Double Doublecross (2 page)

The mere thought of the foreclosure had made Rick's stomach turn over and it sent a cold shiver down his spine. His reputation as a smart real estate agent would erode. This would ruin the business and curtail his main source of income, putting a huge crimp in his extravagant, free and easy lifestyle. In addition, his friendship with Stan would be in jeopardy, and the last thing he needed was to lose his long time pal and partner.

Rick and Stan had served in the marines together during the late '80s and early '90s and had seen combat in Desert Storm. When they got out of the service in 1992, they found employment with an aerospace company in the Silicone Valley as component design engineers with a good salary and fine prospects.

Stan Turner's lifestyle pace was different from Rick's. He was married to a pretty girl named Helen. They had a daughter, Nina, attending university. Although their personal values and dispositions were entirely different, Stan and he had fostered a strong, friendly working relationship.

After a few years with the aerospace company, the two of them were caught up in the corporate downsizing frenzy that was reaching most of corporate America. They were given the option of a lower paid position or displacement with a considerable separation and retraining package. After talking
it over, they had decided to take the severance package and select an occupation for retraining.

Real estate had always fascinated Rick. He had a vibrant, pleasant personality and thought he could make a good living out of real estate when the housing slump was over. On the other hand, Stan was a more of a family man without Rick's outgoing personality.

Rick had found it difficult convincing his pal to join him in the real estate business. He told Stan that someday they could own their own brokerage. Rick would do the majority of the marketing, and Stan would primarily run the administration and help out with the practical side of selling real estate and relocating executives when needed.

When he reached home that evening, Rick slumped down in his large leather reclining chair and contemplated his financial position. He looked around his large, comfortable study furnished with a fine cherry wood desk, a white leather love seat, wall to wall carpet and red regency striped wallpaper. The room overlooked a large, well-organized garden of shrubs and flower beds that was maintained by Louis, his gardener. Louis had cultivated a tall laurel hedge circumventing the entire garden, giving him complete privacy from neighbors and the road.

The sprawling ranch style house was situated in an up market area located about ten miles west of Walnut Creek where he and Stan had their office. It was an enchanting area just a few miles west of Oakland and within thirty minutes of San Francisco, where he often frequented the fine restaurants and theaters.

The house had four bedrooms, two of them were master suites in opposite wings of the house. They were separated by
a large, spacious family entertainment room, complete with an entertainment center that housed a fifty inch television set and stereo system.

Adjoining the entertainment room was a state of the art kitchen that gave way through an archway to a formal dining room and sitting room, furnished with a leather sofa, matching love seat, a rosewood dining table with six chairs, and a small buffet style credenza. Rick's personal study adjoined his bedroom containing his PC station, fax machine and a small television set.

Rick got up from his chair and wandered through the house trying to figure out how he could get out of this sticky situation without taking the loan and making the drastic changes. He stood in front of the large double doors in the hallway, opened them and went straight to his garage where his three cars were parked. He gazed at the Porsche, Land Rover and Lincoln Town Car as if they were his friends.

“I guess one of you babies will have to go,” he said quietly to himself.

Rick used the Town Car for transporting clients around during his real estate and executive relocation duties; for that reason, he would have to keep the luxury car. The Land Rover was used mainly in the winter for his skiing and gambling trips to Lake Tahoe, one of his favorite resort spots. He gazed fondly at the Porsche. The Porsche was his beloved toy and fun car.

He considered his options. He had to give up the Porsche. Use the credit he had remaining on his credit cards. Neither of these options appealed to him. The Porsche was his favorite car. He had very little left on his credit cards. He hadn't mentioned his stock portfolio to Stan. It wasn't worth a damn, thanks to the shrinking economy and the acts
of terrorism in the Middle East which had pushed an already sinking economy closer to recession.

What other channels of maintaining his solvency were open to him? Certainly Stan would be able to come across a small portion of the money he needed. Stan was a staunch friend, but then he had his own expenses—a mortgage, university fees and all the usual domestic bills.

