The Day Trader (27 page)

I haven’t passionately kissed a woman other than Melanie since high school. That was a girl named Cathy, and as I feel Mary’s lips press against mine, I remember what I had forgotten after so much time. That every woman has her own taste. It’s completely different with Mary than it was with Melanie.

“Let’s go to your place,” she suggests, pulling back.

“I live way down on the south side,” I say. “The rush-hour traffic will be terrible on the Beltway right now. It’ll take us at least an hour to get there, especially with this rain. Don’t you live right here in McLean? Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I’m having the kitchen remodeled,” she says, kissing my neck and sliding her hand up my thigh. “The workmen are there. We wouldn’t have any privacy. Come on, let’s go to your place.”

“Father Dale, it’s Augustus McKnight.”

He squints against a bright light streaming down from above, peering at me from behind the rectory door that is slightly ajar. It’s almost midnight, and I hope I haven’t awakened him.

“I was here a few mornings ago,” I continue. “I was out on the front steps of your church,” I mutter, not proud of the condition I was in when he found me. “We talked for a while, and—”

“And you gave me a very generous contribution for Betty’s shelter,” he says, opening the door all the way and coming out to shake my hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away, Augustus. It’s just that it’s very late and I had a long day.”

“No need to apologize, Father. I shouldn’t be coming by at this hour.”

“Nonsense. I’m here for everyone at any hour of the day. It comes with the turf.” He tilts his head and smiles warmly, still clasping my hand in both of his. “I want you to know how much your gift meant to Betty. She was able to begin a remodeling program on the shelter that will allow her to double the number of women and children she can accommodate. She’d like very much to meet you so she can thank you in person.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right. Hearing about it from you is enough.”

He hesitates. “What can I do for you? Would you like to come in and talk? I could make us some coffee.”

“Thank you, Father, but that’s all right.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

He must realize that there’s more to these visits than I’m letting on, but I’m not ready to open up yet. I thought I was on the drive over, but I’m still not. “That’s very kind, and I may take you up on your offer at some point. But the reason I stopped by tonight was to give you something.” I press a large envelope into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“More money for the shelter, Father. I told you there would be more.” He peers inside and it makes me feel good to see his expression. Inside the envelope is most of the cash Melanie made performing at the Two O’Clock Club.

“How much is in here?” he asks in amazement.

“About six thousand dollars. The guys down at the club wanted Betty to have it. I’m just the messenger.”

CHAPTER 16

The rich leather aroma permeating the inside of this new BMW 330i sports car is even more intoxicating than the one in the limousine I rode in the other night. It’s like holding a pair of calf-skin gloves to your face and inhaling deeply. For the first time in my life I feel like a wealthy man.

Nestled behind the steering wheel of this sleek black showroom model, listening to a needle-nose salesman describe what this incredible machine can do while he kneels beside me, I know I’m going to buy the car. It’s simply a matter of time. Through the spotless windshield I catch the eye of another guy checking out my black beauty. I stare him down, silently but surely letting him know that he might as well forget what he’s thinking.

“I don’t care what anyone says about the Porsche or the Mercedes,” the salesman is saying as I tune back into him. “The BMW isn’t just the ultimate driving machine, it’s the ultimate driving experience. Everything else is just a means of transportation. After you own one of these babies, Mr. McKnight, you’ll never want anything else.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

The salesman can see how much I want this car, and he turns suddenly from my pal to a negotiator. “Now, with the sports package and all the other extras on this particular car,” he says solemnly, “the price will be forty-three thousand even. And I’m telling you, that’s a great deal. These puppies are so popular, we’re having a hard time keeping them in stock. In fact, this car came in late last night on the truck, and if you hadn’t been the first one in the door this morning, there’d be someone else sitting where you are right now. Yup, forty-three grand and you’ve got yourself one of the best cars money can buy. You hand me a down payment of, say, ten thousand dollars, and I’ll have this car prepped and ready for you by one o’clock this afternoon.”

