Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) (20 page)

The charts of some insurance shares showed that they had risen to high levels. Insurance companies would incur large claims during any climatic disaster. Aquarium sold the shares short, aiming to profit by buying back the shares when they fell.

While I was doing all this, Ruffish was at a funeral in Ireland. When I arrived at the office on Friday morning, he was pacing up and down in his office furiously. He called me in. He was so agitated that he didn't even ask me about my trip.

'What do you think you're doing?' he said softly, in an attempt to disguise his anger.

Ruffish was one of those calm people. He was there to stop his fund managers from getting carried away and soothe them when they were losing. He seemed agitated and sloppier than usual. His striped pink shirt was creased and a bulging tissue was in his pocket. He couldn't stop sneezing.

He wiped his nose, glared at me, picked up the phone and asked Maffie to come in.

She walked in looking amazing in a coffee coloured designer suit.

'See what I've got with my winnings, Jack,' she laughed, mimicking a model catwalk. 'Note the colour. It's in honour of our coup.'

I started to laugh, but Ruffish didn't appreciate the joke.

'I put you in a position of trust and you allowed him to place almost $100,000 on margin for coffee speculation?' he snapped at Maffie. 'Are you out of your mind?'

'You told him to go to Brazil. Well, he's found out something Ruff,' said Maffie, holding up her hands in an effort to calm him down. 'So far he's right. Our position is already profitable.'

'Come off it Maffie! You know very well what can happen,' retorted Ruffish.

'I've stuck to the rules Ruff, I haven't invested more than $100,000 of the fund in coffee futures,' I ventured.

Ruffish had a sneezing fit and scrambled for the tissues on his desk. Maffie gave him one.

'Invested! You mean gambled! Coffee can fall by ten per cent and your entire margin will be wiped out,' he shouted, snapping his fingers: 'Just like that!'

'And a ten per cent rise will do the opposite,' said Maffie quietly. 'Take it easy Ruff, Jack knows what he's doing.'

'And what about the grain and other agricultural shares in the fund? Selling insurance companies short? Expecting a climatic apocalypse are you?'

'You must admit, the weather has been erratic,' I said. 'Fulvio, a wise old guy in Brazil told me that there's going to be a frost. He forecast droughts, hurricanes and crop failures. They call it El Nino. I found out what happens after doing some research in the New York Public Library.'

'Tragedy for others, but luck for you Jack. Is that what you're saying?' growled Ruffish. 'Now get out you two before I . . .'

Whether it was luck or not, coffee prices almost doubled to 120 cents a pound by the end of the month, raising the value of our coffee contracts to $1.8 million. The profit on the $100,000 margin deposit was $700,000! Aquarium's other investments also rose, raising the fund's value to around $2 million, twice the capital we had originally invested. The normal policy of fund managers is to take profits, especially in the dangerous, volatile commodity futures market. If Ruffish had been around, he would have insisted that I bank at least half the gains. But he and Maffie went off to an investment conference in Brighton and were away on Thursday and Friday.

I was studying my charts and price tables when the phone rang. Danny Dovetail, my new broker friend, was on the phone.

'Hi Jack, you guys seem to have turned the market around. It's looking good here. Wanna buy more coffee?'

'No thanks, Danny, I'm up to my limit.'

'No you're not. You're well into profit. That raises your collateral limit. You can use that collateral to put down more margin and buy more coffee. Anyone can see coffee's going up. You would be crazy to miss out.'

'I'll think about it. Speak to you later.'

I put down the phone, wrote down the latest quote on my price table and looked at my charts. Then I took out my coloured aquarium drawing. Sure enough, my coffee coloured fish were ready to swim into a higher level of the tank. I was excited. It was now the beginning of the Brazilian winter. There was already talk about a possible frost. Coffee prices could easily rise to $2 a pound. Nestle, Sarah Lee, Kraft, Lavazza, Illy and other manufacturers that purchase green coffee from farmers and roast them, were worried. They could well decide to buy ahead of a further potential price rise. Commodity funds and other speculators were also jumping on the coffee wagon. The phone rang again. It was Danny on the phone. Forget Ruff. Coffee looked an easy winner. I had to go for it.

