A Bridge to Treachery From Extortion to Terror by Larry Crane

didn’t say anything about scrambling for two-bit accounts for months on end.”
     
    “We didn’t hire you to work in the back office. We’ve got a couple of hundred high schoolers doing that.”
     
    “All right. Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
     
    “Go looking, Lou. I couldn’t care less. Any way you slice it, when you wash out of sales, it’s going to come out of my ass. I took you in. It was my mistake.”
     
    “Forget the whole thing,” Lou said, standing to leave.
     
    “The only job you’ll ever have at Pierson Browne, if I have anything to say about it, is sales, mister. Retail fucking sales.”
     
    * * *
     
    Lou had stuck it out for another bad year. Then, thanks to Patricia Buck’s little talk and the Westover account, the nasty little contretemps with Swish quickly became a dim memory.
     
    It wasn’t until shortly before noon that Swisher came out of his office and stood beside Lou’s chair. “Let’s go over to The Brazier for lunch,” he said.
     
    They had martinis and ordered lunch. Cal started out talking about the Jets and how lousy they’d looked on Sunday.
     
    “How’re Maggie and the little ones, Lou?” he asked, switching subjects in midstream.
     
    “Everybody’s fine, Cal. The little ones aren’t little. The last one flew the coop eight years ago.”
     
    “You want another drink? I’m going to. Miss!” Cal called out, swirling his finger around in the glass. “Yeah, two more over here!” He was uncharacteristically nervous, misfiring his lighter before finally touching flame to the end of his Parliament Extra Long. “Cigarette? No, you don’t smoke these little fuckers, do you?”
     
    “Not anymore. Cal, what the hell’s going on? The account hit me with forty-five bills gross in three days. What’s happening? I don’t care how good a guy I am. You know more about all of this than you’re letting on. All I know is an account number and a name. Who’s Westover?”
     
    “Hold on, Lou. You’re shooting questions at me so goddamn fast I can’t keep up with you. I don’t go around second guessing Patty Buck, all right? The broad just about runs this outfit, in case you didn’t know it. She does what she pleases. Now, why don’t you just sit back and relax? You act like a guy who can’t stand prosperity.”
     
    “Calvin, I want you to give Patricia a call today and try to find out something. I can’t function working in the dark .”
     
    “You can function until hell freezes over with this kind of a deal. What the fuck? Lou, almost every man sitting in one of those offices got some kind of a break they weren’t expecting. It must have occurred to you by now that you don’t gross $100K making cold calls. Now, just shut up and eat. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll try to get through to Patricia sometime today.”
     
    * * *
     
    Cal Swisher obviously didn’t want to touch the subject with a ten-foot swizzle stick. Why should he? There was no reason for him to get on the wrong side of Patricia Buck. Branch managers don’t make a practice of questioning prerogatives.
     
    They settled back with a cup of coffee to finish off the meal. “Doesn’t the branch get credit for the gross from this account too?” Lou asked. “I mean, what will all the other branch managers think when they find out that Buck is passing out institutional accounts to the Paramus office?”
     
    “Hold on. Don’t you ever utter a word about this account to anybody in this office or anywhere else. There’s no fucking way in the world that I’m going to let on that it’s in the branch. I’d have an armed rebellion on my hands. Besides, the other managers will never find out either, unless Patricia wants them to. Can’t you get it through that Army brain of yours? You’re fortunate enough to have had Lady Luck come along and sit on your shoulder. If you mind your own business, she’ll just keep right on sitting there. If you make a fuss, the little lady just