Devlin's Defiance: Book Two of the Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  Gordy and Rosemary looked at each other and mouthed “Cecil?”

  As Ron headed back to his wife, his shoulders drooping, Janet glared at him, as well. “I told you it could wait, Ron!” She looked at Rosemary and Gordy and shrugged apologetically.

  Ron sat down in his chair, sulking and glaring back at Gordy and Rosemary. Jenny slapped him on his upper arm and glared at him.

  “Who the fuck was that?” Dallas whispered.

  “Just the beach asshole,” Gordy said, sitting and then lying back down on his lounge, glancing up at Ron.

  “Sorry about that,” Rosemary said. “Where were we?”

  “Umm – oh, I was saying I've got a lot of other scenes sitting on the shelf, and it'll be a joy to do this one. I think you'll like it; I'll let myself go, have some fun with it.”

  “That'd be great, Dallas,” Gordy said. “Anything else you need from me?”

  “Not right now. Let's see how you like my first draft first.”

  Gordy nodded. “Great. Thank you aga- – oh, one thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “No anal, okay?”

  “No problem; I can leave that out.”

  “And no animals,” Rosemary added.

  “No bestiality; got it,” Dallas said, making a quick note. “Okay; we're all set, then. I'll shoot you an email in a few days, okay?”

  “Great.”

  “Good. I'll be in touch. Got another appointment. See ya. And, Rosemary, anytime you want to talk some more, give me a buzz.”

  Rosemary glanced at Gordy, then back to Dallas. “Will do, and thanks again, Dallas.”

  “Any time. Bye.”

  As she headed up the beach to the parking lot, Gordy snapped his fingers. “Ah, almost forgot. We're still on for Marti and Dave's boat parade party tonight, right?”

  “Oh, yeah; looking forward to meeting them. And I've got the deviled eggs all set.”

  “No peanut butter in them?”

  “Peanut butter? Yuck. Why would you ask that?”

  He frowned, “I – I don't know; it just popped into my head.”

  “Now, if I were taking little turkey sandwiches, I would put peanut butter on those.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I love those flavors together.”

  “Really? Hm. I'll have to try that sometime.”

  “I'll make one for you before we go to the party. What time?”

  “Marti said around five. How 'bout if we leave your place about quarter to?”

  “Fine. And between now and” –

  “Jake Devlin?” a stentorian male voice echoed across the beach as two men in dark suits walked quickly from the boardwalk onto the sand.

  Ron, smirking, stood up and pointed at Gordy. The two men headed down to Gordy and Rosemary.

  “Are you Jake Devlin?”

  “Actually, no, but I write under that name.”

  One of the men pulled a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to Gordy.

  “US marshals. You've been served. You are to appear before a Senatorial oversight subcommittee on the 18th of this month in Washington, DC. If you have any questions, call the number on that subpoena.”

  “What is this” –

  “Have a good day,” the marshal said as the two turned and left.

  - 54 -

  December 8, 2012

  11:38 a.m. local time

  Aboard Defiance

  In the Gulf of Aden

  “This is not a good day,” Pam said, staring out the porthole at the monsoon rains buffeting the yacht.

  “Not to worry. Defiance is built to handle wind and waves worse than this,” Jake replied. “Much worse.”

  “We could have stayed in Sydney,” she said, settling back down on the bed.

  “Yup. It was good to see some of the old haunts; first time in over forty years. But I had a flashback in the Royal Botanical Gardens.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Not the best day in my career. But I had to see it again.” He sighed and lay down next to her. “At least the operas were good.”

  “Yeah, especially their 'Aida.'”

  “I thought the 'Rigoletto' was better.”

  “But the woman who sang Gilda didn't capture her very well.”

  “Yeah, there's that. Her sacrifice did seem contrived, not, not – oh, what's the word?”

  “Natural, in character?”

  “Yeah, something like that. And I would have liked to stay a few more days to catch 'Falstaff,' too, for some comic relief. That one isn't performed too often.”

  “Only during deer season, I hear.”

