The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  "Oh, yeah. Low teens, like 13 percent, somewhere in there."

  "Yup. And probably headed lower. And remember the Speaker of the House saying, 'We've got to pass the bill to find out what's in it'? I think that was on Obamacare."

  Pam laughed. "Yeah, I remember that."

  "And remember that idiot Congressman who was worried that if the Marines added eight thousand troops to their contingent on Guam, the island might tip over?"

  Pam laughed even harder. "Oh, God, yes. Totally embarrassing."

  Jake laughed along, and then frowned. "But somebody elected him. Ever watched the nighttime talk show segment where the host interviews people on the street who are so ignorant?"

  “Yeah.”

  "It's frightening, frankly, 'cause these people can vote. In fact, I think he should rename the segment as 'And These People Vote?' -- or make that a tag line after each segment."

  Pam chuckled and said, "And they reproduce."

  Jake nodded and then said, "Oh, did you ever see that movie ... oh, what was the title?" He rubbed his forehead. "Damn. Silly plot, but the first three minutes were great. Had a yuppie kind of couple having a serious discussion about holding off on having children until their careers were in good shape, and then a trailer trashy couple yelling and popping kids out one right after the other ..."

  Pam said, "Oh, yeah, I did see it ... the one with the incredibly stupid rapper as President later on?"

  Jake said, "Yup, that's the one. Oh, what was the name? Damn."

  Pam shrugged. "It'll come back."

  Jake continued. "Okay; we'll see.

  "Anyhow, then you've got the Democrats and Republicans playing what I'd call 'Politics Over Policy,' and we've got that sandbox analogy that I had Donne give in his speech."

  "Oh, on the back deck of the Titanic?"

  "That's the one.

  "So as I was thinking about all this stuff, I began wondering what could happen if we got politics out of policy-making and got rid of the whole election-to-election pendulum and uncertainty."

  "Impossible."

  "Probably. But remember, this is fiction. Anyhow, I got thinking, what about a complete do-over, a blank slate?"

  "Tabula rasa."

  Jake looked a little more closely at Pam. "Exactly, but I wasn't even thinking about writing anything yet. But I realized that a do-over might call for a dictator of some sort, who didn't have to pander to the voters to stay in office. So I started talking about that idea with people, asking the ones who bitched the most about the government what they would do if they were in total charge and could make whatever policies they wanted to. And not one of them actually had any real policy ideas; they just kept bashing the government in general and the party they opposed in particular and with lots of passion. But the idea of a benevolent dictator kept running around in my tired old brain. So the next question would be how to get from here to there.”

  "Like a violent overthrow of the government?"

  "Thought about that, but that's such a cliche."

  "And treasonous."

  "But even worse, not practical. Look at what's been going on with the Arab Spring. Nope. But I thought back to Pelosi's comment and figured somebody could sneak something into a must-pass bill that declares someone the boss and get in that way, all nice and legal. Bingo. Basic setup done. Then it's just a matter of deciding what he's going to do and who or what is going to be the antagonist or antagonists, and there's the story. But not as simple as it sounds."

  "Hmm; I'd guess not."

  "So I added that to my list of things to talk about with people here in Bonita. We've got lots of retirees and many of them have run businesses, some have worked in union jobs, a whole spectrum of folks, and lots more in tourist season than are here now. And when I started asking the right questions, they gave me lots of ideas from their experiences, and round about January, I think, I wrote a first draft of Donne's speech and put it online, started getting some feedback and new ideas, including yours."

  "But not the minimum tax."

  "Nope; I don't remember who that came from, but it's a pretty cool idea, especially trying to figure out the 'what ifs' that would spin out from that.

  “Anyhow, it all sorta morphed into the idea of doing a novel.

  "But then there was one guy on the beach, kind of a sarcastic, arrogant --"

  A shrill female voice broke through their conversation, "Billy Lee, Stevie Bruce, kit thowin' sand!" Jake and Pam looked toward the water and saw two young boys, maybe six and four, doing exactly that, with each other as the target.

  Pam stifled a laugh and mouthed the words, "Stevie Bruce? Thowing?"

