Black's Beach Shuffle: A Rolly Waters Mystery by Corey Lynn Fayman

Author:Corey Lynn Fayman [Fayman, Corey Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Granada Pacific Publishing
Published: 2015-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

The Seawall

Rolly floated into the shallows, hopped off his surfboard, stood up. He wiggled his toes in the sand. It was good to be back on solid land, away from the nervous feeling he got sitting out on the water with only an unbalanced piece of resin and foam between himself and the ocean below.

As he walked across the sand towards the boardwalk, he heard a loud, angry voice. Ricky stood on the beach by the seawall, holding a cell phone up to his ear. Fender stood next to him, on the other side of the wall, dressed in a homely brown suit. He looked as uncomfortable as Rolly had been out on the water.

“Listen, my friend,” Ricky screamed into the phone. His left hand pressed against his temple, as if to keep his head from exploding. “Listen, my friend, if I don’t have those numbers on my desk by noon, heads will roll. I want to review it today. Believe me, if I don’t have signoff on this today, heads will roll. Heads will roll.”

Ricky snapped the phone shut, pointed towards Fender He lowered his voice, stabbed Fender several times in the chest with his finger. Rolly couldn’t hear what he was saying.

A ringing tone played off to Rolly’s right, someone’s cell phone or a pager. It was playing the intro to “Stairway to Heaven.” Another ring went off to his left. “Fur Elise” was the tune of choice this time. Two more phones started ringing farther away. Eyebitz.com employees began scrambling, ran in from the waves or sat up on the sand. They opened their towels, dug in discarded trousers and shoes, pulled out cell phones and punched at the buttons. The wrath of Ricky buzzed and beeped its way through the invisible network of wireless nodes. Rolly could almost trace the path of accountability and blame from cell phone to cell phone, beach towel to beach towel.

Ricky left Fender and headed back to the parking lot, flipping his phone open again as it started ringing. Rolly walked over towards Fender, sat down on the wall.

“What’s that all about?” Rolly asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Fender replied. “Just some stuff Ricky wanted. He’s got a presentation on Friday for a group of investment bankers.”

“Seems to have caused quite a commotion.”

“Ricky gets people going.”

“Puts the fear of God in them?”

“I guess so,” Fender said. “It’s worth it, though. Look at what happened to Yahoo!, to eBay, Amazon. All of the people that started those companies are going to be millionaires.”

“Hmm,” Rolly nodded. The beach was almost deserted now. People rushed back to their cars, dumping their wetsuits and surfboards in a pile on the grass, still frantically talking on phones as they climbed into BMWs, Jeeps, and Miatas, and screeched out of the parking lot.

“How long do people have to put up with Ricky before they get rich?”

“The IPO is next month. We’ve got some cheap, locked-in shares we can sell the first day if it goes well. The real money will come in if we stick around for another year or two.

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