That's the Chicago Way - 6. Chapter 6 - Gentlemen Always Carry Cards

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

First, you must learn to pronounce the city name. It is Chi-caw-go, or Cha-ca-ga, depending on if you live North or South of Roosevelt Rd.

Chapter 6, GENTLEMEN ALWAYS CARRY CARDS

‘Hate to see ten bucks do a vanishing act,’ Kris lamented as he paid the fare and got out of the Yellow Cab in front of his building. ‘Especially with a U-Pass in my pocket.’ His unlimited-ride pass on the CTA cost $100.00 per semester. That good deal, along with his preference to walk if the weather was cooperating, kept commuting at a very reasonable level. But he was in a rush to get home and find the card that Evan had given him.

After a quick stop off in the lobby to check his mail, Kris made a beeline for his condo. In one quick motion, he shed his coat in the hallway and tossed the few envelopes and junk flyers on the kitchen counter ledge. In the bedroom, neatly draped over the back of the desk chair, were his jeans from yesterday. He slipped his hand into the nearest pocket and came up empty. However, the other pocket contained a business card and his comb. He fished out the card and studied it for a moment.

He hadn’t paid any attention to Evan’s obvious moves hitting on him or the card the previous evening and hadn’t noticed the formality of the weighty, ivory-card stock with raised, dark-blue engraved lettering. It was right out of the preppy, Ivy League handbook and screamed, ‘LOOK AT ME.’

Evan D. Jankovic

Attorney at Law

1360 N. Lake Shore Drive

Chicago, Illinois 60610 312.555.7174

Self-aggrandizement was the next thing that came to Kris’s mind. ‘What a card-carrying bullshit artist. Literally and figuratively. The guy’s obviously hot to impress all his potential conquests…as well as himself. It’s like he’s grooming himself to be a politician. All he needs now are connections with a few characters of less-than-stellar reputation and Mr. Hot Shot’s on his way.’ Kris chuckled and said out loud, “But wait, he’s already in the company of a few shady dudes.”

He stood in front of the bedroom mirror and bowed. “I rest my case, your honor. Vote soon and often…it’s the Chicago way.”

Although it was only 5:30 p.m., Kris figured that Rob was probably too busy getting ready for the six-o’clock news to talk and decided to text the information. After thumbing in all the data, next to the address he added home??? and cell next to the telephone number. He reviewed the text for any errors and hit ‘send.’

His next task was getting organized for his study night: changing into sweatpants, a long-sleeve tee and flip-flops, and properly hanging up his clothing accumulated from the past two days. Kris never missed a chance to get one more wearing out of a pair of pants, pullover or shirt. It was one of the personal shortcuts he’d made when he struck out on his own and didn’t have his mom’s personal maid services any longer. Besides, slightly worn clothing felt more comfortable than freshly washed ones.

Since lunch with Rob and Jerry had more carbs than he usually ate – thanks to chowing down on three slices of olive oil-dipped focaccia with his large meat salad – Kris puttered around the kitchen and decided that Campbell’s tomato soup would do the trick. There was a chill in the air from the rain front that’d passed and he decided that a bowl of soup would be just the thing to take the edge off.

The microwave’s bell dinged just as he turned on the small kitchen TV and cracked open a bottle of water. It was still tuned to Channel 7 and he heard Rob’s voice while retrieving the hot soup. Perched on a bar stool, Kris sat at the kitchen counter ledge and watched his new friend and Wendy go through the evening’s news while he ‘dined.’ Except for a brief mention that the warehouse fire was still under investigation – just before the weather – there was nothing else on the Revson story. It seemed that the 24/7 news cycle had moved on to the upcoming local elections. ‘Is that all there is?’ He wondered, thinking of an old song by Peggy Lee that his mom used to play around the house.

Kris watched the seven-day forecast before clicking off the television. ‘Sunny and seventy-five tomorrow sounds more like it.’ He rinsed the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. ‘Need another month or so of good weather.’ Like most Chicagoans, he cherished the usually mellow fall season…before the sub-zero merde rudely hit the snowy fan sometime in November. As he made his way back to the bedroom and his laptop, Kris was already planning on what he’d wear the next day. Something Dennis might like: tight 501s and a slim-cut tee. ‘Jeez, am I thinking like a teenager with his first crush…or what?’

