Greed

by D Thomas Jewett

  His fist had knocked her to the floor. She held her chin as she glared up at him – her eyes blazing with fire.

  “Damn you, Brandy! You'll do what I tell ya – or I'll mop the floor with ya!”

  “Fuck you, Dan!” She fired back. “You lay another hand on me and I'll kill you!”

  “Kill me? Kill me? You ain’t gonna kill anyone,” he sneered.

  It was at that moment that she decided to leave. By evening, she was gone – and she never looked back.

  Do I even want to get involved with this Bill character? She mused.

  She had decidedly mixed feelings when she entered the parking garage. She made her way toward her parking space – it was up an aisle and around a corner. She hated working late; mostly because the garage was cleared out and no one was around. She always felt as though she were ripe for a mugging – or worse! She continued walking through the garage as she adjusted her purse – it had a long strap that she wore across her left shoulder. As always, she positioned her hand across the front of the purse as she walked.

  Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the silhouette of a man, leaning near a concrete pillar of the garage. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he may be eyeing her. And then she glanced again out of the corner of her eye, but the silhouette had vanished. She continued walking. Her senses now heightened on a hair trigger, she scanned and assessed everything around her. She felt the man leave his post, and then she sensed the soft impact of footsteps on concrete behind her. Hell, even though he was well behind her, she could almost sense his breathing on her neck!

  Shit! This is not good. Her hand nervously rubbed the front of her purse.

  She reached into the hidden compartment on the front of her purse. Grasping the grip of her pistol, she felt a bit less anxious, more in control. Her steps were quicker now as she turned the corner heading toward her car. And thinking just as quickly, damn! He could have an accomplice at the car, or anywhere along my route. I need to confront him right here. Right now!

  She turned the concrete corner, passing by a set of stairs running parallel and next to the wall. She walked quickly by the jagged metal railing attached to the open side of the stairwell – it wobbled at the slightest touch. Just after passing the railing, she took cover behind a nearby concrete wall and drew her pistol from the hidden compartment. She waited with bated breath, surprised how clear and focused she felt. She listened as the footsteps approached, first at a normal pace and then slowing to a crawl.

  The footsteps approached the corner. Ever so slowly – closer, and closer. She waited with her pistol in hand, pointing it toward the corner she had just turned. The footsteps were closer now – just around the corner. And then a man in dark leisure clothes came into view. Passing the stairwell, he looked down. And then he proceeded.

  “Stop right there or I’ll shoot!” Brandy barked.

  The man froze in his tracks.

  “Put up your hands!” Brandy barked again.

  Hesitating, the man raised his arms.

  “Higher!” She barked.

  The man raised his hands above his head.

  Brandy remained behind the wall with her pistol pointing at him. Then her voice barked again, “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

  The man turned slowly to face her. His face wore the mask of a defeated man. “Please don't do this,” he pleaded. “They'll fire me if they find out I've been caught.”

  “Huh?” Brandy said in wonderment. “What are you talking about?”

  The man stood with his arms in the air. Nervous, tentative, afraid. Brandy watched his body – his muscles seemed to be pulling him to his right, as though he wanted to flee. And then he did flee – or he tried to. The man quickly turned to run in the direction from which he came. But a strange thing happened – he ran into the edge of the stair railing. Brandy watched as the left side of the man's coat was ripped on the jagged edge – and he stumbled as he almost fell over, his knee and elbow scraping the concrete. And then he regained his feet and took off in a sprint – quickly rounding the corner, he disappeared. And all of this took place in a breathless millisecond.

  Brandy waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps; then she scanned the area and came out of her cover, her pistol still at ready. She walked toward the jagged railing – the one that the man collided with. As she approached, she saw tattered cloth and a wallet on the ground – she looked around and then stooped to pick it up. What an inept son of a bitch, she thought.

  Rolling the wallet over in her hand, she finally put it in her purse and proceeded on to her car. She walked to her car while carrying her gun, pointing it down by her side.

  She opened the car door and got in, locking the doors behind her. She placed the gun on the passenger’s seat; and then, she felt the shakes begin. Starting with her hands and running up her shoulders, and then to her torso, her shakes became more intense. Then came the tears – and still more tears.

  Brandy soon regained some of her composure. She started her car and drove out of the garage, proceeding toward her townhome. All the while she watched to see if she was followed.

  Arriving home, she pulled into her garage – there was no sign of anyone in the vicinity.

  She walked into her living room and sat down on the sofa. Who was that? And what did he want!

  She pulled out the wallet and opened it. A hundred-or-so dollars, drivers’ license, and credit cards. Apparently, Travis Leeson was his name. And then, she came across some business cards:

  Travis Leeson, Special Agent

  Federal Bureau of Investigation

  Maricopa County Branch

  Phoenix, Arizona 85021

  Office: (602) 555-6254

  What the hell! She thought. What is this about?

  I don't know if he will help, she reflected. Hell – I really don't even know the man! And then she made a decision. She picked up the telephone and dialed a number. “Hi, Bill? Can you come over here?” She paused, listening to Bill. “Well, I know you’re busy but this is really important.” She paused again. “Okay – I’ll see you in 15.”

