White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller by Peter Ralph Page A
Authors: Peter Ralph
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field.
“What’s this about, boss?”
“Devlin Cooper just turned twenty-three, and he’s the hottest property in football. If he stays fit and healthy, he could play until he’s forty. The Packers quarterback just negotiated a deal that’ll see him drag in a hundred and ten mil in the next five years. Cooper’s contract is up for negotiation at the end of next season. He’s worth more.”
“Yeah, but what do you want me to do?”
“It’s a test, Dirk. I want ya to watch the rest of the game. Don’t worry about watchin’ the Hawks’ offense, just Cooper. I wanna see what you learn about him. Ya can learn a lot about a man by how he reacts on a sportin’ field. The Cougars play the Pirates in seven weeks. The sportswriters say that the Pirates are the worst team in football history. There’s gonna be some juicy odds on offer,” Borchard said. “I want you to persuade Cooper to help us.”
“Ah, now I understand.” Dirk grinned.
“After you’ve finished watching the football, I want you to watch the disk?”
“Are you going to watch it?”
“Nah, porn doesn’t do anything for me. It just makes me think of that sicko, Andy. I know what’s on it, but you might learn a little more about Cooper. Oh, and Dirk, cut two more copies and put them in safe places.
“I’ll do better. I’ll store it on my computer.”
“No! What happens if it falls into wrong hands or the cops seize it? Just do the copies and hide them.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Dirk, remember there are three things that could fuck this up. If you push him too hard, and he suicides. Make sure you don’t. If he talks to the woman, and she leaves her husband and moves in with him. It devalues the adultery and porn and in some folks’ eyes makes it romance. Make sure he doesn’t talk to her. And thirdly, he double-crosses us on game day. If that happens, you’ll have to kill him.”
Chapter 8
The week had dragged for Todd. The earliest he had left the office on any day was seven o’clock, and he’d worked to ten on Monday night. His near death experience with Lechte had refocused him, but he still hated his job. Despite the long hours, he had tweaked his system by factoring in a new variable. Bad luck. He knew it was ridiculous, but the experience with Dancing Girl, when she’d been slow to start after the gates opened, had burned him badly. He reasoned that there were horses that seemed to find a way to get beaten, no matter what. The habitual second-place getters were the worst. They always offered hope the next time they raced. His newly tweaked system had thrown up three winners all ranking above 96, and he resolved to have ten thousand on each. He wouldn’t get his recent losses back, but it would restore his confidence and faith in his system.
The betting parlor was far busier and noisier on Saturday than on weekdays and punters were at every table. Todd waited patiently in line and when he reached the window said, “Saratoga, Race two, ten thousand the win, number five, on my tab.” He took his ticket, ordered a mineral water, and found a place on the wall where he was directly in front of the monitors. The horses came out on the track, and Todd felt a surge of confidence rush through him. Gunbarrel was a huge chestnut colt with a white diamond in the middle of his head. Five minutes later the commentator was screaming, “Gunbarrel’s kicked six lengths clear at the top of the stretch and is cantering to the easiest of wins.” Todd was elated and then disappointed. If only he’d had sixty thousand on Gunbarrel. He would have recovered his losses and then some. As he was pondering this, Jack Elliot sauntered up to him.
“Good to be winning again, kid,” he said.
What the fuck does that mean? How does he know I backed the winner? How does he know I lost? Maybe I’m overreacting. He’s only ever seen me win. Maybe that’s why he said again? “How do you know I won?”
“Come on. I was watching you. I
“What’s this about, boss?”
“Devlin Cooper just turned twenty-three, and he’s the hottest property in football. If he stays fit and healthy, he could play until he’s forty. The Packers quarterback just negotiated a deal that’ll see him drag in a hundred and ten mil in the next five years. Cooper’s contract is up for negotiation at the end of next season. He’s worth more.”
“Yeah, but what do you want me to do?”
“It’s a test, Dirk. I want ya to watch the rest of the game. Don’t worry about watchin’ the Hawks’ offense, just Cooper. I wanna see what you learn about him. Ya can learn a lot about a man by how he reacts on a sportin’ field. The Cougars play the Pirates in seven weeks. The sportswriters say that the Pirates are the worst team in football history. There’s gonna be some juicy odds on offer,” Borchard said. “I want you to persuade Cooper to help us.”
“Ah, now I understand.” Dirk grinned.
“After you’ve finished watching the football, I want you to watch the disk?”
“Are you going to watch it?”
“Nah, porn doesn’t do anything for me. It just makes me think of that sicko, Andy. I know what’s on it, but you might learn a little more about Cooper. Oh, and Dirk, cut two more copies and put them in safe places.
“I’ll do better. I’ll store it on my computer.”
“No! What happens if it falls into wrong hands or the cops seize it? Just do the copies and hide them.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Dirk, remember there are three things that could fuck this up. If you push him too hard, and he suicides. Make sure you don’t. If he talks to the woman, and she leaves her husband and moves in with him. It devalues the adultery and porn and in some folks’ eyes makes it romance. Make sure he doesn’t talk to her. And thirdly, he double-crosses us on game day. If that happens, you’ll have to kill him.”
Chapter 8
The week had dragged for Todd. The earliest he had left the office on any day was seven o’clock, and he’d worked to ten on Monday night. His near death experience with Lechte had refocused him, but he still hated his job. Despite the long hours, he had tweaked his system by factoring in a new variable. Bad luck. He knew it was ridiculous, but the experience with Dancing Girl, when she’d been slow to start after the gates opened, had burned him badly. He reasoned that there were horses that seemed to find a way to get beaten, no matter what. The habitual second-place getters were the worst. They always offered hope the next time they raced. His newly tweaked system had thrown up three winners all ranking above 96, and he resolved to have ten thousand on each. He wouldn’t get his recent losses back, but it would restore his confidence and faith in his system.
The betting parlor was far busier and noisier on Saturday than on weekdays and punters were at every table. Todd waited patiently in line and when he reached the window said, “Saratoga, Race two, ten thousand the win, number five, on my tab.” He took his ticket, ordered a mineral water, and found a place on the wall where he was directly in front of the monitors. The horses came out on the track, and Todd felt a surge of confidence rush through him. Gunbarrel was a huge chestnut colt with a white diamond in the middle of his head. Five minutes later the commentator was screaming, “Gunbarrel’s kicked six lengths clear at the top of the stretch and is cantering to the easiest of wins.” Todd was elated and then disappointed. If only he’d had sixty thousand on Gunbarrel. He would have recovered his losses and then some. As he was pondering this, Jack Elliot sauntered up to him.
“Good to be winning again, kid,” he said.
What the fuck does that mean? How does he know I backed the winner? How does he know I lost? Maybe I’m overreacting. He’s only ever seen me win. Maybe that’s why he said again? “How do you know I won?”
“Come on. I was watching you. I
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