Jenny entered the lobby of the hotel and scanned it for Tommy. She had recently gotten back from a run in Grant Park. No makeup, hair pulled tight in a ponytail, black, calf-length leggings, and a T-shirt that fell straight down from her breasts. Jenny wasn’t a woman who caught most men’s eye at first glance but did for those smart enough to look twice. Tommy was in the bar, and she spotted him first, then headed in his direction.
“Sorry. I’m not exactly dressed for this place. Can we talk in the coffee shop?” Jenny asked.
Without hesitation, Tommy moved to the waitress station and poured his drink into a paper cup, and they headed across the lobby to the coffee shop. “Is that a gimlet? You still drink those? You were the only one who did when we were in college, and you’re still the only one.”
“If I drank something that tasted better, I would drink more.”
“Also, mid-afternoon is a bit early for you,” Jenny said as she glanced at her phone, noticing the time.
“It’s been a rough week. I have a cop who is convinced that I killed my business partner, George. He has a hard-on for me and won’t stop short of a restraining order.”
“Why does he think it’s you? Because of evidence?”
“Well, yeah, some, I’m sure, but I don’t know exactly what.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Jenny suggested.
“Doesn’t really work that way, but I’ll keep trying. I gave him good reason to look elsewhere, so my guess is he will be tied up for a while.
I really need to get some information to Pat. Can you do that for me?” Tommy asked.
“Just talk to him yourself. You’re a big boy.”
“I can’t just call him anytime I want until this whole thing is done.”
“What whole thing? What are you talking about?” Jenny asked.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Pat’s willing to start a little business to help me out. Maybe even find George’s killer in the process, but it’s a securities business and I’m . . .”
“Barred, yes, for life. I get it. You want me to be an illegal go-between so there’s no connection between you and Pat. No!”
“I need you to do this for me.”
“Why? So you can go after someone? Who? This John guy?”
“Yes, please.”
“You said this cop was stalking you. Don’t you think he saw you and Pat together already?”
“Maybe, but I think he stayed in Chicago. I always used cash when we were together. I think I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, or do you think WE will be okay?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Tommy offered. “We.”
“I’m not doing it. Figure something else out.” Jenny’s contorted face revealed an orange-red tone that blazed through her richly pigmented skin. Tommy thought she still looked beautiful and had trouble staying on track.
“Okay then. Now that I think about it, I don’t need you to do anything so much as I need you to know this was happening, although I might ask for your help if Pat and I really get in a bind,” Tommy offered.
“Well, I guess by avoiding telling me details and not making me an accomplice, yet, to whatever is going on is kind of nice, in a way,” Jenny said. “See, yes, it’s because I care about you and Pat, and I want to give you a chance to talk him out of it. That’s really what I want, but sometimes the words don’t come out right,” Tommy explained.
“Don’t worry. I’ll give that my best shot.”
“I’m counting on it. If you need more information to motivate you, he has to remortgage his house and take loans against his retirement accounts to pay for the start up,” Tommy said.
“What?!” Jenny yelled. “That’s insane. I’ll definitely talk him out of it!”
“Well, if you don’t, please let him know I will be in touch in a few days,” Tommy said.
“And you’re not going to use me as some kind of a bag lady?”
Tommy smirked. “Right. I’ll keep you out of this, if I can.”
“You should have ended that sentence three words earlier.”
“I get it. So, will I see you around Chicago?”
“Not sure if you’ll see me, but I’ll be here some this summer. Once school is out, I like to spend a little time in the city. Lots to do here in the summer.”
“Great. See you then,” Tommy said.
Jenny didn’t answer, smiled slightly, got up, and headed out of the hotel.
Consumed by what had transpired over the last few weeks and without women he was interested in, interested in him, he had only one place to turn. He knew that he could make Pat successful in the carbon trading business. Like other commodities and stocks, it had become an impersonal, detached, electronically-executed business. All he thought he needed to do to be successful was obsess over it like he obsessed over other things until patterns developed that he could exploit.
For days, Tommy sat in his condo popping Modafinil and watched trades stream across his screen. The effect of the drug flung open the windows of the dark, musty attic of his mind. They infused him, pushing Tommy beyond his own wishes to do more. He could feel weary and tired in the background, but only if he really went out of his way to pay attention. He logged and tracked everything, looking for trends. He didn’t shower for days. A reddish mold started to grow on the dishes in the sink. He couldn’t figure out or see anything . . . no patterns, no tells— nothing. It was too volatile and didn’t seem to be tied to publicly available market news and long-term conditions. There weren’t even predictable daily trends and runs like a day trader could utilize.
Carbon trading was still relatively new, and volumes so low, that the market responded more to short-term supply and demand of credits than it did to general market conditions. Tommy thought that might be the case going in, but he needed to prove it to himself. He had hoped to be wrong so he could just sit at his computer having discovered the secret to how and why this market moved. This wasn’t a market for day traders mining trends and making thousands of dollars, and it wasn’t about big firms relying on their speed of trading in large volumes to make millions.
