The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  “Yeah, Penny was pretty upset last night. I think she blames herself for pushing Crystal into something she wasn’t ready for. She can probably use a little extra rest, too.” Bill extended his hand. “Thanks for being here.”

  Les pulled Bill in for a hug. “You’re a good man, Bill Price. Call me later and let me know how she’s doing.”

  Bill agreed and returned to his bedside vigil as Les let himself out. Morning crept in through the blinds. Sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed, Bill scanned the room. He noticed details that couldn’t be seen in the darkness. It reminded him of the nights he had sat in the same position, tending to Darlene. Maybe that was why it was so important for him to be there. He wasn’t able to save Darlene, but maybe he could help Crystal. Or maybe it went back further. He never had to take care of Hughie when he was sick. Darlene always did that. She just let Bill sleep so he would be fresh for work. Maybe now it was Bill’s turn to put in his time and look after others.

  As his mind drifted to the past, his eyes lowered and his head slumped forward. When he woke, Penny was standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing one of Bill’s white T-shirts, which hung down just above her knees. She tugged at the excess fabric draped around her, accenting how much room she had. “Hope you don’t mind I borrowed one of your shirts.”

  A tired smile stretched across his face. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Apparently better than you.” She walked over to look at Crystal. “How about her?”

  Bill looked over at the clock, showing ten-fifteen on the bedside table. “Out cold for almost eight hours now.” He stood up. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Penny took his hand between hers, patting the top affectionately. “No, you just relax. Let me take care of it. I’m not much of a cook, but I can at least make a mean cup of coffee.”

  “That sounds great. Everything you need is on the counter in the kitchen.” His eyes followed her out the door. He removed the washcloth from Crystal’s forehead and walked into the bathroom to freshen the cloth. When he returned, he could hear the water percolating through the machine in the kitchen and smell the familiar burnt aroma that signaled the start of all his days, but something was different. There was also the scent of cinnamon. And even more noticeable than that was, for the first time since before Darlene got sick, life had returned to the apartment. Unfortunately the circumstances were not the best, but at least conversations were taking place and emotions other than loss and regret were being expressed. He stood over Crystal, watching her sleep.

  Penny walked in with two mugs of coffee, handing one to him. Bill sniffed and took a sip. “Mmm, I thought I smelled cinnamon.”

  “I put it in right with the grounds,” Penny said. “Reminds me of Christmas.” She motioned for him to follow. “Come out with me for a second. I have something to show you.” Bill trailed after her to the dining room. Crystal’s purse was lying open on the table. Penny took out the small, resealable bag of coke and the container with the pills. “It looks like it wasn’t just the alcohol.”

  “You went through her purse?” Bill looked away. It wasn’t the drugs. He had seen his fair share on the job. It was the context. He flashed back to the last time drugs were discovered in his home.

  Penny said, “I had to. I needed to see what we were dealing with.”

  “OK, so now we know.” Bill walked back toward the bedroom. “Just put them back. It’s her life. We can’t force her to stop.”

  In the bedroom Crystal had rolled over on her side, facing away from the door. Bill walked to the side of the bed. She turned toward him, squinting and blinking, rubbing her forehead. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at my place.” He picked up the glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to her. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Crystal sat up grimacing and clutching her head. “Oww, um, not really.” She took the water from him. “I, uh, remember I stopped at a bar between my place and Dino’s for a few drinks. It gets kind of patchy after that though.” She sipped some water. “I kind of remember being outside walking, but not much more than that. I guess being here means things didn’t go too well.”

  Penny came in from the other room. She had changed into her dress from the night before. Crystal’s purse was tucked under her arm. “I’ll tell you what happened. You passed out on stage. You completely blew the opportunity and made me look like a fool in front of Damon, who, since you don’t remember, is my agent. I wish I could forget it all.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Crystal said, shaking her head. “Maybe somebody slipped something in my drink at the other bar.” She forced down several more mouthfuls of water, wincing like even swallowing was causing pain.

  “Or maybe you slipped yourself something.” Penny tossed Crystal’s purse on the bed. “I found the coke and the pills in your purse.”

  Crystal lunged forward and grabbed the purse, tucking it alongside of her, away from them. “Who said you could go through my stuff? Who asked you to do anything? You just push and push and push. Just leave me alone.”

  Bill sat on the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t get angry. She was just worried about you. We all were. Les, too. He was here all night. We didn’t know whether we should take you to the hospital or what. I was the one who suggested we bring you here.”

  “Lucky for you we did,” Penny said. “Hospitals ask questions and have a tendency to share the answers with the police. You should be thanking us.”

  Crystal grabbed her purse and scrambled out from underneath the covers down to the end of the bed, still in the spaghetti-strap dress. She looked around on the floor. “Where are my shoes? I don’t need to listen to this.”

  Penny picked up the shoes from next to the bedside table. “Here you go. Just run away. Seems like that’s working really well so far.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Crystal said. “I bet they’re still putting out the flames on your trail from St. Louis.”

