There was an angry buzz which carried with it the information Cade had failed to settle. One club member who was there for the specific purpose of observing who settled and who defaulted was soon on the phone.
“Looks like we’ve got one, Mister Benson.”
“OK. Sound him out, give him this number if you think he could be useful to me.”
Cade was sitting at a table; he was closely studying a shot of whiskey. His elbows were on the table and his forehead was resting in the palms of his hands. He normally drank beer but now he felt the need for something stronger. He heard a chair scrape as it was withdrawn from the other side of the table. He looked up as a stranger sat down.
“Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind anything now. I’m dead.” Cade mourned.
“Fifty thousand. That’s a lot of money.” said the stranger.
“That’s about half of it.” said Cade.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an accountant. Ex-accountant, now.”
With this confession the stranger’s interest intensified. “Trouble at work?” he asked.
Cade would have told him to piss off and mind his own business but what did it matter now? He was finished and the bloke was only trying to be friendly, he didn’t answer. He didn’t have to; the stranger had worked him out and was writing in a notebook. When he finished he tore out the page and pushed it across the table to Cade.
“Ring this number and ask for Phil Benson.”
“Whatever could Phil what’s-his-name do for me?”
“You’d be surprised.”
This was the sort of qualified bloke that Benson could use. The stranger was already mentally spending his bonus while Cade was accumulating a large dose of Dutch courage from several whiskeys.
“Phil who?” he asked the stranger. He strolled over to the bank of public telephones.
“May I speak to Phil Benson, please?”
Cade sat across the large desk from Benson and explained the complete situation. He had sensed, from the tenor of the phone conversation that Benson might just be the person to help him. He didn’t hold back, he told him everything and at the end of his story Benson said, “I can help! But you need to be qualified; you’ve got to have all of the necessary papers. And don’t bullshit me.”
Cade nodded and Benson reached into a draw on his side of the desk. He withdrew a wad, about a half an inch thick, of new one-hundred-dollar bills and threw it carelessly onto the desk blotter. It was followed by another similar bundle.
“There’s forty grand there, you’re an accountant you’ll know how to get that back into the system, I’ll take care of the bookies but first I’ll need some collateral.”
“I’ve got a house and a car.” Cade offered. The house really belonged to his mother but she’d put it up.
“Fuck your house and your car. What I want is a signed confession of your embezzlement,” Benson demanded. “Then I want you to resign your position and come to work for me. I’ll pay you ten thousand a year more than you are getting now and there’ll be bonuses for certain jobs well done.”
“I may not be able to afford your interest, Mister Benson.”
“There’s no interest. But I’ll have your balls if you renege on me.” Benson couldn’t suppress a schoolboy giggle as he thought of Kelly and the irony of what he had just said.
Cade joined Benson in the giggle and then floated out of the building on a euphoric combination of the earlier whiskeys plus the effect of forty thousand dollars bulging his pockets. Behind him Benson was feeling equally as high. He had at his command a solicitor – no, better, a QC. And who better than a Knight of the Realm to set up a trust fund into which could be paid his already large fortune plus the monthly proceeds generated by his drugs network? He, also, now owned a chartered accountant and was convinced he had the nucleus he needed to create his money laundering operation.
Chapter
23
John Cade had the feeling he was finally getting somewhere. He was on his way; he was building a substantial bank account. With the uncannily successful race tips Benson dropped on him from time to time, his gambling had become more profitable. He guessed there was something shady about the information but it was not his intention to question it. After he’d been with Benson twelve months he was free of debt. And he had managed to accumulate thirty thousand dollars, a major part of it won on Benson’s tips.
He was a long way in front of the ninety thousand he owed prior to that fateful phone call from the bookies club. Sure, he’d seen some questionable goings on in the office, and he’d seen a steady stream of paper parcels full of cash. He’d been asked to deliver unidentifiable packages to unsavoury locations, but he kept his nose out of things that didn’t concern him. The only information in his possession was that offered him by Benson. By any standard the quality of Cade’s life was excellent and he was careful not to jeopardise it.
“Can I see you in my office, please John?” the intercom asked.
“Sure, Mister Benson do I need to bring anything with me?”
“Just your body.”
Cade stepped into the inner office. Benson was seated behind his large desk. Across from him were three chairs, two of them occupied. The one in the middle was vacant and obviously placed there for him. He sat down and glanced at the other two occupants.
On his left was the Colombian, Carlos Salazar, a bloke who gave Cade the shivers, his eyes were like those of a bird of prey, completely unreadable. Not one flicker of emotion ever seemed to live there. But there were periods, from time to time, sometimes lasting days, when the Colombian’s features would soften and he would be almost amiable. But even then he made Cade nervous. The accountant had never been able to work out just what Salazar’s job was, he just seemed to haunt the place.
On his right was a man who looked out of place in the present company. By his body language he was only there under sufferance. Cade knew him by sight. Of late the man had been a regular visitor to Benson’s office but Cade’s recognition of him was by way of the newspapers. His image adorned the front pages, back pages and society pages. It was Sir Charles Horvath a Queen’s Counsel and he looked a bit ill. Benson made the introductions and got right down to business.
