The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  On another upward trend, he had built his money back up to $42,000 and had just won a $5,000 hand with his fourth win in a row. If he played the $8,000 hand and won, he’d be at an even $50,000. A loss would reduce his profit to just $6,000. He counted out the $8,000 and placed it in the center of the bet circle. “Might as well go for it. I didn’t come here to make friends or be sober.”

  The next cards out of the shoe gave him twenty against an ace for me. I asked if he wanted insurance. He declined. I checked for blackjack. Didn’t have it. He waved off further cards. I flipped over another ace. “A pair of bullets. Dealer has two or twelve.” I pulled the next card from the shoe and flipped it next to the two aces. It was a nine. “Uh-oh. nine-one-one means trouble. Dealer has twenty-one.” I took the $8,000 in front of him and added it back to the house tray.

  Max pushed back in his chair, puffing his lips in exasperation. “Figures. I can’t even win with twenty. All I can do is sit and watch the madness unfold.” He counted another $1,000 into the betting circle. “That’s what’s so frustrating about the other thing, too. There’s always another play, and I just can’t figure it out. I feel so powerless. Like everything is happening to me, and all I can do is sit back and take it. You ever feel that way?”

  “Welcome to my life,” I said. “Maybe it’s like before though. You were playing three hands at a time, spreading yourself across so you had more chances to win. But you also had more opportunities to lose. When you got down to only a few units left, you consolidated and changed your strategy. You focused on one hand and pressed your bet when winning and reduced after a setback. You were always using house money to increase your bet rather than putting out more of your own. Just seems like a better way when you have limited funds.”

  Max became quiet again. I thought I might have overstepped my bounds and pissed him off, so I kept my mouth shut. I just flipped cards and relegated my comments to the table play. We went through a whole shoe and a half that way. Nothing spectacular, one way or the other. He would win a few then lose a few, slowly grinding upward due to the progressive bets and short streaks. His disposition had improved dramatically though. He was no longer slumped over to one side, sighing and mumbling at every outcome that didn’t go his way. He was upright, leaning forward, eyes alert, following every move, aggressive without being reckless. After winning his second hand in a row to push his total to $43,000, he followed the progression and bet $3,000. I dealt him two fours against my eight. Neither a double down nor a split hand. Just a straight hit. He played the percentages and just hit. Got a ten for eighteen. I flipped over an ace for a nineteen. Loss. But it didn’t derail him. He didn’t chase. Just took the loss in stride. Comfortable at $40,000, he pushed the chips to the center.

  “Had enough?” I said, counting out the chips, separating twenty-three for the markers, leaving him with seventeen.

  “I’ve been looking at this all wrong.” He tossed me one of the $1000 banana chips for a tip. “I’ve been so focused on not losing that I’ve gotten away from what got me here and what I have. I need to be more assertive. If I have extra space, I need to find a way to use it. If I have all this available inventory, I need to find someone else to take it. I need to create some leverage. When you paint yourself into the corner, you need to hold onto the brush and paint your way out.”

  Dow Jones Close: 16,826.60

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Date: Wednesday, July 9, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 16,916.83

  Les dropped the full laundry bag next to the others by the back door for pickup. Sweat was collecting in his graying beard, which was getting bushy and extended two inches below his chin. It’s the longest it had ever been, and he was enjoying letting it grow. He wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt and wrung out his beard in a single swipe with his hand.

  Temperatures had hit a hundred degrees every day of the month so far and hadn’t been below eighty even at night. To save money, he set the air conditioning to keep the place at a tropical seventy-nine degrees. Sitting, doing nothing, it was bearable. Any bit of work like he was doing, or even standing, serving food, opened the sweat floodgates.

  He walked back to the billet. Penny was making the last bed. Bill shoved the remaining dirty sheets in another bag. Crystal tied it off. Les, still out of breath from the last run, said, “Is that the last of it?”

  Crystal grunted, picking up the bag. “Yep. I got this one.”

  Les noticed Bill watching admiringly as Crystal crossed the floor and disappeared into the other room. After her collapse at Dino’s, she never spent another night at the Siegel Suites, taking Bill up on his offer to move into his spare bedroom. According to Bill, the first few weeks were rough—insomnia, puking, nightmares—from the detox, but she was steadily improving. The circles had faded from underneath her eyes, the shakiness was gone from her movement, her smile was more relaxed, her complexion was brighter, and most of all she wasn’t so angry. She was still skeptical of anyone trying to help her, but she was getting better. Bill’s rules were simple: no drugs, no working at the club, and she had to volunteer at the Oasis every day. In return, he provided a free room, meals, and a hundred dollars a week for spending money.

  The buzzer at the front door sounded. Les looked at his watch, showing almost ten-thirty. He said, “Probably just someone checking for breakfast leftovers.”

  Penny said, “I’m finished over here. I’ll get the door. You guys take a break.”

  Bill and Les went to the kitchen. Les filled a pitcher with water and grabbed four cups. Joining Bill at the table, he said, “Things still going well with Crystal?”

