Jay Giles (19 page)
We sat around the condo’s kitchen table drinking beer. “She said she knew what it was like to be alone and didn’t want me to have to go through that kind of pain.” Fish was giving us the play by play, word for word. “I said, yeah, I feel like I don’t have a friend in the world. She smiled when I said that, said she’d be my friend.”
Gag me with a spoon.
“It was your speech,” Tory said. “It showed your vulnerable side.”
Fish nodded, swallowed some beer. He put the can back down on the table, leaned forward, and looked at her, his bushy eyebrows arched high. “You think?”
“I’m sure you impressed her,” Tory assured him.
“Let’s let Mr. Sensitive tell it—without coaching,” I suggested.
Tory frowned at me, sat back in her chair.
Fish took the hint. “Yeah, well. She said she always went for coffee after these meetings and asked if I wanted to come with her. I said what I could really use was a beer.” He paused, expecting a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he said, “She thought it was funny.”
“Hilarious. Continue.”
He shrugged. “I drove to the coffee place—a Starbucks. Gave me a chance to show off the car. She thought it was nifty.”
“Did she ask if you had other cars?” Tory asked.
“Yeah, she did. Like we rehearsed, I told her my big Mercedes was in
Detroit
. This one was just to tool around in down here.” He shook his head. “Actually, she pumped me pretty good. She asked how I came to
Sarasota
. I told her by plane.” Again, he gave us the look, waiting for a reaction.
I sighed, exasperated by his attempts at humor. “You didn’t tell her you came here because your doctor recommended it?”
His brow furrowed, causing his eyebrows to collide. “A wealthy guy like Frank Ford wouldn’t just do an information dump. A guy with that much money, well, he’d be a little more sophisticated. I thought that’s how you wanted me to act?”
I smiled. The humor was Fish’s attempt at sophistication. At least he was trying. Fish was only doing what he thought we wanted. It was important not to dump on him. Better to encourage him. “That’s exactly how I want you to act,” I said. “She gave you the perfect opening to talk doctors. I just wanted to make sure you took advantage of it—within character, of course.”
His brow unfurrowed. His jowls quivered. His version of a smile. “Exactly. I was asking myself what’s my motivation here? And I was thinking Frank Ford has a confidence about him, a sense of humor. He’s not the kind of guy who would just blurt out his medical problems. I mean, he’s a tough business guy, right? He’d be a hard case. She’d have to pull information about his doctors out of him. So that’s what I made her do.”
“You did?” I asked incredulously.
“Absolutely. She had to work to get Dr. Clark and Dr. Jarrett’s names.”
“But she got them?”
“Eventually.”
“What else did she have to pry out of you?”
“She asked about family—if I’d been married, had children. I told her I was still a virgin and gave her one of these.” He scrunched up his eye in what might pass for a wink.
“What did she say about not having any family?” Tory asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I repeated.
“Nothing,” he said, finishing his beer, and leering at each of us ecstatically. “What she said was she didn’t believe a guy like me could still be a virgin, but if I was, she’d have to do something about that.”
I had trouble getting to sleep that night. Once I did, the dreams came.
We’d just arrived at church for the funeral. Dad had driven. Mom had tried to make small talk. I’d sat in the back, dazed, withdrawn, Eddie by my side. Dad parked the car. I didn’t want to get out. He helped me, put his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Matt.”
Every step I took from the car to the church was slow, labored. The priest met us outside, said a prayer, escorted us in. Friends and family were there, a sea of sad faces. In front of the altar, three caskets in a row.
I saw it all but none of it registered. What got my attention was the music, the church organ groaning a somber dirge. Claire would have hated it.
“Matt, where are you going?” I heard my mother say as I walked off down the aisle to talk to the organist.
I startled the poor lady. She stopped playing, ending with a couple of abrupt, strident notes.
“Do you know In This Very Room?” I asked her, tears streaming down my face. The song had been one of Claire’s favorites.
She nodded, began playing.
A lone voice starting singing. Others joined in. I tried. The words wouldn’t come. Just tears.
I woke. The hurt as deep as ever. I looked over at the bedside clock. Five a.m. I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep. I got up, took a shower, had some breakfast, went in to the office.
At seven-thirty, I called Dr. Swarthmore, got her machine, left a message. She hadn’t called back by ten, when Rosemary buzzed me. “Julian on line one.”
I picked up. “Hello, Julian.”
“Hang on one second.” I heard him give instructions in quick, authoritative bursts to someone in his office, probably Amanda. “Sorry,” he said coming back on the line. “Our mediation session has been scheduled for tomorrow at one o’clock here at my offices. You don’t have a problem with that time, do you?”