This was about short-term supply and demand of newly issued offsets and the opportunity to make millions of dollars, but information was key and wins and losses would play out over days and weeks for each cycle.
He had hoped to avoid this option but it was now the most logical one, and the only one. He would have to clean himself up and get out of his cave and talk to people at McKinstry as well as other buyers and sellers. He preferred the company of his computer screen, but he had no choice. He spent Friday afternoon setting up appointments for the following week. That gave him the weekend to mentally prepare to engage again with people beyond those in restaurant delivery uniforms.
On Saturday morning, Tommy left his condo for the first time in a week. It was mid-May and the weather in Chicago had varied from strangely oppressive, to cold, and then lastly to ideal during Tommy’s hibernation. It seemed as though there couldn’t be anyone in the city left inside. Tommy hopped on the Brown Line and found himself downtown in minutes. He returned to a familiar block on LaSalle Street overlooking the Chicago Board of Trade building. Why not have Pat’s business settle in the same area? These buildings would always stand for stability and would always be there, built by the hands and on the backs of those long since forgotten.
Tommy wrote down the address and phone number in block letters for a small second-floor space for rent, then wrote, “Rent this,” on the
paper. He addressed the envelope to Pat and dropped it in the mail.
He felt dirty and cheap. The carbon trading business had nothing to do with the venerable, old buildings. He was just playing on an image again, but in a way was probably just doing as the building architects had done on this very street about 150 years earlier— creating an image of stability where risk existed. Commodities and other markets had evolved beyond substantial old structures and face-to-face trading. Now it was a mysterious electronic
process that involved upstanding banks, brokers, market-makers, and clearing agents all playing by important rules, processes, and procedures so that every transaction was beyond reproach.
Well, except for the ones involving John and Tommy’s old company.
For the most part, there weren’t people in colored vests dealing with each other anymore, just information flowing between computers. The system had taken some of the ugliness out of making and losing money.
This was cool and quiet. No one could hear the screams of anguish from those who were losing millions. It was sterile, separating losers and winners. It was easier that way, better for business.
What had started as a method to help ensure fair pricing of commodities and a way to hedge legitimate risks had degraded into legalized gambling facilitated by those making commissions. Each new commodity that came to the market over the years offered another chance to create a never-ending revenue stream. Many of these commodities also offered a relatively brief window for fabulously risky and large gains, as well as horrific losses. Low volumes and big egos could collide in a thinly-traded market where a few people could, or thought they could, control pricing. It was carbon’s turn to be that commodity, a showdown of large dreams and money. A fight fairly officiated by rules, regulations, and computers. Surely there would once again be big winners and losers.
Tommy spent all day Saturday and Sunday walking, reading, and most notably sober. He bought a prepaid phone with cash on Sunday night, and he dialed Pat’s number. Pat immediately picked up and said, “Yeah, Tommy, what’s up, man?”
“How did you know it was me?” questioned Tommy.
“You’re the only guy who would call me from a local area code number that doesn’t come up on my phone. Besides, Jenny talked to me and I knew you would be calling sooner or later.”
“Yeah, well, when I call in the future, don’t use my name, and the calls will be brief. Sooner or later, McClellan will stumble upon you, tap your phone or whatever,” Tommy said.
“Wiretaps and burner phones. This is some real clandestine shit,” Pat said. “Come on, this is serious,” Tommy insisted.
“Really, I’m putting all of my money and my way of life on the line for you and you need to tell me this is serious?”
Mary and Jenny thought Pat was crazy, but Pat really wanted to help his old friend. Plus, what Tommy had said in the bar when he first brought up the idea was weighing on Pat. Pat did start feeling like he needed to take at least one shot at doing something big, something that could change his life and his kids’ lives forever.
“Sorry. So, you’re still in, then? Jenny couldn’t talk you out of it?”
“No, but I told her I would try one last time to talk you out of it,” Pat said. “Go for it.”
“Seems like, from what you’ve told me, some of this is your fault.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, why are you blaming John?”
“Because it’s more his fault. I’m mad as hell. I need to find out what happened to the business and to George. I can’t let it go. You know how I am—how hard it is for me to let go of my mistakes. This one will never go away unless I do something.”
“Come on, you’re exaggerating.”
“Really? Remember when we were in college, road-tripping through the Nevada desert? I was convinced I knew where to go and got us lost for three hours,” Tommy said.
“No. Well, wait. I remember getting lost.”
“Well, it was my fault and there were so many clues that we were going in the wrong direction. It was so stupid. I replayed that for weeks, even months, easily a thousand times in my head until the next dumb thing came along. Take that little mistake, think about the massive mistakes I have made, and then, picture my life.”
“Dude, you need to get some help,” Pat offered.
“Yeah, I’ve got more disorders than you can count, and I’ve had more prescriptions than I can remember. I can’t work or think straight when I take them, so I quit.”
