Silicon Beach Page 18

  “That was the next problem, Judge. The system didn’t work out. We got it up and running okay. But it was too expensive for the Third World and not needed here. We just couldn’t get the price point down anywhere close to what it needed to be to be marketable. I guess we’d been a little too optimistic about our prospects for success. Maybe after we’d issued so many bullish press releases; so many optimistic projections on the website and stuff, we just started to believe our own shit. Anyway, we just did the usual things you do to make a stock run. My inside partners all took the opportunity to sell their shares. But as CEO I couldn’t sell. When we ran out of money and the stock crashed, I hadn’t sold any of my stock. I was stuck.”

  “And your brother?”

  “He’d sold all his ‘aged’ shares, Judge. He didn’t have any more to sell. And he’d loaned the proceeds all back to the company and we’d spent it.”

  “And let me guess what happened next,” said the Judge. “The SEC came in and charged it was a pump and dump.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “You’ve just explained how you violated several Federal and State securities laws, including the Securities Act of 1933, and the Securities Exchange Act of 1934.”

  “Okay, well that’s not the point either.”

  “What’s the point, Mr. Hicks?”

  “So there I was last January, with no assets of value and no cash left in the till. A lot of angry shareholders. Lawsuits threatened. The SEC starting an investigation. My partners all disappeared offshore to who knows where. Just me. My ass hanging out. I needed a new gig in a hurry to take some of the heat off.”

  “Go on.”

  “So my attorney, Dick Harper, comes to me, Says he has this group will transfer new technology into my company because they like me and they like 1st Enterprises. Says I have to give up control but I can still be President. Says they’ll cover my two hundred thousand a year salary as CEO and my expense account. All’s I have to do is accept the transfer of the technology into my company for a handful of shares, start to commercialize it and make some sales. Oh, and incidentally, start this patent infringement action against this rival guy who had patented competing technology. They’d cover Dick’s cost for all that.”

  “The rival guy was Carl Greene.”

  “Yes. I signed whatever Dick told me to sign and geared up my I.R. guys to spread the word about the new direction for 1st Enterprises. The stock price soared. The shareholders stopped rattling sabers. The SEC got less interested in the company as its price climbed back up. It was a Godsend. Put me back in the game.”

  “And the technology?”

  “It was the technology in our arbitration. Convert the flare off gas at the wellhead to oil. They assigned it into the company. Then Dick had me file against Carl for patent infringement.”

  “For an order declaring there was no patent infringement,” said the Judge.

  “I guess. Whatever, Judge. Anyway, they wanted to get Carl’s new technology. They were more interested in his new technology then in the patents they’d assigned to me. I didn’t care. They paid my bills.”

  “So it looked like you’d lucked out and your problems were solved, Mr. Hicks.”

  “I thought so. Until people started dying around me.”

  “You mean Carl?”

  “And your law clerk. And the attack on you. Everyone who’s seen the report on Carl’s new technology seems to be in harm’s way.”

  “Have you seen the report, Mr. Hicks?”

  “Me? Oh no. I haven’t seen anything.”

  Hicks looked away as it said it, unconsciously brushing his mouth with his hand, perhaps to push away a lie.

  “But I’m sure I’m being followed. Watched very carefully. I could be next.”

  “Next?”

  “Dead, Judge, dead.”

  Hicks looked scared now.

  “Why come to me now?”

  “It was Frank. I just today found out he’s dead.”

  “You knew Frank? My law clerk?”

  “No.”

  “But you said Frank had seen the report. How’d you know that?”

  “Frank called me. Reminded me who he was. Said he’d got the report I wanted. Was going to put the original one back. But had made me the copy.”

  “When was this?”

  “Thursday evening, around 8 p.m. Said he wanted his check. Told me to call off my uniform. Said he would meet me at the Coffee Bean across from Concert Park in Playa Vista at 10 p.m. We’d trade. I was to bring his payment. $500,000 in cash. He’d bring the copy of the report. Said from now on he’d only deal with me. Wasn’t going to be strong-armed or threatened anymore.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Said I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He got really angry then. Called me a lying son of a bitch. Then he hung up.”

