Aces and Knaves

by Alan Cook

  I walked into the hotel and asked the night clerk how I could get to the airport in the morning. He said he would get me a reservation on a shuttle bus. I also asked for a wakeup call and gave him several dollar bills from my wallet.

  I took the elevator to the fourth floor, unlocked my room with the plastic magnetic card I had been given and went in. I used the toilet, brushed my teeth and threw my clothes in a chair. My travel clock read five minutes of two; I set the alarm for 6:30, not trusting the wakeup call. I wouldn't get my usual eight hours of sleep.

  Almost as an afterthought I noticed the message light blinking on the telephone. I pushed the appropriate buttons and listened to messages from my father and Detective Washington. Their messages were old news, but the shock of Ned's death returned. I hung up the phone.

  As I collapsed on the bed I wondered whether I would get any sleep at all. I had about two minutes of wondering and then I stopped wondering about anything.

  Chapter 7 DEBRIEFING

  The southbound traffic on 101 was lighter than the northbound traffic heading into San Francisco and the airport shuttle I was riding in made good time to the airport. The weather became sunnier and warmer as we went farther south.

  The newspapers at an airport shop had front-page stories about Ned. I bought one and scanned it as I was waiting at the gate. The story of the shooting didn't say anything I didn't already know. It described Ned as a high-tech pioneer. Dionysus was mentioned but I wasn't. Good.

  The window seat beside me on the plane was empty; it was Ned's seat. I moved into it after the plane took off, to get away from the large man in the aisle seat, who really needed a seat and a half, and although I rarely slept on airplanes I dozed most of the way to LA.

  After we landed at LAX I raced along the aisles, dodging other passengers like a running back. I rode down the escalators and then strode outside to the noise and fumes of motor vehicles cruising by. A security officer with a reflective shirt appeared from nowhere whenever a driver tried to park and wait for an arriving passenger. In a time of heightened security everybody had to keep moving.

  My plan was to catch an airport shuttle home. Suddenly, Arrow appeared in front of me, breathless. I gave her a startled "Hi" and she said, "I was afraid I'd miss you. Richard asked me to pick you up and take you by the office for a debriefing."

  Before I could protest she grabbed my bag and led the way across the airport access road, where the cars, limos and a myriad of vans and buses—parking lot shuttles, rental car shuttles, hotel shuttles and airport shuttles—all tried to violate a law of physics by fitting into the same space at the same time. The metered parking lot had been permanently closed so Arrow had parked in the short-term lot, which had a minimum charge of three dollars. Well, at least I didn’t have to pay it. The noise and confusion precluded much talking until we had stowed the suitcase in the trunk of her car and climbed inside.

  As she backed out of the parking place Arrow said, "You must have had a horrible night."

  "Not as bad as Ned's," I said, wondering how her night had been. She was wearing slacks and a sweater and didn't look as put together as she had yesterday.

  "Poor Ned. I can't believe it. I was asleep when Richard called me to ask about your hotel. I hardly slept at all after that."

  I felt like a traitor because of the few hours of sleep I'd had. I asked, "How is my father taking it?"

  "He's calm on the surface, but inside is a different matter. I believe he's badly shaken. He asked me to go to Elma Mackay's house this morning, to help her in any way I could. He also wants me to do a complete evaluation of her financial situation, partly to find out whether Ned has squandered a lot of money. I'm afraid Elma is one of those women whose financial knowledge is limited to writing checks from what she considers to be an ever-flowing artesian well of funds, but never balancing her checkbook."

  Arrow said the last in a disapproving manner and I would have laughed, had it not been for the gravity of the situation.

  "And then Richard called me at Elma's house," Arrow continued, "and asked me to pick you up. Since it was almost time for your plane to land I was afraid I'd miss you. Fortunately, the plane was about ten minutes late."

  It was not like my father to do things at the last minute. He must be very upset.

  ***

  The headquarters of Dionysus was in one of the many buildings in one of the many office complexes that dot the landscape in Torrance. The buildings invariably look new because they are well maintained and well landscaped, and have spacious parking lots for their employees.

  The flag on top of the Dionysus building was at half-mast. I hadn't been inside for several years, but it still looked the same to me, with its cubicles and computers, except that the computers were more modern and the employees in front of them were more casually dressed. Also, the mood of the people I saw was subdued.

  Arrow led the way to my father's office, actually a large cubicle. Nobody had an enclosed office. My father was on the phone so we stopped at the cubicle of his admin, who was a young man, as my father had told me. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was wearing an earring; that was also new to my business experience. I wasn't as surprised that his short-sleeved shirt—some shade of purple—was unbuttoned enough to reveal curly chest hair.

  He gave Arrow a hint of a smile and said, "A sad day."

  "Yes," Arrow said. "Karl, this is John. John, this is Karl."

  "Karl, I've been dying to meet you ever since I came here," John said, exuberantly, getting up from his chair and pumping my hand. "You look just like your father."

  I murmured something I hoped was polite, but he was checking his telephone lights and said, "Richard is off the phone now. Arrow, get your sweet ass into his office." And to me, "Ta ta, Karl."

