Authors: T. E. Cruise
Gold had to smile. He hadn’t seen Campbell for years, not since the two had crossed swords over that Pont jetliner situation.
Now Gold thought that for a man approaching eighty, Campbell looked good. Tim was barefoot, clad in a white-and-blue-striped,
short-sleeved boatneck pullover and white duck trousers. His thick gray hair was poking our from under a straw sombrero. Campbell
looked like one of those old codgers you see beachcombing in Malibu, the ones who looked like they’ve been carved from driftwood,
and are just as ancient and just as indestructible.
Campbell was looking spry, chipper; like a kindly old granddad. Gold mused, feeling guilty over the purpose of this visit.
This was, after all, good old Uncle Tim.
Like hell.
Gold reminded himself that it was the prettiest mushroom in the forest that would kill you quickest if you took a bite.
Get your mind right,
he ordered himself.
Or this kindly old granddad will eat you alive and pick his teeth with your bones.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Gold began. “I know it’s late.”
“Nah, no problem.” Campbell shrugged. “I don’t sleep much anymore. Here”—he gestured toward the table and chairs—”let’s sit
down.”
“Thank you.” As Gold sat, he thought he glimpsed movement in the foliage at eye level behind Campbell, but he dismissed it
as his imagination.
“I had this furniture moved in special for you when you called earlier this evening asking to see me,” Campbell said. “I usually
hang out back there.” He gestured over his shoulder toward the greenhouse’s interior. “But it can get a little close. Most
people don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Gold took a seat. He was dying for a cigarette, but didn’t think it was appropriate to jeopardize the
well-being of all these exotic plants with cigarette smoke. “The reason I called you…”
He stopped, his attention again distracted by a twitching leaf, and then his eyes widened as he saw a smallish, bright-blue
snake with coral markings slither out of the wall of green flora to drape itself over a branch.
“Tim?” Gold was pointing a wavering finger at the snake when he heard more rustling and saw a brown tortoise the size of a
basketball waddling along between two large clay pots. Above his head something flapped on leathery wings between the palm
fronds, too fast for him to discern.
“They like you,” Campbell remarked. “Usually, they hide when strangers are near.”
Gold was about to bolt when he was frozen in his chair by a close-by, prolonged, hissing sound, like steam being vented. He
looked wildly around, and then he saw it coming toward him out of the foliage: an emerald-green lizard the size of a basset
hound was spitting at him as it sent the gravel flying with its thrashing, yard-long whip of a tail.
“What the fuck is that?” Gold’s voice wavered. His eyes were glued to the lizard as it imperiously stalked into the cleared
area in order to settle beneath Campbell’s chair.
“This here’s my attack dragon,” Campbell said.
“Goddammit, Tim!” Gold started to rise out of his chair.
“Nah. Calm down.” Campbell chuckled. “I’m just busting your chops. Don’t be afraid of Bayou.”
“‘Bayou’ as in swamps?” Gold asked, relaxing a little. The lizard seemed not to be paying him much attention.
“Nah. Bayou as in ‘Iguana-be-loved-
by-you
.’”
“It’s an iguana?”
“Yep, and while he looks mean as hell, iceberg lettuce is Bayou’s favorite dish. He’s an even-tempered lizard.” Campbell paused,
glancing at Gold’s feet. “However, some things do tick Bayou off. Those aren’t alligator shoes, by any chance?”
“Any more creepy-crawlies around?” Gold demanded.
“Oh, sure.” Campbell nodded. “Lots of them. Lots and lots. I love reptiles. They’re my favorite animals. I don’t give a shit
about plants. Only keep all this crapola around to keep my little babies happy.”
“Jesus, Tim.” Gold scowled, his eyes searching the greenhouse. “Can’t we have this conversation somewhere else?”
“Hey, like I told you: not to worry. I put away all my
dangerous
pets when I knew you were coming.” Campbell paused, scratching his jaw. “At least, I think I did….”
Gold finally had to laugh. “You’re still one crazy son of a bitch.”
“The craziest,” Campbell agreed. “Now, what do you think you have to tell me?”
Gold began with the story of how Icarus had turned himself in on Saturday, and then continued by telling Campbell about yesterday’s
sting operation that had nabbed Turner Layten. “Otto Lane has been holding Layten incommunicado,” Gold finished, feeling a
bit flustered by the way Campbell had so impassively taken the news of his chief henchman’s downfall. “We’re still interviewing
Layten.” Gold added meaningfully, looking for some reaction—any reaction—from Campbell. “That’s why you haven’t heard from
Layten.”
