by C. B. Carter
He did remember one name, not because of the name, but because of the color of her eyes, a transparent blue-gray stone color, almost like granite. She was absolutely stunning, reminded him of a modern day Elizabeth Taylor, same curvaceous body, black hair that was dyed, but done professionally at some topnotch VIP salon, designer jacket, and shoes. She exuded confidence, and those eyes...who would ever forget those eyes? She could easily be on TV pushing her own perfume or lingerie product line or on a pin–up poster in some past war.
She introduced herself as Shelly Spenser and when the moment presented itself, she placed her hand on James’s shoulder and asked, “Are you clever, James?”
James was taken aback. He didn’t know if she was the contact, but she certainly fit the bill, what she said next all but sealed the deal.
“Bricks aren’t monitored James. Monitoring a physical connection or hardware on the network is antiquated—it’s your login that’s monitored. No damage done, but leave the clever stuff to us, okay?” she implored as she patted James on the shoulder with the true intent of reprimand. James, not slow on the uptake, understood completely.
James followed her into the meeting room and found a seat opposite her. The leader, now representing himself as a lawyer, quickly laid out the purpose of the meeting. His team represented certain insurance institutions in the New York area, primarily a collective group of Wall Street firms who were interested in how the bank was fairing in the turmoil that was happening in the financial markets.
They didn’t want anything secret or protected, but needed the publically released information first hand. He further set out the team’s responsibilities; he and his three associates would be doing a general audit, while Shelly focused on an equally important but more manageable small side project for the purpose of creating daily summary reports.
The insurance lawyer presented each person with a blanket non-disclosure and confidentiality agreement and everyone signed, most not even reading the document. The meeting ended with Mr. Stone welcoming the group and assuring all legal cooperation. He then told James he would be paired with Shelly on the side project. James’s heart jumped into his throat and he felt everyone in the room could see his panic. He knew it had officially started, he was sure Mr. Wright, and his linebacker friend were toasting at that very moment to a job well done. Yes, they had cornered the predictable, dependable James Spain. He was going to be their patsy.
He put on his game face. What choice did he have? “Great, should we get started then, Mrs. Spenser?” he asked across the table to Shelly.
Shelly recognized the ruse, knew he was scared to death, and in some small way felt sorry for him, but she had a job to do and was under pressures of her own.
“Please, James, it’s Miss, and call me Shelly or Shell. Absolutely, let’s grab one of the offices and get to work.”
James, thinking quickly, looked to Mr. Stone then back to Shelly. “I don’t have an office,” he broadcasted, hoping Mr. Stone would pick up the hint and pair her with someone else.
Mr. Stone countered, “Oh, thanks for reminding me, James. One final thing, ladies, and gentlemen, before we adjourn. Please join me in congratulating Mr. James Spain on the tentative promotion to Examiner, Tier Two. James, follow me and I’ll show you your new office.”
James could only think, man, criminals get promoted quickly.
Mr. Stone and Miss Spenser engaged in chitchat as James followed them to his new office. His co-workers were all giving him the thumbs-up, symbolizing congratulations. The news of his promotion traveled faster in the data room than the bank’s numbers.
Mr. Stone, preparing to unlock the door, pulled a key from his pocket, but didn’t need it—a phone-data technician was exiting the room with a completed work order in hand. The tech held the door open for the party and gave Miss Spenser a once over. James noted the look, but couldn’t tell if the tech was just admiring her beauty or subtly giving her a sign.
“Mr. Spain, I’ve programmed your original office number on the phone,” said the tech as he held out the paperwork to be signed.
His new office was the standard package. Bush Fairview furniture, networked brick with 17 inch monitor, a networked laser printer, VoIP phone, and two nice chairs centered on the desk. James settled behind his new desk. He had waited for this moment for two years and now it was soured and ruined by the person pulling the empty seat up next to him.
Mr. Stone placed the office key on the desk. “Well, Miss Spenser, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said flirting with her, his advance completely missed the mark and just sat in the air, unreturned, “and, James, congratulations. Well, I’ll let you two get to it.”
Shelly waited a moment and shut the door. James leaned back in his chair and asked, “So I guess the room is bugged?”
“Presumably,” she replied, taking her seat and pulling out a vanilla folder file, labeled ‘Project NW’.
“We don’t have to do this, we could stop right now, and no one would ever know,” James said as he pointed in the general direction of the computer screen.
“The choice isn’t mine or yours. I suggest we get started.”
At 10:49 AM, on Monday April 21st, 2008, James entered his ID and password into the login dialog box, took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, pressed enter, and said, “Let the criminal enterprise begin.” He smugly looked at Shelly, waiting for a response, waiting for her to direct him. The tension was more than just an illusion. It was a lethargic, grating pendulum moving back and forth, reminding them of each second that passed.
When she did respond, it was well calculated. “We’re going to be working together for a while, weeks, or maybe months, so we need to clear the air now. As long as you do what is asked of you, you are in no danger of being outed here. In fact, you’re not really doing anything illegal—sure some protocols are being bent, but that’s the extent of it.”
