by James Ross
The day arrived for the meeting in Walter’s office. The weather was sunny, but crisp. There was a little nip in the air which had been expected around the holidays. J Dub parked his pickup and strolled down the sidewalk. He was still optimistic that something favorable could be worked out between the partners. His desire was to buy the golf course. Outside of playing on the professional tour, purchasing the golf course had become his major goal in life.
He peeked in a couple of directions to see if there was any sight of the van that Booker said that he would occupy. Booker didn’t disappoint him. A white panel van was parked a half of a block away. The lettering on the outside of the van read: WATER POLLUTION CONTROL VIDEO INSPECTION UNIT.
Booker and Hayden sat inside the van amidst all of the surveillance equipment. Booker had seen J Dub’s pickup drive up and park. Hayden waited for the moment when J Dub would speak. He was instructed to do that prior to entering Walter’s office.
“Testing one, two, three,” J Dub announced as he walked down the sidewalk. The sound was wonderful. Booker flashed the lights on and off to give a signal to J Dub that everything was in perfect working order.
The only item that remained was for J Dub to get Walter and Lew to talk. He entered the door and was greeted by Hank who had arrived about five minutes ahead of J Dub. Walter’s assistant lavished a few formalities on them and escorted them to the conference room.
Seated around the conference table were Lew, Walter, and Monty. No one had a smile on their face. No pleasantries were exchanged. That was not a good sign. J Dub immediately felt the negative energy that permeated the room. What was just as scary was the lack of eye contact between the parties. It seemed as if everyone had their vision glued to the top of the table.
Monty spoke up first. He was very straightforward and rambled in monotone. “J Dub, we have never met. My name is Maurice DiMonte. Lew has asked us to gather at this meeting to help facilitate a transaction that he is trying to make. He has expressed a desire to sell the golf course to you, but you have no motivation in completing the transaction.”
“That’s not true. I’ve asked questions about the business and can’t seem to get any answers to my satisfaction.”
Monty was terse. “My client, Lew Zerrmann, has informed me of the buy/sell agreement that the two of you have in place. He feels that he has performed admirably under the terms of that agreement,” Monty continued.
“And so have I.”
Meanwhile, Booker and Hayden used hand gestures in the van. They tried their best to egg J Dub on. Both sat with headphones on and waited for any bit of incriminating evidence that they could record. “Come on J Dub,” Booker urged.
Hank spoke up. “My client has indicated that he would like to buy the golf course under the terms of the partnership agreement.”
Monty countered. “My client has instructed me to inform you that he has found another purchaser for the golf course.”
“I want to buy it!” J Dub shouted. “No one has told me how a business with six thousand dollars’ worth of income can justify a five million dollar sales price. Do you know, Walter?”
Walter fidgeted with his hands. He looked down at the table and away from J Dub. It was apparent that Walter had been told to keep quiet.
J Dub turned his focus to Lew. “ . . . How about you, Lew? Where is the money going?”
Lew sat silently at the table. He would have nothing to say. J Dub glared at his spineless partner with the hopes that Lew could feel the wrath of J Dub’s anger. Lew cast his eyes downward and didn’t blink.
After thirty seconds of silence Monty spoke. “I am here to complete the transaction.”
“I have the option and right of first refusal to buy the business,” J Dub declared.
“That is not in Mr. Zerrmann’s best interest. It is his feeling that as a minority shareholder you have no rights.”
“Then I’ll take my twenty percent cut. Things could be worse.”
“And they may be,” Monty expounded, “since you have no rights as a minority shareholder. Mr. Zerrmann does not feel that your twenty percent stake is worth anything.”
J Dub glanced at Hank. He had been prepared for that answer but still hated to hear it. “Sure it is,” he replied.
“It is my client’s feeling that on paper it may appear that way. However, if you were to take this in front of a judge, then Mr. Zerrmann would state that he feels your interest in the business has zero value,” Monty announced.
J Dub looked directly at Lew. Lew sat motionless. His eyes had shifted to the wall. They were fixed on a spot and Lew didn’t flinch. J Dub was furious that Lew wouldn’t even look at him. “Is that what you would say, Lew? After fifteen years?”
Lew was stoic.
Booker and Hayden were discouraged. “They’re not going to say anything,” Booker said with a disappointed tone.
“Have your lawyer contact us,” Monty offered.
“He’s right here.”
“We have a lot of work to do in a short period of time. Mr. Zerrmann wants to close on the sale of this property in sixty days,” Monty rambled. “If you don’t like that, then Mr. Zerrmann has instructed me to tell you that you can sue him.”
“I can’t do that. All of my money is in the business,” J Dub begged.
J Dub looked again at Walter. “Where’s the money, Walter?” Walter was frozen in time. “Are you going to sit there and stay quiet too?”
Walter’s eyes were focused down on the table. He nervously tapped his pen against a stack of papers.
Hank looked at J Dub. He could feel his pain. Lew and Walter were not going to say anything. The meeting was being conducted exactly as he had imagined.
J Dub glared again at Lew. “Winning on this deal is more important to you than putting me on the sidewalk with a wife and three kids, isn’t it Lew?”
