Quant Mulholland
A neo-noir about HFT, water utilities, and an ancient bust
Happy Holidays! Today we have a not-so-Christmasy neo-noir— but it’s a longer read for you to enjoy during this slow time of the year. Check out the other installments in my one-story-a-week series and don’t forget to subscribe for more of my work!
A. Toy
Shepard has not heard this name before. Yet here it is, written on the top corner of the envelope, where the return address ought to be. Why would someone simply write their name in lieu of a return address? Would the post office know who this person was? Did this person want to conceal their address from him? Why?
He takes a butterknife out of the kitchen drawer and uses it to slice open the envelope. He unfolds the letter within and sets it on the counter to read, leaning over it such that his long hair and robe drape down.
To you, the letter begins.
I am not a man. Nor an illusion. You are confusion. Let me explain.
It has come to my attention that you are in possession of a certain artifact of mine. One of your men dug it out of the ground as you were repairing a sewer line off Cahuenga Boulevard. It is a small bust of head carved of ebony with emeralds inlaid on each eye. I’m sure you know of what I speak. While I harbor no ill will towards you for absconding with this item, I would like it returned to me as soon as possible.
You may do so by meeting with me at the Katz Diner this Thursday morning at 10am. I’m sure you will recognize me when you see me. If you arrive before me, I insist that you not purchase any food. I would like to treat you with a meal as a token of gratitude for restoring this lost item to me.
I hope to see you then and, if not, I will make sure to see you soon.
With gratitude,
A. Toy
Thursday he’ll still be working the Bel Air job. Could Tyler handle that on his own? Not the whole day, certainly not. But he could handle a couple hours on his own. Yeah, Tyler could handle a couple hours. Shephard could come get the guys started and then steal off for a couple hours to meet with this Toy fellow.
So the bust has an owner, huh? A shame. It’s worked well in the foyer, greeting guests at the door, although no guests have visited since he found it. Shepard’s even fancied himself as bit of an art curator, showing that thing off. He smirks. An art curator, huh? What is he supposed to say if someone asks him about it? “Oh yes, this bust dates back to the Iron Age in modern day Uganda. Scholars believe it was a tribute to the wife of King Mbatu III.” Oh yes, he would sound quite smart explaining this bust to guests. An art curator. Man, who would buy that?
Just then, Tyler rolls into the driveway with the pick up. Shepard knits his brows and goes to the front door, standing at the threshold as Tyler gets out. “What’re you doing here? We said 8:30, right? It’s 8.”
“You got any of those ponchik left?” Tyler says.
“Ponchik— you’re came here expecting breakfast?”
“Those things are good. I knew you wouldn’t eat em all.”
“This house is not a diner for my assistant to feast in.”
“Well do you got the ponchik?”
“Yeah, I got the fucking ponchik. Get in here.”
He lets him inside and goes to get dressed. Meanwhile Tyler heats up the oven for the pastries. When Shepard comes back to the kitchen, Tyler’s got one foot on the table, leaning back as he reads the letter and munches on a custard filled ponchik.
“You’re telling me Alexander Toy owns Jenny?”
Shepard shoves Tyler’s feet off the table. “I’m afraid so. How do you know that name?”
“Everybody knows Alexander Toy. He owns the water.”
“What’re you talking about? He’s sure as hell not DWP.”
“Nah, he’s higher than that.”
“Like he’s on the the control board?”
“I don’t know but he’s rich. And he’s gonna take my Jenny from me.”
Tyler rises then with hands reaching in front of him as he waddles to the ebony bust in the foyer. He picks it up and dances melancholically, singing “My Jenny, my Jenny.”
Tyler’s like most people when it comes to money: he’s in awe of those who have it but he doesn’t really know how to get enough for himself. That must be why he’s heard of this Toy figure and not Shepard. Toy’s some guy the tabloids and the people know because he’s rich. To the people who are more interested in work than money, people like Shepard, he’s not on their radar. The idea that he “owns” the water is ridiculous. How could a private individual “own” a public commodity? Why would Tyler believe this? What the hell are they teaching these kids in school?
