Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  “I accept your invitation.” Malone grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Roberts stepped back, into a large living room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a soft glow. Along the back wall were floor-to-ceiling windows, which provided and amazing view of the beach and ocean. Expensive paintings of landscapes hung on the walls—all with gold frames. A blue tufted sofa, soft green chairs, and a glass table sat on the beautiful white marble floor. There was a wet bar in the corner of the room, stocked with ice, soda, and liquor.

  “Nice place,” Malone said, looking around. “Impressive.”

  “That’s right, Sergeant. I bet you haven’t been in a home like this for awhile.”

  Malone couldn’t get over the place. “That’s for sure.”

  “I’m not going to show you around, so don’t even ask me to.”

  Malone didn’t like her attitude. She didn’t have a reason to be so rude to him. “I’m here on official police business, not to have a grand tour of your home.”

  “Not many people can live like I do.” Roberts put her hands on her hips. “I think it’s only about one percent of the population, I believe.”

  “How many people is that?”

  “That’s a good question, Sergeant. I don’t have the foggiest idea.”

  Malone did a quick calculation in his head. “Well, it’s about three million.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of people.”

  “It sure is.” Malone winked at her. “So, you see, you’re not that special, after all.”

  Roberts dropped down on the couch and crossed her long legs. Running her fingers through her long black hair, she fixed her eyes on him. “What do you want, Sergeant?”

  “Tell me about your ex-husband.”

  “He was a terrible man, womanizer, drug abuser, and sex addict.”

  Malone didn’t expect to hear that. Even though he was living in Miami, he wasn’t used to a woman saying such terrible things about her ex-husband. “Those are serious accusations.”

  “It’s the truth, Sergeant.” Roberts sounded disgusted. “That’s just the way it is.”

  “How can I be sure about that?”

  Roberts held out her right hand, carefully looking at each painted red nail, and then she did the same thing with the other hand. Finally, she let out a long sigh, as if she was extremely bored with the conversation. “I have a lot of money, Sergeant.” Robert sounded stuck up. “So, I don’t have to lie to anyone. I do whatever pleases me.”

  “Let’s get back on track,” Malone said. “Why did your marriage—”

  “I’m just a sassy cat, Sergeant. That’s my nickname. And I’ve always lived up to it.”

  Malone was becoming impatient. “I’d like to know some details about your marriage.”

  “Look around you, Sergeant.” Roberts laughed. “I took him to the cleaners.”

  “Listen, I’d like to know—”

  Roberts cut him off. “I’m living the American dream.”

  Malone held up his hands in frustration. He didn’t want to listen to her gloat anymore. “You’re not listening to me, Miss Roberts. Tell me why your marriage ended.”

  Roberts sighed. “Do you want a drink, Sergeant?”

  “No, I don’t.” Malone took a deep breath. “I’m pressed for time.”

  Roberts got up and walked across the room, her hips swinging from side to side. Standing behind the wet bar, she placed her index finger to her lips, as if she was deep in thought. She fixed herself a scotch on the rocks. “He worked at Black Capital Investments.” Roberts returned with her drink and dropped down on the couch. “He was a research analyst, I believe. At least that’s what he called himself. He made a ton of money, and he loved to go to parties.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Rock parties, Sergeant. Everyone uses razor blades, straws, and piles of cocaine.”

  “Now, that’s a different story.” Malone thought it was a shame. It happened all the time, though. Couples headed for a train wreck. Over the years, he’d seen so a lot of marriages end in divorce, all from abusing drugs and alcohol.

  “It still wasn’t enough for him, Sergeant. He had to take it to the next level.”

  “Take it to next level?”

  Robert’s face reddened. “He spent most of his time with his best friend—George Smith.”

  “Does he work at Black Capital Investments?”

  “Yes, they used to go to Cymbals all the time.”

  Malone processed this. He knew the place had a bad reputation. “You’re referring to the night club downtown, right off Tenth Street?”

  “That’s right, Sergeant. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh, come on, Sergeant. I won’t tell the boys downtown, at police headquarters.”

  “It’s not like that. I’m a married man.”

  Robert’s gave him a seductive smile. “It’s a seedy place. It’s filled with whores.”

  “That’s not surprising. We’re living in Miami, after all.”

  “I bet you know where all the easy women hang out.”

  Malone flushed with anger. He didn’t like what she was implying. “Let’s get back on track. Give me his best friend’s description.”

  “He’s a short man, Sergeant. Five-foot-six. Chubby. Red hair. Lots of freckles.”

  “Thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it.”

  Roberts’ eyes turned cold. “All men are the same, Sergeant. They’re horny pigs.”

  Malone knew she was itching for a fight. He wasn’t about to give her one. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  “No, it’s a fact, Sergeant.” Roberts took a sip of her drink. “Everyone knows it.”

  “I didn’t come here to debate morality issues with you.”

  Roberts shook her head. “Men just want to sniff it. Then hit it. That’s the hard truth.”

