The Collectibles (11 page)

What a pompous ass,
Joe thought.
How much money have you already taken from Preston and his companies so that you could tell him he was going down and there was nothing you could do to stop it?

“Thank you, Andrew. Is there anything else you feel I should know?”

“I can't think of anything else to tell you, Mr. Hart, but there is one thing you could tell me.”

“Yes, sir, what is that?” Joe inquired.

“Why in the world are you going through all of this hopeless exercise? I doubt if Preston Wilson can get his hands on much more money. That is one of the reasons why, as you can imagine – lawyer to lawyer – our firm is looking forward to discontinuing our professional relationship with Mr. Wilson and his companies. You have to know when to get off the train, is what I always say.” Mr. Brookfield gave a high-pitched laugh. “You and I both know that Wilson Holdings and Mr. Wilson are finished. They owe the bank millions, and there's no defense to that. The banks have been patient. We've held them off as long as we could. Preston will be fortunate if he doesn't go to jail. He should have known better, and so should his CFO, Mr. Fitzgerald. I don't understand why you're jumping in at a time like this, but it's fine with me. I wish you the best of luck.”

Joe figured Andrew Brookfield had forgotten the question he started with, and, in any event, did not deserve an answer.

“Thanks for wishing me good luck,” Joe said. “And thank you again for all of the information.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Hart.”

T
he information Joe received from his inquiries filled four rooms in his suite of offices. With the help of Alice and a couple of interns from the university's business school, he sorted through all the documents and stacked them in piles throughout the office.

Joe placed a call to Alex Herman, an icon in the automotive business who had been a general manager, as well as Chief Financial Officer and Chief Operating Officer, for several mega-dealerships. Alex was an anomaly in that he not only had well-honed business skills and an astute perception of the business, but he also had one foot in the old school of dealers and the other in the new school. He grasped the value of the computerization, software, and service components of the dealerships, each operating as independent profit centers. He also knew that aside from modern advertising, finance, and buying, the business was still a people business.

“How the hell are you?” Joe asked when he heard Alex's voice on the phone.

“Great, Joe, you old son of a bitch. How the hell are you? Any fishing lately?”

“Not really. I'm tied up at the moment trying to help a client out of an automotive mess. To tell you the truth, Alex, it feels good . . . I needed to get immersed in this kind of thing.”

“Yes, I'm sorry about Ashley,” Alex said in a low voice. “How can I help?”

“If you've got time, what I would like you to do is visit six stores. As usual, they're spread around the country. Alice will fax you the list and all the details. They're owned by Wilson Holdings, Inc., a holding company owned by a gentleman in New York City named Preston Wilson. I have all the authorizations and consents, which include anyone acting for me, so in this one you won't have to be involved with anybody else.”

“Understood. I'm working for you and reporting to you. I like it that way.”

“What I'd like you to do is visit each store, look it over, get a feel for the site, the real estate, the way the sales and service departments are run, how the General Manager and Sales Manager are doing, your impression of the financial people, and how it all feels. Five out of six of these stores are in financial trouble. What I would like you to focus on is the operations aspect, just like you did for me in Syracuse and that store in New Jersey. That's what I'm looking for.

“Also, check with GMAC, Ford Credit, Subaru Acceptance, or whoever else is still providing floor plans these days, off the record, to see if they would be interested in picking up Subaru and BMW in the Houston store, and also check with Ford to see if they'll buy back the Ford Franchise. I would appreciate your doing the same thing discreetly with the new banks or lenders who are filling the gap on floor plans to see if they would pick up Honda, Porsche, Audi and Bentley flooring at the San Francisco Autoplaza. Bank North America is carrying Autoplaza's floor plan now.”

“I take it these stores are upside down with Bank North America.”

“Yeah, they are, but that's what makes these plans interesting. In any event, please get me your report ASAP. Sorry to do this to you, but I need the information and your read on it is important. Especially your thoughts on what can be done to make operations better.”

“You got it, Joe. I'm outta here. I'll talk with you. I still want to know when we're going fishing.”

“Right after this workout is done, we're fishing,” Joe vowed.

