The Dryline. Jack Grubbs
the efficiency and economics of the system.
Don, his head propped in his right hand, leaned in as close as possible to the drawing sheet. “Yeah. Yeah. Everything makes sense.” He paused briefly, lifting his head and rubbing the stubble on his chin. A fleeting grin preceded a pensive, almost sad, frown. “I’ve got to suck it up and find the money to make the modifications. Elam and I each have more than three hundred thousand into this thing. We need some venture capital.”
Just as Tom started to comment, Don cut him off. “I refuse to take anything from you. So forget it before you think it.”
“Damn. A little edgy on the finances, aren’t you?” Tom respected Don’s position and knew that he meant it.
Still, Tom decided to deal himself in. “But OK. You two find some money. Still, if you want, I can buy into all this with services. I can make your design sing on the computer. Not only can I modify your design, I can analyze anything about it. If you make a fortune on this, give me 3 percent of your net profit.” Tom rose from the chair, still speaking. “Or, what the hell, give me a flat fee. You name the price. Also, rather than bringing in others to own it, consider going to a bank. They’ll jump on it.” Tom stood up. “Hang on.”
Tom walked to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. “Here.” Tom popped the tops of both cans and gave one to Don. “You and Elam decide how to do it, but I’m in one way or the other. Deal?”
Don’s irrepressible grin painted his face. “Deal.”
They clicked their cans and swallowed heartily.
“Here’s to a Happy New Year.”
Ten
Thursday Afternoon,
New Year’s Eve
Houston, Texas
I‘m telling you, in some cases it’ll pump ten times more oil with about 10 percent of the labor.” Elam’s third announcement of the benefits of his oil extractor bored the Wellington leadership group to distraction. “We call it Jet Extraction Technology System, but a better name would be one sweet baby.” He was long on praises and short on specifics.
Bart Miles was on edge but believed the payoff justified putting up with the unnecessary bullshit.
“OK, Elam. We understand what you say it can do, but you need to be more specific about its design and prototype testing. Can I ask you—”
Elam broke in, “Until I get my patent settled I’m not giving out any specs. It’ll do exactly what I said it’ll do. We’ve already run some good tests in Luling. Hell, we’ve even started making improvements in what we got.”
Elam’s statement piqued Bart’s interest. He showed no change of emotion, but asked, “Tell me about the improvements. Why are we talking about a device that’s about to be changed?”
Elam jumped on the question. “We know the potential of what we already have. When you start thinking about how much money our system will make, it’s just natural to always be thinking about how to make it even better. It’s already big time right now. Only thing I’m going to tell you is that it will be solid as a rock.”
Morgan Rosewood tapped a pencil on the table, eyes locked on Elam. “How close are you to getting your patent?”
“Two, three weeks, maybe a month.” Elam answered without much conviction.
Morgan dug in. “I don’t understand. Mr. Miles mentioned you to us several weeks ago. I would think that if your extractor were really unique, a patent would be pretty simple. Who’s your patent lawyer? We might be able to help.”
“Herm…” Elam stopped short. He squinted his eyes slightly and a quick, untrusting look spread across his face. He changed directions. “You don’t need to help. I’ll get after my lawyer. As for unique, damn right it’s unique.” Elam eyed the group of men. An uneasy transformation had begun.
Bart intervened. “No problem, Elam. Tell you what, and I’ll be to the point. Your extractor is interesting to us. If it works like you’ve described, then our interest in it will be significant. In such a case, we would be glad to negotiate purchasing it at a generous price.”
Elam replied, “It’s going to be worth millions. That’s just the opening bid.”
Caught between irritation and boredom, Bart brought the meeting to a close. “Fine. Keep us informed on your progress. Any last questions before we adjourn?”
“Just a comment.” Morgan turned slightly to his right and, at six feet six, looked down at Elam with a genuine-looking smile. “If your patent lawyer is slowing you down,” Morgan raised the palm of his hand as an exclamation point, “and some of them are notoriously bad, just let me know and I’ll help you find a better one.”
Morgan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Elam. “Here’s my card. Call me anytime. Have you got a card?”
Elam fumbled with his back pocket, finally pulling out a wallet that bulged like a bullfrog. Searching through various denomination bills, multiple restaurant receipts, and other pieces of debris, he found a couple of business cards stuck together with age and sweat. He peeled them apart, giving one to Morgan. “Here you go. Sometimes I don’t answer the phone or email for days, but I’ll get back to you soon enough after a call.”
Just to lighten his wallet’s load, Elam slid the second card to Miles.
Miles stood first. A few less hearty handshakes, a pat on the back, and the meeting ended. Elam disappeared into the elevator and the four executives returned to their offices.
Bart looked at the worn business card in his hand, speaking through an exhale, “Asshole. Dumb asshole.” He sat down at his desk, staring blankly over the Houston skyline. He wanted to tear the card up, but thought better of it. He looked again, this time studying the text that gave an address in League City. His thoughts intensified. League City. A lawyer named Herm or Herman. Possibly has an office in League City.
Bart reached for the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Miles.”
“Macy, ask Mr. Milsap to stop by my office.”
Eleven
Thursday, January 7
Houston, Texas
His name is Herman Soboda. He’s a small-time lawyer in League City.” Frank Milsap paused as a young waitress arrived at the table.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to Peregrine. I’m Ginna, with two Ns.” The pretty young lady smiled at her new customers. “May I offer you a cocktail?”
Frank gestured toward his partner. “Bart?”
“Belvedere on the rocks.”
Frank added, “And I’ll have an Old Parr on the rocks. Thanks, Ginna.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” She turned and walked toward the bar.
Frank continued quietly. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, right arm over left. “He won’t be a problem. Either money or duress will take him out of the picture. No problem at all. But, of course, that’s your business, not mine.”
“You’re right. It’s not a problem. Once Soboda’s gone, we’ll have Fred Barrister work his way into the company. Duquette is gullible and won’t be a problem. I’ll have Fred delay their patent until we