I glance over at him as he kneels beside me, one hand on the inside of the open door, anticipation written all over his face. He’s a small man who reminds me a little bit of my old boss Russell Lake. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Harry.” I can’t remember what he said his name was, but he looks like a Harry to me, and letting him know I don’t remember his name will put him back on his heels and wipe that smug expression off his face. “Tell you what. Let’s you and me take this car out on the road for a spin before we talk price. Let’s see what it can do, Harry.”

“Of course,” he says quickly, motioning for a man in dark blue overalls to open one of the large showroom doors. “By the way, Mr. McKnight, my name’s Bill. Bill Morris.”

“Whatever you say, Harry.”

A few minutes later Harry and I are on the Beltway doing ninety and it feels like the engine is hardly working. It’s purring, begging to go faster, and the RPM needle is nowhere near the red zone. My Toyota would be disintegrating at this speed, I’d be smelling hot oil leaking from something, and it would be all I could do to keep the Toyota on the road. But the Beamer is whipping and weaving around other vehicles on the four-lane highway like they’re in reverse and I’m on rails. Harry’s in the passenger seat babbling about torque and tight suspension and how these cars are built to handle the autobahns in Germany as he sinks lower and lower behind the dashboard, hoping to God he makes it back to the dealership alive.

I’ve been thinking about buying this car for a week, but yesterday’s insanity at Bedford pushed me to do it. Something clicked while I was sitting at the bar with Mary, and I realized that life is too short not to go for what you want all the time. From now on I’m going to do what I want, when I want, as long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. I immediately think of Mary. God, what a mess I almost got myself into.

“Why don’t you get off here?” Harry shouts as a large green exit sign looms on the right. I’ve got the sunroof open and the windows down so it’s loud inside the car with the wind whipping around us.

“Relax,” I say calmly, feeding the car more gas and blowing past the off-ramp.

“I don’t recommend this,” he says, gritting his teeth as we narrowly avoid the back end of an eighteen-wheeler. “There are lots of cops on this part of the Beltway. Let’s go back to the dealership.”

“Let’s talk price instead.”

“I can’t do that. Our policy is that we only discuss terms on the dealership premises.”

“Don’t give me that. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, Harry. Now, what did you say the price was again?”

“Look out!” he yells, bracing himself.

A pickup is little more than a red blur as we flash past it. “The price,” I say again. “What is it?”

“Forty-three thousand dollars.”

“No way. I’ve checked around on the Internet. I can buy this exact same car from a dealer up in Philadelphia for forty grand, but I don’t feel like hoofing it all the way up there. You’re screwing me at forty-three,” I say calmly as we come within inches of a blue Ford sedan. “The speedometer tops out at one-seventy. Let’s see if we can get there.”

“Jeeeesus Christ! All right, all right. Forty-one, Mr. McKnight, but that’s as low as I can go without my manager’s permission.”

“Thirty-nine. That’s a very fair price for this car.”

As I dart into the far left lane to avoid several slower cars, we race across a short bridge. On the other side of the span, tucked in behind an abutment, is a Virginia state trooper. I glance into the rearview mirror as we race past. He’s already flicked on his emergency lights.

“Now you’ve got a problem,” Harry announces triumphantly, looking back over his left shoulder. “These guys don’t screw around. The speed limit here is fifty-five. Twenty miles an hour over the limit is reckless in Virginia, and you’re doing almost
forty
over. This guy is going to take your license away. You’ll be lucky not to go to jail. Looks like I’ll be driving back to the dealership.” He settles back into his seat, not even trying to hide an I-told-you-so grin.

“Hold on, Harry.” I pump the accelerator twice, then drop the clutch, shifting the car into a higher gear and pushing the speedometer needle over a hundred.

“Oh, my God,” Harry mutters, like he’s seen the grim reaper pointing at him in the lane ahead. “Please don’t do this.”

“Thirty-nine thousand,” I say firmly, swerving to the far right across four lanes. “Did you hear me?”

“I hear you!” he shouts, covering his eyes as I race up an exit ramp, lean on the brakes, and make a right turn at the top of the incline doing forty miles an hour.

