by Alan Cook
Chapter 26
The building with the Tartan Enterprises logo
on it was up the hill from Market Street. I
wondered whether Tartan owned the building
or was just the major lessee. If James considered
San Francisco real estate to be a good investment,
I knew he'd be in it. Tartan occupied the highest
floors of the building, a dubious perk in a city that
had been ravaged by strong earthquakes as
recently as 1989.
The first thing I discovered upon exiting the elevator
was that Tartan actually had some female
employees, including the efficient receptionist
who greeted me. In addition to assisting walk-in
visitors, she answered telephone calls and pounded
on a computer keyboard at something approaching
the speed of light.
When I told her I had an appointment with Mr.
Buchanan she called his suite and then directed
me to a private elevator, not available to ordinary
mortals. It whisked me to the top floor of the
building, where I was greeted by Stan.
"It's great to see you, Karl," he said, shaking my
hand. "Did you have a good flight up?"
He was dressed in a dark suit, similar to what
James' assistants wore at the casino, and I
was glad I had worn my one and only suit for
the occasion.
I resisted the impulse to voice one of several
retorts that came to me and merely said,
"Marvelous flight. You're looking very professional
today."
Stan led the way into by far the largest office I
have ever seen. It was in the northeast corner
of the building and the two outside walls were
solid glass. The view encompassed both the Golden
Gate Bridge and the Oakland Bay Bridge, as well as
part of the San Francisco skyline and many other
points of interest.
James was sitting at a gargantuan desk, talking
on the telephone. He wore a sport shirt,
unbuttoned down to his chest hair. Executive
privilege.
He hung up the phone, trekked around the desk
and shook my hand, saying, "Karl! You're looking
good for a Monday morning. Thank you, Stan. I'll
call you if I need you."
Thus summarily dismissed, Stan exited the office,
but not before stealing a backward glance at us.
I suspect he wanted to be in on the kill.
"You haven't seen our quarters here, have you?"
James asked, and then before I could reply he
started taking me around his office, pointing out
the view in each direction, of which he seemed to
be inordinately proud. When he finished he said,
"Not bad for a boy who grew up in Wick, eh?" and
looked at me for my reaction.
I said, "Aren't you afraid of going through the
window?"
Not only was the glass floor-to-ceiling, but it
actually slanted outward at the top.
James took a few steps back from the wall and
ran limping at it, while I held my breath. He crashed
into the window and I fully expected to see him
disappear in a shower of broken glass and fall to
the street below. However, he bounced back
grinning.
"Satisfied?"
"Don't try this at home."
"Actually, it's more dangerous to get out of your
bathtub at home."
James waved me to a chair facing the glass wall
and sat in a chair at a 45-degree angle to it.
One of his male assistants brought us drinks
without being asked, the clear drink that I had
seen James with before and an iced tea for me.
I must be in the database now.
When we were settled, James said, "First, tell me
about your trip to the UK."
Taken aback by his brazenness, I was stuck for an
answer. I half-stuttered, "You probably know more
about it than I do."
James laughed, almost choking on his drink. He said,
"You've got to warn me when you're going to tell
a joke. Look, Karl, I didn't get where I am today
by beating around the beaver. Did Michael tell
you he was working with me?"
"No, but I figured it out. And I assume you had
something to do with the hoodlum in Hyde Park."
James frowned. "Michael assured me he was
dependable. That's what happens when you
delegate. I understand he botched the job. He
wasn't supposed to get rough. I hope you and
Arrow didn't get badly hurt." He looked at the
bruise on my cheek, still evident, as if spotting it
for the first time. "But I heard you sent him away
screaming."
"Arrow did."
"That girl's got more balls than any of the
testosterone-challenged boys on my staff. It's
too bad she's a...girl. I'd love to have her work
for me."
"I'll tell her that. But I want you to promise me
that no harm will come to Seamus."
"Oh, Seamus is safe enough from me. There's no
point in locking the barn door after the manure is
gone. I assume he told you bad things about me
in connection with the Dickie Stewart incident."
"They weren't complimentary."
"There was never any love lost between Seamus
and me. But you can't believe everything he tells
you--just as you can't believe everything
Michael tells you."
I saw no point in going into the details of what
either one had told me so I kept quiet.
"Next topic," James said. "I understand you got
your baseball card."
"I haven't actually received it yet, but I expect
to soon. But I want to talk to you about that.
Since I can't afford it, why don't we turn around
and resell it."
"It's your card so your decision. But I suspect that
you won't get your money back with too quick a
sale. It's got to age for a while, like fine wine. And
as far as what you owe me, that's easily settled.
All I need from you is one little favor."
I had walked into his parlor and was entangled
in his web, so what could I do but listen?
