Born of Greed

by Baroni, J. T.

  Hearing the doors slide open, they both turned and saw Amy approaching with what appeared to be their pay envelopes. This was way out of the norm; Nancy was always the courier.

  “Here, Jack.” She handed him his envelope with cash.

  “And Amber.” She handed her sister an envelope. “There’s an extra five thousand in your check.”

  “Wow!” Amber said excitedly in her own voice; forgetting the rasp. Her sister’s act of benevolence was unexpected. Then she suspiciously asked, “Thought you had to ‘cut the fat.’ Why are you being so generous?”

  “Consider it a severance pay,” Amy said, and then added, “That honey must’ve really worked. I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Severance? But we still have two more concerts this year.”

  “Yes, I know my schedule. I figure I can handle the one in Vegas. It’s going to be a small crowd. Probably an older crowd with upper crust kids I can deal with; not the usual stoned, pathetic Fontaine wannabes pushing and grabbing hair. Besides, your carpal tunnel syndrome will get a chance to heal, and I want to do my last concert up right. It’ll be billed as my retirement concert and I’ll drive my beautiful Ferrari right up onto the stage; singing of course.” She fussed over her nails. “I might even buy a brand new Ferrari, or…better yet! A Lamborghini! Yes, a Lambo may be more appropriate for the event of this century. What do you think?”

  “Why don’t you just keep this severance pay and give me back the rights to my song?” Amber already knew the answer to that question.

  “Nope! I don’t want to hear that shit on the radio. It’s ruining good music.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re retiring. Next year will have you opening for The Beach Queens. Their sales doubled yours in ‘89.”

  In a snotty tone, “Now, now, Amber. Are those voices inside your head talking to you again? When they tell you to put an application in at Micky D’s, you be sure to put me down as a reference.”

  “You are such the fucking bitch! You always were. And you will never change,” Amber growled through clenched teeth.

  Amy had an overly emphasized look of surprise on her face. “Amber! Such talk! I must have struck a nerve. I would like to stay and chat, but I’m such a busy person. I have to get my hair done, and then I have to make sure my Ferrari gets all waxed and detailed. To raise the trade-in value. Don't fret any. You’re more than welcome to use the pool, though. I’ve noticed you two have been practically living back here.”

  “Jack is the only person around here who I can have an intelligent conversation with. Seeing as you always talk out your drunken ass.”

  “Such fucking gratitude, Amber!” Very sarcastically spoken. “Mother would not be proud of you. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” She shook her head and waved a single finger, again being overly dramatic, as she headed back inside.

  Fuming, Amber’s hand shook as she took a sip of tea. She looked at Trotter; he made a disgusted I told you so look on his face, but he said nothing. He let her sit there in silence, absorbing what had just happened.

  After a minute or so of silence, and steaming, she spoke, “That fucking bitch just kicked me off the team, didn’t she?”

  He replied, but not verbally. He simply clasped his hands behind his head, sat back in his chair and began to shake his head yes, slowly; and he kept shaking his head yes, slowly and deliberately, while staring into her eyes. Slowly, her head began to nod. The corner of Trotter’s lip curled. A corner of Amber’s lip slowly curled. The other corner of his lip turned upwards. As did hers.

  Not a word was spoken between the two.

  Nevertheless. They had just agreed on what needed doing!

  Perhaps, lovers of yesteryear were also smiling, alongside these two pissed off lovers!

  * * * *

  Amber did not return to the Fontaine estate after that day. Nevertheless, she did keep busy.

  When Trotter was there, he was there in a physical state only. Oh, for sure, he might have been sitting by the pool, toying with a crossword puzzle, or reading a magazine in the tiny security room, but his mind was traveling in a thousand different tangents. Every miniscule detail of their scheme played repeatedly in his head. Amber was right—there would be no director to holler, “Cut, retake.” Every line spoken was permanently out there. Every action irreversible. One minor slip up would be next to lethal.

