Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 22. GMA XXII

“Damn!” CJ’s exclamation elicited a grin from the man.

“Not what you expected?” The lack of a noticeable accent suggested a Mid-Westerner.

“Sorry… Definitely not what I thought a Special Agent would look like.” He shook his head, returned the smile, and extended his hand. “CJ Abelló. And this is my husband, Owen Liston.”

“G’day, mate. You’re big.” Leave it to Owen to state the obvious.

Lincoln Duvall Ericson was indeed a large man. CJ guessed closer to seven feet than six, and nearer to 300 pounds than 200. His biceps threatened to rip the rugby shirt’s sleeves. A massive chest stretched the purple fabric taut, and tree-trunk thighs bulged under tight blue jeans. Clutching a black leather jacket and a helmet in one hand, he would fit in well with either their rugby-playing or motorcycle-riding friends.

“My size makes it hard to blend in. I thought dressing like one of your friends and riding the motorcycle over might help. Just in case our suspect’s watching.” Lincoln had parked his BMW K 1600 GTL next to CJ and Owen’s Harleys.

 

Brunch at Bradley Cooper’s on New Year’s Day had been a fitting capstone to Spencer and Tilda’s East Coast experience. The Greenwich Village townhouse was spectacular. Food and drink were plentiful, and the friendly crowd was in a festive mood.

After much begging by the guests, Lady Gaga agreed to sit at the piano for an impromptu concert. She kicked it off with a short medley of her hits. When she belted out, “This is Me” from the movie The Greatest Showman, it became a sing-along. CJ had enjoyed the film. The song about someone accepting themselves as they are and fighting intolerance put into words everything he believed in. For her final number, she had their host sit next to her; Gaga and Cooper performed their Grammy and Oscar winning “Shallow” from A Star is Born.

“You two better be at my concert next time I tour Australia.” As they said goodbye in the afternoon, Lady Gaga handed Spencer a card. He and Tilda agreed to e-mail the singer’s manager to coordinate admissions and backstage passes. “And you two”—the woman turned her attention to CJ and Owen, offering them a similar card with a hand-scribbled note on it—“better call me next time you’re in New York. You now have my cell. If I’m in town, we’ll get together.”

Sadness prevailed the following day when the couples parted. Spencer and Tilda flew to Los Angeles for the West Coast portion of their trip, while Owen and CJ returned to Washington. Months later, while in Australia for a promotional tour, Cooper praised CJ, Owen, and the 2016 Liston Chardonnay they had taken to his party. Bottle shops carrying the product sold out, inventories dwindled, and prices rose along the supply chain. Winery profits were better than usual that month.

 

Back in DC, the remainder of the week they read, worked out, and binge-watched home remodeling shows. On Monday, Owen returned to work. On Wednesday, CJ began his final semester at Georgetown University. His curiosity was piqued when Brett texted asking him to stop by the office before going up to the apartment.

“Yo! Brett!” The man shook his head when CJ called out and waved. He and César complained every time since their son began using their first names on a frequent basis. CJ greeted office workers he passed on the way to the glass-enclosed conference room at the front of the building. Inside, his other father and his cousin Rod stood next to the large table, bent over a pile of documents. Gray paced by the floor-to-ceiling window, his phone plastered to the side of his face.

Aware of the long permitting process for renovations to a house on the National Register of Historic Places, Gray Young—their friend and general contractor for the project—began filing applications months before CJ and Owen reclaimed possession of the Capitol Hill property. On the first workday of the New Year, abatement crews began removing lead-contaminated plaster and asbestos-infused vinyl sheet flooring discovered in the kitchen.

“How was your first day back?” Brett kissed the top of CJ’s head and ushered him inside the room.

“Meh… One interesting class and two boring ones. Spent most of the time talking to people. I have to go back for a student government meeting tonight, but your text got me curious. What’s going on?”

“Hey, CJ.” César’s enigmatic expression did not portend well. “We have an issue with your place.” He pointed at the documents on the table CJ realized were the renovation plans and timetable.

“That don’t sound good. What’s the problem?”