  Jake shrugged and laughed quietly.

  "Billy Lee, Stevie Bruce, I said KIT IT!!!! You wanna whuppin'?"

  Jake smiled. "From Lehigh; lotsa rednecks out there. Her name's Ginny May."

  Pam giggled again, "Ginny May what?"

  "No, just Ginny May; Ginny for Virginia, and May is her last name. Her hubby is Frank May; everybody calls him Frannie."

  "Really?"

  "Really. Met 'em about a year ago. And see those heavy ladies with her? That's her sis-in-law, Sally, and her mom, Lurlene."

  "Lurlene? No way."

  "Way. She's a great cook, I've heard."

  "Wow, Frannie May, Ginny May, Sally, Lurlene and ... Stevie Bruce." Pam started to giggle, then a full-out laugh. "Stevie Bruce."

  Jake put on his own deep Southern accent and drawled, "Who'da thunk it?" And he started to laugh, too.

  Then he paused, got his laughing under control, scratched his head, and said, "I forgot. Where was I?"

  Pam, still chuckling, scrunched up her face, paused a moment and then said, "Something about a sarcastic guy?"

  "Oh, right. There was this one guy named Alan, who sometimes fishes here from the beach, kind of a sarcastic, arrogant asshole ... oh, pardon my French ..."

  Pam waved it off and smiled. "No problem; that's one of my favorite words."

  "Really? Cool. Anyhow, way back, probably in early February, this clown said something like 'If you write something like that, the black helicopters'll be coming for you.' And even though I was thinking of this all as a sort of silly exercise in total fiction, that did kind of scare me some, 'cause people in power don't like to hear anything that might rock their boat, fiction or not. So I kinda backed off for a while, pushed all those thoughts down, and went back to just being the guy on the beach who tells good bad jokes and doesn't take too much too seriously ... and doesn't get taken too seriously, either."

  Jake shivered, took a deep breath and said, "Then a week or so later, I had my first black helicopter nightmare."

  -10-

  Saturday, December 10, 2011

  7:10 a.m. EST

  New York City, New York

  Jonathan Payne picked up his usual papers as he returned to his Park Avenue penthouse from his morning jog, glancing at the headlines as he rode up in his private elevator. One blared "BILLIONAIRE BUYS AMERICA," with the subhead "Disaster or Opportunity?" Another read "OBAMA OUT, DONNE IN," another read "DONNE DID IT," another went with "DONNE DONE IT," one went even further, with “DONNE DONE DID IT,” and the bottom one in the stack, the only paper to remember Donne's middle name, read "G.O.D. BUYS U.S.A. W.T.F.?"

  Back in his penthouse, Payne perused each paper patiently and persistently, making notes on a yellow legal pad, occasionally double-checking Donne's directives on his PC, until he had 27 pages of tightly written analysis and had downed seven large mugs of his favorite coffee.

  When Jennifer, his trophy wife (the third, and twenty years younger than his second), blonde, with one of those squeaky voices that's cute at first, but grates badly after about four months, brought him an eighth mug, Jonathan leaned back, stretched and groaned as she massaged his neck and shoulders.

  “Poopsie, don't you think it's time for a break? You've been at this for three hours straight.”

  “Oh, that's good, Jenn … yeah, right there … a little h
igher on the neck … ahhhhh, nice … hey, you remember Gordy Donne?”

  “Gordy, Gordy? Oh, you mean that awkward little guy who came to our wedding? With the three Amazons with him?”

  “Yeah; those were his bodyguards … oh, good; you got it … maybe a little harder, right there. He's the guy who just bought the country.”

  “Oh, I heard something about that; Marsha and Pat were talking about it at the gym this morning. That was last night, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And he really bought the whole country?”

  “Right. I can't believe he finally pulled it off; he's been wanting to do that for years.”

  “So is that good or bad?”

  “Some of both, but mostly good, from what I've looked at so far.”

  “Okay.”

  “I've got to start calling the board, let them know we're not going to build those new plants in Brazil and China; we'll be better off building them right here, probably in Florida or Texas, maybe Indiana or Wisconsin.”

