This chapter is dedicated to Thomas Berryman, an accomplished author in this Wattpad parish. Thomas is currently re-editing his novel 'Paul Lantar' - an awesome futuristic story that I recommend you read. He will be delighted to hear your comments.
Part Sixty-Four
A/N: We last met up with Greg during his interview with Bank Manager Bill Courtley. Pick up with him now as he leaves the bank. Apologies for the length of the chapter for those reading on hand-helds. Stay with it, I think you'll like what you read. If not, please tell me. Tell me anyway, and if you do like it, please vote. I am aiming for a thousand votes before the end of the year for which your help is earnestly solicited. Now read on:-
Timeline: 11:06, Friday 20th April :: Outside the Bank, Bamptonville.
Greg skipped out of the bank on a rising high. Things were really starting to happen as he wished. At last, all was falling into place in spite of the difficulties placed in his way for reasons and by persons unknown. The day that started out sour was becoming good and his spirits rose with the sun over the day.
Greg stood on the sidewalk, to the side of the steps leading up into the bank and put through a call to Bill Elbury on his cell phone. After the third ring, the now familiar voice of the accountant came on the line. After greetings Bill chortled.
“You know Greg, me and Jennifer were only talking about you a minute ago. You must’ve caught our vibes?”
“All good I hope. Is Jennifer there with you?”
“No on both counts. So what’s happening?”
“I’ve just come out of a meeting with Bill Courtley at the Bank and I wanted to let you know the 'Ghost' account and papers are all signed up.”
"That’s good news Greg, you got time to give me a quick run down on your meeting with Bill?”
For the next few minutes Greg ran through the content of his meeting and the decisions he had made with Courtley, but only mentioned the matters that affected 'Ghost' directly. Elbury listened patiently until Greg had finished before speaking.
“That’s all good Greg, I have a few papers here for you to sign. As soon as that’s done we can bring in the cash from Kentucky, Houston and from Wayne. They’re all cash rich, excepting for Wayne, and anxious to hand it over to you. Ha ha.”
Greg asked. “I take it the deal you did with Kentucky came good. What price did you fix at finally?”
“Well now you are asking an important question Greg, and I can say that after a great deal of hassle and sour comments, heavily laced with vitriol, we got to a satisfactory completion.”
“OK, OK, I know you’re bill will be huge so you don’t have to big it up to me. This deal included your fees; and if you forgot that, you’re getting nothing. My turn to ‘Ha Ha’ I think?”
“You can be a cruel man Gregory Vernon Mitchell; cruel that’s what you are. I got what you asked. That’s $320K plus fees. They did not like it one little bit. I’ll spare you the names they called you. Only they did keep repeating the same question to me, over and over.”
Intrigued, Greg fell for it. “What was that?”
Bill’s voice became soft and sombre as he whispered into the phone “They kept asking if your parents were ever married?”
Greg laughed from the heart expelling the remaining tension harbouring within him.
“That’s great news Bill. Well done. I see I have not entirely lost my touch. What else is there?”
“I heard you are buying that place out on Parkway and looking at a condo investment on Tuesday…” Greg cut across sounding incredulous.
“I never told you that….”
“ No but you would’ve done if Bill Courtley hadn’t called me two minutes before you did and told me about it.” Elbury burst into laughter. Greg shook his head, saying.
“If ever you fix ‘On Hold’ music to your phone, it has to be the theme from the 'Godfather'.”
"Now, now, we’re close in these parts but we’re honest working folks. That’s why we’re all poor as church mice...”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s why the church mice wear waistcoats with gold watches and chains … coming to think of it I’ve not seen a church in Bamptonville since I’ve been here.”
“Burned down, four years ago, only a little biddy shack of a thing. Nobody thought it worthwhile rebuilding. If you feel the need for absolution, church is held every Sunday morning in the Hapsburg Hotel.”
Greg shook his head again on hearing this news before asking.
“Is there any civic function that hotel does not cater for?”
