That's the Chicago Way - 10. Chapter 10 - A Day Not For Rest

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

In most places in the country, voting is looked upon as a right and a duty, but in Chicago it’s a sport. In Chicago not only your vote counts, but all kinds of other votes…kids, dead folks, and so on.

Dick Gregory

Chapter 10, A DAY NOT FOR REST

The Saturday movie, with all its subtitled psycho goriness, finished at 6:30 p.m. Evan left the theater and passed by the ABC7 studio window on the way to the garage on Lake Street where his Bimmer was parked. The vacant newsroom set brought back a flash memory of the sighting earlier in the day of Rob Cooke and whoever was with him in front of Ba Ba Reeba. His thoughts then piggybacked to the post-breakfast meeting with Marv and the possible buried meaning in context of his boss’s message for Sean. A chill shot through his body and ended in his stomach when he replayed the part about Marv wanting to see Sean at the forest preserve. ‘In the middle of frigging nowhere…whatever that means.’

He shook off the fleeting feeling of nausea as just a reaction to his smidgen of paranoia. ‘And maybe I just need some fuel.’ The scrambled eggs and toast had burned off sometime in the second hour of the film. Although it was now early evening, Evan didn’t want to play restaurant guest; it would mean putting on his game face. ‘But I don’t have anything in the fridge.’ After mulling over the pick-up possibilities – Thai, Chinese, or re-heat packaging from Trader Joe’s – he decided to head over to Bacino’s on Lincoln Avenue and order his number one comfort food fave – their thin vegetarian pizza. ‘It’s the second time this week for a pie. Am I getting in a rut, or what?’

Back at the apartment, Evan turned on the oven to keep the pizza warm. He put the boxed pizza into the oven and opened a bottle of Ravenswood Dickerson Zinfandel. Someone had turned him on to this 100% ‘old vines’ Zin, and he’d recently bought a case. Although the wine was a tad expensive, he decided to treat himself. ‘It would be nice to have shared this with someone,’ he mused while pouring the wine into one of his over-sized glasses. A careful couple of swirls, followed by a deep inhalation of the wine’s aromas, confirmed to that he’d made a wise – if slightly indulgent – choice. He took a sip. ‘Delish.’ With the glass in one hand, he grabbed his shopping bag and went to the bedroom.

He stashed the Rugby purchases – two shirts and a sweater – in the closet and figured unpacking could wait until Sunday. ‘Shame those pants didn’t fit,’ he thought, ‘or I would have tried on a few more pairs and gotten a couple.’ After hanging up his clothes, Evan quickly changed into his Northwestern sweat pants, slipped on a tee and grabbed his TV remote. He touched the ‘guide’ button: a fast check of the evening’s listings revealed Saturday evening programming sucked as usual. ‘And my next Netflix is in the mail,’ he remembered as he clicked off the television. ‘Probably best to hit the sack early tonight andway.’

By the time he’d finished his pizza, surfed through some of his favorite tumblr porn sites and polished off most of the wine, it was nearly 8:00 p.m. Almost time. As much as he didn’t like Sean, Evan did respect the guy’s punctuality and attention to detail, and he knew the phone would ring in two minutes. He turned off his laptop and bused the dishes to the kitchen. ‘Tonight, it doesn’t hurt to have a little buzz on,’ he thought while straightening up. ‘Pass on Marv’s message and do a fast fade, if possible.’ He focused on the Zin bottle and said, “What the fuck…you’re gone,” and filled up his glass.

In the bedroom, Evan sat on the edge of his bed, focused for a moment on the dark, purplish color of the wine and then looked down at the phone. The call was going to be a sword with two edges. He was the pack mule for his boss and followed orders. ‘And thanks to all those gods out there, Marv hasn’t included me with anything involving Kess or Cooke.’ But Sean O’Reilly was another matter. ‘What’s with the parking lot?’ he wondered again.

The phone rang.

Evan took a quick gulp of his wine.

The phone rang again.

He reached down, picked up the receiver and pressed the ‘talk’ button. “Hu...hello?”

“ Evan?”

“Hi, Mr. O.” Evan wanted to say, ‘who do you think it is, darling…Glinda from Oz?’ But he wasn’t in the mood to pull anyone’s chain. “We must have a bad connection.”

