by Rod Helmers
“What about the dead bolt? I don’t have the key. Remember?”
“I’ve already thought about that. After I lock the door from the inside, I should be able to arm the system and get into the attic within the ten seconds before it goes active. I’ll need you to hold the ladder. Going down sucks. Going up never bothers me, but going down sucks.”
“Don’t worry about it Bobby. We’ll leave through the front door. She never uses the front door. It could be weeks before she even realizes that the deadbolt isn’t locked.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Lorna may be greedy and conniving, but she’s not very bright.”
”Cool. I’ll wait in the car. I noticed when we got here that I had a good signal off your neighbor’s wireless modem. I think I’ll take a peak at their hard drive.”
“The Hodges? Very respectable people. I doubt you’ll find anything interesting there.”
“You never know, Judge. Sometimes the most respectable people have the biggest secrets.”
“Touché, Bobby. Touché.”
The familiar smells of the old house assaulted James’ emotions as he made his way through the dark. He thought back on the early years as he wound around the antique furniture by memory and made his way to the staircase. He usually arrived home well after dark in those days, and always enjoyed a few stolen moments watching the children unseen from the darkened front porch. And he’d enjoyed the riotous greeting he soon received even more. Lorna seemed to resent those beautiful moments and was annoyed by the disruption of the nightly routine. Eventually she made certain that the children were in their rooms doing homework when he came home. She had always found a way to destroy everything that was precious to him.
James climbed the stairs in the dark. On past the second story where the children’s bedrooms had been and up to the attic level. He opened the short five-foot tall door and crouched to enter the large open room. The accumulated heat of the day almost stopped him in his tracks despite the single dormer window that had been left open. The dim rays that filtered in from the street light allowed James to negotiate his way around things accumulated over a lifetime. Things that were too good or too important to throw out, but not good enough or important enough to actually use. Soon enough he found the huge old trunk shoved into a darkened corner under the eaves.
He pulled the trunk into an uncluttered area that received more than its share of the light from the dormer windows. After retrieving an old skeleton key from deep in his pocket, James knelt on his knees and undid the old-style clasp lock. As he pushed on the creaking barrel-style lid, the musty smell of a bygone era drifted up to meet him. A carefully folded and yellowed robe and hood lay on top of everything else. A robe and hood proudly worn by his grandfather during the 1920s. A time when the Ku Klux Klan was at the peak of its power and had several million members.
The robe covered two sashes - one with the insignia of the Grand Titan of Miami, and the other with the insignia of the Grand Dragon of Florida. James knew that in the rigid military structure of the Klan, a Grand Dragon reported only to the Imperial Wizard himself. Incorporated into the design of each insignia was a bright red drop of blood, signifying that the bearer would shed his last drop of blood in defense of the white race. The sashes were wrapped around a beautiful and intricately engraved pearl-handled Smith & Wesson Model 1917 .45 caliber revolver - his grandfather’s most prized possession.
James laid the Klan memorabilia aside. It wasn’t what he’d come for; even though it was an important part of the reason he was there. An important part of his family history. The contacts his grandfather made in the Klan allowed an empire to be built, albeit an empire that collapsed into dust during the Great Depression. Part of that empire was The Rebel Life Assurance Company.
James flicked on the flashlight he’d brought with him, and pointed its beam deep into the trunk. Soon he found what he was looking for - documents of incorporation and shareholder certificates featuring a rippling confederate flag. Next to these lay all of the paperwork concerning the Cayman holding company his grandfather had formed to take ownership of the venture. While the federal income tax was a relatively new and insignificant tax the 1920s, his grandfather had foreseen the future. Not only did the intricate nature of his ownership of The Rebel Life Assurance Company keep the taxman at bay, it also saved the company from the clutches of his creditors during the dark days of the 1930s.
The Cayman holding company eventually became sole owner of Rebel Life, as his grandfather called it. And his grandfather had signed over the holding company to James prior to his death, bypassing his own son. Not that it mattered. Rebel Life had never paid much of a dividend, and really had never made - or lost - any significant amount of money. The company had only two chief executives during the last half of the twentieth century, and both sought to avoid change at all costs. The Cayman holding company was represented by local Cayman attorneys acting under absolute power of attorney provided by James, and had been a rubber stamp for Rebel Life management.
James’ neglect of his ownership interest in Rebel Life had originally been a result of the single-mindedness with which he pursued a federal judgeship. And then things became more complicated. He had chosen to omit his interest in the holding company from the financial disclosure forms all federal judges and magistrates were required to complete and sign under penalty of perjury. Although he had rationalized that his ownership interest had no value, he had technically committed a felony. On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly admit that he was a participant in a long-term scheme to defraud the federal government of tax revenue. And this analysis didn’t even consider the political fallout from the ownership of a company like Rebel Life. A continued pattern of benign neglect had seemed the wisest course. Until now.
As he stuffed the documents and revolver into his trial bag, James considered what a disaster it might have been if Lorna had discovered the contents of the trunk. Her lawyers would have had a field day. No one knew about his ownership of Rebel Life, except for Bobby. Not Elizabeth. Not even Marc. Especially not Marc and Elizabeth. Just Bobby.
