Chapter 112

Thursday, Aug. 9

I woke up with the smell of Kacie’s shampoo filling my nostrils. It made me smile even before I realized why it was in such close proximity.

I couldn’t resist groping a boob as I shifted to give her a wakeup kiss.

Kacie groaned and snuggled closer as she slowly came awake, blinking to adjust to the low light.

“So, do we flip for first in the bathroom or what?” I asked as she yawned and stretched.

She’d barely finished her stretching when she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

“Dibs!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared through the doorway.

I dressed for my workout while she took care of business. I was allowed in long enough to take a leak and brush my teeth. My sister gave me a more proper kiss before she shooed me out the door so she could shower and get ready for another morning of band practice.

I headed to the kitchen to find Mom and Aunt Karen sipping coffee. I did my best to play dumb — I know, not hard — and greeted them both as I prepared a bowl of cereal. I promised myself to not ask about their sleeping arrangements as long as no one questioned mine.

After downing my pineapple juice, I hustled out the door and hoofed it to the driving range in plenty of time to let Jeremy Porter try to put a football-sized hole in my torso. I had no doubt that Reggie Terrell couldn’t throw any harder. I guess I’d find out Monday morning.

Gassers seemed almost too easy for some reason. I was easily in the middle of the pack and felt I could at least stay a step ahead of some of the defenders. It was the ones I couldn’t outrun — like Marshawn, Darius and Jerome — who would make me pay for the crime of being a slow white boy.

A few more fastballs from Jeremy did make Jed’s snaps easier to handle. I felt I was getting them down on the tee in plenty of time for both kickers. I still needed to work on “laces out,” but there were still 22 days left to work it all out. And there was always the chance Coach Tucker would find someone else to do the job.

We huddled, shouted “TEAM!” on three and dispersed. After showering and dressing for work, our morning crew quickly sorted the delivery and filled what orders the patrons had left in their cabanas. It was another slow day as more mothers and children apparently were off doing their back-to-school shopping, but a corporate party was scheduled for the evening, giving the cheerleaders a chance to begin raising money for Sherry Parker.

Arlene arrived about 11 with Jan Metzger in tow. Some of the Gang of Eight drifted in and out, but even they seemed to be distracted by preparations for the new school year.

We got busy enough during lunch to make having shown up for work today worth the effort. The patrons seemed to sense the guys were taking a hit in the wallet. All of a sudden, $2 tips became $5 and $5 became $10. I wasn’t that worried about it, but Chuck, David and Lloyd were appreciative and kept putting forth a little extra effort.

Again, there was no argument when we clocked out to make way for the afternoon crew. A couple of them would get to pick up a some extra hours handling restocking duties for the party the cheerleaders were working. Mr. Alvarez said he expected things to pick up on Friday with Saturday and Sunday being busier than normal as club members squeezed in one last weekend before the start of school.

We got in one last lower-body workout with David again adding a little extra weight to what I’d been lifting. The first couple of days of school would see us testing during athletic period to see who had improved on the numbers posted back in May. I had no issue with that. The bar was so low for me, it was practically sitting on the floor.

I showered, dressed, grabbed a cheeseburger basket for lunch and went to check in with Arlene. We never had really discussed the Julia Fairchild situation and the redheaded goddess wanted to gauge my interest in fulfilling the contract should Armand complete his proposed takeover of the agency.

It was looking like Julia’s lawyers were pushing her to accept a plea deal that would mean a few years in the clink, but leave her financially viable upon her release. One issue appeared to be how much difficulty she would have in regaining her passport. Arlene was of the opinion that Julia would have no problem catching on with a fashion house or modeling agency in a country where her activities were not considered as big a deal as they were here in the States, it was just a matter of which continent she’d be working from.

I told Arlene pretty much what I’d told my grandfather, that I’d be willing to consider offers but it wouldn’t be my top priority for the next few months. I wanted to focus on school and football. Mom would have my ass if I didn’t bring home straight A’s this fall.

