Killer Move

“No can do,” I said. “But you know the economic climate as well as I do, sir. Far better, uh, of course. It makes people twitchy. Everybody loves The Breakers. You built an amazing community here. Even the people I’m selling for, ninety percent wish they didn’t have to let their properties go. But they also have expectations. You let the feel-good factor drift, and . . . It’s a social network, old style. People sit around the pool and they talk. You need the core community to remain stable—and to believe it’s being listened to and valued. Otherwise it all starts to feel random, and then someone says, ‘Hey, that new place on Lido has got a bigger hot tub, and it’s just a short walk from St. Armands Circle . . . ,’ and people decide to vote with their feet. En masse.”

“Are you saying that—”

“We are not at that point. Not yet, sir, not by a long shot. But nobody wants that to happen, either.”

“What’s your angle, Bill?”

“Sir?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

I went for broke. “I want what you’ve got.”

Thompson’s mouth opened, closed. He cocked his head on one side and stared at me. “Say again?”

“What are you worth, sir, financially, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I surely fucking do.”

The skin on the back of my neck felt very hot, despite the frigid air. “I respect that, sir, and I already know it’s in the tens of millions. Depending on how it’s accounted, and who’s asking.”

One side of his mouth moved upward about a quarter of an inch. He looked like an alligator that was trying to decide whether to eat something right away, or if it might be worth watching its prey just a little longer, to see if it did something else funny.

“I’m listening.”

“I don’t want to be manning a desk at Shore forever,” I said. “Right now, I’m capital light. That means my focus is on assisting those who already have. Protecting their position and investments, getting them a little more on top. Sometimes a lot more. And that means The Breakers, most of all. The better you do and the happier you are, the better I look and the happier I will eventually become.”

The gator still didn’t bite.

“The bottom line is that the talk I’m picking up is not Shore Realty’s problem. Matter of fact, the more people who sell, the more commission my company gets. But I don’t think I’d be doing my job if I didn’t give you a heads-up that you’ve got a situation brewing here.”

I stopped talking. Not before time.

“The people you’ve been hearing this from . . .”

“Are not just the ones who whine about every damned thing, no. Otherwise I wouldn’t be bothering you with it. You’ve been in this business a lot longer than me. It’s your game, and you can play it exactly how you want. But if you like, I could talk to a few of the key players. Diffuse the chatter, press the pause button. Suggest it’s worth waiting a little longer before getting too het up about the situation.”

He thought for a moment.

“I’ll discuss this with Marie,” he said, standing. “Not going to promise more than that. But that I will do.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

“The name’s Tony,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. “As you know. You may as well start using it.”

Fifteen minutes later I was standing at the end of the pier on The Breakers’ beach, surrounded by the flatness of the ocean. I still had an hour before my appointment down on Siesta Key, in reality nothing more than a meet-and-greet and something to tweak Karren White with. I’d take the meeting, of course—a key tenet of the Bill Moore brand is that if he says he’ll do something, it gets done—but right now it seemed very unimportant.

There were a few couples meandering up and down the water line, and a group of kids twenty feet away being encouraged to look for shells. Most people were indoors, out of the noon heat.