Luck Takes A Lot Of Hard Work

I only write when I have something to say, or I'm mischievous or ... oh well ... whatever. For this story I'm mischievous. There is no sex in the story but is rather a bit of BTB and "how'd dey do dat?" from the point of view (POV) of the dey of 'dey do dat?'.

I've actually been dealing with some non-terminal health problems and this is a good break from worry / concern / farting around / feeling sorry for myself / fucking off / imbibing / adjusting / imbibing a bit less / imbibing a bit more / moving on in a healthy way / "UUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMM" (sitting cross legged in the lotus position while holding my arms out from my sides with my index and thumb touching - new age stuff. It hurts just thinking about sitting that way)/ .... / life? I'm sure you get the idea.

I've been tossing this idea around in my mind for a while now and I think that this one works (until it doesn't).

As always, my work like works by many other respected authors ( if you don't laugh at this one, you really don't have a sense of humor) in this fine website has been 'suggested' edited by Microsoft Word. Any errors, real or imagined, are the authors alone. I've made some serious efforts at proof reading. It is not laziness or distain for the reader if some are 'missed'. However, if you find more, have a great time. I'm sure that that it will provide you with a level of fulfillment.

YES THERE ARE INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.

THIS IS THE CHARACTER'S SPEAKING/THINKING TO HIM/HER SELF.

YES, THIS IS ALSO NOT A 'HOW TO DO SOMETHING' story.

The lead is specifically a neophyte to cloak and dagger/spying/technology and revenge. Looking at the recent spate of carjackings and burglaries, I saw that cameras are powerless against disguised assholes. (Asshole is the proper technical term here.)

All my hero has is her intelligence, observations patience and hard work.

She is just a regular non-techie but patient as hell with a drive and determination of someone born with a plastic spoon in their mouth.

I know that her actions are flawed so read this with a grain of salt.

A trusted reviewer did tell me that it was possible.

I asked him if there was a sanity clause too.

(An old Marx brothers movie shtick from A night at the Opera.

Google it)

IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE MY STORY, (or sense of humor) ASK FOR YOUR MONEY BACK.

I used to say 'Save yourself' but I came to realize that many people did not want to be saved from themselves. Their own opinions of themselves were sometimes much higher than warranted.

(This includes yours truly. Nobody gets out of here unscathed.)

IF MY STYLE OF WRITING BUGS THE SHIT OUT OF YOU,

( Believe me, you will not be the first or the last,

and you will have to stand in line ... )

SAVE YOURSELF

( Oh shit, I just said it )

AND DO NOT READ THIS STORY.

HOWEVER, YOU DON'T GET TO WHINE ABOUT IT IF YOU READ IT.

SAVE US ALL FROM YOUR WHINING.

In a side note, I have been associated with IT ( Information Technology ) people most of my past professional life. I've learned much. This includes developing a sense of when some things I was told about just did not sound quite right. Those were things I needed to recheck (and did) with others. Not everything said by all the people in that field stood up to closer inspection. In this story, I've kept/used some of those inaccuracies. (This was information that was technically correct in only very specific circumstances such as when the moon was full and you were facing east after midnight on a Tuesday in late April on even numbered years evenly divisible by 3 during a rain storm without lightening, ...). Do you recognize this sub-set of IT people? Have you come in contact with people like this?

I have also included other ideas that 'significantly less Information Technologically knowledgeable advanced people' have related to me over the years. I have used those conversations to insert a realism into the character. This is not a how-to manual. Don't bitch about it if that is what you have decided to be upset about.

I have had many tests recently and my patience level is way below acceptable levels.

------

On the way to Midway Airport from 'Da Loop' ( Downtown Chicago )

'Son-of-a-bitch, can that fuckin' cabbie get out of the mother fuckin' way? Shit, and it's a mother fuckin' PRIUS? SHITMOTHERFUCKERASSHOLESONOFABITCH! Don't you know how to fuckin' drive?' I'm runnin' late and gotta catch my god damn mother fuckin' plane. Midway's not that fuckin' big or that far out of downtown Chicago, but JEEEEEESSSSSUUUUUUSSS CHRRRRIIISSSTTT.'

Got caught by my fuckin' talkative boss again while I was on my way out, again. I gotta get to the fuckin' plane to present our bid for fuckin' consideration. This one will be one fuckin' great bonus if we seal this fuckin' contract.

