That's the Chicago Way - 14. Chapter 14 - Bingo Numbers

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

I think that’s how Chicago got started. A bunch of people in New York said, “Gee, I’m enjoying the crime and the poverty, but it just isn’t cold enough. Let’s go west.”

Richard Jeni

Chapter 14, BINGO NUMBERS

The drive across the desert was boring, uneventful and butt ugly to a fault. The exception was the 7,000-foot elevation in and out of Flagstaff: the rugged rock formations, sturdy evergreens and random beds of wild flowers presented a majestic backdrop on either side of the Interstate for about forty minutes. After that, all Marv could see were variations on a theme of brown – with a smattering of cactus, scrubby plants and sagebrush bundles – until he approached the first of the megalopolitan sprawl fifty miles outside of Los Angeles.

Twelve hours in the minivan – with several gas fill-ups, pee breaks and fast food pickings – won his respect for trucker road warriors.

Audio entertainment was limited to the AM/FM radio and, except for a few urban areas, selections consisted of Christian bible-thumpers, country music and Spanish-speaking programming. He’d turned it off in favor of road silence; Marv wasn’t into being saved or experiencing a Hee Haw moment…and his Spanish was beyond rusty. Instead, he thought about his life. Growing up with his older brother Anthony. Working with him as a gofer. Anthony’s success as a fixer around and inside the Chicago political machine. Scandals involving players ranging from the White House to the governor’s office. Marv considered his continued success in business – both legal and under the table – while his brother spun out of control and fell into the hands of prosecutors. The relationship with Sean O’Reilly and those cash-rich city contracts. Recent events. Damage control. His retirement funds being jockeyed around – leapfrogging from bank to bank.

Marv’s thoughts turned to the debut of his new life. Once he got everything lined up for his final fade out – when he disappeared without a trace – he’d settle in at his final destination. ‘A fresh start with no baggage of a wife or relatives.’ It was all very appealing.

Greater Los Angeles. Even late in the evening, vehicles of all shapes and sizes filled the eight lanes of traffic, being driven as if they were racing against an invisible clock. Marv kept track of the cities he passed and merged onto the correct freeways without accident. Not a white-knuckle experience, but close to it. For a person who normally was driven rather than drove, he was relieved when the Pasadena – Lake Street exit sign could be seen in the distance.

Rocco’s instructions were spot-on. He exited and, minutes later, pulled into the vacant, shadowy parking lot next to the Pasadena Playhouse. He grabbed his cell phone, got out of the Kia and stretched; the cool humid air embraced his stiff and weary body. The sight of leafy green trees along the streets was a subtle reminder that he’d returned to civilization. Marv reached in the front of his shorts and freed his bunched up genitals. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

The local contact’s number had been programmed into the phone. He highlighted the only stored number – marked as XXX – pushed the call buttonand let the cell do the rest.

“Yo,” said the low voice. “Welcome to Pasadena. Everything went well?”

“An effin’ drag but I’m here.” Marv hadn’t heard ‘Yo’ for quite a while. ‘Must be a west coast thing,’ he thought. “So, what’s the deal?”

“Our mutual friend said to take good care of you. I’m only fifteen minutes away and will be right there. The house is in a great secluded location without any snoopy neighbors.”

“Snoopy I can do without. I’m going to walk around the block and will be waiting for you in the lot. You know what I’m driving?”

“Yeah…but like who else is parked there. Right?”

“Valid point. See you in a little while.”

“You got it.”

Marv liked the idea of not using names on the telephone and disconnected with a feeling that he was in good hands. ‘For the money I’m paying, it shouldn’t be anything but good.’

The neighborhood, just south of Colorado Boulevard, looked safe enough so Marv strolled around. He passed the quaint patio in front of the theater and continued to a cluster of small shops. Most appeared to be interior design studios, galleries and antique stores. However, at this late hour, none of the windows were lit. He returned to the minivan and sat inside until a black Mercedes SUV pulled up next to him.

