Her Asian features was shrouded in concern as I started to recount my story. In hindsight I had made some rather blatant mistakes but she thoughtfully ignored those for the moment.
“Start again. At the beginning. How did you ever even find a guy like this Robert? And why do you need a pistol?”
Lydia obviously didn’t get it. But we had known each other since university and she was one of the few friends I had in this big, lonely city. I took a deep breath to slowly recount the strange, winding story that had lured me into the shadowy world of corporate espionage. Despite the lush, puffy couch of Lydia’s parents I shifted uncomfortably. This story was not going to make me out to be a hero no matter how I worded it. At the very best, I might manage to make myself out to be the unwitting participant who’s need for money and low moral standards caused him to become the target of a massive lawsuit brought to him by a conglomerate of lawyers representing the five big banks of Canada. Oh dear, this might get messy.
It started off innocently enough – no wait – it started off as a non-event. An email arrived in my mailbox. It didn’t look like spam. I suppose it wasn’t meant to. The name looked familiar somehow but I couldn’t place where I knew it from. Robert Kennedy has sent you an invite. I opened the email and it immediately sent a receipt. This instantly annoyed me. I hate it when people know when I’ve read their email. It gives up a tiny bit of control to someone I’m not even sure I know. And so it opened.
From: Robert Kennedy [mailto: as8384as8zjf@anonymous.mailer.com ]
Sent: Friday, October 13, 2006 09:51 AM
To: Chris Holden
Subject: Robert Kennedy has sent you an invite.
Hello Chris;
You need money. I have a job for you that will take an hour. It pays $925 and you must do exactly are you’re told. Are you interested? If so, follow the link: https://assassins.org/as8384as8zjf.php
Like you have a choice.
Robert
It was weird. Perhaps it was because it was the internet, and there’s a feeling of complete anonymonity and freedom from repercussions whenever you surf the web, but I didn’t hesitate to click on the link. Thinking back it did feel a little real. Like when you type in some dirty words into a google search, like for all you know, someone was watching.
In any case the link took me to a non-existant page. The server was real so I immediately edited the link to get the hosting server. It was a click through site that contained no content – just links to other pages throughout the globe designed to generate funds from advertising. Clearly this was some kind of prank. It was too bad. That $925 would have paid for the rent that was due tomorrow. Maybe the landlord would be understanding…
“Didn’t you have any money saved up?” Lydia asked. “I mean, did you really have to resort to fishy emails that advertised quick money? You know the number of scams out there designed to separate fools and their cash.”
Whatever money I had saved up had been spent on pot and World of Warcraft fees, an online game to battle dragons and other mediaeval monsters. I was paid up for the next three months. The hydro company, however, was threatening to shut off the electricity within the month which would prevent me from using my computer. I couldn’t remember if this fit the definition of ‘irony’ or ‘bad judgement’.
“No, funds were running low. And several police crackdowns in Barrie sparked a rise in pot prices. And after I lost my job I didn’t have anything else to do… Draco loaned me something to tide me over until my last paycheck but… well it was basically spent before it was in my account.”
I could tell Lydia wasn’t really happy with that answer. I can only imagine what she thought of me right now.
“So you answered this email and then what happened?” she managed to get out, before she could deliver the ream of obscenities that were on the tip of her tongue. “Tell me what you did next.”
“Well after I had clicked on the link, shortly afterwards a second incoming email arrived. It was another email from the so-called ‘Robert’.”
From: Robert Kennedy [mailto: f8asd8as2b@anonymous.mailer.com ]
Sent: Friday, October 13, 2006 09:55 AM
To: Chris Holden
Subject: Re: Robert Kennedy has sent you an invite.
Good choice Chris;
Your decision has been recorded. We consider this a binding contract. Failure will meet with serious repercussions. Payment will be deposited in your account on the successful completion of the mission.
Robert
Nothing further. I scroll down looking for something more and realized there was a word document attached. I automatically scan it for viruses and once satisfied it was safe, I open the attachment. It decrypts using my Outlook RSA private key, which I’m kind of impressed that whoever Robert was, he had taken the effort to find out my encryption key before sending me this. They seemed serious. I decided it reduced the chances that this was just my friends playing a prank. And my mouth tasted like sand.
“Well the second email contained the instructions. Simple and to the point. A monkey could have followed them. And for an hour of work? I mean, sure, I knew it was somehow illegal but I’ve been in banks before. There’s no security at all. People hold the doors for each other through secure entrances. It’d be a piece of cake.”
