Other Avenues - 11. Chapter 11 Hellzapoppin'

JERRY

I had been looking forward to that month’s Friday dinner with Steve and Allen. They were very happy that I was bringing Bill, when I confidentially mentioned he was my new boyfriend. But I asked the guys to be quiet about the news, in that I wasn’t ready to announce this officially.

Tuesday morning, after the evening meeting, we were back in client-consultant mode. Bill called and asked me to start a search for three executives that we both knew would be gone soon. ”Unless you have any objections, I’m going to contact an independent executive search firm with whom Martin has a long working relationship,” I recommended.

~~~ “There’s been very little turnover here. I rely on you to use the best resources.”

“Obviously, Bill, these are priority placements. I’m calling the head of their Chicago office as soon as we’re finished. Can you fax or email me the salary parameters and benefits for each position?”

~~~ “Consider it done. Check your email as soon as we’re finished.”

“Knowing the search firm, I’ll have resumes to review this afternoon. How about a working lunch at Berghoff’s tomorrow?”

~~~ “12:30 p.m. is good for me.”

“I’ll book a booth. See ya then.”

SAMMY

I would have loved to stay with Joe Monday night. But Dad and I were car-pooling. Because of the project, we hadn’t had a chance to get together since the golf, dinner and movie night two weeks ago. The memories distracted me from reading the preliminary staffing report.

~~~~~

That evening, it was strange bedding a man in the room I’d been occupying since infancy. A couple of years ago Mom did a complete re-do of the décor. It was time to put to rest the wrestling posters and high school trophies. For a design, she asked me to tear out pictures I liked from past issues of Architectural Digest. The end result was a contemporary, masculine-feeling suite you might find at a ‘W’ hotel. She had taken a smaller bedroom next door and connected it for an office and den.

Joe and I walked up to the second floor hallway hand in hand. He had beaten me by three strokes at the country club. After dinner, we discretely held hands at the movie. This was a moment I had been thinking about all week. I was getting hard as we entered the bedroom.

I turned on the ipod mix cued to Coldplay’s new album, “A Rush of Blood to the Head.” Joe spun me around and started dancing. I followed suit and began stripping to the music.

“Hey, stud, work it out,” he said, above the music in step with the beat.

Pulling off my shirt, I tossed it at him. As he brought it to his face, I yelled, “Your turn.” The music was increasing in beat.

Without a pause, he dropped my garment and undid his shirt, one button at a time, while seductively staring at me and licking his lips. He looked at my crotch and said with a lustful smile, “Like what you see?” We were both bumping to Coldplay.

Swaying to the music, I toed off my shoes and unbuckled the belt. “Haven’t seen enough, big boy.” I unzipped the fly as he turned around and moved his butt up against my crotch. The gyrating motions caused my pants to drop and puddle around my ankles. I stepped out of them and pushed the pants aside.

Turning around in a dancing motion without missing a beat, he kicked off his loafers and unbuttoned the cargo shorts. I moved behind Joe and pushed them down. He danced out of them and turned to face me. “You look fucking hot,” he growled, as the tempo increased. His hardening cock had slipped out of his boxers. It was too tempting.

I danced up to Joe and pulled down the boxers, exposing all of his marvelous, hard manhood. “You man enough to remove my briefs?” Without missing a beat, he was down on his knees. I felt his teeth as he bit down on the elastic and lowered my CK’s. I helped him and pushed them down. He was still on his knees as I danced in front of him, my balls slapping his sweaty forehead.

“Gimme that hard dick of yours.” He opened his mouth, and I allowed him to take me. Still in the beat of Coldplay, I started to fuck his face, as perspiration ran down my brow. He slowly pulled away and got back up as an old Queen song, “Another One Bites the Dust,” faded in. Joe brought his lips to my ear and said, “I could dance all night with you. But what I want to do right now is fuck.”