The driver’s window lowered and a man in his late-twenties, with a shock of blond hair and an overgrowth beard, nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem with you following me. Stay right behind and I won’t lose you. If we come to a traffic light, I’ll stop if I see it changing to yellow. Okay?”

“More than okay,” Marv replied. “I’m ready for bed.”

He followed the SUV and they took a few main streets that appeared to be well traveled. Finally, they drove into an upscale residential area and the streets became a little winding. Fences and hedges hid most of the houses. It reminded Marv of his neighborhood back in Chicago. ‘Make that former neighborhood.’ The SUV’s rear right turn signal started blinking; they slowed and turned into an entrance that was gated but open. Ahead was a large two-story house that looked to be mostly brick in an English Tudor fashion, lit somewhere between decorative and security. They passed it and drove on to a freestanding three-bay garage that was a few car lengths beyond the back of the house. The larger of two doors opened and the SUV moved into the leftmost space.

The young man got out of the Mercedes and pointed for Marv to park in the adjoining space. He was wearing a polo shirt, jeans and flip-flops, and looked to be around six feet and appeared to be in good shape. ‘If Evan was here, he’d be jumping all over the guy.’ Marv moved the Kia inside the garage. ‘Maybe he has a sister who’s into older men. Older men for a fee, that is.’

“Hi, I’m Gary. Let’s get everything out and move you into the master bedroom.”

“Fine with me…but why the rush?” Marv was impressed with Gary’s take-charge attitude but wanted to understand all the ground rules of this temporary home for the next couple of days.

“Once you get settled and tucked in, I’m taking the Kia to another location. But don’t worry…I’ll be back before you get up.”

Marv opened the back door and grabbed his aluminum carrying case. He made sure his retrieval didn’t telegraph anything. “Can you help with the suitcases?”

“No sweat.” Gary removed the two suitcases, closed the door, and stepped out of the garage. As soon as Marv was at his side, Gary pressed a remote button on his key ring and the garage door lowered. “Follow me, boss.”

The rear of the house overlooked a carpet of grass – perimeter lighting enhanced the lush greenness – with a gazebo and surrounding garden in the center. Marv could barely make out the high stucco wall with brick borders, but felt this was a safe location. ‘Almost as hard to break out of…as to break into.’

Gary opened the back door and nodded for Marv to enter. They entered a spacious kitchen that was dominated by a black and white tile floor. The color scheme continued with white walls and black granite countertops, which complemented the stainless steel appliances. In the corner was a booth upholstered in black and round table topped with black granite. On the wall was a small flatscreen TV.

“This is where I’ll set up breakfast for you,” Gary said, setting down the suitcases. “What’s your pleasure?”

“I dunno…juice, coffee…whatever.” Marv thought the kitchen was probably usually manned by a professional staff – it had that look to it.

“Great. I’ll have fresh-squeezed juice in the fridge ready for you, coffee and a choice of cereals set out.” Gary picked up the suitcases and added, “Please follow me to your room.”

The walking tour continued out to the hallway and up a large circular stairway. Marv marveled at the art hanging on the walls, spot lit from the ceiling. ‘I’m sure these aren’t museum prints.’ On the second floor landing, he noticed two doors on either side of the hallway and a double set of doors at the end. They went directly to the end and Gary opened the double doors.

“Here’s where you’ll stay.” Gary turned on the lights and said, “Pretty sweet, eh?”

“Sweet? It’s friggin’ gorgeous.” Marv looked at the large room and the four poster bed. It, like the rest of the furnishings, was from some English period. He didn’t know what style it was…except that it was expensive and very W.A.S.P. “This looks more like a suite at the Ritz in Boston.”

“Yeah…not quite my style, but neat nevertheless.” Gary put the suitcases in the walk-in closet and walked to another door. “Here’s the bathroom. Everything you’ll need plus a terrycloth robe on the back of the door. What else can I do for you?”

“I’m fine,” Marv replied. “After a hot shower, it’s the sack for me. I’ll probably be up early…say around six or so. My body is still on Chicago time.”