  “Your ex-husband hurt you emotionally, didn’t he?”

  “What gave you your first clue, that’s he’s a man?”

  Malone felt his heart beating faster. He didn’t want to get her riled up, but he wanted know why their marriage ended. “I’m assuming your ex-husband went to that night club, met another woman there, and had an intimate relationship with her?”

  “No, he was just screwing her, Sergeant. There’s a big difference.”

  “Oh, I got it.”

  Robert’s got to her feet. “A lot of call-girls hang out at that nightclub.”

  The comment caught Malone off guard. He didn’t know why she brought that up, but he decided to go along for the ride. “How do you know that?”

  “That’s how I met him.” Roberts giggled. “Oh, I’d say about five years ago.”

  “Oh, I see. Now, I get the picture.”

  “He gave me five hundred bucks, Sergeant. And I gave him the best time of his life.”

  “What do you do now?”

  Roberts took a sip of her drink, all the while staring at him over the rim of her glass. She set her drink down on a brown table, right next to the front door. Smiling, she placed her hands on her hips and gazed into his eyes. “Look around, Sergeant. I have really nice things.”

  “You have a nice lifestyle.” Malone nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “I don’t screw men for their money anymore. You see, my ship came in.”

  Malone scratched his forehead. “Well, thanks for cooperating with me.”

  “If you stick around, we could have a few drinks.”

  Malone felt uncomfortable. She knew he was a married man, but she kept egging him on. “No, it’s getting late.” He opened the front door. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “Well, good luck, Sergeant.”

  “Oh, I think you need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”

  Malone left the mansion. Outside, he lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and blew out a long stream of smoke. Some people ne
ver ceased to amaze him. He jumped into his unmarked police car, twisted on the ignition, and sped out of the driveway.

  Chapter 12

  On Hemlock Street, there was a two story brick home with white trim. The yard was unkempt, with untrimmed hedges, tall weeds in the bushes, and patches of yellow grass. Malone parked his unmarked police car at the top of the circular driveway, walked onto the front porch, and rang the bell. Debbie Peacock opened the door and put her hands on her hips. Her thinning gray hair, crooked nose, and arthritic fingers made her look much older than seventy.

  “I warned her about you,” Peacock said. “Oh, how I wanted her to stay away from you.”

  “Look, I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “I never approved of you.” Peacock gave him a scornful look. “You’re not good enough to be married to my daughter.”

  “That’s for Karen to decide. Not you.”

  Peacock crossed her arms. “I begged her not to marry you.”

  Malone felt like he was fighting a losing battle. It didn’t matter what he said to her, because she would always take her daughter’s side. “Please tell her to come outside. I want to talk to her right now.”

  “You’ve caused her nothing but heartache over the years.”

  “Look, I’m still on duty. I’m really pressed for time. So, please hurry up and get her.”

  “No, I’m not going to. You should just leave her alone.”

  “Go get Karen now.”

  Peacock shook her head. “Come back later, when hell freezes over.”

  “Either you get her right now, or I’m coming inside.”

  “No, you’re not.” Peacock sounded alarmed. “You wait right here.”

  Across the street, in front of a two story gray house, a group of kids stood in the front yard, single file. They were taking turns running through the sprinkler. The last kid slipped in the grass, falling onto his back. Rubbing his head, he sat up and looked around. Everyone else ran up to him, all holding their stomachs, laughing. Malone got a kick out of seeing them have such a great time. He sighed. The older he got, the faster time seemed to pass.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Karen said, standing in the doorway.

  Malone looked at her. “I had to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “You’re only going to make things worse.”

  “It’s my nature, I guess.”

  “You know how my mother feels about you.”

  Malone knew it was going to be hard for him to get through to her. She never sided against her mother, even though she was wrong most of the time. “Who cares what she thinks?”

  “She’s still my mother, even if she’s a strong, opinionated woman.”

  “She has serious issues.”

  “This is still her house.” Karen pointed at him. “And I’m staying here.”

  Malone felt his heart sink in his chest. He really wanted to work things out between them.

  “Come on, honey. Let’s get out of here.”

  Karen’s eyes flashed with anger. “You’re only thinking about yourself.”

  “Get in the car.” Malone jerked his thumb toward his cruiser. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “We’ve been done this road before. It’s just going to lead to another dead end.”

  “You can tell me about it on the way home.”

  “Excuse me.” Karen’s face darkened. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “We’re leaving now.” Malone grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the front porch.

  Bill Peacock pulled his Honda Accord into the driveway, right beside Malone’s unmarked police car. Great, now, it’s my father-in-law, he thought. Could things get any worse? Karen yanked her hand from his. With tears in her eyes, she stormed back into the home. She slammed the door, latched the security chain, and threw the deadbolt.

  “I guess it’s serious this time.” Mr. Peacock laid a hand on his shoulder. He was a short man, with balding gray hair, light brown eyes, and pinkish skin. “It doesn’t look promising. I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  “That makes two of us.” Malone hung his head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, you know what everyone says. Time heals all wounds.”

