Fast and Loose

8

Erik Macher spent his day going through every business file of Christian St. Clair’s business dealings, then his own files. In St. Clair’s he found the offer for the Carlsson Clinic buyout and its deadline. He read it carefully, then called Dr. Willie Keeling, the head of the stockholders’ association.

“Good morning, Dr. Keeling.”

“Good morning, and who might this be?”

“I am Erik Macher.” He spelled the name slowly. “Does that ring a bell?”

“I’m afraid not, and I don’t have time to talk right now.”

“This is about the buyout offer from St. Clair Enterprises. I believe you have that in hand. And I am the successor of Christian St. Clair.”

“Ah, yes, I heard of his death and thought that might be an end to this business.”

“Certainly not. The offer is still a valid one, and you have three weeks to state your intentions.”

“And what will happen if we do not accept the offer by that time?”

“Then the offer will be withdrawn, and another made, but at a lower price.”

“Mr. Maker—”

“Macher.”

“Mr. Macher, I must tell you that I expect another offer — a better one — by that time.”

“From whom, may I ask?”

“You may not. Good day, sir.” Keeling hung up.

Of all the occasional irritants in Macher’s life, which he fought every day to remove, being hung up on by someone who didn’t know him was right at the top. He felt his gorge rising and fought to keep it down, taking deep breaths.

“I believe he was getting angry,” Keeling said to his companion, Herbert Fisher, an attorney with Woodman & Weld.

“You handled him perfectly,” Herbie said. “First, by not acknowledging him, then by continuing not to acknowledge him, then by disclosing that you could do better, and finally, by hanging up on him. Just perfect. Now he knows he has a fight on his hands.”

“I don’t like having someone, even someone I don’t know, angry with me,” Keeling said, wiping his glasses with a tissue, then patting his forehead and under his eyes.

“That is because you are a professional man and not a businessman. Businessmen are accustomed to dealing with people who are displeased with them and often use that to their advantage.”

“And how do I do that?”

“First, wait for his response.”

“How do you know he will respond?”

“Because he wants the Carlsson Clinic — perhaps even more than St. Clair himself wanted it, because it is probably the first business transaction he will carry out in his new position of authority.”

“Will he want to hurt me?” Keeling asked.

“No. Oh, he may be angry enough to do so, but he is businessman enough to know that violence would damage his position and thus cost him money and prestige with his board. He will be scrupulously polite, until he isn’t, and that will let you know that it is time to deal with him.”

“When will he call again?”

“Perhaps soon, perhaps later — it doesn’t matter. When he calls, ask your secretary to say that you are unavailable, and she doesn’t know when you will be.”

“I don’t have a secretary.”

“Dr. Keeling, do you have a telephone answering machine?”

“No.”

“I will send one over to you and have it set up. After that, never answer the phone, unless you recognize the calling number as being someone you wish to speak to.”

Herbie used his cell to ask his secretary to send over a machine pronto. “It should be only a few minutes.”

The phone rang again, and Herbie held up a hand when Keeling started to answer. On the sixth ring, he picked it up himself.

“Hello,” he said, sounding bored.

“May I speak to Dr. Keeling, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Erik Macher.”

“Can you spell that?”

Macher spelled it slowly and carefully.

“Is that Eric with a cee?”

“No, with a kay.”

“And Maker with a kay, too?”

“It’s Macher with a cee aitch.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the chief executive officer of St. Clair Enterprises,” Macher said through gritted teeth.

“What is that?”

“It is a very large business conglomerate.”

“What kind of business?”

“Financial.”

“Does Dr. Keeling know you?”

“I spoke to him five minutes ago.”

“What is this about?”

“It’s a business matter.”

“What sort of business?”

“Extremely important business.”

“Just a minute, I’ll get him.” Herbie pressed the hold button.

“If it were me calling,” Keeling said, “I would want to kill you by now.”

“Oh, good,” Herbie said. He waited for about a count of ten, then pressed the line button. “Hello?”

“Hello.”

“Is that Mr. Maker?”

“This is Mr. Macher. May I speak to Dr. Keeling, please?”

“He just left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he just went out.”

“How long ago?”

“Just a second.”

“Did you tell him I was calling?”

“I called after him, but I think that, what with the sound of the car starting, he may not have heard me.”

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know — sometimes he’s gone for hours, even days.”

“Who is this speaking?”

“This is his nephew, Herbert.”

“May I leave a message for Dr. Keeling?”

“Just a second, I’ll have to find a pencil.” Herbie pressed the hold button.

Keeling burst out laughing. “You should take all my calls.”

Herbie pressed the button again. “I’m sorry, I can’t find a pencil, you’ll have to call back later.” He hung up.

Macher threw the telephone across the room.