by Simon Wood
scared Margaret Macey into a heart attack and she was dead. The cops didn’t need a smoking gun to convict on this one. Josh had given them all they needed. He should have done what Kate had told him and not gone.
Here was another mistake to add to the growing pile.
Josh stared blankly at the dead woman in front of him. He’d come to help this woman and himself, but instead of helping her, he’d killed her. How long would she be on his conscience? As long as Mark Keegan would? Another innocent person had died because
of him.
After several minutes, Josh got up and retraced his steps, making sure to wipe clean anything that he may have touched. He knew it was wrong to leave Margaret Macey’s body without calling an ambulance, but he didn’t want to be the one they found with the body.
Someone would notice the broken door before long.
Josh crept along the side of the house and checked the street for witnesses before returning to his car. The street was clear. Josh ran to his car, got in and accelerated away.
The professional recognized the figure getting into the car as he pulled away. What is Michaels doing at Margaret’s? His targets had no reason to be talking to each other; had someone made a connection? Michaels
probably had, but it was too late for them.
As he watched Josh’s car disappear onto another
street, the professional dialed the old woman’s number.
He got the busy signal.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. What were his little people up to? No good to be sure, he decided. The professional hung up and pocketed the cellular. He approached Margaret Macey’s house and knocked gently
on the door, but received no answer. His visit to the rear of the house gave rise to further curiosity. The back door was broken. Glass was scattered over the kitchen floor. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, the professional entered the house, ensuring he didn’t leave any prints behind.
Moments after entering the house, he spotted feet sticking out from behind the armchair in the sitting room, one shoe hanging off the left foot. The professional closed in on the unmoving body. He knew who
he’d find. His target lay on her back—still, quiet, and very obviously dead. He knelt down by her side and placed two fingers over the vein in her neck. He felt no pulse.
The professional laughed out loud. He just got the joke. One of his targets had accidentally taken out the other. Days like these were very rare in his profession.
He wished he could share this moment with someone.
“Josh, I would split the money with you if I didn’t have to kill you,” he said to the room.
The killer wandered into the bathroom and shook his head at the mess of items scattered over the sink and floor. He removed a baggie from his shirt pocket with a bottle of pills inside; without touching the contents, he dropped the bottle into the sink with the rest of the junk.
“You can have those back, Margaret. I bet you’ve
been looking for them,” he said.
He left the way he came. And like Josh Michaels, he swiftly drove off, unseen by the neighbors.
The professional stopped at a strip mall with a pay phone and called 911.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the female dispatcher asked.
“I want to report a breakin, possibly violent,” the professional said, sounding suitably distressed.
“What can you tell me, sir?” The dispatcher’s level tone had a mannish quality to it.
“I heard breaking glass and shouting, then I saw a man leave and get into a blue sedan. And I know an old lady lives alone in that house.” An Oscar winning performance in a telephone role, he thought.
“Do you have an address, sir?”
The professional reeled off Margaret Macey’s address.
“Can I have your name, sir?”
The professional dropped two fingers on the hook and broke the connection. Smiling, he got into the Taurus.
He had final preparations to make for Josh Michaels’s demise.
Bob Deuce’s desk, as messy as ever, was awash with paper, but the paperwork wasn’t related to his clients.
The debris was his research on Pinnacle Investments.
Since returning to the office after the funeral the day before, he’d immersed himself in the company’s history.
After calling friends in the industry, reading reports and financial data, he felt he had it all. What he’d discovered was amazing; no, not amazing, fantastic. It may have seemed wild, but what he believed to be the truth wasn’t impossible. If it hadn’t been for the tragic events that occurred in the last few weeks, he wouldn’t have believed it.
His phone rang from under a wad of papers and he
waded through the mess to find it. “Yes, Maria?”
“Call on line one for you, Bob,” she said.
He pressed the glowing key on the keypad. “Bob
Deuce, how can—”
“Bob, it’s me.”
“Josh, what’s up?” The nervous edge to Josh’s voice frightened Bob. Every time his friend called him, some thing
bad had happened. He dreaded the new turn of
events.
“Have you got time to see me?”
“Yes, I suppose. Where are you?” Bob leaned over
his desk on his elbows, his body stiff with fear.
“I’m outside on one of the pay phones.”
“Here? Josh, what’s this about?”
“I’ll be waiting by the phones.”
Bob sighed. “Okay.”
The line went dead.
“Damn it,” he said to himself, with the phone still to his ear.
He replaced the receiver. This was more bad news
and he knew it. He went into the office reception area.
Maria looked up from her computer and smiled.
“I’m just going to get myself a coffee and something to eat. I’ve got the munchies.” He beamed a big smile and placed a hand on the door.
“Bob, you’ll be going home in a couple of hours,
can’t you wait?” Maria was still smiling, but she deplored his overeating.
