As Max slammed the phone down there was a knock at his door.
“What?” he yelled.
The door opened slowly. Harold Lipman entered.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I could come back later if…”
“No, come in,” Max said. “Sit the hell down.”
When Harold sat down across from him, Max could tell by the way Harold wouldn’t make eye contact with him that he hadn’t made any progress.
“Let me guess,” Max said, “you lost the sale?”
Lipman nodded slowly, looking at his lap. Sweat glistened on his forehead.
“What happened?” Max asked.
“He went with someone else,” Lipman said dejectedly. “I did the best I could, but our prices just weren’t competitive enough. The guy’s quote was twenty, thirty thousand dollars lower than ours.”
Max was seriously pissed.
“I told you what you had to do to close that sale.”
“I’m sorry,” Lipman said, “but there was nothing I could do.”
“I’m sorry too,” Max said, “but your best obviously wasn’t good enough. The company can’t afford to keep you on, paying you the draw that you’re making now, when you’re not producing. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”
“You’re firing me?” Lipman said. “Just like that?”
“You have a half an hour to clean out your desk and leave the premises. And don’t take any leads with you – all leads are property of NetWorld.”
“Come on, Max – give me another chance. Please. I swear I’ll do better.”
Max was shaking his head.
“I gave you solid sales advice and you refused to take advantage of it. I’m sorry, but the decision is final – you’re terminated.”
Max had always loved firing people. In fact, when it came right down to it, it was probably his favorite part of running his own business. He loved controlling people’s lives. It made him feel like… well, like God.
He knew he still had a lot of deep shit to climb out of, but tried to focus on the positives. Last night Popeye had killed Bobby Rosa. Now Max’s only problem was Angela. He couldn’t fire her right away. He’d just have to tell her he wanted to let things cool for a while and hope she kept her mouth shut. Then, after enough time passed, he’d terminate her Greek-Irish ass and hope he never saw her again. His only other problem would be that hotel videotape, but it wouldn’t be nearly as harmful as Bobby Rosa’s pictures could have been. All the videotape would show was him and Angela checking into the hotel that night, but it wouldn’t be real evidence of an affair. A hotshot criminal lawyer like McCullough would be able to get around it somehow and then he’d be home free.
He retrieved the bid that Harold hadn’t been able to close from a file folder and called the guy up.
“Hello, Mr. Takahashi? Max Fisher calling – I’m the president of NetWorld, how are you today?… Good, I’m glad to hear that… I just had a conversation with Harold Lipman and he said you decided to go with someone else for your networking job, is this true?… Well, we try to keep our costs as low as possible… Yes, I understand… Oh, of course… No problem, Mr. Takahashi, but can I just ask you one semi-personal question and then I’ll let you go?… Are you married?… The reason I ask is I’d like an opportunity to re-explain this quote to you… I understand, but there’s a place I’d think you’d love – I know I love it. Have you ever been to Legz Diamond’s?… That’s right, and I sort of get VIP service there. I know this one stripper there – you don’t have anything against black people, do you?… I didn’t think so. Anyway, this black girl they got there is dynamite. She’s a personal friend of mine too and, I assume you like women with large breasts, Mr. Takahashi… Well, wait till you see this girl. I’m talking 44 triple-Ds… I’m serious. You didn’t sign that other quote yet, did you?… Good. I’m gonna show you a time you’ll never forget. How’s tonight at six sound?… Six-thirty’s terrific. I’ll be outside your building in a cab. You won’t be disappointed, Mr. Takahashi.”
Max hung up, shouted, “Baby!”
The quote was for $220,000 and Max knew that there was no way Takahashi wasn’t going to sign it after the night he’d have tonight. And this was only the first job for this client. Their network had over one hundred users and there could be ongoing work there. Harold had been working on this quote for weeks and hadn’t gotten anywhere and now Max had practically closed it in less than one minute. No one could sell computer networks the way Max Fisher could – no one.
Max buzzed Angela – he was hungry and wanted her to order him some breakfast – but there was no answer at her desk. He thought this was strange, since it was after nine o’clock and she was usually in by eight-thirty. He buzzed the receptionist to ask if she had called in sick or to say she was going to be late, but the receptionist said that she hadn’t called.
A few minutes later, Max was on the phone with a software vendor when there was a knock at his door.
He assumed it was Lipman, coming to beg for his job back, and Max put the vendor on hold and yelled, “Go away!”
But the knock came again, a little louder, then Max said, “Who the hell’s there?”
The door opened and Bobby Rosa wheeled into the office. Seeing the bearded cripple again made Max’s throat close up. He reached for a mug of day-old coffee on his desk and swallowed the murky crap as fast as he could. Bobby had closed the door and was smiling now, watching Max. Max looked at Bobby’s black sweatshirt with the words Average White Band inscribed on it and thought, Jesus, what’s this guy, in the KKK or something?
“Surprised?” Bobby asked.
“No,” Max said, forcing a smile. “Why would I be surprised?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it would be natural for a guy to be surprised when someone he sent a hit man to bump off shows up in his office the next morning alive. But hey, that’s just me.”
“I really don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Max said. There it was again, foggiest.
“You want to keep playing games, be my guest,” Bobby said. “It won’t matter soon anyway.”
“How the hell did you get in here?” Max said, his throat tightening again.
“Don’t blame the girl at the desk,” Bobby said. “I’m good at getting into places I’m not supposed to be. But I think you already know that.”
“Look, if you’re not out of here in two minutes I’m calling the cops.”
Bobby laughed, then said, “You still don’t realize what kind of trouble you’re in, do you? You sent Dillon after me, but that was your last card – you shot your load.”
“Dillon?” Max said. “Who the hell’s Dillon?”
“You know him as Popeye, but his real name’s Dillon. It doesn’t matter now anyway because he’s out of the picture.”
“What do you mean, out of the picture?”
“Not what you think it means. He’s working with me now.”
Max couldn’t believe this was happening, that this freakazoid in a wheelchair was really here again, trying to ruin his life.
“Oh, and your executive assistant,” Bobby went on, “the one I got in that picture with you – Angela, I think her name is. I don’t think she’ll be coming into work anymore, so you might just want to clean out her desk.”
“Why? Is she working with you too?”
“No, she’s really out of the picture, and I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Max picked up the phone and said, “That’s it. I’m calling the cops.”
“I’d think about that a second,” Bobby said. “I mean what are you gonna tell them?”
Max paused, realizing Bobby was right, and replaced the receiver.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Max said, feeling like he might start to cry. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You were just in the right place at the wrong time,” Bobby said. He took out a mini-cassette recorder from the pocket of his windbreaker and placed it on the desk. He said, “You want to do the honors or should I?”
Max didn’t move so Bobby went ahead and pressed the play button. “Did Max Fisher hire you?” “Ary Christ, what do you care, you’re not a Guard.”
Max looked at Bobby, but Bobby was looking down at the tape recorder, smiling. There was more