Lew’s eyes stayed focused on the wall. He didn’t move a muscle.
J Dub was irate. To be treated like this by a greedy old man was demeaning. “After fifteen years, is that what you plan to do, Lew?”
The silence was numbing.
The more silent the room became, the more incensed J Dub got. “Dawn to dusk? Seven days a week? Is this what I get, Lew?”
Lew sat like a statue.
J Dub exploded out of the chair. He wanted to grab Lew and Walter by the shoulders and shake them down. “You three deserve each other! This is nothing but a crock of crap!”
J Dub threw a stack of papers off of the conference table. “You guys haven’t heard the end of this!” J Dub glanced over to his lawyer. “Let’s go Hank.”
They exited the room and got outside as quickly as they could. Booker and Hayden slowly peeled off the headphones. “That guy is an asshole,” Booker stated to Hayden. “We need to bear down on that scumbag.”
J Dub and Hank ambled down the sidewalk. “I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming,” Hank declared.
“If that’s the way he wants to be, then let’s hunker down and get ready for a fight.”
J Dub got into his pickup truck. All of the pressures of the last fifteen years had reached an emotional crescendo. He didn’t know what to say to Marcia. She had been right all along. He certainly hoped that she didn’t throw it back into his face. Virtually everything that he had worked for all of his life had gone down the drain. He gripped the steering wheel as tightly as he could and privately bawled all the way home. He vowed to get even.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The Next Day . . .
Lew moved forward with his plan. He had entered into the buy/sell arrangement with J Dub years earlier and had no intention of honoring it. Lew returned to Grady Patterson who had been his attorney when the lawsuit from the Morton heirs had been dismissed. Now he needed advice from Grady Patterson on a different matter.
Grady was at the point in his career where the cocktail hour was a lot more important than wrangling around with other people’s problems. He had taken care of various things
for Lewferd E. Zerrmann off-and-on for the past thirty years and was slightly perturbed that Lew needed to meet so abruptly. “What is so important that it can’t wait until after the holidays?” Grady asked as he motioned for Lew to take a seat. “It’s only a couple of days before Christmas.”
“I need a little help,” Lew replied.
“More free advice is a better way to put it,” Grady paraphrased. He was used to the way Lew operated.
“I want to legally make sure that I can do what I want to do.”
“If you would hire a good lawyer, then you can probably do anything you damn well please,” Grady retaliated. Lew’s penchant for whittling the legal fees down had been widely acknowledged. His way of paying lawyers was to trade something for their services. If he could find one that golfed, then he would trade greens fees for legal services rendered.
“As you well know, I want to get the golf course sold.”
“Considering the other messes you are in that should be the least of your problems,” Grady deadpanned.
“But it’s my partner.”
Grady knew J Dub. He personally liked the kid and knew that Lew had taken advantage of him from the very first day of their liaison. J Dub had been helpful to Grady’s wife when she had struggled with her golf game. He had given her several lessons and straightened her swing out. Now she wasn’t such a bitch on the golf course.
When the topic came up, Grady got up from his chair and headed to his liquor cabinet. He grabbed a rocks glass, threw in a few ice cubes, and reached for the Johnny Walker Red. It was getting close to happy hour and scotch always gave him some creative ideas. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. “Try to make it quick. I’ve got a party to go to.”
“I want to get rid of him. It’s my last big score and I don’t want him in the middle of it,” Lew stated matter-of-factly.
“That’s not what the agreement spells out,” Grady admitted.
“How can I get out of the agreement?” Lew spat his venom across the room.
“Is that what you really want to do?”
Lew nodded. There was a way out of everything. He felt that as long as he had the most money and the most staying power, then he would be able to win every confrontation.
Grady was torn. The implication was clear. He could see that J Dub was going to get the short end of the stick. Yet, Lew was his client and always had a retainer on deposit. “It will create problems.”
“What kind?”
“He might sue you.”
“He doesn’t have any money,” Lew declared. “I’ll bury him in court. That’s if he can even find a lawyer to represent him.”
“Why open up that can of worms? You’re going to sell the place. Why not just sell it to him? He’s been a good partner for you all of these years,” Grady pleaded.
“I don’t want to. I want to sell it to someone else.”
Grady knew better than to ask who. He shook the glass, let the ice rattle, then took a healthy swig. “I gather that you’ve already started what you wanted.”
“And I want to make sure that I can legally get away with it,” Lew persevered.
Grady nodded his head. “J Dub doesn’t have any rights. He’s in a minority position. You can force him out if you want to. You’ve already told him that. All that is left to do is for you to do it.”
Lew wanted to check and double-check what rights J Dub possessed. “And his only recourse is to sue me?”
Grady bobbed his head up and down. He took another swig of scotch, stuck his lower lip out, and placed his chin in his hand.
“What are his chances of beating me?” Lew continued.
“Think about it. He doesn’t have any money to fight you. How’s he going to win?” Grady offered.
Lew’s ego could not accept any sort of defeat. “I want to make damn sure I’ll win, if that happens.”
