Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  Lavorosky was most likely the guy who had sent the clowns to the yoga class. It was his business card they’d had. In that moment, it started to make sense: this was all part of a force play, pressure moves using tactics from a different culture, a different time… probably a different country.

  Jerry immediately went to the head of the table closest to us, and Lauren moved to his right. I placed my briefcase to Jerry’s left and angled it toward Lavorosky. Jerry and Lauren pulled out their chairs and sat down. Jerry opened his file, looked up, and started to speak.

  “Thank you for coming today, Mr. Lavorosky,” he said, but stopped when I continued walking to Lavorosky.

  I offered my hand to shake. He hesitated for a moment, sizing me up, then limply offered his, not bothering to stand up. I took his hand, right hand to right hand, then clamped our hands tightly with my left and shook vigorously, acting like a young pup with too much enthusiasm.

  “Who are you?” he spit out.

  “Derek Zachary. Pleased to meet you.”

  “What’s your purpose here?”

  “I’m an IT consultant, just trying to make things work smoother, you know… Like loan administration, those kinds of details.”

  I unclasped our hands, walked back to my place next to Jerry, and sat down. Jerry eyed me, then tried to take control of the meeting.

  “Mr. Lavorosky, what can we do for you today?”

  “I want to finish the loan commitment that McAvoy agreed to. For Glade Preserves. She said it would be no problem. We need to finish it.”

  “Ms. McAvoy agreed to a loan?”

  “Yes! She said it would be no problem. We met last week at the property. We need that commitment. We’re having permitting issues. Is there a problem? We have buyers waiting.”

  Jerry paused to assess the situation. Silence hung in the air. Lavorosky eyed Jerry with a growing sharpness and shifted in his chair to show displeasure with Jerry’s hesitation.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lavorosky, but Ms. McAvoy did not approve your construction loan application. In fact, as I read here in the file”—he looked down to get the exact wording—“she said it was a definite rejection due to excessive risk and inadequate application information.”

  “She told me no problem. But that doesn’t matter. She had an accident. Who’s in charge of the file now?”

  “I am!” Jerry responded with a stern look. “I’ll review it with Ms. Berger. We’ll get back to you in a few days, if that will be all right with you.”

  “No, that is not all right. I need this done as quickly as possible. This project is important to our shareholders. If you don’t make this loan, there could be problems,” he protested, getting irritated, eyes tightening, lips clenching. “We need to get permitted to start selling lots. We need an approved financial commitment to get permitted. We need this commitment… immediately!” He pounded his open palm on the table, a sharp crack more appropriate for a banana republic dictator.

  I was surprised at how aggressive this guy was. Had he just threatened Jerry and Lauren? I wanted to speak and draw him out more, but I held back. My place was to observe. I would help them later, in a more meaningful way.

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Mr. Lavorosky. What kind of problems?” He paused for a response and waited a full minute. “We’ll review your application and get back to you. That’s the way business is done here.”

  “I’d like the commitment today!”

  “I don’t think we can do that today. We will contact you next week. Now, if that’s all—”

  “No! That’s not all right, Mr. Manager,” he said as he stood up. His large friend approached him and pulled his chair back like a waiter in a restaurant, or perhaps a sycophant acting out.

  Lavorosky started moving toward us on Lauren’s side of the table, with his large friend close behind. His eyes were filled with a kind of fire, and his body language was about as tense as it could be while standing upright. I stood up, in case it got physical, and pushed back my chair to create space. Jerry stood up. Lauren stayed seated. I saw her eyes; she was frightened. Lev stopped just behind Lauren, face to face with Jerry.

  “It’s dangerous out there, Mr. Manager. No telling what can happen. You need to approve this loan. It’s not your money… You just work here.” He paused and stared at Jerry to drill home his point.

  I shifted my focus between Lavorosky, whose forcefulness in that moment was raw and unpolished but probably effective in other situations, and his friend, a large man who could obviously bring physical force.

  After about a minute of the silent staredown, he whispered to Jerry, leaning over Lauren, “You don’t want any more accidents… It’s dangerous out there.”

  He gave a final stare, then proceeded to the door. His giant friend took the opportunity to stop in front of Jerry, hovering directly over Lauren and touching her back with his huge thigh, and give his own stare-down to Jerry. The coldness from his dark eyes would have been comical in another place, but, because of his huge size, was instead a clear, naked display of overt physical danger. Lavorosky waited at the door until his friend had completed his part of the drama, then opened the door and walked out, followed closely by his goon assistant, who closed the door a little too forcefully, a loud coda to a street-level performance of potential consequences.

  “Jesus,” Jerry said as he sat down slowly and exhaled profusely. “What the hell was that?”

  I remained standing. I placed both hands on the table and lowered myself so that I was face to face with Jerry and Lauren. From a controlled position, I said, “These guys are dangerous. I have no doubt that they are responsible for Cathy’s death.”

  Lauren started to tear up. Jerry reached for her arm and rubbed it.

  “I can help you.”

  “What can you do?” he said, doubting me.

  “This is what I do. This is my business. I take out guys like this, companies like this. I don’t shoot them, none of that stuff. I do it in a way that they have no idea what’s coming, or when, or how.”