“The problem’s we have a jerk inspector.” Gray had finished his call and joined the others. “Sorry about this, CJ.”

“Dude! It ain’t your fault.” Rod clasped and shook the man’s shoulder. “This isn’t the first time we have this kind of shit happen.”

CJ shook his head in confusion. “Fine, let’s start at the beginning. Somebody wanna fill me in on the details?”

Everyone turned their attention to Gray. “Okay, I do have a bit of good news. Lead and asbestos abatement will be complete by the end of the week. Next Monday, we can get back inside and start tearing down walls.”

“That’s good news. But maybe we can start demo on Sunday? We’ve been watching all these remodeling shows, and I’m itching to sledgehammer a wall or two. Please?” CJ’s child-like pleading elicited chuckles.

“Yeah, guess we can do that. But you’ll have to be nice to my other half. Pres usually has plans for me on Sundays.” Gray grinned, lifted his ball cap, and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, the reason we called you in. I had an unpleasant visit from an inspector this morning. He said he had a problem with how the elevator tower would affect the property’s appearance.”

“Say what?” CJ was confused. “The elevator won’t even be in the house.” One of his first asks, when planning began, was for a lift like his parents had. The design called for locating it inside the carriage house. Since that structure was not as tall as the residence, a tower would be added to reach the home’s top floor.

“The problem isn’t with the unit itself. This guy claims the tower will protrude above the roof line.”

“That’s bullshit!” CJ’s confusion teetered on anger. “You won’t see shit standing in front of the house. And if you’re on the sidewalk across the street, I doubt you’ll see it either.”

“We’ve been reviewing the plans most of the morning.” Rod ignored the fire in his cousin’s voice and spoke in an even tone. “We even called Chicago. Ty says there’s no way this should happen.” Tyler Scott, Rod’s brother-in-law, was experienced in renovating historical structures. He had been an integral part of the design process.

CJ had assimilated construction knowledge since Brett founded his firm, but it was not detailed enough for a solution to jump at him. “What do we do?”

“One option is to let him deny the permit.” César lifted one of the documents from the table. “These are the regulations for appealing. We’re all certain in the end we’ll get the proper approval.”

“Spit it out, César. I hear a but.” At times like this, CJ hated his father’s precise, methodical approach.

“It would delay us. And we don’t know how long.”

“Not acceptable. With the baby on the way, Aba moving, and me starting work in the summer, we want to settle in as soon as possible.”

“Tell him the rest, Gray.”

“I think the guy’s looking for a payoff.”

“The fuck? How do you figure?” CJ paid attention like he had not in class.

“He peppered our conversation with comments about the owners’ wealth. How much the house had sold for. How much was budgeted for renovations. How much building the tower and supporting it would cost. All throughout, he mentioned ten thousand dollars as his estimate for specific items.”

“And that means he wants ten grand to approve the fucking thing?”

“Most likely,” Brett replied before Gray could say anything. “We’ve encountered similar situations before.”

CJ sighed and at last dropped into one of the chairs. “How did you handle it?”

“We appealed. And we’ve won every time. However, this is different. We’ve never dealt with a structure on the register.”

“One other thing.” Gray’s continued apologetic tone bothered CJ. He would talk to him afterward and reassure him he was not to blame. “I was on the phone with a friend in the construction business. He’s dealt with this douche before. The guy has a reputation.”

“Fine! Set up a meeting. I wanna meet this crook and give him a piece of my mind. I’ll bring Lola as backup.”

“Asshole!” The fathers’ simultaneous comment brought forth renewed smiles.

“We can just pay him off and be done with it. I mean, in the scheme of things that’s a drop in the bucket.” Rod’s suggestion was not well received.

“Like hell we will! If I can’t shoot the fucker, I wanna ruin him. I wanna make sure he loses his job and is publicly humiliated. Hopefully, he’ll end up as somebody’s bitch in jail. Trip will have a field day with this story.”

“Vengeful much?” Brett’s remark, at last, broke the tension.

CJ’s scowl was not as pronounced. “Hey, how about we call Tom and ask for advice?”