  The Judge sat back in his chair. What the hell was Frankie doing?

  “Anyway, Judge. I don’t trust anyone now. I don’t trust the people sending me my check. I don’t trust the police. Hell, I don’t trust my own attorney, Dick Harper. I guess the only one I trust is you. They tried to kill you. So I figure you’re not involved.”

  “You should go to the police with your suspicions, Mr. Hicks.”

  “I’ve been warned not to do that. That there could be immediate adverse consequences for me.”

  “By who?”

  “By those who have been paying my salary. Some conglomerate in Hong Kong. Never met them. Just a name. ‘Wang’. All by email and wired funds.”

  “You seemed to have painted yourself into a corner,” said the Judge. “But I don’t see how I can help.”

  “I want to stop the arbitration. Just stop everything. I don’t want more discovery. I don’t want the missing report re-submitted. I don’t want to know anything about Carl’s new technology. I’ll just sell my products and take my chances someday his estate may claim I’m infringing. I just want out of all of this.”

  The Judge sat back in his chair. He hadn’t expected this.

  “Have you talked to your attorney about it?”

  “I tried. He said the patent suit couldn’t be terminated right now. Too many things going on. Too many moving parts, or some bullshit. Legal procedure mumbo jumbo. I don’t know. He wouldn’t look at me when he said it. And he got real fidgety. I know when I’m being lied to. So I called you.”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on, Hicks, and no I’m not involved. But I’m going to be. I’m going to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”

  “I hope you do, Judge. But right now I just want out. Life’s too short. I’ll find some other way to make my nut. Screw their salary. I want to abandon this patent law suit now.”

  “I’ll talk to Dick Harper, Mr. Hicks. See what he says. I don’t see why you couldn’t elect to withdraw your complaint. If Dick won’t do it, if he’s compromised in some way and unable to give you impartial advice, you may want to hire another attorney.”

  “Will you do that, Judge? Talk to Dick? I want out. I don’t want to end up on a slab at the morgue. I just want out.”

  He stood then. Offered the Judge his hand. Turned and stalked out. He looked eager to be away from the Judge. Hicks was a bit slimy, but he was no fool.

  It reminded the Judge of the old proverb about rats leaving a sinking ship, or, as Pliny the Elder said in 77 AD, 'When a building is about to fall, all the mice desert it.'

  If Hicks was a mouse, there could be a large exit of rats behind him. The Judge intended to accelerate the exodus.

  CHAPTER 27

  6:30 PM Tuesday

  The Judge pulled in to the marina and parked. Every bone in his body was tired. He slowly made his way on to the boat. Katy was in the galley chopping vegetables for dinner. She gave the Judge that bright smile that made him melt. Every time.

  “You’re looking very domesticated in the galley Katy,” the Judge smiled.

  Katy shot the Judge a look of bemusement.

&nbs
p; “How about we go to a movie after dinner, Judge?”

  “Baby I’m beat. I’d like to stay home. Have a strong drink. Dinner with you. And go to bed early.”

  “How long have we been living together, Judge?’

  “Six months.”

  “How long have we been secretly married?”

  “Almost a month.”

  “Did you have an idea about how it would be, Judge? I mean having a permanent domestic relationship with a woman?”

  “Well, I was married before, Katy. So I guess I kinda knew what to expect.”

  “That’s right. You’re my second hand hubby.”

  “Ouch.”

  “So were all your hopes and dreams knocked out of you years ago. Judge?”

  “We all have fantasies about how things are going to be, honey. To hope and dream is human.”

  “I know, I know. But it’s just as a young woman and not used to living with a man, there are… surprises. Things you expect that are different. Things you didn’t expect. Had no idea about.”

  “For instance, Katy?”

  “Well, I never envisioned my husband would snore.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “The whole house shakes!”

  “Well, maybe a little when I’m congested,” admitted the Judge. “I have allergies.”

  “Judge…. You snore!”