  Brandy went into the kitchen and poured herself some Scotch. Funny thing – I bought the bottle several years ago, but it was still sealed.

  She walked back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Her shaking hands lifted the glass to her lips. She took a swallow – feeling the bite of the scotch at the back of her throat. Time was moving ever so slowly ...

  Ding dong!

  Brandy went to the door and looked through the door’s peephole. On seeing Bill, she exhaled; feeling her tension rush out of her. She opened the door and let him in.

  “What’s up?” Bill asked as he strode into the living room.

  Then he turned and looked into her eyes. “Brandy. What happened!”

  She produced the wallet and handed it to him. “This guy was following me as I was leaving work – walking through the parking garage.”

  Brandy then related the events of the evening.

  Bill scanned through the contents of the wallet and came across the business cards. “Wow! FBI – that’s some business he’s in!”

  Bill looked thoughtfully at the wallet in his hand, and then he looked up at Brandy. “I know this may sound crazy – but I’ve had a feeling I’ve been followed too. In fact, I could have sworn that someone tailed me over here.”

  Brandy sank into the sofa and swallowed a sip of scotch. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Yes – please. I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

  Brandy went out to the kitchen. She returned with a drink in tow, and was somewhat surprised that the lights were turned out. She looked over at the window – Bill was peering out through the blinds.

  Bill turned and looked at her. “There's a parked car with a man sitting in it – across the street. But I can't make out who it is.” He paused for a moment. “Did someone tail you home?”

  “I don’t think so.” Brandy replied. “I kept
an eyeball out. I didn't see anyone.”

  “Then he’s probably following me,” Bill said, as he turned the lights back on.

  “You know,” Brandy said, “for some reason, I don't doubt that you’ve been followed. Though I wonder what it’s about.”

  “Well,” Bill replied, “since it looks like we’re both wearing a tail, maybe it has something to do with this loan I applied for? Or maybe it has something to do with us meeting after the loan was denied?”

  Brandy observed. “If we’ve been followed, then it’s likely we’re also bugged – don’t you think?”

  Bill’s eyes became hard as he looked at her. “Shhhh,” he said as he pressed his index finger over his mouth.

  Bill walked over to the telephone and lifted the receiver. He unscrewed the microphone cover and opened it up – finding the usual components of a telephone mic. He replaced the microphone cover and placed the receiver on its cradle.

  Then Bill started walking – softly – around the room; looking for possible places to hide a bug. He stopped at an air conditioning register and peered at the screws holding it in place. The screws and register had been painted along with the rest of the ceiling – the same color; but the screws showed scratches from contact with some kind of a metal object.

  Bill walked over to Brandy and whispered, “Do you have a screwdriver?”

  Quietly, Brandy walked out to the kitchen and returned, handing a screwdriver to Bill. Brandy looked on as Bill mounted a footstool and unscrewed the register cover. Pulling the cover off, he revealed what appeared to be a small microphone dangling by a couple of wires. Bill left the microphone dangling and stepped down from the stool.

  Bill and Brandy paused, just looking at each other. Bill whispered, “Let’s get outta here – leave your purse.”

  Outside, Bill ignored his car and instead walked slowly down the sidewalk. Brandy quickly caught up to him. As they walked, Bill looked around to see if anyone was watching – they were silent as they walked. Soon, they reached a local neighborhood park. Finding a bench in a somewhat secluded section of the park, they sat down – both were still silent.

  Bill finally spoke, softly. “Wow! What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Brandy replied. “But suddenly, my life is no longer my own.”

  Bill frowned. “Do you think we have any bugs on us?”

  “I don’t see how,” Brandy replied.

  “Yeah – I don’t see how, either.” Bill said. “I think we need a strategy. What do you think?”

  “I think so,” Brandy replied. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Well, first some questions.” Bill’s voice was grim. “Who’s doing this? Why are they doing this? What do they hope to gain? How can we stop them – or will we always have to live under their thumb?”

  Brandy felt her expression harden. “I think we ought to start by calling Special Agent Leeson – I’ll bet he wants his wallet back,” she snickered. “And we may want to have a talk with Marcus.”

  “Marcus? Who’s Marcus?” Bill asked.

  “My manager,” Brandy replied. “The asshole who denied your loan.”

  * * *

  They began walking and soon arrived back at Brandy’s townhome. Brandy pulled out a business card from the wallet and made the call. She began speaking, “Yes. I’m calling Special Agent Leeson. I’m the woman you met in the parking garage, and I have your wallet. Please call me at 602-555-9283 to claim it.”

  Brandy hung up the receiver, turned, and smiled her first smile of the evening at Bill.

  Ring! Ring!

  Brandy picked up the receiver. “Yes?” Brandy paused. “Well, you may pick it up at my home. After all, I’m sure you know where I live!” Brandy paused again. “Yes – that’s right.”

  Brandy hung up the phone and turned to Bill. “He said he would be over in a half-hour. He didn’t ask for an address; and he didn’t ask for directions.”