“Well, this is your lucky night, ’cause I wanna fuck too.” I stripped the bed down to the sheet and pushed him slightly. As Joe fell backwards, he pulled me with him, leaving two sweaty, athletic bodies sliding around each other with me on top. Emitting the musky, male aroma that I associated with a wrestling match, Joe was overpowering in his appeal. I buried my nose in his armpit and inhaled before licking his hair. “I can go either way, buddy,” I said, bringing my face up to his.

“Since you’re on top, go for it. Next time, I get a piece of you.” We sealed the contract with a long, tongue-dueling kiss.

“And there is going to be a next time.” I reached over for the lube and rubber. Learning from recent experience, I had pre-opened the condom package. After rolling on the protection, I moved down and kissed the head of his hot 7” rod and licked off the secretions. Traveling further south, I nibbled at his scrotum before finding his pucker.

He moved his legs out and up, giving me easier access. I playfully lapped around his hole. “Oh, yeah, Sammy. Give it a good workout. No one has been down there for a while.” I needed no encouragement. After tongue-fucking him, I lubricated my fingers and worked on his sphincter muscle. By the time the third finger had been added to the assault, Joe was moaning with pleasure as I hit his nut.

Applying a generous amount of lube to his love chute, I made sure his hard cock was slick as well. “Let me know if I’m going too fast, Joe,” I instructed while positioning my dickhead at the puckered entrance of his rosebud. I whispered, “Relax babe.” As he pushed out, I entered his hot, soft chamber and slowly moved forward. “Ready?” He smiled, as I was completely in him and wiggled a little. Starting in motion, I was vaguely aware of Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying” playing in the background.