As a result of the conversation with District of Columbia Police Captain Tom Kennedy, CJ contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Their Public Corruption Unit assigned Special Agent Lincoln Ericson to the case.

 

On the phone with CJ and Owen, Lincoln had asked countless questions; it was now clear why the final ones had been of a personal nature. “When you mentioned both of you rode motorcycles, I figured this was a chance for me to take my own scooter out for a spin. Thankfully, there’s no snow or ice on the roads.”

“Yeah, but you prolly froze your butt off. It’s cold as hell.” CJ thought he would enjoy warming him up by climbing all over the man, but one look at Owen made it easy to dismiss the thought.

“Nah, not that bad. I’m from Detroit. Michigan’s plenty cold.”

“Mate, we’re gonna have to go out riding together after this mess’ over. By any chance, you play rugby?”

“Stop recruiting, Oz. Let’s nail this Hussein guy first. Then you can try and rope Lincoln into becoming a Scandal. That’s if he doesn’t mind cavorting in mud with a bunch of overgrown, oversexed gay men.”

“Why would I? That sounds like fun. One of the reasons I was assigned this case’s ’cause I’m gay.”

 

By the time CJ and Owen returned home on Sunday, they were tired, covered in dust, and satisfied with the amount of destruction wreaked inside the house. During the following days, lumber and drywall filled a large portion of the carriage house, and solar roof-tile pallets crowded the side courtyard. Gray began working inside the residence while awaiting the results of the FBI operation.

 

The Saturday of Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday weekend, seven days after the meeting with Special Agent Ericson, home remodeling was the furthest thing from CJ’s mind. “You guys warm enough back there?” CJ rubbed his hands trying to vanquish the remaining chill. Getting into a snowball fight with his gloves back home in Washington was not his smartest move.

Carson stopped tapping on his phone. “I'm good. Brad?”

“Yeah, it's fine.” The Army veteran had been uncharacteristically quiet since leaving Heroes Haven.

“What’s on your mind, Red? You haven’t said much.” CJ orchestrated the trip to Delaware as part of his continuing efforts to ensure his friend did not become a statistic. Over twenty veterans a day killed themselves in the United States. He and Owen had vowed not to allow such a fate to befall their friend.

“Thinking… Man, I really don’t have that fucking much to complain about, you know? Some of the people I talked to today have nobody. Their injuries and having no one at home when they got back is what left many homeless” Brad spent time alone with compound residents while CJ and Owen met with the executive director. “I’m making you guys a promise right now. I’m gonna stay alive. Those men would do anything to have family and friends around like I do.”

“Turn right at the next intersection, Ozzie.” Carson tagged along on the trip for lack of anything better to do and the opportunity for a home-cooked meal. Mr. And Mrs. Sawyer invited their son’s friends to spend the night at their home.

“That’s not what the GPS says, mate.”

“Screw the GPS. We’re taking the scenic route. It’ll take longer, but I texted the rents. They’re not expecting us until later.”

“Okay… if we get lost, I’m siccing CJ on you. Brad? Keep thinking the way you are. You living and thriving is what we all want too.”

“Thanks, Ozzie. And thank you, CJ.”

“For what?”

“For once again jumping in trying to help me. You seem to do that a lot. Kinda funny you were the ice breaker today.”

“What do you mean?”

“They all knew who you were. Those who had met you before said how nice you were. Those that hadn’t at least knew you were the youngest member of Haven’s board of directors. When I ended up following them to see the indoor arena, one asked me how I knew you. Ended up telling them the entire story of how we met.” Brad chuckled. “They thought I was gay too. Had to set them straight.”

“So to speak…”

The chuckles were more pronounced. “Yeah… It felt good to share stories of our high school days and our friends. I even had to show them the tat.” Over Christmas, Brad and his brother Patrick had the same tattoo other Squad members shared inked on their left arm. “I swear some of them were salivating. We’ve really led a charmed life, haven’t we?”

“I remind CJ how lucky we are constantly.” Owen shared a wink with his husband.

