The other man gave him a glare that might have chilled defendants in a courtroom, but had absolutely no effect on Tony.
'You don't need an assistant DA for a job like this,' Clark said. 'Any gumshoe could do it.'
Harker shrugged. 'You want out? Planes leave for Chicago all the time. It'll go in your file, of course.'
That rattled the attorney. 'I'll look into it,' he said. 'Besides, it's getting cold in Chicago.' His smile was stretched.
'Uh-huh,' Tony said. 'Keep me informed. Calls every day, and a written report every week. I'll try to find you a desk and chair in the bullpen.'
Cursing his luck at being dumped in what he considered a backwater, Clark returned to his hotel on the Gait Ocean Mile and changed from his heavy tweed suit to polyester slacks and a lightweight sports jacket. He stopped at the hotel bar for a quick gin and bitters, then got into his rented Olds Cutlass and drove back to Commercial Boulevard.
Sparco's place of business was located in a long, low building that also housed a unisex hairdresser, a real estate agency, a women's swimwear shop, and a store that sold and shipped Florida oranges 'Anywhere in the World!'
The brokerage itself looked legit enough. There was a small anteroom with wicker armchairs and a table piled with financial periodicals. There was also a TV set with the stock tape jerking across the screen. Two old geezers wearing Bermuda shorts and sandals stood in front of it, transfixed by the moving price quotations.
There was a receptionist's desk at the open doorway to a spacious room in which several men sat at littered desks equipped with computer terminals. Most of the brokers, Clark noted, were on the phone or busily writing on order pads. The place seemed prosperous enough, but so did betting shops and boiler rooms.
'May I speak to the manager, please,' Clark asked the middle-aged receptionist. 'I'd like to open an account.'
'Just a moment, please, sir,' she added, and spoke into her phone.
The man who came forward a few moments later was tall, stooped, and had a neatly trimmed beard so black and glossy that Clark figured it had to be dyed and oiled.
'I'm Mortimer Sparco,' he said, smiling and holding out his hand. 'How may I be of service?'
'Simon Clark,' the attorney said, gripping the proffered hand briefly. 'I'm in the process of moving to Fort Lauderdale from Chicago and thought I'd open a brokerage account.'
'You're too young for retirement,' Sparco said, still smiling. 'Your company transfer you down here?'
'Not exactly. My parents live in Lauderdale, and I thought it would be nice to be closer to them. I'm a freelance writer for how-to magazines-you know, like Home Mechanics-and you can do that from anywhere.'
'Fascinating,' Sparco said. 'Why don't you come back to my office and talk about your investment aims.'
'My aim is to make money,' Clark said.
'You've come to the right place,' Sparco said. 'This way, please.'
The office was all leather, chrome, and glass, and smelled of cigar smoke. The entire rear wall was covered with a mural: a Florida beach scene with sand, palm trees, sailboats on the ocean, pelicans in the sky. The painted sun looked like a toasted English muffin.
The two men sat at either end of a tawny leather couch and turned to face each other.
'I'll be honest with you, Mr. Sparco,' Clark said. 'I've never bought a share of stock in my life. I know zilch about the market. But I've become dissatisfied with the rates I'm getting on my savings account and CDs.'
'Completely understandable,' the broker said.
'I've been doing some reading on stock investing and learned that discount brokers may charge as little as half the commissions of the big brokerage houses, but they don't provide a full range of services.'
'Generally that's true. But at Sparco, while our fees are competitive with those of other discount brokers, we pride ourselves on offering services the others don't. Most of them are merely order-takers. But at Sparco we believe in personalized service, tailored to our clients' needs. Tell me, Mr. Clark, how much were you thinking of investing?'
'Well, I thought I'd start slow, sort of dip my toes in the water. I'm sure you'll think it's chicken feed, but I'd like to begin with ten thousand dollars.'
The broker leaned forward, very earnest. 'Let me tell you something: At Sparco we treat a client with ten thousand exactly the same way we treat one with ten million. We take our responsibility to all our clients very seriously, and provide the most up-to-date information and the best advice we possibly can. You say you are dissatisfied with the current rates on your CDs. Does that mean you're willing to assume a limited amount of risk to increase your yields?''
'Well. . not too much risk.'
'Of course not. Sparco wouldn't put you in anything where the risk-benefit ratio is not in your favor. But occasionally we learn of special situations that demand fast decisions. I would advise you to open a discretionary account with us. That will authorize Sparco to buy and sell in your name, on your behalf. It relieves you of the need to watch your portfolio every day. After all, you're just interested in results. Am I correct?'
'That's right.'
'And, with your approval, we can trade on margin in your account. That will give you a lot more leverage; your ten thousand can have the clout of fifteen or even more.'
'Sounds good to me,' Clark said.
Mortimer Sparco leaned closer and lowered his voice. 'In addition,' he said, almost whispering, 'we help make the market in certain specialized stocks that are not listed on the exchanges. They customarily sell for less than a dollar a share and represent ownership in new companies with an enormous potential for growth. Sparco has a select group of clients who have done very well with these little-known equities. I think you'd be amazed at how fast your money can double, even triple, with stocks that most investors never even heard of.'
'With no risk?' the attorney asked.
'There is risk in every investment, even government bonds. But in this case the risk is minimal and the possible profits simply unbelievable.'
'Then let's do it.'
'You're making a wise decision, Mr. Clark. Now if you'll just step over to my desk, there are a few documents I'd like you to sign.'
17
She loved to drive the Bentley.
'It's so solid,' she said. 'And it even smells of money.'
So she was at the wheel as they headed up A1A to Boca Raton. Traffic was surprisingly light going northward, but out-of-state cars, jammed with vacationers, were flocking south.
Rathbone sat relaxed, smoking his first cigarette of the day.
'After you finish at the bank,' he said, 'let's have lunch in Boca, maybe do some shopping. We'll get back in time to catch some sun on the terrace.'
'Sounds good to me.'
'Nervous?' he said.
'Nah. You said it will be a piece of cake.'
'Sure it will,' he said. 'Just sail in, pick up the money, and sail out. You'll do fine.'
They parked in front of the bank. Rita got out, and David slid over behind the wheel.
'I'll be right here,' he told her. 'I'm not going anyplace.'
She nodded and marched into the bank. Rathbone spent the next twenty minutes making 'air bets,' declaiming them aloud: 'I'll bet fifty that the next woman to come out of the bank will be wearing blue.
'I'll bet a hundred that the next man to come around the corner will have a mustache.
'I'll bet a thousand that the next car to park will be a white two-door.'
And so on.
By the time Rita returned, he was two hundred dollars ahead, which he took as a good omen.
