JM02 - Death's Little Helpers aka No Way Home Read Online Free PDF Page A

tanked.”
    “A good guess— but wrong. The Pace people tell me that, if anything, he’s gotten worse. Going from hero to goat overnight was a real kick in the head for him— which is maybe understandable. I mean, one day he’s everybody’s favorite market expert, and the next nobody takes his calls. That’s got to hurt.”
    Neary shook his head and helped himself to more onion rings.
    “Once he got over the initial shock, he demanded that his management get out there and defend his good name— circle the wagons, call out the marines, that sort of thing. That went over like a lead balloon, of course. Pace-Loyette just wanted it all to go away. Their tactic was to say as little as possible, and they suggested to Danes that he do the same. That apparently made him crazy— or crazier. He’s gone from arrogant and contemptuous to openly hostile and paranoid. He claims management is setting him up as a fall guy.”
    I worked on my sandwich for a while and thought, while Neary put an end to his buffalo. “If he’s so hostile and so nuts, why hasn’t Pace gotten rid of him?”
    Neary put his flatware at parade rest and took up his napkin. “If not for this SEC threat, and the investor grievances still floating around, they would have. As it is, they’re reluctant to force him out— and all but guarantee that he becomes a hostile witness in any action. They need to keep up at least the pretense of a united front.”
    “Then why not do what other firms have done? Make a deal with the guy. Agree on a sum in exchange for a nice quiet resignation.”
    “From what I hear, the issue with Danes is ego, not money. He wants his rep restored; he wants vindication. He’s got no interest in going gentle anywhere.”
    “So he’s still got them by the balls.”
    “It seems to be a talent of his.”
    I finished my sandwich and the waitress came by to clear the table. We passed on dessert but said yes to coffee.
    “How good is the Journal’s information?” I asked. “How likely is it that the Feds will target Pace?”
    Neary snorted and shook his head. “How the hell should I know? I’m only slightly more welcome than you are down at One Saint A’s these days— which means not at all. And I’ve been getting the cold shoulder at the Woolworth Building too.”
    One St. Andrews Plaza is downtown, near the courts and City Hall, and it’s where you find the office of the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Neary and I had had dealings with that office late last year, as part of a case he’d helped me with, and the ill will we had left in our wake apparently extended a block or so west, to 233 Broadway— the Woolworth Building— and the regional offices of the Securities and Exchange Commission.
    “Tell me these guys have nothing better to do than nurse their grudges,” I said.
    Neary gave a rueful laugh. “Don’t kid yourself. We got special training in that, down at Quantico.”
    “Still, I find it hard to believe all your sources are dry.”
    Neary shrugged. “I’ve got some friends of friends who tell me that Pace is just one of several firms the SEC is looking at. Apparently, no decision’s been made on who or when.”
    “Have they been talking to Danes?”
    “Not that I’ve heard.” The waitress refilled our cups and Neary’s belt chimed again. He pulled the wireless out, peered into the tiny screen, and read. He shook his head and sighed.
    “Fuck it, John. How about we give up the investigation shit and go halves on an eatery someplace. Maybe a bistro in Murray Hill or a tapas bar in the East Village. It couldn’t be more aggravation than this.” He drank some coffee. I smiled.
    “Has Pace filed a missing persons?” I asked him.
    Neary ran a big hand through his hair. “Not yet. So far they’ve convinced themselves it’s not their responsibility. And it’s not like they’re in a big hurry to have him back. Besides, they don’t relish police attention or the kind of