CON TEST: Double Life (20 page)

Alimu-Shine consulted the receipt, and assuming that she meant the register number, he said, “3071.”

“
Employee number?”

“
576383,” he said, once again using the receipt.

She read the number back to him, and he confirmed. She then asked, “Joint or individual?”

“
Individual.”

“
Customer name?”

“
Donald Kazanski.”

“
Does Mr. Kazanski have a major credit card and ID with a current address?”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

The Saks representative then asked for Donald’s address, phone number, social security number, employer, yearly salary, and whether or not the application was signed.

Alimu-Shine ran all of the information down making it all up as he went along. He claimed that Donald worked for Con Edison Electric and made in excess of $97,000 a year.

After a moment of silence, she said, “Mr. Kazanski has been approved. His account number is 83436399728.”

Alimu-Shine read the number back for accuracy. He then asked for the account limit, and was told that that could only be told to the customer. Alimu-Shine handed the phone to Justice who learned that the limit was $12,700.

Justice and Alimu-Shine were star struck. It was as if they were both being serviced by a professional harlot. It did not take them long to snap out of it, though.

“
Here’s the plan,” Alimu-Shine said laughing. They all huddled like Alimu-Shine was a quarterback about to set up the game-winning play. “Just go to Saks with your ID, after you open your accounts, of course, and use your accounts without the card. But you can do this with Bergdorf’s and Bloomingdales and Macy’s too.”

Dawn had begun to settle on the beach and the bright lights of the beach’s pier shone incandescently. The beach was known to be noisy, especially around that time when school kids came to the beach to ride the Ferris wheel or other mechanical rides. Some of them snuck a kiss in the darkness.

William hopped in his car and took the familiar route home to his wife. It was a little after 6 p.m. and the traffic was murderously congested, but that was commonplace on the 10 Freeway heading into LA. His mind seemed fairly still; he liked the feeling. His mood had become prismatic. The latest text had him reaching for changes in the map that he had for his story. He would veer off the deep end and take the story to a place that he had never explored. Break a few rules that had to be followed. I am a writer, he thought. He was allowed to let fiction go wherever he wanted. That solidified his work as fiction.

He drove home as confident as a movie starring Tom Hanks when his $70,000 car began to stall. He could go no further, so he pulled over. Confusion pressed in on him and wiped his beautiful thoughts away. The slit of daylight faded underneath the darkness and he groaned as he focused on the situation at hand.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed AAA. As the phone rang, he got out of his car and went into the trunk. He lifted up the rug and pulled out orange caution signs and road flares to assure no one ran into his car. A car that should not be experiencing any trouble.

He gave the AAA representative his account number and they informed him that he had called and cancelled his plan earlier that day. Despite him repeatedly informing the representative that he had not done that, he became infuriated and slammed his cell phone shut.
What the fuck did Lundin cancel the AAA for
, he thought. She always let someone persuade her to do some dumb shit without consulting him.

He popped his hood as he dialed information to locate a nearby towing company. He checked under the hood and found steam easing out of the engine. How the hell could the car be overheated? He had barely driven twenty minutes. At that moment he wondered if he had a mechanic in his Rolodex.

Finally, he was put through to a tow man who agreed to tow the car for $75 to the BMW dealership. Who, according to William, would cover all expenses to repair the vehicle. He gave the tow man his Visa number--against his better judgment--and then called for a cab to meet him.

He shut the car hood. Slammed was a better description. He felt the heat coming from under the hood. The steam created waves in the air and forced him to sweat despite the sun fading. He removed his T-shirt and swept sweat from his face. His tank top was drenched in sweat as he sat in the back of the car awaiting the cab. Frustration overwhelmed him. Car trouble was not something that he bargained for when he paid cash for the BMW. He took the car for all scheduled maintenance and oil changes. What could be wrong? He was experiencing his worse night in LA.

The taxi driver arrived right after the tow. The tow driver recorded William’s ID information and imprinted his Visa. The tow then hooked the car to his flat bed and William watched his baby go off into the night. He hopped in the cab and was taken to Robertson Boulevard.

THIRTY-THREE

W
illiam drifted slowly up the stairs to his lair. He fiddled with his key ring before he slipped the key in the door. The door swung open and he gave himself a quick smile of anticipation. He didn’t have to curtail his anger on that occasion for being furious with Lundin. He stepped through the doorway and could see all of the lights were out. The apartment walls were filled with shadows casted from the furniture thanks to the candles that were lit. He was anxious to hear her reasoning for the candles. He was sure that she would have some elaborate excuse for why she cancelled the tow service.

Lundin appeared and was scantily clad in a red and white teddy. She had her hair hung low beneath her shoulder blades. Sexy as a description was an understatement. She was as hot as a five-alarm inferno. Fervent.

She seductively took his lap top and the picnic basket from his hands and sat then down. She bent over and forced her derriere to form a heart. The kind of impeccable heart used to shape chocolate into big hearts during Valentine’s Day. She then took his hand and led him and they passed the kitchen. Twista and Chris Brown’s
Make a Movie
played quietly in the back ground.

In the dining room she removed his pants. Next his button up. She pulled out silk pajamas that she had bought earlier that day and dressed him in them. She left the shirt unbuttoned, exposing his sexy chest. He wondered what the occasion was and began to speak, but she placed a finger over his mouth. “Shhhh!”

She sat in his lap with her knees bent over one arm of the chair and her back rested on the other arm. She tied a fancy bib around his neck, and then lifted a chrome top from the covered meal. He saw his favorite: spaghetti with clam sauce. She stabbed the noodles with a fork and twirled until noodles had covered the gold-plated utensil. She drove the fork into his mouth and he feasted on the Italian delight.

