Rudiger on the Streets

John Rudiger sat at a table facing the ocean on the new patio beside his house, perched on the rocky cliff at the end of Blue Moon Bay in Antigua.  The late morning sun was intense, but the breeze coming off the ocean kept it bearable.  He inhaled, smelling the sunbaked vegetation that was already reclaiming the well-trampled dirt surrounding his home now that the construction crews were gone.  Gone because the house was finally finished after a two-year ordeal that ran 100% over budget at $5 million.

No matter, because at last he was settling into a peaceful existence here in Antigua.  No more Wall Street Journal articles about the financial scandal that forced him from the U.S.  No contact from any of Assistant U.S. Attorney Charlie Holden’s guys in New York, snooping around and trying to extradite him.  No more hassles from the local police about the documentation of his alias.  No more excuses from his construction contractors.  And he was back in form with his investments.

Everything was right with the world.

Rudiger exhaled, leaned forward in his chair and focused again on the papers on the table.  He picked up his pen and copied the numbers from the screen on his HP 12C calculator.  He nodded with approval.

Not bad.  The wunderkind technology stock picker was on a roll again.

He’d bought Apple common stock three months earlier on the announcement of their new product, iTunes.  It was up 112% on the back of strong earnings from iTunes driving iPod sales to the next level.  The deep out-of-the-money call options he’d bought a month later had quadrupled in value. He pushed the papers aside, set his calculator on top of them and sat back in his chair.

From behind him, Rudiger could hear Winston Ambrose, his mason, shaping a piece of stone with his rock hammer, in the process of building a dry-laid retaining wall of local stone on two sides of the new bluestone patio.  He turned to see Winston’s progress.

“Looking good,” Rudiger said.

Winston, a tall, heavyset Antiguan with tar-black skin, turned and then beamed.  “About halfway done, Mr. John.  Glad you like it.”

He heard the side door of his house open and saw Charisse, his housekeeper, walk out and climb the steps alongside the house to the patio, carrying a tray with his first gin and tonic of the day.

She smiled as she reached him, set the drink down and said, “Here you are, Mr. John.”

“Thanks.  Are you leaving for Marjorie’s soon?”

“Right now if it’s okay.”

At least once a month Charisse left early on a Friday to spend the weekend at her sister’s place in Free Town.

“Fine.  See you Monday morning.”

Rudiger sipped his gin and tonic, took in the view of the Caribbean, then let out a sigh.

I wonder what the Russians are doing right now.

Charisse exited the house again five minutes later, struggling with a suitcase in one hand and two bags in the other and climbed the steps into the parking circle in front of the house.

He took another long swallow of his gin and tonic, then glanced back to see Charisse laboring with her bags down his driveway toward the road.  What am I thinking?  He pushed his chair back and said to Winston, “I’ll be back.”

He strode up to the parking circle, climbed into his Range Rover and drove to a stop beside her.  He reached over and opened the passenger door.  “Get in.  I’ll drop you at the bus stop.”

“Oh, no, Mr. John.  I’ll be alright.”

“Come on, get in.”

Charisse hesitated only a moment before opening the rear door and setting her bags in.  She climbed in front and smiled, looking relieved.  “Thank you, Mr. John.”

After Rudiger dropped her at the bus stop, he drove back home and resumed his position on his patio.  When he finished his drink, he stood up and said to Winston, “How late are you working today?”

Winston turned around and shrugged.

Rudiger said, “I’m heading over to the Blue Moon for lunch.  Have a good weekend if I don’t see you before you leave.”

Rudiger drove to the Blue Moon.   He sat at his usual table watching the activity around the pool, sipping his second gin and tonic.  After a while he slid his sunglasses up to prop them on top of his head.  It gave him a better view of a tall blonde with the lithe body of a beach volleyball player who climbed out of the pool, sauntered across the apron and lay down on a chaise lounge.

Yeah, everything is right with the world.

