Death of a Bankster

by David Bishop

  His findings included a rifle which could have been used to kill Sam Crawford. The odds said it would not be the murder weapon, but it was of a make and style which could be used by a sniper. Still, the rifle had value as part of his plan to gain sway over Norbert. He slipped that rifle along the wall beside a file cabinet in the corner of Norbert’s office, and moved the morning newspaper from the kitchen table to the top of that same file cabinet.

  At four-fifteen Ryan moved a small, about ten-inch, round glass-top table next to the left side of an overstuffed leather chair against the far wall across from Norbert’s desk, away from the door. Ryan was right handed, but from this distance his left hand would be more than adequate. He covered the small table with a dish towel from the kitchen, folded over once, and put Norbert’s handgun on that towel. He sat in the chair, elevated the recliner, and settled in.

  Okay Maxwell Norbert. Come home, come home wherever you are.

  Chapter 13

  A few minutes past good ‘n dark, Ryan heard the garage door go up. Maxwell Norbert had arrived. Ryan lowered the recliner, sliding down low enough that his head would not show against the lighter colored wall above the dark leather chair.

  Game on.

  The house was dark. That was good. Maxwell Norbert entered the laundry room and turned off the alarm, then turned on the kitchen light, then the hall light. After coming into his office, he slid his attaché case onto a credenza behind his desk, took off his coat and put it next to the case. His tie was already loose at the neck. Next, he spun the chair around to accept him and took a seat. Then he reached up and pulled the short chain below the green glass shade on his brass desk lamp.

  Ryan spoke into the fresh light alive with dust particles. “Good evening, Mr. Norbert. Welcome home.”

  Norbert jumped to his feet. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?” When he reached to twist the desk lamp up to shine in the direction from which the voice had come, Ryan spoke again.

  “I wouldn’t do that. I’d just as soon you not get a good look at my face. Masks are uncomfortable. Shooting you before I leave is messy. Sit back down.”

  Maxwell sat. “What the hell do you want?”

  “My questions will be answered. Not yours. Your only decision is whether you accept this rule without pain or with how much pain.”

  Norbert sagged.

  “Angle that desk lamp so it shines at your face.” Norbert did that. Then he wiped his brow with the flat of his hand.

  “I’ll bet your friends call you Norbie,” Ryan said. “That right?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that? What is this about?”

  “See rule one: I ask. You answer.”

  “Only my wife calls my Norbie. My friends call me Max.”

  Norbert’s expression changed. It hadn’t been much to begin with, but now he was angry. If he were a mug he’d have called Ryan an asshole or worse, but Norbie was uptown so he wouldn’t do that. He was a little scared. Ryan needed to accentuate the scared part.

  “Okay, Norbie. Here’s how our little get together is going to go. Money and power make a man feel he’s invincible. You’ve got both so you feel untouchable. First order of business, Norbie, let’s get rid of that silly notion. Strip.”

  “What?”

  “Strip. Now. Down to your birthday suit. Buck naked.”

  “Go to hell, mister.”

  Ryan fired Norbert’s handgun, a Colt .22 pistol with a 4-inch barrel. It was a bit noisy, but it was a well-built house on a modestly large lot, and a .22 isn’t all that loud. The bullet struck the padding at the top of the chair beside Norbert’s head.

  Maxwell Norbert’s hands, on reflex, went back over his neck. His head down as if he was in a school room air raid drill during the 1950s. He screamed. “You must be crazy.” His words smashed against the blotter on his desk. “Why in the hell did you do that?” His head peaked up to stare at the direction he knew was toward Ryan.

  “You’re resisting rule one, so I found it necessary to become less polite about it. If I have to fire again, the next will take a bite out of you. Not a big bite, but a bite you’ll feel. The big bites will come later if you still haven’t accepted rule one. Right now we’re stuck in the pain measuring stage. How much can you endure? How much will you endure? I guarantee you I am fully capable and committed to bringing you whatever level of hurt is needed for you to accept rule one.”