  “Oh, I love Florida. Are we gonna go back there soon?”

  “Maybe in January. But I'm going to be pretty busy for the next few weeks.”

  “More than usual? You're already working too hard. I'm afraid you're gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

  “Oh, Jenn, you worry too much. And you know I get bored when things are just … ahhh, that feels great. Where did you ever learn to do that?”

  “Massage school. Those spots right behind your ears are super-sensitive. And I've got good thumbs, of course.”

  “Best thumbs on the Upper East Side.”

  “Don't you know it, Poopsie.”

  “Love you, Jenn. But I've got to get to the phone now.”

  “Oh, damn, I was hoping to entice you into the bedroom before I have to get ready for that charity lunch at the Bernsteins'.”

  “Feeling a little frisky, huh?”

  “Oh, more than a little.”

  “Maybe when you get back, okay?”

  “Okay, Poopsie. Your neck feel better?”

  “Absolutely, Jenn.”

  “Maybe I'll need you to zip me up after I shower.”

  “Maybe I'll do that. Off you go now.”

  “Okay, lovey. Remember, don't work too hard.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Okay, then. Ta-ta for now.”

  Jonathan stretched one last time and picked up his phone.

  “Hey, Phil; it's Jon … fine … have you been studying Donne's stuff? Me, too. Look, I think we need to reconsider the China and Brazil plants … right … oh, you, too? Good. And we might think about bringing more of our overseas profits back and paying a big dividend in Q1 … yeah, a big one. And we might look at buying some plants here instead of building; lots of vacant stuff around … right. I was thinking that one in Tampa; we could get a good deal on that if we move fast. But I think a lot of CEOs are thinking like I am now, and I don't want to get into bidding wars … precisely. Look, have your staff get a proposal done on those three issues and we'll get it to the board Monday, so put a rush on it, okay? What? No, I've been focused on Donne's stuff, haven't had it on. Hang on … oh, geez. Is that those Occupy gangsters again? Look at 'em. Christ, haven't they learned anything? 'Gimme, gimme, gimme.' Like little spoiled teenagers … I know, I know; right. Oh, that reminds me. How are we doing on setting up those intern and apprenticeship programs? Remember, my goal there is thirty cities by the end of next quarter, thirty thousand new … oh, good, nineteen? Good progress, Phil. Okay; give me a buzz whenever. I'll be available. Bye.”

  Jonathan stretched again, rolled his neck and made another phone call.

  “Hi, Amber. It's Jon Payne. Very good, thank you. I'll need a guard for my wife in about an hour; she's walking over to Fifth Avenue, and that Occupy movement may be on her route … no, she insists on walking … I know; can't live without 'em, either … no, I think one'll be enough … Wayne? Yeah, he'll be fine. About eleven. Just have him buzz when he arrives and I'll let him into the elevator. And she'll be coming back later … hang on a second.”

  Jonathan hit the mute button and walked into the master bath suite, where Jennifer had just started her shower.

  “Hey, Jenn, how long will that lunch take?”

  “Oh, Poopsie, I can leave early if you want me to.”

  “No, no, no, take your time; I just need to give the bodyguard a rough idea of how long you'll be there.”

  “Ohhhh, shucks. Why do I need a guard, anyhow?”

  “The Occupy gang is out again.”

  “Damn. Okay. I think we'll be done around two, maybe two-thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you get Wayne and Linda? I like them.”

  “Okay. Holler if you need a zip.”

  “I may need more than that, Poopsie, and I'll do more than holler.”

  “Okay.”

  “Be sure to take your little pill about two-thirty, Poopsie, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Relieved that he'd hit the mute button before talking with her, Jonathan returned to the living room and hit it again.

  “Hey, Amber, can we get both Wayne and Linda? Jenn likes 'em … great. And it looks like she'll be in there till about two-thirty or so… ah, the Bernsteins … yeah … oh, they do? Good; so they can just wait in there, then, with the others, okay? Good. By the way, do you still have that no-tipping policy? Okay. But your folks are so good, sometimes I'd like to tip 'em. Okay. Thanks, Amber. I'll keep an ear out for them about eleven. Bye.”

