That's the Chicago Way - 11. Chapter 11 - Stormy Clouds

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

A day after one of his top aides was charged criminally with steering county contracts worth $300,000 to her own firm and those of past business associates, the Cook County Board President defended the practice of issuing contracts for just under $25,000 that do not require the approval of the full Cook County Board.

Chicago Sun Times – 2010

Chapter 11, STORMY CLOUDS

Evan was resurfacing with uneven buoyancy. Limbo – an ethereal lightness he didn’t understand and couldn’t define. Certainly not a dream. He felt a drifting sensation as he floated in the midst of a brilliant light show. Lasers. Splashes of color. Vivid thunderbolts that broke up into millions of scintillating sparkles, which visually evaporated after a moment of suspension. Seeing his distorted reflection in a hall of fun house mirrors.

‘Where am I?’ The idea flashed through his mind that he’d gone to heaven. ‘Heaven? What happened…ohhh.’ As if controlled by a rheostat, the celestial atmosphere dimmed and faded to darkness. Memories of being taken on a sexual ride started to emerge. A shadowy form of male nudeness hovered over him. Hot. Sensuous. Penetration.

“Hey, buddy,” said a voice in the distance – like someone standing at the end of a long hallway.

‘Yeah…I know him.’ He felt a moist warmness on his chest and Evan’s eyelids began to flutter. “Who…”

“Me. Scotty.”

The voice – Scotty’s – was now closer. Much closer.

“Hi,” Evan said with a weak tremble. His focus returned to the movement on his chest. It felt like a wet cloth. Evan slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the face.

“Hi, yourself.”

Evan was reestablishing his footing in reality. The face and name made sense. “So, what are you doing?”

“I’m just getting you tidied up. That was…quite a load.” Scotty leaned forward and smiled. “Your passing out after…you know…kinda worried me.” He wiped Evan’s chest one final time with the washcloth.

“I passed out?” Evan’s memory began to click in and he momentarily relived the intense orgasm he’d experienced before going blank. And coming to with this guy cleaning up his load. ‘Now I know what fucking your brains out means. Wow.’ He recalled meeting this studly specimen at Sidetrack’s.

“Right after…we came. You just sorta went limp and started crying. Then…it was like you went to sleep.” Scotty put his hand on Evan’s forehead. “I was concerned but you’d say a few words…as if you were dreaming and talking in your sleep.”

“Talking…in my sleep? What’d I say?” Evan didn’t like not being in control, let alone not remembering anything, except Scotty’s big dick slamming home.

“Nothing I could really understand,” Scotty replied. “Words like ’why me’ and ‘dull as a worm’ were the only things that were really clear. Do they mean anything to you?”

“Kind of.” Evan paused and recited the Yeats poem in his mind. But he didn’t feel depressed this time. ‘Wonder why?’ He watched as delicious Scotty, with his uncut dick of death now deceptively flaccid, by the bed. “So, where are you going?”

“You tell me,” Scotty replied. “Now that you’re back on the planet…I feel relieved.” He scratched his balls and jerked at his foreskin once. “I had planned on staying for a while, if…”

Evan boldly reached up and grabbed the handy dangling phallus. “I’m feeling pretty good and you’re too good to send off into the night.” He gently pulled Scotty forward as he scooted over to the middle of the bed. “Jump in and let me find out more about this thing I’ve got in my hand.”

Scotty ruffled Evan’s hair and said, “Move down the bed so we can explore each other…at the same time.”

“Ye old sixty-nine…haven’t done that in a while.”

Evan positioned himself in the middle and watched as Scotty eased in with his body positioned towards the foot of the bed. Evan was now merely a tongue lap away from Scotty’s dick…the glans had partially slipped out of its skin turtleneck and the slit was moistening. As he put his lips around the head, he peeled back the foreskin. The hint of muskiness was pleasant. And Scotty’s tonguing Evan’s cut cock was having positive results; whatever had happened during his blackout hadn’t taken the edge off his horniness.

It was only a matter of moments before each man was fully extended to rock hardness – the slurping, grunting and heavy breathing added a sensual layer to the time-honored oral mating. Evan tried to match Scotty’s ability to take everything, but couldn’t get past the first four inches. His mouth wasn’t built for someone that large.

Scotty pulled away and said, “I’m goin’ to blow.”

