by Owen Parr
“Great work. Add to their file any social type pictures that appear in her social media. Not her work, but pics with friends, parties, stuff like that. There’s always a possibility we need to do a Venn diagram later.”
“Oh, I like those. I see where you’re going.”
“Okay, how about Jan Bobal?”
“Right. We know he was born in 1980, so he’s forty years old. Went to school at the University of Florida, where he got a business degree—”
I interrupted her. “Agnes, I’ve seen his profile at the SEC office, so I got the basics. Tell me about any social media exposure and anything else like financials,” I said, turning my attention to a small sailboat that seemed to be floating atop the clear aqua waters of the bay. I took a deep breath and inhaled the freshness of the day as I stood.
“Hang on, let me scroll down. He owns a home in Bay Harbour. Waterfront. Bought it five years ago for six hundred thousand, has a mortgage of four hundred thousand. No other debt that I can find. Wife Valeria Drako and two kids, ten and six, occupy the home with him. Nothing else stands out, other than he started his career with Merrill Lynch as a trainee, but it seems he was let go after three years for a reason not specified. However, no client complaints.”
“What’s his social media footprint?”
“Limited. He and his wife have a page together. Family pictures and the like. They do belong to a Czech Republic social group in Miami.”
“Is Valeria also from the Czech Republic?”
“Yes. Born in Prague like him. Bobal also has a Linkedin page but is limited to his business profile.”
“Did you have time to research the private equity firm that owns part of the company?”
“I did. It’s called Peníze Private Equity, LLC. Registered in New York. They own—”
“Wait. How do you spell the first name?” It sounded strange when she said it.
Agnes spelled Peníze back to me and added, “I checked the meaning because I found it odd. It happens to mean ‘money’ in Czech. By the way, I couldn't find any financials on the company.”
“That’s par for the course for a private firm. How about the principals?”
“They seem to be all Eastern Europeans from what I can see.”
“But, are they American-Czechs or foreigners?”
“I’ll have to dig deeper.”
“Do that and see if any of the Czech Republic members of the group are also part of this private equity company. Here’s where the Venn diagram starts. Also, what does this company invest in?”
“Peníze has partial ownership in real estate developments in New Jersey, the Caribbean, and what looks like banks, also in the Caribbean and Miami.”
“It seems you have your hands full with this research. By the way, how’s Father Dom and Mr. Pat, doing?” I asked, admiring the six young ladies in miniature bathing suits waterboarding through the marina.
Patrick Sullivan, or, as we referred to him, Mr. Pat, was our adopted uncle. He'd been brothers-in-arms with Dom’s dad, Marine Master Sergeant Brandon O’Brian, now deceased. Both returned from Vietnam in 1964 after an early deployment and took over the pub when the original Army Captain Sean O’Brian, for whom the pub was named after, passed in 1964.
Patrick managed the pub. One year ago, at the age of seventy-one, he'd decided to join our investigative enterprise. With his Irish brogue, bulky, intimidating six-foot-four figure, and full red beard, he had become the face of our Irish pub. Dom and I had made him part-owner of all our enterprises, namely the pub, cigar bar, and investigative services.
“Mr. Pat is right here with me. Father Dom is back at the church. They're both anxious to get involved.”
“I’m sure. However, now there’s not much for them to do. Have Mr. Pat help you with the research. I’ll call Dom and have him call Ruth Goldstein at Bevans. I'd like to work on the murder case of the football player, and maybe he can nail down that case for us. There’s no peníze in this case we’re working on. Get it?” Some cases we worked pro bono, and in others we made a good amount of money. But it was always good to keep that cash register humming as much as possible.
“Cute. We’ll split the research, although I’m leery of sharing my internet secrets with Mr. Pat,” Agnes said, laughing.
“Have you researched James Roth at the fund?”
“Nothing unusual on him. Went to a local college in Miami, then graduated from Florida International with a bachelor’s in business. He’s single, no financials to speak of. I did see something unusual for a person his age. Hang on, let me scroll down on my tablet. Here, a judgment lien against him and his mother for three hundred thousand dollars, which is now, as of last week, settled. It looks like it was a lien on his mother’s home.”
That sounded interesting. Why a judgment? If this fellow was making so much money, why allow the mortgage to default? “See if you can drill down more on that. I'd like to know why.”
“Very well. Nothing of importance on the others that work there. Same with the Wellses, father and son. Nothing jumps out, just regular folk.”
“Text me the moment you have more information on the private equity firm. Tell Mr. Pat to hang in there. Maybe he can start on the murder case if we can get it.”
I hung up with Agnes and went back to the galley to make some fresh coffee. As it began to percolate, I dialed Father Dom. He picked up on the first ring.
“Joey, how’s it going?”
“Don’t know yet. We’re doing our usual research on the players. Jack is undercover at the hedge fund, working as a trader. But I don’t expect anything to move at the speed I like. I hope we can find something on our own. Otherwise, I don’t know how Jack can uncover any clues, other than breaking into the secret office at his place of work.”
“Secret office?” Dom asked, dumbfounded.
