The Day Trader

by Stephen Frey

  Vincent stiffens. “Anna?”

  “Bedford’s receptionist. She was back past the Champagne Room, working in something called the Kitten Closet.”

  “No shit? That’s unbelievable.”

  I’m so pissed off I’m shaking. “Don’t do this, Vincent.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Like you don’t know Anna works at the club.”

  He holds his arms out, fingers spread wide, and gives me a baffled expression. “I don’t know that. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a new acquaintance in the bedroom who’s getting lonely.” He steps back into his apartment and starts to shut the door.

  “Anna told me everything!” I say, wedging my shoe into the doorway before he can shut it. “While she was dancing at the club, you found out that during the day she was the receptionist at Bedford. And you found out that she ran Seaver’s books. She told me you got her to send me the Bedford promotional material. You had her keep sending it to me, offering me a higher and higher discount. That’s why Seaver was so surprised the first day I went to Bedford to rent my desk because she was the one who had sent the material offering the old incentives without his knowledge. You told her you’d have her fired from the club if she didn’t do what you said. She was scared, Vincent, and not just for her job.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Augustus.”

  “You called her Kitten that day in the Bedford lobby.” I groan, pushing against the door with my shoulder. “You always find out a woman’s first name, but you didn’t that day because you already knew it.”

  “Anna’s full of shit.”

  My temper nears the breaking point. Vincent and I have never really fought. We had a couple of scraps on the practice field in high school, but nothing of any consequence. I point at him. “You wanted me at Bedford so you could keep your eye on me while you fed me inside information on stocks. You kept pushing me into day trading because you wanted to use me, not because you thought it would be good for me. You don’t give a damn about me. After all these years, you were using me like somebody you didn’t even know.”

  He grabs me by the arm and pulls me inside the apartment, then takes a quick look up and down the hallway, before shutting the door. “Keep your voice down,” he hisses, then pads over to his stereo and turns on some music.

  “Worried about what the Feds will hear?”

  Vincent’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

  “Reggie Dorsey told me about you and your connections. Now it all makes sense.”

  Vincent walks slowly toward me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your Mafia connections.”

  He stops a few feet away and points at me. “I think Melanie’s death has pushed you over the edge.”

  “Bullshit, Vincent! I was going to be your pigeon and don’t deny it. You had a network of people who were going to slide me hot tips on companies, like Jack Trainer did with Teletekk. At a bar here or a ballgame there until I was in so deep I couldn’t get myself out even if I did figure it out. Maybe you were even going to throw me bad information once in a while to keep it all feeling normal. Or maybe you figured I’d pick enough losers on my own to cover the trail. That was the plan, wasn’t it? I would make all the trades and manage the money so you could keep your people protected in case there was ever a problem. If the Feds ever figured out what was going on, I would take the fall and do the time. Not you and your pals. That’s why I never met the investors. That’s why you made me prove myself with that first three hundred grand. So I wouldn’t suspect. So I would think everything was on the up and up. Hell, they would have given me the ten million even if I’d made nothing on the three hundred grand. I knew it was all too neatly packaged, but I let you talk me into it anyway.”

  “You wanted to be talked into it.”

  “I thought you were my friend, Vincent. But no one would treat a dog the way you’ve treated me.” I hesitate, breathing hard. “You don’t have any real friends, do you?”

  For several moments Vincent glares at me. But then, unexpectedly, he breaks into his most engaging smile. The smile he uses when he’s trying to convince a woman he’s just met to come home with him, or when he’s trying to talk his way out of a speeding ticket. I’ve seen that smile many times—and it usually works.

  “So what’s the big deal, Augustus? What are you so uptight about? You’ll make a nice fat fee and share in the profits. And the Feds will never figure out what’s going on here. Believe me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I told you, the Feds are already on to you, Vincent. They have you under surveillance. Reggie found out from an ex-Bureau buddy of his.”

  Vincent chuckles. “FBI guys are always talking that kind of crap, Augustus. It’s just an intimidation game. Forget about it. Besides, we have friends downtown who can take care of anything if some young turk decides to make a name for himself. Everything’s cool.”

  Adrenaline is surging through me. It’s all I can do not to take a swing at him. “You lured Melanie to the Two O’Clock Club.”

  “I didn’t lure her anywhere,” he snaps, his smile disappearing.

  “Yeah, you did,” I answer evenly. “You wanted me at Bedford so badly. You probably pitched the idea of using me as an insider trading front to your bosses a long time ago, and they ate it up like chocolate. But you knew I could never execute the transaction volume you wanted unless I was trading full time. And you knew I’d never quit my sales job to trade full time until I had capital. So when I told you about the insurance policies, you lured her into that hellhole downtown so you could make her conveniently dead and get me the capital I needed to make the leap. It was perfect, wasn’t it? Did she tell you about her fantasy of dancing at a club during that weekend in the mountains?”

  Vincent makes a subtle fist. “Careful where you go with this, buddy.” Then he relaxes as if he’s just had a helpful thought. “Besides, you and Melanie didn’t take out those policies until a couple of months ago,” he points out. “She was dancing at the Two O’Clock Club way before that.”

