1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader

by Jim Stevens

“No, that’s not it, girls,” the ex says.

  No matter what I say, I’m the evil guy from the glue factory coming to take their beloved pony.

  This is certainly therapeutic.

  I glance at the clock on the wall; I’m late. I walk to the elevator bank and call out to the girls who have turned their backs to me, “Hey.”

  Neither moves, but I know they’re listening. “I figured out who did it.”

  Kelly snaps to attention, “Was it Brewster?”

  “Who snuffed him, dad?” Care calls out.

  Both girls run to my side. I give a double hug. “And I couldn’t have figured it out without you.”

  “Please.”

  “Tell you Tuesday, I love you both.”

  ___

  I’m a half-hour late. The Augustus family reunion is in full swing.

  Tiffany has done a marvelous job. The conference room is festooned with streamers, a personalized sheet cake in the middle of the table and Augustus Family tee-shirts have been passed out, although no one puts one on. Tiffany has assembled individual goodie bags, complete with soaps, matchbooks, napkins, pen and pencil sets, and multi-colored Augustus sun visors. She has the bags lined up on the back table ready to be taken home and treasured. I certainly hope she made enough so Lizzy, the three detectives, and the other special guests also have a remembrance of this happy day.

  “Sorry I’m late, everybody,” I announce to the crowd.

  Romo and my other compatriots have brought along their weekend findings, which are stacked in the back of the room. Last night he set up a conference call so we could all talk from the comfort of our own homes.

  “What the hell is this idiocy all about?” Doris is the first to shout at me.

  “I figured it would be fun to get everyone together.”

  “I got better things to do than this,” Clayton informs all.

  “Clayton,” I say, “this is going to be not only fun, but educational.”

  “I’m leaving,” Brewster says, making his way to the door, which Peter Patrolman blocks and will continue to block until the party is over. Brewster returns to his mother’s side.

  “First of all I want to thank Conway Waddy for graciously offering up the use of his conference room. I was going to do this in Alvin’s rock garden, but it wasn’t cozy enough. Special thanks to Diane and Alexis for coming, they’re not used to getting up this early. And, last but not least, a extra-special shout-out to my assistant Tiffany for giving the proceedings such a festive nature.” I applaud.

  Tiffany beams.

  Horace Heffelfinger is seated at the table, Millie alongside. “You can’t hold us here against our will.”

  “No, we can’t,” Steve Burrell says, “but we can arrest you for suspicion of murder. Which would you prefer?”

  “And,” Norbert asks, “did you have a nice time in the Caymans?”

  “I wasn’t in the Caymans.”

  “Yes, you were,” Norbert says, pulling a sheet of paper from the pile he has brought.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Millie defends her man.

  “I have the flight logs, if you’d like to see them.”

  Millie glares at Heffelfinger.

  “Plenty of time to go into all that,” I say, and suggest, “Why don’t you all have a seat around the table, have some punch, relax, get cozy, and I’ll begin the entertainment portion of the program.”

  They sit where I figured they’d sit. Brewster next to Doris, Clayton next to Joan, Christina and Lizzy, Diane and Alexis, Millie and Heffelfinger. I hold court at the head of the table. The lawmen stand spread around the back of the room. Miraculously, my back no longer hurts. I clear my throat and begin.

  “At first, I and my fellow detectives thought this case was about money, and in a lot of ways it is. Heck, the only reason you’re all here is because Tiffany’s daddy wants an end to this whole shebang.”

  “It is about time we get our money,” Doris yells.

  “Patience,” Norbert says. “Patience.”

  “But the case is really about technology.” I pause to see the expressions on Romo, Tiffany, and the detectives’ faces. They each stare at me like I’m changing the script we agreed upon.

  “You see, technology is creeping in on the Board of Trade. All the guys like Alvin who made fortunes jumping around waving hand signals can see their manner of business going the way of the Model T, Betamax, and Oldsmobile. Alvin knew he had to do something before the computer emptied the trading floor, so he set out on an ambitious plan.

