So my only option was to raise money through a private offering. But that was easier said than done. As formidable as Stratton was at raising money for public offerings, it was weak at raising money for private offerings. (It was an entirely different business, and Stratton wasn’t geared up for it.) In addition, I was always working on ten or fifteen deals at the same time, and each of them required some amount of private money. So I was already spread thin. To sink $3 million into Dollar Time would put a serious damper on my other investment-banking deals.
But there wasan answer: Regulation S. Through the legal exemption of Regulation S I could use my “Patricia Mellor accounts” to buy private stock in Dollar Time, then forty days later turn around and sell it back into the United States at a huge profit. It was a far cry from having to buy stock privately—in the United States—and then wait two full years to sell it under Rule 144.
I had already run the Regulation S scenario by Roland Franks, and he assured me that he could create all the necessary paperwork to make the transaction bulletproof. All I had to do was get my money to Switzerland, and then everything would take care of itself.
I said to Todd, “Maybe I should fly it over in the Gulfstream. Last time I went through Swiss Customs they didn’t even stamp my passport. I don’t see why this time would be any different.”
Todd shook his head. “No way, I won’t let you put yourself at risk. You’ve been too good to me and my family. What I’ll do is have my mother and father carry money over too. They’re both in their early seventies, so there’s no way Customs will suspect them. They’ll slip right through on both sides without a problem. I’ll also get Rich *4and Dina *5to do it. That’ll be five people, three hundred thousand each. In two trips it’ll be done. Then we’ll wait a few weeks and do it again.” He paused for a few seconds, then added, “You know, I would do it myself but I think I’m on a watch list from all the drug stuff. But I know my parents are totally clean, and so are Rich and Dina.”
We walked in silence while I thought things through. In truth, Todd’s parents were perfect mules; as old as they were, they would never get stopped. But Rich and Dina were a different story. They both looked like hippies, especially Rich, who had hair down to his ass and the strung-out look of a heroin junkie. Dina also had a junkie’s look, but, being a woman, perhaps Customs would mistake her for a washed-out hag in desperate need of a makeover. “Okay,” I said confidently. “There’s no doubt your parents are a safe bet, and probably Dina as well. But Rich looks too much like a drug dealer, so let’s leave him out of this.”
Todd stopped walking, and he turned to me and said, “All I ask, buddy, is if God forbid something happens to any one of them that you take care of all the legal bills. I know you will, but I just wanted to say it up front so I wouldn’t have to bring it up later. But, trust me, nothing is gonna happen. I promise you.”
I put my arm on Todd’s shoulder and said, “All that goes without saying. If something happens, not only will I pay the legal bills but, as long as everyone keeps their mouth shut, they’ll wind up with a seven-figure cash bonus when it’s all over. Anyway, I trust you completely, Todd. I’m gonna give you the three million dollars to take back into the city, and I have no doubt it will end up in Switzerland within the week. There’re only a handful of people in the world I would put that much trust in.”
Todd nodded solemnly.
Then I added, “On a separate note, Danny has another million to give you, but he won’t have it until the middle of next week. I’ll be up in New England with Nadine on the yacht, so call Danny and make plans to hook up with him, all right?”
Todd grimaced. “I’ll do whatever you say, but I hate dealing with Danny. He’s a fucking loose cannon; he does too many Quaaludes during the day. If he shows up with a million dollars in cash and he’s all Luded out, I swear to God I’m gonna smack him in the face. This is serious shit, and I don’t wanna be dealing with a slurring idiot.”
I smiled. “Point well taken; I’ll talk to him. Anyway, I gotta get back to the house. Nadine’s aunt is in from England, and she’s coming out here with Nadine’s mother for dinner. I gotta get ready.”
Todd nodded. “No problem. Just don’t forget to tell Danny not to be fucked up when he meets me on Wednesday, okay?”
I smiled and nodded. “I won’t forget, Todd. I promise.”
Feeling satisfied, I turned toward the ocean and looked out to the edge of the horizon. The sky was a deep cobalt blue with just a sliver of magenta where the sky melted into the water. I took a deep breath…
And just like that I forgot.
CHAPTER 19
A LEAST LIKELY MULE
Dinner out! Westhampton! Or Jew-Hampton, as it was referred to by all those WASP bastards living down the road in Southampton. It was no secret that the WASPs sneered straight down their long, thin noses at the Westhamptonites, as if we were the sorts of Jews who’d just had our passports stamped at Ellis Island and were still dressed in long black coats and top hats.
Anyway, in spite of all that, I still considered Westhampton a fine place to keep a beach house. It was for the young and the wild, and, most importantly, it was full of Strattonites—the male Strattonites blowing obscene amounts of money on the female Strattonites, and the female Strattonites blowing the male Strattonites in return, in the Stratton version of a quid pro quo.
On this particular evening I was sitting at a table for four at Starr Boggs restaurant, athwart the dunes of Westhampton Beach, with two Quaaludes bathing the pleasure center of my brain. For a guy like me it was a rather minor dose, and I was in complete control. I had a terrific view of the Atlantic Ocean, which was a mere stone’s throw away. In fact, it was so close that I could hear the waves breaking upon the shore. At 8:30 p.m. there was still enough light in the sky to turn the horizon into a swirling palette of purple and pink and midnight blue. An impossibly large full moon hung just over the Atlantic.
It was the sort of glorious view that served as an indisputable testament to the wonder of Mother Nature, which stood in sharp contrast to the restaurant itself, which was a total fucking dump! White metallic picnic tables were strewn about a gray wooden deck that was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and a serious desplintering. In fact, if you walked barefoot on the deck you were sure to end up in the emergency room at Southampton Hospital, which was the only institution in Southampton that accepted Jews, albeit reluctantly. Adding insult to injury, a hundred or so red, orange, and purple lanterns hung from thin gray wires that crisscrossed the roofless restaurant. It looked like someone had forgotten to take down last season’s Christmas lights—someone with a severe alcohol problem. And then there were tiki torches, which were strategically positioned here and there. They gave off a feeble orange glow, making the place seem that much sadder.
But none of this—with the exception of the tiki torches—was the fault of Starr, the restaurant’s tall, potbellied owner. He was a first-class chef, Starr, and his prices were more than reasonable. I had taken Mad Max here once, to provide him with a visual explanation of how my average Starr Boggs dinner bill ran $10,000. It was a concept he was having trouble grasping, since he wasn’t aware of the special reserve of red wine that Starr stocked for me, the average price being $3,000 per bottle.
Tonight the Duchess and I, along with Nadine’s mother, Suzanne, and the lovely Aunt Patricia, had already killed two bottles of Chateau Margaux, 1985, and were deep into our third—despite the fact that we hadn’t ordered appetizers yet. But given the fact that Suzanne and Aunt Patricia were both half Irish, their proclivity for all things alcoholic was to be expected.