My words to Lydia sounded more confident then I was at the time. We consider this a binding contract – that part of the email sounded ominous. I probably shouldn’t have clicked on the link.
“What did the attachment say?” she asked. I took out a piece of paper that I had printed off. It was step by step instructions on how to walk into a bank tower and disable their main trading server. I held it out to Lydia. She paused looking at me thoughtfully, before taking the printout from my hand.
today at 12:15pm go to rbc plaza and take the elevator to the 18th floor
go inside the womens bathroom to the third stall and remove the grey passcard and floor map behind the toilet
at 12:30pm exit the bathroom and follow the red line to the computer room marked wlan1808
go to the computer rack named H19
quickly unplug the Sparc4000 server and ensure the lcd lights in the front are all off
remove the key in the front of the Sparc4000 if present and toss in any garbage you find
leave the computer room calmly and go home
on confirmation that the server is offline the money will be deposited in your account
there is a staircase marked as st1800n if needed
getting caught may result in jailtime and no money if server remains online
“So you had roughly two hours to get downtown and do something illegal?” Lydia was incredulous. “You could have gone to the police. You knew this wasn’t legit.”
“Yeah…” I shuffled my feet. “Rent was due soon and I need the money” I trail off. Looking down I didn’t notice Lydia roll her eyes.
Right. Two hours to get downtown to do this and I hadn’t shaved in days and who knows if I could even find a clean shirt. Walking into RBC Plaza would require looking respectable. Clean cut but not too dressed up (as if I could even manage clean cut!) Swearing under my breath I cut myself shaving. I realized while showering that I missed sections on my chin so I go over that section of my face again. I put on my only suit that has served me well throughout university and my job interviews. I smile into the mirror before realizing I have no tie. It had been years since I’ve needed one. And shoes! My only pair of shoes was a ratty pair of sneakers. Dressed like this I’d be noticed more than if I tried to go in dressed like a pimp.
“Didn’t you worry you’d get caught? I mean you didn’t have a chance to scope the place out, you didn’t know the pass card would be there, you didn’t know if it was some kind of trap! Why on earth did you do it?”
I open my mouth to answer but she interrupts. “You needed the money” her voice oozing disappointment. I nod in agreement.
Ninety minutes later and I’m stairing up into the gold RBC Plaza tower. Rumour has it that the building frame contains trace amounts of gold to give it the golden colour. I find the idea incredulous. The gold glass shows my reflection. The shoes and tie are newly bought from a discount shoe store for $20. The tie came from the only store that stocked ties on the corner of Yonge and Eglinton. The cheapest tie I could find there cost $80. Haggling had not reduced the price to my favour. I remember cursing Robert that if this turned out to be a hoax, or a trap, Robert (whoever he was) was a dead man.
“So then what happened?”
I smile at my reflection and slide my hands into my jacket pockets. Damn I looked good. Pride seems to invigorate my very limbs until they tingle. I reached inside my suit jacket and felt the torn printout detailing the task. Only during the subway ride did I actually sit down and consider what I was about to do. Yes I needed the money but this was illegal – really, really illegal. The last line of the printout pointed that out. I still wondered if this was some kind of prank. I could be in serious trouble if I get caught. If only I had looked up what Sparc4000’s do. I knew it was a computer system of some kind but didn’t know much else about it. I tried to rationalize to myself that it wasn’t really bad. Like maybe it was the server that housed the computer department’s porn collection. I just didn’t know. More importantly, how did I know the money would be there when I was done?
My cell phone rang. I hadn’t paid the bill lately and it was with some small sense of satisfaction that I raised the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Chris this is Robert.”
I nearly dropped the phone. The voice on the other end continues. “You’re early.”
“Uh yeah. It’s…” I look at my watch and continue “12:05pm.”
“Good work Chris. I’m happy so far. I can see you from my window… Stop looking for me. It’s better that you don’t know who I am”
I go back to looking at my reflection. The feeling of pride has dwindled somewhat to be replaced by something welling in the pit of my stomach. That same feeling that I got before I clicked the internet link – but a hundred times stronger.
“There’s a bank machine inside. Check your account. You’ve got time yet. I’ve already deposited the first $500. Just to show you that I’m on the up-and-up. That almost covers your rent. Check the ATM then proceed to floor eighteen.”
“I was wondering what the purpose of…” I began before his caller abruptly hung up.
