Jay Giles

by Blindsided (A Thriller)

  Rosemary’s weary expression spoke volumes. “The Nasdaq dropped twenty more. The Dow plunged a hundred before the closing bell. Your voice mail is full.” She handed me a mass of pink message slips.

  I took the slips from her, glanced at them. “I’ll tell Julian not to schedule any more meetings when the markets are in turmoil.”

  The phone started ringing. “I’d be ever so grateful,” Rosemary said before answering it.

  I was there that evening until almost seven, drove home, had a quick dinner, went for a walk on the beach. It was still light out when I left. I walked a mile and a half, turned around. The sun dropped quickly on my walk back. It was a spectacular sunset, white clouds at the horizon line turning pink and orange as the sun slid into the Gulf.

  I covered the last half-mile in the dark, found my sandals on the pool deck, went up to the condo, changed into my workout clothes. I spent the next two hours in the gym, an hour lifting, an hour running. I took a long shower, went to bed.

  The following afternoon, I was on the phone with a client when Rosemary showed Tory and Fish into my office. I nodded to them, indicated they should take seats, continued talking. “Your Pfizer is doing better than Merck right now. And I’d leave your AIM funds alone. They’re doing just fine.”

  “When are we going to get back on the course?” my client wanted to know. “We haven’t played in a while.” Finally, the real reason for this call.

  “The way the market’s acting, things have been hectic. Let’s see if we can’t get out toward the end of the week.”

  “You got it. See ya, Matt.”

  I buzzed Rosemary, asked her to hold my calls, put down the receiver. Both of them were grinning at me. Something was up.

  Fish surprised me by extending his hand. “Frank Ford,” he said, his jowls quivering. “Moved down here for my health. Docs told me some time in the sun would do me good. The stress of running a corporation ate up my insides.” He picked up my coffee cup, held it out in front of him. “Actually, this is what ate me up.” He shook his head sadly. “Drink has been tough for me to give up, which is why I go to A.A.” He pretended to take a drink. Smacked his lips. “Damn, that’s good. Even if I do have chronic liver damage—life threatening, at that—I like to drink and spend money. Hell, what’s the point of croaking rich? Cheers.” He pretended to gulp the rest of his drink.

  I sat there my mouth hanging open.

  “What do you think?” Tory asked. “Isn’t he great?”

  “Amazing,” I finally managed to say.

  “It was just a matter of finding the proper motivation,” Tory said.

  “And what might that be?”

  “I told Frankie if he got this right, he’d get laid.”

  Chapter 25

  We talked through what we could at the office, mostly money issues, and headed out. Our first stop was the Sovereign, where I’d leased the penthouse apartment for Fish. On the way, I asked Tory how she’d fared with her Merrill Lynch inquiries.

  She made a face. “Not well. You can usually find somebody with an ax to grind who’ll talk. Not this time. Everybody’s very closemouthed. So I’ve been working the financials, seeing who received money about that time. Turns out two brokers did: Regina Caswell and Ron Stoops. There was also a broker let go—Trey Brown. Same time period. I’m looking into all three of them.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to look deeper into Nevitt, too. Might help make the connection.”

  She nodded. “His financials might be very revealing.”

  I turned into the driveway that led to the Sovereign. “Your new crib,” I said to Fish.

  “Never thought I’d live on the beach,” he said as we parked the car and headed to the office. “Smell that salt air.”

  “You’re just leasing this place until you find something to buy,” I expanded on the Frank Ford cover story. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to see where you live. You’ll need to make the right impression.”

  We found the office, and I held the door for the two of them to enter. “This place would make the right impression on me,” Tory said as she walked past me.

  Inside, an older, balding man seated at a desk looked up from his paperwork. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Matt Seattle. I’ve rented one of the penthouse units for a month.”

  “Yeah, Glen mentioned you might be comin’ by.” He shuffled paperwork on his desk. “Here it is: 14-A.” He stood. “Let me find some keys. I’ll take you up, show you the place.” He found keys in a wall cabinet. “Two sets enough?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Follow me, please.” He led us out of the office, providing a commentary on amenities as we went. “Pool’s out that way, exercise room to your left, party room to your right.”