Was it really a crush or just a fleeting infatuation? The real thing? Or a blend of taking care of his sexual urges – the perpetual horniness of a young guy in his prime – and being with a cool older guy who fit his M.O.? In one of the more free-flowing, father-adult son talks he’d participated in a couple of years earlier, his dad had admitted to ‘sowing his oats’ before settling down and Kris wondered if this was all about ‘sowing.’ He snickered when he twisted Shakespeare’s famous line to fit the scenario. Oh what tangled webs we weave, when we stick it in, and then we leave.

‘I’ll just play it one day at a time,’ he thought, while scanning his assigned reading material, ‘and forget about drawing any conclusions right now. No reason to stress over it.’ Since his explorative years in high school, Kris was pretty content about his batting record in scoring with other guys.

When his cell chimed twenty minutes later, Kris knew who it would be, and the screen I.D. ‘Cooke’ confirmed it.

“Kris, thanks for the info on Mr. Jankovic. I passed it on to Kess immediately after we got off the air…but he already had the number and the guy won’t answer his calls. So, we’re back to square one.”

“I gathered as much from the news. So there’s nothing more on the fire and whatever else is going on?”

“Struck out with our attempt to interview Revson. It was a traffic jam of remote vans at his office this afternoon I’m told, and he did a disappearing act. Couldn’t even raise anyone at his home. As far as the arson squad’s concerned, they’ll be releasing their findings tomorrow and we’ll go from there. My guess is they’ll peg it as arson foul play…and nothing else.”

“What about NewWord? Will they be able to put out a printed issue next week?”

“The only good news about the fire is that they farm out the printing, so the presses will be rolling. But enough of that…how are you doing?”

“Just chuggin’ along with my study assignments. I figure that’ll keep me busy until The Daily Show comes on since I’ve already caught the best and brightest on ABC7. I’m a big fan of John Stewart, but it blows my mind how many of my ‘contemps’ use him for their primary dose of the news.”

“I hear ya. A recent poll voted Stewart as the most trusted man in news. How do you think I feel from where I sit? We’re reporting hard news and the future leaders of our country are yucking it up with Comedy Central. Between Stewart and Colbert, all of the politicians kiss major ass to get face-time on their shows. As far as the Revson story, I’m planning on going over to Jerry Franklin’s office tomorrow to see if I can fish out some background info. Wouldn’t hurt that I can play reporter rather than being just another pretty face on TV.” Rob chuckled and added, “Not that I’m complaining…you understand.”

“Understood…my role model reporting breaking news while glowing in the latest shade of pancake makeup.”

“Hey, gimme a break. At least I don’t come off like the Republican house leader John Boehner with his perpetual tan.”

“Point taken.” Kris paused for a moment as the metaphoric light bulb switched on in a bubble above his head. “Maybe I can be of some help with Jankovic. What if I give the guy a call and hook up just to get a feel of what he’s about?”

“Is that ‘get’ or ‘cop’ a feel?”Rob asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, aren’t you the randy one.” Kris’s mind flashed back to their brief but hot encounter a few evenings earlier.

“Sorry, when I get a softball pitched to me, it’s too tempting not to take a swing. But seriously, what have you got in mind?”

“The guy seemed pretty interested when we met…and maybe I could innocently do a little re-con.” Kris didn’t want to consider where the ‘re-con’ might lead, but he thought this Evan dude might be fun in the sack for a hit and run. ‘For the cause, of course,’ he concluded.

“Kris, you know you’re potentially playing with fire? I don’t know too much about this guy; he’s probably nothing more than a paper-shuffler. But he works for Revson…and whoever else is in the mix.”

“It depends on what kind of paper he’s shuffling. I don’t plan on falling on a sword or being a martyr…nothing like that. I just thought that it might help you if I could figure out who and what you’re dealing with.” Kris knew he’d only go so far if he connected with Jankovic and wouldn’t risk his safety.

“As long as you take that approach, I suppose a little sniffing around wouldn’t hurt. Just be careful.”

