The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller

by David Haskell

  Ted whistled. “Sounds perfect! That’s why you’re the boss...”

  Hamm chuckled, giving Ted a pat on the shoulder as he led him out.

  Turning, Ted went for broke. “I don’t suppose it would make sense for me to get a key? Just in case.”

  Hamm chuckled again, a touch more condescending this time. “Let’s not get carried away. You’ll have plenty of time to get the job done when I’m here to keep an eye on things.”

  Ted nodded, ducking out before Hamm could change his mind.

  * * *

  Fangue couldn’t help but feel pleasure at the sight of Ella Jones’ face. As she was led away, handcuffed and mirandized, she seemed bewildered by the entire situation. Not so much a deer in the headlights, she was more like a deer who’d already been struck but didn’t yet feel the pain.

  She was entirely guilty, that was the best part of all. Thanks to his thorough research and deep digging, he and his associate had drummed up actual tax-related charges to stick on her that she wasn’t even aware were at issue. Normally this wouldn’t result in a criminal complaint. Hank had to use his expertise to make sure the right people found the file. But the criminal conduct itself was airtight, which was a happy bonus. Although capable of trumping up charges, he preferred to do it above board whenever he could.

  At the arraignment, he sat inconspicuously with a newspaper in the back of the gallery, just there to make sure everything went to plan. When she was brought before the bench, she looked considerably more disheveled, but with a gleam of malice in her eye that surprised even the jaded security man.

  Ella Jones spoke for herself. “Not guilty, your honor.”

  The judge jotted this information down, and asked why there was no lawyer present.

  “Since I’ve been wrongfully accused,” she continued, her voice shaking just slightly, “I have nothing to hide. And I will represent myself.

  It came off as something audacious, a bold move, but in reality it was stupid. The judge raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Hank had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

  She had dug her own grave. All he had left to do now was tip off the right sources pre-trial, and let the story run its course. When they were through with her, she’d be lucky to find a publisher outside the realm of conspiracy theorists and bitcoin proprietors.

  ~ 24 ~

  Images

  ‘Someplace Else’ was the biggest club in town, which wasn’t saying much, but still it was impressive to land a booking there. They boasted a state-of-the-art sound system and a decent stage, both of which were in short supply. The back-of-house was just as grimy as any other, though, which was where Til found herself when she officially became famous.

  “Ms. Nune?”

  One of her handlers moved to shoo the manager away, but Til stood up and waved him in. “Hi. What’d you need? Late start?”

  The man looked around, sizing up her group before speaking. “Nothing like that ma’am. I wanted to invite you to switch slots tonight, if you’re interested.”

  That meant waiting longer, but the later slot was preferable in almost any circumstance. “Sure. How much longer?”

  “How does 9:05 sound?”

  The headliner slot. Til had never gotten within three acts of it, and now he was bumping the regional superstars for her?

  She agreed without hesitation, but spent the rest of the night worrying. She fired off questions and concerns at a mile a minute: “You think going on last isn’t too much? For the fans, I mean?” “People might’ve shown up early for us, I hope they’re not pissed. You know what I mean, right? I’m just saying...” “How’s the set-list? You really think back-to-back full albums is the way to go?” No matter what kind of positive, upbeat answers she got back, she was unable to shake herself out of the uneasy funk the situation had produced.

  The higher she climbed these days, and at this point it felt like leaps and bounds, the more she needed a strong advisor. Ted was usually around, and always supportive, but she never bounced ideas off him or asked his opinion on her progress. He was so enamored with her, any criticism would have been couched in impossibly vague terms that she couldn’t peel away from the over abundance of praise. She knew he meant well, and was being as honest as he could, but as a confidant he, too, fell short.

  After finding herself in the corner of her room, wrist upturned, a glinting razor blade hovering inches above, she decided to see someone. She got nothing out of the sessions aside from an easy shoulder to cry on, but what could anyone really know about what she was going through? How could this person know how failure was just one step away every moment? How the pressure to stay on the rise felt like drowning at the bottom of an inescapable pit?