“Not a one, and if you can think of one, mention it to the manager and it’ll get done. Does more for Bamptonville than the Town Hall. But back to business; like I was about to say, buying the properties will be a good opening deal. The IRS will love it as the money’s staying in their jurisdiction. We have to fix a date to go see ‘em this week. I’ll fix it up, keep Thursday free.”
“Sounds good Bill, is there anything else you have to tell me?”
“I’d like to run through something with you face to face that Dean Halburton has come up with concerning your assets in Wayne Fisher’s company. It’s good. Any chance of you stopping by here today on your way to Lincoln, so we can talk it through. Only take a few minutes.”
“ Ah-ah! Not a chance today Bill. I have to get the guys started building the oil plant in the stable yet and then get myself to the airport in Lincoln for four o’clock to meet Wayne. It’s too tight. Sorry.” Bill accepted the explanation without demur, coming back with an alternative solution.
“No sweat. Tell you what. Why don’t I drive out there tomorrow morning? I can bring the papers, meet Wayne and we can have that chat?”
“ Sounds great to me Bill. Are you sure you can spare the time?”
Bill chortled. “I’m not worried about the time. It’s a Saturday and you’re paying for it.”
Greg knew Bill was teasing. “Sounds really good to me Bill. It’s appreciated. You guys really have been earning your fees this week.” Greg meant it as banter, but an uncomfortable pause followed.
“You still there Bill?”
“I’m still here.”
“Why the sudden silence. Run out of bad jokes all of a sudden?”
Greg heard a heavy expiration of breath before hearing Bill’s voice.
“I’m working out how best to tell you this Greg.”
“Come on Bill, enough playing around for one day. I have things to do.”
Bill sighed and said “No jokes this time Greg. I have over looked something on that list you gave me of your investments here.” Bill paused, expecting Greg to cut in, but continued when he remained silent. “ You helped out a guy with a sport fishing boat in the Florida Keys.”
“That’s right. Brad Garvey, great guy, how’s he making out?”
‘That’s just it Greg, he isn’t making out, you see … he died last year.”
“Oh … Oh, I am sorry to hear that. What happened to him?”
“It seems his liver couldn’t keep pace with his lifestyle and mostly liquid diet.”
“That is really bad news Bill. Brad was a genuine character. What he didn’t know about fishing wasn’t worth knowing. I know he liked a drink or two, but was a real swell guy who wouldn’t do anybody a bad turn if he could do ‘em a good one. It’s a real shame he’s gone so soon before his time.”
“I didn’t get all the details, just the outline from the folks I talked to down there. Aren’t you going to ask me about the boat?”
“Should I. What about it?’
“It’s yours. As of now, please understand that you are the owner of the commercial sport fishing boat. ‘Lucky Hooker’.”
“What do you mean it’s mine. It belongs to his family, surely?”
“ Brad Garvey only had four ex-wives as the nearest thing to family and they all re-married and that makes ‘em ex-alimony. For sure they’d like to get their hands on whatever they can grab out of Brad’s estate, but your very own friendly Boston lawyer, Dean Halburton’s working on it to fend ‘em off. It’s all yours, fair, square and Boston fashion.”
Greg cringed at Elbury’s massacre of an old British seafaring dictum, this latest news arriving as an unexpected bombshell.
“The expression is ‘all square and Bristol fashion’,” Greg protested, “but that aside, I don’t understand this at all Bill. I only invested $25K with him. It was to pay his debts to keep him solvent. The boat was always his, never mine.”
“But you secured your loan against his boat.”
“But it’s worth more than ten times that. I can only be due a part of its value?”
“No sir! You own it all. Brad willed it to you and said in his will that you were the only guy that ever trusted him when he was down and so he reckoned you’re the only guy worthy of his trust to look after his boat when he’s gone. You told me before you’re not angling for the Pope’s job, but are you sure you’re not after the Dalai Lama’s position whenever it comes up? All these good deeds coming to light; they’re going to ruin your reputation as a shithead in the marketplace.”
