The Concrete Smile Read online

  “Me.”

  Sam pretended at mild surprise. “You? Well, then, let’s just say I could shuffle some things around to help out a friend. What are we talking about?”

  “Come by the office tomorrow and I’ll fill you in.” He glanced around the half-empty bar, then back at Sam. “You just never know who’s listening.”

  “Okay. What time?”

  “Let’s make it around four. I’ll clear my end of day calendar for you.”

  “You got it,” Sam said.

  He half expected the motel room to be empty when he stumbled in at three, but her huddled form on the bed greeted him.

  “Rough night?” Rachel asked, her voice sleepy.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes. “Productive,” he said.

  “Yeah?” She yawned, then snuggled up to the small of his back. “He bite?”

  “Hard.”

  “Good. This one took longer than I expected.”

  “You sound like Finch.” He shed his shirt and stood to unbuckle his belt. Then he stopped, removed his lighter and put it on the night stand.

  “God forbid.” Her voice held a hint of humor. Then she said, “I feel nervous bringing him into it.”

  “We needed him.”

  “You could have roped and been the front man.”

  “The new best drinking pal also happens to sell supplies in the same business as the mark? It’s a bit of a coincidence, babe.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it puts him at risk.”

  “Life is risk. What we do is risk. And he knows that. He’s one of us.”

  “I’m not talking about the risk that comes with the grift,” Rachel said quietly. “And you know it. I’m talking about Philly.”

  “What do you want me to say about that? We worked the wrong people, and it went wrong.”

  “We never should have tried it.”

  He slid into the bed next to her. “There were over a million reasons to try.”

  “Which we didn’t score anyway.”

  He shrugged. “Twenty large isn’t bad.”

  “It barely covered expenses. And it’s definitely not worth having them chase us for the rest of our lives.”

  “They’ll forget,” he said. “We just have to stay off their radar long enough, and they’ll forget.”

  “They won’t forget,” she said softly, but there was no accusation in her voice. “They never forget.”

  He didn’t reply. She was right and they both knew it.

  It had been too much money to pass up, and the mark wasn’t so high up the ladder that Sam thought the entire organization would want revenge. But he underestimated both the mark and the mob, and they barely escaped alive.

  She lay her head on his chest, her hair spilling across his chest and neck. He breathed in her familiar, clean scent. “This one is taking too long,” she whispered.

  “A job takes as long it takes.” But his reply was rote as he stroked her hair. “We’re almost there.”

  He arrived at Jacobsen’s office at five minutes before the hour. Located in a recently built, four-story building in an industrial park, the setting gave off the sense of wanting to impress without the cost of a downtown presence. Sam thought it fit Jacobsen perfectly, and it was one of the reasons the man gave him caution. For all Jacobsen’s talk about being aggressive, Sam thought he was more careful with his money than he wanted to admit.

  Maybe he should have known that when he first roped Jacobsen. The signs were there, albeit camouflaged by other signs and behaviors. And Jacobsen had admittedly been a target of convenience, too. Maybe Finch was right about him. Maybe he was losing his touch.

  Sam stopped outside the office door, forcefully banishing those thoughts. He stood there for a full minute, summoning all of the confidence he could find and then manufacturing some more. That was what Jacobsen needed to see.

  When he opened the door and walked through, it was a self-assured consultant that he presented to the receptionist. She was a middle-aged woman with a severe gaze, and Sam knew instantly that she was danger. The fact that Jacobsen had never mentioned her bothered him, too. The nameplate on her desk read “Gloria.”

  “Hello, Gloria.” He gave her a disarming smile.

  Gloria wasn’t moved. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Jack Martin to see Barry Jacobsen. I’m his four o’clock.”

  She glanced over at the computer screen, though Sam had the distinct impression that she didn’t need to in order to confirm Jacobsen’s schedule. “Mr. Jacobsen is in the conference room, finishing up with a client.”

