by Gregg Burton
“And if your dad is notified, he would want to know why you’re taking out the money, right? Simon, why don’t we just get Mr. Daniels to finance us like I said in the beginning? That way, you don’t have to worry about your dad finding out. We could still get Leblac and help out Mike.”
“Linda, I don’t want Daniels or anybody else to front us the money. I just need to find a way to get to my money without my father finding out.”
I sighed. “Okay, Simon, but I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personal. What bank do you have it in anyway?”
“Union Square Bank. My father had one of his accounts come up here when I started taking classes and opened up the account for me. But, he left detailed instructions on the account about contacting him or someone from his office when withdrawals are made.”
“Hey, Simon, are you still at the hotel?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Don’t leave. I’ll be there in two hours, okay? I think I may have an idea on how we can get that money.”
“Okay, sure. Just come to my room. It’s 212.”
“How about I call you when I get to the lobby, and you can meet me downstairs?”
“That will work. By the way, have you spoken to Martin today?”
“No. I was about to ask you the same question.”
“Well, I’ll call him and have him meet us here, too.”
“That’s cool. I will meet you both there in two hours then.”
After hanging up with Simon, I thought about calling Malik. Just thinking about him made me look back at Ace again. When I turned around, he was standing right behind me.
“Is everything okay?” he asked in a fatherly voice.
A little startled, I jumped back. “Yeah, everything is fine. Well, almost everything. Simon said there might be a problem getting the money out of the bank. He said his father had to be called if a withdrawal was made.”
“Well, that’s not a problem. Simon was talking about the Union Square Bank, right?”
“How did you know?”
“And you have a friend who works there, a Ms. Jessica Chavez.”
“Ace, how do you know all this?”
“Linda, it’s my job to know these things. Here’s what you’re going to do first. Call or text your friend--the one that works at the bank--and tell her that you still want to meet for lunch. When she gets there, tell her exactly what you’re trying to do. Be honest with her, and tell her there’s ten thousand dollars in it for her if she can get the withdrawal done without notifying Simon’s father. Next, you will try to get Simon to take out more than what’s needed. I think you can get him to empty the account.”
I looked over Ace’s shoulder and saw the FBI agent standing up to adjust his clothes. I watched him flip a raincoat over his forearm and put on his fedora hat.
The agent went to pay the cashier. “Ace, how do you know Jessica will do it,” I whispered. “How much money does Simon really have in there?”
“She’ll do it. And, he has roughly $2.5 million.”
I yelled, “$2.5 million!” Then, I slapped my hand over my mouth. After regaining my composure, I whispered, “What is a college kid doing with $2.5 million in his account?”
“His father got rich from low-balling people. He made a lot of enemies over the course of his life. So incase anything happens to him he wanted to make sure his only son was taking care of.”
“Jessica’s not going to risk her job over ten thousand dollars. Ace, I’m starting to get really worried about this. I’m starting to feel like I’m the mark or the fall girl.”
“That’s why I love you. You try to see every angle. But, you can put your mind to rest, Linda. I’m not conning you or trying to set you up. You’re right about another thing, though. Ten thousand is a small amount for such a big score. Ask her how much she would like, and tell her there may be more on the next score.”
I just stood there shaking my head. I couldn’t figure out Ace’s end game. What did he really have planned?
How am I going to convince Simon to withdrawal $2.5 million? Ace is going to have to help me with this one.
Special Agent Dott came over to say goodbye. “Excuse me,” I said. “Special Agent Dott, I hate to be rude and ask this, but was it supposed to rain today? I didn’t see the news this morning, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain.”
Special Agent Dott looked at his raincoat and gave Ace a one-sided smile.
“She’s bright, Marco. No, Linda, it’s not going to rain here. I’m hopping on a plane in an hour, and where I’m going it’s supposed to be raining cats and dogs.”
“Well, have a safe trip. At least you don’t have to worry about getting a body search at the airport. You being FBI and all.”
“No, I don’t,” he laughed. While exiting the building he said, “Marco, I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay, my friend. Have a safe trip.”
“Where is Malik?” I asked Ace, as we walked out to the car. I haven’t heard from him all day.”
“He’s at the hotel. I had him take over for Sean this morning.”
“Oh. Tell me, how am I supposed to talk Simon into taking all his money out the bank. I’m drawing a blank?”
“Leave that part up to me. I think I know just the right button to push.”
Chapter 12
A Trip to Texas
Special Agent Dott didn’t understand why his friend Marco wanted him to go all the way down to Texas to complete a con. What the hell, he thought. He planned on making a lot of money for his efforts. With the bureau forcing him to retire in the next couple months, the money he would make off this score, (and other fixes he had put in for Marco over the past fifteen years) would set him up nicely in the retirement home he had built in Trinidad.