#

Charisse rode the bus into St. John’s and got off at the stop in front of her Banco Popular branch.  She walked inside up to Maysie, her favorite teller, and deposited 200 Eastern Caribbean dollars of her week’s pay of EC$480.  Maysie stamped the new balance into Charisse’s passbook.  As Charisse walked toward the door she checked her passbook and smiled.

She was almost there.  Only another EC$2,200 and she could afford the down payment on the house she found on Nonsuch Bay.  Then she could move momma and her sister and her children in with her from the shacks her momma and Marjorie now rented.

Charisse walked into the sunshine to the bench at the bus stop outside the bank.  She sat down next to a petite Latino woman in dusty clothes.  Charisse turned to greet her but the woman looked away, hunched her shoulders and lowered her eyes to the ground.  Charisse felt sorry for her, a timid foreigner who seemed uncomfortable in a strange place.  After a moment Charisse saw the woman turn to face her as if to speak. Charisse tilted her head to hear but the woman turned away and looked at the ground again.

A moment later the woman turned and said in a thick Spanish accent, “Excuse, please, lady.  Can you help me?”  She held out a piece of paper.  “Find this lawyer for me?”

She took it and read the name, John Drew, Esq.

Charisse shook her head and handed the paper back to the woman.  She said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know him.”

Just then a dark-skinned man who looked like a native Antiguan walked up and stopped in front of the bench.  He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt with a tie, clean and nice-looking.

“I couldn’t help overhearing.  Perhaps I can help,” he said.  The man spoke like he was educated, with confidence in his voice.  He held out his hand.  “May I?”

The woman handed the paper to the man.  “Please, mister,” she said.  “I not from here, no speak much English.”

The man looked at the name on the paper and widened his eyes.  As the man did so, Charisse saw the woman hang her head like she was afraid.

The man said, “You are Mexican, correct?”

The woman shook her head.  “Puerto Rican.”

“May I know your name?” the man said, his voice now soft and calming.

“Rosa.”

“Rosa, I am Hamilton Gardner, from here in St. John’s.  This is not an attorney who will help you.  In fact, he has a reputation for cheating Hispanics.  Why would you want to do business with someone like this?”

The woman said, “This the only name I get.”

“Well, Rosa,” the man said.  “Perhaps I can recommend someone else.”

Rosa now seemed to relax.  She sat back on the bench and straightened her shoulders.  She said, “Thank you, Mr. Gardner.”  She motioned for him to step closer.  When he did, she waved Charisse in as well.  Charisse leaned over as Rosa said, “I have winning Lotto ticket.”  Rosa pulled a ticket and a folded page of newspaper from her purse and held them up for Mr. Gardner and Charisse to see.  The Lotto ticket had the previous day’s date, and the newspaper was today’s.  The numbers matched.  Charisse felt her heart jump.  Rosa said, “But if I try cash ticket, I get in trouble.  I am here illegal, and will be deported if they catch me.”

Mr. Gardner nodded and stepped back.  He said, “I can cash the ticket for you.”

Rosa thought for a moment and said, “This work good, but . . .”  She looked down at the ground in front of her again, curled her shoulders over.  “But I don’ know you.”

She motioned for Mr. Gardner to come closer again.  Charisse moved in, too.

Rosa said, “Ticket is for EC$20,000.”  She smiled for the first time.  “But I simple woman with little money.  I sell you ticket for only EC$5,000.  Then you cash and keep rest of money.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Gardner said.  Rosa looked startled by how quickly he said it.

Rosa said, “But this lady”—and she looked at Charisse—”was nice to me and try to help me.  I feel much better if you share ticket, and my good fortune with her.”

Mr. Gardner looked at Charisse.  “I would be most happy to share with this lady, who is?”

“Charisse.”  Charisse’s scalp started to prickle at the thought of EC$10,000.  She thought of the house on Nonsuch Bay.  Then she started thinking about what she could do with the rest of the money.  Good food for her sister’s children, medicines for baby Frederick, clothes, shoes and a new rocker for momma.  She started to feel dizzy.

