Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series)

by Neil Behrmann

  'Are you Jack Miner?' the man asked.

  'That's me.'

  'Israel McTavish, special correspondent of The Wall Street Journal, he said. 'I'm writing a feature on the coffee market. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?'

  'Israel? . . . McTavish?' queried Maffie, a bit perplexed.

  'My father was a Scottish Methodist and my mother Jewish,' said McTavish, smiling and pulling up a chair. 'Call me Issie. And you?'

  'I'm Maffie.'

  'Do you work with Jack?'

  'Yes.'

  'Could you please give me your full name?' he asked politely, taking out his notebook.

  'Themba Shaka Mafuta,' Maffie replied warily.

  'Are you from KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa? I was there last year to write a feature on the Zulu wars,' said McTavish looking interested. 'Shaka? You're not from the same family are you?'

  'Maffie's a descendant of Shaka. She knows all about his military tactics. Applies them to the markets,' I blurted out.

  'So you were also involved in the coffee market,' said McTavish, latching on to a new story angle.

  Maffie glared at me and shook her head, but it was too late. Issie McTavish, the veteran reporter, knew he was on to something. He wasn't going to let go. He looked me up and down. Self-conscious about a spot, I put my hand over my cheek and sat up straight. He noticed my reaction immediately.

  'How old are you Jack? Seventeen, eighteen?'

  'What about you? Seventy, eighty,' I retorted cheekily.

  McTavish laughed: 'Close. Old enough to be your grandfather. I'm semi-retired, but I still enjoy doing my bit for the paper.'

  'What's the story?' I asked. 'Isn't coffee old news?'

  'I've been writing about commodities for years. From what they tell me, you guys ran a pretty sophisticated operation. It wasn't only you, Jack, was it?'

  I shrugged my shoulders. McTavish laughed again.

  'Are you trying to tell me that you did it on your own? They tell me that you were playing the options market. That requires experience and knowledge. I don't think your school taught you much about options.'

  Maffie and I looked at each other and said nothing.

  'You don't need to know that stuff to trade,' I snapped. 'So what if Maffie helped me? All organisations brainstorm.'

  McTavish smiled and Maffie sighed. She had gathered that it was one of McTavish's tactics to rile people he interviewed. If they lost their cool, there was a good chance that they would forget themselves and divulge more information.

  'I've spoken to a lot of people. This is what I think happened,' said McTavish. 'Someone told you that a frost in Brazil was likely. You knew that some hedge funds had sold coffee short and had to buy back their positions. You used Shaka's battle strategies to corner them.'

  'Our Brazilian friends could have been wrong. We didn't deliberately squeeze the bears,' I insisted. 'We just went along for the ride.'

  Maffie looked at the ceiling in despair.

  McTavish laughed: 'Thanks! You've confirmed my sources. Good to meet you.'

  He finished his coffee and walked out.

  'What was all that about?' I asked.

  'You gifted him the full story, or most of it, you idiot.'

  The following week, Maffie brought in a Wall Street Journal. The headline on the front page was: 'Zulu battle plan traps Russian bears'. The subheading underneath was: 'Shaka helps Jack corner coffee giants.' By and large, McTavish had the whole story. His only mistake was that he didn't identify Krishna as the options whiz.

  The article had a paragraph and a quote that disturbed me: 'Veruschka and Borodino funds are estimated to have lost more than $4 billion in the coffee market.'

  'Yes, Jack has climbed to the top of the beanstalk, but beware of the giant,' said Igor Hellvosovitch, of Veruschka. 'One wrong step and all the way down.'

  That quote unnerved me for a day or so, but I soon decided that it was pointless to be worried about the Russians. The Yapolovitch murder was now history. Moreover, my profile was now so high that they would be reluctant to take revenge. We had beaten the Russian bears fair and square. If they were financing the Colombian drug barons, it was good that they lost all that money.

  To make the front page of the WSJ was really something. I was now on the celebrity party circuit. Pearl and I went from event to event and pictures of us appeared in Hello! and OK! magazines. I read them when my hairdresser put highlights in my hair.