  What she did get from him was a handful of prescriptions. These mixed nicely with the ever-present pot she’d neglected to mention on the outpatient questionnaire. The mix was the thing, it was smooth and numbing in a way she hadn’t needed before, and she was able to escape from her own head.

  The MJ she did with friends, never bothering to hide it. The pills, she took ahead of time, behind closed doors. The effects remained private even in public, never to be revealed. Not intentionally, anyway. When the first combination stopped suppressing the pain effectively enough, she found another shrink who peddled a different variety. And then, taking on a third for good measure, she began a rotation in order to preserve the original level of comfort.

  The subterfuge offered the added benefit of giving her a sense of control, something she couldn’t find anywhere else. This gave her renewed confidence, she seemed more together and less fractured than before. Everyone, especially Ted, was oblivious to what was really going on.

  * * *

  “It’s not going as great as I thought it would,” Til said, reaching to pull Ted closer. “I guess I just had certain expectations.”

  “Yeah, that’s how these things go sometimes,” Ted said, returning the embrace for a few seconds before pulling back. “When you come right down to it, it’s just a job. Right?”

  Til let go. She stared into Ted’s eyes, like she was searching for something. It made him uncomfortable, so he looked away.

  She reached for her purse. “Got you a present today,” she said. For such a casual comment, her voice was awfully shaky. She cleared her throat. “Here!”

  She held out a small package. She’d been carrying it around all day, judging from the state of the gift-wrap. She rarely had the money to buy anything for herself, never mind others, so this was probably a big deal.

  “What is it?” He didn’t sound enthusiastic, even to himself. More like chore-time. Were they that jaded? So bad that even the simple act of gift-giving had become tiresome? He forced a smile and slid a finger under the paper.

  “It’s nothing special,” she hedged, “so we can change it if you want.”

  Ted looked up, wincing as his finger sliced across the gift wrap. A red smear oozed out of the tip.

  “Oh,” Til said, catching his expression, “you okay?”

  “Fine,” he lied. “It’s nothing.” He pulled back the injured finger and ripped the paper off with his thumb instead, hoping he hadn’t gotten blood on the gift.

  It wasn’t immediately apparent what he was looking at. It was some sort of jewelry, he figured out that much. And it was big. It wasn’t a ring. Nothing sharp to indicate a piercing. He made impressed noises, trying to buy some time as he turned the box around and examined it from another angle. He realized there were two objects in the box; one had slipped out of the indentation and fell behind the other.

  “Oh, cufflinks?”

  The upturn into a question escaped his lips before his brain had a chance to stuff it back down.

  “Cufflinks!” He repeated, trying harder but still sounding like a spoiled kid disappointed with his Christmas presents.

  Her shoulders sagged. “You don’t like them.”

  “Of course I do!” Ted insisted, “I really do! They’re awesome. I’m just surpri
sed is all. You know, I don’t usually get gifts and—”

  “Enough, Ted. It’s okay. I just thought since you’re always suiting up for work and all...”

  “Absolutely. They’ll go great with my blue blazer.”

  She rolled her eyes, but let it go. He felt like this was a prelude, anyway. She was softening him up for something. So he didn’t worry about the faux pas too much, making a little more fuss before putting the box aside. Then he went quiet so she could get on with it.

  “Ted?”

  Ah ha! He was getting really good at reading her. “Hmm?”

  “I got a call from Cheryl today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Another call, I should say. She’s been hounding me about this TV gig that’s opening up.”

  “Wow. TV?”

  “I know, it sounds good and all. But things are happening so fast, you know. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “Sure it is!” This is what she wants, he convinced himself. The rest was just games. He encouraged, she acted like she didn’t want it. You could set a clock by it. “Look, Til, you need to strike while the iron’s hot, know what I mean?”

