Ride the Lucky

by Kendric Neal

“Really? Did you win?”

  Neely covered his surprise. He didn't want to give this guy anything. “Did alright.”

  “Meet anybody while you were there?”

  “Yeah, your wife. I guess your mother's been talking.”

  “I don't think so. She's allergic to coconut oil.” He winked as he closed the door. Neely pulled out his phone. They've been listening. He hadn't thought that possible without a court order, but, it's the government, right? They do what they want.

  Neely pulled up his brokerage account and was shocked to find it in the green, in the serious green. “Holy effing hell—” “$7,352,459.28,” it said. Underneath, in a red and bolded box, was written “Account on Hold. Please Call Supervisor.” The rest of the commands were curiously ghosted, there to be read but not accessed. He popped the back cover off his phone and lifted out the battery with his fingernail. He popped the SIM card as well, and then the flash card for good measure. He ground them all under his heel, his head still reeling.

  CHAPTER 21

  At a drugstore checkout stand, he dumped three cheap prepaid phones on the counter and reached for his wallet as the clerk, a girl in her 20's with a nose ring and ivy tattoos covering both arms, looked up at him.

  “Drug dealer?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Joke. Unless you are, in which case I'd like a rate card.” She looked deadpan; it took Neely a moment to realize what she'd said and smile.

  “Sorry, can't help you. Contract killer.”

  “Oh. One of those…” she said, feigning boredom. He would have been amused by her under other circumstances. He was about to hand her a credit card when he realized that didn't make much sense. He dug out cash instead and placed it on the counter. The girl noticed his feint for the card and seemed to scrutinize him more, starting to wonder what his secret really was.

  Neely roared down the freeway, tearing open one of the burners with his teeth while he held his hand on the wheel. He suddenly thought of what he was doing and slowed down—if he was being watched he didn't want to give them an excuse to pull him over. He plugged the phone into the car lighter and dialed it one-handed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hope, it's me.”

  “What are you doing? I tried your phone, your office said you left.”

  “Yeah, it went dead.”

  “Listen, I got a call from the bank—”

  “Accounts are frozen.”

  “What? You knew?”

  “Our accounts. The bank called me, someone tried to charge a first-class ticket to Tenerife on our debit. They put a hold on our accounts.”

  “How'd they get it?!”

  “We don't know yet. They flagged it, froze everything til they can give us new numbers.”

  “What am I supposed to do? The electric's due, and I was going to the store later.”

  “The bottom drawer in my file cabinet, get the key off my ring, it's in the bottom of the African warrior—”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down.”

  “There's a recess in the bottom. I keep the key there.”

  “Why?”

  “You know Cullen's gone through every drawer in our room, right?”

  “Yeah, but he wouldn't take anything like—”

  “Hope, do you need the cash or not?”

  “It's in the bottom drawer?”

  “Yes, about a thousand.”

  “You're hiding it from Cullen or me?”

  “Jesus, Hope! Are you serious?!”

  He could tell by her silence he'd just tipped her that something was up. “What's this number? Where are you?”

  “I've got a meeting and I'm running late. I'll call you later,” he said, throwing the phone down. He knew he should have smoothed it over first, but he felt his rage rising and was worried he'd only make it worse. For Christ's sake, she could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.

  Neely pulled into a parking garage downtown and took a ticket. The elevator wasn't fast enough for him and again he tried to slow himself down, as he knew his anxiety was spilling over and making him incautious. He gave his name to the receptionist and realized he was still looking anxious, as the young man kept stealing glances at him as he tapped his foot and waited.

  “Mr. Thomas?”

  Neely stood to shake the hand of Elias Cabot, who was in his mid-thirties and looked just the way Neely wanted him to: trim, confident and extremely smart. Neely didn't have time to waste, and thankfully, neither did Mr. Cabot.

  “Mr. Cabot, thank you for seeing me on short notice.”

