The Deal (22 page)

An eighteen wheeler, having trouble turning a tight city corner down below, started to blow its horn. I looked down. As I maintained my line of vision, I unbuttoned my shirt. I was overheating from the energy of my brain waves. The slight, uneven breeze gave me a much needed moment of relaxation. I began clinging to my confidence, speaking with it, reminding it that it needed to guide me. Especially since for me the reality of Danish Jubilee Egg was as stark as it was undeniable. Any wrong decision could be the last choice I would ever make.

Chapter 24

At five fifty-five
the next morning, Tuesday, I was in the center stall of the desired Grand Central bathroom, door locked. My briefcase was on the floor. I faced the wall, standing there dressed in Brioni from head to toe like I was about to walk into a boardroom and negotiate a business deal. I figured Pangaea-Man for the punctual type. I was right.

Five minutes later the main bathroom door opened. I stepped out.

“The briefcase. Now.”

His attire was business casual, like some dot-commer having trouble facing the reality that we were, as a city, back in dress to the tits, kick-some-ass mode. Once he realized we were alone, he pulled his piece from inside his sport jacket.

“Why? You going to work for me today?”

He became furious. Like the day before, he stormed up to me not looking to waste any time. Without another word he clocked me across the face with the butt of his gun. I’d moved sideways, but he still managed to get me pretty good. I buckled slightly, then caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Blood was running from my nostril. A bit had sprinkled the collar of my white shirt.

“Fuck!” I yelled, straightening myself up. “Second fucking day in a row!”

I started for the sink.

“Do you have any idea how much one of these shirts costs?”

Pangaea-Man was in disbelief.

“Are you fucking crazy?” is the best he could manage.

“Put the gun down and see for yourself,” I taunted him.

Again he moved in. He pointed the gun at the back of my head, no more than an inch away. We were now both facing the mirror, our eyes locked in the glass and staring back at one another.

“I mean it, pretty boy.”

He nervously checked the door.

“I’ll JFK your ass right now!”

“Okay,” I conceded.

I put my hands in the air. I slowly turned around and began to head for my briefcase. Once I was a few steps away, I stopped.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?”

I turned around and faced him. I started to kneel. He was losing control, the control he had never fully garnered. Again, he quickly checked the door.

“I don’t have time for this.”

He stiffened his arm.

“I will fucking kill you!”

Once I was on both knees I clasped my hands behind my head.

“You already said that, so stop being a fucking talker. Pull the trigger.”

I realized I was coming perilously close to the edge, but I needed full confirmation of just how right I was and just how far I could go
.

“Go ahead. End my life because of a fucking diamond egg.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing here, man.”

“Then kill me. Blow my head off.”

Nothing. I started to stand up.

“You truly have no idea where it is. If you did, you would have just pillaged anything in your way to claim it.”

I turned on the faucet. Pangaea-Man knew I was tuned in. Realizing he was pushing it with time, he put the gun back in his sport jacket. I didn’t even look at him as I continued. I was more interested in cleaning my face.

“Now that we have that straight, I should also tell you I’m not looking to get myself killed. But I am a businessman.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I have something you want.”

My attention moved to my hair.

“And I am willing to give that something back.”

Actually, at this point I didn’t have enough of the facts to know if this was true. For the time being it was the way I needed to go. For now, I was simply looking to buy time.

“There’s no such thing as something for nothing, pal. Not in this city.”

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with here, man.”

“Two million dollars, cash. You have forty-eight hours.”

“You must be joking.”

“You can’t go to the cops, and you have made it clear that you have no idea what I’ve done with it.”

I turned off the faucet, turned around, and stepped right to him, stopping three inches from his face.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

The scenario was surreal. I feel filthy admitting it, but the rush was incredible. Seizing control here gave me a high I had seldom felt, a jolt of adrenaline so satisfying because it was all reactionary, all instinct. And it wasn’t in a conference room.

