Читать книгу Manhattan Voyagers - Thomas Boone's Quealy - Страница 17

Ethel staggered into the Bull & Bear carrying shopping bags crammed full with groceries. She rested them on the floor, rubbed the Bull’s hoof very hard with both hands for extra luck; picked them up again and moved towards the Coat-Check.

Hilda waved to her. “Your first drink is on the house, Ethel.”

“Thanks, I really need it today, my water is about to break.”

Ruthie rushed to help and carried a bag for her. “Are you pregnant?”

“No, of course I’m not pregnant, it was just an expression to describe how crappy I feel. It’s hot out and these bags are heavy.”

“Oh.”

She fanned herself with a newspaper. “How could I be pregnant for pity’s sake? I haven’t had sex with a man in … um … in …”

“Not since you and I went on a double-date with Larry and Marvin Hoffman,” Ruthie said. “That was three years ago already. My, how time flies.”

“Don’t remind me of those two meatheads.”

“Yes, well, all I can say, Ethel, is you and Larry were going at it hot and heavy in the backseat at the drive-in on Staten Island. The car windows got fogged up and I had trouble seeing the movie. I had to keep wiping them with a tissue.”

“Couples don’t go to drive-ins to watch the movie, Ruthie.”

“I do.”

“Were you peeking?”

“Not intentionally, Ethel, however I dropped my cashews and turned around to find them.”

“What did you see?”

“Larry’s pants were pulled down; I never saw a butt with so much hair on it.”

“What was I doing?”

“Your eyeballs were rolling around in your sockets like marbles. It was very sordid, Ethel, I must tell you. The car was shaking and Marvin had a lecherous look on his face beside me in the front seat.”

“Well, forget what you saw, Ruthie, that’s ancient history.”

“What’s with all the shopping bags?”

“I buy my groceries and supplies in bulk from wholesalers.”

“Why?”

“Because I get a discount and can save money.”

“That makes no sense, Ethel, in your situation.” She lifted out a 24-pack of soap from a bag. “This will last you four years; you don’t have any storage space in your tiny apartment.”

“Yes, you’re right, Ruthie, and this the last time I’m doing it.”

“Good.”

She whispered into her ear. “I expect to be coming into money soon, Ruthie, possibly quite a lot of money.”

“You won the lottery?”

She grimaced. “No, of course not, nobody in Manhattan ever hits the lottery. It’s always some white-trash people living in a trailer in the woods in Arkansas who win.”

“That’s true. So where’s the money coming from then?”

Ethel informed her about the Pump-and-Dump operation she uncovered at her firm and the SEC reward program for whistle-blowers. At the conclusion of her story, she hurried into the barroom to collect the free drink Hilda offered her, allowing Ruthie time to reflect on the matter.

Ethel returned within ten minutes holding a lollipop-pink tropical drink in a tall frosted glass with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it. “Any questions?”

“If I understand you correctly, Ethel, your firm buys up a large number of shares in small, worthless companies that trade for a few cents each on the Over-the-Counter market.”

“Correct; then they begin to spread false rumors on the Internet about the companies, claiming they’ve discovered a major gold deposit in Alaska or invented a miracle drug which will cure ovarian cancer.”

“Hmm.”

“The Internet is a terrific vehicle for spreading rumors.”

“So I’ve heard, Ethel.”

“They also buy the stolen e-mail addresses and phone numbers of mom-and-pop investors in volume from hackers in places like Russia, Romania or Nigeria. Tens of thousands of solicitation e-mails are sent out to hype these companies to them.”

“Ok.”

“They employ a Boiler Room, a chop-shop brokerage staffed with slick, sleazy salesmen, to cold-call these people and high-pressure them into buying the stocks at inflated prices.”

“I saw something like that once in a movie or on a TV cop show,” Ruthie said.

“As the suckers purchase the stocks, it creates an artificial demand and the prices start to rise dramatically. These investors soon tell their friends about all the paper profits they’re making, and, naturally, the friends want to get in on the action too, so they also invest, driving the prices way up.”

“Of course.”

“When the stock prices get sky-high, Ruthie, my firm dumps all its shares for large gains. The gold and cancer-curing rumors are soon discovered to be false and the stock prices collapse. All the small investors get caught holding the bag and lose their shirts.”

“It’s disgraceful!”

“Wait, it gets worse.”

“How can it get any worse than that?”

“My firm targets this scam at senior citizens, Ruthie, it specializes in defrauding senior citizens out of their retirement savings.”

“Despicable!”

“I intend to blow the whistle on the whole shebang.”

She closed her eyes and opened them again as Ethel was slurping up the last of her drink.

“That hit the spot, Ruthie, I could drink ten more and still walk a straight line.”

“All the drunks say the same thing.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a drunk, Ruthie, but it might be nice to float through life in a permanent state of mild intoxication.”

“And not have a care in the world?”

“Yes.”

“And spend your days on a sandy beach with a handsome rich man who showers you with diamonds and gives you great sex?”

She smiled. “It seems we both have the same dream, Ruthie.”

“All women have that dream.”

“I suppose so.”

“Claire came in earlier, Ethel, you should tell her what’s going on at your firm.”

“Good idea. Claire will be able to show me how to get whistle-blower status so I can collect a reward.”

“Let me go and see if she’s still in the dining room. I’ll be right back.”

“Ok.” While she waited, Ethel wiggled her empty glass at Hilda, fishing for another freebie offer, however, Hilda merely smiled blissfully.

“Claire’s already left,” Ruthie said, when she got back, “it must’ve happened during my break.”

“No problem, I’ll phone her tomorrow.”

“Don’t call her from your office, Ethel, you might be overheard.”

“I won’t.”

Her lips compressed into a narrow line. “Have you considered the possibility that your firm could be controlled by the Mafia?”

Ethel smacked herself on the forehead. “How dopey am I?”

“It’s only a thought.”

“Of course, Ruthie, it could be!”

“Hmm.”

“One of my relatives was connected; how could I not consider that possibility?”

“Does it make a difference, Ethel, if it is a MOB firm?”

Her mouth fell ajar in alarm. “Yes, I don’t want to be murdered.”

“Maybe Claire can find out for you.”

“I’ll be sure to ask her.”

Rudy strutted by them humming a merry tune.

“I never saw him so cheery,” Ethel said, “not in all the time I’ve been coming to the Bull & Bear.”

“Rudy let it slip the other day that he also expects to be coming into a lot of money shortly.”

“That must account for it.”

“No doubt.”

“You know, Ruthie, there were times when I felt sorry for Rudy because of his handicap.”

“Hmm.”

“Then, when I’d be about to give him a hug and tell him how courageous he is, he’d do a horrible thing to someone. It turned me right off.”

“He affects everyone the same way; you want to like the guy but you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

Ethel shrugged. “But, hey, who am I to judge? Best of luck to him, I say.”

“Yes, best of luck,” Ruthie replied, narrowing her eyes.

*