Stuart Woods: Fast and Loose

“Is that Mr. Maker?”

“This is Mr. Macher. May I speak to Dr. Keeling, please?”

“He just left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he just went out.”

“How long ago?”

“Just a second.”

“Did you tell him I was calling?”

“I called after him, but I think that, what with the sound of the car starting, he may not have heard me.”

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know — sometimes he’s gone for hours, even days.”

“Who is this speaking?”

“This is his nephew, Herbert.”

“May I leave a message for Dr. Keeling?”

“Just a second, I’ll have to find a pencil.” Herbie pressed the hold button.

Keeling burst out laughing. “You should take all my calls.”

Herbie pressed the button again. “I’m sorry, I can’t find a pencil, you’ll have to call back later.” He hung up.

Macher threw the telephone across the room.

Stone landed at Teterboro, and he was halfway back to the city when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Herb Fisher. Are you back yet?”

“Almost. I’ll be home in half an hour.”

“Good. I’ve got a team ransacking the books and files at the Carlsson Clinic, and they should have everything we need by the end of the day.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and Dr. Keeling heard from Erik Macher.”

“And how did that go?”

Herbie gave him an account of the conversations. “I’ve got an answering machine installed at his place now, so he won’t have to talk to Macher.”

“Good. Let’s keep the guy guessing.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes another offer before the deadline.”

“You think we’re driving him that crazy?” Stone asked.

“Yes, I think we are.”

“There’s something I’d like for you to do as soon as your people are finished at the clinic. I’d like to know how much cash the Carlssons have on hand or can borrow on short notice.”

“Ah, I think I see your point — you want them to make an offer to buy the non-family shareholders’ stock.”

“Right. If I’m guessing correctly, some will tender their shares, others won’t,” Stone said, “and it may be possible for the Carlssons to regain a majority of the shares without using Steele to effect a buyout. I want you to figure out how much the family can afford to offer the shareholders.”

“And you want them to make an offer big enough to be off-putting to Macher.”

“Absolutely right.”

“And how will Bill Eggers feel about all the billable hours the firm will lose by not going the Steele route?”

“He can console himself knowing that he’s done the right thing for his clients.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to him when he blows his stack.”

“Don’t worry, your position will be unassailable. Call me when you have the numbers in order.” They hung up.

Fred dropped Stone at home, then continued uptown to the Bacchettis’ apartment house.

Stone entered the house through the office door and found Joan looking bored. “Obviously I’m not keeping you busy enough,” he said.

“Yes, I just love being overworked when you’re here. Your mail and messages are on your desk. Welcome home!”

Stone ran through the messages and found one from Marisa Carlsson, confirming his appointment for his flight physical, and he asked Joan to cancel his earlier appointment with his old FAA doctor.

“So, who’s this Dr. Carlsson?” Joan asked.

“It’s a name you will hear often for the next few days or weeks. New client.”

“The Carlsson Clinic?”

“Correct.”

“Very tony.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Stone showed up on time at the Carlsson Clinic for his medical exam. The clinic was housed in a large, limestone-faced building — not as large as other New York hospitals, but imposing. He checked in at the front desk and was immediately sent to the fourteenth floor.

Marisa Carlsson’s office was a combination of an examination room, with the required table, scale, and drawers and cupboards for supplies, and a modern and very personal office, with bookcases, comfortable furniture, and a door that led somewhere.

He had been there for about a minute when she walked in and closed the reception-area door behind her. “Good morning, Stone,” she said.

“Good morning, Marisa.”

“I’ve got your application on my computer,” she said, “and we sent the blood sample you left to our lab, and we have the results. So why don’t we get started by reviewing your listed medications?”

“All right.”

“That won’t take long because you’re taking only a statin and a daily aspirin.”

“Correct.”

She consulted a sheet of paper. “And your cholesterol is at one-fifty. What was it before the statin?”

“Two-forty.”

“So it’s working.”

“Yep.”

“All your blood work is in the normal range, so strip down to your shorts and have a seat on the table.”

She began running through her checklist, chatting as she did so. “What do you fly?”

“A Citation CJ3 Plus. You?”

“A Citation—2. It’s our family airplane — my father and my brothers also fly it.”

“I flew an M-2, before the CJ3.”

“Why did you move up?”

“Someone accelerated the decision process by placing a bomb in the M-2. I ordered the CJ3 the same day.”

“Does that sort of thing often happen to you?”

“Not all that often, but more often than I’d like.”

“Where do you fly it?”

“Among my several houses, here and there. I have a place in England, so I can fly the CJ3 nonstop from Newfoundland to Shannon, with a decent tailwind, although I have to return via the Azores. You?”

“We fly to the yacht, wherever it is, and on vacations and business trips, and among our five branches.”

She continued moving down the checklist, then stopped and pulled on a latex glove and grabbed a tube of lubricant. “Okay, shorts down, please, and on your knees on the step.”

“Well,” he said, complying, “you’ve already seen me naked.” He flinched a little as the exam continued, then she handed him a tissue.

“Let’s do the eye exam,” she said, pointing at the chart. “Read me the lowest line you can manage.” He did so, then she checked his peripheral vision. “That’s it, you pass. You can get dressed.”

He did so. “Marisa, now that we’re on intimate terms, do you think we could have dinner one night soon?”

She laughed, then signed his certificate and handed it to him. “What a nice idea.”

“Tomorrow evening?”

“Perfect.”

“Where do you live?”

“One floor up,” she said. “You’ll need to take the elevator to this floor, then ring the bell on the elevator with the mahogany door, then it will open. I’m in apartment three.”

“How convenient.”

“Why don’t we have a drink at my place, then continue. Say, seven o’clock?”

“You’re on.”

Stone had a message waiting from Herbie Fisher when he returned to his office.

“What’s up, Herb?”

“The Carlssons have the wherewithal and the borrowing power to buy out the non-family stockholders. Once they’ve got a line of credit with their bankers, all we need do is to draft a letter and some forms, telling the stockholders that they’re offering fifty percent more than St. Clair, and if they want to sell, to sign the documents, have them notarized, and a check will be on the way.”

“Fifty percent more?”

“That’s my recommendation. It’s enough to impress the stockholders and to simultaneously warn Macher that he’s in a bidding war. If we can get this done in a hurry, they can make it a fait accompli before the St. Clair time limit is up.”