Ramirez stopped polishing and looked up. "In cash? That is an unusual request. In my many, many real estate dealings I have never left a cash deposit."
"Yes," Jack said, "you're absolutely right. Most unusual. In fact, it's absurd, and I'm sure you want no part of it."
Now it was Jack's turn to play hard to get. Risky, but the only way he could see Ramirez coming up with the cash. He took Ramirez's elbow and guided him from the sitting room toward the front hall.
"Thank you for your interest, Mr. Ramirez. I'll inform Mr. Gates that you wouldn't agree—"
Ramirez pulled his arm free. "One moment. I did not say it was unacceptable. Just that it was unusual. Perhaps a smaller amount in cash."
"No, I'm afraid not. The twelve thousand is what Mr. Gates said, and twelve thousand is what it must be. If that's too steep—"
The doorbell rang.
What the hell…?
Jack poked his head through the doorway into the front hall.
Someone was standing at the front door. Jack couldn't make out who it was through the etched glass, but he knew it had to be bad news. No one was supposed to be here but Ramirez and him.
Maybe if he ignored the bell…
Another ring.
Clenching his teeth and silently cursing, he stepped into the front hall and pulled open the door.
A stocky Oriental in a way expensive charcoal-gray business suit and black fedora stood on the stoop. He could have been Harold Sakata doing Oddjob from Goldfinger.
"I am looking for David Johns," the man said. "Is he here?"
Who's this? Jack thought. Someone from Hudak Realty?
He had a feeling his little scam was about to crash into ruin. But he couldn't be too evasive… not with Ramirez in earshot.
"May I ask who—?"
He saw the man stiffen as he looked over Jack's shoulder.
"Mr. Ramirez," the Oriental said.
Jack turned. Ramirez was standing in the front hall, staring at the newcomer.
"Hello… Sung."
The scene had a surreal deja vu feel to it, like Jerry and Newman meeting in a Third World Seinfeld.
When Jack turned back to the Oriental, he saw that the man had slipped into the front hall.
"I wish to see the property," he said.
This was bad—bad because Jack had no contingency for a third player. The new guy wasn't simply a wild card, he was a wild card who knew Ramirez.
"I'm sorry, Mr… Sung, is it? This is by appointment only."
"But I tried to get an appointment. I called three times but no one called back."
"Really?" Jack said slowly, knowing Ramirez was listening. "That's strange. I never got your messages. Perhaps the answering machine isn't working properly." He snapped his fingers as if he'd just had an epiphany. "That's why the response has been so poor! The machine's on the fritz."
"Perhaps," said Sung. "I decided to come over to see if anyone was here."
"And now you have seen," Ramirez said. "I am here, so now you can go."
No love lost between these two, Jack thought. And was that a hint of anxiety in Ramirez's cold dark eyes? Obviously they both had offices in the same building—that was the only way Sung could have seen the flyer.
And maybe they'd butted heads before in a real estate deal.
It hit Jack then that maybe he could stick this wild card in his own hand and play him against Ramirez.
"I'm glad you did, Mr. Sung. Mr. Ramirez was just leaving, so I'll be free to—"
"Wait one minute," Ramirez said. "I made an offer and it was accepted. We have a deal."
"But you said you never leave a cash deposit."
"I said that I never have. I did not say that I never will." He pointed back to the sitting room. "Come. We will talk."
Sung folded his arms across his chest. "I will wait."
Jack stepped back into the makeshift office with Ramirez and closed the door behind them.
"I will give you a check," Ramirez said.
Gotcha, Jack thought.
Now he could play hard to get.
He shook his head. "Sorry. Mr. Gates stated that it must be cash."
"But I do not carry that sort of money with me. No one does. Why does he want it to be cash?"
"I can't explain Mr. Gates's reasoning," Jack said with a shrug. "He's on medication, and perhaps it's affecting him. But if that's what he wants, that's what he'll get."
"But what protection do I have?"
Jack straightened and looked down his nose at Ramirez. "Sir, you have the sterling reputation of the Hudak Realty Company behind any transaction. You will get a deposit receipt. And the money will be put in escrow, of course. But I wholeheartedly agree that these are highly unorthodox terms." He reached for the doorknob. "Thank you for coming."
Ramirez flew into a rage then, stomping around the sitting room and shouting about how they had a deal, how he'd made an offer and the buyer had agreed to it and Jack was not going to get rid of him because he thought he might have a better offer waiting in the front hall.
Amazing, Jack thought, fighting to keep a smile off his face. The harder I try to keep him from giving me the cash, the more he wants to pay it.
"You will have your twelve thousand in cash," Ramirez said, finally winding down. "I will return with it in one hour."
You damn well better, otherwise I've gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.
Ramirez turned at the door. "But I warn you, Mr. Johns. If I return and find out that you have made another deal, there will be serious consequences."
"Threats are not necessary, Mr. Ramirez," Jack said softly. He glanced at his watch. "One hour it is."
Ramirez made a hasty exit, pausing only to snarl at the man waiting outside. "Might as well go home, Sung. It is sold."
Sung gave him a small bow. "Congratulations, Mr. Ramirez. But I wish to see the property anyway… in case you change your mind."
"That will not happen," Ramirez said, and then he was gone.
Jack turned to Sung.
"We have a deal," he told him. "No point in your waiting. And I'm afraid I don't have time to show you around."
He turned and stepped back into the sitting room. He didn't feel like playing real estate agent for anyone else. He wanted Sung gone.
But Sung followed him into the room.
"I do not need to see the rest to know that I will meet and exceed the terms you have arranged with Mr. Ramirez."
"How do you know…?"
He smiled. "One could not help overhearing such an excited man."
"Yes, well—"
"You will not have to wait an hour." Sung pulled a long wallet from the breast pocket of his suit. "I can give you the cash deposit right now."
"Those terms were for Mr. Ramirez only," he said as Sung counted out twelve one-thousand-dollar bills onto the table. "The owner is not well, and I fear he agreed too hastily to Mr. Ramirez's offer. If Mr. Ramirez does not return, then new terms will have to be set."
"Does the owner know the name of the man who made the offer?"
"No, but—"
"Then, he will not know that the money comes from someone else."
"But he's sick," Jack said, wondering if he could spark some sympathy in Sung. "And it's an unreasonably low price."
"Here is more," Sung said, and laid three more thousand-dollar bills on the table… but apart from the rest. "If you think the seller should have more, give him this."
Jack was about to laugh at him. An extra three thousand? What was that added to Ramirez's low-ball price? Nothing.