Fiction: Jaudon – An American Family (a novel) [26]

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Chapter 26. The Oil Game

Claude took a suite at the Royal Houston Hotel on the main street of town. He had a bedroom and a sitting room, and a private bath with a large tub and running water. He had a desk moved in and one of the new fancy telephones for his desk. There was yet to be any long-distance calling, but most businesses in downtown Houston were now hooked into the switchboard exchange. His first call was to Ricardo. “This is Claude. Did you get the men out doing their jobs?”
    All lines in town were party lines, so the business conversations had to be somewhat in code. “I contacted them and they are on the job. Where are you?”
    “I’m in the Royal Houston. Meet me for lunch downstairs in an hour.”
    “I’ll see you then.”
    The line went dead with a click from the other end, and then Claude heard a second click. He smiled. There couldn’t be much future for this telephone thing, if anybody and their brother could listen to what you were saying. He had a teletype moved in. It took longer than a phone call but it was much more secure.
    At lunch, he informed Ricardo that he wouldn’t be transferring all their money to his bank. “My father is a rancher, and, as such, I have decided to keep the oil business separate from the ranching. I’ve contacted our lawyer in San Antonio and had the oil business moved into my name alone. The new company name will be Jaudon Oil Exploration – JOE.”
    This didn’t fit into Ricardo’s plan at all. “What if you run out of money? I can’t give you a loan without collateral. The account was the basis for our deal.”
    Claude drank some of their red French wine and knew what was coming next might tear their friendship apart forever. “You’ll be doing fine with the money from my oil business filling your bank. But this is a new day, and a new way of doing business. First, I want you to contact the men getting the leases and tell them to report to me here at the hotel. The company I’m forming will have a finance manager. You and me, meeting like this, will not be happening again. When we meet, it will not be about business matters. My finance manager will be dealing with banks and loans. There will be an office manager and a project manager. These will be the people that will contact you if there is something I need, and they will be the people you must contact.”
    Claude wiped his mouth and stood. “The lunch is on me. Thank you for coming.”
    Ricardo watched Claude’s back as he turned the corner. The waiter came and asked if he wanted more wine. Ricardo looked blankly at the waiter. “What did you say?”
    “Wine, sir. Do you want another glass?”

Claude stepped out of the hotel and walked two blocks to a realtor’s office. Jeffrey Wright was in his office alone. He was as tall as Claude but skinny as a rail. He had light brown hair with a small goatee and a suit that looked too big for him. They introduced each other. Jeff, as he wanted to be called, had a friendly smile and a firm handshake. Claude liked him from the start.
    Claude was offered a chair, and after he settled in, Jeff asked him, “What can I do for you, Mr. Jaudon?”
    “I’m looking for office space. I prefer to look at buildings standing alone in case I wish to expand.”
    Jeff walked to a shelf filled with large albums and brought one back to his desk. “I have pictures of a few properties that fit that description.”
    Claude looked at a number of pictures before stopping at one. “This one. This is the one I want to see.”
    Jeff stood up. “Let’s go take a look at it. It’s been empty for some time now. We should be able to get it at a reasonable price.”
    As they stepped out the front door, a boy on a bike stopped and asked, “Either one of you Mr. Wright?”
    Jeff stepped forward. “I’m Wright. What do you have for me?”
    The boy handed Jeff a large envelope, and Jeff took a few coins from his pant’s pocket and handed them to the boy, who shoved them into a pants pocket. “Thank you, sir.”
    Before the boy could take off, Claude stopped him. “Hold up a minute. I’d like to talk to you for a second.” Claude had never seen a delivery service before.
    The boy, who looked to be maybe fourteen, stared at Claude inquisitively. Claude smiled at him. “How much do you make a day doing this?”
    “I make a dollar, sometimes a buck-fifty. I work hard, but it puts food on my mama’s table.”
    Claude laughed. “I’m sure you do work hard. Do you know your way around Houston?”
    “I lived here all my life and worked the streets most of it. My papa was killed when I was four. I begged on these streets until I was big enough to work. There is very little I don’t know about this town.”
    “How would you like to come to work for me?”
    “How much does it pay?”
    Claude looked at Jeff quizzically before turning back to the boy. “Don’t you want to know what the job is?”
    “If the pay is right, I don’t care what the job is.”
    “That’s fair enough. I’ll pay you five dollars a day. I may not have anything for you to do but sit around all day, but I want you to be available when I need you. How does that sound?”
    “When do I start?”
    “Right now. Did you hear about the oil well strike a few days ago?”
    “I heard. Up in Corsicana?”
    “Jeff, can we put his bike in your office? I’m going to stop and see that fellow from the train station who was picking up a bike with a motor on it. He’s got it chained to a pole outside the Royal Houston. I may have to pay dearly for it. That is, if he will sell it.”

