Still the Same Man Read Free

then flung into a corner. He put on the first polo shirt he came across in his heap of clothes and grabbed his wallet, his satellite cell phone, and the car keys.
    “Where are you going?” asked his wife. “The busses are coming to pick us up in a couple of hours.”
    “I need to get some air. Throw the rest of my things together, will you please?”
    And before leaving, he added, “I’ll be back in time.”
    A minute later, he was on the road.

He was driving along a monotonous, straight stretch of road when his phone rang. Before answering he made a mental calculation of the time in Spain. Just after eleven at night.
    “We have to talk,” said a deep, male voice.
    It was the same voice that, over the last several months, had become as familiar to him as his wife and daughter’s. The voice seemed astonishingly close. He noted the graveness in it, which unnerved him. This wasn’t the time for graveness. Each and every point in the agreement had been clearly laid out, had been revised, reconsidered, re-written, and revised again.
    He felt his back tense up. He drove with one hand on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the horizon where all the highway lanes converged in a single vanishing point.
    “All right, let’s talk. Is there a problem?”
    The second the question slipped out, he regretted it, as if the mere mention of a problem were enough to invoke one.
    “There is, in fact,” said the voice. “Something’s come up.”
    “I thought everything had been agreed on.”
    “I mean
someone
has come up.”
    A long pause.
    “His price and conditions are pretty interesting. I’ve just received an offer.”
    Another pause.
    “You see, kid, I like your numbers, but I’d be lying if I said that these guys haven’t impressed me.”
    “Who’s the offer from?”
    “You know it would be wrong to tell you.”
    “And you know that I can find out without your help.”
    “So find out.”
    Another pause. Joanes took a deep breath.
    “What are they offering?” he asked.
    “I can’t tell you that, either.”
    “Oh, come on . . .”
    “More or less the same as you, but for a better price.”
    Joanes swore under his breath. He didn’t have any margin left for further discounts. If he lowered the price, he’d lose money.
    “Well then?” he said, gathering all the strength he could. “What happens now?”
    “You seem trustworthy, kid, you really do,” came the voice at the other end of the line, “but we’re going to have to review your offer.”
    “What do you want to review? There’s nothing to review. And anyhow, I’m in Mexico. They’re evacuating us because of the hurricane. You must have heard about it on the news.”
    The voice spoke again, and this time the graveness had an added dose of testiness to it—the last thing the man wanted to hear about were other people’s problems; he had more than enough of his own.
    “Listen up, our decision is now between your offer and the one I’ve just received. And, to be honest, the balance is tipping toward the latter. We want to settle the matter as soon as possible. We’re meeting tomorrow to make a decision.”
    “Who are you meeting with? I thought it was up to you.”
    “It’s never up to one person alone. Less still when there’s so much money in the mix.”
    “Well that’s the impression you’ve always given me.”
    “Wait for our call tomorrow,” said the voice, now curt. “We’ll let you know what we decide.”
    “Call me before the meeting,” Joanes said. “I’ll review my offer tonight. Improve it.”
    “In all honesty, I don’t think it’ll make any difference.”
    “You owe it to me.”
    “I don’t owe you a thing. Don’t be under any false illusions.”
    “You’ll call?”
    “I’m not promising.”
    “So then I’ll call you. I’ll find a way to drop the price.”
    “No. I’ll call you,” said the voice before hanging up.

    He switched on his emergency blinkers and pulled over to the shoulder, a ramshackle