  Bill beamed with pride. “So far so good—for me, too. I dropped ten pounds. I’m eating at home more, and she has me riding a bike with her. Can you believe it, me on a bicycle? I thought those days were behind me.”

  Crystal walked in on them in the kitchen. All eyes flashed in her direction. Bill just put the cup to his lips and drank. Les looked down at the table, pouring a glass of water for her. She sat down. “What are you two up to? You look so guilty. Were you talking about me?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Bill said. “Just was telling Les what a good influence you’ve been on me.”

  “Good thing you play blackjack and not poker,” Crystal said. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Penny entered with the people who were at the door, but it wasn’t whom everyone expected. Trailing behind her were Max and a woman in a business suit. Everyone at the table just stared, surprised to see all of them at the Oasis together.

  Penny said, “Max, I think you know everyone here. Everyone, this is Max’s lawyer Amanda.” She had long, flowing black hair parted just off to the left, falling down on both sides of her shoulders. The four-inch heels she was wearing, which extended her to six-foot seemed like an odd choice considering she was with Max. One would think she would downplay the height differential, not accentuate it. But watching her eyes and mannerisms as Penny introduced her to the others, it was obvious she was all about power and control regardless of whom she was with. Penny said, “Les, Max says he has a business proposal to discuss.”

  Les slid his chair back to stand. Max pushed out his palm. “No, don’t get up. Keep yourself comfortable. Apologies for coming unannounced, but I really wanted to present this in person. If another time is better, we can come back, or meet at my office if you prefer.”

  “Now is good. We just finished,” Les said, feeling both curiosity and skepticism. “Please have a seat.”

  Max pointed at the stack of cups on the counter. “May I? With this weather lately, I need to remind myself to take in water any chance I get.”

  Les acquiesced with a wave of the hand. Max plucked two cups from the stack on the counter, and he and Amanda sat at the table. Amanda removed a legal pad and pen and manila folder with the label “Oasis Mission Proposal” across the tab. Penny, Bill, and Crystal looked a
t each other, unsure whether to stay or go. Les answered the question for them. “These guys are part of the team here. I’d like them to stay if that’s OK.”

  “The more, the merrier as far as I’m concerned,” Max said, pouring a cup of water for himself and Amanda, and topping off the others as well. “Not the first time we’ve all sat around a table together. Of course this one is quite different, but I hope it has the potential to be just as profitable.” The others were silent, just curiously studying Max. He said, “I hear you’re having some operational issues here.”

  Les said, “Things have been better, but we’re getting by. People are getting fed. Beds are getting filled.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…” Max hesitated. “Let me start again. I should’ve said, I’m having some operational problems and hoping you might be able to help me.” Max’s different choice of words flipped the atmosphere from defensive to receptive. He said, “Several months back, I moved my operation to the old Western Hotel on Fremont. Since then, I’ve been plagued by two problems: I have too much space and not enough workers to fully utilize the space I am using. I’m not sure when your lease is up here, but I know rents are rising fast and will probably be double or triple what you’re paying now. My thinking is, what if you were to move the Oasis to the Western? I have hundreds of unused rooms, a kitchen, and ample dining capacity. We could be up and running in no time. Truth be told, a hotel is probably better suited for what you’re doing than what I’m using it for, but I think we could really complement each other and maximize the use of the space.”

  Les waited patiently for his turn, or at least for Max to take a breath and give Les a chance to pose the big question that he couldn’t get past. He said, “If I can’t afford this place, what makes you think I can afford space at your place, which is in even a higher rent district? I need to move farther away, not right into the middle of the action.”

  “That’s the beauty of this,” Max said. “I’ll be able to keep your rent the same or maybe even lower it. You’ll get better facilities in a better location at a better price. How many people can you accommodate here, thirty to thirty-five?”

  “Forty,” Bill said proudly, unable to stay out of the conversation. Like most people at the table, it was pretty obvious he didn’t like Max, and he certainly didn’t trust him either.

  “Impressive,” Max said. He motioned to Amanda to distribute what was in the folder. “Apologies for having only one copy.” Amanda slid the drawing of the proposed changes across to Les. The others crowded around to see. Max pointed to the left side of the schematic. “You can see, our initial plan is to allocate fifty of the rooms on the Ninth-Street side of the hotel for mission guests. Each room will have two beds and its own bathroom. The kitchen area will be here.” He drew a circle with his finger in another area of the drawing. “And the dining area for up to a hundred people here. So depending on how many people you decide to put in each room, you’ll be able to serve anywhere between 25 and 150 percent more each night.”

  Crystal spoke up. “So what’s in it for you? You have to be getting something out of it or you wouldn’t be doing it.”

  Max was not unnerved by everyone’s reluctance and distrust. He seemed to feed on it. Sitting back in his chair, he folded his hands on the table, rotating person to person as he spoke, even though the others weren’t really part of the discussion. “Fair point,” he said. “All good deals, if they are going to sustain, need to be win-win. As I mentioned, you’ll get more and better than what you have, and I’ll get additional tax breaks for subsidizing the mission, and potentially a solution to my second problem of not having enough people. Most of your guests don’t have jobs, correct? What if we could give them not just food and a place to stay, but also a job? It would be a huge step toward independence.”