'OK Danny, buy another 60,' I whispered, sweating with excitement. Within minutes, he was back to me. Aquarium Fund now had 100 coffee futures contracts, controlling 3.75 million pounds of coffee worth $4.5 million. By then the word was out that Hastings Ruffish had taken sizeable positions and was making big profits in the coffee market. After I had bought more coffee, other people in the market followed. The price jumped.

'You're moving the coffee market, Jack,' said Danny. 'I underestimated you. Thought you were just a junior.'

Prices gyrated wildly on Friday. Profits up one minute and down the next.

The following Monday I told Ruffish what I had done. He went ballistic. Maffie was angry too.

'You promised us that you would not increase the position, Jack,' scolded Maffie. 'How can we trust you now?'

'Apologies, Maff. I got carried away. Danny said that the market looked good, so I bought.'

'Brokers always encourage you to trade, you idiot. Makes no difference to them. Win or lose they get their commission.'

'Danny's a good guy. He wouldn't give me a bum steer.'

'Maybe not intentionally, but brokers also get carried away. It's not only your money, Jack. Krishna, Tong and Bess also have a stake in the fund. Ruff's now under pressure.'

'The charts look OK, Maffie. The price action feels good. We're into the Brazilian winter. Give me a chance. Promise you, I'll get out fast if the market turns.'

Ruffish and Maffie decided to take a calculated risk and leave me alone for a week or so. They were angry, but it was also a test to see how I could cope with stress. Some days when coffee was rising, the value of the margin deposit doubled or trebled. When the price fell, profits almost vanished and losses threatened. Despite the roller coaster, I followed Manson's advice and focused on the big picture. Watched what the coffee price was doing. Did my best to ignore the large profit and loss swings on the tiny margin deposit.

I guess I was lucky. More and more buyers were entering the market and were pushing prices up. Within a few weeks, coffee hit $2 even though the Brazilian coffee plantation was still intact.

Our coffee positions had made us almost $4 million on margin deposits of less than $400,000! Commodity and gold shares had also soared in hectic trade. The Aquarium fund, which had started with $1 million, was now worth around $6 million. I was a millionaire!

13 -
PEARL

'Does the Governor know about this third session? Other inmates see the psychiatrist once and that's if they're lucky.'

'I've told him that you're a very interesting case,' says Dr Klugheim.

‘A loner, an outsider?'

'Highly intelligent and talented.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really.'

Silence. Waiting.

'Know anything about suppressing the unconscious?' asks Klugheim.

'Such as?'

'Memories. The Russians . . . The hanging. You've stopped writing about them.'

'Why are you interested?'

I'm wary. Something's going on. Is the Russian mafia using him to get to me?

I shouldn't have written about them.

'You sure only you and Mrs Small are reading my stuff?' I whisper. 'The Governor? does he know?'

'Don't worry, I'm keeping the book strictly confidential,' says Klugheim.

'How can I be sure it won't get out? You know what they can do! They're everywhere.'

'Trust me! I'm here to help. Just write a few pages every week. I'll keep them safely here.'

'They have ways of finding out.'

'Only Mrs Small and I know about it. Promise! Keep on writing. You mustn't suppress it. Let it out. If you keep it hidden it will come back; disturb you.'

I'm unconvinced. Say nothing. Silent.

'So you went on living as if nothing had happened? Bad memories gone?' asks Klugheim while he observes me closely.

Better talk. I'll have to trust him. What else can I do?

'Stan Slimcop was right. Time's the best healer. I only had occasional dreams about the hanging,' I mumble. 'I was focusing on trading. That was my life. I decided that they wouldn't recognise me. Grew a moustache.'

'Think back. Try and remember. Are you sure there weren't any more bad dreams?'

'Very seldom. I began to feel more secure.'

