by Sam O'Brien
They got out and approached the heavy oak front door. It was opened by an elderly man wearing an immaculate black suit, unremarkable except for a scar running across his throat. The old man simply nodded at Mike, who led Oliver across the entrance hall. They entered a wood panelled library with a huge mahogany writing desk, and a fireplace flanked by a matching pair of sofas. Marco was seated on one, throwing biscuits to a black and tan Jack Russell terrier jumping about at his feet. The dog advanced towards the guests and began to sniff Oliver’s shoes and trouser legs.
“He just wants to check you out,” said Marco, as he rose from his seat.
“I love terriers, my father used to breed them.” Oliver patted his thighs and the dog jumped up at him in pure delight.
“Yeah, he’s better security than some of the clowns outside.” Marco laughed and Mike joined in.
Marco got up and shook Oliver’s hand warmly as he had done in the restaurant all those years ago. He was wearing an expensively cut tweed jacket, crisp white shirt, and a navy blue cravat. His grey trousers were pressed to within an inch of their lives. The whole ensemble gave him the appearance of an English aristocrat. The intervening decade had been kinder to him than it had to Mike, for Marco still had all of his hair, though touches of grey were now evident at the temples.
His dark eyes once again pierced Oliver. “Good to see you again. Really. It’s a pity Robert’s not here. He’s in California – at art school!”
“Oh wow, good for him,” said Oliver.
“Can you believe it? I wanted him to do business or law; he got the grades, you know. But no, he wants to be a sculptor. I guess he gets it from his mother. She used to paint when I met her.” He looked solemnly into the fireplace for a moment. “Anyway, I thought you were never going to call. Most people wouldn’t, you know. They’d be too afraid.” He looked into Oliver’s eyes and half-smiled. “But you’re not afraid, are you?”
“Well, I was a bit nervous last night, till I met Mike.”
Marco laughed mischievously. “Yeah, I heard Jimmy and the guys checked you out. He was right; you do look pasty and white.”
“Ah, that’s the soft Irish climate for you. We get a week’s sunshine about once a decade.”
“Jesus,” snorted Mike. “Must be depressing.”
“It is.”
“Come on, let’s eat,” said Marco. They followed him across the hall into the dining room. Oliver admired the long antique table, but Marco led them over to the bay window where there was a small round table laid for three. Marco poured some wine.
“Oliver, if I remember, you like Chianti.”
“Oh yeah.”
“So, tell me about your life. How are things? You married?”
“No, not married. And to tell you the truth, I’m feeling pretty disillusioned at the moment.”
“Really, why?”
Oliver threw his eyes skywards. “Oh, work shit, family shit.”
“Aah, work shit – we all got that, but family? What’s up?”
“My brother. He’s an arsehole. He was given a free start in business, but when I pitched him an investment proposal – a sound one – he shot me down. He flatly refused to help me get on the first rung of the ladder and . . .” Oliver hesitated. “He reckons I don’t deserve a chance.”
“Who gave him a free start?”
“I’d rather not get into all that.”
Marco shrugged. “Hmm, he sounds like he’s forgotten his roots. I gotta say: I think it’s his duty to help you. He needs to understand that.”
Marco shrugged and glanced at Mike, who stifled a smile.
“Yeah well, you might think that, but Rich is a ‘my way or the highway’ kind of guy.”
Again Marco shrugged.
Oliver continued, “But, you know, I really don’t want his help. Let him keep his millions, I don’t want a thing from him.”
Marco took another sip of wine. He thought for a second, then spoke. “So tell me, what is it that I can do for you, exactly?”
Oliver took a deep breath. Here goes. Close the deal.
“Well, I want to buy some racehorses and purchase some others to sell on in a few months for a fast profit. The plan is to buy eight to ten horses. Half would be resold inside a year, with the aim being to double the money. But in reality, allowing for expenses and the odd veterinarian bill, I believe the profit would be seventy-five percent. The others would be kept to race, win prize money and of course, to place bets on.
“I know the horse business like the back of my hand, I’ve a proven record of buying good animals, the only problem is most people don’t know it.”
Marco arched his eyebrows. “Really? Why’s that?”
“Oh . . .” Oliver paused to choose his words; he didn’t want to sound like a doormat. “Nepotism and politics,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Ha, politics! I hear you. So what horses have you bought?”
“Do you follow European racing? Would the names sound familiar if I went through the list?”
Marco shook his head. “Probably not.”
“Then all you need to know is this: in eight years, my ex-boss never made a loss. And one year we sold a horse for fifteen million Euro to the Japanese.” He let the figure sink in for a second. “He cost us ninety-two grand and before we sold him, he won nearly two million on the track.”
Marco’s face remained stoic. “Go on.”
“Anyway, the only thing I lack is funding. I was thinking this: If you front me the money, I buy the horses for you. That is, they’ll run in your name, or a company name, or whatever. I handle everything else about the business. When we re-sell the first batch, I take a forty percent share of any profit we make on them. I would also take twenty-five percent of any prize money won by the racehorses, after they recoup their purchase prices. The training fees come out of the initial sum, until the horses break into the black. We would both have the option to re-invest a large chunk each year to buy more horses.
