Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Pruett, he felt like he was deposing a witness in court, he was dragging every answer out of his friend.

  “Because, I helped deliver the money. Steven, I will not answer any more of these questions until you answer one for me.” Charles said. Steven thought he detected fear in his friend’s voice.

  “Okay, shoot,” said Steven.

  “Where did you hear about this?”

  “From Myrtle Ridley,” he replied.

  Charles Sandler stared at the ceiling, took two deep breaths and said, “That is impossible.”

  “Why is that?” asked his friend.

  “Because, Harvey swore me to secrecy. I was never to tell anyone, not even Myrtle.”

  “You don’t think that maybe he might have told Myrtle later on in life, perhaps right before he died?”

  “I don’t think so,” answered Sandler. “He said that if Myrtle found out it would break her heart.”

  The phones were quiet, like a broken connection. Steven broke the silence with another question. “What is this all about Charles? Can you tell me?”

  “No. I made an oath to Harvey. I have already said too much.”

  “But Harvey’s dead.”

  “Yes, Harvey is dead. His secret died with him.”

  Steven tried again. “Can’t you please tell me something, anything? You know, for old times’ sake? Best buddy to best buddy?”

  “I can’t!” shouted Sandler.

  Steven Pruett shouted back, “And why the hell not?”

  “Because I can’t remember!” exclaimed Sandler. “I remember taking the money from Ridley and swearing not to tell Myrtle. For some strange reason, I remember the date. After that, everything else is a blank, and talking about this scares the hell out of me.”

  * * *

  Steven was dumbstruck. He could not believe that his friend of over fifty years was so evasive about the mysterious payment. There was something there though, something more, something big happened years ago though he couldn’t remember what. Steven kept trying to think, but the bourbon kept getting in the way.

  Steven took one last swig from the tea glass—the bourbon was making him feel warm and sleepy. He reasoned it was not his problem if old Myrtle wanted to change her will, none of his concern. Myrtle was the client, and the client was king in his book.

  So what if Allen Ridley didn’t end up with any of his parents’ fortune? Allen Ridley was getting a salary for running the company and had a part-time law practice. Plus Allen had a half-million dollar house in Wage’s Estates and drove two expensive cars. Screw you, Allen Ridley.

  Steven filled the glass with more ice cubes and poured it full of bourbon again. He pressed the button on the intercom and slurred, “Clara, get in here dahlin’. It’s time to write a will.”

  * * *

  Unknown to the tenants of The Ashley there were surveillance cameras hidden in every smoke detector in the building. The cameras supplied both audio and video feeds to Lewis Seiffert’s computer monitors. Seiffert could scan the cameras and view them in a multiple-camera window or select a single camera for viewing. For the past hour, he directed his surveillance at Steven Pruett’s office.

  Seiffert had watched as Myrtle Ridley marched in and announced her wish for a new will. He saw Steven Pruett’s face contort as she outlined her changes. Seiffert listened to both sides of the conversation as Steven Pruett talked with Charles Sandler. He laughed as Steven yielded to his better sense and bourbon and rewrote Myrtle Ridley’s will.

  Seiffert flipped from the surveillance cameras back to the computer system and checked his email. There was an email from Marie saying she needed to see him alone, as soon as possible. He wrote back and told Marie to drop by for dinner that evening and to bring pizza, good pizza. He called downstairs to the bar and waited for Patrick to answer.

  “Ashley’s, Patrick here.”

  “Patrick, I need you to send someone out to a patient’s house and shoot a few photos.”

  “Sure, give me the scoop. When and where?”

  “I need them to go take photos this afternoon. Have them park about a quarter mile from the address and to take pictures of any old ladies walking.” He gave Myrtle Ridley’s address to Patrick.

  Patrick laughed, “You must be desperate up there Unc, wanting pictures of old ladies walking. There are places online you can visit with younger women who do more than walk.”

