Aces and Knaves

by Alan Cook

  What should I do first? My inclination was to sell Dionysus stock short. A minute's reflection told me I couldn't do that. I would be betraying my father. Besides, it would be illegal. Insider trading was an SEC no-no. If I wasn't an insider by my relationship to the CEO, I certainly was because of the information he had confided in me.

  Okay, get a grip, Karl. You need a plan. First, I had to call Emerge, the nonprofit organization I volunteered at on Tuesday afternoons and tell them I couldn't make it today. One reason I hated to do this was because they needed me. Emerge helped people who for one reason or another had not had a job for a period of time, often years, and prepared them to re-enter the job market. Some were homeless; some had been in prison; many had drug or alcohol-related problems, but were now clean.

  The Emerge staff and volunteers presented classes on locating job opportunities, interviewing and resume writing. They maintained a closet full of used clothes in good condition, suitable for wearing to interviews. They placed telephones and fax machines at the disposal of the clients. And computers. I had assembled some of their client computers from various components. I also taught computer classes and gave individual instruction on using Microsoft Word and other word-processing programs.

  I hoped I would only miss one session. I decided to make my phone call do double duty. When the man at the reception desk—a former client—answered I asked for Esther Rodriguez. She was the other reason I hated to cancel.

  After a short wait I heard the familiar voice: "Hello, this is Esther." She had no trace of an accent, remarkable because her parents spoke very little English.

  "Hi, it's Karl," I said. After some preliminaries, I asked, "How are the ticket sales on the Boxster going?" Esther was Director of Development for Emerge—which means she was in charge of raising the money to keep it running. A responsible job for someone so young, but she was good at it.

  "We're getting a decent response on the mail solicitation, but we need to do better. I'm counting on you for a big finish Saturday at our fundraiser. You're such a good salesman."

  It was going to be a gala event. Nine-hundred-fifty people had purchased tickets, defying all expectations. "I'm looking forward to it. But I'm afraid something came up and I'll have to cancel our lunch today. And my computer session." I owed her a better explanation than that. "It's...it's a family matter."

  "Nothing wrong, I hope?"

  "No no. Just something I have to do." She didn't know who my father was and I didn't want to say any more. "I'll miss seeing you."

  "I'll miss you, too."

  The honey in her voice made me shiver. Sometimes after I did my thing with clients and computers, if she didn't have to work late we went to her apartment and cooked dinner together. And after dinner...well, let's just say that she had satin skin. But no dinner with Esther today. I forced myself to get back on track and hung up after a few more sentences.

  I got on the computer and played a quick game of hearts. That's my tension reliever. I had bad luck and ate the queen of spades a couple of times, but then I shot the moon and beat the three computer-generated players, as I usually do. All in less than five minutes.

  I checked my email and then shut down the computer. I picked up my phone again and punched in the number my father had given me for Arrow, wondering about the origin of her name.

  "Arrow speaking."

  The voice was louder than Esther's, more businesslike.

  "Hi, this is Karl Patterson."

  "You sound like your father."

  She spoke rapidly and with assurance.

  "We're supposed to get together."

  "How about the Norms on PCH in half-an-hour?"

  "Uh...I guess that would be all right."

  "Do you need 45 minutes?"

  "No...no; half an hour's fine. How will I know you."

  "Don't worry, I'll know you."

  ***

  Half an hour didn't give me much time. I didn't feel the need to wear my one and only suit, but I did put on a decent pair of slacks and a sport shirt. And shoes. You can't go to business meetings barefoot. I grabbed a yellow lined pad and the gold Cross pen I had found on the beach. As I was about to descend the stairs for the fourth time that morning I heard a splash through my open window.

  I went to the window and my suspicions were confirmed. Jacie was taking her morning swim. And she didn't wear a swimsuit. She was oblivious to the morning coolness—and to me. I had to pass the swimming pool to get to the garage. I was trapped in my own house. I hesitated, not wanting to be late, then thought, what the hell. If she didn't care why should I?