“Right…” I sighed.
“So you talked to him?” asked Lydia. “Describe his voice. What did he sound like?”
“I don’t know. He sounded like a man.”
“How old? Did he have an accent? Anything that you might use to identify him?”
“No, no accent. He sounded old, I don’t know, 40’s, 50’s, 60’s. And it was on my cell phone.” I finish to substantiate my lack of observational skills.
“And the money was there?” she inquired.
I remember I smiled. I felt like I had won the lottery. I scurried over quickly to the ATM and verify that there was $439.43 in my account. I looked around feeling anxious. The five hundred dollars had just paid off all my overdraft. After rent my hydro bill might even be covered. I suddently felt a deep love for Robert, whoever he is. What a great guy. I just need to do this itty-bitty thing for him.
“Every penny. I was instantly back in the world of the financially independent and I hadn’t even done anything yet.”
“And then what?” Lydia continued to prod.
At 12:15pm I went to the elevators. There is a security desk in the lobby of RBC Plaza but it is currently unmanned. Security, like in most bank towers, is designed to escort recently fired employees and not to defend the banking infrastructure against terrorists or corporate spies. The elevator arrives and four other people get on. I smiled at a short over-weight woman with frameless glasses who stared at me for some reason. She thoughtfully turned away as if she had somehow become uncomfortable.
On the 18th floor I exited the elevator and faced my first major hurdle. The women’s bathroom. Guys are generally unwelcome in the ladies bathrooms and I had visions of being arrested on some sexual perversion law. A pretty woman exited the elevator and walked past the washroom on her way to her desk somewhere. She didn’t give me a second glance. I felt let down like I had hoped in those brief seconds the pretty woman might approach me and recognize my male virility. However being ignored also made me feel more courageous. I enter the ladies bathroom with poise.
“You went into the ladies bathroom for the pass card? Weren’t you worried that might tip off security right away before you had even did anything?” Lydia asked.
“So you’re giving me advice now on how to be a better spy?” I ask in irritation.
“Why didn’t they put the pass card in the men’s bathroom. Seems kind of silly to send a guy into ladies bathroom…”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know anything at the time. It was all…. ill-planned.”
The bathroom is empty. I quickly find my way to the third stall and slam the door shut. I realize now that I’m really tense. I feel around the back and sighed in relief as my hands found a small envelop taped to the cool marble of the women’s toilet. I rip it open and attach the pass card to my tie. The weight of the pass card causes my tie to warp and I’m aware of the indent (possibly permanent) that it is giving to my bran new tie. I attach it to my shirt pocket and it feels like it’ll fall off any second. In annoyance I just drop it into my suit pocket.
I examine the map and locate my current location. I mentally scope out my path to the computer room. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Eight minutes to go. I realize I have to go pee. I neatly fold the map into my other pocket and stand up to whiz. I heard the door open and I quickly drop my pants and sit down as if to take a dump. I start to tinkle but the flow is weak as I worry myself wondering whether my shoes would give me away. My imagination goes crazy imagining large strong men busting into my bathroom cubicle ending my mission before it even started. I glance at my watch again. Five minutes. The woman is standing by the mirror. I start to sweat. What the hell is taking her so long?
Lydia giggles. “So you’re waiting for a woman to leave cause you’re embarrassed about being in the ladies bathroom? You’re such a great spy.” She closes her eyes imagining my predicament. “Our Mr. Bond foiled by a woman doing her mascara.”
“Just let me continue okay?”
With 45 seconds to go before I need to leave (according to my watch) she finds a neighbouring stall to pee. I zip up and bolt out of the bathroom, not even bothering to wash my hands. The pass card successfully opens the glass doors on the first try. I wipe the sweat of my face as I walk, mentally following the map I had examined in the bathroom. I pass several guys dressed in polo shirts and jeans. Two glance at me but I keep walking, examining the map to make sure I was where I needed to be. I find the wlan1808 and glance back at the laughing polo shirt guys. They disappear around the corner. Sweating profusely now, I use the pass card to open the door to the computer room.
“Can I help you?” a very fat bald East Indian man asked as I enter.
I freeze. I had expected the room to be empty but now I felt foolish. I needed a reason to be there and this would require the years of computer training and knowledge that I had acquired.
“I’m here to replace the power supply in rack H19” I say. My voice cracked under the stress. I was so dead. “Do you know which one it is?”