“This company claims to have some secret logarithmic software that tracks the movement of the stocks and buy-sell volume that triggers an alert for them. I don’t understand the whole thing, but supposedly they bat a thousand every time. Sounds too good to be true,” I said, opening the small fridge and adding some cream to my freshly made cup of java.
“What can I do?” Dom asked.
“Do you have time to call Ruth Goldstein at Bevans and Associates right now?”
“Not right now. But I can call later. Why them?”
“Did you read in the paper that they're representing a football player accused of murdering his wife?”
“I did this morning, yes.”
“Brother, we want that case. It’s time we get back on the good side of this law firm. I just hope we’re not too late. Ruth did call the office and spoke to Agnes. However, she offered no clue about the case.”
“I’m happy to call, Joey, but you’re the one that is tight with Ruth. Frankly, I think you should call.”
I mulled that over. “You know what? You’re right. I think I was avoiding putting her in a position to reject us.” I said that, but I knew Dom was going to see right through that bullshit.
Dom snorted. “Ah, more like you didn’t want to get rejected. Just hang up with me, say a little prayer, and go get the case. Call me later. I have souls to save at the confessional.”
I dialed Ruth Goldstein but was transferred to voicemail. I left her a message to call me. As much as I wanted any case from them, what if I did get it? How could we work it when I was committed to this? Father Dom was in no position to be the lead in any of our cases. His pastoral duties took precedent, and Ruth at Bevans knew this. So, me being in Miami and already working a case wasn't going to satisfy Bevans' needs, and it wasn't fair for me to force the issue.
11
Jack Ryder ~
I sat around and made some calls. In most cases, clients weren't available. Others were very short and didn’t really want to get into a conversation. The few that I did speak to thanked me for introducing myself and just told me to follow the lead of Mr. Bobal for the trades.
"Don’t d
o any of your own trades," a couple told me.
I did notice from the files that the net worth of some of these clients was not chump change. I was seeing multiple-million-dollar net worth on these. How much bigger were Bobal’s clients?
My cell phone vibrated, and I saw it was Joey calling. Looking around the office first, I picked up the phone. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going for you?”
“Can you talk for a minute?” asked Joey.
“Sure thing. What’s up?”
“This fellow, James Roth, had a considerable lien and judgment against his mother’s home. It was paid off. Agnes is researching more on this, but I’m thinking the company or your boss paid it off for him. So, don’t trust him with anything.”
“When was it paid off?” I asked, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“Just last week.”
Was it a coincidence? “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Like I said, don’t trust him," Joey said grimly. "He may be our number one suspect if this wasn't an accident.”
“Understood. What else have you found?”
“There's a fifty percent ownership of the company in the hands of a private equity firm registered in New York, but the principals are mostly from the Czech Republic. Same as one of the partners, Bobal.”
I fiddled with a pen on my desk. “That would be correct. But that isn't unusual these days.”
“I know, just something else to drill down on and consider. I’ll fill you in later when you’re done there. Anything on your end?”
“No, nothing,” I replied without elaborating. “Have you moved in yet?”
“I did this morning. I’ll make sure Max gets his walk.”
“I forgot to tell you. Miami Beach has a poop ordinance.” A slow smile stretched across my face.
I could hear the frown in Joey's voice. “What the hell does that mean?”
“When Max does his number two, you have to pick it up and throw it away.”
Joey paused for such a long moment, I almost thought he'd hung up. “Are you f-ing kidding me? How do I do that?”
“Little plastic bags by where his leach is. The city has disposable units where you can dispose of his stuff.”
He grunted, sounding displeased. “Shit, man, I may have to reconsider my stay on the boat. Okay, don’t worry, I’ll take care of Max and his poop.”
I chuckled. ”See you later.”
I spent the next hour-plus getting acquainted with the trading system with James’ help. He wasn't very talkative, but I needed to probe a little more about him. Was the payment of the lien a payoff for murder?
“You want to have a beer after work?” I asked him.
“Thank you. But I have to get home.”
“Hot lady at home?”
He quickly shook his head. “Hah, nothing like that. My mother lives with me and she’s getting a new wheelchair delivered. I need to be there for that.”
I leaned back in my seat, appearing casual. “So, is just you and your mother?”
“Yeah. My dad passed away a few years ago. Her health has been on a decline ever since. She can hardly walk now. Needed hip surgery, which she never got, and now she’s too old for it.”
“Sorry to hear that. At least you’re making good money to deal with all that stuff.”
“Yeah, well, money comes, money goes. You know how it is,” he said lightly.
“Sounds like you’ve had some issues. Your mother has Medicare, right?”
“Oh, it’s not her healthcare that’s been a problem." He hesitated. "I just did some stupid stuff.”
“Listen, we don’t know each other very well, but I think I’m going to make some good money here. In the meantime, I’ve got a little stash put away, so if you need some money, I’ll be happy to help out until payday.”
James looked at me and smiled. “Hey, man, that’s very nice. I appreciate it. But no thanks, I stopped doing what got me in trouble. I’m good now.”
“None of my business, but were you bankrolling a lady friend?” I asked, laughing, to see if I could probe deeper.