  -11-

  Six months earlier

  Sunday, June 12, 2011

  11:19 a.m.

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  Jake shivered, took a deep breath and said, "Then a week or so later, I had my first black helicopter nightmare."

  Pam smiled gently and said, "Just from that asshole's comment?"

  Jake laughed. "And some other folks, too. It was running around in my subconscious for a while and finally resurfaced. And it kind of fit in with a joke I'd made up a year before or so, that by 2020, someone in this country would be arrested for smoking a cigarette in their own home by a SWAT team that was high on legal marijuana."

  Pam chuckled. "We may be headed that way, I guess."

  "Yup. But it wasn't a SWAT team in the helicopter; I think that would have been overkill."

  "Standard overkill procedure, of course."

  "Oh, yeah. But it was two FBI agents, one old and fat and kinda dull and the other an eager, gung-ho, arrogant young punk, probably just out of the academy. They jumped out of the helicopter wearing business suits and sunglasses right into the water, sank in up to their knees, and finally clambered up to me, right here." Jake paused, reached into his cooler, pulled out a water bottle and a tube of lip balm, took a long sip and then put some balm on his lips.

  Pam pulled a bottle out of her bag and took a sip.

  Jake asked, "Want me to put that in my cooler? Plenty of room."

  "Sure; thanks."

  Jake put it in his cooler, and then Pam asked, "So what did the FBI guys do?"

  "Oh," Jake replied, "they came at me with guns drawn, and the young one accused me of being unpatriotic and divisive, and then they argued about whether that word was pronounced 'div-eye-sive' or 'div-ih-sive,' with a long I or short 'I.'"

  Pam laughed and said, "You know, I've heard it both ways ... sometimes in the same newscasts."

  "So have I. So I guess the word itself is divisive; it does what it says, makes people argue about it. Anyhow, then I told them that this was MY dream and I could make them into gargoyles or give them clown noses if I wanted to. And suddenly they both had clown noses. And then they were walking back into the water toward the helo, yelling at each other: 'Div-eye-sive,' 'Div-ih-sive,' back and forth, and when they got in up to their chests, I woke up."

  Pam laughed and then said, "
So do you think your book will be unpatriotic and divisive/divisive?"

  "Unpatriotic, no; Donne is totally about genuinely fixing the government for the benefit of the country and its people. Divisive/divisive? Absolutely. And he's got to do stuff that pisses off a lot of powerful people in order to motivate the assassination plots."

  "Assassination plots?"

  "Sure; got to have some drama in there to offset the tedium of him talking about policy stuff."

  "So are you still worried about the black helicopters coming for you in reality, here?"

  "Hmm; for a silly little novel, compared to all the real anti-government stuff on the Web? Not really, but I guess it's always a possibility ... not helicopters, but maybe a visit from the feds, one way or another. But that would be politically motivated, and depending on the IQ and bias of whoever might show up, I don't think I'd have a real problem. Plus there's the whole free speech issue. As an aside, I've actually been thinking about doing another one about a guy who's sort of an anti-Donne, does exactly the opposite of what he does, opposite policies; a bad guy. I may actually do that after I finish this one, just as a kind of experiment. I haven't mentioned that to anyone till now, and I haven't tried writing anything on that, either.

  "But, Pam, I've just been blabbing away here. What about you? What's your background? I'll bet you've done some modeling. And those sunglasses aren't cheap."

  Pam furrowed her brow and said, "Well, that's a long --"

  Just then Jake's arm shot up and he managed to catch a football inches before it struck Pam's head. Pam, startled at Jake's quick movement, started to reach to block his forearm, then stopped herself as she saw what was happening.

  The teen who'd been trying to catch the football ran over, casually mumbled, "Sorry," and reached for the ball.

  Jake held onto the ball and said, "Just a second, son. Before I give this back, let me tell you about a little beach rule we've got here. If this comes this close to us again, it's mine for ten minutes, and after that, if it gets this close once more, it's mine forever. Okay?"

  The teen shrugged, said, "Okay," and reached out for the ball again.