“Me, too,” Evan replied, withdrawing for a second. ‘Fair warning all around.’ He hummed as he kept up the action.

Rumbling in his groin. Rockets blasting off. An erupting physical quake of seismic proportions. Evan started shooting and felt warm gooeyness in his motoring mouth. He almost coughed before finding a way to swallow the very generous ejaculation…and swallow…and swallow.

They were both drained – in several ways – when Scotty moved around for a cummy kiss. ‘What the hell, this is something I don’t do very often.’ In fact, after-sex kissing wasn’t part of his repertoire.

“How do you feel?” Scotty asked, after pulling away.

“Pretty friggin’ great, darling.” Evan licked a dab of cum from Scotty’s cheek. “I’d say let’s do that again…but I’m pretty bushed.”

“Okay, option time. I can leave now or sleep with you ’til morning.”

“Let’s sleep.” Evan almost never asked someone to stay over but he needed company. “I must get up early to go to work and leave by seven.”

“Then we can take off at the same time” Scotty replied. “Maybe you could drop me off at The Coffee and Tea Exchange on Broadway on the way?”

“Sweetie, that works.” Evan got out of bed and added, “Excuse me…pee break time.”

“Hurry back.”

Monday morning with all its grayness. Six-thirty came fast and the warmness of Scotty’s spooning was a temptation towards turning off the alarm. ‘But I gotta get my shit together at the office.’ Evan uncoupled and got out of bed. He noticed his bedmate was stirring and had one eye open.

“I’m going to shower real fast. You want to join me?”

Scotty let out a big yawn. “You go ahead…if we we’re both in the shower, one thing would probably lead to another…if you get my drift.” He sat up and stretched. “If you don’t mind, I’ll splash some water on my face while you’re doing your thing.”

“Honey, after having your dick in my mouth…and elsewhere…this isn’t a time for modesty.” Evan laughed and shook his head. “There’s a spare wrapped toothbrush under the sink if you want to use it.”

“Cool…now scoot.”

Evan quickly showered, brushed his teeth and groomed himself. When he returned to the bedroom, Scotty was dressed and sitting on the bed tying his shoelaces. It was now a race to pull together a business look. ‘Today’s a gray suit, shirt and tie day.’ Evan sorted out selections and dressed in a conservative ensemble. They talked about the weather and fell into a patter of discussion centering on Boystown – common ground, without an intellectual challenge, for two guys who’d shared that ‘wow’ moment hours earlier. Evan got his keys, comb and wallet out of his black jeans and they left the apartment.

In the hallway Evan noticed a maintenance man was changing light bulbs. ‘Kinda early in the day to be working,’ he thought as they walked to the elevator. ‘Haven’t seen that before.’

The drive over to Broadway was quieter. The morning was overcast and cool, and traffic was starting to get bunched up at stoplights. Each man was talked out and Evan knew the encounter was a one-night stand. A guy right out of college in a starter job wasn’t anyone with whom he wanted to be involved long-term. ‘Like I want to be settled in with anyone. But the sex was great, I guess.’ The way he passed out while getting his switch flipped was puzzling. ‘With Kris, it was just my usual bout with depression. Maybe I need to seek out professional help.’