“And I guess I
won’t
be hearing from him,” Campbell said “Not now that Layten’s going to be prom queen in some federal prison. Let me know his
mailing address. I’ll send him some Vaseline, he’s going to need it.”
“He’s not going to prison,” Gold said.
“Oh?” Campbell nodded. “How kind of you to let him off the hook. Your father is likely smiling in heaven over your good deed.”
He paused. “Well? Is that it, now? Are we done? ‘Cause if we are, I got some white rats waiting to walk the last mile to becoming
the blue plate special for a twenty-foot boa constrictor I caged up in your honor.”
“No, we’re
not
done,” Gold said, growing angry. “Layten isn’t going to jail because he’s cooperating in our investigation. He implicated
you, Tim. We’ve got you on industrial espionage.”
“You’ve got nothing,” Campbell said flatly. “Layten can spill his guts all he wants. No doubt he already has. I’m denying
I had anything to do with this industrial-espionage shit. Okay?” He grinned. “I’ll even repeat it louder, in case
you’re
wired, Stevarino.”
“I’m not,” Gold said. “You want to frisk me?”
“Nah, I believe you, son,” Campbell said. “Anyway, the way you’re sweating like a pig, there, if you was wired, the do-hickey
would have shorted out by now. But getting back to what I was saying, Layten can sing all he wants. He’s got no proof to back
up his allegations, ’cause I’m real careful about never leaving around any proof of my less savory dealings. Sure I set up
this Icarus scheme against you, and I enjoyed every moment of it while it lasted, but you’re out of your mind if you think
you can convict me in court pitting Layten’s word against mine.”
“Actually, I never really thought I could pin industrial-espionage charges on you,” Gold admitted. “I’ve always known you
put lots of buffers between yourself and your illegal activities.”
“You bet your ass I got buffers,” Campbell declared. “I put so much distance between myself and my dirty work, my cock’s got
to call me long-distance to tell me to take a piss.”
Gold smiled. “I can’t get you on industrial espionage. But how about insider trading?”
“What?” Campbell eyed Gold the way Gold had earlier eyed the iguana. “You sure the heat in here ain’t getting to you, Stevie?
You’re starting to babble.”
“You bought shares of GAT when the price went down due to the GC-600 crash, right?”
“Yeah, sure I did, but so what?” Campbell asked. “That just proves I’m an astute investor.”
“Here’s how it’s going down,” Gold said, leaning forward to tick off the points to Campbell. “GAT’s legal representatives
have contacted the Security and Exchange Commission to make the case that we have witnesses—Halloway and Layten—who will testify
that you orchestrated the campagn of industrial espionage against us, including the forged memo that depressed the price of
GAT stock, and then you bought GAT on the cheap, confident the price would soon rise, because you had insider knowledge that
the memo would prove phony.”
“It’s your
case
that’s phony!” Campbell laughed. “It’s fucking ironic that out of everything I’ve ever done, you try to hang me on the one
thing I
didn’t
do! I had no idea that memo was forged!”
“I know that, Tim, but then, that’s only the truth, so who gives a flying fuck about it? Halloway and Layten will testify
that it was
you
who fabricated the memo. They’ll do this for GAT in exchange for us not pressing charges against them.”
“Steve, you’re not listening,” Campbell admonished. “I bought heavy into GAT when the price was low, because I thought that
maybe I could orchestrate a proxy battle against you at the next stockholders’ meeting. I didn’t want to profit from the purchases.
What the hell do I need with more money?”
“It doesn’t matter Tim.” Gold shrugged. “We’ve made a credible allegation against you on insider trading, and because of that
the SEC will be all over your business dealings.”
“It’ll never happen.” Campbell scowled. “All you got is circumstantial evidence backed up by the testimony of a couple of
lightweights.”
“It’s already happening. It started today.”
“Bullshit!” Campbell looked contemptuous, but worried. “I’ll call in every favor owed me to block this.”
Gold smiling apologetically. “Well, I’ve
already
called in a few favors owed GAT. That’s how I managed to get a green light on at least a preliminary investigation into your
financial dealings, but then, that’s all it’ll take, won’t it, Tim? I mean, in this sort of matter one thing leads to another,
right? An SEC investigator poking around here discovering this, and another one there uncovering that, and pretty soon your
entire, nasty house of cards built over a lifetime of double-dealing will come crashing down on you. I don’t think they’ll
put you in jail. Not a man your age, but they’ll take it all away from you, Tim. You won’t have your wealth and power anymore.
