Chapter 41: Extracting Leaches

"Now," spoke Joe into his cell phone when Marianne had signaled him Hauser's main leech had the forged nursing.license by pressing the green button of her phone and letting it ring on a second phone of Joe's. She'd have waited three seconds and shut off the call if the paper hadn't been in the villain's possession. The simultaneous confrontation would have happened anyway, but delayed a couple minutes and with the awareness that the main asshole would have more chance of squirming away. Plan B proved unnecessary.

"Now Miss Koons," spoke the middle aged viper, "all's I need is a signature on the contract and I'll give you your bonus."

"Do you mind if I read it?" asked Marianne.

"You know what's in it. Go ahead and sign it and you'll be well rewarded."

"My dad always told me to read before I sign."

"Everything we discussed is in there."

"You think I can remember everything from a week ago? Besides, how do I know you didn't slip in something regarding the possession of my soul? I mean, you haven't exactly presented yourself as the most trustworthy person in the world, have you? Forging a license and hiring a mistress as a spy. You want me as your whore, and you're hiring me as such, n'est-ce pas?"

Joe entered accompanied by the hospice administrator's secretary. "Who are you?" asked the distinguished looking slime ball.

"Joseph Solomon, Esquire," said Joe. The secretary leaned over the desk and pressed a couple buttons. "Everyone set?" asked Joe. The phone squealed and reset itself and voices reported in. "1 good" "2 good" etc. until all five responded.

"What the fuck is going on?" the slimeball stood, livid. Reaching into his jacket pocket had Joe and Marianne pulling their guns from jacket pocket and purse.

"Put the cell phone down slowly," smiled Joe. Marianne chuckled. "Marianne, could you check if he actually has a weapon?"

"Yes Master," said Marianne, widening the eyes of the secretary and the slime ball.

Joe shook his head. "Cut that out, Sweetness."

"Well you are!" She tapped down the asshole's body, finding nothing dangerous. Checking between his legs, she squeezed his scrotum hard.

"Ow. Fuck. What's... ?"

"Sit, asshole," commanded Joe. Other voices had spoken similarly. "Read this." Joe tossed a ream of paper in front of the head schemer.

"But it's a fucking..." the jerk looked at the last page, " ... twenty-six pages."

"Then you'd better start. We're not going to stay all day are we? Everyone settled in reading?"

"Yes, boss," or variations came through the speakerphone.

"No trouble?"

"NH 2 here. The guy had a fucking .22!" said J.

"I guess you were right about that one," Joe snickered.

"Yeah, a real Scarface lover. He's even jittery like his nose just buried itself in a mound of cocaine. You think I should read it to him?"

"Go ahead."

"I Nicholas Ferrano do hereby confess to the following felonious crimes as an associate of the Hauser Group..."

"Hey boss, the so called shipping clerk's heading to NH three's office."

"Help him through the door."

"Yes boss. Excuse me cousin. Let me get the door for you."

"What do you want from me?"

"The leader hath spoken," smirked Joe. "A better question might be 'what can we do for you to keep you out of dockets and jail and prosecution and prison?' Lionel?"

"Ready boss."

"We're keeping it simple, asshole. Here's the deal." Joe reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a manila envelope. "Open it."

"You're paying me?"

"Looks that way. We've had experts examine the four properties housing your elderly care facilities you failed to administrate with any integrity. Three barely stand on their rotting foundations. This one on the other hand happens to be quite sturdy. You'll see the nursing homes have been assessed around a million five each, including all the equipment while this property we're willing to purchase for an extra million."

"That's ... almost reasonable."

"Like I said, we assessed their value. Now in that pile of papers I handed you first, you'll notice quite a few grievances from nurses, doctors and orderlies, etc, and malfeasances resulting in deaths or worsening conditions of patients. A few personal pages in the packet each of you holds reveal specific past transgressions and the people transgressed. In order to rectify the situation, as well as paying for all the trouble my associates and I have gone through to present your criminality to you, or to certain departments of justice who might find the reading extremely interesting if you don't obey, we're asking you to transfer all the funds you've siphoned into the following offshore accounts..." Lionel named four banks on a Caribbean Island and in Switzerland. " ... and place them into another offshore account."

