by Jim Beegle
When he arrived home, unlike the night before, Amy’s car was in the garage. He parked and gathered his suit coat and briefcase from the back seat. As he made his way into the house he remembered the prospectus that Pat had sent him early in the week was in his briefcase where he had dumped it on Tuesday. He also realized that he had not looked at it since then either. Events of the last few days had kept him preoccupied. Now the same events that had kept him busy made him restless. He really wanted to take a good hard look at Pat’s projects and plans.
Even though Amy’s car was home Mark could not immediately find the driver. After a quick walk through the house and calling her name, he discovered his wife in his office/den sitting on the couch side of the room opposite from his work area. The room was poorly lit by the lamp on the desk. He walked to his desk and put the briefcase down before walking back and taking a seat beside her. The four drinks and lack of dinner had gone quickly to his head. While he was pretty sure he was over any outward signs of the liquor, its slow departure had left him with a pounding headache as a reminder of its former power. He quickly realized that it did not matter one way or the other since his wife had not only followed a parallel path with drink that evening, but she had continued on beyond the point where he had stopped.
He looked at the drinking glass in her hand before he spoke. “Tough day?” he asked, nodding toward the glass. She did not answer right away, but she did look at him as if trying to work out the proper reply in her head before speaking it out loud. When she did speak her voice was clear but the words came more slowly than usual. The effects of the liquor made communicating like talking over a long distance with a short-wave radio rather than face-to-face in the same room.
“No more than usual. Where have you been?” she asked slowly, sitting up on the couch.
“Having a drink with one of the managers from Phoenix and going through the software.” He decided that before he gave out too many details of his evening it would be best to moisten his finger and hold it up in the air to see which way Amy was blowing. For the moment he decided he would avoid the minor details of the fact that the “someone” was a woman and that the “drink” had really been “drinks.”
“Oh,” was all she said in reply. He said nothing for a moment, weighing things in his mind. He was wondering if he should tell her about the promotion when another question passed through his mind and he decided to pursue it first.
“You came in pretty late last night,” he commented in the same matter-of-fact tone. “You still weren’t home when I went to bed. Late night at the bank?” He had seen her asleep beside him early that morning as he got up to get ready for work. He had no idea what time she had come to bed. Right now it was hard for him to sort out what the effects the liquor might be having on her from what might only be the results of a long day.
“Funny you should ask that,” she said putting her glass down on an end table. “Hamilton and I were up late working on your little project. We don’t feel safe or comfortable discussing it with so many people around.”
“Sounds like a wise idea.” Mark was not really concerned that something had gone wrong. He just wanted Amy to do the talking right now.
“It is just hard to plan to do something if you don’t know all the facts about what you’re doing,” she said echoing Hamilton’s comments from the first part of the week.
“You mean,” he said looking at her, “like where the rest of the money is?”
“I mean, like where the rest of the money is.” She repeated back to him.
Mark let out a sigh. “I’m sorry to put you through this Amy, please try to understand. If I let them know where the rest of it is, neither Hamilton nor IBC will have the slightest bit of motivation to give us the things we need to protect ourselves.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get all the assets we need in place, more to the point, the assets that you are insisting on, without all the right information?” she told him, anger creeping into her voice.
Mark was considering this when something more urgent crossed his mind. “Who has he been talking to and how wide is the “circle of knowledge” right now?”
“What are you talking about?” She asked him, more than just a little annoyed at not being able to understand what he was asking her.
“How many people know the full story?” He asked speaking his words slowly and with care. It took a minute for the question to register. When it did she screwed up her face and thought for a minute.
“I don’t know. I know he has talked to some people about the Interpol stuff but just in vague terms. He is treating it like some kind of research project.” Mark almost smiled at the similarities of the story Hamilton was using to the one he had told Marin when he was trying to discover what Cecil had done.
“Well, just tell him to be real careful.” She did not reply to this but picked up the glass again and took a long drink from it before giving him a disapproving look.
“Anyway…” she continued, “he said he wants to meet you for lunch tomorrow. He needs to talk to you about some of this.” Mark thought about that for a minute. It had been almost four days since he had talked to Hamilton. Mark admitted that he was surprised there had been no contact since then. There was a lot to work out and there was more than likely a lot involved in getting all the details arranged to move that much money. He shrugged to himself. He knew this would be the first of several meetings with Hamilton before all of this was worked out. Mark told Amy he would be glad to meet her boss and suggested a time and place for the meeting. He told her to have Hamilton meet him at the deli and gave her the location.
“If he has a problem with that, then have him call me,” he said, getting up from the couch. “If I don’t hear from him, I will assume the place and time meets with his approval.” Amy did not make any reply, but took another drink from her glass. “Don’t you think you had maybe better slow down there?” he asked, looking directly at her. For a moment he could see anger flare in her eyes and she started to say something to him but stopped, checking her anger and saying nothing until she had brought herself to a greater level of control.