“John,” he began, “I have an extremely large amount of money in safety deposit boxes around the nation and I also have a very, very healthy cash flow from sources I won’t disclose to you at this time. I want you and Charlie here to legitimise this money for me.”
“Ooh…Nuh uh! That sounds a bit like money laundering. I can’t be involved in anything like that. Do you realise there’s a probable gaol sentence in the offing for all of us if we were to be caught out in schemes of that nature” Cade was actually smiling, innocently. Horvath gave him an oblique look; he closed his eyes and shook his head. Salazar’s unreadable expression didn’t alter.
Benson’s voice grew a hard edge. “I’m not arguing or negotiating I’m telling you and Charlie to come up with a foolproof scheme. From this point on you’ll have to start earning your keep. If you’re worried about illegalities I must remind you of how you came to work for me.” He then added, “I’ll leave you with Carlos for a while, I’m sure he’ll convince you that you won’t have to worry about a gaol sentence.” With that Benson left his office by the back entrance and Carlos was pulling some Polaroid snapshots from his inside coat pocket.
“Shit! What sort of people do I work for?” Cade was mumbling to himself. At first he thought the photos were posed, his mind couldn’t accept them. Even the possession of such a graphic display seemed to suggest to him a sadistic, brutal trait in the owner of the Polaroids. In conjunction with the newspaper cuttings and Salazar’s cold and emotionless explanation he was finally convinced the photos were genuine. The Colombian left the office and Cade and Sir Charles were then alone �
�� left to ponder a strategy that would meet Benson’s requirement to produce clean cash.
For a short time there was silence between the two as each reflected on their personal weaknesses, wondering if the other’s sins were similar to their own.
“Christ!” said Cade “What can we do?”
“We? Nothing, we’ve sold our souls but I know what I’m going to do. Mine’s Hobson’s choice. I’m going to do exactly as Benson says. I can’t go to the police. I don’t know about you, but if I did suffer an attack of remorse I certainly wouldn’t take the story to the authorities. I wouldn’t want that cold-blooded bastard, Salazar, on my case.” Horvath still looked ill and Cade noticed himself swallowing a lot even though his mouth was dry. Horvath continued, “I’ve known about this for some time now. Benson and I have targeted a small accounting firm to become the hub of his money laundering scheme. It’s a one man show with one employee who’s fresh from university. He’s doing his professional year. He also doubles as a girl Friday, the firm had to let its real one go. They have several clients, some are public companies of which I’m a board member. The poor bastard has no idea what trouble is about to visit him.”
“Why should he have anything to do with us?” asked Cade.
“He’s already primed,” Horvath answered, “he got into a bit of debt with the banks with a loan to buy an upmarket home. At the time he could afford it. When interest rates took off the way that they did in the eighties and the economy and the real-estate market took a downturn, the bank revalued his assets. He now owes more than the house and his business is worth. That is by the bank’s calculations anyway, which is all that seems to count. They’re about to foreclose and proceed to mortgage sale. It would mean bankruptcy which would be a disgrace for an accountant, especially a public accountant. He came to me for advice and I advised him to allow a partner to buy into his firm. I told him I knew of plenty of would-be partners but that he should investigate the situation himself. Well he did and he has committed virtual suicide by coming back to me.”
“How do we buy in?” asked Cade.
“It’s simple, he’s already crying on my shoulder. He couldn’t find a buyer willing to pay enough to get him out of his trouble. This is where you come into the picture. I’ll tell him that I’ll recommend him to you and that he should drive a very hard bargain, because you are on the verge of securing a very lucrative account. I’ll tell him that you need the prestige of a reputable firm, such as his, to clinch the deal. And you will act as though that is the truth, you know, eager but coy and full of bluff. Don’t forget that we have to look after ourselves in this deal. It’s not our money and Benson gets a bit paranoid about rip-offs. I know the full story of those Polaroids. We have to end up offering enough money to save this man’s house and partially clear his debt. But we have to keep him dependent upon you so that he won’t poke his nose too deeply into your affairs. We want him to be afraid of offending you, so we won’t completely bail him out, but your offer will be far above any others.”
“What’s the name of the firm?” asked Cade.
“James Mitchell and Associates, Chartered Accountants. Jim’s an alright man but now he’s rat shit, I really feel so sorry for him.” Horvath sounded genuine. “I guess that’s all we can do at this point. I’ll get things moving.”
“My name’s John Cade, what do I call you?”
“You can call me Charles, or Charlie, whatever you like.”
“OK. Tell me this, Charlie. Where does this money that we have to legitimise, come from?”
“You’re having me on.” Horvath looked long and hard at Cade, “You really don’t know. Do you? It’s drugs. Cocaine.”
Chapter
24
John Cade sat opposite Jim Mitchell in a comfortable client’s chair. “Danny, will you come to my office and could you bring three coffee set-ups please?” Mitchell asked the box on the edge of his desk, “And the biscuit tin,” he added.
“Yes, Mister Mitchell, right away.” the box responded.