    They walked to the hotel and Claude did pay dearly for the motorized bike. Its seller showed the boy how to work it, and the boy jumped on and pedaled to start the motor. Claude watched as the kid seemed to get the feel of the bike within minutes. He rode down the street and circled back, stopping in front of the two men. Claude handed him five dollars. “Here’s your first day’s pay. And here’s five more for expenses. I want you to catch the work train to Corsicana, load this bike on it, and get up there.”
    Claude removed a business card from his coat pocket. “I want you to give this to the foreman who was on the rig that hit the oil. His picture has been in all the newspapers. His name is William Black. Ask around until you find him. Ask him to please get in touch with me. I have a business deal to discuss with him. You think you can do that?”
    “Easy as pie.” The boy started to leave, but Claude caught the handlebars. “By the way, what’s your name?”
    “Cornell Stevens.”
    Claude put out his hand and they shook. “I’m Claude Jaudon, Cornell. Welcome aboard. Try not to get into trouble up there.”
    “I’ve lived all this time on the streets of Houston. In a little town like Corsicana – shoot, they won’t even know I’m there.”
    “We’ll meet back at Mr. Wright’s office as soon as you return from Corsicana. But just so you know: if you don’t show up, I’ll have the sheriff hunt you down.”
    Cornell already had the bike moving and shouted, “As long as I’m getting paid, I’ll always show up.”
    As Claude and Jeff listened to the little motor on the bike kick in and watched the dust cloud rise behind Cornell, Jeff said, “You know, you could have gotten a white boy a lot cheaper than what you’re paying that colored kid.”
    Claude turned toward Jeff with fire in his eyes. “Jeff, if I ever hear another racist thing come out of your mouth, you’ll never buy another piece of property for me!”
    Jeff was taken aback. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was trying to save you money.”
    “You let me worry about saving money. If it doesn’t have anything to do with real estate, it’s none of your concern. Speaking of which, get us a carriage and let’s go see what my new office looks like.”

    The building of interest had two stories and was on a four-acre lot. It had been used as a warehouse and had office space upstairs, but had been abandoned for years, and looked like it. The building’s frame was good and the lot’s size would accommodate drilling equipment. It took Claude all of twenty minutes to decide this was the place.
    “I want workers out here tomorrow morning. Have them gut the inside, and send me a contractor I can tell what I want to be built. I have an oil rig being shipped here in two days, and it will need to be stored on this property for the time being.”
    “Mr. Jaudon, I don’t think I can get the paperwork completed in that short a time.”
    “You tell the owner of this property that it’s a cash deal and it will close tomorrow or I’ll be going someplace else.”
    They got in the carriage and went back to Jeff’s office. Jeff stepped out and closed the door. “I’ll do the best I can, but I can’t promise anything.”
    Claude thought for a moment. “Jeff, tomorrow morning you will either be on the way to becoming a very wealthy man or this will all have been a missed opportunity. Your fate is in your own hands. When opportunity knocks, you had better be prepared to answer, because it may never knock again.”
    Claude told the driver to go, but Jeff shouted, “What about Cornell?”
    Claude stopped the carriage driver. “I’m at the Royal Houston. Send him there. They’ll know my room if he asks for me.”
    “Mr. Jaudon, please don’t take this wrong, but they’ll not let him in the front door.”
    “You send him. I can assure you they’ll let him in.” Then he was gone, leaving Jeff fanning the dust.

Copyright © 2019 by Ed Rogers