by Frank Zafiro
“Offering to buy a company when they came down here to buy yours seems aggressive,” Sam said quietly.
“Exactly my point!”
“The deal will happen,” Sam assured him.
Jacobsen shook his head. “It would have. Now I’m not so sure. Plenty of deals die on the one-yard line. And you basically just took a knee right there.”
“Barry—”
“No,” Jacobsen interrupted. “Just…just go, Jack. Send me a goddamn invoice for your time today. You’re fired.”
Sam blinked, feigning shock. “Fired. Barry, I—”
“Out!” Jacobsen snapped, pointing this time. “Before I decide you and your time can go to hell, too.”
Sam hesitated another moment, then rose and left the room. He closed the door gently behind himself and walked down the long hallway. A small office door next to Jacobsen’s larger office stood open. He glanced in and saw Rachel sitting at her desk. She looked at him questioningly, and he gave her a short nod. She smiled.
That smile armored him against Gloria’s scowl once he hit the lobby. He left without a word.
They lay in a motel bed amid tangled sheets. Her head was on his chest and he let the tension of the day seep out of his body.
“He was pretty wound up after you left. A couple of slammed doors and plenty of cursing.”
“Good. And then he hit on you?”
“Of course.”
“And.”
“And I told him that as badly as I wanted to spend time with him, I had a heartbroken cousin to console.”
“How’d he take that?”
“Better than when Finch walked out, but still not good.”
“Well,” Sam said, squeezing her shoulder, “as the heartbroken cousin in question, I have to say thank you. I feel much better.”
She laughed softly. “Good. Me, too.”
“Where’s he at, do you think?”
She considered. “I think he’s just about played out. Either he gets the prize or he decides to label me a tease or a lesbian, and fire me.”
“How soon?”
She shrugged slightly. “He’s close.”
“So’s our deal.”
“I’ll use that, then,” she said. “Get him to hold off for a celebration.”
“He’ll go for that,” Sam agreed.
“Of course he will,” Rachel said. “It’ll buy us a little time. With him, anyway.”
Sam heard something in her voice, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I told you before. This one is taking too long. And our trail is fresh.”
“We didn’t leave a trail.”
“We don’t think so,” she said. “But no one ever thinks so.”
“It’s going to be all right,” he assured her. “No matter what, we’ll have each other.”
She didn’t reply, only nuzzled more tightly against his body.
“It’s going to be fine,” he repeated.
But it was a long while before they fell asleep.
He kissed her goodbye that morning, long and soft, taking his time. She gave him her full attention, and for a moment he wondered if they weren’t going to get out of the room after all. But finally she broke away and rested her forehead on his.
“I gotta get to the office.”
“I know.”
“I’m expected. And we need the eyes there.”
“I know,” he repeated. He squeezed her forearm. When she was with him, he didn’t feel the nagging sense of urgency that the rest of the world seemed to press upon him. With her, the world could wait, at least for a while.
She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Almost there,” she whispered, then slipped out of the room.
He waited for half an hour, shaving and dressing meticulously, sliding his lighter into his left pocket, before he left as well. He had nowhere to go, but made a point to drive to a mall, where he parked and walked around for several hours. He ate a taco salad at the food court. Around him, he saw hundreds of people but none that mattered.
Late that afternoon, Finch texted him.
The deal is done.
Sam nodded appreciatively. Some of the weight fell off of him. He immediately headed to the Stone Pilgrim, ordering a drink but not touching it. A little over an hour later, Jacobsen arrived.
Sam pretended not to notice him at first, but then made a point to catch his eye from across the room. He kept his expression neutral, then looked away and returned to nursing his drink.
Jacobsen walked over and slid into the chair across from him. “Jack-o, how is it?”
Sam gave him a mixed look of confusion and irritation. “Honestly, Barry, I wouldn’t think you’d care.”
Jacobsen sighed heavily and stroked his short goatee. “Look, Jack…maybe I jumped the gun a little yesterday.”
Sam looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…it turns out maybe you weren’t all wrong.”
“About the negotiations, you mean?”
“Yes, of course, the deal. Listen, I met with Al again today as scheduled, and the deal went through.”
Sam blinked. “It did?”
“Yes, it did. We wrapped it up. And I got most of what I wanted, so all’s well that ends well, right?”
Sam shrugged. “Okay. Good for you, Barry.”
“Come on, don’t be sore.” Jacobsen waved at the bartender and pointed to the empty spot in front of him. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what? Your deal or my firing?”
Jacobsen sighed. “You’re not fired, okay? I was just mad. I thought you blew the deal.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Apparently not. I mean, maybe I could have closed it last night if you hadn’t spoken up, but I don’t know how much better the results might have been. So I think we’re in ‘no harm, no foul’ territory.”
Sam paused, pretending to consider his words. Then he said, “Or maybe taking a break is what made the deal.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Jacobsen’s face. Sam knew that was the risk, but he also knew that Jacobsen respected strength. He wanted to see some of himself in the people he liked.