  “Some of you are of Alvin’s blood, some related by marriage, so I apologize in advance for what I’m about to say; but old Alvin J. Augustus was a real jerk. I really can’t blame anyone for wanting him dead. He cheated, lied, finagled, stole. The guy had more enemies than Bernie Madoff.

  “Let me also preface by saying that you shouldn’t feel too rotten about being a dysfunctional family. All families are dysfunctional in some way shape or form; you should see mine. But you, Alvin’s immediate family, bring a whole new dimension to the term.”

  Norbert can’t wait any longer. He reaches in and cuts the first piece of cake, a corner with the most frosting, scoops it onto a paper plate, grabs a plastic fork, and digs in.

  “The first step in Alvin’s plan is to move off the floor into his upstairs offices, staffed by Mister Heffelfinger and Millie, who immediately hate having Alvin around all day. Right?”

  Millie nods her head.

  “Alvin tries to trade via computer and he’s awful. It’s not the same as being on the floor, elbowing and out-shouting the little guys. He tries bringing in clerks to trade on the computer for him, but that’s a disaster. What Alvin can’t do from his upstairs offices, that he could do on the floor, was cheat. No more listening in, ripping up chits, lying, getting insider information. He hated it. He’s losing millions, so he decides to change tactics a bit.

  “Alvin has a huge pile of cash, which he rolls forward one year to the next to avoid paying taxes on it.” I see Heffelfinger stare at the desk before him. “In Alvin’s mind the worst thing that can happen is to have the government come in and take its share, so he decides to lose the money by investing. He’ll write off his losses against his gains and come out way ahead by paying hardly any taxes. His first investment is Clayton’s company, Incubate Inc., which was great for number-two son who takes most of daddy’s money and invests it in himself. Clothes, cars, townhouse, women, drugs, booze, gambling. The rest you merely wasted, eh, Clayton?”

  “That’s not true,” Clayton defends himself.

  “Son number one, Brewster, gets his dad’s investment dollars in the form of a seat on the Board, where he maintains an unprecedented losing streak. Brewster inherited certain qualities from his dad, but not his daddy’s trading genes.”

  “I could have been great, if he would have left me alone,” Brewster says unconvincingly.

  Doris gives Brewster her second dirty look of the day.

  “Millie and Mister Heffelfinger watch as money goes out the door like French fries at McDonald’s. This is especially galling since Horace has been skimming money off Alvin and sinking it into a retirement fund for himself and Millie. At least that’s what he tells Millie to assure her silence in the matter.”

  “You can’t prove that,” Heffelfinger snaps at me.

  “I probably won’t have to,” I tell him, “and who really cares anyway at this point?”

  “Alvin is smart. He pre-pays his next year’s IRS taxes, based on last year’s earnings. Smart move, for this will give him time to begin the second phase of his plan. And here’s where Alvin gets really clever. He begins doing business with the NIVLA Corporation, located a few floors above him in the Board of Trade building. Alvin might be a genius when it comes to money, but he’s lousy at creating company names, since NIVLA is Alvin spelled backwards.”

  “I should have seen that,” Tiffany blurts out, as she slaps her forehead.

  NIVLA becomes Alvin’s personal, imp
enetrable piggy bank, created to be the recipient of Alvin’s biggest losses. He needs this company not only to cheat the government, but to put a stop to his wife spending him blind, his sons milking him dry, and his accountants siphoning dollars off the top. NIVLA is going to put a stop to all of it, plus cheat the IRS. Brilliant.”

  Jonas, Steve, Romo, and Norbert watch the eyes of the seated shoot from one to another as if they were watching rats scurry around the room. To say the least, I have their complete and undivided attention.

  “With the help of computer whiz, Joey Villano, Alvin begins losing and NIVLA begins winning. What he did was so simple, it’s scary. Thank God, my friend Herman is as sneaky as Alvin, because it was so obvious, no one would have ever seen it. He fakes trades. He records one loss after another on his books, transfers the dollar amount of those losses, not through the Board, but straight into NIVLA. Millie and Horace are suddenly kept in total darkness as to what’s going on, thanks to Joey.