  At least she never bothered to check whether I was home before taking her swim. I always felt guilty watching her from my window, probably because she was married to my father. But I watched her anyway.

  I went down the stairs and out the door. I closed it and locked the dead bolt with exaggerated slowness to give Jacie time to cover up. I needn't have bothered. As I walked past the pool she was floating on her back. I hurried my steps, not looking directly at her.

  "Where is the gay caballero off to this morning?"

  Jacie's looks might have gotten her into silent films, but she couldn't make it into the talkies because of the harshness of her voice. Her body wasn't bad, however. I felt that since she had addressed me I was entitled, so I looked directly at her and confirmed not for the first time that she was a natural blond. I said, "I'm going to tilt at a few windmills and right some unrightable wrongs."

  "Well, just make sure you don't queer things instead of righting them." She laughed.

  Jacie was comedically challenged. I jerked my head to the front with an effort and went through the open sliding door into the castle. I was in the formal dining room, with its massive chandelier from Austria. I heard noises from the adjacent kitchen.

  I poked my head through the door and said, "Hi, Luz, how's my sweetheart?"

  "Karl! Mi hijo."

  I went to her and gave her a hug. As I put my arms around her ample body I thought of the mother I no longer had.

  "I'm cooking spareribs for dinner," she said. "I have a great tomato sauce. I will make enough for you, if you like."

  "That sounds wonderful, but I don't know when I'll be home."

  "Would you like me to put them in your refrigerator? You only have to heat them in the microwave. And I will give you some beans, too."

  "Thanks, Luz. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "You would waste away to a spot of grease. But I will take care of you."

  "Bye. Gotta run." I waved to her and dashed toward the garage. I have to admit that I learned two things from my father. One was to treat the "janitors" well because they can help you. Luz's title was actually housekeeper. I invested her IRA for her; it had tripled in value in the last two years, partly because of Dionysus stock. Fortunately, I had sold Dionysus near the top.

  The garage had three outside doors, but inside it was big enough to hold at least six cars. The advantage of designing your own house is that you can build in extras like that. My father had torn down the previous house on the lot and built his castle from scratch. He liked nice cars. I could drive any one of them, except the classic Rolls Royce Corniche, in return for helping to take care of them.

  The second thing I learned from my father was, regardless of your income, always spend less than you take in if you want to become wealthy. Since I didn't have much income that was difficult to do. But not owning a car was a big savings for me because I didn't have to worry about payments, insurance and depreciation.

  My father had driven the BMW this morning, as he usually did. Jacie liked to drive the Mercedes. I often drove the red 1966 Jaguar XKE Roadster, but today I wanted something inconspicuous. The least conspicuous car was a beige Toyota Camry. It had been Jacie's before she married my father, but now she never drove it.

  By moving the Mercedes I was able to free the Toyota and back it out of the garage. I activated the electronic gate across the driveway with my rem
ote and drove through the fence. As I started along the street, mindful of the residential 25 mile-per-hour speed limit, I glanced at my watch and realized I was going to be late for my appointment.

  ***

  Years of living in Palos Verdes had taught me the shortcuts through the maze of curvy hillside streets, so I quickly got to Crenshaw Boulevard where I could make better time and coasted down to Pacific Coast Highway, on the flatland. I arrived at the restaurant only five minutes late.

  The restaurant was sparsely populated with patrons. The breakfast crowd was gone and it was too early for the lunch bunch. I wondered whether I could pick out Arrow, but before I had a chance to look around I saw an arm waving from a booth.

  The young woman attached to the arm was much too good looking to be in business, but there was nobody else near me she could be waving to so I walked over to her and said, "Hi, I'm Karl."

  "I'm Arrow. My pleasure. Have a seat."

