Питер Джеймс - Billionaire

‘So it would be wise to go short, wouldn’t it?’

‘Well — nothing is definite yet. I would advise anyone to wait. By the way, Rocky — I’m sorry I had to send you a margin call.’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Rocq slurred, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Win some, lose some — that’s one of the hazards of punting.’

The Honourable James Rice put the forkful of steak into his mouth and pulverized it between his immaculately capped teeth, while his aristocratic saliva set to work converting it into a substance that would be acceptable to his stomach. He nodded slowly at Rocq.

‘Jimbo — I think I’d better go short. Do you think you could do me — er—’ Rocq paused to work it out. He was down at the present time some £480,000; he needed to make that up, and fast, and his only chance was to invest in a volatile commodity. None right now, he knew, was more volatile than coffee. He couldn’t think lucidly enough to work out the sums. ‘How much do you reckon I need to sell short to make £480,000?’

‘A fair amount, old man. And you know I can’t take any order from you until you’ve covered your outstanding margin.’

Rocq nodded and their eyes met, firmly, for the first time since they had sat at the table. ‘I know,’ he said.

Rice looked down, picked up his wine glass and drained it. Then he began sawing off another chunk of steak; he spoke without raising his eyes from the meat. ‘There are a lot of people who have been caught with their trousers down, Alex, a lot.’

Rocq noticed he was now calling him by his Christian name instead of his nickname.

‘A lot of people are going to go belly-up over this coffee business — and not just individuals — major companies, too. I personally would not be at all surprised if it brought a few brokerage houses down at the same time. I’ve been in this game for ten years and I’ve never seen a crash like it. All the clearing houses are going to be out to collect in every penny they possibly can — including ours. Elleck has issued instructions that all margin owed is to be paid in full — at once — no extensions, no increases, and margins must be paid up-front before any new orders are placed. He’s ordered a print-out of every outstanding order of coffee on Globalex’s books — it’s out of my hands entirely, old man. Absolutely nothing I can do. I’d help you if I could — but just don’t see how I can. Can you find the margin you need — and enough on top to go short?’

They caught each other’s eye again.

‘If you give me enough time,’ said Rocq.

‘How long do you need?’

‘About forty years.’

Rice grinned. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘You know what I need to do? I need to go short, hope to hell coffee drops, and then I’m out of the woods.’

‘And if it doesn’t drop?’

‘Then I hope the stuff rises high enough to get me out of schtum.’

‘Right now I don’t think it’s safe to count on anything.’

‘I can’t stand still, Jimbo. I need £480,000 to stand still, and that’s £480,000 more than I have. I’ve got to stay in the game, it’s my only hope.’

‘W. C. Fields was once found drunk in a hick town, playing a rigged game of poker, and getting ripped off on every hand. Someone asked him why he kept on playing when he knew the game was rigged. He replied, “Because it’s the only game in town.” Four hundred and eighty thousand is a lot of money, Alex, but it’s a lot less than you could lose if you stay in the game.’

‘That, old wise man, is a risk I’m going to have to take.’

Rocq got back to his office. Within seconds of sitting at his desk, the bouncing Baron was on the line from Toronto.

‘What’s with all this coffee business, Alex?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just lost my shirt and pants.’

‘Why the hell did you go dabbling in coffee?’ asked Rocq, feeling more than a trifle hypocritical.

‘I got a tip-off it was going to go through the roof.’

‘Sure you heard your tipster right?’

The Baron ignored the comment. ‘Why the heck didn’t you advise me not to go into coffee?’

‘You didn’t ask. Anyhow, I’m a metal broker — you want advice on coffee, ask someone that knows about coffee.’

‘You’re the only one who knows anything about anything,’ said the Baron.

For one of the rare occasions in his life, the flattery went clean over Rocq’s head. ‘How much did you drop?’

‘I don’t know. A lot. Couple of million maybe; what you reckon it’s going to do?’

‘It would be unprofessional of me to give you an opinion.’

‘So give me an opinion — when the hell were you professional?’

‘Go short, Harry — it’s going to go down some more.’

‘How much?’

‘I don’t know. Twenty-five — fifty — maybe one hundred — maybe more.’

‘Okay, Alex. If you’re wrong — I’m going to get really mad.’

‘Hey — now hold on — I just said I’m not an expert on coffee — if—’ Rocq stopped in mid-sentence — the Baron had rung off. He put back the receiver and sat there. His headache was starting, and the depression was in full stream. Rice had annoyed him at lunch, annoyed him a lot; he had been complacent and very unhelpful. Rice could have accepted his order for the amount of coffee he wanted to sell short without the margin payment up front — he had plenty of discretionary accounts, and he wouldn’t have got into a lot of trouble over it. The amount of margin that would have been required from Rocq was small beer in terms of the amounts Rice bought and sold every day. Rocq could understand Rice’s position, to a point, but he didn’t accept it. There were many things in life that he understood clearly, but he did not accept; often it was because he did not like what he understood. Occasionally it was because he had no choice; today was one of those occasions. He picked up his telephone and dialled Theo Barbiero-Ruche’s number in Milan.

After having narrowly escaped being kidnapped on his way to the office a few years previously, Barbiero-Ruche now worked at home. ‘Barbiero-Ruche,’ the Italian’s deep voice boomed down the phone within moments of the ringing tone starting.

‘Theo — it’s Rocky.’

‘Ah, you bastard,’ said the Italian. ‘I’m not too happy with you, not too happy at all.’

‘What’s your problem?’

‘That damn girl you fixed me up with — Dingly — Dunky — what’s her name?’

‘Deidre.’

‘Yeah, Deidre. She gave me a present.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘You know what the present was?’

‘No, what?’

‘The clap.’ There was a long silence. ‘It’s not funny, Rocky.’

‘I wasn’t laughing.’

‘You weren’t laughing? You were laughing yourself stupid.’

‘I wasn’t, Theo — it must have been interference on the line.’

‘Interference — I’ll give you interference. You know how many broads I got lined up right now? I never had so many damned broads lined up — and what I got to tell them? Sorry, babies, Theo can’t see you right now because he went to England and got the clap from a dog?’

‘You don’t have to screw them, Theo; girls like being taken out — you know — theatre, opera, nice dinner then drop them home. Try being romantic — you might find you enjoy it.’

‘You’re full of shit,’ grunted the Italian. ‘Anyhow — what the hell you call for? No one left to talk to in England? All your damn clients in bed with terminal venereals?’

‘Superwop — just shut your face a moment and let me get a word in edgeways. I’m sorry about your problems — take the tablets and they’ll get better. I’ve got problems of my own right now, all thanks to your damned advice.’