by Rory Pralte
“Yes, yes,” Bill Batch nodded his head in agreement. “I think it’s a possible, but the key thing is, does all you say actually work? Can you demonstrate if I fix a meeting with Skymar’s President? He doesn’t suffer fools with lots of hot air and no substance. If you can demonstrate tomorrow at a meeting then I will fix an appointment.”
“I’ll ring you at 8pm at… where?” the German replied instantly. “If you have two Hewlett Packard laser jet printers with memory card slots available tomorrow I’ll show how I can multiply memory by tenfold and print-speed times two. If you have a five megabit scanner available, a standard Ricoh one will do, I’ll blow your socks off showing scanning capability.“ Bill Blatch was feeling very optimistic. This German really could have some great technology for them.
“Call me at 8pm at the Sheraton, Hanover Centre. Room 412. We’ll take it from there. The time will have to be open; Mr Shoner’s a very busy man.”
Bill Blatch rose, showed the German to the door and called the red-headed hostess to fix Rolfe Krabbe a drink if he needed one, said goodbye once more and shut the door to the meeting room.
After a Scotch and soda and pleasant five minutes speaking to Irma and admiring her ample proportions, Rolfe Krabbe left building 3.3.23 on the roof of Hall Three of the Hanover Messe, descended the stairs and reverted in an instant to being Paul Schmidt, a German with a very specific mission to avenge an old friend’s death tomorrow and settle an unpleasant chapter in his own life. He smiled. The young girl passing him did not notice the smile, only a tall, blond German with menacing, penetrating blue eyes. Scary, she thought to herself and, squeezing her boyfriend’s arm, shivered momentarily as they walked arm-in-arm together. Little did she know that her instinctive reactions were wholly correct.
Bill Blatch returned to the Sheraton Hotel at 7pm to meet all the Skymar members, including Michael, in reception at 7.30pm for drinks prior to an evening meal with people from HP, some of whom were also scheduled to meet with Michael to conclude another deal the next morning. At 7.50pm he had managed to speak to Michael and enthused him with what he had heard that day from the German. Michael was quick. “Right, I really haven’t time but if what you say is half true we could use it tomorrow in our big meeting. Set up my meeting with Krabbe at 9.30am at my suite. You come with him. Arrange for the hardware he has requested to be ready. Then, if what you say he says is true, we might settle some preliminary contract and use the demonstration in front of HP to add to our package. Then we can ramp the price up to where we should be. Could be a golden opportunity. HP have got this laser printer market sewn up. Maybe we can stitch them this time. You know how tight-fisted they are.”
At 8pm Bill Blatch was in his room and by 8.15pm the meeting had been set for 9.30am the following day between Michael Shoner, Bill Blatch and Rolfe Krabbe and Paul Schmidt. All three felt happy; especially the one with two names.
*
After a flight back from Tokyo via Anchorage taking twenty hours, several Scotches and limited sleep, it was a below-par Patrick that emerged from Heathrow’s Terminal Three to catch the long-stay parking bus to collect his car.
Driving to the company’s offices in Staines, Patrick had the opportunity to reflect on his trip, the outcome and, more immediately, the trouble he was probably in with Anne. He was not disappointed. Anne met him frostily and, after confirming the small details of other business that had occurred during Patrick’s absence, launched into a tirade regarding his unfaithfulness; calling him irresponsible and -nearly breaking down into tears -saying in no uncertain terms that were it not for the fact that their financial position was so dicey she’d have left Patrick for certain and still might.
There was not a lot Patrick could say. He apologised again, said he’d been set up and had fallen for it. He explained how it felt being away so much, that he was only a man, that it didn’t alter his feelings for Anne at all. He said he was sorry but now at least, with the money in the bank, they should have the opportunity to exist half normally. Anne’s reply shook him.
“I wouldn’t count on that. The bank wants a meeting, so I have booked you an appointment with Chris Merton at their area offices at 4.30pm today. He didn’t sound very enthusiastic or friendly for that matter so I shouldn’t get your hopes up too high.”