You’ll just be a harmless old man.”
I’ve done it.
Gold thought as he watched Campbell’s response to his harangue. At first Campbell had looked dis-dainful. Then angry. Then
appalled. Finally, much to Gold’s satisfaction, Tim Campbell looked scared.
“Steve, listen. You don’t have to do this. You know why? Because we’re already even! Okay, maybe I put a little dent into
GAT, but I can make it up to you. Name your price.”
“My price is your head on an SEC platter,” Gold said calmly.
“I meant money!” Campbell snarled. “Name your price in money, goddamn you.”
“What you took from GAT money can’t buy back,” Gold told him. “You’re responsible for Icarus. If Icarus hadn’t muddied the
waters with that memo, GAT might have relatively easily put behind it the GC-600 crash. As it is, thanks to Icarus—thanks
to
you,
Tim—all the old speculation has been revived about the solidity of the company and the stability of its management, namely,
Don Harrison and myself.” Gold paused. “But it’s more than just this one incident, Tim. Whenever something bad happens to
GAT, you turn out to be behind it. That has got to end, and it’s going to end. Now.”
“No more bullshit, Steve.” Campbell pointed his gnarled finger at Gold. “The bottom line is that this insider-trading thing
you’ve cooked up could ruin me. You’re right, son. There’s shady business dealings I’m involved in that have nothing to do
with GAT. Because of that, I can’t afford to have them SEC sons of bitches crawling up my asshole with flashlights.”
Gold stood up. “Sorry, Tim.”
“Wait!” Campbell was frantic. “There must be something I can do? Steve?” He forced a hideous, crocodile smile. This is your
ole uncle Tim talking! What can I do to make you change your mind about pursuing this?”
“Nothing, Tim.” Gold smiled. “There’s finally nothing you can do. Isn’t that a pisser?” He watched the iguana crawl slowly
out from beneath Campbell’s chair.
Campbell said, “Your father wouldn’t do this. You know that, son? Herman Gold wouldn’t take it this far.”
“I do know that.” Gold took a few tentative steps toward the big iguana, which stood its ground, watching his approach with
beady, expressionless eyes.
“I was wrong about you, Steve,” Campbell murmured, almost to himself. “I thought you were weaker than your father, but I was
wrong.”
Gold reached out to gently tilt up Campbell’s chin in order to look him in the eyes. “Yes, Uncle Tim, you were wrong.”
Gold then bent to stroke the iguana’s head. At his light touch the lizard closed its eyes, tilting its broad snout up into
his palm. Gold had expected the thing to feel slimy. He was surprised to find the creature’s textured green hide was pleasantly
dry.
Gold left the greenhouse thinking that the creepy-crawlies weren’t scary if you knew how to handle them.
(Four)
After Steve left, Tim Campbell spent the rest of the night in the greenhouse, tending to his pets. At four in the morning,
he went to the telephone mounted on the wall near the sinks and dialed the estate’s garage, where the telephone rang quite
a few times before the sleepy-voiced attendant picked up.
“Whozit?”
“This is Mr. Campbell.”
On the other end of the line, there was a shocked intake of breath. “Yes, sir! Mr. Campbell! This is Pablo, sir!”
Campbell didn’t have the slightest idea who Pablo was. The estate’s majordomo handled all the personnel bullshit. “Yeah, listen
here, pal. I want a car.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll wake the chauffeur, sir.”
“I don’t want any of the limos. I want a car I can drive. Tell me what I’ve got lying around these days, pal.”
“Well, sir, there’s the pair of Rolls’, the Bentley…”
“Something sportier,” Campbell decreed.
“Yes, sir. Well, the Jag is having some electrical problems. But there’s the Ferrari, the Lamborghini—”
“Oh, yeah!” Campbell exclaimed. “The Lamborghini. I forgot about that one. Let’s see, that’d be a ‘sixty-four, 350 GT. Red,
I seem to remember. It can do 150 miles per hour thanks to its 270-horsepower V-12 engine.”
“Gee, Mr. Campbell, you know your cars,” the attendant said, sounding surprised and impressed.
“Nah. I don’t know shit about cars, but I know value, pal. That there little Italian cherry of mine is worth plenty because
it’s in original, mint condition, and Lamborghini only built thirteen of ’em, in the first place. It’s one of a kind.” Campbell
snickered. “Just like me.”