HARMONY

Part 35 "I see you've met the con man"

Steve pushed the buttons on the calculator as if his life depended on it. He sat at the wobbly motor home's table across from Sparrow and Neil, the drummer. With the precision of a surgeon transplanting a beating heart, Steve created columns of beautiful numbers.

"So, as you can see," Steve paused to clear his throat, "with a few changes in expenses you will see a gradual increase in overall profit. Plus, by investing your cash capital, your checks to the IRS, will be, well, a lot less."

Sparrow scooted closer to Neil and rubbed his arm. Neil reached over and grabbed the yellow pad, looking at the numbers. He pulled at his ponytail. "What the fuck do you know?"

Steve sat up as straight as his broken body would allow. "Admittedly, I'm sure I look like an idiot in your eyes. But I do hold an MBA from Pepperdine and have almost 15 years experience running a brokerage firm."

Placing both elbows on the table, Neil leaned over. "So, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Sparrow leaned a little closer and touched Neil's arm.

With his working arm, Steve rubbed his face. "I don't really know." Taking a deep breath, he met Neil's gaze. "But I do know money. I know money like you know music. And I've been listening and reviewing some files." He tapped the numbers. "You know you're getting screwed, but you don't why or how. That's where I can help. If you give me the spreadsheets and last two years of tax returns I could—"

"Could what? Find a way to take a cut for yourself?"

"Neil," Sparrow said. "He's not here to take anyone's money. He wants to help."

The motor home rocked as the rest of the band clambered aboard. In silence, they formed a motley semi-circle around the trio.

Steve scooted over and motioned for them to sit. One by one, they gathered around Steve and his magic calculator. Without hesitation, he crunched and he wrote. He explained the facts and figures like a scout leader showing his cubs how to build a fire using dry tinder, long sticks and, of course, lighter fluid. Steve's ballet of numbers danced across the page to blaze in a fat profit.

"You're this smart and you're taping gaff?" asked the band's leader. "You one of those mentally ill fucks?"

"I can see why you would think that," Steve said. He drew a stick figure of a house and four people. "I have, or had, a huge house, a smart, beautiful wife and two awesome kids. The economy turned. I lost everything. I couldn't face them." He drew an X across his stick figure. "Like a coward, I ran away."

"That's fucked up," the leader said. "But good enough for me." The rest nodded in agreement.

The door opened once more. Rex stepped in and took in the scene. "I see you've met the con man."

The faces turned to Steve. His eyebrows lifted as his mouth dropped. "Con man?"

"I know your bullshit. You play the number games; they trust you with their money and then you disappear." Rex took two heavy steps toward the gathering. "I have friends who warned me all about him."

"I am certainly not planning to take anyone's money," Steve said. "I may have made a few bad business decisions, but I was really a victim of the lack of regulation from the banking industry coupled with an insatiable greed from a generation of an entitled middle class that I---"

"Con man bullshit and lies," Rex said. "Should I take him out and kick his ass?"

Sparrow squeezed Neil's arm. A few eyes glanced at the numbers etched carefully on the papers strewn across the table.

Steve squirmed. "He has no evidence. In fact, I'd like to cross examine some of these so called friends." He met Rex's hard look with his own. "I guarantee there's no basis behind any of your allegations."

Rex walked to the table and grabbed Steve's arm. 

 "Not this time," Steve said. Rex grabbed Steve's arm.

Steve straightened his back. "Well, I mean, sure Rex, you can take me outside again and kick my ass. I've only got one good arm and probably three ribs left to break." He looked around at the faces for flickers of support. "Your violent nearly Neanderthal acts will not change the numbers written on this pad." Steve tapped the papers. "I might be a moron when it comes to taping gaffs, but this I know—Wicked Snicker's profits could double in the next three months and then by investing the appropriate percentages, it will serve to double each band member's overall net, um your take home pay, by the end of the fiscal year."

"Fuck your fancy words!" Rex said. "I'll percentage a neanderthat profit right up your bony white ass!"

"Hold on, Rex." A band member said. "I ain't convinced this guy's a moron. He's made some good points and we're going to hear him out." The rest grunted in agreement. In a small tempest, Rex exited the trailer. 

Sparrow gave Steve a wink and Steve returned the favor. 

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