just
refuse to pay the tax?”

The Cardinals and the Pope all spoke over each other, until the
military officer spoke up. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, your
attention, please.” All eyes in the room turned to him.

“I will take care of the problem. Do not ask me how; you do
not want to know.”

The room went completely silent, until the Pope nodded and whispered
something unintelligible, but which was translated by the two
interpreters as “Fruit” or “Suet,” and by the
lip reader as “Duet,” at which point the butler left the
room and the recording ended.

-34-

Five Months Earlier

Saturday, July 9, 2011

12:45 p.m.

The Seafood Shack

Bonita Springs, FL

As Jake, Pam, Joe and Angela turned toward the canal, a crowd rushed
from the restaurant and clustered on the docks and the patio, all
staring at the water.

Beverly looked at Jake and said, “Well, well, well, Jake; you
finally did it.”

Pam said, “Is that what I think it is, Jake?”

Jake just nodded and smiled.

“First one I've seen live.” She stood up and walked to
the edge of the patio; Jake got up carefully and followed her.

Bev went over to one of the docks and turned a faucet on, and a dark
brown nose rose from the canal, snarfing up the fresh water running
from the hose hanging from the end of the dock. A large brown body
floated up to the surface behind the nose and rolled over, the two
front flippers sloshing in the brackish canal water.

“My god, it's huge,” Pam muttered to Jake.

“Maybe a fourteen-footer,” Jake replied.

“Fourteen feet? More like fourteen inches.” Pam
pointed.

“Oh, that; yeah, it's a male,” Jake said. “Must be
a female somewhere nearby.”

“He's so ugly, he's kinda cute.”

“Yup, and they're very gentle, quiet beasts.”

“Wow. I've got to get some pictures.” Pam went back to
the table, rummaged in her bag and pulled out a cell phone. She came
back to the edge and took several photos, including a few of the
crowd gathered around the docks and patio. Jake noticed that two
people, a man and a woman in their mid-forties, turned their faces
away from Pam as she aimed the camera in their direction; he took
note of their appearance, then went back to the table, sat tenderly,
lit a cigarette and wrote in his non-spiral notebook.

When Pam returned, she was beaming and smiling. “That was SO
cool, Jake.”

“You're welcome,” Jake said, smiling back.

Pam laughed, pulled a cigarette out of her bag and said, “Five
percent?”

Jake nodded, laughed, lit her cigarette and then said, “I've
got another admission, Pam.”

“Yeah?”

“I saw him coming from the bay before I told the story.”

“Ah-ha. I wondered what had caught your eye.”

“We call him Steve. He shows up for a drink a couple of times
a week. They don't drink saltwater, but they can go for a couple
weeks before they need --”

Pam had been laughing as Jake was talking, and she said, “I'm
sorry, what was that?”

“Just that they can go a couple of weeks without fresh –
okay, what's so funny?”

Pam kept laughing, but managed to blurt out, “Steve …
every time I hear … that, I … think of … Stevie
Bruce.” Her laughter took over and she started snorting,
shaking uncontrollably and tearing up. Contagious, that got Jake
laughing, too.

Finally, Pam grabbed a paper towel and wiped her tears away and
managed to slow the laughter.

“Well, looked like Stevie has a big bad Bruce,” Jake
managed to spit out between laughs.

“Oh, god, Jake, he does.” Pam's laughter changed to a
mix of cackling and snorting. “Jesus, my stomach hurts.”

Jake, still laughing, said, “Maybe the pasta?” which got
Pam going again. Jake continued, “You know you're supposed to
wait at least an hour after eating to laugh. Or is it an hour after
swimming to do any eating?”

“Oh, Jake, stop, please.” Pam's laughter turned into
coughing and she held yet another paper towel up in front of her
face. Jake immediately quit laughing.

“Are you okay, Pam?”

“Excuse me.” She grabbed her bag, got up and headed
quickly into the restaurant, holding the towel firmly to her mouth
and nose. Jake followed her with his eyes and then noticed the
couple that had turned away from Pam's camera getting up from their
table and following her.