He chewed his food slowly. His desire to verbally trash her had subdued and he had calmed. He could no longer, “Shhh,” though.

“
Boopsie, this is nice and all, but what’s the occasion?”

Her eyes locked onto his. She lifted the napkin to the corner of his lips and removed redness from the sauce. “How else could I thank you for the $2,700 Lucien Pellat-Finet cashmere sweater with the giant bejeweled skull on the front from Barney’s? Or the $1,800 Me and Ro diamond skull necklace? They were the finest two-pieces at the New York shows. And most important you made me the envy of the entire firm.”

His mind raced and he tried to figure out what the hell she talked about. She talked $4,500 in gifts that he had not bought. He had not known about Pellat-Finet until he was researching designers outside of the popular Gucci, Prada, and Vuitton. He took slow deep breaths and felt a cool draft. A vague feeling of uncertainty ran through him. His eyes scanned her looking for a hint of a joke. He could not believe that she had the audacity to spend that much money without consulting him. Luckily, his cell phone rang interrupting his words that would have cut her deeply.

“
Hun? I have to get that.”

“
You can return the call later,” she breathed into his ear.

“
No, Boopsie, I can’t. See, my car was towed and that may be the tow company.”

“
What! What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

He jogged to his blazer, and retrieved his cell phone.

The tow man said, “Hey, William, we couldn’t get approval for your credit card.”

“
I see,” William replied cool as a fan. He knew that Lundin had maxed the card buying her bullshit. “I’ll bring you cash in the morning when I get my rental.”

“
Okay, but there’s more.”

William was puzzled. “And what’s that?”

“
It appears that the oil was drained from your car, which explains the smoke.”

“
I just had it serviced,” William said angrily.

“
You should be taking your car somewhere else, sir.”

“
Why?” William was irritated and did not need anyone telling him what to do.

“
Because there was no fuse in the spot, which would have indicated to you that you had engine trouble. It was either removed or was never put in,” the tow man said. He then added, “I’m thinking it was removed because your brake fluid line was cut into piecemeal. Fortunately for you it did not drain completely or you could have made it to the 110 Freeway and been doing 90 mph and had no pressure to stop the car. You get the picture.”

“
Are you suggesting that someone sabotaged my car?”

“
Nope, Mr. Fortune. I am telling you that someone has tried to kill you!”

THIRTY-FOUR

L
undin had left for work the next morning and William had begun his investigation--if that’s what one called snooping through their wife’s things. He went into the dining room where she had left her gift and checked the receipt inside the cute little box. As he suspected the purchase was made with the same Visa that he used to pay for the tow, which summed up why the tow transaction declined. The card was used to pay a few bills and emergencies. He used an American Express Black card for all other mundane purchases.

After the tow man’s call the night before he was disgusted, but apparently not enough to confess his findings to Lundin. And ruin the best part of the evening: the greatest sex he had ever had. Last night, the act that he put on after the dreadful call was one for Academy judging. He managed lovemaking in the dining room, missionary on the dining room table. In the hallway leading to the loft, they stood against the wall with one of her legs wrapped around his waist and the other around his neck. Yes, it was a busy night indeed. He had never multitasked so proficiently. With each stroke, in between each kiss, he wondered should he tell his wife about Justice, and how he was manipulating their marriage. If he told her about Justice, he would be trapped into telling her how Justice influenced his novels, too.

Is that where Justice wanted him? Trapped in Justice’s world-wide web of deception. Lying and withholding information from Lundin pained him. Problem was, what if that was not the work of Justice? If it was not it should not be told to Lundin. If it was it should not be told to Lundin. Not now, anyway.

William walked out to a rental, which was delivered to him. He sat behind the wheel surprised that beneath the exterior of the Pontiac G6 was a state of the art dash board full of gadgets. He drove to the ATM and parked.

At the automated teller machine, he pushed his debit card into the slot and the machine asked for his pin number. He requested $100 fast cash. The machine spit out a receipt that read: Card retained. Contact your financial institution.

“
What the fuck!”

No one in the line behind him had better not have sparred him so much as a glance, or they would need the paramedics. He jumped behind the G6 prepared to test its horse power.

William emerged into the Washington Mutual Bank lobby and walked to the bank representatives who took down the customer’s names that needed customer service. He ignored the list and demanded to see his banker, Paul Silverstein. The rep called Paul and asked William to have a seat.

William could not sit, though. He had developed a foul case of heartburn. His heart singed the way it did after he ate a banana. Normally, he would be irritated, grouchy, and in no mood to entertain company. At that moment though, he wanted to be entertained by the one and only, Paul Silverstein. And William hoped that Paul was good on stage, or Washington Mutual would make the mid-day news.

His thoughts reflected to Justice. What was that bastard doing at that moment? What was he thinking of doing next to keep William vulnerable? How far exactly would Justice go? Could the imbecile be outside the bank and watching him with binoculars? William inconspicuously flipped up the bird.

“
I do not deserve the finger, Mr. Fortune,” Paul said extending his hand out for William to shake.

“
Carpel tunnel. I was stretching my finger,” William replied, hastily. “How’s it going, Paul?” William asked walking to Paul’s desk.

Paul was dressed in an expensive blue pin-striped suit. His hair was perfectly gelled to the side to cover the balding top, and was probably dyed brown. He told William, “I couldn’t be better.”

William sat opposite Paul and looked at the banker scrupulously through Alain Mikli shades. William realized that he thought Paul and the bank was at fault for one simple reason: He would not have allowed his account to be raped, so it was their fault. Period! Made sense, right? If they weren’t at fault, then who was? Certainly, not Justice. Even if Justice had his hand in the cookie jar, he had help from the bank reaching in the cabinet. Was the ending to his fictional yarn being played out before his eyes?