H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy

by H. J. Gaudreau

  Elaine didn’t wait long. David McFain intercepted the waiter and soon appeared latte in hand.

  “Thank you David,” Elaine smiled, “…very dashing.” He returned the smile and took the chair opposite her.

  “I’m at your service Elaine. You,…ah,” he carefully selected his words. “You sounded a bit worked up on the phone, I’m curious.”

  Without small talk Elaine removed three envelopes from her purse. She carefully laid them on the table, aligning the edges in a perfect row. The fist envelope contained a check for seven thousand dollars, made payable to her investment account. The money pushed the account total over her goal of five million, five hundred fifty-five thousand, five hundred fifty-five dollars. A number she thought sounded lucky. Elaine had never diverted a complete payment before, but she knew Cole’s business was failing and there wasn’t much left to take. Besides, she would be gone very soon; this would be her last chance.

  She slid the envelope across the table to McFain. “That should push me over the top David.” He glanced at the envelope then Elaine. She smiled.

  “You’ve done well,” he returned her smile.

  “And so have you.” She slid the second envelope to him. It contained a large check, made out to McFain. The money represented his monthly fee plus a substantial bonus. This amount was in addition to the standard fees and commissions Elaine paid on all transactions in her accounts. This fee represented the price she paid for McFain’s silence concerning the source of all the money he was handling, and for his profitable, albeit questionable, access to information. Information which had generated substantial returns.

  “I think you ought to open that one David,” she said.

  He picked the envelope up and studied it. Seconds ticked by in silence. Then, he said, “No, I think I’ll save this.”

  “I was hoping to see your reaction, but, I should have known. You’ve always kept things…” she paused. He was an attractive man, a bit older, but clearly well muscled. He’d be fun. “I don’t even know where you live.” She observed.

  McFain’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her hair. He lingered there a moment. Several years ago, when she had first approached him, he’d thought about trying to seduce her. But the first checks had been fairly large, and he quickly realized that Elaine was going to be a steady fountain of unreported cash. It would be better to keep the relationship strictly business. “I honor our friendship.” McFain replied and shifted his gaze back to her eyes.

  She returned the stare for a long moment, then held up the last envelope. This held the check which Cole had signed and was made payable to the Traverse bank. She removed the check from the envelope and held it over the candle. As the check flared she fixed McFain’s eyes, “It’s been a pleasure working with you David.” she said and smiled.

  McFain smiled back. “And with you.”

  “I need you to do one more thing.” Elaine studied his face, hesitated, then opened her purse and removed a small teal green envelope. “I want you to sell everything. Transfer all the money into the Cayman account.”

  “What’s this?” McFain didn’t move.

  “It’s time for me to leave David. The business is going under, and I can’t get blood from a stone. I’m out.” She smiled thinly, “I’ll need access to those funds in about a week. Can you do it?”

  “Of course I can do it.” He fell silent for a moment. “Then I guess this will be our last meeting.”

  “I think so,” Elaine said as she stood. She walked several paces in the direction of her car, stopped, turned and walked back. He didn’t get up. She stood there a moment, then took David’s chin in her hand. She bent and kissed him long and hard.

  David watched her as she walked away, she didn’t look back. Finally she was out of sight. He stood, shook his head and smiled.

  Chapter 33

  Donna’s chest entered the room before she did. An ability that always fascinated Cole. A woman had to walk with her shoulders way back to do that, yet she made it look natural, like a girl from a fifties sweater movie. “Cole baby, Alan Wisecup is on the phone.” He had called five minutes ago. Donna had let him stew before she connected him to Cole. Not smart this time Cole thought. It only served to make Wisecup mad. Or maybe he enjoyed being a low life bill collector. He certainly acted like he did.

  Cole had been waiting for the call. He had given some thought to taking the check to Wisecup in person just to see his face when Cole handed him seven thousand dollars. He could make the payments. Wisecup was wrong. But then Cole decided it was better if it all appeared routine.

