The Misadventures of Maestro Maximilian

Chapter 1 The Scam It was well past 2AM, and Zane Worth was still working tirelessly at his color printer. After months of refinement, the bogus bill looked remarkable, but the finicky counterfeiter was still not satisfied. The myriad of intricate details and complex hues were nearly perfect, but the background paper was not an exact match. Then, there was that exasperating coded strip embedded within the document. That irritating detail had been an almost insurmountable problem. He took a moment to curse the US Treasury Department, and quickly returned to his work. Adding the different flecks of color on the paper from the real bill details on his computer screen, he copied the results along with the problematic black strip onto a blank bill. Encouraged by the results, he printed over the blank with the rest of the one-hundred-dollar scrolling. After scanning over the final result carefully, a shrewd smile broke out over his face. The Ben Franklin looked first-rate, yet conspicuously unused. However, after a pass through the washing machine and some quick ironing, Zane was sure that the bills would fool most unsuspecting people. He saved the finished document on his computer hard drive and printed a thousand copies, changing the serial numbers after every ten bills. Once he had generated one-hundred-thousand dollars, he carefully trimmed the forgeries and let them cure under a black light. Well aware that one had to be extremely careful when passing on counterfeit currency; Zane had formulated a scheme to remain safe from detection. When spending bogus money, he knew that most people’s biggest mistake was greed. Some impatient numbskulls used the phony cash to buy high-ticket items like cars or jewelry but were quickly caught by experienced shop owners who knew have the bills checked before the sale was finalized. An even worse idea was to try and pass off the fraudulent cash at a casino. Even the most exhausted blackjack dealer could spot a fake Franklin in a nano second. Zane knew, once you were escorted to a back room and the casino goons had done their worst, they would then turn you into the Feds, extremely bruised and bloodied. Zane felt far too clever to make a boneheaded blunder like that. Mr. Worth had decided to go into the pharmaceutical business. He had met with an underworld contact at the local strip bar and had placed an order for a hundred grands worth of pure, uncut cocaine. His plan was simple. After purchasing the drugs with his phony notes, he would cut it, package it, and then sell the junk on the street. He figured he could quadruple his investment and have real cash to boot. He assumed that the high-quality fake bills would most likely go undeleted by the drug cartel runner and would quickly be laundered by shady foreign banks. If his contact didn't examine the loot with a fine-toothed comb, Zane figured he was sitting on easy street. The night of the drug transaction, Zane carefully packed the ersatz bills into a suitcase. He placed real one-hundred’s on the top of each stack just in case the seller might use a chemical pen to check for fakes. With his stomach tied in knots, he didn't want to think about what would happen to him if he was caught red-handed trying to pass off the tainted currency to the mob. Zane drove to the rendezvous site; a seedy hotel located in a heavily blighted section of Queens. Following his contact's instructions, he had rented a rundown, roach infested cubicle for an hour. Once inside the grimy room, he placed the briefcase on a table visible through the front window, then sat on the bed. A few minutes later, there was a sharp rap on the door. With his heart pounding wildly, Zane opened the door and the man from the strip club walked in carrying a medium sized satchel. Without uttering a word, the short and rotund stranger placed the briefcase on the bed next to Zane and opened the latches. Inside were ten individual packages, each containing a brick of cocaine. Zane cut open one of the bags and scraped off a bit to taste. Not being completely unfamiliar with the substance, Zane immediately knew he had a fortune in unadulterated drugs sitting next to him. When the forger nodded his head in approval, the sinister contact opened Zane's suitcase, quickly flipping through the stacks of money. Returning the head gesture with a grim smile, the underworld goon grabbed the cash, then quickly disappeared into the night. Zane sat motionless on the bed for several minutes, his brain awash in relief. He couldn’t believe how easily the deal had gone down. Grabbing the briefcase, he exited the room, then made a hasty retreat to his car. Once safely inside, he gunned the motor and raced back to his place. After flinging open his apartment door in a rush, he quickly locked himself inside. As he started cutting down the first white block, his brain was already formulating plans as to how he was going to spend the money. With genuine cash in hand, he was going to go on a shopping spree, followed by a trip to the BMW dealership. He was tired of living like a bum, and knew that his ship had finally come in. Eventually growing weary from the evening's excitement, Zane barricaded the front door with a chair and made his way to the bedroom. He quickly fell asleep with grandiose visions of the high life swirling inside in his spent brain. The next morning, Zane finished preparing a batch of eight balls, and called some of his user friends to see if they would be interested in a buy. To obtain a name for himself as the premier cocaine dealer in the area, Zane had purposely cut the pure cocaine by fifty percent, knowing that the highly euphoric effect would still be most stimulating to his buyers. Within the hour, one of his pals had dropped in, excited at the news of scoring some primo Colombian nose candy. They sat at the kitchen table, first carefully stacking lines of power on a mirror, then snorting the highly potent drug with one of Zane’s bogus bills. The effect was instantaneous, and both men were instantly sent reeling from the exhilarating rush. After the second hit, his high-flying friend threw down three grand to buy all that he had prepared that morning. Feeling completely invincible, Zane sent his buyer packing so he could start preparing additional product to sell. By late afternoon, he had produced another ten grands’ worth of blow. His plan was to visit the most popular night spots and bars in Manhattan. Once the word had spread about the primo crazy dust, he was convinced he could peddle his entire stash within a few hours. After checking out his dismal reflection in the mirror, he realized that first thing on his agenda was to purchase some better-looking duds. After all, anyone hanging out at a high-class establishment wasn’t going to be interested in buying anything from a dealer dressed like a bum. He pocketed his friend’s cash and sauntered outside, cheerfully hopping into his late model Buick without a care in the world. At the mall, he requested some help from a well-dressed clerk, claiming he had no idea what was in style these days. In less than twenty minutes, Zane was looking at an entirely new man reflected in the mirror. He was astonished to see at how well he had cleaned up. With his formfitting suit, wavy black hair and transparent blue eyes, Zane thought he looked like a trendy Esquire model. Thoroughly pleased with his transformation, he tipped the clerk a fifty and walked brashly out the door. Gussied-up in his black silk Italian suit, Gucci loafers, and skintight crimson shirt, Zane strode confidently into the swankiest bar in mid-town called Cloud 9. He knew this was the spot where the cream of well-healed New York society came to let their hair down and mingle in a highly charged atmosphere.