Chapter Eleven
West Club
Carefully studying a computer screen filled with maps of the city’s basement level Bakman’s finger touches a panel. The basement level of the OpDyke building pops into view and his eyes look for a seventh level Harry mentioned. It does not show one on his map. The screen shows the OpDyke building ending at the sixth basement level and so do all the surrounding buildings.
Thinking about asking Breen about it, behind him Bakman hears the door opening.
"Come in, Morgana." Bakman requests loudly from the desk in his office next to Harry OpDyke who was still upstairs this morning. Bakman came down early to work and to look for the seventh floor basement. Hearing his office door opens cautiously without knocking had to be Morgana for Wray was busy with the Bakman Report and away from his desk.
A short heavy-set double chinned middle thirties woman enters wearing a dark blue tunic with a few diagonal rainbow colored stripes and yellow make-up. Green-rimmed sunglasses with bright yellow lens and bushy wild-looking dyed bright blue hair around a round face.
The almost round ball of woman barks out, "Duff, hit 973," in a deep gravely voice, deep for a woman if you did not notice the faint line of black hairs growing on her upper lip leaving a faint mustache shadow in the heavy yellow makeup.
Morgana always makes Bakman laugh and he chuckled now as his fingers push those numbers on the computer keyboard.
"How are all your little blue-haired ones, Morgana? Nine isn't it?" asks Duffy Bakman as the screens fill with information.
"Duff, you always do that. You know I've only got three. The oldest is legally licensed and the other two adopted, you know how. Both are supposed to be my dead imaginary sisters' twin children. All three are wild ones. They are. Don't know where they get it. Must be from Varn? If there are any sweets around our apartment, those rascals of mine will find them. You can bet your retirement on that."
"Varn's up for a promotion."
"Don't you dare give it to him? If Varn gets up to the same pay grade as me, he'll leave me. Right now, he's too poor and too ugly to find another woman dumb enough to put up with him. Make him rich and ugly and all three of his blue-haired dependents and me will be outside begging on the causeways."
"Is he really that bad?"
"You know he's not. Didn't you help him order this splendid tunic for my last birthday?”
Her chubby hands move down over her round body and Bakman’s eyes look at rainbows in curvy blue material.
“He's a sweet old fuddy-duddy . . . but enough of this. Let's get down to business. How many clubs? Are they all the same? Do you want them to make money? Will you quit when they don't . . . because they won't!"
"We have a budget of one billion dollars. We rent, short three-month renewable leases, and do not buy. Our target is three hundred clubs spread over North and South America and one hundred on the rest of the planet."
"Okay, good! When I get the go ahead I will begin hiring and training managers. I've already collected sixteen top level managers to head each group of twenty-five regional managers. Every one of them is drooling to start collecting pay beyond day-wages and expenses and move from planning to training. I’ve told them no regular yearly pay until I get the word. I'll train them, and they will train the twenty-five managers that work for them. They in turn will train their people. Yearly pay for the sixteen highest-level managers is a book each plus five percent of the gross. On paper their wage will look small but that’s business sometimes. I'll work out a pay scale on down for your approval."
"Good. I read your plan for food, non-alcoholic drinks, dancing, and games. I liked it. I want this to be a family place. Take me through it."
"We rent enough space for four areas. One will be a restaurant serving what we call chuck wagon food. People move along the food line, pay, and sit on a plastic rock or log to eat. Room walls have repeating screens showing cattle, buffalo, campfires, and landscapes—old ReRun screen stuff. Another area with a bar around three sides of the room is like an old saloon complete with spittoons. We serve non-alcoholic drinks. No chairs or tables. Bathrooms here have lettering calling them outhouses with painted half-moons on the doors. A third area, a Music and Dancing area, will have benches along the wall so people can sit down to rest or just enjoy the music. It will be the next to largest area. The dance floor will be slick with twice finely ground corn meal, the way they did in Middle History times, and we play only old Middle History era Western music. The largest area will be games. I've got a list of over forty games so far. Mostly computer shoot at things such as buffalo, cougars, bears, mountain goats, rustlers, bank robbers, and Indians. Some role-playing games that take forever and they pay two or three times to get through. Speed draws against famous outlaws on screens. The walls in this room are all screens and show shoot-outs from old Western entertainment pieces."
"Your crew has done well."
"You will think differently when the new wears off in a couple weeks or a month and we start losing money."
"I know and so does Harry. This is our cover. Everyone will come and look when it is new. It will quickly get to be old news, and then they will gradually start laughing about it. Wear a thick skin for finally they will get around to making jokes about it—and about us. Morgana, they will be so busy laughing at us that they will not notice what we are really doing. So, I want you to know that I expect comedians to make jokes about me. As my manager you will be laughed at too."
"Ah . . . you're telling me not to be so sensitive. Well, in public I'll just blush and say nothing, but I will yell 'Damn it to hell anyway' in the shower."
"Morgana, here is the paperwork for you to get started. You have an account opened for one billion in all three of our names: Harry’s, mine, and yours. All three can draw from that account. Start with something small to make sure the account works. The box in the corner has seventeen books. One for each of your area managers, one of those is for you, and the other nine books stacked on top are to help pay startup costs. Develop those manager pay scales and hire lower level managers to be trained and paid out of normal accounts. Any left over start-up monies put in an emergency fund. Your contract says ten percent of the gross is your only pay. Won't be much on paper, but it’s really a book a year. You tell those sixteen that we pay a year's salary in advance and get them to help you with the public pay scale for them and other managers and workers. Don't forget a few workers could be mechanicals. I suggest only use them on cleanup and restocking crews. No drawing or shooting contests with mechanicals. Nothing in any of the clubs is to be illegal and nothing dangerous. Ask all local police if they want to tap into our club's security system. Tell them we report everything. And, we issue to all off-duty and retired police persons and their family a card good for ten percent off everything except games."
"Good. When do I start?"
"After you walk out carrying that box, you’ve started. On paper the transfer of funds happened days ago, ten minutes after I signed the contract. It should be ready. I'll look at all the details and have Vee send you any suggestions I might have. Each year see Vee for seventeen more books. Harry looked at your plans yesterday and told me that he laughed a dozen times. Said it was the best day he'd had in a week and Harry told me to do this for him."
Quickly, Bakman steps around his desk, hugs the round barrel of a woman, and kisses her loudly on her yellow cheek.
"Let me go!” Pretending to struggle and complain a smiling Morgana demands. “You fool men always have got something on your minds besides work."
A warmly grinning Morgana struggles out of his grasp, giggles, touches her blue hair, and wrinkles her yellow nose at Bakman.
“That Harry’s an old fuddy-duddy,” Morgana giggles as she walks in her waddling fashion to the box, pushes the nine books down inside, one strong chubby arm plucks it up, and swings it up on her round hip. Turning in the open doorway Morgana yells back at her boss.
"Duff, you quit chasing after all us pretty girls now. That can
get you in trouble with your Missus." Sound from her comment stops as the door closes, and Morgana leaves with a loud and fading happy squealing laugh.
Sitting with a full smile on his face Bakman listens to Morgana’s laughter fading through the outer office and hallway. When the elevator door closes and ends the laughter Bakman sits a moment remembering blue hair, yellow make-up, and a rainbow tunic. His smile turns into a loud laugh before he turns back to sit again at his desk ready to work.
His fingers scroll the computer screen up to the top of her detail plans for the Old West Clubs. He likes her simple name, “West Club.”
The Centauri Conspiracy Page 13