James appeared to gather his thoughts and then
said, "If I have any investment philosophy it's to
stay flexible. The approach I take varies from
company to company. With some companies,
I'm content to take a minority interest. In other
cases I've purchased a controlling interest in a
privately held company. The trickiest thing to do
is to acquire a controlling interest in a
publicly-held corporation because you usually
have to battle management."
"Why would you want to do that?" I asked.
"There are companies with untapped potential.
For example, they might have products that
aren't being marketed properly. Profits could be
greatly increased with the proper management.
But when management is the problem, naturally
the managers object to being replaced. That's
why it's necessary to gain control of the company."
"And you feel that Dionysus is one of these
companies." Isn't that what he was leading up to?
"Nothing against your father or Ned, God rest his
soul." James sipped his drink through a straw and
looked out at the ant-like cars crawling over the
Bay Bridge. "As you know, I've known Ned all my
life. I took an interest in Dionysus at the time
Richard brought Ned into the company and I've
watched it ever since.
"I never invested in Dionysus because I wanted
to stay at arms-length from Ned, for personal
reasons. But he and Richard did a brilliant job
of growing the company. However, recently I
felt they missed some bets."
"Is that when you started buying Dionysus stock?"
"Yes. Once they began to make mistakes, any
obligation I had to Ned to stay out of his life
ended. In the corporate world, management has
a responsibility to increase value for the
shareholders. If I can do it better than the current
management, then the shareholders benefit if I
take over the company."
"If," I said, marveling at his hubris. "But who's to
decide if you're the knight in shining armor who
is going to save the company?"
"The shareholders. By voting either for me or the
current management."
"If you take over Dionysus, what is going to happen
to my father, uh, Richard?" I asked, already
knowing the answer.
"Richard has had a good run. The package he would
get would put him on Easy Street. His stock would
be worth more because I would pay him a
premium over the market for his shares. He
would be able to recover his health without the
stress of business to worry about. He would live
a good life. I think his new wife..."
"Jacie."
"Jacie would appreciate it too. They would have
more time together. They could travel..."
"Sail off into the sunset. What about the other
employees?"
"We'll need all of them to keep Dionysus growing."
"Including Arrow?"
"Including Arrow. I've got big plans for her,
believe it or not."
I took a rain check on that one. "Okay, where
do I fit into this?"
James leaned forward in his chair and looked me
in the eye. He had an unblinking stare that was
hard for me to meet, the mesmerizing stare of
the predator before it strikes.
He said, "As you know, Richard opposes my takeover
of Dionysus. However, even though he's your father
you can rationalize letting me take over because it's
for his own good. But without the votes of the stock
he controls, there is only one way I can do it. I need
to have Elma's proxy."
Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the room.
I abruptly rose and walked around, trying to get
my breathing under control. I walked back to my
chair, but I didn't sit down.
James watched me but he didn't move. He said,
"Two weeks ago I thought I had her proxy nailed
down. Then you and Arrow went on your pilgrimage
and now I find that she has defected--or at the
least is seriously wavering. Your job is to get her
back in my camp. For reasons we've already gone
over, this won't make you a traitor to Richard."
My brain was spinning, but I had sense enough to
think of one thing. "If you can't convince her, how
can I? She used to be your girlfriend..."
"We know each other too well. And we know how far
we can trust each other. I need the intervention of a
third person to plead my case. You have more
credibility than anybody with her, except perhaps
Arrow. And I don't..."
He stopped, but I could imagine the rest of the
sentence: "I don't have anything to hold over
Arrow at the moment."
I tried again. "You're a sporting man, James. Let
me play blackjack for my freedom. If I don't
increase my initial stake by ten times, I'll help
you with Elma."
James laughed. "Too late. I've already given you
the money for your card. You can't have it both
ways. By the way, you've got two weeks to pull
this off. That's when the Dionysus board meeting is."
"What if I fail?"
"You won't fail, Karl. Failure isn't in my
vocabulary. And starting at this moment it
isn't in yours."
# # # #
Grant Avenue was its usual busy self, teeming
with people and odors, basking in the infrequent
warmth of a sunny day with no foggy strings
attached. The odors, some of which emanated
from an open fish market, might have unsettled
my stomach if I had lingered too long. The
plastic-wrapped people of my generation weren't
used to being so close to the origin of their food.
I had made a quick change of clothes in my car so
as to blend in with the tourists. I was just another
sightseer strolling along with the crowds.
I turned onto the side street where Ned had met
his demise, searching for I don't know what. It
looked like any of a dozen other streets in the
area, with shops selling an eclectic array of
goods, restaurants with exotic names and food
to match. I'm not sure I found the actual alley
where Ned was killed. Alleys have a sameness
about them.
I spotted the parking lot where Ned's car had been
found and saw an attendant take money from an
incoming customer and give him a ticket. A parking
ticket. It occurred to me that Detective
Washington had never mentioned that a parking
ticket had been found in Ned's pocket.
