The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  The Suppressor laughed aloud and closed both emails, put his PC to sleep, poured himself a glass of very expensive wine and lay back in his recliner, savoring the moment. “The game's afoot.”

  An hour later, he awoke his PC and began drafting a reply to the Friday email.

  “You are correct that we anticipated your having concerns, and we have no preference as to whether you confirm or deny the contents of Rep.pdf or, for that matter, Dem.pdf.

  “However, we have received new information from members of the opposing side; therefore, we must adjust our discussion.

  “They have offered us 25K to keep Rep.pdf in, which is 15K more than our original suggestion to you to keep it out. They have also offered 25K to keep Dem.pdf out. Thus a total offer of 50K.

  “Please advise as soon as possible how you would like to proceed in light of this new information.”

  He saved that to his drafts folder and began a second email.

  “First, there is NO WAY we are going to disclose the identity of the author, and we frankly don't care whether you confirm (or deny, as we anticipated you would) the accuracy of Dem.pdf, nor do we care about your opinion of Rep.pdf, which we also anticipated.

  “However, we have received new information from members of the opposing side; therefore, we must adjust our discussion.

  “They have offered us 30K to keep Dem.pdf in, which is 20K more than our original suggestion to you. They have also offered 30K to keep Rep.pdf out. Thus a total offer of 60K.

  “If you want to match or exceed that offer, let us know. Else we will accept theirs in the next week.”

  He sent both through the anonymous mail server he used for that email address, turned off the PC as he usually did, drained and rinsed out his wine glass and headed to bed.

  -77R-

  Sunday, August 14, 2011

  7:55 p.m.

  A tenth-floor condo

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  “Well, kids, that first round was like all first ones are, awkward and fumbling and full of fire and passion. It had all the delicacy and technique of two high-schoolers in the back seat at a drive-in.”

  “At a what?”

  “Oh, right; before your time. Used to be places where you could watch a movie in your car.”

  “On your phone? DVD player?”

  “No, no, no. There was a big screen out in a field, and lots of cars would drive in, park, pull a speaker off a pole, hang it on the inside of the window, go get some popcorn and pop at a concession stand and then watch the movie after it got dark enough.”

  “That's stupid.”

  “Look, Jill, it was a long time ago, probably before you were even a glimmer in your father's eye. When were you kids born, anyhow?”

  “1982,” the twins said simultaneously.

  “That explains a lot.”

  “What's pop?” Jill asked.

  “Soda, tonic, soft drink; 'fizzy drink' in England.”

  “Ah, okay. Pop; hmm.”

  “Anyhow, I didn't see any teachable moments in that one. Too bad it's black and white and sorta grainy.”

  “I noticed a few things.”

  “Okay, Carie. What?”

  “Well, first, that ring clasp in front on her top was pretty cool. She just popped it open and the whole top opened. And when she said, 'Say hello to your new friends, Mitzy and Bitzy,' that was great.”

  “She sure couldn't have named them Itsy and Bitsy, could she, CB?”

  “That's f'sure, JB.”

  “And I noticed she's starting to get some tan lines.”

  “Yeah, she is, kid.”

  “Hey, Sharon, did you see how I handled that sniffer that was bugging us last week?”

  “Nope; missed that.”

  “Well, this one was named … Tim, or Lou, or maybe Tom, I think, about 50, kind of a paunch, shaved head, gold chains, all the usual shit. And he was giving us the typical crappy pickup lines and schmoozing as much as he could, full of stupid, juvenile double entendre and raised eyebrows, and Carie and I were sorta letting him think he was getting somewhere. Right, Carie?”

  “Yeah,” Carie replied, chuckling at the memory.

  “Anyhow, he asked if I was as tan all over as I was on the skin he could see, leering at me. I told him no, my skin was a lot whiter. And he told me to prove it. I know he wanted me to pull out or fold back the top of my bikini, and he just wanted a better glance at more of my boob.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I took my watch off ... and told him to get lost.”

  All three of them laughed.

  “Nice move, kid.”