‘What about Sara?' Rick pondered. He knew he had to bring her into the picture at some time.

Rick had met Sara at the local Performing Arts Center. He had received an invitation from Alec Collins, his dentist and skiing buddy, to see a local performance of
The Mikado
and to go backstage for a closing night cocktail reception later that evening. Rick had decided to give it a shot, as he had never seen
The Mikado
or had a chance to meet stage actors and actresses before. This was when he met Sara. Like other members of the cast who attended the reception, she was still wearing the Asian makeup and costume of
The Mikado
.

After the performance Alec grabbed Rick by the elbow and directed him over to where Sara was standing.

“Rick, I'd like to introduce you to Sara Martin, an aspiring young actress and model,” Alec had said.

Although she was still wearing her costume and makeup, Rick was immediately impressed with her looks and demeanor. “Hi, I'm Richard Jacobs,” he had said. “But just call me Rick.”

Sara had looked at this good-looking, well-groomed man who was a little over six feet tall with brown, wavy hair, gray eyes and pleasant smile. She was currently on the verge of breaking up her relationship with Carl Regis, a small time crook. He transported large sums of drug cartel money to be laundered along the Western United States and Canadian
seaboard using banks, real estate, art and securities. Carl had always promised her the big time, but she was tired of waiting on his fantasizing.

“Nice to meet you,” she had said quietly. “Are you an actor?”

“No, I'm a realtor. I have a real estate partnership with a friend of mine. Do you have a last name?”

“It's Martin. So you're your own boss. That must be very satisfying,” she had declared.

“It suits me. You just have to discipline yourself, turn up at the office every day and sell real estate,” he'd quipped.

She smiled and looked at him, trying to figure out a way to keep the conversation going. She wasn't much good at making small talk with strangers.

“What do you do for a living besides acting?”

“Oh, I do a bit of modeling now and again, plus acting parts when the opportunity comes along,” she'd replied. “Modeling is easier. I can't always remember lines and pretend I'm somebody else. Besides, I don't like wearing this makeup, but these makeup artists can change your appearance in no time and make you look like an entirely different person.”

“Well, I don't want to look any different yet. Wait until I get a bit older, then I might need some help. So, how about having dinner some night? You name the spot. Just a friendly dinner with no commitments. I promise.”

She had pursed her lips as if to think it over. “Let's make it lunch. I'll give you a call. Right now I must get this makeup off. It feels like a mask.”

‘Sounds promising,' Rick had thought as he pulled his business card from his billfold. “OK, here's my card. Call my office or home. I'll be waiting.”

Sara had moved off and Rick's eyes followed her as she
crossed to the far side of the large room to meet a slimy looking man.

The man had approached her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Time to go, sweetie. Who's your friend?”

The voice had come from Carl Regis. Carl lived in an apartment just outside of Seattle and also rented a small two bedroom apartment in a local upscale area.

He had grown up east of Los Angeles with two brothers and a sister. His mother had passed away when he was five years old and his father had little time for the family. Most of his time was spent keeping two jobs going and making ends meet. Being the youngest of the four children, Carl was influenced by the lifestyle of his brothers who were constantly in trouble with the law and seldom held down a job for more than a week or two. He had come to the conclusion that it was easier to make a living on the seamy side of life running errands for street corner drug dealers. Eventually, at the age of twenty, he broke into what he believed was the big time.

“Oh, just somebody I was introduced to. Just a person in the crowd. Nobody of importance,” Sara had said.

Since that meeting Rick had dated Sara for lunch a few times, nothing serious, so Rick thought at the time.

I
t was Saturday and Rick decided it was time to drop the bombshell on Joanne. This was something he was reticent about doing, and he fidgeted in his chair as he picked up the phone.

