Dying Art

Finally, Bruns handed the phone back to Tragg and heaved a sigh.

“Why the hell didn’t you stall?” Bruns said. “Tell that Turkish son of a bitch I would have doubled my offer?”

“I tried,” Tragg said. “Apparently, the other bidder came in with a much higher bid.”

“How much? How much did he pay?”

The little man reminded Tragg of a human groundhog. His body was short and squat, his hair obviously dyed jet black in a failed effort to preserve the illusion of eternal youthfulness. A fine network of wrinkles arched outward over his high cheekbones.

“Hakeem didn’t say.”

“Hakeem.” Bruns frowned. “That’s not what I pay you for. I pay you to get results.”

Playing the tough guy, or at least pretending to be tough, seemed to be in Bruns’s DNA. Tragg resisted the temptation to grab the man by the throat and teach him some respect. But that would have to wait until this deal was done. There was still a role to play, and Tragg continued with his award-winning performance. The plan must go on.

“Sorry, sir. By the time I got back in the room the Turk had already accepted the other buyer’s offer. He must have been using us as a ploy to raise the price.”

“That’s what I don’t understand. If that was the intention, why not convert it into a bidding war? He certainly could have upped his take.”

Tragg shook his head. “I wish I knew, but you know how quirky those Turks are. They defy logic sometimes.”

“Bastard. I hate dealing with him, but what choice do I have?” His mouth worked, like he was chewing something. “You don’t know how much this other party paid?”

“No, sir. Hakeem just said that guy made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“Couldn’t refuse.” Bruns snorted. “Who the hell is he? The goddamn Godfather?”

Close, Tragg thought. He felt like grinning, but kept his face neutral.

Bruns pursed his lips. “Find out who the other buyer—the owner now—is.”

Before Tragg could reply, the phone on Bruns’s desk buzzed. The groundhog checked the screen, held his palm toward Tragg and picked up the phone.

“What is it?” he asked.

The volume was cranked up so loud that Tragg could hear the other person’s voice: “The demonstration’s ready, sir. And our guests are here.”

Bruns sighed again and said, “Make them comfortable in the waiting room. I’ll be there shortly. Do not proceed without me, understand?” He hung up and had a distracted expression on his face.

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