  “No problem, I’ll wait.”

  “No,” Gloria said, “he’d like you to join the meeting.” She pressed a button and spoke into her headset. “Marilyn, I need you to escort someone to see Mr. Jacobsen in the conference room.” Then she gave Sam a short nod. “It’ll be just a moment.”

  When she came into the room, he affected a casual air, allowing himself to notice her attractiveness as any man would, but at least in a marginally respectful manner. Gloria saw his response and pursed her lips in mild disapproval.

  Rachel smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Marilyn, assistant to Mr. Jacobsen.”

  “Temporary assistant,” Gloria corrected, half under her breath.

  Rachel nodded at that, and dialed up her smile another notch. “Yes, that’s true. I am on loan from the temp agency. But I feel like I’ve found a home.”

  Gloria scowled.

  Rachel continued without missing a beat. “If you’ll follow me, Mr.…?”

  “Martin,” Sam said. “Jack Martin.”

  “This way, Mr. Martin.”

  Rachel led him down a long hallway, past several closed office doors. Sam followed. Once they were out of Gloria’s earshot, Rachel murmured, “All good.”

  Sam smiled slightly. As they reached the closed door to the conference room, Rachel briefly paused. Sam stepped close, breathing in the scent of her light perfume. They stood still for only a moment, and then she opened the door and strode through.

  Sam followed her inside.

  Jacobsen sat at the head of a long table, and he looked up as they entered. He gave Rachel an appreciative look that was just short of lascivious before noticing Sam. Jacobsen rose from his seat.

  “Jack! Glad you could make it.”

  Sam reached out his hand and they shook.

  “Jack, this is Albert Creider.” Jacobsen motioned toward the man at the table. He wore a conservative suit, not designer but serviceable. “Al, meet Jack.”

  Sam and Finch shook hands and exchanged muttered pleasantries while Jacobsen took the opportunity to steal another glance at Rachel. Without looking away, he asked, “Coffee or something, Jack?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Al? A refill?”

  “No thanks,” Finch said. He was dressed smartly and Sam wondered if he’d gone to a hair stylist to get the trendy look he sported. Even his beard was trimmed. Then again, Finch had always cleaned up good.

  Jacobsen smiled at Rachel. “I guess that’ll be all, then, Marilyn.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rachel struck a perfect balance between professional and coquettish.

  “Check on us in about thirty minutes, hon. We might be thirsty by then.” He glanced at the other two men. “Maybe for water or maybe champagne. Am I right, gentlemen?”

  “Here’s hoping,” Finch agreed.

  Rachel smiled and slid out of the room. Jacobsen watched her go. When the door closed behind her, he shook his head in amazement. “God is a wonderful architect,” he said, winking at Sam.

  I fucking hate winkers.

  Sam grinned. “I take it that’s…”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Sam nodded appreciatively.

  Jacobsen looked over at Finch, who was still staring at the door, too, playing his role to a tee. “She’s got to you, too, Al?”

  Finch clear
ed his throat and shifted in his seat. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

  “I’ll bet. We all were.” Jacobsen leaned toward Finch slightly. “Listen, Al, you think you can give Jack and I a few minutes so I can bring him up to speed?” He motioned toward the door with a jerk of his head.

  “Certainly.” Finch stood. “I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as Finch left the room, Jacobsen beamed at Sam. “Jack-o, my friend, I am winning.”

  “You and Charlie Sheen,” Sam joked lightly.

  He waved that away. “He’s holding firm on the price right now, but I know he’ll come down.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Jacobsen spread his hands. “Who’s sitting in this room right now?”

  “We are.”

  “Exactly. Because I asked him to leave. It was a power move, Jack-o. And he didn’t even hesitate. He wants this deal. And you know what they say about deals, right?”

  “Figure out what the other guy wants and give him as little of it as you can?”

