Catching the Bad Guy (Book Two) (Janet Maple Series) (18 page)

Magee’s second lead involved a similar
setup where Hudson Steel, a piping manufacturer, had been awarded an
eighty-million-dollar contract by Rover. Prior to the announcement of the
contract award, Hudson’s stock had been trading at ten dollars per share, which
was when David had acquired a large number of option contracts to buy Hudson’s
stock at eleven dollars. Once the news of the contract was made public,
Hudson’s stock jumped to thirteen dollars per share, leading the option price
to appreciate from the two dollars David had paid for it to five dollars.

Already the bank account for Phoenix
Fund had over ten million as its balance. Granted, the amount would have to be
split three ways between David, Magee, and Finnegan. David had considered
claiming all the spoils for himself—after all, it would be unlikely for either
Finnegan or Magee to protest once they learned that David possessed several
recordings of their conversations that clearly implicated Finnegan and Magee in
an insider trading scheme—but then decided against it. Three million and change
was a good cut, but it was not good enough to get out for life, at least not
for David. Magee was the golden goose, and for now David did not intend to slay
him or his owner, Finnegan. Instead, David would wait for a tip that would
ensure that he would never have to worry about money again. Then, he would
leave Finnegan and Magee high and dry. And if Magee’s latest tip were to
materialize, David would not have to wait long.

During their last meeting, Magee had
mentioned that Rover wanted to branch out into the automobile industry and was
looking to acquire an automobile parts manufacturer. So far, the choice had
been narrowed to three companies: Stork Enterprises, Richardson Inc., and
Valley Metals. The three companies were publicly traded, with their stock
prices hovering in the ten- to fifteen-dollar range. David was certain that
once the merger target was announced, the target’s stock price would appreciate
significantly while Rover’s stock would decline, reflecting the costs
associated with the acquisition, as was always the case with the acquiring
company. The trick was to get in on the action before the news became common
knowledge. David planned to load up on the stock options for the company that
Rover would choose to acquire and go short on Rover’s stock. After he claimed
his windfall, David would not need to concern himself with either Magee or
Finnegan any further, but for now David had to ensure that he retained the
trust of the two men. This in itself would not be that much of a burden, except
for the fact that remaining in good graces with Cornelius Finnegan required
David romancing Aileen Finnegan, and David was getting sick and tired of the
arrangement.

Aileen’s latest antic had irritated
David immensely. Attending the wedding of Jon Bostoff’s brother was the last
thing David would have chosen to do of his own volition, but he had been forced
to indulge Aileen’s request: the stupid woman jumped at any invitation, even
when it was to the wedding of a man whose entire family hated David’s guts. In
all fairness, Aileen was most likely ignorant of David’s history with the
Bostoff clan since David had never told her of the ordeal, but David was not
inclined to be fair to Aileen. To his mind, it was not fair that he was stuck
dating the woman, so he felt no obligation to be fair to her.

Aside from being unbearably boring, his
attendance at the Bostoff wedding had been mercifully uneventful. In order to
compensate for Aileen’s lapse, David had written a check in the amount of two
thousand dollars as his gift to the groom and bride. The Bostoffs must have
been counting the money, because Jon Bostoff approached David during the
reception and thanked him for attending, without so much as a word regarding
their past. David had been equally cordial: as far as he was concerned, this
was going to be the last time he saw Jon Bostoff or any of the Bostoffs for
that matter. From now on he would be screening his mail much more carefully.

Still, he needed to keep his growing
annoyance with Aileen in check. Until his dealings with Finnegan were complete,
David could not afford for Aileen to suspect that his affection for her was not
only diminishing but had never really existed in the first place. His last
outburst had been expensive: he had had to shell out some major cash for a pair
of gold aquamarine earrings as a peace offering. He would have much rather
spent the money on Mila, but one could not always do as one pleased.

“How is my favorite workaholic?” Mila
appeared in the doorway of the study. She was wearing a lace negligee and black
stilettos. Slowly she approached David while he sat back devouring her every
move with his eyes. “I have to go to work soon, but I have a spare half an
hour,” Mila purred, wrapping her arms around David’s neck.

David inhaled the intoxicating smell of
her skin. “You still working at that job of yours?” he asked. “I told you that
you could quit. I want to take care of you, Mila.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I kind of like it. I
get to meet new people. Besides, what would I do? Sit around all day long and
wait for you to come over?”

“I’m sorry, baby, you know that I want
to see more of you, but at the moment things are really hectic. Just give me a
little bit of time. Soon, neither one of us will ever have to work again. Then,
we’ll be together all the time.”

Mila sucked on his earlobe, biting it
playfully. “Promise?”

“I swear,” David groaned. “Now come
here, you.”

***

Mila Brabec hurriedly wriggled into her
pantyhose. Today was going to be her first day at her new job, and she did not
want to be late. Sure, David’s offer to quit working sounded tempting, but for
now she was not ready to abandon her independence. Besides, she made sure that
David made ample contributions to her lifestyle. Her clothes, her meals, and
her rent were all taken care of by David. All the money she made from her
waitressing job, Mila saved.

Since the commencement of her
waitressing career, Mila had changed jobs several times. Each time she had
moved to a more upscale restaurant, and her earnings grew along with the
prestige of each new employment. Her latest job had been at a steakhouse in the
theater district. It was amazing how much a good waitress could make in tips.
An average tip for a party of four ran upwards of fifty dollars, and that was
being conservative. Being a good waitress required having a good understanding
of people. As long as you gave the customers what they wanted, they were bound
to repay in kind. If she smiled just right and showed her cleavage at a
revealing angle, Mila almost always managed to get a minimum of seventy
dollars, but usually she scored eighty or more. Couples were tougher,
especially married couples. First dates, on the other hand, were the best:
there was no easier target than a guy who was trying to impress his date.

