Kim Oh 1: Real Dangerous Girl

by Kim Oh

  There was one other place still in operation, right at the edge of what had been the business district. It looked the way it had before, when I’d had to come out here to balance some account ledgers for McIntyre. (His pet security thug Michael had driven me out in one of the company cars, which had made for a long, unpleasant ride, with some Canadian heavy metal CD on the stereo the whole way.) The faded, peeling letters on the inside of the one-story building’s window read DELTA FREIGHT & STORAGE. Visible through the sagging blinds were a couple of desks and a row of old-school wooden filing cabinets with dead houseplants on top of them, a World War II-era rotating fan with rust-specked blades so big they could have come off a bomber plane, and not much else. Except dust. I remembered sneezing for days after my first visit there.

  I parked the motorcycle in front, avoiding the broken Night Train bottles in the gutter, and pulled off my helmet. Just like before, everything was dead quiet all along the street.

  Technically, the place wasn’t really open for business. At least, not for anything legitimate. It was another one of McIntyre’s fronts.

  “Hello?”

  A little bell on a spring coil had jangled when I’d pushed the door open. With just my head poked inside, I looked around.

  “Mr. Pomeroy?”

  I heard a toilet flush somewhere in back. A moment later, a pear-shaped old man, with straining suspenders and untied shoelaces, shuffled out, drying his hands on a paper towel.

  “Whatever it is you’re selling, we don’t need it.” He plopped himself down behind the least dust-covered of the desks. “So save your breath, young man.”

  “It’s me, Mr. Pomeroy. It’s Kim. Kim Oh. Remember, I came out before and –”

  He’d dug out a pair of bifocals from the pinstriped jacket hanging behind him. He peered at me dubiously, then his jowly, baby-pink face brightened.

  “Well, I’ll be – you are!” He nodded happily. “Hey, it’s good to see you. Been a while.”

  We’d hit it off, the one time I’d been out before. Half that time had been spent with him showing me photos of his grandchildren, the youngest of which he’d never actually seen in person, because his son and daughter-in-law lived all the way in Trenton, New Jersey, and never came to see him.

  A couple of months later, my brother and I had gotten a Christmas card from him. Just signed by him, because his wife had died about six years before. Lonely people send out a lot of Christmas cards, or at least the old ones do. They’ve got the time.

  “Yes, Mr. Pomeroy.” I channeled what was left inside me of the Little Nerd Accountant Girl, giving him a big smile. “It has been.”

  “What brings you out here? Come on over and have a seat.” He took a pile of old newspapers from the chair at the side of his desk. “Nobody said anything about you dropping by.”

  “Well . . .” I sat down with my hands in my lap. “There’s a reason for that.”

  “So this isn’t a business trip for you? Just social? Wonderful!”

  “Actually, it is. Mr. McIntyre sent me here. There’s . . . there’s a problem.”

  “Really?” He frowned. “Like what?” The creases in his forehead deepened. “Wait a minute. You said McIntyre sent you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hm.” Pomeroy slowly shook his head. “Because I heard . . . something different. About you.”

  I nodded. “I know what you heard. But I’m still working for Mr. McIntyre. Same as you.”

  “Gosh. That’s . . . strange. That’s really different. From what I got told.”

  “You were told what everybody else was told. There’s a reason for that. It’s what Mr. McIntyre wanted everybody to hear.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Pomeroy. “What are you talking about?”

  “Everybody’s supposed to think Mr. McIntyre fired me. That I’m not working for him any longer. But I am. This way, I can take care of what he wants me to look into. This little . . . problem that’s come up.”

  “Yeah?” He looked over his half-rimmed glasses at me. “What kind of problem?”

  “It’s actually not little.” I leaned closer to him. “You know the company’s gone through a reorganization process.”

  “Oh, sure. Big changes.”

  “Well, some things came up when we started all that. We found out that there are some people stealing from him. Inside the company. People who work for Mr. McIntyre.”

  “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. There was some funny stuff like that going on out here. Maybe ten years ago or so.” He shook his head. “It got real bad. And we had to do the same thing – get ’em to trust somebody, who rolled over on them for us. Then they all sort of . . . disappeared. McIntyre did that.”

  “So you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Sure. These things happen. But McIntyre’s lucky he’s got somebody smart like you looking into it.”

  “I’m glad you understand.” I reached over and laid my hand on top of his for a moment. “Mr. McIntyre told me you would.”

  “So exactly how are these people stealing from the company?”

  “The usual.” I gave another shrug. “Diverting funds, skimming off the top, pocketing, scamming – there are a lot of clever little squeezes like that. After a while, they add up to a lot.”

  “Been there,” said Pomeroy. “You don’t have to tell me. So if there’s anything I can do to help McIntyre out – I mean, help both you and him – you just have to ask. And you’ve got it.”

  “That’s wonderful. That means a lot to me.” I let my smile go bigger. There was a visible effect on the old man, like turning a grow light on over a sickly plant, if any of the ones on top of the file cabinets had still been alive. “Because he’s really counting on me to sort this out. And if I do . . .”