  Malone wanted his wife back. “Having patience isn’t one of my strong suits.”

  “Give her some space, that’s all. In time, I’m sure she’ll come around.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Do something about the monkey on your back.”

  Malone felt his heart begin to beat faster. He wished everyone would stop making such a big deal over his drinking. “Maybe I’m not ready to.”

  “Let me give you something anyway.” Peacock took out his wallet and removed several business cards. He went through them, one by one. He put them all back, except for one card, and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “He’s a professional addictions counselor,” he said, holding out the card. “He’s the best in the business.”

  Malone took the business card and studied it. “You hold him in high regard, huh?”

  “I’ve been off the booze for over ten months.”

  “Do you really think a therapist should take credit for that?”

  Mr. Peacock raised an eyebrow. “I had liver problems, you know that.”

  “You stopped drinking, though. A shrink can’t take credit for that.”

  “If it wasn’t for his insight, I’d be dead right now.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Malone got into his unmarked police car and pulled out of the driveway. On Hemlock Street, in front of his In-law’s home, he saw his wife peeking through the curtains. He blew out a long breath of frustration. He never thought things would get this bad between them. He opened his glove box, tossed the therapist’s business card into it, and slammed it shut. Punching the gas, he raced out of the neighborhood.

  Chapter 13

  Kemp sat at his desk, his eyes glued to three twenty-two-inch LCD computer monitors, watching his hedge fund plummet in value. The stock market was down nearly three hundred points. In his office, a fifty-two-inch flat-screen television was tuned to the business channel. The business journalists were frantic, reporting how the sovereign debt crisis threatened to bring down the global economy. “And the hits keep coming. One right after the other.”

  “It’s a tough market,” Steve James said, shaking his head. “We can’t make money in it.”

  “That’s a bunch of nonsense.”

  “There’s news coming out every second. All over the world. None of it positive.”

  Kemp felt a sudden rush of anger. “You know what our motto is, don’t you?”

  “But, sir, I don’t think it’s possible to—”

  “Find a way to make our fortune back. Stop making excuses and get to it done.”

  “But the Dow’s been falling for ten straight days now.”

  Kemp gathered his wits. He wasn’t going to let his empire come crashing down around him. “We buy stocks when there’s blood in the street.”

  James’ eyes were wide. “But the market may not turn around. Not for a long time.”

  “Stop saying that. Everything bounces back. Buy stocks when they’re low, and sell them when they’re high.”

  “But we’re losing money.” James looked flustered. “No one is a winner.”

  “There has to be bargains out there. Go find them.”

  “I can’t find any.” James ran his hand through his black hair. He wore a dark blue suit with a white button-down shirt and a gray tie. He was in his early forties, with a medium build, a thin, sharp face, and tired, beaten eyes. “You don’t expect me to catch a falling knife, do you?”

  “Do whatever it takes,” Kemp said, pointing at him. “Get the job done.”

  “We’re down over fifty percent this year. Not including all the losses we took last year.”

  Kemp felt his anger boil over. “Pull yourself together, will you?”

&n
bsp; “Hedge funds are going out of business.” James looked grave. “One right after the other.”

  “We have a better track record then they do. All Ivy League Graduates.”

  “Everyone is getting slaughtered, no matter their background.”

  Kemp slammed his hand on his desk. Nothing was going to stop him from making his money back in the stock market. “Get more clients. Raise more capital. Make capital gains.”

  “Our investors are cashing out.” James sounded scared. “They’re dropping like flies.”

  “Don’t give them one red cent.”

  James shook his head. “The phones are ringing off the hook. It’s a madhouse.”

  “Churn a profit. Or your ass is on the line.” Kemp sat back in his leather chair and crossed his legs. He looked at his computer screen again, this time noticing the stock market was down over six hundred points. How much worse can things get? Removing a handkerchief from his suit jacket’s pocket, he dabbed the sweat from his forehead. Since the beginning of the financial crisis, Black Capital Investments had lost over eighty-five percent of its value.

  “I’m not a miracle worker.” James looked pained. “I can’t change the laws of gravity.”

  “Should I contact Boris? Boris Basov? You know, he has connections.”

  James’ face turned white. “No, don’t even think about that.”

  Kemp shrugged it off. The only thing on his mind was finding a way to restore his fortune. “It’s time to think outside the box.”

  “No, it isn’t.” James sounded scared. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “We have to consider alternative sources of funding.”

  James’ voice was shaking. “Don’t make things worse. It’s not worth it.”

  “Come on. Think it through, will you? Like you said, we’re in way over our heads.”

  “Basov has ties to the Russian Mafia. That won’t help matters.”

  Kemp had to get his hands on a lot of money, or it was going to be too late. He’d exhausted all of his avenues—investors, banks, venture capitalists. “Take it easy, will you? Nothing bad is going to happen to us. They’re our ace in the whole.”