Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 00.5 - Envision This (2 page)

There was some discussion about the pay. Tubby got Jason on the phone and they worked all that out. Tubby vouched for Raisin’s character and the deal was done.

“So,” Raisin said when they hung up. “This should be fun.” He signaled for another drink.

“Not too much fun,” Tubby warned. “Jason is sleeping with a .9 millimeter and you need to be on your toes.”

“Don’t worry about me boss. I can handle this.” Raison squared his jaw and stuck a Camel between his lips.

“I know you can, brother. You’re a survivor.”

Raisin lit his smoke and drained his glass till the ice rattled against his teeth.

“That I am, boss. That I am.”

* * *

So it went for the next 24 hours.

Tubby had other business to attend to, part of which involved actually going to his office downtown in the Place Palais building and getting brought up to speed on all his files by Cherrylynn, his irreplaceable secretary. She ran things pretty well without him and was indispensable when it came to reminding him of upcoming court appearances. That and getting paid. She was great at collecting bills.

“Mrs. Margolis is finally sending a check,” she cheered. “$314,000 came in her mail today, she said, and our $50,000 is on the way.”

“Believe it when you see it,” Tubby snapped. But he fist-bumped her. He had been trying to conclude the Margolis divorce for nearly ten years. The logjam of motions finally broke when Mr. Margolis found a new love who wanted babies and he decided there were things more important than money. More important even than lots of money.

“I think that case started about the same time I came to work for you, Mr. Dubonnet.”

“That could be true, Cherrylynn. You’ve been here a long time.”

She had truly been with him for some great years. She was absent of course for those lonely hectic months after the hurricane. Tubby was busy trying to get his house back together and scavenging for business. Anything, but it was hard with the courthouse closed and all the people gone. Cherrylynn was lost to him somewhere in Texas. Something to do with an old friend. When Tubby re-opened his practice, she took her sweet time coming back – stopping first for a few months down in Plaquemines Parish to help some kind of cousin hoist a mobile home onto pilings 10 feet in the air on top of the slab that had formerly been his house. She still went down to visit him almost every weekend, and she emphasized the fact that they were “really distant” cousins.

Tubby tried to check in with Jason mid-morning Friday. It took several unsuccessful calls and as a lawyer, he was naturally concerned. When Jason finally came to the phone he sounded hung-over.

He managed to communicate that Raisin, the errant bodyguard, was sleeping on the couch. Yet Jason did not seem troubled by this. He assured Tubby there was nothing to worry about. He and Raisin were having a blast. Tubby started to say something but held his tongue. Jason’s bodyguard was Jason’s business.

He did find time for a little research on RevelationIt. They had a splendid website that advertised several lines of business in vivid color: military procurement, disaster relief, but most prominently, venture capital “in an innovative sphere of incubating technical advances.” The company reported several amazing success stories, such as bringing to market an e-entertainment distributor that had gone public. Tubby hadn’t heard of any of them.

With so much to look at on the web, the company must be legit. The featured executives, heralded for their business acumen, seemed to be all-stars retired from Fortune 500 corporations, or else they were former military.

Tubby was expecting to meet at least three of them on Saturday. They were Jerry Pratt, former test pilot for NASA, and Foxx Beaner, former hedge fund manager for Bilgesuks Growth Markets, a “Deep South Dynamo.” Then there was Bastrop Pillsbury, professor emeritus of mathematical theory at Christian Evangelical University in Ponderville, Texas.

The whole gang was due at Tubby’s office at 11 o’clock.

“I’ll make a big pot of coffee,” Cherrylynn promised.

* * *

The Mississippians stormed the Place Palais building like a football team coming onto a rival’s home field. They were packed tight together, all in blazers, all shaking hands at once, as they introduced themselves to Cherrylynn and moments later to Tubby, who stepped into the anteroom to greet them. The air was sweet with breath mints and cologne and loud with hellos.

Jerry Pratt, the military guy, was blond, short and wiry. His glad-to-meet-you came out fast, like one word, and he gave Tubby the impression he liked a good scrap and was looking for a manly contest. Foxx Beaner, the money man, was big all over except for his face. His expansive arms reached for Cherrylynn, and Tubby feared he would crush her to his wide chest. Yet he had small features, a mouth the size of a ping pong ball when open and like a little toe when he closed his lips. And his eyes were specks of rare life rolling down the sand dune of his forehead.

