Freddie, who handles my investments, is on a hot streak.
But twenty-six million is nothing compared to what Robby Divine has. Some people with Robby’s kind of money wouldn’t bend over to pick up twenty-six million if they saw it laying in the street. But Robby would, because he doesn’t just want a great deal of money, he wants all of it.
Robby is an investor, but I don’t think he uses Cousin Freddie. He’s not a lawyer who’s an investor, or a corporate executive who’s an investor; he’s just an investor.
He’s got a sweet deal going. I’m told that when Robby makes an investment, it’s a large one and it attracts attention. He’s considered so smart that people follow him in, buying stock in the same companies. This then causes the stock he had just bought to go up. As my grandmother used to say, “Money goes to money.”
I met Robby at a charity dinner in Manhattan to benefit a large animal rescue foundation. We sat next to each other, mainly because he and I were the only two people being honored. We talked a lot, and found out that one of the things we have in common is a hatred for charity dinners.
Robby stood out that night, because he was the only one wearing sneakers and jeans. I learned later that he considered himself overdressed compared to his usual garb, and in fact it’s the only time I haven’t seen him wearing his Chicago Cubs cap. If he ever blows his money, it won’t be on clothes.
We get together for dinner once every six months or so. We used to alternate picking the place, but then I took him to Charlie’s once, and he was hooked. Tonight is our dinner, which is timely, since otherwise I would have called him anyway.
Robby isn’t into sports, has no interest in it whatsoever, but is definitely into burgers and beer. Charlie’s burgers are the best, and Robby has three of them. He’s maybe a hundred fifty pounds, runs in the Boston and New York marathons, and downs burgers by the bucketful. If I ate three burgers, they’d have to wheel my fat ass out to the parking lot.
Vince and Pete are not allowed to join us at our dinners; it’s always just the two of us. That of course drives them insane, so they sit at our normal table and stare daggers at us. I make faces back at them.
We’re all very mature.
“So what do you know about Edward Young?” I ask.
“He’s a Cardinals fan, which makes him a prick,” Robby says, and since he’s again wearing his Cubs cap, that needs no further explanation. “I keep telling him it doesn’t matter where he grew up; he needs to recognize that the Cardinals are pure evil.”
“That’s not particularly helpful. What else do you know about him?”
“He’s rich.”
“Richer than you?”
“Watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Tell me what else you know about him.”
“Well, he cheats at golf.”
“So you know him personally?”
“Sure. Who do you think I hang around with, poor people? You’re the only one.”
“Can you get me in to see him? I’ve called twice, but can’t get through.”
“Depends. What’s it about?”
“I’m investigating a murder of one of his employees. He bought the victim’s company a few months before it happened.”
“If the guy worked for Edward, chances are he committed suicide.”
“Tough guy?”
“Controlling guy. He and I do things differently. When I come into a company, I’m placing a bet on the company and it’s management. I can be annoying to them, but if they succeed, so do I. And I only buy into large companies.”
“And Young?”
“He’s much more hands-on. He’ll buy a controlling interest in smaller companies: retailers, techs, airlines, whatever. He wants to make money, same as me, except he’s positive the only way that can happen is if they do what he says. So he takes over, either up close or from a distance. He’ll deny it, but it’s true.”
“Is he smart?”
“One of the smartest guys I ever met. What do you want from him?”
“Nothing
But twenty-six million is nothing compared to what Robby Divine has. Some people with Robby’s kind of money wouldn’t bend over to pick up twenty-six million if they saw it laying in the street. But Robby would, because he doesn’t just want a great deal of money, he wants all of it.
Robby is an investor, but I don’t think he uses Cousin Freddie. He’s not a lawyer who’s an investor, or a corporate executive who’s an investor; he’s just an investor.
He’s got a sweet deal going. I’m told that when Robby makes an investment, it’s a large one and it attracts attention. He’s considered so smart that people follow him in, buying stock in the same companies. This then causes the stock he had just bought to go up. As my grandmother used to say, “Money goes to money.”
I met Robby at a charity dinner in Manhattan to benefit a large animal rescue foundation. We sat next to each other, mainly because he and I were the only two people being honored. We talked a lot, and found out that one of the things we have in common is a hatred for charity dinners.
Robby stood out that night, because he was the only one wearing sneakers and jeans. I learned later that he considered himself overdressed compared to his usual garb, and in fact it’s the only time I haven’t seen him wearing his Chicago Cubs cap. If he ever blows his money, it won’t be on clothes.
We get together for dinner once every six months or so. We used to alternate picking the place, but then I took him to Charlie’s once, and he was hooked. Tonight is our dinner, which is timely, since otherwise I would have called him anyway.
Robby isn’t into sports, has no interest in it whatsoever, but is definitely into burgers and beer. Charlie’s burgers are the best, and Robby has three of them. He’s maybe a hundred fifty pounds, runs in the Boston and New York marathons, and downs burgers by the bucketful. If I ate three burgers, they’d have to wheel my fat ass out to the parking lot.
Vince and Pete are not allowed to join us at our dinners; it’s always just the two of us. That of course drives them insane, so they sit at our normal table and stare daggers at us. I make faces back at them.
We’re all very mature.
“So what do you know about Edward Young?” I ask.
“He’s a Cardinals fan, which makes him a prick,” Robby says, and since he’s again wearing his Cubs cap, that needs no further explanation. “I keep telling him it doesn’t matter where he grew up; he needs to recognize that the Cardinals are pure evil.”
“That’s not particularly helpful. What else do you know about him?”
“He’s rich.”
“Richer than you?”
“Watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Tell me what else you know about him.”
“Well, he cheats at golf.”
“So you know him personally?”
“Sure. Who do you think I hang around with, poor people? You’re the only one.”
“Can you get me in to see him? I’ve called twice, but can’t get through.”
“Depends. What’s it about?”
“I’m investigating a murder of one of his employees. He bought the victim’s company a few months before it happened.”
“If the guy worked for Edward, chances are he committed suicide.”
“Tough guy?”
“Controlling guy. He and I do things differently. When I come into a company, I’m placing a bet on the company and it’s management. I can be annoying to them, but if they succeed, so do I. And I only buy into large companies.”
“And Young?”
“He’s much more hands-on. He’ll buy a controlling interest in smaller companies: retailers, techs, airlines, whatever. He wants to make money, same as me, except he’s positive the only way that can happen is if they do what he says. So he takes over, either up close or from a distance. He’ll deny it, but it’s true.”
“Is he smart?”
“One of the smartest guys I ever met. What do you want from him?”
“Nothing
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