  She sniffed. “Sort of.”

  “What are you worried about, anyway?”

  “I dunno. Maybe I’ll suck?” She smiled.

  He liked it when she made fun of herself. “Only if you want to,” he teased back.

  She gave him a soft slap, still smiling. “No, seriously. I’ve thought about acting, but always someday, you know? I don’t know if I’m ready. I have no idea how it all works.”

  “Who does?” Ted pushed. “Look at all those child actors. They figure it out. That’s the directors job anyway, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  “Til, you’re fortunate to have all this great luck.”

  That killed the smile. She gave him a dirty look. “Luck?”

  “And talent.” Nice catch. “Luck and success, and talent, and all of it.”

  She softened. Obviously in a forgiving mood. “I talked with my mom yesterday, can you believe that?”

  He didn’t know if she talked with her mother on a regular basis or not, but somehow it came as a surprise. “And?”

  “Well, she’s happy for me. You know, but worried. I guess the whole family is. You know how all those celebrities end up crashing and burning. It makes people scared.”

  “That’s just media hype,” Ted said, “mostly, anyway.” He hadn’t a clue if that were true or not, but felt he needed to say something convincing. The truth was, he was afraid to keep propping her up if she didn’t succeed on her own. Recent actual sales figures were far below expectations, and he was cutting into club profits to pay her royalties as it was. This television thing might put her over the top and out of his jurisdiction, which was the main reason he wanted her to go for it. He’d never admit that, not even to himself, but the strain of dealing with her career on top of his own problems was getting to him more every day.

  “That may be true,” Til said, “but they’re still worried. They’re hoping I’ll get over this ‘phase’ and get a real job.” She laughed.

  “They’ll come around when you’re a big TV star. You’ll see.”

  She still looked unsure, but his encouragement was having an effect. She’d do it, he could tell. And once she got into the swing, everything would be okay. And he could get back to handling the club. It’d taken a backseat now for far too long.

  * * *

  It was a gorgeous night, so they ended up sitting outside. As the darkness thickened around them, they held hands, side by side in a swinging chair. Ted had picked it up after noticing a similar model on the warehouse floor. He’d finally gotten used to having the means to purchase anything that caught his eye, and had been on something of an extended shopping spree lately. Til hadn’t seemed to notice. Aside from instruments and other re-investments, she’d been keeping her own money to herself, whether or not she was doing so to keep Ted out of the loop was an open question.

  “You ever see them anymore?” Ted asked.

  “Who, my folks? Naw. They moved away years ago. I just sort of stuck around. I still have a few cousins in town, and my sister is still around I think.”

  “You think?”

  Til lit a cigarette. “We’re kind of distant. Opposites, you know.”

  “Not a singer?”

  “Nothing like that. I think she majored in robotics or some shit. Or statistics? Something-icks anyway.”

  “I can see why she doesn’t talk to you.”

  “We’re not estranged or anything. We just don’t click. Anyway, she’s a lot older. I have more in common with some of my cousins, but I never see them either.”

  “Oh,” She offered him the tobacco, but he waved it off. He occasionally took a puff or two when she smoked, though she didn’t know he had his own supply squirreled away. Between the two, it was getting dangerously close to a habit lately.

  She rested it on the ashtray and wrapped her arm around him. “And what about you, Mr. Mysterious? You never told me about your family.”

  “Nothing to tell, really,” Ted said. “Only child. Grew up in the Northwest. My parents are still there. I went to college here, never went back.”

  “No ties?”

  “There are always some ties,”—the smokey air made him feel slightly nauseous—“but nothing that compels me to go back, no.”

  “That’s sad.”

  You’re right, it is. “Not really.”

  They swung gently together, enjoying the breeze. When headlights swung around in the front of the house they didn’t think much of it, but the squeal of brakes and heavy footsteps got their attention. By the time Ted had gotten around the side of the house, someone was pounding on the door. So urgent he thought it might be cop-knocks, instead he found Phil banging away, his glasses askew and looking extremely distraught.