The evangelical mathematician, Bastrop Pillsbury, was nearly a mirror image of Jason. He had the same tall, loose frame, and the same neat black beard. Only Pillsbury was bald on top. He spoke with a Texas twang and there was an immense gold ring on the index finger of his right hand that must be a tribute to his alma mater. His teeth so white they suggested recent expensive reconditioning. Tubby thought he might be an inch taller than Jason, but there was no way to see if that was right because Jason wasn’t there.

* * *

Cherrylynn got them all settled in the big conference room with its panoramic view of cruise ships and grain barges toiling up the Mississippi River. She took everyone’s orders for coffee and sodas.

“Find Jason and Raisin,” Tubby whispered in her ear before taking a seat at the head of the table. The three wise men assembled there looked at him expectantly.

“Mr. Boaz is on his way,” Tubby said with hope in his voice. “You gentlemen have already seen the capabilities of his invention?”

Pratt nodded but Pillsbury Bastrop, the math whiz, fielded the question.

“We’ve seen his monograph describing the lenses conceptually, and Mr. Boaz gave us an interesting demonstration on Skype. That’s why we’re here. Seeing is believing, as it were.”

“Then you know these lenses could revolutionize how we access knowledge.” Tubby was bullshitting, not having actually seen any “monograph” or anything other than what could have been ingenious bar tricks in a fancy dining room. Where the heck was Jason?

“Not every twinkle in the eye leads to ‘Honey, I’m home,’” said Foxx Beamer. He had the drawl to go with the speech. “And not every drop of oil is a gusher. We’ve got the dough to make great ideas grow, but you better believe we’ve got to see the goods.”

“We have our firm brochure right here to show you what we do,” Jerry Pratt said, popping open his briefcase, “and of course our form contracts if we get that far.”

Tubby sniffed at the idea that any client of his would ever sign a form contract, but he reached for the documents as they came sliding down the smooth marble table. Happily, Cherrylynn showed up with a tray of coffee cups, cream and sugar.

“Mr. Boaz is in the building,” she reported.

And indeed he was, but Tubby’s relief was short-lived. Jason came in unsteady and rumpled, khaki pants and guayabera shirt, looking like he’d slept in them and maybe on the floor. His bleary eyes and sheepish worried expression completed the look. Even his goatee seemed to be off center. It pointed toward his right shoulder.

Raisin slunk in behind him, wearing shorts and an Izod shirt as if he was about to take off for the tennis courts. He sported shades, which was probably a blessing. He was carrying a briefcase, too. Undoubtedly it contained the invention the inventor was too hung-over to be trusted with.

The visitors from Mississippi exchanged glances but rose as one to greet the meeting’s unsteady center of attention. Jason shuffled around the table to pump their hands and introduce himself. Tubby, watching silently, could feel the dollars floating out the window. He began thinking of more pleasant things he could be doing with this Saturday morning. A walk in the park with one of his daughters. A Bloody Mary at the horse track.

He stopped himself and boomed out, “This is Raisin Partlow, Mr. Boaz’s associate.” He pointed Raisin and Jason to their chairs.

“Let’s have some more coffee,” he called to Cherrylynn, who was standing by the door disapproving of everything. She was a Puritan except when it came to her unexplained disappearances once or twice a year. She shook her head and split.

“Jason,” the lawyer proclaimed, to get everyone’s attention, “I understand that these fellas met you, uh, electronically…” Tubby wasn’t quite sure what a Skype was…. “but they have travelled here to meet with us and for the purpose of seeing a demonstration of your work…” He looked around the table and saw three heads nod. “I understand that their business is bringing venture capital to great ideas, so, of course, one of the objects of this meeting is to talk about whose capital, how much capital, etc…” This time when he looked around only Raisin nodded back, “So, uh…”

“We’d like to see it work,” Pillsbury interrupted, making a church of his hands and touching them to the tip of his nose.

Raisin burped.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Cherrylynn brought in two more cups of coffee and plopped them down in front of the latecomers.