  Arrow and I walked around the corner, with me looking at her. She said, in a low voice, "I know what you're thinking, but coming from him that's not sexual harassment."

  "But from me it would be?"

  "It depends on which persona you have on."

  I would have said "touché" but we were entering my father's cubicle, which was large enough to have several comfortable chairs in addition to a table that served as his desk. I had never seen him look so haggard. It was obvious he hadn't slept much, either. I was particularly startled because he had never looked like an old man to me before. Would I look like that in 30 years?

  My father said, "Hi, Karl, I'm glad you're back safely." He came out from behind his table and shook my hand. He said, "Have a seat," indicating two of the chairs to Arrow and me, and sat in the third one.

  "How is Elma holding up?" he asked Arrow.

  "She's a trooper," Arrow said. "She's already starting to make plans for a memorial service. Since it isn't clear when Ned's body will be released because of the autopsy, she's going to go ahead with a service and have Ned cremated."

  "What about the money situation?"

  "Elma doesn't have a clue, and so I don't, either—yet. It will take some digging, but I'll get the answers."

  "I was afraid of that. Keep me informed. Karl, how did you make out with the police?"

  "They asked me where I'd been. I walked from my hotel to James Buchanan's house and it turns out that I was quite close to Ned about the time he was killed. I hope that doesn't make me a suspect."

  "Not likely. Do they have any leads?"

  "It didn't sound like it. Since he was found in a dumpster they think it might have been more than one person."

  My father frowned. "Did Ned tell you that his business meeting had been cancelled?"

  "No! When was it cancelled?"

  "Yesterday morning. I talked to one of the people he was supposed to be meeting with. She said she called him and he answered the phone himself. He was very pleasant and thanked her for calling. But apparently he didn't tell anybody else, including his admin."

  "That's bizarre," Arrow said. "He certainly never let on to me.

  "Which brings us to the ques
tion," my father said, "of what he was doing from the time he dropped Karl off until he was killed."

  "The police are asking that question too," I said. "He appeared to be nervous when he dropped me off at my hotel, if that's any help."

  "Tell me how you got involved with James Buchanan." My father looked at me in what I recognized as a disapproving manner.

  I told the story in a few sentences, leaving out the backgammon game.

  "Do you know who James Buchanan is?" my father asked, when I had finished.

  "He apparently runs some sort of a company, but I don't know what it does."

  “James Buchanan is founder, CEO and major shareholder of a conglomerate called Tartan Enterprises that owns a number of other companies.”

  I had read about Tartan Enterprises since I had become interested in the stock market, but I hadn’t made the connection to James. I said, “Oh,” in a noncommittal manner because officially I wasn’t interested in business.

  My father continued, “He is a billionaire several times over. Since our stock has gone down he has been buying it on the open market. I know because he has to file SEC reports. He owns at least five percent of Dionysus, but I suspect he's probably buying it as we speak, because it plunged at the opening today."

  "Do you know what his objective is?" Arrow asked.

  "His objective is to gain a controlling interest in Dionysus and then kick me out."

  Arrow and I looked at each other with our mouths open, not knowing what to say. Had I been cavorting with the enemy?

  "You started Dionysus," Arrow said, "and built it to what it is now. Anybody who wants to get rid of you is an idiot."

  My father smiled slightly and said, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Arrow, but your job isn't in jeopardy. James and I go way back; we've never liked each other. He thinks he could grow Dionysus faster without me. Maybe he's right."

  "But if Buchanan feels that way," I said, "why would Ned be friendly with him?"

  "Ned is Ned. He and Buchanan also go back a long way, all the way to Scotland, in fact, where they grew up together. Maybe he was hoping to get the top spot when Buchanan took over."

  "Ned would never have betrayed you," Arrow said, flatly.

  "I hope that's true. Now we'll never know."

  I had been doing some calculating in my head, based on information I had read in the last Dionysus annual report. I said, "You and Ned together control over fifty percent of Dionysus stock. Without your consent, Buchanan can't gain a majority interest."

  "But now Ned's out of the picture. Elma is the owner of his stock."

  I realized how upset my father was about Ned because he didn’t show any surprise at my knowledge about the stock.

  "Do you think Elma would sell out?" Arrow asked.

  My father shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? You've seen her financial acumen. But it might actually make sense for her to sell. We don't pay dividends and she needs income to support herself and the children. Growth in capital isn't enough for her. Although, recently, the growth in the stock price has been negative."

  "I'll have a better idea of her finances in a few days," Arrow said.

  My father turned to me and said, "Karl, I want to thank you for your help. Of course I didn't...expect things to turn out as they did."

  "I haven't given you my report on Ned," I said. "After talking to him and to Buchanan..."

  "I'm sure Buchanan identified you as my son..."

  "Possibly, although he didn't mention it. Wait—he said to convey his sympathy to you. I asked him about Ned's gambling. He said recent events had given him reason to think that Ned might be compulsive, but he didn't elaborate."

  "He might have been trying to create a rift between us."

  "All right, we'll discount Buchanan, especially since he seems to like to play games. I talked to a young man who works for him named Stan, who knew Ned, and he didn't think that Ned was much of a gambler at all. I got the same idea from talking to Ned, himself."