“The only thing I might sniff is a used jock,” Kris replied with a chuckle.

“Ewe, TMI…but we digress.” Rob took a deep breath and exhaled. “As I said, I plan on seeing Jerry…around noontime. If you can meet up with Jankovic tomorrow, perhaps we could touch base for a sandwich on Saturday and compare notes.”

“Then I better try and track him down.” Kris figured he could hold up his end of the deal if Jankovic was free Friday evening – in twenty-four hours. “I’ll contact you tomorrow…and if it’s too late, I’ll leave a text.”

“Sounds good, Mr. Lamacki. In the meantime, I’m going to chow down on an energy bar and help pull together the ten-o’clock. Gotta run, champ.”

“Bye.” Kris picked up Evan’s card and studied it one more time. ‘You snooze, you loose.’ He punched in the number. ‘It’s only seven so we can play phone-tag for a while.’

After four rings, the call was answered by a recording. “Hi, this is Evan…you know the drill,” followed by the proverbial beep.

“Hey, Evan. This is Kris…Kris Lamacki. We met last night at Sidetrack’s upstairs deck but I was with someone else. I was wearing a polo and cargo shorts. You gave me your card and I’m taking up your invitation to call. I’m home studying tonight and I’ll leave my phone on. Maybe we could get together tomorrow night? Bye.”

 ~~~~~

It had been like being in the center of a film. Evan, imagining himself dressed in combat fatigues and boots, was on the set waiting for the director’s cue. The set was lit and he heard “and action.” Smoke bombs began a sequential ignition. In his head, Evan heard the beat of kettledrums and the syncopation of the strings section. He dashed to the Mercedes command vehicle while non-friendlies, in the guise of a TV crew, probed inside the home base. Evan could sense a distant ‘klop-klop-klop’ of perhaps a helicopter as he crouched forward the last few feet. He paused and looked off camera. The noise belonged to the enemy, advancing in another TV remote truck.

He quickly opened the driver’s door, slid into the seat and started the vehicle. The French horns and brass layered on the audio soundtrack to enhance the drama of the scene. The powerful engine came to life and he maneuvered the Mercedes away from danger. Evan noticed that the enemy was not aware of his departure and felt relieved when he rolled out of sight.

“Cut. Can the smoke, kill the lights.”

The actual sequence of events was rather bland. In fact, Marv dashed out the back door with a handful of files and a laptop, and they drove away undetected. After it was decided that Marv would be safe at the nearby Renaissance Hotel in Northbrook, they called Mrs. Revson and explained the situation. It was agreed that she should quickly pack casual clothes for each of them and they’d have a forty-eight hour vacation while the local press unsuccessfully probed for news. Room service, dinner at the in-house Ruth’s Chris Steak House, massages at the hotel’s spa, nearby movies – they’d play it like a staycation on the sly.

Evan insisted that they register under an alias and secured the room charges with his business credit card. And although it wasn’t likely, he suggested that all charges be billed to the room in case someone had the access to monitor Marv’s credit cards. Fortunately, Marv brought along a throwaway cell phone – as their means of communication – and a pocket full of cash. Evan felt the pressure from media would ease off by Sunday and they could re-group then.

By six, he returned to the now-vacant Skokie office parking lot and retrieved his car. Because he’d worn his new shoes for the past several hours, his feet were sore and one heel was on the verge of blistering. ‘But they feel like they could be comfortable with a bit more breaking in,’ he decided, driving home in stocking feet. He phoned ahead and picked up a thin vegetarian pizza at Bacino’s on Lincoln Park for dinner.

“Ah, free at last.’ He’d changed into his Doctor Oz look-alike scrubs and put some salve and a Band-Aid on his heel. Evan had just sat down in the living room, with the pizza and a glass of red wine on the coffee table when his cell phone rang. ‘Hope it’s not that Kess character again.’ He let the call go into voicemail. ‘I’ll deal with all his messages later…if ever.’