“Jeez Bill, lay off a minute and let me get my head around this. So I own a boat and have done for some months. Boats cost money all the time. Moving or standing still; boats have been accurately described by some sage as a dark, damp hole into which you constantly pour money.”
“You’ve got one of your own moored up at Islamorada in the Keys; right where Hemingway used to fish and it ain’t costing you a red penny.”
“I don’t understand, how come?”
“From what I was told by the marina owner down there, Brad managed to remain sober long enough during the day to build himself a bit of a business and keep himself free of debt after the leg-up you gave him. He could always find the fish and folks chartered him, so his boat was usually fully booked. Word of mouth got out about Brad and his lucky boat among fishermen and he brought a lot of business down to the marina. Your boat has paid for its keep through being chartered out. It’s been kept in excellent condition apparently and is quite a popular boat. The marina owner wants to continue the arrangement, as long as you’re happy with it. You can have the boat whenever you want to use it yourself, all he asks is you give him some notice whenever you want it.”
“I don’t want it Bill. I don’t fish. Sell it. I don’t want anything to do with it.”
Bill came back instantly. “Yes you do want it.”
“I do?’
“Yes, you do.”
“Why?”
“I could now give you an earful of baloney about it being a tax–efficient vehicle to keep on and set off its costs against other earnings. It is! But I won’t tell you that. I’ll come clean. The main reason you should keep it on is because maybe Jennifer or me’d like to think we could use it. … Besides, you could take your young man down there and teach him sport fishing, or navigation or whatever it is you do on boats when the sun goes down and the rum bottle runs dry.”
Bill finished off with a hearty laugh that drowned Greg’s reply.
“What’s that you said Greg, I didn’t hear you? I was too noisy laughing.”
Greg was relaxed enough to allow himself a titter. “I said, he’s not MY young man, he’s A young man. How many times do I have to tell you. It’s getting boring?’
‘Ha Ha; for you maybe. OK. I got it now. He’s not your young man but a young man. Maybe one of several you’re hanging around with?” Bill exploded into another paroxysm of belly laughter. Greg waited patiently for him to finish.
‘You still there Greg, you’ve gone all quiet on me?”
“I’m still here. Have your fun. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you that put that rumour around town about me?’
“Rumour? What rumour. I haven’t heard any rumour.”
Greg brushed it aside. “Never mind, I’ll tell you tomorrow, when you come over.”
“OK, I’ll be with you about 10.30. You can buy me lunch. I guess we’re about done for now. Don’t forget to call Dean Halburton. He needs to talk to you before the weekend.”
“I’ll call him from the stable, but we’re not exactly done just yet.” Greg came over rather sheepish as he worked out how best to explain his involvement with the potatoes, the ethnics and the need for a slush fund for them. He decided to start with the potatoes.
“ It’s clear to me Bill that I need to do other deals to cover expenses and outgoings for Jess and the bunch down at the condo. That’s why I’ve gone in for this potato deal…”
Greg heard the grunt as Bill caught his breath before interrupting him with a loud whoop.
“ You’ve gone in for what?... Potatoes? … wait a minute, wait a minute, don’t answer that yet. I need to get Jennifer back in here.”
Greg nibbled his bottom lip feeling even more foolish as he heard Bill bawl down the corridor. “Jenny, drop what you’re doing and get yourself back in here. I’ve got Greg on the line and he’s gone nuts on us for sure. You’d best come listen to this.”
The next few seconds seemed like a lifetime to Greg. He put his hand on his chest and felt his thumping heart. Why was he so nervous? Was it due to his doubt that he could express himself well enough to counter Elbury’s expected opposition? Or, was it because Jennifer would be there? He didn’t know, except he wanted Jennifer to continue to like him. Greg’s attention became focussed again when he heard the scraping of a chair on the floor and Bill’s voice in his earpiece.
“OK Greg, Jennifer’s here, let’s have it.” Jennifer’s voice came through in the background to cheer him.
“Hi Greg, thanks again for the flowers they’re lovely.”
Greg coughed to remove the lump that had formed in his throat.
