by Marie Astor
Ever since David had gotten Mila the lease on the new place, she had gone gung ho on the idea of decorating. Last week it had been a set of art deco lamps for the bedroom and a Roy Lichtenstein lithograph for the living room. True, Mila’s taste was expensive, but it amused David to discover that underneath the sexy vixen exterior, Mila possessed the genes of a homemaker.
“It’s in your study. I can’t wait for you to see it.” Mila tugged at David’s arm. “Come on!”
“What is it?” David asked, cocking his head sideways to make better sense of the image that hung on the study wall.
“It’s a Pablo Picasso lithograph! It’s called Cubist Composition. It’s a numbered edition and it’s been hand-signed by Picasso himself,” Mila replied with the air of an art historian.
“Wonderful.” David stood back, regarding the image on the wall, wondering how much it had cost. Mila certainly had expensive taste. Good thing that his earlier chat with Finnegan and Magee promised to provide a sizeable bump to his net worth.
“Oh, I almost forgot, this came too.” Mila motioned toward a metal cabinet by David’s desk.
David was pleasantly surprised by the news. He had been so consumed by Mila’s presence that he failed to notice that the safe he had ordered earlier had been installed in his office, three days ahead of the scheduled delivery date. The timing could not have been more perfect—funny how even the smallest things began to turn out in one’s favor when one’s luck was coming around.
“What do you need this ugly thing for? It’s ruining the whole ambiance.”
David traced his fingers over the safe lock. “It’s a safe, baby.”
“I know it’s a safe. My question is, what do you need it for?”
“To keep important things safe.”
“What things?”
“Things that could make us both very, very rich.” David nuzzled Mila’s neck.
“In that case, I guess it’s not that much of an eyesore,” Mila conceded.
“I’m glad to hear that. Now, where were we?” David reached for the zipper on Mila’s dress, undoing it in one swift tug. “I think we’d better move into the bedroom,” he whispered.
An hour later, after he had his fill of her, David rose from the bed. “I have to work for a bit, baby.”
“All right,” Mila mumbled into the pillow.
With one last, longing look, David tore himself away from her and walked toward the study where he had established a work camp. Mila’s apartment had been rented under an alias, which would make it difficult to trace it back to him. Besides, he felt confident that the records he kept at Mila’s place would never get into the wrong hands.
It was hard to concentrate on business with the knowledge of Mila lying naked in the bedroom, but it had to be done. David forced himself to focus on the market charts on the computer screen. So far, the information Magee had given him had worked like a charm. Magee was on the board of Rover Industries, a giant manufacturing conglomerate. Rover had a number of different divisions that manufactured commercial equipment for a variety of industries. Some of their products included commercial chillers, engines, and even construction cranes. But the best part about Rover, the part that interested David, was that Rover often subcontracted projects to other companies. A multimillion dollar contract from Rover could easily result in a three- to four-dollar jump in the stock price of the company that received the contract. Of course by the time the news reached the market, it was impossible to take any advantage of the price jump, but if one had advance notification one stood to make quite a profit.
Rover had a tiered approval process for its business: smaller contracts were approved by senior management, but the most substantial contracts were presented for approval to the board of directors. So far, Kevan Magee had given Muller two leads. The first one had been Orion, a mid-size publicly traded manufacturing company that was to receive a fifty-million-dollar three-year contract from Rover for the manufacturing of engine components. When Magee had given David the information, Orion’s shares were trading at seven dollars a share. According to Magee, the news of the contract award was to be announced in a week’s time, which gave David plenty of time to load up on the option positions for Orion’s stock. At seven dollars a share, purchasing a physical stock position would have required a significant capital commitment; instead, David purchased stock options that would enable him to purchase Orion shares at nine dollars a share. The beauty of option contracts was that they did not have to be exercised: one could simply buy an option for a stock and then sell it at a later time without having to acquire the stock position. Orion was a quiet stock without anything in the company fundamentals indicating shift in revenue or growth, so Muller had been able to snap up the options for less than a dollar per contract. With the money wired to him by Magee and Finnegan and the addition of his own funds, David had acquired option contracts for close to a million shares of Orion’s stock. This time he decided not to trust any particular brokerage firm to execute his trades, but split the orders between several brokers. All the trades were placed in the name of Phoenix Fund, a charity that sponsored scholarships for young men and women who were interested in pursuing careers in finance. Who would ever question a charity? Hell, David had even gone so far as to dole out a few thousand bucks in scholarships to several lucky buggers to make it look legit. Once the news of Orion receiving the contract from Rover was publicly announced, Orion’s stock jumped to ten dollars, making the options jump two dollars in price. David sold off his option position at a hefty profit, which made Finnegan and Magee two very satisfied customers.
Magee’s second lead involved a similar setup where Hudson Steel, a piping manufacturer, had been awarded an eighty-million-dollar contract by Rover. Prior to the announcement of the contract award, Hudson’s stock had been trading at ten dollars per share, which was when David had acquired a large number of option contracts to buy Hudson’s stock at eleven dollars. Once the news of the contract was made public, Hudson’s stock jumped to thirteen dollars per share, leading the option price to appreciate from the two dollars David had paid for it to five dollars.
