by Ronnie Allen
This is way too much snail mail. Haven’t they heard of e-files? Damn! This will take forever.
Some of the mail plummeted to the floor and Clancy was about to leave it when he noticed the top envelope looked like a check. He seized up the pile. Mostly checks.
No direct deposit? That’s a shock. Maybe royalty checks don’t go in that way? Let’s see what I have here. But she couldn’t find me anything better. Just because she hates her job.
He approached a long stainless steel table and sorted the mail into the three departments he was assigned.
He noticed a lot were payroll checks.
This may not turn out so bad.
He placed all of the payroll checks into a different pile, satisfied that he was onto something. But he didn’t know what he’d do with them yet as the checks were not being delivered to anyone in the computer room, his first stop. Guess these geeks were smart enough to have direct deposit. He readied a camera pen and exited the room.
***
Ten men, late thirties to fifties, in dress shirts and slacks with not a jean among them, were positioned at their own computer stations, inputting data relevant to Reynolds Publishing. Each one had his own cubicle and Clancy made note of the type of mail each person received. One guy took care of advertising. One took care of the Reynolds Publishing’s web site. Other stations were for publicity, humanitarian organizations, writer’s contracts, writer’s reviews. Separation seemed to be the key in Morgan keeping control. Smart man.
Clancy put stacks of mail next to various stations, signed the clipboard on the desk that he’d delivered the mail, and snapped pictures of the computer screens and room layout, merely by clicking the top of the pen in their direction. So what if they thought he had a nervous habit? He had made sure he kept an ample distance from them.
Wow. Barbara sure has the right tech contacts. A long distance camera in a pen? Hell, yeah.
There were printers in each cubicle and Clancy made notes as to the exact center that dealt with corporate finances, stocks, money transfers. He was interested in the money. Where it came from and went. He found the person controlling it. This must be one trusted employee. These men didn’t take their eyes off their screens for a second. It was a good time for Clancy.
He departed before he out lived his welcome. No one bothered to get a glimpse of him.
***
An irate Morgan argued with Steve in Morgan’s office with the door shut tight.
“What the hell am I paying you for?” Morgan demanded.
“You’ve done pretty well so far, but you got yourself in too deep with Carlson. You never asked my advice, and when I gave it, you never took it. You just jumped right in and paid the bastard off.”
“How did I know he wouldn’t get rid of the file when you told him to?”
“How can you trust a crooked cop?”
“I know the questions. I don’t have the answers. What will undo some of the miscalculation--”
“Miscalculations you’ve done over the years? Behind your father’s back? Something really significant. So that the majority of people could see your good side.”
“Hey. This is me you’re talking about. How about if I donate a monumental sum of money to a cause and, if push comes to shove, I’ll turn over the tax return?”
“What in hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s go.” Morgan snatched his jacket and raced out of his office. “I got an idea, a great idea.”
***
John sat in his office at Sheepshead Medical and looked over Barbara’s files, trying to make sense of what had happened. Sergeant McDonald had gotten him the files he had wanted.
Yes, indeed, Kellie was here at the same time as Lois. Discharged at eighteen. John knew what had happened next.
The phone rang and, knowing his secretary was out to lunch, he answered it himself. “Dr. Trenton.”
“Something is wrong with your Lieutenant Carlson, mate.”
He recognized the voice from the tape Steven Katz had brought over, but pretended not to. “Who is this?”
“Let’s just say I’m a citizen who wants him to get his due. There’s a meet tonight, with him and Reynolds. As soon as the sun goes down. Something about a payoff and Carlson skipping the country. And, Doc, your life is in danger. Carlson wants you out of the equation.”
The last comment surprised him, but John stayed on track. “Where’s the meet?”
The phone clicked off. “Damn!”
***
Sal and Tony staked out Barbara’s Central Park West apartment at a busy time in the afternoon, right before rush hour. They felt cold and uncomfortable. They slouched in their unmarked car after just having relieved a shift of two very bored officers who had already discovered that Barbara wasn’t home. They’d spent their day watching nannies wheeling baby carriages and dog walkers being pulled, sliding over ice. Nothing much happened in this neighborhood, much less anything criminal.
Sal lifted the cover off a container of cold coffee and flipped the lid onto the dash. “This is crazy.”
A call came through and Tony pressed the Bluetooth. “Yeah?”
“You sound real entertained.”
Sal sipped the coffee, grimacing at the stale taste. “They’re just dancing in the streets here, John.”
“Well, this should make you more depressed. Get over to the publishing company. There’s a meet going down with Carlson, early evening tonight. A fix.”
Sal spit out the coffee at the news. “Damn it, Paul. We were expecting something like this.”
“Our perp gave me an informative call.”
“Who does he want to nail?” Tony asked.
“Possibly both. Just get on it. See if he’s with Reynolds or at his apartment. Let the guys know. Tail him from anywhere. No I don’t know the T/P/O.”
“Got any more good news?” Sal pitched his cup out the window. “Call the publishing company. See if Reynolds is there before we make the trip.”
“On it. Is Mr. Reynolds there?”