  “Thank you, Auntie Master.”

  “That would be 'Auntie Mistress' to you, kid,” Sharon replied, still chuckling.

  Carie continued, “I also thought the quick-release rings on the sides of her bottom were pretty cool, too. Just one flick and gonzo.”

  “Even in black and white, I could tell she's not a natural blonde,” Jill added. “But her boobs looked real.”

  “I don't know, Jillybean; they were way too perfect.”

  “Perky, not floppy, like Sharon's are. Unga and Bunga.”

  “Hey, wait a minute, Grasshopper,” Sharon hissed, but then chuckled. “No, I know. Mine were a lot perkier in the seventies.”

  “Had to be, for you to have been such a star.”

  “Well, not a star, but I made a good living with 'em.”

  “Not just with those. I've seen some of your films.”

  “Oh, god, I hate those now. Totally plot-free, and nobody in them had even the faintest idea who Stanislavski was. And I was a lot thinner back then, too.”

  “That you were, Sharon, that you were, by what? 80, 90 pounds?”

  “Now, now, Grasshopper; show some respect for your elders.”

  “Okay, okay; sorry … Elder Auntie Mistress,” Jill said and bowed, smiling. “But I loved your screen name. Fannie Woodcock. Totally loved it.”

  “Hey, kid, I always liked those birds.”

  Carie cut in with, “He's got a very white butt.”

  “But great tan lines, Carie Berry.”

  “I don't like tan lines at all; I like an all-over tan. I can't wait to get back to Europe, where they're not as prudish as these damn Yanks.”

  “Don't sweat it, Carie; our contract's up next June. But I do like it on the beach down here.”

  “Except for the sniffers.”

  “Oh, even them. They remind me how stupid men can be; they're so easy to lead on and manipulate.”

  “Got to admit, Jill, you're really good at that. Most of 'em never know what hit 'em,” Carie said, giggling.

  “Y'got that right, Carie Berry. High five.” They did that, then Jill added, “And you remember that one guy, the chubby one with all the tattoos?”

  “The Schmoozerator?”

  “Yeah. Bald, 40s, hairdresser; you thought he was gay.”

  “Right.”

  “Kept bringing the ugliest women here and doing 'em right there in the water. Moved away a few months ago. John, Jim … Jeff?”

  “I think it was Jeff, JB, but I'm not sure. We could probably go back and find the videos, if Sharon hasn't sent 'em in already.”

  “They're gone, kids. Weekly pouches.”

  “That's good. I don't think JB could handle watching that again.”

  “Got that right, CB. Ewww.”

  Jill and Carie laughed, then Sharon cut in.

  “Ah. Kids, did you notice how quickly she rolled him over and got on top?”

  “Good for her,” Jill said. “It was what, maybe a minute in?”

  “Quick enough that we hardly saw how hard he was working,” Carie added.

  “If he was at all.”

  “Oh, meow, Jillybean. Meow. Pull those claws back in.”

  “Okay; sorry, EAM.”

  “EAM?”

  “Elder Auntie Mistress.”

  “Oh, okay.

  “And did you notice, no protection?”

/>   Carie said, “I'd bet they talked all that stuff out on the way over from the beach. They do seem to be pretty bright, both of 'em.”

  Jill added, “I'll bet she took the lead on that.”

  “I don't know. They both seemed to be leading each other.”

  “Oh, no, Carie Berry. She was definitely doing the leading. She was in charge all the way.”

  “Think about it, Jillybean. The sunscreen, the massage. He knew exactly what he was doing and where he wanted things to go.”

  “No, no, no. She was seducing him all the way. Her idea to write the sex scene; he'd never even thought about that.”

  “Oh, that reminds me, Sharon. Can you print this out?” She held up a thumb drive.

  “Sure. Just take a minute.”

  “And could you send the signal to that big TV in the corner before we go to the next round? It's kinda hard to squinch around this little screen on your PC.”

  “Can do. Another minute.”

  -78-

  Thursday, August 18, 2011

  10:30 p.m.

