by Dale Wiley
But then Mick’s reserve started melting. They ate and had a grand time, filled with shots of vodka and talk about music. Kinley had a surprisingly thorough musical taste for a woman who wasn’t even thirty. She knew a lot about Ricky Nelson and Richard Thompson and people most Americans never knew or had forgotten about. Mick was genuinely impressed about this. “I’ve got thirty thousand songs on my iPod,” she said. “And I bought them all.”
She flirted, she laughed, she touched him. She drank and got tipsy. He thought that part was real. And then she blurted it out.
“We need your help. We need you to not talk about this whole signature thing. These are all completely legitimate cases, and someone working on it just put your information on it.”
Mick didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut and just raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, we made you a lot of money, right?”
Mick stroked her cheek, hoping that he was sending out some copacetic signals.
“Right?”
“Oh yeah. You did.” He smiled.
“We’re just worried that the regulators will figure this out. And all of these people are six months or longer behind on their payments.”
“So what we send out doesn’t mean much, huh?”
“Exactly.”
Mick had nothing to say.
“What can I tell them?” This woman batted her eyes and the world obeyed.
Mick leaned into her and kissed her. He hoped she didn’t notice he hadn’t answered.
* * *
He had stayed under control. He knew he could drive. Kinley was practically sitting in his lap. He had never been so glad for a short drive to his hotel.
The staff who normally swarmed stayed away now. They could tell. Kinley pretended that she somehow didn’t know where they were going. She knew.
When they got inside his room, she pinned him against the wall, her hands holding his, and kissed him like a couple reuniting after a war. She was playing drunk, but Mick assumed she also didn’t get to let her hair down much, and now that she could chalk it up to work, she was going for it. He grabbed her and turned her so that it was his turn with her against the wall. He kissed her in short bursts, each one deeper, his teeth catching the edge of her lip, playful but full of pressure, showing her he meant business.
The bed dominated the room, and they fell onto it, without pretense. They kissed long and slow. Kinley tried to rush him, to move on, but Mick guided her, moving his attention back up to her neck and shoulders, refusing to rush anything. He knew, even if she didn’t, that they would not be doing this often. He wasn’t going to let even the best woman talk him out of the one thing he had left: His good name.
Mick put his hand on her breast, moving down until he felt skin. He moved his hand to the button of her jeans and toyed with the soft flesh that rarely got touched, his hand moving slowly across her waistline. She pushed his hand down further. He moved it back. He would not rush this. Kinley Baron needed to learn how to do this right.
* * *
He took Kinley back to her house around three. They were both spent. She had made her point. Mick believed she thought he was playing along. For the time being, that was fine with him. He had time to do what he needed to.
She asked him if he would stay there with her. He was tempted to, but he needed to be back in his territory, and he needed to keep his head. This was a woman who could own you. He politely refused.
He drove back to the hotel, taking in the cool, intoxicating breeze. She was all he could think about on his way back, as if she had caught a ride into his brain. It wasn’t as much the lovemaking as it was her gaze. Mick knew it wasn’t real. But maybe it could be. Her eyes were what he thought about as he fumbled through the night, finally hitting his room only to smell her again, as if her ghost slept beside him.
* * *
Everybody said they were sorry the next morning. Spider didn’t really need to but he did anyway, and Angie and Mick exchanged three rounds of apologies. Mick was sorry for his unnecessary outburst, and Angie admitted to being overly judgmental and not really seeing Danielle as a human being. There were no group hugs, but they agreed to let the past be out of the way. The day was perfect again. Angie flirted more, and Mick let her. He was finally putting some of the matters that had been weighing on him down, knowing they now had a good chance of being solved. Mick was as close to playful as he had been in a long time. Spider wanted to comment on it, but knew better.
He tried to call Kara a couple of times between thoughts of Kinley, to ride the momentum and hear he had won, but he was sent to voicemail each time. Oh well, he thought. He knew she would follow through. He wanted to call Danielle and tell her the good news, but he decided to hold off, not knowing how long any of the processes would take. Angie was right, in that the check he had given her would last her a while. She could convalesce in style, and before she was through it, he would have good news for her. He could feel it.
He spent the afternoon chasing gin and tonics and watching people come and go at his pool, napping, joking, looking at Angie and wondering when he could give her something more substantial than what he had, wondering when they would end up in his bed, when he noticed he had a text from several minutes ago. It was from Kara.
KARA:
Sorry. I can’t help.
And with that, Mick’s good mood evaporated.
* * *
Mick handled the bad news better than he had before. They didn’t know about his previous evening, and they didn’t need to. He was buzzed enough that he marched Spider and Angie to his room in mock solemnity. It was a lovely, orange time of day, and he threw open the balcony, brought out a fifth of gin from his well-stocked bar and sat them both down.
“Why am I still here?” he asked, taking the floor as his friends played along.
“How rhetorical do you want me to get?” asked Spider, a small grin creeping out of one corner of his mouth.