  Jacobsen’s mouth dipped in an appreciative expression. “Not bad. I like it. But no, what I’m talking about is the golden rule of negotiating the deal.” He hesitated dramatically, then added, “He who wants the deal less, wins.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you can walk away and the other guy can’t, you’ve got all the power.”

  Sam mirrored the expression Jacobsen had made a few moments before. “Nice. And that’s you?”

  Jacobsen pointed at Sam with his thumb and forefinger, then dropped his thumb like a hammer with an accompanying mouth click. “You got it.”

  Sam nodded that he understood. “Maybe you better fill me in, Barry.”

  “Sure, sure.” Jacobsen leaned back and collected his thoughts for a second. Then he said, “This started when Al cold called me about two weeks ago.”

  No, it didn’t. It started over a month ago when Rachel landed the temp position and started scouting you.

  “Al owns a business out of Michigan. They call themselves Dylan Brothers. They’re essentially a mining interest when you get right down to it. Their focus is on shale, clay, slate, silica sand, and iron ore. Sound familiar?”

  Sam shrugged helplessly. “Not my area of expertise.”

  “Those are primary ingredients in cement, Jack. And you need cement to make concrete.”

  “Okay. So he’s a potential supplier?”

  “I thought so. We worked out a small deal for exactly that in about an hour.”

  “No lawyers?”

  Jacobsen scowled. “You know I hate lawyers. If a deal is too complex for me to understand, it’s not something I want any part of. Lawyers make shit complicated on purpose so we have to pay them to explain complicated shit.”

  “Well, I could have helped you with that deal,” Sam said.

  Jacobsen shrugged. “It was straightforward, Jack-o. Believe me, I can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can. Did you get a good price?”

  “Below market, yeah.”

  “And the product quality?”

  Jacobsen shrugged. “They haven’t shipped yet, but for the most part ore is ore. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because in our next meeting, Al offered to buy my company.”

  “Oh.” Sam pretended to consider that. “That seems sudden.”

  “I thought so, too.” Jacobsen leaned forward. “So I did a little homework on Dylan Brothers. And I figured out why they want to buy.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  Jacobsen gave him a triumphant smile. “It’s right there on their own damn website. I mean, it took some looking, but it’s there.”

  “What is?”

  “They don’t give a shit about cement supplies. They’re in oil speculation.”

  Sam held up his hands. “I’m lost.”

  “Okay, listen.” Jacobsen gestured with his hands. “You’ve heard of fracking, right?”

  “Vaguely. It’s a form of mining?”

  “Sort of. It’s a process of extracting oil and gas from shale rock. Basically, you pump in a bunch of water at high pressure to get the job done. But don’t worry about that. The important part is the result—oil or gas. Energy. Which equals big dollars.”

  “What’s ‘big’ mean?”

  “Millions,” Jacobsen cooed. “Easily. Maybe tens of millions.”

  Sam raised his brows slightly, impressed. “That’s great. But I’m still a little confused. How do we get to concrete from there?”

  “The shale rock is still there, and can still be used for cement.”

  “So they suck out all the oil or gas or whatever and then use the rock as an ingredient, too?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay.” Sam pretended to think some more, then shrugged again. “I’m still not seeing what—”

  “It’s simple, Jack-o. This supply deal is a secondary revenue stream for Dylan Brothers. They’re just being frugal, is all. Selling off the scraps after the feast, you see?”

  Sam squinted. “I think so. So they’re a drilling company?”

  “Not yet. Best I can tell, they have a deal with a company in Alberta to haul off the shale after the fracking process. The oil company pays them to do it, and then they turn around and sell what they haul away. They make money coming and going.”

  “Smart,” Sam noted.

  “Very smart. But they could do so, so much better.”

  “How?”

  Jacobsen’s eyes gleamed as he grinned at Sam. “Jack-o, they have drilling options on two different shale reserves in Alberta. Huge reserves. They can extract all that energy any time they want.”

  “Why aren’t they?”