  We reached the elevators, rode to 14. He led us into the unit. “Living room,” he announced, walking quickly through. “Kitchen’s in here.” He turned on the light, headed down a hall. “Bedrooms are this way; each has a bath. Linens are here in this closet.” He came to a momentary stop in the master bedroom, turned. “Any questions?”

  Without waiting to find out if there were, he retraced his steps to the living room. Like lemmings, we followed along.

  “Here are the keys,” he said, handing them to me. “If you think of anything you need, I’ll be in the office. Name’s Allen. Number’s in the directory by the phone.” He smiled. “Enjoy.” With a wave of his hand, he ducked out the front door and shut it behind him.

  I was a little taken aback by his quick departure although it was actually better this way. We could get to know the place on our own. Each of us wandered off in a different direction. Tory went into the kitchen. Fish sat down on the sofa, put his feet on the coffee table, got comfortable. I went out on the balcony. I wanted to make sure the view here wasn’t better than mine. I stood at the rail, surveyed the panorama, decided I liked my view better. Satisfied, I went back inside.

  Fish was still sitting on the sofa. He now had a remote in his hand, pointing it at a big-screen TV. He surfed until he found something he liked—wrestling. Grunts, groans, and screams emanated from the screen; it set my nerves on edge.

  “If I marry this woman, would I be rich enough to live here for real?” Fish asked over the noise.

  “Sure.” I grinned. “I can see you two lovebirds living here.” I walked over and picked up the remote. “Of course, if you really wanted to live here, you wouldn’t be watching wrestling.” I clicked through channels until I found a golf tournament.

  He frowned. “Hey, I was watching the Rock.”

  “You’re now watching the Tiger. You have to remember who you are. A person of your wealth and stature doesn’t watch wrestling; he watches golf.”

  Tory emerged from the kitchen, talking. “I can smell what the Rock’s cookin’—” She saw the look of disapproval on my face. “Oh, I mean, the Rock smells. Is cooked. Golf. Hey, now that’s exciting. Go Tiger,” she finished with a lame arm gesture.

  “Suck up,” Fish said snidely.

  I couldn’t keep from laughing. “As much as I’m enjoying this witty banter, we’ve got a lot to do before the A.A. meeting tonight. Let’s get you some wheels; then with whatever time is left before the meeting, we’ll get you moved in here.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Tory agreed.

  Two hours later, Fish drove out of Mercedes of Sarasota in a red SLK 230 two-seat roadster. It was actually my car. I’d leased it in my name, figuring I’d use it after this was over. Fish, of course, was thrilled. He drove like a kid with a new toy, led us on a merry chase to his doublewide.

  We packed up his more acceptable clothes, a few necessities, loaded them in the Saab. The trunk of the Mercedes, we quickly discovered, would hold very little.

  We took off again for the Sovereign, where we unloaded Fish’s worldly possessions, got them organized in the condo, and celebrated by going out for something to eat. Over dinner, Fish previewed for me what he was goin
g to say at A.A. He made a few gaffes. Wasn’t always fluid. Still, for the most part, he seemed to know his new persona. Tory and I tried to nuance a few areas, but overall I was pleased with his performance.

  Back at the condo, we split up. Fish taking the Mercedes, Tory and I going in the Saab.

  The last thing I said to Fish before he drove off was, “You feel good about this now, don’t you?”

  I expected him to say “piece-of-cake” or “no sweat.”

  He said, “Not really,” and drove off.

  Just as quickly, my confidence evaporated.

  The multi-purpose room at St. Mark’s Lutheran Church didn’t look much different than it had two nights before. The chairs were arranged in the same way; the big coffee urn and cups were on the same table. The air conditioning still gasped for air. People talked in small groups.

  The bearded man who had run the last meeting hauled the lectern front and center, tapped on the microphone, said, “Testing, testing.”