  After a long minute of silence, Ryan spoke again. “Naked. Now.” Norbert began to unbutton his shirt. Then the buttons on his sleeve cuffs. When he leaned down toward the floor, Ryan said, “Uh uh. No. Keep up where I can see you.”

  “My shoes. I’m taking them off.”

  “Stand up and use your other foot to force them off. Leave your socks on. Think of it as a glimpse at my compassionate side.” Norbert stood and wedged off his shoes. Then he looked into the darker part of the room. “Naked, Norbie. I won’t say it again. Strip it down. All of it.”

  Maxwell Norbert took off his slacks. Folded them along the crease line and put them on the credenza with his belt area atop his attaché case. Then he paused, his thumbs behind the elastic band at the top of his boxer shorts. “Yep, them too,” Ryan said. Norbert eased them down. Stepped out and kicked them toward the wall behind his desk. Now naked, Norbert sat down again in his desk chair, wincing slightly from the cool touch of the leather.

  “Banking doesn’t prepare a man for this sort of thing very well, does it, Norbie?” After a moment Ryan added, “That was a question, Norbie. Are all you bankers slow? Don’t tell me you need more persuasion about rule one?”

  “No. No. Banking doesn’t prepare one for these kinds of things. Not at all. No.”

  “One of your rifles is in the space between your file cabinet and the wall. Take it out.” Norbert did so. “Pick up the newspaper on top the file cabinet.” Norbert did so. “Hold the paper in front of your genitalia so the lead story and newspaper banner at the top show. Hold it with one hand.” Norbert did so. “Now pick up the rifle with your other hand and hold it across your chest, above the newspaper, but not in front of your face.” When Norbert had done that as well, Ryan took three pictures of him using the camera in his cell phone. “That’s the only rifle you own which likely could have been used to murder Sam Crawford. I plan to take that rifle and find out if it was the murder weapon.”

  “Be my guest. I didn’t shoot Sam Crawford.”

  “I’ve arranged this meeting so that we will have lots of time and no interruptions. I want you to tell me all about your money laundering shenanigans. Who for? How much? How it is done? About Sam Crawford. The full gambit.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Stand up, Norbie.” He did. “Turn around, Norbie.” He did. “Face the wall. Step back.” The banker did as he was told. “Another step.” He did, this time with less hesitation. “Put your hands on the wall. … Lean to it, man.”

  After a moment of silence with Norbert leaning forward with his hands against the wall, he spoke. “I’m cooperating. I just can’t tell you what I don’t know. Banks do not launder money.”

  “Wrong answer, Norbie.”

  “Yeoooooo.” Norbert lowered his hands and started to turn around.

  “Stay where you are, Norbie.”

  “You shot me. You shot me in the ass.”

  “No, Norbie. That was just a dart, an everyday bar tavern dart. I’ve got more. Unless you prefer I use the gun?”

  “No. No. Don’t shoot.”

  “When I throw darts I like to try and cluster them together as near as possible. You understand, so stay standing and leave the dart where it is. Now, you ready to try for a better answer? If not, I got lots of darts.”

  “Look, mister, whoever you are. We can work this out. I can make it worth your while.”

  “The way I see it, Norbie, it’s pretty much worked out now. You’re naked and completely at my mercy, which I have damn little of to begin with. If you want to mak
e it worth your own while, you’ll answer my questions. Oh, by the way, that’s also how you stay alive.”

  “The world has always had its takers, Mister. The takers are a constant, century after century. The profiteers who build and employ find ways around rules, around laws. They keep money and merchandise flowing.”

  “That was eloquent, Norbie. Words to live by for men like you. But wouldn’t it have been easier to say, I’m getting mine and fuck everybody else?”

  “There’s plenty to go around. I’m not greedy. I’ll need a man to replace Sam Crawford, you can fill his shoes. You could do worse for yourself.”

