Stick (22 page)

STICK GOT TO WOLFGANG'S AT
ten after three, came into the dimness, the beer smell, with a thick manila envelope under his arm. He saw Chucky and Lionel right away, at a table in back talking to the guy who owned the place. Stick went up to the bar and waited for Bobbi to notice him. There—the big smile. This girl always made him feel good.

“Well, how you doing?”

“Not too bad.”

“What're you up to now?” Nodding at his outfit. “You still working for Barry?”

“Yeah, for a while anyway.”

“How's your daughter?”

“I'm glad you asked,” Stick said. “You should see her type.” He held up the nine-by-twelve manila envelope, placed it on the bar. “Fourteen years old, she could get a job in an office. Typed about ten pages for me, no mistakes. I offered to pay her”—he seemed both proud of this and surprised—”she wouldn't take it.”

“Well, of course not. You're her dad.”

“But I made her. Since I'm about seven years behind in her allowance.”

Bobbi said, “Keep your shirt buttoned, Stickley, your heart'll fall out.”

Lionel came over while Bobbi was pouring him a bourbon. He'd wanted to have a quick one or two first, but Lionel said, “What you doing? Chucky's waiting for you.”

Stick turned on the stool with his surprised look. “Yeah? Where?”

Chucky was wearing his fishing cap that had an extra-long peak, tan cotton with the restful smoked-plastic visor he could pull down eye level and turn day to gray evening. He felt no pain or anxiety—he was moving product, already most of the load Nestor had delivered—and he did not see his life at the present time in abnormal danger. If he had to tell what he felt at the moment—watching Ernest Stickley coming from the bar in sporty tan and gray attire—he would say curiosity. With a little suspicion thrown in to keep him on his toes. Living in what Chucky believed was the rip-off capital of the world could do that to you. Make you squint at life.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Stick said, holding the envelope to his chest, his drink in the other hand.

He glanced around the room as he sat down. Chucky noted this and said, “Nobody here but afternoon
drunks, a few tourists and maybe a sporty opportunist.” Watching Stick closely, testing him with, “I called Barry this morning . . .”

Stick said, “Oh, shit,” like all was lost.

“But he was gone,” Chucky said, grinning now. He saw Stick nervous, leaning in close to the table, looking so different than he did that first time.

“Jesus,” Stick said, “I thought you understood. Mr. Stam finds out about this I'm out of work.”

“Well, let's have it,” Chucky said. “Whatcha got?”

Stick had the envelope in front of him on the table. He pressed a hand on it as Chucky reached over.

“I don't think you better read it here.”

“You picked this place.”

“Well, just look at the first part. Okay?” He brought the prospectus out of the envelope and handed it to Chucky.

A familiar feel, familiar words, most of them. Chucky said, “You putting me on? This is the same shit as yesterday.”

Stick shook his head. “Look at it good. Norman Enterprises . . .”

“Yeah?”

“You see the title?
Scam.
Turn to the next page. No, the next one. See how it works? Thirty-five limited partners putting in seventy-two five each?”

“Yeah?”

“It's
almost
the same deal. But it's different. They worked on it yesterday, Barry and Leo Firestone, till late last night. They got a different story now. About a couple of dealers named Charlie and Buck . . .”

“You don't mean to tell me.”

“They pull the all-time Miami dope scam. Walk in and con the Feds out of forty million bucks worth of pure coke they'd taken off some Colombians. After a lot of action and sex, dirty words—be a minus R—they have a retirement party and invite all the narcs to it. It's a comedy, only based on real life.”

“Charlie and Buck?”

“Cool guys. Witty. Barry wants a lot of sex in it.”

“Yeah?”

“They did the story fast, you know. Leo says rough but inspired. It sounds pretty good to me.”

Chucky flipped through pages. “Say the offering's different now?”

“They took the tax fraud out of it. Now it's a straight deal like any other offering. You put in seven-two five and you and the other investors own half the movie. Not twenty percent like before, half. It's all in there. They put the investment money in Florida First National and if they don't make the picture you get it all back with interest.”