Jason inhaled deeply, blew it out, and took a long swallow from his cup. He inhaled deeply again and coughed.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “you see before you a man in less than stellar shape. My brain is obviously not working at its best. But it is in just such a situation as this that my innovation, which I have decided to call ‘Myenvision,’ proves most…” He was at a loss for the word.

“Useful?” Tubby suggested.

“Yes, that’s it,” Jason said gratefully. “Useful. So let me give you an example. I am wearing my devices now.”

“What’s the square root of 2012?” Pillsbury blurted out.

Jason rolled his eyes. “45.855323,” he responded.

“What’s the torque of a Magnabell converter shaft?” Pratt shot out.

Again with the eyes. “For the Marine Torpedo Deflector? Three thousand and eighty-two foot-pounds.”

“I think that’s classified,” Pratt said, impressed.

“What’s the market going to do tomorrow?” Beaner asked. Raisin perked up his ears for that one.

“Haven’t got a clue, guys. But of course this is just a prototype. You could develop almost any program you want for this. And guess what? These lenses are also pretty damn good sunglasses. I can make them go from red to green. Even black if you want to go to sleep on a sunny day. Just tap it in from your cell phone.” Jason demonstrated with the iPhone in his hand. “Even a child can do it.”

“You say that what you’re wearing is just a prototype,” Pratt mused. “Is that the only set there is?”

“Why, yes it is. They weren’t exactly cheap to make.”

“And you haven’t yet patented your idea?”

“No, I haven’t. I figure I could leave that project up to you.”

“It could be quite involved,” the mathematician opined. “I would surmise that you are borrowing from similar technologies.”

“No doubt about that,” Jason agreed, “but I have put them together in an original way. I would guess that the Microsofts and IBMs might make things tough for a while.”

“Sounds expensive,” Beaner complained.

“The upside is in the billions,” Tubby threw in.

“Hundreds of billions.” Raisin added. “Maybe thousands of billions.”

That sat there for almost a minute.

“Well, what is it you want from us?” Pratt said finally.

Tubby was about to make something up, but Jason got there first.

“A million dollars and a piece of the action.”

“How big a piece.”

“Fifty percent,” Jason said.

Pratt snorted. “Five percent is our standard.”

“Thirty-Five,” Jason responded.

“Wait, wait,” Tubby and Beaner were putting up their hands at the same time. “We can get down to specifics later,” the lawyer said hastily. “I see that these men are definitely interested.”

“I’d have to see it work.” Beaner said. “In my own eyes.”

“We can do that,” Jason said. “Some lens cleaning solution, my man, if you please.”

Raisin opened his briefcase.

It took quite a while to fit Beaner with the contact lenses. He and Jason had to retire to the men’s room to accomplish the task. The others waited patiently and exchanged stories about life on the Gulf Coast, the lingering effects of the BP oil spill, and how the Saints’ draft was going.

Finally they returned and Beaner looked quite normal, or as normal as before, though he used the edge of the table as a guide while he made his way to his chair.

“As I was just explaining to Mr. Beaner,” Jason said, “the lenses can actually be adjusted to your personal vision, just like prescription glasses, except you can do it yourself. That alone is worth a fortune even if you weren’t able to link them to the Internet. Our friend Foxx here has assured me that his vision is perfectly ok the way it is. But would you like a little tint, my man?”

Jason tapped his iPhone. “Just a hint of gray to shield out the bright lights?”

“This is pretty cool.” Beaner sounded enthusiastic. “How about some green. Yeah, I like that. Okay. Give me something to do.”

“Let’s see, what would you be doing if you were in your Biloxi office?”

“Probably checking the Dow futures.”

“Okay, can you see that keyboard in your left eye? Think where your eyebrow is.”

“Yeah, I sure do.”

“See how you can scroll along. Look at that “D.”

“Got it.”

“All right. Just give us a “Dow” and a “Jones.”

“By God!” Beaner exclaimed. “I see it! This thing might be worth some money after all.”

After that they all got downright chummy.

The other men wanted to try the lenses, but Beaner was reluctant to give them up.

Tubby tried to turn the discussion back to money. Raisin just hummed “billions,” every few seconds. No one pulled out a checkbook, but all the lights were green.