That feeling lasts exactly three days. At about 3:30 p.m. on the Saturday before Labor Day, I receive a call from Lenny. Speaking in a voice even more slurred than usual, he says: “Hey, bro, a guy from this jet company is going to call you in a few minutes and ask for your credit card.”
“What the hell for, Lenny?”
“He’s not going to charge your card, bro. It’s just an authorization on it so I can reserve a private jet to get me to Atlanta, where I’m going to pick up half a million dollars in cash.”
This is pretty much the precise moment when things begin to go wrong—when I should’ve realized that no matter how enthralled I was with the idea of working for Nails and his high-rolling magazine, I should’ve simply said no. I ask why a supposed multimillionaire needs an employee’s credit card for his flights. He mumbles something about having “high-limit cards off the charts” that, for reasons unknown, do not allow him to make telephone authorizations.
“Lenny, I’m trusting you to do right by me. I don’t want to be stuck with these charges,” I say.
“You can trust me with your life, bro,” he replies. And then: “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
On the Tuesday after Labor Day, I receive a call from the charter-jet company that my credit card has been denied for new authorizations over $22,000. I correct the man on the phone: “No, there should be only one authorization, for $13,000 or $14,000.”
“Mr. Coughlin,” he says, “Mr. Dykstra has requested another flight from Helena, Montana, to Atlanta, in the amount of $22,937.”
Lenny, it turns out, has made a personal stop in Montana, on my credit, to spend some time with his son Cutter, who plays for the Helena Brewers, a minor league affiliate of the Milwaukee Brewers. I call Lenny, who assures me that it’s only an authorization, not a charge. I remind him that using my credit card information without my permission is credit card fraud.