Under the Bridge

The beggar-shaman who lived under the bridge told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would have to pay the spirits for my karma.  

I turned around to ask him how I might accomplish this, only to find that he had already wandered off.  I knew it would do no good to chase him down.  He tended to forget discussions as soon as they were over.

Sitting cross-legged by the riverbank, I waited for the early morning sun to warm my skin while I contemplated his words.  The rhythmic lapping of the cold northern water coming out of Lake St. Clair always had a way of clearing stray thoughts from my mind.  But today, that clarity did not want to appear.  Too many thoughts about Lin intruded — and thinking about Lin was always emotional.

After an hour, I gave up on the secular rationality that seemed to have forsaken me and took the spiritual solution.  Besides, what did I have to lose?  Lin?  She was already gone.  I would take the shaman's advice.

Even if it did come from a guy who insisted the pigeons talked to him.

Turning on the smartphone in my hand, I once again wondered why it did not have a screen lock password.  Had the former owner been a complete idiot?  Was karma working for me?  Either way, it gave me a starting point.  A log counter informed me that there were a ton of missed calls, so that was where I went.

- Beep - "Hello?  Paul, it’s Mary.  Give me a call back as soon as you get this.  I need to talk to you.  Like, immediately, okay?  I, I really need to talk to you… to explain things.  Just call me.  Please."  - click - 

- Beep -  "Mr. Rapp.  This is Doctor Whitehall.  I’ve got the results of your tests in my hands.  I wish I could give you a better opinion than what Dr. Bland told you, but I believe I have to agree with his diagnosis.  I’m terribly sorry to be the bringer of bad news.  If you’d like to schedule an appointment, we can sit down for a consultation.  Please contact my office as soon as possible."  - click -

- Beep - "Dude, did you empty the store's bank account?  Look, man.  I know you're pissed at me right now.  But this isn't about you and me; it's business.  I’m at the airport right now about to head back.  We can work out our problems when I get in... make whatever kind of arrangement you want.  We just need to talk, okay?" - click - 

- Beep - "Mr. Rapp, this is Sam Manning with First Mutual, returning your call.  I just got off the phone with the IRS.  It seems the government has seized all the assets in your account with us due to something called "structuring."  I must confess, I don't know much about it other than what the man — Agent Rolowitz — told me.  Apparently, they flagged the account and took the money on the same day.  We knew nothing about it.  Uh, this is actually, uh, way out of my league.  I'm sorry.  The best I can tell you is to ask a lawyer.  And good luck."  - click -

- Beep -  "Paul?  It’s Mary.  What’s going on?  There were just some federal agents here asking a bunch of questions about your business with — Oh, God!  Paul, what did you do?  Look, honey.  We can work this out.  Just call me back.  Please?"  - click -

- Beep -  "Dude, what the hell?  C’mon man, if you want to hate me, then fine.  But don’t ruin the store just to bring us both down.  We can split the business and go our separate ways if that’s what you want, but you’ve gotta put at least half of the money back so we can clear the bills.  Just call me back and we can work it out." - click -

- Beep -  "Mr. Rapp, this is Melody with National Savings and Loan.  This is a courtesy call to let you know that there are insufficient funds in your personal account to cover several checks that were just posted.  Since you've been such a long-standing customer with us, we may be able to waive the NSF fees as a one-time courtesy if you can come in before five p.m. today and make a deposit.  The total amount is $810.44.  Thank you." 

- click -

- Beep - "Paul, it’s Mary again.  Where are you?  I haven’t heard from you.  I’ve decided to stay at my mother’s house tonight.  Call me back, okay?" - click -

- Beep - "This is a message for Mr. Paul Rapp.  Mr. Rapp, this is Officer Brentley at the 10th precinct.  We've found your car crashed into the railing of the Ambassador Bridge at 2 a.m. this morning.  The keys were missing, and it looks like it was stolen and taken for a joy ride.  We need you to come down and make a statement as soon as possible.  Thank you." - click -

Those were all the messages.  It was a lot to go through, but it needed to be done if I was going to do what the shaman had said.  I thought about it for a minute.  What would Lin do?  Mary is upset, the docs have bad news, and it sounds like a lot of money is missing — too bad I didn’t have any of it.  

At least I didn't need to call the policeman back; I already knew what had happened to the car.  But as for the rest of it, I was missing some information, so I decided to call Mary first.

- Ring - "Paul?  Thank God you called me back.  Paul, I’m so, so sorry.  Are you listening?"