“What the hell have they got to be upset about?” Patrick replied, with a touch of anger and incredulity. “They’ve had the deposit slip copy haven’t they? With £200,000 coming in they should be bloody pleased.”
“You’ve got three hours before the meeting. I suggest you get home and get tidied up. I’ve got more work here for the moment. We’re still having to pacify suppliers. You may say it’s hard for you, Patrick, being away. What the hell do you think it’s like here?”
Anne’s reply was almost tearful. Patrick left the offices, severely dejected.
At 4.15 sharp he arrived at the bank’s area office near Runnymede. It was a small country house, from the outside maintained just as it had always been, but inside split into offices and three meeting rooms, where the West London Area of the bank was controlled.
Patrick was ushered into a large, front meeting room. He felt somewhat at home. He had met several times before here in his dealings with the bank, normally negotiating, arguing and cajoling them into extending an already stretched overdraft limit. He was shown into the room and sat, musing to himself that at least on this occasion he was in a stronger position. Chris Merton entered with a familiar figure, Denis O’Shea, who was the manager of the branch in Staines where the company’s account was held. The two men looked somewhat sombre. Patrick rose to greet them.
“Sit down, Mr Chase,” Chris Merton spoke. “Your wife has given us copies of the paying-in slip from Tokyo. We thought it was important for us to meet quickly. As you are aware, the company’s account has been operating with great irregularity over an eighteen-month period. The current position is that the cheque paid into Tokyo will in fact clear into the company’s account in about two week’s time. The sterling value will be the exchange rate at the time of clearance. However, using today’s exchange rate which is $1.75 to the pound, the value of the payment will be £200,000. The current company facilities, including interest, today are: overdraft £172,000, loan £33,750 outstanding.”
Patrick listened; he looked at the two men. Denis O’Shea was looking at the floor and at his banking colleague, but refused eye-contact with Patrick. His hands were clenched together, the knuckles white. He shifted uneasily in his chair. Patrick swallowed hard. He knew something bad was coming.
Chris Merton continued, “The bank have reluctantly decided that the overdraft facilities are being withdrawn and that, due to the operation of the account, we wish to terminate business entirely with your company. Therefore, the funds paid in will be used to clear the overdraft and the loan. This will leave £5,750 outstanding plus interest up to the date of the credit to the account. We must ask you to ensure that the outstanding amount is paid within seven days’ notice of the balance. We are sorry to take this step, but it is inevitable given the transaction history of the account.” Merton paused.
Patrick was almost speechless, gutted. He stared at the two men. He then erupted. “You fucking leeches!” he screamed. “You charge exorbitant interest, hinder my every move. You’ve no idea of the real world. Then you’ve got the gall to cut my throat when things are improving. Fuck you.”
He rose. “You’re gutless. I’ll have this story in every newspaper I can. You’re professional robbers.” He was exhausted. He picked up his briefcase and again stared at the two men, wide-eyed, white-faced. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
Chris Merton interjected. “Unfortunately, when a banking relationship breaks down there is no point in continuing and clearly this one has broken down. We will be writing to you to confirm the position. All cheque books etc should be returned immediately and I must remind you that it is an offence
in law to issue any more cheques on the account. Any un-cleared cheques in the system will be returned. Good day Mr Chase. We wish you well with your business.”
“What business? You gutless bastards have effectively robbed me of my business. Rot in hell!” Patrick picked up his briefcase. “I knew all banks were shits but you two; Christ! As for you, O’Shea,” Patrick stared at O’Shea, the banker’s eyes still avoiding Patrick’s direct contact. “You are a total shit,” and he turned and, slamming the door, strode out of the office. Before getting into his car, he rested the briefcase on the roof, looked up in the sky in total disbelief and uttered one more “Fuck.”