‘Hi Jennifer, glad you liked them,” he said limply and then spent the next ten minutes explaining his position regarding the potatoes, the condo dwellers, his plans to get them working and the benefit slush fund. There was absolute silence from Bill and Jennifer until he had finished when he heard a great whoosh of breath from Elbury before the man’s irate voice sounded in his ear.
“You cannot be serious! You cannot be contemplating taking on this burden. You’re supposed to be a businessman, not a charity. Tell me you are joking?”
“No jokes Bill. I am doing this. That’s why I need trades like the potato deal. I need more income than the oil refining and the one-off small trades will produce. I also need to cover my own expenses. I don’t want to be paying for all this out of capital…”
“CAPITAL! You won’t have any capital if you do this thing. If the ethnics don’t bleed you dry the Social Security system will. Why, oh why are you doing this? You don’t have to do this for people down on their luck. Ain’t it enough for you to be supporting the White boy?”
"I’m doing it because I can and somebody ought to be doing something for those people more’n stamping them underfoot. I’ve been inside their homes. They are good family people, trained tradesmen. All they need is a leg up. I can give it to ‘em. Are you telling me you don’t want to help me in this, if not let me know so I can find another accountant.”
‘Wait a minute, I never said I was dropping you, although since you mention it, it sounds like a good idea for me to be doing just that for the benefit of my professional reputation. … When I took you on I did so warts and all. I just didn’t know then how many or how big the warts would be. If you want to do this, then go ahead, it’s your financial funeral.”
Jennifer’s voice came across sounding distant. “I think it’s a wonderful thing that Greg’s doing. He’s sharing his good fortune with others less fortunate than himself and giving them a future…’
“OUT WOMAN, NOW!” Bill roared with mock severity, drowning out her voice until she came back loud and strong. “No, I’m staying, I’m with Greg and I’ll not let you bully him, or me.”
Greg smiled at the warmth of her support. Elbury knew when he was beaten.
“Suit yourself,” then to Greg he said, “OK I’ll talk to you about this when I see you tomorrow. One thing’s for sure; you’ll have enough bedrooms in that Parkway place when you buy it to house all these ethnics when this thing goes belly up. But for now, let’s talk about potatoes. Would these be the same roots that Cyrus Polder has been hawking around since last fall?”
"The very same Bill; they’re called ‘Lumpurs’, an old Irish variety”
“That being so, what makes you think you, as an outsider in these parts, can do what Cyrus, as a local man born and raised, cannot?”
“ Bill, these are a heritage potato. This spud is the single most reason there are so many people of Irish descent living in the USA today. That alone makes ‘em valuable.”
“I don’t get it, I suppose you’re referring to the Irish Potato Famine of a hundred and more years ago.”
‘That’s exactly right Bill. When it comes to sales what sells best of all is sex and after that nostalgia comes a close second.”
“How does that work for us. You have a big pile of un-sexy, nostalgic potatoes that nobody wants.”
“Because Cyrus was selling ‘em to the wrong people. He needed to be selling ‘em to the Irish. I read somewhere that the Irish are so thick on the ground in and around Chicago that they paint the river green on St. Patrick’s day. Chicago’s not too far from here for us to take ‘em there.”
“Paddy’s Day was last month, you’re too late, and what’s more, you’re forgetting transport costs.”
“No I’m not, they might not catch premium price now the festival is over. As for transport costs, I need to work them into the pricing. I’ve got that buzz I had with Bailey. I know there’s a profit there. And a good one too?”
“Let me ask you again. Why would people buy these roots from you for eating when they would only consider buying ‘em from Cyrus for stock-feed, and then wouldn’t pay his price for ‘em?”
Greg got excited. “You’ve hit the nail on the head with that question. It’s exactly why I went for the deal.”
“Now I’m really confused Greg. Spell it out for me. I’m not up with your reasoning right now.”
