That's the Chicago Way - 17. Chapter 17 - Good Company

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

Hog butcher for the world,
Toolmaker, stacker of wheat,
Player with railroads and the nation’s freight handler,
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of big shoulders.

Carl Sandburg

Chapter 17, GOOD COMPANY

Although Scotty hadn’t gotten to sleep until after midnight, his inner clock was still functioning – he woke up for an anticipated early start without the usual grogginess. Blackie was curled at the foot of the bed, breathing in slow cadence, dreaming doggie dreams. Scotty’s move to get up startled the French bulldog for a moment; the canine’s eyes popped open and he quickly shook his pointy-eared head, jangling the I.D. medallion against the chain around his neck.

“Morning, buddy,” Scotty said as he pulled down the covers and swung his legs around to get up. “Lemme pee and then I’ll take you outside so you can do your thing.”

Blackie eased up on his stubby four legs, bounded off the bed and waited for Scotty to catch up. He turned his head and stared back with a crooked grin and snuffles; the dog knew it was time to explore the outside world.

Their daily routine had begun.

Scotty slipped on a pair of sweatpants, shirt and sneakers, and made his way to the hall bathroom he shared with his roommate. Scotty briefly glanced at Bruno’s closed bedroom door and vaguely recalled his roomie had a nine-to-five shift today. ‘I’ll write him a note that Blackie had his morning walk.’ He closed the bathroom door, leaving the dog behind. Scotty was uncomfortable sharing the toilet with his dog – having his pooch stare while he was whizzing crossed the line of acceptable familiarity between master and pet. Same thing with sex. When Scotty ‘took care of business’ or entertained an occasional ‘gentleman caller’, Blackie was elsewhere in the apartment.

After finishing his duty call, he proceeded to the kitchen, prepped the coffeemaker and affixed the leash to Blackie’s collar. Scotty opened the back door and decided that the early September morning chill – it was only 6:30 – required one more layer of clothing. He slipped on his Bears jacket, grabbed a couple of plastic bags and went outside. Blackie led the way to his favorite poop spot on the outskirts of a nearby pocket park. In an effort to afford his dog a modicum of privacy – turnabout was fair play – Scotty turned his head, absentmindedly watched the traffic and thought about the previous evening’s excitement. Prominent in his mind was the man who’d surreptitiously entered his life.

‘Evan’s stashed away somewhere in the ’burbs. Wonder how long he’ll be there? Probably not more than a couple of days if the Feds shut down Rocco.’ That reminded Scotty of their first encounter and the resulting return to Evan’s apartment. ‘What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been on the clock with this assignment and was just cruising dudes? Yeah, he was a little full of himself…but the guy’s pretty sexy, too.’ Scotty measured the differences between last Sunday and the seemingly new Evan. ‘New is good.’

Movement of the leash, signaling Blackie had successfully done his thing, brought Scotty back to earth. He walked over, scooped up the doodoo with a plastic bag, and deposited the warm contents into the nearest refuse container. ‘I hope this pooch knows he’s the only one I’d do this for.’ The tug of the leash was a friendly but firm reminder that Blackie was ready for his walk and an occasional sniff in the bushes.

If time allowed, Scotty would have brought along Blackie’s favorite ball for several minutes of playful fetching and allowed the black-haired canine stud to run around and seek out whatever friendly bitches were available. ‘The only piece of tail Blackie’s going to get today is Bruno’s leg after dinner,’ Scotty thought, chuckling out loud. ‘I’ll have to find my own leg.’

The routine continued.

When he’d last spoken to the AOI Ops Center before going to bed, there was still no news concerning the takedown back in L.A. ‘There’ll be an update when I get to the office…see where that asshole Rocco stands in the big picture.’ He finished rounding the park with Blackie and headed back to fix breakfast for the two of them.

The aroma of fresh coffee in the kitchen was pleasant and he poured the first cup of the day. After taking a few sips, Scotty slipped a slice of whole-wheat bread into the trusty Toastmaster and portioned out the Purina Dog Chow in the food bowl. The dry nuggets and the refilled water bowl would last Blackie for the day. In the evening, Bruno would take Blackie out for a stroll, dish out a can of the dog’s favorite wet food and later give him a good brushing. ‘Taking care of the pooch is definitely a two-parent job.’ While waiting for his toast, Scotty turned on the kitchen TV to catch morning headlines. He clicked on Channel 9, where the top-rated WGN Morning News ran a solid block of local news programming and Scotty knew he’d be able to catch anything relating to Revson or Evan’s home invasion. ‘If the FBI has released anything, that is.’

Larry Potash, the co-anchor as long as Scotty could remember, was reporting the headlines of the morning. The ugliness of two gang-related murders led the list, followed by a serious traffic snarl because of a deadly accident on the Dan Ryan Expressway and speculation concerning the upcoming elections. Fourth in the pack was a brief re-hash of Sean O’Reilly’s demise and the memorial service to be held at Holy Name Cathedral that afternoon. ‘Apparently Cardinal George accepts sinners at all levels,’ Scotty thought while spreading orange marmalade on his toast. ‘It’s a shame that neither he nor the Pope considers gays or lesbians to be real people. And that holy dickhead, prancing around the Vatican in his red Prada shoes, thinks it’s beneath the Church to support use of condoms to control AIDS.That’s just bullshit.’