“That's a promise I'll hold you to. I'll talk to you soon. So long.”

With that call completed, and Joe having talked personally to each of the manufacturers' representatives, it was now time to reach out to the banks themselves. He wanted to start with Bank North America, the largest creditor. He obtained the name of the president, and, after explaining himself several times to various people, finally reached him on the telephone.

“Good morning, sir. I'm Joe Hart, and I'm calling on behalf of Preston Wilson and Wilson Holdings. I appreciate your taking my call.”

“Well, I finally get to talk to the man who's causing such a ruckus around here,” Tom Gallagher said in a good-natured voice. “You certainly are persistent; I'll say that for you. What can I do for you?”

“Well, first, sir, I appreciate the responsiveness of your bank in supplying all the information we have requested. I also appreciate your taking the time to talk with me personally. Wilson Holdings is in serious financial trouble. It owes substantial sums to your bank and other banks as well. Your bank should be paid in full. I have written a comprehensive turnaround plan for your review. What I would like to do, with your permission, is have a meeting with you personally to discuss the plan and how we can work together to make this happen.”

“I like the part about Bank North America being paid back,” Mr. Gallagher said. “How do you see this unfolding, Mr. Hart?”

“Permission to speak frankly and off the record, Mr. Gallagher?”

“Yes, and you may call me Tom. Go ahead.”

“Well, sir, as I stated, Wilson Holdings is in serious financial condition. What I have tried to do in my plan is make a complicated matter as simple as possible. The reason for the plan in the first place is so that you and Bank North America will have in one place the information you will need to help you make the required decisions. The plan is a review and assessment of the current situation, how deep the hole is, what caused the difficulties, what we see as the immediate problem, what we need to fix it, and a detailed outline of execution steps to resolve the situation.”

“Is that all?”

“That's enough, sir,” Joe replied in a respectful tone. “You asked how I see this unfolding. Based on my experience, we will have a meeting around a long table in a large conference room. The bank will have several representatives present. Your people will remind us that we asked for this meeting and instruct us to go ahead and say what we have to say. You will already have been advised by your counsel of the gravity of the situation, and to say very little, leaving the matters in their hands. When they speak, they will sternly advise us that we are in default, that litigation is imminent, and that what assets remain are being dissipated as we speak and, therefore, there can be no forbearance; that the only thing that can help the bank is if we are aware of any additional collateral that can be pledged to the bank immediately.”

“Well, that sounds about right,” Tom said. “What do you have for us, Mr. Hart?”

“I have a plan that can work if we can keep the lawyers in check and focus on a business solution. I am a lawyer, but my entire approach to this case is on a practical business basis. I'm asking for an off-the-record, ‘for settlement purposes,' honest discussion about how we can construct this matter in such a way that Wilson Holdings and Preston Wilson do not have to seek bankruptcy protection, your bank does not have to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on legal fees, and you can get your money back. I understand that you require the input from your counsel, and that you have a responsibility not only to your bank, but also to the regulators. I suggest that we eat the elephant a bite at a time. I would like to have the first meeting in whatever way you choose to do it, but sooner rather than later, I would like to sit down with you without the loan officers who are trying to defend their files and conduct and without the lawyers who would love to see this matter litigated. By then you will have read my plan and you – and your people to whom you assign these volumes – will see from the extensive exhibits that we have provided you with a true detailed picture of what we owe, what we have, and what we can do to clean up this mess.”

“Well, Joe, this has been a very interesting conversation,” Tom said. “Frankly, I like the sound of it, although I'm sure my lawyers will not.” He paused a beat. “Let's have the meeting. I look forward to meeting you. I'll get my people together. How does next Monday morning at ten in our big conference room with the long table sound to you?”

“Thank you, Tom. We'll be there.”

J
oe woke to his phone ringing.

“Joe, it's Tommy.”

