Show Her The Money. Stephanie Feagan

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СКАЧАТЬ he spread some document copies across his desk, and noticed a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm, above his skin diver watch. “Nice tattoo,” I said. “Did you get it in the Navy?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “When were you in the Navy?”

      “Pink, I like to keep business and personal separated. Understand?”

      “Got it.”

      He pointed to the documents lining the top edge of his desk. “These are bills of lading for Domino Pipe Company. They’re a primo pipe supplier and our client buys from them on a regular basis. His name is Ollie Shanks and his partner is his cousin, Bert. Ollie and Bert are each fifty percent partners in Shanks Resources, a small oil company they started back in the eighties. Ollie thinks Bert is switching the primo pipe for some crap pipe, selling the good stuff and pocketing the difference.”

      “Why does he think that?”

      “Because every well they’ve drilled and completed in the last six months has sprouted casing leaks and they’re losing a lot of barrels back to the hole.”

      Looking over the division order, I asked, “Is Bert a moron? He has to pay half the cost of the new pipe, which he can’t sell for what they paid for it if he’s doing it on the sly. And he’d probably make twice the money off the oil he’s losing to the hole.”

      “He’s dumb like a fox. He has to split the oil with Ollie, but by selling the pipe he only had to pay for half of, pocketing one hundred percent of the profit, and buying crap pipe on the cheap, he comes out ahead.”

      “So what are we supposed to do?”

      “Prove that Bert is switching the pipe. Ollie needs solid evidence that his cousin is cheating him because he wants Bert out of the company.”

      “Because he’s a crook?”

      “Among other reasons.” Sam gathered up the documents and the bank statements and handed them to me. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

      I walked toward his door. “No problem, but if you ever call me tiger again, I’ll hurt you. Understand?”

      “Got it.”

      I spent some time getting acclimated to the Shankses’ information, but had barely begun to work out a plan before five o’clock came. Almost as though a silent alarm sounded, the bull pen became a hive of busy activity, the staff tidying up desks, closing files, gathering up purses and briefcases. I joined the frenzy, anxious to get to Mom’s and float in the pool, a cold Corona in hand.

      Faster than a herd of crazed cattle, we all stampeded down the hall, but as we got closer to the reception area, I caught a whiff of something so vile, so nasty, I covered my nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

      Then I saw the smoke.

      “Fire!” somebody yelled, and as one, we all turned and fled back to the bull pen.

      My heart raced, my palms broke out in a sweat and my only thought was to get Mom. I took off for her office, but she must have heard the commotion because she met me at the doorway. “What the hell’s going on?” Her dark eyes were wide with worry.

      “Mom, we gotta get out of here! It’s—”

      “A smoke bomb!” Tiffany yelled.

      I turned to see her emerge from the fog now creeping down the hall. Her eyes were watering and she had a hand over her mouth while she coughed and gagged.

      Sam came out of his office and immediately took control, which effectively calmed everyone down. The shrieks and shouts stopped in favor of Sam’s stern commanding voice. He barked an order for someone to call 9-1-1 and directed one of the seniors to take everyone down the exit stairs.

      Turning to follow, anxious to get Mom out of there because she looked so frightened, it hadn’t yet occurred to me to wonder why anyone would set off a smoke bomb in the office.

      Not until Tiffany came up behind me and said in a choked voice, “This is your fault!”

      The group stopped before passing through the stairway door and stared at me with giant question marks in their eyes.

      “My fault?” I asked, astonished anyone would think I’d stoop to something so juvenile and mean.

      Thrusting a sheet of crinkled paper at me, she coughed and spluttered, but managed to say, “Whoever opened the door and…threw the smoke bomb, tossed this in first. Says right there, ‘Back off…Pinkie, or next time it’ll be a helluva lot worse than…smoke!’”

      My earliest memory is when I was three years old and my dad ran over the cat. Mom loved that cat. I wouldn’t know that by observation because as I said, my first memory was when the cat went to the big litter box in the sky. I know Mom loved the cat because she talked about Blix for the next twenty-eight years of my life. Part of my hazy memory is Mom wigging out in the driveway, crying and accusing Dad of doing it on purpose, so maybe she just talked about the cat because it reinforced her opinion of my father. I don’t think he did it on purpose because he has a real soft spot for animals. A mean son of a bitch to people, but no way he’d run over poor Blix on purpose, even to piss off Mom.

      All the same, I don’t think she ever forgave him. And I don’t recall Mom ever wigging out like that again.

      Until Tiffany read the note from the Dog Doo Stalker.

      While me and Mom and the rest of the staff, except for Sam, who stayed behind to check out the smoke bomb, tromped down fifteen flights of stairs, she hysterically asked questions in a shrill voice that was beyond unnerving. I answered all of them as truthfully as possible, well aware the staff was listening to every word. So much for my plan of keeping the Dog Doo Stalker on the q.t. I was already persona non grata to most people—the Dog Doo Stalker would reduce me to leper status.

      Outside, in the late afternoon heat, we had to wait for the fire department and the Midland bomb squad to check the building. Being a captive audience, I had no choice but to take it while Mom hounded me for details, railed against me for keeping it from her, insisted I had to destroy the disk so “that maniac” would leave me alone.

      I patiently listened and let her go off on me, until she said I had to destroy the disk. “Mom, you can ask me to do just about anything, but not that. As soon as I get the disk, I’m handing it over to the finance committee.”

      Finally aware of our audience, Mom gave the staff the evil eye and they slowly moved away, although they couldn’t go home because the fire department had the parking garage blocked off.

      “The disk isn’t that important!” she said in a stage whisper the firemen could probably hear on the fifteenth floor. “The SEC has enough for an investigation. Let them take care of it.”

      “They can prove Marvel has a lousy accounting system, maybe even prove there’s some funny money involved, but it will all fall on the grunt people, the little guys who had to follow orders. I’m certain the Marvel execs and my firm have already destroyed any documents that could prove they set the whole thing up, that none of it was due to stupidity or carelessness. If I don’t turn over the disk, not one of the lousy bastards at the top will pay for what they’ve done.”

      “Pink, СКАЧАТЬ