Condominium (16 page)

He straightened up, still on his knees. “My machine has been parked there for over three months and it is not in
anybody’s
way.”

“Your machine, hah? Who the hell are you?”

He reached under and tugged and pulled out a warped skinny wheel with a random tangle of bent spokes aiming in all directions, a limp tire sagging off the rim, a jumble of bent gears fastened to the hub.

“Ruined,” he said in a dragging voice. “Absolutely ruined.”

“I’ll pay for your toy, dads.”

He hopped spryly to his feet, tossing the wheel aside. “Toy? Toy! Madam, I have done three centuries on that machine.”

“That’s some long time.”

“A century is a hundred miles done in one day.”

“You kidding? You? A hundred miles in one day?”

“In six hours and seven minutes, to be precise. That was my best time.”

She looked him over. “Recently?”

“Last month. It was a splendid machine, and I couldn’t guess how many hours of work I’ve put in on it. It fitted me perfectly. It weighed just under twenty-six pounds. I just changed from Shimano to SunTour derailleur and installed an elliptical sprocket and … But why am I standing here like an idiot talking to you? You are obviously so drunk you can hardly stand. And you have … uh … apparently had some kind of personal mishap there.”

“Right. I spilled my drink.”

“You were drinking while driving? I know who you are, of course. You are the notorious Mrs. Brasser in Four-A. I think you are a menace. I shall now place a call to the authorities.”

“Now wait a
minute
! Who are you?”

“I am Roger Jeffrey. From Five-B.”

“You rent it?”

“What possible difference could that make to you? We own it, Mrs. Brasser. We moved in during January. Your car is blocking the way if anyone wants to get in or out. Perhaps you should move it. Or shall I?”

She realized she had the paper cup in her hand. She finished the dregs of her drink, handed him the cup, got in, started the engine and backed smartly away. He began hollering and waving his arms. The bike made a long scraping sound. She stopped, shifted, darted forward. He leaped out of the way. She had thought he would go the other way. She had turned in the direction of his leap. She nearly got him. The scraping noise stopped and the back wheel bumped over something. She looked in her side-view mirror and saw a squashed mess of blue tubing and shiny metal bits back there. She drove another thirty feet and put her car in its slot. She locked it and turned and found Roger Jeffrey standing there.

“What’s the matter with you, Roger?”

“Did … did you try to run me down?”

“For God’s sake! You’re trembling like a leaf. Hey, you want a drink?”

“I do not want a drink. I am going to report you for drunken, reckless, insane driving, destroying personal property, leaving the scene of an accident and—”

“I am going to buy you a brand-new bike. Right? And we are going to forget all this police talk. Right?”

“Wrong.”

“Now be a nice guy, will you? I’ve got
enough
problems already. I’m a widow. You shouldn’t go around yelling at widows. Come on, Roger. You call the cops, and you won’t get dime one out of
me, and the insurance company I’ve got, you’ll get a check for half what that thing was worth in like 1980. Know what I’ll do for you? I’ll buy you one with a motor! How’s that.”

“Please. I don’t want anything with a motor.”

“Okay. One better than the one you had, then.”

“But …”

“Come on. I got the money up in my place. Come on.”

“I can’t just leave it there like that,” he said and he went and picked up the mashed machine. He hesitated, and then carried the various pieces back to the ring bolt. The chain and lock had fallen to the cement floor. He wove the chain through the two wheels, the broken front fork, the drive chain. He stuffed the twisted drop handlebars into the mess, and balanced the broken carrier on top of it. He unstrapped his small tool kit, selected a wrench and took the black leather seat out of the ruins, freeing it from the support. He slipped his knapsack off and put the seat and tool kit into it and shouldered it back on. “Have to put the same seat on the new machine,” he explained. “I’ve put twenty-five hundred miles on this one. It’s just nicely broken in.”

At the open door to the elevator he hesitated. “I really ought to take steps to get you off the highway, Mrs. Brasser, before you kill some innocent person.”

“Look, you. I am a careful driver. You want a new bike or don’t you?”