After a moment, Jacobsen smiled, “What, are you angling for a bonus?”
“Maybe I deserve one.”
Jacobsen laughed. The bartender put a drink in front of him and Jacobsen acknowledged him with a distracted nod. He took a slug from the old fashioned, then leaned forward. “How about this, instead? I’ll keep you on for another consultation. Come to the office tomorrow and look over the deal. Give me your opinion. I’ll pay you the same as before.”
Sam appeared to consider, dragging out his response.
“Come on, Jack-a-reno,” Jacobsen urged. “I’ve got to hand over the earnest money tomorrow afternoon. Don’t let me down.”
Finally, Sam nodded. “All right, Barry. You got it.”
Jacobsen grinned victoriously. “There you go, kid.” He raised his glass. “To fleecing the sonsabitches.”
Sam raised his own glass in response.
Just the one son of a bitch, that’s all.
“I’ll drink to that,” he said.
It was near midnight when Rachel returned to the room. “He’s swallowed the hook,” she reported.
“How do you know?”
“He was all over me at dinner.”
Sam clenched his jaw. He saw a brief image of Jacobsen touching Rachel, and forced the image from his head. He had to remain the best new business friend, and couldn’t afford to let even an iota of jealousy creep in. Jacobsen might sense it, and even if he didn’t know where it came from, the negativity would erode the trust Sam had built with him.
“And?”
“And he let slip that he was about to close a big deal. So I let him think that we should celebrate afterward and then he might just be able close another one.” Rachel’s voice was flat, professional, if a little tir
ed. She pulled off her high heels, first balancing on one leg, then the other. She dropped them in a clatter next to the chair, then pulled her dress over her head.
Sam’s eyes walked up her body, following its curves to her face. She looked back at him, a slight smile playing on her lips. “What’d you have for dinner? I had lobster.”
“Chicken.”
She crossed to where he sat on the bed and crawled across the covers toward him. “We’re almost there, baby. Almost home.” She leaned in to kiss his neck.
Sam let out a rueful chuckle. “Home? That’ll never happen.”
She pulled her head back. “You’re in a mood, huh?”
“No.”
Rachel sat back on the bed. “You are. What’s wrong?”
He stared at her for a long minute. His instinct was to say nothing, to remain guarded. That had always been his way, and it had protected him for a long time. But this was Rachel, and…
“We have a deal,” she said, almost as if she were finishing his thought. “No secrets. So tell me.”
He reached out and stroked her hair, tucking a lock behind an ear. “I just don’t like this part,” he said.
“Which part? The part where I have to put up with an arrogant asshole for three hours, pretending he’s charming and funny?”
“Yes,” he said. “And the part where we’re a whisper away from the money but don’t have it yet.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “That’s where we’re different. I like that part.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s better than fending off Jacobsen, for one.”
“I’m serious.”
She gave him a small smile. “I know.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I guess I like the anticipation. It’s like…it’s like those moments before a great meal, or before you kiss me. Knowing it’s going to happen and taking a moment to relish the anticipation.”
“You’re right,” he said. “We’re different.”
“Vive la difference.” She put her hand on his leg, caressing his skin with her thumb.
“What else?”
“Home,” he said. “You mentioned home.”
“It was a figure of speech.”
“I know. But you know we can never go back to your home, right?”
“Of course, I know. The city isn’t big enough to hide in. That’s why we left.”
“And I can never go home, either.”
“No? You don’t want to retire to small town, Iowa?” she teased.
He smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t mind, actually. But we’d need a stake. A lifetime stake.”
She thought about it for a few moments, watching him. Then she said, “Well, I’m game. A few good scores, and then we’ll go live where baby Sam grew up.”
He stared back at her, then smiled. “Or on an island somewhere.”
“Or that.”
She noticed his lighter on the nightstand, and let out a small laugh. “Every time I see that, I think it’ll be the last.”
He glanced over at the Zippo. Remembered again seeing her for the first time, and how quickly they fell into the dance, singing that grifter song in perfect harmony.
“How long are you going to keep it?” she asked him now.
“Forever.”
He reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers light on her skin. Then he kissed her, and the world came to a stop, like it always did.
Jacobsen slid the paperwork across the table toward Sam. “Tell me what I want to hear,” he said.
“I’ll tell you the truth,” Sam answered.
He began reading through the documents and making notes. Jacobsen waited in the conference room for the first few minutes, then rose and left. Sam could hear him down the hall, talking to Rachel and eliciting her lilting laughter in reply. He ignored it as best he could.
When Jacobsen stuck his head in the room forty minutes later, Sam waved him in. “I’m finished.”
Jacobsen nodded with anticipation. “And? It’s a good deal, right?”
“It’s a big one, that’s for sure,” Sam said. “Three point two million dollars buys you ninety-six percent of Dylan Brothers. Why not buy it all?”