  We shook hands. She had a firm, dry grip. She indicated the part of the semi-circular, vinyl-covered seat opposite her and I sat down. She wore a red business skirt with matching jacket, over a white blouse. I didn't immediately recognize her ethnicity. Her skin was darker than mine and she had short black hair in tight curls.

  "What would you like?" Arrow asked, summoning a waitress. She already had a cup of coffee and there was a glass of water in front of each of us, full of ice cubes, ready to freeze my esophagus.

  "Uh...orange juice."

  "Anything to eat?"

  "No thanks." I'd eaten breakfast.

  Arrow gave the order to the waitress before I could say anything.

  "How did you know me?" I asked her, trying to break the ice.

  "Well, number one, you look a lot like Richard—your father. Number two, he has a picture of you on his desk."

  "He does?" I couldn't hide my surprise.

  "With your sisters. I would guess it was taken about ten years ago."

  "Oh."

  "But you still look the same. Except your hair is shorter."

  "That was my fake hippy period. So how do you like being one of his slaves?"

  Arrow stared at me for a few seconds with her dark eyes, expressionless, then said, "Look, Karl, I know that you and Richard have had your differences, but if you and I are going to get along, please don't air them in front of me."

  Whoops! Wrong thing to say. "I didn't mean..."

  "I'm sure you know the definition of a slave. And since I have slaves in my ancestry, among the rogues and roués, I know something about slaves. I am not a slave and Richard does not treat his employees like slaves."

  "I'm sorry. But you don't look..."

  "What? Black? African-American?"

  "Right."

  "Well, actually, I'm a combination."

  "Of what?"

  "African-American, Native-American, Asian-American and European-American."

  "What do you check on forms?"

  "Anything I like." She gave a hint of a smile.

  I said, "Thanks for the lecture. I deserved it. I'm afraid I'm only European-American, but I've never seen that on a form."

  The waitress came and deposited a glass of orange juice in front of me. She asked if I wanted anything more. When I said no she put the check on the table. Arrow pulled it toward her.

  "Why did you want to meet here instead of at the office?" I asked when the waitress had gone.

  "Because, since you've never actually been to the office in recent memory, your appearance there might provoke comment. We don't want anybody to think you have an official connection with Dionysus."

  "But I can't hide the fact that I'm Richard's son."

  "No." Arrow smiled a full smile for the first time. The room became several watts brighter. "But if you can gain Ned's trust, maybe that won't matter."

  "We'll see. Anyway, if I'm going to play detective I guess I should do some detecting. Why don't we start with you telling me what you saw at the casino?"

  Arrow told pretty much the same story that my father had. When she finished I asked, "Did you do any gambling while you were there?"

  "No. Before I saw Ned we were just walking around, and afterward we left because I didn't want him to see me."

  "What did you think of the place?"

  Arrow made a face. "We went inside from the clean desert air. The first thing that hit me was the cigarette smoke. California is pretty much smoke-free now and I can't stand smoke anymore."

  "I guess Indian reservations don't have to abide by the state laws."

  "And the noise! From jangling slot machines and God knows what else. And all these fat, old people sitting in front of the slots, mesmerized, pouring in their Social Security checks. It was depressing."

  Arrow's description made me laugh. "I take it you're not much of a gambler."

  "I have been to Las Vegas—once. I put a dollar in a slot machine—four quarters, one at a time. Then I asked myself what I was doing, throwing my money away. I haven't gambled since. Actually, we just went into the casino to try to get a cold drink. I wasn't planning on gambling."

  "Do you know how to play blackjack?"

  "I know the object is to get 21."

  "But you've never played?"

  "No."

  "Okay, question. You said you thought Ned was betting $500 a hand. What made you think that?"

  "I was behind him, but I was close enough so that I could hear him ask the dealer what the limit was, and the dealer said $500. And Ned was betting a lot of chips on each hand."

  "But you don't know the values of the chips."

  "No."

  "And he was playing five hands at a time."

  "Yes. He was the only person at the table."

  "Did he appear to know what he was doing? Was he...playing carefully?"

