Ringwald opened his briefcase and removed a folded property map, which he held on his knees. He, as Vice President of Development, preferred to deal with smaller realty agents. The big firms had too many people hanging around, too many overweight housewives reading classifieds and waiting for the slightest morsel of gossip. "You got that right!" Hoppy said, staring at the property map. "Plus you get better service from a small agency, like mine."
"You have been highly recommended," Ringwald said, and Hoppy couldn't suppress a smile. The phone rang. It was the senior in high school wanting to know what was for supper and when might Mother be coming home. Hoppy was pleasant but short. He was very busy, he explained, and there might be some old lasagna in the freezer.
The property map was unfolded on Hoppy's desk. Ringwald pointed to a large red-colored plot in Hancock County, next door to Harrison and the westernmost of the three coastal counties. Both men hovered over the desk from different sides.
"MGM Grand is coming here," Ringwald said, pointing to a large bay. "But no one knows it yet. You certainly can't tell anyone."
Hoppy's head was shaking Hell No! before Ringwald finished.
"They're gonna build the biggest casino on the Coast, probably middle of next year. They'll announce in three months. They'll buy a hundred acres or so of this land here."
"That's beautiful land. Virtually untouched." Hoppy had never been near the property with a real estate sign, but he had lived on the Coast for forty years.
"We want this," Ringwald said, pointing again to the land marked in red. It was adjacent to the north and west of the MGM land. "Five hundred acres, so we can do this." He pulled the top sheet back to reveal an artist's rendering of a rather splendid Planned Unit Development. It was labeled Stillwater Bay with bold blue letters across the top. Condos, office buildings, big homes, smaller homes, playgrounds, churches, a central square, a shopping mall, a pedestrian mall, a dock, a marina, a business block, parks, jogging paths, bike trails, even a proposed high school. It was Utopia, all planned for Hancock County by some wonderfully farsighted people in Las Vegas.
"Wow," Hoppy said. There was a bloody fortune on his desk.
"Four different phases over five years. The whole thing will cost thirty million. It's by far the biggest development ever seen in these parts."
"Nothing can touch it."
Ringwald flipped another page and revealed another drawing of the dock area, then another for a close-up of the residential section. "These are just the preliminary drawings. I'll show you more if you can come to the home office."
"Vegas."
"Yes. If we can reach an agreement on your representation, then we'd like to fly you out for a few days, you know, meet our people, see the whole project from the design end."
Hoppy's knees wobbled and he took a breath. Slow down, he told himself. "Yes, and what type of representation did you have in mind?"
"Initially, we need a broker to handle the purchase of the land. Once we buy it, we have to convince the local authorities to approve the development. This, as you know, can take time and become controversial. We spend a lot of time before planning commissions and zoning boards. We even go to court when necessary. But it's just part of our business. You'll be involved to some extent at this point. Once it's approved, we'll need a real estate firm to handle the marketing of Stillwater Bay."
Hoppy backed into his chair and pondered figures for a moment. "How much will the land cost?" he asked.
"It's expensive, much too expensive for this area. Ten thousand an acre, for land worth about half that much."
Ten thousand an acre for five hundred acres added up to five million bucks, six percent of which was three hundred thousand dollars for Hoppy's commission, assuming of course no other realtors were to be involved. Ringwald watched poker-faced as Hoppy did the mental math. "Ten thousand's too much," Hoppy said with authority.
"Yes, but the land is not on the market. The sellers don't really want to sell, so we have to sneak in quickly, before the MGM story leaks, and snatch it. That's why we need a local agent. If word hits the street that a big company from Vegas is looking at the land, it'll go to twenty thousand an acre. Happens all the time."
The fact that the land was not on the market caused Hoppy's heart to stutter. No other realtors were involved! Just him. Just little Hoppy and his full six percent commission. His ship had finally come in. He, Hoppy Dupree, after decades of selling duplexes to pensioners, was about to make a killing.
Not to mention the "marketing of Stillwater Bay." All those houses and condos and commercial properties, hell thirty million dollars' worth of red-hot property with Dupree Realty signs hanging all over it. Hoppy could be a millionaire in five years, he decided on the spot.
Ringwald moved in. "I'm assuming your commission is eight percent. That's what we normally pay."
"Of course," Hoppy said, the words rushing forward over a very dry tongue. From three hundred thousand to four hundred thousand, just like that. "Who are the sellers?" he asked, quickly changing the subject now that they'd agreed on eight percent.
Ringwald allowed a noticeable sigh and his shoulders sagged, but only for an instant. "This is where it gets complicated." Hoppy's heart sank.
"The property is in the sixth district of Hancock County," Ringwald said slowly. "And the sixth district is the domain of a county supervisor by the name of-"
"Jimmy Hull Moke," Hoppy interrupted, with no small measure of sadness. "You know him?"
"Everybody knows Jimmy Hull. He's been in office for thirty years. Slickest crook on the Coast."
"Do you know him personally?"
"No. Only by reputation."
"Which we've heard is rather shady."
"Shady is a compliment to Jimmy Hull. On a local level, the man controls everything in his end of the county."
Ringwald offered a puzzled look as if he and his company had no clue about how to proceed. Hoppy rubbed his sad eyes and plotted to keep his fortune. They made no eye contact for a full minute, then Ringwald said, "It's not wise to buy the land unless we can get some assurances from Mr. Moke and the local people. As you know, there will be a maze of regulatory approvals for the project."
"Planning, zoning, architectural review, soil erosion, you name it," Hoppy said, as if he fought these wars every day.
"We've been told that Mr. Moke controls all of this."
"With an iron fist."
Another pause.
"Perhaps we should arrange a meeting with Mr. Moke," Ringwald said.
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Meetings don't work."
"I'm not following you."
"Cash. Pure and simple. Jimmy Hull likes it under the table, large sacks of it in unmarked bills."
Ringwald nodded with a solemn grin as if this was unfortunate but not unexpected. "So we've heard," he said, almost to himself. "Actually, this is not unusual, especially in areas where casinos have appeared. There's lots of fresh foreign money and people get greedy."
"Jimmy Hull was born greedy. He was stealing thirty years before casinos appeared here."
"He doesn't get caught?"
"No. For a local supervisor, he's pretty bright. Everything's in cash, no trail, he covers himself carefully. Then again, it doesn't take a rocket scientist." Hoppy tapped his forehead lightly with a handkerchief. He bent forward and removed two tumblers from a lower drawer, then a bottle of vodka. He poured two stiff drinks and placed one across the desk in front of Ringwald. "Cheers," he said before Ringwald touched his glass