He grabs the bust from Tyler, puts it back in the foyer’s alcove, and says, “Let’s go.”
That night, with a bag of McDonalds and a mug of peppermint tea, Shepard sits on the couch to investigate this Toy figure a little more. There’s not much about him online. He does have one public profile, where Shepard can see a picture of the guy. Striking green eyes, thick black hair streaked with silver. Turns out he is DWP, although he’s not a commissioner and Shepard’s never heard of him before. He’s only been there one year. His title just says “Administrator,” with no explanation. He does have two other experiences listed. He was a “Private Equity Specialist” at Goldman Sachs for over 20 years. Then in the mid-2000s he pivoted to “Business Development” at a firm called Sellerate. He worked there seven years before landing his post at LADWP. What the hell is a finance guy doing at LADWP?
He clicks on this firm Sellerate. It’s description means nothing to Shepard, either because it’s poorly written or because Shepard is too stupid to understand, he’s not sure which. “Sellerate is committed to world class research. We partner with global organizations to design, develop, and deploy cutting edge technologies to new scientific and financial frontiers.” All the people working there are kids no older than Tyler— although by their profiles they look significantly brighter. They’re all software engineers. There’s just a few old guys thrown into the mix and, although their races vary, their pictures all give the same vibe as Toy: broad, clean, whip-smart.
He stuffs the last bite of his burger into his mouth. When he swallows, he suddenly feels enormous, having gorged mindlessly as he lost himself in his computer. His eyes ache. He takes a sip of tea, the fresh breath of mint soothing his stomach and brain. He should go to bed. Whoever this Toy guy is, it doesn’t matter. Shepard’ll meet with him, he’ll return the bust, and that will be that. But what the hell is Toy doing with the bust anyway?
Thursday comes. Tyler and Shepard drive over to the Bel Air property. They pass through the bronze gates and roll along the cobblestone driveway, passing the marble statues that stand stark white against stretches of brown grass. Soon this will all be green. The guys are already out in the field, working away with the trencher and backhoe. Shepard and Tyler come out to meet them.
“¿Qué pasó jefe?” Rigo says.
“No pasó nada,” Shepard says, “You guys are early.”
“It’s like you said, right? We gotta take pride in our work.”
“You guys really took that to heart, huh?”
“Claro.”
Shepard takes a gander at the men and sees Denílson wandering around behind the backhoe, looking at the ground. “¿Qué pasa con el joven?” He asks Rigo.
“Ah,” Rigo says, grimacing. “He says he’s looking for piedras. Rocks, you know. He says he doesn’t want them to get in the way of the zanjadora. You know how he is.”
Shepard nods for a moment and then walks out to Denílson. “¿Qué pasa, joven?”
“Buscando piedras.”
“No te preocupes con las piedras,” he says. He puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder and begins to speak in low and insistent Spanish, explaining how they are an equipo, a team, and how it is important for a team to work together. He recalls a previous job they did together, a long and arduous repair of a water main that took two weeks, working from 8pm to 2am so as not to interfere with traffic. Shepard had been proud of Denílson’s work for that project and he tells him this. And then he recalls that Friday when they had finished the job and the whole team went over to Rigo’s house and enjoyed some carnitas and beer in the backyard until the sun rose. Specially he recalls the feeling that was in the air that night, that feeling of camaraderie, and how that is the feeling you get when you do hard work together, and he’s sure that if they work hard on this job that feeling will come again. “Es despacio,” he says, “Pero vendrá el sentimento.” He steps back and searches for Denílson’s eyes, which eventually lock with his. “¿Entiendes?”
“Sí.”
Shepard pats his shoulder and Denílson walks over to the other guys to occupy himself with a more pressing task.
Shepard returns to Rigo. “Me voy.”
“¿A las cariñosas?”
“No no. Otro cliento. Ya regreso.”
He takes the keys from Tyler and sets off.
Toy was right to say Shepard would recognize him as soon as he walked into the diner. The man is the only one wearing a suit and he instantly stands to greet Shepard as he enters. “Mr. Burns,” he says, shaking Shepard’s hand. “Thank you for coming. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“A pleasure to meet you as well.”
