Page 51 of Blame it on the Bet
He nods and leans in, using his index finger to trace a line on the map with his finger.
“I know these parts. Very isolated community in the winter.”
“That’s why we’re looking to put a new supermarket there,” I explain, pointing to an area on the large, multicolor blueprint of the Hawkeye state.
Another nod as he considers this.
“So, not all your projects are malls and movie theaters?”
“Hardly,” I say, gently prodding the cat. He doesn’t move, so I tip the chair forward and he tumbles off, landing on his feet with an indignant meow. “Michelle’s looking for you,” I tell him as I shoo him away. I take the nicely warmed seat, open my laptop, and bring up a folder, waving King in for a closer look.
“Here,” I say, pointing to a picture of a gleaming white building. “That’s a new hospital in Missouri. And this…” I click and drag another image to the fore of the screen. “This is a senior center in Wisconsin. I mean, I do my share of commercial projects, but my skill set applies to more humanitarian objectives as well.”
“So how does it work, then, what you do?”
“I scout regions for investors. They want a movie theater, I find a venue that has a high likelihood of success based on placement, the size of the community, stuff like that. It’s essentially the same process if someone wants to invest in something like a clinic or a recycling center.”
King seems to consider this. “And here in Mayhem, you want to put up a movie theater.”
“I do,” I admit. “I think it could be a real asset to the region and bring some cash flow into Mayhem.”
“And what if we don’t want it?”
“Well, now, that’s always the question, isn’t it? Then, it comes down to you guys. I can’t build a thing that doesn’t have the consent of the town council and permits from the zoning board.”
King nods silently and works his way over to the calendar I have posted. I’ve highlighted a block of days and written countdown numbers in each box.
“This is how long Hennessy has before the loan’s due.” His words aren’t a question, they’re a statement of fact. I’m not sure if he’s guessed or if he knows something about this situation.
“Yes, it is. She’s down to a month now. I know she’s had some influx of cash, what with the chili cook-off and the new darts league, but I doubt she’s got more than ten-thousand toward the hundred she needs.”
I’m surprised to find that my words make me feel a little anxious for her. I’m even more surprised when crotchety old King Colby seems to pick up on this fact.
“You could be watching this all from Los Angeles,” he observes.
“Yes, I could be.”
“You’ve been here for nearly three weeks now.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Will you put in a bid if the property goes to sheriff’s auction?”
“It won’t go to sheriff’s auction.”
He eyeballs me for a few moments, head-to-toe, then, without warning, flips my board over so we’re looking at maps of Mayhem and pictures of the O’Halloran’s.
“I thought as much,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“Did you?” I really want to know. I’m always curious to find out what it is that tips people off to me and my actions.
“Yup. You look at everything. You listen to everyone. You want to know the inner workings of this town in a way that most people don’t pay much attention to.”
“And what does that tell you about me?” I press, folding my arms and turning slightly to face him.
King scratches the white stubble on his chin before meeting my eyes.
“Tells me you care. More than you want people to know.”