  “Now Patrick, this is business, not pleasure. I need two days of pictures from that location. Tell your person not to be obvious. Goodbye, Patrick.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Marie Seiffert was the newest “temp” at Ridley Specialties and Supply. When Harvey became too ill to work and Allen came back to run the business, the first thing Allen did was to fire his father’s secretary. Allen enlisted a temporary agency to find a replacement. A well placed “tip” of a thousand dollars by Seiffert made sure the temp agency had just one candidate available for the job. Allen interviewed Marie and became infatuated with this tall, buxom, auburn-haired beauty. After the interview, he called the temp agency and told them he wanted Marie.

  That was five months ago and Marie Seiffert was growing restless. Marie did not know how much longer she could resist Allen’s advances before either having to give in or give up and quit. Quitting was not a choice, neither was giving in to Allen.

  Marie debated whether to tell her uncle. Seiffert warned her, in the family meeting five years earlier, that if she ever came into contact with this snake she would have tough decisions to make. “Leopards do not change their spots and wolves do not lose their howl,” her uncle had said.

  Marie glimpsed at the clock on her computer screen. Allen was in court finishing a divorce case and was not returning for another two hours. Marie slipped into his office and removed a small attachment from a USB port on the back of Allen’s desktop computer. Marie replaced it with another. This device was a keylogger, it recorded every computer keystroke Allen made—any word he typed, any character, any number, all recorded by the keylogger. Marie slipped back to her desk unnoticed and placed the retrieved keylogger in her bag.

  What she needed next though was access to Allen’s laptop. It was a critical part of their plan to use it for five minutes. The problem was that Allen never left the laptop unattended. Allen and his laptop were Siamese twins joined at the wrist.

  Marie wanted direction on her problems with Allen and the problem with the laptop. Marie needed her uncle’s wise counsel, so she sent him the email and asked to see him. Her uncle wanted her to stop by for dinner and asked her to bring pizza. It was almost five and Allen wouldn’t return this late. Marie straightened her desk and left work.

  On the outskirts of Valdosta in an industrial park near the airport was Ridley Specialties and Supply. During rush hour, not that Valdosta had a rush hour, it was a fifteen-minute drive from the company to Seiffert’s apartment. Gino’s, the pizza place, was a thirty-minute drive. Marie decided to take the back roads through the seedier part of town to arrive at Gino’s ten minutes sooner.

  Valdosta did not have a big gang or drug problem, not like Atlanta or Macon, but there was a stretch of a few blocks where drug dealers sold their goods. Several years ago it was crack cocaine, these days it was heroin and crystal meth.

  Marie drove through this part of town as fast as she could without breaking the speed limit. She was questioning her “shortcut” decision when her eyes darted right and widened. Parked on the side of the street was Allen Ridley’s SUV. She passed, slowed and looked in her rear-view mirror. There was no doubt it was Allen. He did not see Marie.

  A young man stood on the running boards of Allen’s SUV. His head and half his body were hanging inside Allen’s passenger-side window.

  Convinced it was Allen, she sped away. Marie did not want to take the risk of him spotting her. Marie could not wait to get to Gino’s and then to her uncle. She was eager to share this bit of newfound knowledge with her uncle over
pizza and wine.

  Marie’s original intention was to call the pizza order in as she got closer but what she saw earlier had her so intrigued she forgot. When she was five minutes away from the restaurant she remembered and called Gino’s. The lady taking the order told her there was a one-hour wait.

  Marie drove into the parking lot at Gino’s. Gino’s had been the only Italian restaurant in Valdosta for almost forty years. Two years ago, one of the “chain” Italian places moved into town with its canned sauces, all-you-can-eat salad, and overcooked pasta. At first, everyone in Valdosta greeted the new restaurant with a warm reception, but soon Gino’s prevailed. Two years later the new competition closed and Gino’s reclaimed its title as Valdosta’s only Italian restaurant.

  Ginos’s building was not beautiful. An old white brick building with fading, grimy triangular flags of Italy’s national colors—vertical stripes of green, white and red. But inside rose the tempting smells of olive oil, oregano, tomato sauce and fresh-baked bread, a paradise for the nose and palate.

