CON TEST: Double Life

by Rahiem Brooks

  “Hun? I have to get that.”

  “You can return the call later,” she breathed into his ear.

  “No, Boopsie, I can’t. See, my car was towed and that may be the tow company.”

  “What! What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

  He jogged to his blazer, and retrieved his cell phone.

  The tow man said, “Hey, William, we couldn’t get approval for your credit card.”

  “I see,” William replied cool as a fan. He knew that Lundin had maxed the card buying her bullshit. “I’ll bring you cash in the morning when I get my rental.”

  “Okay, but there’s more.”

  William was puzzled. “And what’s that?”

  “It appears that the oil was drained from your car, which explains the smoke.”

  “I just had it serviced,” William said angrily.

  “You should be taking your car somewhere else, sir.”

  “Why?” William was irritated and did not need anyone telling him what to do.

  “Because there was no fuse in the spot, which would have indicated to you that you had engine trouble. It was either removed or was never put in,” the tow man said. He then added, “I’m thinking it was removed because your brake fluid line was cut into piecemeal. Fortunately for you it did not drain completely or you could have made it to the 110 Freeway and been doing 90 mph and had no pressure to stop the car. You get the picture.”

  “Are you suggesting that someone sabotaged my car?”

  “Nope, Mr. Fortune. I am telling you that someone has tried to kill you!”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Lundin had left for work the next morning and William had begun his investigation--if that’s what one called snooping through their wife’s things. He went into the dining room where she had left her gift and checked the receipt inside the cute little box. As he suspected the purchase was made with the same Visa that he used to pay for the tow, which summed up why the tow transaction declined. The card was used to pay a few bills and emergencies. He used an American Express Black card for all other mundane purchases.

  After the tow man’s call the night before he was disgusted, but apparently not enough to confess his findings to Lundin. And ruin the best part of the evening: the greatest sex he had ever had. Last night, the act that he put on after the dreadful call was one for Academy judging. He managed lovemaking in the dining room, missionary on the dining room table. In the hallway leading to the loft, they stood against the wall with one of her legs wrapped around his waist and the other around his neck. Yes, it was a busy night indeed. He had never multitasked so proficiently. With each stroke, in between each kiss, he wondered should he tell his wife about Justice, and how he was manipulating their marriage. If he told her about Justice, he would be trapped into telling her how Justice influenced his novels, too.

  Is that where Justice wanted him? Trapped in Justice’s world-wide web of deception. Lying and withholding information from Lundin pained him. Problem was, what if that was not the work of Justice? If it was not it should not be told to Lundin. If it was it should not be told to Lundin. Not now, anyway.

  William walked out to a rental, which was delivered to him. He sat behind the wheel surprised that beneath the exterior of the Pontiac G6 was a state of the art dash board full of gadgets. He drove to the ATM and parked.

  At the automated teller machine, he pushed his debit card into the slot and the machine asked for his pin number. He requested $100 fast cash. The machine spit out a receipt that read: Card retained. Contact your financial institution.

  “What the fuck!”

  No one in the line behind him had better not have sparred him so much as a glance, or they would need the paramedics. He jumped behind the G6 prepared to test its horse power.

  William emerged into the Washington Mutual Bank lobby and walked to the bank representatives who took down the customer’s names that needed customer service. He ignored the list and demanded to see his banker, Paul Silverstein. The rep called Paul and asked William to have a seat.

  William could not sit, though. He had developed a foul case of heartburn. His heart singed the way it did after he ate a banana. Normally, he would be irritated, grouchy, and in no mood to entertain company. At that moment though, he wanted to be entertained by the one and only, Paul Silverstein. And William hoped that Paul was good on stage, or Washington Mutual would make the mid-day news.

  His thoughts reflected to Justice. What was that bastard doing at that moment? What was he thinking of doing next to keep William vulnerable? How far exactly would Justice go? Could the imbecile be outside the bank and watching him with binoculars? William inconspicuously flipped up the bird.

  “I do not deserve the finger, Mr. Fortune,” Paul said extending his hand out for William to shake.

  “Carpel tunnel. I was stretching my finger,” William replied, hastily. “How’s it going, Paul?” William asked walking to Paul’s desk.

  Paul was dressed in an expensive blue pin-striped suit. His hair was perfectly gelled to the side to cover the balding top, and was probably dyed brown. He told William, “I couldn’t be better.”

  William sat opposite Paul and looked at the banker scrupulously through Alain Mikli shades. William realized that he thought Paul and the bank was at fault for one simple reason: He would not have allowed his account to be raped, so it was their fault. Period! Made sense, right? If they weren’t at fault, then who was? Certainly, not Justice. Even if Justice had his hand in the cookie jar, he had help from the bank reaching in the cabinet. Was the ending to his fictional yarn being played out before his eyes?

  “So, what brings you in?” Paul asked, and straightened documents on his desk.

  “Everything brings me in,” he responded in a slow, distracted tone.

  “Let’s take it from the top,” Paul mused. “Isn’t that what you movie people say?”

  “Paul, please. Save the satire. My debit card was eaten by one of your machines and I’d like to know why?”