  “Until I’m not needed any longer, just like Sam wasn’t needed any longer.”

  “I didn’t kill Sam.”

  “I’ll let the obvious go, Norbie. Let me share with you the words I live by. I think it was Damon Runyon, not sure, who said, ‘All life is six to five against.’ In the end none of us survive, so who will pick your time? Fate? You? Me? Right now, if you’re a betting man, me sounds like better than even money. If, instead, you want to bet on fate or your own resourcefulness, which, I might add is not all that high at the moment, then go ahead and refuse to answer my questions.”

  “Listen. I’m offering money here. The greatest thing in the world. Lots of it.”

  “Greatest thing in the world? I don’t know. Better than a good ballgame. Better than lingerie wonderfully worn by a lovely woman. I think not. Money’s nice, but the greatest thing, nah.”

  “What do you wanna know?”

  When Norbie looked back over his shoulder, his expression had changed. He was getting angry. His brief glances were trying to see if there was some angle he could use to get to his gun in the side drawer of his desk. The one he thought was there.

  “Face the wall.” Norbie did. Ryan hurled another dart. Another yelp. This time his right buttock.

  “You did it again.”

  “I told you I had lots of darts.”

  “Why’d you do that? I’m cooperating.”

  “I told you to stay facing the wall. You keep sneaking a peak over your shoulder. Don’t do that. Understood?” Norbie nodded. Then he added, “Understood. I understand.”

  “Okay then Norbie, here’s the next question: Who are you laundering money for? If you want another dart, just try handing me another of those worthless denials.”

  “We don’t launder. Now just wait a minute. Technically, what we are doing is not laundering. Our bank helps people bring cash into the States without having it reported to the government.”

  “Who?”

  “An Islamic Foundation. It translates to Peace for the Lambs Foundation. It provides money for the children of men killed in the Middle East and South-Central Asia. By our unmanned drones, when they drop bombs in the mountains along the Afghan-Pakistan border.”

  “Money for terrorists in America.”

  “No. Children. Children in need.”

  Ryan knew that was bunk. If this was a legit foundation they could and would bring money in legally, besides most of those children were still in those mountain regions. Legitimate foundation work would not result in the death of Sam Crawford. “Who are your contacts? Here and in Pakistan.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. The money just comes—yeooooow.” Another dart hit the left side of his butt.

  “Your dart collection is growing, Norbie. I want the names of your contacts here and in Pakistan. You should know I have some of those names already so this is not a time to try any bankster doubletalk.” Norbert gave him one name in Pakistan and two in the U.S.

  While Ryan paused to commit the names to memory, Norbert said, “Who are you? Come on, let me ask one question. Who are you?”

  “Let’s just say I work for the U.S. Information Service, their ways and means department. I have ways to make you talk and the means to implement them.”

  After another pause, Norbert yelled again. “Yeoooow. Holy shit, man. Why did you do that again?”

  “I don’t much like you, Norbie. You cheat on your wife. You aid people who kill Americans. That dart was just for fun.”

  “Come on. Get real. The military-industrial complex needs threats. America spends about two-thirds of all the money spent on defense in the entire world. The terrorists are nothing but a bunch of ragtag thugs who mostly prey on their own people and their neighbors. They kill fewer Americans than tornadoes and other natural disasters. Hell, more Americans are shot by other Americans than by Islamic terrorists.”

  “Got it all figured out, have you, Norbie? Well, some of the people they’ve killed have been my friends. Those terrorists still hope to destroy Israel. So you’ll excuse me if I see it differently.”

  After throwing another dart, Norbert answered Ryan’s questions about the Pakistani from the D.C. embassy, the one who had passed the payoffs to Sam Crawford during his visits to the nation’s capital. He ordered Norbert to alert neither the embassy nor that diplomat.

  Then Norbert screamed again, louder. “What was that? Shit. That hurt.”