With Nora Jones’ latest album Featuring playing in the background, Evan nibbled at his pizza and sipped his Cabernet Sauvignon while thoroughly reading that morning’s Tribune. It was the first chance he’d had to analyze in detail the story concerning the now-infamous fire. While there wasn’t too much to connect the dots to Marv and company, other than the NewWord office location in the destroyed building, the incident had enough room between the lines for energetic journalists like Kess to keep the story alive. ‘And that dude on Channel 7.’

He finally finished his dinner and the paper, and tidied up. The Cabernet Sauvignon was too good to put away, so Evan decided one final glass was in order. ‘Okay, let’s see who’s been calling.’ With the wine glass in one hand, he scrolled through the messages and deleted several – including two from Kess. ‘Hmm, who’s this?’ he wondered when KRIS came up on the screen. He listened to the message twice and smiled as he remembered the hunky young guy at Sidetrack’s.

He highlighted KRIS and hit ‘call.’ On the second ring, his call was answered.

“This is Kris.”

“Hey, pal. I’m the guy from last night at Sidetrack’s – Evan. Just got your message.”

“Great. I wasn’t sure if the number on the card was your office or home.”

“Cell…I haven’t had a landline for years,’ Evan said matter-of-factly. “Hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Naw, it’s only nine-thirty and I’m still up to my fanny doing homework. FYI, I go to DePaul.”

Evan didn’t know this guy well enough to toss out a joke about Betty co-ed and took a pass. “Understand, I’ve been there…not that many years ago. I’m glad you called…the guy you were with isn’t anyone steady?”

“Just a friend from school, and it wouldn’t have been polite to ignore him last night. But I did want to follow up on our brief conversation and your card was too tempting. Whazzup?”

“Whazzup is that I’m delighted that you have the curiosity to suggest we hook up for drinks or something. A je ne sais quoi moment.”

A what? I don’t know what that means.”

“Just something, Kris, that’s difficult to express. But let’s get back to the point. Tomorrow night actually works for me…as long as it’s not too early. I think I’ll have a long day at the office. My boss is…taking a few days off and I gotta take care of all the shit details. How about meeting at that little bar on Ohio Street, the Second Story, off Michigan Avenue? It’s kinda seedy in a fun way…like a gay Cheers.” Evan wanted to add that the bar wasn’t too far from his place but decided not to come on too strong. ‘I’d like something to happen and my bed hasn’t had much of a workout for a while.’

“Cool. This is a new adventure, but don’t you usually hang out at Sidetrack’s?”

“I show up at Sidetrack’s for Sunday happy hour every week…but I thought the new bar would be different for both of us.”

“I’ve never been to Second Story but it sounds fun. I’m planning on having an early dinner with my dad but could meet up with you around nine. Does that work?”

“Absolutely perfect. I’ll wait for you at the bar. Okay.”

“K,” Kris said with a bounce in his voice. “See you then.”

“And we’ll go from there. Take care.”

For the first time in a few days, Evan had a positive peace of mind as he tidied up and moved back to his bedroom for a little channel surfing before turning in. He assumed his boss and wife were making the best of it in their four-star crash pad since he hadn’t heard from them. ‘What was the term in The Godfather…going to the mattresses? With Marv, it’d have to be a Posturepedic.’

 ~~~~~

Rob spent Friday morning attending to a little house cleaning, called Jerry to set up the meeting at half-past noon and drove over to Whole Foods for provisions. Except for a possible luncheon meeting with Kris the following day, he planned on spending the weekend with Rick. Just after noon, he called the office and confirmed that it would likely be a slow Friday news day.

It was an easy walk to Jerry’s office from the station and Rob had no concern about getting back to work on time. Franklin Associates suite was perched on the fiftieth floor of the venerable IBM building, one of Mies van der Rohe’s final designs. Even with the new nearby Trump Tower hogging views to the west, the upper floors of the IBM offered a spectacular vista of the Chicago River and the series of moving bridges that connected the city just north of the Loop.