  Cole eyed the phone and smiled. “Lets see how Wisecup eats crow,” he thought. He was sure Wisecup was going to thank him for the payment.

  Wisecup didn’t even say hello. “Mr. Prestcott, we haven’t received a single payment since my visit. Nor have you made any attempt to contact myself or members of the bank. Sir, we are very concerned about this loan.”

  Cole’s smile disappeared. This wasn’t possible. His hands began to shake. “What’d ya mean I haven’t made a payment? That’s bullshit! I sent you a check for seven thousand dollars. I sent it last week. What about that payment?”

  “Mr. Prestcott, we did not receive a payment.”

  ‘Then you’d better find it buddy. Don’t think you can jerk me around.”

  “Are you saying you sent us one? If so, we’ll search our mailroom. But, honestly Mr. Prestcott, I doubt that we received such a payment.”

  “Are you calling me a liar? You little sonofabitch!” Cole’s composure was cracking.

  Wisecup kept applying the pressure. “Your current outstanding balance is….”

  “I KNOW MY OUTSTANDING DAMN BALANCE. You don’t have to keep telling me.” Cole was bouncing his knees up and down under his desk.

  “Mr. Prestcott,” Wisecup cut in. “I did not call you a liar. I simply expressed my doubts. Sir, we will be forced to begin foreclosure proceedings on your business and other assets this coming Monday. I will personally search our mailroom and all associated employee’s desks. However, should I not find that check you will be hearing from our attorneys. I am sure you realize seven thousand dollars does not come close to making your loan current. As I said, we will need…”

  “I KNOW, you’ll need some money. I’ll find it. Now go screw someone else.” Cole slammed the receiver down and leaned back in his chair. The dream was fading, in a few weeks he would be the bum on the street that everyone always thought he’d become. Panic swept over him. The eyebrow over his left eye began to twitch. The urge to run, just get away was overwhelming. Cole stood and walked to his office door, decided against whatever it was that had caused him to walk there in the first place and returned to his desk. He paced the floor. His hands were in constant motion, in his pants pockets, out, back in. He wiped them with an imaginary towel.

  Was Wisecup screwing with him? Of course he had a check. Cole had signed it himself. How could he not have a check?

  “DONNA!” Cole screamed.

  She burst into his office a moment later. “No need to yell honey, I’m right here,” she purred.

  “Get me the check register.” Cole was nearly hysterical.

  Donna scurried to the accounting room, rummaged through the file cabinet and came back with an old fashioned green ledger. Cole yanked it out of her hands and laid it on his desk. Without sitting down he quickly paged to last week’s checks. There it was, a seven thousand dollar deduction, check number 8487. His balance now stood at four hundred twenty six dollars and seventy-two cents. He couldn’t fill the cabin cruiser with gas for that.

  Cole sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. Wisecup was a thief. He was taking everything and there was no way to stop him. He was going to lose it all. He’d be back to working for someone else for peanuts. He’d have to sell the house, the boats, everything. He’d end up in some low rent studio apartment over some retired farmer’s kitchen smelling the liver and onions every Friday night.

  Th
e day passed slowly. Cole didn’t go home. Night closed in. He walked through the office into the shop behind. Carefully he examined the tools, machines and parts room. It was gone, all gone, the bank just hadn’t come and taken it yet. It was just a matter of time.

  Returning to the front of the building he stopped by the company kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed a can of Coke. In his office, Cole opened the desk drawer and took out a bottle of rum and a glass.

  By midnight he was drunk. The check; he’d signed the check and Wisecup had the money. Cole knew it. The thieving bastard had to pay. Wisecup was going to make Cole a laughing stock. He’d be working at some fast food joint in three months wiping up snot from the same shit teenagers he’d hired to sweep floors. Cole emptied the bottle into his glass, flavored it with Coke and poured the mixture down his throat.