  “Deer season? I – oh, got it,” Jake said, laughing. “Good one, Pam. And if that job had come up a month earlier, we could have seen those big sculptures they had all along the coastal walk there.”

  “Timing is everything … some of the time.” Pam sighed, closing her eyes.

  After a minute of silence, Pam shivered and murmured, “It's been a long time.”

  “I know. You doin' okay with it?”

  “I'm trying. Still flashing back to that video, but less often.”

  “It takes time to get back in the groove.”

  “I know. But it's tough after so long away.”

  “I know. But it is like riding a bicycle; you never really forget.”

  “Yeah; they really drove it into us, 'Keep your perspective, think of the good you're doing.'”

  “And 'Follow orders.'”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “Remember, I went through the same training, but a lot of years before you did. They refined it a bunch between my class and yours.”

  “Yeah; compartmentalize.”

  “Yup. You did fine down there, and you'll be okay; promise.”

  “I know.”

  “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Ride out the storm.”

  “Right.”

  “C'mere.”

  Pam rolled over and rested her head on Jake's chest, and he began gently massaging her shoulder blades.

  “Mmm; that feels good.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  A few minutes later, Jake felt Pam snuggle in closer to him, her leg over his and her hand sliding up under his T-shirt, toying with his chest hair.

  “He was a real scumbag, wasn't he?”

  “One of the worst.”

  “Deserved everything he got, didn't he?”

  “Yup, and maybe more.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome … uh, for what?”

  “For bringing me along.”

  “I'm glad you came … along.”

  “So how are we gonna ride out this storm?” she murmured, holding her thumb and index finger a half inch apart on his stomach.

  “Oh, I've got a few ideas,” he whispered, as she slid her hand further down.

  “Gonna bring me along again?” she whispered back.

  - 55 -

  December 8, 2012

  5:08 p.m. local time

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  “Great party, Marti.”

  “Thanks, Rosemary. It's so nice to see Gordy bringing someone along; first time in the three years he's been joining us. And it's nice that he's bringing someone as nice as you.”

  “Thank you. Gordy's told me a lot about you and Dave, the speech therapy and the fishing biz. Cool name.”

  “Oh, Fishbuster Charters? That was my idea, way back when. And Gordy's told me a lot about you, in the emails we send each other every day.”

  “Every day?”

  “Yup. And thank you for bringing the deviled eggs; they're delicious.”

  “Just between you and me, Marti, they're store bought. Shh.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Hey, Marti, the first boat's coming!”

  “Be right out, Dave,” Marti replied, as she and Rosemary finished filling their plates and headed out to the deck, wher
e the whole gang was watching the river, where the first decorated boat was just coming into view, with a Santa and six elves on board, waving to the houses on shore, and “Jingle Bells” playing over a loudspeaker.

  The gang on the deck, mostly Marti and Dave's family and friends, waved and hollered back.

  “Isn't that the same first boat as last year, Cakes?” an older man sitting with his wife and Gordy at one of the tables on the deck asked, sipping from a beer.

  “I don't know, Paul,” his wife said. “It might be.”

  “Hi, Ro. C'mon and sit here,” Gordy said, indicating a chair next to his. “Rosemary, this is Paul and Gayle. Paul, Gayle, Rosemary.”

  After Rosemary sat down and pleasantries were exchanged, Gayle asked, “So, Rosemary, how did you and Gordy meet?”

  “On the beach,” she said, lightly rubbing Gordy's knee under the table.

  “Serendipity,” Gordy added. “She's been helping me with the second book.”

  “How's that coming?” Paul asked.

  “Slow; it might be another year or so.”

  “I liked the first one, but it needed more sex,” Gayle said, “and not so much of the political stuff.”

  “No, no, no, Cakes,” Paul said. “The political stuff was important. I liked Donne's policies.”

  “Well, you're into all that economics stuff; I'm not,” she replied.

  Rosemary smiled and said, “Gayle, I think you'll like the sequel; there will be more sex in there. In fact, we met with a woman today who” –

  “She's gonna be consulting a little on the erotic bits,” Gordy cut in. “Met her on the beach, too, thanks to Rosemary. More of that serendipity stuff.