It’s always best to get people to be the helper. People naturally prefer to be nice to each other rather than confrontational.
“No. I don’t do hardware asshole. It’s somewhere in there” ending with him pointing at rows and rows of computer cabinets in a glass room beyond his desk.
“Well thank you” I respond.
“Don’t you need a replacement power supply?” he calls after me as I begin to wander through the maze of cabinets.
“A what?” my mind now onto other things?
“A power supply replacement? Shouldn’t you have brought one with you?”
“Like you said asshole. You don’t do hardware. It’s already been dropped off at the cabinet. Now if you’re not going to help me find the cabinet, fuck off”
He extended his middle finger in a form of salute. God I love the banter of arrogant technical support. I miss it so.
The cabinets are in numerical order and each row has its corresponding letter. Now out of sight of the fat East Indian man I am alone and can feel the cold air conditioned air against my clamy, sweaty skin. The cabinet H19 is easily found. And unlocked. I open the front door and the Sparc4000 is illuminated in all its glory. LCD lights flash and glow. I walk around the back and look around. Except for Mr. Fatty by the door, everyone’s on lunch. I examine the Sparc4000 and establish that there are four separate plugs for the power supply. With a deep breath I yank out all four and walk around to the front. Every LCD light is now off.
I hear the fat man above the din of the server fans.
“What the hell happened to the server Cupid” he shouted.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about” I say realizing neither of us could possibly believe what I was saying. “The model for the power supply is the wrong one – I’ll have to get the hardware guys to send the proper model …” I say as I get to the door.
The East Indian man looked purple and I could see the red lights reflecting off his glasses from the LCD screen in front of him. “It looks like you somehow brought down Cupid … HEY! Where the fu…”
But I’m already out the door. Looking back I see the large folds of fat start to condense as the man started to rise off his chair in some kind of effort to do something. The door closes behind me and I walk (not run) quickly towards the elevators. Minutes later I’m relieved to see the glass doors – only to realize the elevator doors were open and three security guards were rushing out. I contineu past the elevators, unnoticed by the guards, but now with wet armpits and breathing heavily. The stair case that was mentioned in the mission statement is straight ahead. I rush through just as I hear the beep that indicates the guards pass card has been accepted. I’m sure they didn’t see me or where I went. However the staircase door closes loudly behind me and I wish that I had closed it softer. I allow myself to panic and I rush down the stairs, two at a time using the railing as a third support.
After six floors I realize that the elevators would be quicker and I exit the stairs. I walk through the 12th floor’s glass doors and stand by the elevators waiting for one to come. The woman who I had smiled at on the way up joined me while I waited. I smiled at her again. She turned away and pretended to take an interest in the wood paneling. We enter an empty elevator together and at the last second are joined by another man roughly my age and wearing a similar suit (though a different tie). He also does not return my smile.
Together we leave the elevator and I exit RBC Plaza without incident. The security desk was still empty though I averted my eyes away from it anyway. I resist the urge to check my account balance at the ATM. No point pushing my luck any further.
“So that’s it? That’s your story of your corporate espionage? You don’t even know what that server did? How can you feel proud of that?” Lydia rhymes off question after question, one after another without giving me a chance to answer.
“I checked my account balance and the full amount was there as he said it would. Yeah it was a trading server. Millions of dollars went through it every hour to the TSX and the NYSE. But by pulling the plug, data was corrupted and there was no way to determine that day what orders had been sent, bought or traded. For Equitrade it was disastrous.”
“They didn’t have a backup system? That was poor thinking,” Lydia said thoughtfully, “for a mission critical server…”
“They did have a backup. But it was located at another site in the event that this building was disabled somehow,” I interrupt her expecting the question.
“You mean like a plane crashing into it?”
“Yeah something like that.”
“And what happened to the backup server?”
“Well it seems that Robert had arranged for it to go down as well at the same time. It was like clockwork.”
Strangely I felt proud of my success. With one simple act of corporate terrorism, I, along with an unknown accomplice, had disabled a computer system designed to endure that exact form of catastrophe. It should not have been so easy. But more disturbing was that Robert had someone else do the exact same thing somewhere else at the Equitrade’s disaster recovery site. Was my fellow accomplice like me with no formal training or self-serving interest in the act? Just someone who needed his rent paid? The thought made me uncomfortable for some reason. I shift in my chair as Lydia speaks.
“So you bust up a trading firm, get your rent money, and get away scott-free.”
