Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4)

Max. The broker’s registration.”
    “Oh, right.” He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
    Smith rolled her eyes at Wetzon. “May I continue? Thank you. We’re looking for brokers who do business like certified financial planners. In fact, they will train and license every broker to be a CFP.”
    “And that’s a terrific tool for us,” Wetzon said. “Highlight it when you prospect. It’s an expensive course if you’re paying for it yourself.”
    “They’re offering a twenty-five-k salary for the first year against a fifty-percent payout. Then the grid, which doesn’t penalize for ticket size. They want to start interviewing next week.”
    “How do we get paid?” B.B. asked.
    “Oh, for pitysakes.” Smith threw Wetzon a look that said, See, we’re breeding another monster here.
    “I think it’s a fair question, sugarplum,” Wetzon said sweetly. “How do we get paid?”
    “Humpf. Banks are so conservative, they hate to put money on the line before proof of service, so I couldn’t get us anything based on trailing twelve months, I’m afraid.”
    Wetzon groaned. “Not another on-the-come client, please.”
    “Not quite. I got us a three-k down payment and six percent of months two to thirteen.”
    “Followed by six to twelve months of the-check-is-in-the-mail,” Wetzon added.
    B.B. snickered.
    “Go on and laugh, B.B.” Smith was furious. Her eyebrows came together and stayed that way. “Just remember, if we don’t get paid, you don’t get paid.” Turning to Wetzon, she said, “As for you, sugarplum. , they agreed to pay us within thirty days after first billing or ten-percent late charges are tacked on for each succeeding month that no payment is received.”
    “I’m impressed. Okay, fellas, let’s smile and dial. I want to have at least ten good candidates lined up by the end of the week.” Wetzon shooed them out of the office and closed the door. She smiled at Smith. “Partner mine, you’re amazing.”
    “You should tell me that more often, sweetie,” Smith said ruefully. “Sometimes I think you take me for granted.” She leaned back against her desk. “And I wish you wouldn’t involve the help in our finances. It’s none of their business.”
    “Oh, come off it, Smith. They should know how we get paid so they don’t think we’re shortchanging them.”
    “That liberal democratic thinking was what lost us Harold, and now he’s sitting over there with Tom Keegen stealing food from our children’s mouths.”
    “Ye gads, Smith, let’s not get carried away with this. They’re not our brokers, they’re anyone’s brokers. The lists are available. It’s relationships that count, that and who gets there first. We’ve been through this a hundred times.”
    Smith threw her hands up. “They’re all whores, but let’s not argue.” She smiled a sleek feline smile. “I haven’t even told you the best part. I’ve got us an exclusive for a year, and we have a deposit of nine k for good faith.”
    “I hope we get that in writing,” Wetzon said.
    Smith opened her briefcase and pulled out two typewritten pages. “Done.”
    “I think we probably take each other for granted,” Wetzon said. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not in good shape.” To her horror, she began sobbing.
    Smith was at her in a flash and gathered her in. “What is it, sugar? The apartment? It’ll be all right, you’ll see. It’ll be beautiful.”
    Wetzon pulled away and reached into her desk for some tissues. “It’s not just the apartment. I feel as if I’m dancing on the wrong beat.” She sank into her chair, her back to Smith.
    “I’m taking you out to lunch, and you’re going to tell me all about it.”
    “Maybe—”
    The phone rang.
    “Did you call Tony Maglia?” Smith asked.
    “Yes. I made an appointment for after the close tomorrow. He thinks we’re going to ask to work for him. I could tell. He was so full of himself.”
    “What a broccoli, a complete and total broccoli. Doesn’t he know it’s easier to pull people out of Bliss Norderman? Their stock is down to two and their capital rank is in the high three-figure zone.”
    The phone rang again. Stopped. Then the second line rang. Max opened the door. “Mark collect on two for you, Smith, and Joan Boley is on one for you, Wetzon.”
    “Joan Boley? When is she starting?” Smith snatched up the phone and pressed two. “Hold on for Mother, baby.” She looked over at Wetzon.
    “She told Fred she’d bring over