White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (4 page)

Chapter 5

It was unusual for the partners of Montgomery Hastings & Pierce to ever brawl in public, but loud voices coming from Doug Lechte’s office belied that convention. Managing partner and the firm’s other representative on the national committee, Phillip Cromwell, was laying down the law. He was everything that Lechte despised. Cromwell had done everything to convince the committee to accept the Enron audit, and it was only Lechte’s astute presentation of the case against that had thwarted him. He was pompous and overbearing and even after Enron collapsed hadn’t had the good grace to apologize to Lechte. Cromwell’s white shirt was immaculately pressed, and gold cuff links protruded from under his Zegna suit’s sleeves. He was tall, slim with an aquiline nose and receding dark hair. For him, the perfect weekend was an evening at the opera followed by a day yachting around the Hamptons. In contrast, a great weekend for Lechte would start with a day at the baseball field or basketball with a few close friends, a can of beer and a hot dog. Making it perfect would be spending a day fishing the following day.

“Your vote’s killed her twice,” Lechte shouted.

“She’s not ready for partnership.” Cromwell sniffed.

“Is it because she’s black or is it because she’s a woman?”

“That’s a cheap shot. If you haven’t noticed, Martin Lawrence is an African American and we have six female partners. Face it, she’s too young, too inexperienced and hasn’t put in enough hours.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Phillip. It’s not because she’s black, and it’s not because she’s a woman. It’s because she’s both. Now, understand this. The firm’s never had a smarter employee and that includes you,” Lechte yelled, thumping his fist on the desk. “If we don’t admit her as a partner, another firm soon will. It may have escaped you, but we don’t have a monopoly on talent.”

“You know, Doug, there’s only one thing wrong with that little summary. It’s your opinion, and that’s all it is. If you want to nominate and vote for her, be my guest. She’ll not get my vote or the votes of my bloc.”

“You’re making a mistake, and you’re as closed-minded as you were with Enron. Didn’t you learn anything?”

Cromwell turned bright red and momentarily lost control before he smiled. “How’s your other star, Todd Hansen, performing? I’ve been getting some poor reports from some of the other partners about him. Seems he’s away from the office quite frequently and yet he’s not with clients. Where’s he going? What’s happening?”

Lechte silently cursed. Todd had called to say that he was feeling ill and wouldn’t be in today. It was a regular occurrence, and Lechte wondered whether the wheels were falling off. “I haven’t seen those reports, and he’s responsible to me! Why are the partners complaining to you?”

“Maybe because I’m managing partner.” Cromwell yawned as he stood up. “Don’t embarrass yourself again by nominating her, Doug. She doesn’t have the numbers.”

“Asshole!”

Cromwell swung around as he reached the door. “What did you say?” he demanded.

“You heard,” Lechte said dismissively.

Todd Hansen hadn’t planned on taking the day off but, when his system threw up three winners all rating higher than 95, he had no choice but to head to the betting parlor. He was confident and when he saw the four to one odds on offer for Dancing Girl in the second at Turfway Park he struggled to maintain his calm demeanor. She had rated 99, the equal highest rating that had ever come up on his system. The two other horses who had rated that highly had won easily and Todd had had some nice collects.

The teller looked up abruptly at the words ‘fifty thousand for the win on my tab,’ and asked Todd to wait while he disappeared out the back. When he returned, he said, “That will be fine, Mr. Hansen,” and handed him his ticket. It was twenty minutes to start time, and Todd ordered a mineral water and sat down at a vacant table. It was the biggest bet he had ever made, but he gave no thought to losing, and had already worked out how much he’d have in the bank at the end of the day. He looked up at the monitor and saw the horses being pushed into their gates.

A few minutes later, the commentator shouted, “They’re racing,” and then “oh no, Dancing Girl was slow out and lost four lengths at the start.” Todd watched in horror. After two furlongs, Dancing Girl was still last and fifteen lengths from the leader. With a furlong and a half to go, the jockey let her go, and she surged around the field, and Todd’s hopes surged with her. Her run was short lived and by the time she drew up to the leaders she was spent. The jockey on the leading horse gave it two cuts with the whip and it shot four lengths clear of its nearest rival. Todd had had losers before and knew his system wasn’t foolproof, but he’d never lost fifty thousand, and it was the first time a horse ranked 98 or higher had been beaten. His face was white, and he was finding it hard to focus. He called a waitress over and ordered a black coffee.

