Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  “He’s got two-point-seventy-five million dollars on his bedroom wall?”

  Elliott shrugged. “I don’t know what he paid for them, but it was a hell of a lot more than their ninety-six cents total face value.”

  “Wow!”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself”

  “And what about Rudy? What do you suppose he wants from you?”

  “I’m not sure just what that’s all about. I think he assumes I have money.”

  “Gee, I wonder where he got that idea?”

  “Not from me, that’s for sure. He says he wants to talk to me about some sort of business proposition.”

  “Odd he didn’t hit Bruno up on it.”

  “I’m sure he did, and I’m kind of curious as to what Bruno’s reaction was. He’s a grown man, but when it comes to having money, he’s on really unfamiliar ground. I don’t want anything to happen to him. So, maybe I’ll see what Rudy has in mind.”

  *

  As he was getting out of his car in the garage Monday night, his cell phone rang.

  “Elliott Smith.”

  “Mr. Smith, this is Alex Freiburg. I had a chance to speak with Mr. Lamb, and he has agreed to reconsider his asking price.”

  Sunday afternoon, after taking Steve back to his apartment to paint, Elliott had spent some time carefully researching properties along Armitage and around Oz Park, so he felt he had a better grasp of what the property was worth in the current market.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “And what price did he settle on?”

  The figure Freiburg quoted was still considerably above what Elliott thought reasonable, and he said so.

  “Well, it took me a lot of time to convince him to come down this low,” Freiburg said. “It is a great building in very good shape in an excellent location.”

  “I’m not disagreeing,” Elliott said. “I’m merely stating what is practical for me. I buy buildings for renovation and resale. Restoration costs will be very high, and frankly, in today’s market, I may have a problem reselling…as Mr. Lamb may have in selling.”

  There was a long pause, then: “So, what would you consider a reasonable figure?”

  Elliott quoted a price lower than he was actually willing to pay, which again was all part of the ritual of the business. He knew it, and Freiburg knew it. The usual dicker-room was in the area of ten percent.

  Again a pause. “I don’t know if Mr. Lamb could possibly go that low. But of course, I’m obligated to present all offers…”

  “We haven’t reached the offer stage,” Elliott pointed out. “We’re in the ‘would I consider making an offer if the price were practical’ stage.”

  “Understood. Well, let me talk to Mr. Lamb and get back to you.”

  “I’ll look forward to your call.”

  *

  The evening news had just ended, and Elliott had gone into the kitchen to start dinner when the land-line phone rang.

  “Elliott, it’s Bruno. Sorry to bother you, but there were a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about, and I couldn’t bring them up when you called yesterday.”

  Elliott had called Sunday morning to thank him for having them up Saturday night. He’d heard voices in the background and assumed either Bruno or Cage—or both—had had overnight guests. Bruno had sounded decidedly hung over.

  “Sure. You prefer over the phone or in person?”

  “Easier in person, I think, if you wouldn’t mind. But I don’t want to disturb your evening.”

  “No problem. I was just starting dinner, but if you’d like to come down around eight for coffee or a drink, that’d be fine.”

  “Why don’t you come up here? Cage is going out for the evening. I’ve got an entire cake I forgot to put out at the party and hate to see it go to waste.”

  “Sure. That’ll be fine.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you at eight.”

  No sooner had he hung up when the phone rang again.

  “Elliott Smith.”

  “Hello, Elliott, it’s Rudy. I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”

  “No, I was just sitting down for it now,” he semi-lied, not wanting a long conversation. “What can I do for you, Rudy?”

  There was only a slight pause before: “Ah, well, I won’t keep you. But I mentioned to you at Bruno’s Saturday that I had a business proposition you might find of interest.”

  “Yes? What kind of proposition?”

  “I have the chance to buy one of the hottest bars in the city. The place is a gold mine, and I’m looking for one or two investors. Normally, I’d just do it all myself, but I’ve recently expanded my limousine service, and those stretch babies aren’t cheap. So, I thought I’d approach you and Bruno to let you in on it. Bruno’s definitely in, and since he speaks highly of you, I thought you’d like the chance to come in with him.”

  Elliott suspected that Rudy’s main target was Bruno, and that getting Elliott to come along would be a means of assuaging any hesitation Bruno might have.

  “Well, that’s nice of you, Rudy, but I don’t know if I’d be the right person for you. What bar, by the way?”

  “I can’t say at the moment—the current owners don’t want it known they’re considering selling, and I promised I wouldn’t say anything until I had a chance to line up a few investors before making an offer. As I say, if I hadn’t just placed an order for four new limos…”

  Elliott’s immediate thought was to wonder why the current owners would be selling if the place was a gold mine. But he didn’t want to ask and possibly give Rudy the idea he was interested.

  “Well, as I say, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable getting into the bar business.”

  “I understand, but this would only be as an investment—twenty-five, thirty thousand, tops. Bruno and I will put up the bulk of the cash. You can’t go wrong.”

  Elliott paused. He wanted to give Rudy an immediate flat-out no but felt he should talk to Bruno first. He was sure Rudy’s proposal was one of the things Bruno wanted to talk to him about.

