BAD MOON RISING

Chapter -Two

2

Timeline: 03:50, Saturday, 21st April : Room 196,Melody Inn Bamptonville

"That's them all done, my minimalist distractions as the three stooges call them – ready to go for tomorrow." Greg's new collective noun for Dean, Elbury and Wayne brought a flicker of a smile to his lips. "Let's hope it's enough to cover everything without having to waste time going back for more research."

Three reporter pads lay on the desk in front of him, one for each of his ongoing commitments for the weekend outside of the Fishers project.

To get everything ready for the meetings for the day ahead had been a marathon effort denying him sleep, but it was done, and he could now move onto what he called 'the main event' – a detailed study of the Fishers dossier – before meeting up with Wayne again at breakfast.

He stretched his arms above his head, twisting to left and right and groaning loudly as cramped muscles eased after being hunched over a keyboard for several hours.

After his micro-workout, Greg picked up the first reporter pad containing his notes on the bio-diesel operation and flicked through the pages, subliminally asking himself if he had missed anything.

"Nope, can't think of anything, and Wayne will soon tell me tomorrow if I have.

Greg tossed the pad back onto the desk and repeated the process with the other two pads containing his notes for the meeting with Elbury, and the third, with his observations and costing on the Lumpers potato project.

"That leaves me one more thing to do before I can get to Wayne's dossier."

Greg flicked over the pages until he found the names and email addresses of the two companies he had selected as his best sales suspects and grinned.

"Not my usual way of sourcing business, but time is in short supply right now."

O'Connel's and Flaherty's were Irish wholesale produce merchants, both of them operating in the greater Chicago area and to Greg's scheming mind they had to be good choices to play one against the other, with one of them ultimately buying the produce through a deal favourable to all parties."

Greg rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation of a good result. He had that buzz working through him. He glanced at his watch. Having lost track of time during his marathon research session, the late hour surprised him.

"Holey-Moley, three fifty already, where's the time gone?"

With only three hours to go before breakfast with Wayne, his imperative was to work comprehensively through the dossier beforehand, gain a fuller understanding of the business and plans for its future.

'It'd be a good idea for me to come up with a list of sensible questions to feed to Wayne along with his eggs. I can see things better from his point of view now and getting my head around the Fishers dossier before breakfast is more important than selling a barn load of potatoes. I can't afford to spend any more time to day on them.'

He determined to send a simple e-mail to each of the CEO's of his chosen companies to invite their interest in the Lumpers potatoes, and leave the potato project at that, for now.

Greg addressed a message to the CEO of O'Connell's and when set to enter the text, came to an abrupt halt. Words failed him, increasing his exasperation and his mental funk.

This hurried, seat of the pants, approach robbed him of his train of thought. Greg habitually operated on the principle that assumptions made on scanty information should be avoided, and would meticulously research a company and its executive personnel to qualify them as suspects before qualifying them as likely prospects and making an approach. Time was against him today, and he only knew what little he had gleaned from the Internet about these companies and their directors.

"And here I am, rushing in blind, inadequately prepared with an out of the ordinary offer to people I don't know and who don't know me. Small wonder I can't find the words to write a simple email. ... Yes! That's it. ...Keep it simple stupid."

He deleted his latest effort from the computer and started again.

Sir,

I have for sale 140 short tons of Irish 'Lumpers' heritage potatoes in excellent condition, and currently located in cool store in Bamptonville, Nebraska.

They are for sale in a single lot, and I wish to give you the first option to purchase this legacy of Irish history.

To my best knowledge and belief, there are no other supplies of this historical variety available on the US wholesale market.

We have not met or had dealings before.

Should you require evidence of my bona fides, please consult Dean Halburton at Everly Peabody in Boston who will vouch for me.

I will be grateful for your earliest reply.

With thanks for your time and attention,

Gregory (Greg) Vernon Mitchell,

Ghost Enterprises (UK) Ltd.

"That has to be the weakest, most school-boyish email I have ever drafted. I really cannot send that to the two best prospects I have for a sale of these things."

Greg sat staring at his draft message on the computer, fighting the urge to delete it and start again.

"I know nothing about these two businesses. I should have done my due diligence checks before I even contemplated approaching them. There must be somebody out there who they trust and who I know, someone who can give me a proper introduction. I ought to be phoning these men, that's my style – giving them a 'take it or leave it' option'. ...No, I can't send that."

His finger went to the delete key, halting above it in response to his inner voice.

'Wait! You have more important things to do with your time tonight than pursue a one-off deal. Send it as it is. If they turn you down so be it. You've lost $150, but maybe saved yourself a major distraction from working on the Fishers project.'

"Hah," Greg gasped open mouthed, "that is so right. Fishers is the biggest fish in my pond, it's tailor made for me, and I have to give it my fullest attention.'

It was then he noticed a message in his inbox from Jennifer, causing a slight flutter in his breast. "I don't remember giving her my email address." It pleased him considerably that she wanted to correspond with him. After the opening pleasantries, the message was short and sweet.

Greg,

Hope you are well and not overworking yourself on all these projects you are taking on?

I was out at Polder's farm today and took some pics of your potatoes. I thought you'd like to see what you are buying.

Good Luck and see you soon,

Jennifer X

The capital 'X' she had typed after her name set the butterflies flying again in his chest Greg liked Jennifer.

The attached pictures arrested his attention and he saw his merchandise for the first time. The first was a long shot of the boxes of potatoes stacked in the barn another was a closer view of the potatoes in one of the storage boxes. The last, was of a good quality close-up of a single potato. Jenny had laid a finger alongside the tuber giving him an indication of its size. He nibbled his lower lip as he studied the picture. There was hardly a flat surface anywhere. The skins were either lumps or deep valleys

"Nice one Jenny, they are certainly well named. I can better understand what Mrs. Polder meant when she told Courtley she wasted more than half of the roots in paring them." Greg shook his head, " Hard to see how she managed to save as much as half of them after peeling."

The sight confirmed his impression that the way the Irish ate these in their 'old country' all those years ago, was with the skins on – no peeling. And there are some really big baking spuds there to roast, and then split to get at the insides."

Greg attached the pictures to the draft emails with increased confidence and pinged them away to O'Connells and Flaherty's

He clapped his hands with satisfaction, "Now for an in-depth study of that dossier before we all meet up again at breakfast."