  Pearl was full of fun when we were at parties, but as the weeks passed by she seemed to become bored with me. The experience with the Slimcops had shaken me up and I was now completely off drugs. I was lucky because I had experimented with very little, so it was easy to withdraw. Unfortunately she was hooked. Her mood changes from hyper elation to gloom became more frequent.

  It was late October and we were in New York furnishing my new apartment. I was searching for a credit card in a drawer when I found some coke and pot and confronted her: 'Pearl, you promised me that you would stop.'

  'Give them to me, Jack!'

  'No way, Pearl,' I insisted and went to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet. She was livid.

  'Who do you think you are? All you've done is make money. It's because of me that you're a celeb. You were a nobody before.'

  'I'm just trying to help. This stuff is doing you no good.'

  'That's for me to decide. Not you.'

  'I care for you Pearl. I love you. I've been reading up on coke. You need more and more to give you the same kick. It's dangerous stuff. It damages your heart. You mix it with booze. That's lethal.'

  'OK, OK, I'll stop, I promise you. But you can't stop me smoking pot. That's not addictive,' she said, taking a cigarette out of a pack and lighting it.

  I grabbed it and stubbed it out.

  'Not in this place, Pearl. You know the rules. How many times have I asked you to give up smoking?' 'Nicotine's addictive. Not weed.'

  'From what I read about pot, it's psychologically addictive. People need counselling to get off it. A London psychiatrist researched the stuff and found that if you took cannabis at age eighteen, there was a sixty per cent probability that you would become psychotic.'

  'So you think I'm a psycho? You know what? I'm embarrassed to go out with you,' she retorted sneering. 'I'm nearly twenty five and you're not even eighteen.'

  'We've talked about this before, Pearl. Who cares what people think? So long as we're happy. That's what counts.'

  'Jack there's no future in it. Your age all over the newspapers. My friends and clients sniggering as soon as we turn our backs. Pearl the cradle snatcher! Toyboy Jack.'

  'I'm not a toyboy. Women over forty go for toyboys. You're only in your twenties. The age difference is nothing.'

  'Oh yeah? It might be great for you, but not for me.'

  'Thanks, Pearl. Thanks a lot,' I said raising my voice. 'Remember when we first met. It was you who approached me. We never worried about our age difference before. It was just us. Our business. Now it's public and it's your fault. It was you who contacted the Mail, not me!'

  'It was my jo . . .'

  'Your job! What do you mean? Did you publicise me to help you get more clients? Get you more invitations? Stan Slimcop warned me about you. Thanks to you, Stan and Leila are no longer my friends. They're good, genuine people. Always there to help me. Thanks Pearl, thanks a lot.'

  'You have to take responsibility for your own actions, Jack. I just advised you.'

  'Advised me? Is that what you call it? You virtually wrote the letter. Got out the chequebook! I'm still trying to work out why you had it in for Stan. Maybe because you realised that he saw through you. Would turn me against you.'

  'You're being mean to me. I think we should cool it Jack,' said Pearl, her eyes now tearful. 'I am fond of you, but it's now time for you go out with girls your own age.'

  I didn't reply. Just put on my trainers and running vest and took off for Central Park, through Strawberry Fields, past the lake, fountains
, statues of dogs and around the reservoir. Running, walking, running and walking again. Not as fit as I used to be. Too good a life. Sweating and exhausted, I lay down, closed my eyes and before I knew it, I was fast asleep. When I returned, it was nearly dark. The apartment was empty. Pearl had packed up and left.

  * * *

  After the long weekend in New York and the lonely flight back home, I arrived at the office late. It was empty, so I went to the meeting room. Rob Hastings from Scotland was addressing the whole staff, but Ruffish and Maffie weren't there.

  'Good morning, what's going on?' I asked.

  'Ruff and Maffie have eloped, Jack!' said Bess giggling. 'Who would have thought?'

  At last it made sense. They always left the office late. Maffie and I went out a lot, but it had always been platonic. She had told me that she preferred older men, but Ruff? Surely not him! He was far older than her. Married for years. A son and daughter at university. I looked at the others in the room. I guessed that they were thinking the same.

  'Where are they, Rob?' I asked.