At 6pm he arrived home in Staines to be met by Anne who looked at her husband without a touch of remorse and said, almost with annoyance, “So how badly did it go then?” Even to Anne the next fifteen minutes were incredible. Patrick explained what had happened. They then talked long into the night about what to do. There was one good outcome. The charge on the house would be released from the bank’s grasp. That left the outstanding liabilities to suppliers, tax, NIC and VAT. Rough additions made that about £78,000, so where to from there?
“It’s either calling in the receivers or finding some way forward.” Patrick was speaking. He was now a little more rational, anger subsided, looking forward, which was his natural way. “We are totally un-bankable at the moment,” he continued. “No bank will touch us with a barge pole.”
He paused. “The only opportunity it to try to conclude some deal with money up front to get over the cash shortfall and, with ongoing business, we should then be able to find a bank to accommodate us, even to a limited degree.”
Anne viewed her husband quizzically. She was certainly no quitter and the bank had treated them abysmally. “Where is this mystical deal coming from then Patrick?”
“There’s only one place. All the major brand manufacturers known as O.E.M.s , Original Equipment Manufacturers are present including Kanji Toba of Motu. I’ll have to go to Hanover and get a deal there.”
After much discussion it was reluctantly agreed by Anne that Patrick would have to go. She’d have to continue her juggling act with the creditors. They could scrape up enough money for ferry and travel costs from Anne’s credit card.
They slept separately that night, Anne fitfully, Patrick like a log. He was totally exhausted.
Leaving home at 6.30 the next morning he poked his head around Anne’s bedroom door. “Wish me luck. I love you,” and he blew her a kiss. By 8.20 he was boarding the nine o’clock ferry from Dover to Zeebrugge and contemplating the five-hour drive to Hanover and how he was going to dig the company out of this particular pit.
HANOVER
A tall, blond Rolfe Krabbe arrived at the Skymar President’s hotel in Hanover city centre at 9.15 and went straight to the front desk to ask the concierge to call Bill Blatch. The discussion then took on more depth and Rolfe Krabbe explained that he was meeting his friend Bill Blatch and it was his 40th birthday and he had planned a surprise and he needed to get him out of the meeting room, Mr Shoner’s suite, at about ten o’clock for ten minutes so it could all be set up.
“Could you ring through to Mr Shoner’s suite at ten o’clock and say that two gentlemen from Fuji Xerox are in reception for Mr Bill Blatch?”
The concierge looked quizzically at him. “It’s not really regular. I’m not sure I should do that,” he replied.
Rolfe Krabbe leaned forward, speaking very closely to the man. “It would be a real favour for a very old friend,” he said. “Please will you help?” and, offering both his hands out to shake the concierge’s hand, he passed a DM100 note swiftly into the man’s palm. Both men smiled.
“Thanks very much.” Rolfe Krabbe patted the man on his shoulder as he turned to find somewhere to wait.
“No problem,” replied the concierge, the palm of his hand slipping the welcome tip into the inside pocket of his black jacket.
Rolfe Krabbe took a seat in the spacious reception area, with a direct view to the lifts. In ten minutes he spied Blatch and rose as the American’s eyes roved the seating, searching for his visitor. He strode over, offered his hand and, with a loud, “Hi, how is it today Mr Krabbe? Let’s go straight up because Michael’s got a really tight schedule today”, led the German to the lift and soon they were exiting on the sixth floor suite area and Bill Blatch was knocking on the door of Suite Two.
After preliminary discussions, where Rolfe Krabbe explained to Michael Shoner his technology, Michael appeared restless and kept glancing at his watch. “We’ll have to make this brief I’ve got a very important meeting with some O.E.M.s in thirty minutes so I think if you’ve really got something that works you’d better demonstrate it.”
The three men raised themselves from the comfortable chairs and Bill Blatch ushered the German into a small side room where the necessary hardware was set up ready for demonstration. Rolfe Krabbe glanced at his watch, 9.55. He turned to the two men. “It won’t take me long to do the necessary changes to demonstrate; about five minutes. If you could let me do that I will then be ready to show you a performance that will knock your socks off.
