Luckee Lynx: The World Needs a Hero to Take Down Wall Street Read online

  Tim looked down and didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, it’s all a part of growing up,” Ronald said, dismissively. “At some point you will begin to throw punches back.

  “Uh…what are you doing here, Dad?”

  “I just figured I would surprise you! You want to hit the Dairy Jester with your old man? I know you like the Butter Jester smoothie.”

  “The Smoothie? Yeah!”

  “Hop on in, then.”

  Tim walked around and got in on the passenger side. In a few minutes, they’d driven across town, parked, and gotten in line. Dairy Jester was busy with middle school aged children waiting in line wearing grunge T-shirts and baggy jeans. There was a mix of chain wallets and blond streaks on dark hair, faces studded with piercings, that stood out among topsider-wearing, proper middle-aged folks with their parted hair.

  Ronald took a large, three flavor cone from the employee with his left hand and a Butter Jester smoothie with his right, passing it to his son. They found an open booth, and Tim tucked in immediately. His father did this same with his cone.

  “Dad,” Tim asked, “Why do you like to get three scoops with three flavors?”

  “Timmy,” Ronald said grandly, “When you get older, you’re going to learn something important. When life presents you with options, you don’t need to pick just one. You can have them all…so you may as well just take them all.”

  Tim nodded as he listened. For whatever reason, his father seemed in an inordinately good mood. He finished his smoothie before carefully changing the subject.

  “Zach Bryant hit me,” he said. “It’s not the first time he hit me. Why can’t you call the school and report him?”

  He didn’t get an answer at first. Slurping sounds came from his father as he wiped his chin. Ronald threw his dirty napkin on the table.

  “Let’s get in the car,” he said, abruptly.

  Tim kept quiet, feeling a growing unease as he followed his father out across the parking lot and into the Mercedes. The unease competed with the throbbing ache in his cheek. Finally, the question bubbled out of him.

  “Dad,” Tim blurted, “Where have you been the past few days? Mom’s been worried about you!”

  Ronald worked his jaw as if deciding what to say. Finally, he turned the key in the ignition and slapped his son’s knee with good cheer.

  “Okay, Tim,” he said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Chapter Three

  FOR EVERY THREE PUNCHES

  Ronald’s L-class Mercedes had a Davis Leasing sticker on the bumper. Every time Tim sat in the car with his father, he had to hear about nothing but how Singleton Hayward made the down payment as a bonus. What’s more, the excessive lease payment was why he could not buy Tim the Nintendo games he wanted.

  But somehow, today was different. It made the smoothie in his stomach curdle.

  The hedges of Pelham shone a dark green. They passed the run-down houses along Wolves Lane and past an old diner. The houses got whiter and grander, with iron gates replacing slapdash wooden fencing.

  Finally, Ronald took a right on Pelhamdale Avenue. He pulled to the side and parked a few seconds later. Shutting the car’s engine off, he got out. His son followed suit.

  “There’s something you need to see,” he said. “Come on, Timmy. Time waits for no man.”

  Ronald and Tim walked past Patsy’s Electronics on Main Street. Five Magnavox televisions and two JVCs were in the front window. The store’s sign was so rusty that Tim thought he could get tetanus just from looking at it.

  One of the televisions had the World Series pre-game show on. For a moment, Tim brightened.

  “Look, Dad!” he said. “It’s Armstrong, Sabo, Franco and the Nasty Boys!”

  “They ain’t no Big Red machine,” Ronald scoffed. “Ricky Henderson and Canseco are a tough out, I guess. I…and that big slugger redhead?”

  “Are you going to be back home tonight? Maybe we can watch the game! Besides, you told me that you would show me how to throw a baseball really hard, just like Bo.”

  Ronald turned away and gestured for Tim to follow.

  “You’ll be learning a lot of things in your life, kiddo.”

  Tim walked alongside his dad. The unease in his stomach intensified.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Somewhere important,” came the reply. “I need to show to you something.”

  They went on for a while in the growing silence.

