“Randy?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Bennington.”
“How are you, son?”
“Fine, sir, and you?”
“Nevuh bettuh. And you're gonna feel pretty good, too, after you hear what I have to tell you.”
Randy Penwell, sitting at his desk shortly after lunch, thought he had at least an inkling of what Bennington was going to say. “This wouldn't have to do with a certain matter that we discussed before, would it?”
“It sure would. Randy, things have moved a helluva lot faster and smoother than either of us coulda imagined. Turns out our rivals had really been considerin’ this for some time and really had their ducks in a row. We went in, took a good look, made a fair offer, and they bit. There still has to be a bit of due diligence, but we think we got a deal—actually, a steal.”
“No kiddin’.”
“No kiddin’. We've bought the whole shootin’ match down there. We'll close in sixty to ninety days. Now, the only matter holdin’ things up is the one of this chemical-dumping operation. We've made it plain to them what we know. Their lawyers and ours agree that the best way to handle it, pending closing, is to send a trustee down there to take over interim management while we get this whole mess sorted out.”
“A trustee?”
“What I mean is a lawyer—by the way, a fellow we know well and had to approve—who will go down there and seize the office and files so that nothin’ important disappears, if you know what I mean. And of course, this fella will need your help in sortin’ through whatevuh he finds so that we can wrap up the contingent liability issues as quickly as possible. Then Big Tex will disclose its intention to sell, and that will be that 'cept for the fly-speckin’. But the trustee's a babysitter, not an oilman. That means the decision of what happens to our friend Huff will be left to you. I have a feeling you'll know what to do.”
Penwell had difficulty grasping the gravity of this. “Damn, Mr. Bennington. How soon will this fella get here?”
“Pretty damned soon. We don't want things to drag on—surprise is our friend here. At any rate, son, get ready. You're about to be busier than a West Texas jackrabbit in mating season.”
“Yes, sir. I'm ready.”
“Good, Randy. Good. We'll talk soon.”