by Bill Thesken
The real estate market had been going down for a couple of years and it was a perfect time to pick up a lot of inventory. At that point in time, it seemed like a good idea to get as much floor space as possible, then renovate where needed like he did with the restaurants.
While running the clubs he ran the record label as a sideline, and signed a couple more hungry rap stars and then branched into the mainstream with hip hop and soul. The record company grew with the industry and pretty much ran itself for a while, and then they started merchandizing the talent with clothing lines and started pulling in more money.
Every penny he made went into buying more real estate, and that was another big headache that had to be learned first-hand. Renters were both a source of steady income and also a source of mental anguish. Cheap apartment buildings meant cheap tenants, people who trashed the places and ran off without paying the rent.
Being a landlord took a whole other learning experience curve, and he slowly and painfully learned that it was better to own a few nice pieces of real estate with wealthy, meaningfully employed tenants, than a bunch of dirty run-down tenement’s that always needed repairs, with unemployed bums on welfare and worse.
He had a piece of all the essentials that made the world go around and around. People needed houses and food and diversions and they would always pay for it.
Build it, provide it, maintain it, and rake in the profits. Whether it was a tattoo parlor, a club with booze and music, or a high rise apartment building it was all the same. Profit margin. Invest and provide a service for profit. He had a staff of ten accountants working full time, plus the assistance of one of the top CPA firms in the country as a backup. The basic motto of the company was cash flow.
The number one priority of this day was liquidating assets to free up cash for the basketball team minority ownership purchase. It was going to take seventy five million and they couldn’t tap into the working capital without putting the whole system in danger. It was going to have to come from within the asset base, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. It had to happen fairly quick too.
The investment group tapped him to be the next minority owner, but they had timelines to meet, bills to pay. They just signed the number one draft pick in the lottery who was going to put them back into the playoffs this year, at a huge cost. They needed money, liquid cash flow right now. These opportunities didn’t come along very often. If he couldn’t come up with the cash by the end of the week they’d go to the next guy on the list.
A sweet voice came of the intercom. “Mr. W, he’s here, should I send him in?”
“Yes please.”
An impeccably dressed man in his mid-thirties walked through the thick double doors that were held open by his secretary. He wore a silver double breasted suit with a jet black tie and jet black shoes, blond hair neatly combed and trimmed, freshly shaved with no mustache, and carrying a thin black briefcase. He could be either a banker or a hitman, but at this particular moment was a high priced courier.
C-Dub was brief. “It’s about time.”
“The traffic was…”
“Let’s have it,” C-Dub cut him off and reached for the thin case. He set it down on the desk and flicked open the locks. “The most paranoid business owners I’ve ever met.”
“They said it’s their final offer.”
“So they said.” C-Dub picked up the papers and started reading through them. A deal this big couldn’t be negotiated over the phone, or by sending any documents over the internet said the opposing player. Sometimes an old fashioned courier was the safest route they said, so he sent his right hand man to pick up the latest offer. The man in the double breasted suit relaxed a bit now that his package had been delivered, and he unbuttoned his jacket revealing a silver pistol in a holster under his armpit.
C-Dub looked up instinctively at the shape of the gun on the periphery of his vision, the quick muscles in his arm ready to pull at his own gun if needed. It was loaded and within reach. Then he relaxed and kept reading, while thinking to himself that maybe he was a little too on edge.
Most of the stack of papers was legal mumbo jumbo, the first party to the second party, yada yada yada. He got to the most important part and read out loud.
“Sixty million up- front, another twenty million in two months. Seventy five percent controlling interest with the up-front money and one hundred percent control with the remaining payment.”
He pushed the papers away. “I don’t have a problem with their having a controlling interest with that much of a down payment on the investment, but I do have a problem with the up-front money. It’s not enough. They’re ten million short. I told them flat out I need seventy million, or there’s no deal. What is it about those two little words ‘seventy million’ that they don’t seem to understand?”
“Maybe they don’t have it boss. Times are tough.”
“Those greedy bastards have it all right. And more. They’ve been after my record company for years now. They know what’s happening, they read the stats. We’re booming. They started at fifty up front, and now we’re at sixty. We’re getting closer.”
“You want to write up a counter offer for them boss?”
“I wouldn’t waste the paper.” He scrolled through his rolodex till he found the number he wanted and picked up the phone.” Making a phone call with an ultimatum, now that’s the old fashioned way.
The smart phone on the other end rang three times and a voice answered. “This is Conrad.”
The infamous Conrad Jones, filthy rich multimedia pirate and entrepreneur, thief and outlaw and now multi billionaire. Made his first million the old fashioned way, by stealing it legally, pirating songs before it was outlawed and selling digital copies overseas, under the radar.
“Conrad, it’s C-Dub”
The phone on the other end was muffled like a hand over the speaker while someone talked to the side. Then another voice came on the phone, the real Conrad. This guy was so paranoid he wouldn’t even answer his own phone.