  He thinks he’s just scored, but when it really comes down to it, Vincent isn’t very bright. “Melanie first raised the idea of the insurance policies that weekend we went to the mountains. In the car as we were following you and your date up there. She could have told you what she was thinking on your little ‘walk.’ ”

  “Didn’t happen,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re going to have to control your imagination. I know it’s been a tough time but—”

  “You knew there would be so many people for the police to go after if you got her onstage, including all the animals who watched her.” I clench my teeth. “It was so easy. I had the insurance money and you had your pigeon.”

  “You actually think I murdered Melanie?” he asks, his eyes flashing. “You think I’m capable of that?”

  “You could have had her murdered. I’m sure the people you associate with wouldn’t have thought twice about slitting a woman’s throat if it meant making millions without any risk at all.”

  “Get out of here, Augustus, or so help me, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Vincent? Anna said you told her she could end up like Melanie if she didn’t watch out.” I grit my teeth. “You gonna do the same thing to me you did to Mel?”

  “Augustus!”

  “You know how Melanie died, don’t you? Did you kill her yourself, Vincent? Did you rip that blade across her throat and leave her to die in that alley yourself?” I shout, leaning close to him. “Did you?”

  He lunges at me, but I easily avoid the punch, grab his arm, and slam my foot into the side of his knee—the same knee he tore up years ago playing pro football. He’s told me many times how it’s never completely healed, and sure enough, he crumples instantly to the floor, clutching his leg and howling in pain. I’m on him right away, rolling him onto his stomach and pulling one wrist up to the back of his neck, and he’s begging for
mercy. In a matter of seconds we’ve resolved a question that has simmered between us for years—who’s physically superior. I like the answer.

  “Did you kill her?” I shout as I keep him pinned to the floor. “Tell me the truth.” I force his wrist another inch higher up his back. “Tell me!”

  “I swear I didn’t.”

  “Tell me!” He groans loudly and struggles, but he’s surprisingly easy to control. The pain must be intense. Another inch and his shoulder will snap. “Talk, Vincent.”

  “You need to have the cops check out that Taylor guy very thoroughly,” he mutters. “The guy who showed up at the Grand that night two weeks ago. The guy you decked.”

  I ease off slightly. “Why?”

  “Taylor was at the club almost every night Melanie danced. At least that’s what the guy who owns the place told me. He sat right up front every time where he could get the best view. He was even there that first night Melanie danced. I saw that myself. I asked Melanie about him and she told me he was her boss. She said he was harmless, but I don’t know that she was right.”

  “What do you mean?” He doesn’t answer and I pull his wrist up his back again. “Vincent!”

  “Aw, shit!”

  “Tell me.”

  “One of the girls told the manager she had seen them arguing out in the street right before Melanie was murdered,” he yells, his face contorted into an awful expression. “On a side street where Melanie had parked away from the club. That’s all I know, Augustus. I swear.”

  I look down at him and I don’t recognize him anymore. He was such a good friend for so long, and now he might as well be a perfect stranger—or the devil. “Did you and Melanie sleep together?” I ask, my voice suddenly ice cold. He doesn’t answer right away and I send another jolt of searing pain through his body. “Vincent.”

  “Yes,” he finally mumbles.

  “Did you have her that weekend in the mountains?”

  “Yes.”

  “On your walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the first time?” I have to know.

  “Please let me go, Augustus. My shoulder’s killing me.”

  “When!”

  “High school,” he gasps. “After the championship game.”

  I gaze down at him, suddenly sick to my stomach. No wonder he never wanted to talk about that night. The night I considered one of my happiest memories. Now he’s ruined that for me too. “What’s the name of the girl at the Two O’Clock Club who saw Taylor and Melanie arguing?”

  “Erin,” he says. “She’s the woman who showed up at Melanie’s memorial service. The one I was talking to in the parking lot afterward. I guess she and Melanie got to be pretty good friends at the club.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Reggie’s message on my cell phone’s voice mail is disturbing, to say the least. He warns me to watch out for Mary Segal. As it turns out, a wealthy real estate developer was murdered in his home last Christmas. He didn’t live in McLean. He lived on the other side of Washington, east of the city in a wealthy area of Maryland’s Montgomery County. He and his wife were found dead by their son in their home on Christmas Day after they didn’t respond to the son’s repeated telephone calls. Each was a victim of a single gunshot wound to the head. According to Reggie, the man was having an affair with his blond female assistant. The woman was his bookkeeper, and the police found out that she was being paid an unusually high salary for her job—almost two hundred grand a year. Her name is Connie Harper, but she didn’t show up for work after the holidays, has disappeared, and has no criminal record anywhere. The case remains unsolved, which is why Reggie is so concerned. The circumstances are too similar. The only difference is the location.

