“And next week, let’s you, me, and sourpuss sit down, okay, partner?”
“Sure, Gabe. I look forward to it.”
The son left, whistling.
There it was. Roger was going to betray a firm with a reputation for spotless honesty and forthrightness of, well, of more than sixty years. Would they recover from the taint his theft would smear them with, or sink under a sea of accusations and blame? That and the avalanche of lawsuits sure to come. And though Roger was not much of a standard-bearer for the race, there was that too. A black man, albeit middle class and middle-aged, married for over twenty years to a white woman, but a black man nonetheless, who had gained the trust of his Jewish bosses and in effect stolen from them. What would be the fallout from that? Strenuous finger-pointing at the next CPA convention, for sure.
And what of the betrayal of his wife and daughter? Wasn’t that the biggest crime of all? Running off with a younger black woman, fine as she may be? His stomach gurgled as he admonished himself. This was a time to keep his mind focused, not a time for butterflies and second-guessing. He wanted to call Nanette, wanted so desperately to hear her say how much she loved him, how she’d never felt this way about a man before.
He suppressed the urge and went about his tasks, forcing himself not to watch the clock, not to mentally count down the hours till he started anew. Never again the same old 9-to-5, mortgage-paying, block-club-going Roger. The hours eked by and finally he was sitting in the back room of the Bounty on Wilshire in what was becoming part of the growing Koreatown.
The HMS Bounty was a time warp steak-and-booze emporium left over from the days of pounding down a couple of Scotches over lunch, when
“Here’s to my ace, Roger. May the next fifty be yours for the taking,” Wayne Wardlow toasted after they’d sung an off-key but effusive “Happy Birthday.”
The waitress brought out a chocolate cake, his favorite.
“Of course, we only used five candles for symbolism’s sake, since we didn’t want to torch the joint,” Wardlow joked, getting a round of guffaws.
“Here’s to you, Roger,” Gabe Nathanson echoed.
“Thanks, gents.” Roger clinked his glass against the others’ and drank. This was his second gin and tonic and it was going to be his limit. It was seventeen past 6:00 and it was getting harder for him to laugh and seem at ease. He had to go home and find out about his daughter, a last intimacy with Claudia, he owed her that, and then Nanette.
“What’s up, champ?” Wardlow sidled up next to him. “Looks like you got something on your mind.”
“Being fifty.”
Wardlow had more of his whiskey. “I hear that. But things change, yeah? Don’t want to look back and have a trunk full of regrets.” He upended his tumbler and signaled for another. “Getting this age, too old to be innovative but just enough juice left in the tank to try something different, it hits you, doesn’t it? You can keep doing what you’re doing, stay in that rut till you maybe make retirement, and hope you can still manage to wipe your own butt and have enough to buy a few beans and tortillas. Or take a chance on something.” He looked off, beyond the walls.
“Exactly,” Roger agreed.
Later, after the goodbyes and a promise to play nine holes with Wardlow and a couple of the fellas, Claudia called him on his cell as he headed home.
“Janice isn’t here.”
“What? She turn around and go back?”
“No. Her cell phone is suddenly disconnected. I couldn’t leave a message, and I haven’t heard from her.”
“You just now telling me this?”
“Don’t yell at me. It’s just a little past 7:30, the time I figured she’d be here.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Think she’s at one of her friends’ houses? Could she have stopped on the way and maybe dropped her phone and broke it?”
“Then why wouldn’t she use their phone to call?”
“Look, it’s not dire yet or anything. We should be calm.”
“I am, I’m just, you know, could it have something to do with why she came down?”
“I don’t know. We have some of her friends’ numbers. Girls from high school.”
“I’m going to call them.”
“Okay. I’ll be home shortly.” He hung up and rang Nanette to fill her in.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming to town?”
“I didn’t think it was going to be a big thing.”
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I can’t take off till I know what’s going on with Janice.”
“I know that, I’m not the unfeeling ho,” she barked.
“That’s not what I meant. I can’t stop the virus. Anyway, everyone’s gone home, it would be my code and time stamp registered on the alarm pad if I went back to the office now.”
Her tone softened. “What about the money in the accounts? We can access the funds at any time, right?”
“Theoretically, yes. But once the hard drives are probed, I can’t be sure there won’t be traces. When they attempt to resurrect the files, they’ll dig deep. The virus was merely a way to give us the time we needed to get to the islands.”
“Then find your daughter, darling, and call me back. It still won’t make a difference if we leave tonight, tomorrow, or next week. Those computer files won’t be recovered that fast. In fact, when they go down and you’re around being all concerned, that will be even better, less attention on you.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, baby.”
Roger arrived at his house and was surprised to see his wife’s car wasn’t there. She called him on his cell as he unlocked the front door. “Janice had some car trouble, I went to pick her up. Should be back in half an hour.”
“Fine, I’ll be here.” Roger went inside, checking the time and gauging his next moves. The virus had launched, it was real now. He was elated. He was getting aroused as he fantasized about the money and his woman. Giddy, he took out his BlackBerry and punched in a code. The results on his screen sobered him. He put in more numbers, and again got the same results.
Reeling like he’d been hammered by a heavyweight’s blow, Roger dropped to his knees, fighting for air. He dropped the BlackBerry before him, as if it were a totem he could invoke favor through. The accounts in the Swiss banks and the one in the Caymans were empty. He kneeled there, blinking and kneading his hands. There was only one other person who knew about them. He rose, a man with renewed purpose.
Not fifteen minutes later, Roger Crumbler was surprised when Nanette answered her door. She lived in a duplex near Motor he’d helped her rent under a false name.
“Hi, Rog,” she said as he rushed inside.
“Well?” He held the BlackBerry in front of her face.
“Well, what?”
“The money, Nanette, the goddamn money I risked everything to steal. For us.”
“I don’t have it. Obviously.”
“Really?” He stalked through the apartment, not sure what he’d find or do as he looked in the bedroom and the closets. “You’re full of shit, baby. You must have the money. No one else knew about the accounts but you.”
“Keep your voice down, Roger.”
“Fuck that.” He was breathing hard, sweat glazing his brow. Fists balled, he blared, “You’re playing some kind of game with me, aren’t you? Think I’m stupid.”
“Roger, if I had the money, why would I be here waiting for you?”