He snorted sardonically. “I wish it had been a lady, at least I would have gotten a return. No, I was buying call options and selling puts on margin. Got into a mess when things went reverse on me. Almost lost my mom’s home as a result. That would have killed her for sure.”
I frowned, arranging my features into something that resembled concern. “But, you’re okay now?”
“Yeah, yeah. We’re good," he said and then changed the subject. "Tell me, do you think you can handle the systems? We’re about to get busy next week as earnings reports begin to come.”
“I’m sure I can. Ready to rock and roll. Looking forward to meeting the genius behind the program next week.”
“Mr. Newton may or may not be here. He can work out of the New York office. He has the same systems there.”
Interesting. So this elusive Mr. Newton might stay elusive. “In that case, what? He calls us with the trades he wants done?”
“He’ll talk to Jan and then we get the instructions. You’ll be given a few stocks to buy or sell short. We do the trades in an omnibus account and then split them into the client’s accounts at the end of the day. You’ll see. It gets exciting around here.”
I was sure it did. “How do we know how many shares to buy?”
“Jan will call out, ‘Caterpillar, buy 40,000 shares.’ Like that. So, if you’re doing CAT, you’ll do as he says. It's that simple.”
“Okay, that sounds simple enough. Let me ask you, after lunch, Jan asked to talk to you. Did he ask about our conversation during lunch?”
James looked around to make sure no one was near enough to hear our conversation. “I meant to tell you, he’s concerned the background check on you hasn't been received. Also, did you fill out the paperwork for the Feds and your employment papers with your fingerprints?”
I had done that, but purposely held it back until the SEC office in Miami had time to create my faux profile as Arthur Hastings, my alias now. “As a matter of fact, I have it all here. I don’t know why I forgot it. Can I give it to you?”
His shoulders slumped a little in what I could only guess was relief. “Please. Jan is freaking out you’ll be trading and aren't registered yet. I’ll turn it into to him right now.”
“Anything else, James?”
He blinked rapidly. “He swears he’s seen you before, but he can’t place your face. He wants me to keep an eye on you. I shouldn’t be telling you these things.”
“It’s okay. When he says, ‘Keep an eye on him,’ does that mean you need to follow me after work?”
Without answering, James lowered his face and left with my file, headed to Bobal’s office. Was this guy going to recognize me from one of my book covers? Or, had we seen each other before in Miami Beach? I was going to have to be extra cautious getting back to the marina. If anyone saw me going to the Easy Ryder, it would be too easy to check ownership and blow my cover.
12
Joey Mancuso ~
I had taken Max out to do his thing around the marina. I faked picking up his number two when he did it. I leaned down with the plastic bag, pretended to pick up, folded the bag, and disposed of it in the receptacles provided on the light posts. Anyone looking would give me kudos for being a good citizen. On the other hand, Max looked at me and I swear he said, "Huh?"
Logan was late, and I was restless to get started. Pacing was not an option inside the boat. So, I threw some clothes that needed to be washed in the mini-washer and waited.
Finally, at eleven, Detective Logan's arrival was signaled by Max and his tail wagging a few minutes before he showed up on the starboard side. “Sorry I’m late, partner. Ready if you are,” he said without boarding.
“Did you bring the police report on the fight at the club?” I asked.
“Here it is,” Logan replied, handing me a file. "I’ll give you the scoop as I drive.”
I took a seat
in the passenger side as Logan slid behind the wheel, and we began the thirty-minute drive back to Miami Shores. “Tell me about this other kid.”
“Actually, he’s not a kid. He’s thirty-one years old. His name is Franco Scarpelli. He’s an attorney in Miami and comes from a very wealthy family. Has some minor priors for DUIs, a domestic abuse beef, and misdemeanors. He almost got busted for resisting arrest the night of the fight. But the officer on the scene didn’t pursue the charges when both he and your guy, Gene Wells, shook hands. So, the officer left it at that. No charges were made.”
“Sounds like a hothead,” I countered. “What kind of misdemeanors was he charged with?”
Logan turned his face to look at me and smiled. “Two of them are fights in clubs, two others for possession of marijuana. A hothead is right.”
“What type of practice?”
“Real estate development, according to the law firm’s website.”
“We’ll see him later. Let’s start with one of the girl’s homes.”
Logan pulled on the side of a beautiful street lined with numerous orange and yellow Bougainvillea trees. “This is it. I called ahead, so both parents are here.”
We saved a trip since both girls and their parents were together. The girls were petrified as Logan flashed his badge and went on to explain the seriousness of what the girls had done. The parents asked if Mr. Hernandez was going to file charges, and Logan assured them that he was going to talk to him next and ask that he not file. However, a civil lawsuit could easily be in the works. The parents agreed to visit with Hernandez later in the day and have the girls apologize.
Next, we drove two blocks to Oscar Hernandez’s home. He was a retired electrical engineer in his late sixties. We knocked on the door and waited on the porch.
When he opened the screen door, we introduced ourselves and waited for his response. “Come in and have a seat,” he said with a growl. We followed him inside, and we all sat in the living room. The reception we got from Hernandez wasn't very friendly, but that was expected. After all, being accused of indecent exposure to two minors wasn't an inconsequential thing.