Mila ran her fingers along the expensive
material of her uniform for her new job. At the Panther Restaurant and Lounge
Club, the waitresses wore formfitting shifts cut of luxurious black cloth. The
dresses were custom-designed by Rodrigo Calos, a Spanish designer whose clothes
Mila’s had longingly eyed in the windows of expensive department stores.
Calos’s dresses started at five thousand a piece, and Mila did not even dare to
broach David for one. But now she would be wearing one of Calos’s creations. So
what if the dress were a uniform? It still made her look stunning, and if
things continued progressing in the same vein as they had been recently, Mila
hoped to one day be able to buy one of Calos’s creations with her own money.
Mila knocked on wood, which was a custom from the old country to avoid jinxing
one’s luck. She was not superstitious but she did not want to risk things
unnecessarily, especially not when she was convinced that her luck was changing
for the better.

First, David had rented this wonderful
apartment for her, and then, a few weeks later, she got the offer for her new
job. It happened when she was waitressing at the steakhouse, which was a
pleasant but otherwise unremarkable establishment patronized by a middle-class
clientele and occasional corporate suits. When it came to sizing up her
customers, Mila never missed a beat. Right away her ears caught the sound of
the Czech accent emanating from the party of three men that were seated in the
far corner booth. Despite the fact that the men were impeccably dressed in
expensive designer suits, Mila could tell that they were not expatriates
residing in New York but were here on a visit, most likely a business visit.

As she took the order from the other
table, Mila glanced casually at her compatriots. The man who looked to be the
boss of the group was in his mid-fifties. Even when seated, it was obvious that
he was a man of short height, but his build was that of a taller man, enabling
him to make up for the space he lost with his height with his width. He was the
kind of man who looked in control no matter where he was. His face looked
familiar, but Mila could not quite place her finger on where she had seen it.
Then it came to her: the man was Petr Kovar, one of the richest men in Eastern
Europe. The press called him a self-made billionaire, but it was whispered that
his fortune came from appropriating government property after the Soviet
influence over the region ended. Petr Kovar’s business interests spanned from
manufacturing to fast food to real estate. Mila’s heart quickened, as she
imagined the kind of influence one could get by knowing a man like Petr Kovar,
or any of his associates for that matter. Petr’s other companion was of the
same age as Petr; a balding, average-looking man, he was entirely preoccupied
with sucking up to Petr. Mila dismissed him from her attention almost
immediately. The youngest and the most handsome man in the party looked to be
in his early thirties. He addressed the two men with dignified deference, and
Mila wondered if he was related to Petr—there was a definite similarity in
their features although the younger man was clearly the handsomer of the two as
well as much taller.

As she walked over to the table, Mila
deliberated whether she should address the men in Czech. People were funny
creatures—some might consider the choice of the native tongue an overly
familiar gesture, so she chose to speak in English, leaving it up to the men to
decide on the language choice. She did not have to wait long. “Where are you
from?” Petr asked.

“Prague,” Mila replied concisely.

“I knew it. Prague has the most
beautiful women.”

“Thank you,” Mila said shyly.

“You’re welcome. It’s the truth. I am
Petr Kovar.”

“I know,” Mila replied. “It’s a pleasure
and an honor to meet you, sir.”

“An honor?  I’m not sure I like the
sound of that—makes me feel like an old man,” Kovar chuckled.

Mila cursed herself inwardly. Usually
she never lost her cool around men, but this was Petr Kovar, a man who was
pretty much considered to be on par with God in her native country. “I’m sorry,
sir, I only meant that …”

“It’s all right. I was just … what is
the American expression? … busting your balls. So what’s good here?” asked
Petr.

“Steak for four is our best dish,” Mila
replied. “We can cut it for three if you’d like,” she added.

“No need. We’re pretty hungry.”

For the remainder of their meal, Kovar
and his companions did not pay much attention to Mila. It was a busy night, so
Mila had plenty of tables to serve. Every now and then she would cast a hopeful
glance at the Kovar table, but the men were engrossed in conversation, and she
dared not interrupt.

When she picked up the bill from the
Kovar table, she was surprised to find as her tip two one hundred dollar bills.
She quickly hid one of the bills in her pocket: there was no way she was
sharing the entire hoard with the busboys. There was a note on the receipt: One
Mercer Street, tomorrow at 1 p.m.

Mila shoved the note into her pocket and
went about her work. She was no prude, but she was no prostitute either. Under
the right circumstances she would certainly welcome a roll in the hay with Petr
Kovar, but she would expect her compensation to exceed two hundred dollars and
not be presented to her in such a crude manner. Well, at least she got a
two-hundred-dollar tip, which so far was her record.

The next day, the youngest man from the
party showed up at the restaurant at six p.m. The hostess was not at her
station, so Mila had to greet him. “Do you have a reservation?” she asked in
the coolest voice she could muster.

“Why didn’t you come today?” the man
asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking
about.” Mila stared at him icily. “You must have me confused with someone
else.”

“Do you remember the two hundred dollars
I left you?”

Mila pressed her lips together. The last
thing she needed was a scene that would cause her to lose her job. “Look, I
don’t know what you’re after, but if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to
call the police,” she hissed.

“Relax, lady. My uncle is opening a new
restaurant, and I’m going to run the place for him. We’re looking for
waitresses, and you look the part, so if you’re tired of working in this dump,
the offer is still on. Come to this address tomorrow at two p.m.” The man
handed his business card to Mila.

Mila prided herself on having an
excellent poker face, but now her control abandoned her as a profuse blush
spread over her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just that we get all
kinds of people coming in here …”