“I told you already, Cyrus was offering ‘em to the wrong people. The ‘Lumpurs’ potato was the sole variety grown by the Irish peasants all those years ago back in their Emerald Isle. It’s the only one they ate. Now, if it was so good for them then, ask yourself this. Why is it no good now? Tastes in potatoes have not changed all that much. Then something else that Mrs. Polder had to say gave me a clue to her problem with them. She said ‘they’re no good for eating, because they have too many hills and valleys in ‘em so you waste more’n half during parin.’ Then Cyrus Polder said. ‘what was left didn’t taste too bad.’ So the spuds he grew are good for eating. Don’t you see?”
“In a word ‘NO’, Greg, I don’t see what difference that makes any.”
“Listen Bill, I don’t know about these spuds, but I have a strong suspicion the Irish don’t pare ‘Lumpurs’ potatoes, they wash ‘em and eat ‘em with the skins on, just like we do those piffling little salad potatoes. What we have to do is check that out. If I am right, there’s a deal there, and I have a week’s option on ‘em in which to find out. If it’s a ‘Go’, we can market them under a strap line ‘Irish heritage potatoes for eating the Irish way, with the skins on.’ We need to do some research into that.”
Greg heard Jennifer’s voice and he picked up her excitement. “I can do that, what did you say they were called Greg”
“Thanks Jennifer, they’re called ‘Lumpurs’ He spelled out their name for her.
Bill spoke next. “What else do you want from me, from us?”
“I need to know everything about costs of growing, and harvesting potatoes here excluding ploughing and fertiliser costs. I need to know the process and then how heritage potatoes are marketed, at what prices and in what sizes. I am looking at selling boxed or bagged produce to the Irish markets in Chicago. I need to know if that is a valid outlet, if so, I need contacts with wholesalers who can handle 150 tons of potatoes. I need to know what grading and boxing machinery we need. Can it be hired and at what cost. What labour intensity will be needed and how best to maximise the margin?”
“Is that all,” Bills voice sounded droll in his earpiece?
“That’ll do for now and if you can find out as much as possible for me by tomorrow I’ll be grateful. I have to go to Lincoln this afternoon, but will be searching the Internet myself tonight when I’m done with Wayne.”
“Take it easy soldier. Listen, me and Jennifer will find out what we can today. I've caught some of your passion for this deal- it’s a one off isn’t it?”
“It is for now, but if it works we can do it every year on a contract basis.”
“What do you intend paying Cyrus for the roots?”
“If I can’t get a sale price that covers his costs and gives me a worthwhile return I’ll back away from the deal. But if it’s a “Go”, I’ll cover at least his expenditure on ‘em. I’m not prepared to discuss buying prices beyond that for now.”
“Sounds good, but listen. I heard what you said about the four ethnics you want to get started. Using ‘em once off to fix an aircon-unit is one thing. Using them so they become dependant on you is another. You’ll not find much help from the government and they stand to lose what benefits they get now. It is a nice, wholesome idea, but it’s too risky and I have to advise you against it.”
“Too late Bill. I’ve given my word and that’s what the slush fund will be for, funded with the back year’s rent from the Louisiana boatyard.”
“You say you’ve given your word, come on now, nobody can hold you to that?”
“I can, ... and I will. I’ve given my word and it’s my bond.”
“Phew! Holy shit are you sure you’re not aiming to take holy orders?”
Greg laughed easily. “No chance of that. See you tomorrow.”
“About 10:30. Will you be at the Town Hall?”
“That’s where I’ll be with my ethnics as you call ‘em, fixing up the place.”
“OK, be sure to talk to Dean Halburton especially about this slush fund and what you’re doing with the ethnics. He has a great idea for you about bringing your investment with Wayne home. I’ll get on with closing down the investments at Houston and Kentucky and the Wayne loan. Talk to him about the boat as well. That’s about it. Oh! One more thing.”
"What’s that?”
“Go see Doc Finch and get him to check you out for sunstroke.”
Greg laughed heartily, rang off and walked lightly along the sidewalk heading for the Town Hall. It was all happening and he felt good. He half ran and half strode briskly, oblivious of the stares of onlookers and no longer caring what they might be thinking of him. Gregory Vernon Mitchell was about to make his mark on Bamptonville.