“Are we set?” James asked Dr. Bob as he slid into the passenger seat of the Cadillac.
“The telephone line has been reconnected, the audible siren has been reconnected, the dormer window has been closed, the back door deadbolt has been locked, and the alarm system has been reactivated. Did you put the extension ladder in its proper place, Judge?”
James smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“Well then, if you have what you came for, I guess we’re set.”
“Bobby, I have one more item of a business nature to discuss, and then I promise that the rest of your too short visit to Miami will be purely social in nature.” James handed Dr. Bob an unsealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“You know that I have done my best to stay out of Marc’s way since he assumed control of Rebel - I mean American Senior Security. And I plan on continuing to do so. But lately I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping, so I prepared this letter. I would like it sent to all the policyholders under Marc’s signature should the exigencies so dictate.”
Dr. Bob stared at Judge James Mason’s expressionless face. “Can I read this?”
“Certainly. Essentially it is a letter reassuring the policyholders and asking for their continued support. It also states that Marc is writing them as President of American Senior Security and as a duly licensed Florida attorney, and that he considers each and every one of them to be his client as well as a policyholder.”
“Marc will never agree to this.”
“I fully understand that. Bobby, have you ever heard of The Florida Bar Client Misappropriation Trust Fund.”
“No, but I’m guessing it pays people who get ripped off by their lawyers.”
“Exactly. It was instituted in 1967. An annual mandatory assessment is included with every member’s bar dues. The monies have been well invested, but little used. The fund current
ly has assets in excess of two-hundred million dollars.”
“Figures. The hotshot lawyers handling the big deals are well insured. The smuck in the strip mall screws up and who cares. A claim never gets made for chump change.”
“More or less.”
“Wait a minute. I get it. This is sweet! The Florida Bar pays the price instead of Mrs. Hufstedler.”
“Mrs. Hufstedler?”
“One of the policyholders I heard about recently.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, essentially you’re correct. I just don’t want our elderly to pay the price for any lapse of judgment on Marc’s part. Do you understand?”
“I love it! Will it work?”
Judge Mason tapped his index finger on the envelope. “A strong argument could be made that this letter offers a legal opinion for the purpose of inducing the policyholders to forebear from taking action intended to limit their damages. Consequently, the Bar Fund would become liable if Marc caused monetary harm for which he was unable to make restitution.”
“Cool.”
“Now, I think we better leave before the neighbors get curious.”
“Speaking of the neighbors, the wireless piggyback ride I took was interesting. Turns out Mr. Hodges is a big porno freak. He likes the chat rooms. A little too kinky for my taste. But each to his own.”
James’ mouth dropped open. “Charles Hodges is a charter member of the Christian Coalition.”
“Figures. Apparently he likes to be spanked. Mr. Hodges has been a very naughty boy.”
CHAPTER 13
Sam leaned back into the feather pillows propped up against the headboard of the king size bed as sunlight flooded the Alhambra suite. He had returned from the Keys late the prior night, but had decided to wait to call Sandi until the next morning. He’d just told Sandi all the details of his time in Florida, and especially his time at the elder resort and his talk with Dora Hufstedler. He ended with an appeal to her self-interest.
“And the money is fantastic. Financial security is important. It’s important for the future.”
“Sam, if this is what you want to do, or what you need to do, I understand. I’ll help you and back you up any way I can. The money is great. But its just money. We’re doing fine the way things are now. This is obviously something you have to do for you. I think it’s important that you recognize that, so that you know when you’ve accomplished whatever it is that you need to accomplish.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you doing this for the wrong reasons.”
“Sandi, this is temporary. My heart is in San Luis. You know that don’t you?”
“I know, Sam.”
“Tell Dustin that I want you guys to come out soon, and we’ll go to Disney World.”
“He’ll love that idea,” Sandi smiled as she replied. “Oh, Sam, I almost forgot, I need to tell you about Chubbs Mulligan. Some lawyer from California offered him fifteen million for his ranch. He wants us to help him with the deal.”
“Really? That’s a hell of an offer. That’s really above market value.” Sam spoke with a tone of incredulity.
“That’s what I thought. What should I do?”
“Well, there’s no way we can justify taking a commission. It sounds like it’s in the bag. But tell Chubbs we’ll help any way we can. We can give him the names of a couple good real estate attorneys in Sante Fe to handle the details. And I’m sure there’s more money there if that was the initial offer.”
“Chubbs can negotiate for himself. That’s for sure.”
“Just tell him to be careful not to get too greedy and run the buyer off. That’s a hell of a deal.”
“Okay.” Sandi paused and then spoke again after a comfortable silence. “What should I tell people around here? I mean about why you’re gone and what you’re doing, or exactly when you’re coming back.”
“Tell them the truth.”
“I’ll tell them you’ve taken a temporary consulting job, and that you may be out-of-pocket for a few months.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Sandi?”
“Yes, Sam?”
“I miss you.”
Sandi paused. New ground was being broken in their relationship, and she didn’t take it lightly.
