Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (7 page)

She watched him return to his buddies. He was already joking and laughing with them, probably had some job ideas lined up. It took her months to find this job. They worked around her schedule at school, and the pay wasn’t horrible. She didn’t have months. The mortgage company wouldn’t give her months.

She crawled in her car and opened a window. Her face lifted in greeting to the cool breeze. She needed to get home, sleep, and put another sorry day out of its misery. Tomorrow was soon enough to revisit today’s trouble. She cranked the ignition, and it made plenty of noise before the engine died.

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

The black Mercedes limousine waited outside the release gate of San Quentin when Vladimir Penniski broke free of the stale prison air. Most parolees left wearing a set of gray sweats that they purchased with money provided by the state. Vladimir let them keep their gate money and strode out in hand-tailored Italian wool and a crisp, white shirt of pure silk.

 

San Quentin occupied a priceless piece of Marin County beachfront that neither Vladimir nor any of the inmates enjoyed during their stay, least of all those on death row. Vladimir stood on the sidewalk and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. The pungent air coming off the cold Pacific could no longer taunt him through the prison bars. He breathed deeply as the breeze snapped the end of his jacket.

The driver lounged against the car’s frame until he spied Vladimir approaching. He scrambled to return to the driver’s seat and started the engine. Anton and Yuri Suslova emerged from opposite sides of the rear compartment. The two brothers had worked for Vladimir since they were teens. Anton was a little older, sturdier, and did most of the talking. Their budding smiles made them look slightly less lethal.

“
Skolko let, skolko zim
.” Vladimir called to them as he neared the car.

“
Skolko let, skolko zim
.” The brothers returned the greeting.

Anton waited for Vladimir to extend a hand then pumped it several times as if he expected water to flow. “It’s good to see you on this side, Mr. Penniski.”

“We have much to discuss.” Vladimir clapped a hand on the bulky man’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

As the car rolled toward the free world, Yuri withdrew a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer and filled three aperitif glasses. The driver paused briefly at the gate before heading for San Francisco. Vladimir leaned back in his seat and exhaled the last of San Quentin’s fumes from his lungs.

Yuri handed a glass to Vladimir. “For you, sir.”

Vladimir took the glass by the stem. “Now, I feel at home.
Budem zdorovy
.”

“
Budem
!” The brother’s chorused.” They drank quickly, and Anton offered a second toast while Yuri refilled their glasses “To Barney Reid’s nose.”

“To Barney Reid’s nose.” Vladimir downed his round and laughed.

Yuri passed out small plates filled with pickles and herring.

“What have you learned from our friend Kurt Meyers?” Vladimir ate some of the fish.

“Meyers gives good speeches. The crowd, they love him.” Anton laid his plate on the small pullout table and wiped his hands. “His people meet with every investor. Meyers meets those who knew Patty O’Mara personally. We have the same list of investors.”

Vladimir let a Dunhill fall from the pack. “Spencer Thornton spent major money to hire this guy. More than some of those people even lost. What do you have in place?”

Yuri offered Vladimir a light. He rarely joined in the conversations.

“We installed a keylogger on his computer,” Anton said. “For him, it is better than a phone bug. We see everything the man types, and he’s taken interest in a woman from Sausalito. Vonda Creevy.”

Vladimir puffed life into the Dunhill. “What’s special about her?”

“She knew O’Mara. Maybe they were close. We don’t have details. She is a litigation attorney and investor with a friend on Supreme Court. The last three governors offer her a seat on appellate court, but she turned them down. She likes the courtroom.”

“Interesting lady.”

Anton sat upright. “Wade Staunton sent a message that you want us to consider hackers.”

“This disappearing money act bothers me.” Vladimir noticed the brothers exchange a glance. “I mean the way it disappeared. All the money moved electronically.”

“The SEC tried to follow money trail, but they haven’t gotten anywhere. Money leaves an account but does not reappear.”

“Patty O’Mara is a thieving little
govno
. But I don’t want that to cloud my judgment. Maybe someone stole the money from him.” He watched the brothers’ faces for a reaction. “Who wrote the software he used on his servers? Computer geeks don’t make the kind of money O’Mara had floating around. Maybe someone got greedy.”