“Sounds like you might be better off not thinking straight.”
“Maybe true, but not this time, and I can’t move on until I try to fix things.”
“How can you fix this? Does revenge fix it?”
“It’s all I have.”
“There are other more important things that you can have.” Pat was hoping that Tommy would think of Jenny.
“Not until I put this behind me. I need to hold someone accountable for this mess,” Tommy said.
“Why not hold yourself accountable and move on?” Pat suggested.
“I hold myself accountable every day. Don’t you get it? Shit is always my fault. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat knowing that I fucked up my life. I had all the money I would ever need and I tossed it all away. The only things I do now are drink and feel sorry for myself, and I was already an expert in both. I don’t know what else to do.” Tommy was getting exhausted by the sound of his own voice.
“So, now you want me to put all of my money on the line. If that works, how do you know I won’t go down the same path of not knowing when enough is enough?” Pat asked.
“You don’t have millions, and you don’t need them to be happy.”
“Are you saying I’m too lazy to be rich?” Pat said.
“No. You’re not stupid enough to chase money or ghosts.”
“You’re telling me you’re too stupid to stop yourself, so then, maybe if I don’t do this, maybe I can stop you.”
“You know I’ll find another and even worse way to try,” Tommy offered. “We’ve been over this before.”
Pat paused. “That is the main reason I’m going to do this. You can’t stop yourself, even if it kills you.”
“Right. I’ll call you back soon with specifics on how to set up and operate the business, but you won’t hear much from me directly much after that.”
“Well, make it soon. I’m quitting my job tomorrow.”
23
A few days after Pat and Tommy’s phone conversation, Pat’s phone rang again. It was the same number that Tommy had previously used to call him. Pat answered, “Hey, shouldn’t you be throwing these phones away?”
“Not each time. You have plans? Or do you have a few minutes?” Tommy asked.
“A deuce is the only thing in my short-term plan. Mary and the kids are all out. Okay, it’s clear that I’m stupid enough to do this. Now what?”
“Did you find an office?” Tommy asked.
“Yes. Rented. A lead just popped up. Private bathroom is nice. I’ll add a futon in the back room and call it home,” Pat said sarcastically, knowing that the cryptic mail about the rental space had come from Tommy.
“A guy will be by to set up your office, help get you incorporated, make sure you are licensed. That’s going to take a couple of weeks of intense training and a test.”
“A test . . . um, no. I haven’t taken one since I froze at my last college final. Almost didn’t graduate. I was told there would be no test.”
“Don’t worry. This visitor will take care of everything.”
“What will all of this cost?”
“Nothing. He owes me,” Tommy said.
“He must owe you a lot.”
“You have to remember; I’ve helped make a few millionaires along the way. I’m just not one of them. This is the only guy in Chicago I would trust, and there’s no way this blows back on us. Just don’t ask him any questions or look at him too closely, and you’ll be fine.”
“So, he’s going to cover everything? Including how to trade, or hedge, or whatever the hell I’m going to be doing? And you’re kidding about the ‘not looking’ at him thing, right?”
“Yes to all of your questions.”
“And this is all going to result in making millions of dollars?!”
“Maybe tens of millions. Or of course, you might end up broke. Here’s the deal. In Europe they have a more robust carbon trading system for connecting buyers and sellers with more diverse financial instruments so it
will likely grow here,” Tommy explained.
“So this is the same type of market that was already set up previously in the U.S., and you and your partners almost single-handedly fucked it up, right?” Pat asked in a concerned tone.
“Well, kind of. I’d like to say that we tested the system and capitalism fixed it. You don’t need the details, but you can’t do the types of projects we were doing anymore. Abuse and fix, that’s how capitalism works.”
“But you’re telling me you figured out another way to abuse the system.” Pat was moving from sarcastic to worried.
“This is legal. The trading in the U.S. is small and still voluntary. All we plan to do is take advantage of a small, volatile, thinly-traded market.”
“I’m no genius, but for us to make money there has to be some sorry fuck on the other end losing it. Sounds like I could end up being that guy. Jesus, let’s get this conversation over with before I change my mind.
Besides, now I’m crowning. I gotta go.”
“I’ll protect you. This will work. You won’t have any access to insider information or insider trading concerns.”
“Well, I didn’t have insider trading concerns until now. Thanks,” Pat said. “Remember, just be observant. In a few months, you’ll be a carbon trading savant.”
“Right. Are we done?”
“Yes. Go take care of business,” Tommy said.
“See you on the other side of this mess, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.”
24
It was a clear, crisp Monday morning, both outside and in Tommy’s head. He was drug free, sober, and ready to face the grind of information gathering. His breakfast meeting at a little café near the north end of Millennium Park had gone well. He met with one of the younger partners at McKinstry who was surprisingly forthcoming with information about their clients and the large increase in credits that they anticipated needing to buy for a big client late in the month. Tommy got those details by simply asking how things were going.
The Squeeze Page 12