‘Any dreams about them now?'

'No.'

'Good.'

He gets up suddenly, losing his train of thought. Paces the room, agitated.

'What about my shrinking portfolio, Jack? I got hold of the charts and prices.'

'Wanna retire now?' I mumble sarcastically as I shuffle to the table next to the window.

'I'll ignore that Jack. We've gone through this before. You should know by now that I'm doing my best for you.'

'Sorry. I'm a bit of a cynic.'

‘A bit?'

‘I know you see a lot of prisoners, Doc. But there's no way you can comprehend what this place's like. Guys like me are shit scared. Terrified of being beaten up or raped. The stink. Cells like saunas in the summer. Freezing in winter. Not enough exercise. Rubbish food.'

'Just keep your head down, Jack. I'll do my best to get you out of here.’

On the table are a laptop, chart book and prices. We pull up some chairs and we look through them. I make some notes and quickly search the Internet for extra stuff.

'You've got thirty shares, Dr Klugheim. Do you have time to follow them?'

'No. All I know is that I'm losing.’

'Not all of them. Some are doing OK. These seven.’

'Want me to sell twenty three shares?'

'That's what I would do. Put all the money in the shares that are doing well. The companies and charts seem OK.'

'Why don't you take off your shoes and lie down on the couch,' says Klugheim.

'Thought we were finished.’

'You've still got time. Close your eyes. Relax. Tell me about your commodities trading.'

'Sort of takes over. Coffee up and down. Big profits, then losses. Profits again.'

'How did it feel?'

‘I was a winner! It's like the races. Your horse coming in. You're on a buzz.'

'Like a gambler?'

'Yes and no. You leave the racetrack when it's over. You're in the casino when you play roulette or blackjack. But when you trade in the markets, it's in your head. You're thinking about it all the time. Should I stay in? Should I get out? Should I sell half? You get a kick when it goes up, but your stomach sinks when it's down. Why didn't I sell? Should I get out now? That sort of thing. You're always edgy, especially when you're losing. Then the market goes wild and you forget to eat. When you're hungry, you go through packets of crisps. Eyes always on the screen.’

'What about drink and drugs? Do they help or increase stress?'

No answer. He's not going to sucker me into that!

'Didn't you take a break? Go to a movie. Play sport. Go out with girls to wind down?'

'Sure. But trading dominated my life. You're playing with margin. A small fall can wipe you out. That's all you think about. You're phoning your broker. Looking at prices on your mobile. Searching for news. Early morning to late at night.’

'Greedy one day; fretting the next?'

'That's about it! You're working out numbers in your head. What you have now. What you could have. What you're going to do with it. Do you have enough for a flat, a house, a Ferrari, a holiday? In the end it's a game. You've got to score.’

'And when you lose?'

'You sweat. Depends how much you're down. If it's a lot, you feel sick. Really sick. But those days were good. Coffee was big time.'

*   *   *

Ruffish held a fund manager meeting to decide what we should do next. I could understand why he was worried. The coffee market was going crazy and we had a lot of money in it.

Ruffish put his hand on my shoulder in the meeting room: 'Told you a schoolboy could do it.' 'Luck,' grunted Aram Zabkian.

'What would you do if you were in young Miner's position?' asked Ruffish. He was dressed in a smart light grey Savile Row suit.

'Bank the money and go back to school,' said Aram who was sloppily dressed in a yellow shirt with white stripes and creased dark blue slacks. Obviously, he wasn't meeting any clients or brokers. If he was, he would have been in a Versace suit or another favourite designer. Aram irritated me. He had chronic halitosis. We could smell the garlic across the table.

'Envy will get you everywhere, Aram,' said Maffie sarcastically. 'Let's hear what our astrophysics and maths geniuses have got to say.'

Tong Chong Ping took off his black glasses and rubbed them. 'At the moment coffee's all about round numbers. It broke $2, so I reckon the market momentum could carry it to $2.40. After that, I'm not sure. If there isn't a crop failure, the price will crash!'