“Two million for a thirty-five million dollar antique? Sounds like a pretty fucking nice price to me. Thursday morning. Same time, right here. New, crisp bills.”

Crisp bills. I was getting into it. All of a sudden I was talking like I was in some cheesy, overrated Ben Affleck movie.

“Normal, everyday-looking luggage. I need some new pieces, so make them TUMI.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Pangaea-Man was bewildered by my balls-to-the-wall style. Luckily for me, the guy was too stupid to realize everything had turned on him strictly because he had so weakly presented his case.

“Now I want to say be here by yourself, but I guess this doesn’t really matter. After all, two guys, ten guys—if I’m not happy with what you present to me, simple. No Danish Jubilee Egg.”

I grabbed my briefcase and started for the door.

“Thursday morning.”

I left him there, standing in a pool of amazement. As the door almost shut behind me, I shouted, “And thanks.”

I entered my office and closed the door. I threw my briefcase down. Before even booting my computer I fell into my cherry leather desk chair, holding up the day’s New York Post in front of me. Robie/Hart, my mind had started referring to him as this by default, was on the third page. The headline read:
Scavenger Hunt Continues: Fabergé Thief Remains Elusive; Authorities Confident They Are On His Trail
. I began reading the article. The motherfucker was still on the lam. Aside from insignificant circumstantial bullshit and hearsay surrounding the heist, there was nothing of interest. Danish Jubilee Egg was still officially missing.

I thought, why would Robie/Hart dish the antique off to me, but not pursue me?

Perry came storming into my office.

“Fucker!”

I fumbled the newspaper onto my desk. If she hadn’t been out of sorts, she would have noticed she had startled me. She didn’t notice or she simply didn’t care.

“Per. What’s up?”

I reached under my desk for my computer’s on button.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ll tell you what the fuck is the matter—Auerbach. That’s the matter. I wake up this morning to the sound of him telling me the board isn’t willing to entertain such an offer under such trying time constraints. Such trying time constraints! Do you fucking believe this guy? How dare he try to squeeze me! Most men would have, in the words of our esteemed colleague Jake Donald, ‘blown a load’ over the number that was put in front of them!”

Perry was going mad, steaming because she wanted the deal so bad. She was in crazy mode. As much as I loved it because this was where the team needed her to be, I was also loving it for more selfish reasons. She’s beyond sexy when she’s pissed—and yes, I realize I’m psychotic for taking notice with everything that was going on.

“Perry, take it easy. Come in and sit down.”

“Seriously, Jonah. He has some nerve to be—”

I jumped from my chair and quickly moved toward her. She was wearing a black Armani pantsuit, flared subtly at the end of the legs and sleeves. Under the sport jacket was a burgundy satin button-down shirt with extra-long sleeves coming out from underneath the coat. I grabbed her hand. The soft, smooth fabric mixed with the smell of her perfume sent a quick shock up my spine.

“Relax,” I continued.

As if my hand grabbing hers gave her some sort of comfort, she immediately calmed down. As I led her to one of the chairs facing my desk, her sparkling eyes looked at me sheepishly.

“I’m fine, Jonah. Really. You don’t have to—”

“Please, I’m a bit edgy myself this morning. The last thing I need is you coming in here yelling about all kinds of shit. Typical fucking girl. No ability to slow yourself down then look at the situation with some sort of objectivity.”

Perry smiled.

“Ha-ha.”

Perry was always intense, but she only jumped straight into irrational mode when she felt she was being slighted personally. Auerbach was her friend, and these types of things mattered more as of late because of the crap infiltrating her personal life.

“Good. You’re smiling. Now, since when can’t you figure out how to blow the doors off a lesser mind such as Auerbach?”

“I know, I know. It’s just that—”

“He’s been a friend for a long time, and you could do without the disrespect. Now, can we get back to the deal?”

“You’re right,” Perry conceded.

“What did he say?”

“That four hundred per square foot was out of the question. Even for cash.”

“What is he looking for?”