  “Dad, my cheek really hurts. We need to get back home.”

  A shrug.

  “I’ll get you home soon enough. Timmy, let me ask you something. How do you think those lights in your house stay on?”

  Tim was silent.

  “Where do you think food on your table comes from?”

  Tim still didn’t say anything.

  “Why do you think you’re able to go to Bryant School?”

  Tim flashed on something his father had said a few weeks ago. He finally spoke up.

  “Because you go to the ATM and take out the Benjamins.”

  “Ha!” Ronald laughed. He clenched his hands and held his fists in front of his son. “Yes, it’s because I go to the ATM and take ‘em out. Why can I do that?”

  “Because you work at the bank?”

  “I get them because I work at the bank. And I don’t just work. I work better than anyone else.” Ronald unclenched his fists. He then held two fingers about an inch apart. “Son, I am this close to being Vice President of the Metals and Mining M&A team at the bank.”

  “What does that mean? You eat metal M&Ms at your desk?”

  “I wish it were that easy Timmy. But it means that I work really, really hard. And that unfortunately means that I cannot be home that much. I know it is hard on us right now. But trust me, give it a few years and it’ll all be worth it.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well,” Ronald paused for a moment, squinting into the distance. “You said you want to learn how to throw a baseball really hard and far just like Bo Jackson, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. And I want to throw a bat and yell at the guys in the black cage masks like Dave Winfield.”

  “Timmy, you crack me up! Well, let me ask you this. What if we can sit behind home plate and shake Bo and Dave’s hand while eating shrimp and drinking hot chocolate?”

  “That would be great!”

  Ronald stopped and pointed towards a piece of property up ahead of them.

  “Just take a look at that place,” he said, with a shake of his head.

  There was a set of four large ivory buildings standing next to each other. It was a massive complex, dotted by swimming pools, tennis courts and, of course, a bright green golf course. The two stood on a small hill with a view behind a six-foot tall stone fence guarding the property.

  “Timmy,” Ronald said heavily, “this is the New York Athletic Club. The key to it all.”

  “The key to what? Is that the name of a really big door?”

  “You have a wise guy streak today, hey Timmy? This is why we moved here. We need to be close to the Bryant’s, the Smiths, and the Allen’s. The kings of Finance. The Gods of Wall Street.”

  Tim let out a low whistle. “There is a street that has its own God? I want to visit this place.”

  “You may not understand now, but you will. You need to find a way to get along with those boys and to be their friends. We need to fit in to this community. You need to get good grades at Bryant.”

  “Even if they bully me?”

  “It’s all a part of the process. We need to be a part of that club. We need to work our way up. In order to be more, you need to take more. Even if it’s a punch. Even if it’s three punches, I get a reward. Even if they break a bone, I get more in return.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that for every three punches you get a commission and for each broken bone you are promoted to a better title?”

  “You sure know a lot about banks Timmy. But your cheekbone isn’t b
roken. And guess what? I have a surprise for you in the car! A brand-new toy!”

  Ronald turned on his heel and walked quickly back towards the car. Tim had to almost run to keep up with his father’s long steps.

  “But Dad,” he puffed, “I thought you said we weren’t buying toys…we have to save.”

  “Hey, sometimes a dad needs to treat his boy.”

  “But – but you said that for a family like ours to live in this neighborhood on your Associate’s salary that we couldn’t–”

  They passed the electronics store and reached the car.

  “I know what I said, Timmy. Just shut up and be a boy.” They got in the car, and Ronald took a plastic case out of the glove compartment. He handed it to Tim. “Here, take a look.”

  Tim dropped his jaw in excitement and surprise. It was an encapsulated plastic case that surrounded an Upper Deck baseball card. It had enough gloss to light up a dark room.

  “Bo Jackson!” he exclaimed. “Signed! Kansas City Royals! Wow!”

  Ronald beamed. “I knew it was for you when I saw it. Make sure that you save it Timmy. One day, it will be worth quite a bit.”