  Money. Money was the root of all happiness and he needed more of it. Cole had no illusions. He knew the business wasn’t going to generate the money he needed. Where could he get it? In his mind Cole made a list of the businesses in town. No one had the kind of cash he needed.

  Stupid, stupid idea, robbery would just be stupid. Those blood suckers were just as broke as he was now, no matter how fancy a car they drove.

  He glanced at the empty bottle. There was another around here somewhere. After a quick, semi frantic search Cole remembered. He opened his wall safe and found a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. Behind the bottle lay a snubnose .32 pistol on top of a brown accordion file.

  Probably the loan or tax papers Cole thought. He picked up the pistol and studied the gun. He didn’t remember having a pistol. This could end all his problems. Cole smiled and pushed the barrel against his temple, one quick squeeze would do it.

  He held the pistol there for what seemed to be a long time. Gradually his hand began to shake. Suddenly Cole threw the pistol across the office. He grabbed the bottle and poured two fingers into his glass.

  He sat on the office couch. He needed cash and now. Suddenly, from a head fogged with booze and despair the picture of Gerry’s boat appeared. Gerry’s boat had money in it. Maybe lots of it. He needed to get back inside that boat. The money he had seen began to grow, soon it filled the bilge, and was right there, just out of his reach. It would be so easy, just cut open the boat and scoop it out. How could Gerry object? There was plenty for both. He could see the money, it was…right…there. Cole collapsed on the couch.

  Chapter 34

  Don Harris, driving a Kenworth T660, stopped his truck in front of Gerry and Sherrie’s driveway. Behind Don’s empty flatbed trailer were his two sons Bert and James. Bert, the oldest, drove a smaller truck pulling a flatbed trailer loaded with an assembly of specially built axles and wheel sets. James, barely out of high school drove a three axle mobile crane. Sherrie greeted Don as he walked toward the house. The two had become friendly on Don’s previous visit and they exchanged pleasantries.

  “Don that’s the prettiest truck I’ve every seen,” Sherrie exclaimed. “Is it new?”

  “Well, kinda, it’s new to me, and it’s only two years old,” Don grinned. He liked a woman who liked trucks.

  “Are you going to show it to me?” Sherrie was already headed for the cab. Don smiled as she climbed up the side of his truck. This woman was certainly a fireball.

  “Okay, now be careful. I’ll be right there, just hang on.” Don hurried over to the truck and quickly gave Sherrie the grand tour.

  Back on the ground Don said, “I’ll need to get the crane in first, then we’ll position the wheels. After that, I’ll lift the boat, slide the axles under and then pull it back. Easy as pie. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “So you say Don…” Sherrie laughed, “…but I’m glad it’s you and not me doing this!”

  Gerry heard Don’s truck from the orchard’s office and was soon standing next to Sherrie. “Don, I’ll get the tractor and meet you back there.” With that both men were headed in different directions.

  Thirty minutes later Gerry watched as Don’s sons laid two-inch by six-inch boards across the ground for the next phase of the move. That task completed, their attention turned to moving four sets of wheels into position at the front of the barn. Next, a set of bumpers were placed around the cradle which held the boat.

  Bert then directed Gerry as he positioned his tractor’s forklift arms under the bumpers. When all was ready, the signal was given to lift the cradle. Quickly James pushed a single, small axle with only ten-inch wheels under the cradle and Gerry lowered the forklift. The boat cradle now sat with one end on the ground and the other on the small axle.

  Bert then attached a cable to both sides of the cradle. The other end was attached to the tractor and they pulled the entire assembly forward over the axle. The physics couldn’t be denied. The front of the cradle came up and James quickly pushed another axle under the cradle. The process was repeated and soon the boat cradle was equipped with three sets of axles.

  Bert quickly showed Gerry where to position the tractor and a few moments later two cables were being reattached to the tractor. Soon James gave a wave and signaled Gerry to pull the cradle forward. Carefully they worked the cradle out of the barn into the daylight.

