The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller

by David Haskell

  A second buzz zapped him through the pocket. Like an idiot he jumped just as high as the first time. What did Marge want now?

  Except it wasn’t from Marge. Or it didn't seem so, anyway. It was encoded, which was hardly her style. Still, the way this bizarre day was unfolding, anything was possible.

  He had to get to a computer in order to unscramble the message. The remaining officers were still over by the cubicle farm, so his own terminal was out of the question. Should he even be trying to read this? What if it was the cops, sending a trojan horse to nail his position? Maybe they were expecting him to be stupid enough to reveal himself to an encrypted stranger.

  Still, it hardly seemed like the police to play games like that. They’d simply get a court order and track down his phone, wouldn’t they? Or even simpler, track him by his car. These were local cops, after all, not NSA agents. It seemed the decision would require a leap of faith on his part, whichever way he decided to go.

  * * *

  Ted climbed the perch as instructed. From that vantage point, he tried counting how many security men were fanned out below; but they were moving a lot, and there were overhanging shelves and outsized merchandise blocking his view. There was no way to see below the mid-level catwalks, either, nor the office mezzanine directly under his feet. Even though he was pretty sure there were four on the floor, he guessed there were twice that many unseen. Eight men all told, probably more.

  Ted could still hear footsteps in the distance, but they didn’t seem to be moving upward yet. He still had time. He followed Marge’s directions and found a recessed door. It was locked, but his access card worked. The first thing he noticed was the bank of monitors and computer gear at the far end. He started towards it, but only made it three paces before something connected with the back of his head, heavy and hard. His lights went out just as fully as the ones downstairs.

  ~ 41 ~

  Snares

  Ted’s brain thunked rhythmically against the inside of his skull. His wrists bound by something sharp and unforgiven, he had been twisted up into a knot, his limbs flailing out in different directions. As vision came back to him, he saw a woman bend forward and look straight into his eyes.

  “You’re awake,” she stated in a clinical voice, giving him a once-over glance to make sure he was coherent. “Good. I’d say sorry about the headache, but you’ve been more trouble than you’re worth today. Pretty stupid, coming down here. Whoever sent you should’ve warned you,”—Judy looked over at the monitors—“it’s not like I couldn’t see you coming.”

  Ted’s mind was still swimming. He was having trouble registering this change in attitude from someone who, until minutes ago, he thought he had a handle on. He had no idea who he was dealing with now.

  “So who sent you down here? Fangue? No, he wouldn’t, even if he could. Marge, then.” She smiled in triumph, something in his face gave it away. He fought to neutralize his expression, even if it was too little too late. He couldn’t stop the pain though, his head was close to exploding, and that made everything harder to control. What’d she hit me with?

  Like she was able to read his mind, she reached over to heft her weapon—a flat-edged, rusty looking crowbar. “This what you’re wondering about? Storage room upstairs, it’s full of ‘em. Didn’t even have to check it out.” She chuckled. “See what you can learn from those orientation tours? Guess you should’ve paid better attention.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Ted felt like the question was stupid, but it was the only one that sprang to mind.

  “Ever wonder what kind of collateral damage your little club has been causing, Ted? I can call you Ted, can’t I? We’re still friends and all?”

  “Go to hell.”

  She tisked. “Easy now, Ted. No sense getting yourself worked up. It’s almost over.”

  “That’s what you think. There’re fifty cops up there looking for you.”

  “Looking for you, Ted. And they’ll find you, too, soon enough. But first we’ve got something important to discuss.”

  * * *

  Ted spent the next few minutes trying to ignore Judith Schott and searching the room for some way out. She was aware of it, and when his curiosity finally annoyed her sufficiently, she walked around the back of his chair and tied something around his eyes, casting him into darkness. When he opened his mouth to protest she stuffed something in there, too. It bore the faint smell of antiseptic, he wondered if that came from the supply closet as well. He fought off the gag reflex and tried to breathe as lightly as possible. There was nothing left to do but hear her out.