  “I’d need to know quite a bit more about everything involved before I could give it any sort of serious consideration.”

  “Of course. I’ll work up some figures, and we can go over them. But promise me you won’t just dismiss it out-of-hand before you have the facts, okay?”

  “Okay,” Elliott said, though he knew that even if the deal were totally legitimate, which he instinctively doubted, he had no interest in investing in a bar.

  “Good! We’ll talk soon, then.”

  They hung up, and Elliott returned to making his dinner.

  *

  He arrived at Bruno’s at exactly eight o’clock, and as he followed him into the living room, Bruno asked, “Which do you prefer—coffee or a drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “I think I’d better have coffee,” Bruno said. “I’ve been drinking way too much lately. I’m a quick drunk, and the hangovers are deadly. I’m toying with the idea of stopping altogether before it kills me.”

  Elliott took a seat in the living room while Bruno went into the kitchen.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “A little of both,” Elliott replied, and a minute later, Bruno carried a tray with a coffee carafe, two mugs, and two large slices of a very rich-looking cake to the dining room table.

  “We might be a little more comfortable here,” Bruno said, and Elliott got up to join him. “I’m glad you and Steve came up Saturday night,” he continued after they’d sat down. “Ralph really enjoyed talking with Steve about art. He asked me if I could give Steve his phone number. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Elliott smiled and shrugged.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” although he did have a small, quickly repressed twinge of concern.

  Reaching into his shirt pocket, Bruno took out a folded piece of paper and handed it over. “I’m sure he just wants to talk about art,” he said, almost apologetically.

 
“Steve’s a big boy,” Elliott replied. “I trust him.”

  Bruno sighed. “Good!” After taking another sip of coffee, he said, “But the main reason I wanted to talk to you is to get your advice.”

  “About Rudy’s proposition,” Elliott guessed, making it a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes. He said he was going to talk to you about it, too.”

  “Yeah, I talked with him earlier tonight. Kind of short on detail, but he said he was pulling some information together on it, and that he’d present it to both of us.” He didn’t mention that the only reason he wanted to see it was to spot danger zones Bruno might not recognize.

  “So, what do you think of the idea? I’d love to own a gay bar.”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve made it a rule never to consider anything until I’m sure I have all the necessary facts, and even then I won’t do it unless I’m positive all the t’s are crossed and the i’s dotted. As for Rudy’s proposal, I don’t think I’d be interested in any event. The bar scene is a totally different world.”

  “But do you think I should consider it?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d definitely suggest you don’t make a commitment before you have all the information. I’d also strongly recommend you run it past your financial advisor.”

  “Oh, I definitely will. Cage is encouraging me to go for it, but I’m afraid he’s hardly an impartial observer, especially now that he’s working for Rudy. And of course, I’ll mention it to Sensei.”

  “Cage has started already?” Elliott asked.

  “Well, he has to apply for his chauffeur’s license before he can officially start driving, but he’s going out tonight with Rudy and Chaz to Lake Forest to meet one of Rudy’s clients. I don’t expect him back tonight.”

  Elliott suppressed a grin. “So, will he be staying with you permanently?”

  “I’m sure not. He’s really charming, but he’s so much younger, and our interests aren’t all that similar. Now that he’s working, he’ll be able to save enough money to get a place of his own. And he’s hit it off quite well with Chaz, who I’m sure you remember from Saturday night. To be honest, I rather have this hope he and Chaz might end up getting a place together. But then, I’m an incurable romantic.” He paused a moment then added, “With a strong streak of realism.”

  Elliott suppressed another smile and let the remark pass. Bruno, he decided, was nobody’s fool. Perhaps he didn’t need as much protecting as Elliott had first assumed.

  As they finished their cake, Elliott said, “I’m curious as to how you came by your Inverted Jennys. I’d imagine they don’t come on the market all that often.”

  Bruno washed down a piece of his cake with a swig of coffee.

  “You’re right, and it was a real stroke of luck. It was Sensei who put me onto them. I told you we met at a stamp show. He’s a long-time collector with a lot of contacts in the stamp world.

  “A couple of weeks after we met, he confided in me that one of his students, a very wealthy collector, was going through some serious financial difficulties, and was in desperate need of immediate cash. He told Sensei he was even considering selling his Jennys at far below market value. I immediately told him I’d be interested, and asked him to convey the message to the owner. He did, and the owner said what he wanted for them, and I agreed.”

  Elliott couldn’t help but be suspicious.

  “So, people just casually sell one another stamps worth millions of dollars?”

  A quick look of what he interpreted as embarrassment flashed across Bruno’s face.

  “Of course, most sales of this magnitude go through dealers and brokers, but dealers sometimes engage in what are called ‘private treaty sales,’ whereby the dealer becomes the conduit through which one collector sells to another collector without going to auction or selling it outright to a dealer. The dealer makes a commission on the sale without having to expend any money himself.”

  “So, Clifford Blanton is a dealer?”

  “Not technically, but he doesn’t need to be. The owner was willing to sell, I was willing to buy, and Sensei was kind enough to act as the middle man.”

