CON TEST: Double Life

  “What’s her name? And how do I find her?” William asked and loosened his grip on Jose’s throat. See, all of this could have been avoided, William thought.

  “Don’t know her name. I have a phone number and she sent me Fed-Ex cash.”

  “What’s the number and package origin?”

  “The number is right there,” Jose said, nodding toward a Post-it stuck on the computer monitor. “The money was shipped from Washington, D.C. both times.”

  “See that wasn’t bad,” William said and released his victim.

  William turned a little and glanced out the window. The cavalry had arrived and he hadn’t exited the building. His heart raced with fury. He hated that that idiot had kept him so long. There was more ahead to deal with, though. Was it fear of arrest? Or fear that he would not complete his mission before arrest? Both scared him.

  “You have a back door, where is it,” William demanded, snatching the Post-it from the monitor.

  “Through there,” Jose said and nodded.

  William raced through the doorway with Ms. Grisby behind him. They found a door marked EMERGENCY ONLY. There had never been a better emergency. William pressed the metal bar that ran horizontally across the door without an alarm blaring. Good, he thought. They then raced through an alley that led to the small street that William had parked on. They heard sirens converging on the scene as they hopped into the G6.

  The street was a one-way that led to Sunset.

  William pulled out the parking space, put the car in reverse and backed up the street. He reached the small intersection at the end of the one way street and accelerated forward. He headed for the 101 Freeway.

  He reached it safely and then hopped on, hoping that the cops searched for him locally and that there was not an APB out for his rental car.

  FORTY-THREE

  He arrived home feeling much happier than usual. Finally, he had encountered someone brawny and bold enough to conspire with him to rob Washington Mutual Bank. After being an investment banker for Hollywood’s elite for over 15-years, Paul Silverstein hadn’t had any action until William Fortune came along.

  William had sent Paul his annual birthday card and during Paul’s birthday call, William had invited Paul to lunch. A week later William’s proxy had met Paul at the Grand Luxe restaurant in Los Angeles. Despite Paul being hesitant about meeting someone other than William, he did not want to pass on the best deal of his life. He was balding, aging, and divorced thrice. The money that he stood to get would get him wife number four, five and six in a foreign country. And a much better retirement coffer.

  Paul and William’s proxy--code name Sam--sat down and feasted on coq au vin. The men sipped glasses of Merlot. They sat silent except for when they discussed William’s novels. Both of them tried to gauge the others fraudulent prowess. The waiter finally cleared their half-eaten entrees and they got to the point of the meeting.

  Sam explained that Luxembourg had been listed on the United States Department of Commerce’s black list. A list of nations that did not follow international banking laws, which helped to thwart embezzlement and laundering. Paul was unsure of that, but he found out easier than a Blake Griffin dunk. Sam informed Paul that William was willing to transfer all of his money to Luxembourg if there was a chance that the bank could be blamed and William could be reimbursed for the money and get to keep the wired money. There was an attractive boon for Paul, if he could make it happen. Lastly, Sam said that Paul would have to be away from the bank when the transfer was made, so that Paul’s fidelity to the bank was not in question when the investigation began.

  Paul knew how much money William had at the bank. As Sam and Paul talked, Paul calculated how much money he would charge to do this job. He also wondered, why they targeted him. How did they assume that he would say yes. He was lonely and miserable, so why not?

  Paul agreed as long as he could wire additional money that he would split with William. It was a good thing that he agreed, because the theft transpired as they chatted. Paul had no idea that a microscopic camera was placed on his desk area at the bank to assure that the entire theft was recorded.

  Paul looked into the mirrors wrapped around his home’s bar and then poured himself a celebratory shot of scotch. He was applauding William’s brilliant acting at the bank earlier that day. William had nailed shock like a President who found a terrorist sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office. He relished sorrow briefly, like finding out the love of your life had died of cancer. And lastly, William’s outrage and disbelief could not have been any more noxious. Paul loved the way William handled the entire score. He held his shot glass in the air: Kudos, Mr. William Fortune.

  Paul sat on a bar stool and sipped when he saw the security lights in his driveway come to life. He walked over to the door as the car’s engine had stopped. He looked dumbfounded at the Pontiac G6 until William stepped out the car. William asked Ms. Grisby/Justice to remain in the car. He figured the banker would want to speak privately, if he was going to speak freely.

  “Celebrating, I see,” William said as he walked up to the doorway.

  “And you’re just in time,” Paul spat back.

  Is this guy nuts, William thought. This thug. This goon.

  “Come on in,” Paul continued. “Let me fix you a cocktail.”

  William had no idea why the guy was being so friendly. His antics were peculiar. William did not understand. Was that idiot actually offering him a drink to mock him?

  William stepped through the doorway and Paul slammed the door behind them. William then stood in the door way as Paul walked over to the bar. He summoned William over as he had a seat on a stool and offered William the empty one. William walked over to Paul and was disgusted at the son-of-bitches audacity. Paul extended his hand and offered a shot glass, which William happily slapped with a gloved hand. Glass and scotch flew everywhere and destroyed Paul’s carpet and trousers.