“It’s okay now…maybe I’m in a fucking dead zone up here.”

“Right. Dead.” Evan found that incredibly funny in a stupid way, and struggled not to laugh.

“Let’s get this fucking love fest outta the way. Did you talk with Marv?”

“I did and he wants to meet you. Suggested the North Branch Forest Preserve in the LaBagh Woods parking lot…tomorrow night at six. Does this make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah, makes perfect sense. I know the place…it’s off the Edens.”

There was silence for a moment but Evan decided not to jump in with a chain-pulling comment or some oblique reference like, ‘Yeah, as in the Garden of…’

“I can get my shit together in town and make a fucking detour on my way back to Geneva. Sunday traffic will be light.”

“Okay, Sean…thas it. Unleshhh you need some help tomorrow.” Evan suddenly felt as if his bedroom was beginning to do a slow spin.

“Unleshhh? What’d you do, get into the cooking sherry?”

“Naw…juss the connection. Bye.”

Evan’s tongue felt like it was becoming heavy…too heavy to move around very easily. He dropped the receiver on the floor and slowly stood up with his empty wine glass. ‘Man, I did too much wine. Better pop in a couple of aspirin, take a pee and get some sleep.’

He stumbled slightly on his round trip. The tee and sweatpants were tossed aside and he was back in bed, bladder emptied and fortified with aspirin. Evan turned off the floor lamp, slipped under the covers, lay on his back and stared at the darkened ceiling. ‘Should I have warned Sean that maybe things aren’t kosher?’ The room started a slow rotation and his eyelids became heavy. ‘I think I’m just flaking out on this and imagining things. They’ll have their talk and then…’