Already the bank account for Phoenix Fund had over ten million as its balance. Granted, the amount would have to be split three ways between David, Magee, and Finnegan. David had considered claiming all the spoils for himself—after all, it would be unlikely for either Finnegan or Magee to protest once they learned that David possessed several recordings of their conversations that clearly implicated Finnegan and Magee in an insider trading scheme—but then decided against it. Three million and change was a good cut, but it was not good enough to get out for life, at least not for David. Magee was the golden goose, and for now David did not intend to slay him or his owner, Finnegan. Instead, David would wait for a tip that would ensure that he would never have to worry about money again. Then, he would leave Finnegan and Magee high and dry. And if Magee’s latest tip were to materialize, David would not have to wait long.
During their last meeting, Magee had mentioned that Rover wanted to branch out into the automobile industry and was looking to acquire an automobile parts manufacturer. So far, the choice had been narrowed to three companies: Stork Enterprises, Richardson Inc., and Valley Metals. The three companies were publicly traded, with their stock prices hovering in the ten- to fifteen-dollar range. David was certain that once the merger target was announced, the target’s stock price would appreciate significantly while Rover’s stock would decline, reflecting the costs associated with the acquisition, as was always the case with the acquiring company. The trick was to get in on the action before the news became common knowledge. David planned to load up on the stock options for the company that Rover would choose to acquire and go short on Rover’s stock. After he claimed his windfall, David would not need to concern himself with either Magee or Finnegan any further, but for now David had to ensure that he retained the trust of the two men. This in itself would not be that much of a burden, except for the fact t
hat remaining in good graces with Cornelius Finnegan required David romancing Aileen Finnegan, and David was getting sick and tired of the arrangement.
Aileen’s latest antic had irritated David immensely. Attending the wedding of Jon Bostoff’s brother was the last thing David would have chosen to do of his own volition, but he had been forced to indulge Aileen’s request: the stupid woman jumped at any invitation, even when it was to the wedding of a man whose entire family hated David’s guts. In all fairness, Aileen was most likely ignorant of David’s history with the Bostoff clan since David had never told her of the ordeal, but David was not inclined to be fair to Aileen. To his mind, it was not fair that he was stuck dating the woman, so he felt no obligation to be fair to her.
Aside from being unbearably boring, his attendance at the Bostoff wedding had been mercifully uneventful. In order to compensate for Aileen’s lapse, David had written a check in the amount of two thousand dollars as his gift to the groom and bride. The Bostoffs must have been counting the money, because Jon Bostoff approached David during the reception and thanked him for attending, without so much as a word regarding their past. David had been equally cordial: as far as he was concerned, this was going to be the last time he saw Jon Bostoff or any of the Bostoffs for that matter. From now on he would be screening his mail much more carefully.
Still, he needed to keep his growing annoyance with Aileen in check. Until his dealings with Finnegan were complete, David could not afford for Aileen to suspect that his affection for her was not only diminishing but had never really existed in the first place. His last outburst had been expensive: he had had to shell out some major cash for a pair of gold aquamarine earrings as a peace offering. He would have much rather spent the money on Mila, but one could not always do as one pleased.
“How is my favorite workaholic?” Mila appeared in the doorway of the study. She was wearing a lace negligee and black stilettos. Slowly she approached David while he sat back devouring her every move with his eyes. “I have to go to work soon, but I have a spare half an hour,” Mila purred, wrapping her arms around David’s neck.
David inhaled the intoxicating smell of her skin. “You still working at that job of yours?” he asked. “I told you that you could quit. I want to take care of you, Mila.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I kind of like it. I get to meet new people. Besides, what would I do? Sit around all day long and wait for you to come over?”
“I’m sorry, baby, you know that I want to see more of you, but at the moment things are really hectic. Just give me a little bit of time. Soon, neither one of us will ever have to work again. Then, we’ll be together all the time.”
Mila sucked on his earlobe, biting it playfully. “Promise?”
“I swear,” David groaned. “Now come here, you.”
***
Mila Brabec hurriedly wriggled into her pantyhose. Today was going to be her first day at her new job, and she did not want to be late. Sure, David’s offer to quit working sounded tempting, but for now she was not ready to abandon her independence. Besides, she made sure that David made ample contributions to her lifestyle. Her clothes, her meals, and her rent were all taken care of by David. All the money she made from her waitressing job, Mila saved.
Since the commencement of her waitressing career, Mila had changed jobs several times. Each time she had moved to a more upscale restaurant, and her earnings grew along with the prestige of each new employment. Her latest job had been at a steakhouse in the theater district. It was amazing how much a good waitress could make in tips. An average tip for a party of four ran upwards of fifty dollars, and that was being conservative. Being a good waitress required having a good understanding of people. As long as you gave the customers what they wanted, they were bound to repay in kind. If she smiled just right and showed her cleavage at a revealing angle, Mila almost always managed to get a minimum of seventy dollars, but usually she scored eighty or more. Couples were tougher, especially married couples. First dates, on the other hand, were the best: there was no easier target than a guy who was trying to impress his date.