  “I don’t know. I think we should call the police. He just threatened me… us.”

  “Don’t call the police yet. I’ll have this cleaned up in a few days.”

  “I… We have rules about stuff like this.”

  “Don’t do anything over the weekend,” I said and paused, trying to make the sale. “I’ve arranged a security detail for Lauren, twenty-four seven. You need to be careful too. This Glades Project is part of a much larger plan. It’s just one part, but it’s crucial to the operation, and they’re moving more quickly now. Something’s up; something’s stirring them. That guy is under real pressure, it was obvious.”

  Lauren sighed as she wiped away some tears that had run down her face. Jerry closed the file and sat silently, looking not at me but staring off into space, probably considering the severity of what had just transpired in his own conference room. I sat down, opened my briefcase, and placed the clear tape in its compartment, keeping my eyes on Jerry.

  “I will help you,” I said as I closed my briefcase. Jerry and Lauren both looked at me. I saw that I had not convinced them of my ability to handle the case—their case. But I would. I knew what I was doing. I was only too well aware that these guys were dangerous… life-and-death dangerous!

  I looked at Lauren. “Let’s get some lunch.”

  9

  Our team of three left the conference room after the bizarre display of thuggery and walked up the stairs to the executive suites where Jerry and Lauren had their offices. Jerry pointed to me and then to Lauren’s office. “I want to speak to Lauren,” he said, and then marched on with Lauren trailing behind obediently.

  I sat on the couch in Lauren’s office for about five minutes. I got out my cell phone and saw that I had several emails and texts that required answering. I selected all the incoming ones that were important
and tapped an app that would shoot a message to each that I was occupied, had received theirs, and would be back to them shortly. Lauren popped back in as I was finishing with these marvels of new technology. She looked at me with expectant eyes, red from crying in the meeting, yet looking for direction. That was the challenge in that moment: Lauren needed attention, and I was the guy to provide it.

  We exited the Prime Mortgage offices and met Bob and Jimmy, who jumped out of their car as soon as they saw us. Both were eager to fulfill their assigned security duties, and both appeared totally able to do so. I explained that we were going to lunch and that they should follow us in their car, wait for us—inside or out, their choice—and then follow us back to Prime Mortgage and continue on with their protective detail for Lauren. She suggested we go to the Calle Ocho section in Little Havana. Jimmy remarked that the area was problematic because of the crowded nature of the street, but confidently suggested that they were equipped to handle any threat that could materialize. I believed them immediately. They exuded a kind of tangible confidence.

  On the drive over, Lauren directed me to one of the upscale Cuban restaurants in this well-known section of Miami. Because it was a little after two p.m., it was not full, and we were seated without much delay at a nice corner table with a view of the entire restaurant. Lauren buried her head in her hands, stayed there with some deep breaths and some kind of centering thoughts for a few moments, then came up and grabbed the menu. Food was the right modality at that moment.

  “Can you order for me too?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I need to make a few calls. Order the same for Jimmy and Bob. We can send it out to them.”

  She nodded and got to work.

  I retrieved my sat phone from my briefcase and tapped in Linda in Palo Alto. She picked up on the first ring, as usual.

  “Hey,” she answered.

  “Hey girl. Everything okay there?”

  “Those two Chinese guys came back. George is concerned; he wants to talk to you.”

  “He left a message; I’ll call him next.”

  I heard her doing some clicking on her side, so I paused and enjoyed the sight of Lauren studying the menu for a moment.

  “I need for you to do a few things,” I continued. “I’m going to send you some facial recognition prints on two guys, Lavorosky and another guy, a giant. Run them through all the normal databases. Find out everything you can.” I tapped Send on the sat phone and almost simultaneously heard the chimes on her end.

  Lauren looked up from the menu and studied me a bit, perhaps getting that I knew what I was doing. She didn’t ask where the photos had come from, but I would have bet she was thinking about it.

  “Got it,” Linda responded.

  “Okay, good. Now, I want you to find me the top DNA lab here in Miami and have somebody waiting there for me to give them a sample. I’ll be there around three-fifteen, three-thirty. Use the big hammer if you need to.”

  Lauren looked at me again, obviously listening with interest to my business. The hammer, she mouthed with a questioning expression. I rubbed my fingers together, the international language of money—everybody spoke it everywhere in the world. She nodded, proving international understanding. Nobody had seen me use the special DNA tape in my left hand to capture Lev’s DNA—especially not Lev, which had been the intended effect. It was a CIA toy that my friend Lenny had given me.

  “Okay, two more things. Check to see who we know here from FBI and DHS. Check with Lenny. He has contacts everywhere. Just get me names and numbers; don’t make contact.”

  “And lastly?” she said, making it a point to show me that she was following every word I said. She was whip-smart, and I was lucky to have her.

  “Yes, and lastly. I want you to go through the new Siroco stuff from last night and this morning. See what’s going on. Anything new? Sort it and fine tune it for me.”