  Cyberspace

  The Suppressor checked his email account and found two more emails, one sent on Tuesday, the other sent that morning. He poured himself a glass of his very expensive wine and opened the first one.

  “Sir or madam, We have received your email and now have some additional concerns.

  “Firstly, we are highly concerned that the Rep.pdf file is in the hands of our opponents. It could be terribly damaging to our interests should they use it in their usual partisan and underhanded manner.

  “Secondly, we are concerned that your mercenary-like actions show us that you have no conscience to which we may appeal, that you, in point of fact, are either socio- or psychopathic, and that that reduces to nearly zero our ability to trust that you will keep your end of any bargain we may strike.

  “Thirdly and finally, despite having analyzed the multiple possibilities we find in those two concerns, we must bow to your terms and consider the fact that both parties have copies of the other's damaging file, thus assuring MAD (mutual assured destruction) if both are released.

  “With that in mind, we are hereby changing our offer to a flat 40K to keep the Rep.pdf file out, and another 40K to keep the Dem.pdf file IN. Take it or leave it, sir or madam.”

  He laughed and opened the other email, and was not at all surprised by what it said.

  “Look here, punk, we're not sure just what game you think you're playing, but you're in the big leagues now and way out of your depth.

  “Tell us who the author of Dem.pdf is and we won't come after you … for now.

  ”As for your extortionate demands, stick 'em up your ass.”

  The Suppressor laughed harder. “Perfect. So predictable.”

  Then he put the PC to sleep, poured another glass of wine and leaned back in his recliner. Within ten minutes, the wine helped put him to sleep.

  An hour and a half later, he woke with a start, then slowly and painfully unwound himself from the cramped position in which he had fallen asleep, stretched his arms, legs and especially his badly kinked lower back, then awoke his PC and prepared his replies.

  To the first, he wrote, “This will acknowledge your offer of 40 plus 40. However, be advised that the other side has offered 50 and 50. I will await your response.”

  To the second, “Now, now, now, ad hominem attacks tend not to work with us. I would suggest that you avoid them in the future and get someone who is not still in high school to write your future responses.

  “Please review the attached seven-page file, Dem2.pdf (which has not been provided to your opponents … as yet) and consider your options. As of this moment, the other side has offered 60K to keep Rep.pdf out and another 60K to keep Dem.pdf in. Should I accept their offer, I will advise the author to give them Dem2.pdf at no additional cost.

  “I will await and expect a more courteous response from you.”

  He sent both, backed up his work, then powered down the PC, drained and rinsed out his wine glass, took a couple of OTC painkillers and a sleeping tablet and went to bed.

  -79R-

  Sunday, August 14, 2011

  8:15 p.m.

  A tenth-floor condo

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  “Sonofabitch. That explains it. When they went at it the second time, they were playing out the scene she wrote, feathers and the Bolero and all. Geez.”

  “Well, you were watching it, Sharon; we only had audio and your comments. Let's see it.”

  “But I didn't have what she wrote. Okay, Jill. Here goes.”

  “They're just lying there.”

  “Oops; this is just a while after the first round. Let me --”

  “No, no, no, wait; let it play. What's she doing now?”

  “Oh, right; I forgot about that. She's doing a Suzanne.”

  “A what?”

  “A Suzanne. See how she's just using her tongue, not her whole mouth, and just in that one spot, back a ways from the end, on the underside?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That's really the only sensitive spot on the whole thing.”

  “Yeah, we know that. But why's that called a Suzanne?”

  “Well, back in the seventies, we had fluffers on the set, and they complained a lot about neck pain after a long night's work. Then one of my co-stars came up with the tongue-only idea, and she taught it to the whole staff, and bingo, no more neck pain. Her name was Suzanne, and she wanted credit for the idea.”

  “And did she get credit?”

  “Mostly in the Valley; don't know about elsewhere.”

  “Didn't I hear somewhere about some fluffers union suing the maker of those little pills for putting them out of work?”