Fuck.

My work summoned Uber finally stopped in front of the parking garage and transit station. The lines for cars for departures and arrivals were backed up for blocks. It's the same every weekday every fucking time I leave from Midway. I hate leaving during rush hour. I threw a twenty at the driver for second tip while he pulled my bag out of the trunk. Now to join the lemmings and run to the TSA PreCheck line. Dodging around people on the walkway on the bridge over Cicero avenue is always fun. Assholes are walking as if they are at Costco and leaving their cart in the middle of the fuckin' isle so nobody can get around 'em. It's always a shock to them when a terse "MOVE IT" jolts their world. Don't you fuckers know that slower traffic keeps right? Stay out of my fuckin' way.

At the end I suddenly see that there's a short bearded fat-assed bike currier holding a sign with my name on it and the word '1913!PMorgan'. That was the year JP Morgan, a robber baron that died filthy rich nearly 110 years ago.

That's the password I use for two of my investment accounts.

I stopped in front of the currier and looked at him closely. He looked at a picture of me he was holding in his hand then smiled. In a gravelly voice reeking of old whiskey and cigarettes he croaked "Ron Westerfield, package for ya."

His grease stained fingers presented me with a bubble wrapped tablet. As soon as it was in my hands, he ran down the bridge with the crowd toward the parking garages. He turned the corner in seconds and was gone.

'What the fuck was goin' on? I looked down, THIS IS MY FUCKIN' TABLET. My scratches, my dirt and my pen marks.' I felt where I had gouged the back. It was mine. I put in my password and it opened to a text file.

"Hello Mr. Westerfield. Before you go any farther you need to know that this file will completely disappear in less than 90 seconds. Attempt to take a picture of this and it disappears immediately. You are not technically proficient so do not try."

'Fuckin asshole got that right.'

"Did you like the sign that got your attention? Yes, I have your passwords and I have already changed most of them as well as your security questions and answers and the back-up email accounts notifications. I have taken your control over your accounts - email accounts, Roth, IRA, SEP-IRA, 401Ks as well as your taxable brokerage financial accounts. I did not forget about your many bank accounts either. I even changed your Netflix account for fun. You will not be able to access any account quickly. Do not think of attempting to change your passwords in the next couple of hours. By the way, I have your phone locked out too. I cancelled your cell service hours ago to make sure that it is now a door stop. You have been so very busy today that you may have not noticed the lack of calls.

"Do I have your undivided attention now?"

'God damn right motherfucker who ever the fuck you are.'

"It's amazing that you've amassed $503,543.21 in tax deferred accounts and officially another $301,659.76 in taxable accounts. All of this is wealth you accumulated by the age of 37. Unfortunately, it was on the backs of many people. These are the people you trampled on, crushed, fired, belittled, stole from, abused and some you sexually abused. Do not get me wrong, you took down a couple of people that were just like you. Those vermin I did not mind you taking down. I know that you like the word vermin. That is what you considered anyone in your way.

'How did that mother fucker know?'

"Now let me get back to the business of you. I'm sure you are concerned about what I may want out of you. Actually, this has all been put together to give you a choice. By now, you will have less than a minute left to make that choice.

"You are a despicable person with no morals. Even you would not disagree with any of that. Three of your previous work sites have ended up in bankruptcy restructuring that resulted in huge layoffs. Do not even try to say that it was not your doing. You were able to quietly torpedo several plans that would have saved each of those companies and their employees. That is to say nothing on your active sabotage efforts. You were also leaking info to a takeover firm that made sure that your employers would fail. That made you and the takeover firm a very good profit. Those three bankrupted companies netted those vultures in the mid-tens of millions. That profit was both above and below the board. The SEC may be interested in that bit of information to say nothing about the DA. We both know that the IRS pays informers. Do I still have your attention?"

'God damn right motherfucker.'

"These actions have earned you many enemies - powerful financial enemies, legal enemies and some powerful purely physical enemies.

"The other habit you have is to go after women that have partners. Some were married, some were just in relationships. All were in dire financial straits. You must be able to sense their 'weakness'. You called them monkeys because they held onto their jobs by their tails. This also has earned you many more faceless powerful enemies. These are enemies that have little to lose.