Anton nodded. “We’ll find out.”

“I want the name of everyone on the software development teams—anybody who was in the building. If someone jacked my money, I want to know where that bastard is.”

Yuri poured another round of vodka. “Maybe he bought a small island.”

“Then get me the GPS coordinates, so I can nuke it.”

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

 

Maggie poured stiff coffee into a battered mug. Normally she added milk, but after losing her only line of income, drinking it black was fitting punishment. She sat the mug on the foreclosure notice. A dark ring seeped onto the page. However much she enjoyed bashing Peter’s nose, he wasn’t worthy of her sacrifice.

 

Benito and his friends had found the problem with her car. A distributor wire rattled loose. They were surprised her car even had a distributor. Such was the state-of-her-art. When they reattached it, the car sputtered to life. The drive home seemed much longer than usual.

Sleep crept over her sometime during the night, and she enjoyed the luxury of dismissing yesterday’s events as a bad dream. But in the morning light, her situation seemed even bleaker.

Bailey and Belli sat at Maggie’s feet while she prepped their breakfast of no-name dog nuggets and some wet stuff she bought on sale. Bailey licked the back of Maggie’s hand as if to sample what was in the bowl. Belli nudged her head into Maggie’s knee. Maggie set the bowls down and gave them fresh water. The beagles were accustomed to an earlier meal, but Maggie couldn’t find a good reason to hurry out of bed.

She slid into a chair at the kitchen table and stared out the window. The back deck was her favorite place to sip coffee and watch the surf. The weather was cool and uncharacteristically sunny. But she felt like fostering her ill humor a little longer. Outside, on the beach, she couldn’t adequately suffer.

The bitter coffee matched her mood but sent a few thousand volts to zap her central nervous system out of her moldy funk. She needed a job. Today.

Their savings was sapped by illness. They tapped the remaining equity on the house for Travis’ futile defense. Of the dozen guitars in her father’s original collection, she’d already sold ten. Daddy received a bit of money each month but not enough to support them all. And her degree, only two more years, or three, the rate she was going. And then law school. But if she didn’t get a job, she couldn’t pay the mortgage. Nothing else mattered. She hadn’t told Travis they’d defaulted on the mortgage and might lose their house. There simply wasn’t anything he could do to help.

“Can you, Mag?”

She snapped toward the sound of Travis’ voice. Hot coffee sloshed up, over the rim and onto her hand. She shook it like a cat. “Oww.”

“Are you okay.” He rushed to her side and checked her hand. “Want some aloe?” A natural caretaker, just like his mother.

Maggie hadn’t shared her mornings for the last six months. Alone in her dark cloud, she’d forgotten about Travis. And Daddy? He’d forgotten them both.

She squeezed his hand and drew back. “I’m fine, Trav. Just a little preoccupied. Can I what?”

“I need to learn to drive. Javier and his mom helped me research it, and I can order the workbooks for my training. I have to pass the test before I can get a permit. It’s thirty bucks. They’ll overnight them, and I can use my jail money for it.” He spoke quickly as if he had a time limit before the words expired. “But I need you to order it for me online.”

Thirty dollars. Thirty jail-dollars at that. It never seemed like much money before. Her father made a good income as a data center manager until Alzheimer’s pilfered his intellect. Travis behind the wheel was an expense she couldn’t afford.

“I know it’s just the beginning of the costs.” He pushed up the sleeves of his denim shirt and took a deep breath. “Driver’s ed costs about three-fifty, but we can take this one step at a time. Plus, I can get a job of some sort. And—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He bear-hugged her like a drunken Russian. “Magpie, you’re the best!”

She hadn’t heard his pet name for her in months. Her heart welled as she hugged him back. Before his arrest, Travis was the one sure soul she knew. Unlike so many teens, he never aspired to petulance. Even if he was guilty of this one colossal mistake, Travis was still her kid brother, and he’d already lost enough of his waning youth.

Besides, it was only money. She could sell the guitars. As much as her father loved them, he couldn’t play anymore. He strummed them once in a while. And Travis quit playing the day his mother died. Maggie missed the music. Every home should make some kind of music.