  “Calm down, bud,” Ted prompted. Phil swung around in surprise.

  “It’s okay, Phil,” he reassured his friend, “it’s only me.”

  Phil stared at him, still hitting the door but decelerating and easing up on it. He seemed surprised to see Ted, which made the intrusion all the stranger.

  “You okay?” Ted asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Phil said, his eyes all over the place, “but we need to talk.”

  He brought Phil around back, guiding him with an arm and trying to settle him with with a hand on shoulder. He was clearly uncomfortable with the contact, but he didn’t flinch.

  "Hey Phil," Til said.

  Phil looked up at the sound of his name, then a split second later he was staring down, examining his feet. "Oh. Uh huh."

  No eye contact. Ted knew this to be an obvious sign of distress. Phil was screaming for privacy, but couldn’t bring himself to demand it, instead reacting the only way he knew how—by ignoring the problem, in this case literally. Til obviously felt the vibe, standing up and saying, "Okay, well, I guess I’ll go inside for a while.”

  Phil was only then able to look at her, offering a nervous wave, a lot for him under the circumstances. After she was inside with the door shut, he turned to Ted and leaned in. "We’ve got problems,” he whispered, “big problems."

  Ted responded with a stage whisper. “Problems, Phil?”

  “Shhhh!” Phil admonished, not taking kindly to the mocking tone. “I’m serious, Ted. Someone’s been in the system, and messing around with our clients!”

  Ted’s easygoing attitude vanished.

  “That’s right,” Phil chided, catching Ted’s shocked expression, “not so funny anymore, right?”

  “Shit.”

  “And your”—he looked around, eyes landing on the door Til had exited through—“lady friend in there is on the top of the hit list.”

  “Shit!”

  “Damn right. We’ve got to get on top of this Ted, or the club’s gonna be history!”

  Ted was damned glad that Phil had insisted Til go inside. He had no idea if Phil kne
w it was all subterfuge, but he had no intention of finding out. He would praise Phil the next time they spoke, apologize for making fun, and reinforce the fact that his secretive nature was absolutely the way to go.

  He slipped inside to make his excuses to Til. She wasn’t pleased, but when he started explaining the work-related disaster that was supposedly freaking Phil out her eyes glazed quickly enough. She waved him out, and he promised to make it up to her when he got back. She made some remark about probably being asleep or else hanging out with more thoughtful people.

  * * *

  There was no need to go to Sahara, Phil had all the relevant data on his laptop. They drove for a while, Phil explaining what he’d discovered.

  “They had a real head start on us.” He was scanning a list on the screen, tracing with his index finger, pointing out red highlighted sections that he’d obviously already looked at. “It looks like they’ve been at it for a few months at least, and if I hadn’t caught it when I did, they probably would’ve hit every last one of our clients.”

  “Christ!” Ted tried to focus on the road, only half-glancing over the long list of discrepancies. “How many’d they get to?”

  Phil ran his finger down the screen one more time. “Maybe a dozen or so?”

  “Well, it’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world either,” Ted said. “It’s fixable, that's something.”

  “Maybe for now,” Phil replied, “but if we don’t track this guy down, he’s just going to keep going, and then what?”

  Ted thought about how that would affect things. It’d be a nightmare, no question. The clients would revolt. Complaints would pour in so fast they’d never be able to contain it. Management would investigate, for real this time, one of the club staffers would crack. He, Phil and Marge would go down hard. If they were lucky they’d just lose their jobs, but more likely they’d be prosecuted for fraud.

  Should've thought of all that before, genius. “We find him now, so we never have to cross that bridge. Okay?”

  Phil mumbled agreement.

  “Hey, you see that?”—Ted pointed to the last entry on the screen, allowing the car to veer before noting the danger and grabbing a better hold—“Sorry. Looks like they were at it this morning.”