For Better or Worse

by Al Lamanda

  “No, you look good,” Oz said.

  “Wally, come on!” Regan called out.

  Wally cautiously walked past us and down to the water.

  “Good lord,” Oz said.

  “Wally’s value is in his brain, not his looks,” I said.

  “That boy is proof God has a sense of humor,” Oz said.

  After lunch, Jane and I took a walk along the beach.

  She held my hand with her left hand and smoked a cigarette with her right.

  “Talk to me, Jack,” she said. “You owe me that much, seeing as how it was my department that arrested Smith, and Walt is in my care.”

  I took the cigarette from Jane, inhaled, and gave it back to her.

  “What we’re doing isn’t legal,” I said. “You could be implicated if you know about it and did nothing.”

  Jane looked at me as she inhaled on the cigarette. “What you said earlier about bringing down Reed, you’re using Wally to build a case against him to do what?”

  “Prove Walt is innocent,” I said.

  “And if the proof is obtained illegally, what good is it?” Jane asked as she exhaled smoke through her nose. “Unless you’re willing to take a hit and go down for it.”

  I took the cigarette and inhaled and gave it back to Jane.

  “You are, aren’t you?” Jane said. “You stupid son of a bitch.”

  “I never claimed to be smart,” I said. “Just loyal.”

  “I’ll give you that, Jack,” Jane said. “But if your dumb ass winds up in my jail, how loyal are you to Regan?”

  I stopped walking and looked at Jane.

  She tossed the cigarette away. “Or me?” she said.

  “If I see things go sour, I’ll bring the whole thing to you and let the court settle it out,” I said. “But let me take my turn at bat first.”

  Jane nodded. “I’ll be there when you strike out,” she said.

  * * *

  Around nine o’clock, Wally logged on and deemed it safe to continue working. I made a fire in the trashcan, drank coffee, and thought about what I was doing.

  Jane was right when she said what I was doing was illegal and would be useless in court, if it came to that. I could get three years for violating the hacking laws, if it came to that.

  Wally could get the same, if it came to that.

  I would have to make sure that it didn’t.

  Around midnight I went inside and found Wally asleep at the table.

  I shook his arm and he opened his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Bekker, I must have fallen asleep,” he said.

  I glanced at the monitor. “What do you got?” I said.

  “Account numbers five and six, each with two million dollars in them,” Wally said.

  “Go to bed, Wally,” I said. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  Wally logged off, then stood, yawned, and went to his bedroom.

  I closed and locked the door, then went to my bedroom and tried to grab some sleep.

  Jane’s words echoed around in my mind.

  “I’ll be there when you strike out,” she said.

  Not good words to fall asleep by.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Three days later, Wally found a seventh account in a bank in Switzerland. It had two million dollars in it that hadn’t been drawn upon in nine-plus years.

  On Tuesday, Oz, Regan and I met the real estate developer in his office and looked at his drawings of the condo proposal. We selected the last condo, a four-bedroom, two-bathroom deluxe that had a backyard and a front patio facing the ocean. We made arrangements to close on the deal a few weeks down the road.

  Wally worked tirelessly.

  I sat around a lot and thought.

  Reed used his time in prison to plot and plan his revenge, and recruit Smith to help him once he was back on the outside.

  He recruited Riker to supply the computer he needed to enact his revenge, which, to this point, was going according to plan.

  If you ever played chess, you knew the key to winning the game was to anticipate your opponent’s moves before he made them and to have a counter strategy in place.

  I wondered what Reed’s plan was for after Walt’s trial and conviction.

  Would he stick around and continue to live low with his mother and girlfriend?

  I doubted that.

  My guess was Reed would take off for Europe and live high off his money. He would leave his mother taken care of, but Smith and Riker were witnesses to his handiwork.

  He could take Riker with him and always dispose of her in the Swiss Alps somewhere.

  Smith, not so much.

  Smith was a cheap crook who would want more and probably blackmail Reed to get it.

  Conclusion: Reed would have to dispose of Smith.

  After Smith testified at the trial, of course.

  It didn’t really matter at this point if Wally found additional accounts, I had enough to take to the FBI, but some additional gravy would be nice.

  I gave Wally a few extra days, and he located two more accounts, bringing the total to nine, with collectively just short of fifteen million dollars.

  * * *

  Wally was asleep at the kitchen table when I entered the trailer. I gently shook him awake.

  “Wally, it’s time for you to go home,” I said.

  “Right now?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” I said. “Right now, go get some sleep.”

  Wally logged off the computer and stumbled his way to the bedroom.

  I sat and thought for a while. When my eyes grew heavy, I went to my bedroom, and for once, fell asleep within minutes.

  * * *

  In the morning, Wally talked me through everything, and I took extensive notes concerning accounts and activity, including the numbered codes needed to access each account. I had screenshots of it all in a thick file that I locked up in my file cabinet.

  Then I drove home to pick up Regan and Oz for a final, farewell cookout with Wally.