  Bill stood from the bed. “Everyone, let’s just calm down. We all had a long night and this is a lot to deal with.” He knew the best thing to do was separate them. “Penny, why don’t you go out in the other room and get some fresh air on the terrace?”

  Penny pushed her hands out in disgust. “Fine. What’s the point anyway?”

  Bill waited for Penny to leave. He heard the terrace door slide open and close. Seated at the foot of the bed, Crystal dropped her head into her hands. Bill sat down next to her. He could hear her weeping. He put his arm around her. She leaned into him, letting go of the tears. He rubbed her back. “There, there. That’s OK. You’re both just upset.”

  Crystal looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. The makeup she had caked on the night before was smeared around her eyes forming dark circles. “I am grateful for you taking care of me. You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve just left me or dumped me at a hospital.”

  Bill reached back and grabbed the wet washcloth and wiped around her eyes. “Nonsense. There was no way we were going to leave you anywhere, and you can stay here as long as you want. No questions asked.”

  Crystal looked up at the mirror above the dresser in front of her. She groaned at the image before her, releasing a frustrated laugh. She took the cloth from Bill and cleaned around her eyes. “I’m a mess.”

  “I’ll tell you what.” Bill rose and walked toward the bathroom. “I’ll put out fresh towels, some Tylenol, and one of my T-shirts, which seem to be a popular item lately. You can take a hot shower and go back to bed for a few hours. When you wake, we’ll get something to eat and figure out what to do next.”

  She opened the washcloth, stained with makeup, and stretched it across her lap. “I’m just screwing up everything lately.”

  “All this?” Bill said. “These are just bumps in the road. You want to hear about making a mess, I’ll tell yo
u about how I let my stubbornness screw up so much of my life.”

  Crystal got up from the bed, reaching down to steady herself. “Ooh, I am still feeling a little woozy. You sure it’s no trouble for me to stay?”

  Bill held out his hand. “Come on. Let me show you how the shower works.”

  While Crystal was showering and Penny was still on the terrace, Bill went back to the bedroom and located Crystal’s purse. He took out the pills and the cocaine and walked to the kitchen sink. Turning on the water, he ripped open the bag of coke, washed the remnants down the drain, and threw the bag in the trash. He held up the pill bottle, reading the label. The prescription was for 30 mg tablets of Roxicodone for someone named Mildred Nickels. The dosage dictated one tablet every four to six hours as needed to manage pain and warned excess usage may cause sedation and depression of respiration. Bill cupped the pill container in his palm and went to his bedroom. In the closet, he opened his safe and locked the pills inside.

  Dow Jones Close: Closed

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Date: Monday, June 30, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 16,852.49

  In the mirror in his office, Max cinched up his black tie and adjusted the white pocket square in his charcoal suit jacket. He thought about not even coming in that day. What was the point? He knew weeks ago they weren’t going to meet the deadline.

  His management team, Ed, Jules, and Belinda, were waiting for him in the meeting room. Ed sat in a chair pushed back from the conference table with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Belinda banged away at the keys on her laptop. Jules scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad. They all glanced up at Max when he entered, then immediately lowered their eyes.

  Seeing their deflation actually buoyed Max. He knew there was a time to scold and a time to encourage. He walked to the head of the table, mustering what little optimism he had. “First I want to say I’m proud of how everyone pulled together the past few months.” The others raised their eyes in his direction. He said, “Come on, we all knew we weren’t going to make it, but you still gave it your all and found a way to increase production. What was the final tally?”

  Ed looked at his spreadsheet. “At the end of today, we’ll be just over 3.3 million. At our current rate, we probably need another six weeks.”

  Jules said, “We have another group of workers starting third shift this week. We’ll be able to have another line operating round the clock.”

  “Good job, both of you,” Max said. “That’s over five hundred thousand more than we thought we’d have and things look like they’re only getting better.”

  Belinda said, “I don’t mean to be a downer, but it really doesn’t matter how close we are. The contract is pretty clear. Failure to meet the quota can void the deal. I don’t think I need to go through again where we are without the payments from McDonald’s.”

  Max said, “Has anyone informed them of our shortfall?”

  Everyone looked at each other, shaking their heads. Ed said, “We have so much product in transit, it will probably take a week or so for them to tabulate the final inventory number.”

  Max said, “Good. Let’s keep it that way. We’ll continue operating all the lines and shipping product. That will give me some time to figure out a strategy.” Max looked around at the dejection and worry hanging on their faces. “After work I want each of you to go out and treat yourself and your significant other or a friend to a nice meal on the company. We’ll figure this out tomorrow. There’s always a solution. We just can’t see it right now.” Max clapped his hands. “Come on. Heads up. Remember we set the example for everyone else in the company.”

  They filed out of the conference room. Max, Jules, and Belinda went to their offices. Ed returned to the production floor. In his office, Max flopped down in his chair and tilted back, staring at the ceiling. In front of the others, he had put on a brave front. Alone in his office, it was his turn to be disappointed. He had known failure. It had just been a while. Frustration and powerlessness set in. His mind raced but came up with nothing. He loosened his tie. The office suddenly seemed small. He stood and walked to the glass wall overlooking the production floor, watching all the people that were now dependent on him. His heart rate quickened. He struggled to catch his breath. Sweat soaked through his shirt. He had to get out of there. He needed to go somewhere to think.