  “It's no problem. Sounded urgent.”

  “It is, it is.”

  “Come on in,” Elias said. He looked over at the receptionist. “Todd— bring us a coffee service.”

  “Decaf if you've got it,” Neely told him.

  In Cabot's office, Neely sipped a cup as Elias finished skimming through the SEC packet. He peered over his reading glasses at Neely and sighed. “Where'd the tip come from?”

  “There was no tip.”

  “You're not liable if they can't prove insider info. Cocktail party? College pal in New York? Why these stocks? Why now?”

  “I honestly don't remember. I read all the time. If something makes sense to me, I write the name down.”

  “Read what?”

  “Forbes, Money, Barron's, Wall Street Journal. Business Week.”

  “None of this came out of someone's mouth?”

  “No.”

  “Or from some website…”

  “I read the online versions.”

  “But all mainstream.”

  “Yeah. I don't know this world. I play hunches.”

  “These are some pretty good hunches.”

  “Yeah. Not a crime, though.”

  “No. Certainly not. If there's no smoking gun, you've got nothing to worry about.”

  “No, no gun.”

  “You're sure? Mouth of a friend? Someone who'd know?”

  “I don't have friends like that. We're computer people.”

  “None of them selling to Google? Facebook?”

  “No, I'd have asked for a job.”

  “Well, if you want me to handle this, I bill $600 an hour.”

  “Fine.”

  “I'll need $20,000 in retainer.”

  “You think it'll run that high?”

  “Not if there's nothing. I'll refund any difference.”

  Yeah, right. “Okay. All my accounts are frozen.”

  “You got a dollar?”

  Neely handed him a dollar bill.

  “I'm your attorney now. Cindy's printing up an agreement. You realize if there's anything you need to tell me, it'd better be now.”

  “There's nothing.”

  “You'd be protected by attorney-client privilege. I cannot engage in illegal activities on your behalf, but I would not be obligated to report anything you told me if we later terminated our relationship.”

  “Good to know, but no, it's all above board. No skeletons in the closet.”

  Cabot looked at him appraisingly. Neely stared back, unperturbed. He knew he had nothing to hide. They were interrupted as a woman strode in, set down two papers in front of Cabot and looked at him meaningfully for a moment. Cabot nodded and the woman sneaked a quick look at Neely before she strode out. “There's no money in your accounts.”

  “They're frozen.”

  “There's nothing to freeze. You already knew this.”

  “That's why I need your help.”

  “Yes,” Cabot said. “Apparently you just returned from Vegas.”

  “I did well there too.” Cabot looked at him and said nothing. Neely felt like Cabot hadn't really seen him before, he was just another client, but now he was holding the man's keen interest. “Don't worry. You'll get paid.”

  Cabot sat back and riffled the SEC documents, looking at him. “Just lucky picks?” Neely nodded. “Do I need to say this? Man with little savings has a killer week on Wall Street and in Vegas, the same week?
”

  “I had a lucky streak.”

  “That's what you said.”

  “Yeah, I won at four different games, if Vegas didn't have a problem with it, why would anyone else? As for the Schwab account, I own 22 different stocks, I don't know what half those companies do, I never worked in finance, I don't have any contacts at any major companies and I don't associate with people who do. Show me a connection. There's nothing there.”

  “You picked them out of business mags?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said you bought companies that made sense to you, but you just said you don't know what half those companies do.”

  “What do you want me to say? I don't know what they're alleging, but I'm not an insider. I buy by my gut, sometimes I'm wrong, look at my track record.”

  “I'm only doing what the SEC's going to do, I think you need to have your answers straight.”

  “My answers are straight.”

  “You're going to tell me out of 22 stocks, not a single one is from a conversation with a friend, a coworker, old college pal, your brother-in-law, something like that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That's the they're going to jump on.”

  “Maybe, but doesn't everyone buy stocks that way? What the hell else do you talk about when you're having drinks? Sports and money.”