There was no mention of Marv Revson, or Scotty’s little foray in the previous evening’s crime stopping activities. ‘The Feds are still keeping this quiet,’ he thought, finishing his toast. He fished out his morning ration of vitamins, washed them down with orange juice and filled up his coffee mug. Blackie gave him a cursory glance as Scotty left the kitchen – the dog was communicating, ‘I’m doing just fine.’

A quick shower and shave was the start of Scotty’s solo part of the morning. He followed that by flipping his dark blond hair casually with just enough gel to keep it in place and brushed his teeth. For work clothes he chose the usual variation of trademark black – tight tee, untucked shirt, jeans, leather jacket and boots – and was out the door by 7:35 with his trusty holstered Glock. He was happy it’d been decided to run the ops de-briefing at AOI’s Westside office rather than the more formal offices at the John Hancock Center.

The staff was just assembling at AOI when Scotty walked in at eight. He said good morning to the receptionist and borrowed a spare desk so he could finish the report of what had transpired the previous evening – details that hadn’t made the FBI findings, and probably wouldn’t. Forty-five minutes later, he saved his document and emailed it to Jon Brooks. Scotty would let his boss decide who’d read it. ‘With all the gory details,’ he thought, scrolling through his emails, ‘I’m sure it’ll get limited circulation.’

“Talk about a shoot ’em up, Mister Carter,” said the familiar voice of Jon Brooks. “That was quite an evening.”

Scotty swiveled around and stood up. His boss was wearing a blue blazer, open-collar blue shirt and gray slacks. “Morning, Jon. Yeah, it was one of those moments when all the training and experience in the trenches paid off in a big way. I just emailed you a summary. Anything you can share on what’s happened since last night…both here and L.A.?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s why I was seeking you out. Let’s chat in the small conference room.”

They walked down the central corridor and entered a room that was well appointed but rather bare of décor. Around the walnut table were eight functional Hermann Miller chairs and above the coffee station credenza at the end of the room was a large flatscreen. Jon pulled back a chair and gestured for Scotty to join him.

“First, my apologies for the Ops Manager not taking your assignment as seriously as he should have. He…hell, make that we…didn’t think there’d be that much muscle coming after Jankovic. When Oleg’s team ran into that kidnapper-slash-surfer guy at the house near Pasadena, we didn’t read the situation properly.”

“I’m just happy I got the layout set up in time.” Scotty was going to add, ‘or my ass woulda been grass,’ but thought it better not to colorfully add to the conversation. “If it’s okay, I’d like to see the report on what went down out there.” He knew anything that involved Oleg would be classified way beyond his clearance level.

“Absolutely, it makes for good reading,” Jon replied. “Thanks to your efforts, and to Oleg Petrov’s successful operation, several things happened overnight.” He picked up a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “First and foremost, the FBI was able to trace all of the transaction activities when the Revson payroll and operating bank accounts were raided. Everything was funneled into one offshore account in the Cayman Islands, registered to a local holding company. In turn, that holding company is controlled by another one. Bottom line…Paul ‘Rocco’ Scarrione is the prominent shareholder of the second company. The bonus point was the L.A. FBI getting the kidnapper to ‘roll’ on Rocco after they traced the telephone activity back to Rocco’s landline here in Chicago. Rocco, the dumbfucker, was too arrogant to cover his tracks. Oh, one more thing: they’ve traced down Revson’s personal banking accounts to China.”

“Wow, Jon, this is like hitting three sevens on a slot machine. How about those dudes I ran into at Evan Jankovic’s apartment?” Scotty had no regrets about the shooting he’d done; Evan was safe. The bonus would be any information gained.

“The one man who was seriously wounded is still clinging to life at Northwestern and can’t be interviewed. However, I’m told the guy you capped in the knee and hand has been a real fountain of information. Good marksmanship, by the way. He not only implicated Vinny Bisignano…Rocco’s right hand man…as the person who ordered the invasion of Evan’s apartment, but admitted that Rocco was in the room when this order was given. The FBI arrested Rocco and Vinny early this morning.”

“I wonder how this’ll all hold up in court? I’m sure Rocco’s got an army of lawyers to cover his butt.” Scotty leaned forward, folded his hands and quickly added, “You think I’ll be called to testify?” He wasn’t too excited about being dragged into any criminal litigation or gaining notoriety.

“The FBI will prevent that from happening,” Jon replied. “The worst case is you’ll give an affidavit without your identity revealed.”

“Sweet. Then I guess Evan is free to pick up the pieces and get on with his life?”

“Free as a bird…later today. Apparently the Justice Department will contact the Cayman bank officials and request them to wire the money back to Revson’s business bank accounts here in Chicago. As far as his big stash in China's concerned, I'm sure the Feds will be sifting through that for a long time.”