“This isn’t a secure line,” said the gruff voice.
“They don’t exist anymore,” said C-Dub, “ didn’t you get the memo? We’re all being tapped, all the time, everywhere, so we might as well just relax and be ourselves.”
“Did your courier deliver our offer?”
“Yes, and that’s why I’m calling.”
“We’d prefer to do it our way. With a courier.”
“This won’t take long. You agree to my terms and I’ll send him back to you with a legal document ready to be signed. Okay?”
A long silence, and abruptly: “Make it quick then.”
“Seventy million, up front, ten million down the road, whatever date you want. But I want the seventy large now.”
“Our offer stands, as presented.”
Trying to be a tough guy. “I’m going to send you a snapshot of my computer screen, so you know where the company is headed. We’re clearing half a million per day and rising. Wait any longer and I won’t need you, or your money.”
“Don’t send it to this phone…” he tried to interject.
But it was too late, C-Dub clicked onto the Bad Rap Records graph and took a snapshot of the intricate graphs, all green and rising, zooming in and filling the frame with his smartphone and hit the send button.
“We’re up twenty five percent across the board in the past three days.”
“I see,” said the voice on the other end.
“Right now you’re in the pole position for winning the company,” said C-Dub “but that could change quickly.”
“There’s another offer on the table?”
“Isn’t there always?” he lied.
“We’ll have to move some things around to meet… your deadline,” said the other end. “Send your courier back with the revisions and we’ll see what we can do.”
“I need to know by tomorrow morning,” said C-Dub, and when the Conrad tried to talk, C-Dub merely hung up the phone. Now that’s how it w
as done, he thought. My terms.
“I never thought you’d sell the record company,” said the silver suit. “That was the first company you owned.”
C-Dub glared at him. “Second. The tattoo shop was the first. And don’t’ worry, I won’t get all misty eyed when it’s gone. There’s something else I want more right now, and selling the record company is the easiest way to raise the money quickly. I’m very fortunate that it’s doing as well as it is right now, wouldn’t you say? Besides, I can always start another record company, all it takes is some raw talent and a studio to record an album. The rest is just promotion. Nothing to it.”
The silver suit could see the gears shifting and stood up, while C-Dub wrote on a sticky note that he attached to the stack of papers, clicked the briefcase shut and pushed it over to him. “Take this over to Allen and have him make the changes and courier it back across town to Conrad.”
“Sure Boss.”
“But first let’s settle all this other business.” He pulled a stack of papers over in front of him and started going through it. “Here’s the building contract for the new apartment complex, make sure there’s no loopholes for any of these contractors to get out at the last minute, I want these guys all locked in ironclad before we commit to the bank for the loan. How’s your guy down at the planning department?”
“Rock solid.”
“You paid him?”
“A hundred and fifty grand in an offshore account. He’s good to go.”
“What about the other guy, the one who was opposed to the project?”
“He disappeared on a fishing trip off Baja yesterday. Five miles out, rough seas, it’s a sad old story. Poor guy fell off the boat, no trace of him, the crew said he was wearing some heavy clothes and got dragged under by the current. They called off the search this morning.”
“Darn shame,” said C-Dub “What about the new guy, the one who’s taking his place?”
“He’s on-board with us a hundred percent, we got him greased up and ready to go, like a fat happy pig on his way to the luau, apple in his mouth and all. He’s got his own brand new offshore account and we put the first fifty grand as good faith into it. The mayor should be appointing him next week as soon as the official mourning period is over. Can’t do these things too quickly you know. There’s a certain protocol to follow.”
“Of course. They need to bury the poor guy, in spirit if that’s all they got before they can move on. As long as we got the new guy in there before the vote on the project goes to the panel. What about the widow?
“She’s okay. Found out the husband was having an affair.”
“Was he?” Asked C-Dub his eyebrows arching.
“Does it matter?”
C-Dub shrugged his shoulders. “Not to me it doesn’t.”
“She gets a nice fat insurance settlement, and doesn’t have to deal with the lying cheating bastard anymore.”
“Works for me,” said C-Dub “Alright, that’s that. Now the golf course problem needs to be solved. Who the hell do these guys think they are holding up the water rights?”
“It’s a woman named Agnes Stillwater of all things, Stillwater can you believe it? She’s on the water board and is throwing a monkey wrench into our request for extra treated water for the back nine, says it should be going to the farmland by the freeway bypass.”
“We’re in a damn drought and the back nine looks like hell lately, doesn’t she realize people won’t pay to play on a brown golf course? We have to get the course up to full speed before right away, they’re making a decision on the PGA event, and I want that event, dammit. Maybe Agnes Stillwater can accidently drive herself off a cliff, or drop the hairdryer into the bath tub whilst taking a bubble bath. Stranger things have happened.”
“I’ll work on it. How’s the NBA deal shaping up?”
C-Dub gritted his teeth. “We’re almost in. They’re giving me an extra week to come up with the cash and I’ll finally have my little piece of the franchise.”
