Dawson's Web

by William Hutchison

  Stunned, Sarah nodded and thanked him as he shut the glass door in her face.

  Chapter 6

  Charlene spotted the new Jaguar coming down West Side Highway. It slowly passed and when she saw the occupant’s distinguished salt and pepper hair, she knew she hit pay dirt.

  Hans slowed his car and pulled up in front of Charlene’s Mercedes. As he did, Charlene texted Randy, “Game on.”

  Randy texted back “Got it on camera. Go get em!”

  Charlene got out, shook her hair out of her eyes and walked to the front of her car. Hans had already rolled down his window and gave her a perplexed look but had not said a word.

  “I don't know what happened. I was going along fine until 20 minutes ago and the darn thing stopped. I popped the lid to see if there was anything wrong, not that I would know what I'm looking for, but I don’t know why it quit."

  Charlene bent over the hood and Hans, now standing beside her, got an eyeful of her ample cleavage peeking out from her blouse as she had left her faux fur coat unbuttoned. He turned his head slightly, not wanting to be caught staring.

  Too late! Randy captured it all in a close up. From the angle of the shot, it was obvious Hans was ogling her.

  “Good start,” Randy texted Charlene. “Keep working him.”

  She read the text and put her cellphone in her purse.

  “Let me take a look,” Hans said. He examined the battery cables first to see if they were loose, then moved to the throttle body to see if it was still connected. It was. He felt the top of the radiator. It was hot indicating the car was operating only moments earlier. Then he saw it.

  “Miss, I’m afraid you’re stuck. You have a missing coil wire.”

  Charlene was puzzled. “What's a coil wire?”

  “It’s what makes the spark that runs the engine. You’re not going anywhere without it.”

  “Hmm, I didn't know that. Can’t we buy one?”

  “Perhaps, I could give you a ride to a parts store, or you could use your AAA card and the driver might bring you one. They’re relatively common and not that expensive.” Hans said staring at her breasts, not caring if he was caught this time.

  She was so hot.

  “On the other hand, triple-A might charge you a lot to install it. They have to make their money some way.”

  Charlene caught him staring. He wasn't making any moves on her yet, but he was interested.

  “I don’t have a triple-A card.”

  Hans mind was racing. She was a catch. He was mildly interested, but he was smart enough to play it cool. He was the master of his emotions and knew

  how to manipulate this situation to get what he wanted. He had played this game so many times before.

  Act disinterested.

  Act aloof.

  It always worked on the ones who had such low self-esteem they needed the attention.

  He knew it.

  It was like floating a half-dead cricket on the top of the water and letting it wiggle just enough to make the bass bite. It always worked and it was working now.

  Charlene moved closer to him and, even though, he didn't really need the sex, it was still fun playing the game. He had had such a bad day yesterday with the interview and his home life, if that’s what you call it, was a wreck. He’d been married for twenty years, and, although the first five or six were great, the last fourteen were a sham. Perhaps the distraction of an affair was all he needed.

  Sarah Tidwell had gotten to him yesterday. He wanted to do the right thing with her and come clean, which is why he granted her another shot at talking to him. It was the professional thing to do and it couldn’t hurt his cause.

  At that moment, Charlene gave him a quick hug and he felt her touch his arm and smelled her perfume (a mixture of sandalwood and plumeria). His altruism vanished like rain on the hot pavement after a summer storm.

  She sensed his interest, set the hook and reeled him in.

  Hans responded.

  “Look, your car isn’t going to run, so I can call you a tow truck or take you to get the part. Your call.”

  Charlene didn’t say a word; she simply got into the passenger side of the Jaguar.

  “Let’s go get the part.”

  Hans was amazingly handsome. She could tell he was also wealthy, not only by the car, but also by the crispness of his starched white shirt and 2 karat diamond stickpin centered in his red and white-striped 100% silk tie. He was the type of person that she ultimately wanted. But right now, her job was to get what she could from him. This was Randy’s and her last deal, and, from the looks of it, it could prove to be quite lucrative.

  When Hans got behind the wheel, she reached over and pulled him close. “Thank you so much,” she said as she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him forward giving him a liquid-warm kiss. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  Randy caught it all on camera.

  Hans pushed her away. “I don't know what your game is young lady, but I’m not playin’. I had a bitch of a day yesterday and your car problems are not my problems. And I'm not going to make them my problems. Move back a little bit, please.” He thrust the car key into the ignition, seemingly peeved but simply playing the game—and playing it rather convincingly.

  “Make yourself useful, now. Find a car parts dealer near here on your phone.”

  She was stunned by his icy rejection. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was more to Hans than met the eye. She sensed he could be as bastardly as he was charming. If this were going to play out in her favor, she’d have to use caution. She immediately started to search Google for auto parts stores nearby.

  Hans saw the immediate change in her demeanor. He had purposefully over-reacted to her advances and it had the desired effect. Still, he felt bad about what had happened.

  “Look, I'm sorry. I had a shitty day yesterday. I was trying to help you out, so when you came on to me, it caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to respond.

  ”Let's start this over again, if that's okay?”