  “They're going to press you for names and they're going to investigate those names.”

  “Can't you stop them?”

  “No, I can't. I'm here to protect your rights, that's all. They have a right to investigate anyone they want.”

  “And what if that damages my professional standing?”

  “Doesn't matter. They don't care.”

  “I can't sue them when they come up empty?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that sucks doesn't it? I'm the one who gets shafted.”

  Neely didn't care for the way Cabot was looking at him now, but felt no further need to explain. Suddenly, the man slid the retainer agreement across to him along with a pen. “I've never seen a case like yours, Mr. Thomas. I've apprised you of how this works and the limits on what I can do. I will protect your interests and if you're right in telling me you didn't receive insider info, you'll come out of this just fine.” Neely reached across and signed the retainer agreement. “But let me tell you how this is going to go…at first they're going to think the relationship is hidden, which means they're going to check everything. Then if they're wrong, they're going to be pissed and out you just for wasting their time.”

  “Out me how?”

  “Anyway they can think of. You missed a 1099 a few years ago. Tax evasion.”

  “That's baloney. I've got a topnotch accountant.”

  “I'm not making myself clear. Some people in your position find a SEC investigation can be detrimental to their career and personal relationships.”

  “I can take it.”

  “Mr. Thomas. You're going to need to make sure your relationships are fully in order.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “People find that, say, a business rival or estranged friend can be tempted to throw them under a bus when questioned in cases like this. It can extend the investigation, extend its reach.”

  “You keep saying that. I've got nothing to hide.”

  “Everyone's got something to hide. If the government gets a hard-on for you they're going to made your life hell until you're in jail or they run out of money.” He held up the print-out the woman brought him. “Accounts drained, not that long ago. Vegas winnings, all in cash.”

  “Cashier's check. Thanks for reminding me,” Neely said, pulling out the crumpled check and handing it to him. “Think you can hold that in your trust account for me?”

  Cabot looked at the total on the check and looked at Neely. “I'll do whatever I can for you within the limits of the law, but if I'm honest, Mr. Thomas, there's something about you that seems guilty as hell.”

  “I can live with it. Hey, can you bounce me back a hundred K now? I'll wait.”

  Neely thought about calling Dunn on the drive home. He ought to know at least Neely was being dogged by the SEC. Had they tapped his home phone? Bugged his car? He guessed that good old Dunn would know how to find out for sure, would get a kick out of it, in fact, but he was also pretty sure it would nix the game that night and he didn't want to do that. No, he really couldn't afford to do that. He needed it. In fact, he felt the way he had when he went to those Gamblers Anonymous meetings and nodded and prayed and confessed, the whole time thinking he'd rather just go play some poker. He'd felt like a watchspring slowly coiling tighter and tighter with all the talk of quitting forever and one step at a time and the group hugs and teary confessions. He'd fantasize about screaming his head off, announcing he'd had enough, throwing his coffee and cookies in their faces and yell he was going to Naccahaw, who's coming? He was pretty sure he'd get at least half the crowd. Probably would have been a fun night too.

  CHAPTER 22

  To be safe, he stopped at a friend's house and borrowed his truck. Jim Nykes was an ex co-worker, they'd share a beer now and again, play some pool. Jim had a ten-year affair going and it'd given them a bond. Neely would talk about the gambling, the steps he took to hide it, while Jim would recount the near-misses and lies he'd undertaken to keep his wife in the dark about his mistress, who just happened to be his wife's boss's wife. Neely and Jim covered for each other on a few occasions, so it wasn't a terrible surprise to Jim when Neely stopped by and asked to switch cars. Jim had a small camper and he didn't mind letting Neely have it for the night.