“Then Evan and his staff are back in business,” Scotty said with a nod. ‘Damn, free as in…getting together? Is this wise…thinking like this?’ He straightened up and asked, “After I read Oleg’s report, would you mind if I split and get a little down time? I’m a little beat up.”

“You must be a mind reader.” Jon wrote out a series of numbers on a piece of paper and added, “Here’s a security code that’ll get you into that report. In the meantime, our de-brief is finished and you’re officially off the clock until Monday.” Jon stood and patted Scotty’s back. “That was a mission well done.”

“Yes, Sir. Oh, one more thing…I’d like to help Evan get his life back together. What are the chances of me picking him up from wherever the safe house is and driving him to the Revson office building in Skokie? He still has his car parked there.” Scotty pushed back his chair and got up.

“A little personal interest?” Jon asked with a smile.

“Now that he’s just a civilian…I figure he could use some help getting his…”

“...Shit together?” Jon put up his hand in a halt position. “I’m sympathetic.” He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled down his address book and pressed the screen. “Hold one.”

It was amusing to get a peek at his boss’s humor. ‘I hope that call is Jon arranging the meeting with Evan.’ Scotty’s emotional cocktail shaker was brimming with one part concern, one part curiosity and one part lust. ‘I can think of a couple of ways to make a day off enjoyable to the max.’

“Agent Frawley, this is Jon Brooks calling.” Jon nodded for a moment and continued. “It was a smooth operation all the way around…and on the West Coast, too…for both of our organizations.” Another pause. “I’m with my associate, Scotty Carter. He would like to arrange a place where he can pick up Evan Jankovic when he's released later today and take him to his car.” He turned to Scotty and winked. “Yes, you met him last night.”

Scotty grinned broadly.

“At noon? Great, I’ll let him know. Bye.” Jon pushed the disconnect button and said, “You’re all set. It’s a win-win because your boy Evan is somewhere in the western suburbs, and picking him up saves one of their agents from making a long trip. Frawley said to be in front of the Oak Brook Nordstrom’s at noon and Evan will be there waiting for you. The only rub is that Evan’s apartment won’t be refurbished until the end of the day.”

“No problem.” Scotty decided that he’d take Evan to his apartment for the afternoon and take it from there. “The schedule works fine…it’ll give me a chance to read Oleg’s report and get a few other things done before I pick him up at noon.”

“One word of advice. I know boys will be boys…but just be sure Evan’s ready for whatever you have in mind. He…as a civilian…experienced some pretty serious moments last night.” Jon nodded and added, “Have fun and I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”

“Thanks, Jon.” He watched his boss leave the conference room. ‘Might as well call Evan and get the plan in motion.’ Scotty sat on the conference table top, punched in Evan’s cell phone number from memory and listened for the connection. The call was answered after the third ring.

“Hello?” Evan said, cautiously.

“Hey, buddy. It’s me…Scotty.” He realized that neither his blocked number nor name would come up on Evan’s screen. “Touching base.”

“Scotty…ohmygod, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Evan replied in an upbeat but nervous manner. “I didn’t get much sleep…as you can imagine…and the FBI guy just told me that arrests have been made and I’m out of danger. That’s really got me psyched.”

“So it seems…and I wanted to call as soon as I could.” Scotty was excited that Evan sounded so positive. “I want to see you, talk…and do whatever else that comes to mind.” He decided this wasn’t the time to be coy. “I just got the approval to give you a ride to pick up your car.”

“Awesome...that’s excellent news. I had a nice long shower…we’re in some sort of apartment complex…shaved and had breakfast. But the agent looking after me is in the other room and I haven’t heard squat about leaving.”

“He’s probably being told what the deal is right about now. The plan is for me to meet you at the Oak Brook shopping center…in front of Nordstrom’s…at noon. They’re still working on getting your apartment in order…so I thought we could hang at my place this afternoon. Maybe have dinner somewhere and get you back to your apartment tonight. Does that work for you?”

“Work? And how. I really want to see you…talk over things and…as you said, do whatever else.” Evan snickered. “I want to thank the guy who saved my life…maybe in more ways than one, don't you know?”

“I do know, but let’s play everything one note at a time. I’m just happy everything worked out alright. You hang there and I’m going to handle a few things here in the office. I’m really looking forward to seeing you at noon.

“Same here. Bu-bye.”

“Take care.”