"That's extortion," moaned the slime ball.

"Any worse than being a parasite attached to poor unhealthy elderly people? Not to mention the sucking of insurance companies, making them even more demanding in their policies and even less interested in lowering their co-pays? We can get you right off the bat for forging papers for Miss Koons, so..."

"I don't have all the..."

"We know. Just log on to your account and transfer this amount to this account."

"But..."

"Do it!"

Voices over the phone, associates venting explicitly, got silenced by the head parasite.

"If I go down, I'll take you fuckers with me, you got it? Do what they want!" yelled the boss and began the transfer.

"Good boy," smirked Joe. "We know we're not leaving you high and dry. You've got quite a lot of money in these checks and we're not going to worry about your official bank accounts, as wimpy as they appear. But I might reconsider future scams, my villainous friend."

"Why's that?"

"J?"

"I have friends in high places such as the Treasury Department and the IRS. Any sudden purchases of elderly care facilities or older tower apartments, and yes we know your history Mr. Franks or Mr. Beans or Mr. Rawls, will send up big bright flares."

"Could I ask who started all this?"

"You just did," Joe smirked.

"Well?"

"Well what? Oh, you wanted an answer? How about this? Fuck you!"

"Quite the operation."

"It will be well compensated."

The asshole shook his head. A tear oozed from his eye. This truly hurt. "I have friends who'll..."

"Threats, J!"

"The fucker can't even see how easy he's getting off," muttered J. "Any reprisals my friend and you'll find it difficult to move in shackles. That goes for all of you assholes."

"Lionel?" spoke Joe.

Lionel cleared his throat. "Not yet boss. Just one more. Okay."

"Do your thing," ordered Joe.

"With pleasure. And Boss?"

"Yes Lionel."

"Thanks for the sizable bonus."

Murmurs of agreement sounded from the phone.

Joe smirked. "Couldn't have done it without you and everyone else. I know the compensation helps, but you know you did good ridding Chicago of these parasites."

More agreement echoed out of the tinny speaker.

Twenty-five million dollars accumulated from the four associates, not all from the nursing homes, but from earlier scams as well listed in the various packets the assholes had in front of them, divided into two hundred fifty shares reduced each share to one hundred thousand dollars. A sizable amount, especially for those with little in their bank, but hardly the lottery.

However some of those involved received more than one share. J & L Johansson, Problem Solvers received four, Lionel getting two as did Marianne, who insisted she simply did as her master ordered but had been significant in pushing the head asshole into submission, and the whistleblower Sylvie as well as Joe each became 500 grand richer minus taxes.

Yes the large funds appeared to be a legitimate liquidation of a corporation to share holders. Mike Bremer of the Milwaukee Bremer family had a genius for an accountant who managed to create the myth of legitimacy. As Lionel distributed funds, a tax number attached to them. He transferred then into many accounts, and those who preferred checks had them dispersed by the Milwaukee accountant from a checking account provided by Joe. The genius had to pay out the various government subtractions from every shareholder and create a form to distribute to all the beneficiaries for filing the year's taxes. The accountant didn't mind the extra work. He received two shares as well.

"Happy Thanksgiving everyone," said Joe. The phone sounded like white noise with the replies. He hung it up. He smirked at the middle aged man slumped in the office chair. "Happy Thanksgiving asshole. Now grab your checks and get out of Dodge."

Mumbling expletives, the man slumped out.

Having been notified of the success of the plan, Debra, one hundred grand richer minus taxes, dropped off the hundreds of letters to all the recipients of Hauser's former money at the post office. Smiling, she headed north to the log house to greet the conquering hero.

Nearly as slumped as the middle aged parasite, Joe, exhausted, arrived home with Marianne driving the Bête. The greeting inside of the harem, Marta kissing him deeply and handing him Mums, brightened him greatly. A rousing chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," with a pounding piano accompaniment from young George brought a tear to his eye.

Strolling to the piano, Joe asked George, "How are you?"

George smiled as wide as his damaged mouth allowed, surprised with all the hubbub that Joe noticed him. "A bruised rib, nothing broken and no internal hemorrhaging,"