Dr. Marsteller Chapter 24
24
That
evening at the Old Oaken Bucket, Dr. Marsteller arrived on time for his meeting
with Fletcher wearing khaki trousers with a tweed golf shirt tucked in. An expensive brown leather belt matched his
shoes. The belt and shoes were new. He ordered a beer and waited for
Fletcher. Dr. Marsteller normally liked
beers that were darker. Newcastle was
his favorite beer
Fletcher
arrived wearing a t-shirt and slacks. A
couple stains decorated the front of the t-shirt. The front of the shirt said Fletcher,
Inc. He looked shabby the day that Dr.
Marsteller met him at Mrs. Viscane’s house.
But now he looked as if he’d rolled out of the gutter. Dr. Marsteller was always put off by unkempt
associates. Fletcher’s hair was thinning
on top, but he did not have the luxury of wavy hair he could comb back. Nor did he have the luxury of graying hair to
exude the appearance of dignity. His
hair was straight and dark, and the thinning on top looked like the straggly
back of a diseased dog. Fletcher had
large eyes like slits. He could have
been of Russian or Balkan decent. His
head was rather triangular but massive like a tiger. He wore rings on five of his fingers. They were various shades of gold. It gave him the appearance of a pimp in a 70s
B movie. When he sat down he winked and
pointed with one of his ringed fingers to indicate intimacy and
camaraderie.
-How’s it
going, he said.
-Fine.
-Whatcha
got there.
-Newcastle.
-Nice.
The
waitress came over and Fletcher ordered a Bud on draft.
-So, said
Dr. Marsteller, what do you have in mind?
-Well, the
way I see it, you’re going to need to patent your idea and begin working on FDA
approval.
-True. But how can you help me with that?
-I can
manufacture your product.
-I don’t understand
how you can switch so easily from aluminum.
-Well, I’ve
been thinking of taking it in a different direction, so to speak.
Dr.
Marsteller could sense he was about to be used by Fletcher. He didn’t like the feeling. He wasn’t sure if it was going to be a
symbiotic relationship. Maybe Fletcher’s
excitement at his idea had given him the jitters to put that notion into Dr.
Marsteller’s head like a wolf on a frightened cow. But he also knew evolutionarily the weak
always defer to the strong. He had to be
careful.
-What
direction is that?
-Pharmaceuticals.
-Really?
-Well, I
have the space, I just need the manpower and equipment. With the amount I’m making in profit, I can
easily switch one of my areas to your product.
-If you’re
making so much profit now, why would you want to switch?
-Well, the
way I see it, other researchers are going to want to do some of the research
you’ve been doing, right?
-Correct.
-And they
are going to need to buy it…
-Not
necessarily, they can do this in their own lab without buying anything from
me.
-But the
ones that can’t? Suppose there are ones
that can’t. We could make it, then they
buy it and you tell them what to do with it.
-This is
conceivable. But this is a big risk for
you to take.
-I’m not
taking a risk, I’m convinced after this takes off and you patent it and then
get FDA approval, we are going to get rich beyond our wildest dreams.
-What’s
stopping me from patenting it by myself?
-Good
question. You want bargaining power when
Merck and Pfizer come calling don’t you?
-I see.
-You patent
this with a private company, like Fletcher, Inc. and they’ll have to buy the
whole shebang. Those guys who started
Pharmoalliance just sold to Merck for 100 million dollars. And they only put 10 million into it starting
it up on their own. You won’t have to
put anything into it. You have my
complete financial backing to get started, and with everything already
established, it sure as hell is gonna be nowhere nearing 10 million or even 1
million. Whatever we make when we start,
we’ll split 50-50. Anything over what I
put into it, I was thinking 60-40 for you.
You start this on your own and you don’t even get off the ground. You’ll need a partner anyway. And I’m only interested in 40%. Shit man, I don’t care if we put piss in a
jar and label it ‘Dr. Marsteller’s potion’ the way they’re talking in the
media, you could sell that like popsicles in a playground.
Dr.