“Gotta keep the wheels of the food industry turning.
Can I get you something?”
“No, thank you,” she said and shook her head in
dismay.
Once Bob passed out of view of Maria, he dropped
the act. The grin slipped into a frown. He trotted across the shopping center parking lot to where Josh stood by the pay phones.
“Bob, two people are dead,” Josh said.
Bob swallowed the shock instantly. It isn’t healthy being Josh Michaels’s friend, he thought. “Not here.”
He guided Josh to a coffee shop on the corner of
the mini mall next to the fitness center. He sat Josh down on the plastic garden furniture in the farthest corner of the terrace, away from prying ears. Only a middle-aged woman in sunglasses reading a newspaper sat outside, but she was on the other corner of the terrace. Bob went into the coffee shop and returned with two coffees.
Bob hunched over his coffee and the small table.
“Who’s dead? What’s happened?”
“I went to see Margaret Macey and I killed her,”
Josh said.
The news slammed into Bob, leaving him bewildered.
He couldn’t quite comprehend what he was
hearing.
Josh brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed it.
He stared wide-eyed through the table as he rambled.
“She wouldn’t answer her damned door so I called to her through the window and she had a heart attack or something. I broke into the house to give her CPR, but it didn’t work. She died.”
“Josh, listen to me. You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack. You’re being stupid.”
“She was so scared someone was going to kill her.
Those phone calls must have been a nightmare.”
He looked up.
“You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack.” Josh attempted to interrupt him, but Bob raised a hand. “She
had a heart attack. She would have had it with or without you.”
“Yeah, but it was me who caused it.”
“Yeah, it could have been the mailman, telephone repairman or the Jehovah’s witnesses. You were the unlucky SOB who triggered it.” Bob placed a supportive
hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Okay?”
Slowly, Josh nodded.
“Did you call for an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Christ, Josh, you can’t leave her there.”
“But I can’t be seen at her home.”
Bob hated to admit it, but Josh was right. The cops would be suspicious if he was found at the scene of her death. He understood Josh’s logic. “All right, I’ll drop by. If she’s still there then I’ll make a nine-one-one call.”
“Thanks.”
“You said two people were dead.”
Bob surprised himself. A month ago he wouldn’t
have been so causal about dead people with whom he was personally involved. Now, it was almost a way of life and he treated it as such. He didn’t like that.
“I came home yesterday afternoon and I was picked up by this cop. But he wasn’t a cop. He was about to kill me when James Mitchell ran him down and shot him.”
From Josh’s brief description, Bob found it hard to take in the information. He got Josh to expand on his account.
“James Mitchell. I don’t get it.” After a moment it dawned on him. “Are you talking about this guy they found with his face shot off?”
Josh nodded.
“Jesus, I really don’t get it. Why did Mitchell save you after trying to kill you?” This mystified Bob. It didn’t make sense.
“I don’t understand it myself, but I think if I hadn’t got my ass out of there, there would have been two bodies found.”
“Go home, Josh, and stay there. I need time to
think.” Bob paused. “I’ll pick you up and take you to breakfast. I’ve found some things out about Pinnacle Investments. I think I can make some sense of this mess and you might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”
“Kate said she’d leave me if I went to Margaret
Macey’s.”
“Go home,” Bob said sternly. “Put on a good show
and don’t tell Kate. You’re not going to lose that woman. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you. I won’t let you screw it up.”
“He’ll be coming for me next and there’s nothing to stop him.”
“I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The diner was busy for a Saturday morning, but not so busy that Josh and Bob couldn’t select their table. Bob picked the corner booth and a hostess showed them to it. They slid into the booth and she gave them each a large laminated menu. Bob put down the manila envelope he’d brought with him.
“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said and left.
Josh waited until she was out of earshot. “Did you go to her house?”
“Yeah, when I got there they were loading her into the ambulance,” Bob said.
Josh sighed with relief.
“Don’t relax too much. That means someone either
found her or saw something that made them call it in.”
Josh frowned; Bob was right. Who had called the
ambulance? He hoped no one could identify him or his car. He started to speak, but saw the approaching waitress.
She was a plain-looking woman in her late forties, tall, but her dyed brown hair scooped up into a pineapple sprout made her look even taller. She seemed like a seasoned waitress—sharp and straight talking with asbestos hands for easy handling of hot plates and jugs of coffee without the aid of mitts.
“My name’s Laura and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you gents this morning?” A Southern twang scrubbed thin by years of living in California’s melting pot tinged her speech. “Coffee to start, maybe?”
Bob and Josh agreed and she filled the mugs already present on the table. Both men quickly scanned their menus. Bob went for a sausage skillet with home fries and eggs sunny side up. Josh ordered the scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast. The waitress thanked them with a smile and relieved them of the cumbersome menus.