Carol answered. “Sorry, sir. He’s not in the office. Who is this?”
“This is Detective Mandella. I need to reach him.”
“He’s looking at real estate properties.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in Brooklyn. He didn’t tell me where. Wasn’t exactly sure where the agent was taking him.”
“Who’s the agent?”
“Lennox Real Estate on Avenue T off Ocean Avenue.”
“Thanks. Is he coming back in tonight?”
“No. He has another meeting in Brooklyn.”
“Thanks.” Tony hung up. “Great. Somewhere in Brooklyn. But let’s start with the agent.”
***
Morgan and Barbara descended the steps of a two family semi-attached house in a tree line residential, but commercially friendly area.
She surveyed the block cautiously and nervously at the same time. This area was too close for comfort. Less than a mile from the clinic. The business owners, at the least, would recognize her. Her heart palpitated and she sweated profusely. No matter how hard she tried to focus, her entire body trembled. The male agent followed behind them. He didn’t look at Barbara once.
“What’s the matter, honey? You look like you’re panicked. What’s going on?”
“Morgan, it’s the excitement. I can’t believe my dream is finally coming true. It’s perfect. But I can’t ask you to buy this for me.”
“It’s more than perfect, honey. It’s still Sheepshead Bay. Easy for your patients to get to with the bus right on Avenue U. Several doctors have their offices on both sides of you. With seven rooms, you can have a couple of counselors see patients at the same time.”
“Morgan, I can’t make a decision like this so fast.”
“And you can rent the second floor to another practitioner. It’s move-in ready. You don’t even have to paint. Barbara, it’s a no brainer.”
“Morgan, I can afford this on my own.”
“You can?”
“Yes.”
“This house is over $700,000 and the owners aren’t budging because they know its Doctor’s Row.”
“Well, I have donations sitting in the bank because I was looking for a bigger property. I have to use them sometime.”
“Okay then. I’ll buy the house. You won’t have a mortgage. It’ll be in my name for tax purposes, and you can furnish the offices, and pay the salaries. You have to pay top dollar salaries if you want quality staff. And I really believe that. Carol makes more money than any other person in her position in the industry. And her competence is worth every penny.”
“Sounds like we have a plan.”
“Okay, Henry, draw up a contract and I’ll get Steve on it.”
The agent grinned from ear to ear.
***
Sal pulled up in front of Lennox Real Estate and they identified Morgan’s limo, with the plate MRPUB, parked around the corner. He proceeded a block away toward Avenue S and parked behind a truck.
A brand new Infinity pulled up to the front door of the agency. Out stepped Morgan, the agent who was driving, and Barbara.
Tony peered through binoculars. “Who’s the broad?”
“Probably one of the agents.” Sal grabbed the eyes. “Wait a minute! That’s Montgomery. No wonder our guys couldn’t finger her. They were looking for a blonde, and so is everyone else. Gotta change that bolo. Bring her in or tail the limo?”
“Trenton wants her brought in.”
“No, Tony, no. We protect our own first. Damn it, Paul! Why’dya have to make it personal?”
Barbara hurried to a Mercedes without kissing Morgan goodbye. Ignoring her as well, he had already entered the limo talking on the phone.
She drove off toward Ocean Parkway, melding in between cars in the heavy traffic before Sal or Tony could ID her plate.
Sal pulled out and drove down the block to tail the limo going east. Tony turned around to watch Barbara going west, straight on the avenue, but they needed to turn right on Bedford Avenue to follow Morgan. The limo made the lights. Barbara disappeared.
Tony rammed a broadcast. “Be on the lookout for Barbara Montgomery, now dark brown short hair with bangs, wearing a beige two piece business suit, straight skirt, driving a late model silver Mercedes-Benz CL-Class coupe, definitely not the base model, probably driving to upper West side in Manhattan. Last seen less than two minutes ago driving west on Avenue T. Probably going to Ocean Parkway to drive north to the Prospect Expressway. Get road block on Ocean Parkway going north and south and the Belt, just in case. Consider her armed and extremely dangerous.”
***
Less than three blocks down Barbara turned right onto East Seventeenth and parked the Mercedes midway down the residential block toward Avenue S. She removed her suit jacket and skirt while in the driver’s seat, and retrieved a black T-shirt and leggings out of a tote bag on the passenger seat. She dressed hurriedly and put on a long, dark red wig. Carrying a gray trench coat and a cheap canvas bag, she exited the Mercedes and trotted down the block to a white 2009 Honda Accord, base model, with the darkest tinted windows allowed in New York.
She continued to Ocean Avenue and Avenue R, double parked a few cars from the corner, and performed her magic.
Universe, get me a parking spot.
She visualized a car leaving a spot and tapped on the dash three times. A minute later, a car pulled out. Parking, she exited the car, carrying her bag and trench, just in time for her to jump onto the four-thirty-five Express Bus, which would take her to Park Avenue South, a few blocks away from her destination.
