The Terrorist Next Door (29 page)
Read The Terrorist Next Door Online
Authors: Sheldon Siegel
Tags: #Mystery, #Detective, #(v5), #Police Procedural
His condescending smirk makes its first appearance. “Here is our proposal. If anyone asks, we will portray your departure as voluntary. You will agree not to say anything bad about us. We will return your capital contribution tomorrow.”
When you’re elected to the partnership, you have to make a capital contribution. The amount is based upon the number of your points. Baby partners like me contribute ninety grand. Power partners like Patton pony up a half a million bucks.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it. Except for one thing. As a matter of good practice, we need you to sign a full release of the firm. We ask all departing partners. Just housekeeping.”
Keep the tone measured. “Let me see if I have this straight. I won’t piss on you, and you won’t piss on me. That’s fair. And that’s the way it will work because we’re smart enough not to say nasty things about each other. San Francisco is a small town. And you will pay me back my capital.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because our partnership agreement says you have to pay me back whether or not I agree to say nice things about you, and even if I don’t sign your release. I have no intention of suing you, but if I change my mind, I don’t want you waving a release in my face.”
Gotcha. If I were in his shoes, I’d ask for the release. If he were in mine, he’d say no. I’m glad Joel showed me the section
in our partnership agreement that says they have to return my capital.
He shifts to the half grin. “We figured you might say that. We are therefore prepared to make a one-time offer of twenty thousand dollars for your cooperation. Take it or leave it.”
Visions of paying off my Visa bill and a year of rent dance in my head. “Not enough. Make it a hundred and we may have something to talk about.”
Chuckles shakes his head. “Too much, Mike. No can do.”
Patton trots out his “mad dog” persona for a preemptive strike. His act loses some of its impact when you’ve seen it as many times as I have. “If it had been up to me, I would have thrown your sorry ass out of here at least two years ago.”
For an instant, I think Leland Simpson’s picture is going to spring to life. “Yeah,” he’d say, “I would have thrown your sorry ass out of here at least
three
years ago. Hell, I never would have hired you in the first place.”
Patton isn’t finished. “Use your head for once and take the money.”
I place my fingertips together in my best Mother Teresa imitation. “Arthur, if you’re going to lose your temper, you’re going to have to go to your office and take a time-out.” I’ve been waiting five years to say that to him. I head toward the door. As I’m about to leave the room, I turn and face them. “Gentlemen, I’ll see you in the morning. I wouldn’t want to miss the reading of the Estimate.”
* * *
When I arrive at the office at seven the next morning, I have voicemail messages from five associates who are furious about the decision on bonuses. Three ask me to be a reference. As always, the first person I see is Anna Sharansky, a Soviet refugee who begins every day by brewing enough Peet’s coffee to fill the sixty coffeepots placed around the firm. S&G spends over a quarter of a million bucks a year on coffee. We exchange pleasantries. She never complains. I’ll miss her.
At seven-forty-five, I walk to a utilitarian conference room on the forty-sixth floor to get a seat for the reading of the Estimate. The ceremony usually takes place in the PCR. We’re downstairs because Bob Holmes won’t move the documents for Russo’s deal. It smells like a French pastry shop. Croissants, muffins, scones and fruit are lined up in neat rows on silver platters. Anna has filled the coffeepots and set out the bone china bearing the S&G logo. In the center of the table sit ninety envelopes, each bearing a partner’s name. They look like seating assignments at a wedding.
By 7:55, the room is full. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a croissant with the sterling-silver tongs. The blue sky frames the Golden Gate Bridge. Let the exercises begin.
Patton always wears his tuxedo to the reading of the Estimate. He seems to think this lends a festive mood to the occasion. I think he looks like a maître d’. At precisely eight o’clock, he makes his grand entrance, his face glowing. For fifteen minutes a year, we’re everything described in our recruiting brochure: a big, collegial family of highly trained professionals who admire, respect and trust one another.
He beams at the head of the table. “Thank you for coming at this early hour. I know how hard it is for some of you to get here when you’ve been out partying all night.” Forced laughter. “I want to get Bob Holmes down here to report on Vince Russo’s deal. We will start in a few minutes.”
He asks Chuckles to find Bob. Chuckles seems pleased he won’t have a speaking role today, and he darts out. The sound of
clinking china resumes. Several partners take calls on their cell phones. I focus on the envelope in the middle of the table with my name.
Ten minutes pass. Chuckles and Joel appear outside the glass door. Chuckles looks more gaunt than usual. Joel looks distraught.
Chuckles opens the door and speaks in a barely audible voice. “Art, can I see you outside for a minute?”
The room goes silent. Patton motions Chuckles in. Chuckles tries to convince him to step outside. After a moment’s hesitation, Chuckles comes in and whispers into Patton’s ear. Patton’s eyes get larger. I hear him mutter, “Geez.”
Patton turns, strokes his jowls, and addresses nobody in particular. “It is my unhappy responsibility to make a sad announcement. Bob Holmes and Diana Kennedy were found dead in Bob’s office a few minutes ago. I have no other information. The police have been called.”
We sit in stunned silence.
“Obviously, we may have a little problem with the closing of the Russo deal. Any discussion of the firm’s results for this year would be premature. I will provide further information later today. Meeting adjourned.”
More silence.
After a moment, I hear Patton whisper to Chuckles, “He couldn’t have killed himself. We’re completely screwed. He had a fiduciary duty to us to close the deal”
Leave it to Art Patton to try to explain a man’s death by citing a legal doctrine.
As always, Chuckles is more practical. He says to Patton, “I suspect Bob wasn’t thinking about his fiduciary duties last night.”
Without another word, we file out, pausing to pick up our envelopes.
* * * * *
End of Chapter 2.
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THE TERRORIST NEXT DOOR
, a smart, surprising and bloody take on the world of Islamic terror. As a crazed bomber threatens to shut down America’s third-largest city, the Chicago cops, the FBI, Homeland Security and even the military desperately sift through every available clue to the bomber’s identity, reaching for a climax that is both shocking and credible.
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bestselling author Siegel tells a story that is fast and furious and authentic.”
John Sandford
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“Sheldon Siegel blows the doors off with his excellent new thriller,
THE TERRORIST NEXT DOOR
. Bombs, car chases, the shutdown of Chicago, plus Siegel’s winning touch with character makes this one not to be missed!”
John Lescroart
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Best Selling Author of THE HUNTER.