He dropped Scotty off at the coffee shop on Broadway, waved and said, “See you around,” then headed onto the expressway. This was going to be an odd day. ‘Wonder what kind of mood Marv’s going to be in?’

~~~~~

As Evan drove north in his Bimmer, Scotty returned his wave before going inside for a cup of morning brew and a muffin. There were only three other customers in the comfortable coffee shop and he had his order in moments. He sat down at an unoccupied table, retrieved his cell phone and called the Chicago AOI Ops Center.

“Busy night, Scotty,” the shift coordinator said.

“Yeah…I babysat Jankovic and was with him until he dropped me off on Broadway just now. He should be at his Skokie office in thirty minutes, max.” Scotty took a bite of muffin and tried not to mumble. “I assume the guy in the hallway this morning was one of ours?”

“Negative. The FBI office is very interested in our project. They’re watching the premises until a warrant can be pulled.”

“Anything else I can do? I haven’t checked my emails yet.”

“My screen says that you’re free to do whatever and be in the office at eleven.”

“Hancock or West Washington?” AOI’s executive offices were in the John Hancock building on Michigan Avenue and the technical facilities were located in a converted warehouse a block west of Harpo Studios – Oprah’s production facilities on West Washington Boulevard. Scotty was hoping they’d be meeting at the tech lab because it was near Wishbone, a fun restaurant. ‘Treating myself to lunch would be great. Maybe ask Bruno to join me.’

“West Washington. The boss will be over there on another project and he likes that conference setup better. There’ll be a conference call with Mr. Petrov in L.A. and someone at D.C. Ops. Might be a good idea to summarize the cogent points of your operation.”

“Yikes…some of this is kinda personal, but I understand.” Scotty decided not to mention his early morning ‘knob polishing’ with Evan unless pushed to do so. ‘I’ll just stick to last evening’s activities.’

“Scotty, we’ve all done slightly unusual things to get the job done. I’m sure you rose to the occasion.” The coordinator let out a restrained chuckle.

“Let’s just say the subject didn’t complain when it rose,” Scotty snickered. “Guess that goes with the territory…but what the hay, I’m a red-blooded American boy.”

“Don’t worry about it. See you later.”

“Later.”

While finishing his muffin and coffee, Scotty checked his emails. Two. He went to the Chicago AOI Ops message first and read what he’d just been told. In addition to his boss being copied, Oleg Petrov and Dexter Tate were on the list. ‘Oh, I remember Dex. A real mover and shaker back east.’ The other email was from a friend with an invitation to attend a party this weekend. The friend, Russ Bennett, was a doctor; they’d met at the gym and struck up a friendship that was just that. ‘Might be fun,’ he decided while looking at his calendar, which was completely open this coming Saturday. ‘Friday and Sunday as well, for that matter. Gawd, my social life sucks.’

He thumbed his reply to Russ. FUN!!!YES. TALK SOON.

Outside, the temperature was cool enough, with the wind, to be a little raw. ‘Glad I wore a sweater.’ His truck was three blocks away and Scotty wasn’t into cold. The Ranger started and he immediately turned on the heater but left the fan alone until it had a chance to warm up. As he drove away, the past evening seemed like more of a fantasy trick than an assignment. All in a day’s work took on new meaning. And he felt a little sorry for Evan. ‘I don’t think that dude really knows the depth of the shit he might be into…but I’ll know for sure after the meeting.’

 ~~~~~

Monday weekday morning redux: Rick out the door for the Exchange by 6:30 and Rob arising an hour later. After a leisurely breakfast – with the last hour of Good Morning America to keep him company – he browsed his various news links to get a pulse on what was happening in New York, Washington, Chicago and in L.A. ‘The usual crap and ass-biting in D.C., and cautious fence-straddling on Wall Street.’ On the local front, Chicago had its usual share of drive-by shootings and murders. One unidentified body found in a Lincolnwood strip mall caused Rob to pause because such happenings were rare in that upper middle-class neighborhood.

Rob had just finished a shower and shave when his cell phone rang. He noted that it was 9:57 and saw the [0] on his screen. ‘Petrov. Saves me a call.’ He’d planned on contacting Oleg around eleven.

“Morning. How goes it out your way?” Rob walked over to the bed, sat down and covered his lower half with the blanket. It wasn’t warm enough to be running around in the buff.

“Sunny, warm and no major Lindsey Lohan sightings for the past twenty-four hours,” Oleg said with a laugh. “I’ve got something you’ll be interested in…although it’s definitely not ready for release quite yet.”

“Deep background on what we discussed on Saturday?”

“Very deep. We had a chance to follow up on Kris’s telephone discovery…let’s just say our friends at the FBI were very interested in the results.”

“You’ve got my attention.” Rob retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from the bedside table drawer. ‘This is like waving candy in front of a kid.’

“First, a search warrant was issued by a local judge about an hour ago for the studio apartment that’s next door to Jankovic’s, and a terror task force is going through the place.”

“Terror task force?”

“That mystery phone was located in the studio, and using a terrorism alert was the fastest tool to get a warrant. A record of phone calls indicated only throwaway cell phone activity…except for one traceable number. More about that later. The throwaways are usually an indication of drug trafficking or a terror cell. Since the Feds wanted jurisdiction, they used the latter as justification for a warrant…and that’ll be the official cover of how the studio was identified. Keeps Kris and our man off the radar screen in the official investigation and avoids suspicions by the bad guys. In this case, the bad guys are definitely Marv Revson and Sean O’Reilly. The other guy, Evan Jankovic, seems to be fairly clean…at least clean enough for our purposes. We’re keeping his name out of this.”

