by Owen Parr
I pointed him in the right direction. “Fridge on your right. How about one for Marcy?”
“Thanks, Jack, but I’m not drinking these days,” Marcy replied.
“Oh? Expecting?”
Marcy smiled. “Yes, we are. Four more months to go.”
“Congratulations. Never thought of Joey Mancuso as a father. Hey, Mancuso,” I shouted to Joey as he walked up with the beers, “you’re going to have to grow up now, brother. You’re going to be a father.”
“I’ve got a few months yet,” Joey replied.
I placed my call and walked up to the deck.
Handing me my beer and taking his seat again, Joey went on. “This fellow worked at a hedge fund firm as a trader. I haven’t spoken to them yet, but in the course of my pre-investigation, I did research the company.”
My mouth tipped in a smile. “You mean Agnes researched the company. If I remember correctly, you mentioned she’s a computer expert and hacker extraordinaire.”
“She is that, yes. She did some research over the weekend,” Joey replied, leaning forward in his seat.
“What about?” I asked, taking a sip of my Islamorada beer I had stocked up on.
Joey went on. “After Agnes did some digging, we found some issues with the company. It seems this company is under, I’ll say, observation as I confirmed with the Securities Exchange Commission.”
I whistled. “Shit, you’ve been busy. Observation for what?”
“Insider trading and stock manipulation,” responded Joey.
He got my attention with that. “And you think there’s a connection?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, that’s where you come in. I want us to talk to a friend who was chairman of the SEC, now retired and living in Miami. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. When do you want to do that?” I asked, taking another sip of my beer.
“Well,” Joey looked at his watch, “he should be here any minute. I asked him to stop by at seven. I hope you don’t mind.”
I had to wait to reply. In the Biscayne Bay, a thirty-foot Donzi engine erupted into a raging roar, ruffling the quietude of the evening. As the sound of the engines diminished, I said, “No problem. Who is this guy?”
Joey replied, “John Landers. He was a patron of our pub when he lived in New York.”
“Does he like baby back ribs?”
“What?” Joey asked, his eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown.
I took out my phone. “I was about to order from Monty’s in the marina. Are you guys hungry?”
Joey shrugged. “Go ahead and order the ribs. We’ll eat them if he doesn’t, or Max can eat them.”
Hearing his name, Max popped up like a toaster strudel, wagging his tail. He made a dash toward Joey and began licking his hands.
I turned to Marcy. “Marcy, do you eat ribs?”
“Do they have salads? I can eat one or two ribs, but I'd rather have a fresh salad,” Marcy replied.
“They can do that, yes. Good, I’ll order,” I said.
My evening was turning into a dinner party, and I was enjoying it. There was nothing like sitting on the deck of a boat on a beautiful evening, enjoying the sunset with friends. Add in a few cold brews and the constant flow of water as the star-filled sky reflected on the darkening bay, and it was near perfect.
3
Jack Ryder ~
Thirty minutes later, the delivery from Monty’s arrived together with whom I assumed was John Landers. Landers looked to be in his late sixties, in good shape, and smartly dressed in slacks, a blue blazer, and loafers sans socks. As he walked toward my ship, it was obvious from his erect posture that he was military. An old-style crew-cut on top with short-cropped blonde hair on the sides. He had bright green eyes with a disarming smile. It was a stark contrast to Joey, who was wearing Bermuda shorts, sandals, and an NYPD t-shirt.
Max and I greeted the young lady delivering our dinner, and I took the bag from her. “Thank you, Stacy, have a good evening,” I said.
“Enjoy the ribs, Jack,” Stacy responded.
Standing on the dock, Landers smiled and waited for the exchange to take place before boarding.
“If you don’t mind, sir, could you remove your loafers before boarding?” I asked.
Landers nodded and removed his Versace loafers, then he came aboard the Easy Ryder and petted Max.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that,” I said, standing. “Sorry to make you take off your shoes, Mr. Landers.”
“Oh, no need to apologize. I should have planned accordingly. And please, call me John.”
“Have a seat, I’m Jack Ryder,” I said, pointing to one of four teak chairs on the deck. “Can I get you a drink?”
“If you have vodka, I’ll take some over ice, thank you,” replied John as he leaned over and kissed Marcy on the cheek.
“Tito's or Belvedere?” I asked.
“Good to see you, John,” said Joey, standing to greet him. “I’ll get your drink. How about a lime twist with the vodka? I know you like Tito’s.”
Landers smiled at Joey remembering his vodka of preference. “Hey, Joey, back at you. Make it a twist.” Turning to me, John asked, “How long have you lived onboard?”
“Moved down from New York about a year ago after I sold my condo there and split the proceeds with my ex-wife.”
“And you’re loving it,” he said, looking around the marina.
“It’s a different lifestyle for sure. Max and I are enjoying the leisurely life,” I replied.
“Sorry about interrupting your dinner,” Landers said.
“Not a problem. We ordered for you also, hope you like baby back ribs.”
John smiled. “Very thoughtful, thank you. Yes, I love them.”
“We’ll eat a bit later. Tell me why you’re here,” I asked.