Darkness.

 ~~~~~

Since the AOI FlashAlert phone call twenty-four hours earlier, followed by a secure encrypted email, Scotty Carter had put himself through a crash course to thoroughly understand the assignment he would be undertaking very soon. He’d canceled a date and stayed up late Saturday night to study the material that had been written by Oleg Petrov and the L.A. office. The minute his supervisor had mentioned Petrov’s name, Scotty knew that this was a big deal. Oleg was a legend in AOI and his personal involvement meant the partners at headquarters in Washington, D.C. were also focused on this.

The assignment – on late Sunday afternoon – to befriend the subject, go to the subject’s apartment and get ‘intimate’ in order to accomplish the mission was something altogether new for Scotty. Getting laid on the clock. ‘How do I file a worker’s comp claim if I’m injured?’ he wondered with a laugh.

Levity aside, he knew that screwing up was not an option. He looked at himself in the mirror. Lean and five-eight with young-ish features that still got him carded. ‘Preppy they want, preppy they’ll get.’ But it was a stretch. In his off-hours, whether it was hanging out at Crew, the only gay sports bar near his Andersonville apartment, going to a movie, or attending Loyola Law School’s night classes, Scotty’s after-work look was usually a variation on basic black. He wasn’t a fashionista and wore clothes that allowed him to blend in – especially on an occasional visit to the Eagle bar. Scotty preferred masculinity in his men, but without BDSM rituals and leather. So he’d never ventured down to their ‘pit’ and its legendary debauchery. The first floor was just fine and he liked meeting dudes at the main bar: other guys around his age who were also on the fringe. ‘And,’ he thought at the time, when starting out as a rookie Chicago cop, ‘being seen swinging on a sling isn’t exactly a career-builder.’

Satisfied that the khaki cargo pants, white polo, cotton sweater tied around his waist, and sneakers worked well, he studied his face and short brown hair. He barely remembered his unruly blond mop from eleven years earlier – a newbie freshman at Michigan State with a declared criminal justice major. By the time he’d graduated with an MS in Law Enforcement and Analysis in 2005, the blond had mellowed to a shade somewhere between ‘dishwater’ and boring light brown. However, his gray-blue eyes still held their sparkle.

With degree in hand, Scotty returned to hometown Chicago and applied to the police department. With the combination of a 3.8 GPA, a positive attitude and the city’s move towards diversity, he openly went through the Training Academy with no major ‘oops’ and completed probation. He became friends with several younger cops who didn’t give a crap about his being gay – although many of the older officers weren’t so giving – and settled in for some seasoning. That all changed two years ago when he was assigned to a case that involved working with the local FBI office. The end result was a call from AOI and a resulting job change. It was a bold first indication that his new employers were ‘wired.’

He checked his ‘civilian’ wallet – void of AOI identification and company credit card – and slipped it into his hip pocket. As Scotty picked up his cell phone, he noticed it was time to leave. ‘It’s always a bitch to find parking in Boystown…especially on Sunday.’ He studied his look one more time. Scotty loved the white Ed Hardy polo shirt; his bulging biceps were more pronounced because of the tight short sleeves. And the tapered body of the shirt clung smartly to his taut torso.

The cell and Bluetooth went into his right cargo pocket; the left pocket already contained his ‘tools of his trade.’ His loosely-fit pants camouflaged the full pockets; they also hid a butt that was firm like a proverbial rock. As if on cue, he heard the jangling noise of his canine roommate, an affectionate French bulldog appropriately named Blackie. He looked down as his dog – shared with his human roommate – scurried into the bedroom. ‘This pooch always knows when I’m ready to split.’ He watched the dog stop in front of him and turn on an expression of you’re-going-and-not-taking-me-with-you.

“That’s right, Blackie, I’m outta here.” Scotty reached down and scratched the dog between his pointy ears. “However, your other daddie will be home soon to feed you and take you for a walk.”

The ‘other daddie’ was his 100% hetero roommate and best friend of five years, Bruno Baldacci, a CPD narcotics detective. They’d clicked during training at the academy had been close ever since. Scotty smiled while thinking of their tight friendship, locked the door and went out to his red, ten-year-old Ranger pickup. It was an ideal set of wheels to drive around Chicago; the body was a bit banged up but the engine had never let him down. ‘What a beaut of an afternoon,’ he thought, starting the trusty V-6.

He circled the side streets off Halsted and finally found a non-restricted space only three blocks away from the bar. His plan was to meet up with the target, be invited to the Lake Shore Drive apartment and ride in the dude’s car. Cute Evan Jankovic looked harmless enough from his Facebook pictures, but rule number one was not to judge a person – et cetera, et cetera. He noted that the man was complex and the dossier had highlighted some troubling aspects to look for and use to his advantage.