Cool. Like I said, the juice will be in the fridge. I’ll set the coffeemaker for six so you’ll have fresh ‘Joe’ in the morning. I’m downstairs in a bedroom off the kitchen. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock. Otherwise, I’ll see you later in the morning.” Gary smiled and gave a thumbs-up sign as he left.

Marv watched as the door closed. He put his aluminum carrying case under the bed and took off his clothing. He literally peeled the tee shirt from his back; after a day of compression against the car seat it was like a second skin. He dropped it on the carpet, toed off his shoes and quickly got out of his other clothes. He’d been fantasizing about a shower by the time he drove through Barstow. As he’d said to Gary – it was time for a shower and then a good night’s rest.

One eye opened. Marv was lying on top of the bed and slowly realized he’d never pulled back the covers. There was natural light coming from the windows – not bright and sunny but rather overcast – a new day had dawned. This was confirmed when he spotted the bedside clock. 6:13, Wednesday. He rolled over, sat up and yawned. ‘After a pee, I’m ready for some food,’ he thought, sliding his nude body over to the side of the bed.

A few minutes later, dressed in his trusty tracksuit, Marv left the bedroom and ventured to the first floor. The art looked more somber without the lighting, as did the rest of the house. He looked into the living room and was impressed by the detail of the English period furniture. ‘Definitely the Ritz.’ Another door opened into a paneled library. On the other side of the formal entry hallway was a dining room with a table that could easily seat ten guests. Marv felt like royalty after staying in $39.95 motel rooms the past few nights.

He moved on and entered the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was almost overpowering. The room looked more impressive in daylight because of the magnificent views beyond the three large windows. As Gary had promised, several cereals were sitting on the counter along with fresh cut fruit and all the utensils he’d need. Marv opened the refrigerator and spotted the glass pitcher of orange juice. He took a whiff and verified the juice was indeed freshly squeezed.

‘A person could get used to this,’ he thought, pouring the juice into a glass that’d been set out. He sipped, smiled at the freshness and gulped the rest without stopping. “Ahhh,” he emitted with pleasure. ‘Now for some food.’

Marv picked up a box of Trader Joe’s Maple Pecan Granola and tried to read the label. He was having trouble focusing and concentrating. He squinted and got closer to the box. It fell from his hands and he was suddenly sinking downward. His head cocked to the side and he was now looking at the granite countertop on a bias at the same level. Marv tried to steady himself and attempted to stop his falling by grabbing the counter edge. No luck. Dropping like a rock, he landed sprawled on the black and white tile floor. Dizzy. Lights flashing in his head. Blank – going from fuzzy focus to grayness. Heart attack? ‘Where’s Gary?’

Fade to black.

At first, Marv was confused. It was like waking up after an all-night bender…something that hadn’t happened since his Zeta Beta Tau days at school in Urbana. Head throbbing, limbs numb, unable to move. Sensed a musty moistness. ‘Wait, what the fuck is happening?’ he thought, while struggling to move. His arms and feet restrained – set in place without wiggle room. He opened one eye, then the other and focused on a wall of painted cinderblock. He glanced up at the rough wood ceiling and one dangling light bulb.

His bare feet felt cold and he looked down. No carpet or marble. Plastic sheeting covered the floor. ‘I must be in the basement.’ Suddenly – like a slap on his head – Marv figured out why he couldn’t move. He was sitting in a large chair made of rough 2 x 4 lumber – like a short, makeshift lifeguard stand – bare-ass naked, with some sort of metal clamps securing his wrists to the armrests. It felt like his feet were anchored to the chair legs. Marv wiggled his fingers and toes, and pulled at his ankles and wrists. No give. Puzzlement completely bypassed anger and landed on worry…specifically for his well-being. In front of him was a stainless steel worktable like he’d seen in restaurants.

“Gary,” he yelled. “Do you hear me? Get down here…immediately.”

From above, he heard the creaking. ‘Probably that asshole walking upstairs.’ A door opened behind Marv but he kept still for a moment…even though he was seething. ‘Let me get my bearing before I blast away.’