All the things I’d rather be doing flashed through my mind. “No; let’s get this over with.”
“I agree. This is going to be a total waste of time. But at least it will get their demands on the table.”
Unfortunately, the mediator was powerless to resolve anything. The mediation session was simply a required step to make sure there were issues to be resolved when the case went to arbitration. Nevitt, of course, would insist the issues were huge, setting the stage to ask for major damages. Julian would downplay things, field a trial balloon on how much Nevitt wanted to end this thing. Nevitt would get a figure out on the table. We’d laugh at it and the case would move on to arbitration.
“Nevitt give any clues when you talked to him?”
“Not really. He knows I’ve filed a motion to dismiss his civil suit. He ran his mouth about that. Judging by the way he ranted, tomorrow could be ugly. You prepared for that?”
“Guess I’ll have to be. Who’s the mediator?”
“Sue Ann Tansky. Know her?”
“No.”
“Seemed nice enough on the phone, but I’m not expecting anything from her. We just need to get through this.”
“See you at one.” I rang off, entered the event and time in my Blackberry.
Rosemary buzzed again. “Dr. Swarthmore on two.”
“Adelle, thanks for calling back so quickly.”
“Not a problem. More dreams?”
“Afraid so,” I said and filled her in. As I did, I heard the scratching sounds of a pen on paper, pages being turned.
When I finished, she said, “I have a group session in just a few minutes, so I can’t talk long. This dream, like all the others, Matt, was your mind processing information. The fact that you’ve now processed this information—that you have more of the grieving process behind you—is positive. These last dreams have happened in close proximity to each other. Almost in a cluster. Indicating, perhaps, a final burst to completion.” I heard paper rustling, pages turning. “That’s consistent with the progress you’ve made. You are far more interactive with people than you were six months ago. This dream cluster may be an indication you’re getting ready to allow friendships to deepen into relationships.” I heard the sounds of a door opening, people talking. “I’m afraid I have to go, Matt. Would you like to schedule a time when we can talk longer?”
I hesitated. “Let’s see how things go the next couple of days. Then I’ll call and schedule something.”
“That’s good. Take care, Matt,” she said as she rang off.
I worked steadily the rest of the day. Left the office at seven, grabbed a bite of dinner on my way home, went for a long walk on the beach. I needed to think through what I’d learned from Raines.
His theory that D’Onifrio planned to use me to demonstrate his ruthlessness made sense. That’s why he’d gone along with my crazy marriage idea. Not because he thought it would work or because he didn’t want to attract attention. It was because he could turn it to his own benefit.
The question was could I turn it back? That’s what I needed to explore. Ever since the meeting with Raines, something had been nagging at my subconscious. As I walked along the edge of the water, letting the waves wash up on my feet, I tried to get that something to reveal itself. I walked about a mile and a half, turned, and walked back.
That night, at two in the morning, I woke up knowing what that something was.
Better yet, I knew how to use it to my advantage.
The next morning at the office, I told Rosemary I was going to run a quick errand, left the building, and found a pay phone. I dialed the number Paul Raines had given me.
“Yeah,” a voice answered.
“This is Matt, I need to talk to Paul,” I said trying not to reveal much.
“Give me your number. He’ll call you right back.”
I read him the pay phone number, hung up, waited. No more than a minute later, it rang. I picked it up.
“You needed to talk?” It was Raines.
“I’ve got a couple of questions that need answers.”
“Not over the phone.”
“No. I was hoping you’d meet with me again.”
“You’re out on Longboat, right?”
“Yes.”
“You know where the dry dock boat storage is?”
“Yes.”
“Go there tomorrow. Ask in the office for Mike. He’ll get you to me.”
“What time?”
“Be there at ten.”
“I will. Thanks.” I hung up, walked back to the office. I had two hours before our meeting with the mediator. I used the time to put through a batch of transactions, caught a quick lunch at The Bagel Stop, arrived at Julian’s office ten minutes early.
I thought I’d be the first one there. Amanda, Julian’s associate, assured me I wasn’t. “They’re all in the conference room,” she told me as she led me back.
“Probably yukking it up in there, right?”
She looked back at me over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “This is not the fun bunch, no.” We reached the conference room doors. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said as I opened the door. Inside, all three—Julian, Nevitt, and Sue Ann Tansky—turned and watched me. I tried to read their faces. Julian was smiling. Nevitt was scowling. The mediator, an older brunette wearing heavy glasses and a high-necked suit, showed a grim expression I took to be her I’m-objective-this-is-serious face.
