That's the Chicago Way - 13. Chapter 13 - Not That Wandering Jew

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

Former Chicago alderman Ed Vrdolyak, who got probation after pleading guilty in a $1.5 million real estate kickback scheme, will be re-sentenced today and could be sent to jail. Vrdolyak was sentenced to five years of probation and fined $50,000 for the federal fraud charge. But the 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in January compared that to a slap on the wrist and ordered a fresh sentencing by a new judge. Prosecutors are seeking 3 1/2 years in prison. In the appellate decision, Judge Richard Posner said the penalty of probation was so light that Vrdolyak would have no incentive not to repeat the crime.

The Chicago Tribune – 2010

Chapter 13, NOT THAT WANDERING JEW

After dropping Scotty off at the coffee shop, Evan drove on to work with a satisfied feeling. ‘He’s a cool guy who obviously knows how to make guys happy.’ Thoughts about the previous evening drifted back into his consciousness: although the blackout during the orgasm concerned him, the experience had been mind-blowing on several levels…what he remembered that is. And he was sure his guest had also enjoyed himself later on. Getting moody or blanking out during or after sex gnawed away at Evan’s reasoning power, but he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. ‘In this case, maybe Scotty’s dick of death was just too much…even for me. But it was a fun ride.’

That contentment changed shortly after he arrived at work.

Marv wasn’t in, so Evan began his routine of reviewing weekend reports from the various businesses. He was having a conversation with the office manager when six men, several wearing FBI windbreakers, abruptly arrived at the reception desk. They were pointed his way and moved en masse in his direction. The group stopped at his desk and an agent in a dark suit with a badge clipped on the suit pocket presented him with a search warrant for Revson’s office and all its contents. Evan was too emotionally trapped to make any judgment about the agent’s boxy hanging suit jacket or the necktie that didn’t quite match.

Monday morning turned out to be the crappiest day of Evan’s life as events fell before him like a house of cards collapsing one card at a time. The office staff stared at him in shock while the Feds marched into Marv’s private inner sanctum. Being questioned by two agents within earshot of his secretary about off-the-books business activities. Watching the Feds carting off all of Marv’s files. Shock tremors shooting through his body after being told of Sean O’Reilly’s murder. Thinking he was probably one of the last people to speak to O’Reilly.

There was only one miniscule positive moment. When no one was watching, he removed the key to the studio apartment from his key ring, vigorously rubbed it like a worry bead to blotch any prints and dropped it into a large pot containing a ficus tree. The key slipped through crevices of the decorative wood chips and disappeared.

Before being escorted out to a black Suburban, he had the presence of mind to instruct the office manager to do two things. Number one, call the company lawyer, relate what had happened and have a criminal specialist meet him at the FBI office ‘poste-haste.’ Secondly, tell the staff to take off the rest of the day and await further instructions. He considered a third request – to send a cake with a hacksaw baked inside it – but decided this was not the time for lame jokes.

No one in the Suburban spoke to him as they sped down the expressways. The driver and his partner stoically looked ahead, wearing aviator glasses that masked their emotions. ‘This silent act will change very soon.’ Evan recognized the big Cook County Hospital – the real face of the fictional, retired ER television show – as they turned on an exit ramp and drove down to the front of a new shiny building on West Roosevelt Road. His own pair of Tom Ford sunglasses wasn’t the best of disguises but it was the only thing he had when they stopped at the Chicago FBI headquarters. A series of images of other characters who’d been paraded in front of the camera and reporter phalanx flashed through his mind as he put his hand over his face for additional camouflage. Questions were shouted and microphones pointed in Evan’s direction as he was hustled across the plaza and inside the cavernous lobby. ‘At least I’m not in cuffs.’