“Very. Why am I here? I think I have an answer.”
“Then enlighten us,” said Angie, annoyed and trying to keep up with Mick’s changing moods.
“I want input first.”
“Are you drunker than I think you are?” she asked.
“Nope. In fact, I think I’m sober for the first time in a long time,” he said. “Metaphorically, at least.”
“I think you’re here so you can get straightened out and start contributing to society again,” Spider said, choosing his words to try to keep them from igniting a fight again.
Mick nodded solemnly. “What do you think?” He looked at Angie.
“Something like that. I think you’re here to conquer your pain and wow everyone again.”
“We’re all in agreement that I should be dead by this point, right?”
His friends nodded. They had seen him do some flat-out stupid things in the name of danger. Mick Lord should most likely be dead with his own destructive behavior.
Horns honked on Burton Way, which was rare. All three strained to see outside, but it was soon a memory. Mick continued.
“Nobody cares anymore. Everybody’s just holding on. That’s the biggest problem. Right?”
“Something like that,” said Spider.
“Nobody’s there to right any wrongs. The law sure won’t do it. They’ll just let men with money get away with whatever they want.”
No one knew where this was going except Mick. They let him continue.
“I am here to right wrongs,” Mick said. “At least that’s how I see it. I’m in their club. I’m a rich white guy. Card-carrying member. I’ve been looking for a reason to die. Zero fucks given for sure. Why can’t I go right some wrongs while I’m still here?”
“Are you talking some Batman shit?” Spider asked, halfway afraid of the answer.
“No spandex and masks. Just being smart and watching our asses and using my money to do it.”
“Mick, what the hell are you talking about,” said Angie. “You have gotten so f
ucking weird lately.”
“I just can’t stand to see all these cretins get away with this shit. Lance, now Hanson. And by the way, Omega, who I’m just pretty sure is up to some serious skanky stuff. Just because they have money and know where to grease the wheels. I don’t have anything left to prove except to myself. I need to do something great.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s start with our little Mormon friend. He needs to pay Danielle some serious money.”
“She’ll never sue him,” said Angie.
“I know. I’m not talking about suing.”
“What about Omega?”
“I intend to tell the truth, which will piss them off muchly.”
Angie sat motionless, not knowing what had come over her friend.
Spider smiled. He was in.
* * *
Mick had casually googled Hanson after he found out the man’s name, but at that time he still believed justice would be served through the normal channels. Now he and Spider set out on a fact-finding mission worthy of a special ops unit. Spider called a skip tracer out of Chicago that he knew. Mick read the articles and profiles online. Angie, very annoyed by this latest development in Mick’s trip off the reservation, flipped through a magazine while sitting on the balcony in a manner that was meant only to register her disgust.
Finally, she dropped the magazine and walked out. She wanted them to stop her, or to ask her opinion. They did neither. They kept learning about what would make this monster cry.
He found it.
Every article, every photo op, everything dealing with Mr. Hanson included his twelve grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. They were always around. The looks on their faces showed that the relationships were generous and two-way. This man loved his family.
That was leverage they could use.
* * *
He had to go to four different organizations, but he finally found a woman at MSNBC named Candice Mackenzie who found the Mick Lord/forgery story to be a significant story. She followed up some things and found out there were many more stories like this. There was even a name for it: Robosigning.
Mick had heard about the concept, that the big banks just paid people to sign documents whether they were correct or not. He had heard the term from years ago, before Mandy’s death when no issue affected him, but thought the practice had been stopped. Now it included him.
He talked to a man named Spencer Harris in Florida who worked on outing banks in situations like this.
“Hell, I figured you were in on it!” Harris said. “They’ve used your name for years! You’re on our lists.”
Mick felt sick. Within minutes his new friend had sent him dozens of examples of signatures, all claiming to be his, which were as different from each other as they were from his signature. None of them matched up with his actual files, and many of them didn’t even match up to when he was at the bank.
“This is outrageous.” Mick was completely out of words. He was also completely out of patience.
“My friend, come here to LA,” Mick said. “We’re gonna out some fraud.”
“When?”
“No time like the present. I’ll find a plane in Tampa to bring you this way. You don’t mind flying private, do you?”
* * *
The deal was for them to go live with the story the following evening. Mick had enough cache to gain a spot with a thirty minute live interview. It could be free-form and he could basically have the floor. Mick assured the reporter it would be worth his time. He could spend the day with Spencer tomorrow, going over this new topic, and then hit the air. Suddenly, he was tired. But he perked up when he saw that Kinley was calling.
This was awkward. Could there have been more to it than he had originally thought? He answered the phone and waited for her to talk.
“Hey big boy!” she said playfully.
“Hey. What have you you been up to?”
“Just saving the banking industry and such.”
Mick had no response to that.
“Hey. I’m a busy woman and you’re a busy man. But I liked our time together. I want to do that again. I could beat around the bush, but I don’t want to. Tell me you feel the same.”
“I feel the same,” said Mick. And he meant it.