  * * *

  Ding dong!

  Brandy checked the peephole and then opened the door, finding the same nondescript man she confronted in the garage. In a deliberate fashion, she sized him up – scrutinizing him from head to toe and imprinting him into her mind. She finally said, “Mr. Leeson, I presume?”

  “Yes. I’m Leeson,” he admitted.

  “Will you please come in?” Brandy said.

  Brandy led Leeson into the living room. Leeson did not seem surprised to find Bill there.

  Bill remained seated on the sofa.

  “Hello, Mr. Leeson,” Bill said. “Or, should I call you, Special Agent Leeson?”

  Leeson mumbled a greeting; and then he turned to face Brandy. “Where’s my wallet?”

  “I have it right here,” she said, brandishing it before him. “But first, I want you to answer some questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, why you were following me?”

  “Following you? I was not following you.” Leeson sneered. “I was on a stakeout watching someone else – but that person apparently slipped by me.”

  “Wow,” Brandy's voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You lost both your man and your wallet all in the same day. Did you attend the ‘Keystone Kops’ class at the FBI academy?”

  Brandy folded her arms. “C’mon, Mr. FBI, do you really expect me to believe your lame story?”

  “Believe what you want,” Leeson replied. “Give me my wallet and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Before I give this to you, Mr. Leeson, I have one question.” Brandy continued. “How did you know where I live?”

  Leeson was cornered now – and he knew it. “Well – ah, ah, um. When – when I saw that you had my wallet, I followed you home.”

  “No Mr. Leeson,” Brandy replied. “I watched for any sign I was being followed. I am certain that no one followed me home.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Leeson,” Brandy continued, “you made a terrible mistake by stalking me in a deserted parking garage this evening. And I’m not gonna let you off ‘til you tell me what you’re up to.”

  At Brandy’s last statement, Leeson looked down at the floor. And then he looked at Brandy. With a sullen voice, he said, “Well, ma’am, I'm asking – one more time – that you return my wallet to me.”

  “We’re not finished yet, Mr. Leeson,” Brandy replied. “You need to answer for the bugs that were planted in my home.”

  “And my home as well,” Bill chimed in. “In fact, I want to see a court order for all of the surveillance and bugging that you’re doing.”

  “Bu, but, but –”

  “Damn it, Leeson,” Bill interrupted him, “I want to see your supervisor. And I demand to know by what authority you’re so eager to violate my – no, our – Constitutionally protected rights!”

  “What’s your boss’ contact information?” Bill snapped.

  Leeson was even more sullen, if that was possible. “Give me a piece of paper and a pen, and I will write her contact info down for you.”

  Brandy quickly handed over a pen and paper. And just as quickly, Leeson scribbled it down and gave it back to her.

  Brandy looked at him and smiled. “Now, Mr. Leeson, you may have your wallet – after we talk with your supervisor.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Brandy arrived at the office early. She knew that Marcus was frequently mired in his work, and she wanted to talk with him while he was still available. But with last evening's excitement, she was tired and cranky.

  Coffee in her hand, Brandy stood at Marcus’ office door. Knock, knock!

  Marcus looked up. “Good morning, Brandy. You’re here early. You – you look tired. Did you have a hot date last night?”

  Somehow, Marcus' jokes never seemed very funny. And when Brandy didn’t laugh, Marcus’ smile turned serious.

  “I had an interesting evening.” She replied. “Last night, I found out that the FBI has had a tail on me.”

  “Oh?” Marcus leaned back in his chair. “How do you know they
were following you?”

  “It gets worse than that, Marcus,” Brandy continued, “they bugged my fucking home.”

  Marcus began touching the fingertips of his hands together.

  She looked squarely at Marcus. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Marcus wilted under Brandy’s stare. “The FBI has been monitoring Bill Ford. When you and Bill started seeing each other, the FBI began watching you as part of their surveillance on Ford.”

  “And?” asked Brandy.

  “And, what?” said Marcus. “That’s all I know!”

  “Did the FBI tell you we were seeing each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you thought it important enough to invade my privacy?”

  Marcus was silent.

  “Damn it, Marcus! – What gives you the right to have me followed? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “I’m sorry, Brandy.” Marcus replied. “This was my poor judgment.”

  “So,” Brandy asked, “why were they watching Bill – ah, Ford?”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “They found out, ah – that he was involved in the private investment trust. You know, the same one that Ms. Bowman was involved with.”

  “So,” Brandy voice was drenched with sarcasm, “is this all about the ‘supremacy’ of our Federal Reserve money again? Huh?”

  Marcus was silent.

  Brandy glared at him. “Marcus, I formally give you my resignation, effective in two weeks. It'll be on your desk within the hour.”

  Brandy stormed out of the room.

  * * *

  That evening, Brandy was busily cleaning the kitchen with her thoughts spinning through her mind. Damn! I like that Bill guy! He's right there for me – and he's so damn smart. And then she switched gears. But what about this investment trust? What's his part in it? Is this really as bad as Marcus says it is?