“I miss you too, Sam.”
Sam nodded at Dr. Bob’s half-eaten side order of black beans and white rice. “Moros y Cristiani? Moors and Christians? How come the Moors got top billing?”
“The beans got top billing, Dawg. You like this place?” Dr. Bob asked Sam as they sat outside a small café in the old Latin section of Tampa.
Both had finished an order of ropa vieja and fried plantains, and were waiting for flan and cups of café con leche. Sam looked around at several elderly men of Spanish and Cuban descent. Dr. Bob had been late picking Sam up at the Alhambra, and most of these men had finished their lunch and were enjoying an early afternoon cigar.
“It seems authentic. What’s this area called?”
“Ybor City. It’s not as authentic as it used to be. The area became trendy in the nineties, but if you get off of Seventh Avenue there are still a few good spots left. And this place has pretty fast wireless service.”
Sam looked around again and noticed several of the old men pecking on laptops as their cigars smoldered.
“The internet has truly become ubiquitous. The first time I logged on at the University of Nebraska it was called the ARPANET, and the Department of Defense was still running things.”
“DARPA was running things. Still are.”
Sam looked at Dr. Bob with surprise.
“I haven’t heard that word since college. I can’t remember what those initials stand for.”
“The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Explorers of the “far side”, as they call it. Stealth. Biodynotics - robots inspired by nature. Cool stuff. Anyway, you probably logged on with one of those big honking IBM mainframes.”
“How do you know this stuff? Or why? You’re way too young.”
“I wrote most of the Wikipedia stuff on the history of the internet. It’s sort of a hobby. So do you remember the first time you logged on?”
“It’s weird, but I do. Like it was yesterday. And it was on a big honking mainframe. I thought the internet was the future.”
Dr. Bob smiled. ”You had it right.”
“Yeah. I had it all figured out for a while.”
Dr. Bob knew all about Sam’s past, and he knew that he was talking about San Diego.
“Yeah, well, so did Galileo, and all it got him was grief. House arrest by the Church until he died. That whole earth around the sun, sun around the earth thing. Sometimes it’s better to be wrong than ahead of your time.”
“I guess.”
“So did you know all that early ARPANET stuff was put on mag tape and eventually backed up on hard drive?”
“Really? All of it?”
“Absolutely. I’ve hacked some of it.”
“You’ve hacked into Department of Defense files?”
“Yeah. They’re not too worried about that old stuff. It was pretty easy. I was bored.”
“I guess there wasn’t much privacy back then.”
“There still isn’t, Dawg. Why do you think the U.S. blew off the United Nations and has maintained sole control over the internet? It’s all run through a lot of high tech filters on huge Cray supercomputers due to volume, but make no mistake, Big Brother is watching. All the time.”
“So there’s no privacy on the internet?”
“There can be, but you got to encrypt, and you got to use the right encryption programs. Don’t you remember when the Justice Department tried to ban certain encryption programs after 9/11? They tried to ban the ones that work. The ones that can’t be hacked. Ultimately they recognized that they couldn’t put that genie back in the bottle. Never mind that the whole plan was unconstitutional as hell. You encrypt, don’t you?”
“
I have nothing to hide.”
“Everybody has something to hide. Or will. I’ll get you the software.”
The deserts and café con leche arrived, and both men focused on their flan, ignoring the white elephant in the café. The purpose of the luncheon. Finally, Sam broke the silence.
“How soon do you think Marc wants me to start?”
Dr. Bob broke into a huge grin and slapped Sam on the back, nearly causing him to pour Cuban coffee down the front of his shirt.
“I knew it. That’s great, Dawg. Marc is going to be ecstatic. We’re going to do great things, man. We’ll take it to the next level.”
Sam smiled appreciatively at Dr. Bob’s enthusiasm. “There are some things I need to take care of in San Luis.”
“Dawg, we need you now!”
“Now as in a month, or now as in two weeks?”
“Now. As in right freaking now.”
CHAPTER 14
Marc Mason had a Blue Tooth headset clipped to his ear as he slowly paced along the floor to ceiling windows of his corner office and watched a powerboat make a graceful arc across the waters of Tampa Bay. His secretary was getting Elizabeth on the line.
“Marc?”
“Hey, baby.”
“Why the hell did you have your secretary place this call? No tracks. Remember?”
“Jesus. Chill out. You’re just my father’s secretary. So maybe I wanted to leave a message for the big shot federal magistrate. After all, he’s way too busy to be bothered by a personal call from his only son. Don’t be so freaking paranoid.”
“It pays to be paranoid. Paranoid will keep your ass out of a federal prison.”
“Jesus, I need to start keeping track of your bitchy days on my BlackBerry. I obviously called during the wrong time of the month. Hold on. Okay. When did you start?”
“What do you want, Marc?”
“I told you it was as good as done, didn’t I.”
“He took the job?”
“Of course he took the job. I told you it was a done deal. This guy is a babe in the woods. I can’t believe he has a computer engineering degree and an MBA from Wharton. The air must be awfully thin in Hootersville, because this guy took the bait hook, line and sinker.”
