Sex, Lies & Serious Money

16

Butch and Curly had been busy; they had downloaded dozens of paintings from other websites to their own and had made purchases possible only with a password, which nobody else possessed. Finally, they sat down, and Butch watched while Curly inserted a check into the check writer and printed out one for $75,000. Curly signed it, forging Laurence Hayward’s signature, then Butch put everything in an envelope and walked down the street to a new bank branch that had just opened and approached the manager’s office.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Harold Bremmer, and I’d like to open an account.” He handed over the fake driver’s license that Curly had had made.

The man invited him in and took his application. “Do you have your paperwork and a corporate resolution?”

“Right here.” Butch handed him the documents and the check. “And the proceeds from our first sale as our opening deposit,” he said.

“What are you selling?”

“Art. We’ve started with things from my own collection, but we’re buying other things to sell.”

“An expensive picture,” he said.

“Mr. Hayward is a wealthy collector,” Butch said, “and we expect him to make other purchases, perhaps even larger ones.”

“I wish you luck.”

“Thank you. How long will it take the check to clear? We have bills to pay.”

“I’ll put a rush on it,” the manager said. “The funds should be available tomorrow afternoon.”

Butch shook his hand and left with a checkbook tucked under his arm and arrived back at his studio apartment. “We’re in business,” he said. “You know, there’s a better apartment available on the top floor. I think we should take it.”

“Good idea,” Curly said. “It’s getting a little tight around here.”

“Or you can keep this one, and I’ll move upstairs. We can pay the rent from our new bank account. And we’ll make another deposit tomorrow, this one for a hundred and twenty-five grand.”

“An even better idea,” Curly said. “Who needs a cell mate?”

A few days later, Derek Fallowfield’s solicitor appeared at his country house with the documents for the property purchase. Laurence signed them and phoned his bank with instructions for transferring the funds.

The following day Laurence and Theresa said goodbye to his parents, then they met Don McEvoy at Oxford Airport and flew back to the States, via Iceland and Labrador. Oliver met them at Teterboro, where they cleared customs, and Laurence took Don aside. “How am I doing in the airplane?”

“Very well. Your experience in the King Air has been of value, and your technique is very good. I’m impressed with your knowledge of the avionics. Frankly, you’re better at that than I am. If you’re feeling good about flying the airplane, I don’t think you need me anymore.”

“I’ll call you when I need to brush up on things.”

“All you need to do now is fly,” Don said.

In the car, Laurence said to Theresa, “I’ve grown accustomed to your company. Why don’t you move into my place, and we’ll get your things tomorrow?”

“All right,” Theresa said, “we can experiment with that, but I’m keeping my apartment, just in case.”

Back at the Fairleigh, Laurence found a thick envelope from the Ralph Lauren designer with fabrics, wallpapers, pictures of furniture, and drawings waiting for him.

“This looks wonderful,” he said. “I particularly like the way they’ve enlarged the master bath by using the closet next door. Tell your colleague it’s a go, I won’t change a thing.”

“First thing tomorrow,” she said, “right after I see how Butch is doing in the shoe department.”

Butch, as it turned out, was doing very well in the shoe department. “My specialty has become moving customers up from leather shoes to alligator,” he told her over lunch. “It’s easy to spot the ones who can afford it. They’re moving me to the Purple Label suit department at the end of the week.”

“That’s good news. Once you’ve worked in a few more departments, you should aim for a personal shopper’s job. You’ve clearly got the personality for it.”

Butch beamed at her. “Thanks, sis, that’s high praise, coming from you.”

“I see you’re expanding your wardrobe,” she said, fingering a lapel. “Don’t overdo it — even with your employee discount, it’s expensive.”

“I’ll be very careful, I promise you. Oh, I moved into a slightly nicer apartment yesterday. You’ll have to come over.”

“Is Curly still with you?”

“Nah, he’s got his own place and a job doing legal research for a lawyer acquaintance of his. He got a lot of experience in the prison law library — he was even writing appeals for other prisoners.”

“I’m glad you’re both doing so well,” she said. “Your parole officer must be pleased.”

“I’m off parole,” he said. “What with all the guys getting released early, the parole officers are overworked, and I’ve got a job and an apartment, so they cut me loose. I’m a regular citizen again.”

“Welcome back to the world,” Theresa said.

Butch bought lunch.

That night, Butch went to see Curly. “We’ve got one check left, right?”

“Right.”

“We’ll deposit this one, and next week I’ll close the account. Hayward’s back in town and, sooner rather than later, he’ll twig to what’s going on. By that time, there will be no trace of us, and we’ll have a tidy grubstake to take care of us.”

“What we need is another scam,” Curly said.

“I think I’m going to cool it,” Butch said. “I’m pretty well set up now, and I’m liking my job.”

“Tell me again, what is it you’re doing?”

“My sister got me a trainee’s job at her store.”

“Ah, I would have figured it was something to do with money.”

“Everything is something to do with money, Curly.”

Laurence had just finished breakfast when Marge came to see him.

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you written six checks totaling three hundred thousand dollars to a gallery called Internet Arts?”

“I’ve written a number of checks to galleries, but I don’t remember that one.”

She showed him the canceled checks. “The signatures match yours very closely, but I suppose they could be forgeries. Shall I call the police?”

“Let me take care of that,” Laurence said. “I know somebody who knows somebody.”