It was just after five when Scotty entered Sidetrack’s interior courtyard. He scanned the sparsely populated main bar and didn’t recognize anyone. He knew that the other first floor bars weren’t open at this hour; from the stream of guys going up to the deck bar, it was obvious that all the action this early would be on the patio. As he walked upstairs, Scotty saw a few hot guys. ‘Maybe I should come around here once in a while,’ he considered, briefly making eye contact with a jock-type who was walking down past him. ‘Yum.’

Sunday happy hour at Sidetrack’s was getting off to a good start.

The patio was humming with music, laughter, talking and heavy duty cruising. Several heads turned as Scotty made his way to the bar. He flagged the nearest bartender and yelled, “Coors Light.” The frosty came and he handed the bartender four dollars. He grabbed the long neck, moved over to the nearby drinking ledge and looked around while the large video screen showed a close-up of Lady Gaga singing. The thumpidy, thumpidy beat had several guys’ heads keeping time as they looked around for a potential ‘meet the meat’ moment with Mr. Right.

Target sighted. Scotty pulled out his cell phone and noted it was 5:14. Lady Gaga was now dancing in six inch platform shoes and a dress that looked like slabs of meat.

Evan arrived and followed the same path to the bar. Scotty almost laughed out loud at Evan’s look for the afternoon – black jeans, a loose black shirt with sleeves rolled up and black shoes. ‘Crap, I’m glad I didn’t wear the usual or we’d be dressed like twins.’ He took a sip of his Coor’s Light and studied the subject.

A tall glass with red liquid and a celery stalk was ID’d by Scotty as a Bloody Mary and he wondered why this would be a drink of choice on a late afternoon. ‘Maybe he just got up.’ He watched as Evan bit off a chunk of celery and washed it down with a sip of the bloody. His first opportunity to score was thwarted when Evan walked away from the bar and went over to a young couple in the corner. Kisses all around suggested they were all friends and nothing more. Laughter and exaggerated hand gestures embellished their chatter. ‘How is it they can all talk at the same time?’

An older guy – mid-thirties and very hunky – ambled over to Scotty and said, “Hi.”

As much as Scotty’d like to talk, it wasn’t wise to be seen with this guy and risk blowing his preppy image. “Hi. I’m waiting for my partner. Sorry.” Damn, was he sorry.

The man shrugged and walked away. However, there was a younger dude right behind him and he fit the profile: early twenties and adorable. Scotty was into variety on this assignment.

“So, I haven’t seen you here before. Roger, by the way.”

“Scotty.” He raised his bottle and clinked the cute stranger’s bottle. “To you.”

They grinned and took a sip of their beers. Scotty looked over Roger’s shoulder and noticed Evan breaking away from his group. Their eyes locked and Scotty raised his eyebrow. The raised eyebrow was returned.

“Roger, are you here often?”

“Well, duh…on Sundays what else is there?”

“Masterpiece Theater?” Scotty replied with a laugh. “Listen, the guy I’m suppose to meet up with has just arrived. How about a rain check for next week?”

“For real?”

“Five o’clock…either here or downstairs, depending on the weather.” Scotty quickly glanced over to make sure he still had Evan’s attention.

“You got it….I mean, for real.” Roger hoisted his beer bottle and walked on.

Scotty leaned back on the drink rail and shrugged with a smirk at Evan. ‘Good, he took the bait and now all I have to do is reel him in.’

“What took you so long?” Scotty asked when Evan joined him.

“I don’t think I’m very slow. Never am.” Evan looked over Scotty from top to bottom and back again. “Evan Jankovic at your service.”

“Scotty Carter.” He was going to add, ‘ready to be serviced,’ but thought that would be a tad brash. ‘And not accurate since he’s the servee.’

“Nice name. I don’t recognize you.”

“You’re the second person to say that. The late and not-quite-missed Roger said the same thing only moments ago.” Scotty planned on laying it on heavy. He’d already judged that Evan’s vanity needed constant stroking.

“Yeah, I know him. You can do better and…”

“You’re the man?” Scotty asked. “Hot, handsome and…what am I missing?”

“Bon vivant and charming for openers.” Evan laughed and added, “But I don’t think I can get much deeper in the B.S. department. Let’s just say that I enjoy life and those who are with me. You look like you’d fit the bill.”

“Well, Evan, let me buy you a drink so we can get to know each other. Another bloody?”

“If you’re buying, I should say French champagne…but a bloody’s fine.”

“Be right back.” Scotty returned to the bar, set his almost full bottle on the bar and pushed it away. He ordered refills and thought about this encounter. ‘The guy is obviously very self-assured but I sense insecurities lurking in the background.’ He calculated they’d probably grill each other about occupations and pertinent data when he returned. Looking back, he saw Evan and nodded. The beer and bloody were served, Scotty dropped a ten dollar bill and returned to the drinking ledge.

