Ed McBain: King's Ransom

“So year in and year out, he’s president,” Stone said, nodding.

“And year in and year out, we stand by while he puts out these… these maternity shoes!” Benjamin said.

“And year in and year out, we watch the company sink into the slime.”

“An’ my stock dee -preciates in value. Now, tha’s no good, Doug.”

Benjamin moved quickly to the teacart. King had been silent while the men spoke. Still silent, he watched Benjamin pick up a red pump from the clutter of shoes on the cart’s top.

“Now look at this shoe,” Benjamin said. “Take a peek at this! Style! Flair! Excitement!”

“I supervised the design of that bitch myself,” Stone said proudly.

“We had samples made up when you were on vacation, Doug.”

“I know what happened at the factory while I was on vacation, George,” King said softly.

“Oh? Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Give him the shoe,” Stone said. “Let him take a close look.”

Benjamin handed the pump to King and then turned to glance at Blake, who was puffing on his cigar. King turned the shoe over in his big hands, studying it carefully, saying nothing.

“Now how about that, boy?” Benjamin asked. “The women’ll go nuts for that shoe. What do women know, anyway? Do they care about quality, so long as a shoe flatters the foot?”

“I can read his mind,” Stone said, “He’s thinking the Old Man would never let a shoe like that go through.”

“Ah, but the Old Man won’t have a thing to say about it, Doug. That’s why we’re here today.”

“Oh, is that why we’re here today?” King asked mildly, but the irony in his voice was lost on everyone but Pete Cameron, who caught it and smiled.

“The Old Man’s got a solid chunk of voting stock,” Benjamin said, his eyes narrowing. “Twenty-five per cent of it.”

“I was wondering when we’d start discussing voting stock,” King said.

Benjamin laughed feebly. “Oh, this is a shrewd one, Frank,” he said. “You can’t slip anything over on Doug here.”

King did not react to the compliment. In a flat voice he said, “The Old Man’s got twenty-five per cent, and between you, Rudy, and Frank, you’ve got twenty-one per cent—not enough to take an election from the Old Man.” He paused significantly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Control,” Stone said.

“Control,” Benjamin repeated. “We want your voting stock. We want you to throw in your voting stock with us.”

“Mmmm?”

“You’ve got thirteen per cent, Doug. The remainder is scattered around among people who don’t give a damn which way an election goes.”

“With your stock, we’ll have a neat thirty-four per cent,” Stone said, “more than enough to override the Old Man. How about it, Doug?”

“Throw in with us, boy,” Benjamin said, enthusiastically. “We’ll vote in a new president. We’ll put out shoes like the one you’re holding in your hand there. We can sell that shoe for seven dollars. We can splash the Granger name all over the low-priced field. The hell with this quality stuff! The big money is with the masses. Invade the low-priced field with a trade name that’s always stood for high fashion, and we’ll kill the competition.”

“I think George’s idea is sound,” Blake drawled. “I wouldn’t’ve come all the way up here if I dint. I’m interested in protectin’ my investment, Doug. Frankly, I don’t care what kind of shoes we sell, so long as we make money at it. That’s my business. Makin’ money.”

“Vote out the Old Man, huh?” King said. “Vote in a new president.”

“That’s right, Doug,” Stone said.

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who goes in as president?”

There was a moment of hesitation. The men glanced at each other.

“Naturally,” Stone said, “you’ve got thirteen per cent of the stock, and that’s considerable, considerable. But at the same time, you can’t do anything without our collective chunk, and so…”

“I see no reason for pussyfootin’ around, Rudy,” Blake said firmly. “Conversion to the low-priced field was all George’s idea, as was this meetin’ today. I’m sure Doug will recognize the fairness of our suggestion.”

“We figured,” Stone said cautiously, as if anticipating an explosion, “that George Benjamin should go in as president.”

“Well now,” King said dryly, “that’s a surprise.”

“With you as executive vice-president, of course,” Stone said hastily, “at a tremendous salary jump.”

Douglas King studied the men silently for a moment and then slowly rose. Sprawled on the sofa, he had given an impression of stockiness, but as he rose now, the impression was instantly shattered. He was at least six feet two inches tall, with the wide shoulders and narrow waist of an exhibition diver. At forty-two years old, it was doubtful whether or not the graying hair at his temples could be called “premature.” It nonetheless added a feeling of dignity to the strong hard lines of his cheeks and jaw, the brittle luster of his blue eyes.

“You’ll put out a line like this, is that right, George?” he asked, holding out the red pump. “You’ll use the Granger name on a low-priced shoe?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Figuring, of course, that we can eliminate perhaps half our normal factory operation.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, calculating, and then said, “Stamps and dies would knock out virtually the entire present cutting-room operation. And the machines on the fifth floor would go, and all the—”

“It’s a good idea, isn’t it, Doug?” Benjamin asked hopefully.

“And this would be the end result. This shoe,” King stared at the pump.

“The end result would be a higher net profit,” Blake said.

“Nothing wrong with that shoe, Doug,” Stone said defensively.

“The Old Man may be running us into the ground,” King answered, “but at least he’s always put out an honest shoe. You want to put out garbage.”

“Now just a second, Doug, you wait just a—”

“No, you wait just a second! I like Granger Shoe. I’ve been working in that factory for the past twenty-six years, started in the stockroom when I was sixteen. Aside from the time I spent in the Army, I’ve been with this firm practically all my adult life. I know every sound and every smell and every operation in that place, and I know shoes. Good shoes. Quality! And I won’t stick the Granger name on a piece of junk!”

“Well, all right,” Stone said, “all right, that’s just a sample you’ve got there. We can put out a slightly better shoe. Maybe something to…”

“Something to what? This shoe’ll fall apart in a month! Where’s the steel shank in this? Where the hell are the counters? Where’s the box toe? What kind of a cheap sock lining is this?” King ripped out the sock lining and then tore off the strap and buckle. With one quick movement of his hands, he snapped off the heel. He held the assembled debris on his hands. “Is this what you’re going to sell? To women?”

Outraged by the demolition, Stone said, “That sample cost us—”

“I know exactly what it cost us, Rudy.”

“Romantic notions don’t boost profits!” Blake said angrily. “If we can’t make profit with quality, we’ve got to—”

“Who can’t make profit with quality?” King asked. “That’ll come as a shock to the other high-fashion houses, all right. Maybe the Old Man can’t, and maybe you can’t, but—”

“Doug, this is business, business.”

“I know it’s business! It’s my business, the business I love! Shoes are a part of my life, and if I began making garbage my life would begin to smell!”