“Is that the bust?” He says, pointing to the duffle.
“Yessir.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Please, sit.”
The waitress comes around and Shepard orders coffee. “Do you mind, Mr. Burns, if I order us some food as well? I know the menu well and I’m sure one of my selections will suit you well.”
“I’m not picky. Go ahead.”
Toy orders pancakes with a side of Thai sweet chili sauce, chicken mango sausage, eggs benedict with lox, and three “Kitty mini omelettes,” a house special.
“May I see the bust?” Toy asks.
Shepard unzips the duffle and hands the thing to him. Toy holds it in the air.
“I’m sure you were surprised, finding this bust in the ground,” Toy says with a smile.
“Yeah, I mean, it looks valuable, but I don’t know anything about art.”
“Hm, yes. Well, ‘art’ is a big of a finicky term. I think of it more as an artifact or a relic. Maybe even an idol.”
“Um… okay.”
“Would you like to learn its history?”
“Sure.”
“I had a client in the 90s who was involved in some diamond operations in Liberia. One day, the bust was discovered in one of the mines. The locals were very divided over it. There were some who broke into prayers upon seeing the item, worshipping it as if it were the sign of a coming messiah. There were others who hissed at the thing, spitting in its direction. Violence broke out between the workers who wanted to keep the bust and those who wanted to destroy it. The foreman broke in and ended the violence— albeit through their own violent means. My client heard about the affair and instantly secured his possession of it.
“He contacted a West African studies professor at the University of Cape Town, who found the piece puzzling. While it shares similarities with many Sub-Saharan art styles, it has no features that pin it on any one culture specifically. One story she did share with my client was about a bust that is famously cryptic in West African studies. Nsibidi writings from the Ekoi people, dating around 200 BC, allude to a powerful kingdom to the northwest. It specifically mentions a ‘mask’ or a ‘statue’ that was used by the king to lead his army all the way through the Sahara to defeat another powerful kingdom in the area around Timbuktu. How this ‘mask’ or ‘statue’ or ‘bust’ was ‘used’ has always been unclear. That was until my client discovered it.
“The client set his bust in his office as a nice decorative piece, not giving it much thought. He worked in an importing and exporting business. One of his men was frequently insubordinate. My client would call him into the office to assign him a task and this man would have a whole laundry list of reasons for why this task was impossible. But one day, everything changed. My client called his man into the office, assigned him a task, and the man simply said ‘Yessir. It will be done.’ My client figured there was some trick being played here and waited for the rug to be pulled from under him. But the rug was never pulled. The man continued to follow his orders and, in fact, my client had no issues with any of his staff being insubordinate.
“Then one day, my client changed his mind about the location of his bust. It would look much better in his living room at home. He removed it from his office and placed it on his coffee table. The next day, his employee was just as insubordinate as ever. My client was totally vexed and pressed the man to tell him why it was that he was so obedient one day and so disobedient the next. The man simply said that his orders used to be reasonable and this one was impossible, despite the fact that this task appeared rather simple compared to his other orders. The same day, his wife reported to him that their children had been unusually agreeable when she had told them that play time was over. My client put two and two together and realized he had the very bust used to guide the ancient African army deep into the Sahara.
“That is the power of the bust. That is why this item is so important to me.”
Shepard, leaning into his seat with his arms crossed, realizes he should probably say something. “Oh… um… wow.”
Toy raises the bust in the air, admiring it for a moment before stowing it in a nice leather handbag.
The food comes. Toy asks for two plates, which they begin loading with the sumptuous assortment. Toy spears a sausage with his fork and chomps off the tip. “Mm!” He says. “They make the sausage so delicious here. I don’t know how they do it.”
Shepard likewise finds the food delicious, which was not what was he was expecting from the dingy look of the place. He slurps down a piece of lox benedict and thinks about what Toy is telling him. A magical African artifact. Controlling people’s minds, making them more obedient. Maybe it’s true what people say. Wealth makes you crazy. This dude is off his rocker.
Shepard tries to change the subject to something more relevant and real. “If you’re DWP how come I’ve never met you before?”
“I work on select projects that only a few people know about,” Toy explains.