Todd struggled to get clarity of thought. He had planned to have thirty thousand on Viking Flyer in the fifth at Belmont Park. Now he was confused. Viking Flyer ranked 96, but he’d just watched a horse ranked 99 lose. His painstakingly crafted plan was in tatters. He saw a hard-faced blonde with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth reading the Belmont Park form guide and asked if he could borrow it. He ran his eyes down the starters in the fifth race and studied their recent form. He’d never done this before and had always relied on his system, but yet again, he’d never bet sixty thousand dollars before. Satisfied that Viking Flyer was the best horse in the field, Todd made his way to the betting window, but the confidence he’d felt two hours earlier had disappeared. It was only thirty minutes to start time but for Todd time seemed to stand still. As the minutes dragged on, he again felt himself losing control. Perhaps after Viking Flyer won, the calm would return. As the starter called the horses into the gates, Todd prayed for Viking Flyer to make a fast start.

“They’re racing,” the commentator shouted, “and Viking Flyer went straight to the lead.” Todd felt himself relaxing, the chestnut colt in the distinct black and yellow colors was two lengths in front, and there was no chance he’d be buffeted. A minute later the commentator screamed, “Viking Flyer’s clear at the top of the stretch but here comes The Phoenician.” Todd’s eyes were glued to the monitor as he watched the big black horse in the red and blue colors edge closer and closer to Viking Flyer.

“Use the whip, use the whip,” he screamed at the monitor.

“It’s a photo,” the commentator yelled, and then, “it’s The Phoenician who gets the money by the shortest of margins. What a race. What a great pair of horses.”

Todd couldn’t move. He was in a state of shock. The blonde asked if she could have her form guide back, but he didn’t hear her. He had lost a hundred and ten thousand in less than two hours. What had happened to his system? The Phoenician’s ranking was only 74, and he had been expected to finish eighth. How could he have won?

Todd looked up to see Ronny Conroy, the owner of the betting parlor standing in front of him. Todd didn’t know Ronny, but they had had a few meetings when he set up his account and Ronny had allowed him to bet on credit. “You’re having a rough time,” he said.

The last thing Todd wanted was false sympathy from this scrawny little man. “I don’t want to be rude,” he said, “but I’ve got one more bet, and I need to focus.”

Ronny laughed. “I won’t hold you up. You’re a top client, your credit’s good with me. If you need more to keep your head above water, that’s fine with me.”

“I thought you’d be pleased I’m losing,” Todd said.

“You know that I make a book. When I get big bets like yours today, I don’t take the other side, I lay them off. If I get my book right, I win, irrespective of which horse wins.”

“Yeah, I know,” Todd replied, “that was a stupid thing to say. Thanks for offering to help. Hopefully, I won’t have to take you up on your offer.”

“Todd, one last word. Everyone in this game goes through losing streaks and suffers setbacks. Your system’s been working fine so whatever you do, don’t dump it. Tweak it, refine it, and perhaps make a few adjustments, but you know the guts of it are robust. And remember, don’t judge it by what’s happened today, judge it on your success over a year. I want you to keep betting and to keep winning.”

“Thanks, Ronny. I feel a little better.”

Todd’s last bet was meant to be twenty thousand the win on Brown Sugar in the last at Lone Star Park. At three to one, it wouldn’t recover what he’d already lost unless he increased his bet to forty thousand and if he wanted to walk out winning he’d have to outlay sixty thousand. Brown Sugar’s ranking was 96 and the projected second place getter in the race was Texas Beau with a ranking of only 82. On the face of it and based on his system, Brown Sugar was a certainty. The race was over one mile, a distance at which she had never experienced defeat. A little of his confidence returned, and he wondered what the odds were on three horses, one ranked 99, and the other two ranked 96, all being beaten in one afternoon.

Highly improbable!

He waited until five minutes before the race and then placed sixty thousand on Brown Sugar to win. After she won he would be up seventy thousand for the afternoon, but he never wanted to go through another day like this. He knew what he had to do to tweak his system. He had to make sure that the first bet he placed was a winner because the pressure of a first bet loser destroyed his plan. Coping with a loser after having already backed a winner carried far less stress than starting with a loser.

The commentator said, “They’re being led into the gates for the last at Lone Star, folks. Hi-Jinx moves in next to The Matador, and Texas Beau is the last to go in. They’re set. Racing! They jumped as one and Debt Collector went straight to the front and took up the running. Eddie Bates has got the favorite, Brown Sugar, four back on the fence in perfect position to make her run for home.”

Todd took a sip of mineral water and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a race was going to plan.

