Devlin's Defiance: Book Two of the Devlin Quatrology (15 page)

“
So 4 to 8
percent there, between, ah, 13 and 26 mil, right?”

“
In there, yeah.”

“
Okay.”

“
We're also
expecting some loss of revenues in our consumer businesses, but not
as severe. But we're all hoping they can get their act together and
avoid the sequester.”

“
Wouldn't hold my
breath on that.”

“
At least we've
got six weeks to keep preparing.”

“
Right. Stay
nimble, Wes.”

“
We're also
analyzing the health care law and I'll hope to be able to give you a
heads-up on that in a month or so.”

“
That's going to
be complicated, and we'll need to do a lot of defensive positioning.
But our employees come first; we always need to be as loyal to them
as they are to us.”

“
At least we've
got about a year on that.”

“
But even so, we
need to stay ahead of the process. I hate it when we get blindsided,
absolutely hate it.”

“
I know you do,
Jake. Me, too.”

“
I know. And
you're coordinating with Amber on her side of the biz, right?”

“
Absolutely; just
talked with her an hour ago.”

“
Good, good.
Anything else?”

“
Uh, nothing I
can think of right now.”

“
Okay. And
nothing else here. Ah, except one thing. How are the wedding plans
coming with Amy?”

“
Great. We're
just trying to sort out if we want to hyphenate our last name, and if
we do, whether to go with Christian-Farley or Farley-Christian.”

“
Or just let her
keep her maiden name?”

“
We may wind up
doing that, or maybe just flipping a coin.”

“
Well, Wes,
whatever works for you and Amy.”

“
Thanks, Jake.
Appreciate it.”

“
No problem.
Talk with you next week or two.”

“
Good night,
Jake.”

“
G'night.”

Jake made a few notes,
returned a phone call he'd missed, shut down his PC and then headed
next door to the master suite.

“
Coming to bed,
hon?” Pam said, taking off her glasses and putting them and
the book she'd been reading on the nightstand.

“
Yup. Got a
couple new ideas.”

“
Oh, good.
You've been a lot more creative since that night with JJ. What d'you
want to try tonight?”

“
Oh, I've got a
few there, too, but I meant from my fonecon with Wes.”

“
Oh.”

“
We're gonna buy
a company that's got an idea for a design for a bird deflector that
goes on jet engines on airplanes. Looks like an ice cream cone, but
it's made out of rods, so the birds just bounce off and away from the
intake.”

“
Oh, that's a
great idea.”

“
I think so.
Remember that plane that went down in the Hudson River? The hero
pilot that landed it?”

“
Of course.
Sully or something?”

“
Right. That was
caused by birds getting into the engine.”

“
Yeah, I remember
that.”

“
Well, that's
what this thing should prevent.”

“
Wow.”

“
And then I told
him about that idea you had about the car.”

“
The FDR car?”

“
Right. And with
no electronics.”

“
Good. So no
chance of a thing like Sharon and Glenda pulled off last week?”

“
Right.”

“
Great. You
know, I don't know how you can manage to keep on top of all those
businesses you've got.”

“
Oh, I trust Wes
and Amber and the others to coordinate and run the day-to-day
operations, so I don't have to get involved too deeply in the details
and can just focus on the overall strategic stuff, at least most of
the time.”

“
Okay. And how
are Wes and Amy doing? Wedding plans still on?”

“
Yup; they're
doing fine.”

“
Good. So now
are you coming to bed?”

“
Now I'm coming
to bed.”

“
And in bed, I'll
bet.”

“
For sure. And
you too, I have no doubt.”

“
That smile tells
me you've got a new trick up your sleeve.”

“
Maybe two,
m'love. Maybe even three.”

“
Oooo, get in
here, then,” she cooed, holding up the sheets invitingly,
revealing herself in all her naked beauty. “Ginny May awaits.
Hope Stevie Bruce is ready.”

“
Let's find out.”

Jake was out of his
clothes and under the sheets in an instant.

- 39 -

November
17, 2012
6:13
a.m. local time

George
Town, Penang, Malaysia

The
naked, mutilated corpse of Dung Hong Lo, the Dragon Head
of
the Fong Sim Ung triad, was found propped against the front door
of
the
Cheong
Fatt Tze Mansion
in
George Town.

Two chopsticks had been
thrust into the eyes, another two into the nostrils and a third pair
into the ears. The chopstick in the left ear and the right nostril
were both broken; the missing pieces were held in the corpse's left
hand. The chopsticks in the ears were ruled to be the cause of
death.

A swastika, a pentagram
and the numbers 25 and 489 were crudely carved into his heavily
tattooed chest and stomach, post-mortem, and a husked ear of corn was
held in his right hand, with kernels missing in a pattern which
appeared to show the Chinese characters for either “Death by
Torment” or “Bitch Dog in Heat.”

