Plastic Gods, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 2

by William Manchee

  Chapter 14

  Professor Swensen got in his white Lexus and headed for Stonebriar Centre. He had received a phone call from a woman who claimed she had information about the people who wanted Matthew Coleman dead. He desperately hoped this wasn’t a hoax, as he needed specific evidence of the cartel so that the Senate could be persuaded to launch an investigation. He knew this was his one and only chance to be vindicated. He had devoted his life to proving the Cartel's existence and how he had the Senate listening to him. He had to give them something meaningful, something startling, something they couldn't ignore.

  He parked and went in the northeast entrance of the mall to a bench overlooking the ice rink. He sat down and watched a dozen skaters practicing their ice dancing while he waited for his contact. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 11:27. Precisely at eleven-thirty an older man sat next to him and began reading a book. After reading a few moments, he set the book down and then got up to leave. Professor Swensen looked at his watch again and saw it was 11:45. He squirmed in his chair and took a deep breath. Where could she be, he wondered?

  A little before noon he realized the old man had left his book. He picked it up and read the title, The Richest Man in Babylon. Then he flipped to the bookmark and opened the book. There was a small piece of paper inside. Suddenly he realized the note may be for him. Not wanting to let anyone know he had been contacted he didn't dare read the note in public. He moved quickly to the restroom, went inside and found a stall where he could read it in private.

  He unfolded the paper and read the note:

 

  Professor,

  You're probably being followed so if you want to see me you'll have to lose your tail. Go to the main southwest entrance to the mall precisely at 1:00 p.m. Immediately upon your arrival a black Jeep Cherokee will pull up. Get in quickly and the driver will take you to me. Good luck.

 

  The professor folded the note back up and stuck it in his back pocket. He then proceeded to the southwest entrance of the mall. As he walked up to the curb, a black Jeep Cherokee screeched to a halt. He opened the door, jumped in and they took off. Two men rushed to the curb and watched the jeep disappear across the big parking lot.

  The professor looked over at the young driver, smiled and said, "This is exciting. I feel like I'm in a James Bond movie."

  "Are they following us?" he asked.

  Professor Swensen turned and looked back at the mall entrance. "I don't think so."

  "Good. It’s very important that my mother’s identity never be compromised. They’ll kill her if they know she has talked to you.”

  “Your mother?” Professor Swensen said.

  “Yes, I’m Michael, her son. I’m the only one she could trust. You’ve got to realize these people don’t tolerate disloyalty.”

  “Why is your mother doing this then?”

  “Because Matt Coleman is right. It’s time to wake up the American people.”

  Professor Swensen nodded. “How much farther is it?”

  “Just a few blocks now."

  "If I can get some concrete evidence of the cartel’s existence from your mother, I can take it to the Senate Banking Committee. I think they'll commission an investigation. They'll have to."

  "But, can they protect my mother? That's what I'm worried about."

  "Sure they can, once they realize that the cartel exists and your mother is a key witness they'll protect her."

  "You're going to have trouble convincing her of that. She doesn’t trust anyone."

  "I don't blame her."

  Michael pulled the Jeep into the parking garage of the Hotel Continental and stopped in front of the main entrance. He checked his rear view mirror, looked around nervously and then said, "She's in room 424. Knock twice and say it’s Uncle Joe."

  "Okay, thanks for the ride."

  The Jeep took off and Professor Swensen went inside and walked over to the elevators. When the door opened, he got in, punched four, and the big elevator quickly began its ascent to the fourth floor. He followed the corridor until he found room 424. He knocked twice and said, “It’s Uncle Joe.” The door opened.

  "Professor, come in."

  The professor walked in and looked around the small room. He smiled at the middle-aged woman and said, "Well, I hope our meeting is as exciting as the ride over here."

  "I'm sorry about that, but—"

  "No, don’t be. Your son told me how risky this meeting is for you. I’m just glad to be here.”

  “Good. I’ve wanted to talk to you or Matt ever since you testified before the Senate Banking Committee.”

  "I’m glad you called me. What did you want to talk about?"

  "I’m Martha Simonton, the secretary to the chairman of MidSouth Bank, Frank Hill. MidSouth is a subprime lender operating primarily in Oklahoma, Texas, and Louisiana. The main bank is in Houston and there are branches in Dallas, Oklahoma City, and New Orleans. Our primary business, however, is credit cards."

  “I see.”

  “All the things that Matthew Coleman has been preaching are true. Our bank spends millions of dollars in advertising and marketing to induce people to obtain and use their credit cards. It’s such a lucrative business that the board has made it their top priority to increase our market share. To accomplish this, they have eliminated almost all the usual requirements for obtaining a credit card like having good credit or a job. Anybody with a social security number pretty much can get a credit card.”

  “If you issue a credit card to anyone,” Professor Swensen asked, "isn’t your default rate pretty high?”

  “It’s been running about 10 or 11% but that is quite acceptable compared to the profit we make from the other 89%. . . . At least it was before Matthew Coleman stepped into the picture.”

  “Oh, I see. So the default rate is up?”

  “Yes, it’s running nearly 18% right now and climbing. Needless to say, the board is very concerned about Mr. Coleman’s activities.”

  “I should think so,” Professor Swensen said. “I wouldn’t have thought Matt could have caused that much of an increase in the default rate.”

  “As I said, we market credit cards very aggressively. Consequently, we have a lot of marginal accounts. They have proven to be very susceptible to Matt Coleman’s movement.”

  “Movement?”