"I hear you," I said.

"I’m sorry, Paul.  It was just the one time, and I didn’t mean for it to happen.  It just...did.  I don’t even think Billy meant for it to happen either.  We were drunk, and you’ve been so distant.  So, I… No, this isn’t what I should be saying.  Paul, it’s... it’s my fault."

I listened to her sobbing over the phone for at least ten seconds before speaking again.  "Mary, where are you now?"

"I… I’m still at my mother’s house.  But, I don’t think you should come over here!  There are people looking for you.  Can you meet me at Michigan Diner?"

"I have a lot on my plate at the moment.  Meet me tonight at The Lodge instead.  Half-past ten?"

"Oh.  Okay.  And honey?  I just want to patch things up, you know?  Let's get back together and forget about the last twenty-four hours.  That's all I want."

- click -

So, Mary was cheating with Billy.  Was it just a one-time thing like Mary wanted me to believe?  I replayed all the messages and it didn’t add up.  I’d have to get Billy’s version to be sure, but his number was not the next on my list.  

- Ring - "Good morning, National Savings and Loan.  This is Melody.  How can I help you?"

    "Hello, Melody.  I am returning a call for Paul Rapp," I said.

"Oh!  Mr. Rapp.  I’m really sorry.  We put a hold on your account for as long as we could yesterday, but I’m afraid those checks bounced."

"Yes, I understand, Melody.  But wasn’t there money in the account?" I asked.

"Well, sir.  That’s the odd part.  When we looked at your account in the afternoon, it was completely zeroed out."

"Zeroed out?"

"Yes.  But the account is still open and active.  Just a zero-dollar balance.  Empty.  Not even a penny in it.  We were wondering if maybe you withdrew it all somehow?"

"I don’t think so.  Can you tell me at what time it was emptied?"

"Sure.  Just let me pull that up on my screen.  Let's see, it looks like there was enough money in the account to cover those checks and then some.  Right up until 1 p.m.  Then, there's a funny code I don't recognize… and the account is empty."

"Thank you, Melody.  That’s all I needed for now."

"But, Mr. Rapp…"

- click -

I hated hanging up on her, but I had things to do.

- Ring - "This is Sam Manning, First Mutual Bank and Trust.  How can I help you today?"

"Hello, Sam.  What can you tell me about the IRS guy, Agent Rolowitz?  Did he leave you a way to contact him?"

"Oh, Mr. Rapp!  Why, yes, I believe he did leave me his number…" I listened as Sam shuffled papers on a desk somewhere.  "I have his office number and a case file number.  You ready for it?"

I took both numbers down and repeated them back to Sam.  "Is there anything else you can tell me about this... what did you call it… structuring?"

"A-heh.  Well, I’m not entirely sure, but I think it has to do with limiting your deposit sizes to get around filing financial reports," Sam replied.

"That sounds like something a bank man like yourself should know more about than me, Sam," I said.

"Yeah, I don’t know what to say, Mr. Rapp.  I realize you were just taking my advice about keeping your deposits under $10,000 to avoid the extra paperwork, but I had no idea the feds had a law against it!  Hell, they’ve got their hands in everybody’s pocket.  And not a goddamn thing neither you nor I can —"

- click -  

That guy fit the bill of a corrupt banker pretending to be incompetent to avoid taking responsibility for his mistakes.  Lin would have said, "Bankers like that step on their customers' necks all the way up the corporate ladder until they get a golden parachute someday."  

If I let him.

- Ring - "Internal Revenue Service, how may I direct your call?" a nasal feminine voice inquired.

    "Agent Rolowitz, please."

"One moment."  Hold music from the 1970s kept me company for two minutes before the voice of a man who sounded like he survived on coffee and cigarettes answered, "Rolowitz."

"Agent Rolowitz?" I asked.  

"Yes.  Who is this?"

"I have a case number," I replied, giving him the number.

"Ah, Paul Rapp," he said.  "I was expecting your call."

"So, what do we do now, Agent?"

"Mr. Rapp, you are being investigated for violations of the Bank Secrecy Act.  This is a possible felony offense.  As part of our investigation, the IRS has seized all assets deposited by you.  Were you aware that it is against the law to purposely limit the amount of deposits into your bank account to avoid being reported to the government?"

"No.  Not until the bank guy told me.  He called it structuring.  What is that?" I asked.

"Mr. Rapp, structuring is the practice of conducting financial transactions in a specific pattern calculated to avoid the creation of certain records and reports required by the Bank Secrecy Act."