  Ultimately, the Ides of March arrived, and the bus ride to Vegas was pure Hell for Trotter. He did his best to tolerate Jonny. He even tried to play a few hands of cards with the homosexual; but he sensed, correctly so, that Jonny was mentally undressing him. Therefore, he faked a headache and slept for 80 percent of the ride. Not having Amber along for the trip also brought him down. However, knowing she was waiting for him in a Vegas hotel room offered him a bit of sanity and the only reason to stay on the bus.

  Amy’s assumption of the crowd was correct. They were older and more civilized. Booked at Caesar’s Palace, the crowd was much smaller than the other concerts; and Trotter actually enjoyed the privilege of sitting at this one. For three long hours, he sat, miserably, with earplugs shoved deep into his ear canals; blocking out the songs and music he heard too many times over the last five years.

  “Thank you Las Vegas!” Trotter’s morale improved instantly when he heard Fontaine holler that line into the microphone. Just a half of an hour of her signing autographs, and he would be holding his love. He had already informed Amy he was staying in Vegas to “visit an old Marine buddy.”

  She was not very happy that he would not be on the bus ride home. In addition, she got even more irritated when he told her, “Don’t worry. Jonny will protect you.”

  After he made sure Fontaine was safely aboard the motor home, he grabbed his small tote bag and told the driver, “Keep her between the lines, and under ninety-five, Fred.”

  The retired old guy, who drove the coach for extra cash, replied with a grin, “Sure thing, Jack, and you’d better buy your airline ticket before you start to gamble.”

  “Good advice. Thanks.” Trotter smiled and jumped off the bus.

  The lobby in Caesar’s Palace resembled the Fontaine mansion, only on a much grander scale. Under the glass chandeliers and amongst the statues was their pre-arranged rendezvous point. He scanned the crowd, but did not see Amber; only the usual gamblers filled the lobby. Rich looking Texans sporting ten-gallon hats, couples who were obviously newlyweds holding that look of hope and promise in their eyes, and then of course, the hoards of senior citizens with their canes and oxygen bottles.

  He took a seat on one of the huge chairs and continued to scan the crowd. Just as he heard the ding of the elevator doors open, a classy looking prostitute approached and sat next to him. “Hi there, Good Looking. Looking for a date tonight?”

  Amber was one of the patrons exiting the elevator and she spotted Trotter immediately. She also watched as the hooker sat next to him. She walked over just in time to hear the leggy whore’s pickup line. Amber told the escort girl, “He already has a date for tonight, Honey, go peddle your ass somewhere else.”

  The tall prostitute stood up and looked down her nose at Amber. A disgusted look flashed across her face, and she left.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Amber said with a smirk. Of course, she had to be wearing a wig tonight; with Fontaine just having played here, the kids would have mobbed her.

  “Maybe she knew I needed the company of a woman!” Trotter teased with a devilish little grin.

  “She did not look like your type.”

  “Maybe I looked like her type.”

  “Anybody that looks like they have a hundred dollar bill in their pocket looks like her type,” Amber pointed out. “How a woman can sell her body is beyond me.”

  “Or how a man will pay to have sex with her, knowing how many men were there before him.” Trotter added, trying hard not to think about the cathouse he visited while in the Marines.

  “You are so right, Jack. That is absolutely filthy and di
sgusting.” Then she raised her eyebrows, “Looking for a date tonight, Good Looking?”

  “I guess so, especially since you scared mine away!”

  Amber showed him her fist, “You’re asking for it, Farm Boy.”

  Trotter was still laughing as he hit the up button for the elevator.

  He stretched his long and lanky frame across the bed. She came over and snuggled up by his side. Running a fingernail across his chest, toying with his golden ankh, she said, “All I can think about is what would happen if we get caught. I’m scared. What if something goes wrong?”

  He answered slowly, with confidence in his voice, “You fooled Nancy; and she was the hardest to fool. The only other person who deals with Fontaine that you have to conquer is the bank manager in Santa Monica. Like I said, if she gives you a hard time about transferring forty million, tell her you’ll put it all in her competitor’s bank. And as far as Miles is concerned; you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

  “What if he’s not on duty that night?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They’re all a bunch of clowns that will melt at the chance of meeting Fontaine. However, Miles usually works the graveyard shift, and if overtime is available, he’ll be there. He’s the most senior man. Trust me Amber; Amy will be sorry for treating you as she did. And, my Princess, we will live happily ever after.”