He hadn't heard from Joanne or Sara for a week. He still had a problem with telling them about his fragile financial situation regarding his mortgage payments for fear that they would break off their delicate relationships. He wasn't really so concerned about losing Joanne, but the thought of not seeing Sara again wrenched at his soul.

He dialed Joanne's number.

“Joanne here,” a syrupy voice drifted across the wire.

“Hi, Joanne. It's me. Rick.”

“Oh! Hello, Rick. Uhh … Jackson, was it?”

“No, Jacobs,” he replied.

“Oh, yes, the Hawaii vacation guy. How are you?”

“Okay, I guess. Look, I have to call off the cruise. I'm sorry about that, but something came up.”

“But I was looking forward to it. You promised. What came up?”

He decided to hit the nail on the head.

“I'm broke,” he said quietly, waiting for her reaction.

“Shit! You never told me that. What kind of a guy are you? Leading me up the garden path like that. You're nothing but a cheap, stingy asshole.”

The line went dead. ‘That was easy,' he thought to himself. What would Sara's reaction be to news like this? Nothing like that he hoped. Stan had been right. Joanne was a real bimbo.

Business was slack and Rick's mood was approaching depression. Rain was drizzling in a fine mist. Thank God the day was nearly over. He gazed out the window trying to figure out what to do that evening. Usually he would go to the Executive Club, an exclusive watering hole that he belonged to.

No, this was not the thing to do when your finances were in trouble. I'll have dinner in a restaurant and then take in a movie. How boring! Rick looked at his watch. It was close to five o'clock with very little chance of clients at this time of the day. He looked across at Stan who was preparing the closing documents for their latest sale.

“I'll finish that off, Stan. Go home to Helen. She's probably prepared a gourmet dinner for you. I'll get by with a burger and fries,” he said.

Stan looked up at Rick. “Why don't you come home with me and join us?” he said.

Rick laughed. “No, that's okay, Stan. Thanks for the offer. I'll just have a quiet night and rent a movie. I'll see you in the morning bright and early. Maybe we'll get some business tomorrow.”

Rick finished off the paperwork and started to close the office. The rain had developed into a steady downpour, and
the clouds were so low and threatening that they appeared to be a part of the landscape.

Just then the telephone rang next to Rick's elbow.

‘Too late,' he thought, ‘I'm leaving.'

“Leave a message and your number,” the recording said, “and I'll get back to you.”

“Hello, Rick. This is Sara Martin. Sorry I missed you—” Rick snatched up the phone before the message ended.

“Hi, there! I was just closing up for the night. How's life with you? I haven't heard from you for a week.”

“Not too bad. Things are a bit slow. I've had a few modeling appointments, and I'm keeping as busy as possible under the economic circumstances. How's business on your end?”

“It's raining and there's no rainbow in sight. So, why don't you put some sunshine in my life and have some dinner with me tonight?” he said, crossing his fingers for good luck.

“Not tonight Rick. I'm busy.”

Rick groaned. Some excuse!

“Why don't you meet me for lunch tomorrow? My Sunday's are usually very quiet,” she said.

Rick perked up. That's more like it. Rick tried to sound casual and smooth.

“Sunday can get quite busy for us, but I think I can manage it. My partner, Stan, will take care of things. How about meeting me at the Hungry Tiger at noon?”

“Okay with me. See you then,” she said and hung up.

Rick sat back in his chair. This had not been such a bad day after all, but he was not aware of the events waiting for him that would change his near future drastically.

He closed up and ran to the Lincoln. It was still raining hard and getting dark but he felt fine. He picked up a pizza
and a six pack from the local supermarket and settled down for a quiet evening watching television. This was not his idea of a Saturday evening's entertainment, but tomorrow looked nice and rosy.

During the next two weeks Rick met Sara more regularly for lunch but never for dinner. She said this was because she didn't want a serious relationship right now. Rick, although disappointed at the time, accepted this story and was only too pleased that he saw her as frequently as he did.