He was handed off to a pair of men wearing dark suits and grim expressions, and escorted into an interview room. Men in black. Evan thought his gray suit, blue shirt and yellow tie was a good contrast and projected an innocent image. The agents sat at the table and the questioning began. Evan raised his finger and suggested that they wait for his lawyer to arrive. To help in this discussion. The ‘good cop’ of the duo replied there were no specific charges – at this point – and his Miranda rights hadn’t been recited. The ‘bad cop’ suggested the investigation fell under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations – RICO – act but went no further. It was a fishing expedition and Evan decided to offer minimal snippets of information that wouldn’t incriminate until his counsel was at his side. Things like what responsibilities he had in Revson’s legitimate business empire and insipid tidbits about his boss. ‘This bullshit of tossing RICO on the table is just that,’ he thought, ‘and I’m not buying.’

The lawyer arrived and they met privately for a few moments. Evan related the basics – posing himself as an innocent third party on Marv’s questioned activities – and said he was interested in getting these misunderstandings cleared up. Having a legal beagle at Evan’s side double-downed on his ability to maintain damage control when the inquisitors returned and the questioning began in earnest.

The ‘bad cop’ agent approached Marv’s business dealings with Sean O’Reilly from several angles, to which Evan feigned innocence of having any insight other than acknowledging the two men knew each other. The other agent kept silent and took an occasional note. Evan emphasized several times that his job was to supervise several businesses which employed over one hundred people in the Chicago area, offer in-house legal counsel and nothing more. He confirmed Mr. Revson kept several confidential files locked away in his private office. Evan avoided a trap by not adding that the files were inaccessible to him – that would have been an incriminating lie.

When the agents brought up the ‘odd coincidence’ of other Revson files of personal business records being found in a studio apartment located next door to his apartment, Evan shrugged and said he couldn’t explain it. Said he’d never met the neighbors. As the Feds dug deeper, he knew they didn’t believe him but strongly suspected they couldn’t connect the dots. ‘My fingerprints are in the database through DMV but they must not have found any trace of me in the studio.’ Evan prayed that this was the case and thanked his lucky stars for having that paranoid moment the previous week when he’d wiped down the studio. The big missing element that wasn’t discussed was the telephone – neither the master cordless phone in 520 nor the second handset located on the other side of the wall in his bedroom. ‘Can it be they don’t know about the extension by my bed?’

When the topic of Sean O’Reilly was broached, Evan admitted knowing the man and volunteered he would confirm a lunch or dinner meeting with Mr. O’Reilly on behalf of Mr. Revson occasionally – but only in the role of an administrative assistant. Or as he succinctly put it: executive gofer. He expressed absolute shock at the murder and didn’t have anything to add. Down deep, Evan suspected who’d been responsible for Sean’s demise but knew he should ‘zip it.’

Finally, the two agents excused themselves and left the interrogation room. Except for the lawyer’s reassurance that this was a big mistake – said loud enough for the concealed listening devices to pick up – there was complete silence. Fidgeting, Evan felt perspiration forming on his lip and did a fast finger-wipe as one of the agents returned.

He hoped it was over for now.

The lead agent went through a rehearsed speech about Evan still being ‘a person of interest’ and he was instructed not to leave the Chicago area. Evan felt relieved and decided to end the inquisition on a positive note. His Good Samaritan moment.

“Sir, there are many people at the office who need these jobs and don’t – like me – know anything about Marv’s dealings with O’Reilly. Is it okay for us to be at work tomorrow as usual? Without a paycheck, I don’t know what some of them will do.”

“Mr. Jankovic, that very topic was discussed and the SAC has given the green light.”

“SAC?” The only thing that came to Evan’s mind was Strategic Air Command and he knew that wasn’t right.

“Special Agent in Charge…our boss. The one area that’s restricted is Mr. Revson’s office. No one’s to enter.”

“That’s not a problem. There’s no reason for me…or anybody…to be in his office.” Evan didn’t want to go in there again, ever.

