Dead Cat Bounce by Nic Bennett Page A

an inside trader,” Franky admitted in a whisper, shaking her head.
    “He’s just pissed that you had information and he didn’t,” Jeeves reasoned, nodding at Dog. He adjusted his bow tie.
    “Said he was going to report us to the authorities,” Franky added, her eyes wide.
    “Nonsense. He says that every time,” Milkshake contributed, his eyes darting to Dog and Jeeves for approval. “He’s only trying to gain an edge on you for our next battle.”
    “Yeah, we stuffed him,” Birdcage mimed. Jonah almost glancedup from his computer to chuckle at the way he said it. The comment seemed devoid of logic, as if he himself didn’t fully understand the words that were coming out of his mouth.
    “Him and many others,” Dog corrected, grinning.
    “There’s a few here who won’t be happy,” Franky said, more to herself than to anyone else.
    “Ahh … screw them!” Jeeves yelled. Then with a wave of his arms, he added, “Another killing for the Baron and the Bunker Boys!”
    Everyone cheered.
    Jonah listened as the traders prattled on, smiling to himself as he continued inputting the data, but it was not until their discussion shifted to all the things they were going to purchase with the bonuses they’d make that Jonah’s ears really perked up. Milkshake mentioned that he was going to buy a black Maserati to go with the five he already owned. Franky said that she was going to buy some more gold jewelry because her doctor boyfriend didn’t have the cash, a comment that only led to the others mocking her for her poor choice in men. For his part, Jonah didn’t add anything to the conversation. He’d already acquired an iPod, and he could hardly wrap his mind around what it would mean to buy even more than that in so short a span, even though it sounded tempting.
    The traders’ moment of exultation was cut short when the Baron yelled out, “Oi! iPod. You got those numbers done yet?” (Though Dog did add, “Yeah we’ve got stuff to buy!” for good measure.)
    Jonah did have the numbers ready. He handed them to the Baron.
    The Baron stood up, hit a button on his desk, and stood armsapart like a game show host. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s show time!” he announced, and the Bunker Boys cheered even louder than they had a few minutes earlier.
    Jonah looked around the trading floor. Everything had stopped. Everyone was staring their way, though Jonah couldn’t make out where his father was among the confused masses.
    A drumbeat started to thump out of speakers hidden somewhere in the desks. It was the sound of tom-toms: dark and mystical to Jonah’s ears. Suddenly there was a scream: “Yeow!” And again, “Yeow!” Now maracas joined the tom-tom beat. More screams followed, conjuring up images of black magic and witch doctors in Jonah’s mind.
    This was a song like nothing Jonah had ever heard before. The drums were driving it with a dark satanic beat, and the traders tapped along with their hands on their desks. Suddenly, the Baron’s voice rose above the rhythm. It was a surprisingly soft voice from such a big man, but clear. “Please allow me to introduce myself,” he sang.
    A number flashed up on the TV screen, and Jonah’s jaw dropped at the size of it: 123,749,666. This was the amount of money the Baron and the Bunker Boys had made this morning. One hundred and twenty-three million, seven hundred and forty-nine thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars.
    Even the traders seemed shocked at the sheer scale of their profit. For a moment their drumming ceased, their mouths fell open, and their eyes opened wide. The whole floor was silent in shock, the only sound being the Baron’s voice, singing about the devil, Lucifer, the crucifixion of Jesus, the murder of the RussianCzar, Adolf Hitler’s blitzkrieg across Europe, stinking corpses, bad cops, and pain.
    And all at once everyone on the trading floor was on their feet cheering, and the Bunker Boys were screaming and laughing. Jonah turned