  “Sure.” All warm and paternal, he patted my hand. “You can count on McIntyre to show his gratitude. I’ve worked with him a long time – he’s that kind of a guy.” He leaned back in his chair. “So what exactly is it that I can do for you? Must be something we need to keep quiet on – otherwise you wouldn’t have come down here to talk to me in person about it.”

  “Yes,” I said, “that’s absolutely right. We have to be very careful. So you can’t tell anyone else about this.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “You got it. Shoot.”

  “I need your passwords and access codes. For all your accounts.”

  Pomeroy fell silent, mulling it over with a frown.

  “I thought,” he said, “you had all that stuff. So you could monitor it from the computer at your office. I mean . . . you’re not there any more, of course, but couldn’t the company have set you up with a computer link somewhere else?”

  “I’ve got all that.” I shook my head. “But that’s just to follow the numbers. So I can see what you’re doing out here, what’s going in and out of the accounts. I’ve always had that. But I can’t control the accounts. I can’t move money in and out of them, route it from holding user to another. That’s what I need.”

  “I don’t get it.” His frown persisted. “Why would you need to do that?”

  “We’re setting up a trap. For the people who’ve been stealing from the company. If I can route a piece of this branch’s receipts from one account to another, I can red-flag whoever tracks that activity. These people are very clever, Mr. Pomeroy. They’re smart enough not to try and steal from the company’s main accounts. They scan for transactions at the fringes of the company’s operations – like out here – and then they go after them. If you help us out with this, we’ll be able to follow the trace back and see exactly who they are. And then –” I turned my voice serious. “Mr. McIntyre can take care of them.”

  “Yeah, I bet he will. Believe me, I know that about him, too. But I don’t know . . .” Pomeroy shook his head again, still looking dubious. “Giving you those passwords – that kinda violates a lot of our security procedures. I wish somebody – I mean somebody else – had also gotten in touch with me about a
ll this.”

  “They can’t risk it. That’s why I had to come out here on my own. If the people inside the company – the ones who’re stealing from Mr. McIntyre – if they knew what we were setting up, then they’d know not to fall into the trap. We have to do it like this.”

  “Yeah, well . . . I suppose that makes sense.” His expression brightened. “Hey, I know what. I’ll give Michael a call. You know, McIntyre’s head of security. He can vouch for you. Then we’ll be good to go.”

  “No –” My mind went racing as I stopped Pomeroy’s hand from reaching for the telephone on the desk. Cole and I hadn’t thought of what I should do if this happened. “Michael . . .”

  Pomeroy regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “What about him?”

  “He’s –” The answer struck me. “He’s one of them. We think he’s one of the bunch who’ve been stealing from the company.”

  “Whoa.” That rocked the old man back in his chair. “Damn. That’s serious.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “He’s a dangerous guy. Real hot-tempered.” A glint of admiration showed in Pomeroy’s gaze. “I can see why you want to keep this all quiet. If Michael were to find out what you’re trying to do . . . trying to bust him and all . . .” Pomeroy gave a slow shake of his head. “You’d be in big trouble. Michael would come after you. Sure as anything.”

  “I know.” Little Nerd Accountant Girl tried to be brave. “But I have to do it. For Mr. McIntyre’s sake.”

  “Okay. I understand. I’ll help you out.” He pulled a legal pad from his top desk drawer and started scribbling on it with a leaky fountain pen. “This’ll only be a minute . . . I got most of ’em in my head . . .”

  A few minutes later, I was standing in the doorway, the folded piece of paper tucked inside my jacket.

  “This your motorcycle?” Pomeroy pointed toward the Ninja at the curb.

  I nodded.

  “Okay . . .” His dubious voice sounded again. “You be careful on that thing, you hear?”

  “I will,” I answered obediently. “I always am.”

  “People get killed on ’em.” He wrapped me in a bear hug, tight enough to almost break a rib. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You’re important to me – you hear?”

  Then I was on the bike. And on the road, heading back into the city. Doing the thing about trying not to think and just ride. I felt guilty about lying to him.

  But when you’re old and lonely . . .

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten anything out of the deal.

  * * *

  I went home first and verified everything.

  Sitting at the table in the kitchenette, looking at the screen of the laptop I’d taken out of the bedroom – Donnie had given me some guff about needing to finalize his picks for his online NASCAR fantasy league – I punched in the numbers from the unfolded sheet of yellow legal-tablet paper. I held my breath . . .

  And everything came up, just the way they should. Like a flower garden blooming. I still had so much of Little Nerd Accountant Girl in me, I suppose, that numbers could get me this excited. Just like in the movies, when the words Access Granted flashing on the screen meant that the secret agents and their hacker buddies could now get down to serious rock ’n’ roll action.

  I didn’t move anything around, from one account to another – though I could’ve. I wasn’t going to pull the trigger on that, though, until everything else that Cole and I had talked about was lined up. I logged out, switched off the laptop, and carried it back to the little table beside Donnie’s bed.

  “You’re going out again?”

  He saw me pulling my jacket on. “Yeah,” I told him. “I got some errands to run. For my job.”

  “Kinda late.” He pointed past me to the apartment’s night-filled window. “You gotta go do it now?”

