Saltwater in the Bluegrass (32 page)

The conversation moved quickly.

“Where are you from, Mr. Stringer, if I may ask?”

“Southern Florida.”

“And you, Miss Conover? I believe I picked up some native accent in your voice.”

“Yes, you did. I grew up in Louisville but now work for Mr. Stringer in southern Florida.”

“Yes, yes, well come on in, and I will show you the place.”

It did not take long looking at the suite, going from room to room, and looking out through the windows at the view. The rooms were spacious, elegant, and decorated with painstaking detail. The trim work and crown molding were flared with old-fashioned German craftsmanship in both mahogany and walnut finishes. The marble work in the foyer and bathrooms was exquisite right down to the diamond-shaped corner pieces and the polished brass fixtures, while the chandeliers in the hallways and dining room hung within their own sparkling symmetry and crystal-clear brilliance. It was very nice. Rusty Hypes did not have to sell this place. It was going to take care of itself. The entire place was quality with a sense of panache. It was definitely impressive and quite obvious that whoever had built the complex had spent a lot of money, effort, and time doing their homework on the details. A lot of thought had gone into the planning of this concrete oasis in the sky.

“And the asking price?” Texi asked.

“The asking price is only five hundred and twenty thousand.”

“And the monthly maintenance fees, how much are they?”

“Three fifty.”

“I see by the brochure there is an indoor and an outdoor pool.”

“Yes, there is.”

“And I also see that there is a sauna with gym facility on the first floor.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

I had already listened long enough to the garbage talk between Texi and the agent about the amenities and the smoke and mirrors, and it was time for real information that could be used.

“Rusty, Joe, let’s talk security for a moment.”

“Of course,” Joe said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have safety in mind—my safety and the safety of my guests. What type of lockouts does this place have on the elevators and stairways? What brand of surveillance is in the complex?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Most of all, why was there no security guard present at the guard station two nights ago, between the hours of six forty-five and seven thirty?” It was quite apparent from the look in Mr. Downard that he had been caught off guard.

“I am sorry, Mr. Stringer, I do not know why. But I know one thing for certain—that we take our security very seriously around here—and I will get to the bottom of these question for you.”

It showed Mr. Downard that I had done my homework regarding this place before today’s visit.

“Let us take a walk downstairs, and I will have you meet the building manager for the complex. He will surely have answers to the questions you have.”

“Fine; that sounds like a good idea.”

On the east wall
of the Ingram Towers lobby was a set of walnuttrimmed, gold-faced Otis A23 elevators. Between them, full-length, smoked-glass mirrors ran ceiling to floor. The gold-plated fronts were shined with a luster, showing longstanding maintenance with dailyscheduled polishing. The place was very clean. With a closer inspection of the circuitry panel, followed by several cautious questions by me, Texi entertained the two gentlemen by asking the normal cosmetic type questions women ask when looking at a place to buy. With Texi’s use of flirtation and one-question sidesteps, I was able to find out the layout of the building without raising too many eyebrows while on our little tour.

The number one elevator, to the left, was programmed for floors sixteen through twenty-four with front and back entrances, plus first floor front entrance and parking structure back entrances. The right elevator, the number two elevator, was programmed for all floors in the building with front and back entrances, excluding the parking structure entrances, which were only in the back. It was easy to see how money and upper-floor status paid off around this place. There was a third elevator that we had seen while talking to Mr. Downard and Rusty Hypes during the quick tour of the facility. Down in the parking structure on Level P-1, the third elevator would have been to the right of the number two elevator, had there been a front door facing the lobby.

This elevator was programmed only to the twenty-fourth floor and Level P-1. It was evident who used the number three elevator. Our preliminary research had told us this. It was Katherine Ingram’s private trolley car to the roof. She could go from her car to her home in sixty seconds without the obligation to socialize or mingle with other tenants in the building.