“Force him out if that’s what you feel is necessary. But you better protect yourself,” Grady urged.
“What do you mean?”
“If you think that you might get sued, then you better take out a liability insurance policy to cover yourself,” Grady suggested.
“Can I do that?” Lew’s interest was piqued by the very thought of that idea.
“Sure you can. If he sues you, then you will have to spend some money to defend yourself. You can recover those fees if you have liability insurance,” Grady explained.
The thought of having someone else pay his legal fees was exactly what Lew wanted to hear. “Then I can’t lose,” Lew reasoned. “I can take the chance of forcing him out of the agreement, stand to take all of the gains, get sued, and have someone else pay my defense bill.”
“I guess in a perfect world it could happen like that,” Grady assured Lew.
“How much do I have to give him to make him happy?” Lew inquired.
“You mean so that he won’t sue you?” Grady corrected.
Lew shrugged.
“He’s going to say his percentage is worth x number of dollars and you’re going to claim it’s worth nothing. Any judge in the county will say to split it down the middle. Especially if it is a partnership matter like this is. Then deduct attorneys’ fees.”
“Everybody I talk to says about thirty cents on the dollar is fair,” Lew stated.
“Yeah, probably. We’ll have to get some disclaimers and waivers signed,” Grady added.
“If he’s not a shareholder in the corporation, then I won’t have to split anything with him, right?”
Grady nodded his head in agreement. “Why do you want to do that to the kid?”
“What difference does it make why? I want to get as much as I can. Let him sue me. I’ll play the odds. Besides, I owe somebody a favor,” Lew said maliciously.
“It could be costly,” Grady warned.
“If I’ve got the insurance policy, then it won’t cost me anything more than the premium,” Lew rationalized. “Sometimes you don’t have to play fair to win. That’s the chance I’ll take.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
The Week between Christmas and New Year’s, 1997 . . .
The King Air B200 made its descent onto the island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. Lew was a stickler for flying in luxury. Privately, he was scared to death to fly. The thought of someone else in control of his life made for a lot of nervous moments.
A few years before, Lew had reached a comfort level with a pilot that assured him that the King Air B200 would provide the luxury and safety needed to fly across the vast expanse of water. The aircraft could cruise at thirty-five thousand feet, had twin engines, and sat seven passengers comfortably.
It was Lew’s customary routine to fly out of Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. The King Air B200 could go nearly two thousand miles on a full tank of gas. The trip into the Virgin Islands was a little over a thousand miles so Lew’s fear of flying was put at ease. He had no friends to take with him so he would always rent the plane for his sole benefit.
Lew didn’t care if it was the week between Christmas and New Year’s. It was his intention for Lois to stay back. When he went to the Virgin Islands, it was on his own time. What he did there was no one else’s business.
As the aircraft readied for touchdown Lew’s anxiety was tempered. Gone were the restless moments over the sea. Gone were the thoughts about an engine conking out. Gone were the fears that the pilot would have a heart attack and die in flight. He was happy to be back on land.
George Pierce greeted Lew in the baggage claim area. His suntan magnified his snaky look. After closing down FARMBELT ABSTRACT AND TITLE COMPANY he fled to Tortola with a boatload of proceeds that should have gone to the Morton heirs. George loved to sail and the islands offered him a tremendous opportunity to fulfill those desires. George also loved perfect weather. The average temperature was in the low to mid-eighties. The humidity was next to nothing. The eastern trade winds provided a comfortable breeze.
In his own mind George Pierce had found heaven on earth. He had a
bandoned his claustrophobic fears of island life by taking to the sea. He had no yearning to move back to the States and face possible criminal charges. The island of Tortola was now his home.
Lew had funded the construction of a home on the island. It was his hideaway a couple of times a year when the weather got too cold in the States. George was the beneficiary of the good fortune the rest of the year.
The drive from the airport followed the coastline. The blue sky and the billowy, cumulus clouds were the perfect backdrop for the aquamarine waters. Sailboats dotted the ocean like stars on the American flag and the view became more scenic as the road wound its way up the volcanic slope to Lew’s second home.
This was going to be a short trip for Lew. He and George needed to conduct some business. Neither could think of a better place to talk than on Lew’s veranda overlooking an island sunset. “How’s the place holding up?” Lew inquired.
“As long as we don’t have a hurricane blow through, there’s not much to worry about,” George replied. He still had a fondness for his roots. “Is everything fine back home?”
“You remember the hooker, don’t you?”
“How could I forget?” George reacted. “That was a telling night in all of our lives.”
They looked at each other and studied each other carefully. They both had crossed over the line and each knew that time had ended their sleepless nights. Their eyes turned back to the orange ball that seemed to float on top of the water.
Lew snorted and grinned devilishly. “We traded a black hooker for a dumb college kid. One loser led to another.”
“The body is gone, isn’t it?” George asked somewhat fearfully.
Lew knew he had the upper hand and he intended to enjoy it for a moment or two. George was living the good life. Lew wanted to make him sweat for a second. He gave George a tight-lipped smile. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold-capped tooth.