While Jerry finished a meeting, Rob enjoyed a cup of coffee and flipped through a recent Architectural Digest issue. It always amazed him how the moneyed few lived so opulently, then immodestly showed the world how they did it. ‘Fuel for the current class warfare.’ He put back the magazine. Next to it was a recent Chicago Business with its cover story about Chicago being a global city, ranked sixth behind Hong Kong, Tokyo, Paris, London and New York. ‘Heady company. The mayor had accomplished so much during his twenty years. It’s a shame all the corruption around him tarnished the pot.’ Rob had recently reported that one hundred politicians and cronies had been caught with their ‘hand in the cookie jar’ during the mayor’s tenure. He wondered if the younger Revson would be one hundred one.

Thinking of the upcoming elections reminded Rob of a joke he’d heard concerning how a mayoral candidate was chosen. Apparently, all the Chicago political bosses and mob bosses would gather in The Palmer House. When dark smoke emerged out of the building’s smokestack, the public would know that a new mayor had been selected.

“Mr. Cooke,” the receptionist said, as she walked toward him, “Mr. Franklin is ready. May I show you the way?”

“No problem, I’ve been here before and can find my way.” Rob turned on his Eyewitness smile and said, “Thanks for the coffee. It was very good.”

Jerry’s office, in the southeast corner, afforded a picture postcard view of the city. The office was designed to schmooze and impress the clients…plus provide a little ego massage for the CEO. One of those million dollar, power-pinnacle views that definitely cost a million or more. But the difference between many of Jerry’s contemporaries and him was that he could afford it. It was known by his closest friends that Jerry’s dad had made major investments in start-ups of Microsoft and Intel twenty-five years earlier and the family was set for life…several times over. Even in today’s slump.

Jerry was at the door to greet Rob. “Welcome, old boy. It’s not often that a bonafide celebrity graces our office.”

“You’re not ‘just a guy who reads the news’ if you’re snagging the ratings, sir…and word on the street is that ABC considers your impressive paycheck to be a very reasonable investment. So cut the modesty crap, buddy, and rest your weary soul.” Jerry smiled and gestured for Rob to sit in the armchair next to his desk.

“And I’m not complaining,” Rob replied as he eased into the chair. “But I’m also aware that situation could change within a ratings period or so.” A recent article in Crain’s Chicago had pegged Rob’s cushy salary as the fourth highest among local television anchors and he just figured this loss of privacy came with the job.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Jerry asked while plopping into his blackergonomic desk chair.“Water or coffee?”

“No, I’m fine. Your receptionist took care of my caffeine fix.” Rob casually glanced over Jerry’s desk and noticed a file marked SOR. ‘Must be Sean O’Reilly’s stuff.’

“By the way, I enjoyed lunch yesterday and meeting – or I should say, seeing again – Kris Lamacki. He seems to be quite a remarkable young man.”

“Kris is a neat guy…and pretty wise for his years,” Rob said. “I suspect that we’ll become good friends, and if I can help him pursue a career in my wacky business it’ll be a pleasure.”

“Why do I suspect that there’s more than meets the eye here?” Jerry smiled and raised his left eyebrow.

“Let’s just say that he and I had a one-time encounter and moved on from there.” Rob had explained his and Rick’s open relationship agreement some time ago and decided this comment didn’t need further embellishment. “The darnedest thing is that he was the one who came on to me.”

Over the next few minutes, Rob related the window incident at the studio earlier in the week, including the initial cell texting, and highlighted the evening…up to Rob arriving at Kris’s condo. ‘That certainly needs no embellishment.’

“It was quite an unexpected experience,” Rob said in conclusion. “Kris made all the right moves and he was fine with my rules. But the great thing is that I see him becoming a good friend.”

“Like father, like son…as the infamous they say,” Jerry replied. “I’ve known his dad for a while and Greg Lamacki has been quite a player. So when I heard he’d divorced – probably about the time I met Kris in Greg’s office – I wasn’t surprised. Kris seems to be a helluva guy, so it must be in the genes. I like his dad very much.”

"So that’s where he picked up his extra-curricular talents. However, in our little gay universe that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And I think he’ll be a special guy for someone…when he least expects it.”

“There you go. That’s one reason I invited him to the party next weekend. Our buddy Russ Bennett is very single and has finally gotten over his breakup. So I was thinking…”

“…Hmm, Dr. Bennett will be there?” Rob could see some energy between Kris and Russ but didn’t want to play Dolly Levi at the moment.