“Ohhh…” was all I heard as I increased the speed and varied the strokes with the music. Joe groaned with a smile on his face when his prostate was engaged. I gripped his slick erection and pumped it to the beat. As he tightened his muscle ring around my cock, I was sent over the edge. We hit nirvana together.

~~~~~

“Sammy. Hey, guy, you with me?” Joe said, sitting across from me in our office workspace.

“Joe. I’m sorry,” I replied, smiling sheepishly. “I guess reading all this detail caused me to zone out for a minute.” He couldn’t see my cock straining against the pant crotch under the desk.

Sitting down on a side chair, he asked, “When will you be finished collating the supporting documents to the revised staffing guides?”

“I’ll have that for your review this afternoon. If Bill and Jerry sign off on it, we can wrap this section up.” Just then Harold Atkins came strolling by.

In a saccharine, condescending tone, he said, “Good morning, boys. How’s your little project going?”

I plastered on an innocent smile and replied, “Hi, Mr. Atkins. We’re doing fine. This is primarily concerning sales and marketing. We should be able to create more sales productivity in the long run.”

“Anything I should know about in the accounting area?” he asked nonchalantly.

“No. Our focus is reorganizing international sales, Mr. Atkins,” Joe answered.

“I see.” A forced smile crept across his face. “You boys have a good day,” he said before walking away. Joe and I looked at each other and frowned but said nothing.

JERRY

Friday was officially underway with my early morning call from Ben. I had been emailing progress reports of our findings at American Foundry and the F.B.I. involvement. He was also aware of the executive search I had initiated. From Wednesday’s lunch, Bill had culled out a handful of interesting candidates for the search firm to contact.

Around noon, the F.B.I. agent in charge of the Chicago RICO racketeering task force called me to thank Martin for participation in the investigation. We had turned over all documents, surveillance photographs and videos to their office. He promised action by Monday.

I arranged for a deli platter lunch for Joe and myself to review and overview the project. The meeting had to be short, because I needed to finish up the weekly report of all of our activities for the home office.

Biting into a turkey sandwich, I asked, “So, this guy Atkins comes up to you and Sammy?”

“Yeah. It was real creepy. He was fishing around. But Sammy did his altar boy routine and gave him the run around.”

“How is your end of the project coming?”

“Great. I’ve had a lot of help. Of course, working with the boss’s son does open up doors and force cooperation,” he said, with a laugh. We both remembered times when we faced brick walls as S.O.P. when fact-finding. “We should be finishing up our sections for your review next week.”

“Good. Try and get it to me on Wednesday. I have a funny feeling that I’m going to be occupied with the other problem early in the week.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really. Be prepared for the shit to hit the fan Monday.”

“I’ll stay near Bill’s office, then.”

“Keep Sammy with you. Things could get messy.”

We finished the progress report review of all sections and Joe went back to his office. I spent the remainder of the day with the Friday routine, finishing with my email to Ben. Leaving the office and strolling home was very uneventful. I smiled as I thought of the events that had taken place since meeting Sammy early last month.

Bill would be over at seven, and we would continue to Steve and Allen’s for dinner. After getting cleaned up and changed into casual dress, I went down to open a bottle of wine and set out some cheese. I smiled, arranging the same Stilton from his last visit. Hearing the doorbell, I opened the door without looking through the security eye. “Hi, Bill. How…”

“Inside, Franklin. Now!” Facing me was a very angry middle-aged man waving a gun. It was too late to slam the door in the face of a crazed Harold Atkins. ‘How the hell did he find my house?’ I wondered. I’d been pretty careful to have unlisted telephone numbers. He could have used investigative sources.

“What the fuck have you done with my money, you pansy, Jew-bastard cocksucker?” he yelled, walking toward me. I instinctively backed up into the living room. The aim of his gun was now very steady.

“Atkins, calm down. I don’t know anything about your money,” I said, in a deliberate, low, commanding voice. He was standing about six feet in front of me. “Put that gun away,” I urged, as I continued to back into the house. I instinctively moved into the living room.

“Bullshit. If I don’t get answers soon, you won’t have a dick to shove up anyone’s ass.” I stopped and he did the same. I nervously concluded. ‘This sonofabitch must have been stalking my place most of the afternoon.’

“Okay, Atkins. Enough. What are you talking about?” He glared at me with red-circled, beady eyes. ‘The little shit was dangerous,’ I thought, as I returned his stare.

“Drop the innocent bullshit. Tell me now, asshole,” he answered, spraying the air with saliva and emotional venom.

“I’m not your banker.”

“You’ve done something, Franklin. You and that goddamn Saunders.” He took a couple of steps forward, and I backed up until the couch stopped me. “My bank account has been frozen.”

“And why do you think that Saunders or I had anything to do with that?”

“Because you and your boys have been snooping around my computers. I found out about the modem hookup. What did you find out, and why can’t I get money out of my bank? Hmmm? I want answers now, or by god I’ll blow your fucking, fairy brains out.” He emphasized the last point with the gun.

Calmly, I answered in measured tones, “What we did is standard in studying the business. Nothing more. Why your funds are frozen is between you and your bank. What do they say?” I forced myself to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

“Nothing. Other than they spotted an irregularity.” His agitation was building. “A fucking irregularity that you caused, you fag cocksucker…”

“Jerry, duck!” From the doorway came the shout, and I saw Bill charging Atkins like a linebacker. As Atkins spun around, I sprang and dove at his startled backside. A shot was fired as I tackled him to the ground. Bill smashed his foot on Atkins’ hand, releasing the gun.

“Urmph,” I heard from the impromptu scrimmage. “Oh, God, I’m burning.” I recognized Bill’s voice.

“Babe, you’re bleeding,” I yelled, looking at a red splotch growing in circumference on upper-sleeve of Bill’s shirt. I straddled Atkins limp body: he was momentarily unconscious. I got up, retrieved the gun and went to Bill.”

“Shit this hurts, Jerry. Call for help.”

Reaching for the telephone, I dialed 911.

“I think he hit me somewhere in the shoulder area,” Bill replied with a grimace, sitting on the arm of the easy chair. I took off my shirt and threw it at him. He applied it to the bleeding.

“Here, take the gun and…yes, operator. I want to report a shooting at 1428 Astor Street in the coach house behind the main building.” I handed the gun to Bill. He grabbed it with his good hand. In the telephone background, I heard the operator call in our emergency.

~~~ “Was this a self-inflicted wound?”