Mr. Gardner said, “Miss Charisse, I can see the thrill in your eyes.  I can also see you are a woman of modest means.  I have been more fortunate than you.  And since you were first to meet Rosa and try to help her, I would be happy for you to purchase the ticket entirely by yourself.”

Charisse felt butterflies in her stomach.  She could barely allow herself to imagine it. My God, EC$20,000!

The figure of EC$7,256 was fresh in her memory from her passbook.  She could do it.

She stood up and said, “Mr. Gardner, you are a gracious man.  You have no idea what this money will do for my family and me.  My bank is here.  I’ll go inside and get the money right now.”

Mr. Gardner smiled back at her.  “Very well,” he said.  “Then I will wait here with Rosa for you.”  Charisse hurried into the bank to withdraw the money.  She couldn’t keep from beaming as she stood before Maysie to make her withdrawal of EC$5,000.  It didn’t matter that Maysie furrowed her brow and avoided looking Charisse in the eye as she counted the money.

“My lucky day,” Charisse whispered as Maysie put the money in a thick envelope and handed it to her.  Charisse hurried back outside.  Mr. Gardner still stood next to the bench, and Rosa sat with the Lotto ticket in her hand.  She held it out to Charisse and Charisse handed her the money, put the ticket in her purse and picked up her bags.

Mr. Gardner was all smiles.  He said, “Congratulations, Miss Charisse.  Tonight when I return home I will drink a toast to your good fortune.”

Charisse almost ran down the street to the bodega on the corner of Main Street and High Street that sold Lotto tickets, where she knew she could claim her winnings.

Her heart was thumping in her chest as she entered the bodega.  She tried to restrain herself but knew she was smiling ear to ear as she walked up to the counter next to the cash register and placed her suitcase and bags on the floor.

The man behind the counter must have seen her excitement because he stood up from his stool, smiled back at her and tilted his head toward her expectantly.

Her voice broke as she pulled the Lotto ticket from her purse and said, “I have a winning ticket from last night’s Lotto.”  Her hand shook as she placed the ticket on the counter.  She turned it so the man could read the numbers and slid it toward him.

The man took it in both hands.  He said, “Let’s check,” and moved the ticket underneath the red light on the Lotto machine that would read the computer barcode.  The numbers flashed up on the digital readout on the machine where they both could see them.

The man looked back down at the ticket, then back up at the screen, then back down at the ticket again.

He frowned.

Charisse felt a stab of concern.  She froze.

He rubbed the numbers on the ticket with his thumb, squinted and looked at the ticket more closely.

Charisse felt her stomach drop and the breath leave her lungs.

She forced in a gulp of air and said, “What’s wrong?”

The man looked up at her and didn’t speak for a moment, but his eyes told her.  Finally he said, “I’m sorry.  This ticket has been altered.  He turned it around and pointed to where the numbers were smudged by his thumb.  “The computer doesn’t lie.  Someone changed these numbers.”

Charisse felt her body go numb.  Her knees wobbled and she started to fall.  She leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the counter in both hands to prop herself up.  “It can’t be,” she said in a whisper.  Tears flushed into her eyes and her brain went blank.

“Where did you get this ticket?” the man asked.

Charisse’s mind exploded with realization.  She turned toward the door, said, “Oh my God,” and ran to it.  Once outside she ran back toward the bus stop.  Her heart crashed as she saw from two blocks away that the bench was empty.

By the time she reached the bench she was sobbing and her chest heaving.  She clutched the back of the bench and shot her head around, looking for Rosa and Mr. Gardner.  “My money,” she said, “my money!”

A few people on the street had stopped and turned to stare at her.  She ran up to a man and said, “Did you see them?”

The man pulled back from her.  She turned to a woman, grasped one of her hands in both of hers.  “It was a woman, a foreigner named Rosa, and a tall man named Mr. Gardner.  Hamilton Gardner.  They were right here at the bench.  Did you see where they went?”

The woman shook her head.  Her eyes were sympathetic.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anyone.”

“They took my money, my money,” Charisse moaned.  Then she fell to her knees and lay down on the sidewalk with her face in her hands and wailed, gasping for air as she sobbed.