Reg Devers. He wasn't on the list, but I was sure I'd heard the name before. A quick call to my man Rory confirmed my recollection. Reg Devers was a full throttle contract accountant to the corporate stars, with a noisy reputation, and currently in the employ of a company called Bravo Consulting. My, my!

According to Rory, rumours on the street recently placed him in the sights of some of our fair city's criminal denizens, members with whom, he reminded me, I was quite familiar. Karen Winsett's threat rang a little chime in my head.

Another quick call to Bravo, and I learned from Devers' secretary that he was not in. I could try Mr. Smithee, she suggested, they were working together on a project. Unfortunately, Mr. Smithee was unavailable as well. Karen had not returned after our coffee break.

It appeared nobody worked except me, and I wasn't getting anywhere. I asked several more questions under the pretext I was representing an important client, and after some clever chatting, an achievement I wasn't able to manage with Karen, wangled Devers' home address, a Tudor style house in a neighbourhood just outside the city, described as upscale.

Checking my watch, I opted for a late lunch before tracking him down. Nora was tied up in a meeting, no chance of eating with my wife, and I asked her secretary if she needed rescuing. She giggled and gushed,

"How silly you are, Mr. Wallace".

I agreed and rang off. Nora would suck her teeth when she heard another report about one of her husband's calls.

My mechanic also sucked his teeth when I called to find out about my car. If I couldn't get Devers by phone he'd have to wait until the morning.

●○●○●○●○●

Carleton Smithee drained the rest of his brandy and automatically dabbed at the neatly trimmed fringe of grey moustache that sheltered his upper lip. The Seth Thomas, antique clock chimed gently, and he compared the time with his pocket watch, an affectation he enjoyed practising during business meetings.

He felt it placed opponents at a disadvantage, leaving them to consider the possibility that their time was not only incorrect, but also intrusive to his busy schedule.

Carleton slipped on his jacket and allowed the business of the trust to invade his thoughts for a moment. Apart from he and Ellington, and of course the potential recipients, Reg Devers, Bravo's contract accountant, was the only outsider that knew of the trust, a circumstance that was unavoidable when moving the original money.

It wasn't in the best interest of he and Ellington to have an outsider privy to the knowledge of its existence, considering its use, so covering as many bases as possible, he felt that monitoring Reg more closely would be prudent, and found a guaranteed and personally rewarding way that might be accomplished.

He was preening over his success in perfecting the strategy of additional resources - namely the principle women involved. He fastened the buttons of his jacket and looked again at his watch. The time showed him that he was late for his dinner date; Julie Devers was not someone a gentleman kept waiting.

●○●○●○●○●

Reg Devers sat alone in a booth at the Avocado Grotto clutching his drink in both hands. A static-ridden version of Dylan's 'Return to Me' seeped from the overhead speakers, adding to his misery; the rock and the hard place had become vivid realities.

The trust fund Ellington had established for his daughter came at first as a blessing from heaven, a safe place to temporarily secure the funds to cover his gambling debts. The fact that he had been able to disguise the amount he took so easily, and that nobody noticed the dwindling funds was at first a puzzle to Reg, one he originally chose to ignore.

The second stroke of luck was the surprising extension of the trust for another year; this gave him time to replace what he'd taken. At first it was an apparent lifesaver, but instead of using the time to stop his gambling, he had continued the flood of losses, and was back sinking in the same boat - only faster.

A flicker of hope suddenly appeared in Reg's ongoing nights of misery. After agonizing hours of worry, he had a sudden flash of insight as to why Ellington had extended the trust for another year.

Ellington saw the business dipping dangerously low and had raided the trust too! That's why nobody noticed or said anything about the depletion of money; there could be no other reason, they couldn't admit the money was disappearing.

The discovery almost made him giddy. Until he also realized at the same time all fingers would ultimately point to him; as the accountant he would wear the entire theft alone - the perfect fall guy.

●○●○●○●○●

Reg needed money and he needed it fast, both for his gambling debts and to replace what he stole from the trust. He tipped back his drink and his eyes fell on the wall calendar by the washroom, he had just over a week. Reg thought about the trust and it's stipulations, and as he did so he thought he saw a way out. Jarmon Wyatt.

It was rumoured, with more than an ounce of accuracy, that Jarmon was fooling around - Karen Winsett the most current - and Reg figured he would be happy to pay him to keep quiet about his infidelities. After all if Jarmon did get caught screwing around he would get nothing because Cynthia would get nothing. Yes indeed, Reggie old boy, Jarmon was the perfect solution.

Reg checked his watch and hastily sifted through his options as he polished off one drink after another. Now that he'd decided on a strategy, he needed to refine his approach, and he needed some physical proof if possible. He wondered if he could get something on record from Karen, for a cut.

He hurried to his car and made his call in private. It was treated with a string of abusive accusations and a threat to report him to Ellington; Reg barely managed to end the call before she became mad enough to follow through.

He blew out a noisy breath and closed his cell phone then stared out the wind shield of his car and pursed his lips. Shit! So much for that approach. "Well," he said aloud. "If you can't join 'em, lick 'em. Karen will just have to fall into the category of collateral damage." He turned the key and started the car.

Reg had driving manners that were totally out of sync with his nerdy appearance. He played his horn like a studied instrument, complimenting it with loud arias of profanity as he barged through the homeward-bound traffic. The idea of bracing Jarmon calmed him a little

He jammed down on the accelerator and swooped onto the highway entrance ramp.