Joe had met Tommy Greco in Vegas after he'd finished speaking at a J. D. Power Mega Dealers' Roundtable meeting and decided to relax at Caesar's Palace. Tommy had just come from a heavyweight-title boxing match and was shooting craps next to Joe. The short, stocky man was loud and funny, charming Joe and the entire table. They played together for six hours, Tommy signing as many markers. Tommy then talked Joe into going downtown to a favorite bar. The subject eventually turned to Tommy's being into Caesar's for over $350,000, and Joe learned that Tommy had a problem not only with the dice but with the ponies, too. Joe was tempted to say goodbye to Tommy and his gambling problems, but he told Tommy he was curious how he'd gotten into gambling in the first place.

“It's the way it was,” Tommy said as he described his growing up in Niagara Falls, “on our side.”

Joe lit a Graycliff Expresso cigar and listened, fascinated not only by the story but by the way his new friend talked. Far from his image of Niagara Falls, he learned about a small, heavily Italian community where early life for Tommy meant baseball, wrestling, church school, trying to avoid an abusive and alcoholic father, and a mother who, to make ends meet, “turned occasional tricks for the tourists that wanted more than the Falls.” Tommy told Joe how the weights in Niagara High's gym became his friends, providing protection against being short and the fists of his father. “Besides, the girls love the muscles.” When he dropped out of high school, he got a job working at a neighborhood bar.

Tommy told Joe, “The guys at
The Corner,
that was the name, Sammy the owner, they was my family. That's where my real education began. Everyone bet the games. There was rules, you know? You had to pay the guys or there were real problems. Just the way it was. Still is.”

Tommy said he felt close to his older brother, until he became a priest. When Joe asked why that made a difference, Tommy dropped his head, explaining that his brother had “gotten too chummy with the altar boys,” which Tommy couldn't “accommodate.” Tommy told Joe he was All State in wrestling, how that helped him get the girls, too, why he hated Catholic school, and how, in addition to the tables, he loved betting on the ponies and basketball.

As Joe and Tommy talked into the night, Joe thought about how similar in some ways his and Tommy's early lives were, and what a difference education can make. His thoughts, as always, eventually turned to Uncle Howard and Aunt Lettie and how simple life had been with them, how lucky he was. Tommy was strong, rough but real, and he made Joe laugh. Joe knew he would stay in touch.

 

“Hi, Tommy. It's one in the morning.”

“What are you doin' up at one in the morning?” Tommy asked.

“I can think of two reasons, Tommy. One, you called me and woke me up. And two, I have not been sleeping much anyway lately. What's on your mind?”

“I have a serious problem, which is sort of a dilemma, and I've been thinking about it hard, and I figured out there's a way out, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Does this problem involve money?” Joe asked.

“It involves money, but not like what you're thinking. This ain't a gambling thing, and it ain't like I owe somebody, but it's complicated, and I need you to talk to a certain man and explain to him how a certain set of situations happened to happen,” Tommy explained.

“Why does this have to be handled right now, Tommy? How about in the morning?”

“I'm trying to do what you and I talked about, Joe. You know, develop relationships with meaning and better myself. I got it figured out how I can become Frankie's go-through guy and if I become that, it will be like a job. And because Frankie's so classy, it would be like a profession. And then I could lay off the gambling.”

“Who's Frankie?” Joe asked.

“You don't want to know. Period,” Tommy said. “I'm getting you up now because it'll take you time to get here.”

“Here?”

“I'm in Vegas, and I got this situation, which I'll explain to you in personable fashion, but I need you to get on a plane as early as you can in the morning so that you get here in the morning so that I will have time to talk to you before you do what I need you to do, which will only take you ten minutes. Time is of the importance.”

“Tommy, I'm working on a case right now, and I've just scheduled a meeting for Monday morning that I must attend. If I can get a flight out in the morning, no matter what's going on with you, do you understand and accept that I will be leaving the next day to come back here so that I can be ready for my meeting?”

“You got it, Joe. Call me and tell me what flight you're coming in on and I'll be at the airport to meet you. Thanks, Joe. It means a lot.”