Scotty stood up and thought, ‘Eat your heart out, Blackie…daddy’s bringing home someone for himself.’ He couldn’t yet determine what exactly Evan meant to him. It certainly wasn’t a conquest; that was a given. ‘Maybe I’m trying to make up for the way I mind-fucked him on the first assignment?’ He knew he’d have several answers to his questions by nightfall.

~~~~~

While all the drama had been going down in L. A. and Chicago, Kris followed his normal routine and knew what he’d experienced the previous weekend would probably never come down the pike again. ‘Sex, action, intrigue…the whole enchilada…and new friendships, too. Like living scenes out of Pulp Fiction.’ As the Revson story unfolded, he monitored it via the local Internet news sites and all the local television news coverage. Nothing in the case broke until late Friday afternoon.

It was apparent Rob rode the cutting edge on the story. His reporting was sharper than the other guys and he seemed to have more detail – breaking news several hours before the competition. On Saturday morning, at the respectable hour of 10:00, Kris called Rob.

“Hi…this is Kris. Good time to talk?”

“Rick and I have been up about a half hour and getting pulled together. He’s doing laundry and I’ve got K.P. duty. Whazzup?”

“Not that you need any stroking, but I was so impressed at the way you handled Revson, Rocco…everything. Good job. And another shot on World News last night didn’t hurt.” Kris wanted to ask if Oleg had been helpful again but decided not to push it.

“Thanks. I even got a personal call from Diane Sawyer afterwards…she was very happy. But you know what they say about yesterday’s news. I gotta prove myself all over again this coming Monday.”

“Prove yourself?”

“I get a big paycheck to bring in ratings that translates into a boo-coo of commercial spots run during local news. If I don’t deliver, the next thing that happens is that my contract isn't renewed and I’m shuffled off to Buffalo as a weekend reporter. Well, probably Cleveland or Detriot...but you get the point.

“Gimme a break, Rob. You'll be the Chicago ABC dude for quite a while .”

“That's the plan. However, enough of the realities concerning TV news biz. Are you all set for Jerry’s party tonight?”

“That was on my mind. How dressy is this ‘do’ going to be? Jacket and tie?” Kris had only seen Jerry Franklin in business suits and couldn’t shake that image.

“A few guys…and I’m told there’ll be around thirty or so attending…will wear jackets, but I’m sure it’ll be a casual night for most. Rick will probably wear jeans and one of his crew sweaters. Me, too…but probably with khakis. Oh, one more thing. Jerry and Bill always serve a ton of food so don’t worry about eating before.”

“Good advice,” Kris replied. “I guess I’ll see you guys at seven?”

“You still want us to pick you up? It’s not that far out of the way.”

“Naw, don’t worry. I’ll meet you guys there.”

“Seven then. Jerry and Bill like their guests to arrive on time. And there’s a bonus point for you single studs…I understand some available cuties will be in attendance. Of course, you’re included on that short list as a certifiable cutie.” Rob laughed and added, “I’d better go before your self-esteem gets all pumped up. Later.”

After getting his apartment tidied up, Kris fixed a light lunch and studied for the rest of the afternoon. Off and on he’d check on the televised Northwestern versus Illinois State football game. By the time he finished his class assignments, the Wildcats from Northwestern had won with a wipe-the-floor 37-3 score. Kris thought about Rob mentioning ‘a few available cuties’ being there and wondered if he might connect. ‘With my luck…highly unlikely. Knowing Jerry, it’s probably a group of men at the top of Chicago’s gay movers and shakers list. Nice guys, but no cigar.’ He was concerned that his college student status would be a hindrance with this probable core of high achievers. ‘However, Rob and Rick are cool…along with Jerry...so I’ll do my best to blend in and see how it goes. I mean, the worst thing that could happen would be being sent off to the children’s table.’

He stretched out on the sofa and read a few chapters of Stieg Larsson’s The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest – the third novel in the series featuring Stockholm reporter, Mikael Blomkvist and über-troubled lesbian brainiac, Lisbeth Salander – until it was time to get ready.

It was time.

Kris had purposely trimmed his beard two days earlier so his look would be ‘just so’ by Saturday evening. He went to the bathroom, checked himself and wondered if ‘just so’ was too much like mimicking the Gossip Girls dudes. ‘Maybe it's time for a change…move on and go with the flow, whatever that flow is.’

With a practiced hand, Kris motored his Braun shaver closely around his face and removed the well-nurtured shadow of a beard. Next came the Edge Gel and his seldom-used Bic. It was the first time in a couple of years that he was clean-shaven and Kris liked the results. After a shower and arranging his hair into a more natural muss, he went to the closet and studied his choices for that evening’s wardrobe.

‘Jeans would be easy…but maybe too student stereotypical. Same with my cargo pants.’ He didn’t want to come across as someone’s little brother. ‘Or a son, for Christ’s sake. I’m not looking for a daddy.’ Kris dismissed the current ‘Ellen unisex look’ of pants and untucked shirt under a vest as way too Hollywood and settled on something that didn’t look contrived – khakis, a V-neck sweater and shirt combo, and his Doc Martens. ‘Natural. Just plain ole Kris Lamacki with no fancy toppings.’

6:50 p.m. He liked what he saw in the hall mirror and was out the door.