  “Did you get everything? I went for my new driver’s license yesterday.”

  “Everything, except for what Rick Newman is going to get for me.” He chuckled. “He just doesn’t know it yet. I have to wait till the last moment so he doesn’t skip out on me. I know I can count on that scared little rabbit. I’ve been grooming him all along. I’ve been helping him work out in The Oasis’s weight room, and I even went to his apartment and watched a football game with him. When the time comes, I am going to put the fear of God into that boy.”

  They had been discussing their scheme for so long now, and so many times, that Trotter felt as if they had already done it. However, he was patient and understanding with Amber. He needed to build her confidence. Trotter knew what her downfall was. She did not have one drop of Eugene Trotter’s blood coursing through her veins. She did not possess that cunning trait or the Greed Gene. No doubt, oh yes, there was plenty of greed in the Fontana family tree; but apparently Amy and her mother coveted the lion’s share of that.

  At times he felt like he was corrupting this sweet and naïve little girl. However, she needed to be taught the harshness of the real world, and knowing that one does not always need to turn the other cheek. She matured after tasting her first sip of revenge. Did she not? He argued in his own mind. Perhaps she understands the principles of his most revered philosophy, which he carved into stone on his first day of school at Elderton Elementary, Do unto others, as they have done unto you.

  Trotter ran his fingers through her hair. “What do you say we shower and grab a bite to eat before hitting the slots?”

  “Yeah…I’m hungry. I already had a shower, so hurry up.”

  “You mean I have to shower alone?” He tried to act surprised.

  Then she jumped on his chest and began to tickle him. All the tension of the bus ride and the concert came out in his laughter. Most of the tension escaped, but not all of it.

  It was not until she did join him in the shower, that he felt all the tension vanish; making him feel like a new man.

  The two days and nights they spent together in Las Vegas brought them even closer to one another. Living in a beautiful hotel suite and spending money as if there was no tomorrow gave them a feeling of what their future would be like if they were wealthy. They both liked that feeling. Especially if they were able to live that lifestyle in a tropical paradise where Amber did not have to be incognito all the time. She found herself wanting the freedom to be herself, more so than just wanting the money. A very bright future lie ahead, if they successfully pull off Trotter’s scheme, she reasoned.

  * * * *

  Two days after flying back to Santa Monica from Vegas, Amber found herself on a plane once again.

  “Thank you for flying our friendly skies. Enjoy your stay in the Caymans,” the stewardess told her disembarking passengers, one being Amber. She had five thousand in cash to open an account in the Cayman bank. Moreover, she had a brand new California driver’s license with the name Amy Fontana under her picture. The clerk at the license center was so helpful in replacing Fontaine’s license. Of course, Fontaine was thrilled to sign an autograph for another one of her loyal fans.

  The Cayman banks are notorious for illegally laundering money, avoiding income taxes, and being very discreet concerning their wealthy investors. Trotter and Amber were counting on the bank to be a key part of their scheme.

  “On Monday, May 17, I will be transferring forty-one million to this account,” Amber told the bank manager. “Upon receipt of the funds, I want forty million boxed and sent to this address,” she handed him an envelope. “Sent registered and untraceable, you understand of course.”

  The manager nodded one deep nod.

  “And I will be leaving the remaining one million in your bank to cover any and all costs of your, uhm, shall we say… expenses?” She said with a sophisticated grin and a nod, and then added, “I am certain your co-operation will take the full amount of one million for shipping and handling, so you may then close out the account.”

  The short, fat manager, dressed in an expensively tailored three-piece white suit, rose from behind his desk and extended his hand. In a French accent, he pronounced his words very clearly, “Miss Fontana, Amy if I may…it will be my pleasure doing business with you. We will see to it that your, ahem, artwork, arrives promptly, discreetly, and safely. You have my word.” Again, he nodded one deep nod.