  “I’ll bet you think I’m just trying to steal your money, right Ward?”

  Ted looked up at the ceiling, adding a sarcastic pause before he nodded.

  “Oh, you do, do you?” she said, strolling around him so her voice kept him off balance. “Thought so. The money isn’t my objective at all, not that I expect you to believe me.”

  Ted gave her a muffled humph.

  “You want to know why I’d do all this, then?” She was mocking now. “Let’s just say I have a personal stake in the matter, and I want my pound of flesh. Marjorie Klein found that out, when I drove her out of the company. And your pal Caldorian? He just found out, too. Out in Portland, right?”

  Ted made no sound, but his slumped body language indicated his state of mind—hopeless and defeated. He heard her melodic laughter off to the side, and wanted to strangle her.

  “Thing is Ted, I can call you Ted, can’t I? I always though of you by your last name, honestly, but Ward seems so...impersonal, now that we’re on more intimate terms.”

  Ted rocked the chair back and forth, trying to free a hand, but it did no good. He was bound up tight. He could probably knock himself over with enough effort, but that hardly seemed beneficial.

  “You know all about intimacy, don’t you Ted?” Her voice was closer now, close enough to feel the heat on his neck. “Like with Tillany,”—he felt a hot flash at hearing her name, his breath turned ragged and angry—“am I right?” She wanted to get a rise out of him. He checked his reaction, forcing himself to breathe slow and deep. “The kind of intimacy that gets you all worked up, passionate. Willing to do anything to keep it going. That’s right, Ted. Don’t fight it. She wouldn’t want you to. After all, she owed you everything, didn’t she? The gold club, the record deals, the career. All thanks to you, wasn’t it Ted?”

  This time Ted’s huuummmph was guttural, strong, and full of hate.

  He wretched as the rag was pulled out of his mouth. “What the fuck would you know about that?” he seethed. He was giving her what she wanted, but he didn’t care. Who does she thing she is, dragging Til into this?

  “What the fuck would I know, Ted? About her insecurities? About her inability to cope? About the public humiliation. The drugs. The alcohol. About how it killed her, Ted?”

  “Right! What the fuck would you know.” He spat the words back, trying to turn and face her even though he could see nothing either way.

  “What would I know about my baby sister Tilly?”

  His ears started ringing as time seemed to grind to a halt. Liar.

  “I know who to blame, you son of a bitch,” she finished in a whisper.

  Before he could reply, to reject it, deny it, anything—she’d stuffed the rag back down, choking him with it. She pushed and shoved, and he writhed under the sudden assault. The crazy bitch was going to choke him to death!

  But then she backed off. He could hear her rattling around behind him somewhere. Heard a dial tone when she switched to speaker. Then a rustle-flipping sound that might have been paper. She punched in a number and it rang for a long time. The next moment was so surreal Ted couldn’t believe his ears—Dennis Hamm was on the line.

  * * *

  The CEO said little, but it was obvious from the tone of the conversation that they weren’t strangers.

  “You’ve got him contained, then?” Hamm’s voice was slightly tinny but otherwise perfectly a
udible to Ted. “No chance he’ll carry out the sabotage?”

  “It’s under control.” Judy sounded annoyed. Was this directed at Hamm? Or Ted, since she’d just dropped that bombshell on him? It had to be a lie, he thought, straining to hear both sides of the conversation.

  “...doesn’t matter, just to be on the safe side you’d better take him out.”

  The threat registered in Ted’s mind as fiction, like a radio drama, or someone making a sarcastic joke over drinks.

  Judy seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Dammit, Dennis, is that really necessary? I’ll throw him to the cops, we don’t have to—”

  “I’m just not comfortable with all these goddamned loose ends. First Fangue slips away, and now you’ve gone and changed the Portland plan as well.”

  “I just didn’t think it was—”

  “It’s not your job to think. You’re supposed to deliver the club to me, and I want the ones responsible for it on a fucking platter. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding resolved. Somehow that simple response made Ted more nervous than all of the CEO’s bluster. She might really do it.