CHAPTER 40
Barbara skipped down the Express Bus steps at five-twenty-five and looked around in the winter darkness, overjoyed her plan of sweet revenge was in motion. She enjoyed the cold breeze against her skin as it blew her hair away from her face. Exuding an air of self-confidence, humming “My Way,” she jogged down Park Avenue to the outdoor parking lot.
Clancy had done his job. A Black Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited occupied spot three-sixteen. She waved to the attendant approaching her. “Pre-paid. Got it.”
He turned around, eager to get back into the warmth of his cubicle. She found the hidden key on the driver’s side rear wheel axel, got in, and drove a few blocks into the Reynolds Publishing indoor parking garage.
Barbara parked away from the few scattered cars in the lot. Amongst them was Clancy’s van. Though surprised Clancy wasn’t alert enough to know to park closest to the exit ramp, she dismissed the thought and his negligence, but she had carefully planned where to park, under the dimmest overhead lighting.
She stalked to the door, knocked twice. Clancy opened it.
They traversed down a long, gray concrete narrow corridor leading to the computer room. “I spent all afternoon deciphering codes and accessing the account.”
“Did you expect it to be easy?” she asked. “Everything is ready overseas to accept the transfer.”
They entered the room and Clancy led her to the computer, in the fifth cubicle from the right, that had the financial records. Barbara positioned herself at the computer with Clancy leaning in over her shoulder.
“All right. Let’s do this.” She keyed in the data from the sheets he handed her. “The password is MRPUB? How original? Doesn’t he know you’re not supposed to use words or phrases that you use publically?”
“Guess not. But Reynolds’s lack of creativity will cost him now.”
A list of financial institutions appeared on the screen with a drop down menu next to each. As she prepared to choose an account from the drop down menu, the screen turned blank and the words ‘Access Denied, Incorrect Password’ infiltrated the screen. Then audibly, ‘Whoever you are, do you think you’re going to access my account that easily?’
Barbara and Clancy sat stunned. “That bastard! You’re sure MRPUB worked an hour ago?”
“Damn straight, I’m sure.”
“Guess he’s smarter than we give him credit for.”
“No he’s not. Something he said to me last night.”
“You met him the last night?”
“Yes. To get you the job.”
“And?”
Trying to be evasive, she said “We had dinner.”
“You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“None of your business.”
“It certainly is my business.”
“We’ll talk about it later, okay? We have more important things to do now.” It was a lot more complicated than she thought and, with her long nails, she made a lot of typos. “Good thing my hacker taught me everything he knows.”
“Want me to do that? It’ll take forever this way.”
“No! This is something I need to do personally.”
“Okay, just watch the typos. You don’t want to send all that dough to someone else. That’s just what we need.”
“What a nauseating thought! Calm down. We have plenty of time. They’re all involved at the meet in Brooklyn now, so the timing is perfect. All right, here it comes. Available cash flow forty-three mil. I’ll transfer thirty-six.”
“How did you know?”
She paused before she answered. “Something he mumbles when he comes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. That’ll keep us happy for a while.” She depressed a few more keys, then a blue line appeared across the screen, Transfer in Progress, as Barbara leaned in with her fingers crossed under her chin. The words, Transfer Complete, appeared and they stared eye to eye, smiling. “Now just one more thing to aggravate them.” She closed the program, clicked on Control Panel on the Start menu, then Add or Remove Programs and then removed any files and programs related to banking. “Now, I’m happy.”
“And you don’t think they have backups?”
“Of course they do. Now let’s get out of here. But first...” She carefully removed explosives from her gym bag. “Here, put this inside the computer main frame. Our very own bolt of li
ghtning. And open all of the drawers and cabinets. Let’s destroy all their paperwork, too. Make them spend extra money and time. And Morgan hates to waste either.”
Clancy headed straight for the box on the wall, whose lock he’d picked earlier, and placed a miniature explosive device intertwined between a few red, blue, and yellow wires inside, while Barbara opened the drawers and cabinets. While his back was turned and he was preoccupied connecting the triggering element, Barbara left the room so hurriedly she ignored the gym bag. Clancy noticed it and snatched it.
***
It was dark in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, on Emmons Avenue and Bedford. Foghorns blew so loudly that Morgan cringed at the noise, even from across the street. Smells of freshly skinned fish penetrated his senses as he exited his limo, carrying a black briefcase. He headed over to the bay, wanting this to be over.
He bundled the collar of his long black wool trench coat around his neck. Morgan dodged cars as he crossed the wide four-lane avenue with the island in the middle. Anglers in wet blue jumpsuits, carrying poles over their shoulders and filled buckets, passed him, staring briefly. He was then, just as quickly, ignored.
Reaching the entry, he stared down at the marker on the ground at Pier Three, a blue circle with a sea bass encased within it with its tail extending beyond the circumference. This was the right dock. It was the dock where the boats fished for sea bass.
Fishing boats, named for women in the anglers’ lives, docked one next to each other in the rough snow-capped water as swans, geese, and ducks bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the erratic waves. Some boats went out for porkies and sea bass. Others for blackfish and striped bass. Some looked well kept. Others needed a paint job, but no matter what, all of these boats, conveyed a story. It was a story of hard work, long hours, and sacrifice.