“I’m sorry, but what—”
“Bear with us, Mr. Carter,” Carella said.
“I have an appointment at ten.”
“That’s fifteen minutes away,” Meyer said, glancing up at the wall clock.
“We’ll make it fast,” Carella said. “First we’ll talk, then you’ll talk, okay?”
“Well, I really don’t know what—”
“The way we understand this,” Carella said, “ice is a common practice in the theater—”
“Not in my theater,” Carter said.
“Be that as it may,” Carella said, and went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “A common practice that accounts for something like twenty million dollars a year in cash receipts unaccountable to either the tax man or a show’s investors.”
“That figure sounds high,” Carter said.
“I’m talking citywide,” Carella said.
“It still sounds high. Ice isn’t practical unless a show is a tremendous hit.”
“Like Fatback,” Carella said.
“I hope you’re not suggesting that anyone involved with Fatback—”
“Please listen, and tell me if I’ve got it right,” Carella said.
“I’m sure you’ve got it right,” Carter said. “You don’t seem like the sort of man who’d come in unprepared.”
“I simply want to make sure I understand it.”
“Uh-huh,” Carter said, and nodded skeptically.
“From what I can gather,” Carella said, “a great many show business people have become rich on the proceeds of ice.”
“There are stories to that effect, yes.”
“And the way it works — please correct me if I’m wrong — is that someone in the box office puts aside a ticket, usually a house seat, Mr. Carter, and later sells it to a broker for a much higher price. Am I right so far?”
“That’s my understanding of how ice works, yes,” Carter said.
“The going price for a choice seat to Fatback is forty dollars,” Carella said. “That was for sixth row center, the house seats you generously made available to me.”
“Yeah,” Carter said, and nodded sourly.
“How many house seats would you say are set aside for any performance of any given musical?” Carella asked.
“Are we talking about Fatback now?”
“Or any musical. Take Fatback as an example, if you want to.”
“We’ve got about a hundred house seats set aside for each performance,” Carter said.
“Who gets those house seats?”
“I get some of them as producer. The theater owner gets some. The creative people, the stars, some of the unusually big investors, and so on. I think we already discussed this once, didn’t we?”
“I just want to get it straight,” Carella said. “What happens to those seats if the people they’re set aside for don’t claim them?”
“They’re put on sale in the box office.”
“When?”
“In this city, it’s forty-eight hours before any given performance.”
“For sale to whom?”
“Anyone.”
“Some guy who walks in off the street?”
“Well, not usually. These are choice seats, you realize.”
“So who does get them?”
“They’re usually sold to brokers.”
“At the price printed on the ticket?”
“Yes, of course.”
“No, not of course,” Carella said. “That’s where the ice comes in, isn’t it?”
“If someone connected with a show is involved in ice, yes, that’s where it would come in.”
“In short, the man in charge of the box office—”
“That would be our company manager.”
“Your company manager, or someone on his staff, would take these unclaimed house seats and sell them to a broker — or any number of brokers — at a price higher than the established price for the ticket.”
“Yes, that would be the ice. The difference between the legitimate ticket price and whatever the iceman can get for it.”
“Sometimes twice the ticket price, isn’t it?”
“Well, I really wouldn’t know. As I told you—”
“Eighty dollars for a forty-dollar ticket, wouldn’t that be possible?”
“It would be possible, I suppose. For a tremendous hit.”
“Like Fatback.”
“Yes, but no one—”
“And the broker would then take this ticket for which he’s paid eighty dollars, and he’ll sell it to a favored customer for something like a hundred and fifty dollars, isn’t that so?”
“You’re talking about scalping now. Scalping is against the law. A ticket broker can legally charge only two dollars more than the price on the ticket. That’s his markup. Two dollars. By law.”
“But there are brokers who break the law.”
“That’s their business, not mine.”
“Incidentally,” Carella said, “ice is also against the law.”
“It may be against the law,” Carter said, “but in my opinion, it doesn’t really hurt anyone.”
“It’s just a victimless crime, huh?” Meyer said.
“In my opinion.”
“Like prostitution,” Meyer said.
“Well, prostitution is another matter,” Carter said. “The girls themselves are, of course, victimized. But with ice...” He shrugged. “Let’s assume someone in a show’s box office is doing ice. He doesn’t steal those house seats, you know. If the ticket costs forty dollars, he’ll put forty dollars in the cash drawer before he sells that ticket to a broker.”
“For twice the price,” Carella said.
“That doesn’t matter. The point is the show got the forty dollars it was supposed to get for the ticket. The show doesn’t lose any money on that ticket. The investors don’t lose any money.”
“But the people running the ice operation make a lot of money.”
“There’s not that much involved,” Carter said, and shrugged again. “I’ll tell you the truth, on some shows I was involved with, I’ve had general managers come to me proposing ice, but I always turned them down cold — no pun intended,” Carter said, and smiled. “Why risk a brush with the law when peanuts are involved?”
“Peanuts? You said there were a hundred house seats—”
“That’s right.”
“At a forty-dollar markup per seat, that comes to four thousand dollars a performance. How many performances are there a week, Mr. Carter?”
“Eight.”
“Times four thousand is thirty-two thousand a week. That comes to something like... what does it come to, Meyer?”
“What?” Meyer said.
“In a year.”
“Oh. Close to two million dollars a year. Something like a million six, a million seven.”
“Is that peanuts, Mr. Carter?”
“Well, you know, the ice on a show is usually split up. Sometimes four or five ways.”
“Let’s say it’s split five ways,” Carella said. “That would still come to something like two, three hundred thousand dollars a person. That’s a lot of money, Mr. Carter.”
“It’s not worth going to jail for,” Carter said.
“Then why are you doing it?” Meyer asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Carter said.
“Why are you taking ice on Fatback?”
“Is that a flat-out accusation?” Carter said.
“That’s what it is,” Carella said.