“Alright, we’re finished for now,” the agent said as he opened the door. He waved Evan and the lawyer out the door and added, “If you hear anything about your boss’s whereabouts, Mr. Jankovic, I want you to contact me immediately.” He gave Evan a business card and stared at him with an expression that was somewhere between smugness and disappointment.

They left the office, silently went down the elevator and outside to the plaza. Nary a soul from the press was in sight. The lawyer offered Evan a ride but he turned it down. ‘I’ve got enough on my mind without being chatty.’ He decided taking a cab would offer time – albeit with all the ambient clunks and rattles – to think.

It was a little after four in the afternoon when Evan arrived at his apartment building. He paid the cab driver and felt relieved he was home rather than behind bars. In the mailroom, he was opening his box when a voice behind him said, ‘Hello.’ He turned and recognized the face. ‘Shit…John Kess. Just what I need.’

“Mr. Jankovic, I’m…”

“I know who you are. How the hell did you get in here?” Evan looked over the rather skinny guy and didn’t notice anything to immediately be alarmed about. ‘No camera, at least.’ He eyed the laptop case, the strap of which was hanging on Kess’s shoulder, and wondered if it presented a threat of hiding some sort of microphone.

“Visiting a friend?” John replied in a tentative tone.

“Cut the crapola. You want to embellish whatever story you’re working on and drag me through the mud.” Evan decided to be neutral and not mention Marv or Sean. “But you must know that the FBI let me go or you wouldn’t be here. I suggest you leave or I’ll call in a complaint to the cops. Unless you can prove you’re visiting someone, this is trespassing.”

“Okay, let’s call a truce,” John said. “I just want some background information…that’s all. But first, I’ve got some news for you. Mr. Revson has disappeared. Vanished. From what I understand, even his wife doesn’t know where he is. And the Chicago police are still looking for the two guys – yes, two – who did O’Reilly in.”

“But…”

“Hear me out, Evan. I have no reason to use your name in tomorrow’s story…and this story will be very well read. The only thing I need to confirm is the identity of the murder suspects. I…make that we…because this story is being nudged along with Rob Cooke at ABC…know the suspects were Revson’s employees. That’s a given. I need their names and nothing more.”

Evan shushed John as two residents walked into the mailroom. He motioned for Kess to follow him out to the elevator foyer. He wanted to ask more questions but not with neighbors coming and going. The last thing Evan needed was his name being mentioned in NewWord or on the evening TV news. Revson’s financial misdeeds were one thing; O’Reilly’s murder was quite another.

“How can I trust you if we…talk further?” Evan asked when they reached the foyer. “This has been a fucking nightmare of a day and I can’t afford to be dragged through this merde.” The possible inability to find another job, or disbarment, flashed through his mind…or both.

“My word has been very solid for a long time and I promise…cross my heart and hope to die…that your name won’t be mentioned. As a journalist, unnamed sources work just fine for the story. And for that matter, legally.”

“You missed the Boy Scout’s honor pledge,” Evan shot back.

“That, too.”

“For the record, don’t be so sure about being on terra firma legal grounds, Mr. Kess. In the United States, there’s never been a right to protect sources in a federal court. And whatever Marv Revson was up to might be tried in a federal court. I do agree, however, that federal courts normally refuse to force journalists to reveal sources, unless the information the court seeks is highly relevant to the case…and there’s no other way to get it.” Evan was proud he’d been able to spew out this point of law on the spot.

“Agreed,” John said. “But I’m only seeking information concerning a murder that won’t go higher than Cook County. So, to me, trading your anonymity for answers to a couple of questions is a no-brainer.”

Evan considered the request and what he had to lose. ‘He’s right…it’s a no-brainer.’ He took a deep breath and pushed the elevator button. “Alright, I’ll talk, but only for a few minutes. Let’s go up to my apartment where there are no ears.”

John Kess nodded and followed Evan into the elevator cab.

As they passed 520, Evan saw a ‘do not enter’ sign with FBI legalese on the door. He was relieved 522 didn’t duplicate the warning but felt a slight shaking of his hand as he put the key in the lock.

