But he can't afford to fire me. For some strange reason, I'm the top salesman on the desk. And I don't even lie and cheat to achieve it.'
I looked at Tommy and could believe him. I had no doubt that his friendly, frank manner encouraged people to deal with him. And, unlike Cash, I doubted whether he would betray their trust.
'We can't sit around here chatting all day,' said Tommy. 'You've got lunch at one o'clock with Lloyd, haven't you?'
'Yes, I think so,' I said.
'OK, well it's twelve thirty now. Tell you what. It's the ten-year auction today. The US Treasury are auctioning nine billion dollars of new ten-year government bonds at one o'clock. Do you want to see the Bloomfield Weiss machine in action?'
I certainly did. Bloomfield Weiss were renowned for their trading muscle in government bonds. He took me over to the other side of the room and introduced me to a grizzled grey-haired man in his fifties.
'Fred, have you got a minute?'
'For you Tommy, always,' he grinned.
'I'd like you to meet Paul Murray, one of our clients from across the ocean. Paul, this is Fred Flecker. He is our head government bond salesman covering New York accounts. He has been in the market for ever. I bet the first long bond you sold matured long ago. Right, Fred?'
'Just about,' replied Fred. He held out his hand and I shook it. 'Have a seat,' he said. I found a small stool, and squatted between him and the other men frantically working the phones around him. I felt a bit like just another rubbish bin, there to get in the way. 'Do you understand what's going on?'
'No,' I said. 'Tell me.'
'OK. At one o'clock our firm, together with all the other investment banks on Wall Street, will be bidding for a certain amount of ten-year treasuries at a certain yield. There are nine billion dollars' worth for sale. The bidder who bids the lowest yield will be sold bonds first, then the next lowest bidder, and so on.
'We will be bidding on our own and on our clients' behalf. Obviously, the more demand we see for the bonds, the more we will bid for on our own behalf. My job is to talk to the major New York clients and reflect their bids to our head government bond trader, John Saunders. He is sitting over there.' He pointed to a thin man frowning with concentration, at a desk thirty feet away. People were constantly hurrying up to him, passing messages and hurrying back.
Just then the squawk-box on his desk crackled into life. 'Fred, what are you hearing?'
'That's John,' Fred said to me. And to the squawk-box, 'It looks good. We've received bids for six hundred million from New York alone. People seem to like the market.'
'Yeah, I'm hearing that from Chicago and Boston,' John's voice crackled.
'Are you going to take this one?' Fred asked.
'I'm sure thinking about it.'
I watched and listened as Fred took calls from several more clients, most of whom placed orders for the auction. Given the sums at stake, I was amazed by the calmness of Fred's voice. Quiet and measured, it inspired confidence and trust.
At twelve fifty-five, only five minutes before the auction, John walked over and whispered something in Fred's ear. He smiled. He looked at me and said, 'What you see now, you keep to yourself. Understand?'
I nodded. 'What's going on?' I asked.
'We're going to make a shut-out bid,' he said. 'We will bid for most of the auction at a yield so low that none of the other dealers will buy any bonds. Most of them have sold ten-year bonds short with the hope of buying them back during the auction. But they won't be able to because we will own them all. As they scramble to cover their short position, and as other customers realise that their orders will not be filled, everyone will be trying to buy the bonds. The market will go up and Bloomfield Weiss will clean up. Now, I must make a couple of calls. We want to cut our friends in.'
The first was to one of the largest corporations in America.
'Hallo, Steve, it's Fred,' he said. 'You put in a hundred million order for the ten-year auction. I think you should consider increasing that.'
'Why?' asked the voice at the other end of the phone.
'You know I can't tell you that,' Fred said.
There was silence. Then, 'OK, I'll play. Put me down for five hundred million.'
'Thank you,' Fred said, and rang off. They had obviously done this many times before.
He made a similar call to another large institution, which agreed to increase its order to three hundred million dollars.
I was intrigued to see Cash hovering over by John Saunders's desk. He must have heard something, because suddenly he rushed over to a nearby empty desk and made one phone call. I could guess who it was to.
At two minutes to the hour Fred got a call from a firm called Bunker Hill Mutual.
'Hi, Fred, how's it going?'
'I'm fine, Peter. But I don't think this auction will be. None of my customers are interested.'
'What do you think Bloomfield Weiss will do?' the man called Peter asked.
'I don't know of course, but I think we will bid to miss.'
Peter grunted his thanks, and put the phone down.
'Why did you tell him that?' I asked.
Fred chuckled. 'Oh, he always rings round all the investment banks just before an auction. He is as leaky as a sieve. If I told him what we are really up to, it would be all round the Street.'
The whole trading room lapsed into silence as the clock moved to one o'clock. It could be up to ten minutes before the results of the auction would begin to be known.
The minutes ticked by.
Then the squawk-box crackled into life. 'OK, it looks like Bloomfield Weiss owns all nine billion of this one. Get on the phones and tell your clients what is happening. Let's scare out those shorts.'
I looked around me. Smiles everywhere as salesmen eagerly phoned their customers to tell them the result. Within seconds the green numbers on the screens on Fred's desk started winking as the market began to move up.
Bloomfield Weiss, and its most favoured customers, made a lot of money that day.
I was a few minutes late for lunch, which was in one of Bloomfield Weiss's dining rooms. It was spectacular. Forty-six floors up, the dining room was high enough to peek over the building between it and the harbour. I had never seen such a view of New York Harbour. The sun shone off the light grey sea, ferries bustled back and forth between Staten Island and the terminal directly below. The Statue of Liberty thrust her torch defiantly up towards us, taking no notice of the two helicopters buzzing around her ears. In the distance the elegant curves of the Verrazano Bridge lay astride the horizon, a focal point for the dozen or so ships making their way out towards the ocean.
'Anywhere else, you'd have to pay a couple of hundred dollars for a meal with a view like this,' said Lloyd, as he approached me.
Silly me, for a moment I hadn't appreciated the dollar value of the view.
Cash was behind Lloyd, and next to him, a short balding man of about thirty-five with thick glasses.
The sight of Cash made me feel sick. I was furious with myself for ever being deceived by all that good humour and amiability. But I would have to talk to him as usual, forget what he had done to De Jong, what he might have done to Debbie.
'Hi, Paul, how are you doing?' he boomed, holding out his hand.
I hesitated a second before shaking it. Then I pulled myself together and replied, 'Oh, I am fine. Your colleagues here have been very kind in showing me round.'
'Good, good,' said Cash. 'Now, you met Lloyd this morning, but I don't think you have met my old friend Dick Waigel.'
The short, balding man shook my hand vigorously, and gave me an unnatural smile reeking insincerity. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said, 'Any client of Cash's is a friend of mine.'
'Now, why don't we all sit down?' Lloyd said. 'What would you like to drink, Paul, iced tea?'
