She walked me there; she was wearing Giorgio perfume. Linda had used that. Expensive fucking shit.
The office was small and rather bare. Janes was a young, thin, pockmarked man wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a big smile. I’d seen a lot of smiles today, but this one I almost believed.
“Mr. Ryan,” he said, grinning, pumping my hand, like we were long-lost buddies. “Sit down. Please.”
A chair opposite him was waiting.
His desk was filled with paperwork and he was in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his tie loose. He had a coffee cup, from which steam rose like a ghost.
“Excuse the mess,” he said, and sipped the coffee. “Can I have Sally get you a cup?”
“No thanks. Kind of you, though.”
“Excuse my appearance. I don’t generally deal with the public on Saturday. I’m only working because half our staff is on the road this week, and I’m up to my armpits in alligators.”
“I know the feeling.”
He put the coffee cup down and folded his hands on top of some of the paperwork and leaned toward me, his eyes tightening, his smile tightening. “I understand you’re looking for an investment opportunity.”
“That’s correct.”
“Sally tells me you’re the president of your own company.” And he grinned, and shook his head, as if amazed, as if it was all he could do to keep from saying, “Gosh.”
And the hell of it was, he seemed sincere.
“Frankly,” I said, “all I did was hand Sally… is that your receptionist’s name?”
He nodded, but added, “She’s an executive assistant, though.”
“Executive assistant. Sorry. Anyway, I just handed her my card, is all. She doesn’t know any more about my business than you do, but in point of fact I’m president of an auto parts outfit in Milwaukee. My secretary was supposed to have called and made an appointment for me to talk with Mr. Ridge, but there was a screw-up somewhere.”
He laughed. “These things happen.”
Christ, this guy made Up with People seem glum.
“At any rate,” he said, “investment opportunities.”
“Yes.”
“You do understand we’re a privately held company, not offering any stock.”
Huh?
“Certainly,” I said.
“Mr. Ridge will, I’m sure, appreciate your interest, but that’s just the way it is. You’re not the only one who’s been so inspired by Mr. Ridge’s program, or impressed enough by the growth of our company, to make such an inquiry.”
“Perhaps we’ve got our wires crossed…”
“Have we?”
“Isn’t this a real estate office?”
He seemed puzzled. “In what sense?”
“Well, in the sense of offering properties for sale. Houses, land. You know. Real estate.”
And now he was amused. He laughed like a bad impressionist doing Burt Lancaster. “You don’t think Mr. Ridge actually sells real estate, do you?”
Well, that answered one question: who was definitely on first.
“What exactly does Mr. Ridge sell?”
“Why, advice, of course.” He sat up. “Is that all you’re interested in?”
I smiled, shrugged.
He smiled ruefully, shook his head. “My apologies. When Sally informed me that you were the president of your own company, that you’d had an appointment with Mr. Ridge that had somehow fallen through the cracks, that you wanted to invest with us… boy, is my face red. Excuse me.”
He rose and left the small office.
I just sat there wondering what the fuck this was all about. I wondered if the son-of-a-bitch would be so cheerful if I let him suck on the nine-millimeter a while.
Then he entered and we exchanged shiteating smiles and he sat and handed me across a tan book about the size of a dictionary, only it wasn’t a book: it opened up into a carrying case for a dozen cassettes.
“The whole program is there,” he said.
“Program?”
“Everything you’ll need to know about no-money down real estate. How to take advantage of distressed properties. The creative use of credit cards. That is how George Ridge became a millionaire by the time he was thirty.”
No money down real estate! Is that what this was?
“You don’t sell real estate here,” I said. “You’re strictly in the business of selling books, tapes. Putting on seminars. How-to stuff.”
“Certainly. Surely you knew that.”
“Of course,” I said. “But I was under the impression that you were also in the real estate business proper.”
He shook his head no. “Not at all.”
I didn’t blame them. This scam was much safer.
“I was also under the impression that Mr. Ridge was available for private consultation.”
“You desire direct advice on investing?”
“That’s right. Excuse me, but I can’t talk to a goddamn tape.”
And I patted the tan carrying case.
He nodded, eyes narrowing, seeing the wisdom of that. “You’d like to sit at the feet of the guru of real estate, so to speak.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
“I can understand your desire. And from time to time Mr. Ridge does do personal consulting. But it is expensive. He’s a very busy man.”
“I know. I understand he’s in Canada, at the moment.”
“Yes, Toronto, with two of our other top people.”
“And he’ll be back, on Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“I’d still like to arrange an appointment. Even fifteen minutes of his time would be appreciated.”
Janes stood, increased the wattage on the smile, extended his hand. “I’m sure Sally can arrange that. Just tell her I’ve given my okay.”
“You’ve been very helpful. What time Tuesday is Mr. Ridge getting back from Canada?”
“Oh, he isn’t getting back on Tuesday. He’s flying in Monday night.”
That’s all I wanted to know.
“As I say, you’ve been very helpful,” I said, and left him and his positive attitude behind.
I stopped at the desk of the “executive assistant” and told her Janes had approved an appointment, and made one for eleven o’clock Tuesday morning. Fifteen minutes was all I got, but what the hell. I’d make and keep my own appointment with him, Monday night, when he arrived by plane from his Canadian seminar.
On my way out I paused again to stare at the portrait of George Ridge.
A friendly looking, slightly heavy-set man of about fifty, a smile cracking his well-lined face.
It had to be a recent picture. He had looked much the same when he came to my A-frame to offer me that million-dollar contract.
9
I dropped the rental Buick off at the airport, where I stopped in to check available flights to Toronto. There
