Shake the Trees (5 page)

CHAPTER 6

Marc Mason preferred waitresses for several reasons.  Mainly it was the challenge.  An attractive waitress was hit upon dozens of times a day, and became adept at delivering polite rejection.  He thought of an attractive waitress like many aspiring actors and professionals thought of New York City.  If you could make it with a hot waitress, you could make it with anybody.

The waitresses Marc preferred over all others worked at The Crab Shack off the causeway near his office. The Crab Shack was a throwback to Old Florida.  A collection of weathered cypress boards and rusting tin sitting on huge timbers driven into the muddy floor of the bay.  This edifice to a bygone era would never have been allowed under current zoning laws; it was grandfathered in as a preexisting use. 

The Crab Shack was favored by the young professionals of Tampa Bay, and was a whirlwind of activity.  A whirlwind of huge platters of blue crab and shrimp cocktail and trays of longneck bottles of beer and cocktails of strange neon hues normally found in the coral reefs of tropical waters.  All of this was carried by young and very pretty girls who were in fantastic physical shape.  And, of course, clad in remarkably skimpy outfits.  Marc thought the rejects probably ended up at Scooters.  The tips were huge at The Crab Shack - Scooters was so blue collar.

Marc scanned the crowd.  People were shoulder to shoulder in the bar area - typical for a Friday afternoon.  The patrons were mostly young and energetic.  Happy that the weekend had finally arrived.  The rest were desperately trying to appear younger than their chronological age.  The handsome male bartender had a practiced eye for the affluent and the big tippers, and figured he’d paid for his Harley with tips from the slightly more mature women.  He always demanded ID, and sometimes put on a show by holding their drivers licenses up to the light at several different angles to establish that they weren’t fake.

Marc had met Elizabeth Hayes here.  She was a waitress too.  He was general counsel then, but on the short list for the top spot.  She was his most challenging and time-consuming conquest by far.  But she was worth it.  And she was different.  Very different.

James had kissed Elizabeth good-bye when she left his chambers early that afternoon to spend a few days in Tampa Bay.  He’d told her to enjoy herself.  That he had several charity events to attend, and didn’t want her to sit alone in the condo all weekend.  Even if the view was incredible.  Elizabeth suspected that any reluctance to see her go was tempered by relief.  He needed to recharge his batteries.

The rusted tin roof of The Crab Shack was off the tip of the wing as the 737 banked on its final approach to Tampa International Airport.  Elizabeth could even see the throng of people on the huge wooden deck that jutted out into the bay.  She had come here almost three years before.  For a break and for the money.  Two full years as an actress in several of the huge Broadway quality stage productions on the Disney Cruise Lines had left her burned out.  The professional experience was coveted and she had met interesting people from all over the world, but ultimately the confines of shipboard life became claustrophobic and isolating.  A friend told her about The Crab Shack.

During her very first day on the job, he’d left a twenty-dollar bill for a five-dollar beer.  The skintight pink polyester shorts she was required to wear left little to the imagination.  Elizabeth figured that after an hour of leering at her ass, he’d probably gotten the better end of the deal.  When the scenario continued to repeat itself, Elizabeth decided to ask around.  It turned out that all the girls knew about Marc Mason.

Elizabeth had grown up in her father’s office - first on his knee, then under his desk, later on the big Oriental rug with her homework spread all about, and finally in the big leather chair in the corner.  She knew more about the actuarial underpinnings of the insurance industry than most of the executives in the corner offices.  She decided to find out if Marc Mason knew what he was doing.  It turned out that he didn’t.  She thought it all started then and there.  She thought it was her idea.

The taxi ride from the airport was over too soon as far as Elizabeth was concerned.  As she joined a group moving toward the door, she felt her stomach rise up into her chest and could taste the acid that was burning her throat.  She knew that Marc Mason would end up on top of her that night, grunting like a pig, and it made her sick.

