Chapter 11 - The Joy Ride

I was pensive as Andrea’s phone rang and was desperately trying to come up with a code that Nord would not pick up on. He was clearly the brains and the Latino the sharp shooter brawn of this duo. After the forth ring Andrea grabbed it - one ring shy of her voice mail.

"Randall, where the heck are you?"
"Sorry Andrea I feel like crap. Must have been one too many Fosters or maybe bad oysters."
"You and your oysters, how many times do I need to tell you not to eat those things," she replied in a motherly wife-like way. Andrea continued, "Have you seen the market today?"
"Not yet, I have been puking all morning," I lied wishing I’d been praying to the Kohler God all morning.
"Our stock is tanking, the whole market is this morning. The pundits are calling it Meteor Monday because stock prices are falling like meteors from the sky."

Here came my opportunity to alert Andrea that all was not well in paradise.

"Damn!" I replied. "I will go on the Schwab service to monitor." She knew we didn't have Schwab.
"Schwab?" She replied confused.
"The one we got for private trades," I said hoping she would catch on. She knew we would never trade privately. We agreed to that when we took the company public.
"Something wrong?" She whispered.
"Yes that one." I replied.
"Are you home, it sounds like your in a car, but not enough wind for your Boxter?" She asked. Nord pressed his pistol in my ribs. He was getting impatient.
"I'll be at the condo all day and check in later if I'm still alive," I said for drama, "this hangover is miserable."

I pressed the red button on the Berry Pearl to end the call. Nord put his hand out as if requesting a tip. I knew it was the phone he was after and I obliged.

"She buy it?" He asked.
"I think so," I responded. In all the years and all the hangovers, flu’s, viruses and just plain feeling like shit days, I had never once missed a day of work and Andrea knew it. Granted I may have left before dark rather than the usual nine o'clock after a fourteen hour day, but I was there, always. Nord of coarse did not know this and that call in itself should have alerted Andrea that something was amiss, but the private trade put it over the top.

She knew I was in trouble, probably in a vehicle other than my beloved Porsche, and that if all clues were taken, I would be at my condo. It was the place where many deals with guys from Wall Street had been consummated over drinks and shrimp. Some days it was Bubba Burgers and brews.

Andrea would do something, or call someone. Probably Jerry, but his phone would ring unanswered at the Flagler county jail, in the pocket of his suit pants, too impotent to bring help for Andrea.

The Nord looked at his Apple iPhone, he was clearly not a businessman. "Your stock is tanking today," he said.
"I know, my boss informed me," I responded clearly annoyed.
"Das ist nicht gute," he said in German, the meaning universal.
"No it's not," I agreed.
"Isn't it your job to keep the price up?"
"It is."
"So."
"So what? I am stuck here with you and Carlos."
"Carlos?"
"Your Latin friend," I said as smart ass-like as I could muster.
"That's Diego."
"Not Cuban?" I asked.
"Nicaraguan"
"Ah," I replied as if interested when in actuality I couldn't give a shit. "You know where we’re going?"
"Is this not the right way? Do we look like amateurs?” asked Nord.
"It's the right way, just asking."
"I ask, you answer, verstehen."
"Yavol, mein heir" I replied clicking my heels and raising my right hand as if saluting the Fuhrer. I was kind of hoping he would just kill me then. He didn't, he pistol whipped me and I went out cold.