“You said you would do anything for me if I asked, but I don’t want a direct handout, just a bit of faith – backed up with cash, which you’ll see returned with profit. What do you think?”
Marco let out a belly laugh, slamming his hand on the table. “I think you’re the gutsiest, strangest guy I’ve ever come across, and believe me, I come across all types. Guys like you are a rare breed – I think I told you that last time we met. You come over here all by yourself, turn up at my club saying you want to do business with me! Ha, I love it! Most people are scared shitless of me, isn’t that right, Mike?”
“Either that or in complete awe, Boss.”
“Tell me, Oliver, just how much money did you have in mind to start up this little venture?”
“A million Euro.”
Chapter 12
Marco didn’t flinch. “And you think I’m just going to give you that kind of money to mess around with?”
“No. Not to mess around with. Look, Marco, I’m going to invest it. You once said to me that you liked horse racing, and that you and some friends won a few bucks on a horse. Well, I’m giving you the chance to have your own horses to win money with, because I’ll buy us the right kind of horses. You can even come to the sales with me, so you can see what I’ll buy, and I’ll explain why I want to buy a particular horse. I will make you money. And by giving you success, I’ll also create success for myself. Nobody loses.”
“I thought you told me there’s no such thing as a sure thing? Now you’re saying it’s easy?”
“I said that about betting on races as a punter, or casual observer. Here I’m talking about an investment, which will tip the odds in your favour. You’ll control more of the variables than a street gambler. It’s more of a calculated risk.”
Oliver couldn’t believe it. He had never sold himself like this before, he felt confident. Perhaps this was what his brother meant by killer instinct.
At that moment, the butler placed three plates of home-cooked lasa
gna on the table. Marco shifted his bulk and took another drink of wine. He placed the glass down very carefully. When he looked up, the dark eyes pierced Oliver as they had done ten years earlier.
“I tell you what. I’ll give you the money. And I’ll trust you to set up the business. But I want to do this in my son’s name. The horses’ll be his. That clear? You won’t own anything on paper. And I think twenty-five percent of resale profit for you is more realistic than forty. That’s my position. And I’ll come to these horse sales, see what goes on.”
Oliver grinned broadly. “That’s great, excellent. You won’t regret this, Marco.”
The steely gaze remained on him. “Oh, I know I won’t. I never regret anything Oliver,” he winced slightly. “Except letting my son go to California.”
Oliver was floating. He was sure this was the same feeling his brother got when he closed a deal. Sheer ecstasy. The worries and nervousness had melted away. The old Oliver was returning. “I do have one more small request.”
“Oh, you do?” Marco raised his eyebrows and a smile crept across his face. “Well, go ahead, what more can I do for you?”
“Well, the thing is, I . . . How can I put this?”
“Just spit it out.”
“OK. I don’t want to be answerable to, or vulnerable to, the whims or agendas of other guys who . . . work for you. I need to be sure that I’ll work for you, and only you.”
The big man did not flinch. “In my absence, Mike’ll be the guy you will deal with. Nobody else. That clear enough for you?”
“That’s perfect.” Oliver smiled at Mike.
“I’ve got to tell you, Oliver, you intrigue me. You’re different.”
“Different? From who?”
“From anyone I’ve ever dealt with, different from my son, too – you guys’ve got to meet again. I wish he had some of your drive and guts. I love him and all – he’s like his mother, but I wish he was more of a go-getter.”
“Yeah, er, it’d be great to meet again. Well, I say again, but we didn’t really meet the last time. You said he’s studying art in California?”
“Yeah. Unbelievable.” Marco rolled his eyes.
“Is he any good at it?”
“His grades are great. They seem to think he has talent. His mother used to paint weird stuff, abstract she called it, so I guess it’s possible. What do I know?”
“Well, if he’s passionate about it, it could be a good career for him.”
Marco fiddled with his fork. “We’ll see. He may get tired of it soon.”
They began to eat lunch. Marco poured more wine for Oliver.
“This really is an amazing house,” said Oliver.
“Thanks, it came into my family several years ago.” He gestured up to the beamed ceiling.
“My son likes it more than me. Apparently it was built a hundred years ago. That kind of stuff doesn’t really interest me. I just want somewhere secluded to call home. What was it like where you grew up?”
“It was nice, we lived on a farm. Peaceful, you could say. Ireland has changed, though. The country’s so wealthy. Everything moves faster, people are more stressed. Don’t get me wrong, we’re better off; there are plenty of jobs, lots of construction going on – too much, in fact. Cities are growing rapidly, so’s the population. It’s sad to see the country swamped in concrete and housing estates.”
“But you guys must be happier,” said Mike. “I mean, you haven’t gotta get on the boat to come here anymore.” He grunted and looked at Marco, expecting a laugh.
Oliver pondered this for a second. “That’s true, I suppose. But you’ve got to set your sights a bit further afield, don’t you? I mean, I want to.” He shrugged. “Ah, sure it’ll all be there to come home to.”