“What kind of projects?”
“I wish I could say but there are many reasons I can’t. Let’s just say I connect people.”
Off his rocker.
When they’re finished eating— that is, when they’ve finished about three quarters of the food in front of them and cannot eat anymore— Toy says “I hope you’re not too busy today. I have a job I want to run by you.”
“A job?”
“Yes. A job. A job that connects people. I can explain it more to you but, to do so, we’ll have to swing by my estate. Is that something you could do today?”
“Maybe. I’d have to make a call first.”
“Please, by all means, do what you need to do.”
Toy pays the bill at the counter. Shepard steps outside to the sunny parking lot off of Wilshire. He calls Tyler.
“Bossman!” Tyler says. “How’s Mr. Toy?”
“He’s good. Listen. What did you mean when you said he ‘owns the water?’”
“Oh that? I don’t know. You just see clips of him at fashion shows and galas and all that. Something about water ways in LA. People just say he owns the water.”
“Okay.” Tyler can be so useless. “I think he’s got a job for us.”
“Dayumn. We boutta be rich for real.”
“We’ll see. You think you and the guys are good the rest of the day?”
“Oh yeah, we good. ¡Rigo! ¡Apurate!”
“Don’t say that to Rigo. Only I can say that to Rigo.”
“Whatever you say, bossman.”
“I’ll give you a call when I know more.”
Toy comes out and gives Shepard the address. They agree to meet there. Shepard gets back in the pickup and sees Toy roll out of the parking lot in a jet black Mercedes.
Shepard turns off Mulholland onto a long driveway leading to an iron gate that automatically opens as he approaches, as if there are cameras nearby that know who he is. He moves along, passing through trees, wherein there are various abstract sculptures that look somewhat like trees, but are also totally different. It’s like they’re from a world where there aren’t anymore trees but a sculptor tried to replicate what they might look like with metal. Shepard does not understand them but he can tell they are expensive. They give him an eerie feeling. Then the trees clear up to reveal an impressive modern house with floor to ceiling windows that must be 20 feet tall. He parks next to Toy’s Mercedes and goes to the door.
Toy answers it himself and gestures for Shepard to enter. “Welcome,” he says. “Please, follow me. I have something I’d like to show you.”
Inside is a wide open floor plan combining several distinct areas: a grand dining table by the back windows, overlooking the city below; a conversation pit with a gas fireplace in the center, rising to the ceiling in a glass column; a few Scandinavian armchairs gathered around a record player, accompanied by a vast collection of vinyl as well as three large bookcases. Toy leads him down a spiraling staircase to another wide open room, this one without windows. The glass column from the fireplace extends down into this room as well, wherein there is yet another conversation pit. The walls are lined with books and the only light comes from the gas flames. Toy continues down the staircase and Shepard follows, until they reach a steel door. Toy scans his palm on a screen to the left and the door slides open to reveal a long hallway. Down this hallway, there’s another door where he scans his palm again. Inside is a fluorescently lit room. The glass column extends down here as well. Inside the column, there is not a gas fire pit, but a naked man sitting cross legged on the floor with his head down.
The steel door slides shut behind them.
“You remember your colleague, David Jeffers.” Toy sits on a leather chair by a small table and crosses his legs. “Don’t be alarmed. Please, sit.”
Shepard continues to stand, looking at the man.
Jeffers. Husky, boisterous Jeffers. The Jeffers he worked on the Silverlake project with. The Jeffers who was a goddam son of a bitch. Always more expertise, always more disciplined men, always more energy to secure and attack every bid that came up. One hell of a competitor. The Jeffers who Shepard always got along with. The Jeffers who everyone got along with. The Jeffers who just… vanished. Went to see his brother in Santa Barbara one day and just disappeared along with his truck. Well, here he is now.
But can this silent, emaciated figure really be him? It has his likeness but none of his soul. What the fuck is this Toy doing with him?