“You know I’m chomping at the bit,” Rob said with a chuckle. “This is Peabody Award material…which looks awfully good on a resume.” Rob decided not to mention the potential Pulitzer snare for John Kess and NewWord. ‘I’ll let him take the lead on the story…with some sort of shared byline for me.’ He cleared his throat and asked, “Is there something I can use for our eleven o’clock midday news?”

“This is very dicey in that the FBI’s operation has just begun. I’ve got a few calls to make before we have an internal conference meeting in about an hour. After that, I can call back with some meat for you. Chances are that ‘people of interest’ will be publicly identified by early afternoon…namely Revson…and you need to have someone handy to cover a press conference. If I can get you a few tidbits about what they found, I’ll email them to you.”

“So I’ve got to sit on my hands until then?” Rob could play this game of fishing for information but he was becoming impatient. ‘With Oleg being a friend, I’ve got to keep my cool.’

“Here’s a news flash that you can use. The CPD is investigating a murder. We helped them – through the FBI – to find a dead body in a car parked in a lot on the north side. Lincolnwood…that’s the community we’re talking about.”

“Holy shit…I was just reading about this on the Sun-Times website.”

Holy shit is an apt reaction. Turns out the deceased is Sean O’Reilly. Shot in the head and stuffed in the trunk of his Cadillac.”

“Oleg, I’m cumming in my pants.” Even though he was still bare-assed, the old saying aptly fit.

“After you clean up your mess, here’s what I’d suggest. Use a license plate trace to suggest – the operative word is ‘suggest’ – who the victim is. Here’s the license plate number from the car in Lincolnwood: MAQ 989. The black Cadillac CTS is registered to Sean O’Reilly. Now, since the CPD homicide guys covered the license plates as soon as they arrived, you could say that a concerned citizen passed on the plate number. That way, my relations with the FBI and police are not compromised. There’s more info on this murder that I can’t divulge quite yet...except that next of kin have been notified.”

“I can use that as is. Oleg, this is huge…and you’re pretty sure there’ll be a press conference this afternoon?”

My guess is they’ll reluctantly pop it out, on a very low key basis, around three. I say reluctantly because your news report about O’Reilly’s death will force their hand. Now you understand why you’ve got to tread very carefully and play this close to your chest over the next several hours.”

“Understand completely. I’ll make sure John Kess is very discreetly near the Federal Building and I’ll have a crew on call.” Rob planned on having background tape edited for a full report on his six o’clock news. ‘And maybe a network feed.’

“Be very vague about what you tell Kess. The O’Reilly story is safe enough and you’ll have that out on your midday news anyway. Just say there’ll be a press conference and you’ve gotten a tip that it may be related to O’Reilly.”

“That’ll work. Oleg, this is major stuff and I’d better get dressed and start making a few calls. Thanks mucho. And any more tidbits you can toss out later will certainly be appreciated.”

No problem. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours when I shake loose a few other things. Later.”

Rob set his cell phone down and looked over the notes he’d taken He slipped on fresh boxer briefs and socks, and went to his closet. ‘Today will be a dress-up day…just in case the story makes World News tonight.’ He selected a new blue shirt, a pair of gray slacks and a yellow power tie. After pulling himself together, he called Thornton Brill, the morning news producer.

“Thorny…this is your favorite anchor calling.”

“Funny, you don’t sound like Tamara,” Thorny replied. “Must be a head cold.”

“Yuck, yuck.” Rob laughed and continued, “Well, make it your almost favorite anchor…the one with the ratings.”

“What’s up? This is kinda early for one of our prime time stars to be stirring.”

“Fuck you and here’s what’s stirring besides my dick. Seriously, I’ve been working the phones on a tip and just got some valid information that’ll probably be your exclusive lead story for the midday.”

“I’m all ears…but as you know it’s ten-thirty…and we’re live in thirty minutes.”

“Here’s the poop. Are you familiar with the body found this morning in Lincolnwood?”

“Yeah…but hardly a story, what with bodies dropping dead around this town like flies…everyday.”