  Jacobsen’s grin broadened. “They’ve got some cash flow problems. They can’t afford to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “But didn’t this guy Al offer to buy your company?”

  “Desperation move. They know I’ve got a steady cash flow, and that would shore up their position. Then they could probably get a loan. Plus, there’s a public relations advantage, too. Fracking isn’t popular with the tree huggers, Jack-o. My company would give them a place to send the debris that was far away. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  Sam nodded slowly. “I think I understand. They want to buy your company to stabilize their cash position and give them an outlet for some of the byproduct of the eventual mining they intend to do when they exercise these options in Alberta.”

  Jacobsen gave him the cocked finger gun again, firing and clacking. “And the reason they’re in a little bit of a hurry is that the options expire in nine months.”

  “Sounds like they missed their window, then.”

  “Not really. As long as they break ground before the options expire, they automatically renew for another three years at the same price. And, Jackie boy, they didn’t pay hardly anything for the options in the first place. As long as they start drilling within the next nine months, they stand to make ten, maybe fifteen million. American dollars, not Canadian.”

  “So,” Sam asked, “you need me to help negotiate the sale? Or look over—”

  Jacobsen waved his hands in front of his face. “No, no, no. You still don’t get it. But look, I do need you, yes. I want another set of eyes on the deal.”

  “All right. I can do that.”

  “What’s your fee?”

  Sam quoted him a daily rate. Jacobsen didn’t even flinch. “Done. You’re hired.”

  They shook hands.

  “Good to be on board, Barry,” Sam said. “Now, what’s your bottom line on the sale price?”

  Jacobsen smiled. “You really haven’t figured it out, huh?”

  Sam paused. “Well, hearing you say that, I guess not.”

  “You remember what I said in the bar the other night? About being aggressive?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wasn’t just talking the talk, Jacki
e.” He thumbed toward his chest. “I walk the walk.”

  Sam pretended to work it out over the next few seconds. Then he affected a look of comprehension. “You mean…?”

  “That’s right,” Jacobsen said, his voice triumphant and gloating. “I’m not going to sell them my business. I’m going to buy theirs.”

  When Finch finally returned to the conference room, the three of them spent another hour discussing potential details and even tossed out some preliminary numbers. Finch struck a perfect affect of restrained desperation that even Sam had to admire. The old man should have taken his acting skills to the big screen. If he had, Sam suspected he’d have two or three gold statues on his mantel by now.

  By six-thirty, they seemed to reach an impasse. Finch steadfastly refused to budge no matter how hard Jacobsen pushed. Sam alternated between joining the push and mediating to keep the deal from falling apart completely.

  Finally, when Finch rubbed his eyes and sighed, Sam suggested they call it a night.

  “We can reconvene tomorrow,” he told Finch. “Is ten a good time?” Sam glanced at Jacobsen and saw the man staring furious, hateful daggers at him.

  Finch leapt at the suggestion. “A break sounds good. Let’s all sleep on it. And ten is fine with me.”

  They both turned to Jacobsen, who’d managed to conceal his fury. He forced a smile. “Of course. Ten is fine. Right here?”

  “Perfect,” Finch said. He stood, gathered his files and paperwork, then shook both men’s hands. “See you tomorrow.”

  As soon as Finch left the room, Jacobsen turned on Sam. “What the mercy fuck were you thinking?” he snarled.

  Sam feigned shock. “What—?”

  Jacobsen pointed a finger at the door. “You just let a ten million dollar deal walk out the door.”

  Sam shook his head. “The deal wasn’t going to get done tonight, Barry.”

  “Bullshit! He was about ready to break. Couldn’t you see it?”

  “I saw a tired man, who was just as likely to walk away from the deal as agree to it. I thought a break for the day was prudent—”

  “Prudent?” Jacobsen almost spat the word. “Have you been listening to me at all? You sound like a goddamn lawyer. Prudent? Jesus, Jack. Aggressive is how you win. Aggressive!”