Katherine had, in her own pretentious and ostentatious ways, showed that when it came right down to it, she was prolific in her jaded, cynical, lackluster, unhappy form of daily living. It reminded me of my dearly-departed grandmother Elle Standard Stringer, who said that “a mind stretched by new ideas and friendships is never quite the same.” Usually it is good on its own with a normal average of learning and standards to guide you. Sometimes bad, but still, in the end, better in its own for the momentary grasp of happiness that you felt during the voyage and the time it took for you to live it.

Too bad Katherine was not taught this during her early childhood. Too bad she was not taught by simple, everyday common people, people with values and principles, people who lived with a clear view of the lighthouse from their window and happiness in their hearts. Maybe she would have turned out differently.

Together the four of us ended our well-rehearsed, little ten-cent tour of the Ingram Tower and its property, inside and out. We also covered the grounds. It was as though we had been led by imaginary footprints on the floor to guide us in a circular fashion out amongst the trees and landscape.

We were taken around the pool to the apex of the three-acre project in order to see the private side of the building. Then we were taken back past the reception area that could be used for private little gatherings upon request. Cabernet by the pool was an example of the serenity of the area. It was where folks in their precious moments after a long day at work could spend time and unwind.

Rusty Hypes, our real estate agent, and Mr. Downard, as I called him, due to his age, the fact that he was a board member, and the fact that I wanted him to feel respected, were helping us buy into what he called “our complex.”

Texi and I listened with great discipline. We listened as Mr. Downard talked, bragged, and continued to go on about the character, quality, and atmosphere of living here. This continued as we made our way back toward the offices and conference room on the first floor.

We were now in the main arena of the Ingram Towers Tenant Board. We were going from smooth sailing in the harbor to drifting towards the reef. It was time to use my experience and talent in bringing the other two members of the board around to my side of thinking.

Pulling off this little caper was going to be some kind of a stretch in monetary deliverance. It was definitely something we were up for, something we could both do, especially if everything worked out as we had planned. That is, when everything worked out as planned. When and if was just an encounter of the possibilities, and we were sure that everything we had discussed was going to remain on schedule over the next thirty minutes or so.

Texi politely got up
from her seat
at the table and said to the three members of the Tenant Board, “Please excuse me for a moment. I will be right back.”

With gracious southern etiquette, Texi asked where the restrooms were, excusing herself from the meeting. Smiling, she stepped away from the table and out of the room and made her way down the hallway and past the resident computer room to the restroom across from the spa entrance.

We had planned on letting Kristina and Sally know by cell phone how things were going in case we needed them to exercise one of our prearranged diversionary tactics.

The atmosphere in the room was calm. For now things were sailing right along.

I had tastefully presented myself as owner and managing director of Ventura Technologies Incorporated, based in downtown Miami, Florida. I had presented Texi Conover as my personal assistant in charge of my quality assurance and administrative division. She was portrayed as the member of my staff taking care of my scheduling needs, setting up business meetings, and overseeing my portfolio and personal interests. She is well trained for the job with outstanding credentials in both business law and economics from Vanderbilt University.

As I told the board, when I spend company money, I first have to get the approval of Miss Conover or it is a no go.

Betsy Kennedy and Dottie Long were both successful women with retirement working for them favorably at the right time in their lives. Both women had been elected to the tenant board in their first year of residency at the Ingram Towers, and together with Joe Downard made up the three-member board Texi and I had to get past if we planned on having this project work.

Mrs. Kennedy was about sixty years old, approximately five feet five inches tall, judging from her bone structure and size, being that she was sitting down when we walked into the room and had not gotten up to greet us. Instead, she had reached out from across the table and shaken our hands to show us her importance and the superiority of her position. She was sitting in the center of the table between Mrs. Long and Mr. Downard.

She had reddish-blonde hair in a Dorothy Hamel bob. She was tan and dressed in fashionable attire, with jewelry, money, and class projecting from the aura of her unmistakable wealth, manners, and pedigree that she flaunted down to her polished apricot fingernails, gold necklace, and diamond rings.