  It was a hot day, and Wally and Regan played in the water while I worked the grill, and Oz sat in his chair with the cat on his lap.

  The ever-present pug begged for scraps at my ankles.

  “The genius goes home tomorrow?” Oz said.

  “By train,” I said. “He doesn’t want to fly commercial.”

  “When your plan blows up in your face, what happens to him?” Oz said.

  “What plan, and I thought you didn’t care about him,” I said.

  “What plan? Whatever crazy scheme you brought him here to help you concoct. That plan,” Oz said. “And I never say I didn’t care about him, I said… oh never mind. Go on and get yourself locked up, or worse. See if I care about your dumb ass.”

  “How many burgers and dogs do you want?” I said.

  “One of each,” Oz said.

  “Baked beans?”

  “Yeah, baked beans. You been grilling me the same shit for fifteen years, you need to ask?” Oz said.

  “Remember your blood pressure,” I said.

  “My blood pressure fine, it’s you the real pain in my ass,” Oz said. “And you gonna get that boy hurt, or worse.”

  “He goes home in the morning,” I said. “And he has nothing to do with anything.”

  Oz looked down at the water where Regan was laughing at something Wally had said or done.

  “She don’t go home in the morning,” Oz said.

  “I just need a couple more days,” I said.

  Oz sighed and patted Molly. “How’s them dogs coming?” he said.

  * * *

  “When you get home, none of this ever happened,” I said. “If by some chance it does happen to come up, I asked you to help me build a computer for my business, and you were nice enough to take the time to teach
me. That’s all you know.”

  Wally looked at me over his bowl of soup. We were at a restaurant in town, having a last meal together before he took the train home in the morning.

  I reached into my jacket pocket for my checkbook and removed one for twelve thousand dollars and slid it across the table.

  “For the computer,” I said.

  “Mr. Bekker, you don’t have to…” Wally said.

  “It’s my computer,” I said. “You just taught me how to use it, and it’s perfectly fine to call me Jack like everybody else does.”

  Wally continued to look at me over his bowl of soup.

  “Wally, please don’t cry,” I said.

  * * *

  In the morning, I drove Wally to the Amtrak station and waited with him on the platform.

  “Mr. Bekker… I mean, Jack, I don’t know what to say,” Wally said as the train arrived.

  I extended my right hand and Wally reached out and hugged me.

  “Okay, Wally, alright,” I said.

  “I’ll come visit,” Wally said.

  “Sure, anytime,” I said.

  Sniffling, Wally boarded the train and the doors closed.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  I sat in my chair and made notes on a legal pad. I needed to bring Paul Lawrence into the fold and get him to open a case file against Reed.

  My inbox list of favors was short and growing shorter.

  The outgoing was long and growing longer by the minute.

  I put everything away and went for a jog along the water. When I returned, the heavy bag got a thirty-minute workout, followed by the speed bag and push-up bars.

  I used the time to let my thoughts wander, and when I was finished with the last push-up, I was ready to swallow my pride and call Paul Lawrence.

  After a quick shower, I made some coffee, took my chair and called Paul in Washington.

  I was transferred twice before I was connected to his office. Then I got his voicemail box.

  “Paul, it’s John Bekker,” I said. “I know you said you didn’t want a heads up, but I have some vital information for you. Critical for Walt. Call me back when you get this.”

  The afternoon passed without Paul returning my call.

  Jane showed up around six o’clock.

  She bounced out of her cruiser, removing her holster as she walked.

  “Who died?” she said.

  “Nobody, I’m just waiting,” I said.

  “Your wait’s over, I’m here,” Jane said.

  She placed the holster on the table and sat on my lap.

  “One word about my weight gets you a black eye,” she said.

  “Wally went home this morning,” I said.

  “And you’re sad because you lost your little pet?”

  “I’m relieved he’s no longer a part of this,” I said.

  Jane stood up from my lap. “I’m grabbing a shower to wash the stink of today’s prisoners off me,” she said. “If you’d care to join me, perhaps I can show you a few things that might cheer you up a bit.”

  She snatched her holster and sashayed into the trailer, and nobody could sashay like Jane.

  * * *

  Around one in the morning, I woke up, untangled myself from Jane’s hair and legs, and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

  I sat at the table and looked at the dark monitor as I sipped. I had yet to turn the computer on myself, and had no plans to anytime soon.

  Halfway through the milk, a naked and sleepy Jane wandered into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Milk.”

  “I mean, why are you awake?”

  “Because I couldn’t sleep.”

  Jane took the glass from my hand, took a small sip and set it on the table. Then she sat on my lap.

  “This,” she said and wiggled on top of me, “is more effective than this,” she said and touched the glass of milk, “for a good night’s sleep.”

  Who was I to argue?

  * * *

  In the morning after Jane left for work, I called Paul Lawrence again and again, and I was shifted over to his voicemail. Again.

  “Paul, it’s Jack. I know I’m being a pain in the ass, but I have something for you concerning Walt,” I said. “Pease call me back.”