Kris walked over to busy LaSalle Street to flag down a cab. ‘Tonight’s a splurge. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a ride home…either with someone coming down this way or as my invited guest.’ That’d been the reason he’d spiffed up his condo earlier in the day – if he brought someone home, Kris didn’t want his companion du jour to think he was some kind of slob. A cab stopped and he slid in the back seat. Early evening traffic was a breeze and the Yellow Cab pulled into the 2800 Lake Shore Drive portico fifteen minutes later and twelve bucks lighter from his wallet. When Kris announced himself at the front desk in the lobby, the attendant checked off his name, told him to take the elevator to the thirtieth floor and look for apartment 3001.

The hallway layout of the floor was a giveaway that Jerry and Bill occupied more than just one of the condos. Kris exited the elevator and noticed that the hallway to the south was only six feet long. It ended with a set of double doors with a small oval number-engraved brass plaque mounted alongside on the wall.

One of the doors to the apartment was cracked just enough to hear a murmur of male voices and background piano music. Nothing loud – just conversation, laughter and Jessica Williams’s unmistakable jazz arrangements. The slightly opened door seemed to be an invitation to come in rather than to ring the bell.

Kris took a deep breath and slowly swung the door open. He casually stepped in and noticed the contemporary art that adorned the pristine white walls in the wide gallery entry and hallway. He recognized a series of pen in ink drawings as the work of Jean Cocteau, as well as three Picasso pencil drawings. Beyond were several groupings of guys in typical cocktail party mode. Kris walked to the entrance of the large living room and immediately spotted Jerry standing by the fireplace. An iconic Mao by Andy Warhol, hanging above the fireplace, looked somewhat menacing as it stoically stared down over Jerry’s shoulder. Kris waved and watched as his host excused himself to approach. Jerry looked very casual in his small-checked shirt and tan pants; it was the first time Kris had seen Jerry dressed in apparel other than a suit and he approved.

“Hey, Kris, glad you could make it.” Jerry took Kris’s hand and shook it.

“Believe me, I’ve been looking forward to this evening.”

“First and foremost, what can I get you for a drink?” Jerry asked. “The bar’s pretty well stocked.”

“Would it sound too plebian if I opted for a brew?” Kris decided that nursing on a bottle of beer was the best way to pace himself for the first part of the evening while he got a feel for the crowd. Since he didn’t know Jerry that well, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“No problem. We always have Stella Artois on hand.”

“Perfect,” Kris replied. as he looked around. ‘This doesn’t look like a group of posers or a bunch of pissy queens. And they’re a pretty good age mix so I don’t feel like a kid.’ He smiled when he spotted a guy with a tan sipping beer out of a bottle. ‘The dude with the brew must be from Florida or California.’ A general rule was that Chicagoans let their tans fade after Labor Day and automatically focused on indoor activities.

“Jerry, why don’t I follow you to the bar. It’ll give me a chance to look around first before I plunge in.” He thought there was a possibility of a livelier crew hanging around the bar. ‘On the other hand, there’s only supposed to be thirty guests tonight…so what’s the diff.’ He noticed several eyes casually looking at him…the newest arrival…and Kris consciously turned on a grin. One guy’s glance lingered just a little longer and Kris decided things were looking up for him.

“Great idea. The bar’s set up in the kitchen.”

They skirted the living room and walked through a dining area. A waiter was arranging several trays of food on a large, oval table that was draped with a cloth touching the carpet. A tall glass container of long-stemmed white flowers dominated the center. On the sideboard cabinet, plates and roll-up napkins sat strategically next to three silver chafing dishes. Kris continued into the spacious kitchen with Jerry and spotted Rob talking with someone over by a family room-style area with a large flat screen hanging on the wall. Beyond was a wide window that revealed the twinkling lights of Chicago spread out on a blanket of black. Rick Cole was grouped with two other guys by the window, and a cat was curled up on the window ledge observing the goings on.

“Wait here and I’ll grab your beer,” Jerry said. “Bill, come over and meet Kris.”

‘So the other guy with Rob is Bill Saunders…Jerry’s partner,’ Kris thought, as he watched Rob and Bill come toward him. While Rob was true to his promise of dressing in khakis and sweater, Bill was wearing a peach colored, open-collar dress shirt and gray slacks. ‘Bill’s very executive in the way he carries himself.’

Kris and Bill introduced themselves to each other, and Kris then gave Rob a big hug. He found out that there were hors d’oeuvres in the living room and that a buffet dinner would be served in a half-hour. Rob told Bill about Kris’s background and how they’d met. In Rob’s version, they met at the station and it stopped with him being a sounding board for Kris’s questions concerning his career.

Jerry returned with a bottle of Stella Artois and a glass.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just sip from the bottle,” Kris said, accepting the beer.

“Not a problem…just saves washing a few glasses,” Jerry replied. “Bill, why don’t you take Kris back to the living room and introduce him to our guests. I’m going to make another Cosmo for Rob and me.”