Her biggest worry was losing the house. The payments were a major drain, and annual property taxes were a heavy hit. As much as she’d miss living on the coast, moving Daddy anywhere brought another set of concerns with his Alzheimer’s. Major changes in his routine could trigger his death spiral.

Before Travis’ arrest, she’d planned to use the equity in their home when Daddy needed diligent care. So far, they’d gotten by with the help of neighbors. With the bank’s notice of default on the loan, selling the house probably wasn’t an option anyway. Two years ago, such thoughts were heresy, now, merely the last lifeboat lowering from her Titanic. Somehow, she’d keep them afloat.

She pushed a tear away with her knuckle. “You want to go to the DMV?”

He smiled. “You mean it?”

“I feel like taking a drive. We can get the forms and whatever else they have while we’re there.” Her hair draped over her eyes. “Can you take The Firm out for a quick walk?”

“Sure.”

“And ask Ginger if she’d check on Dad in about an hour. I’m going to get dressed.” She left her cup by the sink, and then headed up to her room.

The second floor was a finished loft with Maggie’s bedroom on one end and Travis’ on the other. They shared a small bathroom near the stairs. Railing lined the walk between their rooms, overlooking the family room and a supreme view of the Pacific.

She stretched the waist of her pajama bottoms past her hips and dropped them to the floor. A fleece pullover paired nicely with the jeans she’d rummaged from the laundry basket. Socks, navy espadrilles—and she trotted downstairs to check on her father.

Drawn curtains repelled any light seeking his room. He sat on the edge of his bed fully dressed.

“Daddy?”

His eyes cut her direction. “It’s down under, Trish.”

Maggie didn’t feel like correcting him again. Since Travis had gone to jail, Dad seemed routinely out-of-it. Any semblance of lucidity came in flashes, and communication remained unreliable.

She checked the wounds on his back and was satisfied that they were healing. She placed her hand under his elbow, and he stood this time. The remote control lay on the floor by his feet.

Down under. Of course. “C’mon, Daddy. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

He walked on his own to the kitchen table and took a seat. She poured a bowl of Grape-Nuts, added sliced banana, milk, and gave it to him with a large spoon.

“Thanks, Maggie.” His eyes hung on her face.

She hugged his head to the side of her waist. “I love you.” It was nice to be remembered.

Travis entered the beachside door behind the straining beagles. “Hold on.” He reeled in Bailey and Belli long enough to unleash them. The dogs padded to the water bowl and lapped their fill.

“Morning, Pop.” Travis hugged his father around the neck. “Ginger’s coming by later.”

“We’ll be back in a little while.” She grabbed her purse, kissed her father, and they left through the front door.

Driving to The Department of Motor Vehicles was a luxury in terms of spent gas, extra miles on her car, and time not looking for a job. Instead of the usual morning clouds, the ocean currents sent a top-down kind of morning, and she decided to revel in it even if she didn’t own a convertible. The troubles would be there when they returned. Maggie didn’t need to invite them along for the ride.

She took Highway 92 over the mountains into the San Mateo office and picked up the California Driver Guide, the Parent-Teen Training Guide, and every possible applicable form. Travis pored over the regulations as if seeking clues for treasure. They arrived home minutes before eleven.

Travis hustled upstairs to get Maggie’s laptop, so she could order the driver’s ed workbooks. She hoped the books would arrive quickly. Travis needed to concentrate on something positive.

Their father was sitting outside on the porch watching the ocean roil. She stepped out to kiss the top of his head. He rewarded her with a pat on the hand.

She returned to the kitchen to check for messages. A light blinked on the phone recorder. Denesha had called to offer Maggie some job ideas. Sergeant Garcia from the Half Moon Bay Police Department wanted Maggie to call him. Maybe he had news.

Travis was downstairs before Sergeant Garcia’s message ended. A worry line sidled across his brow. “What’s up?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

He placed the laptop on the kitchen counter.

She laid the phone down and turned on the computer. “What’s the address?”

Maggie typed in the name he gave her. Within minutes, they ordered Travis’ driving workbooks. The website promised delivery the same week.