  I wasted the morning, made a light lunch, and then started the afternoon with a workout on the heavy bag.

  Between the heavy bag and speed bag, Carly called.

  “Bekker, where have you been?” Carly said.

  “Research.”

  “Come on, Jack, don’t feed me that crap,” Carly said.

  “I’ll fill you in when I’m positive,” I said.

  “The limo is on the way to pick you up. We’re having a meeting with the trial judge at three this afternoon,” Carly said. “Evidence hearing.”

  “I’ll brush off my suit,” I said.

  “Better yet, buy a new one,” Carly said. “And maybe a tie that isn’t twenty years old and came out of a thrift shop.”

  * * *

  The trial judge was the Honorable Andrew J. Foss, a man who sat on the bench for twenty-plus years after a career as a state prosecutor. His reputation was one of being fair but strict, a no nonsense judge who didn’t tolerate grandstanding from either side in his courtroom.

  Carly and Kagan met with Napier outside the courtroom before Foss was ready to see us.

  “Are you ready to surrender, Carly, or are you letting your captain take a twenty-five-year fall?” Napier sneered.

  “Are you offering another deal?” Carly said.

  “The People are not without heart, Carly,” Napier said. “Seven to ten with parole after five. This offer is off the table after today.”

  “Worried your case is weak?” Kagan said.

  “No deal,” Carly said. “We wouldn’t even consider it unless it’s three to seven, parole after three.”

  “You’re dreaming,” Napier said.

  The door to Foss’s chambers opened and a court deputy said, “Judge Foss will see you now.”

  The meeting lasted about ninety minutes. Foss heard all of the evidence. He wasn’t a happy judge with some of it.

  The testimony of Smith and Cena was borderline, in his opinion, and he considered the reports from Travis to be grandstanding.

  “I won’t allow my courtroom to be turned into a three ring circus,” Foss said. “By the People or the defense. Is that clear to everyone in this room?”

  It was.

  “Have the People offered a plea to the defense?” Foss said.

  “Yes, and it was rejected, your honor,” Napier said.

  Foss looked at Carly and Kagan. “Well, we have a rodeo then,” he said. “Jury selection will begin in thirty days.”

  That’s when Kagan tossed a monkey wrench into the works.

  “Your honor, the defense requests a change of venue,” Kagan said.

  “On what grounds?” Napier snapped.

  “There isn’t a single person in this state who hasn’t been prejudiced against my client by the publicity of his arrest,” Kagan said. “How are we supposed to pick an unbiased jury from a contaminated pool?”

  Foss looked at Napier. “Ball’s in your court, Mr. Napier,” he said.

  “Where and who presides?” Napier said.

  “I’ll contact you by the end of the week,” Foss said. “Is there anything else?”

  * * *

  The limo took us to my house to meet with Walt and give him the latest news.

  “Change of venue? To where?” he asked.

  “We don’t know yet, but it buys us additional time,” Carly said.

  “Napier had an epiphany and offered us another plea,” Kagan said. “He must have realized a trial migh
t bring different results than a grand jury hearing.”

  “What was the offer this time?” Walt said.

  “Seven to ten, parole after five,” Carly said.

  Walt nodded. “You turned it down?”

  “Of course,” Carly said. “We can beat them and they know it, or they wouldn’t have made another offer.”

  “What if I lose?” Walt said.

  “Don’t even think that way,” Carly said. “Because you won’t.”

  Walt looked at me. “Jack?”

  “She’s right, don’t even think that way,” I said.

  “We’re going to be a while, Jack. Do you want the limo to take you back or will you be staying here?” Carly said.

  “Back,” I said.

  * * *

  I called Paul Lawrence and again got his voicemail.

  I left another message, and when he didn’t call back by ten in the evening, I made it an early night and went to bed, half-hoping Paul would call. When he didn’t, I stared at the black ceiling waiting for sleep that was a long time coming.

  Chapter Forty

  Scratching at the door woke me up. I opened my eyes and listened in the dark for a few seconds. The noise I heard was someone picking the lock on the front door.

  I rolled to my left, quietly opened the drawer on the nightstand, and removed the Kimber .45 pistol I kept there. It wasn’t loaded as I had the magazines in the bottom drawer. I opened it, grabbed a seven round magazine, inserted it and racked the slide.

  Then I walked quietly to the kitchen and stood to the left of the door.

  I listened to the lock click open and the doorknob turn.

  It opened and a man with a flashlight slowly walked in. Directly behind him was a second man.

  I let the first man get far enough in for me to hit him on the back of the head with the .45 and as he went down, I grabbed the man behind him and clubbed him across the jaw.

  I stepped over the fallen two, rushed outside and peered into the dark at another man running towards town.

  He had a big lead and a bird in hand and all that, so I went back inside and called the sheriff’s department.

  * * *

  By the time two county cruisers, plus Jane in her own cruiser arrived, I had the fallen two hogtied on the floor with rope.

  “What the fuck, Bekker?” Jane said as she and four deputies piled into the trailer.