We were pretty much finished talking business and were just lounging in the shade of the awning when a pair of uniformed police officers strolled up and asked to speak with a Mrs. Arlene Jenson. The redhead identified herself with a confused look on her face.

“What can I do for you, Officer?” she asked.

“Would you please step inside, ma’am?” asked the cop who seemed to be the designated talker.

They went into the cabana while the other cop moved to take up position outside the door. Jan and I exchanged curious looks and shifted to make sure we weren’t in the second officer’s way.

I heard Arlene gasp a startled “No!” and looked up in time to see her cover her lower face with both hands as she sank to sit on the couch. The cop who was talking to her took a moment to close the door and draw the privacy curtain.

Jan and I exchanged another look that was more than idle curiosity. By now, just about everyone in the pool area was staring in our direction. I’m sure the gossip mill was already running at full speed.

We sat there for a good 15 minutes before the policeman drew the curtain back and opened the door. He gave Arlene a card and said to call that number if she thought of anything useful before collecting his partner and departing.

Jan waited just long enough for the officers to reach the end of the pool before racing into the cabana to check on her friend. Arlene mumbled something that I couldn’t make out and the blonde turned to motion me inside.

“She only wants to say this once,” Jan said.

Arlene went to the kitchenette, pulled a bottle of white wine from the little fridge and took a healthy slug straight from the bottle. She was obviously unsettled as she turned to the counter, setting the bottle down and placing both hands on the surface for support.

“Aaron was found dead in his cell this morning,” she finally forced out. “The police are investigating it as a murder.”

Whoa! I definitely was not expecting to hear something like that.

Aaron Jenson, Arlene’s frat boy stepson and the guy who’d sucker punched me more than two months ago, had been found hanging with a bedsheet wrapped around his neck in what Arlene said the policeman described as a clumsy attempt to make a homicide look like a suicide. The preliminary investigation showed he had died of strangulation, but the injuries were not consistent with hanging.

He’d also been raped — likely by multiple subjects, based on the amount of semen that had run down his legs — and had most of his teeth knocked out and been facefucked with more semen left as evidence of such activity. His body had been “brutally beaten” and was covered in bruises. An autopsy would determine the full extent of his injuries and an official cause of death.

The list of suspects was basically everyone in that wing of the jail, Arlene said. Aaron’s cellmate had conveniently been isolated in the infirmary for the last few days and there were no witnesses. Or at least, no one could remember as many as eight subjects gaining entry to a locked cell in the middle of the night, beating the shit out of Aaron, having a gangbang and taking the time to hang him from a light fixture.

Nope, didn’t see or hear a thing, boss.

I can’t say I was terribly distraught at the news. My one meeting with young Mr. Jenson, brief as it was, had been decidedly less than pleasant. I tried not to think of Grandpa’s speech on dealing with such assholes in a manner that would render them incapable of such behavior in the future. I didn’t want to know if George Patterson was really coldblooded enough to order a hit like that, but it was his underage daughter whom Aaron had left showing her tits in public.

Actually, on some level, I was a little surprised the asshole had made it two months without becoming somebody’s jailhouse bitch.

One issue I was glad I didn’t have to deal with was the shitload of paperwork that Aaron’s death would surely generate. In addition to the death itself, there would be investigations — city, county, state and possibly federal — into just what went wrong with jail security to allow such an event to take place. Heads always seemed to roll in such instances, and there seemed to be little regard as to whether they were the right ones or not.

And God forbid if anyone’s civil rights were thought to have been violated either before, during or after. That was just a whole other can of worms that didn’t need to be opened.

Then there was the disposition of Aaron’s criminal charges. The district attorney and courts couldn’t just act like none of it ever happened. Procedures had to be followed and documents had to be created, filed, approved and signed to make it all go away. One misplaced comma could stall the process for weeks.

Then there was the toll on Aaron’s family and friends. I’d never met Dr. Jenson nor his first wife. I didn’t even know if they had other children. But I’d hate to sit through a funeral where someone wasted an hour or so trying to say nice things about a douchebag with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement and a penchant for drug dealing and rape, if you believed the gossip about him.