“I’m going to have a stiff drink,” Evan said when they entered the living room. “You want anything?” He decided to try civility and make the best of a shitty situation.

“Water’s fine.”

In the kitchen, Evan passed the wine and grabbed his unopened bottle of Bombay Sapphire. ‘No vermouth, no olives…just gin.’ He iced two glasses – one he filled with water; the other, 94 proof nectar from England. One sip seemed to calm his nerves and Evan knew it was time to be cool as he joined his guest, adversarial or otherwise. He handed the water to Kess and sat down.

“Can I do more than just assume you’re not recording us?” Evan raised an eyebrow and had another taste. ‘Only one of these tonight. Got things to do.’

“I’m too busy to be devious, Evan.” John rested his laptop case on the coffee table and unbuttoned his shirt and added, “I’ve got a story to put to bed…that’s it.”

“Okay, five minutes.” Evan couldn’t detect any devices and decided to get it over with.

“O’Reilly was murdered by two men. I know that much. I’ve also been told they are employees of Revson. The question is…who are they?”

“I don’t have direct knowledge.” Evan paused and took another drink. His body was feeling warmer and a little buzz was settling in his head. “Two guys – I thought of them as those ‘fucking goons’ – were always around for Marv’s bidding. Coming and going. I can tell you that things seemed to get very busy last week…after your story and Rob Cooke’s hyping it.”

“You think they were involved in those notes that were left on Cooke’s windshield and at my doorstep?”

“Best guess…yes. You gotta understand that this was highly compartmentalized.” Evan knew he needed to emphasize this point. “I was involved in managing several businesses and Marv didn’t share with me what was happening with those goons…nor with O’Reilly.”

“Names.”

“Wally Lipshitz and Moses Eisenberg.” Evan felt relief, like a five hundred pound yoke being lifted from his shoulders. “Muscle from the old neighborhood on the Southside…before everyone moved north.”

Momentary silence.

“I’ll let my fingers do some magic,” Evan finally replied. “If I can borrow your laptop. Mine’s still at the office.”

“Sure.” John unlatched his carrying case and pulled out his Dell. He flipped open the top, clicked the Explorer icon and said, “I assume you’ve got a good router in here?”

“Just watch the screen.”

John smiled as his homepage opened up. He swiveled the laptop to face Evan. “Go for it.”

Evan accessed the Revson company site and typed in his password. He waited for a moment until the next security level screen came up. Another password, another screen. He typed a different password and the records section of the company was displayed. He searched for both men and wrote down their addresses and telephone numbers. ‘So far the FBI hasn’t disturbed anything,’ he thought, as he searched for one more name. He added the telephone number to his list and closed the site. He looked at the paper and ripped off the last number before handing the information to Kess.

John looked at the handwritten data and said, “I can work with that.”

“Work fast,” Evan replied. He moved the laptop to face Kess. “Type this info someplace for your access because nothing leaves here with my handwriting on it. Okay?”

“Not a problem.”

The meeting lasted another minute. After John entered the information to an email account, he slipped the laptop back into the case and reassured Evan his name wouldn’t be mentioned.

John Kess was out the door and gone.

Evan took the final sip of his gin appetizer and called the number he’d written and torn off. It was the office manager for the company. He reassured her that it would be business as usual – almost – in the morning and requested her to call all of the department heads and pass the word along. They chatted a few minutes and Evan got an earful of gossip. He repeated his innocence and vowed that whatever Marv had been up to wouldn’t be their problem. ‘This’ll give me time to find another job.’

He disconnected the call and, almost as an afterthought, went into the bedroom to check on the one piece of damning evidence that might do him in. On the floor was his handy telephone handset that could link him to all the bad karma next door. Evan reached down and unplugged the charger. He took everything to the kitchen and proceeded to dismantle the equipment. He dropped the various pieces into a plain plastic bag. ‘The last time these parts were loose was probably on an assembly line in China.’

