And then his eyes found Rick.
Sculley’s smile faded. His expression was dead, but Rick was sure that in Sculley’s eyes he could detect something very close to fear.
66
Sculley led the way to a small white tent on one side of the stage where employees of the Bay Group were handing out glossy brochures on Olympian Tower to the media and prospective investors.
As he approached, a couple of the employees recognized him and sat up straight in their chairs. A young man got up with an awestruck smile. “Mr. Sculley, how can I help you?”
“Can I have this tent?” Sculley said.
It took a moment for his employees to understand that he wanted them to vacate the tent, but once they did, they moved quickly.
Andrea hung back. Sculley flashed her a smile and said, “Mr. Hoffman and I will have a little chat.” She nodded and let the two men enter the now empty tent.
“Shall we have a seat?” Sculley said, indicating a small card table piled high with Bay Group brochures.
Rick shook his head. “This shouldn’t take that long.”
He was struck anew by how craggy Sculley’s face was up close. He had the face of someone who’d done manual labor outdoors all his life, though he probably hadn’t since he was in his twenties. He was now over seventy.
“You look rough, lad,” Sculley said. He gestured toward the bruises on Rick’s face. “Maybe you should take it easy, you know what I mean?”
“I’m fine,” Rick said. “I’m alive.”
“We never had that sit-down, you and I.”
Rick smiled. “I get it now. You told Mort Ostrow you wanted the ‘Rick Hoffman treatment’ because you wanted to meet me in person. Size me up. And at the same time you had your thugs put a scare into me. Sort of a two-pronged approach. Because you’re a check-every-box kinda guy.”
Sculley shrugged.
“I think you knew my dad, didn’t you?”
“I certainly did.”
“You took care of his nursing home expenses for twenty years.”
“And you’ve come to thank me?”
“Actually, I’m here because I’ve finally gotten around to that Thomas Sculley piece. But the story has shifted a bit since I started.”
“Now, how do you mean?”
“My story details how you covered up the death of the Cabrera family in the Ted Williams Tunnel in 1996. How you paid people off-a policeman, the survivors, even a community activist-all to make sure nothing slowed down your progress.”
Sculley’s face was impassive. “What a grand story you’ve got there. A grand and fanciful story!”
“Not so fanciful. Fortunately, my dad left records of the payoffs he made for you.”
“Mr. Hoffman!” he thundered with a joyous smile, as if Rick had told him a wonderful joke. “Now it sounds like you’re threatening me! Shaking me down!”
“Not at all. I’m a journalist with a story to finish. Call it the ‘Rick Hoffman treatment.’”
Sculley stared at him for a long moment. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Hoffman, and it’s something I’ve always wanted to ask a journalist. What motivates you?” He squinted and tilted his head to one side. “Really, what motivates you? Why would you choose to be on the sidelines, watching the action? Why does a clever man such as yourself choose to be in the audience and not in the ring? This I’ve never understood.”
Rick smiled. “When I was in college, a famous journalist came to give a talk, and one of the students asked him the very same question. What motivates you? And the journalist said, ‘I’m just a guy who wants to know how the story ends.’ I’ve always liked that answer.”
“You’re an odd duck, Mr. Hoffman.”
“So let’s talk about those payoffs.”
Sculley snorted. “Payoffs? Do you know who had to be paid off to make the Big Dig happen? Everybody! Anyone with a complaint got bought off. The government bought air conditioners and soundproof windows, even new mattresses for homeowners in the North End who hated all the noise of the construction. Must have been ten thousand palms were greased. This is the way of the world, laddy. You didn’t come here to ask about that.”
“Then let me put it more pointedly. Your empire came with a body count. How the hell do you sleep at night?”
Sculley’s face flushed. “Do you have any idea how that tunnel has transformed this city? Boston traffic used to be a joke, a national punch line. Driving through downtown at rush hour used to take half an hour. Now it takes three minutes. Traveling to the airport is seventy-five percent faster. The Big Dig was the largest and most complex and most technologically challenging construction project in the history of this country.”
“That’s what they say.”
“Did a few poor souls die because of the Big Dig? Son, a hundred men died building the Hoover Dam. A thousand men died building the Erie Canal. Four hundred Chinamen died building the transcontinental railroad. How about the Panama Canal? One of the greatest engineering feats in history? Thirty thousand men died building it. Ambitious projects always cost lives, son. That’s the truth. Have you ever visited the great pyramids of Giza?”
Rick shook his head.
“They’ll take your breath away, they will. But nobody who sees them sheds tears for the thousands of men who died building them. A pharaoh had a vision, and that’s what remains. His vision. Do you know what would happen if they tried to build the pyramids today? There’d be a goddamned environmental impact review and a board of grievances and we’d have nothing more than a shelf full of pretty blueprints. The world is full of small men who want to tie the great ones down.”
A woman popped her head into the tent. Sculley held up a hand, palm out, and she immediately left.
“When small men get in the way of big things,” Sculley went on, “which d’ya think must go?”
“Small men. Like my father, you mean?”
Anger flashed in Sculley’s face. “That was a decision he made.” Then he gave Rick a basilisk smile, a snake regarding a mouse. “Do you know what the difference is between a man like your father and a man like me?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” Rick said acidly.
“Small men are always waiting for their opportunity. Great men seize the opportunity. Great men say yes to life. They’re not naysayers. Every day you face the decision-do you say yes or do you say no? Do you seize the opportunity? Your father left you three million dollars? The curse of the small bequest. Not enough money to do things with. Just enough money not to do things with. So the question for you is, What could you do with thirty million?”
“Just yesterday you tried to have me killed and now you’re offering me thirty million dollars?”
“I think I’m good at taking the measure of a man, up close and face-to-face. You’re ballsy. You’re sharp. But the question is, do you have the kind of spirit that says yes to opportunity? Thirty million, a man with imagination can do a thing or two with that kind of coin. Dream a little, my son. You can do anything you want with it. Set up your own news-gathering organization. Buy your own office building. You can choose to be one of the big apes, or you can be a microscopic louse nestling in their pubes. Which will it be?”
He placed an arm on Rick’s shoulder, his eyes boring in. “You know, there’s a saying in my business: Those who can, build. Those who can’t, criticize. So my question for you is, What kind of man are you? Do you want to be one of the big boys, the ones who build something great? Or the ones who just want to pull things down? Because it isn’t too late for you. A new day, a new decision. You’ve got the chance to take the money, ride the whirlwind, and do something special. Will you take it. Are you that man?”