Kris returned to the living room with his other host and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dennis Edstrom looking his usual hot, professorial self. ‘Goodness, what is he doing here? The guy sure moves fast.’ He switched on a smile and extended his hand. “Hey, Dennis…small world.”

“Well, well…small indeed,” Dennis said as they shook hands. He turned to Bill and continued, “We know each other from DePaul and see each other in the lounge…from time to time.”

“I met Dennis at the gym and we’ve become workout partners,” Bill said. “Are you in one of his classes?”

“No…he’s got all these theories about business strategies that are way over my head.” Kris was actually happy to see Dennis – as another friend. ‘Once burned, et cetera, and time to move on.’ It was reassuring to know another person at the party. Out of the corner of his eye, Kris spotted a tall, blondish guy wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black jeans and boots. ‘But who’s this hunk standing next to the dude in black?’ It was the same guy who’d zeroed in on Kris when he’d first arrived. ‘Better mosey over as soon as I can.’

The early thirty-ish ‘hunk’ was about Kris’s height but had a build that suggested an athletic background. ‘Probably he wrestled or was a gymnast in school.’ The guy was wearing 501’s, a white ribbed tee and a sleeveless V-neck sweater. The tee’s short sleeves clung around his ample biceps. Brush-cut brown hair, green eyes and a strong jaw line rounded out the picture. Oh, and the properly faded 501’s molded perfectly in all the right places. The ‘hunk’ looked at Kris and smiled; the friendly stare lingered…again. Kris’s heart skipped a beat.

‘Whoa,’ Kris thought. ‘I gotta meet this guy.’ He momentarily watched as they laughed and took sips of their cocktails.

“Dennis, I’m going to introduce Kris to our guest from L.A.,” Bill said.

‘L.A.?’ Kris registered. He returned to the immediate conversation. ‘Bet it’s the guy with the tan. My fellow beer drinker.’

“We’ll talk later.” Dennis winked and raised his wine glass.

They passed the duo Kris had keyed on earlier – eyes met again – and continued on a path to the man holding a beer bottle. He was dressed in shades of brown and effortlessly blended into the crowd. ‘Interesting guy with a laid back confidence,’ Kris thought. ‘It’s almost like he’s taking mental notes.’

“Oleg, say ‘hi’ to Kris Lamacki,” Bill said. “Kris, this is Oleg Petrov from Los Angeles.”

Kris smiled and offered his hand. “Actually, we’ve spoken on the phone before.” As they shook hands, he decided not to reveal more. “Oleg, I’m happy to meet you in person…how’s it happen you’re in Chicago?”

“The pleasure’s all mine. I’ve got business in New York, and was able to take a detour and see my good friends here.”

“I notice some new arrivals, guys,” Bill said. “Pardon, but with Jerry in the kitchen, I’ve got to play host.”

Kris watched Bill move away. ‘I guess my excellent adventure continues.’ He slowly took a sip of beer and quickly looked at the hunk in the sleeveless sweater again. Their eyes briefly connected and Kris felt a slight jolt of excitement in his body. ‘Down, boy.’ He looked to Oleg and said, “I remember Jerry mentioning that someone from out-of-town would be here…but didn’t expect it’d be you.”

“Made up my mind at the last minute,” Oleg replied. “As you’re aware, I’ve been busy with this Revson mess and didn’t know if we’d have it all wrapped up when we spoke. Needless to say, I’m happy the FBI made such great progress.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Thanks again for your help…it made a big difference.”

“Super-sleuthing isn’t quite my specialty, but I’ve chalked it off as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“Maybe that won’t be the case. I was serious when I suggested you should consider AOI for a career. Your talents and education would be a good match.”

“I don’t know about that,” Kris said. “It was just a wild hair that…”

Oleg held his free hand up and interrupted. “Just keep an open mind. You’ve got a few more years in school and it’ll give me a chance to expose you to the firm. In fact, there’s a guy from our Chicago office here tonight. Let me make an introduction…what’s the harm?”

Without saying more, Oleg gently put his hand on Kris’s back and guided him to the same two guys Kris had been ogling. ‘Talk about introductions. Is this friggin’ fate or what?’ He bet that the ‘hunk’ in the tee was the AOI guy rather than the blond in black. When they approached, both men stopped talking and smiled.

“Scotty, this is Kris Lamacki. Kris. Scotty Carter is an associate in our Chicago office. And Russ Bennett has been a friend for quite a while – we have mutual friends in L.A. Have you guys met before?” Oleg asked, nodding first to Russ – the hunk – and then to Scotty.

Kris lost his bet. Scotty was wearing black.

“First time…for meeting…both guys,” Kris said, a little tongue-tied.

They all exchanged greetings.

‘AOI Scotty and yummy Russ.’ Kris shook each man’s hand and, in each case, felt a reserve of strength. He also noted that Scotty – the man in black – had a calloused grip while Russ’s was firm but smooth. ‘No question about who gets out in the rough and tumble world more often.’ Kris assumed Scotty was aware of his small role in the recent events concerning his little meeting with Evan Jankovic but decided it was best not to mention it right now.

“I’ve been doing a little arm-twisting with Kris to consider AOI for a job when he’s finished with school.” Oleg turned to Kris for a moment and winked. “Maybe you could invite him for lunch sometime and give him a guided tour of our facilities…and do a first class snow job.”

“Done deal,” Scotty replied. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a business card. “Call me when you get a chance and we’ll do just that.”

