"Did I hear you correctly?"
"How would I know?"
"I thought you said you were dying."
"Correct."
"You really mean that?"
Manny nodded solemnly. "I saw my physician this morning. He sent me for tests a while back. Now he has the results. It's inoperable. I have maybe six months, maybe nine."
Leapman stared at him. There was still no indication that some kind of black humor was intended. "But that's not possible."
"Precisely what I said to the doc. I have my faculties. I can read the paper still, eat a good meal, take a woman to bed when I want, and I don't disappoint I'm not the biggest in that department, but what I got is in working order. He said fine, some people aren't so lucky. They languish and droop. At least I was going out in style. I said I didn't believe him. He asked if I wanted to bet I said okay, Doc, fifty bucks I'm still alive for Thanksgiving. I thought I was on a sure thing, but he suggested we put the money in a bfown envelope and leave it with his receptionist because he didn't want to trouble my executors. That really brought it home to me, Michael. My executors. He meant it." Manny exhaled, vibrating his lips. "I called off the bet."
"You should get a second opinion," said Leapman, trying sincerely to be helpful while he assessed what this grim news would mean for his own prospects. He believed the story.
"More tests, more bad news." Manny groaned at the prospect. "No thanks. I'd rather spend my last days on earth profitably, robbing banks while I have my strength left." He turned to a woman behind a fruit and vegetable stall. She must have overheard the last statement, because she was goggle-eyed. "Ignore me. I'm in shock. How much are your pineapples, ma'am?" He chose one and felt it for firmness. "Do you buy many pineapples, Michael? They can look fine outside, like me, and when you put in the knife, they're rotten. No offense," he told the woman. "I'll take this.one."
They reached the end of the market and made their way back down Delancey Street. "Still, this isn't all bad for Man-flex," Manny remarked altruistically. "We can do with a change at the top."
Leapman's flesh prickled.
Manny went on smoothly. "My shares will pass to Davey. He'll have a controlling stake, and he'll be fine."
"For Chairman, you mean? David?" Leapman tried to sound casual, but the shock couldn't be stifled.
"I can't put it better than Shakespeare: some guys are born managers, some achieve management and some, like my son, have it thrust upon them."
"The market won't like it," said Leapman, impervious to Shakespeare.
"Davey taking over, you mean?"
"Your going." An answer more tactful than honest.
"What choice do I have?"
A pause. "Fair point."
"He'll need your support," Manny said.
"He can depend on it."
"And the know-how. You have a grasp of the business. He doesn't"
"Of course I'll help any way I can." Michael Leapman was functioning on autopilot. The news of Manny's illness was bad enough. The prospect of his son taking over the Chairmanship was beyond everything.
Manny shifted the pineapple to his left hand and rested his right on Leapman's shoulder. "Thanks, Mike. You don't have to tell me the sharks will be circling, but I have confidence in the boy. I like the way he's shaping up. As a matter of fact, I called Rico last night. Davey's doing a great job in Milan, and that isn't easy, closing down a plant"
It was a skill that might soon be required nearer home, Leapman thought cynically. "Have you told him?"
"Told him what?"
"This terrible news your doctor gave you."
"Not yet It's not easy over the phone."
"You'll wait, then?"
"Davey doesn't need to be told at this stage. Maybe not at all."
Frowning, Leapman said, "But you just told me. Surely you owe it to him. He needs time to adjust"
"Weren't you listening just now?" said Manny. "About management being thrust upon him? It's better he doesn't have time to think about it. Knowing Davey, he'd look for an out"
Leapman didn't pursue the point Maybe Manny was right from the company's point of view, given the staggering premise that David Flexner had to be installed as the next Chairman. What was the point in getting steamed up about David's sensibilities when his own had been ruthlessly trampled over?
And now the misguided old jerk was weighing the group's prospects without mentioning the obvious fact that Manflex might be vulnerable to a takeover. "We're lower down the league than I'd like to be, but we're not in bad shape right now. We still have a good cash flow."
"Mainly from Kaprofix."
"What's wrong with Kaprofix? It's helped millions of people with angina."
"Nothing-except that it's a declining asset."
"Since I put the lid on development costs, we boosted the operating margin by 2.6 points. You talk about Kaprofix as if it's all we've got. We have a wide base of steady-selling products. The surplus from the pension fund was over ten million last year. Sure, we could do with a big-selling new drug-"
"Soon," said Leapman.
"What?"
"Soon-we could do with it soon."
"I wouldn't argue with that."
Leapman wasn't letting it pass so lightly. "We missed out on beta-blockers, salbutamol for asthma, L-dopa for Parkinson's, H2-antagonists-"
"Okay, okay," said Manny irritably. "I get the point. We staked too much on Fidoxin. That was the biggest fuckup of my career. On the other hand, we've got a clean record. No one ever sued us. I can meet my Maker knowing I never damaged anyone through negligence."
"Leaving aside environmental damage," Leapman couldn't stop himself saying.
"What do you mean?"
"We did get fined for polluting French and Italian rivers."
"Piss off, Michael."
They walked on in silence for a bit, each feeling the strain of the changed situation.
"Will you say anything to the Board while Davey's away?" Leapman eventually asked.
"About my condition? There's no need. I'll step down and then they'll find out."
"So you want me to regard it as confidential?"
"For the time being. How did I come to confide in an obstinate schmuck like you? What a mess." He turned and looked at Leapman. There was just a glimmer of amusement in the look, yet the rest of the face was sad, undeniably sad. This time, Manny Flexner wasn't kidding.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Three black limousines cruised along the stretch of Central Park West near the reservoir and presently halted and disgorged a number of large men in a motley collection of tracksuits. Enough for a football team, except that a football team would never have looked so ill at ease. They were peeking over their shoulders as if someone they knew might be spying on this freak show. The last to climb out of the front car was Massimo Gatti, a man of influence in the Italian-American community-or at least that section of it that requires round-the-clock bodyguards. Unlike them, Gatti was short and overweight, with high blood pressure, which was why he had taken up jogging.
As a preliminary, he went through a token exercise to limber up, flinging bis arms outwards like a cheerleader and simultaneously running in place. Some of the others in the party attempted sheepishly to do the same. Then Gatti moved off at a sedate jog, and with his henchmen in tow he could easily have been taken for a shorter, fatter embodiment of a recent President of the United States.
As usual in the park, New York's fitness freaks were out in force. This morning Michael Leapman was among them. He'd asked for an urgent audience with Gatti, and this was the arrangement, a refreshing variation on the working breakfast. Having spotted the group, he raised his pace and strode across to meet them. He was one of those envied beings who rarely take exercise, but succeed in keeping in shape.