“As I mentioned at lunch, Bill invited a guy to our party. Some professor who’s new in town. He wants Russ to meet him…so who knows?”

“Sounds like there’ll be plenty of options for the single crowd…especially for Russ. Good move, Jerry.”

“We’ll see. But for the time being, what exactly do you want from me with O’Reilly? To repeat what I said yesterday, I’m bound by a confidentiality agreement not to say anything that would divulge info about Sean or SOR.”

“I understand. Just a rundown about the guy and any thoughts you might have, as a disinterested third party, about Sean working with Marv Revson on deals that are less than kosher.”

Jerry nodded and launched into a summation of the personalities and his view of the potential scandal. Less than ten minutes later, Rob had a good overview of O’Reilly’s businesses but nothing more than he could pick up if he studied back issues of the various Chicago business magazines and websites. He politely nodded from time to time and wondered if it had been a waste of each other’s time to be here.

“So, nothing jumps out at you?” Rob asked.

“Nothing I can discuss.” Jerry rolled back his chair and stood up. “Would you excuse me for a few moments? I just remembered that I have to catch one of my associates before he leaves today.” He briefly looked at the file on his desk and added, “If you’re not in a rush, this shouldn’t take more than five minutes.”

This move was right out of several TV drama plots and Rob had to muzzle his face to keep a smile from creeping up. “Five minutes…not a problem.” He pulled out his cell and continued, “I’ve got a few calls I need to make and we can finish up when you return.”

“Excellent. I’ll be back in five.” Jerry walked out of his office and closed the door.

With cell in hand, Rob opened the file and moved it around the desktop until he had the best light. Jerry had already folded the pages over to mark the financial section and Rob judged there were forty pages or so to be shot. He leaned in, took the first picture and looked at the results. ‘Not bad. I just have to make sure nothing in the pictures can be traced back to Franklin Associates. But I gotta get with it.’ Rob figured that with forty pages, he needed to shoot a page every five seconds.

Shoot. Flip. Focus.

To his word, Jerry came back five minutes later and they politely wrapped up the meeting with a few banal bits of gossip that they hadn’t shared at lunch a day earlier. By 1:30, the two friends said ‘goodbye’ and Rob returned to the station and his cubicle. After ascertaining that nothing was pressing to prep for the two o’clock production meeting, he downloaded the pictures into his desk PC and quickly edited the pages that had any reference to Jerry’s company. Once he was satisfied with the results, he typed an email to John Kess with a copy to his personal Gmail account.

John,

Here’s some VERY confidential data concerning

O’Reilly and SOR. Give me a call on cell when

you get this. I’m available right up to 6pm.

Rob

It’d been a long time since he’d been quite so sneaky, but Rob felt good about being a possible contributor to John’s story. If it had legs, it was a win-win situation for all…and he was being a team player.

The afternoon in the newsroom was very routine. No major stories, locally or nationally, were in the offing. The stock market was thumping along in a lackluster motion. Politicians were positioning and course-correcting themselves for the mid-term elections. He worked on his assigned segments and recorded a ‘tease’ with Wendy for the six o’clock. Still nothing from John Kess by the time he went on the air.

Because of the Friday night theater crowds at nearby restaurants, he decided to eat in and ordered Thai food for the crew from the nearby Singha Thai. At 6:45 p.m., bags of food arrived at the newsroom and he was the most popular person in the room…for the next hour or so. Between the studio equipment hands, control room gang and the news crew, the makeshift buffet in the conference room made a dent in Rob’s personal card. ‘But I do get the airline points,’ he reasoned.

It wasn’t until eight that John Kess returned his earlier text with a call.

“Rob…what a friggin’ haul of data. Who’d you hafta fuck ta get all this?”

“And a good evening to you, too,” Rob said with a chuckle. “I assume from your enthusiastic maligning of my virtue that what I sent over is of value?”

“A goldmine to dig. Sorry for not getting back to you earlier…but it’s been a bitch trying to get reorganized with temporary offices. I had turned off my cell during a meeting and forgot to turn it back on.”