  Marie relished the smells waiting behind the doors of Gino’s but was not ready for an hour of this blissful torture. She went to the small dress shop next door. Marie milled around in the dress shop for thirty minutes and tried on two outfits. Her mind kept returning to the scene of seeing Allen with the man hanging halfway out of his vehicle.

  Marie sauntered out of the store and went to Gino’s—waiting in Gino’s made her even hungrier. Fifteen minutes later she loaded the pizzas and a huge house salad into her car and sped down Patterson Street to her uncle’s apartment.

  Marie slipped into Seiffert’s apartment at seven o’clock, carrying the food from Gino’s. Seiffert and Marie both agreed that Gino’s had the best pizza in Valdosta, maybe in the whole state of Georgia. Marie placed the pizza boxes and salad on the counter in Seiffert’s kitchen. She looked in the refrigerator. Seiffert was in his office on the computer.

  “You have any wine?” she shouted. “I am looking for the cheap stuff!”

  “You startled me! I didn’t hear you come in. No cheap wine in there,” he shouted back. “Grab a bottle of Chianti from the rack.”

  Marie smiled. Seiffert lied about not hearing her. Even if his ears didn’t hear the door open, there were enough visual and audible alarms to alert him of anyone’s entrance.

  She looked through the wine rack and found the Chianti. Marie grabbed plates, salad bowls, and silverware and placed them, along with the pizzas and salad, on the breakfast table in the kitchen.

  Marie poured the wine and shouted, “Let’s eat.”

  Seiffert’s face brightened as he entered the kitchen. He went to Marie and gave her a big hug. She smiled and hugged him back. They ate in silence. No amount of talking could ever convey the silent words said in those smiles and hugs. Her uncle always looked so happy to see her. The only true happiness she saw in him was when he was with her, Dwain and Patrick. Lewis Seiffert was like a father to her. Their parents had died when they were teenagers. Lewis Seiffert brought them into his house and cared for them like they were his own.

  Marie felt the pain her uncle carried and was glad she and the boys could help him. Marie owed him, they all did. Seiffert raised them, sent them to private schools and good colleges. Seiffert paid them while they put their own careers on hold so they could help him with his “endeavor”. He always referred to his plans as his “endeavor”.

  Marie and her uncle sat and filled their plates and bowls with pizza and salad. The apartment was quiet except for the sounds of clinking silverware and quiet sips of wine. Seiffert looked at her and wondered what was troubling her, but did not speak. For now, he wanted to enjoy her company and the food.

  Marie opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand and said, “Let’s just enjoy this for a few more minutes. We have time enough to chat when we’re finished eating.” Marie smiled and closed her mouth.

  Marie and Lewis cleared the table together. He poured them both another glass of wine and motioned for her to follow him into the living room. They sat. Lewis Seiffert paused, closed his eyes and spoke. “Something troubling you?” he asked.

  “Yes, several things, and not just problems, but I have information too,” she replied.

  “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “Let’s start with the problems, the biggest one, then work our way down from the top.”

  Everything with him is always so step-by-step.

  “Well the first and biggest problem is Allen Ridley,” she began. “He’s making sexual overtones and advances. I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want that creep touching me.” Her uncle’s face turned a bright red and he clenched his teeth.

  “Avoid him at all costs. Allen Ridley is a dangerous man. Do not be alone with him. I need you to tolerate this situation for a couple more months. After that, his house of cards will fall. Can you wait? If not, you can leave tomorrow and I will develop an alternate plan.”

  Marie stared at the floor, then nodded. “I can wait.”

  “How are you coming with the access to his laptop?” Seiffert asked.

  “Well,” she answered, “that’s the second problem. He carries the laptop with him everywhere he goes.”

  “Does he carry it with him to the toilet?”

  “No. His office has a private toilet.”

  “Does Allen make his own coffee every morning or is it his secretary’s job?” Seiffert winked at Marie.

  “Ha! That damn chauvinist still thinks making coffee is woman’s work.”