  Reggie lets me know that he got my cell number off of caller ID when I phoned him from my car yesterday afternoon. He tells me to get in touch with him as soon as possible, and finishes the message by saying that it might not be a bad idea to stay in a motel tonight on the off chance Mary Segal is involved in the Montgomery County slayings. He says he thinks the odds are slight that she would show up at my door, but admits that the police are looking for her and, at some point, will want to question me about exactly what she might have said. I press the End button on the cell phone and continue to sit in the BMW, gazing through the darkness at the back entrance of the Two O’Clock Club.

  I left Vincent sprawled on the floor of his apartment. I don’t think I’ve ever been more disappointed in a person in all my life. Not even my father. I was almost sure the first day Vincent dropped by Bedford that he had been with Melanie. I could see it in his eyes when he swore they hadn’t done anything that weekend we went to the Shenandoah Mountains. He kept avoiding eye contact with me. I could hear it in his voice too, but I denied it because I didn’t want to face the truth. I won’t ever do that again, as much as it may hurt.

  I check my watch in the glow of a streetlight that filters down through the heat and the darkness. It’s exactly four in the morning. Closing time for the club.

  As if on cue, the door opens and a group of about ten women stream out of the place, laughing, chattering, and lighting up cigarettes. I’m out of the car and heading toward them right away, aware that they’ll probably be uneasy about a man approaching them as they leave the club at this hour of the morning.

  I’m right. They stop and huddle together when they see me.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I call out, halting a safe distance away. “Nothing to be worried about.”

  One of them hustles back toward the door and pounds on it frantically, unimpressed by my reassuring words.

  “I’m looking for a woman named Erin,” I say, coming a few feet closer. When I first got back here from Vincent’s apartment, I checked at the front door to make certain she was working tonight. She was. “Is she here?” I ask, scanning their faces. But it’s difficult to see much in the dim light, and no one answers.

  “What’s the problem?” The bouncer I was talking to earlier pokes his head out of the door, obviously annoyed about being bothered.

  “There’s a guy out here looking for Erin,” the woman at the door explains, pointing at me.

  I move past the huddled women toward the door, hoping Erin is still inside. “I talked to you earlier tonight, boss,” I say in a friendly tone.

  The bouncer squints into the darkness as I come close, but he shows no signs of recognition.

  “You got me into the Kitten Closet,” I remind him quietly. I don’t know why I care whether these women hear that I went to the Kitten Closet, but I do.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says, nodding. “What do you want?”

  The woman who banged on the door skirts around me back toward the group, and they head off. “Is a woman named Erin inside?”

  “The club is closed for the night.”

  “I realize that. I waited until closing time because I didn’t want to bother her while she was performing. If I could just speak to her for a minute, I’d be very grateful,” I say. “This isn’t about a date or anything like that.” I can see he’s suspicious. He’s probably heard that one a million times. “It’s about something else.”

  “What?”

  “Just something,” I mumble. “Please tell her I’m here. I only need to speak to her for a moment.” It occurs to me that he’s probably looking for a handout, so I reach in my pocket and pull out a twenty-dollar bill. “This is for you.”

  He grabs it. “Wait here and I’ll see what I can do.”

  A few minutes later the bouncer pokes his head out of the door again and motions for me to come inside. “Give me another twenty bucks,” he demands as I near the door.

  As I slip inside the club I dig into my pocket and produce the cash.

  “Stay right where you are,” he orders, pointing at me authoritatively while he walks away. “Don’t move.”

  The Two O’Clock Club is empty except for a couple of tired-looking old guys sweeping the floor with big push brooms. The chairs are
upside down on the tables and the lights are bright. It’s totally different in here without the women onstage, the music blaring, and men shouting for skin. But it’s no less disgusting.

  I recognize Erin when she appears at the far end of the bar, an apprehensive expression on her face. She looks exactly as she did at Melanie’s memorial service. Her face is classic Irish—blue eyes, fair skin, and freckles all framed by dark red hair—and she seems innocent to me in her loose-fitting dress.

  “What do you want?” she asks timidly from fifteen feet away, moving hesitantly along the bar.

  The bouncer leans against the bar behind her and pretends to read a magazine, but I can tell he’s keeping close tabs on me. “Do you recognize me?” I ask quietly.

  Erin looks over her shoulder at the bouncer to make certain he’s there, then back at me. “I’m sorry, I—” She moves a step closer, and suddenly I see recognition in her eyes.

  “I’m Augustus McKnight, Melanie’s husband. You came to her memorial service a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she agrees with a heartfelt sigh. “That whole thing was so sad.”

  “I wanted to thank you for coming. That was very nice of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She has a high-pitched voice.

  “I didn’t have a chance to say that after the service.”

  “That must have been very difficult for you.” She moves a little closer. We’re only a few feet apart now.

  “It was.”

  “Is that what you came here to say?” she asks curiously. “At four o’clock in the morning?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Then what do you want? I’d like to go home. I’m kinda tired, you know.”

  I hesitate, still unsure about the best way to approach this.

  “Mister, I—”

  “I hear you and Melanie were friends.”

  Erin’s eyes flash to mine. “How did you hear that?”

  “I asked around after I found out she was working here.” I don’t want her to know I got my information from Vincent. She’d probably clam right up. He seems to scare the hell out of people who work here. “That’s what people told me.”