After changing into some casual clothes and putting on a rain jacket, he put the plastic bag into one of the pockets and left the apartment. He would walk over to Division Street and toss the bag into a handy dumpster along the way.

‘Outta sight, outta mind.’

His destination was P.J. Clarke’s for another gin, and barbeque meatloaf sandwich with mashed potatoes and string onion rings.

~~~~~

Tuesday morning. 6:30. Dry desert air. Outside the motel room, a diesel truck engine starting with a grinding cough and then engagement acted as a wakeup alarm. The noise brought Marv out of a fitful sleep and into a state of temporary disorientation. A glow of dawn spilling through the not quite closed drapes covering the window, faint traffic noise from the Interstate and the eau de motel smell added to the confusion. Quickly he opened his eyes wide and focused.

‘Fucking Albuquerque.’

He got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom – although with no tub it was a stretch to praise the room so lavishly – to pee. Afterwards, he splashed water on his face and saw someone in the mirror he didn’t immediately recognize. ‘Good,’ he thought, studying his new look. ‘Kind of a Jewish Mr. Clean…without an earring.’ He slipped on his velour tracksuit and Nike’s – which he never used for running – walked to the motel office and stopped at the coffee urn he’d spotted the previous evening. He poured the complimentary brown liquid, masquerading as coffee, into a Styrofoam thing, masquerading as a cup, and bought a copy of USA Today, masquerading as a newspaper. ‘Perish the thought of this paper doing anything in-depth.’

Back in the room, while holding the cup in one hand, he sat down on the bed and thumbed his way to the back inside page of the first section. Marv scanned fifty one-paragraph capsules of the nation’s state news and focused on Illinois. He saw his name leading the mini-story; it was a reminder that his life would never be the same. “Fuck,” was all he could say to the dingy beige walls. Marv had never thought about being in the spotlight and continually avoided it.

“I've busted my balls to keep under the radar…and now it’s really over. O’Reilly was not my lucky Irish charm.”

He took a sip of the now tepid insipidness and quickly went through the first section for any follow-up. Nothing. He clicked on the TV to check out the news. CNN was reporting on news from Washington and the local talking heads were working their way through Albuquerque’s morning traffic and weather in all of New Mexico.

An informational dead end.

Marv felt inadequate at moments like this. He’d never learned computer skills, since someone on his staff always handled those tasks, and he wouldn’t know how to find the Internet if a live laptop was dangling in front of him. He was aware that all the newspapers and television stations had popular sites – he would occasionally be shown something of interest by Evan Jankovic on his laptop – but the web never seemed all that important until now. Therefore, he’d have to wait for fifteen minutes; a pre-arranged call to his Chicago friend Rocco at 7:00 a.m. Albuquerque time to find out what was happening back home. Marv was tempted to contact Evan but realized those days were over; to do so would risk his freedom.

7:01. He dialed Chicago with his throwaway phone.

“You split outta town just in time, buddy.”

“I haven’t seen or heard much…except for a small blurb in the USA Today. How bad is it?”

The series of events, culled from the various TV and newspaper stories, were relayed by Rocco in a flat Chicago accent that used a ‘da’ for words that started with ‘th’ and ran the ‘a’ vowel with ‘aaa.’ He ticked off the bank accounts, O’Reilly’s demise, the visit to Marv’s office by the FBI, and the search for Wally and Moses led the list. He added that the newest installment of NewWord was due to be released that morning with promised new details.

