Public Case #1: Arena Attack

I was sitting in a downtown bistro with Benjamin Camen one Sunday in the dead of winter. This was the kind of place that was far out our league, with some trendy name I forgot the moment I read it and lunches that cost more than I'd spend on food in a few days. But the client had insisted, and we were here to meet him, not to complain. Besides, client meals fell under the column of chargable expenses, so it was all on the poor sap who suggested this place. Ben didn't pay for business meals as a rule.

Our client was an older man, with graying hair that was worn long and pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a heavy jacket and had the general apathy of a life-long New Yorker. When we showed up, ten minutes late, the man seemed both relieved and annoyed to see us. I couldn't blame him. He was paying good money for a bum and a kid, by the looks of things. Ben didn't worry about his appearance, his long brown hair was unkept and seemed to form a shaggy pelt that ran down to his ancient, scuffed coat. Certainly he turned heads in this kind of a place, looking as he did. That he came with a scrawny eleven year old Japanese boy didn't help his case any. I felt as out of place among all these well-dressed white people as anyway, I think.

We sat down at the table and I reached into my backpack and pulled out the laptop where I kept all the information and notes related to the case in spreadsheets and slides. That was my job. Ben did the leg work and helped our client, but I was the computer guy. Benjamin Camen is many things, technophobe being among them. Not that I complain, that's the only reason he seemed to bring me aboard.

Our client, the long-haired guy, seemed impatient as he began speaking. I already had a client notes file where I'd transcribe what he wrote down. That was what I did on our meeting the client, keep quiet and let them talk and get as much information as I could. And I did my job.

Client: Richard ————
Age: 49
Occupation: Main Manager, Mooring Arena

Richard: Hello there ... who's this?

Benjamin: This is Sugoi. [ Because I was a minor, Ben insisted I use an alias and had cooked up Sugoi as an appropriate one. something about it sounding like my last name, Sugai, and how it meant wonderful. I don't know. I don't have a clue about Japanese, I'm from Long Island. ]

Richard: But what's he doing here?

Benjamin: He's my assistant. He'll compile all the information so I can work more effectively.

Richard: Can you trust him?

Benjamin: I certainly do. Now, what can I help you with?

Richard: I'm the general manager of Mooring Arena. I own it, you see. I heard through Pat that you frequent the place. [ Benjamin spent more money on music than anyone I had ever met, which was probably why he lived like a bum most of the time. He claimed it helped him think. ]

Benjamin: Been there, yeah. Is this relevant?

Richard: Well, you see, last fall a pretty big opportunity fell into my lap--an act that was far out of my league. Marton Syan, out of Japan, remember? [ When he said Japan, he looked at me. I didn't respond, because Ben didn't want me talking, but I thought about telling him off. ]

Benjamin: Marton Syan, yeah, I went to that one. Great concert. But they're over now, so what's the deal?

Richard: After that show, I was a bigger player than I had been. You know, better shows, bigger bands, things like that. I used to do a lot of underground stuff, which was great, but now I'm getting some established acts, people that bring in Joe Schmoe who's okay buying lots of merchandise because he's got money. I like that. Good for business. Finally making some real money.

Benjamin: I'm still looking for the problem.

Richard: Well, ever since then, there have been some accidents at the arena. At first I thought that's what they were--accidents. A falling light fixture, we had a wiring problem that did a lot of damage. Insurance investigators had a field day with that one, thought it was some sort of insurance scam. That's when I first started thinking that maybe the accidents were more than just accidents.

Benjamin: Someone's trying to sabotage you, you think?

Richard: I don't think, I know. After the wiring problem we had a stage malfunction, one of the trap doors gave way and one of my main sound guys broke his leg in three places. Nasty fall. When we found him, he was laying on top of a note. This note here...

[ Richard offered up the note, logged in the files as Item A. I'll relay the contents of the note here, but it was your standard newspaper cut and paste job, like something out of a movie. Silly, really. ]

Rick better learn his place or someone's gonna end up putting him there. Permanantly! [sic]

Benjamin: And you're thinking..?

Richard: One of my rivals, the other arena owners, probably decided to do this. They weren't too happy that I picked up Marton Syan. Said that it was asking for trouble. After all the things Marton Syan had going on in the press, they were supposed to be persona non grata. If they had their way, their wouldn't have been a New York City show. They were pretty pissed I picked them up.

Benjamin: And they're retaliating?

Richard: I got a lot of press. I was number three. Now I might be number two, or at least close. Those guys have been in the business for ages, and they're ruthless about it. If I'm cutting into their business, then they'd want to stop me. One of 'em, Maple Stadium, their board tried to buy me out. I wasn't having any of that. I can run my own show. I'm the only big single owner around, and I'm damn proud of it. I'm not going to let them take my arena from me.

Benjamin: If they're trying some sort of industrial sabotage, why don't you go to the police? Or a real private eye. I'm not licensed to take action. I'm only an information gatherer.

[ Which was true. The licensing for private detectives included such strict guidelines that Ben didn't bother applying. He sold his services under the table as an 'applied information consultant' and kept his business as far out of people's notice as possible. I'm not sure how legal that is, but he didn't mind. He had lots of friends. ]

Richard: These bastards are trying to take my life from me. I could send them to jail, sure, but that wouldn't teach them a lesson. They get a fine, maybe some fall guy takes the heat, and they go on with a little more care next time. No, I'd rather do this my own way, and show them that if they mess with me they're going to regret it.

And that was all the relevant information. The rest was talking about the fee, which was sizable and to be paid in cash. I kept the books, too, but that isn't information I feel like I should be sharing. And before you ask, I always got a cut. Benjamin insisted I save it, and put it into a trust for me to touch when I was older. He said it would easily pay for all the college I'd ever want when I got old enough. Outside of that, I always got fed and when I needed to upgrade my computer Ben would just write me a check. It was a good situation for a kid to be in.

Richard gave us a list of people he thought might be involved. They were the board members of competing arenas, and people who were in close contact with them. Benjamin took it and promised to get right on the case. Richard left without having ordered a thing, claiming he had other engagements. But he had already paid for our meals, which were soon on their way and which we enjoyed together in silence.