“Mr. Jeffers and I had a good working relationship for a while,” Toy says from his leather chair. “I entrusted him with the bust, you see. I saw that he was the best contractor the DWP worked with— sorry if that offends you— so I contacted him to see if he could help me with my little project. His task was to do two things. One was simple. All he had to do was take this bust to whatever site he was working on that day and keep it in his vehicle to avoid drawing suspicion. The bust does not need to be exposed for its effect to work on people, you understand. The second was to instruct his men to install a fiber optic line along the routes at my direction. This was to be absolutely confidential. The bust would ensure absolute discipline, ensuring that none of his men would ever let leak that they were not working on water lines at all. They were working on fiber optic.
“Which may lead you to wonder what exactly is this project I’m working on. Much of it would go totally over your head, so I’ll keep it brief. I’m a finance man. I work with clients in Los Angeles to execute large trade orders in private and public equity markets. Stocks, basically. And in this business, in this year, two thousand twelve, speed is of the utmost importance. My clients need to be able to execute their order as quickly as possible, faster than any of their competitors. Because if you’re too slow— in fact, if you’re not the fastest player in the game— the other players will be able to see your move ahead of time and screw you over.
“My project, then, is to build a direct fiber optic line from Los Angeles to Wall Street. A straight line right across the country. The shortest path possible. And I’ve already almost done it. From Wall Street all the way to San Bernardino County, there is a direct line already built and ready. But in Los Angeles, this mess of a city, there appears to be only one way for me to get this line completed: mask it as a water project. Then no one bats an eye and you can secure right of way almost anywhere you please.
“Jeffers was helping me with this project and I compensated him for it generously. But there came a change over him. He started to have moral concerns about using this bust on his laborers. I tried to explain to him that there is no adverse effect on them. They just do as they’re told and it’s not like we’re telling them to do anything that is going to harm them. They’re being paid, after all. But he wouldn’t listen. And then he did the unthinkable. He buried my bust— my most precious possession— and refused to work with me any longer. Now he is here.”
Toy nods to Jeffers, who hasn’t moved.
“I’d like to work with you, Mr. Burns. You’re quite competent at your work. I assure you I would reward you even more than I did Jeffers as a means of thanks for discovering my bust. Does this sort of thing sound interesting to you?”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much of a choice.”
“You sound like you have the same moral hesitations as Jeffers. That’s not a good sign, you know. And there is no need to worry. Like I said, there is absolutely no harm done to the workers. They merely obey and keep quiet.”
“Why don’t you just use that bust on me and make me obey?”
“Oh, how I wish it worked that way. But that is impossible. The bust can only be controlled by one person at a time. If I use it on you, you wouldn’t be able to use it on your men.”
Shepard could fight the man. He studies him. Broad shoulders. Biceps showing through his suit. No. He isn’t the gushy type of rich man. He’s the self-obsessed type of rich man, who works as hard at the gym as he does at his profession. The fight would have to be to death and Shepard’s not in good enough shape to do that. Plus who knows who would come after him then.
“How about this?” Toy says. “I will entrust you with the bust to take with you to work tomorrow. Keep it hidden in your vehicle. And then, simply order your men around as you usually would. Notice the effect on them. I think you will see it is nothing bad at all.”
“… Alright.”
Toy smiles.
Daylight comes. Shepard’s room morphs from blue to yellow as the sun filters through the curtains. The freeway gets louder with fast cars speeding to work. Then it slows down as the traffic comes to a standstill.
Tyler pulls into the driveway. Shepard waits until there’s a knock at the door. He rises, slowly, to answer it.
“You ready?” Tyler asks.
“I’m in my pajamas.”
“Oh. I guess I should have picked up on that.”
“I’ll get dressed right now.”
Tyler waits in the kitchen while he does.
“No coffee?” Tyler asks from the other room. Shepard doesn’t answer.
When he’s ready, he comes out with the duffle slung over a shoulder.
“Is that the bust?”
“We should go.”
“Hey wait a second, you gotta explain some things to me. What did Toy say? What’s this project he’s gonna put us on? You haven’t said anything since you came back yesterday.”
“Stop asking about it.”
Tyler’s face becomes serious. “Yessir.”
Tyler has never called him sir before or, if he has, it’s only been ironic. So this is the power of the bust. Yessir. There’s something nice about Tyler not being the idiot he usually is. But still, yessir? That’s not Tyler.