  Neely drove to the address Dunn had given him and it looked like an old restaurant that hadn't seen business in years. There were lights on inside and a mean-looking blonde manning the door—she granted Neely access as soon as he gave her Dunn's name. Several of the men inside appeared to be part of a biker gang and Neely looked them over, trying to get some idea of what he was in for. They didn't look like the kind of bikers he had known—professionals by day who rode Harleys on weekends. No, these looked like the real deal. There were more than a few graying ponytails, but the eyes around the room had a predatory look like most of them had done time. They were also the kind of guys who didn't get fat with age, they just got thicker and harder.

  The room was nearly empty of furnishings. It looked like it had gone through bankruptcy and been stripped—Neely wondered if they left it empty to accommodate brawls, as there seemed to be a lot of dents in the wall and splintered wood strewn about. It was all music to Neely's ears, though, he enjoyed the seedy atmospheres his gambling had taken him to. It was part of the fun, sharing his secret life with guys like this in places where he might just end the evening getting killed in a back alley. He liked the camaraderie as well, he felt more at home with men who didn't take life on a casual basis.

  Dunn walked in, looking even more out of place than Neely in his charcoal Caraceni and Barker Blacks. They all knew him and he exchanged sly quips with most of them before sitting next to Neely with a wink and a handshake.

  “Still nursing that streak?”

  “Both tits flowing.”

  “Well squirt a little my way. I'm thirsty.”

  “You want anything?” the blonde asked, carrying a cardboard box on her hip. Dunn smiled up at her, but she didn't smile back.

  “Campari & soda, twist of lime,” said Dunn.

  “Tom Collins. Bombay Sapphire,” said Neely.

  She blew a cloud of Marlboro at them. “Jack, Gold or some shit vodka,” she said.

  “What would it cost to see you naked?” Dunn said.

  “Jack,” Neely said.

  She took a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the box and set it in front of them. “$50.”

  “It's already been opened,” Dunn said.

  “Okay haggler, $45.”

  Dunn smiled and peeled off a couple of twenties. “Keep it.”

  “If you were gonna tip me, why'd you give me shit about the price?
”

  “Principle. How much more to see you naked?”

  “I'd break you in two, businessman. How 'bout you?” she said to Neely.

  “I'd like to see you naked too.”

  “We'll share,” said Dunn. “Are glasses extra?”

  She scowled at him. “You don't want to give me shit today,” she said, giving him two dirty plastic cups from the box.

  “Tomorrow then.”

  “How 'bout a smile?” Neely asked.

  “How 'bout you suck my ass?”

  “Enticing proposition,” Dunn said.

  “What would that cost?” Neely asked as she turned their back on them.

  “She'll give me her number. Put a hundred on it,” Dunn said. Neely laughed—hanging with Dunn was like being in 9th grade again.

  “Who'd you bring?” asked a grizzled biker who sat on the other side of Dunn, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Neely Thomas. This is Jacy.”

  “Pleasure's mine,” Neely said. Jacy was overstuffed with prison muscle, covered in jailhouse tats, and had an explosion of tear tattoos around his eyes. It didn't look menacing, in fact it made Neely think of an old Betty Boop cartoon where she was bawling. Both Neely and Dunn took a stack of cash and handed it to him.

  Dunn leaned over and whispered to Neely who was still looking at Jacy's tear tattoos, “Don't ask. They were friends of his, he killed 'em all the same night. I hear it was traumatic.”

  Following Jacy, a biker with a faceful of knife scars tossed them each a used Ziploc bag full of well-worn plastic poker chips. “What's the story with the guy who looks like a cutting board?” Neely asked.

  Dunn leaned over and whispered, “Ricky. Got that in prison. Cops found him pushing ice on mall brats, he pulled PT with two counts of child rape. When he got out, he went after his old lady, she's the one informed on him. Found her in an A&P parking lot. Doused her in Crisco, lit her up like a tiki torch. She ran out the back, jumped in the river. Last time anyone saw her.”

  “You saying don't get on his bad side?”

  “I'm saying don't get on his good side.”

  “Looks misunderstood to me.”