“Exactly. I’ve got the money but more strangely, I feel like I accomplished something. I feel good. Better than I’ve felt since I was laid off.”
“So you’ve sacrificed morality for job satisfaction?”
“And it was a cheap price to pay.”
“Well then why are you in such trouble now?”
“Well, I was getting to that….”
Assassins Inc – part 2
“Did Robert always contact you via email?” asked Lydia, her face now reflective.
“Or my cell phone.”
“And did you get his number from Call-Display?” she asked.
“I cancelled it to save money. But when I got the bill, the number was from an unknown caller.”
“I didn’t think this Robert would be so easily caught.”
“Well actually he was. But I’m not an average joe,” I say with some pride.
“Right” replied Lydia mischieveously, “you’re a regular spy-vs-spy.”
Due to the success at Equitrade, the other financial institutions imediately began beefing up their security. By the next day, every bank and trading firm were checking every employee ID’s on every floor. Most “security guards” were no more than bouncers pulled off the street looking to supplement their nightly income. Most were large, not very bright, and despite their size, easily intimidated by the rich and well educated bank employees. Bank employees, in turn, were intimidated by the bouncer’s massive size. Within a short time, a mutual respect between the two groups emerged and upper management’s goal of tighter security were realized.
This made the job of corporate terrorism more difficult for my employer and I. As a result, More complicated means of infiltration were required. Instead of walking into the bank armed with a temporary pass card and some brazen courage, I had to resort to slower and more humilitating means of attacks. The tougher jobs also guaranteed higher wages. I was averaging only one job a month but in increasing increments each time. In every case, my employer Robert Kennedy always had a meticulous plan ready for my execution. I was rarely given more than a few hours notice of the objective, but I was always well supplied and the job was never beyond my skill level.
“So after destroying Equitrade, what was your next job?”
Equitrade wasn’t actually destroyed. Yes, both trading servers were shut down but it was a mere nuisance really. Tape backups were used to restore the databases and the TSX and NYSE keep their own records that were used to update Equitrade with all its executed orders. Still, Equitrade was down for a day and a half before it was fully restored. During that time rumours flew across Wall St. and Bay St. and Equitrade’s stock price was pummelled in intraday trading. Within the week however, its stock price was restored, the database was up to date, and security around its computer room was tightened.
What I learned from this however, was that after being given my instructions, I could short-sell the stock of whatever firm I was attacking and follow it up with a buy order with a limit price of several dollars lower than for what I sold. Often I could turn the $10k I was given into $12k or $13k in a matter of hours. By betting it all on my own success each time, and with Robert’s regular bank deposits, I had amassed almost $200k over the course of last year.
“Now wait a second” Lydia stopped me with her hand as if you stop any further forward motion. “This went on for a year? But that Equitrade job made the papers. Governments were considering legislation to make all computer rooms centralized and guarded. I haven’t heard any more stories like that. What possible corporate espionage could you have done that was so drastic to influence stock prices but without notifying anybody?”
To this I smiled. I can’t help but feel pride at the jobs I did that went unnoticed for weeks. Were the jobs harder? Absolutely. Did they require more cunning and resolve? No doubt. Did I love my job? Never a happier man there ever walked.
My next job, to answer Lydia’s question, was a bank that (unbeknownst to its loan officers) was going to make a very, very bad mortgage. Now this had been done before by a Toronto banker who embezzled millions of dollars to support his gambling addiction in Las Vegas. Learning from CIBC’s mistake in the early 80’s, every bank in North America had a complex army of approvers, concurrence officers and managing directors who ‘final-formed’ the completed loan application. In the 80’s Mahowney had used his knowledge of the manual loan process to embezzle funds. Alas, Mahowney had plans to eventually re-pay the loans when he won. Robert and I (and whoever else was involved) had no such ideals. And the only thing standing in the way was not a fiercely questioning loan officer and his signature, but a new computer system that cares not who uses it for good or for bad.
As a minor annoyance, an explanation to Lydia about loans would have to be made.
“Despite all the technical advances in the banking industry, corporate loans are still made the same way they were made one hundred years ago” I began.
“How’s that?” asked Lydia shortly, impatient to get to the point.
“Two old business majors head to the country club for a round of golf. During the long walks, one casually asks the other what kind of terms his company might get for a small loan of no less than $750 million (less for non-financial firms). The other will him-and-ha about it and will dance around the exact terms until he can run some numbers. Once back at the office, he’ll load up an application that will give him a better idea of the company’s probability for default, its secured collateral to guarantee the loan and any other guarantors to back up the company in the event of non-payment.”