  “Take it easy, Fortune.”

  “Don’t tell me to take it easy!”

  “Let me take a look. What’s your account number?” he asked, ignoring William’s sarcasm. He figured that the guy was obviously having money problems. That would get any man’s panties in a bunch.

  “As my banker you should know that it is 3629736638996,” William said, leaning over the desk.

  “Let me make a call,” Paul said after looking at his monitor.

  “Why, Paul?”

  “It seems that your account was closed and all of your money has been transferred to an account in...”

  “Where, Paul?” William slammed a hand on his desk.

  “Luxembourg!”

  “Luxembourg, as in the damn European nation smaller that Rhode-fucking-Island?”

  “Yes, right outside of France.”

  “Paul, you had better figure out how 6.4 million dollars was wired around the globe.” William stood and towered over Paul. “I think I am going to be sick. Where’s the rest room?”

  Everyone in the customer service area stared at William as he stomped to the men’s room. Their nods seemed to mock him. The heartburn had approached a murderous Fahrenheit degree. He felt the pulse in his heart beat like an infant learning to beat on their high chair with a rattle. Everything boiled down to one thing: Justice Lorenzo.

  * * *

  Paul suddenly felt as if he was trapped in a Fed-Ex package being shipped to Antarctica. The air around him was icy as he made his calls to the appropriate higher figures within the bank structure. With each call he peeled pages off his note pad quickly jotting all of the details of the calls. He occasionally paused long enough to examine his notes with the analytical flair of an artist enveloped by their canvas.

  William returned to his seat. Both men looked at each other and searched for a sign of weakness. There was none. They both had wide eyes, like an animal’s in the night. The situation lopsided. So unfair. Paul had nothing more to do
, but deliver the news. William had to live with it.

  “Let me be frank.”

  “Please, I want it like it is.”

  “It appears that yesterday the funds were transferred to the nation on the advice of an investment banker that you mentioned. In speaking to my assistant who helped you, you were adamant about making the transfer despite me not being here.”

  “You’re implying that I waltzed in here and rationalized a reason to transfer in excess of 6 million dollars not only to another bank, but out of the country?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then you and your assistant should, and will be fired.”

  “Excuse me? I’ve had it up to here with your--”

  “I’m serious,” William said, interrupting him. “Neither of you are as smart as you ought to be. Do you seriously believe that bullshit? Would I be sitting before your precious little eyes right now had I made that transaction yesterday? Would I have used the damn ATM card, you idiot?”

  “There’s surveillance. The bank VP is bringing it down now.”

  * * *

  William was irate as he left the bank, but he acted fearless. The theft was done expertly. Justice had an unfair advantage over him. He had obviously paid the bankers to fabricate documents and surveillance of him. He was actually proud of the job. The men worked fast and proficient, too. William had only found out an hour earlier that he experienced bank trouble. And they were prepared for him. That was far too fortuitous. Nothing happened that fast in the modern world of banking without planning far in advance. Except he was dealing with the illusive, manipulative, Justice Lorenzo. The room reeked of the maggot. William realized what had happened and calmed down. It was not the lamebrains fault in the bank. He was practically amused. Everything spiraled out of control quickly, and he would catch up.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  William walked into his office building after taking the last of his pocket change to pay the tow man. The dealership promised to reimburse him for the tow, as well as the car rental. He was in his quiet office thanking God that no one was there. Solitude was what he needed. That was necessary to soothe his misery.

  He sat on the camel-haired sofa, kicked off his shoes, and pondered. He contemplated everything that had happened. Hopefully his thought process was adequate to deal with the arcane situation. That would be embarrassing if he could not. He would, though. Despite what it took. Even if he had to cheat and begin utilizing fictional tactics. He was good at that, and he would use his strengths.

  He closed his eyes, and turned on his highest watt mental bulb. Suddenly, he looked at the telephone.

  Don’t even think about, he told himself. She would think of you as a paranoid schizo. After all, Justice was a petty thief. How in the hell did he manage to work me out of 6.4 million dollars?

  William stared at Lundin’s beautiful eyes in a photo on his desk. To hell with it. He decided that he was going to call. Coming forward with such colorful information had to do more good than bad. He had to establish that this was a situation that he could get a handle on. He did not need her panicking, nor frightened that her life was at stake in this little game of pin the tail on the jackass.

  He strode over to his desk slowly and then sat at his desk. He reached for the telephone receiver with one hand and dialed Lundin’s office number. The telephone rang as he swiveled in his chair. He swung hoping that he was not setting himself up for an argument. He could not stop debating with himself. Lundin’s answering machine picked up. He hung up, as he was not leaving that sort of message on her office machine. He dropped the phone into the cradle and pondered some more. Strangely, his mind was riveted by completing his manuscript. That was what the chair did to him. How dare I think of Justice Lorenzo? Wait! Is the fictional Justice and the human Justice the same? He did not have an answer to that question. Or did he? The answer was a simple one. Fiction and non-fiction were not the same.