Joe called the airlines and was able to get a 7:30 a.m. flight out of Charlotte to Las Vegas, although he had to buy a first-class ticket. He quickly packed, and dropped Buck off at Alice's house with a brief explanation that Tommy Greco had a “time is of the essence” problem that involved God knows what and that he needed to go to Vegas but would be back in plenty of time for Monday morning's meeting at Bank North America.

 

Joe enjoyed the flight; it gave him time to think through his presentation to the bank. Five-and-a-half hours later, Joe saw Tommy as soon as he left the security area.

Tommy stood as tall as a five-foot-four mesomorph with no neck could, and with a big grin grabbed Joe, pushed him back and pulled him forward and hugged him. Joe knew all of this was coming and went through the ritual. It was really good to see Tommy.

“Everything time-wise looks real good, Joe. Frankie will still be at the blackjack tables this morning if we hurry, and I got a driver who understands. He'll get us there. Oh, Frankie's playing at Caesar's,” Tommy said, as they rushed to the tram and then through the halls of the airport, downstairs and to the black limo and waiting driver. When they climbed in, Tommy immediately poured himself a Johnny Walker black label on the rocks, and offered another for Joe.

“Okay, Tommy. Let's have it.”

“Here's what went down. I'm in town for the Gibraldi-Houser fight. I check in at the Grand, leave my bag in the room, and then go down and put my wallet and everything but a few hundred in a safe-deposit box. I wander over to the Palace – Caesar's – to shoot some craps. I win a little and go to the cage to cash in. I see this guy who I recognize as Frankie Vittarone from Chicago. He walks up to the counter, carrying seven or eight racks of black and gray chips – up to his chin – with another guy, Jimmy, also carrying a stack of racks. There are four guys behind them. Frankie's wearing a gray silk suit with a gray silk tie on a gray silk shirt.”

At this point, Tommy leaned over, grabbed the bottle of Scotch, and refilled his glass. Joe waved his hand.

“In his pocket, he's got a gray silk handkerchief. I mean, this guy's got the look, you know. He just stands there next to me, waiting for the woman behind the counter to take the racks. I hold onto my ten chips and say nothing. He looks at me and says, ‘How ya doin'?' I tell him, ‘Fine, thank you.' He says, ‘What's your name?' I tell him, ‘Tommy Greco, thank you.' He says, ‘That's a funny name, Tommy Greco Thank You.' I tell him, ‘Yeah, it is, thank you.'

“I cash in my chips, and Frankie and Jimmy hand in their racks of chips. The woman behind the counter asks them if they would prefer checks or cash. They say cash. She excuses herself for a minute, goes into the cage, and then comes back with another woman, each carrying stacks of neatly wrapped hundred-dollar bills. She turns to Frankie and asks him if he would like the cash now. He says yes, 'cause it's going in the safe-deposit boxes behind her. She counts out the stacks – which are five-thousand dollars each – until Frankie agrees that's the amount of his chips. The stacks are piled high on the counter, and there are now five or six security guys behind Frankie, Jimmy and me. She counts out the stacks for Jimmy as well and he nods.

“Then the woman sets down a large safe-deposit box in front of Frankie, and the other woman sets down the same size box in front of Jimmy, who's down at the other end. These are big boxes. Frankie opens his box right next to me and it's practically filled with stacks of c-notes, the hundred-dollar bills on their edge to make more room. He stuffs in as many stacks of the fresh money as the box will hold. He's actually forcing down the top. He's still probably got twenty to thirty grand left. He yells over to Jimmy – people all around – ‘Hey Jimmy! You got room for more?' Jimmy shouts back, ‘Yeah.' Frankie starts throwing the packages one by one over the heads of the security guards to Jimmy, who catches them and jams them in his box. I mean, here's these guys all dressed up watching the c-notes go over their head. You had to be there to see that,” Tommy said through a fit of infectious laughter.

“So I'm watching all of this, and Frankie knows I'm watching, so Frankie and Jimmy decide they're going to eat. They ask me to join them. He's tellin', not askin'. I nod.