The fact that the Feds had discovered a trail to some of his offshore bank accounts concerned him, but it wasn’t a disaster. Marv had cleaned out those accounts several weeks earlier and accelerated the laundering process. Although the wash through Bulgaria had cost him some major bucks, most of his cache was now in Chicom land. Specifically, Macao.

“Any idea what happened at my office?”

“Just that they searched it. On Channel 7’s evening news they showed that guy from your office…Evan whatever…being escorted into the FBI headquarters…but he wasn’t identified by name.

“He’s harmless in the bigger picture…Evan doesn’t know that much and will keep his mouth shut. The bigger question is…how the fuck did they find out about Wally and Moses?” Marv asked.

“Search me…maybe they left prints or something on O’Reilly’s Caddie. But they won’t surface for a very long time…like never…so don’t worry. You don’t sound too upset about the Feds finding out about your bank accounts.”

“Ancient history. Let’s just say that my personal 401K retirement program is alive and well.” Marv had in excess of sixty-seven million dollars sitting in the China Construction Bank waiting for him. More than enough bucks to provide a comfortable lifestyle anyplace in the world.

“For our future business together, that’s important. How’s your trip so far?”

“On schedule…even with that piece of shit car you got for me.” Marv laughed and added, “All I need are a couple of kids and I can say I’m on my way to Disneyland.”

“Driving that used minivan and blending in was part of the plan. So you wouldn’t stand out to anyone.”

“Understand…and it’s working fine. I’ll start out on the long drive to Pasadena as soon as we finish. Accounting for the time change once I hit California, I should be there before midnight.”

“Good. You call that number I gave you when you get into town. Get off the freeway at Lake Street and find your way to the Pasadena Playhouse…it’s about seven or so blocks south and all marked on a map in the minivan. My man will find you and show you the way to the house.”

“He knows I’ll only be there for two days?” Rocco had arranged for him to stay in a safe house other ‘friends’ used when they were in the Los Angeles area.

“Yep…he’ll be there to help out in whatever way. In addition to security, he’ll make coffee, do laundry…just let him know what you need.”

“Probably some assistance getting around…there’s some errands I need to make before I travel on. Does the place have a computer?”

“Of course.”

“Whoever’s there can help me check out the Chicago news on the Internet…it’s something I never learned. I want to find out what’s being reported about you-know-what.”

No problem…he’ll take care of you. Anything else?”

“We’re good, Rocco. I’m going to get cleaned up, eat breakfast and hit the road.”

“And I’ll let my man know you’ll be in Pasadena tonight. So long.”

Marv packed his tracksuit and squeezed into the small stand-up shower. He could feel the beginning of bristles on his shaved head and decided he’d ask the man in Pasadena to help him out with that grooming detail the following morning. He looked closely as he brushed his teeth and was satisfied his new look was holding up well. Marv slipped on a pair of blue Madras shorts, a coral colored pocket tee shirt and walking shoes. He looked at his lodging one final time. ‘The little people can have this crapper of a room.’ He tossed the key card on the bed, grabbed his bag and left.

During breakfast at a nearby restaurant, he thought about his wife and all their years together. They’d been living separate lives for a long time and he felt no remorse about leaving. And his sister was too busy with her family to miss him. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to contact her in a year or so,’ he thought as he cut into his omelet. ‘But I’ve got more urgent matters at hand.’ Marv let his stomach plot out the day. Lunch around Flagstaff, dinner in Barstow and an arrival snack in Pasadena.

He was proud of the way the emergency plan had unfolded without any problems…for him. ‘Rocco made it happen…that’s for sure. But is there a price to pay that I don’t know about?’