“What if I told you that my info suggests the deceased is Sean O’Reilly?”

“You’ve got my attention, pal.”

Rob related, almost verbatim, the story he’d agreed to use. He considered Oleg a friend and didn’t want to burn bridges. He concluded by saying, “My suggestion is to get someone to verify this with DMV right now and assign a reporter to birddog O’Reilly’s office and home…a condo someplace in Streeterville.”

“I’ll check out DMV as soon as we’re finished.”

“Good. And when you get a chance, tell Manny I’ll be in around noon to work on the story for tonight.” He knew Manny, his producer, would appreciate the heads up. “This fucker has legs and I think New York might get a hard-on for it. Ask Manny to call and tell them I should have some additional stuff that would be an exclusive for World News.” Rob was sure Diane Sawyer would love the chance to stick the story in Brian Williams’s face.

“I’ll pass this on to Manny and see you then. Thanks, buddy…Bye.”

The final call was to John Kess. Rob did a re-play of the O’Reilly situation and passed on exactly what Oleg had scripted. He told him that he’d probably have a video crew at the press conference and would try to cover it himself.

“This is great stuff,” John said.“Works well for my deadline tonight.”

“If everything goes down the way I think it will, we’ll both have some hot material,” Rob replied. “That might include some exclusive stuff you can use before the Trib and Sun-Times get hold of it.”

“Any day I can scoop my former associates, is a good day.”

“Same with my friends over at NBC. I’m going down to the station right now and should have something more this afternoon. And if you get an alert about the news conference, please pass it on.”

“My phone will be on at all times. See you at the O.K. Corral.”

“But no shootout, please,” Rob replied. “We’ve had one too many already. Bye, John.”