  We clicked off as the waiter came. I watched Lauren give our order—in Spanish. How sexy that was! A beautiful woman giving instructions in a foreign language. They joked a little about something I did not recognize, then he left and was replaced immediately by another waiter with bread and some finger foods. A stylish glass of chilled white wine arrived shortly for her. I don’t drink alcohol—she must have remembered.

  “Thank you for ordering,” I said. “I have just a few more, sorry.”

  She nodded her understanding and dove into the bread and honey butter. Just before I tapped in another number, she looked me close in the eyes and said with a smile, “DNA?” She refocused on the bread with gusto.

  I tapped in the number for George Madadian, my security guy for my office building in Palo Alto.

  “Hi Derek,” he answered. He gave me a brief rundown on the Chinese guys who had come to the building.

  I told him to give the facial photos to Linda. “I want you to increase security, George. Can you do that until I get back?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I want a detail on Linda. Twenty-four seven. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, I have some guys I use. It’ll take me a few hours. By the end of the day, guaranteed. And I’ll stay here at the building until they come on.”

  “Good. Tell Linda it’s on my orders, and don’t take any crap from her. She can be difficult.”

  “Yes, I know. Anything else?”

  “Turn up security on the building—electronic, physical, and that other thing that we use. And swing by my condo every few hours.”

  He agreed, without needing to hear more about the sudden “why” of it, and we clicked off.

  I tapped in Ed Sapperstein at Sabra.

  “Hello Derek, what’s up?” He was in a car somewhere and picked up right away. It was an echo-chamberish sound, Bluetooth and hands-free but not good quality.

  “Just checking in with you, Ed. Can you talk now? You’re driving?”

  “Sure, go, no problem,” he responded with enthusiasm.

  “On our side, much information has been developed. I need to meet with you in the next day or two. What’s best for you?”

  “Well, I think Sunday would be best. Ms. Truska will be here tomorrow night. You will be impressed with what she wants to tell us.”

  “Wants…?”

  “Yes, she’s been very cooperative. You’ll see.”

  “You’ve not hurt her… have you?”

  “No, no, no. We don’t do that; that’s movie stuff. You’ll see. Let’s all meet at the office, Sunday at eleven. Okay?”

  “Okay Ed, see you then. No rough stuff.”

  “No problem, bubby, you can trust us… like family now. You know?”

  We clicked off. I wanted to believe him, that his crew was not using enhanced interrogation techniques, as they were sometimes referred to. I looked forward to the meeting. The Ukrainian agent was the best source of inside information that we had… Well, that and the emails going in and out of Siroco that we were monitoring. Linda would give me all that stuff later.

  Lunch with Lauren was a process of caring for each other, enhanced with gourmet food. The seafood and carnitas and veggies she had ordered were fantastic. As we were starting our meal, I saw two waiters walking out the front door with take-out boxes for Jimmy and Bob.

  A few times during lunch, Lauren needed palpable support for the penetrating, sharp emotions caused by the death of her best friend, and now this weird Siroco business in their conference room. I gave it whenever I saw that need. I gave her verbal assurances, and at other times, I touched and stroked her arm, her shoulder, her hand. The good food probably helped her more than I did. We agreed that she would come to the final yoga class tonight at the center. I suggested that she stay with me at the hotel tonight—she resisted not at all—and that would be the caring part… for me. She just needed to go home and get some stuff. I assumed that meant after yoga class but didn’t clarify.

 
; As we were finishing, I got a ping from Linda with the name and address for what I hoped was the best DNA lab in Miami: Madison Biotechnology Solutions. She said that it was located in an industrial section just off the MIA airport area, a convenient location for me. I was picking up my friend at MIA at four-thirty in the same area. It would all work out perfectly, assuming his plane arrived on schedule. I had a yoga class to teach at six, and I was not missing that for anything.

  * * *

  Lauren and I finished our pleasant Cuban lunch. I paid the bill and grabbed my briefcase as Lauren took a mirror out of her purse and checked her makeup and teeth, something I never did but noted with a growing respect. I should check my teeth after eating.

  As we left the table, my sense of security awareness clicked in. I reached for Lauren’s arm, drew her closer to me, and kept her close as we reached the door.

  “Wait here; I just want to look outside,” I said, parking her to the side. I exited and scanned the area. Lots of people, but nothing that drew my attention specifically. I saw Bob sitting in the black Chrysler parked on the street, but not his partner, Jimmy. My car was parked two cars further away on the same side of the street. It all seemed okay. I went in and got Lauren and we exited, me first, then her. There was about twenty yards from the restaurant to the street, and then about the same distance along the street to my car. I waved to Bob, pulled Lauren in close, started walking.

  Then it happened. Movement to my left, on the other side of Lauren. I looked over her head. It was Senior, from two nights ago, a bandage on his right ear, moving toward us. The same dark eyes, the same dangerous vibe. I glanced to his hands: both empty. He was coming, maybe ten feet away, moving in quickly.

  I pulled Lauren in front of me and then to my right, away from the threat, interposing my body between the threat and her.

  He was reaching in for something, obviously a weapon of some kind—knife, gun, whatever. It went into slow motion for me, every detail magnified. I experienced the opposite of freaking out and being defenseless. I saw an immediate threat, and I reacted. Meet the threat head-on.