The plane’s tires bounced a couple of times on the runway before beginning a steady roll. Special Agent Dott lifted the shade on the window and then quickly lowered it. The Texas sun welcomed him with its scorching heat and blinding rays.
“Stupid weatherman,” he said, removing the black Ray Ban sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket.
A lady in her mid-forties, who was sitting next to Special Agent Dott, lifted her head from an Dasaya Cates novel she had been reading. “Sir, were you talking to me?” She asked. The woman adjusted her reading glasses. .
“Um,” he said, feeling a bit embarrassed for his little outburst. “Sorry, ma’am. I was talking to myself. The weatherman said it was going to rain, that’s all. Sorry to bother you.”
Special Agent Dott had just violated one of his own rules: Speak to no one. Now, if something went wrong, there was a chance he could be identified. He had to make sure his meeting went as smoothly as possible.
Traveling through the airport lobby, Special Agent Dott kept his head down and only made eye contact with the signs on the wall. Marco had given Special Agent Dott a package with all the vital information he would need for the trip, including a fake passport and the first-class round-trip ticket the agent had just used. Although he just made it to Houston, he planned on being back in New York before the next sunrise.
When he exited the building, there was a man holding up a sign that read ‘Bryn Price.’ That was Special Agent Dott’s alias on this trip. Dott raised his hand at the man, indicating he was Mr. Price.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Price. No baggage, sir?” The driver was a young fellow who dressed surprisingly mature for a man his age. The gray suit was tailored to his body. His white shirt was freshly ironed. Even his black shoes had a little shine to them.
“No, I won’t be in town long. I need to get to my meeting so I can get back home for breakfast. Have you been given instructions on where to take me?”
“Yes sir, your package is in the backseat.”
“Great. Let’s get moving.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver responded as he opened the door for Special Agent Dott.
Once in the backseat, Special Agent Dott picked up a black leather brief
case, opened it, and took out a small Glock 19. It was lighter than his service pistol and smaller, but just as deadly if he ever needed it. He gave the peacekeeper a quick exam. He cocked the gun back a couple of times to make sure that it was oiled properly, pulled the trigger to check its resistance, latched and unlatched the safety twice, and blew in the chamber for good luck. When he was satisfied that the gun was up to par, he slid the clip in, cocked back the barrel, and checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded.
Special Agent Dott started thinking about Linda as the driver drove to the destination. She would be a good replacement for Marco, but she wouldn’t be working with him. The agent didn’t have the heart to tell his old friend that this was his last go-round, as well. He knew a young agent who might be a good replacement for him, but he had to find a way to present the job to the fellow without actually getting involved in recruiting him. He was sure Marco would come up with something.
The driver stopped the car in front of one of the larger buildings in downtown Houston. Then, he jumped out, ran around it to the other side, and opened the door, letting Special Agent Dott out.
“Don’t move. I’ll be back soon,” said Special Agent Dott.
“But, what if they ask me to move? If I don’t, I will get a ticket.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just stay here.”
Special Agent Dott walked off without waiting for his driver’s next response.
He walked to the building with his hat pulled down low and his head lowered. To most people, that was a sign of insecurity, but Special Agent Dott was far from insecure. He was smart. There was a surveillance camera at the entrance of the building which recorded faces. It could digitally identify a person with facial recognition software. That was something Special Agent Dott couldn’t allow.
When he got inside the building, he walked to the receptionist’s desk and told her, “Good afternoon. I have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. Newman.”
The receptionist looked very pleasant. A young brunette in her early twenties, she had her hair in a ponytail and sat with her back straight like she had been trained to do so.
She looked at her computer screen for the appointment, found it, and then looked up at Special Agent Dott. “Oh, I found it. Special Agent Dott, Mr. Newman has been waiting on you.”
“Oh, has he? Well, that’s good to know.”
Special Agent Dott knew that since he was going to visit someone as big as Newman, he’d better use his real name so if Newman decided to do a little research, all of Dott’s information would come up legit.
The receptionist stood from her seat. “Let me show you in, Agent Dott.”
“That’s Special Agent Dott,” he corrected.
She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Special Agent Dott. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No offense at all. I just wanted to make sure you knew my name,” he replied with a flirty smile.
She noticed the nature of his smile and smiled back, but not without putting up her ring finger to show her status. Special Agent Dott gave a light chuckle and nodded, but he also noticed she gave a little more bounce in her step as she showed him to Mr. Newman’s office. Women love attention, he thought, following the fully-blossomed Texas flower to Newman’s office.