“So when's Leo going to pitch this one?” He saw Stick glance around again.

“What do you think I sneaked it out for—give you a peek if you're going to see it anyway?”

“That was my next question.”

“He's not going to show it, he's afraid to.”

“Who is?”

“Leo Firestone—who're we talking about? He finds out who some of Barry's friends are yesterday, the guy's scared shitless. Won't have anything to do with anybody that's dealing or can't give him an authorized cashier's check on the investment without moving a kilo of flake. I mean the guy's scared to death at how close he came, talking about spics and scum . . .  You heard him.”

“Man didn't seem too bright.”

“Yeah, well, his movies might be shitty but they gross big. All over the world. That's why Barry's so anxious to go in business with him. Have some fun and the dough keeps coming in for years. No risk at all the way Barry sees it.”

“Yeah?”

“I suppose he's wrong sometimes, but, I don't know . . .  So Barry had to promise Leo okay, he'd leave yesterday's group out of it. Maybe contact a couple of big shooters he knows, that's all. That's why they're using one of Leo's other company names. In case anybody hears about it. It gets in the paper nobody'll see it came out of the other deal.”

“Fucking Barry . . .” Chucky said.

“He can't help it. See, Leo came down here as a favor to Barry, made the pitch. He wanted to raise the dough in New York.”

“Leo did?”

“Yeah, so that's what he went back to do. He told Barry—I heard him—get your couple or three guys quick, 'cause I'm going to move on this right away, button it up.”

“How quick?”

“From what I understand you got to get in right now. But that's only what I heard. It doesn't say anything about a time limit in there.”

Chucky leafed through the prospectus. “It looks like the same one exactly. Most of it.”

“Yeah, all the legal and technical stuff. What's changed is the story and the amount you invest. Barry says all the rest is boilerplate.”

“Subscription application,” Chucky said. “That part's different.” He pulled the bill of his cap lower on his eyes, saw Stick in a misty gray wash, most of the tables empty behind him, not many at the bar, the patrons still sober, quiet: a restful atmosphere conducive to clear thinking, spotting false notes and shifty moves. “What else?”

“What do you mean, what else? Read it, see if you want to go in.”

“You just said the guy doesn't want me in. The fucker tries to sell a fraudulent deal, but he won't
associate with certain types?”

“I think if you hand him the money,” Stick said, “he's not going to turn you down. You know, once he sees he's not going to have any trouble . . .  maybe.”

“But he won't take cash. Didn't you just tell me that?”

“Write him a check.”

“I don't write any in that amount. Seventy thousand.”

“Seventy-two five.”

“Never put more than nine grand and change in the bank. I'm referring to cash,” Chucky said. “And they won't know how much you got.”

Stick said, “It was an idea.” He said after a moment, “Wait. Firestone's in New York, I took him to the airport this morning. But they have an office in the Eden Roc and I'm pretty sure his girl's there. You know the one?”

“The skinny broad.”

“Take her the money, see what she says. The address and phone number are in there. I think the second page . . .  Suite fifteen-oh-three, something like that. It's where you send the subscription agreement, Norman Enterprises Production Office.”

Chucky leafed through the prospectus another moment or so before he got up and walked around the table.

“Where you going?”

Chucky completed his turn, providing his need for activity, motion, as his mind worked. He sat down again and said, “Something smells. I never heard of raising money and keeping it quiet or leaving people out . . .”

“If you got more people wanting in than units to sell,” Stick began.

But now Chucky was saying, “How about Kyle? She know about this?”

“I don't recall she said much.”

“These two guys are putting together a deal and she doesn't open her mouth? After she neutered Leo the day before?”

“She must've liked it.”

“I better give Barry a call.”

“You do,” Stick said, “I'm back on the road.”

Chucky grinned at him. “You believe I give a shit? I'm dying to know what you're up to.”