They sat in silence drinking coffee and pondering Josh’s problems. Neither knew what to say or where to start. Laura returned with their breakfasts. After several moments of eating, Bob spoke.
“How’s Kate? Does she suspect anything?” Bob
asked.
“No,” Josh replied.
The waitress returned with a steaming pot of coffee and overheard a snippet of the two men’s conversation.
“Refill?” she asked sternly.
“Yes, please.” Bob saw the hate smoldering in her eyes. “Wedding anniversaries. We men can never plan surprises. It’s a very fine line we walk, as husbands.”
The extinguished hateful look became a warm smile.
“How many is it, darlin’?” she asked Josh.
Momentarily confused, he picked up the thread.
“Tenth,” he said.
She tapped Josh on the shoulder and wrinkled her
nose at Bob. “Still a kid. He’s still got lots to learn.”
Bob laughed. “That he has.”
The waitress topped off their mugs and moved to another table in need of service.
Bob explained what he’d found out about Pinnacle Investments.
His discovery was punctuated with mouthfuls
of food snatched from the plate in front of him.
“The first thing you need to understand is you didn’t cash in your life insurance policy.” Bob swallowed the mouthful of food and waved a fork at Josh.
“But that’s what you did for me, isn’t it?”
“No. I made a viatical settlement. That basically means Pinnacle Investments gave you a cash settlement that was a percentage of the face value of your policy.
They continue paying your monthly contributions until you die.”
“Why do that? Why continue paying my contributions?”
“Because
when you’re dead, they collect on the policy.
That’s how viatical settlements work. In effect, you made them the beneficiary of your life insurance.”
Josh picked up his coffee. “So why did you do that and not cash in the policy?”
“Because you wanted a lot of money quick. If I surrendered your policy, I would have gotten next to nothing, a few thousand at best. But by making a viatical
settlement, I got you a serious slice of your policy back.”
“The fifty-seven thousand.”
“Right, which is about ten percent of the face value.
And that’s still a poor payout. If you were terminally ill or very old, you would have received a cut of up to seventy-five percent of the face value.”
“Jeez, that would have been well into six figures.”
Wide-eyed, Josh was astonished by the money that
could be raked in.
“Yeah, that’s what got viatical companies into
trouble—the large up front payoffs. Viatical settlements became big business at the beginning of the
nineties when people saw easy money could be made.”
“How?”
“AIDS. Many medical insurance polices wouldn’t
cover AIDS patients, so a lot of people would have become destitute if a number of companies hadn’t
popped up giving them a large cut of their life policy while they were still alive. Bingo—a lot of very sick people lived out their last days worry and debt free.
And viatical companies got what they wanted, a quick, surefire return on an investment. The estimated life expectancy of an AIDS patient was a year, maybe two.
The investment firms p
aid the monthly dues and passed over some cash. Everybody was happy.”
Josh sneered. “Sounds a bit ghoulish, living off the dead and profiteering off someone’s misery. They must be willing their clients to die.”
“Yeah, but they did you a good turn when you
needed it.”
No denying it, he had benefited from the system—at the time. “So what went wrong? We wouldn’t be here unless something had happened.”
“Smart boy. Medical breakthroughs. There have
been several successful AIDS drugs put on the market over the last few years that have changed the world for their patients. The life expectancy of AIDS patients has increased by ten years, and in ten years, who knows, there might even be a cure. So the viatical companies were screwed. Suddenly the big short-term profits dried up. Their clients had the cash to buy the drugs and got the better end of the deal. The companies started going to the wall, paying out too much too soon with no likely return in sight, plus they still had all those monthly dues to cover. The ones that diversified survived. They moved onto other terminal illnesses like cancer, heart disease—all the biggies medical science doesn’t have an answer for.”
Bob stopped to drink his coffee and Josh let the information sink in.
Bob continued. “The other way some viatical companies survived was to act as an agent. They acted as
intermediaries for private investors or investment clubs who made large cash payments for some poor sap’s life insurance. Little did they know they might have to wait a decade to get anything when they thought a check would be in the mail in twelve months. I remember seeing the late night infomercials ages ago.”
“So what’s Pinnacle Investments’s story?”
“They were one of the founding companies in the industry, setting up a division to specifically get a steal on the rest. They bought big and were paid out bigger.
Most of their clients were AIDS patients, but they’d already moved into all kinds of terminal diseases. The
annual report was a shareholder’s dream, with major growth in the early nineties. But, the ninety-eight report was the complete opposite. The viatical division
was sinking the rest of the firm. But in ninety-nine they almost broke even, two thousand they showed a profit again. Tiny in comparison, but a profit.” Bob illustrated his information with printouts of financial data