  “But, Paul, I wanted to thank you for the ideas you had last year. Those got me thinking, and I used a lot of them.”

  “No problem. I liked how you worked 'em in.”

  “Worked 'em in? Hell, that was two-thirds of the book,” Dave said.

  “Like I said, it really got me thinking, and it just evolved,” Gordy said.

  “Thought about doing some TV ads?” Paul asked.

  “TV ads? For a book?” No, hadn't thought about it.”

  “Just a thought; you might want to consider it.”

  “I will. You're the expert, after all.”

  “Long time ago; I sold the agency in '02.”

  “But I'll bet the ideas keep coming up for you.”

  “Oh, geez, Gordy, when he gets drinking, they never stop,” Gayle said. She held up a set of keys. “I'm driving tonight.”

  “Oh, I'm fine, Cakes.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “You may be right.”

  “Of course I'm right.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “You've really got him trained well, Gayle,” Marti said, laughing.

  “Don't I, though?” Gayle replied, also laughing. Even Paul smiled.

  Gordy looked over at Dave and nodded. “One, two, three.”

  “Yes, dear,” they both said in unison, also laughing. Gordy leaned over and patted Rosemary's arm, while Dave, standing behind Marti, massaged her shoulders, then kissed her. She laughed, and Rosemary joined in, patting Gordy's hand as it patted her arm.

  Paul finished his beer and set the bottle down. “Time for another. Cakes?”

  “I'll get 'em, Paul,” Dave said. “Gayle?”

  “No, I'm fine,” she said, hefting her soda can. “Still half full.”

  “Optimists see a glass as half full, pessimists see it as half empty, but engineers see a glass twice as big as you need,” Paul said, laughing loudly.

  Gordy, Dave and Marti all laughed, Rosemary chuckled and Gayle arched an eyebrow. Paul burped.

  “'Scuse me.”

  Gayle frowned, her eyebrow arching more, and signaled Dave, who went to the cooler, brought back a can of soda and set it down in front of Paul.

  “Hey!” Paul said. “A soda?”

  Dave rested his hand on Paul's shoulder. “'Yes, dear.'” Paul looked at Dave, then at Gayle.

  “Ah. Yes, dear.”

  Rosemary and Gordy exchanged smiles.

  “Hey, Gordy, I got a question for you,” Paul said after a moment's silence. “Where'd you hear that rodeo joke you had me tell at last year's party?”

  “What rodeo joke?” Rosemary asked.

  “The rodeo position joke,” Paul said.

  “Oh, right, in the book,” she said. “Now I remember.”

  “From the woman I used as the model for Pamela93. She was Mrs. Ohio or Illinois or Indiana or something back in '84 or '85, and when I first met her, summer of oh-ten, she told me that joke … in our first conversation. Sexy, funny and raunchy woman, and still gorgeous at 57 or 58. I also used her as the model for JJ. She was just here for a month, coordinating a fashion show or something for a fundraiser.”

  “And every time she emails Gordy, she includes a photo of herself,” Marti said.

  “Meow,” Gordy said, smiling.

  “I know, I know. She is gorgeous, and I know I'm being catty,” Marti said, laughing.

  “Deservedly narcissistic,” Gordy said.

  “You still email with her?” Rosemary asked, her face bland.

  “Only maybe five times since we met, mainly to get her okay on using a photo of her on the web site. Don't worry, she's dating a guy up there in North Carolina. Okay?” Gordy said, gently rubbing her shoulder.

  “Okay,” Rosemary said, rubbing his knee under the table.

  “Oh, Gordy, Marti gave us our T-shirts. Thank you,” Gayle said.

  “No problem. Wear them in good health.”

  “We will.”

  “Hey, Gordy, I got another idea for you,” Paul said, returning from the cooler with a can of beer.

  “Shoot.”

  “Y'ever heard about those 3D printers?” he asked, popping the top on his beer.

  “Those what printers?”

  “3D.”

  “Nope. What's that?”

  “It's a printer that prints in three dimensions, uses some kinda goop to print in layers, one at a time, so you can make 3D objects.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Really. You oughta put one of those in the sequel.”