  A quick fifteen-minute drive, and the Mercedes L Class arrived in front of the Riley home on Lincoln Avenue. The split-level Ranch showed the need of a repaint compared to the newer and remodeled homes in the neighborhood. It still fit in with the Cape Cods, but the day when it began to be seen as a blight on the neighborhood valuations was not too far away.

  Ronald pulled to a stop in front of the house. He didn’t pull into the driveway, and he didn’t turn the engine off.

  Tim’s unease returned.

  “Son, I need you to keep a close eye on your mom and make sure she is okay,” Ronald said. “When I get back, we will get Bo there in a nice case for you.

  “Wait, you’re not coming in?”

  “I know that you can’t understand right now. But what you are going to learn when you’re older is, if you truly want something, you must do anything to get it.”

  Tim opened the car door the car in disappointment.

  “Shoot! I almost forgot!” Ronald exclaimed. “There’s one more thing I need to give you.”

  Tim’s eyes opened wide. “Is it something from Steve Wozniak? Daryl Strawberry?”

  “No, this one is more for you to learn, Timmy. I don’t know who that first guy is that you mentioned or what team he plays for.”

  “Apple,” Tim muttered.

  “That’s not a team. Bo Jackson will do for the baseball cards. I want you to begin to learn how to trade. I was able to get a comp machine from work. This is an IBM M400 Station.”

  Ronald pulled out a white box with the infamous striped, blue IBM logo from the back seat. He handed it carefully to his son.

  “You got me a computer?” Tim exclaimed in a squeak.

  “Yeah Timmy. Not just any computer. If you handle this computer properly, you can do anything.”

  “Anything? What type of games does it have? What languages can I use? Can I access the DNS?” Tim asked.

  “Your mom is the one who speaks Spanish. No games Tim. This is for you to learn and understand the market.” Ronald’s voice grew more serious. “The next time I am home, I will teach you. If you learn how use this baby, you will not have to make many of the same mistakes that I made to get where I am. Like I said, we will be in the club soon, Timmy.”

  The club? What club? Tim thought.

  “Thanks Dad,” he said aloud. “I have to go and help Mom. She has a fundraising event for the cats. She needs me.”

  “I know it is not as exciting as Bo but trust me. This machine can set you up for life.” Ronald smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant look on his face. “I gotta go. Tell your mom I said ‘hi’. Bo knows!”

  Tim stared, his face torn between surprise and confusion as he got back out of the car and closed the door. “Bo knows.”

  His father rolled up the window and gunned his Mercedes’ motor. In a few seconds, he’d vanished into the distant traffic.

  Tim held tightly to the white computer box while walking up the front steps. He opened the front door and stepped inside. The living room set could hardly be called antique. It was more hand-me down and ill-maintained. Green wallpaper covered a kitchen that had as many empty liquor bottles as appliances. The rare collectibles were locked in the hallway china cabinet. His mother’s voice sounded in his ear. As always, it retained a musical lilt, a hint of her upbringing in Puerto Rico. But now it was weak and odd sounding.

  “Timothy! Timothy, I need you!”

  “Coming!” Tim ran down the hallway, skidding to a halt in the middle of the living room. He stared in horror.

  Maria Riley lay on the couch, her delicate features curled up in pain. Her normally pert nose was a mass of smashed-in, swollen tissue. Crusts of dried blood dotted her lower lip.

  He dropped the computer box and his backpack on the floor and rushed to his mother.

  “Mom!” Tim yelped. “Are you all right?”

  “Is okay. It’s okay,” she repeated, as if in a daze. “I think I’ll be fine.”

  Tim shook his head. “No, Mom, I don’t think so! What happened! Were we robbed? Did someone–”

  “Your father and I…had an argument.”

  His stomach turned to ice. Dad? But Dad just bought me ice cream…

  “I’m calling 9-1-1,” he said firmly. “You need an ambulance.”

  “Don’t tell them!” Maria called, as Tim stormed out for the kitchen phone. “Don’t tell them anything, Timmy! Don’t tell them anything!”

