Fast and Loose

24

Charley Fox turned up early the next morning and started going through his desk, cleaning out drawers and putting what he wanted to take away in his briefcase. He downloaded the cache of documents he had been saving onto a pair of thumb drives, numbered one and two, and tossed them into his briefcase. He deleted all his computer files and reformatted the hard drive. Finally, he disconnected the little amplifier hooked to the bug in Macher’s office and tossed them into his briefcase, as well, along with the two burner cell phones in his drawer. That done, he typed up a letter of resignation, put it into his briefcase and locked it.

“Charles,” a woman’s voice said.

He turned to find Agnes, the group secretary, standing in his doorway. “Yes, Agnes?”

“Mr. Macher would like to see you in his office.”

“I’ll be there shortly, thanks.”

“He said, now.”

“All right.” He got into his jacket, grabbed his briefcase, removed the resignation letter, put it into his jacket pocket, and walked upstairs. In the outer office, he set his briefcase down next to Macher’s secretary’s desk. “I’ll pick this up in a few minutes,” he said to her.

“Fine,” she replied.

He knocked on the door and heard Macher shout, “Come!” He found Macher sitting at his desk and Jake Herman standing behind him, leaning against a bookcase. This did not look good.

“Sit down, Charles,” Macher said.

Charley did. “Good morning, Mr. Macher, Jake.”

“Charles, have you heard anything about the company yacht being stopped by the Coast Guard last weekend?”

“Nope, not a thing,” he replied. “They do equipment checks on yachts all the time, though. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because the checks are routine. They probably didn’t single you out.”

Herman spoke up. “You ever had any telephone conversations with the Coast Guard, Fox?”

Charley shook his head. “Nope. I’ve never needed their help at sea.”

“You sail?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Not everybody,” Herman replied.

“Come on, Jake, what is this about?”

“Somebody tipped the Coast Guard to search the company yacht,” Herman replied.

“What for?”

“Drugs.”

“Did they find any?”

“Unlikely.”

“Then what’s the problem, and what do I have to do with it?”

Jake left the room and came back a moment later with Charley’s briefcase. “Let’s have a look in here,” Herman said.

Charley leaned over as he passed and snatched the case out of Herman’s hand. “Let’s not.” One of his burner phones would have the Coast Guard number in it.

“Charles, let Jake open the case,” Macher said.

“For what purpose?”

“For whatever purpose I wish.”

The secretary knocked, came into the room, and set some things on Macher’s desk. “Your mail, sir,” she said. “And there’s one from the Coast Guard. You asked me to watch for it.”

Macher picked up the envelope, ripped it open, and removed a letter. “Well, let’s see what they have to say,” he said, unfolding the letterhead and reading aloud. “‘Dear Mr. Macher. Further to the search of your company’s yacht on Saturday last, I wish to inform you that our laboratory has analyzed the white powder found in the owner’s suite. The powder turned out to be an over-the-counter laxative called SuperLax. I wish to apologize for any inconvenience caused by our search and to thank you for your cooperation.’”

“Anything else?” Charley asked.

“That doesn’t mean that you didn’t call the Coast Guard,” Herman said. He moved toward where Charley sat, reaching for the briefcase.

Charley stood up and kicked him hard in the knee, and Herman cried out and collapsed, clutching his knee. Charley turned to Macher. “Mr. Macher,” he said, “I don’t like working here anymore, so I’m resigning as of this moment. I got paid yesterday, so you don’t owe me anything.” He picked up his briefcase and started for the door.

“Now, Charles,” Macher said placatingly, “let’s talk about this.”

“I’ve nothing to talk about,” Charley replied, opening the door. “Good day.” He closed the door behind him and started for the outer door, then he stopped, reached into his pocket for the resignation letter, and tossed it onto the secretary’s desk. “I forgot to give this to Mr. Macher,” he said. “Please give it to him for me.”

“Of course, Charley,” she replied.

A moment later, Charley was on the street, hailing a cab.

“The Lombardy Hotel,” he said to the driver. “Fifty-sixth Street, east of Park.”

At the hotel he got out, went upstairs to his room, packed his things, and called down for a bellman. When the man came, he said, “Put these into a cab for me, going to JFK Airport, while I check out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charley took the elevator down and asked the woman at the desk for his final bill.

“Leaving us, Mr. Fox?”

“Yes, I have to head down to Georgia to tend to a family matter.”

“Will you be returning to us soon?”

“Probably not for several months. I’ll give you a forwarding address.” He gave her his credit card, and she handed him a form. He filled it out, giving the address of the law firm that his family had dealt with, and signed the credit card slip. “Thanks for everything,” he said.

“Come back to see us.”

He gave the bellman a fifty, got into a cab, and as the driver pulled away, said, “Never mind the airport, I’ve another stop to make.” He gave the man the address, then got out his cell phone.

“Stone Barrington.”

“Stone, it’s Charley Fox.”

“Good morning, Charley.”

“Things came to a head with Macher this morning, and I’m out of that place and the hotel. May I come there now?”

“Of course. Come in through my office entrance.”

Stone buzzed for Fred, then got up when Charley came in. Bob got up from near Stone’s feet and greeted him.

“This is Bob,” Stone said. “He’s frisking you for food.”

“Hi, Bob,” Charley said, scratching his ears.

“Everything okay?”

“It is now.” Charley gave him an account of his morning.

“It’s just as well,” Stone said. “Fred will take you next door and get you settled and show you how to work the security system. I’ll call Mike Freeman and tell him you’ll need your office space this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Stone, I appreciate that.”

Jake Herman limped into Macher’s office. “I called his hotel,” he said. “He’s checked out, gave a forwarding address in Georgia, and took a cab to JFK.”

Macher waved a letter. “Turns out he was resigning anyway. He’d already written this.”

Herman looked at it. “Good riddance.”

“I never knew what he did here, anyway,” Macher said. “Still, I want you to keep tabs on where he is and what he’s doing.”

“Even in Georgia?”

“Anywhere he goes.”