“Four fifteen minimum. Says the board won’t even listen to anything less.”

“Who was asked?”

“James tells me two-thirds of the board received the number by the end of yesterday.”

“Sounds like, if he’s being up-front, he’s with you more than you think.”

“What makes you say that?”

“This isn’t the board of some peep-show house on Broadway, Per. This is one of the largest oil companies in the northern hemisphere. From what you’re telling me, James Auerbach says he not only got the word to two-thirds of the board yesterday, he’s already heard back. Wouldn’t you say he’s responding pretty nicely to the time constraints you’ve saddled him with?”

“Well, when you put it that way, yes. Also considering that a number of the board members are overseas, albeit most of whom comprise the one-third unable to be contacted.”

Perry thought for another second then continued.

“But these are educated men, Jonah. Four hundred per square foot is more than most—”

“Come on, Perry. You just said it yourself that these are educated men. The problem is that most of them are educated in areas outside of the commercial real estate market in New York City. What would an educated man be doing in this situation?”

Perry knew exactly where I was going.

“You don’t really think James would be stupid enough to try and squeeze us here on a personal level?”

“Why not? He realizes that given the time constraints, we may not have a choice if we’re serious about making a deal. And you just said it yourself, Perry, these are educated men. You didn’t answer my question. What would an educated man do in this situation?”

“He would defer to his real estate specialist.”

“Auerbach said that he already has a consensus ‘no.’ Do you believe him?”

“He’s never given me a reason not to, Jonah. You know that. He’s always been straight with us.”

“Can you honestly tell me that the timing, as far as how quickly he heard back, doesn’t concern you?”

“Trust me, Jonah, I asked him about that.”

“And?”

“Because Cantrol has been exploring the option of selling, the board requires James to distribute a complete market analysis on a weekly basis just as they did his predecessor. They want to be ready to take action.”

“And you think enough of these board members evaluate his materials thoroughly enough to respond this quickly? In less than twenty-four hours?”

“He wouldn’t bullshit me, Jonah, especially with this. Look how much he has to gain here.”

“Perry, the difference we’re talking about simply sweetens his deal. Any halfway decent negotiator would take a chance at feeling out the bottom line. You know, a last ditch effort to fatten the pockets.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think he would come to me without approaching them.”

“Want to know what I would do?”

“Do I want to hear this?”

“Find the least prominent board member Auerbach says he has been in touch with. Then give that individual a call.”

“Jonah, he’ll freak!”

“Two-thirds of the board within sixteen hours. I don’t buy it.”

Perry’s disappointed eyes quickly bounced off my desk.

“Do yourself a favor, Perry. Find that board member and give him a call.”

My intercom signal blared. I hit speaker:

“Clockwork, baby. Who’s your daddy?”

“Any chance of losing the corny sayings this morning?”

“Negative.”

“What’s up?”

“My dick, after the news I just received.”

“Lovely,” chimed in Perry.

“Sorry, Per. Didn’t know you were in there.”

“Would it have mattered?”

“Of course not.”

“And—” I continued.

“Just got off the phone with the Slevin duo. You know, the duo that’s approaching rigor mortis.

“I take it you spoke with Jagger last night.”

“Right on schedule, pretty boy. He got me on my cell while I was throwing back some Miso cod at Nobu. It was the resounding rejection I had been anticipating.”

“How did the old boys respond?”

“Exactly as we expected. Intrigued is too soft a word. And just to punctuate how ‘on’ my instincts were, they couldn’t say enough about my old school values; that the way to respect them was to respect their sons. In essence, I had the two fogies eating out of my hands. Albeit through a straw, of course.”

“How’d you approach the number?”

“Same price. A different quote would have in effect come across as the real price, and this would have made the youngsters even more pissed than they’re already going to be.”

“And their thoughts on the timing?”

“They could give a shit. All they care about is cashing out. They told me they need a day or so to assess their plans, but they weren’t fooling anyone. I swear to it that I even think I heard a high five. Picture that.”