I’d been wondering more and more about Patrick Pelinni’s position in our company. OK, he fixed things but sometimes I wondered how he’d managed to pull the rabbit from the proverbial hat when all seemed lost. An example was the Jim Levinski ‘Tomato Tsunami’ problem a few weeks previously when I was sure that Levinski would simply have written us off, no matter how illogical it might have been missing out on our projected annual return of 17%. Levinski, however had gobsmacked us by sending a gofer three days later with the requisite $2 million and nothing more had been said – at least from Levinski. Patrick however had mentioned it a few times and it had started to worry me.
We’d been in New York for just over six months and had a nice line of clients generating over $25 million for our first fund. People wanted a good return but also wanted us to keep things quiet. They never asked what we invested in and we never asked them where their money came from.
The six month marker meant we had to tell our clients what sort of progress we were making and a year-end projection for their money which shouldn’t have been a problem given we were already at 14% at the half-year mark.
We also had a number of supplier contracts to renew. We hadn’t known at the start how long we’d be in the Big Apple and we also didn’t know where our base might end up so we’d only signed short term deals with a range of suppliers. As Madison Avenue had proved to be the ideal spot, for a variety of reasons, and I was determined to extend our stay, it was now time to filter out the crap suppliers and negotiate new terms with the good ones.
One of the suppliers who had not lived up to their billing was the company who supplied our on-call limos which magically appeared at the entrance to the office whenever we needed them – apart from the increasing number of times when they didn’t and were late. When they did appear, the cars were ok but the drivers left a lot to be desired. On a number of occasions, I was sure the driver was listening into client conversations in the back and even when the partition widow had been raised at my request, I was certain that some sort of intercom device was allowing the driver to listen in, particularly when, on a couple of occasions, some strange stock-market movements were obvious just after we’d received a tip from a grateful client.
The problem with ‘Limos-on-Line’, was that they’d been recommended by Patrick and he was none too happy when I told him that this was the one suggestion he’d made which had turned out to be a turkey. No amount of persuasion on his part convinced me to change my mind – Limos-on-Line were toast, as they say.
I’d faxed the contract to our lawyer in London, Tanya, to establish our position, and to my astonishment she stated that we’d signed an open-ended contract - no time period and no clauses to prevent us being ripped off year after year as they had the right to raise prices at will.
Although I was concerned about this situation I was sure that (a) we could negotiate (pay?) our way out of the contract, and (b) as Patrick seemed to know the guys at Limos-on-Line, I was equally sure he would be able to ‘fix’ it as he normally did.
I called Frank Zupposi who was the guy at Limos who I used to get Samantha to call when we had a complaint and asked him to pop over and see me with the existing contract. A couple of days later, a gofer from Limos arrived and said Frank and his boss, a guy called Blanco, would meet me in the VIP area at a sleazy strip club called Privilege on W23rd street.
The gofer suggested that I took our version of the contract with us which made me wonder if Limos still had their copy. It was only six months old but I’d heard that Limos were having problems with the Mayor’s department. Maybe we had an advantage after all?
Three days later, Mick, one of my commercial guys and myself were seated in the VIP area of Privilege desperately trying to keep our minds on the business to hand as girls cavorted all round us. Frank and Blanco wandered in as if they owned the place just as I ordered my second gin and tonic. Niceties were short and sweet. I told them their service was crap and they said that that was unfortunate but that we had an open-ended contract and not only that, they had the right to increase the prices as and when they liked and they’d decided to push them up by 50% for the next six months.
I laughed into my G&T and trying to be a true New Yorker, told them to go fuck themselves. Mick who had taken a back seat until now chipped in with a ‘yeah – go fuck yourselves.’
Face red with outrage, Frank stood up and was ready to storm out when I took out my mobile and dialled the office. ‘Lynn – bring over the Limos contract please’. I told her where we were. She’d been expecting my call and had hopefully done what I’d asked with the contract but the surprise in her voice was obvious. ‘You want me to bring it where?’
And so twenty minutes later, a rather sheepish Lynn appeared with a large jiffy-bag and handed it to me, trying to avert her eyes from what was happening on the stage behind her. I then asked Lynn to leave which she did, still trying to cover her eyes as she tried to find the red-curtained exit.
‘OK’, I said. ‘The full contract is in this envelope – and I guarantee that it’s the contract between our organisation and Limos-on-Line. If you guys can point out the clause where it has no time limit and where it says you can raise your prices, I’ll accept it, but, if you cannot point out the relevant clauses, we can forget it and we’ll take our business elsewhere. Agreed?’
Frank and Blanco looked at each other barely able to believe what I’d just said. They knew what had been in the contract despite having to destroy theirs when the Mayor’s Compliance Unit had visited them a few months previously. It was ‘in the bag’ as far as they were concerned.’ Agreed’, said Frank.
I slowly ripped off the top of the jiffy bag making sure all the grey fluffy material went over Blanco’s expensive blue suit but before presenting the contract, I lifted my G&T and finished it. Mick did likewise.
I pulled open the top of the envelope, turned it upside down and emptied the contract onto the table. It was shredded. Well done Lynn, she’d carried out my instructions to the letter.
Frank and Blanco looked at it in disbelief.
Mick and I got up. ‘Go fuck yourselves’, Mick said. ‘Yeah – go fuck yourselves’, I added and we headed for the door. If Mick was shaking as much as I was, it didn’t show.
