'How high do you think it'll go?' David said.
Paul pondered a moment. 'Assuming general inflation remains at its present level, I can see a wholesale price increase in the U.S. to 30K a kilo within a year. That may eliminate one social problem because the price has got to be about 10K before it's economically feasible to produce five- and ten-dollar vials of crack. But at the same time the price is rising in the U.S., it'll be reduced dramatically in the European Community. The Colombian marketing experts know there's a two-or three-year wait before a strong consumer demand develops. Cocaine addiction takes that long. Heroin and crack work much faster, of course. But the cartels have the money to invest and the patience to wait for the market to build. And cutting the wholesale price is the quickest way to open up Western Europe, but it'll mean a higher price per kilo in this country. Yes, I think it'll go to thirty grand within a year, and I wouldn't be surprised to see it hit fifty thousand in two or three years as more production goes overseas.'
'Paul,' Bartlett said, 'who knows about this decision to target the European Community for coke? Do the domestic dealers know about it? The retailers?'
'I doubt that,' the drug agent said, pouring himself another drink. 'They're only interested in today's profits. They know from nothing about long-term planning and international marketing strategies. But the Colombian cartel executives realize they've got to develop worldwide demand if their growth is to maintain its current rate of increase. And after Western Europe, of course, there is always Russia, Japan, China. These men may not be Harvard MBAs, but they recognize the reality of the global economy and their need to expand their international trade. And price manipulation is one way of achieving that.'
'Thank you, Paul,' Jimmy Bartlett said. 'You've given us exactly what we wanted. Can we contact you for an update in a month or so?'
'Whenever you like,' Paul said, finishing his drink and rising. 'I don't care how you use the information, as long as I'm not named as the source. By the way, this was a freebie, Jimmy. I owed you one for tipping me about that rat from Panama. Now we're even. If you want updates, it'll cost.'
'Understood,' Bartlett said. 'Thanks again.'
'Nice meeting you, David,' Paul said.
'Nice meeting you, Paul,' David said.
After he departed, the door locked and chained, Rathbone and Bartlett mixed a final drink.
'You believe him?' David asked.
'I trust his judgment and inside knowledge of the industry. He deals with some very important men. If he says the kilo price of coke is going to rise in the U.S., then it will. He'd have no reason to con us.'
'I'll take your word for it. So we can plan purchases and sales by the Fort Knox Fund on that premise, that prices are going up because of a coming scarcity?'
'I think so. Let's start out on a small scale, wait a month or so, and then see if Paul's predictions are on the money.'
'Okay,' Rathbone said, 'I'll contact Frank Little and set up a meet with his biggest client. We'll try to sell for eighteen to twenty thousand a kilo. How does that sound?'
'About right. Ask for more than twenty, but fight anything lower.'
'What quantity?' Rathbone asked.
'How much is in the Fund's kitty right now?'
'About a quarter-mil.'
'Then let's try to peddle fifteen kilos. We'll have enough cash from Sid and Mort's mooches before we make the buy.'
'Suits me,' David said. 'How much should we offer on the buy?'
'Say 12K per kilo. We may have to pay more and sell for less. But let's aim for a net of 100 Gs. Now to get back to Termite Tommy … I talked to two professionals, the Corcoran brothers, well qualified to handle our problem. Their price is ten thousand. But they're going to be up in Macon on assignment for a few weeks. I could get the job done cheaper, but I'd feel better if we waited for these men to return from Georgia. They're really the best in the business.'
'Ten grand?' Rathbone said. 'I thought it would be less.'
'Oh hell,' Bartlett said, 'you can buy a kill for fifty bucks if you want to trust a hophead. Do you? I don't.'
'I don't either. You're right; this is not something we want to chisel. All right, we'll wait until the Cor-corans are available. Meanwhile I'll get that thirty thousand in queer from Tommy. Now let's get out of this shithouse.'
They rose, finished their drinks, looked around to make certain they were leaving nothing behind.
'Hey,' Jimmy Bartlett said, 'did I tell you my younger son won a catamaran race off Key West?''
'No kidding?' David Rathbone said. 'That's great!'
39
Simon Clark was aware of one of the basic tenets of con men, corporate raiders, and investment bankers: Never gamble with your own money. Although he was not ultra-rich, his net worth was sufficient to bankroll Nancy Sparco's new business if he chose to. He did not so choose.
The sting money he had invested with Mortimer Sparco's discount brokerage, if it could be recovered, would be more than enough to get Nancy started. Thus, in effect, the U.S. Government (actually the taxpayers) would finance her escort service in south Florida.
The puzzle was how to reclaim the money before the boom was lowered on Sparco and all his assets seized. Clark thought he might be able to finagle it if he could be present when the bust went down. Sharks like Sparco invariably kept a heavy stack of currency on hand for bribes and getaway insurance. It wouldn't be the first time a law enforcement officer had glommed onto a criminal's money during the confusion of an arrest.
But Clark decided that robbing the robber was just too risky; there had to be a better way of regaining the cash that had presumably purchased shares in the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund.
He put that problem aside temporarily and concentrated on his own future and the path it might take.
While stealing Sparco's poke during the arrest had its dangers, there would be much less peril in lifting a list of the broker's clients. With that in hand, Clark would have a strong base for starting his own discount brokerage, pushing the same penny stocks that had made Sparco a wealthy man.
But running a brokerage, even semi-legitimately, required many registrations, licenses, and permits. And the SEC was always looking over your shoulder. Clark preferred a simpler swindle, with the risk-benefit ratio more in his favor. He decided his best bet might be to follow David Rathbone's example and become an investment adviser or whatever you wanted to call it.
With a limited number of wealthy clients with deficient money smarts, Clark reckoned he could do very well indeed. His background as a U.S. ADA would inspire confidence, he had an impressive physical presence, and his courtroom experience had taught him that when sincerity is demanded, style is everything.
So when he wasn't on the phone to Denver and Chicago, learning more details of Sparco's price manipulation and market domination of certain worthless securities, Clark went looking for permanent housing and an office location. He figured that by using leverage he could hang out his shingle for about a hundred thousand tops. He could do it for less, of course, but recognized the value of front in a business based on clients' faith in his probity.
The only opportunities he had to relax and enjoy south Florida came when Nancy Sparco visited his hotel room, two or three afternoons a week. Then they drank too much, talked too much, loved too much and, as she said, 'told the whole world to go screw.'
She showed up one afternoon when rainsqualls from the southwest had driven all the tourists off the beach and flooded the streets. Clark saw at once, despite a heavy layer of pancake makeup, that she was sporting a black eye. He embraced her, then held her by the shoulders and stared at the mouse.
'Who hung that on you?' he asked.
'Who?' Nancy said bitterly. 'It wasn't the Tooth Fairy. My shithead hubby.'
'Does he do that often?'
'No,' she admitted. 'Maybe a couple of times since we've been married.'