“They’re at the top of the stretch, and Brown Sugar’s cruising and just needs a way out,” the commentator shouted. “Bates sees a gap on the inside and drives her toward it…but wait, Hi-Jinx has leaned in, and the gap has closed. Bates is trying to pull Brown Sugar to the outside, but I think it’s too late. The Matador’s set sail for the wire, and they won’t catch him. If you backed the favorite, you were desperately unlucky. She had a dream run until she was severely checked by Hi-Jinx a furlong and a half from home. Stewards will look at the riding of Bill Hunter on Hi-Jinx and determine whether he intentionally blocked Brown Sugar.”

Todd couldn’t believe it. He had lost one hundred and seventy thousand. He was shattered, confused and knew that his dream of following the horses full-time was just that, a dream. When he’d left his apartment for the betting parlor this morning, he was unconcerned about what might happen with his job. Now, he couldn’t afford to lose it.

Chapter 6

Englewood’s Astor Motel located in southwest Chicago had seen far better days. The brass handles on the large double front doors were tarnished; the glass was grimy, and the carpet in the foyer leading to the reception desk was threadbare. Its owners were just waiting for the economy and locality to improve before tearing it down and replacing it with a skyscraper.

The reception clerk was in his late thirties, dirty, unshaven with thin brown strands of hair combed over in a fruitless attempt to hide his bald patch. Despite the no-smoking signs, he held a cigarette between his nicotine-stained fingers. His teeth were green, his eyes were red, and his skin was blotchy. He was absorbed in the current edition of
Playboy
that was spread out in front of him. Andy Prowse was a sleaze and a loser and the world held little in the way of hope for him.

The rap on the reception counter startled him, but he made no attempt to close or conceal the magazine that was opened at a pic of a voluptuous bunny revealing all of her assets and then some. The young man in front of him was wearing opaque oversized sunglasses and a beanie that concealed his hair. He was well over six foot. Despite his feeble attempt at disguise, Andy recognized him instantly. Devlin Cooper, the Cougars gun quarterback and superstar. “I’m looking for a room. Can you help me?” he asked nervously.

“Here, fill this in,” Andy said, pushing a registration card toward him. “How long will you be with us Mr…”

“Brown, Corey Brown and just one-night thanks. How much will it be?” Cooper replied, pulling out his wallet. “I just want to catch up on some sleep. I’ll be pushing off early in the morning so I’ll pay now.”

I bet you want to catch up on some sleep
Andy thought. “It’s a one hundred and ten bucks. How will you be paying?”

“Cash.”

As Andy picked up the notes, he said, “You’re in 712,” and passed Cooper the key.

“Please make sure I’m not disturbed.”

“Certainly, Mr. Brown.”

For the first time in weeks, Andy was sharp and alert. Less than twenty minutes later the foyer door opened. A woman wearing a large silk scarf, sunglasses, and a fleecy collared jacket pulled up around her chin made her way to the elevators. Andy watched the elevator stop on level seven and smiled. It was his lucky day. He knew who she was the minute he set eyes on her. Coach Tom Deacon’s wife.

Andy waited five minutes, grabbed one of the hair conditioning sachets that were for guest’s rooms and took the elevator to level seven. He let himself into 714, opened a cupboard and activated a sophisticated set of cameras before putting his eye up to a small peephole. Karen Deacon was naked, spread-eagled on the bed and Devlin was kneeling on the floor licking her shaven pussy. She was writhing in pleasure and gasping “Oh, that’s good. It’s so good.” 

Devlin Cooper sat up abruptly. “Enjoy.” He grinned.

Karen rested on one elbow, took his hand and put his forefinger on her clit then moved it in a slow circular motion. She dropped her elbow and laid back down. “Slowly, slowly,” she groaned.

Devlin leaned forward, keeping his finger circling while driving his tongue deep inside her.

“You’re such a fast learner,” Karen gasped.

Andy yanked his zipper down and covered his hand in hair conditioner. It was the best sex he’d seen, and he’d recorded hundreds of couples and groups doing things to each other that he hadn’t believed possible. Every CD was labeled and when Andy got sick of
Playboy
and wanted to relive an experience he just played the CD. He hadn’t watched them all live, but this was Devlin Cooper and Karen Deacon. Perhaps they were turning him on because they were so famous. Yes, that was it. Andy guessed that Karen was anywhere between twelve and twenty years older than Devlin. She was only a little over five foot with a tiny waist and fabulous, (no doubt surgically-enhanced) tits. Her long black hair cascaded down over them, and she said, “That’s enough foreplay, put it in.”