  “Good. And don’t fuck it up. Now I’ve got your mess to clean up in two more places, and you’d better not make it three!”

  The click, even on speakerphone, was an aggressive slam, intended to intimidate. It’d certainly worked on Ted, and it wasn’t even directed at him. Of course, Hamm wanted him dead, that’s enough to get a rise out of anyone. Still...

  The rag was yanked out once more, and Judy growled into his ear, “Got any last words?”

  “Throw me to the cops, like you said. You don’t have to do this.” It killed him to plead with her at all, but dead pride was no pride at all. He had to get out of this first, then he could think about how best to handle her.

  “You deserve it, Ward,” she said, the anger in her voice clearing up any question of resolve. She was pacing behind him, working off her nerves maybe. Maybe she wasn’t a killer, maybe she wouldn’t kill the security chief or Phil if she didn’t have to—but she hated Ted. Hatred is a powerful motivator.

  He had to think fast. “So you’re Til’s sister, are you?”

  She paused.

  “You can blame me all you want,” he said quickly, “I’d say the same damned thing myself. But you know, you’re partly to blame too.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice was low now, incredulous, gravely insulted. And she was closer than before, stalking him. He tested the bounds, but they were still tight.

  “You had a hand in it too,” he said, “the club. The clients. Your hands aren’t clean either.”

  “That’s a lie. I got into this to protect her.”

  “Oh, really?” Ted laughed. “Didn’t do a very good job of it, did you? Or she wouldn’t be dea—” He felt steely fingers choke off the last of his venom, then he was gagged again when he opened his mouth to catch air. He sputtered, feeling her grip tighten as she forced his chin upward and back.

  “You mother fu—”

  “Drop it!”

  The voice that rang out behind them was commanding, strong, and they jumped at the sound of it.

  “You!” Judy exclaimed.

  Ted jerked around, trying to get some idea of what was happening now. Whatever it was, he had no clue if it was better or worse for his predicament.

  * * *

  After hanging up the phone, Hamm debated whether to call back and see if she’d done as he ordered. He wondered how much time it would take to kill someone. He assumed it would be quick, but then again she was in the warehouse. If she didn’t have a gun handy already, she might have to get creative. Should’ve told her to prepare for this from the start, he chided.

  Checking his face in the mirror, he took several cleansing breaths. He needed to get rid of the boiled lobster overtones he always wound up sporting post-rage. Then he tucked his phone into his pants pocket and returned to Sahara Day, where he was serving as guest dignitary and master of ceremonies all in one.

  Smiling and glad-handing his way around, he thought about how much he loathed each and every one of these bloodsucking parasites.

  “Having a good time, are you?”

  “Nice to see you!”

  “Oh, boy, have those kids grown since last Sahara Day!”

  Livid as he was over her mishandling of this whole situation, he couldn’t drum up the usual amount of enthusiasm, and he ducked back into the VIP tent as soon as etiquette allowed. He couldn’t stop thinking about how badly this gold club mess had gone, and he kicked himself for not taking charge sooner. If she doesn’t take care of that Ward idiot, I’ll need to handle it myself. Some things just required the personal touch.

  * * *

  “Judy, put it down. You don’t want to do this.” The voice remained steady. Professional. One of the cops, maybe? Good.

  “Christ, Hank! You of all people should know he deserves this. You’ve been trying to bring him down for months!”

  Not a cop. Not since they seemed to be on a first-name basis, anyway. Hank...Fangue? The security chief?

  “He deserves justice, not an execution. You’re doing Hamm’s bidding now? I thought you wanted justice, Judy.”

  “He’s the killer, Hank. That bastard killed my sister! It’s his fault!” She was screaming now, flinging the accusations like a crazy person. She was edging toward manic, which made her extremely dangerous.

  “Put it down, Judy,” Fangue said, “and he goes away for a long time.”

  “Not good enough!” she shrieked, her hot breath right behind Ted once again.