Walking up from the galley, Joey said, “So, you met John,” as he handed Landers his drink. “Let me tell you who he is. Jack, John is the retired chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission. However, because of his knowledge and expertise, he’s been asked to consult on a case with the SEC. A case that is right up your alley. I’ve already told John about your prior life before you became a best-selling crime author. Your seventeen years as an investment banker and financial analyst with a Wall Street firm, but most importantly, your keen analytical mind in sniffing out clues and suspects in solving crime cases.”
“You sound like my publicist. Don’t believe everything he tells you. This guy is full of shit,” I said, smiling and looking at John.
John smirked. “Oh, I know he’s full of shit. I’ve been a patron of Captain O’Brian’s Pub a few years.”
Landers didn’t look comfortable wearing his jacket, or maybe it was me feeling uncomfortable seeing him wearing one. “John, may I suggest you take off your blazer? Unless you want to go into the salon, and I’ll turn on the AC.”
“No, we’re good out here. It's very pleasant. But I will take it off.” He took off his blazer and draped it across the back of his seat. Sitting down again, he went on as he leaned forward, holding his vodka clasped between both hands. “A few months before I retired, the Commission began an investigation of a hedge fund firm in Miami and New York that was suspected of insider trading. It’s been over a year and we’ve hit a snag. We’re pretty sure it's taking place, but we just can’t seem to close the lid on these guys.”
“I don’t know how I can help. Insider trading and stock manipulation, unlike what our friend here said, is not up my alley. Never done it myself,” I said.
“Oh, I know you haven’t,” John said, chuckling. “Believe me, I’ve checked you out.”
“So, how can I help?” I asked, sitting back and crossing my legs. What was it they wanted me to do? I was missing the point.
John and Joey exchanged glances. John went on. “There’s an opportunity to place a man inside the hedge fund. A person with expertise that can unlock their scheme. We know they’re looking for a trader to jo
in them. That’s where you come in.”
Ah, and there it was. “I see. So, the young fellow, Gene, who was killed on his motorcycle, is the opening for a trader at this hedge fund?”
Landers dipped his head in a nod. “Exactly. Unfortunately for this young fellow, we have an opportunity to do just that.”
I took the last sip of my beer, pondering over what they were asking. “Assuming I would agree to do this—and not wanting to sound too arrogant, I think I’m a bit overqualified to be a trader at a small hedge fund firm—why would they hire me with my background?”
Exchanging glances again with Joey, John replied, “We’ve thought of that. We’re putting together a legend, as they say in the tradecraft, like a pseudo background or false identity to infiltrate an individual into their company. It’s pretty much finished. All we need is the photo of the person to finalize it.”
Now I got it. An inside person to spy on the company. “And you want me to be the person that infiltrates this company?” I wanted to say, Guys, this is starting to sound boring. You really want me to sit at a desk for weeks and analyze trades? This sounds like forensic work and I hate that as much as doing my taxes.
“You’re perfect for it, Jack. You know the industry. Besides, think about it, you could come up with another crime mystery novel from this assignment,” Joey replied.
“Yeah well, so far, both cases I’ve worked for the MBPD are turning into novels,” I said dryly. This could be a good opportunity for a new novel. After all, I was always looking for a true crime that I could convert into a fictional account.
“There you go. I expect royalties, buddy,” Joey added, laughing.
I didn't answer immediately, still mulling it over. I wasn't sure I wanted to do this. “We need to consider the fact my books have sold very well, and my face is on the back cover of all of them. Aren’t we running the chance that I might be recognized?”
“Which is why we think you should change your appearance for this assignment,” Joey replied.
I hadn't expected that response. “Disguise myself? Joey, you‘ve been reading too many Sherlock Holmes novels.”
“Jack, you lose that bleach-blond hair of yours. Shave it off. Then, grow a beard, a nice cropped one like mine, and you’re like another person,” Joey suggested, his tone implying it was foolproof.
I ignored Joey’s excitement about my new look. “I don’t know, guys, that’s a bit out of my wheelhouse.”
I thought about going to work, getting up early, dressing up. Shit, I left that life behind. Come on.
“I understand,” began Landers. “Frankly, your experience in the industry is exactly what we need to sniff out their scheme.”
“You’re assuming there’s a scheme,” I stated.
“I know, innocent until proven guilty. However, there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence to collaborate our feelings. Just no actual proof,” Landers added. “That’s why we need an inside person.”
“Do you guys think the death of Gene is tied in somehow to this company?” I asked. That could motivate me to do it. A murder mystery I would do. But, just sniffing around for a possible violation of the securities act? Yeah, it was bad, but get somebody else.
“Too soon to tell, Jack." Seemingly taking the last drink of his beer, Joey sat it on the ground beside him. "I’m covering all the angles. However, it is a coincidence, don’t you think?”
I thought for a second or two. “That’s quite the leap. But the company has been under observation, as you said, for over a year. And you’re assuming they suspected Gene of knowing something about their scheme. So, why now?”
Putting his now-empty drink on the small teak table, Landers replied, “Now simply because of the opportunity that presents itself.”
“Tell me about this hedge fund,” I asked.
“How about another vodka?” Joey asked.