“Guar..an..tors?” asked Lydia.
“Other companies that would be on the hook should his acquaintance’s company hit the rocks” I respond.
“Mmmm” she says, obviously looking for me to get to a point of some kind.
“So once this application has been run and the LGD is minimal…”
“LGD?” she interrupted.
“Loss Given Default” I continue, knowing I’m losing her interest. “Once the loan is acceptable to the loan officer (aka Portfolio Manager), he sends it off to the another application that manages the approvals of the higher-ups. After they’ve tinkered with it to make sure it is satisfactory, it is final-formed and the loan becomes authorised. Boom, that’s it. The new facility works its way back into the other applications which dispense the money, or more accurately, into the banks computers that are authorized to allow withdrawals.”
“My head hurts” complained Lydia. “So with all those approvals, how are you going to bribe or coerce people to approve a bad loan? Seems impossible…”
“It’s already been done. A loan of $125 million dollars was approved earlier this week which has already been transferred to a off-shore corporation in the Cayman Islands. From there it was moved several times before I lost track of it. You see the problem is, I haven’t been paid. And now the banks aren’t happy with me at all. But they have a gag order on the lawsuit because the banks stock will suffer, if not outright collapse….Uh Lydia?”
Lydia’s eyes stared deep within her parent’s walls. “You mean hundreds of millions of dollars? They just gave you hundreds of millions, without anything?”
“Robert was supposed to give me $10 million dollars. I thought that should be enough to retire on, but he found out that I was using the cash he gave me to play the stock market. He said I could have ruined everything by bringing in SEC or OEC investigations…”
“What is an SEC” Lydia interrupted again.
“Securities…. uh… something something – I don’t know, they make sure that stock markets remain fair and trustworthy so investors keep the system strong and balanced.”
“So they are there to prevent insider trading, like when a firm is going to lose large chunks of money due to bad loans?”
“Well, most banks could deal with a paltry $125 mill loss – the problem would be more of a problem with confidence. No one would trust the banks if a couple of them were seen giving out large, unsecured, loans to conmen. The entire financial sector could suffer causing the banks to pull out their riskier Equity investments to secure extra cash should a run on the bank occur.”
“Would they really sell-off their investments like that?”
“Absolutely. Banks often hold dividend yielding stocks (such as other banks) as a source of income. If they held their own stock, it doubles their exposure to risk. If the bank falls onto hard times, then its stock also suffers, so its investment holdings drop again causing its share prices to drop further, etc, etc, creating a vicious cycle that could lead the bank to ruin.”
“So that’s why I haven’t heard about any huge loans to conmen lately in the papers?” Lydia held her head in her hands as if she had a headache.
“Exactly. They’re trying to keep it quiet.”
“So how much did Robert give you?”
I could tell she was trying to be nonchalant about the question, but something in her voice was a little off.
“One million dollars. He said that was all I’m getting and that it was more than enough. He believes I don’t know who he is or where he lives. Unfortunately for him, I know everything. I thought he was so bright and everything but it turns out it was all an inside job.” Lydia’s eyes are focused on everything I say now. I look right into her eyes. “I want my $10 mill.”
“And that’s why you need a pistol?”
“Exactly. I’m going to walk into his house and demand at gunpoint that he transfer the money into my account. Once I’m satisfied the money has been transferred, I’ll let him go.”
“Chris,” Lydia’s eyes towards me with genuine concern. “You have more money than you can possibly spend. Maybe you should just take the money and run” her mind was trying to consider what I had already thought through.
“No Lydia. It’s the principle of the thing. He owes me $9 million dollars.”
Lydia sat quiet. “Did the banks lock you out of your account once they figured out your error?”
“Oh I had already transferred the money into untraceable bearer bonds by then. That’s why the banks are so intent on keeping me out of jail for the moment. They know I don’t have the money, but they know I’ll lead them to the one who does.”
“Where’s the money now?” A tiny bit of spittle sat unnoticed by her on the side of her mouth.
“It’s in a safe place” I say vaguely, “it really isn’t that much money if you think about it.”
“Then who is Robert Kennedy?” Lydia asked finally, after a brief pause. “Who is this master criminal?”
“That’s the interesting part Lydia.” I let the tension build, knowing how much she wants to know. “Robert Kennedy is a 14 year old high school kid who lives in Rosedale.”