Mrs. Kennedy opened her leather-crafted attaché folder and began browsing through her notes as Texi once again appeared from the hallway and took her seat next to me.

Dottie, on the other hand, was a vivacious, sweet looking little dark-haired brunette in her early fifties with years of sensuality still present and willing to be used. Designer reading glasses hung from a gold sports chain around her neck, and a white cotton tennis outfit with a v-neck collar trimmed in blue enhanced the shape of her body. She had a handful of little freckles that glowed from her working tan, as if they were asking, “Would you like to connect my dots?”

Even at middle-age, she was a tease, showing off her bronze tan between her cleavage, between the material of her top and the push up sports bra she was wearing. She was well proportioned from hours on the tennis courts, exercise in the spa room, and long, stretched-out laps in the pool afterwards for endurance and toning.

A babe she must have been from several decades back but still holding her own in today’s world with help from her apparent exercise ritual and a tuck here and there.

Of the three people, Dottie seemed most pleased. She was pleased with the concept of allowing me to buy into their happy little concrete club, especially with the possibility of seeing me downstairs at the pool wearing boxer briefs. It was definitely an image I was willing to portray here in the office for her acceptance, but after that I was out of here, and she could call in a relief man from the bullpen or take a cold shower.

Either way I did not care.

Texi had made her call
to Kristina while taking her bathroom break from the formalities of the tenant board. It was now time to talk brass tacks and get on with it.

“So,” I said, looking across the table at the three and thinking that it was time to play truth or dare, “I am ready to make an offer. Are the three of you satisfied with the prospects of me buying into your little rock garden? If you are, I am prepared to hand over to you a certified check for this place.”

With that Rusty Hypes perked up. He once again became sincerely interested in the meeting and the thought of making this the easiest sale he had ever made as a real estate agent.

It was time to add the sugar.

“I saw it. I like it. I want it. I’ll buy it. Is it for sale to me, plain and simple, yes or no? I have two appointments set up for later this afternoon, by my lovely assistant, at other condominiums today.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Stringer, actually, within the hour,” Texi added.

At that minute, with precise timing, Texi’s cell phone began to ring in her pocket.

“Hello, this is Texi. Oh, hello, Mr. Moser,” Texi said with her head hanging down as though this was a conversation that needed privacy. Then she reached over towards me and said, “Boss, it is Ronald Ewing.”

She spoke loud enough that Rusty could hear that the number-two associate, his rival from the neighboring real estate agency, was on the phone talking to his client. Suddenly he realized that we were talking with the enemy.

I took the phone, knowing that it was Kristina or Sally.

“Yes, Mr. Ewing, this is J.C. How are you? Yes, we are still interested. I am in a meeting right now, and based on the outcome of what develops here, I can meet you or have my assistant come and meet you within the hour. Yes, yes, okay, sounds good. I will call you back. Yes, I will call you back in let’s say thirty minutes, fine, yes. Thanks for calling, okay, goodbye.”

As I hung up the phone, it was time to turn up the heat.

“Folks, I’m here for one more day finalizing a twenty-two million dollar contract with Louisville Synchronized Limited. I can give you a certified check,” I said as I pulled it out of the inside pocket of my Ralph Lauren suit, “for two hundred and fifty thousand upfront and the rest by three o’clock today.”

I could see Hypes out of the corner of my right eye calculating his take on a piece of paper in his notepad.

“I don’t have all day.”

“Mr. Stringer, would it be possible—could you and Miss Conover give us a few moments to talk in private?” Mrs. Kennedy asked as she pulled down her glasses and closed her folder.

“Certainly, Texi, shall we wait outside?”

I always find it incredibly laughable when Texi comes up with the other part of a one liner. It’s as though we are sitting there giving each other cosmic messages and signals across from one another. As Texi and I began to get up Texi said, “Boss, I don’t remember you ever waiting for simple answers to simple questions from simple people.”