Upon entering the familiar surroundings, she immediately spotted him across the bar leering at a waitress.  She paused to breathe deeply and then went to him.

“Hey baby, how have you been?”

Marc jumped and then composed himself and kissed her.  “I’m good, babe.  How was your flight?”

“Too long,” Elizabeth almost purred.

Marc waived a waitress over and ordered another beer and a lime tequila martini.  “So, has the old man started playing grab-ass with you yet?”

“As much as I like it when you get jealous, baby, you know you’ve got nothing to worry about.  Especially when it comes to your father.”

“Tell me if he tries anything.  I know he’s not gettin’ any at home.”

“Marc!  You know better.  You’re father is a saint.”

“Yeah, I know.  Believe me, I know.”

Marc had talked about his father from almost the first moment she met him.  He seemed to both admire and hate the man.  Elizabeth had sensed opportunity when she found out that the old man’s clerk was retiring.  She’d sensed the opportunity to funnel more cash into American Senior Security.  Marc resisted at first, but eventually conceded that it was a good idea, and not just because of the cash.  He agreed that it was best that they weren’t seen together anymore.  Fewer dots to connect when the walls came crashing down. 

Judge James Marcus Mason, III, had both surprised and delighted Elizabeth during her interview.  She found him distinguished and attractive - even sexy.  He wasn’t at all what she was expecting.  She immediately realized, however, that her acquaintance with Marc, or Jimmy as he called him, was cutting both ways.  The man was definitely intelligent enough to realize that his son was a horny idiot.  She’d played the scene skillfully, letting him know that she recognized his son’s shortcomings without insulting the family name.  She was hired on the spot.

The waitress arrived with the drinks and eyed her carefully.  Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was because she was worried that her tip money might be at risk, or because Marc was such a well-known letch.  At least Elizabeth didn’t recognize her, or most of the girls working there now.  Which was good.

“Let’s take these drinks outside.  We need to talk.” Elizabeth said as she tried to part the bodies surrounding her.

“Work before pleasure?”

“Unfortunately,” Elizabeth sighed resignedly.

They pushed through the loud and oblivious bodies that were all around them and moved onto the deck, eventually finding the steps that led down to the beach.  They were violating local liquor ordinances and several state laws, but both knew those rules weren’t enforced here.

“I think we’ve found our guy.”

“Huh?”

Elizabeth thought Marc still couldn’t hear her over the noise of all the people on the deck, and spoke louder into his ear.  “I think we found our guy.”

“Jesus Christ, I can hear you.  What the hell are you talking about?”

Elizabeth was annoyed.  “Damn it, Marc.  Do you ever pay attention?  You hear but you don’t listen.”

Marc was angry.  He wasn’t used to people speaking to him like that anymore.  “Listen to me, and listen good.  I have a business to run.  I’ve got more important things to do than filing paperwork and answering the telephone.  I’m under a lot of pressure, and I don’t need your bullshit.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath.  She was used to dealing with his adolescent temper, but it was getting more difficult after experiencing his calm, even-keeled father.  “I’m sorry, Marc.  I’m under pressure too, and as usual I’m taking it out on the one I care about the most.  I’m sorry.”

Marc was almost over his tantrum.  “And I don’t appreciate these new investors snooping around either.  The money is rolling in now.  It’s absolutely rolling in.  I don’t think it’s ever gonna stop.”

“We don’t need any more investors, Marc.  They helped us over the hump.  They were a necessary evil.  But don’t ever forget, the money will stop.  We have an open faucet right now, and the drain is almost closed.  That will change, and it will change in a hurry.  It’s an actuarial certainty.”

His lips protruded in a pout and he tossed his beer bottle among the sea oats.  “What the hell were you talking about anyway?  What guy?”

“You may want to pay attention, because this is going to cost you some money.”

“Talk.”

“Okay.  Do you remember our discussion about my friend Ellen Hughes?  The headhunter?”

“Of course I do.  I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, I think she has found our new executive, and he sounds perfect.”