  The Judge shrugged his shoulders. He supposed all men snored some. “Is that all, Katy,” he asked hopefully.

  “I thought my husband would know how to work the dishwasher, and the washing machine, and the dryer. All skills you claim to lack. I thought I’d live in a house with empty closets in every room for my stuff. The idea of a house seemed so big. I didn’t know I’d be moving in to a house with my husband’s years of accumulated stuff already jammed in.”

  “I’ve given you half the closets, Katy. We’re clearly fifty-fifty on closets. A fair split.”

  “Yes, but I think you kept the better located ones. Anyway, there never seems to be enough storage. Oh, and I thought I’d marry a man who appreciated exquisite artistic work.”

  “Artistic work? Like what?”

  “Like my shoe collection.”

  “Oh,” said the Judge. Sniggering now. “I’ve never understood about your shoes. You can only wear one pair at a time. Some of your shoes don’t even fit.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Katy’s chin ratcheted up a degree. “Those ones were very expensive. I have fond memories associated with them. And it’s a collection.”

  “Kind of like a shell collection?” asked the Judge.

  “No, NOT a shell collection, Judge.” Katy had her hands on her hips now, aggravated.

  “Besides, you have collections too, Judge.”

  “Me? No honey. I have the one pair of brown shoes I wear, one pair of tennis shoes for exercise, one pair of slippers for cold nights before I had you, and one pair of black shoes for funerals.”

  “Ah, that’s another thing. You have cold feet. But seriously Judge, you do have collections too. You collect boats.”

  “Boats?”

  “Yes. You have this yacht, and the little Zodiac that sits on its roof, and the little Century at the back for running around the harbor, and the SeaRay in Avalon for playing around the island, and the Boston Whaler for your dock in Lake Arrowhead, and the Canoe on the dock… and… I’ve missed one.”

  “Oh, but Katy…”

  “I’ve got it. The 1932 Chris Craft Woody you keep in that garage. If that’s not a collection I don’t know what is. Don’t tell me you drive all those boats at once.”

  “But that’s different, Katy. Those are each separate pieces of naval engineering. They’re expensive.

  “Just like my shoes,” said Katy. Giving the Judge a gotcha look.

  The Judge threw his hands high in the air in mock surrender.

  “I accept your implied apology, Judge.” Katy said. “But back to my point. As a girl growing into a woman you do have fantasies about how life will be with your future husband. I assumed my man would love to eat the same things I love to eat, and we’d dine out a lot, enjoying wonderful meals together.”

  “And we do.”

  “We do go out. But you like burnt red meat. Heavy potatoes. Greasy Mexican food. Spicy Thai. Even Hamburgers. Yuck.”

  “Gourmet hamburgers,” the Judge corrected.

  “Indeed. An oxymoron if ever there were. I assumed we’d continue to do the things together I liked to do before we met, Judge. Things that have fallen off my calendar now we’re married.”

  “Like?”

  “Like movies, honey. I love to go to the movies. I used to go once a week before we became involved. Now we never go. You consider them a waste of time.”

  “You knew I wasn’t a big movie fan, Katy. It’s synthetic experience. Not real. Someone else’s fiction and fantasy. I’d rather walk along the beach, take a drive, and go off on a trip, even just out to dinner. Live my own experience for real, not someone else’s pretend reality projected on a two dimensional screen with phony surround sound, nestled in the middle of a zombie audience.”

  “I got it, Judge. I understand. I like movies. You don’t. What happened to old fashion compromise when we have competing interests?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll take you to a movie, Katy. This weekend. I promise. What else?”

  “Health food restaurants. You’ll go with me to keep me company but you won’t eat the food. Dance clubs. We hardly ever go out clubbing anymore.”

  The Judge smiled, a twinkle in his eye. She’d teased him too far.

  “As my dad used say, Katy, ‘You don’t chase the bus after you’re aboard.’”

  “Grrrrr.” Katy made claws out of her hands and spread them threateningly out toward the Judge. Annie the dog, asleep in the corner, leaped up, sure she was under attack.