They roll into the Bel Air estate. This time the guys are just getting there too. Tyler and Shepard held them unload some more PVC and they walk together to the site. The guys are chatting with each other. Usually, Tyler’d be trying to join in with them, speaking profanities in broken Spanish. But today he just carries the PVC with a calm face, not thinking about the guys at all.
Shepard talks with Rigo and assigns who will be doing what today. It should just be two more days of work. One day to dig the trench the rest of the way, one day to lay the rest of the PVC and clean up. With assignments done, Shepard heads back to the truck to type some emails.
A couple hours later, he sees that Denílson has already cut through the soil all the way to the pool house. The backhoe’s not far behind him. They’ll have the whole trench ready by lunch. These guys are working. So this is the bust, huh? Is that how Jeffers pulled off all his jobs in two weeks? Even less for the smaller ones? Denílson is on his knees, plunging the trencher down into the ground, right by the pool deck. He never looks up from his task. He just keeps plunging, turning the earth.
Shepard checks with Rigo to see if tacos would work for lunch. As always, the guys say yes. Around noon, Shepard comes back with 6 cokes and 24 tacos wrapped in foils of 4. They gather around the trucks to eat and Shepard’s surprised by their silence. They simply stare forward, wolf down their food, and wash it all down with coke.
Denílson rises and says, “Vamos.” Of all people, it’s Denílson who says this. It’s only been 15 minutes. But the guys all stuff the rest of their tacos in their mouths and follow Denílson out to the backhoe.
Shepard can’t focus on his emails. He just sits in his truck and watches, astounded, as the guys lay the rest of the pipe. At 3, they hook it up with the system of the pool house. By 4, they’ve already covered the line and are cleaning up. By 4:30, you almost can’t even tell there’s been work done at all, save for the backhoe sitting there on the grass. Rigo walks over to Shepard.
“You wanna get the trailer out here to take the backhoe back?”
“You guys are done? Really?”
“I think so jefe. It wasn’t that much today. Simple stuff.”
“We can take the backhoe tomorrow. Tell the guys we’re done.”
“You sure? It’s not too late. The guys wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.”
“You guys are good.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
Rigo walks back to the guys, who are still not chatting, merely standing at attention. Even Tyler. Shepard unzips the duffle to peak at the bust. Its harsh, impenetrable face. Its emerald eyes. This thing can do things.
Tyler gets back and Shepard rezips the duffle. “All good?” He asks Tyler.
“Yessir.” There is not a hint of light in Tyler’s voice.
They roll out and Shepard calls the client to update him. When he’s done he tries to start conversation with Tyler but he’s still so quiet. “What’s gotten into you?” He asks.
“What do you mean?” Tyler says.
“You’ve been so quiet today.”
“Guess I’m just focused on work.”
“Work’s over now. We can talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know.” There’s nothing he can talk about. All he’s thinking about is the bust and it seems like Tyler’s not thinking about anything at all.
He’s not thinking of anything at all…
“Hey Tyler,” Shepard says, “Can you stop by an ATM on the way?”
“Yessir.”
That same voice. He’s not thinking of anything at all…
The ATM won’t let him take out any more than a thousand. The banks will all be closed. This will do for now. He can figure the rest out when he… When he gets somewhere else… Somewhere else.
“Take me to Burbank,” he says when he gets back in the truck.
“The city?”
“The airport.”
“Yessir.”
When they get there it’s almost night. Overcast. Blue. A plane takes off, low overhead, orange and red lights blinking.
“Here good?” Tyler asks.
“Go down to the rentals.”
“Yessir.”
He gets out with nothing but the clothes on his back and the duffle with the bust. Before he shuts the door he pauses and looks at Tyler. That idiot. He’s a good kid. When will he see him again?
“Goodbye Tyler.”
“Have a good night, boss.”
That’s still not Tyler.
He approaches the counter attendant at the rental agency. “How much would it be to rent a car to New York?”
“I’d have to check the details, but our standard cars start at around thirty dollars a day.”
“You know what, give it to me for ten.”
She tucks her hand behind her ear and smiles. “Yessir.”