  “What the fuck? Asshole!” Paul said angrily. “What kind of shit was that?” He said and jumped to his feet.

  “Paul? Paul? Paul?” William asked, groping the pistol inside of his jacket just in case Paul decided to get froggy and leap at him. He would certainly limp back. “Why don’t I have access to my money?”

  “Because I haven’t given you the password to access it yet. Are you insane?”

  “No, but I am going to be.”

  “We’ve been over this, Fortune.”

  “We have not been over shit,” William said. Don’t let him play games with you, William thought about Ms. Grisby’s last words. “What password and been over what?”

  “Are you wearing a wire or something?”

  “Wire? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “If you’re not setting me up for arrest then what the hell is the ignorance for?”

  William had no idea what Paul spoke of. He was also in disbelief that Paul had called him ignorant. His train of thought was clouded and his chest flared with another burst of angry.

  “Why would I be setting you up?” William asked. “You better start explaining and making sense Paul fast.” He is a banker known to smear things, Ms. Grisby had said to William.

  “Are you telling me that you did not send someone to meet with me to wire all of your money?”

  “No, man,” William barked. He was irritated. “Do you think that I would have stormed into the bank looking like a crazy had I authorized you to wire my money?”

  “That was part of the plan.”

  “Plan? What damn plan?” William asked fiercely. “You know what. Fuck your plan. You have some sort of password to get my money back then I suggest that you use it and get my six-million dollars back,” William said and pulled out his cell phone.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Hollywood had been rocked by two crimes committed by one perpetrator that up until that point was a picture perfect, model citizen. The unfair attacks on a store clerk and a private detective repulsed Detective Bowman. He sat at his desk and visuali
zed William doing a book signing from the prison recreation yard. The local community wanted William off the streets, hopefully for the remainder of his life expectancy.

  Detective Bowman had a hotline in place for tips and every LAPD officer, on and off duty, had a description of William Fortune. Every officer knew what needed to be done before William Fortune the Fool struck again. Bowman had little to go on and that angered him. The only fact that he knew was that William was an adulterer looking to take the anger of his wife finding out about his behavior out on everyone, but himself. The video surveillance images of William at Jose’s office were dim and grainy. Definitely, not the quality to convict him at a trial. And there was no damn audio. If not for the lovely photos Jose had taken to the Mailbox Etc. the police would not have a reliable visual of the erratic Mr. Fortune.

  Tips swam in. A task force checked out each lead methodically. Bowman could only hope and wait for William to slip up. His office phone rang and the forensics team informed him that they had matched the print on the VCR. The scientist told Bowman that he needed to see the print ASAP. The print did belong to a felon. Not known as William Fortune, though.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Lundin stood in the kitchen and sipped on hot tea. She needed to coax her tsunami of anxiety. She had finally pulled herself together from making the phone calls that William had instructed her to make. She called two banks and had her accounts frozen. She then called her three credit card issuers and had them frozen, also. Afterward, she went online and opened a new line of credit and was approved for $8,000. She had the card Federal Express delivery for two days. William had to protect her and ultimately himself.

  Lundin had not heard from William and could feel that something was wrong. She knew that William was a calm, coy kind of guy. He always took the left-wing conservative approach to situations. He was strong at protecting her in that instance and many others, but someone was trying to kill him. At the office he appeared so unbothered by the events unfolding in his life. She thought it was a scary calmness. Almost too calm to be robbed for six-million-dollars. His only hint of anger was hurling the telephone across his office.

  Time ticked and there had not been any word from William. She began to worry, but remained calm. She had envisioned the top ten things about her husband. Their top ten restaurant dates. Her top ten outdoor sexual encounters. Her top ten most relaxing/romantic evenings at home. All of her memories were fond, and she prayed that God kept it that way.

  Lundin walked into the living room and flopped on the sofa in that manner that aggravated William and flipped on the TV. He was such a tidy Virgo man. Everything in a neat and orderly fashion. Easy to locate. He was always on her when her sloppiness wavered out of control.

  Despite his bitchy-ness, she loved him and marveled at his intelligence. When she courted William it was like Serena Williams winning the US Open with an ace. She was so tired of ignorant, illiterate, idiots. William was brains and beauty. Beautiful on the inside and equally beautiful on the outside.

  Damn, she thought. I can’t lose his man. She looked at her phone and pleaded, ring dammit.

  She was distracted by a newscaster, Mason Donatucci alerted the public that her husband was wanted and armed and dangerous. She flicked off the TV and realized that William was truly in need. She grabbed her purse and raced out of the door frantically dialing his cell phone.

  No answer. She hopped in the Rendezvous and turned on the ignition. She re-dialed William again. No answer.

  Lundin then lost control. She beat the steering wheel and screamed wildly as tears streamed down her face.

  FORTY-SIX

  Paul palmed his cell phone and placed an international call to Luxembourg. He hoped that the time zones did not interfere with him righting his wrong. Was he wrong, though? He had no idea what the hell was going on. He did not know if William was hustling him and knew full well what was going on. Good thing that he possessed the password or the bad guy would have been laughing hysterically at both Paul and William.