“Yeah, well, it’s not what those guys know. They never had the tight relationships we all do. Some found them in the service and then lost them. That’s part of what landed them where they are. The changes and the isolation. But I could see hope in them. That if they were lucky, they might one day have something similar again. It felt good to share those memories. The fact we all had battle experience made it easy to talk to them. Kinda fucked up to laugh at our antics, when shared pain was what we had in common.

“The reason we were in there so long, is they wanted to show me the horses. They move lessons indoors when the ground freezes. The loose sand’s easier on the body when you fall. You know? That was the closest I’ve been to a horse. Excluding when you dragged us out to Central Park for carriage rides. Those guys came alive when they talked about their relationship with the animals. I’d love to learn how to ride.”

“YES! Yes, yes, yes.” CJ’s shout and fist-pumping made Owen take his eyes off the road for a second.

“You gonna be alright, CJ? I think I know what got you excited. Why don’t you share it with Brad and Carson?”

CJ twisted to face the back seat. “Hell yeah, I’m okay. This is perfect! Brad, buddy, you just solved my dilemma.”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“How’d you like to move to Heroes Haven for six months or so?”

“I wish… But I ain’t homeless. I wouldn’t qualify. And I don’t want you pulling strings, bending rules, or pushing your weight around to get me in. You hear?”

“Ahhh, but there might be a way. Without me having to do any of those things. Listen, the reason Ozzie and I spent so much time with the executive director was a long phone call to someone out in California. The woman we spoke with wants to do a documentary on the place. It would follow a resident for a few months. To chronicle participation and changes. Ozzie and I agreed to invest in the project. And when we get back to DC, we’re talking to the dads about the family foundation getting involved. But they were also trying to convince me to be in it and maybe narrate it.”

“Yeah? Sounds good. But that don’t mean shit for me.”

“Dickhead! Don’t you see, Brad? This is the way you get to move in. Dude, we tried to come up with a good hook for my involvement in the film. You’re it. What could be better than one of my closest friends, one of my brothers, being the connection?”

“But I’m not homeless or destitute!”

“Details, details. We’ll work that shit out. They can focus on you, and cover the homeless aspect through your interactions with the others. Like exploring the reasons for their condition and how Haven tries to help. Damn it! I’m a fucking genius.”

“Asshole!”

 

It was naked studs as far as the eye could see. The entire first floor was stripped of plaster walls, and the wood supports stood like silent guardians. A low whistle emanated from Special Agent Ericson. “Damn! Moving right along… You guys aren’t fooling around with the remodeling, are you? Is this going to be all open space?”

CJ and Owen returned to DC Sunday afternoon; at first light Monday, they met Lincoln and a handful of agents at the 11th Street house. All vehicles were inside the carriage house, and the doors were locked. The other agents were ensconced on the second floor with the monitoring equipment installed the previous day.

“We thought about it. It’s what CJ’s dads did with their place. But we agreed we wanted to retain as much of the house’s original character as possible. We’ll make the front parlor a bit smaller, enlarge the formal dining room, and combine the kitchen with the back room.”

“Are you keeping the fireplace?” Lincoln inspected the minuscule camera and microphone his team had installed on the mantle. There were others placed in strategic spots. Anything taking place on the first floor would be seen, heard, and recorded.

“Yeah! I love the smell of wood burning on a cold day. Ozzie’s letting me keep this one as is. There’s one on every floor, and the others will be converted to gas. My husband’s the ultimate environmentalist.” A hint of pride infused CJ’s words.

“The whole project’s been an exercise in compromise, mate. CJ and I have disagreed and argued. Sometimes, we’ve flipped a coin. He’s actually agreed to more stuff I wanted than the other way around.” Owen’s smirk elicited chuckles from the other two men. “I’m expecting epic battles once we start choosing furnishings and paint colors.”

“Hope I get invited back, so I can see the results. Okay, this guy’s going to be here soon. Let’s go over the plan again.”

The knock on the outer door startled them. Lincoln had joined the other agents while CJ and Owen walked around the first floor discussing possible furniture placement and artwork locations. CJ tried to maintain a neutral expression when he opened the door. “Quadim Hussein?”