“Sure, thanks,” Landers replied.
“Jack, another beer?” Joey queried as he stood up to refill Landers’ drink.
I nodded. “Go ahead, John, while my first mate gets our drinks.”
“I’ll come with,” Marcy said.
It was Landers and me sitting on the deck. Max followed Marcy and Joey on their way to the galley.
Landers replied, “They are located right here in Miami Beach. A small outfit catering to wealthy clientele, both domestic and offshore clients. They’ve been in operation for five years. And, they have an office in New York.”
We both stopped to look at a pelican that had just perched itself on a piling next to us. I guess he was looking for his last meal of the evening. He looked at us for about half a minute, then decided to move on.
I went on with my question. "What’s their name?”
“Fönix Securities and Financial Services. Fönix means phoenix in Czech.”
Standing up to stretch my legs, I walked behind my chair and leaned on the back of it. “Is the owner Czech?”
“It’s a corporate entity. One of the principals’ name is Jan Bobal. Born in Prague in 1980. His family moved to the US in 1990, and Bobal became a US citizen in 1995 at the age of fifteen,” replied Landers.
“Any record on the guy?”
“No criminal record or any complaints of any kind. He’s clean.”
“So, what made the SEC begin an investigation?”
Lander sat back as I sat down again. “We continually analyze trading patterns and we noticed this firm’s trading volume and profits increased substantially during earning’s season. Every quarter when companies report their earnings, profits, etcetera, their trading increased right ahead of a company’s earnings report.”
There could be numerous reasons for this, and not necessarily nefarious ones. But I needed more information. “Are they dealing in low-priced stocks or penny stocks?”
“No. As a matter of fact, they only deal in large- and mid-cap well-known securities.”
“You said their clientele is wealthy, so they’re not a pump-and-dump operation.”
“That’s correct. All NYSE and Nasdaq stocks. Nothing shady, other than their trading pattern.”
“I assume in the course of your investigation, you’ve already met with them and made inquiries. What do they have to say?” Had these guys done any investigations? Did they have more than a suspicion?
“They claim they’re momentum traders and have a sophisticated proprietary computer program to select the stocks that show high volume, stock accumulation, and price movement trends.”
We took a moment to watch a buddy of mine pull up his boat two slips over. He was returning from fishing, and guess who was back? The pelican knew what to expect as soon as they tied up and start cleaning their catch.
We resumed our conversation, and I asked, “That sounds proper. Did they show you the program?”
“Not the program. But they did show the output of their research.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “And, I guess it supports their claim.”
“But you still think there’s more to it?” Maybe this was just some bullshit bureaucratic inquiry.
“We do. And the reason is they seldom go wrong. I don’t care how sophisticated the program is, you don’t bat a thousand all the time.”
“So, their own success has made them a suspect.”
“Exactly.”
This all sounded engrossing. But I didn't know that I wanted to shave my head and grow a beard. “My only problem is I have a publishing deadline for my next novel. Taking on a full-time job is going to be an issue.”
Joey chimed in, as he and Marcy returned with our drinks, “Knowing you, it's not going to take long to decipher their scheme if there’s one.”
“The timing is perfect, Jack. Earning reports for the fourth quarter are two weeks away,” Landers added.
“It all sounds like an interesting plot. But, I’m not sure…” I began.
Joey interrupted. “Jack, we have a possible murder, an insider trading scheme. This is right up y
our lane, brother.”
I stood up, gazed around the marina and the bay, spotted the moon rising above the buildings to the east, and gauged my feelings about this case. Suddenly, I felt a sense of curiosity. If this case tied into the death of this kid, I could see myself getting involved. I would give it a week or two. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“Excellent!" John said excitedly, raising his glass to cheer the news. “I want you to come to our regional offices and meet the regional director. They’re at 801 Brickell Avenue, eighteenth floor.”
“Brickell Avenue is known as Miami’s Wall Street, right?” Joey asked.
“Indeed. Very high concentration of the major security firms there. Can you be there tomorrow at eight in the morning? We can start to brief you on what we have so far,” John replied, animated.
I hesitated at the time. “I can be there in the morning. Don’t know about eight, though.”
“Hah,” Joey joked, “John, you should know that Jack has a bunch of rules. One of them is he wakes up when his body wakes up. Oh, and by the way, he doesn’t own suits or ties.”
Looking as surprised as an owl in a kindergarten room during recess, Landers replied, “Oh, well that’s fine. You don’t need to wear a suit or a tie. But, can you be there before noon?”
I looked down at Max, who was sitting by my feet. “No problem. Max here wakes me up early anyway. So yes, I’ll be there.”
“In that case, let’s go to the nook. I have the booth set up to eat our ribs,” Joey said.
“You’ve trained this guy well, Marcy,” I said wryly.
“He could be a first-class mate,” Marcy replied, and Landers and I laughed. Joey led the way to the nook, giving us a one-finger salute.
4
Joey Mancuso ~
“So, Jack, how’s life been living aboard a boat?” John asked.
“Quiet and simple. Max and I living on the Easy Ryder has been a trip. No schedules, no commitments, other than the ones we make.”