“Good morning,” Gary said as he came into Marv’s sightline. “Did you have a pleasant rest?” He set a laptop and a toolbox on the table and stepped aside. “How was your breakfast?”

“I only had juice before…” Marv stopped and instantly knew what’d happened. “You put something in the O.J., didn’t you?”

“Just a little extra fortification.”

Before Marv stood a completely different young man from the previous evening. In dress, that is…or the lack thereof. From what Marv could tell, Gary was wearing nothing besides an opaque plastic apron, plastic gloves and some sort of paper cap that covered his blond hair. Marv saw a barbed wire tattoo around Gary’s bicep and a USMC tattoo on his right chest. Gary stared at him with a confident coldness and put his fists on his bare hips.

“Enough…get me free,” Marv barked as he struggled at the restraints. “What the fuck is going on and where are my clothes. What are you, some kind of sadistic fag?”

“Well, well…we’re getting a little feisty now, aren’t we?” Gary uttered a tongue clucking, “Tsk, tsk,” and shook his head. “As for neither of us wearing clothes, trust me when I say you’re anything but a turn-on for me. It’s just a precaution if things get messy. “I’ll be happy to let you go…after you do a few things.” He flipped open the laptop and the toolbox. From the toolbox, he pulled out a hammer.

“A few things? A few fucking things? This is all bullshit. I demand to speak with Rocco…right now.”

“Rocco’s the man who’s asking. He’d be very pleased if you would humor him by honoring some humble requests.”

Hearing Rocco’s name mentioned brought about an immediate shock, mentally and physically. It occurred to him that he really didn’t know much about the mysterious man. Rocco’s name had been suggested a few years back when Marv needed someone to enforce a verbal contract with a belligerent vendor concerning owed money amounting to several thousand dollars. Rocco was the same person who’d provided one of Marv’s companies with a number of truckloads of electronic equipment – ten cents on the dollar. In his arrogance, Marv never thought Rocco would scam him, but that seemed to be the case.

His thoughts turned to the young man before him. ‘Gary, if that’s his name. Looks like a muscled surfer but talks like a lawyer. And from the tattoo, he must be an ex-Marine.’ Brawn and brains were a lethal combination and Marv decided to proceed cautiously. He focused on the hammer in Gary’s hand. ‘Is he going to use that on me?’ Marv swallowed and blinked in a fluttering motion. He was well aware of Rocco’s persuasive techniques.

“So…what say you?” Gary asked.

“You and he have a funny and scholarly way of asking,” Marv said, recognizing the phrase from Shakespeare’s time. “I’m…in the basement, right?”

“Correct. Chalk up one for the old guy.” Gary smiled and stroked his finger in a downward motion. “I like to think of this as the lower level. Kind of a dreary place, don’t you agree? But we can dispense with everything in a matter of minutes and you can be on your way.” He set down the hammer, turned his attention to the laptop and quickly stroked the keypad. He smiled when the screen came alive.

“What have you and Rocco got in mind?”

“Very simple. My employer wants a taste of your bankroll. His beak whetted. You merely need to provide me with the codes of your bank accounts and we’ll transfer some funds. Rocco is a big believer in spreading the wealth around – the teabaggers are calling it redistribution – and he thinks this is a good way to start.”

Marv looked at Gary for a moment, then at the laptop. He couldn’t see the screen but imagined it was a bank site that allowed Gary to electronically transfer funds to Rocco’s bank. “Listen, Gary. I paid Rocco a very substantial fee for helping me leave Chicago. Why should I pay more?”

Gary picked up the hammer by the head and said, “Because we can make you.” He whacked the tip of Marv’s little finger with the handle.

Marv screamed with pain and yelled, “You sonofabitch. That’ll get you nowhere.”

“What a pussy…that was just a little love tap,” Gary replied. He moved the hammer around to grip the handle and slammed the head on the arm of the makeshift chair, just missing Marv’s hand. “This is what’ll happen if you push me. I’ll start with your little finger and work forward. Eight fingers and two thumbs…I don’t think you’ll like that. Just imagine; fingers smashed, all needing repair and no 911.”

