Catching the Bad Guy (Book Two) (Janet Maple Series) (11 page)

“No. But you can meet him tomorrow and
just flat out tell him how you feel about him. Have a couple of drinks and then
just kiss the bugger. There are only two possible outcomes: either he kisses
you back, takes you to his place where the two of you proceed to make wild,
passionate love, and you live happily ever after; or he doesn’t and, yes, there
will be some embarrassment there, but at least you’ll get him out of your
system.”

“There is also a third possibility where
he takes me to his place where we make passionate love for one night, and then
he never calls me again. Only it will be really awkward because we will keep
seeing each other at work.”

“Is that why you’re so afraid to take
things further with him?”

“Maybe.” Janet shrugged. “Let’s face it:
I don’t have the best track record when it comes to dating coworkers.”

“Is this about Alex again? That was over
a year ago. Why can’t you just forget about him?”

“Because now I see him every day,
reminding me of my failure, and I don’t want to risk repeating the same
experience with Dennis.”

“At least we’ve gotten to the bottom of
this. I think I should have become a shrink instead of a lawyer,” Katie
concluded. “Look, Janet, I’m not a relationship expert, but I do know one
thing: when you want something or someone, you’ve got to go all in. I know I’m
happy that I did.”

Katie was right. For about two months
she had been happily dating one of the partners at her law firm.

“How are things with Adam?” Janet asked.
A handsome, young attorney in his mid-thirties, Adam Lewis was a transfer from
the Washington office, and Katie had been assigned as his associate. At first,
the idea of anything more than a professional relationship with her boss had
seemed impossible, but then one night, when they were both working late, their
mutual attraction had taken over.

“Great. Just great.” Katie’s eyes lit
up. “The firm is fine with it; they reassigned me to a different partner, and
we are officially a couple. He’s taking me to meet his parents next weekend.
And he is going to be my date for Lisa’s wedding. I was worried that he might
get spooked—you know how guys are about going to weddings—but he said that he’d
love to take me.”

“Katie, that’s wonderful! That means
he’s really serious.”

“Dennis could be serious too. All you
have to do is ask him.”

“If you must know the truth, I was going
to ask him to be my date for Lisa’s wedding.”

“And?”

“He is seeing someone.”

“How do you know? Did you ask him?”

“I didn’t need to. I overheard him
speaking to her on the phone. He called her honey boo.”

Katie crossed her arms on her chest.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Do you really expect a man like Dennis Walker to
be single? So he’s dating, but that doesn’t mean it’s serious.”

“And what makes you think that he wants
to get serious with me?”

“I don’t know if he does or doesn’t, but
I do know that unless you go out of your comfort zone, you’ll never find out.
So who’s your date for the wedding then?”

“Peter Laskin.”

“The dude you told me about, the one
with the hair plugs? Since when do you have a thing for him?”

“Not everyone has been blessed with
Dennis Walker’s good looks. There’s nothing wrong with improving one’s physical
appearance,” Janet snapped. “Besides, attraction has got nothing to do with it.
It’s more of a work assignment.”

“Lisa’s wedding is a work assignment to
you? Just wait till she gets a load of this.”

“She knows. She’s the one who told me to
invite Dennis in the first place and not because she was trying to get him and
me together. Remember David Muller?”

“Of course.”

“As you know, he got off the hook while
Jon Bostoff was made a scapegoat, and Lisa is not very happy about that.”

“So she wanted you to bring Dennis to
the wedding so that he could apologize to the Bostoffs for the botched up
investigation?”

“Would you just listen? Turns out Muller
had accepted his invitation to the wedding.”

“You mean to tell me that after
everything that’s happened, they still decided to invite him?”

“They didn’t mean to. His name had been
on the original guest list, and somehow it was never taken off, so when the
invitations were sent out, his went out by mistake. Still, I can’t understand
how he could have accepted it. Lisa wanted me to bring Dennis along, thinking
that Dennis might be able to get close to Muller and get some information out
of him.”

“Doesn’t Muller know that Dennis works
for the Treasury?”

“He might know his name, but not his
face: they had never actually met. Dennis did all the prep work, but he was not
part of the deposition proceedings; that part was handled by the lawyers in the
Enforcement Division.”

“I see. So you chickened out and instead
of asking Dennis you asked Laskin?”

Janet nodded. “At least that’s better
than going alone. Besides, Laskin is sharp.”

“From what you told me, he sounds like
an ace.”

“Be nice.”

“Not if it’s going to stand in the way
of your happiness. In fact, I’ll be as mean as possible to get you off your
butt and into Dennis Walker’s arms.”

***

David Muller entered the swanky interior
of the Carlyle hotel on the Upper East Side. “How may I help you, sir?” The
head waiter hovered by David’s elbow.

“I’m meeting John Francis,” Muller gave
the alias that Cornelius Finnegan had told him to use.

The head waiter nodded. “Right this way,
sir.”

David followed the head waiter through
the dimly lit carpeted lobby into the restaurant. It was a little after six in
the evening, and the dining room was mostly empty. David prided himself on
patronizing New York’s most distinguished restaurants, but the Carlyle had
escaped his attention until now. In his mind the establishment was obsolete.
Only someone as socially unrefined as Cornelius Finnegan would choose a place
like this for a meeting. But then again, unrefined or not, Finnegan’s powerful
connections could not be underestimated.

“Here we are, sir.” The head waiter opened
the heavy curtains that hung across the entrance into the private dining room,
then quietly left.

David immediately saw Finnegan’s hefty
frame behind the round dining table, but the primary object of his attention
was the man seated next to Finnegan. The two made the most incongruous pair,
with Finnegan resembling a giant spud, and his companion being as willowy as a
reed.

