Читать книгу The Dryline - Jack Grubbs - Страница 20

Eleven

Thursday, January 7

Houston, Texas

His name is Herman Soboda. He’s a small-time lawyer in League City.” Frank Milsap paused as a young waitress arrived at the table.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Peregrine. I’m Ginna, with two Ns.” The pretty young lady smiled at her new customers. “May I offer you a cocktail?”

Frank gestured toward his partner. “Bart?”

“Belvedere on the rocks.”

Frank added, “And I’ll have an Old Parr on the rocks. Thanks, Ginna.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked toward the bar.

Frank continued quietly. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, right arm over left. “He won’t be a problem. Either money or duress will take him out of the picture. No problem at all. But, of course, that’s your business, not mine.”

“You’re right. It’s not a problem. Once Soboda’s gone, we’ll have Fred Barrister work his way into the company. Duquette is gullible and won’t be a problem. I’ll have Fred delay their patent until we have our own. Once we have the plans, he can move it through the system.” Bart looked toward the bar. He wanted his drink. “The patent will be ours in three months.”

Frank’s lips tightened. “Aren’t you bringing a lot of people in on this? I’m not sure we should be expanding it.” He waited for a benign answer.

Bart was on edge. “Damn it, Frank. Don’t you get it? If we’re successful, this thing will be worth billions. On the other hand, if this guy pulls it off and Wellington is shut out, we don’t get squat. That’s not going to happen.”

Frank mistrusted Bart, but did not fear him. “Well, here comes an eye opener for you. Why not pay him some decent money? Three, maybe four million will give it to us with no hassles and no legal issues.”

“You’re dead wrong.” Bart tapped his finger on the table. “I’ve learned that—”

The waitress appeared out of thin air. She placed the drinks in front of each man and a bowl of assorted nuts in the center of the table. “Shall I run a tab?”

Bart answered quickly. “Yeah.”

Frank added, “Thank you, Ginna.”

Bart swallowed a third of his drink immediately.

They returned to the discussion. Bart said, “This guy has no intention of budging for less than tens of millions. Hell, you heard him yourself.”

“Quiet down some. Or invite everyone in here to our table.” Frank took a large swallow of his own.

Bart continued. “Since he won’t show us the plans, I’ll have Aguirre either steal one of the prototypes so we can break it down, or have him spend several nights taking it apart and putting it back together.”

Frank signaled Ginna, holding two fingers in the air. She waved and headed back to the bar.

Frank acquiesced with some admonition. “All right, but here’s what I don’t like. For the first time since we’ve had, shall I say, projects of our own, you don’t seem one bit organized.” He bit his lower lip slightly, ala a pensive Bill Clinton. “And, if we go the whole way, I don’t feel like giving the profits to Wellington. There damn well better be a mechanism where we pocket the bulk of the profits.”

Bart’s eyes lifted toward Frank. “I’ve given it great thought. You and I are about to be pretty good conceptual design wizards. With the help of a mechanical draftsman, our basic concept—which we’ll get from their design—will be turned into a fortune, owned by us as individuals, and provided to Wellington for a huge percentage of the profit. You’re also the finance wizard. I handle the device and you show us the money. We walk out as billionaires, the company stays solvent, and everyone—except what’s-his-name—ends up happy as a pig in shit.”

Three more rounds of drinks and two bowls of nuts disappeared as a specific strategy emerged.

Frank left first, headed to a formal dinner party that he did not wish to attend.

Bart called Ginna over. She walked to his table, smiling all the way. “Yes, sir. Are you ready for the check?”

“No. Let me see your menu.”

Don was curious. “What’s your take on this guy?”

Elam answered quickly. “He’ll work out fine. Name’s Carlos something. He’s eager to work. Sharp, articulate, confident but not too cocky. Said he met Juan several weeks ago playing pool and heard good things about us.”

Don, unconvinced, asked, “What’s he know about stripper wells?”

“Enough. Has some background as a roustabout and was a car mechanic. I think he’s just what we need.”

“OK. Let’s start him at fourteen bucks an hour and see how he works out.”

“Gotcha. You coming out to the site tomorrow?”

“Won’t be able to. Tom and I need to finish up the redesign. I’ll try to get out there by Monday.”

They hung up, satisfied that they were still making progress. Susie walked out onto the patio just as Don pushed the end button to his cell phone.

“How’d you make out?”

Don looked up at his sister-in-law. “Great. Just hired a new kid to replace the one we lost.”

Fred called Bart on schedule—right in the middle of Bart’s meal. Their conversation played out between bites and completely on a one-way street. Bart Miles did the driving.

“Once Soboda’s gone I’ll let you know. You immediately call Duquette and take over.”

Fred Barrister answered, “No problem. I’ll make it happen.” He pondered his five-year association with Bart Miles. His first crossing of the line netted him $22,000. All he had to do was provide some purloined bidding documents to Bart. What Fred failed to understand was that he had the talent to make excellent money through sheer competence and initiative. He never needed Bart Miles.

Fred continued the conversation. “Right. Once on board I’ll slow down the process.”

“Keep me posted on any information he spits out. The guy talks a lot and will tell you anything you want to know.” Bart stabbed a scallop and a few green beans and stuffed them in his mouth. He pointed the fork at an empty seat while toning down his volume. “I know exactly how this is going to turn out. So do you, if you handle it right. When it’s done, and you’re one big fucking part of it, your payoff goes from thirty thousand to at least a hundred thousand. If it goes really well, I might just quadruple the tab.”

Fred sucked in a deep breath and looked up to his gods while thinking of his good fortune. It can’t get any better, he thought.