While putting on his polished Gucci loafers, Rob wondered if wearing his best clothes was such a good idea. In his earlier years as a field reporter, he’d ruined several pairs of shoes and pants on assignments. ‘Naw, the anchor desk is pretty harmless.’

~~~~~

In addition to the Wishbone restaurant, Scotty considered another plus in meeting at the West Washington Boulevard tech lab facility was an abundance of convenient street parking when Oprah wasn’t taping a show. Today she wasn’t and he found a spot not too far away.

Sunlight had broken through the cloud layer and Scotty enjoyed the short walk. He’d prepared notes at home on his laptop and would print out copies in the lab’s document center for the meeting. Before leaving his apartment, he’d emailed his report to the Director of AOI’s Chicago office, Jon Brooks. Scotty liked Jon – a no nonsense brainiac with street smarts. The handsome African American had a similar background: Michigan State and the CPD. Jon’s law degree was from Loyola, class of 2000, and Scotty hoped to graduate in 2012.

‘I hope the report doesn’t read too triple-X.’ Scotty punched in his code at AOI’s front door. This was a great day to impress the brass and he didn’t want to appear like some cheese ball. The release buzz sounded and he walked inside. He had decided to wear his tan corduroy sports jacket with leather elbow patches, black jeans and a black shirt for a more business-like persona. Variations on a theme of his usual look. He showed his I.D. badge to the receptionist sitting behind a glass wall, who opened the lock release of the inner door.

Since it was 10:30, Scotty still had plenty of time to make copies of his report. He passed the conference room, looked through the glass window and noted that no one had arrived yet. He went on to the document-copying center next door, punched his personal code into the huge Canon digital copier, slipped in a USB flash drive and made four copies of his report. ‘I won’t hand them out unless asked to.’ He cringed thinking about the anal intercourse. ‘At least I left out the dirty talking parts and penis size. No reason to become an urban legend.’ He chuckled at the idea of becoming a topic of water cooler conversation.

Back at the conference room, Scotty pressed his thumb on the biometrics pad and walked inside. There were twelve chairs placed around the outside of a u-shaped table, including two chairs at the head. ‘Might as well take a neutral space along the side.’ He pulled out his laptop and turned it on as the door behind him buzzed and opened.

“Mr. Carter, I’m glad you’re here.”

Scotty got up and turned around. “Mr. Brooks...Jon.” He extended his hand.

They shook hands and Jon walked up to the head of the table. Brooks, who favored a shaved head, was immaculately dressed in a well-tailored gray suit, white shirt and a red tie.

“Come up here with me, Scotty. It’s just us today, plus Dex Tate at headquarters and Oleg Petrov in L.A. As you’re aware, this was a quick catch on Oleg’s part on Saturday and we had to act fast. I should say ‘they’ because I was out of town.”

Scotty picked up his laptop and carrying case and followed Jon to the head of the table. “This is a first for me…the pro bono stuff. I was concerned I would screw up.” He caught his choice of words too late and had to smile. He set up his laptop and eased into a swivel armchair.

“Your role was well-excuted and everyone's very pleased. We’ll run through all the details during the teleconference.” Jon smiled back, sat down and continued, “I emailed your report to Dex and Oleg…and don’t be worried about the more…intimate parts of the assignment. If I may borrow a well-known expression, 'shit happens.' We’ve all been there, believe me.”

Two of the three television flat screens hanging on the opposite wall suddenly turned on and went to blue with color bars on the bottom portion. The first screen’s picture blacked for a second, then a conference room came into focus. The second screen duplicated the connection interruption and another conference room was displayed. Even without the locations, which were displayed at the bottom of the screen, Scotty could tell which was which. The D.C. Fairfax headquarters room was very old guard with cherry wood paneling, black granite and deep crimson draperies. L.A., on the other hand, was highlighted by bleached oak walls, frosted glass and chrome fittings.

The third screen turned on and The View, the ABC morning program, was seen. Scotty looked at his phone and noticed it was 10:55.

“Oleg asked that we start a little early and watch the opening story on Channel Seven’s news.” Jon pushed a button and the lighting increased. “Just a little extra light level for the cameras. Have you been in this room for a teleconference before?”

“Actually, this is a first for me.”

“The center camera with the red light is where you want to focus. Everything else is automatic. The microphone in front of you is very sensitive and you don’t need to lean in to it.”

Scotty was going to say something but movement on the screens caught his eye. A man in a pinstripe suit and dark hair, who he recognized as Dexter Tate, entered the headquarters conference room and sat down. While Dex opened his laptop, Scotty saw Oleg enter the L.A. room with a classic west coast look – light tan slacks and a dark brown microfiber shirt. He had a face that blended in with a crowd; didn’t stand out.

Oleg looked at the camera and waved. “Good morning, gentlemen. Dex, Jon…thanks for making time in your busy schedules. I assume the man with you, Jon, is Mr. Carter?”

“Morning, Oleg,” Jon said. “Yes…Scotty to friends and colleagues.”

“We’re all friends and colleagues here,” Oleg replied. “Dex, you’re looking well. I understand you have a flight to Heathrow in a couple of hours so I’ll be brief.”

“Oleg, this little weekend project yielded some very important results,” Dex replied. “Bottom line…what happened in Chicago trumps my flight. The partners here are most interested in whatever you’ve got and how we can help further. The boys over on Pennsylvania Avenue owe us big time. Scotty, good to see you again. Congratulations on a job well done.”