“David, there you are!” Finnegan’s
brogue filled the room.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” David
replied in the crispest American diction he could master.

“David, I’d like you to meet my good
friend Kevan Magee. Kevan, this is David Muller, a very capable and smart young
man who also happens to be my daughter’s soon to be fiancé.”

David did his best not to wince at the
introduction. If things went according to plan, there was a good chance that
Finnegan would soon abandon his patronizing ways toward David. He brushed his
hand against his jacket pocket, thinking of the brilliant plan he had devised
to get rid of Finnegan and his homely daughter. Now, all he had to do was get
Kevan Magee to talk.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kevan,”
said David and offered his most open smile.

Kevan extended his bony hand. “Any
friend of Cornelius’s is a friend of mine,” he said in a voice that was as thin
as his physique.

“What do you say we eat first and talk
later? I’m starving.” Finnegan patted his ample stomach.

“Sounds good to me,” Kevan agreed.

“What will you be drinking, David?”
Finnegan asked.

David glanced at the glasses that stood
opposite Magee and Finnegan; he did not even have to guess what was in those
glasses: eighteen-year-old Macallan was the only drink that Finnegan favored. “I’ll
have a gin martini with a lemon twist,” replied David. He was not speaking out
of spite; it was simply that the smoky smell of Macallan gave him a headache.

Finnegan burrowed his nose in the menu,
licking his lips as he always did in anticipation of a meal.

David eyed the menu with indifference.
Food was the last thing on his mind: he was hungry for far more important
things. With the help of his lawyer, Tom Wyman, David had spent the past two
weeks setting up a network of companies through which he could conduct the kind
of trading activities that Finnegan had been hinting at—insider trading to put
it bluntly. Wyman’s help did not end with a network of companies; he had given
David a wonderful idea on how to end Finnegan’s clout over him once and for all.
David patted his jacket pocket: inside it an iPhone was recording each and
every word that was being uttered by Finnegan and Magee.

“So, Kevan, Cornelius tells me that the
two of you go back a while,” David probed after they had placed their orders with
the waiter.

Kevan nodded, pressing a napkin to his
lips. “Yes, indeed.”

“We went to the same Catholic school up
in the Bronx, St. Simon’s,” Cornelius cut in. “Kevan was the brain and I was
the muscle—we made a damn good team.”

“Yes, those were good times indeed,”
Kevan agreed.

“There’s nothing like sharing childhood
reminiscences,” David remarked. By the looks of him, Kevan seemed to be much
more suited to a religious vocation than that of a corporate board member, and
David was beginning to have serious doubts whether Kevan would in fact be able
to deliver the valuable information that Finnegan claimed his friend had access
to.

“Remember the time when you had the
brilliant idea to put a cockroach into Sister Myra’s chalk box?” Finnegan
elbowed Magee. “The darn thing nearly got away, but I got it in there. It was
right before the math test, too. I thought our math teacher was going to have a
heart attack: there she was, reaching for some chalk, and the cockroach crawled
right over her hand. Needless to say the math test was cancelled.”

“And the best thing was that we never
got caught,” added Magee.

This time David’s laugh was genuine.

“And the time we put glue on Sister
Agnes’s chair?” Finnegan’s ample frame quivered with laughter. “I tell you,
David, there are enough stories to fill a book. Ah, the food is finally
here—it’s about time.” Finnegan cast an impatient glance at the waiters.

Kobe steak was placed in front of
Finnegan. David had opted for seared grouper, while Magee had ordered
soft-shell crabs. “You call this a steak?” Finnegan eyed the waiter with
indignation. “I can barely make it out on my plate!”

“I apologize, sir, but this is our
portion size for kobe steak. Would you like another piece?”

“Oh, forget it,” Finnegan waved his
fork. “Just bring me another plate of mashed potatoes and put some gravy on
them.”

“Would pommes mousseline be all right,
sir?”

“Whatever you call it. Oh, and bring us
a bottle of Macallan so we don’t have to call for you every time our glasses go
dry.”

“Certainly, sir.” With a bow, the waiter
departed to execute Finnegan’s order.

“That does it, Kevan. Next time we’re
going to Keens.” Finnegan cut into his steak. “Chewy like a piece of rubber,”
he muttered between bites. “How’s your dish, David?”

David’s grouper was tolerable, but
before he could respond, Finnegan switched his attention back to Magee. “What’s
that you ordered, Kevan? Reminds me of the cockroach I put into Sister Myra’s
chalk box.” Finnegan looked genuinely pleased with his joke.

Magee, who had been gamely attacking his
dish, contemplated the last remaining soft-shell crab on his plate. “Indeed,
there is a slight resemblance, but I would imagine that soft-shell crabs are
much tastier than cockroaches although I have to admit that I never chanced to
eat a cockroach.”

Finnegan chuckled. “That’s Magee for
you: he’s always got a comeback for every line.”

David smiled in agreement. Indeed, his
impression of Magee had undergone a complete transformation: there was much
more to this Magee fellow than he had thought.

After they were finished with their main
courses, Finnegan ordered a slice of cheesecake, while David and Magee limited
themselves to coffee.

“So, Kevan, I think now is a good time
to tell David about the purpose of our little get-together,” said Finnegan, licking
the last bit of cheesecake from his fork.

Magee nodded, taking a sip of his
coffee. “David, Cornelius has told me a lot about your financial expertise, but
I hope that you will allow me to ask you a few questions.”

“By all means.” David did his best to
put on the most genial expression.

“Let’s say a certain public company,
let’s call it company A, is in merger talks with another public company, let’s
call it company B. What do you think would happen to the shares of these
companies if the merger were to go through?”