the world outside. I sat back on the couch and enjoyed my well-earned cup of coffee as I leafed through the paper. Nothing of any great consequence had occurred in the world while I was asleep, the Yanks won, the Mets lost, and there was only one new scandal involving the president. A good day for the Yanks and the president and a bad one for the Mets and the American people. I must confess the president had recently become a source of irritation to me. After all the affairs, lies, and cover ups; the American people still seemed to like him. I had now become convinced that the only way his popularity could go down was if he was found in bed with a dead hooker or a young boy. But that was probably just wishful thinking, I’m sure the President and his in-house spin doctors would find some way of justifying it.
It was now closing in on 7 o’clock, I was able to successfully skim the paper, in spite of Tuxedo’s relentless harassment about wanting to go out, which at the moment was not a prudent course of action. I was trying to explain to the cat, why he couldn’t go out when I was startled by a loud knock at the front door. From my vantage point on the couch, I was able to look through the front window at the intruder. It was Dave Reed, my mechanic.
“Good morning Dave, how are you doing this morning?”
“Not bad, I brought back your car, it’s good as new.”
Dave was a first class mechanic as well as being a close friend of mine. The car that Dave was returning to me this morning was my baby, a classic 1979 Triumph Spitfire; for my money the classiest little sports car ever made. I didn’t use the car much in the winter months, so every April I’d have Dave go over the car from top to bottom and get it ready for the summer months.
“Did you have any problems with the car?” I asked.
“No, nothing unexpected, I just gave her a tune up and checked the fluid levels.”
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“I got the bill right here,” he replied.
“Never mind the bill, if I can’t trust you I’m in bad shape.”
“You owe me two hundred and twelve dollars, just make it an even two hundred.”
I went to my wallet and peeled out two hundreds and a twenty. “Here’s two hundred and twenty Dave, if I know you, you’re probably cheating yourself.”
“Fred, two hundred is fine.”
Just as we were settling up, the phone rang, “goddamn it, I don’t have time to argue, take the money.”
“All right, thanks Fred.”
I stumbled over to the phone just before the answering machine could kick in. “Hello.”
“Good morning Fred, this is Pamela.” Pamela was both my attorney and a close personal friend.
Over the years my sister and I had referred a large number of our clients, in need of legal help, to her.
When she had a client who needed financial help, she returned the favor. This was the way I liked to do business. My father taught me, that the only way do business was with people who were straight up, competent and fair, in short people that could be trusted. His favorite saying was, ‘In business you have a choice, you can make a dollar or you can make a friend. If you make enough friends, the dollars take care of themselves.’ Over the years, I had tried to follow the old man’s advice and had found in the long run, he was right. Life was too short to work with people you couldn’t count on or didn’t trust.
“What can I do for you, my dear?” I asked.
“Nothing, this call is all about what I can do for you.”
“Go on. You have my full undivided attention.”
“I have an eccentric client that lives up in Monmouth Hills, who needs a man of your questionable talents.”
“Specifically how eccentric a client and what questionable talents are we talking about?”
“Fred, to be honest with you I’m not sure,” she replied in a most curious manner.
“Come on Pam, you know I don’t like working on mysteries without any clues. It’s not like I’m the Spenser or Sam Spade of the financial world. I don’t like getting involved with strangers unless I know the whole story.”
“Fred, I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. You’ll think I’m crazy. Please, just meet me at my office around 11:30 a.m. and I’ll fill you in as best I can. Can I count on you?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. See you at 11:30.”
“Bye Fred and thanks.”
It was now closing in on 8 o’clock, and I was reflecting on the curious nature of Pamela’s call. It wasn’t typical of her at all. Then again, maybe at this hour of the day she wasn’t her normal self. Tuxedo, meanwhile, continued being his normal self, he still wanted to go out and he wouldn’t stop harassing me until he got his way. I knew that once I let him outside, he would immediately seek out the raccoon and although he didn’t know or care to admit, nothing good could come of that. Since I had three and one half hours to kill, I decided not to go into the office this morning. I went up stairs and changed, into my $700.00 Brooks Brother’s suit and lucky red tie. Little did I realize, I was going to need all the luck I could get before this day was through. While I was changing, I decided to kill some time by going over for a morning kick boxing class. I grabbed my gym bag, walked down the stairs and headed for the door. As I looked back over my left shoulder I could see the cat leering at me.
“Sorry Tux, you’re staying inside for your own good.” The cat’s expression never changed as he continued to glare at me.
Much to my surprise the mailman was at my mailbox delivering the mail. Delivering the mail is not that unusual an event, but at this hour of the day, it was nothing short of shocking. Aside from the usual assortment of bills and junk mail, I received a small box from BMG Music. My sister, Mary Jane, had given me a gift certificate for 5 tapes last Christmas. Thinking I would never find anything I liked, I had gift shifted the present back to her for her birthday in January. She was not amused at my gesture and forcefully suggested I order something from the catalogue.
Speaking of Mary Jane, she was just pulling up in front of my house. Mary Jane, a first class financial person in her own right had been working with me for the past ten years. Quite honestly, working with her had panned out better than I could have hoped for. She handled the tax clients and I handled the more exotic clients. The type of clients that needed help in the a whole host of areas, financial and otherwise.
“Good morning, beloved brother.”
Noting her pleasant tone and greeting, I immediately suspected the worst. She probably wanted money. “Good morning, Mary Jane, what do you want?”
“Now is that anyway to speak to your favorite sister?”
Since Mary Jane is my only sister, she had a point. Before I could respond she noticed the box of tapes in my right hand.
“Don’t tell me you actually ordered something? What did you get?”
“I got a Warren Zevon, Lou Reed, Maryann Faithful, John Hiatt, and Leo Kottke,” I replied.
“Who