Mila ran her fingers along the expensive material of her uniform for her new job. At the Panther Restaurant and Lounge Club, the waitresses wore formfitting shifts cut of luxurious black cloth. The dresses were custom-designed by Rodrigo Calos, a Spanish designer whose clothes Mila’s had longingly eyed in the windows of expensive department stores. Calos’s dresses started at five thousand a piece, and Mila did not even dare to broach David for one. But now she would be wearing one of Calos’s creations. So what if the dress were a uniform? It still made her look stunning, and if things continued progressing in the same vein as they had been recently, Mila hoped to one day be able to buy one of Calos’s creations with her own money. Mila knocked on wood, which was a custom from the old country to avoid jinxing one’s luck. She was not superstitious but she did not want to risk things unnecessarily, especially not when she was convinced that her luck was changing for the better.
First, David had rented this wonderful apartment for her, and then, a few weeks later, she got the offer for her new job. It happened when she was waitressing at the steakhouse, which was a pleasant but otherwise unremarkable establishment patronized by a middle-class clientele and occasional corporate suits. When it came to sizing up her customers, Mila never missed a beat. Right away her ears caught the sound of the Czech accent emanating from the party of three men that were seated in the far corner booth. Despite the fact that the men were impeccably dressed in expensive designer suits, Mila could tell that they were not expatriates residing in New York but were here on a visit, most likely a business visit.
As she took the order from the other table, Mila glanced casually at her compatriots. The man who looked to be the boss of the group was in his mid-fifties. Even when seated, it was obvious that he was a man of short height, but his build was that of a taller man, enabling him to make up for the space he lost with his height with his width. He was the kind of man who looked in control no matter where he was. His face looked familiar, but Mila could not quite place her finger on where she had seen it. Then it came to her: the man was Petr Kovar, one of the richest men in Eastern Europe. The press called him a self-made billionaire, but it was whispered that his fortune came from appropriating government property after the Soviet influence over the region ended. Petr Kovar’s business interests spanned from manufacturing to fast food to real estate. Mila’s heart quickened, as she imagined the kind of influence one could get by knowing a man like Petr Kovar, or any of his associates for that matter. Petr’s other companion was of the same age as Petr; a balding, average-looking man, he was entirely preoccupied with sucking up to Petr. Mila dismissed him from her attention almost immediately. The youngest and the most handsome man in the party looked to be in his early thirties. He addressed the two men with dignified deference, and Mila wondered if he was related to Petr—there was a definite similarity in their features although the younger man was clearly the handsomer of the two as well as much taller.
As she walked over to the table, Mila deliberated whether she should address the men in Czech. People were funny creatures—some might consider the choice of the native tongue an overly familiar gesture, so she chose to speak in English, leaving it up to the men to decide on the language choice. She did not have to wait long. “Where are you from?” Petr asked.
“Prague,” Mila replied concisely.
“I knew it. Prague has the most beautiful women.”
“Thank you,” Mila said shyly.
“You’re welcome. It’s the truth. I am Petr Kovar.”
“I know,” Mila replied. “It’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you, sir.”
“An honor? I’m not sure I like the sound of that—makes me feel like an old man,” Kovar chuckled.
Mila cursed herself inwardly. Usually she never lost her cool around men, but this was Petr Kovar, a man who was pretty much considered to be on par with God in her native country. “I’m s
orry, sir, I only meant that …”
“It’s all right. I was just … what is the American expression? … busting your balls. So what’s good here?” asked Petr.
“Steak for four is our best dish,” Mila replied. “We can cut it for three if you’d like,” she added.
“No need. We’re pretty hungry.”
For the remainder of their meal, Kovar and his companions did not pay much attention to Mila. It was a busy night, so Mila had plenty of tables to serve. Every now and then she would cast a hopeful glance at the Kovar table, but the men were engrossed in conversation, and she dared not interrupt.
When she picked up the bill from the Kovar table, she was surprised to find as her tip two one hundred dollar bills. She quickly hid one of the bills in her pocket: there was no way she was sharing the entire hoard with the busboys. There was a note on the receipt: One Mercer Street, tomorrow at 1 p.m.
Mila shoved the note into her pocket and went about her work. She was no prude, but she was no prostitute either. Under the right circumstances she would certainly welcome a roll in the hay with Petr Kovar, but she would expect her compensation to exceed two hundred dollars and not be presented to her in such a crude manner. Well, at least she got a two-hundred-dollar tip, which so far was her record.
The next day, the youngest man from the party showed up at the restaurant at six p.m. The hostess was not at her station, so Mila had to greet him. “Do you have a reservation?” she asked in the coolest voice she could muster.
“Why didn’t you come today?” the man asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mila stared at him icily. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Do you remember the two hundred dollars I left you?”
Mila pressed her lips together. The last thing she needed was a scene that would cause her to lose her job. “Look, I don’t know what you’re after, but if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call the police,” she hissed.