“Well. You pushed me to my limit, I’ll enjoy having a partner who can wring so much out of a deal as you certainly can, Jim. I can call you Jim? May I, now that we’re partners?” Cade knew exactly how much he would offer and exactly how much Mitchell would accept. He offered less, but Horvath had given Mitchell a figure that he said Cade would be prepared to pay.
Mitchell had a few moments of anguish. He thought he’d pushed his luck too far when he mentioned Horvath’s figure. His heart sank when Cade shook his head and looked at the floor. Cade was enjoying the theatrics; he suddenly looked up and thrust his hand across the desk.
“It’s a deal.”
Mitchell stood in an involuntary reflex of relief and grasped the outstretched hand at the same time. He expelled a breath he seemed to have been holding all morning.
“That’s great,” he said, pumping Cade’s arm, “now is there something I can do for you? Some concession, a name change? I can at least do that. We must draw up the contracts and have them ratified. Do you have a legal man in mind?”
“Why don’t we use our mutual friend, Sir Charles? Although I must say he didn’t do me any favours today. Ha! Only kidding.” laughed Cade. “And I certainly don’t want a name change, I’m proud to be a part of Mitchell and Associates.”
There was a knock on the office door and a tall powerfully built young man entered carrying a tray with steaming cups. He had a biscuit tin clamped under an ample forearm.
“Danny, I’d like you to meet your new boss, John Cade, Mister Cade is my new partner. John this is Danny Brannigan, my…no…I should say our bright new PY student.”
“Hello, Danny, I’m impressed. You’re doing your Professional Year, not many take it on let alone see it through.”
“How do you do, Mister Cade? Thank you. Not everybody gets the opportunity to do it but I want to be a member of the Institute, eventually.” Danny shook a limp sweaty hand and immediately erected a mental barrier. It would prove to be an obstacle to future relations between the two.
“Would you like something stronger, John? A celebratory drink per-haps?” asked Mitchell.
“No thanks, Jim I don’t do any drinking during the day, well, not on a working day, coffee will be fine.” Cade answered.
“He was a pushover, Charlie.”
“I wouldn’t say he was exactly a pushover, John, the only smart thing we did was to get the partnership. Don’t forget that we paid a lot more for the deal than any other interested parties were prepared to. Well above the going price. Nearly twice as much,” Horvath lectured. “If anyone was a pushover, Mitchell could be excused for thinking it was you.”
Suitably chastened, Cade replied “OK. Let’s get into this, where do we start?”
“We’ll get the legals dispensed with first. Then we rent warehouse space – in Sydney to begin with. I’m on the board of a large number of companies; I’ll make a list of the ones that we can target. They’ll be companies that produce consumable goods, such as face soaps and laundry products, toilet fresheners and room deodorisers; any of those products which have a short life and a high turnover. Tea and coffee could come later and then foodstuffs. We’ll buy in huge quantities and get the best discounts. We’ll invent our own brand name and sell cheaply like Home Brand, or No Frills, or such, and we’ll channel the financial returns back into an expansionary programme and eventually go national. You’ll be able to honour all of our company tax obligations with some creative accounting. Then, for all intents and purposes, we will seem to be a legitimate enterprise.”
“Sounds like we will be.” said Cade.
“Hah! Yes, we will, but with one exception. We’ll be paying for our wholesale components with Benson’s cash which will be deposited into a trust fund administered by me. I’ll be making small ostentatious grants to tear-jerking charities from time to time. Just large enough to keep me in the public
’s sentimental good books but not large enough to invite a tax audit. Meanwhile I’ll be diverting a steady flow of cash through various accounts into your trust from which you will pay the bills. This will be where your creativity will be called upon. Don’t worry about the trail. We’ll drag that many red herrings around the place that by the time the data is entered as balanced even the computers will be confused.
“Of course, we will have to employ legitimate people, truck drivers, warehousemen, labourers, process workers and office staff. And all of that will only help to make our operation look more legitimate. We don’t need to make a real profit. We just need to produce clean, unencumbered money. Break square would do, but we need to show a reasonable book profit, and we need to pay our taxes on the profit that we show.
“We can’t afford an audit by the tax office for, as sure as night follows day, if they were to come across some obscure trail we’d be crawling with investigators. If there is one government body that could bring us down, then it’s the tax office. This will be your responsibility and if you fail I’m sure that you can deal with Salazar. Remember what Benson said? ‘No need to worry about a gaol sentence’.”
Cade’s mouth went dry in another panic attack. Christ! Life had been so simple when he only owed Valance United forty thousand dollars. What had he gotten himself into? He felt like someone who had been run over by a huge snowball and, like in the comics, he was now part of it and he and the snowball were gathering speed and volume on a downhill run.
Cade was overwhelmed by Benson’s reaction to their plan. When he realised the enormous rewards that would be coming his way after the proposed enterprise got underway, he pushed the threat of Salazar to the back of his mind. Benson was talking huge bonuses, and executive salaries. Cade mentally calculated personal millions.
The Cooktown Grave Page 11