  Bill said, “I see what you’re doing. You just want a cheap, live-in workforce.”

  Amanda stepped in. “Not at all. The workers would be employed and paid the same as other workers. They would just have a shorter commute.”

  “Obviously the employment option will not work for all of the guests,” Max said. “It’ll just be for those who have shown promise and consistency. Those who are successful will serve as examples to others. Just imagine as word travels that there’s a place that will provide food and shelter and work for people to get back on their feet. Think of the good we could do.”

  Everyone was quiet. Amanda removed a document three-quarters of an inch thick from the folder and passed it to Les. “Here’s the proposed contract that outlines all the details. Feel free to have another lawyer look it over and contact me, or I’m happy to sit down with you and go through, point by point, and answer any questions.”

  Max said, “I know we haven’t had the most positive interactions in the past, and I’ll take the blame for that and admit part of my motivation in this is to go in a new direction. I could outsource my production to a remote location, sell the building or the entire operation, and live a life of leisure, but I don’t want that. I want to be part of what I’ve built and share the benefits with the community that provided the opportunities.”

  Les picked up the contract and flipped through the edge of the pages with his thumb. “I appreciate you bringing this proposal to me. I’m sure you can understand I’ll need some time to go through the details.”

  Amanda took a business card from her purse and placed it in front of Les. “As I said, if you or your representative would like to discuss any changes or questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  “Take all the time you need.” Max stood and walked around the table to Les. “I’m not trying to sell you or asking you to trust me. It’s all there in black and white. This is a good deal for both of us. Think of it like blackjack. We’re not playing against each other. We’re playing against the house. We can both win.”

  They all exchanged good-byes, and Max and Amanda showed themselves out. Everyone sat in silence, staring at the documents on the table.

  Crystal looked over at Penny. “Did you know anything about this?”

  “Me?” Penny raised her eyebrows, her tone escalating as well. “How would I be involved?”

  Crystal said, “I don’t know. Him knowing the place has been struggling, the timing of their arrival right when we were finishing, you volunteering to get the door, and your history of meddling all just fit together into a pretty hard-to-swallow coincidence.”

  “I wish I had thought of this,” Penny said. “This seems like a great opportunity.”

  Les said, “It doesn’t matter where it came from. Just as long as it’s here.”

  “And that it’s legit,” Bill said. “Do you trust him? It just seems too good to be true.”

  Les stacked the drawing on top of the contract. “I guess we’ll find out. I’ll go through and run the numbers to see if it can work, and have an attorney look over the legal aspects. I should probably try to get a hold of Martin too, if I even can. He gave me full legal authority to make all decisions, but he started this place and ran it for twenty years. Just would feel wrong to up and move it without him knowing anything about it.”

  Penny said, “Well let us know if you need any help. I’d be happy to ask my lawyer in St. Louis to have a look.”

  Les smiled at her. “Thank you. I appreciate that. You all do so much for me already.” He looked over at Bill. “Your son is an attorney too, isn’t he?”

  Bill nodded slowly. “He is, but I haven’t talked to him since Darlene passed, and we didn’t exactly leave things on such good terms. But I’ll call him if you need me to.”

  “No that’s OK,” Les said. “There are plenty of other lawyers. I just thought if you were talking that might be the easiest option.”

  Dow Jones Close: 16,985.61

  Chapter Fifty

  Date: Monday, August 4, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 1
6,493.72

  What Max had failed to mention in his pitch to Les and the others was his additional motivation for relocating the Oasis to the Western. Of course the tax benefits, extra labor source, and giving back to the community were legitimate reasons, and it wasn’t like he had nefarious intentions of some kind. But a big factor was also the publicity it would generate. Not so much in the direct favor for his brand, but more in how he could use the positive public perception as leverage with McDonald’s. The contract he had with them was clear, and he had failed. He had committed to producing 4.5 million units by June 30, and came in well shy of the mark. There was no arguing that.

  His failure meant McDonald’s had the upper hand, and that was without them knowing he was leveraged to the hilt and needed the deal to avoid bankruptcy. He probably could’ve negotiated a new deal based on the inventory they had finished, but it most likely would’ve been for less money and had more restrictions that further weakened his position. When he renegotiated, he needed a play that would tilt the game back in his favor. He needed to show them an ace, a strong enough move that the mere threat would force McDonald’s to stand despite having the odds in their favor. They all knew McDonald’s had the better hand. He just needed to convince them that they had more to lose and that their chance of losing was real.

  The only opportunity for an advantage that Max had was in the court of public opinion. If he fought them corporation against corporation, he would lose because, well, they were McDonald’s, and also because the contract was in their favor. Big corporations like theirs gobbled up businesses like his every day. On top of that, no one outside either of the companies really would care one way or the other. To the public, it would be just another billionaire arguing with a millionaire over more money than most people would ever see in their lifetimes.