  “Besides, Katy,” the Judge added, “you can’t drink right now. There’d be no point to go clubbing.”

  “You don’t drink at movies, Judge!”

  The Judge got another gotcha look.

  “And I didn’t envision I would inherit this dog, more puppy than dog that came along with my new husband.”

  Annie the dog, fully awake now and listening intently to the shaded inflections in their voices, caught the word “dog” and began to thump her tail on the floor. She was now included in the conversation. Any attention was better than none.

  “I don’t mind picking up your dirty socks you leave in a pile on the floor Judge. But Annie grabs them and hides them all over the house. She even buries them in the yard. Somewhere, somehow, you’ve given Annie a sock fetish. And I’m always cleaning up Annie’s mess. I’ve never seen a dog that could get in so much trouble. Yesterday she got the butter dish and spread butter all over the boat carpet. This afternoon she snuck her snout up here on the counter and snagged my loaf of garlic bread for dinner. She’s going to be pooping garlic farts all night.”

  Annie licked her chops, as though on cue.

  “I brush her. I feed her. I walk her. I take her to the vet. I arrange for her home sitter when we’re off to the Island. It’s like being responsible for a small child.”

  Annie got up and wandered over to thrust her muzzle affectionately against Katy’s thigh, seeking love and attention. Katy reached down and ruffled the dog’s ears.

  “Good practice for having a child,” said the Judge. This earned him another mock glare.

  “And it’s kind of weird having to account for my time, Judge.”

  “How so?”

  “We’re expected to coordinate what we’re doing. To tell each other when we’re leaving the house. What we’re about. We’re each suddenly accountable to the other for our schedules. It’s just polite I know. And it helps keep our busy schedules in sync, but it’s weird. It’s like we’re one person instead of two. I’ve lost my identity. And chores, Judge. I fantasized my husband would share in domestic chores. Taking out the trash. Paying bills. Shopping for toilet paper. Pi
cking up the cleaning. That falls solely to me now, Judge. I think you were looking to marry a housekeeper.”

  “Well, errr… I am awfully busy, Katy. But you are the keeper of our cave.” Trying to make it sound a prestigious title.

  “I am indeed, Judge. I guess my fantasy husband wasn’t a workaholic. I didn’t anticipate the time I’d spend folding clothes. I hate folding clothes. Matching socks. And making the bed. How is it you never learned to properly make a bed, Judge?”

  “I do make the bed sometimes,” said the Judge.

  “Hah! Not to any sort of standard you don’t.”

  “You have very high bed-making standards, Katy. You make the bed ever so much better than I do. You’re the best bed-maker on the entire planet. Of course when we’re together in the bedroom, Katy, I’m very good at messing the bed back up. It’s sort of my specialty. And rocking it too. I’m a great rocker. It’s all because you’re so irresistible.”

  Katy crossed her arms and sighed in exasperation, trying to hide the smile creeping into her eyes.

  “And I don’t see my old single friends so much anymore, Judge. That’s not your fault, but it’s different. Something I hadn’t anticipated. I don’t have much in common with them anymore. We used to share our rollicking experiences hunting for men. Current sightings. Blow by blow descriptions of skirmishes and huddled plans for future trappings. What we wore. How we met. Who said what. Whether he called. Should I call? Where’d we recommend to meet guys. To go on a date. It was all very intense. But I’m not included in those war powwows anymore. I’ve got nothing to contribute now I’m married.”

  “I hope not honey,” said the Judge. “You’ve hunted me down. You don’t need to look anymore. But you’ll make new friends. Married friends who’ll have more in common. When the kid arrives you’ll make a whole other set friends. Ones with young kids.”

  “I guess. And the finances, Judge. You control the finances. We’ve pooled our incomes. I get an allowance and budgeted amounts for household and so on. And I’m not complaining. You do a much better job at managing our finances than I ever would. It just wasn’t in my picture of what marriage would be like. It feels funny giving up my economic independence. Having to come to you if I want to make a purchase of any size.”