Black Buck(69)

“I have nothing to lose, Barry. Nothing. My mother died last week. As you said, Sumwun has startup syphilis, and everyone I’ve ever known hates me. So that’s why I’m calling you. To ask you to take a small risk and buy a couple thousand licenses for your employees and those in your portfolio companies.”

I could hear him breathing on the other end. Everyone at Sumwun leaned in closer, wiping sweat off their brows, hyperventilating. The elevators rang open. Two police officers pushed through the doors.

“Him,” Clyde said, pointing at me.

“How’d your mother die?” Barry asked.

“Lung cancer. I didn’t even know she had it.”

“Fuck,” he said, exhaling. “My mom died a few years ago. Also cancer. I knew she had it, so we were able to make the most of her time, but it was still a bitch.”

Rhett went over to speak with the cops, giving me time.

“Does it get easier?”

He laughed. “Not really, kid. Sorry. But distracting yourself with work helps.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Anyway, man, I appreciate you taking the call. I figured it was worth a shot, but I also understand why you don’t want to be associated with us.”

The cops headed back to the elevators, and Rhett walked over, bringing a phone to his ear. Everyone looked deflated. Some, realizing defeat, stopped listening and walked off the floor.

“Wait,” Barry said. “What’ll five hundred K get me?”

Rhett dug his nails into my shoulder.

“Twenty-five hundred licenses,” I said, my heart beating faster than Uma Thurman’s after her adrenaline shot in Pulp Fiction.

“That’s not good enough,” he sang.

I looked at Rhett. He wrote something on a Post-it and shoved it in my face: ANYTHING.

“What else do you want?”

He laughed again. This time deeper, longer, and slower. “I want you, my man. I want you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that every second you’re not at Sumwun you work for me.”

My hands were shaking. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was ready for him to yell, “PSYCH” before hanging up. But I had to keep going, just in case. “And what does working for you entail?”

“Oh, a lot of things. Helping me with investments. Running errands. Putting some of your raw potential to proper use. If you make me money, I’ll make you money, but it’ll come at a price. And I’m not talking a measly five hundred grand. Doing this deal, Buck, the deal I’m bringing to the table, means I own you.”

I didn’t know Barry aside from his reputation as an energetic, ruthless, and pompous businessman, which made the prospect of being “owned” by him as appealing as chewing nails. But when I looked at Rhett, I already knew what I’d have to do. He gave me the opportunity I’d always wanted but didn’t know I needed; despite managing hundreds of employees, he made me feel as if I were the only person in the world when he looked at me, and I couldn’t let that go, especially now, when I’d lost everyone who had ever meant anything to me.

“Okay, Barry,” I said. “We have a deal.”

“And what does having a deal mean, Buck? I want to hear you say it.”

I took a deep breath and looked around the room. Everyone stared at me, nodding. Back during Hell Week, they went to bat for me when I needed it most, and I needed to do the same for them. I truly believed in this company, so I had to give myself to it, to do whatever it took to save it.

Reader: In the same way there’s no such thing as a halfway crook, there’s no such thing as a halfway success. In sales and life, you’re either all in or you’re not. And if you’re not, then step the fuck aside before you get run over by someone who is.



I closed my eyes and gripped the receiver tighter. “It means you own me, Barry. I’m yours.”





IV.



Demonstration





For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and suffer the loss of his soul?

—JESUS CHRIST





6 Months Later



20





“Rise and shine, America! This morning, our guest is someone you may recognize from six months ago. When he was last with us, Darren “Buck” Vender was defending his company, Sumwun, after an incident with a young girl and one of the service’s assistants. But today, Buck’s here to discuss how he went from a young no-name cold-caller to what every major news outlet, blog, and magazine is calling the best salesman in New York City. Buck, thanks for joining us.”

“My pleasure, Sandra. Thank you for inviting me back on, especially after the fun time we had last year,” I said, looking into her eyes, chuckling on cue.

“So,” she said, crossing her legs, leaning toward me. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” I asked, grinning.

“Well”—she waved her hands in front of me—“this. The expensive suit. Slicked-back hair. Everyone in New York knows about how you single-handedly saved Sumwun from certain death. You’ve spoken to crowds of hundreds of people; written articles for the New York Times, Forbes, the Wall Street Journal, and countless others; and you’re basically the poster boy for New York City tech sales. Plus, everyone knows you’re Barry Dee’s protégé. Tell us about that.”