This is episode three of my latest novel in The Trace Troy Adventure series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. It is not yet available in paperback or digital format.
A Visit With Waldo Franks
A couple of days passed. Trace took a cab to the prison where Waldo Franks was incarcerated. He waited in the empty waiting room for ten minutes. Franks walked in, escorted by two guards. The guards stood at the door.
“Thank you for what you did and for coming,” Franks said.
“I’m glad things turned out the way they did,” Trace said.
“Did my son get in touch with you?” Franks asked.
“He worked the deck on the way back from Pago Pago.”
“How did he do?”
“Awkward, blistered, sunburned—he’s fine,” Trace smiled.
“How did it go when he came here to see you?”
“Awkward,” Franks said.”It got better each time he came. He was here yesterday. He told me all about sailing.”
“Once he gets the hang of working on the deck and the sails, I’ll show him how to sail it.”
Franks held his head down and looked up at Trace. “It is strange, I get the impression he pities me. It bothered me. And I took a look in the mirror. I mean that literally. I looked a long time. I am one to be pitied. I substituted money, influence, and fame for maybe the only thing I’ve really loved, my wife and son. When she left, I thought she would be easy to replace; bright lights, stacks of money, clothes, expensive cars, a villa, and more. It was all wrapped around me to protect me from the pain I ignored.”
“Sometimes we pass on the goodness that we never knew we had,” Trace said. “Your son is a good man. I like him. Sage, my first mate, likes him. And most importantly, my cook likes him—and that’s a tough one.”
“It’s his mother,” Franks said. “She was such a good person. Too good for me, really. The best thing she ever did for Paul and her was to take off like she did.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Trace said.
“Do!” Franks grinned. “You might have saved my son’s life. At the very least, his future happiness. I’m in your debt. Speaking of which, I suppose you want some more money.”
“Actually, the thought never crossed my mind.”
“Cally got paid,” Franks said. “What do I owe?”
“What you paid to start with was enough,” Trace said. “I wouldn’t feel right about taking another dime.”
“What about the others?” Franks asked.
“They’ve been paid out of what you already gave,” Trace said. “There wasn’t anybody who said a word about more money.”
“Think about it, won’t you?” Franks said.
“I’ll give it some thought,” Trace said to assuage Franks.
“So, what’s next for you?” Franks said. “Where will you be taking my son?”
“I don’t know yet. I told Allie to give us a week before she starts gathering freight for us.”
Franks leaned back in his chair. He made a couple of expressions indicating he might be puzzled.
“What is it?” Trace asked.
“My son was an intern for some tech company. He solved some really big problems for them and never considered for a moment what it was worth to the company, and what he should be paid for the problems he solved.”
“Interns don’t usually get paid for work,” Trace offered.
“But they should get paid for inventing or discovering,” Franks seemed to plead.
“Well,” Trace said, “next time he’ll keep it to himself and come back in six months as a consultant, that’s where the real money is.”
“Now you're thinking right. That’s the way I’d do it. But here’s what I’m really getting at. How do you do something for nothing? It doesn’t make sense. You don’t want another dime for what you did. You should be trying to bleed me, for all I’m worth; you know, it’s politely called negotiations.”
“You mean something like Demeter was doing?” Trace said.
Franks turned his head away for a moment and then back to Trace. “I have to think about that.”
“Yeah, think about it.”
“Running a casino is all legal,” Franks said.
“Then what are you doing in jail?”
“That was all my sideline,” Franks said.
“So that made you a fine upstanding member of society?” Trace asked.
“I kept that sort of activity away from the real crooks,” Franks said. “Lowlifes who have no regard. They just waste their money on another vice. No good to the community is ever served.”
“So you paid taxes on all your illegal gains?” Trace said.
“Not a chance,” Franks said. “I hid them in my casino; they paid taxes.”
“How many bank accounts did some of your illegal gains go through before being laundered?” Trace asked.
“This is a useless exchange,” Franks said. “You will never understand me, and I will never understand you.”
“If you say it is,” Trace said.
“But I want to,” again, Franks seemed to plead.
“Maybe you never will,” Trace said.
“I’m irredeemable?” Franks questioned. “Is that what you are saying?”
“Maybe,” Trace said.
“But you didn’t turn down any of my dirty money,” Franks said.
“Yep,” Trace said. “And maybe that’s why I don’t want any more.”
Franks ran his finger through his hair. He pondered what Trace said. “Thanks for visiting.”
He stood, and the guards came and got him.
“Take care, Mr. Franks,” Trace said.
The guards escorted Franks back to his cell.
Trace returned to The Tramp Islander.
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