“OK,” replied Michael, “but make it quick. Bill, I’d like a quick word anyway so will leave you for a couples of minutes, Mr Krabbe.” The two Americans left the small side room, closing the door behind them.
Rolfe Krabbe was sweating. He hoped it didn’t show, but anyway he could be nervous about the supposed demonstration – he wasn’t. He glanced at his watch again. Nearly 10 o’clock. He hoped to Christ the phone call came from reception. He quickly opened some covers on the printers so that it looked as if he was working on them. His palms were greasy with perspiration and he quickly wiped them both. He knelt on the plush suite carpet, his right knee supporting himself as he felt under his left trouser leg for the holster and pistol, unbuttoned the holster button and checked The pistol was secure but easily removable. He stood quickly as the door opened and Bill Blatch poked his head round the door. “Ready for us?” he boomed.
“Another couple of minutes,” and Rolfe Krabbe pretended to fumble in the nearest printer, feigning technical ability which he certainly did not possess.
Bill Blatch returned to Michael in the main room and they talked briefly about the appointments with other O.E.M.s that day. Here more minutes passed. Michael was getting impatient. “I hope that Krabbe isn’t wasting our time.”
Rolfe Krabbe was also impatient and concerned. It was 10.05, where the hell was the phone call? He couldn’t stall anymore. He decided to take the matter into his own hands and try to get Bill Blatch out of the room. Opening the door to the main suite he looked at the two men. “I’m sorry I need a small posidrive screwdriver. This is an older model printer than I’d expected. Do you have one here?”
Bill Blatch looked at Michael. Michael, looking at his watch, blurted out, “No I don’t use screwdrivers. If you can’t demonstrate in the next ten minutes we can forget any discussions today.”
The German interrupted. “Bill, could you do me a favour and get one from down at reception? I’m sure they have one available from maintenance. If you’d go get it I can start to show Michael some of the modifications the O.E.M.s would have to carry out and that way we’ll get on quicker.”
He prayed this would work. Michael helped him. “OK, go get this screwdriver, Bill, and maybe we can conclude this business. Now, show me what you can,” and Michael led the German into the small side room. Rolfe Krabbe followed.
He waited until he heard the main suite door close and then, standing in front of the main HP printer, showed Michael the operations. He started to talk about ram size, memory, reasons for increasing this and the speed of the machine. The two men stood very close.
“Let me just check the paper level,” Rolfe Krabbe knelt and, looking at the paper cassette of the machine, quickly removed the small pistol from the holster on his left leg, transferred it from h
is right to left hand and snugly concealed it in his left palm, his little finger resting very lightly on the trigger.
“What the manufacturers have been trying to overcome with speed, they thought was a mixture of mechanical and electronic limitations, but the work I have done has proved that is untrue.” The German looked at Michael. “If you look down there, you can see the main drive rollers of the machine.” He pointed to the area of the cassette entry point and, with the right hand that had pointed, removed the cassette, and pointed again to the open area, speaking all the time to muffle any unwanted sounds. Michael Shoner bent over to look. He should not have.
Quietly, smoothly, the German raised his left hand and slid the small pistol so that the end of the barrel was protruding between the fingers of his left hand. He then gently put the barrel two inches from the back of Michael Shoner’s head, in the middle of his neck, one inch above the hairline and pulled the trigger.
There was a small hiss as the poisoned dart stuck into Michael Shoner’s upper neck. Michael Shoner started and let out a small cry, “Christ, what was that?”
Rolfe Krabbe reacted in a flash. He transferred the pistol to his left jacket pocket and feigned concern , saying immediately “What’s the matter Mr Shoner?”
Michael Shoner’s hands had immediately gone to his neck, feeling the area where it appeared something had bitten him. “I think I’ve been bitten by something,” he looked at Rolfe Krabbe.
“Yes you have.” Rolfe Krabbe gave a mean, thin smile as he watched Shoner’s eyes widen, his mouth opening and gasping for breath. “It’s one for Pyo, you bastard,” said Krabbe, as Michael Shoner collapsed to the floor.