Thinking about all this would make me smile if this tape didn’t have my mouth permanently formed into a straight line. We never saw Jack again. His lovely wife, the so called Anita, also disappeared. Bill, the forensic accountant who really was innocent in all this, took over Barnum Security and renamed it Honest Abe Security. He is doing quite well. He issued a refund to Woodland for all fees paid to date and has since serviced all our external security needs.
Will mumbled something about giving Jack and Anita some fatherly advice about leaving the State and a detailed description of what would happen to them if they didn’t. Will said one of his deputies put them on a bus out of town with only the clothes on their back. Will personally repossessed Jack’s beloved ‘Vette which was fully paid off (most likely with our money). It and all of Jack and Anita’s possessions left behind were sold at the sheriff’s county fair and auction. Jay’s research found that the Federal authorities were interested in talking to the two of them regarding a variety of con related charges. Jack must have been feeling the heat. A search of his apartment found two one way plane tickets to Aruba hidden in his sock drawer. It really was a sad story. Jack and Anita were obviously very bright. They could have succeeded wildly at whatever they chose to do. They chose to lie and cheat and steal. Maybe that’s how that got their kicks. I probably don’t need to mention that Jay’s research also found that Anita, too, held an MBA degree.
Will said he convinced the court to allow Jack’s safety deposit box to be opened. Personally, since Will’s cousin managed the bank, I think he might have skipped the court thing. Anyway, inside was eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash. Will gave the money and the proceeds from the auction back to Woodland. The Circle decided to use part of it to set up a college fund for baby Boase (assuaging their collective guilt for falsely suspecting Earl) and to donate the rest to the United Way
So was Will’s story about sending them out of town truth or bull? To date, the Feds have not found either one of them. Some say Will let Anita go and locked Jack in the back room of Doris’s Diner where he remains as her on call love slave to this day. Eeewwwwww. Others advised me to watch for assorted body parts in the next few batches of X-400. Who knows what really happened to them? Who cares? The slime bucket Wickers (I am under court order to not reveal their real names) had been dealt with and most of their ill gotten gains recovered and put to good use. Will’s legend continued to expand. And, once again, we at Woodland learned a valuable lesson. Or had we? If that was such an educational event for us, why the hell am I laying here with my extremities screaming obscenities at me?
Jay came down to visit, play some late season golf and help me lick my wounds. At least, that is what he said. I think he really came down to see Will. They had struck up a casual lawman to lawman friendship on previous visits. Will said the next time Jay came down, he would take him on patrol. This was the next time.
“Man, it was awesome. I now spend eighty percent of my days chasing bad guys through cyberspace. They say some in the policing profession have itchy trigger fingers. All I have are sore keyboard fingers. Being in the patrol car with Will and chasing bad guys in the physical world is such a rush.”
“Jay, if you don’t love what you do, you should make a change. Life is too short not to spend it well.”
“Listen to you, little brother. I guess you pretty well have it made except for the occasional corrupt co-worker.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Change is not that easy for me, Mick. Nancy loves Kansas City and I have two mouths to feed.”
He did. I had two awesome (see – I’m not such a language antique) nephews, Davy and Peter. These were names that Jay and Nancy compromised on. Jay wanted to go for true classic rock names like Axl and Ziggy. Under divorce threats, he settled on names from his wife’s favorite band that bordered on classic rock, The Monkees. The boys were eight and ten respectively and were true pistols. Dad had taught them the greatest game on earth and they both turned out to be pretty good golfers. When they came to visit for a couple weeks each summer, we would have a blast.
“I know that too, Jay. Keep your eyes open, I’m sure something will come your way.”
“Are your asses permanently glued to that booth? Am I going to have to kick them out of there with my size ten butthole stompers?”
Never try to have a serious conversation while drinking at Doris’s.
A short while after that conversation, Jay did change jobs. Jay left the Feds and became the sheriff of a small town in southern Ohio with the unlikely name of Small Frick. Of course, being the mature sophisticated younger brother, I called it Small Dick at every opportunity plus a few. “Hey Jay, I hear you’re the smallest dick in Small Dick” etc. etc. I know he found this highly amusing as he always flashed the “you’re my number one brother” finger at me. Anyway, the town needed a sheriff and Jay loved the job. The honest truth (is there another kind?) is that he turned out to be pretty good at it. At least that’s what Ma and Pa said and, while they may embellish, they rarely, if ever, outright lie. I wish I could say that about everybody.