Marsteller watched Fletcher’s lips moving up and down like a gulping fish. He was leaning forward eagerly in his chair
while he tried to sell the idea. The man
knew what he was doing. He showed up
looking like a complete scarf to show his regular side. Even ordered a Bud. He wants to give the impression he doesn’t
care about getting rich. He wanted to
give the impression he would willingly take a backseat to Dr. Marsteller. Dr. Marsteller had to admit that Fletcher
made a compelling case. If I went on my
own, it would take much longer and I’d have to get a partner anyway to put up
his own money to get things started.
Fletcher saw this with his business acumen and seized this
opportunity.
-And best
of all, Fletcher finished, you’d be Chief Scientific Officer if you worked with
me. Whatever you say for us to do, goes.
-This is
going to take me away from the lab when I’m starting this up.
-Of course,
said Fletcher.
-I will
likely need to be compensated for leaving the lab to work.
-I am
prepared to put my full weight behind this.
Fletcher
took a long sip from his drink, his Adam’s apple in his thick sweating neck
undulating like a belly dancer. Dr.
Marsteller’s thoughts of the idea turned favorable as he considered the
financial independence and lack of manpower needed when working with someone
who already had the business experience of starting his own company. Dr. Marsteller detested any sort of industry
or working for industry, but here represented a situation where he’d be making
money based on his idea. He wouldn’t just
be working for the company. He would be
the company. Fletcher’s vision was
something he conceded he never would have thought of. And someone would eventually approach him
with an offer. At least Fletcher seemed
genuine and it seemed like a good situation.
He needed to remember if anything happened to Mrs. Viscane, he’d be back
without a benefactor and would be resorted to teaching again. He couldn’t stomach being forced to teach
classes as a sole way of earning his keep around the University. His mind scoffed at babysitting those
undergraduates instead of conducting his important research. Then it occurred to him that Fletcher may
have been angling for some of Mrs. Viscane’s money as well, and that is why he
was proposing this - because of Dr. Marsteller’s amity with her.
-And Mrs.
Viscane, how do you see her role in this?
-Is she
going to have a role? I’m proposing
something completely independent of however she’s helped you in the past.
Dr.
Marsteller stood up and held out his hand.
Fletcher stood, took it and they shook.
-I have to
say, Mr. Fletcher, you make an exceedingly good case. I’m definitely interested. I will have to see what other options are on
the table, but you have shown great ingenuity by coming to me first.
-Of
course. But I’m hoping you’ll see that
you’ll get no better deal or someone with the resources and space to offer
it. If you receive better offers, please
allow me to match them.
-I
certainly will.
Fletcher
picked up his beer and guzzled the rest of it down his throat, slammed the
glass down on the table and left the bar pointing at Dr. Marsteller with his
finger full of rings and winking. After
he left, Dr. Marsteller sat down and ordered another beer. He knew it was gruesome to consider, but he
had to look out for his interests should something happen to Mrs. Viscane. And if what happened to the mice were any
indication, then he better get ready. He
chuckled to himself. Then caught
himself. By god, he thought, nothing is
going to happen to her, you hear me! He shouted to himself, nothing, I say, is
going to happen to the woman, goddamnit!
It’s a perfect idea and when it works, she will back you 100% with
Fletcher and you will go on to give your therapy to the masses and people will
live forever. That’s what’s gonna
happen.
The other patrons in the bar looked at
him uncertainly while he shook his head back and forth and sipped his
beer. Then, after a moment of fright, he
reached into his pocket and took out his phone.
-Yeah, Ezekiel, is Mrs. Viscane
available?
-May I ask who’s calling?
-It’s Dr. Marsteller.
-Oh yes, she was hoping to hear from you.
-Hello.
-Charlotte! How are you feeling?
-At least after surgery you’ll call me
Charlotte. I’m feeling fine. A little tired I suppose. Breathing is sore. But fine, all things considered. I think I want to try the therapy on my skin
next and not something so intrusive.
-Haha.
Sure, we’ll talk about it. Good
to here you feel all right.
-Sure, I’ll talk to you later. You’re a genius.
-Goodbye Mrs. Viscane.
-There you go again. It is Charlotte.
He hung up smiling. Relieved.
This originally appeared in Dr. Marsteller