“I go back up to the Grand, spend an hour or so by the pool, back to my room for a shower and pick up my good luck brown leather sport jacket and go back down to shoot some more. Three markers later and being hungry, I go over to Caesar's and check in with the guy in front at the restaurant on the first floor. He tells me Mr. V is expecting me and points to the open restaurant across the hall. I go over there and see a section set up for Chinese food, only it's all blocked off with guards on each end. One long table, filled with a bunch of Asians and some heavy guys, some good-looking women, and one empty seat. There's Frankie at the end. He shouts, ‘Hey, Thank You, over here. We're expecting you.'

“I take the seat. Everyone introduces themselves – first name only – the rest is small talk. Frankie shouts down from the end of the table, ‘This is Tommy.' He tosses me a room key, tells me – and everyone else at the table – that's the key to my room in his suite, I'm to get whatever I want, and he tells me ‘Just sign Frankie V to everything.' Everybody nods. I nod. Then the dinner's over. I tell Frankie, ‘Thank you.' Frankie, Jimmy, and his group go over to the blackjack tables. Guards section the whole area off. They start playing heavy. I go back to the Grand.

“The next morning, I'm up early and I'm thinking I don't want to offend Frankie by not staying in his suite. So I check out of the Grand and go over to Caesar's and let myself in the bedroom on my side of the suite. Frankie is just getting up, and he's got some female company. I stay on my side and then a rap on the door, and it's Frankie, telling me it's time for steak and eggs. The three of us have breakfast, I say nothin'. Frankie leaves the waiter a $500 tip, in five black-and-purple chips, tosses two $500 gray chips to his girlfriend, suggesting she go shopping while he, his friend, Jimmy, and I go upstairs and take in some steam.

“We're upstairs at the health club, and, when we get to the counter, Frankie introduces me to his huge friend, Jimmy. Then Frankie takes out a safe-deposit box, and as he and Jimmy put all their personals into it – cash, rings, watches, keys, and a couple of crosses with diamonds in them – he looks over at me and says, ‘One box is enough for all of us, right?' I'm not sure, but he looked at me, you know, when he said it, so I go along and put my diamond ring, my safe-deposit box key, and $500, which is all I have, in the box. Frankie takes the key to the box.

“Frankie goes first on the table for a massage. Jimmy and I are taking steam. First Jimmy clues me in that Frankie had heard some things about me and thought I might have potentiality. That's why he had receptivity about me. Then, Jimmy explains that Frankie's wife is coming in that night, that he gets the girlfriend. I nod but say nothin'. Then he takes a massage, and Frankie walks me out on the terrace in the sun looking down over the strip. He looks me in the eye and tells me how happy he is that I'm with him and wants to make sure I'm comfortable. I tell him I'm comfortable, thank you. He tells me he's up $850 K and that his group from the Pacific Rim is doing well. He tells me it really means a lot to him that he's got me to talk to, to spend quality time like this with. I tell him thank you. Then it's my time to get a massage.

“I come off the table, and everybody's gone. I get dressed, and it dawns on me, I would like to have a key to the health club safe-deposit box. I ask the guy working there if he knows where Mr. V went. He says, ‘No, but he did leave this key for you.' I go to the box behind the counter at the health club, and there's my ring, $500, and the safe-deposit box key. I'm feeling better.”

At this point, the limo had arrived at Caesar's. Tommy told the driver to wait and kept talking.

“I go to the Grand, to the safe-deposit box section, to get my wallet and more money, and close my box. I give them my key. I wait. They come back. ‘Wrong key.' I tell them there must be a mistake. They ask for identification. I don't have any – it's in my box. I ask them to open the box. They ask for my room key. I tell them I don't have it, I've checked out. They tell me, ‘Sorry, no way to get into the box without identification and without a key.' I'm fucked.

“I figured I would hang with Frankie, get to know him, let him see what I got, and become his go-through man. Now, he's got a key in his pocket, and it ain't going to open his box, and he's going to figure that out as soon as he goes to the box this morning, and then he's going to think of me and then . . . I'm seriously over-exposed. Or that's already happened and he thinks I'm running, and his guys are looking for me right now. Either way, this is not a good situation, Joe. And you can see that I wasn't screwing around when I said time is of the importance.” Tommy took another drink.