He had thought about telling Kinley his plan. That would be the honorable thing to do. But Mick didn’t know that he could do that here. Too much at stake. And there would be lawyers and injunctions and everyone would get cold feet. He couldn’t stop the network if they felt they needed to do something, but he wasn’t going to. They were using his name to steal houses. This wasn’t some small thing.
“Well, I don’t want to keep ya,” she said, fishing for where to take this next.
“Hey listen. You caught me at a bad moment. Let me get through with what I’m doing tonight and tomorrow and then we can decide when to go out next.”
She perked up. “That sounds great.”
“Good talking to you, Kinley,” he said, and he meant it. He was killing a thing he found very, very good.
Story of his life.
* * *
Kinley. She was probably evil. She probably had no conscience. She was working for the wrong side. But as he took his place back by the pool, waiting for tomorrow’s action to begin, he realized that she was the first woman he found himself thinking about after their encounter. First one since Mandy. In one sense, he hated this, because Mandy was so pure of heart, so different from his current surroundings, a gauzy dream from the past. Kinley was now. Harder and faster and intoxicating. And probably evil.
Everyone who met Mandy commented at some point about how alive you felt when you were around her. Just special and real. No matter what you looked like or how much money you made, Mandy made you feel like the only person in the room.
If Kinley thought you were special, she turned on the charm. But oh to be the object of her affection, as Mick had learned. Kinley was a slap in Mandy’s face.
But he wasn’t going to abandon Kinley because of Mandy; he was going to do it because of what the bank. He knew that was the real reason. And he hated it.
But he sure wasn’t going to do it tonight.
He called down to the front desk and asked for the Ferrari.
* * *
Mick called Kinley halfway to her house and told her he was coming. He hoped he wasn’t interrupting anything. She told him he wasn’t. She met him at the door and her eyes widened as she saw the car.
“Nice,” she said as Mick moved in to kiss her hard on the lips. She braced herself against the door and then returned the passion. He pulled her by the hand towards the car, then raced back down the driveway without saying a word.
She expected him to return down the hill, but he went up instead. He had a spot he had found at the top of the hill that he swore let him see all the way to San Diego. He had only taken Mandy there. He probably looked a little crazy as he made the journey, because he felt crazy. He was taking this unworthy woman there. Nowhere else. There, to see beauty and to be rabid. He felt horrible and very excited.
When they wound their way to the top, having said nothing on the way, Mick pulled Kinley out of the car and kissed her again. With everything he had. He was filled with fury. Why had the first woman to mean something been sent to silence him? Why did he have to be complicit in the world’s crimes to be with this woman?
They had only driven a few minutes, but he checked to make sure the hood wasn’t too hot. It wasn’t. It was insane to push Kinley on the hood of his brand new masterpiece, but he was insane and rich and horny. That’s what he did. Clothes didn’t matter. They were discarded like they were in a bedroom. They would be in trouble if they were found, and Mick realized in that instant that Kinley saw something too, that she wasn’t completely following a script. He didn’t care. He needed to be inside her. He needed it now.
They made love fast and passionate. The hood buckled underneath them. There would be a price to pay for
all of this, Mick knew. But that price would be paid another day.
* * *
Spencer Harris arrived the next morning, with a computer full of the bad dealings of the banks. Spencer told Mick a couple of stories, but frankly, they were too big to comprehend. If half of what Spencer was saying could be proved, this was a much bigger scandal and problem than he had ever envisioned. Mick wanted to keep this on his level for now. His brain was too overloaded to think big picture. He explained to Spencer what he was planning to do, and the man grinned from ear to ear. “This is a pretty significant defection.”
“Well then I’m defecting,” Mick said, returning his smile.
Spencer loaded Mick’s documents on a presentation, and Mick told him a little about how that night’s show was going to go. He left Spencer by the pool, working on the next piece of the puzzle. He needed to seek out Spider and make sure the other part of the plan was in place.
* * *
He didn’t need to seek them out. Angie and Spider appeared from the elevator as Mick got off. He didn’t need any words to tell him something was wrong.
“Let’s go to your room,” Angie said in a worried teacher voice. They all stood silently on the elevator and walked down the hall. It was a heavy silence.
Mick opened the balcony doors and Spider turned on the TV to Fox News. Mick was extremely surprised to see his picture on the screen with the words “Claiming Fraud?” underneath. The volume slid up on the TV, and Mick caught them mid-sentence.
“… and now he’s saying that they didn’t have permission to use his signature. Now remember folks this is all conjecture at this point. So this guy makes a fortune, leaves a mess like all these banks did, and now it’s the bank’s fault? Sounds like a traditional lib-tard to me.”
Mick didn’t know who the very silly and tanned man was who was saying these things. Oil practically dripped off his slicked-back hair, and he was talking very earnestly to a freeze-dried blonde across the set.
“It’s been clear he’s not right,” said the woman. The screen moved to a series of images. All were post-Mandy. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he was pictured with women at charity functions and pool parties.
