It was one of those early summer thunderstorms that come down fast and hard and leave the city cleaner and cooler in its wake. The only problem was that it took ten minutes to flag down a cab. I was soaked to my skivvies as I climbed in and headed South back to my office. When I got there, I took off my jacket, tossed it over the back of a chair and slung my holster over it. The suit needed to go to the cleaners anyway.
I logged onto Dow Jones online and called up the short interest history on Jergens’ company. Sure enough, it looked like the guy was telling the truth.
Starting back in February, there had been an exponential increase in the short interest each reporting period. To double check, I called a buddy who ran a hedge fund downtown.
Without missing a beat he said, “You got it, bucko. Company’s got a ten million share float. Out of that, there’s four million short. There’s no way in hell Jergens can keep it afloat. He’s going down with the ship.”
“How did you get wind of this play?”
His answer didn’t come back for a couple of seconds. “I can’t talk about that now, bucko. I’m on a cell phone. You know how those boys in D.C. are about this kind of thing.”
“OK. I get your drift. Catch you later.” I hung up.
I noodled around with the figures for a while, then turned and watched the rain sheeting on the windows as the sky began to lighten in the distance.
Laura’s face kept coming back into my thoughts, dark and painful. Then it finally hit me and it hurt like hell. I’d never seen a dead woman before. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to see her more than anything.
Never again. Never again. There was a heavy rock sitting right on my heart.
And the rain kept on falling.
I didn’t turn around when I sensed someone in the outer office. There wasn’t a sound. Just a sort of presence. At first, I thought it was one of those invisible cleaning ladies in their light blue smocks who appear after dark to clean up all the mistakes of the day.
Then there was the hint of a squish, like a wet shoe on the floor.
A chill went up the back of my neck. It was like the half-second that hangs suspended in the air for what seems like forever between the time the wire is tripped and the flare goes off.
I dove for the deck. Before I hit it, a slug shattered the frosted glass between the offices. I rolled over and grabbed the Glock from the back of the chair and pumped two shots through the hole where the glass had been.
It was enough to scare the hell out of whoever it was. The outer door slammed and then there was silence.
Silence except for the rain hitting the window.
I got up and went into the other room. There was nothing but a couple of wet footprints on the carpeting. I poked around on my hands and knees until I found the shell casing. It was a. 38 Remington rimfire. I went back into my office and dug the round out of the wall. The slug was a hollow-nose and it had left a nice size hole.
Whoever the shooter was, he wasn’t very good. He hadn’t come within a country mile of where I was sitting.
That made me feel much better.
Was this turkey just a bad shot?
Or was he trying to send me a candygram?