  The address she gave the manager was the result of yet another flight she took last month. A very long flight. Amber went house hunting, half a world away.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Tonight, I’m gonna party like it’s 1999.”

  The Artist formerly known as Prince

  Fontaine’s promoters advertised her final concert to the point of it being nauseating. “Watch as Fontaine arrives at Dodger Stadium in her brand new pink Lamborghini for her final appearance,” spewed from the mouths of the music world announcers, along with being publicized worldwide in all the trade papers and magazines. Amy did numerous interviews, making it clear she was going into retirement after this concert, taking a much-needed long vacation to points undisclosed.

  She told the Ferrari dealer to shove his offer up his ass on a new Ferrari, and she did end up buying a Lambo for the event. Her crew built a ramp, enabling her to drive up onto the stage. With a seating capacity of fifty six thousand, tickets were going fast. The historical event quickly sold out. In one week, Fontaine would sing her last concert.

  As in the previous concerts, Nancy’s most important job was making sure security was adequate. The Santa Monica Police Department posted a sign-up sheet for any officer desiring over time. Trotter signed the list and made sure Gary Miles knew about the chance to make a little extra income.

  “Sign up for the gravy?” he asked the small Irish cop when they accidentally bumped into each other one morning in the hall outside of lock up.

  “Hell yeah! Can’t say no to time and a half, Jack. Especially when I just shelled out seventy-five dollars for my thirteen-year-old daughter to go to the freaking concert. How about you?” Miles asked in his Scottish accent.

  “Oh yeah, but I told Palmer I’d work only if I was front and center. I want a close up view of this Fontaine character to see what all the hype is about.”

  “Lucky you. I’ll be down here in lock up with all the drunks and druggies.”

  “Maybe I’ll bring a few in for you.” Trotter joked.

  “I’m quite sure there will be plenty of them here. I know this concert will be a repeat of what happened the night those Beach Queens played Dodger Stadium. Thank God my daughter’s not like that.”
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  * * * *

  Then came that fateful Thursday morning when Trotter also accidentally ran into Rick Newman alongside his Audi, and he warned the kid about having his stuff by this coming Saturday. His threat put the young anesthesiologist into panic mode. The painful handshake meant Trotter was dead serious. On his way to work that morning, Newman devised a plan of his own on how to obtain the goods that Trotter wanted, the very much-regulated Propofol. He snuck an empty vial of the knock out drug home that day, and when he was sure his wife was asleep, he filled the small glass bottle with plain tap water mixed with milk.

  The next day when the head-OR nurse gave him a script for a new vial, he obediently went to the hospital pharmacy as usual. The pharmacist handed Newman the vial and just as he turned, he accidentally on purpose dropped the concealed vial containing only water and milk, making sure it shattered, as the real drug went into his pocket. “Jesus Christ,” the pharmacist swore, “Do you realize the paper work you’ve just caused me?”

  “Sorry Mr. Knotts, I’ll clean up this mess.” The angry pharmacist responded with a jeer, “Damn right you will, Newman.”

  * * * *

  Then the Saturday morning of the big farewell concert finally arrived.

  Trotter knocked on Newman’s door. “Good morning, Marcy. Is Rick ready for his work out?” he asked Newman’s cute little wife.

  “Yes he is. He went back to the bedroom for his gym bag. No pun intended, Jack, but he seems all pumped up about working out with you today.”

  Trotter chuckled at her dry humor just as Newman came to the door. “I’m ready, Big Guy,” Newman said, and kissed his wife goodbye.

  Once inside the little gym, Trotter made sure they were alone, and then he asked the young anesthesiologist, “Did you get everything I wanted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now tell me how to use it. Especially the dosage.”

  Newman pulled the small vial of the milky white Propofol from his bag, and a syringe. “Make sure the plunger is down and stick the needle through the cork. Then pull the plunger back. I’m sure you’ve seen doctors do that before.”