~~~~~

Kris was up early Tuesday morning. He checked out his favorite websites while nibbling on breakfast and drinking the first of several cups of coffee. The latest edition of NewWord hadn’t been posted by 8:00, so he went about getting cleaned up for the day. A half-hour later he was able to access John Kess’s story and read about the identity of the murder suspects, plus more details about Marv Revson’s offshore bank accounts. ‘That guy squirreled away a lot of goodies,’ he thought, picking up his cell phone, ‘but it’s hardly Madoff money.’ It was time to check in with Rob.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rob said with a bounce to his voice. “Sorry to put you on the backburner yesterday but it was one of those days.”

“Watched the whole thing unfold when I got home from school. You had me sucked in…so to speak…right up to the ten o’clock news. Couldn’t wait to read Kess this morning.”

“That was the idea. Hook ’em and reel ’em in. Glad I expedited sucking you in.” Rob laughed and added, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ah, sweet memories…but enough of this trash talk. I was very impressed that Kess shared a byline with you.”

Thanks…it came as a surprise and I’m pleased at John’s generosity. With help from you and several others, I was able to move the story along in a very personal way. Something like this doesn’t come along very often and I just went for it.”

“Anything else that you’re working on?” Kris hoped he wasn’t being too bold in prying but he was ‘hooked.’

“ Looks like we’ve hit the wall, Kris. I called in a few minutes ago and there’s nothing new on Revson. He bolted and left his wife of several years hanging out to dry. New York has lost interest and the news cycle has already run out. It’s the electronic age’s version of the old adage: the only thing yesterday’s newspaper is good for is wrapping today’s garbage.”

“So you think it’s completely over?”

Unless Revson or the suspected killers turn up…yeah. The Feds will be studying all the offshore banking data they have but who knows if or when they’ll share any info.”

“What’s with good old Evan? He seems to have been shuffled aside.”

The general consensus is that he isn’t lily white…but just a pimple on Revson’s ass. I hear the Feds squeezed him, metaphorically speaking, but decided he wasn’t worth the effort. So, Mr. Jankovic is free to pick up the pieces, lick his proverbial wounds and move on. I suppose he can be creative in writing a resume.”

“Maybe this will be a wake-up call for him. Evan has the potential but…he’s carrying around a lot of excess baggage. I’d like to find a boyfriend, but someone who’s not too damaged.”

“Never fear, you’ll discover the right one…probably when you least expect it. I know for a fact there’ll be a few single dudes, USDA Choice at the very least, at Jerry’s party this Saturday. You’re planning on being there…right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kris said with enthusiasm. “So it’s back to ‘same old, same old’ with you and the news?”

“Hey, hold it for a sec.” Rob chuckled as he continued. “That ‘same old’ also means we’ve got the biggest ratings of the year. And I’m sniffing around on some rumors concerning City Hall?”

“Whazzup?”

Word is filtering around that the mayor might be finally hanging ‘it’ up and won’t run for re-election next spring.”

“Hmmm, anything to do with this Revson-slash-O’Reilly thing?”

“Hizzoner has had his share of bad apples around him, but I think he’s just ready to retire and enjoy the life of a civilian. Anyway, this is all just speculation until I can nail down some facts…you know, the two-source confirmation rule. And there’s word that Rahm Emanuel may be resigning from Obama’s administration to make a run for mayor. It’s too early to say, but Rahm will have to make a move soon…physically and politically. I’m not sure he’s officially a resident right now…”

“…And how can a non-resident run for mayor?” Kris let out a sigh and said, “Life’s never dull in this town.”

“Never. But in the meantime, I must run. Let’s talk in a couple of days and re-group. If you’d like, Rick and I can pick you up Saturday night so we can all arrive at the party together.”

“Sweet…that'd work. Take care.”

It wasn’t lost on Kris that he’d had one helluva ride this past week and thought about his newest friends, Rob and Rick. ‘I’m one lucky guy when it comes to making friends. But hanging onto guys who have the potential to be a steady boyfriend is another story.’

 _______________________

TO BE CONTINUED

Stop by the Jack Scribe Forum and join in the discussion.

http://www.gayauthors.org/forums/forum/90-jack-scribes-forum/

Postscript. The Wandering Jew is a figure from medieval Christian folklore whose legend began to spread in Europe in the 13th century. The original legend concerned a Jew who taunted Jesus on the way to the Crucifixion and was then cursed to walk the earth until the Second Coming. The Wandering Jew in this story, Marv Revson, has cursed himself.