  “Yes, his market strategy is being copied more and more throughout the south. If the trend continues, the bank's future could be severely impaired.”

  “So, are you saying MidSouth Bank is behind the attempts to compromise and silence Matt? Not the cartel?”

  “I’m afraid so. That’s why I called you. I know Mr. Hill hired someone to take care of Matt.”

  “Take care of him?”

  “Yes, I don’t know exactly what is planned but I overheard Frank tell someone to 'take care of him'."

  “You're sure they were talking about Matt Colemen?”

  “Oh, yes. Matt has been almost the exclusive topic of conversation these days. Frank hates him.”

  “I see. So why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “And tell them what? I don’t have any specific knowledge of anything. I called you just to warn you and Matt. I think he’s doing a very brave thing and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Well, I appreciate you calling me. Do you think you could snoop around and get us some hard evidence? We need to know who the board hired to “take care” of Matt and what exactly they have planned.”

  “I don’t know. It’s all done verbally. There’s no written record of it. But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and if anything comes up, I’ll call you.”

  “Good.”

  The Professor got up, said goodbye, and left. He was glad he found out who was behind the attacks on Matt, but was disappointed that it was just one banker. When he got into the lobby he realized he didn't have a car so he hailed a cab. As he took off in the direction of Stonebriar Centre, the two men who had followed him took up
a watch at the elevators of the hotel.

  It wasn't until six that evening that Martha Simonton finally stepped out of the elevator. The two men perked up as they saw her walk toward the parking garage with her son at her side. They followed at a safe distance. As mother and son approached the Jeep Cherokee, the two men rushed them and opened fire. Michael dropped to one knee as a bullet pierced his right thigh. He pulled out a revolver and returned the fire. Ms. Simonton screamed and ran for cover but it was too late. A bullet hit her in the back and she immediately collapsed.

  Michael held off the two men for a minute but he was a sitting duck lying in the middle of the parking garage. Soon he was hit again and again until he lay motionless on the cold concrete. The two men rushed Ms. Simonton, finished her off with a bullet to the head and then ran off.

  Professor Swensen immediately called Matt when he got back to the SMU campus. Matt was at home when he took the call.

  "Hey, how did it go?"

  "Better than I could have ever dreamed."

  He told Matt everything he had learned.

  "So it’s not the cartel.”

  “No, it’s just one pissed-off banker, but if he fails, I’m sure there will be others.”

  “Damn. Now what do we do?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have enough to go to the FBI.”

  "What if Ms. Simonton testified?"

  "I don't think she would. She just wanted to warn you and let you know that you're on the right track."

  "I do feel relieved to know that we're not fighting windmills."

  "You mean you didn't believe what I've been telling you?"

  "Yes, I believed you in theory, but it's nice to have a witness who actually has personal knowledge of the conspiracy."

  "True. I just wish she would testify so people would take us more seriously."

  "Yes, it would definitely help our credibility."

  "So, what now?" Professor Swensen asked.

  "I’ll update Lynn on what we've found out and we’ll decide what our next step will be. I appreciate your help.”

  "No problem. Take care."

  Matt hung up the phone and looked at Lynn with a solemn face. "It’s MidSouth Bank that’s after me."

  "You’re kidding?”

  He shook his head back and forth. "No, I’m afraid not."

  Lynn took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She looked at the TV and saw the news was coming on. "Turn the TV back on. I want to catch the news."

  Matt hit the mute button and the TV sound came blaring out of twin speakers.

  "In financial news, the Eagle National Bank of Dallas, Texas is reportedly in trouble. The bank is asking stockholders to come up with the $2.1 million infusion of capital that has been demanded by bank examiners. Last month the small bank reported a $1.1 million loss on forty-seven bankruptcy filings. Eagle Bank, a subprime lender, has specialized in high risk credit cards and up until this last quarter was doing quite well."

  "Okay, we have a late breaking story. Let’s go to Brian Harper at the Hotel Continental where a woman and her son were gunned down tonight in the parking garage of this popular north Dallas hotel. Brian."

  "Thank you, Nancy. It was a pretty grizzly sight on the second floor of the hotel parking garage tonight. An unidentified lady and her teenage son were gunned down execution style not ten yards from their Jeep Cherokee. No one seems to know the motive for the murders as apparently nothing was stolen from the victims."

  The phone rang again so Matt hit the mute button and picked it up. "Did you see the story that was just on the news?"

  "Yes, about the murders."

  "Un huh. That was Martha and her son Michael."

  "Oh, my God! I never dreamed—"

  "I feel so terrible, Matt. Somehow we must have been followed. God, I can't believe I led them to her."

  "It's not your fault,” Matt said. “You did exactly as you were told. These people have no conscience. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect themselves."

  "I can't believe they're dead. Michael was just a teenager. God, what is this world coming to?"

  "I don't know. Now what are we going to do?"

  "Don't ask me,” Professor Swensen said, "I have no idea."

  The following day the two bodies were identified as a Lois Small and her son Michael. The press speculated that the murders were related to a feud between two local gangs. Although Matt and Professor Swensen knew differently, they had no way of disproving the report.

  At Professor Swensen's insistence, Matt started looking for a bodyguard. When I heard about it, I suggested he call Bill Ross, an old client of mine who worked for the Mesquite police department. Bill had a propensity for getting in trouble and I was called on often to help extricate him from it. He was excited about working for Matt so he immediately took a 90-day leave of absence from the force. Fortunately, they didn’t take away his badge since he was still on call in case of an emergency.