  Breezing right by his secretary without saying anything, he headed straight for the closest exit, the same one they had entered the first time visiting the Western. Outside, the queasiness that had been swirling in his stomach launched upward bursting through his mouth onto the side of the building. He braced both hands against the cinder block wall. Catching his breath, he wiped his mouth and angled down the sidewalk before anyone saw him. Afraid of having another episode while driving, he bypassed his car and just walked. He thought about going home, but he knew being by himself was the last thing he needed. Instead he went straight to the El Cortez where he knew he could be alone, yet still surrounded by people, and think, or more importantly, drink.

  He was at my table when I started at six and didn’t seem like he had any intention of going anywhere. His jacket and tie were draped over the chair next to him. The pit bosses informed me that he had been at the table most of the afternoon and was down around ten grand. Watching the way he was playing, it wasn’t a surprise. He was really going for it. Every deal, he played three hands across at anywhere from $100 to $500 per hand. His play was erratic, too—even for him. He was doubling on anything seven or above and, of course, his favorite: splitting tens every chance he got.

  Dark and brooding, he said more to the cocktail waitress when ordering his drinks than he did to me the rest of the time. His left elbow remained firmly on the table with his palm buried in his cheek or planted on his forehead holding up his head. All other actions—his betting, drinking, and decisions—were controlled by the right. People stopped to play at the other spots on the table, but his aggressive play, the stakes he was playing, and his disposition chased them away rather quickly.

  When the money in front of him was gone, he called the pit boss over and requested a marker, which of course was granted, for $20,000. He upped his bet to $1,000. The twenty quickly became ten, then five, and down to two.

  He reduced to one hand and bet $1,000. Got a twenty against my eight. He stayed. I had eighteen. Win.

  He doubled his bet to $2,000. Fourteen against my ten. Hit. Got a five for nineteen. I had a six underneath. Hit. Eight. Twenty-four. Bust. Win.

  He tripled the bet to $3,000. Seventeen against my eight. He went against the book and hit. Three. Twenty. I had eighteen. Win.

  He put out five times his original bet for $5,000. Twelve against my seven. He should hit, but stayed. I had a nine underneath for sixteen. Hit. Ten. Twenty-six. Bust. Win.

  I recognized the positive progression betting strategy he was using of one-two-three-five, each time going up a level with a win or back to one with a loss. It was a subset of the Fibonacci sequence that required a string of wins to profit. Each level up was the sum of the previous two bets. The next level after five was eight, and after that jumped up to thirteen. Most players using the progressive cycle got nervous after winning four in a row, and either stayed with five until they lost or took their profits and went back to one.

  Max didn’t hesitate. He pushed $8,000 into the circle. First card, eight. Second card, another eight. I had an ace showing. He declined insurance. I slid the card under the mirror to check for blackjack. Nobody home. He counted out the money in front of him. His remaining $1,000 with the four in profit he had from the progression left him three short. He got another marker for three and pushed another eight grand into the circle. Finally lifting his head from his hand, he straightened his body and leaned forward to watch the outcome. I separated the cards into two hands. First hand, he got a ten. Eighteen. He stayed. Second hand, a nine for a sevente
en. He stayed. I turned over a six for a soft seventeen. Had to hit. Next card, a five. Twelve. Had to hit again. A three. Fifteen. Another card. A seven. Twenty-two. Bust. Win on both hands for him.

  I counted out the $16,000 in winnings, for a total of $32,000 in front of him. He said, “Will you watch this?” I nodded. He got up and went toward the restroom.

  When he came back, he looked over the stacks of brown, yellow, purple, and black chips. I said, “You’re building quite a sundae there. You got chocolate, banana, grape, and some hot fudge.”

  “Not nearly enough.” He reset the betting progression back to one thousand.

  I dealt another hand. “What’d you start with, five grand?” He nodded, dropping his head back to his hand and resuming his morose posture. I said, “Well with the twenty-three in markers, that still puts you up four grand. Not a bad afternoon of work.”

  For someone who had been so quiet all day, Max really uncorked on my positive spin of his roller coaster ride. “Not so great when you mortgaged everything for a multimillion dollar deal with McDonald’s, miss your deadline, are stuck with millions of branded units with nowhere to sell them, and have an eight-thousand-square-foot facility bleeding you dry.” He flipped his hand, knocking his colorful stacks of chips over into a heaping pile. “This is nothing compared to what my company lost today.”

  “Forgive me,” I said. “I was merely speaking to the accounting of today’s play. My apologies.”

  Max dropped his eyes to his chips, again sorting and stacking them by color. “That’s OK. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You had no way of knowing. Don’t know why I’m so down about it. Not like it was a surprise anyway. I’ve known for over a month we wouldn’t make it. Just had to accept it today.”

  I remained silent and just dealt cards. He stayed with the progressive betting strategy, riding the waves up as high as forty-five and down as low as sixteen. He didn’t win five straight again, but got to four in a row several times, and three many more.