  “Hey – I’ve told you how these places are. Clubs and stuff. They run pretty late hours.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was totally convinced or not. I locked the apartment front door from the outside, then headed downstairs with my helmet dangling from one hand.

  * * *

  Cole’s girlfriend Monica was there, when I arrived at the warehouse. I saw her car parked at the curb. I didn’t care. I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything she didn’t know about what we were doing.

  “How’d it go?”

  I started unzipping my jacket as I pulled the chair over from the table. In sweatpants and wifebeater undershirt, Monica was doing something with a skillet and some eggs, on top of the electric hot plate they kept over at the side of the space. She gave me a cool, unsmiling glance, but didn’t say anything.

  “Okay. I guess.” I sat down near the foot of the mattress, laying my forearms across my knees. “I got the numbers, at least.”

  “That’s cool.” Cole nodded. “You checked ’em out?”

  “Seem to be good.” I shrugged. “For now.”

  “Yeah . . . that’d be the issue, wouldn’t it?” Cole lit another cigarette from the butt of the previous one. “We’re under a little bit of time pressure here. Especially now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just think about it,” said Cole. “What’re you planning on doing, to get me some money? Major money.”

  “Just what we talked about. Before I went out there. There are some pretty serious exchanges that go through the front Pomeroy’s running. Big floats of cash. All I have to do is redirect his monthly transfer over to a dummy account where I can get it. That should be plenty for us.”

  “Sure. And then what happens when all that money doesn’t show up in the company account? Then what happens?”

  This was something we hadn’t talked about, but I wasn’t worried about it.

  “Nothing,” I said. “At least not for a while. That account doesn’t get reviewed ’til next quarter. The audit will take six months at the least. Believe me, I know; I set up the procedure. So we’ve got plenty of time.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Who’s the worry-wart now?” I couldn’t believe this from him. “What’re you getting into such a sweat over?”

  “Simple,” said Cole. “McIntyre might not know yet that you ripped him off, but your pal Pomeroy at the front does. I can guarantee that right now he’s thinking about this whole deal. Now that you’re not there to charm him with you sweet little schoolgirl routine. And he’s getting nervous about it.”

  “Yeah, but –”

  “But nothing. Sooner or later he’s gonna check it out, one way or another – even if he has to go right up to McIntyre himself and tell him what the two of you did. That’s way better than sitting around sweating and waiting for McIntyre to find out on his own. And as soon as he does that, then McIntyre knows, doesn’t he?”

  “Crap.” I could barely see in front of myself. And I was sweating. I knew, with sudden and complete conviction, that Cole was right. “Why’d you talk me into doing this? You should’ve told me –”

  “If I had, you wouldn’t have gone out there and done what you needed to do. You woulda froze. And that wouldn’t have gotten anything done for us.”

  “I thought we were partners.” My seething glare could’ve killed him, if anybody’s could. “And you didn’t say anything about this.”

  “Relax.” Cole smiled. “I said that we under pressure, not that we’re totally screwed. That’s how these things work in this business. You get yourself into a tight spot, then you get yourself out of it. There’s no other way to get what you want. What we need.”

  “I’m not in the mood for a philosophy lecture right now.”

  “Good – because this is all practical, not theoretical. Here’s the deal. We got a little time before the whistle gets blown. I know old guys like that, how their minds work. Matter of fact, I know your pal Pomeroy. I did some work out there, a while back. Did he ever mention to you something about a couple of guys ripping the company off,
from before?”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “I’m the one who cleaned all that up. If those smart guys aren’t around anymore, it’s because I put the hammer on ’em. No big deal, it’s what I do – or I used to – but I can tell you, the whole time I was out there, Pomeroy was sweating buckets. What can I say?” Cole shrugged. “Old guys get nervous. The smaller the amount of time that people figure they’ve got left to live, the more they worry about it. Problem with getting nervous, though, is that’s when your mind shuts down. At least for a while. You gotta move, but you can’t get off the dime.”

  That much, I knew about. From inside.

  “So for the next coupla days,” continued Cole, “your pal’s gonna be sweating and thinking, but not doing anything. Even if he’s totally convinced himself that you ran a number on him to get those account passwords. Better to call up McIntyre and fess up about what’s he’s done, or just sit there and hope that he’s wrong about you and that it’ll all blow over? That’s what he’s going to be dithering about. That’s what gives us our chance.”

  “Chance to do what?”

  “Concentrate, Kim. The money – that’s what we’re doing. Tomorrow morning, you make the transfer, then you go downtown to the bank where the dummy account is registered, and you draw the cash out. A nice fat wad of cash. You come on back here with it. Then we’re done with that part of the whole process. And we’re ready to roll on to the next part. Which – I promise you – will be more fun. That’s the point where I start getting ready to kill our old boss.”

  Every working girl’s dream come true. That thought cheered me up a little bit.

  It didn’t last.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “What if you’re wrong?”

  Monica dragged over the other chair from the wobbly table, while balancing two plates of scrambled eggs on her arm, waitress-style. She sat down and handed one of the plates to Cole.