  After answering a series of perfunctory questions by the English translator at Bank of Luxembourg, the bank representative asked for the password. Paul said, “Writer” with confidence. He had a smirk on his face and nodded at William. William continued to have his hand on the trigger.

  “Sorry, sir. Is there another password?” the representative asked.

  William heard her loud and clear with the cell phone speaker at its highest volume.

  “Miss, I am the banker-in-charge of this account and I created the password. The damn password is ‘writer’.”

  “Sir, no need to swear. As a banker, especially one handling this amount of money, you know without a password I cannot disclose any information about this account.”

  “Listen.”

  “Let me finish,” she said interrupting him. “I will tell you this because it may be a matter of possible fraud. A gentleman called in claiming to be the account holder, but like you was denied access to the account, also, for not having the password. I see a note here showing that Justice Lorenzo, the account holder, later called in with the password and changed it.”

  “That sneaky son-of-a-bitch,” Paul hissed.

  William closed the cell phone, rudely ending the call. He had heard enough. “Who is a sneaky son-of-a-bitch?”

  “William, I received your birthday card. In it was a telephone number change reminder. I called to thank you for the card and you invited me to lunch. Only you did not show. Someone else did.”

  “That did not strike you as strange?” William asked, modeling his pistol in Paul’s face.

  “Listen, Fortune. Do not do anything that you’ll regret. I can fix this. I can easily manipulate some of my other client accounts to get you your money.”

  “You know, I hate nothing more than a thief. You flat out stole my hard earned money. And now some knave stole the money from you. Your accomplice. That was very deserving. You now have the audacity to sit here and placate my hard earned intelligence. That’s okay, though,” William said charmingly.

  Paul backed away from William and tripped over his own feet. He fell over and his head slammed murderously on the corner of the redwood end table. His cranium cracked open and blood spilled out. Blood leaked from his mouth. He breathed heavily, convulsed and suddenly stopped moving.

  “Don’t die you dumb piece of shit!” William yelled.

  Anger swept over him as he walked slowly over to Paul. He checked Paul’s pulse and did not find one.

  “Oh, no! What the fuck have I done? I just killed this man,” William surmised, shaking.

  William did not want to kill the man. Definitely not before he got his money back. Now the man was dead. He did not have the password to his account. William’s slight sympathy for the man had grown as Ms. Grisby/Justice appeared.

  “What happened here? Seems William’s been a bad boy, again!” Ms. Grisby/Justice joked. “You’re really going down. You may have to plead insanity for all this bullshit you’re doing.”

  “The mutha fucka tripped and cracked his fucking head open, and now he is dead!”

  “Dead? Good for him,” Ms. Grisby/Justice said and walked over to stand atop Paul’s body. He crossed his chest like a Catholic would and said, “For your role in this, the sentence guideline for embezzlement has gone draconian.” He paused and then told William, “Shoot him!”

  “Hell no, he’s dead. I can’t shoot him.”

  “Sure you can. He stole six-million-dollars. Manipulated you at the bank. Lied to you. Made you look like a fool. Mocked you by committing a crime that you regularly write about. It’ll be good therapy. Just like over at Jose’s. Go ahead and shoot him, buddy.”

  William walked toward the front door and ignored Ms. Grisby/Justice. But suddenly, the devil had worked on William. He stood over the corpse and cashiered a silenced shot into Paul Silverstein’s frontal lobe. That was followed by William emptying the clip into the banker.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  When
he relocated he had known that he was destined for greatness. He possessed all the keys. He had a ticket and when he boarded the one way flight to LAX, he had no idea that he would veer in the direction of murderer. He was a thinker. And thinkers were famous. He was now famous for writing and murder.

  Precaution played a pivotal role in William’s everyday life. His novel research led him to conversations with officers and detectives with ranks as high as police chief and Attorney General. He had met a bevy of alphabet boys. He had even spoken to military officers in all of the American armed forces. All of their scholarly advice could not have better prepared him for the current events. With each interview, the officers who were dedicated to secure sensitive areas of American society loved to brag about what new high tech gadgetry their agency had and had tested. They wanted William to report to America their dirty little secrets for their own personal agenda.

  William drove thinking how their agendas were a traffic boost to help him thwart capture from the LAPD. Had they known the information they handed over freely would be a permanent set of furniture in William’s head? The irrational LAPD had better call in the FBI, or the cunning, charming, and creative William Fortune would devastate them. Capture was imminent in order for the LAPD to arrest William’s plans.

  Four years ago, he had left Philadelphia prepared to do what was needed to begin his legacy. Just when he had gotten started someone wanted to blow his high. That was okay for William, too. He would blow their damn head off.

  Human nature--the emotional bitch that she was--had William afraid, but confident. People hated to leave their comfort zone. It was worse when the zone was interrupted by an unknown force.

  William continued to drive away from Silverstein’s in an emergency situation. Dire. In that post-9/11 society everyone had a practiced method to handle all emergencies. He responded to his alarm going off as quickly as inmates in a California pen hitting the ground when a tower guard yelled, “Yard Down!”