Villiers sat down and looked at him, not speaking. Hackman was big, meaty, hearty, with a broad red-brick face lined with broken commandments. He spoke with the rapid-fire delivery of a used-car salesman. He was the kind of man who believed his life could be measured by his number of old buddies and by his possessions, inside tips, and the athletic accomplishments of his adolescence. He was an after-office-hours alcoholic, casually unfaithful to his third wife, a former showgirl. He lived a lusty routine and threw rowdy parties in his suburban home. Isher had once described him to Villiers as a golfer who lied about his score at the nineteenth hole; it was an accurate thumbnail description.
Seated in an enormous leather chair behind his desk, Hackman pushed the office intercom button and said, “Honey, never mind that stuff on cocoa futures till later, I’ll be tied up for a while. Go powder your snatch if you want.” He flicked the intercom off and sat back to light his cigar. “Christ, Mace, long time no see. How’sa Canadian operations? Jesus, I may move up there myself pretty soon; I tell you, they’re running us out of business down here in the Street. The Goddamned Stock Exchange reduced our brokerage fees on big-block trades, down five percent. Going to cost me six thousand dollars in commissions this year.”
Villiers opened his mouth and said mildly, “Spare me your ululations, George.”
“The hell. Some broker down on the twelfth floor jumped out his window last week.”
Villiers shrugged. “Financial wounds aren’t fatal. I’ve never understood bankrupts’ suicides.”
Hackman exhaled a diaphanous cloud of smoke. “Country club had an antique-car auction last weekend. There was a 1913 Rolls Royce landaulet that went for twenty grand. I thought of you.”
“I know the car,” Villiers said. “I didn’t come down here to talk about it. What’s the market on Melbard?”
“The stock’s moving around a little. Up a quarter, down an eighth-I imagine it’s a few casual boys moving in, selling short, and buying it back half a point below, pushing it up and selling it again. Nothing to worry about. It’s all small stuff.”
Sidney Isher cleared his throat and remarked, “Nobody’s onto you, yet.”
Hackman said. “I sounded out a bank about underwriting the Nuart Galleries if they go public. They like it. The boy I talked to seemed to think the issue will be oversubscribed the minute it goes on the market. You ought to open with a nice premium, one-fifty or two dollars.”
Villiers said, “How much will they be getting?”
“The underwriters? Two and three-quarters percent, and options on ten thousand shares at two bucks above par.”
“All right,” Villiers said, without excessive interest. “I’m having dinner tomorrow with Mrs. Hastings. You’ll have word from me next morning, either way. She’ll probably come along.”
“Meaning she’s a woman,” Hackman observed. “You do have a way with them.”
“When you get word from me,” Villiers told him, “I want you ready to roll fast. Tell the underwriters to give it a good hard sell, like bond salesmen. And we’ll want to put out a nice slick report full of color photographs and expensive artwork on the heaviest coated stock you can buy. We’ll need front men to go out on the circuit, Elks and Lions and Kiwanis and whatever-any of those outfits that need speakers. Send the front men up with literature and lecture material, some off-color stories, plenty of illustrated color slides to sell the company. I haven’t got a year to get this one off the ground.”
“That’s why I picked Fleischer’s bank,” Hackman said. “They’ve got a network of correspondent firms. They’ll get the thing moving all over the country. But of course you realize we can’t tell how it’ll really go until we run it up the flagpole and see if anybody salutes.”
Sidney Isher made a face.
Hackman added, “It’s a fluid situation, Mace.”
“Don’t give me that crap.”
Isher said, “A fluid situation is what you drown in, George.”
Hackman flushed and puffed rapidly on his cigar. After a moment he said, “Not to change the subject, but I made contact with Colonel Butler for you-you know, the president of Heggins Aircraft. You said you wanted to talk to him.”
“I know what I said. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what he said?”
“I was coming to that.”
“Anytime you’re ready, George.”
“You don’t have to get sarcastic. Listen, I had a hell of a time reaching the son of a bitch. He’s always off on safari someplace collecting big-game trophies. I got him between planes last week. Told him what you told me to tell him. I’m not sure it worked. He thinks-”
Villiers said, “If Colonel Butler thought anything, he wouldn’t be a colonel.”
“Don’t underestimate him. He’s a retired colonel, but that doesn’t make him senile. He’s maybe fifty-two or — three and he acts like one ballsy tough bird.”
“It’s a bluff,” Villiers said. “He’s on the ropes and he knows it. But you still haven’t told me whether you set up a meeting.”
“I tried to have him here this afternoon-he’s in New York right now. He wouldn’t go for it. I needled him a little, and he finally admitted he didn’t want to be seen going into a business meeting with you. Nothing personal, Mace, but you know you do have a rep. A guy with Butler’s defense contracts on the line can’t afford to be seen at a conference with you.”
Villiers gave no indication whether or not he felt slighted. He said, “You’re hanging onto the punch line. What is it?”
“Well, I said suppose I could arrange a meeting on neutral ground where it would look accidental and nobody’d think anything of it. He didn’t say no, so I told him I’m having a party tonight at my place, which is true. There’ll be plenty of people there for camouflage. He said he’d come. He didn’t sound too happy about it but I dropped the hints you told me to drop, and he won’t ignore them. He won’t be able to let them alone-he’ll have to pick at it until he finds out what you want and what he can get out of it.”
Villiers said, “I detest parties.”
“What the hell do you want from me? I should set up a meeting in the bus-station restroom? Look, all you got to do is show up, mingle a few minutes, and go back to the guest bedroom. He’ll join you there, and you can lock the door from the inside, get your business done, and leave. I went to a lot of trouble to set this up, Mace. How about it?”
“I suppose so. But try to be less clumsy next time.”
Pleased with his success, Hackman sat back grinning, ignoring the chastisement. “Yes sirree Bob.” He opened the lid of his cigar box and pushed it forward. “Help yourself. Real Cuban Upmanns-cost me a hundred bucks from a U.N. diplomat.”
Villiers ignored the offer. Sidney Isher said abruptly, “I’ve kept my mouth politely shut through all this, but I’d be obliged if you’d let me in on it. What’s all this about Heggins Aircraft and the colonel? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Elementary tactics,” Villiers said, not smiling. “Heggins has been in trouble for years. They brought in Colonel Butler a few years ago in the hopes he could swing Air Force contracts their way. He did, but that was some time ago, and the contracts are running out. The Pentagon’s changed its policy since then-there aren’t any negotiated contracts anymore, it’s all competitive bidding now, and Heggins is too loaded with sloppy management to be able to underbid the big companies. They’ve put in sealed bids that are due to be opened next week on two new VTOL planes, but they’re not likely to get the contracts, and even if they do, they’ll lose money in production. The company’s on the verge of collapse any way you look at it.”
“And?” Isher said.
“And I step in with an offer to bail the colonel out.”
“What the hell for?”
“To get my hands on a Big Board company name. Heggins is listed on the New York Stock Exchange.”