“Lunch or snow job?” Kris asked with a smile.

“Both.” Scotty handed over the card and said, “I know we’ll have lots to talk about.”

“For sure.” Kris felt a little more relaxed and decided to switch gears. “Russ, if I could ask, how do you know everyone?” His heart wanted to ask, ‘and are you single?’ They’d only just met but Kris was falling hard on the spot for this guy. ‘Handsome in a non-threatening way, self-assured in his demeanor…wow.’ He thought Russ’s slight smile lines around his eyes suggested he was a kind man.

“It’s a complex story,” Russ said. “I know Scotty from the gym and my best friend from high school practices law with Oleg’s partner in L.A. Separately, I met Jerry through his younger brother, with whom I went to med school. And later, my former partner worked at Jerry’s firm. Confused yet?”

“My God, this has the makings for a great soap opera.”

Russ shrugged and grinned. “Oh, it gets better. My high school buddy who lives in L.A. is married to Rick Cole’s younger brother. So there you go.” He put his hand on Kris’s shoulder for a moment. “Now let me ask you the same question.”

‘Former partner? That’s interesting.’ Russ’s hand felt so natural yet unreal at the same time, but Kris was not going to get flustered.

“Although my connection is with Rob as far as Oleg and Jerry are concerned, there’s a double connection…Jerry and I originally met some years ago when he was doing some work for my dad.” Kris stopped short of pinpointing the year and his age at the time.

“Call me next week and we’ll make a date for lunch,” Scotty said. “Oleg, could I speak with you for a moment?”

Oleg nodded and said, “See you guys later,” as he walked away with Scotty.

There was a pregnant pause. It seemed that neither Kris nor Russ knew who should speak first. ‘Who is this man?’ Kris wondered. ‘Handsome to a fault and thinks nothing of combining vintage 501’s with a cashmere sleeveless sweater. Cool. Med school…hmmm.’ He decided to make the plunge. “Russ, just for the record, I’m studying at DePaul, twenty-one and unattached. Am I right in assuming Scotty and you are just friends?” He took a deep breath and added, “Is that being too bold?”

“Ha, you’re a terror when you want to be, aren't you?” Russ replied. “Naw, not being bold at all. First, Scotty has gone ‘ga-ga’ over someone new…a lawyer, I understand…who seems to be ringing his chimes and I couldn’t be happier for him. As far as my professional life, I specialize in sports medicine. I’m a consultant to the White Sox and the Bears.”

“Ya mean, Da Bears, dontcha?” Kris enjoyed playing one-on-one with this hunky dude. ‘Jeez, why didn’t my doctors ever look like Russ?’

“Something like that,” Russ replied with a chuckle. “When I’m not checking out jocks, I work at Northwestern Memorial Hospital as an orthopedic doctor. And my personal partnership ran aground a year ago. Oh, for what it’s worth, I’m a ripe, old fart of thirty-four.” He rolled his eyes and said, “Now, if I’m not being too bold, is my age outside your interest level?”

“Not bold at all. For what it’s worth, I pegged you at about thirty.” Kris decided not to get too flirty about Russ looking mighty fine whatever the age. “I found out some time ago that age is relative. Behind my goofy façade, I’m a pretty mature fellow and I generally like guys older than me.” Kris raised an eyebrow and asked, “How about you?”

“Kris, I immediately felt very comfortable with you when we met. Yeah, age is relative but it’s the man behind the façade who interests me…and you’re definitely a man.”

With his heart pounding and feeling a little faint, Kris couldn’t think of the proper retort. He smiled and felt his face getting flush. “Problem one solved.”

Russ put his hand on the small of Kris’s back. “Why don’t we sit down on the sofa and get to know each other a little better. I admit to being a little rusty in the dating department, but…we should start somewhere.”

‘Yikes, is this guy touchy-feely or what.’ Kris noticed that Russ’s drink was barely touched and his beer bottle was mostly full. “I guess this falls under ‘start at the beginning’.” He impulsively grabbed Russ’s hand and they walked over to the fireplace. “So when did you discover that playing around with guys was more fun than girls?” Kris was anxious to play the time-honored gay, adult version of show and tell. ‘Both of us can shed off a few layers of armor.’

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Russ asked with a chuckle. “Well, that point in time for me was back in Minnesota,” Russ said, “My best buddy, Dave – the guy who Oleg knows in L.A. – was quite a curious, aggressive lad.”

“With me, it was up in the North Shore ’burbs.” Kris winked and added, “In some cases, best buddies come in real handy. Although with me, I was the aggressive one.”

“Would never have guessed.”

They eased into an empty sofa and tuned out the din of several guys conversing and laughing in the background.

EPILOGUE

For the rest of the party, Kris and Russ were inseparable. After sharing a few racy stories about early guy-on-guy experiences, they found out answers to the more usual questions – likes, dislikes, hobbies, personal interests – and slipped into the comfortable first steps of familiarity. After the ‘twenty questions’ had played its course, they progressed to the expanding field of people they mutually knew.

Later, Kris and Russ emotionally resurfaced and joined the group for the buffet dinner. Scotty briefly stopped by and Kris found out that the AOI blond dressed in black was exploring the first stabs at seriously dating Evan Jankovic, and that Evan was busy trying to keep the Revson legitimate businesses on track while he sniffed around for another job. Kris was very comfortable standing by Russ’s side as they struck up conversations with the other guests…and realized that Russ felt the same way. He also sensed that the other guys were aware of a special bonding in progress. At one point, Rob gave Kris a discrete ‘thumbs-up.’