  Gerry was even more impressed with the Chris-Craft now that he could see it from a slight distance. Don and his boys took a moment to walk around the boat. “Gerry this thing is impressive!” Don shouted. Gerry couldn’t agree more. It was an impressive yacht to be sure.

  Bert and James then placed two sets of straps under the boat and cradle. These were attached to the hook suspended from the crane. As Gerry watched, the Harris crew gently lifted the cradle and placed it on the flatbed trailer.

  Loading complete Don climbed into the truck’s cabin and stepped on the accelerator. The engine woke from its idling snore and roared. Don expertly slipped the truck into gear and crept away from the barn. A sharp right turn and the behemoth slowly moved away from the barn, across the new property and out of the orchard. Gerry climbed into his pickup and followed closely behind, cringing as the truck’s wide load broke off several precious tree branches on its trip to the gravel parking area in front of the processing barn.

  Don stopped the truck, shifted to neutral and set the parking brake. Sherrie opened the door of the orchard’s office and called, “Everything all set Don? You ready to hit the road?”

  Don climbed down from the cab and held out a clip board. “Just need you to sign this bill of lading and I’m off. It’ll be dark by the time I get to Clare. I’ll drop it there and we’ll go home for the night. We’ll leave Saginaw early, shoot up to Clare, hook up then take it down to Jim’s. The boat should be off loaded and in place by noon.”

  “Sounds great Don, thanks so much.” Sherrie signed the documents, took her copy and watched as Don and his sons drove off the property and turned south.

  Chapter 35

  On Friday Harris Trucking Company delivered the Chris-Craft. The boat was moved into Jim’s barn in essentially the reverse order of how it had been removed.

  Jim was ecstatic. He had a project for the next winter, and he intended to make it a work of art. Eve wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, but found the entire project to be interesting.

  The obvious starting place, at least to Jim’s eye, was not the repair of the bow section. Rather, Jim decided he first needed to overhaul the boat’s mechanical section, the engine, transmission and propeller drive housing. While those components were out he would have access to the internal portions of the stern and could inspect, repair and refinish the area much more easily. After replacing the engine components he would begin work on the damaged bow section.

  With those three major tasks complete he would move on to the boat interior and deck. Replacing, repairing or sanding the interior wood and deck planks looked to be a significant amount of effort. In addition, the devil was in the details. Things like deck hardware, cushions, curtains, and galley hardware were small but obviously time consuming.

  Jim sch
eduled the exterior as the last major task, thus preventing the possibility of damage to an already completed work effort while moving about the boat. He intended to strip the finish from the boat’s exterior, caulk and reseal the seams and refinish the beautiful mahogany.

  It was a major effort and Jim had budgeted a year for the process. Eve, more understanding of the perfectionist streak and occasional loss of interest Jim displayed in these types of projects, guessed closer to three.

  Both Jim and Eve agreed the entire process would be much easier if Jim had access to a complete set of plans for the boat. With that they began a detailed search of the local library for clues on where they could locate the documents.

  This was the type of task that Eve reveled in. She spent hours at the home computer and called several boat dealers in Detroit, the western Michigan city of Holland, then the eastern city of St. Clair Shores and even Chicago. No one could provide copies of the original drawings for the boat.

  “Jim this is nuts!” Eve cried one evening. Jim was trying to sleep in a large chair in the living room.

  “What’s nuts?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

  Eve sat at the kitchen table, a lap top computer opened in front of her. “I’ve got five emails from marinas and boat yards telling me they’re more than happy to work on the boat, but they don’t have any drawings.”

  “That’s not a help babe,” Jim said. “I can do that. In fact, that’s what we are doing.” Jim still hadn’t opened his eyes.

  “Well, I did find out the company was bought out in 1962.”

  “By who? Jim now had one eye open.

  “Shields and Company,” Eve said, checking her notes.