“Huu...how much do you want?” Marv had plenty and if Gary was reasonable, maybe this would all go away. ‘Or is this wishful thinking?’ He took a deep breath and added, “Why should I trust you?”

Gary laughed and put up his hand with three fingers showing. “Boy Scout honor, I guess. Now, as a matter of bucks…why don’t you start with a million and see if Rocco is satisfied.”

Marv felt a sinking, defeatist feeling spreading. “Being pressed like this, I may have difficulty remembering all the numbers.”

“Mr. Revson, it’s only a little after nine o’clock in the morning. We’ve got all day. Give it a try and I don’t use Mr. Hammer.” Gary lifted the hammer and appeared to be lining up the steel head with Marv’s left hand.

“Alright…although I protest. Let me try to recall some numbers.” Marv thought quickly about which account he could tap. He didn’t want to reveal his codes to the China Construction Bank. ‘Maybe I should use the company operating account and see what happens.’ He gritted his teeth for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Okay, I think I’ve got the numbers you need. Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Gary replied as he set down the hammer.

Marv slowly recited twelve numbers and watched as Gary typed them in.

“And your PIN.”

That was the easiest part. Marv always used his birthday, reading backwards. He told Gary the sequence of the six numbers and waited.

After completing the entries, Gary turned and frowned.

“No go.”

“Read them back to me…maybe I screwed up the sequence.”

Gary slowly repeated what he’d typed in and Marv realized he’d honestly transposed two numbers. “Hold it. The six and seven should be turned around. Everything else is correct.”

“Let’s hope so.” Gary corrected the error and smiled. “Bingo. There we are.” Gary typed more numbers and paused. He watched the screen and smiled when the electronic transfer was completed. “I’ll call Rocco and see if everything is set.”

“When do I get out?”

“As soon as Rocco says so.” Gary winked, pointed his finger at Marv and levered his thumb downward like boys do when they play like their fingers are guns. “I’m going upstairs and call him. Be right back.”