“We have to take the elevator to his office,” she said, swiping her key card to gain entry into the main lobby. A guard was standing there to greet them.
“Good afternoon, Molly.”
“Hey, Chuck. I’m taking him to see Mr. Newman. He’s waiting on us.”
“Okay. Sir, I will need to make sure you’re not carrying any weapons or recording devices. Do you mind?”
The guard raised his arms in a spread eagle fashion, indicating Special Agent Dott needed to do the same. After searching Dott, he left. It was a good thing the agent had decided not to carry his gun inside with him.
“So, I guess you can’t just walk in this building and look around?”
“No, I’m afraid not. This building is for Newman employees only. With all the reporters skulking around, trying to get info on what the company is doing in lieu of oil spills last year, security has been stepped up a notch.”
Once they got into the elevator, Molly swiped her card and pressed B.
Special Agent Dott asked, “His office is in the basement?”
“Mr. Newman doesn’t like windows.”
“I see.”
There were stories floating around about Mr. Newman being a secretive man, never allowing anyone near him, like he was germaphobic or something. Everybody knew about the time an ex-employee stabbed him in the back for being fired, for sleeping on the job. That attack left Simon Newman II paralyzed from the waist down. Afterward, he found a single bullet hole in his window and in a family picture on his office desk. Newman had his office moved to the basement. No one has ever seen him leave that place. He even holds meetings and gives interviews from there. Some say he even sleeps there. That's not hard to believe, since his wife was deceased and his son was away at college.
When they reached the basement floor, the door opened to two more guards standing on both sides of the elevator. Each wore matching blue blazers, brown slacks, and white button-down shirts. They also wore kind smiles, but looked like they would snap Special Agent Dott’s neck if given the order. The only men Special Agent Dott had ever seen like these were Navy Seals and mercenaries. Whoever they were, Newman had bought top of the line security.
“Good afternoon, Molly,” the guard on the right said, smiling down at her.
He had thick, wavy, blonde hair and a chiseled face. The man said her name with a small amount of passion. It caused Special Agent Dott to wonder if that was her husband. After looking at his bare ring finger, he knew they weren’t. They were, however, close––intimately close.
The guard on the left didn’t greet Molly or Dott. He just instructed the special agent to assume the position.
“But I’ve already been searched,” Special Agent Dott protested.
“Not by me.” The guard searched the special agent like he was looking for gold. He even went around his private area.
“Hey, watch it!” Dott yelled, stepping back.
“Just doing my job,” the guard said, then gave Dott a pat on the arm. “You’re good. Carry on. The hat stays off.”
After fixing his clothes and walking toward two foggy white doors, Special Agent Dott looked back to see if Molly was following him, but the guard who had violated him instructed him to keep moving. When Special Agent Dott opened the right side of the door, he saw a tall, lanky old man sitting in a wheelchair staring at an old picture of two young men who looked like they were FBI agents from the 1960’s.
Simon Newman II had lived the American dream. He had worked hard, and because of that, the man had more money than he could ever spend. Sure, he had to rob, steal, and even kill to get it. It was a small price to pay for all he had acquired. Hell, if he had to do it all over again, he would. There was no way he was going to allow himself to end up like his father––broke and alone. So, he clawed his way to the top.
The only thing he regretted was not taking his old friend with him. But, Simon was raised in the 50’s. For a white man to be homosexual and a nigger lover was something that could’ve gotten you and everybody you knew killed. Although times had changed, Simon’s dislike for homos and niggers hadn’t. For that very reason, his immediate staff was all white. If it weren’t for affirmative action, his entire staff would’ve been. That’s why he figured Fontanne sent this particular agent to lean on him.
Newman looked up from his picture of a younger Fontanne and himself. “How much is Fontanne paying you? Come on, I don’t have all day.”
Special Agent Dott was shocked that Simon knew why he was there. “Excuse me?” was all he could say.
“Come on, boy. I don’t have all day. How much is Fontanne paying you to muscle me?”
Calling Dott a boy got under his skin a little, but
he refused to show it. He just clenched his teeth together. “I’m sorry,” he replied. ”But, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here about a cold case from 1961. I just need to ask you a couple of questions about one of your clients that went missing. The insurance company you owned at the time received her life insurance money. After further research, I found out that your company filed claims on behalf of other clients that had passed away, as well. Can you please explain to me how that was possible?”
Newman looked at Special Agent Dott. He thought to himself, This nigger doesn’t care about what happened fifty years ago. He’s here to shake me down. That weak faggot Fontanne put him up to it.