“Man, you guys are weird. Now you got it all, but you’re not happy,” said Mike.
“That’s the price you pay for economic success,” said Marco. “I know my life changed as I got more successful in business. You don’t have as much time to enjoy life. The stress of staying on top takes its toll. But what are you going to do? That’s life. We should be thankful for what we have and for our families.”
“Never a truer word, Boss,” said Mike.
“Huh, I don’t know,” replied Oliver.
“You just need to get married, settle down to make your own family, my friend.” Mike patted him on the shoulder encouragingly.
“Are you married, Mike?”
“Yeah sure; wife, two kids, steady mistress,” he chuckled.
Marco shot him a sideways glance.
“Aah, enough about me,” said Mike hastily.
Marco finished eating and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “OK. So, how long are you going to be in Jersey?”
“I bought a one-week return ticket.”
“OK, here’s the deal. My driver’ll take you back to your hotel. Do what you want tonight. Tomorrow, check out and come stay here. Mike’ll pick you up at the hotel. I’m going to get my son home for a few days, you guys can get to know each other, and we’ll thrash out the details of this horse deal. Then you can go back to Ireland and get started.”
“Wow, cool. That’s very kind of you. I’d love to stay here, are you sure it’s no trouble?”
“It’s all arranged. Now off you go. Wait outside the front door and I’ll have the car sent.”
Marco stood and extended his hand. Oliver placed his own into the iron grip.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Keep your phone on,” said Mike.
With that, Oliver left the room and was taken back to his hotel.
* * *
Marco stared out the window for a few minutes. Then his dark eyes fixed on Mike.
“When you pick him up tomorrow, make sure he understands about discretion. I’ve got a good feeling about the kid. I think he’s basically honest, but there’s no harm in giving him a little briefing. Tell him to expect the Feds. When it all comes out that he’s buying horses for my family, they’ll try to get him and use him, that’s for sure. Fuckin’ assholes are low enough to do it. He needs to know exactly what talking to them would mean.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Do you want me to arrange a little entertainment for him tonight?”
“Yeah, but don’t go out with him yourself. Send Candy with a full pocket. Make sure she gets him totally off his head. Then, see if he’ll sing about us. That’ll be his first test.”
“OK, done.” Mike walked out to his car.
Marco dialled Robert’s number in California.
Chapter 13
That evening, Oliver was about to go out for a drink when the bedside phone rang. “Sir, there’s a young woman at the front desk to see you.”
“What? Eh . . . OK. I’ll be right down.”
When he arrived in the sparse lobby, the receptionist motioned to one of the sofas. Oliver saw a beautiful girl of no more than twenty-five, sitting with her legs crossed, flicking through a magazine. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She had flawless, ivory skin, large brown eyes and luscious lips, highlighted by a shock of crimson lip-gloss. She was dressed in a tight-fitting 1950s-style black dress. She looked like a package of pure burlesque sex. He was almost drooling as she looked up at him and smiled.
“Hi there, you Oliver?” she said in a chirpy voice. “I’m Candy!”
I bet you are. “Oh, that’d be me,” he said with a smile. “And what can I do for you?”
She stood up and he took in the full length of her allure.
“I was kinda thinking we could have a glass of champagne and see what happens.”
“Sounds great! But I don’t know anywhere round here.”
“See . . .” She put a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “I figured we could stay here and order room service.”
Oliver’s eyes stood out on stalks. He turned to the bemused receptionist.
“Is it possible to have a bottle of champagne sent to room 407?”
“Yes, sir. Right away,” he said, wit
h a knowing smirk.
When they got to the room, Oliver said, “Candy, you look far too lovely to have appeared out of thin air. I take it we have a mutual friend who arranged this?”
“You talk funny! But your accent’s cute.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, I’m gonna show you a good time.”
She sat on the bed and took a small ziplock bag of cocaine out of her handbag. She tossed it onto the bedside table. “Rack up, will you?”
Oliver knelt on the floor and began chopping the fine white dust on the bedside table with a plastic do not disturb card. This had never happened in his last job! His confidence was at an all-time high even before the first line.
There was a knock at the door, and Oliver retrieved the champagne and signed for it. When he turned around, Candy was already down to her expensive lingerie, lounging on the bed and snorting away greedily. She looked up at him and flashed a seductive grin. “Hey, have some more, I’m getting a head start.”
He needed no further encouragement. Two hours later, they were into their second bottle of champagne and third gram of cocaine. He blurted out his best anecdotes in a torrent of words, while she smiled seductively. Two hours after that, Oliver was high on sex, stimulants, and the sense that he was finally on the way.
They lay together on the bed, sipping bubbly. Oliver was smiling inside and out. He felt like the King, and his new life was only just beginning. A new leaf well and truly turned over. He congratulated himself with another line of powder.
Candy caressed his arm. “So, how does a guy like you end up in Jersey with friends like you got?”
“Well, it’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all night.”
“We do? Great! Then I don’t want to waste any more of it talking shite!” He leaned in to kiss her.