“I am going to finish this one and think about going to bed.” When she said “bed” Mark’s mind wandered upstairs and into their room. Waves of fatigue washed over him as if the mention of sleep had triggered a reflex in him, similar to watching someone yawn. He realized that he was indeed very tired—not just in his body but in his spirit as well. He stood and stretched for a moment.
“Well,” he said recoiling from the stretch, “I think I will blaze the trail for you. I am all of a sudden very tired myself.” He leaned over to kiss her goodnight. When she realized what he was going to do, she turned her face so that his lips came to rest not on her mouth but on her cheek instead. He ended the kiss and stood back into an upright position. He looked at his wife for a moment trying to decide if he wanted to say something to her. Finally, he decided against it and walked off toward the stairs.
As he reached the landing before going down the hall to their bedroom he saw Amy cross the room the room toward the side of the den where his desk sat in the company with the bar, with her empty drink glass in her hand. He thought about calling after her, but decided not to. He headed to their room without looking back again.
As he had promised the night before, Mark met Kirstin in the lobby of the hotel. She had checked out of her room and had a collection of luggage with her this morning. She was obviously planning on going home to Phoenix sometime today. After exchanging friendly good mornings, Mark suggested they put her luggage in his car first. She agreed and followed him to the parking lot. As he loaded her bags into the trunk of his car he asked her what time she was flying out; it was close to the end of the day. Mark, in an effort to make up for his behavior the day before, told her that he could drop her at DFW when the time came. She seemed genuinely grateful for the offer and quickly agreed.
Going back inside they both wa
lked into the restaurant where the hostess seated them and brought coffee. They drank in silence. They were still looking over the menu when a waitress appeared to take their order. Once they told the young lady what they wanted to eat and the menus had been collected, Kirstin took a yellow legal pad from her shoulder-bag-cum-briefcase and looked at Mark.
“I have some questions,” she said after a quick review of the notes, which he assumed she had written the night before.
“Fire away, then,” Mark said, taking a sip from his coffee mug. Fire away she did. She told him that she had been thinking about the state of the software after she had gone back to her room last night. It was then that she had composed her list of questions. He was once more impressed: not only by the fact that she was giving the project a great deal of thought, but also by the type of questions she was asking. It was obvious she had paid close attention to the things they had talked about the day before. Her questions also belied a growing knowledge that things were not as close to completion as she had been led to believe. He was more than a little relieved to see that she had looked at the facts and was forming an opinion that was based on what was realistic and not something that marketing or Art Ness was trying to wish into existence.
She asked questions and he answered them thoughtfully and honestly. He tried to give straightforward answers and not let his personal feeling or dry wit get in the way. She would occasionally pause and write down his answer to one or another of her queries. The arrival of breakfast didn’t slow her down much or let him off the hook from answering her while he tried to eat. When they finished eating, Mark paid the bill and drove her back to his office where they took up where they had left off the night before—reviewing the timelines and production schedules. They worked this way until just before noon.
“I have some personal business I have to attend to at lunch today,” he told her when she had mentioned eating. “Why don’t you take Sandy to lunch? She knows a lot more then she lets on,” he said as Sandy walked into the room, “and is just dying for someone to ask her what she thinks.” For her part, Sandy made a face at him but said nothing. Kirstin asked if that would be all right with her and Sandy quickly agreed. As they walked out the door of his office together, Mark yelled after them. “Don’t believe everything she tells you about me either, and whatever it is I am sure I can explain.” Sandy looked back at him with a mischievous smile.
“And he can,” she said looking back at Kirstin and speaking loud enough so Mark could hear her, “just none of his explanations have anything to do with what really happened.” With that, they vanished into the main hall outside of the door leading from the office suite.
Mark was just about to follow them out when the phone on his desk rang. He toyed with not answering it, but thought it might be Hamilton or Amy and finally decided to pick it up.
“Hello, Mark Vogel.” He said into the mouthpiece.
“Mark. Hi, it’s Marin,” a female voice said.
“Marin, how are you?” He paused for a moment and then added, “how was your Thanksgiving?”
“Oh, it was OK.” He thought he could hear the mood in her voice shift. “The kids stayed in Houston on Thursday, but came up on Saturday, all-in-all it was pretty nice. How was yours?” she asked.
A twinge of guilt passed through his mind when he realized that she must have spent the holiday alone. Why hadn’t he asked her what her plans were beforehand? He was sure Amy would have pitched a fit about it, but Mark could have invited her to share the meal with them in Highland Park. “It was OK. Marin, I hate to be rude, but I am on my way out the door for an appointment, is there something I can do for you?” He hated having to rush her but he knew that he had to get moving now if he wanted to keep his appointment with Hamilton.
“Oh,” she said with hesitation. “I am sorry to bother you.”
“No, honest it’s no bother,” he answered her. “I’m glad you called. It just happens to be a bad time at the moment. I have an appointment in a few minutes that I can’t get out of. Sorry.” That seemed to make her feel a little relieved.