"So right now you have a choice. You can return to your condo immediately, resign your position and leave the Midwest. Make sure that you are at least 1,200 miles away so New York and New England or even Atlanta or Dallas just will not do. Actually, I suggest that you check out overseas. If you leave, nothing more will happen except what I have already done. Two days ago I withdrew all but $100 in each of your tax sheltered IRAs, SEP-IRAs and 401Ks accounts and transferred those funds to one of your bank accounts. You will owe the IRS a 10% early withdrawal fee and to add to that, your current marginal Federal tax rate will be around 37%. You are smart enough to figure out the State's cut should be budgeted at slightly less than 5%. That means you will be down to about $250,000 after state and Federal taxes and penalties from the half million. It's not a bad haircut for you, all things considered. I also cashed out many of your taxable accounts. You will owe those profits as regular income as they were cashed out in less than a year. What's another $54,000 between friends?

"If you decide to continue and not leave immediately, very bad things will happen to you. These are things that you will not be able to recover from. It is your choice.

"Oh yes, have a nice day."

'GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKIN' ASSHOLE.'

Suddenly the screen went black and my tablet rebooted.

'GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKIN' SHIT, out more than $300,000 right now.'

This day is not getting any better.

If I make this last presentation in Seattle today and we get the contract, I'll be up over $120K between the bonuses and the kickbacks from my suggested suppliers. It will only be 24 hours for me to return to my condo in Chicago's Gold Coast by tomorrow, Friday afternoon,. Then I'll start packing to go to Mexico and then beyond. I can take the weekend to wrap things up and get out.

Fuck it. I know that I've got this contract wrapped up.

Even if whoever is after me gets the DA involved, I'll still have time to escape and get a new name. 'Martin', my contact at take over firm offered me that option if it ever got hot. I still have over $800K hidden in cash just from him to say nothing in my hidden accounts overseas. He must have made 20 times that amount from my information. Cash can make me disappear and become someone else.

Fuck it, I'm going.

Picking up my suitcase with my tablet in hand, I headed to the TSA PreCheck line. I only have 15 minutes to get to my flight and there are only 5 ahead of me. First fuckin' thing going right today.

I drop my suitcase and tablet on the conveyor and wait to be motioned to enter. Suddenly everything stops. Several people are looking at me and several more arrive.

"Sir, I would like you to keep your hands in front of you and make no quick movements."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

"Sir, remain calm and make no movements." A pair of handcuffs were placed on me and I was immediately pulled away from the TSA PreCheck line. Somehow I glanced at the luggage scanning screen and saw it. It showed a gun and a cell phone with wires connecting to a small cube in my suitcase.

Interrogation followed but I was quiet and I thanked god for Miranda. It took two hours before I got a good defense lawyer to help. The immediate charges included transporting a 3D printed gun, ammunition, $500,000 US dollars, 40,000 in Euros, 110,000 British pounds and 150,000 Mexican Pesos. The pesos were worth about $75K USD, the rest I counted as being slightly more than being on par with the US dollar. All were in medium sized bills. There was also half a kilo of my own cocaine wrapped in an aluminum foil box. The wires were connected to a phone. It looked like it was a detonator. I was held without bail as a flight risk. They took my passport too. Somehow I had flight reservations from Seattle to Mexico City for tomorrow. Then I had a flight leaving to somewhere in Africa that I never heard of for Friday night.

Two days later my firm pressed charges on $31,000 that I supposingly tried to embezzle from their accounts. That said good bye to any possibility of help from their pit bull lawyers.

I'm fucked.

-----------

That Friday evening, 'Old Mr. Harrison', Ron Westerfield's ex-neighbor sat at the neighborhood bar and ordered a craft beer. No longer wearing the disguise, I smiled then smoothed my skirt as I sipped my short beer. "WHAT IS THIS CRAP YOU'RE SERVING ME? You know I hate blond IPAs." I glared directly at my bartender. "Mark, don't make me get up. Do you think that you're funny?" The jerk smiled and laughed at me.

"Liz, you've been distracted for weeks. I thought that I'd bring you back." He chuckled and set my normal stout in front of me. This time it was full sized. "On the house. I'll leave you alone for a bit and touch base with you later." He chuckled and smiled warmly as he moved on to new patrons. 'Yea, I've been distracted. Been distracted for quite a while now.' I watched as he moved to serve a third patron.