"What does that mean, conducting financial transactions in a pattern?"

"When you start depositing large sums of money into your account, each under $10,000, over a period of time, it constitutes a pattern — a pattern which points towards an attempt to circumvent reporting requirements."

"I don’t understand.  Is the business not legal?" I asked.

"Mr. Rapp, structuring is illegal regardless of whether the funds are derived from legal or illegal activity."

"So, you’re saying that there is no proof of illegal activity, that the store hasn’t broken any laws, but you took every last penny because it was deposited incorrectly?" I asked, feeling my voice raise an octave or two.

"In this situation, Mr. Rapp, incorrectly is synonymous with illegally.  If you’d like to dispute the investigation, I am obligated to suggest at this point that you hire an attorney."

"Wait.  You are obligated?  Let me guess, you’re recording this conversation and need to cover your ass, don't you?"

"Mr. Rapp —"

- click -

It was insane what the government could and would do to a hard-working man.  Not only that, but then blame the little guy for it!

Not that money would help pay for karma.  That was the important thing for me.

I debated calling the doctor, then decided against it.  There didn't seem to be any need to go down that road.  Whatever his diagnosis had been was moot at this point.

That left only one more missing thread to complete the tapestry.

- Ring - "This is Billy," a curt voice answered.

"Did you sleep with Mary?" I asked point-blank.

"Paul, is that you?  Look, I’m sorry the way this went down, Paul.  I really am.  I… Yeah, okay?  I did, and I won’t deny it."

"Mary said this has been going on for quite some time.  How long was it, Billy?  How many times did you sleep with her?"

Billy sighed.  I could imagine him somewhere, running a hand through his hair as he stomped his foot in agitation or punched a wall or something like that.  "Yeah, it was more than once, okay?  But… I don’t know.  I didn’t count how many times."

"At least you have the guts to admit it," I replied.  "That much is commendable."

"Aw, c’mon!  Quit jerking my chain like that.  I know you’re pissed at me.  But shit, man!  What’s going on with the store?  I tried using the debit card for my flight back from Vegas, but there was no money in the account."

"Are you still in Vegas?" I asked.

"No. Vegas was good to me for once, so  I’m back in Detroit.  Look, why don’t we meet and settle things?  Maybe at the coffee shop down the street?"

Billy was playing it safe; he was no idiot.  Fine.  Two could play that game.  "I'm not ready to meet with you right now.  But, I’ll send someone.  He'll represent me for the time being.  You talk to him, okay?  At that diner down by the Ambassador Bridge."

"Now that sounds like a good idea, Paul.  I will be glad to meet him.  What time?" Billy asked.

"After the lunch rush is over.  Four o’clock?" I suggested.

"Okay, I’ll be there."

- click -

    So, not only was Mary a cheater, she was a liar, too.  The two went hand-in-hand when you thought about it.  I had been hoping I could at least let her off the hook.  But it seemed that was not to be.  

    A few inquiries gave me the address of First Mutual and the IRS field office Rolowitz worked out of.  Karma finally gave me a break with these two; both locations were local.  

I stood and looked out over the water towards Canada.  Lin had always liked sitting here with me.  Down here, under the bridge, you could almost forget what normal people considered city life.  

When Paul Rapp had crashed into the concrete under the bridge in the dark hours of the morning, he'd barely missed landing on me.  Ironically, he had also missed the river he had been aiming for.  Dead on impact; an unscathed cell phone clutched in his grip.  

An offering from above, I punned to myself.

    The beggar-shaman had told me I could keep it — and surely the gods knew I had been dying for a new one ever since my last one went kaput — I had only to appease the dead man’s ghost.  So, without touching anything else on dead-Paul, I had slipped the phone from his fingers before slipping his body into the cold embrace of the Detroit River.

Now, the way I saw it, there were four people responsible for the death of Paul Rapp: the banker, the tax man, the wife, and the business partner.  The phone’s display told me it was almost noon.  I had a lot of work to do if I was going to get this done today.  After collecting a few things from my suitcase, I headed downtown.

    By the end of the night, my karma payment had been made.  The four had all been deposited into the river just as Paul Rapp had intended to deposit himself.     

Settling back into my spot under the bridge, I dialed a different phone number; one I had committed to memory years ago.  My heart skipped a beat.

    After precisely two rings, the answering machine picked up, and a pre-recorded message started.  Tears trickled down my cheeks as soon as I heard it.

It was Lin’s voice.

She was still with me.