“A little bit’s better than nothing, right boss?”
“For now it is, all I need right now is to get my foot in the door. I’ll get in there and bide my time, enjoy the moment, make happy kissy face and be the good guy, and then when the other shareholders slowly fade away or die suddenly, I’ll be there to console the survivors, and increase my share, till someday in the not too distant future, the team will be all mine.”
The room was silent for a moment as they pondered the thought of it. And then C-Dubs wheels began to turn again. “You know what the most powerful thing in the world is?”
Bob Silver squinted and thought for moment then felt the metal object at his armpit. “A gun?”
“No”
“A nuclear bomb?”
“Nope.”
Bob was stuck. What could be more powerful than a nuclear bomb?
“Love,” said C-Dub.
Bob laughed out loud. “You’re joking right? Love? That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard you say. You putting me on boss?”
C-Dub’s face was rock steady. “Not just any kind of love though. There’s all kinds of love out there, love for someone of the opposite sex, love of art, literature, love of a child or a parent or a sibling or a pet, or of nature or science or puzzles or hobbies and sports. But I’m telling you that’s all kid stuff. For infants and babies and people whose minds are lost in la-la land. The most powerful love is the love of money.”
Bob was silent, and C-Dub continued.
“We’re talking power here, right? Total power. Control. You see with money you can buy anything in the world, guns, armies, weapons, people, nuclear bombs, even whole governments if you want, with which to control people, control the world. And if you love money, you will gain money, you will nurture it and grow it and protect it and use to gather more money.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. I love money because of what it can do for me. I want to gather as much money as I can, as fast as I can, and anyone who gets in my way is gonna get rubbed out. Quickly. You ever heard of Alexander the Great?”
“Sure, the guy who conquered the world. He was great.” Bob laughed at his own little joke.
C-Dub remained serious. “Sure he’s remembered as Alexander the Great, and everyone instantly thinks good things of him, a unifier, a great general, a conqueror, a champion. Cities are named after him. Everyone likes a winner right?”
Bob shrugged his shoulders. “Of course.”
C-Dub nodded. “Sure, everyone loves a winner. Alexander the Great conquered the world with weapons and armies and brutality. He destroyed whole cities who got in his way, butchered thousands of people and entire populations on any given day if they didn’t surrender to his marching armies. After a ten year campaign of terror whole countries in his path surrendered rather than be obliterated. Word got around, the guy was ruthless. And he’s remembered as Alexander the Great for his success, not for his murderous destruction. They could have named him Alexander the Annihilator.”
“What’s that got to do with the love of money?”
“How do you think he paid for his army to go rampaging across the world? And bought new armies on the way? Money. He ransacked the treasuries of all the cities and kingdoms he conquered and used it to plow his way across the globe sacking as he went. He loved money and it took him places, got him the results that he wanted. And when he was on his deathbed he told his assistants to take him to his grave with his pockets turned out and his palms facing up and empty to show everyone that he was leaving this earth with no money.”
“That’s a great story boss. So are you planning on conquering the world like that guy?”
C-Dub sat back in his chair and tapped his chin in reflection. “One step at a time Bob. One step at a time.”
17.
Bulldog sat in the front seat of the non-descript black suburban town car with the tinted windows that everyone on the block knew was either a cop car, or an undercover cop car. He t
urned to his partner in the passenger seat.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask, have you ever actually erased anyone?”
“I’m getting ready to right now actually,” said Jerry and checked the grip on his pistol.
“Because if it’s just a rumor, I need to know. Being your compadre, your amigo, your right hand man on this mission I need to know if you got the right stuff, or got no stuff at all.” Bulldog was still pissed about taking the heat for letting Badger get away from the hospital and he wasn’t going to let Jerry forget about it.
They were sitting outside the Crown Plaza watching the traffic, the people, the whole scene go down. Earlier that morning a cab driver walked into the local police precinct and reported that he’d seen Badger, had in fact given him a ride from the scene of the crime at the club to this exact spot. He was angry when he found out that the back seat and floorboards were soaked in blood, ruined his car in fact, and when he saw the morning news and the picture of the wanted guy he decided to do his civic duty and report it right away. Plus he wanted the ten thousand dollar reward.
They watched as a marked police cruiser passed them by for the fifth time that hour, the two occupants in the front seat glowering at them as they had every previous time. The police were miffed that the protection agency got wind of the wanted guy’s last known whereabouts and seemed to think that their investigation was being hindered by the black car sitting in the exact spot that the guy had last been seen.
“Those guys are blowing our cover,” said Bulldog. “Beat it!” And he waved with the back of hand in the direction of the departing cop car.
Jerry looked over at his partner with disgust. “Blowing our cover? Everyone within a mile radius has us pegged as a narc. This is a damned waste of time. We need to either start driving around like those guys, or get out of the car and start walking around, asking questions, finding leads.”