Russ drove Kris home in his sensible Volvo SUV and accepted an invitation to have a nightcap with Kris in his condo. That visit became intimate from the moment they walked inside Kris’s condo and drinks were forgotten the moment the door had closed. After a hesitant glance, Kris pulled his guest into a hug and they immediately locked lips. Hungry lips. Probing tongues.

Russian hands, Roman fingers. Kris smiled at the old saying buzzing in his head. After having difficulty with Russ’s 501 buttons, Kris suggested it might be simpler if they separately got out of their pants. And shoes. And shirts. Finally the last unwrapping – Russ’s tighty-whities, Kris’s black boxer-briefs. Both had erections struggling to be released.

Russ looked even better stripped down to the basics. While Kris was naturally trim, he had to admire Russ’s athletic, muscular build.

“For an old dude, you’re holding up pretty well,” Kris said. “I mean…friggin’ sexy.”

“Listen young pup, I work hard to keep in shape.” Russ grinned and winked. “And it’s good for my self-esteem to get a compliment from a cute guy like you once in a while.”

“You mean…”

“That the total Kris is more than cute.” Russ licked his lips as he scratched at his erection.

“Not quite ‘total’…yet.” Kris quickly pulled down his briefs and kicked them away. His hard dick was free and popped up.

“Whoa, I’m impressed,” Russ replied. “You’re looking mighty fine...but now I’m too dressed up.”

“Then let me give you a hand.” In one swift motion he slipped his thumbs around the elastic band of Russ’s white CK’s and slipped them off.

Each looked down and automatically wrapped their fingers around the other’s shaft. Kris loved the initial feel of another guy’s equipment and he always compared another guy’s hard dick with his own. In this case, he judged that Russ had a little more girth, but was about as long as Kris’s erection. ‘The only thing missing is a red bow,” Kris said.

“Shucks, I didn’t bother having it gift wrapped,” Russ replied. “On the other hand, I didn’t plan on meeting anyone…quite like you.”

“Follow me.” Kris took Russ’s hand and led them to his bedroom.

They immediately leapt into bed and one thing – well, make that two – led to another. Over coffee the next morning, after a successful late night exploration of sexual versatility, they decided to reconvene back at Kris’s condo when Russ completed his 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. shift.

They made love late Sunday night…and it was just that…followed by a long, hot shower. After toweling dry, they cuddled under the covers and talked about next steps. Both concluded that this was way beyond a great fuck. Russ invited Kris to join him the following weekend up at a lake near Brainard, Minnesota. Russ’s old friend Dave Swenson and Mike Cole were flying in from L.A. with their close buddies Doug DiMarco and Brad Williams for the final outing of the year at Dave’s cabin before it was closed for the season.

The ‘yes’ was immediate and unqualified. Kris knew he could work with his professors to make up any assignments. Russ added that Rob Cooke and Rick Cole would also be coming.

‘Let’s see. Hanging with a neat stud who’s definitely BFM – boy friend material –and a group of cool guys in the Minnesota woods. Could it get any better?’ Kris didn’t think so.

_______________________

THE END

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Footnote: I loved the following comment of the Chicago Tribune's political columnist, John Kass, on the morning after Rahm Emanuel's mayoral election victory.

Chicago, meet your new boss: The Rahmfather. You can call him by his formal title, Mayor-elect Rahm Emanuel. You can call him the Rahminator. Yet no matter what you call him or what you think of him, by winning Tuesday's election without a messy runoff, Rahm Emanuel is boss of Chicago.

A big THANK YOU to my editing team friends, International in scope – Drew Hunt from Leeds, Brad Peters from Denver, Trab from Vancouver Island and Rock Hunter from Austin – for their assistance. Each talented team member helped me to tell a better story with a minimum of grammatical faux pas. And to you, dear reader, I appreciate your support.

In this chapter, I make reference to Pope Benedict’s steadfast refusal to address the use of condoms in the fight against AIDS. The timeframe of The Chicago Way is early September 2010; the Pope’s vague change of position was not made public until late November. As of this writing, the Vatican spokesman clarified that the Pope was suggesting that male prostitutes should use protection. The Pope also said in the interviews that even if homosexuality is biological, “this does not mean that homosexuality thereby becomes morally right. Rather, it remains contrary to the essence of what God originally willed.”

Final note: the backdrop for this story is my favorite American city. Being an international corporate, legal and financial center are givens. However, Chicago's iconic architecture, excellence of the arts, destination attractions, fabulous restaurants, superb educational institutions, outstanding medical facilities and urban sophistication make it world-class by any measure. And in the summer, I highly recommend the mega-eye candy of Midwestern hunks strolling along Michigan Avenue, wearing a variety of flip-flops, board shorts and tank tops (Author pauses and grins).

The GLBT community is prominent and proud – life in the Windy City for this gay man has always been a pleasure. If you have the opportunity to visit Chicago, jump at the chance!