What if the killers had found the ticket, gone to the
car, planted the cocaine and then returned the car
keys but not the ticket to Ned's pocket? The whole
operation could have been conducted in ten minutes.
And the parking attendant would not have been on
duty that late so nobody would have observed what
happened.
I turned several corners, at random, and found
myself in a residential area--row houses that
had seen better days. Fewer pedestrians here,
not much auto traffic.
On a street corner ahead three homeboys--is that
what they were called?--stood, smoking cigarettes.
The shaved heads, rings through every protruding
piece of flesh, tattoos, baggy jeans with crotches
down to the knees, could have been in LA, except
that I hadn't seen Asians who looked like this.
The sensible thing was to avoid them, go the other
way. But I wasn't feeling sensible. Maybe because
I was about to betray my father for a baseball
card. Maybe because I was looking for a miracle
to get me out of it.
I walked up to them and said, "I'm not a cop, but
I'd like to ask you something."
They stared at me, coolly, insolently. One said,
"Man says he ain't a cop."
Another: "Fuckin' right he ain't a cop."
The third: "We know all the cops. No cops we don't
know. We know all the cars. We know everybody
and everything in the hood."
The first: "You come in here, you don't belong,
we pick you up on the radar. You hang around,
you better have business here, and your business
is our business."
The second: "You a lost tourist from Grant. You got
no business here."
The Three Stooges, but they weren't funny. I should
just walk away, except that they had shifted
positions and were blocking the sidewalk.
"A guy was shot near Grant," I tried, "a couple
of weeks ago. Name of Ned Mackay. Word is,
someone paid to have it done. I just want a
name. Who paid for it?"
"We don't know nothin' about no fuckin' shooting."
"We're good little boys, don't play with guns."
I tried again. "I don't care who did it. I just
want to know who paid for it."
"How much money you got on you?" It was the
first boy, possibly the leader.
"About a hundred dollars," I said, cautiously. I had
at least that.
He spat. "A hundred dollars. Not even pocket
money."
The third one said, "Rabbit, you'd sell your sister
for 50."
They chuckled. I chuckled. A very small chuckle.
Rabbit said, "Let's see the money."
Should I? What choice did I have? I pulled out my
wallet and counted out five twenties. When he
saw there was more he said, "Give me all of it."
Trying to appear cool, trying to hide my shaking
hands, I pulled out all my bills and handed them
to Rabbit. I put the wallet back in my pocket.
"If I give you a name," Rabbit said, "it didn't come
from me. You come back here with the cops, I
don't know nothing, you understand?"
I nodded. I had no plans to return under any
circumstances.
"The name is Stan."
"Stan?"
"You heard me. I saw a credit card in there. Give
me the credit card."
It was brand new. I had just received it in the mail.
"It won't do you any good. You won't be able to
use it." Reason with him. He's not such a bad guy.
"Give me the fuckin' credit card!"
He pulled something halfway out of his pocket. A
gun. I took out my wallet again and gave him the
credit card. I turned to walk away. One of the
others blocked my path.
"Okay, I'm outta here," I said. Talk lightly. Breezily.
I stepped to the side to walk around him. He
stepped with me. Like a macabre dance.
"Let him go," Rabbit said, irritably.
"He might bring back the cops."
"He won't bring back the cops. He's a fuckin'
tourist."
"I have to catch a plane," I said.
I stepped carefully around the guy and walked
away, expecting to hear gunshots, expecting
to feel bullets tearing into me with each jerky
step I took.
Behind me I heard Rabbit say, "C'mon. I know
where we can get cash for the card."
# # # #
What next? I looked out the window of the plane,
not seeing anything. I had called the credit card
company. I had replenished my cash. Fortunately,
they hadn't taken my ATM card. I had cut my
financial losses, but what about my psychic losses?
The gangbangers I would get over, but being a Judas
was not me. What if I did nothing? If Elma voted with
James, I was in the clear. But what if she didn't?
Chances are she wouldn't. According to my father,
Arrow had convinced her to vote with him.
What would happen to me? What happened to Ned?
Stan. Stan was the front man for James. He
contracted with the killers. He knew where I lived.
Okay, go to the police. Tell them James paid to have
Ned murdered. Right. James, one of the most influential
men in San Francisco. And me without a shred of
evidence.
Why did James have Ned killed? Because Ned owed
him. Probably lost The Game and promised to deliver
Dionysus to him. Then reneged. That's what happens
to people who don't keep their promises to James.
I wanted to scream. Right there on the airplane. Make
a disturbance, get myself arrested. If I'm in jail I
can't be working on Elma. Hey, sorry, James,
something came up. Did a little time so I couldn't
help you. Heh, heh. Catch me again, later.
But James is a good businessman. We've got to separate
that fact from his moral failings--meaning an occasional
murder. If everything goes his way there won't be a
problem. Everybody wins. Including my father. Everybody
is happy. My father forgives me when he sees I was right.
The sun rises in the west.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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