****************
“You’re joking.” Although Lydia is talking her attention is elsewhere. “And you’re going to shoot a fourteen year old…”
“Threaten” I correct. “I’m going to threaten him until he gives me what is mine.”
“The banks are waiting… waiting to pounce the moment you lead them to Robert.” her voice is distant.
God damn it. Why doesn’t Lydia get it? I trusted him and he reneged on his promise. The money was safe at the airport (so cliche) and the key was hidden where no one would ever find it. Once the money was transferred, I’d cab it to the airport, buy a one-way ticket to Venezuela and never be seen again.
“So you’re a criminal. A real-life criminal intent on threatening to kill a boy who is more fucked up than you.”
“Lydia. I’m rich. I’m richer than most of mankind. And I’ll be even richer tonight.”
Again, another strange pause. I feel a little relief having dispelled my story on her. Though clearly my burden had been unequally loaded onto Lydia.
“You like me don’t you Chris?” she had tears in her eyes.
“Lydia! What’s the matter? For God’s sake…”
“Remember last July when we both got drunk and staggered into your apartment…”
“Oh Christ, Lydia. We both agreed it was just the alcohol…”
“I wasn’t drunk Chris.” Lydia’s tears traced out rivelets around her high cheek bones. “This last year or so… you’ve been a totally different guy…” she blubbered.
“I… I don’t understand” I mumble. But I did. I remembered every minute of last July’s sweaty night between the sheets. The following morning, I found her lying beside me, my arm casually draped across her chest, her large, bare, un-Asian breasts causing my arm to rise and fall as she breathed. Feeling my manhood hard against her, I slid down into the sheets and made love to her with my tongue. She was awakened to an orgasm that squeezed my head between her thighs. Still hidden beneath the sheets, I slipped inside her, probing deeper and deeper until I too could hold it no longer. Collapsing on top of her, I slept for a few more hours before finding myself alone in my bed and feeling strangely empty.
“Of course I like you. You’ve been my best friend for years. And I remember that night in July too. I was drunk but I knew what I was doing.” Somehow this seemed like a romantic thing to say. I gently wipe away her tears and touching her bottom lip with my thumb, I slowly lean forward to kiss her. Tentative at first. I lean back a little and regard her demure face no longer full of worry. Her eyes remain closed and I lean in for another longer kiss, my lips tasting her bottom lip. My hand finds the back of her hair and my fingers weave themselves through her soft, raven black hair, purposely tickling the back of her neck with my touch. Our tongues meet but she breaks away.
“Let’s go to the airport,” she breathes softly, her lips strangely pouty from the kiss. “We’ll buy our clothes.”
“I can’t” I whisper back to her, not wanting to stop the kiss. “I have to do this.”
“No you don’t!” Lydia whispered in desperation. “Let’s just go.”
“If I do, I’ll always know he got the best of me. I’ll take that regret with me to the grave.”
“But at least you’ll spend those years in a Caribbean paradise making love to your Asian beauty.” Her smile was sad.
“You know I can’t,” I say, moving away, remembering my plan.
“If you choose this tale of vengeance over me, I won’t be here when you get back.”
“Yes you will Lydia. I’ll be here and loving you with $10 million dollars for us to share. You’ll be my queen.” It was strange how 10 minutes could change one’s life. In these last few minutes Lydia was the only one I could trust. The only one I had ever loved. And the only woman I could even stand. Surely love like that only comes along once in a lifetime.
Her tears in her life let me know I was right. By tomorrow morning, we would be in Paradise.
“Wait for me at the airport. At terminal 2. I’ll be there by midnight” I say to her, to which she nodded absently.
“I’ll be there,” she says humbly.
“That’s my girl.” I kiss her on the forehead before asking for the reason I came originally.
“Where’s the pistol?”
Slowly she stood up and went upstairs. I could hear her rustling and then her returning footsteps led to the stairs. In her hands the gun was held flaccidly towards the floor. She was loading the bullets into the revolver, one by one.
“Thanks Lydia. I knew I could count on you.”
“Just bring me back another $9 mill Chris. Make me a queen.”
I smile at her as I leave. I’m not sure what I feel right now but I’m glad to be out of that house. Despite Lydia’s ernest entreaties, I know it’s just the money she’s after. It breaks my heart really. I really loved her. But that night in July, she was drunk as a skunk. I had to clean up the vomit off the bed…