  With thoughts of Lundin passing, his heart skipped a beat. A needed skip. He had to deal with his financial situation, but he had a safe with about $25,000 in it. He took some paper out of his pocket and gave them a once over. He looked at the 352 international country code written down and couldn’t believe that he was calling the Bank of Luxembourg in Luxembourg, Luxembourg. Hopefully that city was nothing like the American city that was so nice that it was named twice. William shuddered at the idea of making a call to Luxem-damn-bourg.

  The call was answered by a French speaking operator. He introduced himself in French, glad that the operator spoke the language of the neighboring nation. He asked for an English translator, and was told that they didn’t have one. William spun in his chair in disbelief. He could not fathom a bank not having translator for English in any banking organization.

  Using his best recollection of high school and college French, he began to explain what had happened and the purpose of his call.

  “M. Fortune, j'ai regardé le numéro de compte que vous m'avez donné. Il semble que ce compte appartient à quelqu'un d'autre.” Mr. Fortune, I've looked up the account number that you gave me. It appears that this account belongs to someone else.

  “C'est ce que je vous l'ai dit au début de cette conversation. J'ai été victime de l'autre personne, ce voleur d'identité. Le nom est justice Lorenzo. Il m'a volé et je voudrais déposer une plainte et avoir le compte bloqué jusqu'à ce que l'enquête est terminée.” That's what I told you at the beginning of this conversation. I've been victimized by the someone else, this is identity thief. The name is Justice Lorenzo. He robbed me and I'd like to file a complaint and have the account frozen until the investigation is complete.

  “Monsieur le Président, je crains qu'il y ait un mot de passe sur ce compte. Sans elle, je ne suis pas libre de discuter de ce compte, malgré ce que vous décrivez. Surtout, un compte avec plus de quinze millions de dollars en elle.” Sir, I am afraid that there is a password on this account. Without it, I am not at liberty to discuss this account despite what you're describing. Especially, an account with over fifteen-million in it.

  Fifteen, um, that’s peculiar, William thought. Madame, j'ai désespérément besoin de vous accorder une attention très proche de moi. Je suis un romancier populaire américaine. Je suis actuellement à la rédaction d'un voleur d'identité petite. Dans ce roman, et quatre autres, j'ai écrit une impression de base bleu à commettre des crimes frauduleux. Quelqu'un a décidé d'utiliser cette impression bleue de me voler mon argent. Et je veux revenir! Je vous supplie de m'aider à le faire.” Ma'am, I desperately need you to pay very close attention to me. I am a popular American novelist. I am currently writing about a petty identity thief. In this novel and four others, I have written a basic blue print to engage in fraudulent crimes. Someone has decided to use that blue print to steal my money. And I want it back! I implore you to help me do that.

  “Vous devez fournir le mot de passe, ou je mets fin à cet appel.” You must provide the password, or I am terminating this call.

  “Puis-je avoir le superviseur?” May I have the supervisor?

  “Je suis le superviseur.” I am the supervisor.

  “Il doit y avoir quelqu'un en face de vous, madame.” There has to be someone ahead of you, ma'am.

  “Monsieur, j'ai besoin d'arguments substantiels pour acheminer votre appel à un cadre de niveau supérieur.” Sir, I need substantial reasoning to route your call to an upper level executive.

  “Un Américain appelle et vous informe que son riche dollar américain a été frauduleusement par câble à votre pays. C'est un enfer d'une raison.” An American is calling and informed you that his rich American dollar has been deceitfully wired to your country. That's a hell of a reason.

  “C'est une déclaration plutôt pompeux. Pourquoi ne pas vous rappeler quand vous avez le mot de passe? Ou un de vos policier américain, riche de vous aider avec la question. Avoir une belle journée américaine.” That was a rather pompous statement. Why don't you call back when you have the password? Or have one of your rich Am
erican policemen assist you with the matter. Have a great American day.

  William palmed the telephone and threw it violently at the wall opposite his desk. That felt great, but did not have the intended effect. Rather than the phone crashing disastrously into the wall, propelling glass from a framed picture everywhere, it took flight out of the door as it was opened by Lundin. Her head turned and watched the phone flip and then flop onto the corridor carpet. She stepped over a few pieces, and slammed the door behind her, leaving the phone in the hallway.

  “Boopsie! That was a mistake. I am sorry. That was not intended for you,” he said and jumped out of his seat and rushed over to her.

  He reached for her and she stepped away from his touch. He was taken aback by her reproach. He didn’t need any drama with her.

  “Lundin! That was a mistake. I’m frustrated and glad that you’re here. I just tried your office. Got your answering machine. We have a lot to talk about,” he said to her earnestly.

  “You got that right,” she said with a hand on her hip. She had a manila envelope in her hand that she slapped into his chest. “You can start by talking about these,” she said sarcastically.

  THIRTY-SIX

  “What the hell is this?” he asked her with equal sarcasm.

  “I would love to know myself,” she said, pacing around him to the window that overlooked Wilshire.

  William opened the manila envelope and looked at the contents oddly. He suddenly wished that he lived in an era before the camera was pioneered. He gave the photos of him with Monica and Keisha at the Ritz in San Francisco a big smile. He had no way to explain the photos, but he would do the best that he could. He was a bull shitter by trade, and could handle that.