"You know quite a bit about this," commented George warily.
"My friend and I were most fortunate in being able to obtain one of the dwellings."
That clinches that, thought George.
"Do you know if anyone has tried to qualify Houseman's project for FHA, PC, or VA loans?"
Herman Gouger smiled wryly. "I did. They said that authorization had been delayed. Apparently, construction techniques were not in accordance with…"
"I see," interrupted George firmly. "I think you've answered my needs completely. Best regards, and thank you."
Gouger pulled at one Tend of his wispy mustache as George got up.
Samuel Sherman Stephenson, IV, was tall and portly. He was also the president of the First Denver Trust.
"Dr. Graylin, my secretary tells me you're here from Washington?"
"That's correct, sir. I need some background information. I hoped that the president of the/Colorado Bankers Association might be able to help."
"I'll try. I'll try."
"What can you tell me about a bank called `Bank on the Front Range'?"
"Relatively new bank. Builder named T. O. Houseman is the majority stockholder."
"How big a bank is it?"
"Couldn't really say." The banker shook his head ruefully. "Big enough to attract` our top black vice president. Houseman owns it, but he also has large, but not majority, interests in four or five other banks."
"Do you know the other large interests in those banks?"
The banker` s eyes twinkled.
"I suspect, sir, that you already know the answer to that."
George had to grin.
"Why did you invest in them?"
"We believed in the idea Houseman had; And it's a good way to generate loans that aren't snarled in red tape. You know the multiplier effect.
"Our major customers would frown, unofficially, of course, upon our backing him directly. This way, we got him set up on his own and get back a good and continuing return. Getting charters for minority controlled banks is not that difficult. After the first bank, there was little or no risk to us." He smiled.
George did not. "Thank you, sir, very much."
He made it to the hotel in record time, despite the one way streets, grabbed his gear, disassembled the portascreen, and checked out.
He left the Motor Pool car double parked at Stapleton International.
Greater Washington was as uncivil as ever. George had to wait an hour for a cab. His apartment defense screen had shorted out. The electro burglars had taken the television, the stereophone, and two cartons of Cokes. The books in his study had been dumped off the shelves.
George replaced the fused section of wiring, reset the screen, and put the books back on the shelf. He reported the incident to the insurance agency, then to the police. The police scheduled their investigation for 10:45 on the thirtieth.
George marched into the lobby, purchased an overpriced Vendaserve Coke, stomped back inside and went to bed.
He opened the office door just as Mary was putting the Coke on his desk. He pulled the folder on insurance premiums out of his overstuffed file drawer, then checked his Memoranda from James Boulin Chartwell, III. There were only two. Both said, "Let Me Know." and were embellished with the normal inanities about the Great American Economy.
Mary brought in a file. George shoved it into his overflowing In basket, and continued checking the insurance premium schedules. He decided, once again, not to change his thousand dollar deductible to five hundred dollar deductible. He wondered, then stuffed the file back in the drawer and tapped out a number.
"Houseman Enterprises."
"This is George Graylin calling from Washington. Is Mr. Houseman in?"
She didn't say anything. The screen went blank momentarily.
George realized he hadn't played out the charade with the Federal operators to be denied a WAIT line.
He shrugged.
"Houseman."
"George Graylin here. From Washington. I wanted to congratulate you on Point Ultimate. I took a look at it yesterday. Are all the other developments that beautiful?"
"I appreciate your interest, Dr. Graylin."
Houseman didn't like small talk. George approved.
"I'll get to the point. First, I presume you're stacking your construction crews with blacks?"
"One hundred percent."
"Second, although you'll sell to anyone, you're targeting blacks?"
"Why do you say that?"
George grinned. "Why else would you supply a basketball backboard with every house? I'm sure you used a black design team, but since I'm not an expert at culture, I could only pick out the feeling rather than the details."
"You still haven't said why you called."
"Because, whether you realize it or not," exploded George, "you've got problems. Do you realize that the entire Labor movement is about to land on you? How long do you think that fifty year old loophole in the state statutes is going to last when they get going?"
George Hadn't thought it would be so hard to get through.
"Look, Houseman, I presume your goal is a total black Community, complete with black tech and industrial centers. I can help you through this morass if you'll accept Union construction workers when you build your industrial parks. Now do you want help, damn it?" George found himself clenching his fists.
Tod Houseman began to grin.
"Thought I'd make you work for that, boy. I've seen too many bureaucrats come up with easy solutions that didn't work. You do better, fine."
George wiped his forehead. "I'd rather not explain the details, just yet, but it should work…"
"Keep me posted." Tod Houseman smiled again. "Economic solutions work."
George went back to his printouts. Then he leafed through his datebook. He punched out a combination.
"George, you old bureaucrat! Great to see you!" The young man looked at George from across a three foot wooden desk. "What do you want this time?"
"Murray, you've been telling me for years that a timber company should diversify. You and your family are already conglomerating, but I have somebody you should talk to. Have you kept a finger on the Denver market?"
"George, have you had me tailed?"
"You've seen Point Ultimate?"
"`Seen it? Hell, we supplied all the plastic epoxies."
"Did you know there are plant sites there?"
Murray started in the highbacked Execurocker.
"If you can put together a black staff, go talk to Houseman. Our studies," George waved a stack of irrelevant print outs, "indicate that it might be the best investment you ever made."
"Let you know, George. We've thought about it a lot."
"Think about it some more."
George broke the connection.
He jabbed out another number.
"Export."
"Bill Bussard there? George Graylin over at the Advisers."
"No, sir. He's not in yet."
"Have him get in touch with me.
He'll be eternally grateful. At least, after a while, he will be," George chuckled.
"Yes, sir. Have him return the call."
George began to doodle. Then he ambled to the console and began to type. He stood and waited. The computer terminal burped and fed George a print out. He studied it, then typed a few more lines. This time the print out was longer. As he studied it, he began to smile.
Back at his desk, he began to rough out the arithmetic.
The viewer buzzed at him.
"Graylin here."
"Bill Bussard, George. What's up the fabled sleeve this time?"
"Solutions." George looked at the print out.. "Call up AB 43598 on your console. Then call Tod Houseman in Denver. He's a builder."
"But, George. This is Budget time."
"Right. This will help get you out of the jam you're in. Houseman can explain the details. I know the Balance of Trade figures for last quarter."
"Can I just fly a white flag… oh, hell, what can I lose except my rating." Bussard faded off the screen.