She paused, waiting for James to process and continued, “Each day, I’m going to read off these questions,” she continued, tapping the file with her pen. “The questions are all straight forward enough and you will simply give me the answer out loud.”
“So, you’re going to ask questions and I’m going to give you the numbers by saying them? By saying them out loud?” James restated.
“Exactly, how else would you communicate the numbers? There’s far too much information to cart out of here without drawing suspicion, right? Only the summary report will be taken each day and that’s just not enough data, there are over two hundred questions and queries we will run through each day. Think of me as a superior asking a question about this line item or that line item, except I will be asking for a lot of line items.”
“Oh, I see, so Mr. Wright has a clone of you somewhere writing down the answers as I say them.”
“I assure you, James, there is no clone of me,” she playfully answered, trying her best to bring him on board and ease the tension.
“What about the confidentiality agreement? Certainly this would be considered inside information.”
“Rules, guidelines, vision statements, employee conduct, confidentiality agreements, non–disclosure agreements—these are items of language for lawyers to dissect and argue over. Hell, I watched you sign it and you didn’t even read it. My point, James, is this will never come back to haunt you professionally. It’s just a job and will be over before you know it. Think of me as another auditor and we will get along smashingly.”
James wasn’t buying it. It felt wrong and he knew that even though much of what she said danced on the edge of truth, he was being asked to knowingly break the law. His only hope was they would slip up somehow and Mark would be relaying valuable, ass-saving, information in a couple of days. How much damage could he do in a couple of days?
“Fair enough, let’s get started,” James remarked.
“Oh, and before we do get started, Mr. Wright asked me to tell you that you’re a lucky, lucky man. I’ve heard of the infamous Green Lake recording. They of
fered to play it for me, but I suggested I might like to find out for myself.”
James now realized they had followed him and Bridget to the lake and were now gossiping about their love making. “Now that would be criminal,” rebuked James. “Which book are we looking at first?”
Shelly wasn’t used to having her flirtations shot down so effortlessly. In fact, her flirtations were never rebuffed. “Let’s pull up this morning’s outflow, filtered on the top one hundred business accounts in real-time,” she commanded as she removed her jacket and opened her file.
“What’s the name of the largest institution?” she coldly asked.
“Goldman.”
“We’ll start there.”
Chapter Six
~ Life, Death and a Mustang ~
Five P.M. couldn’t come fast enough for James. The physical act of announcing every number that was the result of a query was exhausting and quickly became mind numbing. James, like many paper-pushers, hated dealing with reports. It seemed his whole life was for the purpose of producing one report or another for someone up the chain. In fact, many of the cartoons on the wall in his old cubicle and on the walls of his co-workers cubicles delivered ‘the report’ as the punch line. Everyone immediately understood the jokes and could relate. Their lives revolved around reports. He would joke with co-workers, in his best Mr. Stone impression, “I want a report on the status of all reports.” His co-workers laughed at the irony, but its true comic value was the fact that it wasn’t too far from the truth. Today had him blessing those damn reports. He couldn’t imagine doing this volume of work without them.
Shelly was still miffed and the lack of friendly banter made the day even longer and more unbearable. To everyone walking by, he and Shelly were just two professionals working on a project.
At five on the dot, James logged out of the system and turned off the monitor. “Well, I’ll never bad-mouth a report again, I will say that.”
Shelly rubbed the back of her neck. “I know what you mean.”
“Can I leave now?”
“Yes, I’m going to write up the summary and will be leaving shortly.”
James left the office without saying goodbye. He had to do this, but he didn’t have to make it a pleasurable experience. Maybe, just maybe, he could wear her down. He doubted it, though, as she quickly established control and set the pace of the questions. She was driven and that much was obvious. James exited the data room knowing she was running the show. As far as being discourteous for the purpose of manipulating control—he’d met his match. James knew she would eventually win. She was far tougher than he was and being disengaged didn’t fit in with his personality.
Bridget had called around three and said she’d found the car. If they could get to the tow lot before seven, they could gather the personal items and the insurance adjuster was ready to meet them there at six.
As he collected his items from his locker, he recalled the only conversation between him and Shelly that wasn’t about numbers, it was short and curt.
“Was that her?” Shelly pryingly asked.
“It was.”
“She called late. I mean, I assumed she would call earlier, several times throughout the day. You didn’t mention your promotion.”
“She used to call all the time, but I explained personal calls were frowned upon. At any rate, leave her out of this. That was the deal. Plus, I don’t hear the phone ringing off the hook for you.”
Shelly frowned. James found it difficult to be mean and decided it best to not make it personal. “Yes, you’re right. We should just stick to the job at hand,” she said and James agreed. And they were back to the numbers. She only left the office twice and announced to James and those listening that they were both going to the restroom. James found the entire ordeal oppressive and dreadful. They didn’t even take a lunch break.
There was a light rain, almost a mist, as he pulled into the condo parking lot and picked up Bridget. She greeted him with a loving kiss and rubbed his neck.
“You look exhausted. Did that investigator give you a hard time?”