Jacobsen sighed. “I wanted to. Dylan Brothers isn’t owned by any of the original Dylans anymore, but the last brother set aside a four percent share of the business into a trust. The profits are donated to charity every year. Some youth hockey team for poor kids or something. The way the company charter is set up, that four percent can’t be sold or transferred.”
Sam nodded, though he knew all of this already. Finch had added the wrinkle. “It’s the small details that sell the big lie,” he was fond of saying, and he lived by that creed.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter unless you decide you want to dissolve the company. Ninety-six is an overwhelming majority.”
“Exactly. And it’s a more streamlined deal than an outright purchase, anyway. Technically, I’m buying into the company, not buying it outright. Less paperwork.”
Sam nodded, and moved on. “Are you comfortable with the five percent earnest money? A hundred and sixty thousand seems a little high. One percent should be enough. That’s still thirty-two thousand dollars.”
Jacobsen waved his hand dismissively. “It’s an international deal,” he said, as if that fact explained anything.
Sam didn’t push. Instead, he spent almost a half hour focusing on minor details that amounted to barely anything. He let Jacobsen shoot down every concern he raised, before he finally announced, “Well, then I think you’re in good shape.”
Jacobsen nodded but gave him a critical look. “So that’s it? An hour and a thumbs up? That’s how you make your living, huh?”
“It’s good work when you can get it,” Sam said. He pointed at the small stack of paperwork. “When the client does the heavy lifting by negotiating a good deal in advance, it sort of lightens my load. Look, Barry, I could string this out for another two hours and talk about everything from escrow to options, but in the end, we both know I’d say the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“You did well, my friend.”
Jacobsen smiled broadly. “Of course I did.”
Sam stood up. “Then my work is done.”
“Not so fast.” Jacobsen pointed at him. “We’re getting a drink after I close this deal.”
“All right.”
“And then,” Jacobsen said slyly, “I am going to have dinner with that little vixen down the hall and close another deal.”
Yeah, good luck with that.
“See you at the Pilgrim,” Sam said.
He waited in the lobby while Gloria cut him a check for services. She handed him a company check made out to Jack Martin. Sam smiled and thanked her, but Gloria didn’t respond.
They waited for Finch in the hotel bar, each sipping a class of soda water and lime.
“He’s revved up, I take it?” Sam asked.
“Pretty much.”
“I’m supposed to meet him at five.”
“Me at six.” She smiled. “But I have a feeling my poor mother is going to fall and break her hip around five-thirty.”
“That’s a shame.”
“She’s an old bat, anyway.”
When Finch arrived, they trailed him up to his room. As soon as they were inside, he spilled the wrapped bills onto the table. “I went straight to the bank with his check,” he explained.
Sam and Rachel stared at it for a few moments, saying nothing. Then Rachel sat down and started the split. “We’re eating our own expenses, right?”
“That was the deal,” Finch said.
“One hundred sixty three ways is fifty-three thousand apiece,” she said, sorting the stacks of bills. “Plus a thousand for a celebration dinner. What do you gentlemen want to eat?”
“Anything but lobster,” Sam deadpanned.
Rachel smiled indulgently, then turned to Finch. “You?�
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Finch looked at her for a moment, not answering. Then he said, “I think he’s good for all of it.”
“What?”
“Jacobsen. I think we can take him off for the whole three point two.”
Sam and Rachel exchanged a glance.
“I mean it,” Finch insisted. “We’ve got him situated perfectly. He thinks he’s won.”
“Which is the perfect time for the blow off,” Sam said. “We get out of town before he figures out he’s lost.”
Finch shook his head. “Guys like Barry Jacobsen don’t ever think they’ve lost, no matter what the scoreboard or the spreadsheet says. Their egos won’t allow it.”
“You’re right,” Sam agreed.
“I know.”
“But that still doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take what we’ve got and move on. This is a good haul, Finch.”
“Yeah, it is,” Finch admitted. “It’s enough to pay the bills for a few months and set up the next play.”
“Exactly.”
Finch looked back and forth between the two of them. “Don’t you ever think about getting off the grift?” he asked.
Sam glanced at Rachel, then back to Finch. “Sure, I guess. Sometimes.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“This is what I’m good at it.”
Finch shook his head. “That’s true, but it’s not why you don’t quit the game.”
“It’s not, huh?”
“No,” Finch said firmly. “You don’t quit because you’ve never landed the score that will set you up for life.”
Finch was right, he knew. Sam thought about the slice they almost took off back in Philadelphia. That one might have been close, but even that one barely snuck into seven figures.
“We’re talking another million apiece,” Finch coaxed. “That’s retirement money, folks.”
Sam looked over at Rachel. She had stopped sorting the banded bills into three stacks, and was watching Finch. He could read the questions in her face, so he asked them.
“How would it work?”
Finch’s face brightened. “Easy!” Then he hesitated, and shrugged. “Well, not easy, exactly. It’ll be a lot of work for me, both on the legit side and setting up our out. I’d have to create all the documents. But I can make it work.”