“No, M’am. It was forced entry. The intruder shot another man. This just happened. I need an ambulance and police immediately. We have the intruder. He is unconscious from the scuffle.”

~~~ “You’re calling from 555-8126?”

“Yes. My name is Jerry Franklin. Please hurry.”

~~~ “Police and an ambulance have been dispatched.”

“Be sure they come to the coach house in the rear.”

~~~ “I made that notation, Sir.” I heard sirens in the distance.

“Thank you.” I hung up and went to Bill’s side. “Can you manage for a minute? I want to get some towels for you.”

“I feel a stinging burn, but I’m not dizzy. Go, babe. I can watch this shit head.” The sirens were getting louder. Atkins was still out cold.

I returned with towels and heard voices outside. Giving the towels to Bill, I ran to the front door. “Officers, in here.” Four of Chicago’s finest entered and took charge of the scene. Hearing another siren, I knew that the ambulance wasn’t far behind.

One policeman retrieved the gun and bagged it. Another officer attended to Bill. As Atkins started stirring, I said, “This man forced his way into my home with a gun and threatened my life.” Atkins looked a little dazed but pissed off as a policeman helped him up.

“And you are?”

“I’m Jerry Franklin, officer. This is my home.

“Do you know the alleged attacker, Mr. Franklin?”

“Yes, he works at American Foundry. My company has been doing consultant work for the owner.” In a lower tone, I told the officer, “We have been in communication with the F.B.I. concerning accounting irregularities involving this man and three others. His name is Harold Atkins. The man he shot is Bill Saunders, also with American Foundry.” I noticed another officer writing notes as I spoke.

A third officer handcuffed Atkins and led him out the door. Atkins glared at me as he passed. At the same time, paramedics rushed in with their equipment. Seeing Bill and the blood-drenched shirt and towels, they immediately moved into action.

The lead paramedic started a conversation with Bill to ascertain his level of consciousness, while another one removed his shirt to examine the wound.

“This looks good. I don’t see any indication from the color that an artery is involved,” one paramedic said to the other. “I’ll start an IV and place him on a monitor.” The lead nodded concurrence as he began to clean the wound and apply a heavy dressing to both the entry and exit wounds.

“You say the F.B.I.?” the reporting officer asked.

“Yes. Agent Engelhart can brief you. It’s an on-going investigation.” I gave him the rest of the information he requested as I noticed a gurney being brought in for Bill. “Excuse me, officer,” I said, as I walked over to the paramedics. Bill gave me a soft smile as he was lifted onto the gurney.

The lead paramedic strapped the arm of Bill’s wounded side to his body while the other man checked his vital signs. After securing the arm, the lead paramedic listened to Bill’s chest.

“He’s patched up temporarily. But we’ve got to get him to the hospital for a thorough checkup.” Bill had given the paramedics all of his personal information including allergies and insurance data.

“Where are you taking him?”

“We usually go to Columbus in this area.”

“Would you take him to Northwestern Emergency? My Dad is a doctor. I’ll want him in on this.”

“That’s no problem. From here it’s probably shorter in distance anyway.” They started rolling Bill away.

“I’ll see you at the hospital just as soon as I’m finished here.” He mouthed ‘okay’ as the gurney left the house.

The police had no further questions at this point. I thanked them and told them I would be available for further questioning if needed. After they left, I looked around while dialing Dad’s cell phone. No serious damage. My main concern was Bill. Dad picked up after two rings.

~~~ “Jerry, it’s a surprise getting a call from you on Friday evening.”

“Dad. I’ll be brief. There’s been a shooting and a friend of mine was hit.”

~~~ “Shooting. Are you okay?”

“Yes. And I don’t think that my friend is seriously hurt. Looks like a shoulder wound. The paramedics were fairly positive. Can you call Emergency at Northwestern and alert them to my friend Bill’s arrival? The ambulance should be there within 10 minutes.

~~~ “What’s his name?”

