At one point I ended up in Miami, staying in the penthouse suite of a Miami Beach hotel, the Fontainebleau, under the guise of a California stock broker, complete with a briefcase full of $20s, $50s and $100s, and a rented Rolls-Royce, which I had leased in Los Angeles and driven to Florida.
It was all part of a grand scam I had in mind, which was to drop some really big counterfeit cashier’s checks on some of the Miami banks and some of its more elite hotels after establishing a reputable front. I earned the reputable front in large part sheerly by accident. I had made it a point to acquaint myself with some of the hotel’s top management people, and one of them stopped me in the lobby one afternoon and introduced me to a Florida broker, one whose financial genius was known even to me.
A staunch Floridian, he had the true Floridian’s thinly disguised contempt for California, and I gathered from most of his remarks during our casual encounter that he didn’t hold California stockbrokers in any esteem, either. He was so blatantly rude and arrogant at times that the hotel executive was patently embarrassed. After a few minutes I excused myself, he was so hostile. He grasped my arm as I was leaving.
“What’s your opinion on the Saturn Electronics offering?” he asked with a supercilious smirk. I’d never heard of the company and in fact didn’t know any such firm existed. But I regarded him blandly, then dropped one eyelid. “Buy all of it you can get your hands on,” I said and walked off.
A few days later I encountered the man again as we were both waiting for our cars to be brought to the front entrance. He greeted me with grudging respect, which surprised me. “I should have listened to you on that Saturn stock,” he said. “How the hell did you know Galaxy Communications was going to take over the company?”
I just grinned and gave him another wink. Later I learned that Saturn Electronics, after its acquisition by Galaxy, had closed from five to eight points up on each of the previous four days.
That evening I was accosted at the elevator by a well-groomed man in his thirties who introduced himself as a prominent city official.
“Rick [one of the hotel executives] told me about you, Mr. Williams,” he said. “He said you might be setting up an office here and perhaps make your home in Miami during part of the year.”
I nodded. “Well, I’m thinking about it seriously,” I said, smiling. “I’ll probably make up my mind within a few weeks.”
“Well, perhaps I can help you/‘ he said. ”My wife and I are giving a party tonight and some of the city’s and the state’s top government and business leaders are going to be there, including the mayor and some people from the governor’s staff. I’d like to invite you, if you’d consider coming. I think it would be an enjoyable evening for you, and like I say, you might meet some people who will help you make up your mind.“
I accepted his invitation, because he was right, in a way. It was quite possible some of his guests could help me. By letting me fleece them.
It was a black-tie affair, but I had no trouble finding a tuxedo rental shop that was open and which could fit me on such short notice. I also had no trouble locating the city father’s home, which proved to be uncomfortably close to a certain banker’s home. I hoped she wasn’t a guest also, but I had the parking attendant position my car for a quick getaway, just in case.
She wasn’t a guest, but the most stunning and attractive blonde I’ve ever encountered, before and since, was a guest. I noticed her moments after I joined the throng of guests, and she kept attracting my attention all evening. Oddly enough, although she seemed always to be the center of a circle of admirers, she didn’t seem to be with any one of the men paying her court. My host confirmed the fact.
“That’s Cheryl,” he said. “She’s a standard decoration at parties like this. She’s a model and she’s been on the covers of several magazines. We have a pretty good arrangement with her. She lends excitement to our parties and we make sure she gets mentioned in all the society columns. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
She made it immediately known that she’d been curious about me also. “I saw you arrive,” she said, extending her hand. “That’s a lovely Rolls. Is it yours or did you borrow it for the occasion?”
“No, it’s one of mine,” I said.
Her eyebrows arched. “One of yours? Do you have more than one Rolls-Royce?”
“I have several,” I replied. “I’m a collector.” I knew from the gleam in her eyes that I’d made a dear friend. She was obviously impressed by wealth and material possessions. In fact, I was continually surprised throughout the remainder of the evening that such a beautiful exterior masked such a venal and covetous interior. However, I wasn’t interested in her lack of virtues. I was attracted by her obvious vices. She was avariciously gorgeous.
We weren’t together the entire evening. We would part occasionally and go prowling separately, like two leopards seeking prey in the same jungle. I found the prey I was hunting, a couple of fat and juicy bank pigeons. She also found her prey. Me.
I took her aside about 2:30 a.m. “Look, this party’s about dead,” I proposed. “Why don’t we go back to my penthouse and have some breakfast?”
Her reply was a blow to my ego. “What’s it worth to you for me to go back to your hotel with you?” she asked, eying me provocatively.
“I thought you were a model,” I blurted, surprised.
She smiled. “There’re different kinds of modeling. Some modeling jobs come higher than others,” she said.
I had never paid a girl to go to bed with me. The world of professional sex was an unknown realm. To my knowledge, I’d never before met a hooker or a call girl. But apparently I had now. However, I still wanted her in my bed, and having established her true calling, I made an attempt to establish her price. What the hell, I had plenty of money. “Uh, $300?” I ventured.
She grimaced prettily and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid $300 isn’t enough,‘ she said.
I was astonished. Obviously I’d been cavorting in luxury for years without knowing the value of the wares I’d enjoyed. “Oh, all right, let’s double it and say $600,” I said.
She gave me a coolly speculative look. “That’s closer,” she said. “But for a man of your means, I should think it would be higher.”
I looked at her and was irritated. I had established and followed a certain felonious code of ethics since taking up crime as a profession. Among other things, I’d never diddled an individual. For instance, I’d never purchased a wardrobe or any other personal item with a hot check. Too many department stores and business firms held an individual salesperson responsible for bogus checks. If a salesman took a check for a suit, and the check bounced, the cost of the suit came out of the clerk’s salary. My targets had always been corporate targets-banks, airlines, hotels, motels or other establishments protected by insurance. When I splurged on a new wardrobe or anything else of a personal nature, I always hit a bank or a hotel for the needed cash.
It suddenly occurred to me that Cheryl would make a lovely exception to my rule. “Look, we could stand here all night and argue price,” I said. “I hate quibbling. Instead of going to my place, why don’t we go to your apartment, spend an hour or so there, and I’ll give you $1,000.”
She reached for her purse. “Let’s go,” she agreed. “But I don’t have an apartment at the moment. I lost my lease and I’m staying at a hotel in Miami Beach.” She named the hotel, which was one not too far from mine, and we were there within thirty minutes.
She was inserting her key into the door of her suite when I turned, saying, “I’ll be right back.”
She grabbed my arm. “Hey, where’re you going?” she asked, somewhat agitated. “You’re not going to back out, are you?”