  “Do you know who the original owner is?”

  “No, he wanted to remain anonymous. But I had the PFC, and I trust Sensei implicitly. I heard later that whatever financial problems the original owner was having that caused him to sell had been resolved, and he wanted to buy them back. I refused. He’s been nagging poor Sensei ever since.”

  While Elliott did not share Bruno’s sense of trust, and wondered just how authentic the “certificate” might be, he realized that to pursue the subject any further might make Bruno feel he was being interrogated. And after all, whatever Bruno did was Bruno’s business, not his.

  They changed the subject and talked for another half-hour or so before Elliott headed back home.

  *

  Alex Freiburg called Tuesday evening as Elliott was on his way from the garage to his mailbox.

  “I’ve talked with Mr. Lamb,” Freiburg began, “and while he was very reluctant to go much lower, I suggest you submit an offer and give me a chance to go over it with him.”

  “Please be sure Mr. Lamb understands that, while I do like the building and would like to have it, I don’t need it. Considering the housing market’s current condition, it’s unrealistic to think in terms of prices as they were even two years ago. And my crew would have to go through the property first.

  “Even then, I doubt I could go more than…” He paused for effect then stated a figure he knew was within ten percent of the property’s real value.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Freiburg said.

  He wasn’t particularly concerned by the call. He’d been in the business too long to let the negotiation stage of any potential deal bother him. He did like the building—a lot—and he realized part of that was because of Steve’s interest in it. Perhaps that was the reason he was toying with the idea of adding it to the small collection of buildings he had bought, refurbished, and kept as rental properties. That this one had commercial space, and that Steve had dreams of opening a gallery someday…

  He tried not to let his mind go too far down that path, because it implied a level of commitment he kept telling himself he wasn’t absolutely sure he was ready for. Whether he believed himself or not was another matter.

  He hadn’t finished dinner when the phone rang.

  Freiburg got right to the point.

  “I’ve spoken with Mr. Lamb, and he’s agreed to a figure I think you’ll find acceptable.”

  The figure he quoted was still high, but Elliott knew was at least entering realistic territory.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let’s set up a time for my crew to go over the place to check for problems and to get an idea of what my costs will be. Then I’ll be in a better position to talk offers. Late afternoon or a Saturday would be preferable.”

  “Fine. I’ll set it up and get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  Knowing Steve would be curious as to what was going on, Elliott waited until he’d finished dinner and put the dishes in the dishwasher, then called to tell him.

  “That’s great, Ell! I really hope you get it!”

  “I’ll keep you posted.” He didn’t mention the possible gallery, though he’d not have been surprised if Steve were having similar thoughts.

  *

  Freiburg called early Wednesday to say Saturday morning would be fine, and agreed on ten o’clock as the time. Rudy called that evening to say he had more information on his proposed business deal and wanted to get together with both Elliott and Bruno Thursday to discuss it.

  “I’ve got a meeting at eight near Roscoe’s on Halsted, and thought we could meet there for a drink around six thirty.”

  Again letting his concern for Bruno overcome the temptation to just say he wasn’t interested, Elliott said, “Six thirty might be cut
ting it a little close. I’ll have to come home and change first, but I’ll be there as close to then as I can make it. Have you talked with Bruno?”

  “I’ll do that as soon as we hang up here. If he can’t make it, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Bruno called to verify he’d be there. “Also, I wonder if you’d like to join me for dinner after our meeting with Rudy. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Someone?” Elliott asked, curious. “One of Rudy’s…employees?”

  Bruno laughed. “No, this is someone I met Sunday night on my own at the Lucky Horseshoe. His name is Ricky, and he’s Puerto Rican and truly charming. He has the most beautiful skin! I know you’ll love him. He’s coming over later tonight, and if you’re up for dinner tomorrow, I’ll see if he can join us.”

  Curiosity prompted Elliott’s reply. “Sure.”

  “Do you want to ride with me to Roscoe’s?”

  “I thought I’d just take the el to Belmont and walk from there. And as I told Rudy, I might be a little late. I’m never sure what time I’ll get home from work, and I’ll have to change, and…”

  “Well, just call me when you’re ready, and we’ll take my car. Why walk all the way to the el stop and all the way from Belmont?”

  “Okay. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  “Good. See you then.”

  *

  Rudy’s proposal was long on promise but evasive in detail despite one impressively long spreadsheet, purportedly of the bar’s current sales and expenses, and another he’d made of estimates of costs for improvements he had in mind, and projected sales after their implementation. Bruno was obviously impressed, Elliott considerably less so, especially when Rudy still would not name the bar, claiming the owners had sworn him to secrecy.

  “I don’t know,” Elliott said. “I never buy anything I haven’t seen first.”

  “I understand,” Rudy replied, “but they won’t allow me to say anything until they know there’s serious interest. I can tell you this, though—it’s on Halsted.”

  So were about twenty-five other gay bars.

  “And the great thing is,” Rudy said, “since they’re anxious to sell, we can get the business for only fifty thou each, or the business and the building for one-point-seventy-five.”