  “Panic sets in. There has got to be some way of stopping the money flying out the door. Besides Heffelfinger and Millie, I’m not sure who is in on the scam at this time; but one of you places an anonymous call to the FBI that a major trading swindle is taking place. The person who placed this call knows an investigation will stop all activity immediately.” I ask Heffelfinger, “Did you call or was it Millie?”

  “This is ridiculous.” Heffelfinger harrumphs.

  “If you have not had the pleasure of meeting FBI Agent Romo Simpson, who was assigned to the case, please make it a point to say ‘hello.’”

  Romo stands and waves at the assembled.

  “Meanwhile, back at the ranch, wife Doris is happily spending her husband’s money, until she gets a call from Heffelfinger, informing her that she has been taken off the payroll, credit card accounts, and joint checking. Pair this with Alvin hinting around that a divorce is in the offing; Doris is hardly a happy camper.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she says. “We were happily married. Why would he want a divorce?”

  I answer, “Ask his other wives.”

  I continue, “Alvin has begun the third phase of his nifty little plan, which is to turn everything he has into cash, even his personal losses. He begins with Clayton, by withdrawing from Incubus’ account, making it difficult for son number two to do business or to spend any more money himself. Clayton, I can’t blame you for being mad at daddy scarfing up the cash; but, come on, you had been cooking your own books and daddy’s turnabout was only fair play.”

  Clayton sits, tries to play it cool, but he’s past the point of fooling anyone.

  “Clayton confides in his mother, who has been the recipient of the cooked books for years; and Joan panics.”

  The second Mrs. Augustus sits perfectly still and doesn’t say a word.

  I move over and stand over Joan. “Joan here got royally screwed in her divorce from Alvin. Hey, Joan,” I tell her, “I know the feeling.” I speak to the assembled. “Joan, who grew up a nice Italian girl on the west side, is livid. She saw what Alvin did to her and can imagine what he’ll do to his own son. She has to do something, but she’s not sure what.” I pause, leave Joan’s side. “But back to you in a minute, Joan.”

  I wink at Tiffany and continue. “At this point, Alvin gets a visit from Agent Romo, who tells him to come clean or else. Alvin who is well along in his plan only needs time, so he stalls the FBI with a deal to turn state’s evidence, and immediately picks up the slack everywhere else. He mortgages his house, sells off securities, liquidates stocks. Heffelfinger smells that Alvin s going to bolt. He tells Doris, who tells Brewster. Clayton gets wind and tells Joan. Little do you all know that the NIVLA Corporation is raking in the dough and funneling it into some offshore account, which, to be honest with you, we haven’t yet found. If any of you would like to help…”

  No volunteers come forward.

  I pace over to Christina, tap her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry that I haven’t mentioned your name in the story yet, Christina, but please be patient, your turn will come. You too, Lizzy.”

  I remind myself not to call Lizzy a lesbian.

  “Doris visits Conway to go over the will, which hasn’t changed, but Conway lets on that he thinks something is up. He’s been talking to Alvin’s banker at Northern Trust, P. Carrington Vogel, who reports Alvin has asked for a personal meeting. Clayton’s business is now in arrears. Brewster is drinking his problems away with his new girlfriend. Heffelfinger and Millie hear their office lease has been cancelled and soon they’ll be on the street. Boo.

  “You all share the fact that your golden goose is cooking, your pot at the end of the rainbow has sprung a leak, and something has to be done. A decision is made. When in doubt, take him out.”

  Steve Burrell is the only one who laughs at my comment.

  “At first I thought it was you, Doris, who hired the hit man; but where would you ever find a hit man? They don’t advertise in the Kenilworth Pennysaver. Then I suspected you, Heffelfinger, but you already had your pack of cash, so why would you risk it? Finally, I suspect…” I place my hands on Joan’s shoulders. “Somebody goes back into her rolodex of old and finds the right man for the job.”

  “Get your hands off my mother,” Clayton demands. “This is all crazy.”

  “I do have an eyewitness of her making contact with a man who does this kind of work.” I get a mental picture in my head of that dumb kid, who hangs out at Clarence’s house, testifying in front of a jury.