Hu Fa TId, the
investigator in charge, wasted hundreds of his squad's man-hours
attempting to determine which of fifteen possible hexagrams of the I
Ching was indicated by the two broken and four unbroken chopsticks, a
quest at which he was ultimately unsuccessful.

On the more significant
investigation to determine the killer or killers, Hu was equally
unsuccessful, and over the next year, gang wars among the local
triads led to over eleven hundred grisly bludgeonings, executions and
assassinations of triad members at all levels, from Blue Lanterns to
Red Poles, Vanguards, Incense Masters, seven Deputy Mountain Masters
and even two Dragon Heads (Mountain Masters).

Over the next four
years, the triad wars spread from Penang to the rest of Malaysia, to
the Philippines, to Hong Kong, Taiwan and even into mainland China,
reducing triad membership by nearly sixty percent and leading to
changes in governments at all levels, from municipal to country, in
Malaysia, Taiwan and mainland China.

Even North Korea got
tangled up in the wars, and over three thousand military officers
were killed, a third of those on orders of the young and reckless
dictator, according to reports from a strange American basketball
player who had visited the country as an honored guest every year
from 2013 on.

- 40 -

November
18, 2012
10:18
a.m. local time

Bonita Beach, Florida

Another beautiful,
cloud-free, 81-degree Sunday on the beach, but the forecast included
a cool front bringing the high temperature down into the mid-70s the
next day, about the same as the Gulf and air temperatures were at
this hour. The temps were expected to stay low through Thursday,
Thanksgiving Day (and the 49th anniversary of the assassination of
John F. Kennedy).

The AA meeting had just
let out from the first gazebo, and a few of the more rugged summer
regulars were still holding their ground against the onslaught of the
snowbirds and the Canadian frostbacks, which had begun in earnest in
early November.

Three of the
Incontinentals were clustered by the stairs up to the restrooms and
the relocated showers, Millie, Fran and Alvina were holding down (as
their combined 957-pound weight easily could) their part of the
beach, and seven of the Beach Potatoes were gathered in their usual
spot, chatting and laughing and reading. Alice and three members of
the Hat Squad were not in the water, but sitting in a tight circle of
beach chairs, trading disapproving and often downright nasty comments
about the younger retirees (“Whippersnappers” was Alice's
word) who were invading their beach, some as young as 52.

Gordy was lying
comfortably on his PVC lounge, smoking and looking through a sheaf of
papers, making notes occasionally, often chuckling, sometimes
frowning and crossing out several lines of the text. Hanging off the
head end of his lounge was a T-shirt that said, “BE CAREFUL!
You might wind up in my next novel.”

As he pinched the final
ash off his little cigar and put the butt in the empty pack in his
bag, a pretty 50-ish brunette approached him. She was vaguely
familiar to him, but he couldn't pull her name out of his memory. So
he just smiled and nodded.

“
Hi, Gordy. I
met you last week,” she said, leaning her beach chair against
the side of his lounge. “Oh, is that okay?”

“
Sure, fine. And
I'm sorry; I've blanked on your name.”

“
Dallas.”

“
Dallas, right;
I'm sorry.”

“
No problem. We
had the conversation about grazing and orgasms with your girlfriend.
Rosemary, was it?”

“
Yeah, but she's
not my girlfriend; we're just friends.”

“
Oh; okay.
Anyhow, she talked me into getting your book, and I did and I've read
it. Would you sign it for me?”

“
Sure.”

Dallas pulled a copy
out of her bag and Gordy signed it: “To Dallas, Enjoy, Think &
Smile. Jake Devlin, 11-18-12.”

“
I remember now.
Rosemary said you're a writer, too.”

“
Yeah; I do
romance novels, much different genre from yours.”

“
I think she said
it was erotic fiction.”

Dallas laughed, “Yeah;
we call it 'mommy porn.'”

Gordy chuckled. “I
think I've heard that somewhere.”

“
It got
popularized with that author with the blockbuster trilogy earlier
this year.”

“
Oh, right,
right. I think I remember now. But I'm afraid I haven't read
anything in that genre. Sorry.”

“
Don't be; you're
not in our target demographic.”

“
Doing okay with
it?”

“
I think so.
Managed to give up my day job a few years ago.”

“
Oh, bravo. I
bow down to you,” he said, giving her a tip-of-the- hat
gesture. She chuckled.

“
Thanks. But I
think I'm working harder now than I did back then.”

“
I can only
imagine.”

“
Too much
promotion, too little writing time.”

“
D'you write
under your own name or a pseudonym?”