“Thanks…appreciate that.” Evan took the Bloody Mary and pulled out the celery. “This is sometimes my dinner.”

“I ate before I came.” Scotty didn’t want to get into some sort of dinner engagement with this dude.

“Yeah? I had either a late lunch or early dinner, too. Kind of mending a hangover.”

“Rough night?”

“Very…but I’m mellowing and things are looking good.”

Scotty winked and took a sip. ‘Best to let this hook-up possibility sink in.’

As predicted, Evan volunteered that he was an in-house counsel for a company and Scotty mentioned being an insurance adjuster. It was his standard cover and he had studied enough about the industry to speak intelligently for maybe ten minutes. They went through schools attended and Scotty modified his degree to a BS in business, graduating this past spring to keep the timeline right. Sagittarius, Capricorn. Boxers, briefs…or nothing. No politics. All the time, Evan sipped the bloody and Scotty listened while occasionally bringing his bottle to his lips.

5:43. Evan paused and looked at the TV screen: the Glee cast members were dancing and singing one of their production numbers from the past season. Scotty quickly poured most of his beer into a plant pot.

“I need a whiz break,” Evan said. He looked at his glass and shrugged. His bloody was now just red-tinted ice cubes with specks of seasoning.

“You do that and I’ll get us one more.” Scotty wanted Evan loose – in more ways than one – but not down for the count.

“Ah, sure…but that’s it for me.” Evan took a little bow and added, “See you in a sec, gorgeous.”

Scotty smiled and watched Evan amble off to the restroom. He turned to a couple guys standing next to him. “How about saving this spot?”

They nodded and spread out in front of the drinking ledge. The bar had become a combat area with guys jostling for the bartender’s attention. Scotty waved another ten dollar bill and another round came quickly. ‘It pays to tip these dudes,’ he thought, walking back to the ledge. The guys moved back to their original cluster and Scotty waited for Evan to reappear.

5:55. Jake Shears and the Scissors Sisters were pounding out a song on the tube. Evan resurfaced and weaved through the crowd. His smile, focused on Scotty, had a hungry glint.

“Hey, Evan…welcome back.” Scotty handed over the Bloody Mary. “Here’s another celery to work on.”

“Fantastic, but this is it.” Evan slipped out the celery and licked the bloody off the stalk while staring into Scotty’s eyes.

‘Kee-rist, this is way too easy,’ Scotty thought as he rolled his eyes. He put his hand on the small of Evan’s back and pulled him closer.

“Me likey.” Evan straddled Scotty’s leg in a move that was somewhere between a rub and a hump.

“Me, too, but there are too many dudes around and the sun’s still up.” He ground his crotch for a moment.

“You gotta place we can go to?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a dog and a straight roommate.” Scotty noticed Evan turn on a curious frown. “We’re buddies from college and both got jobs here. My plan is to get my own place next spring once I can save a few bucks.”

“Understand…completely,” Evan replied. “I guess it’s up to me, then. How about coming to my apartment?” He moved his hand down to Scotty’s bulge and cupped it. “Hmmm, promising.”

“There’s only one way to find out…since I’m not on Guys with iPhones.” Scotty was slightly amused that his joke didn’t register. “Yeah, sure…but can I ride with you? I took the bus today cuz my ride’s in the garage.”

“Totally doable.”

“Like you, buddy…doable,” Scotty replied. He reached down and took Evan’s hand and pressed it against his growing groin. “Let’s finish our drinks…it’ll give me a chance to relax.” He smiled and thought, ‘Gads, I swear this dialogue is totally out of some porn flick I saw recently.’

6:08. Glammed up Adam Lambert was singing and grinding away on the flat screen.

Evan finished his drink and Scotty stowed his full bottle back against the ledge out of sight. They walked back through the horny, happy crowd, and single-filed down the stairway to the courtyard entrance. Outside, a slight chill was in the air as the sun moved westward and Scotty slipped on his sweater. They walked over to the same street where Scotty’s truck was parked, passing it along the way. Evan became a non-stoppable chatterbox and Scotty nodded with an occasional, “Uh huh,” thrown in.

On the next block, Evan pulled out his auto key and pushed the ‘unlock’ button. The lights of a gray BMW SUV flashed and Evan said, “Here we are. This was the closest space I could find so…”

“Not a problem. I’m into working off those empty calories we just sucked down.”

“Sucked is an interesting choice of words,” Evan replied.

“Slurp,” Scotty said with a smile, as he retrieved his cell. “Let me make a quick call before we go.” He touched the screen and hit the highlighted number as Evan crossed behind the Bimmer to the driver’s door.

“Breaking a date?”