My mind went back to two years ago

As the door opened I said, "Hey Auntie Sophie. How is Uncle Ben doing?"

"Thanks for being here. The hospice nurse told me that he really doesn't have much time. The painkillers are keeping him with a minimum of pain, but it shortens his life and time awake. We're both on board with that." She smiled a resigned but not a sorrowful smile to me. She has been living with his quick decline and he has been accepting of it. What did he say when he got the in-operatable part? 'We all gotta go some time. Better now with Sofia than in a car crash. You look after her, OK? Make sure that she's always around you. Ok?' It has been some journey for all of us.

"We called you in because my Beniamino and I wanted to talk to you about something. Just hear us and you can make any decision you want to and it will be OK with us." She led me to the bed in the apartment's living room. It was the only room that could handle the hospital bed and all the related medical equipment.

Uncle Ben looked at me and smiled. He was always my favorite Uncle. Then again, he was my only Uncle, kind of. My late mom was an only child. But as happens with immigrant families, friends can become closer then blood family. He and mom, first born Americans, grew up together in the same apartment building as 'brother and sister' and that bond never wavered. He helped me bury her after cancer wracked her. Dad had died of a heart attack years before, and Uncle Ben was there with us too. Dad was a typical Polock - strong as an ox as he worked in the trades, medium drinking, heavy smoking and stayed away from doctors. He would not have fit in well with the anti-vaxxers but the truth of it, he just didn't care for doctors. He was ok with the science - for somebody else. He was fine just being him. At least he died quickly while on the job. Thank god for the Union insurance payouts that supported us till we got back on our feet. Dad never believed in saving much because he never had much extra to save.

I heard "Elisabetta" and Uncle Ben immediately ran out of breath. It frustrated him to be so limited. But he smiled again and waved me closer. My aunt motioned to have my ear very near his mouth. "Thank you for coming" he whispered.

I sat there in silence while he took a few minutes to rest and recover. Then for 20 minutes he and my Aunt told me the story of the place that they both worked as it quickly declined to bankruptcy and then was bought out and liquidated. Over 400 people lost their jobs. Most of these people were older or working poor. Most of them had to settle for more difficult jobs with less pay and few benefits. I had heard this story before and knew that he needed to tell me again. I gladly listened to them both.

"Elisabetta, we would suddenly have a shortage of something. I would chase down a new supplier of the same or better quality that was sometimes cheaper or the same price. The POs were held up in the office until right before we needed it or we would have to stop production. After the fifth time, I found out that it was sitting on Westerfield's desk or tossed into the trash. Most of the workers could see what he was doing. Even the contracted building custodians helped us fish the POs out of the trash. After that, Westerfield bought a shredder. It was a ribbon shredder and we even pieced the pages back together a couple of times. By that time, our company began to lose contracts. That's when your Aunt Sophia saw that something was wrong with me." He closed his eyes to rest. I held his hand and Aunt Sophie hugged my shoulder.

He was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic stage 4 cancer. They were both out of a job and cobra health care costs were higher than their unemployment comp. They were overwhelmed and started to draw down their savings. I remember getting them hooked up with a social worker who found programs that allowed them to stop hemorrhaging money. The hospice Social Worker was helpful in helping them navigate their final journey together.

It was now going to be a very financially tight retirement for her. It never would have been 'opulent' anyway. Opulent for working class is having a roof over your head, enough food, medical care, a safe enough neighborhood and enough money to go out to dinner once a month. Now it's much closer to the bone for her. The guys at the top get a haircut; the ones at the bottom get their legs cut off. The guy's at the top get listened to. The people at the bottom get shafted and are expected to think they should be grateful for any crumb they get. The more money you have, the more equal you are.

After Uncle Ben rested a bit, he opened his eyes. Blinking a bit, he was able to see me and he smiled at me again. He whispered "Elisabetta? Can you look into nailing him somehow? Can something be done to make Westerfield pay for what he did?"

I immediately thought about the movie "The Sting" with Robert Redford and Paul Newman. They played Hooker and Henry Gondorff, a couple of cons in the 1920's. The gangster Lonnegan had killed Reford's buddy Luther.