comb-over still splayed out in several directions as he smiled and pumped their investor’s hand like a politician.
Randy led them through the entire office, savoring the look of the three young men and one woman answering their endlessly ringing phones. Two desks sat empty to give the impression of a larger staff.
They paused at the door to Randy’s office. He wanted the older man to get a glimpse of the view he commanded and of his shelf of business books. Now, after seeing him in person, Randy wondered if this throwback businessman had any idea who Jack Welsh was or if he had ever seen any of these titles. He had impressed Randy as a guy who’d been successful through hard work and breaking balls. That’s why southerners had such a hard time in the cut-throat corporate climate.
“Shall we talk in here?”
Golden immediately shook his head. “You said I could see a demo.” He stopped mid-thought and gave Dale a look that said, “Back out of my space,” then continued. “You led me to believe there was a demo here. We don’t have to go out in this godforsaken humidity to see it, do we?”
“No sir,” said Randy, inching his way back toward the fountain and bumping Dale back physically so he had a few feet to himself. “Right this way.” He turned to his partner and said, “Dale, get a couple of the bags to show Mr. Golden.”
Golden watched the tubby partner hustle into the smaller office then said, “If it weren’t for Verge Labs certifying this shit I’d never believe it.”
Randy knew he had him. “This works and besides, the big money is in the real estate. Either way we’re profitable. Very profitable. If it’ll make you feel better you can just ignore our ‘bag of land’ product and still get involved in the condo sales. Or you can do both. No pressure here.” He smiled at his large fish as he listened to the phones and knew the old man heard them too. No, no pressure here. Not unless you want to miss a chance to make a fortune.
Golden said, “I’d like to see the demo before I decide.”
As if on cue, and it actually was on cue, Dale came back with two burlap bags a little bigger than a shoebox each. They weighed about twelve pounds apiece.
Randy smiled as he took a bag and hefted it in his right hand. “Here you go.” He handed it to Golden, who also felt its weight. Then Randy added, “Feels like gold to me.”
Golden held the bag upright and tugged at the banded cord that held it shut. The opening loosened and he peered inside.
Randy said, “Go ahead, you can touch it. That’s the beauty of it: the ingredients are all natural. That’s what’ll keep the tree huggers quiet.”
Golden reached in and pulled out a handful of the bag’s contents then worked it through his thick fingers like sand at the beach. Finally he said, “This shit will work?”
Randy nodded. He knew this fish was hooked. Now he could land him easy. The mixture of sawdust, shaved plastic, light cement and actual beach sand looked perfect.
He and some of his “redneck” buddies had talked up the idea of a way to claim some of the Everglades once the right mix was in the Florida legislature. Randy didn’t know of a better group than they had right now. These money hungry morons were in the news every day for one ethical lapse or another. Reasonable growth control was lower on their list of concerns than pregnant pigs. Literally. They had passed a law to protect pregnant pigs but the land use policy of the state was a shambles. Developers controlled everything and no one seemed to care except the dwindling number of Florida natives. Randy saw himself as a defender of the frontier. He saw no reason why a defender couldn’t get rich. Shit, he’d be a hero in a lot of people’s books.
The actual vote of the legislature wasn’t important. Just the perception of what they would do. At least to make the plan sound plausible. Shit, if offshore drilling and giant bio-research facilities were okay, then
Randy led them through the entire office, savoring the look of the three young men and one woman answering their endlessly ringing phones. Two desks sat empty to give the impression of a larger staff.
They paused at the door to Randy’s office. He wanted the older man to get a glimpse of the view he commanded and of his shelf of business books. Now, after seeing him in person, Randy wondered if this throwback businessman had any idea who Jack Welsh was or if he had ever seen any of these titles. He had impressed Randy as a guy who’d been successful through hard work and breaking balls. That’s why southerners had such a hard time in the cut-throat corporate climate.
“Shall we talk in here?”
Golden immediately shook his head. “You said I could see a demo.” He stopped mid-thought and gave Dale a look that said, “Back out of my space,” then continued. “You led me to believe there was a demo here. We don’t have to go out in this godforsaken humidity to see it, do we?”
“No sir,” said Randy, inching his way back toward the fountain and bumping Dale back physically so he had a few feet to himself. “Right this way.” He turned to his partner and said, “Dale, get a couple of the bags to show Mr. Golden.”
Golden watched the tubby partner hustle into the smaller office then said, “If it weren’t for Verge Labs certifying this shit I’d never believe it.”
Randy knew he had him. “This works and besides, the big money is in the real estate. Either way we’re profitable. Very profitable. If it’ll make you feel better you can just ignore our ‘bag of land’ product and still get involved in the condo sales. Or you can do both. No pressure here.” He smiled at his large fish as he listened to the phones and knew the old man heard them too. No, no pressure here. Not unless you want to miss a chance to make a fortune.
Golden said, “I’d like to see the demo before I decide.”
As if on cue, and it actually was on cue, Dale came back with two burlap bags a little bigger than a shoebox each. They weighed about twelve pounds apiece.
Randy smiled as he took a bag and hefted it in his right hand. “Here you go.” He handed it to Golden, who also felt its weight. Then Randy added, “Feels like gold to me.”
Golden held the bag upright and tugged at the banded cord that held it shut. The opening loosened and he peered inside.
Randy said, “Go ahead, you can touch it. That’s the beauty of it: the ingredients are all natural. That’s what’ll keep the tree huggers quiet.”
Golden reached in and pulled out a handful of the bag’s contents then worked it through his thick fingers like sand at the beach. Finally he said, “This shit will work?”
Randy nodded. He knew this fish was hooked. Now he could land him easy. The mixture of sawdust, shaved plastic, light cement and actual beach sand looked perfect.
He and some of his “redneck” buddies had talked up the idea of a way to claim some of the Everglades once the right mix was in the Florida legislature. Randy didn’t know of a better group than they had right now. These money hungry morons were in the news every day for one ethical lapse or another. Reasonable growth control was lower on their list of concerns than pregnant pigs. Literally. They had passed a law to protect pregnant pigs but the land use policy of the state was a shambles. Developers controlled everything and no one seemed to care except the dwindling number of Florida natives. Randy saw himself as a defender of the frontier. He saw no reason why a defender couldn’t get rich. Shit, he’d be a hero in a lot of people’s books.
The actual vote of the legislature wasn’t important. Just the perception of what they would do. At least to make the plan sound plausible. Shit, if offshore drilling and giant bio-research facilities were okay, then
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