They rode up to the fourth floor and walked down the exterior walkway to 4-A. After considerable fumbling she discovered she was trying to open her door with her car key. She found the right key and opened the door and said, “Excuse, it’s kind of a mess.”

He stood in the doorway and stared at the apartment. “What happened in here?”

“Nothing happened in here. All that happened is that the girl
that comes and picks up, Leanella, she’s had flu for two weeks, is all. Pick any chair, Roger, and dump the stuff off it and have a seat. Sure you don’t want a drink to steady your nerves? Now, what does it cost to get you a better bike. Hundred? Hundred and a half?”

“My dear woman! That machine cost me two hundred and seventy-five dollars fourteen months ago. I have put a minimum of seventy dollars into custom improvements, and that does not allow anything for my time. Had someone on the street offered me four hundred dollars for that machine, I would have said no.”

“Listen. Are you trying some kind of rip-off?”

“I assure you—”

“Those skinny bikes where you got to ride all bent over, they cost that much? Really?”

“That was a Schwinn Voyageur, ten-speed, opaque blue, with a lugged frame, center pull brakes, rat-trap pedals—”

“Okay, okay. Jesus! Settle for four hundred?”

“I just told you no. There is a factor of mental anguish involved here. And my sense of duty, about phoning the authorities. I think I would now like to buy myself an eight-hundred-dollar machine.”

“You have
got
to be kidding.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“Right over there. Well, it
was
right over there. What the hell? Oh, here it is, under this pair of slacks.”

“I suppose I just dial operator and ask for the police.”

“There’s a number in the front of the book, I think, but I looked for the book the other day for an hour and never did find it. I did find a shoe that had been missing. Woops!”

“Careful! You are very drunk, madam.”

“Not for this time of day, Roger. Go ahead and call.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Hold it! You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Six hundred?”

“No, and not seven hundred or seven hundred and fifty. In fact, in a very short time it is going up to eight hundred and twenty-five.”

“You are trying to take advantage of a widow, you rotten stringy curly-haired old son of a bitch.”

“Now it is eight twenty-five!”

“All right!
All right!
Put the phone down. I’ll get my checkbook. Jesus! If I can find it.”

She came out with her checkbook. She looked back through the stubs. It had been a long time since she had balanced it, but there should be at least three thousand left. She asked how he spelled his last name. She handed the check to him. He examined it, folded it once, put it in his shirt pocket and thanked her, gravely.

“You know, Roger, you are one hard-nose old bassard. You are mean, you know that? What did you do for a living, sell orphans to the circus?”

“College professor. I spent thirty years at Syracuse University.”

“Teaching what? Blackmail?”

“Comparative religion, madam.”

“Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I must be off. Thank you for the generous settlement. Good day, Mrs. Brasser.”

“Good day to you, professor. Don’t let the door bump you in the ass on the way out.”

After he left she said, “Peggy, you’ve just been taken by that leathery old son of a bitch. It depressed you. What you need is a drink. A nice drink to cheer you up.” She went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet. No glasses. She selected one out of the
sink and rinsed it out. She opened the refrigerator and found she had forgotten to make ice again. Have to remember the ice, dammit. The case of booze was on the floor by the liquor cabinet. The first two she started to lift were empties. The third was full. She cracked the seal, poured the tumbler half full, hesitated, filled it to within a half inch of the rim. She drank, leaning against the counter. She wobbled into the bedroom and sat on the side of her unmade bed. She hoisted the glass. “To you, Charley baby.” She drank. She put the glass on the bedside stand, an inch of liquor left in it. She lay back and closed her eyes and in ten seconds she began snoring.

AFTER LEW TRAFF
reported back, saying that Fred Hildebert had personally put a freeze on the Marliss Corporation’s line of credit, Martin Liss forced a smile and said there had to be some mistake, that Fred would have had the courtesy to contact him first before doing a thing like that, and he would get hold of Fred right away and clear it up. Hell, Marliss and the Athens Bank and Trust Company had a special long-term relationship.

