Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  I grabbed a robe, put it on, and walked over to my workstation. The sat phone was ready. I dialed the first number.

  “Hey,” Lauren said, “put it on speakerphone. Can I hear?”

  I thought for a second. These calls would be the essence of secret business, the very heart of a critical part of what I do. To allow someone new inside? But it was Lauren. After the ecstasy we had just created—well, I pushed the speaker button. The call was answered on the second ring.

  “Hola!” the man said with an accent from somewhere in the South Pacific.

  “Hey, Aho, it’s Derek. Remember me?” This was Ahohako Tanugatoa, a banker I had done business with in Vanuatu, at Vanuatu People’s Bank. If you were going to move money, as I did for some clients where I went and got their money back, you had to know where to send it. Immediacy, velocity, competence, and trustworthiness were the four keys. Aho and I had worked together before. He checked all the right boxes.

  “Derek Randall… Long time, buddy. I’m here; I’m still at the bank. What can I do for you?”

  “Aho, my brother, I’ve got a package coming through your station. It will be a five-minute stop, as usual. Same onward destination: our friend Franz in Zurich. Do you have his information from our last transaction?” I heard him tapping keys, perfect HD-quality sound on the amazing sat phone.

  “Yes,” he said, and he rattled off an account number and a routing number to an account I maintained in Switzerland with my banker there, Franz Rey.

  “That’s it, buddy. I need you to create a new account for this transaction. I want you to retain one hundred K for your work on this one, and I’d like to see you get fifty out of that personally. Can you do that?”

  “I’d have to work it out with the bank. It would be better if you made it one hundred plus fifty on the side.”

  “Done. You’re worth it. Give me the new account number and routing number.” He clicked some more, then gave me a series of numbers, which I carefully wrote down, then repeated to make sure.

  “Aho, this should be today. It will come in the name of Daryl Chapman. Send it to Franz for Derek Randall, my name and my account there. It should be a good-size package. Do you need anything else from me now—you know, for you and the bank’s fees?”

  “Your word is good enough for me. Last thing: delete the account after the transfer?”

  “Yes, Aho, perfect… It never happened. I’ll be in touch after a day or two. Thanks, as always, brother. Stay well down there in paradise.”

  “You too, Brother Derek, always a pleasure doing business with you. And when are you coming to our paradise? I will take care of you here. Come down; you’ll love it. Vanuatu welcomes you.”

  “Soon… Take care.” I clicked off and glanced at Lauren. Her head was on the pillow; as soon as I ended the call with Aho, she opened her eyes and looked to me, gave me a small smile, and nodded—some kind of agreement or approval or recognition. Whatever it was, it pleased me.

  “One more,” I said to her.

  She closed her eyes and replaced her head on the pillow. I tapped the directory for another number. It was answered immediately.

  “Yo,” the man yelled forcefully amid ambient sounds—he was driving.

  “Michael!” I yelled back, “it’s Derek Randall. Can you talk?” Michael O’Callahan was my banker friend in Jersey. That’s the isle of Jersey in the English Channel, a semi-autonomous country protected by the UK. Michael was Executive VP of International Relations at Jersey International Trust.

  “Derek, you dog, how are you hanging?”

  “Big and ready to pop. Can you help me on another one?”

  “I’m just parking at the bank. Hold while I go into my office.”

  We heard him close the door; walk on cinders or dirt, probably across the parking lot; put his key into a door; and finally get to his office. It was eight-fifteen a.m. there; he was probably the first at the bank. He came back on as we heard his computer booting up in the background.

  “Derek, okay, I’m here. What are you looking for? Something like last time—you just want to use us and throw us away?” His joke was nothing but truth. In and out, no record.

  “Michael, yes. Like last time. It’s a good-sized package. It will come in the name of Daryl Chapman. If it stays in your station for more than five minutes, you’ve failed. You understand.”

  “Okay, dog. You want a new account? I don’t remember, do you have an account here now?”

  “No current account. Make a new account just for this transaction. Give me the number and the routing address… This will be today. In and out.”

  He clicked on his computer for a minute, then gave me a string of numbers. Then he said, “What about us?”

  “Good point. I was just getting to that. One hundred for the bank and fifty for your personally. Will that work?

  “One hundred and one hundred would work better.”

  “Holding me up? Okay, one hundred for each. Now, you’ll be forwarding to Aho. Do you remember him?”

  “No, who’s that?”

  I specified the account numbers in Vanuatu. That he did not remember a transaction from over a year ago did not matter, just that he had the bank, the name on the account, and the routing numbers correct, and knew what to do when the money arrived.

  “This will be happening this afternoon. The package will come from Cayman National Bank and Trust. I’m counting on you, Michael; this is important to me. I want you to text me a confirmation that you’ve received the wire and that it’s sent on to Aho.”

  “Important to me too. Don’t worry, dog, I’ll text. If I get it, it’s done.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check in later.” I clicked off.

  I glanced over at Lauren, who seemed to sense me. She opened her eyes. “Is that it?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s it for now,” I said, looking at her in the bed, innocent and beautiful… and waiting.