This car handles like a dream. In seconds I’m back up to seventy on a winding two-lane road. “I can make all of this end.” I give him a sly smile. “One way or the other.”

“Forty even!” he yells. “That’s as low as I can go.”

“You’re really disappointing me, Harry.”

“Please!” he yells, burying his face in his hands.

A yellow-and-black sharp turn ahead sign looms in front of us. “Harry.”

He peeks through his fingers. “Jesus. All right, thirty-nine!”

I nod. “Good boy.”

The thing about going a hundred miles an hour past an object at rest is that within fifteen seconds you’re half a mile past it. We were out of sight before Johnny Law even had a chance to get his blue-and-gray cruiser out into traffic. I knew it wasn’t going to be that hard to lose him—unless he had friends ahead he could radio. Which was why we got off the Beltway so fast. I’m not a thrill-seeker, but damn, it felt good to outrun that trooper.

Harry doesn’t utter a word during the entire drive back to the dealership across the back roads, and I laugh as I ease the car to a stop in the lot, cut the ignition, and hand him the keys. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It sure as hell—”

The hundred-dollar bill I’m holding out cuts off his tirade. That and my friendly, confident smile. “This is for you, Harry. Now, do we have a deal?” He wants to be angry, but he can’t be. I simply won’t allow it.

He nods and finally smiles along with me when I let go of the bill and it falls into his lap. “You’re crazy,” he says.

The credit check on me doesn’t go well, but there’s always a solution to any problem. This time it’s called “more cash.” Instead of a ten-thousand-dollar down payment, I suggest twenty, and we have ourselves a deal. It turns out that there’s a branch of my bank within a half mile of the dealership and it’s open until noon on Saturdays. When I return with a certified check for the agreed upon amount—I don’t think Harry and his manager seriously thought I’d be coming back—there’s no more discussion about my credit. I sign on the dotted line and that beautiful black car is mine.

While the mechanics tune and spit-shine my new machine, I take a swan song in the Toyota to an AT&T store to purchase a cell phone. I spend a half hour with a young salesman determining which cell phone and which long distance plan best fit my specific needs. When I’ve made my choice of hardware and service, I spend another half hour going over exactly how all of the options on the phone work. The young guy becomes completely frustrated because he’s on commission and spending a full hour with one customer isn’t going to do much for his paycheck, but I don’t give a damn. This is
my
purchase, and I’m not going to walk out of the store until I’m a hundred percent satisfied. There are others waiting to be served and I catch them giving me dirty looks, but I don’t care.

The first thing I do when I come out of the store is call Vincent. He left several messages last night on my answering machine at home, asking me to call him because he’d heard about what happened at Bedford. News of the hostage crisis was on the front page of the
Post
this morning. It’s dominated airtime on the local television and radio newscasts too.

Vincent answers on the first ring. “Hello.”

“Vincent, it’s Augustus.”

“Augustus!” he thunders. “God, it’s good to hear your voice. I was worried about you. I heard about that hostage thing over at Bedford. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. I purchased a headset for the phone and I’m getting used to the way the foam-covered plastic piece fits snugly into my ear. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he says, sounding calmer. “Hey, I’m really sorry about the other night. I feel terrible. I should have told you about what happened with Melanie a long time ago, but I really didn’t know how.”

“It’s all right.” I’ve thought a lot about how he took Melanie to the Two O’Clock Club, but I’ve decided to forgive him. It won’t be easy, but I’ve made the decision to believe him when he said nothing happened between them, and that
she
pushed
him
about working at the club. “I hate what Melanie did, but the truth is I can’t hold you responsible. Not entirely anyway. She was the one who got up on that stage and took her clothes off. It’s terrible for me to think about, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. And I don’t want it to ruin our friendship.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles in a low voice. “Hey, my investors were asking about you,” he pipes up, his mood brightening.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re ready to go.”

“Still? I thought maybe what happened over at Bedford yesterday might have scared them off.”

“Nope. I spoke to them this morning and they’re ready to roll. That hundred grand you made has them licking their chops.”