“I understand.” She paused and took a breath, before going on, “What I called for was to tell you I managed to find some more information about the robbery and what went on after it. I wanted to know if you needed it?”
“Yes,” Mark said immediately.
“Great, I am on my lunch hour now, I could bring it to you.” She spoke this half as a statement and half as a question.
“No, sorry, that won’t work. I am going to be tied up for lunch today.” He was trying to think of a way to get whatever she had for him as well as get everything done that he needed to do this afternoon. Marin spoke before he could come to any real solution.
“Well maybe we could meet after work this evening or tomorrow?” she offered. Both of them knew by unspoken agreement that he would not ask her to give whatever it was to Amy to bring to him, and he would not “drop by” IBC to get it with Amy in town.
“Marin, I know this sounds awful, but I have to take someone to the airport tonight and then I’m planning on heading to Runaway Bay.”
“Oh” her voice tightened with excitement. “I could bring it out there to you.”
Mark seriously considered that for a brief moment. He would not mind having her company at all, but then he thought about her having to make the long drive there and back, and about having to explain her visit to Mrs. Willies via Mr. Willies again. While he was weighing all this he made a counteroffer. “I would love to have you come out and spend as much time as you want there, but right now is not a good time. Could we meet somewhere this evening, after work maybe?”
Now there was a pause on her end of the line. “Why don’t you come by my place and I can give it to you there? I live in Arlington, not too far from DFW.”
“If you are sure you don’t mind me bothering you at home that would be great.”
“No bother at all.” She asked him if he needed directions to her house. He laughed and told her he thought he remembered. They agreed on a time to meet—around seven. The problem of how to get the information from Marin solved, Mark said goodbye, hung up the phone, and headed out the door to meet Hamilton.
While Mark was not surprised that Hamilton had wanted to talk with him, it did not mean that he liked the idea. He went to the deli located on the main floor of the Southland building and he got there a few minutes past the appointed meeting time. Hamilton had already gotten a sandwich and was seated in a corner slowing eating from a small bag of chips. Mark caught his attention and indicated he was going to get his lunch before joining him. Hamilton just nodded and went back to his chips.
“I hear you have been a busy man,” Mark said as soon as he had settled into his chair with his lunch.
“Let’s just say that it has been an interesting experience. I do have some questions for you,” Hamilton said in reply to Mark’s statement.
“I figured. It seems to be open season on them today.” Mark replied rather absentmindedly.
“What’s that mean?” The older man asked.
“Nothing,” Mark said, taking a bite from his lunch. “I‘m sorry, I’ve been answering a lot of questions the last few days. What do you need to know?”
“Well, I will tell you that I have been in contact with a friend in the federal district attorney’s office for Dallas,” Hamilton said as he took up his own sandwich. “I have, in very sketchy details, and without telling him who any of the players are, laid out the story to him. It seems Mr. Cameron’s heist left a lot of people holding the bag and looking pretty stupid, especially after a period of time when it looked like he had gotten away scot-free with all the money.”
“My heart goes out to the federal boys,” Mark told him in a tone of voice that suggested raised eyebrows and dripped of irony.
“It had better. I don’t think they are willing to let this thing go or let bygones be bygones. They want their pound of flesh.”
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��Great. They can arrest Cecil or David or both for all I care. They’re not going to get it from me. Have them call me. I know where he is staying and I can give them directions,” Mark said, now giving up all effort to eat.
“Hey,” Hamilton said holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger. All I’m telling you is that as far as keeping you out of being prosecuted or even arrested, it is not turning out to be all that easy.”
Mark had considered that somewhere in the process of getting the money back to its rightful owner, he might find himself. However, it had not been something that he had given much thought to and now he wished he had. “What’s the next move then?” he asked.
“The best thing,” Hamilton told him wiping the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin, “would be to give someone else, someone not associated with Mr. Cameron, the money and let them get it back to the bank. That way you and Amy are not connected in any way with any of it.” Mark did not have to ask who Hamilton thought would be a good go-between for this exchange.
“And Plan B is?” Mark asked, moving off of the subject of giving up any more of the money without his conditions being met. Hamilton just shrugged in reply, having already guessed at Mark’s reaction to his idea.
“Plan B, I guess, is you tell me the location of the accounts and let me negotiate with the feds,” Hamilton said, his cold blue eyes looking straight at Mark. He considered Hamilton’s last statement as he looked into the man’s face. Something in the way Hamilton looked at him was troubling, but at the same time familiar.
Once when he was just a young boy, his dad had taken Mark to a sideshow attraction at a small carnival that had sprung up not far from where they lived. It was a “pit fight” between a diamond-backed rattler and a small weasel-like creature called a mongoose. It seemed, or so Mark’s dad told him, that the snake and the mongoose were mortal enemies. They were both in a large Plexiglas box divided by a thick piece of plywood that extended out the top of the box through a slit. The top of the board that acted as a divider had a hole drilled in it with a piece of rope attached to allow a man to pull the cord from a distance so as not to block anyone’s view of the cage.