  Chapter Four

  MY LYNX

  “Is there a Timothy Riley here?”

  Tim’s head jerked up from where he’d been reading the latest issue of Wired which he’d found on the ER waiting room’s table. He got up and tucked it under his arm.

  “That’s me,” he said.

  The nurse gestured for the boy to come closer. He slowly walked over in trepidation. Once he drew near, she spoke in a quiet, urgent tone.

  “Your mom is going to be okay. Her nose has been splinted, but the most important thing is that she’s cracked her pelvis. She’ll need to be brought home in a wheelchair.”

  “A wheelchair,” Tim repeated, sullenly.

  “That’s right, the doctor is writing her prescription. I haven’t been able to reach your father. Is there anyone else we can call? She will need to be driven home.”

  Tim thought for a moment.

  “My Uncle Marty is the only person who lives in New York. Everyone else is far away.”

  “Can you give me your uncle’s number, then? The tumble his sister took down the stairs was very serious. Your family must address the living situation.”

  Tim gave her the number, then asked: “Can I see her?”

  “She’s just down the hall on the right. Room 135. I have to try and contact your uncle, so don’t get lost, okay?”

  Tim nodded and walked down the hallway, passing several curtains blocking patient beds. He stared at the nurses in blue smocks with their hair and mouths covered with masks. Finally, he found the right room and pulled the blocking curtain aside.

  He gasped as he saw his mother’s face.

  Her nose had been taped to a splint the size of a popsicle stick. A mass of purple bruises discolored even her usually pearl-white smile.

  “Mom!” he cried in relief. He ran over and carefully embraced her.

  “Are you okay, Timmy?” she asked, in a weak voice.

  “Am I okay? Are you kidding? Thank god you are okay. I am going to take care of you. I promise. I’ll be with you every day until you get better.”

  “Don’t be so silly. You have school.”

  “I’ll miss as much as I need to!” Tim looked around carefully before adding, “Why did you tell the nurse that you fell down the stairs?”

  “Because…” Maria took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “That is what happened.”

  “Mom, we live in a split level. There’s
nowhere with more than three steps in our house.”

  Maria did her best to sit up straighter.

  “Let’s talk about that later, Timmy.” She pointed to the magazine under his arm. “What’s that?”

  “It’s an electronics magazine,” he said, as he took it out and handed it to her. “I was reading about how criminals can break into even the most protected servers. They can re-direct traffic and steal people’s identities.”

  “It sounds like science fiction,” she said with a yawn. “The drugs are kicking in. I think I need to close my eyes.”

  “I’ll be here when you wake up,” Tim promised.

  Maria slept. The world outside the window had started to turn dark before the nurse showed up again. Both Tim and his mom woke up as the nurse pushed an empty wheelchair into the room.

  “Mrs. Reilly, I have some bad news,” the nurse said. “We’ve been unable to contact your husband or your brother. Is there anyone else who you can call to come and pick you up?”

  Tim stepped forward. “Actually, Uncle Marty must’ve gotten your message. He just showed up a few minutes ago and went to the restroom. He’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, when he comes back, just make sure he’s there to sign you two out.” She helped Maria out of the bed and into wheelchair before leaving. “Good luck!”

  “Mom, let’s go.” Tim whispered, as he took hold of the wheelchair’s handles.

  His mother looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing, Timothy?”

  “We need to get out of here. It’s only seven blocks. Do you want to stay and wait on dad?”

  She shuddered. “No, I don’t.”

  A rumble of thunder greeted the two as they made it outside. Tim threw his back into pushing and got his mother off the hospital grounds. The chair’s wheels made a tic-tic-tic sound on the pavement. The sound was blotted out for a few moments as an eighteen-wheeler blasted by them, its engine rattling like a choking lawnmower. Tim ignored the stink of diesel and kept pushing.

  A burst of lightning came, followed by a second peal of thunder. The skies opened up, drenching the two in icy droplets.