I hummed a small agreeable noise as if this explanation made perfect sense, although it didn't, for few lawyers involved in deals in Asia also handle small-time Manhattan real estate transfers- where three million dollars is, as I said, minuscule, and unless somebody had changed the time zones, it was now late morning in the Far East.
"What about the title search?" I asked. "You can't buy property without clear title."
"I ordered it myself. As I said, the title man should be here tonight."
"How about a survey?" I asked, meaning the official drawing of the property's lot lines and location.
"Got it."
"You had the building inspected?"
"Sure."
"You got a written report?"
He opened his briefcase and took out an engineer's report. I flipped through it. According to the write-up the building was lucky to be standing, and would be rubble the next time someone slammed a door. But that's the way they're always written on old buildings.
"So we need a contract, a title, some tax and transfer forms, and some money. Which brings up the question of how you're doing this. Is there a bank involved?"
"No."
"All cash?"
"No, it's a little creative, actually."
I waited, saying nothing.
"Four hundred thousand and a property swap," he said.
"Who is paying the four hundred?"
"They are."
Three million dollars minus four hundred thousand equaled Allison's thumb-suckable two-point-six million dollars.
"What's the other property?"
"Acreage on Long Island, way out, ninety miles out there on the North Fork, looking over Long Island Sound. Beautiful property. They're putting in vineyards and golf courses out there, you know."
I nodded. "I better look at the contract."
"Allison said you'd worry about the small stuff."
"Sure."
"You come in every day?" asked Jay.
"Just about."
"I guess you're retired?"
"I guess I am. Okay, so, Jay, I feel it's in your best interest if you know the following things." I looked straight into his eyes. "First, walking into a steakhouse at night is not a good way to find a lawyer. For all you know, I might not even be a lawyer. I am, but the point is I might not be. Second, you don't know anything about me. I haven't practiced law in a while, Jay. I've had a setback or two, okay? Also, I haven't maintained relations with any title company people, I don't know anyone in the city departments anymore, okay? I haven't been watching the little language changes, I don't know how the tax forms might've changed. I'm out of practice, is what I'm saying. What I'm telling you, Jay, is that I'm not competent to be your attorney for this transaction. If it were a little ranch house out on Long Island, I'm sure I could handle it. But this deal involves two big, valuable properties and a-"
"How much do you want?" Jay asked. He was stirring, moving his shoulders around.
"I'm not trying to drive the fee up, Jay." I stared at him. "I'm trying to be honest here."
His brow fell angrily. "Oh, bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"I said this is bullshit."
"What do you mean?"
He lifted his hands, palms up. "Allison told me you managed some big real estate transactions, the sale of that bank building up on Forty-eighth Street. What was that, like three hundred million? With all sorts of complicated syndication of ownership?"
This was true, but I hadn't told Allison the first word about the deal, though it was easy enough to look it up on the Internet.
"Right?"
Allison had checked me out, I realized. "Well-"
"Well what? C'mon, I'm in a fucking jam here, Bill. And you're telling me you're not qualified?" He leaned forward. "Look, really, if it's about the money, I can pay you a good fee." He pulled a checkbook out of his suit pocket. "I'm putting money down, right here, for your services and you don't want it?"
I put my hands up to slow him down. "Let me ask you a couple of questions."
He sat back. "Shoot."
"Who owns the building you're buying?"
"Some Chilean wine company."
"Why did the deal drag out so long?"
"I don't know. They didn't offer enough at first."
"They're buying up empty acreage out on Long Island?"
"Sure, why not? It's beautiful oceanfront property." Jay grinned expansively. "God's not making any more of it. They're going to put it into vines."
"Plant grapes, you mean."
"Right."
"How did you arrive at the price?"
"I had a price in mind for the land. They found me, see. We dicked around, got the deal worked out."
"You didn't just want all the cash out from the property?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Aah, well. I thought this was better."
He thought I shouldn't know, in other words. "You could have taken all cash and you didn't? That's weird."
He bit his drink straw and said, "I wanted the building. It's in good shape. I'm walking away with four hundred thousand in cash, so life can't be too bad."
"Who negotiated for you?"
"I did."
"Ever do a deal this big?"
He stared at me. More straw action.
"Sounds to me like they're getting a nice break on the land value," I noted.
"Yeah," Jay said miserably. "In a hot market it's got to be worth four million, but it's going here for three."
"Why the low figure?"
He drew a deep slow breath.
"You really didn't have anybody negotiate this for you?"
"Like I said, no."
I looked into his big handsome face. "Sounds like they're eating your liver."
Colin Harrison
The Havana Room
"It's enough money," he sighed. "It's okay."
"You have a copy of the proposed contract I can look at?"
"No, actually. The seller's bringing it."
"So you do need a lawyer."
"I guess." He dipped his head forward. "I know this is unusual, Bill. You can just charge me extra, whatever seems right."
I wasn't really interested in a fee yet. But before I could tell him how risky it was to sign a contract he'd never seen, Allison walked into the Havana Room with two men in suits.
"Hi guys." She introduced the older man as Gerzon, the seller's attorney. He carried two briefcases, and was decorous and smooth as he shook my hand and introduced the second fellow as Barrett, from the title company. Title men in New York City don't do much except flip through city records, some of them going back three hundred years, to be sure there are no claims, liens, or encumbrances on the title, and that the chain of ownership is clear and unbroken. Most of the time it's straightforward, and the title man just collects his fee for the service and for title insurance.
Gerzon turned to Jay. "Where's your lawyer?"
He waved at me. "This is him."
Gerzon smiled at my wrinkled shirt, my subprofessional appearance. "Pardon me." He was one of those men who are detailed in their instructions to their tailors. But the suit was just the foundation of his vanity. His watch was unapologetically vulgar. The ring and the cuff links matched, and the shirt collar was heavily starched, the silk knot of his tie a confection of soft edges. His toupee was also very good- though they are never good enough.
Yet the inspection was mutual. "Where'd you work?" he asked.
"Private practice."
A cool nod. "I haven't heard of you."
"Big city. Many lawyers."
"I see."
I didn't want him to think he had an advantage. "So," I asked as we all sat down, "why are you selling your client's building in the back room of a steakhouse and not in a law office?"
"It's a time problem." He shrugged. "We're out of it." He looked at Jay. "I was told there would be a lawyer to assist Mr. Rainey. So we came here. We're being accommodating."