  "How do you explain what I saw in the casino?" Arrow asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Well, anyway, the question is academic now," my father said, "unless he squandered a lot of money. Arrow will find that out." He extended his hand to me. "Thanks again, Karl. Have you met John?"

  "Yes, Arrow introduced us when we came in."

  "Excellent. Get an expense form from John on your way out. We'll cover your expenses plus an extra thousand for your time. Incidentally, you and John should have a lot in common."

  He had said that before. Arrow looked as if she was about to say something. I stared her into silence. I got up, formally shook her hand and said, "It's been nice working with you."

  She looked surprised and said, "I'll drive you home."

  I turned to my father and said, "Dad, if you'll let me borrow your car I'll bring it back at the time you specify and take you home. That way, Arrow won't have to waste her time driving me."

  The argument about not wasting Arrow's time appealed to him. Of course my time didn't matter. He said, "Be back here at six. I want to get to bed early tonight."

  "May I borrow your keys?" I asked Arrow. "I'll transfer my suitcase to my father's car and return the keys to John."

  She took them out of her handbag and handed them to me, reluctantly, I thought. As I turned to leave the cubicle I spotted the picture of me with my two younger sisters, sitting on my father's credenza. We were laughing at something.

  I walked around the corner to John's desk. He was eating one of those big sloppy cheeseburgers that's supposed to get all over you before you can call yourself a man—or woman—but he had set up a network of paper napkins to catch the drips. My mouth watered and reminded me that it was after 1 p.m. and I hadn't eaten lunch yet.

  "Ah, the prodigal son returns," John said when he saw me.

  "I need an expense form," I said, hoping to keep our conversation short.

  He wiped his fingers, fastidiously, pulled a form out of a drawer of his desk and handed it to me, saying, "I'm on an email list of hot young bods who want to get together. If you'd like to join I can give you the info."

  "Maybe some other time. Is there a telephone I can use?"

  He pointed to a phone in an empty cubicle. It was too close to him. If he heard me making a date with a woman it might damage his self-image. I didn't want to be responsible for that.

  I remembered a pay phone we had passed on our way in from the parking lot. Sometimes Esther, my friend at the Emerge organization, ate a late lunch. If traffic wasn't bad, I could make it to her office in about 30 minutes.

  "Thanks," I said. "I've decided I don't need the phone."

  "Then I'll see you around if you don't turn square."

  "I'll be back in two minutes to return Arrow's keys." I held them up.

  "Ah, Arrow," John sighed. "She's so scrumptious that sometimes I wish I were straight."

  Chapter 8 ESTHER

  The one-story Emerge building wasn't large, but it was conspicuous because of its orange color. Parking is at a premium in Santa Monica, but one of the metered spots in front was open so I pulled in there.

  I put a quarter in the slot, even though I only expected to be five minutes, because the risk of getting a ticket costing a hundred times that much wasn't worth it. Not that I hadn't taken the risk in the past. I had been cured because I had received a $25 ticket at a meter near the Trader Joe's Market in Redondo Beach after years of saying "It won't happen to me."

  I went inside and said hi to the young man at the desk, a former client. He was now well dressed, well groomed and articulate. Several of the current clients were using the telephones provided to aid them in job searches. There were both men and women; on any day they represented a cross-section of the many ethnic groups that have found their way to Southern California.

  The dress of the clients ranged from hip to homeless, with most nearer the lower end of the scale, and I had once helped a client who carried a duffle bag and a strong aroma with him
. The bag probably contained all his possessions, in spite of the fact that clients were supposed to have at least a shelter to stay at and not be on the streets.

  I walked on to the computer area, which was my specialty. I'm sure I inherited my computer aptitude from my father, although I would never tell him that. I recognized one of the clients who was working on a resume because I had helped him the previous week, a man by the name of Pat Wong.

  I went over to him and said, "Hi, Pat, is the computer behaving itself today?"

  "Hi, Karl, everything is fine. Take a look at what I've done."

  He picked up a copy of his resume from the laser printer, which was shared by several computers, and handed it to me. I glanced over it. It was well laid out, using Microsoft Word. Pat had prepared a functional resume, not showing dates of employment, because, like many of the clients, he had a big gap in his employment record. His gap was five years; he had been in prison, convicted of dealing drugs.

  "Looks good," I said, handing it back. "That ought to get you in the door."

  "It already has, thanks to your help, and Ted who helped me write it. I have an interview tomorrow."

  "Congratulations! And good luck."

  "Thanks."

  Pat wanted to be an airport shuttle driver. I wondered whether a company would take a chance on him since the job involved handling money and required dependability. I hoped so.

  I went on back to the area where Esther hung out. I said hello to her three female staff members as I walked through, and poked my head into her office. She was on the phone, as usual, but she smiled and waved me in. I sat down on an extra chair and looked at the pictures of her four-year-old son, Emilio. She shared custody of him with her former husband. There were also several drawings by him on her corkboard. The rest of the office showed the clutter of a creative mind.

  Esther hung up the phone and stood up. I also stood and we hugged briefly.

  She said, "I'm glad you came. It gives me an excuse to get away from the office for a while and I'm famished."