“No problem. I haven’t had a chance to study the data. Just so you know, it’s for background only. My source did me a huge favor and it absolutely must not be traceable back to him.” Rob was concerned that any direct reference would allow the O’Reilly camp to pinpoint a timeline to Franklin Associates since everything’s notated with dates. “I did notice the bank statements from Cayman Bank Ltd and Banco Do Brasil Cayman had some hefty balances…but that was five years ago.”

“ Background it is then…and the Feebie’s and IRS will welcome this info. My plan is to forward everything to my contact in the FBI office tonight and let them run with it. The only thing I’ll want from them is some sort of quote I can use for next week’s issue that vaguely refers to their investigation into improper banking activities. Play it out, so to speak, and let the bad guys know we have ’em by the balls.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll read in detail what I sent you tomorrow and get a handle on it. And I’d prefer not to be mentioned in any conversations you have with the F.B.I. or in next week’s story. The only deal that I’d appreciate is to have a twenty-four hour exclusive on an interview with you when this breaks wide open. We’re on the verge of a solid national story and the ‘suits’ in New York will be hot to trot…probably next week… I’ll probably be the point man for the network.”

“I’m good with that.”

“How’s everything else with your family? Is the police detail enough coverage?”

“The cops are terrific and my wife’s coping. But with two kids at home running around batshit crazy, life’s a little stressful. However, we’re taking turns babysitting and she likes getting out for shopping…with a police escort, of course. So that’s the way it’ll be for a while…until we get those muthafuckers put away.”

“John, good luck on the F.B.I. taking interest in the case. And don’t be shy about calling. This’ll be a down weekend for me but my partner is used to me being on call. Chill, bro.”

“Partner? Oh, I understand. Later.”

Rob shrugged. ‘Chalk it off to another cat-out-of-the-bag moment. But Kess is cool.’

The rest of the evening was very mellow. The ten o’clock was almost a clone of the earlier newscast. As soon as they signed off for the evening, Rob hung up his blazer and made an express exit to the garage and his car. He acknowledged the police detail with a fast wave before driving off. He’d already told them that he was going straight home, but didn’t add that Rick was expecting him for a little Friday night fun and frolic.

He could hear noise from the den television set as he entered their townhouse kitchen. From the laughter and banter, Rob knew that Rick was watching the Letterman show.

“Hey, babe, it’s me,” Rob yelled. “You wanna beer or something?”

The television audio was lowered and Rick said, “I’m fine…nursing a glass of wine…come on in. I’ll find some music so we can talk and…”

“…do whatever else that comes to mind.”

Rob retrieved a bottle of Heineken from the refrigerator and walked into the dimly lit den. The television had been turned off and jazz piano music was softly pulsing from their entertainment system speakers. Rick was sitting on the sofa wearing his favorite in-house ensemble – a v-neck tee and loose boxer shorts – swirling red wine in a large burgundy glass.

“Hi.” Rob sat down and leaned over for a peck of a kiss. An amuse-bouche. “Let me get comfortable.”

“The music’s fine and I’m ready for the floorshow,” Rick said in almost a whisper.

After toeing off his shoes, Rob removed his socks and wiggled his toes. Next to join the socks was his shirt, followed by his jeans. ‘That’s more like it.’ He looked down at his remaining clothing item, black CK boxer briefs. ‘I’m sure I’ll lose those in the very near future.’ He took a long sip of beer, placed the bottle on the coffee table and lay down with his head in Rick’s lap.

“Dontcha just love Friday nights?” Rick asked as he slid his hand under Rob’s CK waistband.

__________________________

TO BE CONTINUED

Footnote: As you may recall from Other Avenues, Jerry Franklin’s dad – a physician – sold his share of the family automobile dealership business to his brother in 1986. He invested $1,000,000 in Microsoft and $1,000,000 in Intel. Microsoft increased from a pre-initial public offering price of $1.05 per share to over $25.00 per share by 2005 and split 9 times. The 1986 investment in Intel’s IPO increased from $1.50 per share over a $26.00 per share, splitting 6 times, during the same period. Currently, Microsoft is trading in the mid-twenties and Intel is in the high-teens.

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

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