  “Oh, Grasshopper, that was a hoax some friends of mine put together way back when. One crazy, but legit-sounding, press release that no one realized was a joke, and it got some good distribution. We laughed our guts out over that. You can still probably find it on the internet.”

  “Cool, EAM.”

  “Ready to fast-forward? Good; here goes.”

  “Go ahead – wait. Wasn't there a line in her scene that went 'Oh, my god, it's huge'?”

  “Yup, Jillybean, right here, before 'throbbing' and 'swollen.'”

  “Well, from what I just saw, that line won't fly. It's just average.”

  “But she didn't know that when she was writing the scene, did she, JB?”

  “Oh, right. Never mind.”

  “Okay, kids; coming up on it now.”

  “Hey. Where'd he get the feathers?”

  “I think I saw a big vase in the corner with a bunch of 'em in it when I was in there planting the bug, JB.”

  “Okay; she's got a remote and there goes the Bolero. Now I know she was planning this.”

  “Maybe, JB, maybe.”

  “Okay, kids, enough blah-blah. Here we go.”

  “Wait, wait. Didn't the massage part start with her suit on? Yup, right here on the first page.”

  “Hey, Grasshopper, don't expect them to follow the fictional scene she wrote exactly; this is reality, and they can improvise.”

  “Okay, okay, EAS. Boy, his butt really is white.”

  “But look how gentle and tender he is with her back, and he's always leaving one hand in contact when he takes the other away for a new stroke up her spine, JB.”

  “He does know what he's doing, kids. That's from the seventies, too. Erotic massage.”

  “Wow. That must feel great.”

  “Listen to her moan. She's not faking that, CB.”

  “I thought she was faking it that first time, JB.”

  “Could be, but that was only … what? … five or six minutes from start to finish?”

  “Four minutes, 28 seconds on the counter, kids.”

  “Not much foreplay there, was there?”

  “Nope, but she was leading him on pretty fast.”

  “Leading him in, you mean, CB,” Jill said, laughing.

  “R
eminds me, kids. Do you know what redneck foreplay is?”

  “Nope,” they said in unison.

  In her best raspy, smoky, accented voice, Sharon said, “'Git in the truck, bitch.'” They all laughed.

  “And now her neck … so gentle, but firm. Strong.”

  “Look how he's doing her arm … and her hand. Wow, each finger separately? Geez.”

  “You'd never know from looking at him on the beach, wouldya?”

  “And now the other one. Ohhhh.”

  “Careful, JB; don't get carried away. Still a long way to go on this one.”

  “Okay. I'm just imagining being where she is.”

  “Well, you're not there.”

  “Oh, geez, look at that. He's not gonna do what I think he's gonna do, is he?”

  “No, he's just moving back to massage her thighs.”

  “Good. I'd hate it if he did do dat.”

  “Lotta that back in the day, kids. And it did hurt. Never again.”

  “Me, neither, f'sure.”

  “Nor me. Yuck.”

  “Oh, she likes that, doesn't she?”

  “Oh, yeah, CB. And look at that, not a gram of cellulite or cottage cheese anywhere on her.”

  “And now her calves, one hand on each.”

  “Ankles.”

  “Feet. Oh, look, he's doing each toe. Ohhhh; nice.”

  “Ease up, JB.”

  “Okay, okay, CB.”

  “Now watch this close, kids.”

  “Oh, geez, how can she bend like that?”

  “She was a gymnast, remember, JB?”

  “Oh, ri- – wait, she's fifty, isn't she?”

  “Yup. But she's obviously kept herself in great shape.”

  “And flexibility. I could never twist my back like that.”

  “Now that's a kiss! And upside down? Wow!!!”

  “Got that right, CB.”

  “Wait, wait, Sharon. Back it up. How did she get rolled over like that? I must have blinked. Oh, I see. Wow; really limber. Thanks.”

  “And he's heading for – wait, what'd she say?”

  “She said, 'Not yet, Jake. Feathers first, okay?'”

  “Sorry; the Bolero was getting a little louder there.”