Colin Harrison - Afterburn

"I don't know how the hell to do that." He turned his head.

"Don't move!" Morris screamed. "I'm close!"

"Call your broker or whoever and see if he'll issue a letter of credit," came Christina's voice. "I'm going to call around."

"Don't leave me!"

"I'm not, I'm not."

He called back Timothy at the brokerage. "You guys issue a letter of credit?"

"No."

He called Ted Fullman, feeling tingling against his spine. He wiggled his foot, wasn't sure if it moved or not. "Ted, will you issue a letter of credit for me?"

"Sure."

"How long does that take?"

"Hell, twenty minutes."

"Can you messenger it?"

"Yes. Or fax it." Ted listened for a moment. "Are you in trouble, Charlie?"

"No, no, I'm just helping a friend." He tried to even out his breathing. Tommy, he noticed, was interested in whatever Morris was doing.

"I looked into the cash question," Ted Fullman went on. "We could provide it as soon as the day after tomorrow if we get the signatures. If that would be soon enough-"

"Please prepare a letter of credit for five million."

"I can't."

"You just said you could!" Charlie cried in despair.

"You don't have five million in the account anymore," replied Ted smoothly. "You bought the house and had me send the other eight million to your accountant's escrow account, remember?"

"Jesus." He looked at the wooden floor, noticed old paint or blood. "I'll have the brokerage send the money back."

He called Timothy at the brokerage. His line was busy.

"How're we doing?" asked Tony. "Tommy, call Peck, tell him to get over here."

The phone rang in Charlie's hand. It was Christina. "I got the name of a wholesale distributor of cigarettes. He explained a lot of this."

"Let me have his number," said Charlie, writing it down.

"This guy sells cigarettes by the containerload."

"Where are you?"

"I'm way downtown. I went back to the restaurant where I used to work."

He felt a cool scraping sensation in his back. "You'll stay there?"

"Yes."

I can't feel my feet, Charlie realized. Like they're gone. He called back Timothy at the brokerage. "Wire the money back into my bank account."

"I don't understand."

Now a trickle of pain came up his back. "Wire it all, right away."

"Well, the authorization-"

"Just send it back, what's the fucking problem?"

"Sir, Mr. Ravich, the authorization for a sum that large has to come-"

"Listen, you little fuck," Charlie croaked. "I'm in a hell of a jam, all right? That's my money! I've had a business relationship with your brokerage for twenty"-Morris was pulling something-"years, you understand? Send that money now or I'm all over you. All the numbers are there, just send it right back to my account care of Ted Fullman at Citibank."

"Yes, sir."

Tony stood up from his chair, walked four feet away, bent slightly at the waist, farted loudly, straightened up, and sat down again. He pointed at Morris. "You're like a kid with a toy train set."

"I'm feeling something," said Charlie.

"I'm feeling something, too," added Tony. "I'm feeling an emptiness. In my pocket."

"I'm gonna get this," Morris muttered to himself.

The money is going back to Citibank, thought Charlie. I've made exactly no progress. He called the cigarette wholesaler. "You guys sell large lots of cigarettes?"

"Yes," came a voice.

"How can I buy five million worth?"

"First, sir, you need to talk to our salesmen and see what they have available. Then-"

"No, no. I mean now, right now."

"He's buying cigarettes?" asked Tony. "I've seen everything."

"We don't do that," came the voice. "Goodbye."

"You have a plate." Morris looked up. "It's good work."

He got Christina's number from Tony and called her.

"Yes? Charlie?"

"No on the cigarettes."

"I know, I just figured that out," she said. "I've got another guy who buys spot loads."

"What's that mean?"

"This guy's got all kinds of stuff moving around. He buys distressed situations from speculators, dock overage, canceled orders, things like that. His office is here and the docks are in Newark. He takes the money by wire, then endorses the bill of lading. You want me to call?"

"I will." He took the number.

"Bob here," said a voice, phones trilling in the background.

Charlie asked about wholesale cigarettes.

"I don't have any cigarettes right now," Bob barked. "Who're you?"

Charlie wondered if his foot was quivering. "What else?"

"I got… I got old gasoline that might have oil in it, I got lumber and some fucking frozen fish-you don't want that-I got caviar, I got… Japanese car tires, Nikon cameras, I got all kinds of stuff."

"How's it work?" Charlie breathed, trying to concentrate.

"You got a binding letter of credit, right?"

"Yes. I mean I can get one."

"Have the bank deliver that here," answered Bob. "Hard copy only. We run it through our infrared scanner to check for inking alterations. Make sure all the particulars are on it-the account number, the officer at the bank and his number. Without that, you don't even get a kiss from your mother. We only deal with banks that are members of the New York clearinghouse-Chase Manhattan, Citibank, Credit Suisse, the big ones. We want same-day electronic settlement, to our account. I don't negotiate on that point, ever. Then we call to be sure the money is in your account. Assuming it is, then you just tell me what you want. We can write over the bill of lading to you here, which we advise against, or we'll take you down to the pier and, on a very quiet basis, you understand, for an extra fee, you can pay the dock cooper to open up the container to be sure it's got what you want. He removes the lead seal and-"

"What do you have right now," asked Charlie desperately, "ready to go?"

"How much you spending?"

"Five million."

"That's a lot. Maybe you want caviar? Now, with that," he continued impatiently, "you get very good mark-up and you can break up the load as much as you want. Freshness is a factor. We have a shipment that the buyer couldn't-"

"Hang on."

"I don't hang on for anybody," said Bob. "Call me back."

"How about caviar?" Charlie asked Tony.

"Caviar? You eat it."

He dropped his head. "What the fuck are you doing?" he cried fearfully to Morris. "I can feel that."

"In an open laminectomy, the surgeon usually has available to him automated suction and laser ablation," Morris narrated. "But I've been careful about the bleeding."

"I can't believe this," Charlie moaned. He felt a wetness, fingers pushing numbly against a piece of bone. Then a filing sensation. His phone rang. It was Christina. "The guy has caviar," he exhaled.

"That's good."

"Tony doesn't think-oh! Oh, please! Oh, God!" he screamed, his back suddenly a valley of pain.

"Wait, wait! The needle!" said Morris. He adjusted it. "Is that better?"

"No, no! Oh, God, what are-!"

"Charlie, Charlie?" came the phone.

" That? " asked Morris. "That has to be better."

It was. The pain softened, became a cloud, blew away. He collapsed on the table in exhaustion, his mouth dry.

"Needle slipped," Morris noted. "Lucky it didn't break."

"Tell him that he can sell five million of caviar for seven or eight or more," came Christina's voice. "No, wait, let me talk to Tony."

He handed over the phone. "You could sell it for more, she says."

"What?"

"She says you could sell it for more."

Tony took the phone. "Yeah? I said cash. What do I want with that? Fuck you. Christina, we're going to chop up your boyfriend… No, no, explain it to me… You get a piece of paper? No, no… what? It says that I'm going to pick it up?… Wait." He looked up. "How much does caviar cost these days?"