  'Somewhere on the west coast of South Africa,' said Hastings. 'Ruff phoned me early last week and told me that they were going.'

  'Why didn't they tell us? They could have at least said goodbye,' I mumbled, feeling hurt. I had thought that Maffie was my best friend.

  'They wanted to keep it secret. I'm sure they will contact you when the time is right,' said Hastings.

  'Who's going to run Hastings & Ruffish?'

  'Ruff found a buyer for the business. We . . . Hastings & Murray are selling.'

  'I thought that the business was going well,' I said. 'Ruff told me that he was going to open my fund to outside investors.'

  'We've decided to concentrate on our business in Scotland. Hastings & Murray are now managing $20 billion. We prefer to invest conservatively for our clients.'

  'Where do we go from here?' asked Krishna.

  'You will all be paid good bonuses,' said Hastings. 'Hastings & Ruffish is a small, but profitable hedge fund business. I think you're good managers. You can join Hastings & Murray in Edinburgh, or you can remain in London.'

  'Who's buying the firm?' asked Tong.

  'Ruff put out feelers in the past year. He got a good price from LeashTrade Inc., a hedge fund business in New York.'

  'I introduced them,' said Aram smiling proudly. 'About a month ago, Ruff said that he was thinking of retirement. I told him that LeashTrade wanted to expand in London.'

  'How do you know them?' asked Tong.

  'They invest in my fund. They're nice guys. Good friends. They're very interested in you, Jack,' said Aram.

  'Why me?'

  'They think you could go places. They've heard a lot about you.'

  That was the first time that Aram had shown any admiration for me. I wondered what his role would be.

  'You can come to Edinburgh, Jack, but you'll have to stick to the rules. We are traditional, conservative investment managers. We don't speculate,' said Hastings sternly.

  I was flattered but wasn't sure what to do. I wished that Maffie was around to advise me. I shouldn't have discarded my friendship with Stan Slimcop. It was strange. I had made all this money and yet I felt insecure.

  * * *

  The International Coffee Organisation invited me to a Christmas cocktail party in Berners Street in the West End. Coffee prices had fallen from their heady peaks and were trading around $3 a pound.

  'It suits us, Jack,' said Louis Rondario, Colombian Coffee delegate. 'We were uncomfortable with prices of more than $4 a pound. We don't want coffee to become too expensive.'

  'You mean that you don't want us British to drink more tea,' I chuckled.

  I wandered around the room, but without Maffie, I didn't have any contacts. It felt strange. I was an outsider in the crowd and it was lonesome without her. I stood in a corner, sipping my glass of wine, observing some young guys joking around. One of them was John Spittlefields of Bloomberg.

  Spittlefields, about six foot tall with floppy brown hair and a cheerful friendly face, spotted me and came over. I liked him. He was straight and had reported the interview with me fairly.

  'Hi, John, Sorry, don't have a story.' I said, glad to have company. 'Nothing much is happening in the markets.'

  'No problem, come and join us.'

  He introduced me to reporters from the FT, The Times, Reuters, Dow Jones and Associated Press. They were not much older than me. They were happy and cracked jokes. I wondered what it was like to be a journalist. On the outside, looking in. Scrambling for stories.

  'Why isn't Pearl Fleecer with you tonight, Jack?' asked Times reporter, Max Radar, a skinny guy, with an annoying smile.

  'We've broken up.'

  'Surprise, surprise,' grinned the reporter.

  'Surprise? What do you mean surprise?'

  I was irritated. What did Pearl have to do with him?

  'Horoshi Kofia Corp is Pearl's biggest client.'

  I was puzzled: 'Never heard of it.'

  'Come on Jack! Horoshi is one of Russia's biggest coffee manufacturers. Surely you know that Pearl worked for them?'

  'No, really. It's news to me. Pearl told me that she was doing market research and branding for a new chain of coffee shops.'

  'That's news to us. Branding?' laughed Radar. 'Maybe a bit, but that's not her main line. Pearl's in public relations. She's a spin doctor.'

  'She's been spinning for Horoshi,' said Spittlefields. 'She phones us regularly. Says her client supports fair trade.'

  I was silent, thinking. What was Danny trying to tell me about Pearl? Why didn't I speak to him? Stupid!