  Arrow considered. "Of course, I can't answer as to his strategy, but he was certainly concentrating on the game."

  "What was his mood?"

  "He looked like he was having fun. He was joking with the dealer."

  "Even though he was losing?"

  Arrow nodded. "Right."

  "You said that you think he may have lost several thousand dollars while you watched. How did you come up with that figure?"

  "Well, assuming he was betting $500 a hand, he would win some and lose some on each deal, unless the dealer got a real good hand or busted. I know busted means the dealer exceeded 21. But after I'd watched Ned play for a few minutes his pile of chips was a lot smaller than when I first saw him. In fact, I was afraid he'd run out of chips, stop playing and see me. That's one reason I left."

  "Why didn't you speak to him?"

  "I couldn't believe he would want anybody he knew see him behaving like that."

  I thought for a minute. "I guess we've milked the casino thing about as much as we can. Of course, I retain the right to recall the witness, in case I have any more questions."

  Arrow smiled, as I had hoped she would. I said, "Well, when can I meet Mr. Mackay."

  "Are you free for lunch?"

  I didn't say what I was thinking. That I was free for lunch only because my father had twisted my arm. Instead, I said, "Yes."

  "Good. That's the best opportunity because Ned is flying to San Francisco this afternoon. The local Rotary Club meets at noon at the Marriott. Ned and I represent Dionysus. You can go as my guest. I'll fix it so you sit next to Ned. The only thing is, we have to invent a cover story for you, a plausible reason for you to be there. You can be thinking of joining, but most of the members own their own businesses."

  "I own my own business."

  "Sure you do."

  Would she laugh? "I sell old baseball cards."

  Arrow looked hard at me. "You're serious."

  "Yes. Don't believe everything my father tells you about me."

  "Sorry. Guilty as charged. Can you make a living doing that?"

  "You can if you know what you're doing."

  "How do you sell them? I assume you don't have a store."
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br />   "Card shows. But mostly, on the Internet, through auction sites like eBay. And I have my own website."

  Arrow considered this for a moment. Then she said, "Good. Meet me at the Marriott at noon."

  Arrow paid the tab. She declined help, even with the tip, saying she would put it on her expense account. We walked outside together. The cloud that I had seen earlier from above, blanketing the basin, was gone and the sun shone brightly. The temperature was in the seventies. I walked Arrow to her car, a late-model Acura, befitting a rising young executive.

  When we got there she said, "Richard has told me a lot about you—and some of it may even be true. When he said he wanted to bring you into this I was skeptical, based on what I knew or thought I knew about you. Now that I've met you I've started to revise this. You may be a good choice, after all."

  "I'll take that as a compliment. Besides, how can I screw up with you to keep me on the true and righteous path?"

  "Is that what you think my role is?"

  "Isn't it?"

  Arrow frowned. "I see you still have some issues to work out with your father. However, I hope you find out what's bugging Ned, because my stock options are riding on it. In fact, every employee's stock options are riding on it."

  "What do you think is his problem? Do you think it's gambling, or something more?"

  "I don't know." Arrow shook her head. "But something is bugging him."

  She shook my hand, got into her car and drove away. I watched her go, looking forward to lunch a lot more than I had been an hour ago.

  Chapter 3 BUSINESS PLAN

  I drove the few miles to Redondo Beach and spent an hour strolling along the street above the beach, trying to work out a plan of action. The surfers in the water, seagulls on the sand and bicyclists/runners/skaters/walkers on the bike path below didn't inspire me and I wasn't very successful. Then I drove a few more miles to the Marriott, parked in the free lot across a side street from it and walked over.

  The idea of putting name-brand hotels in Torrance was a relatively recent one. They hadn't been there when I was growing up. Even though I had never been inside the Marriott, it was familiar to me; I could see it from my hillside window. I could see all the major buildings of Torrance, including the one that had lights on the top in the shape of a Christmas tree during the holiday season.