Two days passed before Liss could get together with Hildebert. Neutral ground was selected, a corner table for two for lunch at the University Club on the top floor of the Palm Coast National Bank building, three blocks south of the Athens Bank and Trust Company. Hildebert was a tall, bald, thick-bodied man with a soft husky voice and glasses with lenses which made his blue eyes look huge and misted.

“I don’t blame you for being sore, but let me give you some background on this, Marty. Things have changed very damned
fast. The fat rosy ass has fallen off the economy. You have no idea the fits the FDIC examiners have been giving me. You have no idea the loans they have classified. You have no idea how deep we will have to dip into loan loss reserves. Off the record, I see a very bad statement coming out the end of the year. Frankly, we got too deep into resort construction, and we’ve got some very sorry loans we’re going to have to do something about. The reason—”

“Fred, I am not interrupting you in any way. I am just reminding you right here in the middle of your speech that you made some nice interest money on the Marliss Corporation, and the last two projects, Golden Sands and Captiva House, they paid out right on time, and you picked up very nice sound mortgage paper on both of them, on good-value apartments.”

“Marty, believe me, I am aware of that, and I wish all the developers had your ability and good sense. What I am trying to tell you, the examiners say we are too heavy on development loans. We’re not a giant bank. We’re a one-hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar bank. We were all set to go into a holding company situation when this construction collapse killed it.”

“All the background is nice, Fred, and I’m glad you’re telling me, but in my office safe there is a piece of paper with your name on it, and it says I have an eleven-million line of credit.”

“Some things take precedence.”

“So what does that mean? I planned on the basis of that. I am one hundred and seventy-eight thousand dollars out of pocket so far, counting on that money. You want to make my loss up to me?”

“Marty, Marty. Don’t get in an uproar. Believe me, I understand your problem as if it was my own. Can I do something the examiners tell me not to do? And believe me, even if I could, the very best I could do for you would be nine point seven five percent.
But there’s another reason why I can’t. You’d be over the bank limit for an individual borrower.”

“The borrower is the Marliss Corporation!”

“Which is you, Marty. You are the major stockholder. But what would take us over the limit is money owed the bank by two other businesses: Gulfway Management and Investment Equities. We’re holding their paper.”

“But I have a very small interest in them. A few shares. Hell, I can sell those shares tomorrow and be out of both of them.”

“Am I some kind of dummy, Marty?”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me credit for knowing my own line of work. On account of the loans, I asked for and got a list of the shareholders in Gulfway Management and Investment Equities. So you are on the list for a few shares. And there is a corporation on the list with enough shares for control, in both companies. Right? A Miami-based outfit called Services Management Group, Incorporated. I have to follow through in my line of work. I had to ask a couple of favors of a couple of friends, but I came up with the shareholders in that Miami outfit, and what do I find?”

“Okay, Fred. Okay.”

“I find that the Marliss Corporation owns a large equity in Services Management Group.”

“I said okay, didn’t I? What you should understand is that there are some other people in SMG with me, and they have the leverage to make sure I don’t get hung up by my suppliers and I don’t get hung up by any construction union. It’s like insurance to have them in there.”

“Marty, it is one of the reasons I can’t honor that line of credit for eleven million. And I may be doing you a favor.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean this is a very bad time to get into anything that big. I went over the figures with Lew. With the empty condominium apartments, can you sell a hundred and sixty-eight of them at prices from eighty-five to a hundred and twenty-five on today’s market?”

“Right this minute, no. But remember, if I move now, I’ll be selling them two years down the road, and I am betting things will be a lot better by then.”

“Do you really want to go ahead with it?”

“What do you think? Hell, yes!”

“Well, there’s a way. I don’t know if you’ll go for the conditions. All I can do is get you and the other man together.”

“I make it a rule never to give away pieces of my action.”

“I know that.”

“And I do not put myself personally on any paper I have to sign. I am on there only as an officer of a corporation.”

“I know that, Marty. Let me put it this way. This friend of mine has certain problems and you have certain problems, and I think they fit together in a way that will help you both out.”