  Fish had found his seat in the front row.

  It was déjà vu all over again except for one thing. Janet Wakeman was nowhere in sight.

  “We’re earlier than we were last time,” Tory said in a whisper.

  I looked at my watch. Maybe a minute or two earlier, not more. I felt my anxiety rising. “She may not come tonight.”

  “She seldom misses a meeting.” She touched me on the arm. “I’m going to get in position.”

  I watched her take the seat next to the one Janet had occupied at the last meeting. With any luck, Janet would take her regular seat and Tory would be right next to her.

  I found a seat in the back and settled in to worry, dinner a heavy lump in my stomach. Mentally, I cataloged all the things that could go wrong. I was up to number twenty-three, Fish forgetting and using his real name, when the bearded man strode to the podium and said, “Good evening. Let’s go ahead and get tonight’s meeting going. Sally, will you start us off?”

  Sally was an older gray-haired woman in a blouse and slacks that didn’t go well together. As she talked, a late arrival—an older man—took the aisle seat next to Tory, the one where Janet Wakeman usually sat. Tory looked back at me, made a face.

  I knew what she was thinking. Our plan was beginning to fall apart.

  Sally finished, relinquished the mike to Al. Still no sign of Janet.

  Al finished his turn and turned it over to Ethel, an overweight woman with an irritating voice and a propensity to giggle uncontrollably. Ethel was in the middle of one of her giggle fits when, from behind me, I heard the sound of the outside door opening. It swung shut with a slam, followed by the click, click of high heels, the slap, slap of flats. Dressed in white capri pants and a tight red and white striped top, trailing an older man as if she had a hook in his nose, she swept down the aisle. When she neared where she usually sat, she stopped, put her hands on her hips in a how-dare-you gesture. Her seat was occupied. With a look of annoyance, she and her male friend took seats directly behind Tory, two rows back.

  Tory’s head turned as she looked to see who was causing all the commotion. At least she was aware of what was going on. Fish stared straight ahead.

  Ethel finished with a fit of giggling and was replaced by Phil, a muscular bald guy in a golf shirt. I started worrying about Fish. Now that Janet was here, he needed to get up and give his talk.

  Ed was followed by Marv. Fish still hadn’t made a move. He looked frozen. Shelley came after Marv. Again, Fish didn’t move. Worse, I had a feeling we were getting to the end of the program.

  Tory looked back at me, as if asking what to do.

  The bearded man was looking around the room, as if sensing the group was running out of speakers.

  Get up, Fish. Get up.

  Marv was winding down. The bearded guy stood, took a few tentative steps toward the lectern. This was it. This was the end. We’d wasted two more days, let a prime opportunity slip away.

  I glared at the back of Fish’s head, willed him to get up. Nothing.

  The bearded guy was ten steps from the lectern.

  Eight.

  Six.

  Tory looked back again. She knew it was over, too.

  Four.

  Fish wasn’t moving.

  I stood and headed for the mike.

  Chapter 26

  The bearded man saw me, gave a slight nod of his head, stopped where he was. I took the outside route to the front of the room as opposed to going down the center aisle. It was a little longer and allowed me to pass right in front of Fish. As I went by, I surreptitiously kicked him in the shin.

  “Upphh,” he said under his breath, glaring at me.

  I glared back at him. “Sorry.”

  At the podium, I took a deep breath, surveyed the room. I didn’t see anyone staring at my disguise, but standing there in the wig and fake spare tire, I felt absolutely ridiculous. I started in, altering my voice. “My name is Todd Kelter.” I borrowed the name of a broker friend in Detroit. “And I’m an alcoholic. Been sober twenty-two days now. I lost some loved ones in my life, uh, started drinkin’ and, well, it, uh, got out of hand, you know. The church helped get me straightened around and suggested I come to these meetings although I ain’t much for speaking. Hearing you all, uh, has given me strength. Thank you.” I looked hard at Fish.

  He was watching me, his eyes wide with fear.

  I started toward him.

  He stood.

  I smiled as we walked past each other.

