Doohickey by Pete Hautman

Author:Pete Hautman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SIMON & SCHUSTER
Published: 2002-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-two

The single sheet of maize-colored paper taped to the front door of the former taqueria read C. H. ENTERPRISES, HOME OF THE HANDY-MATE . Nick had considered adding NICHOLAS FASHON, PROP., to the temporary sign, but he refrained. As soon as the money started rolling in, he would get a real sign. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Good morning, Alice,” he said to the empty chair behind the desk. He thought Alice was the perfect name for a secretary. He set the box of business plans on the desk. “File these, please, under hopes and dreams.”

He imagined Alice as red-haired, a few pounds overweight, cheerful, and midway between his age and that of his mother. One day he would hire an Alice.

“I’ll be in my office, shweetheart,” he said. He had always wanted a secretary he could call shweetheart.

Nick’s office contained nothing but a metal desk identical to Alice’s, and two chairs. The rest of the junk was stacked in the back room. He sat behind the desk, put his feet up, took out his phone, and dialed a number.

“Rincon Plastics.”

“Lew Krone, please.” Nick waited contentedly.

“Krone here.”

“Lew, this is Nick Fashon.”

“Fashon … Caleb Hardy’s kid, right?”

“Grandkid.”

Krone chuckled. “What can I do for you, Caleb Hardy’s grand-kid?”

Nick drew the check from his breast pocket. He rubbed it between his fingers, unfolded it, looked at the number.

“You can make me a mold,” he said.

It was all Bootsie’s doing. Nick never would have brought up the HandyMate if Bootsie hadn’t asked him about it, and he certainly would not have shown him the prospectus. Gretchen had made it quite clear that he was not to consider Bootsie a potential investor. That was fine. He had gone there to find out about Robo. That was all. He’d been on his way out the door when Bootsie, all on his own, said, “So, you looking for investors, Slick? What does a guy get for his money?”

Nick had explained the setup. Every ten thousand dollars invested would buy two points, or 2 percent of the profit derived from sales of the HandyMate. It was a simple formula. Once the Handy Mate paid off its start-up costs, all the investors would start making money.

“How long you figure that’ll take?” Bootsie asked.

“Hard to say. Maybe a year.”

Next thing Nick knew, Bootsie was writing a check for thirty thousand dollars. He kept saying, “I think you really got something here, Slick.”

There had been a moment when Nick considered refusing the money. The moment had been brief. Bootsie would never regret his investment. The HandyMate would make a lot of money for the old man. Besides, according to Gretchen, Bootsie had money. He could afford to invest a few thousand. The problem was, Gretchen had specifically asked him not to take money from her father. How pissed off would she be? Boys-will-be-boys pissed? A dozen roses pissed? A night on the sofa pissed? How bad could it be?

Nick stared at the check. Thirty grand. Twenty-four down on the mold, six for miscellaneous expenses, and he’d be broke again in a couple weeks.

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