“Who, Mr. Wright? No. I suspect he’ll contact me in a week or two when he’s completed the investigation and reported it to my superiors. It usually takes some time.”
James thought, that’s why I didn’t tell her about the promotion, Shelly. He wanted to scream it to all those listening, but knew he couldn’t.
“Wow, they’re serious over there at the bank. Do you think he’s still spying on us?”
“Probably, but I’m sure it’s dying down now. Hopefully, he’s moved on to bigger fish.”
Bridget was happy to hear it and couldn’t hide her emotions as the smile beamed on her face and lit up the entire car. Then her face soured. “What about the green?”
“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t mine, and I’m sure they will request a urinalysis. When it comes back clean I will be fine.”
She nodded her head in agreement. “Last night was exciting, the whole cloak and dagger thing, but it was also creepy,” she decreed as she settled into the passenger seat, letting her thoughts reminisce of another great night at Green Lake. “We’re going to Forty-Sixth Street. We should take Aurora.”
James felt Westlake would have less traffic, but didn’t want to get into a discussion about the map she had hand drawn and held in her hand. She loved navigating, but she didn’t respond well to criticism. Her natural reaction was to get her way and she was wearing her favorite slogan shirt: ‘I’m not bipolar, I’m me-polar.’ James made his way onto Aurora Avenue and they soon found the car lot of EZ Towing Company.
EZ Towing Co. was surrounded by a formidable fence. Much of the fence was little more than a trellis for Creeping Fig, the vine snaked its way through the chain links, only sparing the main gate and a few parking spots. If anything stayed still long enough, the vine would eventually engulf it.
They arrived at a little past six and the sun was about an hour from setting. Long shadows were cast over the area, making the Creeping Fig even more ominous. It was a graveyard for cars, but felt like it was full of bones. They parked behind the progressive insurance vehicle.
“Good, we didn’t miss him,” said Bridget, pointing to the rather older gentleman sitting in the driver’s seat.
They knocked on the window and after some polite introductions—all three buzzed the gate and were met by a man with a large belly, axel grease caked under his fingernails, greasy handprints, and streaks on his white shirt along with what appeared to be a trail of barbeque sauce. He was a mess and did not care one bit.
“We’re here about a '69 Boss 429 Mustang towed on Friday,” James said.
“Yep, I got one, damn shame too. ID,” snorted the man.
“Who’s ID?” James asked.
“Well, unless you’re a boxer,” noting James’s injuries, “I suspect your name is on the paperwork somewhere.” He eyed James and looked at Bridget, “Ya could do better than him, he ain’t that pretty or bright. Nice taste in cars, though.” He let out a hearty infectious laugh as he rubbed his belly. Everyone joined in except James.
James took out his wallet and showed the man his driver’s license.
“You got to give it to me, gotta make a copy.”
James took the ID out and gave it to him, “Let’s see...” he said as he started flipping through the paperwork on the clipboard.” How ya doin’ this evening, Manny?” he asked the progressive insurance man.
“Doing fine, Harry, how’s your boy in Yale?”
“Same as yesterday. Partying on my dime.”
Having matched the ID to the paperwork, he continued, “Okay, James Spain, young lady, and Manny, let’s go take a look, shall we. Ya know, James, I was just messin’ with ya back there. You actually look better than I expected—the car is a mess.”
James’s stomach turned.
Behind them, an EZ flatbed tow truck honked its beefy horn, pulled through the gate with its latest prize, a blue police cruiser with white trim. Two larg
e men with Cheshire cat grins waved at Harry while pointing at their new-found treasure. It was obvious to everyone that they were extremely pleased. It was an odd celebration of sorts, but James had to admit he found some guilty pleasure in seeing the cop car on the truck.
“You guys tow cop cars?” James asked, surprised.
“Yep, unless it’s on an emergency call or something. If they park illegally and the city puts out a work order, Mickey and Mouse will get it and it’s coming to my garage. This particular cruiser was parked illegally by some poor soul who thinks he can park his car anywhere when off duty. I’m all about safety, ya know.” Harry motioned for the tow truck to take the haul to the back of the garage.
“Mickey and Mouse?”
Harry let out another hearty laugh. “Yeah, funny, right? Nicknames for two bull cousins from a family on State Route Two up in timber country. Whole family is big boys, hard workers, and don’t take any shit. Ya get that way when dealing in timber and people’s cars all your life.”
James nodded his head in agreement. He could see they were definitely big boys and he watched the truck disappear behind the building.
They turned the corner of the garage and there sat the wounded mustang in its own fluids. James looked for vultures in the sky.
The front end was completely destroyed, with much of the damage on the driver’s side. The front bumper had been removed or fallen off and placed to the side along with half the grill. The driver’s side wheel flair was ripped and smashed, with the entire quarter panel being held up by the ground. The front left tire had been pushed in and was now several inches closer to the driver’s seat than it should be. The driver’s side mirror was completely missing, most likely in a pile of parts nearby, and the door looked like it had been kicked repeatedly. The interior wasn’t bad, but the progressive insurance adjuster was disappointed, noting that the entire frame of the vehicle had shifted.