  “Cool; maybe I will. I gotta check that out. Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  “Hey, look at that one!” someone on the deck yelled. They all looked out at another boat, this one with an extension crane decked out as a dragon head, maybe 40 feet long, spewing fire from its mouth as it went by.

  “Wow!” “Amazing!” “Awesome!”

  “Clever,” Rosemary said.

  A couple hours later, after all the boats had gone upriver and then returned to pass the house a second time, Paul, now noticeably drunk, slurred, “Hey, Gordy, if they can make a 3D printer, how 'bout a 4D one?”

  “4D?”

  “Yeah, do some time traveling?”

  “Sounds a little too skee-fee to me, Paul. Not my genre.”

  “Or maybe 5D, 6D, 7D? Or triple-D, right, Cakes?”

  “Okay, Paul, that's enough. Time to go home, and I'm driving. Thanks, Marti, Dave, for another great party. Rosemary, nice to meet you, and Gordy, good to see you again.”

  “Or how 'bout this? How would society be different if farts had color? Or how 'bout” --

  “Come on, Paul; time to go.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  -

  56 -

  January 31, 638

  6:43 a.m. local time

  Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch, Aberstwyxland

  Lord Emedine urged his trusty mount, Kevin, forward through the horde of three-headed Urfs who were surging toward the castle keep where Lady Licia had run with her two surviving ladies-in-waiting.

  His enchanted broadsword, Marvin, thrummed with the magic that Stanley the Sorcerer had given it the previous Thursday, thwicking all three heads of the nearest Urf cleanly from its grotesque body in one swell foop.

  The heads and the body disintegrated in
to dust in less than two seconds, sucked away by the brisk breezes blowing down from the mountains overlooking Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch and its twin castles, Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogochone, which had been built by Lord Emedine's grandfather in 597, and its later twin, constructed by his father in 623, Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogochtwo, on the opposite slope of Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch Valley, in which the residents of Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch made the best lives they could in and around their mud-and-straw hovels.

  Each morning, half the men of the village left to graze their sheep on the grassy slopes and plains surrounding the village, while the other half patrolled the perimeter, on constant watch for Urfs, Worps and Plogs, who (which?) infested the mountains and, when they weren't marauding each other's nomadic camps, came surging down into Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch to maraud there.

  Fortunately for the village people, the Urfs, Worps and Plogs only rarely ceased their infighting and turned their greedy eyes (24 per Urf, 12 per two-headed Worp and one per no-headed Plog) down to the village of Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch, on average seven times a year. But unfortunately for the village people, today was one of those times.

  Foop, another three heads gone; foop, three more; foop – oops, only two, and they immediately grew back.

  Lord Emedine reminded himself that he must carve all three heads from each Urf in one swing for it to be a fatal foop, and at least two hundred fatal foops would be needed to rescue Lady Licia.

  He also knew that this first wave of Urfs would be followed by a throng of Worps, whose single-legged bodies could only hobble or hop slowly along, and then by the Plogs, whose legless, armless bodies could only roll downhill and who (which?) would wind up falling harmlessly into the moat surrounding the village, filled with hundreds of northern crocodiles, which the ancestors of the current inhabitants of Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch had crossbred with penguins so that they could endure and survive the harsh winters of Aberstwyxland, a process which was celebrated each year with the Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch Crocopenguin Arts and Crafts Festival, which drew most of Llairpwllgwingyllchysiliogoch's three thousand-odd residents, with the exception of nine of the oddest ones, who preferred to remain in their mud-and-straw hovels, prophesying things like the development of the Internet, cyber-hacking, cell phones, the Federal Reserve, wingsuits, the discovery of anti-matter, self-driving automobiles, Operation Northwoods, a government shutdown in 2013, MK-ULTRA, the Obamacare recession and identity theft explosion of 2014, COINTELPRO, the simple yet elegant solution to the paradox of time travel, NSA surveillance, Operation Snow White, an Iran-Israel war and conspiracy theories around the deaths of Michael Hastings, Philip Marshall, Aaron Swartz and a guy nicknamed Barnaby Jack --