“You’re the best date I’ve had in…” Scotty raised his free hand and talked into the cell. “Hey, Bruno. Chances are I won’t be home tonight. Please feed the dog.” Part of the plan was for him to contact operations when he left the bar and indicate that he was with Evan. ‘Won’t be home’ was code, indicating Scotty’s success in going to Evan’s apartment.

“Keep us posted if you have difficulties,”the ops controller said.

“I’ll be a good boy.” Meaning, ‘I don’t expect any problems.’ Scotty looked at Evan as he opened the passenger door and grinned. “Bu-bye.”

“Who were you telling you’d be a good boy?” Evan asked, once they were inside and buckled in.

“Just my roommate. He’s like my housemother.” Scotty watched as Evan navigated the Bimmer out of the tight space. “But he knows I’ll be a good boy.” He reached over and patted Evan’s leg.

While driving to Evan’s apartment they talked about the new movies that might find their way to Ebert’s top ten list. It wasn’t a stretch for Scotty because he was always among the first to see a well-reviewed film and avidly followed industry buzz. The twenty minute drive was quick and they were soon entering the building’s garage. Scotty noticed a Peoples Gas service van parked nearby and knew his backup was in place.

In the hallway, Scotty mentally made a note of apartment 520 and the snugness between 518 and 522. ‘Obviously 520’s a studio,’ he concluded. Walking into 522 with Evan gave him a feel for the layout. To the right was the bedroom, its wall abutting 520. He felt Evan’s hands coming around from behind his torso and reach his pecs. Almost by rote, Evan’s fingers went into play.

“You want something to drink?”

“If you squeeze my tits too hard, we may be drinking milk,” Scotty chuckled. He turned around and quickly pecked Evan on the lips. ‘All in all, this isn’t necessarily a hardship. Evan is very fuckable.’

“Like the ‘Got Milk’ ads?”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Scotty replied. He leaned closer and whispered into Evan’s ear, “I’d like you to milk me…without your hands…or mouth.”

“I get your drift.” Evan, looking into Scotty’s eyes, took Scotty’s hands, pulled him down the short hall, walking backwards and into the bedroom.

Scotty scanned the room quickly and saw a blinking light on the floor by the bed. Because the sun hadn’t completely gone down, he could make out the rest of the room. The blinking light was on a phone receiver.

“Wait a sec so I can get out of my sweater.” Scotty kept eye contact, except for lifting his sweater over his head. He mentally did a quick Hail Mary and tossed the sweater over by the bed, successfully covering the phone. ‘Whatever that message is all about can wait.’

“My turn.” Evan unbuttoned his black shirt and dropped it on the floor.

Without a prompt, they both took off their shoes. Evan went further and removed his socks.

Scotty was impressed with his host’s trim bare top-half and took off his polo. He reached in to check his cargo pockets’ contents for a moment and noticed Evan was quickly stepping out of his black jeans. “You wanna help me out with my pants?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Evan unbuttoned Scotty’s waistband, unzipped the fly and pulled down the pants and briefs in one fast motion.

Scotty shook his goods free and said, “Thanks. Allow me to return the favor.” He carefully grabbed the band of Evan’s CKs. As the boxer briefs headed south, Scotty went down on his knees and stared, nose to head, at Evan’s half-pumped cock. ‘Definitely not a hardship.’ He licked Evan’s glans and breathed in the pleasant muskiness. ‘Hmmm, eau de stud.’

“Ohh, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I first saw you.”

Scotty felt himself growing as he took Evan’s erection into his mouth. Slowly he moved back and forth advancing an inch each time. Finally, his nose was buried in Evan’s manscape.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Evan growled. “I want you to do me…now.”

While reaching to play with Evan’s balls and perineum, Scotty withdrew his mouth. “Exactly what I had in mind.” He stood and let Evan examine his meaty, veined erection.

“Hmmm,” Evan murmured as he gripped the shaft. “Living proof that size matters.”

“You okay with that?” Scotty’s fat seven inches was sometimes seen as an obstacle if a guy wasn’t used to taking that much girth.

“No problem…as long as you know how to use it.” Evan steered them to the bed and pulled Scotty down with him.

‘As long as I remember why I’m here,’ Scotty thought, as he rose on his knees and stroked Evan’s dick. “Where’s the lube and stuff?”

“If you feel under the bed, there’s a plastic box. You’ll find everything you need.”

“Even batteries?” Scotty asked with a laugh. “Just kidding.” He reached down and felt his way until he got the box and reached inside. “Lube? Yes. Condoms? Got it.”

Scotty hoped Evan wouldn’t wonder how someone as ‘young’ as he had all the moves ‘down pat.’ Lubing while speaking endearments softly, his fingers did their thing. One, two and finally three. Spreading and arranging Evan’s legs. Slow penetration…stretching more…sinking deep into the loosened crevice. The pace picking up and morphing into forceful lunges; the soft speech switching to rough dirty talk. Evan returning with rough discourse. Lunging, plunging, gasping, grunting. Twice, Scotty slowed down to save himself for Evan’s simultaneous conclusion.