Devlin got up off his knees, and Andy’s left hand shot up to his mouth to muzzle the “Oh fuck!” Devlin was gigantic, and his angry knob was nearly purple. Andy stopped masturbating, fascinated by how Karen was going to accommodate such a monstrous weapon.

“Slowly, big boy, slowly,” she said. “I like to feel every bit of you sliding into me. Oh, that’s good. That’s so good. Do me, do me hard.”

Andy was wiping himself clean as he watched Devlin thrust himself in and out of Karen with long strokes while she moaned in ecstasy. In no time at all, Devlin let out a deafening yell and rolled off her. They lay motionless for a few minutes and then they both burst out laughing.

“That was so good,” Karen said.

“Fucking fantastic, more like it.” Devlin grinned, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “I love seeing you naked, Karen.”

Andy had watched countless couples fuck, but Karen and Devlin were the sexiest he’d ever seen. He was tempted to stay perving and masturbating for the rest of the day but knew what he’d just seen was worth a fortune. He’d make a phone call and then come back up to the room. As Andy was contemplating this, he watched Karen shimmy down Devlin’s cock and wrap her legs around him. Devlin stood up and laughed. “No hands,” he said, and then his face turned serious as he put his hands under her ass and pushed her up against the wall. Andy found it nearly impossible to tear himself away; his eyes glued to Karen’s passion-filled face as Devlin pounded her into the wall. Two things eased Andy’s concern about what he was going to miss. The first was that he was recording the action and the second was that he knew they’d still be hard at it when he got back. They couldn’t get enough of each other.

Andy was flushed when he got back down to reception and anxious to get upstairs again. He hurriedly thumbed through his Teledex under B and grabbed the motel’s old handset and dialed.

“Dirk Vaughan, speaking.”

“Dirk, it’s Andy from the Astor Motel. I need to talk to Brock. It’s urgent.”

One of Vaughan’s main jobs was to keep time-wasters and shit-kickers away from Brock Borchard. “Why don’t you let me know what it’s about, Andy? Then I’ll let you know whether he wants to talk to you.”

“It’s private,” Andy said. “I can’t. I can tell you that what I have is gold, and if Brock doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll phone Nick Gianelli. I know he’ll be interested.”

“Listen you slimy turd, don’t threaten me. Brock’s a busy man. He’s got more important things to do than talk to assholes like you. Now tell me what it is you think you have.”

Andy didn’t reply but heard raised voices.

“Andy, it’s Brock. Anything you have to tell me, you can tell Dirk. Do you understand?”

“I don’t think you’ll say that after you hear what I’ve got.” Andy said. He related what he’d seen.

“Who’d believe it?” Borchard said. “The golden boy and little Miss Prim and Proper.”

“The
Tribune
will pay me two hundred thousand for the CD,” Andy said.

“You’ve talked to them?”

“Not yet, but that’s what it’s worth. Brock, I’m giving you first option. Are you interested?”

“I’ll give you for four hundred thousand in cash for the original, but there are to be no copies. Do you understand? If a copy ever surfaces after I’ve paid you, you’re dead.”

“Can I keep one for personal use?” Andy whined.

“Personal use? What the fuck is personal use, you sicko? Anyhow, the answer’s no. There’ll be the original, and that’s all. If I need copies, I’ll have them made. Oh, and Andy, how’d you know to record that room?”

There was a long pause. “I’ve got a room permanently set up. When a hot looking couple checks in, I always put ‘em in that room. The equipment’s in the adjoining room, and there’s a little peephole so I know when to activate the cameras. No one’s gonna check into this dive to sleep or stay. They come here for one thing, and that’s to fuck discreetly and on the cheap. I just record a little memento of their visit.” Andy laughed.

“Jesus. What do you do with the CDs?”

“Nothing. They’re for personal use.”

Borchard scratched his head. He’d have never thought of what Andy was doing. He smiled when he thought about the peephole and wondered how much time Andy wasted with his eye up against it. “I’ll send Dirk over with the cash and you can give him the CD.”

“No, no,” Andy said. “They’re still at it, and I’m recording. Besides, I want to make sure the CD is perfect before I hand it over.”

“I bet you do.” Borchard laughed. “Phone me tomorrow after you’ve checked it. And remember, Andy, don’t keep a copy.”

“I won’t Thanks, Brock. I’ll be seeing you,” Andy hung up and raced toward the elevators.

Borchard looked at Dirk and said, “Fuck, there are some sick bastards in the world. Have a listen to what that sleazy prick’s been doing. I wonder how many others there are like him and what they get up to.”