“Bill Saunders.”

~~~ “Isn’t he…”

“The guy I’m working with on a project. Yes. The key suspect in criminal activity at American Foundry was the attacker.”

~~~ “Okay, I’m calling right now. I’ve just gotten off the Outer Drive at Sheridan Road. I’ll turn around at the next intersection. Give me 45 minutes to get to the hospital.”

“Thanks, Dad. Love you.” I ran upstairs and splashed water on my face and upper body before putting on another shirt.

Leaving the house, I speed-dialed the guys while walking to the corner for a cab. After the third ring Allen answered. “Hey, buddy. There’s been an emergency and I can’t come up for dinner. Bill’s been shot – not seriously – and is being taken to Northwestern. I’m on my way there now.”

~~~ “Shot? Like from a gun?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

~~~ “Oh, shit. Is there anything that we can do?”

“A little prayer and a rain check for dinner. I’ll call from the hospital. Love to Steve.” A Yellow Cab stopped and I jumped in. “Northwestern Emergency as fast as you can go, driver.”

As we sped south, my next call was to the McDonald residence. “Sammy, Jerry here. I wanted you and your dad to be aware of a wild ass incident that just happened at my house. Is your dad home?”

~~~ “Yeah, just a minute. Dad, can you pick up a telephone? Jerry needs to tell us both something important. He should be on in a second.” I heard a click. “Jerry, what’s happened?”

“The craziest thing, George. When I got home about 45 minutes ago, Harold Atkins showed up, pulled a gun and started threatening me. Once we were inside, he was ranting angrily at me about his money being frozen in the bank…that I was responsible…and he was going to shoot me…Bill entered through the open door, snuck up behind him and startled Atkins. I dove in and the gun must have gone off then. Bill was shot in the shoulder. I don’t think it’s serious. I’m on my way to Northwestern now.”

~~~ “Is there anything I can do, Jerry?”

“I’ll call you two from the hospital. You should call Agent Engelhart and fill him in. I gave the information to the police. But Engelhart may want to move faster with these new developments. Sammy, would you track down Joe and bring him up to speed.”

~~~ “Will do, Jerry. We’ll wait to hear from you soon.”

The driver made excellent time. At 7:55 p.m. I arrived at the hospital complex. Giving the driver a ten-dollar bill to cover the $4.60 fare, I dashed inside the Emergency staging area to the reception desk. “Hi, I’m Jerry Franklin, Dr. John Franklin’s son. I’m inquiring about Bill Saunders. He was probably admitted not long ago.”

“Yes, Mr. Franklin. Your father called. The senior doctor on duty is attending to Mr. Saunders’ gun wound, along with a resident and a nurse. Is Dr. Coulter Franklin related to you?” she asked smiling.

“My brother. How is the patient?”

“From what I overheard, they will be taking X-Rays, clean and examine the wound, and re-dress it. He’ll stay here overnight with an IV for observation. The paramedics gave us all of Mr. Saunders’ personal information.” Just then Coulter walked up in his hospital scrubs and greeted me with a hug.

“Hi, Bro. You doing okay?”

“Nervous about Bill. Is he okay?”

“Just fine. The bullet made a clean exit with no bone damage. He’ll be given some Demerol to ease the pain. How the hell did something like this happen in your neighborhood?”

I gave him an edited rundown of the earlier events, leading to the shooting. “Somehow, the FBI froze Atkins’ bank account too early, before everyone else was in place.”

“The good news is that, other than being stiff for a while, your friend is going to be all right.”

“Thanks, Coulter. Bill and I are close friends.”

“Close? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned his name other than you were working for his company.”

“It started that way. But we’ve become friends. Very special friends,” I replied with a quiet pleading expression. “I think…no, I know he is the one.”

He smiled and relied, “Congratulations, bro. Looks like it’s a family matter, then. They’ll let us know when we can go up for a visit. Probably within an hour.” He grasped my hand and pulled me into a brotherly hug.

_____________________________________________

Thank you to Ben in Florida for providing medical and technical advice in this chapter.