Stick said, “Let's forget it.” He picked up the prospectus. “I made a mistake.”

Chucky squinted beneath the plastic bill. “I don't see what you get out of it.
Scam,
that's what it sounds like, all right, but I can't figure the angle . . .  You pick up an old prospectus Leo tried to peddle when he was Norman Enterprises? My mouth is suppose to water, envy gets in my eyes, Barry running off with another winner, and for your trouble I let you have . . .  what? You're still going for that five grand, aren't you?”

Stick said, “You ever do time?”

“ ‘Nam. That's time and a half.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Stick said. “I'd have gone to Vietnam in a bathing suit. I know you can die in war, but worse things can happen to you in Jackson, Michigan. Sometimes you do favors for people so they don't defile you or piss in your food. Like a peace offering or buying insurance. You understand what I'm saying?” Chucky was looking away. “All I want is to be left alone.”

“We'll get it settled,” Chucky said.

He was looking toward the terrace at Kyle. She had come in from outside and stood there a moment before she saw them.

Stick said, “You're early. It isn't even four o'clock yet.” He had the prospectus in the envelope again and was standing. “I'll get the car.”

Chucky said, “Now don't rush off.” He was up, pulling a chair out for Kyle.

She said, “We may be a while yet. Barry and Rorie are having a fight. And there's no possibility of it ending because they don't know what they're fighting about.”

“Clash of personalities,” Chucky said. “Where they, outside?”

“On the boat.” She looked at Stick. “You might as well sit down.” Then smiled at him. “You look nice.”
When he didn't smile back her expression changed. She glanced at Chucky, and Stick could see she was beginning to get the picture. Lionel brought Chucky a drink. Kyle shook her head saying she didn't care for anything, looking at Stick again. This time he gave her a weak smile.

Chucky said to her, “Well, how're you and Leo getting along? You make up?”

“He went back to New York,” Kyle said. She glanced at Stick and he gave her another smile, on and off.

Chucky said, “Too bad that deal didn't work out. I think if they'd turned the story around, made the two guys like, oh, a couple happy hustlers . . .  You know what I mean? Make it a comedy.”

“And called it
Scam
?” Kyle said. “How about if they con the customs agents out of millions of dollars worth of stuff?”

Chucky was staring at her.

“And they stage a retirement party somewhere, Nassau, and invite all the customs guys . . .”

Chucky said, subdued, “That doesn't sound too bad . . .  Change the offering to get the fraud out of it?”

“I would,” Kyle said. “Maybe lower the price of the units . . .”

“Change the names of the two guys?” Chucky asked.

Kyle nodded. “Definitely. You want names that sound fun-loving but have character.”

Chucky said, “How about Charlie and Buck?”

“Not bad.” She was nodding again, giving Stick a look then as she got up. “If you'll excuse me . . .  We've got a dinner engagement tonight and Barry's going to sulk all through it if he and Aurora don't kiss and make up. I'm going to see what I can do.” She said to Stick, “You could get the car. Just give me a few minutes.”

Stick sat back, watching that wonderful girl making her way through the tables. He was aware of more noise in the place, more people, music playing now.

Chucky said, “I pay her a consulting fee. She's suppose to advise me.”

“I think she did,” Stick said. “Look, I'm not going to beg you. You want Barry to have all the fun or it's too rich for your blood, forget I ever mentioned it.” He pushed the manila envelope toward Chucky. “But if you want in you better move.”

Chucky pushed his chair back to get up but continued to sit there. “Keeping it to themselves,” he said.

“Trying to.”

“I'd have to get them to take cash.”

“Tempt 'em.”

Chucky got up. He said, “Stay here,” and walked out toward the foyer.

Stick went over to the bar and got another bourbon. Looking down the aisle, he could see Chucky out by the front entrance talking on the phone. The tricky part; all Stick could do was wait.

“Broad was very cagey,” Chucky said, sitting down again.

Stick acted surprised. “You called the Roc?”