“How much?”

“For Ellen or the new guy?”

“Let’s start with the headhunter.”

Elizabeth took another deep breath.  “Ten grand on the books and fifty grand cash under the table.”

“Are you freaking crazy?  Those expenses are tax deductible, but I can’t pull that kind of money out of petty cash.  So now we’re talking personal funds here.”

Elizabeth paused several seconds.  “Marc, I need you to think about the big picture. Okay?”

Marc shook his head and kicked at a spider crab scuttling to its hole.  “Go ahead.”

“First of all, Ellen is worth it.  She normally only works for Fortune 500 companies.  She’s the best there is.  She’s only doing this as a favor to me.”

“Yeah, and for fifty grand cash under the table.”

“Marc, listen to me.  We need it to be cash under the table.”

“We do?”

“Damn right we do.  I can’t rely on friendship alone here.  Think about it.  We have very unique requirements for this particular executive.  Fifty grand cash under the table.  You know damn well she won’t report it to the IRS.  Don’t you think that fact might come in handy down the road if people start snooping around asking questions?”

“Okay, already.  I get it.  Tell me about the guy.  And this better be good.”

“He’s perfect.  Absolutely perfect.”

“Tell me,” Marc prodded.  Elizabeth finally had his full attention.

“He has a computer engineering degree from Boondocks State, and a finance degree from Wharton.”

“Whoa.  A little over-qualified for our purposes, don’t you think?”

“Well, at least you’re thinking now.  Still wrong, but at least you’re thinking.  Marc, this guy has to look good on paper when the shit hits the fan.  Otherwise it’s all too suspicious.  What’s great about this guy is what’s not on paper.”  Ellen smiled.

Marc smiled back despite the insult.  He knew the good part was coming, and it’s what he loved about Elizabeth Hayes.

“This guy is a total loser.  Better yet, he has nothing to lose.  No parents, no wife, no kids, not even a lover.  Nothing.  It’s completely plausible that he would go for broke.”

“Go on,” Marc said admiringly.

“The guy used to be a stockbroker in San Diego.  He blew up when tech crashed.  Got sued six ways to Sunday.  Now he’s barely making it selling real estate in Hootersville in the mountains of northern New Mexico.”

“Perfect.”

“Hold on.  He’s only agreed to an interview.  Now it’s up to you.”

“Not a problem, babe.  It’s as good as done.”

“Don’t blow this off, Marc.  It’s important.  And speaking of blowing things off, have you been to the doctor?”

“You mean Dr. Happy Pills?  I’m on a maintenance schedule.  Every thirty days I go back and complain about my horrible back pain and he renews the prescription.  Regular as clockwork.”

“You’re not taking the pills or . . . selling them to anybody are you?  OxyContin is serious stuff.”

“Will you start giving me a little credit for god’s sake?  I flush the damn pills down the toilet.  Come on.  Let’s get a grouper sandwich on the deck and go to my place.  I’m horny as hell.”

They had crossed the isthmus of land that separated the causeway to St. Petersburg and Clearwater from the exclusive neighborhoods of South Tampa.  The most exclusive neighborhood in South Tampa was Hyde Park, and the most exclusive addresses in Hyde Park were on Bayshore Boulevard.  This was where Marc Mason had purchased a penthouse condominium overlooking the water.

He’d grunted himself to an orgasm, and to Elizabeth’s great relief had immediately fallen asleep.  She quickly left his bed and was now standing on the balcony admiring the view.  The sidewalk and balustrade curved around the bay, and along with the twinkling old-fashioned streetlights disappeared into the distance.  Somebody had told her that this was the longest continuous sidewalk in the world.  

The lights began to flare as Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears.  She wished the path was long enough to take her home.  To her childhood - to her father - to happiness.  She knew that wasn’t possible, but at least she had James now.  He reminded her of her father in so many ways.  He was a good man.  A good man that had produced a bad seed.  But he was good.  Too good to do what had to be done.