I didn’t let that deter me. I walked over, extended my hand. “Ms. Tansky, I’m Matt Seattle.”
She offered a limp handshake and mumbled something that sounded like, “Havaseat.”
I took the seat next to Julian and facing Nevitt. Tansky was to my left at the head of the long table, an open legal-sized folder of documents in front of her.
Julian looked at his watch. “Now that we’re all here, I think we can begin.” He looked at Tansky, who had her head down, studying documents.
She continued to read, apparently oblivious to our waiting. Finally, she looked up. “Let’s try and make productive use of our time here.” It was a schoolteacher’s chiding voice. “The first thing I need to know is whether there’s still a dispute to be mediated.”
Nevitt snorted. “We think there is.”
“We don’t,” Julian added firmly.
Tansky looked up from her papers, smiled slightly. “Those answers add up to a yes. We’ll move forward.” She looked at Nevitt. “Mr. Nevitt, it looks like your client, Mrs. Jesso, never actually dealt with Mr. Seattle. Is that right?”
Nevitt nodded. “That’s correct. Mr. Jesso handled all the couple’s financial affairs. He told his wife he felt Mr. Seattle was taking advantage of—”
“That’s enough Mr. Nevitt. I was just trying to understand why Mr. Jesso didn’t bring these charges.”
“He was about to,” Nevitt volunteered, “when he died.”
“That’s hearsay, of course,” Julian added smoothly. “Not the fact he died. That’s indisputable. However, there’s no evidence of any dissatisfaction on Mr. Jesso’s part.”
Tansky took a deep breath, blew out. “This will go more quickly without these little posturing exchanges,” she chided, giving both Julian and Nevitt hard looks. “I need to get your positions on the table. Let’s see if we can do that without starting a debate. Mr. Nevitt, state your position.”
“We’re looking for the return of all commissions, the total dollar figure is $95,000, I believe.”
“Mr. Ockerman,” she said to Julian, “what’s your position?”
“We want a complete dismissal.”
“Back to you, Mr. Nevitt. Is there anything else you require before this case goes to arbitration?”
Nevitt thought for a moment, frowned, shook his head. “I don’t think so. No.”
“Mr. Ockerman, is there anything you require.”
“As a matter of fact, there is. You may have noticed that there are trades in question that originated at Merrill Lynch.”
Tansky nodded. “Yes, I was aware of those.”
“It’s been alleged Mr. Seattle made those trades. He says he didn’t, which calls into question who did. Since Mr. Nevitt’s client is the one who stands to benefit, we’d like to review her financial records for the last year.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nevitt shouted. “She’s the victim here. You’re trying to harass her.”
Julian smiled, handed Nevitt an envelope. “That’s a court order. If you don’t deliver complete financial records to me in two weeks, you’ll he held in contempt. If my CPAs tell me something—anything—is missing, I’ll go back to Judge Bruegger and you’ll do thirty days.”
“This is ridiculous,” Nevitt repeated. “You can’t—”
Tansky had started packing up her files. She paused. “I’m afraid he can, Mr. Nevitt. The only way to not comply would be to settle now. Do you want to try and negotiate?”
“No, we don’t,” Nevitt sputtered.
Julian stood. “Two weeks, Nevitt. If anything’s missing, I will have your ass thrown in jail.”
Nevitt, face red, jaw jutting, got up, glared at Julian. “Think you’re so smart. You’re not. You’re only making things worse.”
I felt like cheering as I watched him leave the room. It was the first time I’d seen Nevitt off balance. “Can you really get him thrown in jail?”
Tansky chuckled under her breath.
“Probably not,” Julian said. “But he can’t know that for sure. Might make him a little more motivated to cooperate.”
Tansky stood, clicked her briefcase closed. “I believe I’m finished here.”
Julian walked her out. I stayed. There were things I wanted to know. When Julian came back, I asked, “If we find something in these financial records, can’t we get this whole thing dismissed?”
Julian smiled. “The proverbial smoking gun. That sort of thing?”
Okay, so it was wishful thinking.
He shook his head. “They’re not going to turn over anything incriminating. Nevitt’s too shrewd to do anything that self-destructive. Meanwhile, though, we’ve bought ourselves a little time.”
Time. I looked at my watch. I had a lot to do before I met Tory for tonight’s A.A. meeting. I stood, walked over, shook Julian’s hand. “Great job. Keep after them. I’ve got to run.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?”
“Just business.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said, smiling.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t sure I believed it, either.