  'Pearl said that speculators like you disrupted the coffee market,' said Radar. 'She even mentioned manipulation.'

  I shook my head: 'Rubbish! We never manipulated prices. You know that! Speak to Rondario. He'll confirm that coffee farmers are only now making a decent living.'

  'Pearl said you were just interested in the money. Not the farmers.'

  'Pearl and I had our differences, but she would never say that about me,' I growled. 'She knew very well that we gave money to the farmers. That we cared for them. OK, she did leak stuff to the Daily Mail, but it did me good. People now know who I am. Pearl brands companies and people. I was one of her clients.'

  Two of the reporters started to snigger. Spittlefields shut them up: 'That's Pearl for you. The Daily Mail piece was meant to embarrass you Jack. That's why she fed them that information about drugs. Get you guys out of the market. The police to search your firm. Perhaps get you fired! Slick operator, that Pearl.'

  'No doubt Horoshi Kofia Corp was using her to get information about you guys,' said the Associated Press reporter.

  'OK, Pearl asked me questions. But that's because she was interested,' I insisted, still hoping that they were wrong, but in my heart of hearts, knowing that they were right.

  They looked at me silently, probably wondering how a successful trader could be so naive.

  'Don't worry Jack, she's also fooled us,' said Spittlefields. 'They call journalists, reptiles, but spin doctors! They're alligators!'

  'Pearl's very shrewd. She builds up relationships, milks them and then dumps them,' chirped the Dow Jones reporter.

  And she gets paid twice, I thought to myself. All those presents. Jewellery and designer clothes. Five star hotels!

  'Pillow secrets,' said Radar.

  Sensing that I was getting angry and could hit him, he put up his hands: 'Take it easy Jack. It happened to me. I was busy on a big story. Pearl made a play for me and I foolishly showed her my article before it was published. I don't like saying this to you, but we were in bed at the time. She told her clients about it and they persuaded my editor to kill the story.'

  It should have been obvious why Pearl questioned me about my coffee trading. It mostly happened after I had had a drink, smoked pot or we had made love. When I was most vulnerable and accessible. Branding! Coffee chain! How could I have been so stupid? My brains were in my
balls and fame filled my head. A prize sucker.

  'Can you excuse me guys, I have to phone someone in New York,' I said gloomily, walking to an empty corner of the room.

  Danny Dovetail was on the phone swiftly: 'Hi Jack, thinking of going back into coffee, it's come back a lot.'

  'Danny, remember you were going to tell me something about Pearl?'

  'Why are you only interested now? Bit late isn't it?'

  'Some reporters have told me something. Maybe you can confirm it. They say that one of her major clients is Horoshi Kofia Corp.'

  'I'm afraid they're right Jack. Remember when you were recovering from a panic attack outside the Russian Samovar?'

  'How could I forget?'

  'Pearl arrived quickly because she had been working around the corner.'

  'So?'

  'She said that her client was on West 51st Street.'

  'I don't recall that. What's the significance?'

  'Don't you remember what I told you? Veruschka and Borodino have their New York offices there.''Oh my God, no!'

  'That's not all. I found out that Horoshi Kofia Corp also has offices in West 51st Street.'

  'You think there's some link between Hiroshi and the Russian hedge funds?'

  'Draw your own conclusions. They're in the very same building. There's something else . . .'

  'What?'

  'I don't believe that Pearl's Ukrainian. I think that she's Russian. I had a Russian girlfriend who lives in America. Her accent is exactly the same.'

  'You think that she's some Russian Mata Hari?'

  'Jack, tell me. Does Pearl question you about the coffee market? At odd times. Romantic moments. After sex, that sort of thing.'

  'Not now. We've broken up. She did when we were involved.'

  'Just as well you've broken up with her Jack. Watch your back, my friend.'

  After he hung up I felt depressed. Yes, I had made lots of money, but my girlfriend had slept with the world and had knifed me. My good friends, Maffie and Stan, were no longer around to give me support. Why did I listen to Pearl and write that silly letter to Stan? Why did I let her influence me? I had to apologise as soon as possible. Feeling stupid and humiliated, I decided to go home.