It was odd to watch Gary walk away with nothing covering his butt. Marv had the sinking feeling Rocco and Gary had just started with him.

~~~~~

Evan had accomplished a lot of work by late-morning Wednesday. Without being at Marv’s bidding, he was able to fully concentrate on the legitimate businesses that generated a sizable profit. The staff seemed to be back into a routine. He’d explained that the FBI had merely questioned him about details of Marv’s business and private life – most of which he couldn’t answer – and had released him. Evan knew many were curious about the whereabouts of Marv but had decided earning a paycheck was more important.

He was reviewing the current balances of the primary operating account and was taken aback by the recent withdrawal of one million dollars. ‘Like in the past half hour.’ There was only one person who could do that besides Evan, and he was missing. ‘What is Marv up to?’ he wondered as he studied the screen. Evan was aware Marv had his own personal accounts and wouldn’t tap into the company money unless he was in a sticky situation. ‘What the hell’ s going on?’

On his desk was the business card the FBI guy had given him. He studied the card. Adam Frawley, Special Agent, address, and two telephone numbers. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to anyone from the police or FBI. ‘But I owe it to Marv...and maybe myself.’ He printed the bank activity page, picked up the card and walked away from the desk. He told the receptionist he was taking a break and would be right back.

In the front of the building, he sat down on the ledge next to the steps and pulled out his cell phone. Evan counted to ten, licked his lips and punched in Frawley’s cell number. Two rings and he connected.

“Frawley speaking.”

“Agent Frawley, this is Evan Jankovic. We spoke…”

“I remember. How can I help you?”

“Something very odd just happened in our company bank account and I wanted to alert you.”

“Odd? I’m all ears.”

Evan told the agent what he’d just discovered. “Except for me, Mr. Revson is the only one who has access.”

“You’ve got my attention. What bank is it and what’s the account numbers?”

“Chase is our bank.” Evan held the printout in front of him and slowly read out the account number and the routing number. “I’m worried that Marv is in trouble. He has his own money and wouldn’t be dipping into company funds.” Evan knew his boss’s disappearance might change that assessment but kept the thought to himself.

“Is this the only account that’s used for the business?”

“No…there’s another one restricted for payroll.” Evan referred to the printout and repeated the other account numbers.

“Okay, I’m on it, Mr. Jankovic. In the meantime, check out the other accounts and see if there’s any suspicious activity.”

“Will do.”

They disconnected and Evan went back to his desk. He was impressed at Adam Frawley’s promptness and take-charge demeanor. He first verified that nothing else had been withdrawn from the operations account before moving on to the payroll account. Nothing.

‘Wait a minute...let me check something else.’

On an impulse, he felt and pulled out a card buried in the back of his desk drawer. It was nothing more than an index card with a series numbers handwritten on it. These were Marv’s personal accounts – at least the ones of which Evan was aware. ‘I wonder if the FBI knows about these by now?’

He typed in the numbers of the first account on the list. Access Denied. The second and third accounts yielded the same warning. ‘The Feds have been on this big time.’ He typed in the final number – it was located in Singapore – and got in. However, he noticed the account had been cleaned out of the multi-million dollar balance only four days earlier. ‘Sixty some mil. Phew. That is quite a pile of eff-you money.’

The big question for Evan was what to do with that information. ‘If I tell Frawley about the account, will he accuse me of holding back information and screw me? Or, if I don’t say anything, is Marv’s life endangered?’ The other angle to consider was whether or not Marv was still amongst the living. Evan didn’t necessarily want to put his pretty head on the chopping block and wondered if the risk in saving someone who might be already dead was worth it.

On the other hand, maybe Marv was on a yacht, sipping champagne with some blond bimbo, and laughing at everyone. ‘Which is it?’ Evan drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at the screen. ‘Fuck it. Time to make a difference...for a lot of reasons.’ He printed the page, returned outside the building and hit his redial button.

“Frawley.” Brief and to the point.

“Evan, again. I think I’ve dug up something else that might help. I’d forgotten about an index card Marv had written some time ago. It was for Mrs. Revson in the event of his demise. I just found it and realized they were bank numbers from several banks.”

“Mr. Jankovic, you are a proverbial trough of information this morning. Whatchu got?”

“The only one I could gain access to was the Shanghai Export Bank. Over sixty million dollars were withdrawn four days ago.”

“Give me all the numbers.”

Evan complied and hoped he’d done the right thing. “Agent Frawley, do you think I’m in any danger? I mean, with O’Reilly dead, Marv missing and…this is all very disturbing. Quite frankly, I’m beginning to be scared shitless.”

“Go back to your desk and I’ll call you back within the hour. To answer your question…if you’re in danger, I don’t think it’s immediate. Stay in the office until we talk. Gotta go.”

It was time for the early lunch break and he watched several people leave the building. Evan scanned the parking lot and didn’t notice any unusual cars or people. ‘But what exactly am I looking for? Best to wait inside and get caught up on work.’

