THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 36

"May I speak to Mike King, please?" Bushing asked, anxious to offer Mike a gasoline price so attractive he couldn't refuse. The price had to be somewhere on the low end of the scale of credibility. If it was too low, Mike would certainly get suspicious.

"One moment, please," Mike's secretary replied.

Seconds later, Mike picked up. "Good morning, Bob. I assume you're calling to offer me another great price du jour?"

"How did you know?"

"You're our number one consideration. I can't remember what's in second place."

"In anticipation of that fundamental reality, I have a price I'm sure you're going to like."

Mike chuckled. "How many times have I heard that one?"

"No bullshit, Mike. I just got real lucky and I want to share my good fortune with you. I bought a company two weeks ago. Among the many things that made the company attractive were the gasoline futures it bought this summer. The recent firming of gasoline prices has made those futures extremely attractive. Now I want to bring your thirty million gallon requirement and those futures together in a happy marriage."

"It sounds exciting, but if the price isn't right there will be no wedding."

Bushing tremulously made his offer.

"That's a good number!" Mike said, surprised and excited. "It's over a cent a gallon below the market! How the hell can you make any money at that price?"

"The gasoline futures. I told you they were attractive. I've been so frustrated listening to you tell me my price was too high, I decided to do something about it. Well, what do you think? Will there be a marriage?"

"How much can you sell me?"

"Like I just said, the whole thirty million."

"I hear wedding bells."

Servito's next instruction was for Bushing to convince Mike to let Reserve do the hauling. Once again, his pricing was constrained only by the bounds of credibility. "Can we do the hauling?" he asked. "The more truck utilization we can guarantee our hauling company, the better trucking rate we're going to get on all the other business we do."

"What rate?"

"Fifty points a gallon."

"To any destination?"

"Sure...within a hundred and fifty miles of the Golden National rack."

"Who's your hauler?"

"Amerada."

"I've used Amerada for some of my own hauling. They're good."

"So?"

"There's no way I can find anybody to do it for fifty points."

"That's beautiful. That puts the whole deal into a nice package. When can we get started?"

Servito was in his office at the farm when he received the call. "Yah!" he said.

"King bought the deal. It went down ten minutes ago," Bushing announced proudly.

"That's good. When does it fly?"

"He'll start drinking thirty million tomorrow."

"Who hauls?"

"Reserve Oil sells and hauls."

"Beautiful! I'm gonna give you a big kiss the next time I see you."

"I prefer money."

Servito had finessed a masterstroke. While exacting a cruel and unusual punishment on his wife and Mike King, he could continue to steal gasoline from the Golden National refinery, evade the road and sales taxes on that and other gasoline, and collect millions for the illegal disposal of one of the most dreaded and toxic chemicals on the planet.