“Thanks, Dex.” Scotty assumed ‘the boys’ were the FBI. The J. Edgar Hoover building was on Pennsylvania Avenue. In any case, he felt a swelling of pride on being singled out.

“The project went down so fast that I’m barely up to speed,” Jon said. “As you’re probably aware, I was visiting my brother and his family in St. Louis this past weekend. I’d appreciate it, Oleg, if you’d roll out all the particulars.”

“Right.” Oleg cleared his throat and looked down at his laptop for a moment. “I second the ‘well done,’ Scotty. We certainly had the right man on this assignment. I’ve read your report and maybe I can get an informal debrief when I see you in Chicago.” He smiled and continued. “I asked that we start the meeting with the local Chicago news. I’ve got it on my screen…how about you, Dex.”

“Loud and clear. In fact, the newscast is beginning.”

Scotty and Jon looked at the far right screen.

“Good day, Chicago. I’m Tamara Diaz and this is the ABC7 Eyewitness midday news. Up first is exclusive breaking news from Lincolnwood. Police are investigating the murder of a man who was found this morning in the trunk of a 2009 Cadillac. Sources tell us that preliminary evidence suggests that the deceased man is businessman Sean O’Reilly. Not only was he the second cousin of the mayor, Mr. O’Reilly had a business relationship with Mr. Marvin Revson, who’s been under investigation. Last week, John Kess of NewWord and our own Rob Cooke reported possible irregularities in the O’Reilly and Revson businesses. We’ll have an ABC7 mobile news van on the scene soon…and will get an update then. In other news…”

Jon hit the mute button and said, “This is moving faster than I would have thought.”

Scotty was more than mildly impressed that Oleg seemed to have an inside track at Channel 7.

“So now you and the rest of Chicago are aware that Sean O’Reilly was murdered last night. I will tell you that O’Reilly’s former wife and his son were notified earlier today. Acting on the voicemail that you passed on, Scotty, the Chicago police are searching for two men. The Escalade with the license plate number 7AQ 423 is registered to Wally Lipshitz. Based on prints found in and around O’Reilly’s car, they also I.D.’d Moses Eisenberg. From what I gather, these two are the muscle for Revson and on the company payroll.”

“How’d they find O’Reilly?” Scotty asked. He was feeling comfortable enough to wedge his way into the presentation.

“Another stroke of luck based on tracking the telephone number Mr. O’Reilly used. He used his regular cell phone rather than a throwaway. What these characters, Wally and Moses, didn’t look for was the phone. O’Reilly didn’t turn it off and somehow it slipped under the seat. Your ops coordinator, Jon, rightly decided that the message was a 911 and passed all this info on to the FBI. They urged the Feds to triangulate and find whoever had called. That happened and the FBI was very helpful to the Chicago police.”

“Can we assume that the Feds are making a move on Revson?” Dex asked.

“Probably right now, as a matter of fact…but on something different for now,” Oleg said. “Scotty, I recall you using the term ‘treasure trove’ in your report concerning all the documents and reports in those files found in that studio apartment. It appears to truly be a jackpot of evidence. What was interesting is that Revson favored banks in Liechtenstein, Singapore and Macedonia…while O’Reilly moved his money around the Caymans. ”

“Oleg,” Jon said, “do we know who leased the studio?”

“The studio and phone are under the name of Weintraub…Mrs. Lisa Weintraub. The monthly rent and telephone bill are paid by an account at Chase taken out by her. This is where things get interesting. The Weintraub account is funded by one of Revson’s offshore accounts…and we’ve tracked her down. A hausfrau in Highland Park…married to an accountant…who is Marv Revson’s sister.”

“It never fails,” Dex said. “Always follow the money.”

“Exactly. These little nuggets become part of the evidentiary process. The FBI obtained a search warrant and literally carted away all the filing cabinets a little over an hour ago. At first glance, it appears that there’s enough data to strongly suggest a serious money laundering operation through banks in several countries. Revson and his assistant Evan Jankovic are probably being frog-walked out of their Skokie office as we speak. You can appreciate this: we did our job bringing this matter to the proper authorities – in this case the FBI – and we’re now out of it. Dex, you said the FBI in Washington is happy with our work?”

“Directly from the Director to our boss. Everyone’s pleased at the results so far.” Dex grinned and shot a thumbs-up at his camera.

“Scotty, Jon…this is a good day for Chicago. Just as a heads up, I owe some press people a few more little snippets, so don’t be surprised to see some more of these tidbits on this evening’s local ABC news and in tomorrow’s NewWord. I cleared it with the local Feds so they wouldn’t get their noses bent. By the way, Scotty, I may be coming into town this weekend. If so, we’ve got to meet up.”

“Thank you, sir. I’d like that.” Scotty grinned and hoped his face wasn’t turning too red.

“If there’s no further business, I suggest we adjourn so Dex can catch his plane.

The screens went to blue and then to black.

Scotty turned to Jon and said, “This has been a curious forty-eight hours and I’m somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion.”

“Before you drop, how about having lunch with me. There’s a place right across the street from Harpo called La Sardine. We can have some wine and get to know each other better.”

“Since I’m dressed pretty decently, why waste it. That’d be fun.” Scotty wouldn’t pass a chance to eat with the boss. ‘I’m sure there’s something on the frog menu I can eat.’

“And after lunch, you’ve got the rest of the day and tomorrow off.”

“That will give me a chance to get caught up on laundry,” Scotty replied, closing his laptop.

“Then it’s settled. I’ve got a few calls to make…let’s plan on leaving here at noon.”

“Noon it is.” Scotty stood up and waited for Jon to join him. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Evan. ‘He is really fucked this time.’

 ______________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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