  “Come back to bed.” She reached out to me and signaled with her hand like I was a puppy dog… but it was appealing to me.

  I walked over to the bed, dropped the robe on the floor, and climbed in, not knowing what to expect.

  “You better reset the alarm, for five,” she reminded me, which I did.

  I extended my arm over her, but she was Lauren, always surprising. She turned away from me, pulled my arm and me over so that I was closer to her in the spooning position that she enjoyed, and said, “Just hold me. We need to sleep a little more.”

  Whew, she seemed to always have a mindful presence and awareness—at least with me. Just before we fell back to sleep, she whispered, “I want you to take me to Vanuatu.”

  * * *

  After I picked up the envelope with the power of attorney from reception, we met for breakfast at six, the time when the extensive hotel buffet opened. How the hotel kitchen staff prepared what seemed like hundreds of different items, all perfectly presented, was what great hotels were about: excellence in action. Lauren and Lenny dug in. I had the usual, coffee in a French press and a protein shake with marvelous fresh fruits. Health first, at least for me.

  When my friends had gotten a good way through their first plates, I took control as if it were a business meeting. “We have a big day today,” I started.

  They ate, chewed, and looked dismissively at my large protein shake.

  “It’s showtime. And you…” I looked into Lauren’s blue eyes. “We need you to do something. It’s right in line with your normal work. No need to freak,” I said, but she cut me off.

  “I’m in. I see what you’re doing. I’ll help.” She paused, looking right back at me with a seriousness that was surprising. With all the tears and emotionality she had exhibited surrounding Cathy’s death, I had not been sure what to expect.

  I explained that I wanted her to check the Siroco financing application. Was there a banking
reference section, a place where they might include a bank or an account with a high balance? Also, had Lev signed the application?

  Again, she surprised me. “Let me check,” she said, pulling her cell phone out of her purse and tapping in some instructions. “Here, you want to see it?” She handed me the phone, and right there: the application in full. Modern technology. I scrolled through it—about ten pages. Sure enough, it asked for banking references, and that section was blank. And Lev had not signed it, as required. Perfect.

  “I want you to call Lev as soon as you get in the office. You’ll be able to get to him directly. This is something he really wants. Remember his performance in the meeting. Tell him the Loan Approval Committee is meeting this afternoon, and you will be submitting his application for financing approval for Glade Preserves. But you need a completed application. That’s why Cathy rejected it. We need banking references; tell him an account with a high balance would work best. Make it a joke, like the bank prefers to loan money to companies that already have money. Keep it light. And tell him he needs to sign it and send it back this morning.” I stopped.

  Lauren had listened carefully but had not missed a bite of her breakfast. “Sure, I can do that,” she said. “What else?”

  “That’s enough. Maybe he’ll give up some more accounts, or maybe he’ll just use the Cayman accounts. We’ll see. It will be instructive. And we can match his current signature with what we already have.” I took the power of attorney document out of the envelope and showed them. It was first class.

  “Who uses a power of attorney for a bank account?” Lauren asked skeptically.

  “It’s a retro thing. Offshore dark-money guys need to protect against cybertheft. It’s old-school, and it often works better than firewalls and super-secret passcodes. Mostly in third-world countries that make income from secret banking—you know, like for money launderers. It puts people more in charge than computers. Not in this case. I think we’ll be fine.”

  Lauren and Lenny were silent for a minute, probably contemplating whether it would be fine. I trusted my history and skills for the op today. I’d done this before.

  “We’re going to this court hearing today. Not sure if Lev will be there, but you have to press to speak to him. Only him. And see which phone he uses to call you back. I need that number too. You good with this?” I asked her.

  “Sure, no problem,” she said. “Lauren Burger, secret spy.” She laughed deeply. I Iiked it when she was that confident, and especially that throaty laugh she had.

  “Okay,” I offered, attempting to appear to be in charge, “we’re going to court, then we’re going to the airport and flying down to Cayman. We have a meeting at two, then we’ll come right back. We should land by five. We’ll have a dinner to celebrate. Lauren, call me on the sat phone.” I paused and wrote down the number for her on the back of my business card. “Lenny, you need your theater kit and your toys.”

  “All packed and ready to go,” he responded.

  “Then we’re all good.” I raised my protein shake glass. Lauren and Lenny raised their water glasses, and we clinked. “To the mission,” I said, making good eye contact with these incredible friends.

  “To victory,” Lenny responded, “total and complete.”

  Lauren looked at me, then at Lenny. “Crush these bastards!” she said, her eyes slightly watering.

  I almost fell backward in my chair.

  * * *

  When we finished our breakfast, I threw a twenty on the table, and we started out of the restaurant. Lenny gently placed his hand on Lauren’s elbow; she stopped moving.

  “Derek, I want to have a word with Lauren,” he said to me. What’s this about? He took her aside, and I kept walking out into the lobby, then stopped where I could see them.

  Lenny was a foot taller than Lauren and towered over her. He was a large, extremely powerful man. Looking down at her, he reached into the postal carrier-type bag he always carried and pulled out a small Ruger LCP handgun, small and easily concealable; it carried six shots. “You need to carry this. Put it in your purse. Things are going to change after today. Have you ever fired a gun before?” he asked, holding the gun between them, away from others who might see.

