The Big Killing Read Online Free Page A

her uneasy.
    “Well, they’re repurchase agreements. We, and other houses like us, sell governments to banks, municipalities, and private customers and then we agree to buy them back later at a profit for the bank or city—it’s called repurchase— or, we reverse that and buy their government securities when they need to raise cash, and they can repurchase them from us at some designated time in the future. You get it?”
    “In other words, the firm sells government securities to someone and then buys them back at a higher price on a date both parties agree to in advance.”
    “Yeah, somewhere between thirty and two hundred seventy days after. The difference in the price is how the customer gets his piece of the profits. And a reverse repo is when we buy the security from the client and agree to sell it back to him later.” He scooped up a fistful of nuts from the small dish and pushed them compulsively into his mouth.
    “Okay.”
    “Look, you know me. I never hold it against a guy if he can make money,” Barry said. “It’s that I’m curious. I’d like a piece of it if I can get it.” He almost smiled. “I listen. I stay late. I poke around. I want to know what’s going on. That’s the way I learn.”
    “I didn’t know Jake was into governments—seems tame for him. So what did you find out, Barry?”
    “Jake’s into anything and everything that makes money. That’s why I went there in the first place. But something’s going on that’s not kosher. I got evidence. I got to cover myself, don’t I? No one’s going to protect me.”
    “Evidence of what? Protect you from what?”
    “Listen, about six months ago ... shit, forget it.... I need you to do something for me, Wetzon. It’s my insurance. It’s a cover-up ... the Feds ...”
    A salmon jacket came close with a large tray of hors d’oeuvres. It was Wetzon’s favorite, steak tartare on small pieces of dark bread. Barry took two pieces, then Wetzon took a piece and another napkin. When she turned back to Barry, his face was pasty. Fear spread from the cleft in his chin across his clenching lower jaw. Over the white collar of his shirt the tendons in his neck swelled and tightened. His head began jerking spastically, up and down.
    “What’s the matter, Barry?” Wetzon was suddenly concerned that he might pass out. “Barry?” She looked over the balcony where Barry was staring but she saw nothing unusual. No one was on the stairs, no one was looking up at them.
    “I have to make a phone call.” Barry rose abruptly, jarring the table, spilling what was left of his Bloody Mary. The red liquid swelled on the shiny walnut tabletop. “I’m sorry—I’ll be right back.” He moved away in high gear.
    Wetzon was left speechless with the red-stained table and the rest of her Perrier, which had not spilled. Still holding the uneaten piece of steak tartare, she watched Barry rush headlong down the stairs, half-expecting him to fall. Then he stopped, glanced toward the bar, looked back up at her, and sped on until she could no longer see him.
    Martin checked her from the floor, a question in his eyes. She shook her head and mouthed, “It’s all right.”

4
    Wetzon polished off what was left of the spicy tartare and stretched her legs under the table. Her right foot thumped against something solid. Easing her chair back, she ducked her head to find the source. It was Barry’s big attaché case.
    “Now we know he’ll be back,” she murmured, wondering what kind of trouble he was in. She had never seen him so unsure.
    Again she recalled her first meeting with Barry, at the Four Seasons. He had been so full of his own success.
    “After all,” she had said, beginning her approach, “not every firm is right for every broker. It’s very much a chemistry thing between you and the firm, between you and your manager. A lot depends on the kind of business you do, whether it’s diverse, full product, or just stocks and bonds. Are you heavy into