Back at his desk, Evan found a power bar and chased it down with his ever-present bottle of Fiji Water. He got out of the bank site and went to his email account. First, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. No ‘having fun, wish you were here’ note from Marv. ‘Something’s definitely fucked up here. With all the money taken out of the Shanghai bank, there’d be no reason to tap the company account. Marv’s tight with the bucks, but not greedy when it comes to the businesses. And he’d never screw around with company funds…at least those that were accounted for.’

He reviewed the various emails – mostly from department heads in companies spread around Chicago – and answered those that were most pressing. The others got his standard ‘will get back to you’ reply before being moved to his active email file.

Just after one, Evan’s cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and saw Frawley’s name.

“Hi. Whazzup?”

“First, thank you for giving me the info on the Shanghai bank. It’s a valuable lead. Second, my boss feels that it won’t hurt to have protection for you…just in case. At least until we track down all the players in this new scenario. We don’t have the foggiest idea what exactly has happened to Mr. Revson…but there’s a task force on it. Nationwide.”

‘Protection?’ Evan wasn’t sure he wanted his concern about safety being verified by the FBI; it only made him more afraid. “So, what do you have in mind…for me?”

“In a couple of hours, your new best friend will be meeting you at your office. Mr. Scott Carter. He’ll be by your side until everything’s resolved. Mr. Carter works for AOI, a private firm we occasionally use when round-the-clock security is needed for high-profile people on short order. And right now, you’re very high profile. I won’t try to soft-pedal the risks here. Mr. Revson is apparently involved with some very badass people.”

“I’m to wait for Mr. Carter and he’ll have instructions on what I’m to do?”

“What we’re to do…as in you and Carter. He’ll be the lead on what you do and where you go. That’s why I said, ‘new best friend.’ Carter won’t leave your side until I’m satisfied that you’re out of danger. Got it?”

“Got it.” Evan knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. ‘But if my life’s on the line, so be it.’ He imagined Carter as an old retired cop in a shapeless Men’s Warehouse suit, a polyester necktie and clunky wingtips…like he’d seen on TV hundreds of times. ‘Probably smokes and picks his teeth with a matchbook.’

“Good. Plan on leaving your car at the office. Mr. Carter will be your transportation until this is over. Take care and good luck.”

‘Right…good luck.’ Evan placed his cell on the desk and leaned back. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine his life would get so out of control. Only twenty-eight years old and ready for the retread line. ‘When this thing is over…if I’m still around…I’d better update my resume and circulate it. Maybe take a personal inventory of my sorry self.’

At 3:30 the receptionist called Evan and said that a Mr. Carter was here for his appointment. Evan told her he’d be right out. He smoothed his hair, straightened his tie and walked to the reception foyer. He looked at the visitor and his mouth dropped open for a moment. Standing before him was the blond guy from Sidetrack’s he’d dragged home on Sunday – looking even hotter now than their meeting Sunday night. ‘Fucking…Scotty.’ Tight black jeans, black tee, a loose black jacket and black low-cut boots. ‘Probably Skechers,’ he quickly judged from the markings. Remembering that evening, Evan couldn’t help but quickly look at Scotty’s crotch. The bulge was ample. ‘Holy crap.’

“Evan, good to see you again.”

“Scotty…let’s go to my office.” Evan was flabbergasted and more than a little curious about how a pickup from the bar this past Sunday night was now his security man. ‘Things are getting stranger and stranger…but also better.’

“Nice layout you’ve got,” Scotty said. He smiled when they both sat down. “I honestly didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“What’s the deal? I mean…we boogie Sunday night and here you are on Wednesday.” Evan was trying to fit the pieces but wasn’t having any success.’

“Guess we never got around to my profession. And to be candid, I probably wouldn’t have told you. I’m an associate with AOI. It’s an international security firm and we're called on all the time by different government agencies for assignments. We’re trained to look after clients like you and have security clearances to work in very sensitive areas. That’s about it. I agree it’s a little odd to have someone I know as a client I…but it’s no big deal. What happened Sunday was off-time recreation…which I thoroughly enjoyed, by the way. But that’s history…for the time being.

“ Like...what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?”

“ Yep, except for the geography. Right now, you’re the client and I’m the protector. Period.”

“What do we do?” Evan asked. “I guess I’m in your hands.” Without saying, he’d like to be in Scotty’s arms and then some.

“If you’re done for the day, let’s get out of here. We’ll go back to your place and take it from there. As I mentioned, I’ll be driving during this assignment. As I recall, you use a card to get into your garage?”

“It’s in my car.” Evan was still struck at the almost surreal situation of being guarded by Scotty.

“Okay…give me your keys. I’ll go out, get it and return. FYI, I’m parked in the rear of the building and prefer us leaving that way; no reason to telegraph our movements. I assume there’s a back door we can use?”

“At the end of the hallway,” Evan replied. “Down past the restrooms.”

“Good. Collect whatever you want to take home and I’ll meet you there. We can talk while I’m driving.”

____________________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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