“That’s me. And you are?” The FBI had told them the man was a naturalized citizen born in Pakistan. His skin tone was similar to other people CJ knew from the same area of the world.

“CJ Abelló. I’m one of the owners.” He pointed at Owen standing by the fireplace. “That’s Owen Liston, the other one.” Neither CJ nor Owen made a move to shake hands. This was not a social visit.

“I’m glad you invited me to discuss our little issue.”

“It might be a small matter to you, Mr. Hussein. To us, it’s a big deal.” Following the Special Agent’s instructions, CJ moved closer to his husband and leaned against the fireplace’s mantle. He rested his hand on the edge, next to the plastic bank-bag Lincoln strategically placed on it. The movements were designed to direct attention to the banded currency visible inside the gaping bag. “We believe we could appeal your decision and win, but the delay would put us behind schedule and cost us a lot of money.”

Quadim’s eyes followed the intended path and glimmered when he noticed the money. “Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

Perfect. This was the opening they were told to look for and seize. “That’s our hope too. Did you have something in mind?” Owen’s comment sounded innocent. The goal was to make the man ask for a payment, not offer him one.

“Maybe…” Hussein’s eyes roamed over the space as if studying it but consistently returned to the fireplace mantle and what they all knew was his bribe. Still, he danced around the issue. “I can tell there’s a lot of money being spent in this place. Have you considered a contribution to one of the local preservation groups? I might be willing to bend the rules and give you an approval if you were to make one. Not everyone can afford to maintain this kind of property. Several organizations raise money to make low-cost loans to homeowners who can’t find funds to repair their homes.”

“Brilliant! Why didn’t we think of that, CJ? It’s something we do in the environmental field all the time. Developers are granted regulation waivers in exchange for land or cash donations.”

Owen’s performance was Oscar-worthy in CJ’s opinion. “Ohhh, that’s something we’d be willing to do. Anonymously, of course. Do you have any suggestions for an organization and an amount, Mr. Hussein?” CJ was ready to reel the man in and get the entire thing over.

“Well, I’d have to think about which group would be best. Ten thousand would be a reasonable amount.”

“Very reasonable.” Owen’s nodding was mimicked by CJ. “The problem’s we’re so busy, I’m not sure CJ or I have the time to research this.”

“I’d be happy to coordinate it for you. After all, we all want the same thing, right? Spread the wealth around to help others and get you your approval.” Hussein was still being careful with how he worded comments. “Maybe I could help you out. I can take the payment and make your problem disappear.”

Bingo! They had him. “Lovely of you to be so helpful. CJ and I appreciate your help.” Positioning himself so his eyes were not visible to any of the cameras in the room, Owen winked at the man. They did not want to deal with entrapment claims.

“That would be ideal!” CJ pointed at the cash-stuffed bag. “Would you like to count it? I think this is what you’re asking for.”

“I’ll trust you. I need to get out of here and go home. I told the wife I wouldn’t be gone for long.” He reached for the bag, glanced inside, and zippered it shut. “You two enjoy the holiday. I’ll be back tomorrow with the approved plans.”

“FBI!” Lincoln’s shout made even CJ and Owen jump. “Quadim Hussein, you’re under arrest.”

 

On the last day of the month, CJ spent most of his time at the dojo describing what he claimed was snail-paced progress on the house. He exaggerated the delays. Almost two weeks after Quadim Hussein’s arrest, they had all the necessary approvals for the renovation project. Individual, periodic inspections would be required along the way for specific tasks, but those would not be burdensome.

He was looking forward to mucking around the property with Owen the next day. Ritchie’s presence at the apartment when he returned home was a surprise. “What up, bro? I’m surprised you’re here. How come you’re not with Lucy like most Friday nights?”

Owen interrupted before Ritchie could reply. “Give us a minute, mate. CJ, drop your bag, change into shorts, and come back out. I opened a bottle already. We’ll have a glass of wine while your brother explains.”

CJ’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “Fuck that! There’s obviously something going on. What gives?”

There were no interruptions this time. Ritchie blurted out the reason for his presence before Owen could stop him. “Lucy’s pregnant.”