Big Numbers (Austin Carr Mystery Book 1)
Page 19
“I’m fairly certain. The company that insured the painting
is very small. A reward has been offered. They were expecting to take quite a financial hit.” He smiles, maybe a half-boat Zimmer grin. “And frankly, Austin, it would be difficult for me to take you on as a client if I thought otherwise. As you stated earlier, your current financial situation is somewhat desperate.”
“Right.”
Zimmer taps the pencil again on his legal pad. A small
wrinkle
forms
over
his
eyebrows.
“You’ve
told
me
everything?”
“Yes, sir. The whole truth and nothing but.”
“And all the bonds and all the money are in this green
186
Jack Getze
suitcase? Two-point-two million in tax-frees, ninety thousand in cash?”
I shrug, give myself a few moments to consider my answer.
You have to be careful with lawyers, even your own. They’re
all officers of the court and you don’t want to admit stuff that could be construed as a crime. See, they can’t present false evidence, even a client’s testimony if they know it’s a lie.
“That’s everything Luis and I found on the boat. I guess I
might have borrowed a hundred or two, maybe three, since
Luis docked in Cape May. You know. I needed food. Cab
fare. That kind of thing.”
He nods, reaches for his back pocket, and pulls a small
wad of bills from his black leather wallet. A Gucci, I think.
The bills are all hundreds. I just love those new portraits of Ben Franklin.
“I’d suggest you leave the Burns’ cash and bonds with
me,” he says. “Use this money to live on until I can talk to the company insuring the Renoir. It won’t take too long, I trust.”
I accept his cash, fold the money and slip it into my blue
jeans.
“The painting is safe?” he says.
“Definitely. I could leave that camper on the worst block
in Newark and no one would steal it.”
My lawyer leans forward. “But the Renoir is in the
camper.”
“Trust me, Mr. Zimmer. No one would touch that heap.
Besides, I don’t plan on leaving your parking lot until we
work this out.”
His eyebrows rise. “Well then, I suppose that’s all right. I’ll have my secretary inform and warn the guards.”
I stand. “Anything else?”
He rises from his chair. “I think that’s about it. Oh. I
checked the records on that restaurant-bar. It is in fact
registered to Luis Guerrero and Gerald Burns. Ownership
changed more than a year ago so I think your friend is correct in assuming the IRS cannot put a lien on his half-share.”
We shake.
“One more thing,” Zimmer says. “Does Mr. Guerrero
know he will be asked to give a deposition?”
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BIG NUMBERS
“Yes, sir. He’s going to call you, in fact, maybe hire you
for more than the deposition.”
“He wants our help in securing his interest in the bar?”
“Exactly.”
“Tell Mr. Guerrero to call as soon as possible.”
“I will.”
“So.” Zimmer taps his pencil again. He’s like a ticking
clock. “When Mr. Guerrero gives his deposition, his account
will back up your story?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One hundred percent?”
“Yes, sir.”
It had better. Luis and I practiced telling the details of our story half a dozen times.
“I’ll call you when I have news,” Zimmer says.
I dust a couple of crumbs off my shirt. Zimmer’s secretary
brought me an onion bagel with my coffee. “As I said earlier, I don’t plan on going anywhere. Just send someone out to the parking lot, knock on my window.”
He smiles, maybe a full-boater this time.
“It’s the yellow Chevy camper,” I say. “With rust spots.”
188
SIXTY
I step back to admire a masterpiece, the essence of light on a summer day, Pont Neuf, painted with oil on canvas in the
year 1872 by Pierre August Renoir. The reproduction arrived
yesterday, and now hangs over the working brick fireplace in my new, two-bedroom apartment.
Look at all those rich happy people, strolling in the
sunshine.
“Ready to go?” Ryan says.
I ruffle my son’s scruffy blonde hair. “I’m ready. Where’s
Beth?”
“In the bathroom.” He sidles closer, leans his head against
my ribs. “I’m glad you paid Mommy the money you owed
her, Pop. I missed seeing you.”
I wrap my arm around Ryan’s shoulders. I blink away
moisture from my eyes. “Me, too, Big Guy. Me, too. I’ve been lonely.”
Ryan breaks off our mini-embrace to touch the new, sixty-
four-inch plasma television we picked up earlier today. “This TV is so cool. Your whole apartment is. Those people must
have paid you a really big reward for catching those bad
guys.”
Beth joins us in the living room. “Daddy got the reward
for returning the stolen painting, not catching bad guys. Mom showed us the story in the newspaper, remember?”
“The paper didn’t mention Pop,” he says.
“Yes. Why was that, Daddy?” Beth says.
“I’ll explain on the way to the beach. We better get started if we want to eat Mexican food tonight. It’s already dark and I have to stop for something on the way.”
“Are we really going to build a bonfire before dinner?”
Ryan says.
“We sure are,” I say. “A big one.”
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BIG NUMBERS
***
I explain all kinds of stuff on the way down to the now
deserted Navasquan Municipal Beach Club: Impressionist art.
The crimes of Gerry Burns. My friend Luis who didn’t before, but now owns Luis’s Mexican Grill. Why Mr. Randall
Zimmer, Esq. kept my name out of the Renoir story. Giant
bluefin.
Besides the violence, the only thing I refuse to discuss
about my adventure is the score I made on that “little”
insurance company Zimmer mentioned the other day in his
office. I just couldn’t help loading up on the stock before the company announced publicly that they’d recovered Pont
Neuf.
And I bought options, actually, not the common stock.
The Nasdaq-listed common only went up three points, from
fourteen to seventeen. What I bought—out-of-the-money call
options—jumped in value from fifty cents to three bucks.
Austin Carr, market timer.
“All right, kids. You two get out, wait for me here while I
drive down a little closer to the waves.”
“But we want to see the bonfire,” Ryan says.
“Oh, you’ll see it,” I say. “Everybody’s going to see it.”
Our bonfire sparks, crackles, and hisses above the surf and
the stars. Hot orange light, fifteen-foot flames dance with our shadows on the cool beach sand.
Voices filter down through the sound of softly crashing
waves, people talking on a balcony. I turn to find a middle-
aged couple leaning against a railing outside their bedroom, both sipping drinks, the wife pointing at our fire.
“Remember to tell people we came for a walk on the
beach, not to build a
bonfire,” I say. “Even later when we get to Luis’s.”
“That means we can’t tell anybody about stopping for
gasoline, right?” Ryan says.
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Jack Getze
“Definitely.”
The kids understand why we watched the fire from so far
back when my old Chevy camper’s gas tank finally explodes.
A license plate and my NY Giant football helmet both land
ten yards short of our feet.
191
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to all ancient rim-rats and rewrites, particularly Carl Cannon, Charlie Wood, Glen Binford, John Upton, and my
father
George,
for
their
everlasting
inspiration
and
encouragement. Special and secret thanks to the late Tommy
L., the very much alive “Baha Jeff,” and the semi-immortal
Captain John B for their friendship, financial expertise, and best big-fish stories.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former Los Angeles Times reporter Jack Getze is Fiction
Editor for Anthony nominated Spinetingler Magazine.
Through the Los Angeles Times/Washington Post News
Syndicate, his news and feature stories have been published in over five-hundred newspapers and periodicals worldwide. His
screwball mysteries, BIG NUMBERS and BIG MONEY, were
first published by Hilliard Harris in 2007 and 2008. His short stories have appeared in A Twist of Noir and Beat to a Pulp.
He is an Active Member of Mystery Writers of America’s
New York Chapter.
http://austincarrscrimediary.blogspot.com/
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Table of Contents
PROLOGUE