  Charlene cast a glance up in the direction of the apartment where Randy was getting this all on his camera. She didn’t look at her cell phone

  Hesitantly she nodded in agreement. But she wasn’t going to let Hans off the hook that easy. He was a catch and, although he seemed interested now, she wanted to make sure of it.

  She began her act.

  “Okay. Look I don't know what happened to my car, and I don't know what I was thinking when I kissed you. I’m a very physical person and I have this audition later today, and I really need this part. If I don’t get it, I won’t be able to pay my rent and then I don’t know what I’ll do. And then you came along, and it got my hopes up, and I knew everything would work out. That’s why I kissed you. I’m so thankful. And now I’ve gone and screwed it up again.”

  Tears began to run down her cheeks as she continued to apologize. “I just want to get my car working, get to the interview and get the job. If you can help, maybe later I could make it up to you. I could cook you dinner or something because you seem to be a pretty nice person, honestly.” She paused, tears still leaking from her eyes. She was starting to believe her own story.

  She was playing the part.

  Hans softened. “How would you know what kind of person I am? We just met.”

  “I don't know. You offered to help. You could have driven by. Others did.”

  “Well maybe I am nice, but you don't know that. It doesn't matter. Okay, look, let’s find the parts store. I’ll put the coil in and you can make your interview. As to dinner later, that would be nice. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in quite some time.”

  He was lying; his wife was a gourmet chef, but a horrible lay.

  As good as she was in the kitchen; she was equally bad in the sack.

  Hans smiled knowing he and Charlene might end up together. He responded by reaching into his pocket and offering her a handkerchief. “Now dry those beautiful eyes. You don’t want them to
be all puffy for your audition.”

  Charlene used it and handed it back to him. Twenty minutes later, they picked up the part and Hans had it installed.

  “Go ahead and crank it. It should work now.”

  The car started right up.

  Hans walked over to her window. She had unbuttoned one more button of her blouse while he was fiddling with the coil. It didn’t go unnoticed, by Hans or by Randy who had a great close up angle. Hans reached in, fondled her and then kissed her hard on the mouth.

  “Dinner at my place at 7.” she said, handing Hans a business card with her name and address on it.

  He looked at it and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. Now he had to come up with an excuse to tell his wife why he’d be late. That should pose no problem at all, as he often worked late, or at least, that’s what he told her. He leaned back into the car window and gave her another kiss. This time it was much more passionate, and it was all caught on camera, unbeknownst to him.

  “See you at seven. Good luck on your interview, Charlene. Break a leg.”

  He turned and got into his Jag, wiped the lipstick from his mouth and drove back to his office.

  Chapter 7

  Sarah Tidwell arrived twenty minutes early to her second meeting with Hans and had to wait in the lobby watching his secretary busy herself surfing the internet and taking calls.

  Sarah wondered if Hans knew how much time she was wasting on his dime, but, given his secretary’s 36 DD’s, Hans probably didn’t hire her for her typing skills.

  “Scumbag,” she muttered to herself.

  Hans arrived promptly at 11:00 am, as he promised, walked briskly into the room and opened his office door motioning for Sarah to come inside. As she got inside, he took her hand and gave it a small kiss before seating himself behind his desk. This time, the papers were neatly stacked.

  “I see you didn’t rearrange my files this time, Sarah. Am I to take this as a sign this interview will be more positive? Or am I mistaken?”

  “That depends on you, Mr. Morganstern. It depends on your truthfulness and when you answer my questions.”

  “Please call me Hans.”

  “Ok, Hans. Let’s get started.” She sat the small tape recorder on his desk facing him.

  “You don’t mind if I tape this do you?” Her tone was pleasant, but all business, something not lost on him. He’d have to be careful with his answers. She would probably have access to the interview he did with the SEC three months earlier.

  “I don’t mind at all, Sarah. I welcome the chance to get my side of the story out.”

  “Okay, let’s start with your background. When did you get into the real estate mortgage business? What was your motivation?’

  A softball question if he ever heard one, Hans thought.

  “I got into real estate back in the early 80’s after I graduated from business school and couldn’t get a job on Wall Street. I was introduced to real estate sales by a former roommate in college who dropped out after only completing two years. I ran into him in the city and he convinced me to join him to sell properties in New Jersey. Judging from the Ferrari he was driving and the amount of cash he spent when we went out, I figured the money must be pretty good.”

  “So you were in it for the money?”

  “Sure. Why not? It was the 80’s. Coke was expensive and so were women, and I was broke. Hell, I couldn’t even make payments on my student loans, and I was getting sick of eating Top Ramin. If I sold only two properties at $300K a month, I stood to make over $30K. That’s over $360K per year.”

  “I can do the math.” She wasn’t impressed by his “I was a starving graduate” diatribe.

  “Sorry. Yes. I was in it for the money. I enjoyed it. Pretty soon, I was making over a half a million a year. But when I looked at the financing fees we paid to the mortgage brokers, I started thinking if we did what they were doing, it might be a hell of a lot easier way to make money. So, my friend and I started our own mortgage company and through the 80’s and 90’s, when real estate was skyrocketing, we made a killing.”