Finally…finally…finally.

“I’m…cumming,” Evan yelled and released a loud groan.

Scotty kept in synch and waited until his target’s final moment. As Evan blew his first load, Scotty quickly pricked Evan’s neck with a miniscule pin that had been treated with a powerful drug. Evan’s eyes popped open for a moment as he experienced a combination of his orgasm and fainting. Scotty gently pulled out and watched as Evan relaxed and breathed deeply.

7:35. It was completely dark. The sun had set.

‘Time to get to work.’ Scotty removed the used condom – but not used – got out of bed and turned on the floor lamp. His supervisor had said that the drug would keep Evan safely out for at least thirty minutes. He went to the bathroom, tossed away the condom, wiped himself of lube smears and flushed away the evidence.

Back in the bedroom, he went into Evan’s pants pockets and grabbed his key ring. Aside from the Bimmer key, there were four others. ‘Mailbox is probably the small one. Hmm, here we are.’ Two Schlage keys were almost identical. One was stamped 522. The other, 520. ‘Good. I don’t have to B and E.’ Scotty had brought along his tools to release almost any door lock, but it was risky in a public hallway.

Over on the bed, Evan seemed to be sleeping. Scotty took a pulse and was satisfied his ‘friend’ was doing fine. He quickly dressed – leaving the sweater – and opened the front door. Very quietly. With the 520 key ready, he closed Evan’s door and walked the twenty feet to the studio. The key slipped in and it engaged with a twist. He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it. Pitch dark. He felt for a light switch with the back of his hand and found it at the usual location. The switch turned on the overhead light. ‘Must be forty only watts…but enough to see by.’

He put his Bluetooth in his ear and activated his cell phone. “I’m in 520. Will call back in five minutes.” First on his list was to find the master telephone.

A fast look, while putting on latex gloves, confirmed that no one lived here. He switched on the kitchen light; the fluorescent fixture flashed on and the open pass-through space provided enough light spill to see the studio better. The room contained five file cabinets and nothing more. Vertical blinds were shut. Scotty spotted the phone sitting on top of one of the files, which was also flashing a message light. He went over and pushed the ‘play’ button.

“Message one – 5:30 p.m.” Beep. There was nothing but a click. “Message one – 6:05 p.m.” Beep. “Oh, fuck…it’s Wally and Moses. Fuck…Escalade. 7AQ…423. Fuck…guns...” came out of the speaker. And nothing more.

He pressed his Bluetooth and said, “Found the landline. I’m going to dial your number on it. There’s an odd message that indicates a problem for whoever was calling at six-oh-five.”

“Please play the message first,” the ops center coordinator said.

Scotty leaned in and played it again. He realized while listening to the second message that it had come in just before they’d arrived.

“Got it. Thanks. Now you can disconnect and make the call on the blind number you have.”

“Won’t that leave a trail to us in any investigation?”

“We’ll hack in and remove our number.”

He dialed AOI’s unlisted number and disconnected once he heard it answered. Next came the files. He got his small flashlight out of his cargo pocket and inspected the locking devices on the files. Happily, they weren’t engaged. Scotty pulled out the first file drawer and looked at the contents. They appeared to be reports, bank statements and printouts completely of a business nature. Each file was tabbed with R - O'R and reference numbers. Other drawers contained CD/DVD disks and a few memory sticks. ‘This is a treasure trove for forensics.’ He pulled out his digital camera and took pictures of a random sampling of documents.

7:55. Scotty had just finished shooting bank statements from the final file drawer.

Back on the Bluetooth, he said, “I’ve got to get back to the subject. From what I can determine, 520 contains the business files of whatever Revson and O’Reilly are up to. This is big.”

“Understand. The boss is concerned about the telephone message and the history of calls on this number makes a case for playing the terrorism card. We’ve just contacted the FBI and they’ll pull a search warrant. Good job, Scotty.”

“I’m leaving now. Everything looks undisturbed…and print-free. Unless otherwise instructed, I’ll probably babysit with the subject for a while and leave early in the morning. I want to make sure he’s okay.” Scotty didn’t add that he wouldn’t mind a blowjob before scooting.

“That’s good. The Feebies won’t get a warrant issued before eight in the morning.”

“I’ll be gone by then. Bye.”

Scotty quickly exited 520, closed the door, removed his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. He’d been very careful not to mention Evan by name or that he was ‘babysitting the subject’ in 522. There was something about Jankovic’s demeanor – suggesting he was more innocent than guilty in the bigger picture.

 _______________________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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