  “I took my darts back. Damned if I’m going to leave them in you. If all this doesn’t check out, I’ll need them again when I return. Should that be necessary, before I come back I’ll file the points down so the darts will be duller and require more force.”

  Norbert reached back and rubbed both his cheeks at one time. After Ryan got back into the darker part of the room, he said, “Sit down at your desk.”

  Norbert sat. “Thank you for letting me sit.”

  “Do you plan to replace Sam Crawford?”

  “Yes. His desk needs to be staffed.” As he spoke Norbert slid his hand down toward the row of drawer on his right.

  “Promote from within, do you?”

  “No one currently employed at the bank is qualified.” Norbert partially slid open the middle drawer to his right.

  “What skills do you require?”

  “I have to give that more thought.”

  Ryan could tell Norbert now had his hand inside the drawer, fishing for his Colt 22. “Let’s start with the skills Sam Crawford possessed,” Ryan said. “He had to understand banking regulations to help avoid reporting to the Egmont Group. He understood accounting. And likely spoke Pashto and several other Middle Eastern languages to varying degrees. And he would do what he was told. That about cover it?”

  “I guess,” Norbert said, reaching deeper into the drawer.

  “By the way, the shot I fired earlier. I used your Colt, so you won’t find it in your drawer. You should thank me. Had it been there and you tried to pull it out now, I would have shot you in the head. Now, the agenda for this meeting brings us to new business: I’ll send someone around next week for you to hire to replace Sam Crawford, someone who possesses similar skills. You hire that person. Same pay, benefits, and payoffs as Sam Crawford got.”

  “Sam’s pay was after many years of loyal service.”

  “The person I send over will be loyal as well, just not to you.”

  “I’m not going to guarantee I’ll hire anyone.”

  “Norbie. I’ve got my darts packed up. Don’t make me put you back up against that wall. Here’s the deal. I’ll say it as simply as I can. You’ve been breaking federal laws against aiding and abetting terrorists. I can have federal authorities arrest you tomorrow morning, maybe even tonight. Or, you can work for us as we learn more about these people and what strikes they’re planning. Your choice is very simple. You can work for us and stay in this wonderful home, and serve your country while continuing to rake in your payola. And, if you help enough and we accomplish all we hope to, after we’re done I might be inclined to arrange for you to retire respectably. Or you can take what’s behind door number two: arrest, a trial in federal court, humiliation, possible retaliation by those very same terrorists, and a long prison sentence. Well, there can be a third choice, at our option, we can leak to the right people, the wrong people for you, that you are cooperating with the U.S. Government. Then, whoever took out Sam Craw
ford will return for you. That is, unless it was you who killed Sam Crawford?”

  “I did not kill Sam. I have no idea who killed him or why.”

  “You either killed Sam Crawford or put him in a position where someone else wanted to kill him. Fortunately, for you, I have bigger fish to fry than solving the death of your fellow bankster. Should I find out you did kill him, when we’re done with you, I’ll turn you over to the local cops who will arrest you for the murder of Sam Crawford. Understood?”

  “I understand. If you play that square, I’ve got no concerns on that score. I didn’t kill Sam. Now, how will I recognize this man you’ll send over to take Sam’s job?”

  “I didn’t say it would be a man. There’s a silver dollar on the corner of the blotter on your desk. Pick it up. Describe it to me.”

  Norbert picked it up and reached forward to put it under his desk lamp. “It’s a 1998 Commemorative Robert Kennedy silver dollar.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s something dark, appears to be black ink, in the deep lines on the lower portion of his face.”

  “Keep that dollar. Don’t spend it. The person I send for the job will tell you that he was recommended by a mutual friend, Mr. Kennedy. He’ll then hand you a silver dollar exactly like the one in your hand. His references and work background will check out exactly as he will put on his application, as will his identification. Hire him or her and follow that person’s instructions like they were from me, they will be. You don’t want to see me again. I will be around, and I will know what’s going on.”

  “And that will get me out of this without any charges?”