  Lauren smiled and brought her purse up from her side, opened it, and showed Lenny she had almost the same model, slightly more feminized with a pink handle. “This is Florida, Lenny, everybody carries here. I have a license, like all of my friends. And I know how to use it!” She smiled and closed up the purse. She reached up, pulled Lenny down close to her, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Please take care of Derek. Something special is happening between us.”

  “You can count on it,” he responded as he enveloped her in an NFL-sized bear hug. I watched this interaction from the lobby and hoped that they were just bonding as friends of mine. It was touching, though.

  We left the hotel at seven-thirty. Each of us was carrying a mid-sized suitcase—and each one of those suitcases had a very different purpose.

  We met the two new security guards Ed had sent. Interestingly, Avram, Ed’s security guy in the meetings, was one. The other was Arthur, who was definitely new on the job. He seemed young for this role, maybe even a teenager, which I guessed was why Ed had teamed him with the hyper-experienced Avram. Lauren and the two new security guys left in two cars for Prime Mortgage. Lenny and I left in my Panamera and headed for the courthouse.

  * * *

  Like every courthouse in America on the days when the courts were open for business, there were invariably thousands of lawyers and plaintiffs and defendants and interested parties swarming around, looking for cheap parking close enough to walk. We found a valet lot very close, of course with Miami-style prices: forty dollars minimum, twenty-five an hour. We walked the short distance to the Eleventh Circuit courthouse and found the courtroom for Department 143. It was just after eight a.m., and there was heavy traffic in the hallway, mostly lawyers lost in their work at court that day.

  We staked out a bench across from the door to the court. Lenny stayed. I went in and found the clerk of the court busy with paperwork near the bench, and a sheriff’s deputy sitting next to her and doing nothing. The clerk told me the Siroco case was the first item on the docket today, scheduled for eight-thirty. She asked if I was a party. I told her I was media, which caused her to cut off the interaction and refocus on her paperwork. I went out and sat next to Lenny, where we observed the theater of people walking by us.

  * * *

  “Good morning,” Lauren said into the phone after getting settled at her desk. “Lauren Berger calling from Prime Mortgage. May I speak to Mr. Lavorosky, please?”

  “Sorry, he’s not in. Can I take a message?”

  “I need to speak to him in the next few minutes. Your company has made an application for a financial commitment for Glade Preserves. I need to get some items completed on the application. Our Loan Approval Committee is meeting this afternoon. I can submit the application if we can get it completed. Can you give him that message and have him get back to me as quickly as possible? I think he’ll want to speak to me.”

  The Siroco receptionist confirmed Lauren’s information and said that she would get the message to Mr. Lavorosky immediately.

  * * *

  Several attorneys came and entered the courtroom. Their suits, briefcases, and overly serious demeanor were the tells. A few party litigants trickled in, almost all in jeans.

  She came down the hallway from our right with a cell phone to her ear and roving eyes checking everybody. You felt her before you saw her. When she saw me, she bolted toward me like a heat-seeking missile. She held the phone like a weapon.

  “So, do you have anything for me yet?” Olivia greeted me in attack mode—her usual mode.

  “Hello Olivia,” I responded as calmly as possible. People were noticing. “How are you?”

  “I’m wai
ting. You promised. You’re not going to backslide, are you?”

  “No… No. It’s almost ready,” I said. She stood right next to me, fearless. She was small, but she projected big. “Events will unfold in the next few days. I promise you will be first… and you’ll be happy with the information.”

  “You’d better keep your promise,” she threatened.

  As she did, I caught the image of a giant man at the far end of the hallway hulking toward us, with another shorter man by his side. It was Lev and his giant! I pointed to them for Olivia’s benefit.

  “I can’t believe he’s here for this,” she said, taking the heat off me.

  I saw the exact moment when Lev recognized me from about thirty yards away and closing. He walked over to us in a kind of military march and stopped, with his giant assistant at his side glowering and acting mean.

  “What are you people doing here?” Lev spit out, looking at me and then at Olivia, who, without hesitation, demonstrated her honed journalistic skills.

  “Would you like to make a comment for the paper, Mr. Lavorosky?’” she asked, again using her cell phone as a weapon, shoving it up near his face.

  “Fuck you!” he said venomously and turned in the direction of the courtroom. His giant gave a final mean stare, then turned and followed him. Just as Lev got to the door, an attorney approached him from the opposite direction.

  “Pike,” Lev said, recognizing him.

  “Hello Mr. Lavorosky. Did you locate the men?” the attorney asked. The sound carried perfectly; we could hear everything.

  “Not yet, still looking. Just handle this thing today,” he said, dismissing the attorney like he was a child and reaching for the courtroom door. Just before he got it fully opened, his cell phone rang with the default ringtone. He answered it. “Get her on the phone and connect me.” He moved to the side of the door.

  The attorney stood at the door for a few moments, apparently not sure what to do, then went inside. Lenny and I both watched Lev and his giant without being obvious.

  “Yes, Ms. Berger,” Lev said.