  “But not so fast,” I put up my hand to interrupt myself. “As promised, it is Christina’s turn,” I smile and give her a wave. “At the same time all of the chicanery is going on with Alvin, Christina wakes up to find all her money is poof - gone, disappeared. Some dastardly folks have invaded her bank account and cleaned her out of the only real money she ever got from her old man. By the way Lizzy, the Girl Bar where you told us you and Christina met has been closed for years.”

  Lizzy takes her hand off Christina’s arm and faces me. I have a feeling she knows what I’m going to say next.

  “Christina, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, especially in the ways of love, but not only does your partner not have true feelings for you, she’s the one who ripped you off; and probably worst of all, she’s not even a lesbian.”

  “I’m as gay as a three-dollar bill, and I love this woman.”

  “Oh, come on, you couldn’t even get a rise out of Tiffany.”

  Tiffany says, “He’s right, you didn’t even blip on my gaydar screen.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Lizzy pleads to Christina. “We’ve been together too long for you to doubt my love.”

  “You cleaned her out and cleaned her out good.”

  Lizzy comes to her feet, “You are out of your mind.”

  “Jonas, would you be so kind as to bring in the reunion’s first special guest?”

  Peter Patrolman allows the Chicago detective to leave the room. In his absence, the entire room watches Christina’s face crinkle with confusion and anger.

  Jonas returns with Augie Rinaldi.

  “Christina, meet Augie, Lizzy’s lover and partner in crime. The two go way back.”

  “I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” Lizzy screams out as Jonas handcuffs Augie to an empty chair at the table.

  “Mister Rinaldi probably won’t speak today. He’s too smart for that, seeing he’s been in this spot before. But don’t he and Lizzy make a nice couple?”

  Steve passes out copies of the Boston mug shots of the two when they were busted a few years back.

  “Lizzy, I think you’ve really done wonders with your hair since this picture was taken.”

  “How could you?” Christina cries.

  “Never give your password to anyone, Christina,” I offer my advice. “Some things in life you should keep to yourself.”

  “What did I tell you?” Doris says, throwing in her two cents worth.

  Christina wipes away tears.
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  “I’m going to give you a little time, Christina. I’m sure it is a lot to deal with all of a sudden.” I pause to clear my throat, “Let’s get back to Alvin and his little chipmunks.”

  I take a sip of the punch Tiffany brought to the party, a little sugary for my tastes. “It’s a Saturday afternoon at the Augustus mansion in Kenilworth. Alvin is in his den, probably counting his money. A shot rings out. The bullet crashes through a leaded-glass window, missing Alvin by a mile and lodging in a bookcase.

  “The instant Alvin hits the deck, he has figured out that someone is onto him. Interestingly, he never calls the police. The last thing he needs is to have cops snooping around his recent activities. Alvin deduces it must be a family member. Who else could it be? And, being the cheap, cunning, and heartless bastard that he is, he hightails it down to Richmond Insurance to add a rider to his life insurance policy, makes Conway Waddy the witness, but refuses to divulge what’s in the rider. Alvin is pissed; and no matter if he lives or dies, he’s determined to take every cent he has with him and screw everyone else. And they say you can’t take it with you.”

  Norbert burps after finishing his cake.

  “I know you people are sitting here saying you’ve never heard so much conjecture, and I will admit I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle filled in. Like, why did the hit man miss?

  “Joan, would you like to fill the rest of the people in, here?”

  “I never hired any such man. You’re just making this all up as you go along.”

  “Joan makes a five-grand deal, standard fee around town, to bop Alvin, but on the day of the dance, she decides to cut the price in half.” I lean over the woman. “What did you expect the guy to do, Joan, kill half of Alvin?”

  Clayton pushes me aside. “I told you to leave my mother alone.”

  “I wish I could, Clayton; but it was you who couldn’t come up with the whole five grand, not your mother. Because it was your cash that paid him, you only have yourself to blame. Come on, you should have known better than to welch on a hit man. He could come back and shoot you for not paying.”

  Clayton avoids the stares of the others at the table. “You’re nuts, Sherlock.”