Timothy's Game

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Authors: Lawrence Sanders
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Short Stories
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black coffees and two toasted bagels with a schmear. They wait for their breakfast to arrive before they get down to business.
    “Look,” Cone says, “it would help if you could tell me how the SEC works on insider trading scams. Then maybe I’ll know what you’re talking about.”
    “It’s a two-level operation,” Jerry says, gnawing on his bagel. “We get a lead and start gathering facts. That’s where I come in. If we can’t find any evidence of hanky-panky, the investigation is usually dropped. If things look sour, the staff goes to the Commission and gets an order for a formal inquiry. That’s when we get power of subpoena.”
    “Yeah, but what gets you moving? Where do the leads come from?”
    “Computers mostly. We couldn’t live without them. You know how many companies are listed on all the stock exchanges in the country?”
    “No idea.”
    “Neither do I—exactly. But I’d guess about twelve thousand. How could you check all those every day by hand? Imfuckingpossible. So the computers are programmed to pick up unusual activity. Say a stock has been trading an average of fifty thousand shares a day for months and months. Suddenly the trading volume goes up to maybe a million shares a day. The computer flashes a red light, bells go off, and an American flag pops from the top of the machine and starts waving madly back and forth.”
    “And that’s when you move in?”
    “Sure,” Bigelow says. “We want to know who’s trading. Most of the time it’s entirely innocent. A rumor got floated on Wall Street, and a lot of amateur arbitrageurs are hopping on what they hope will be a bandwagon—and probably won’t.”
    “So your computers do it all?”
    “Hell, no. Just the first line of defense. We also get tips from brokerage houses. Their computers pick up unusual trading activity. They report to us because they don’t want to get their balls caught in the wringer. Also, we get anonymous tips from divorced wives and husbands who want the boom lowered on their former mates. And sometimes we get squeals from honest executives who know or suspect the guy in the next office is buying or selling illegally on the basis of the next quarterly earnings report.”
    “You check out the executives first?”
    “Of course. If they’re officers of the company, they’ve got to declare buys and sells. If they don’t, they’re in the soup.”
    “Look,” the Wall Street dick says, “I know you haven’t got the time or staff to check out every piddling little trade. I mean you’re not going to investigate Joe E. Clunk of Hanging Dog, North Carolina, who bought ten shares of this or that. So what do you look for?”
    “Generally I look for trades of ten thousand shares or more. But if a corporation officer is involved, he’s as guilty if he trades a hundred shares as he would be if he traded a hundred thousand on the basis of inside knowledge.”
    “But he could get his relatives and friends to trade for him.”
    “Of course,” Jerry says, grinning. “Happens all the time. That’s when we’ve got to play detective, track down relationships, and tell them all they’ve committed a no-no.”
    “And what do they get for that?”
    “Usually they have to surrender their profits, pay a fine, and are put on probation. A few go to the clink.”
    “For how long?”
    “I think the longest sentence for insider trading has been four years.”
    “Which means the guy is out in eighteen months.”
    “Probably,” Bigelow says, shrugging. “But that’s not my problem. I’m supposed to make the case. What the judge decides is something else again.”
    Cone lights up a cigarette, after offering the pack to the other man. But Jerry declines.
    “I stopped smoking four years ago,” he says virtuously. “You know what those things are doing to your lungs and heart?”
    “Please,” Cone says, holding up a hand. “I’ve heard all the lectures and none of them take. Let me enjoy my vices. Now what’s this

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