  He lunged, throwing his body back with everything he could muster. His head smashed into something solid, cutting off the screech. He had knocked the wind out of her, at least. Then he was falling, his head struck hard against unforgiving floor, and the ringing drowned out the rest.

  Judy was moving, repositioning herself somewhere above and behind, still on her feet. Then came the sound of metal scraping against floor, clanging out behind his head, and he knew she had the crowbar again. Recoiling from the sound and twisting this way and that, he tried to keep out of harm’s way and throw her off at the same time. Turning away from her, he caught sight of Fangue, who yelled a sharp, “Don’t!” and cocked his gun. The crack of the shot briefly overwhelmed Ted’s ringing ears, and he felt something heavy land on his back.

  * * *

  It took what seemed like a long time for Fangue to hoist Judy’s body off of Ted, while he writhed and tried to get her off. Fangue said nothing, wordlessly cleaning up the mess, then pulling out the gag and removing the blindfold, looking square into Ted’s eyes, then immediately down to Judy lying beside him.

  With a start, Ted tried to pull away, but he was still tied to the chair and sprawled out in an awkward pose, and the movement only edged him closer to the corpse. She was oozing blood from a small hole in her forehead, but otherwise she looked uncannily normal.

  Ted managed to stifle a scream, unleashing a string of curses instead. “Shit! God damned insane shit, of all the fucked up...” Fangue worked noiselessly behind him, unleashing his bounds so that he could scramble away. “Holy shit!”

  “That’s enough. A little respect, okay?” Fangue chided, again looking at the dead woman. Ted was disoriented enough to obey without question, shutting his mouth and looking over at his rescuer.

  “She’s right, you know. You deserved it. I might’ve let her, too, except there’s a bigger fish. Remember that, Ward. You’re just not important enough to die.”

  Ted believed him.

  * * *

  “You ready to do your thing?” Fangue was cleaning up Ted’s hostage chair, dusting it and looking around for something. Ted had no clue what it might be. He momentarily forgot why he was even here, so lost in his victim/bystander role.

  “Snap out of it, Ward!” Fangue said with more bite. This time Ted looked up and paid attention. “The gunshot’s not going unnoticed down there, you know. The police are gonna be here
shortly. Before that happens, I need you to do what you came here to do. You have the flash drive?”

  Ted had to think hard for several seconds, tentatively reaching into his pocket. Still there.

  “Yeah,” he said, his hoarse whisper sounding alien to his own ears, “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Take that staircase over there, it’ll bring you down to Hamm’s office. It lets out right behind the polar bear. Find his computer, use that drive just like you planned, then wait. It’ll take a long time for the cops to finish up, but they won’t find you as long as you stay put. I’ll take the heat for the shooting. You just make sure Hamm takes the heat for everything else. Got it?”

  Ted nodded. He had the feeling Fangue hated every bit of this even more than he did, if that were possible. He seemed genuinely fond of Judy the psycho. If it wasn’t for his desire to take down Hamm, Ted was sure he’d be in handcuffs by now.

  “Thanks,” Ted began, but Fangue cut him off with a vicious gesture.

  “Don’t even,” he spat, “I’m not doing any of it for you. Hamm’s a monster, you’ve got the means to take him out. That’s all this is. And if I ever...”

  He didn’t need to finish, Ted got the threat loud and clear. He would make it a point never to cross paths with Hank Fangue again.

  * * *

  Once he’d uploaded the script, there was nothing left to do but wait. He needed to give Fangue enough time to get rid of the cops, assuming he wasn’t double crossed, and that could take hours. He sat back and tried to relax, but suddenly he sat bolt upright and turned back to the computer.

  With deft recollection he rounded up all of Dennis Hamm’s personal files. Same stupid password as always. Good old Hamm. With the same drive he’d used for the upload, he saved all the dirt and stuck it in his pocket. A little insurance can’t hurt. Then, with nothing better to do and a long time to kill, he proceeded to read it all over again on the desktop, every sordid bit.