  Seiffert chuckled and stood. He left the room and returned carrying a small bottle. He handed the bottle to Marie. “Five drops of this in his coffee, then wait. When you see him run to the toilet do what you need to do with the laptop, you will have five minutes.”

  Marie smiled at her uncle and took another sip of wine. She laughed aloud as she imagined Allen trotting to the restroom. Her uncle smiled too. “Quite a visual, huh?” he asked. “Now, what else is on your mind, my dear?”

  “On my way to get the pizzas, I noticed something strange. I came the through Carver Heights—.” Her uncle shook his head in disapproval as she said this. “And I saw Allen’s SUV parked at the curb with a man hanging out his passenger-side window.”

  “Do you think he was buying drugs?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it until today. Nothing makes me think Allen is using drugs. His thoughts are always lucid. Allen has too much energy for heroin and too sleepy in the mornings for cocaine.”

  “Maybe he was meeting with a client,” Seiffert said, smiling and shaking his head. “Just kidding Marie. Let me think about this. I will see if Patrick can dig into this deeper with his connections. Either way, I don’t think it affects our plans. In fact, if he’s using drugs, it may work to our advantage.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him to see if I can pick up anything. Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you,” she said and pulled out the USB keylogger from her purse. “Here’s this week’s keylogger. I put a new one in its place.”

  “I think we won’t need any more after this one, with this one I should have everything I need.”

  They finished their wine and Marie announced it was time for her to go. “Try to rest Unc,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I will. You have a safe trip home and leave me the leftover pizza, okay?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Seiffert showered, went to bed and tried to sleep while waiting for Dwain to call from Vietnam. Across town, Jimmy Miller was making a Skype call to his friend Wang Xin, the factory owner in China. Nine o’clock at night in Valdosta was nine o’clock in the morning in China. Skype connected, and the video started, Jimmy could see Wang Xin’s smiling face. “Ni hao Wang xiansheng,” Jimmy extended his hello to Mr. Wang in near perfect Mandarin.

  “Ni hao and good morning, Jimmy,” replied Wang Xin in English. Wang Xin always had a grin, he did not seem to mind showing off his crooked, tea-stained teeth. “I think you still in America, right
?”

  “Right,” Jimmy replied. “Wang Xin I want you to pay and attention and listen to me. I will speak in Chinese if you prefer.”

  “No. That’s okay Jimmy. If I don’t understand, I will ask you in Chinese, mei wen ti (no problem).”

  “Okay, you know that Mr. Ridley died and that’s why I am here in the states, right?”

  Wang Xin nodded his head.

  “Now Mr. Ridley’s son is the new boss. He is running the company,” Jimmy said. Wang Xin continued to nod his understanding.

  “Two days ago, he fired me.”

  “Fired you?” asked Wang Xin. “What mean ‘fired’? This I don’t understand.”

  “Hmm, fire me, dismiss me, take my job away—I no longer work for the company.”

  “Okay, I understand now. So why is important?” asked Wang Xin.

  Jimmy almost laughed out loud. The Chinese were so predictable. He knew when he called there would be no outpouring of concern from Wang Xin. He and Wang Xin were friends, but the only person who mattered to Wang Xin was Wang Xin. Jimmy stared at the monitor. Wang Xin’s face was still smiling.

  “Well Wang Xin,” Jimmy said. “It is very important to Wang Xin. No job for me and no orders for you. He is moving all his business to Vietnam.”

  Jimmy watched as the grin turned into a frown.

  “Not good Jimmy, not good. We spend a lot of money and hire many people to do Ridley’s work. This will hurt me Jimmy, will hurt me bad.” Wang Xin put his face in his hands. “This is bad, terrible.”

  Jimmy was sure Wang Xin was crying.

  Well it’s not so funny now that affects you, is it? ‘Why is important’? Ha! You could have least showed a little compassion. I am sick and tired of the whole self-serving lot. I should just scrap this all and tell Seiffert to go pound sand. Whatever he has planned, if it involves the Chinese, let him deal with them.

  Jimmy relaxed.

  Wang Xin became more upset.

  He let Wang Xin stew for a while.