  Hans smiled. This is the same thing he had told the SEC earlier. This interview was going to be a piece of cake.

  “What about early 2000’s? What changed?”

  “Let’s see,” Hans leaned back. He had to be careful here. “In the early 2,000’s, because real estate prices were skyrocketing, several classes of people were being forced to rent because they couldn’t buy. The internet bubble had pumped billions into the housing market and homes were becoming unaffordable. Our business started dropping. But the Fed stepped in and eased the loan qualification standards. And, well, everyone was making money. People who couldn’t afford homes were finally able to buy. They’d buy a home, own it for six months and flip it for a profit. We sold the loans. We packaged some of them and sold them as investments. They were repackaged and sold, each time at a higher profit. Everyone wanted in on the action. No one saw the real estate bubble about to burst. We were all caught up in it. In the early to mid-2000’s, everyone was making money. Then it all came to an end. I was fortunate enough to have gotten out six months before the crash. It was pure coincidence. Honestly.”

  He waited for a reaction seeing if his story was being bought. Actually, he had friends who saw the crash coming and warned him to get out while he still could. He did and pocketed several million dollars, which he stashed in offshore accounts.

  “So you’re justifying your actions as just being part of the crowd? Really? You believe that?”

  Before Hans could answer, his secretary buzzed him on the intercom.

  “Mr. Morgenstern, there’s a courier here. He has a package and says it’s urgent.”

  He wasn’t expecting anything unless it might be from the SEC. They did say they might be getting back after interviewing several of his staff.

  “Ok, Tiffany, bring it in.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Of course, her name would be Tiffany, but why not Mariah or Cinnamon?”

  Tiffany sauntered in, hips swinging wildly from side to side. Her breasts bounced slightly, a fact not lost on Sarah, or on Hans, for that matter. She leaned over the desk and put the sealed brown envelope face up on the desk.

  “Eyes only for Mr. Morgenstern” was printed in handwritten block letters on the outside. No other markings were visible.

  Hans reached into his desk, took out a letter opener and slit open the top.

  “Excuse me, Sarah. I don’t mean to be rude, but I wasn’t expecting anything today. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

  Hans picked up the envelope, went into the washroom behind his desk and shut the door. He was inside for less than a minute. When he came out, he had lost all the color in his face.

  “I’m sorry. There’s something I have to deal with. We’ll have to reschedule for next week. I promise. Ask Tiffany to set you up for Monday. Now excuse me.”

  He rushed out of the office cell phone in hand leaving Sarah seated where she was.

  Chapter 8

  Hans made his way down to the parking garage, got in his Jag and turned on his GPS. He set the course for Charlene’s and revved out onto the street. Her place was a few blocks away. He pulled up into the driveway, put on his emergency lights and handed the door attendant $20. “I’ll be right back. I have to deliver a package.”

  Hans got out of the elevator, flipped off the safety on his Glock 9mm and pounded on Charlene’s door.

  The person inside undid the deadbolts and cracked open the door. The chain was still visible when Hans spied a bleary-eyed young blonde haired man in his thirties through the opening.

  “Where’s Charlene!” He brought the gun up and pointed it in Blondie’s face.

  “Look man. Don’t shoot. No one named Charlene lives here. I only got to bed an hour ago. I flew in from London on a red-eye.”

  “Open the door!” Hans demanded pointing the gun straight into Blondie’s face.

  “All right. All right!”

  Blondie opened the
door and backed up with his hands up. He stood there in his tidy-whities as Hans barged in.

  Hans scanned the room for any signs of Charlene.

  Nothing.

  “Sit down on the couch and shut up!” Hans motioned to the chair.

  Blondie obeyed and sat down.

  Hans went into the bedroom.

  No sign of any women could be found anywhere. Blondie’s suitcase was open beside the same double bed he and Charlene had spent several hours in earlier that week, the baggage tag from Heathrow clearly visible.

  Strange. The bed linen wasn’t the same. Hans opened the closet door and found the laundry bin.

  Empty.

  The lavender sheets weren’t there.

  He came out and sat down in front of Blondie.

  “Ok. Charlene’s not here. Where is she,” he demanded pointing the gun between Blondie’s bloodshot eyes.

  “For Christ’s sake, I don’t know any Charlene.” He looked terrified. He started to bawl.

  “Don’t shoot. I was outta town for the last two weeks.”

  Then it hit him.

  Randy. He’d loaned his apartment to Randy.

  “Maybe Randy knows. While I was gone, I asked him to house-sit for me. Water the plants. Pick up the mail. You know so the place wouldn’t look vacant. Even in this nice part of town you can’t be too careful.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hans thought.

  He put the gun down.

  “OK. Who’s Randy?”

  “He’s a friend. I met him in a bar a few months ago. We hang out together. I thought I could trust him.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I don’t know. We meet at Charlies’ a couple of blocks from here. I met him there after work a couple of days before my trip. I gave him my extra key. When I got back, the place was locked up. It was clean. The plants were watered and the key was under the mat. Honestly mister. That’s all I know. Maybe Randy had some chick named Charlene here while I was gone. I told him as long as the place was clean when I got back, I didn’t care who he had over.”