  As I took my seat, I heard him say: “My name’s Frank Ford.” His voice was low, quivering with fear. “I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for seven days. I’m new in town, moved here from Detroit for my—”

  Tory didn’t wait. Her job was to set things in motion, and even though Janet wasn’t sitting next to her as we’d planned, this was her chance.

  Tory turned her head and leaned over to the man next to her as if to whisper something in his ear. “Jesus,” I heard her say, “can you believe that dork is worth over ten million bucks?”

  If I could hear her, I was sure Janet Wakeman, just two rows back, got an earful.

  Fish flushed noticeably. “—health. The docs thought the change in climate might lower my stress level—that with a lower stress level, I wouldn’t drink so much.” He’d been looking down at the podium. Now he looked up at the audience. “But you know, there’s a lot of stress to moving to a new place where you don’t know anybody.” He took a deep breath, blew out. “Makes me want to drink again, which is why I’m here. I can’t go back to drinking. The temptation is so bad, yesterday, I called my sponsor in Detroit eight times. He told me in no uncertain terms I had to get in a program here. So here I am. Thanks for listening.” He fled the podium for the safety of his seat.

  The bearded man stood, walked to the podium, said, “Mr. Ford, a lot of us know your temptation. We’ll help you, won’t we?”

  The group voiced affirmation. One male voice, louder than the others, stood out, “We sure will.”

  “We’re a family,” the bearded man continued. “We’re here for each other, and we’ll be here for you. Thanks, everybody.”

  People stood, pushed their chairs back. Informal groups started to form again. There was a buzz of conversation. Fish had three men gathered around him, talking. It wasn’t Fish I was watching, though, it was Janet Wakeman. We’d put the bait in the water. Everything depended on whether she nibbled.

  She stood, leaned close to her male companion, said something. I couldn’t tell what. He nodded and she moved away from him to the coffee. She poured herself a cup from the urn, carried it a step to the right where Tory was putting cream and sugar in her coffee.

  I couldn’t hear what Janet said to her, but Tory made a face, shook her head, said, “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” She started to walk away. Janet said something else. Tory turned back to her and laughed. “As much as that guy’s worth, all he has to do is say something and my boss would fire my ass in a minute. I’m ge
tting out of here before I get in any more trouble.”

  Janet watched her head for the door. Fish had just left. I headed out, too.

  Tory and I met at the Saab. She was grinning big time. “She went for it,” she said excitedly as soon as I got in the car.

  I grinned back at her. “What did she say?” I turned the key in the ignition, pulled the car away from the curb, and eased into traffic.

  “She came up to me and asked why I said that man was worth over ten-million dollars. She said she knew he wasn’t.”

  My excitement faded. I didn’t like the sound of that. “You think she said that because she knew Fish, knew he wasn’t worth ten million?”

  “No. No. No,” Tory said quickly. “I think she was trying to get me to tell her more, to prove I was right.”

  “Which you didn’t do.”

  “Of course not. It wouldn’t be believable. It’s believable that I made an inappropriate comment. Blabbing more wouldn’t be. Clamming up will make her think it was legit.” She gave me a big smile. “Trust me, she’s hooked. I saw it in her eyes.”

  “I’m glad that part’s done. Tonight looked like it was going to be a fiasco.”

  She laughed. “I couldn’t believe you got up there and talked. Where did that come from?”

  “Desperation.”

  “You kicked Frankie on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “He needed a kick,” I said as I slowed to enter St. Armand’s Circle. The tourists who frequented the shops and restaurants around the Circle routinely stepped out into the street without looking. Tonight was no exception. A young man and woman, hand in hand, stepped out in front of me. I hit the brakes. The driver in the car behind me had to slam on his brakes to keep from rear-ending me. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see how close he’d come.

  The distance I saw didn’t bother me. The driver did. William Wilder.

  Chapter 27

  The following day it rained, a steady downpour that showed no signs of letting up. The kind of rain that drives tourists crazy, the kind the Florida Tourist Board swears never happens.