Chapter 85

85
HEADQUARTERS, BUCK STRATTON RADIO MINISTRIES, SAN DIEGO

Buck Stratton hobbled into the anteroom. "Pour me a drink, brother Harper. These damned boots I bought's killin' me! And get Rosenthal in here! I want to check them figgers on 'vangelical crap sales for last week."

Ted Harper shuddered as he filled a glass half full of luke warm bourbon. Stratton always looked like he had just finished a pig wrestling contest when he got off the air. The fat little man usually looked presentable when the lights came up for one his radio sermons, but by the time he had finished transmitting hate and fear over the airwaves for forty-five minutes it seemed as if his clothes no longer fit. Somehow the short little minister seemed to expand during a sermon until the buttons pulled apart on his shirt, straining desperately to keep his rather substantial belly from seeking its own. "Here you are, Pastor Stratton. I heard your broadcast today. It was great, as usual." He said handing his boss the glass.

"Hep me git these boots off, boy! I'm gonna sit here on this chair and I want you to pull the goddamned things off! Jesus! They killin' me!" Hesitating long enough to take a long pull on his drink, the little man of God sighed deeply as he leaned back in his chair, elevating his legs insistently toward Ted Harper. "Well snap to it Harper! There's bills to pay, boy!"

Six or eight times a day Ted Harper wondered if two thousand a week was really enough to play servant to this toady. He pondered that question once with each boot. Once freed from the cowboy boots, Stratton's feet turned out to be more aromatic than the rest of the man, covered in the tattered remains of socks which had eluded the wash for a few days. Without asking, he took the Pastor's glass and filled it again with bourbon. "I'll get Andy Rosenthal in here for a financial report. Maybe you can just relax for a few minutes. You certainly deserve it after that powerful sermon. Can I get you anything else?"

"Did ya' really like it, Harper? Ah' feel like I'm just' hittin' my stride with this ministry. Yep, knockin' 'em dead, all ninety million of 'em. I may go down in the history books right along what's his name, you know, that famous radio minister!"

"His name slips my mind right now, Pastor Stratton, but I know who you mean. And you're right. After the work you've done, there's no way they're not going to remember you. Pastor, you've been the one brave enough to stand up in front of the anti-Christ and hold the line. We all know that and we're all grateful for your strength. But, if you don't mind my saying it, I'm a little concerned that you're not getting enough sleep. Maybe you should think about a few days off. Pastor Praytor could cover for you." Harper let the suggestion trail off into the air.

"No sirree, Ted! I done made ever last thing we got here and I ain't plannin' to slack off none while there's souls to save and God's business to do! No sirree! Plus, lettin' Praytor have the limelight for a few days could cause trouble! No sirree! People like Praytor get a foot in the door, then there ain't no tellin' what they gonna want next. I've made this ministry and I plan to keep hold of it 'till it won't run no more. Then I can relax." The Pastor seemed to be reinvigorated in his refusal to allow anyone to replace him, even temporarily, at his prime time pulpit. He had gotten suspicious of everyone after Martha left.

"I'll go round up Andy Rosenthal. Do you want to see him in here or the private room?" Ted Harper started for the doorway.

"You bring 'im right in here. The light's better, maybe I kin see in his beady little Jew eyes if he's robbin' me! Yessiree! Go git that skunk an' bring him here into the light! Fill up this glass before you leave." The Pastor offered his empty whiskey tumbler to Harper. "This sippin' whiskey's bringin' me back to life!"

Andy Rosenthal was exactly where he always was, sitting in his gloomy office staring into a computer monitor. The accountant had been portly when he came on board, but since then his weight had increased in proportion to his greed. To date, he and Ted Harper had managed to divert almost eleven million from the Pastor, all of it in untraceable cash. Left untouched to avoid generating any suspicion -- or evidence -- the pile grew daily in off-shore assets buried by layers of holding companies.

Ted entered the office and closed the door. Both conspirators spoke in coded language to throw off the Pastor's ever present security staff. "Andy, Pastor Stratton has just delivered another explosive sermon, so I guess you'd better get ready to take in a bunch of new love offerings. He wants to see you for a financial summary up in the main conference room. He's tired so keep it short. If you need signatures try to keep it brief, he needs to relax right now, not wrangle through sixteen contracts with the Taiwan suppliers, okay?"

"Ted, I just don't know how he does it. Those sermons he delivers have the blood of life in 'em. It's hard to figure how they don't just drain his energy. But he's a great man with a powerful message. And he's taken on a powerful adversary. Sometimes he makes me feel like converting." Andy gathered a few papers from his other desk, he had three, and motioned toward the door. He paused a moment to stare into Ted Harper's eyes. He nodded silently.

Buck Stratton thumbed off his special intercom when the two left Rosenthal's office. As he turned the key on the base of the device, he removed it and placed it in his pocket, smiling. The box's function now returned to normal. Moments later the two entered the conference room. "Just in time Harper! I'm dry's a wagon mule over here!" He turned, still with the same look as when he had finished his sermon. "What'cha got for me, Rosenthal? Good news I hope."

Andy Rosenthal carefully positioned several documents in even rows before the Pastor. "These are a few things I would like for you to look at, but first, I imagine you would like a financial summary."

"Yeah. How much money do I got?" Stratton's directness had a vulgar shade to it, but it made things even easier for Rosenthal.

"The base line asset picture at week's end was the same. The total real estate, broadcast licenses, ministry holdings and miscellaneous are at forty-nine million. Reserve accounts for employee taxes and the general business reserve are eleven million. You have liquid assets of fifteen million in cash, and inventory worth twenty-one million at sales value. Bottom line, you are holding about one hundred million in assets." Rosenthal was practiced at presenting this information in a way that Pastor Stratton could absorb it.

"What's all that stuff worth in walk-away money, counselor?" Stratton always asked how much his empire would be worth if it were converted to hard cash. The man was no fool when it came to covering his own ass.

"A quick liquidation would probably yield sixty million, give or take ten. I've told you before that we can change this around, reconfigure assets, if you want. We can set you up to walk away with a box full of money if you want." Rosenthal was always abrupt with the preacher.

"We ain't worrying about that just' yet, counselor. But I still want the rest of the report if you ain't too busy to earn yer damned pay." Buck Stratton slid his empty glass across the table to Harper.

"That's it Mr. Stratton. I don't have anything else to add to it. What are you thinking? I mean, what do you think isn't there?" Andy Rosenthal was still just as calm as an oil slick in still water.

"I mean you ain't told me how much you sidewinders sucked out of my pocket! That's what you ain't told me!" The Pastor slapped his fat little hand down on the conference table to emphasize this point.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Stratton, but let's clear away some the crap. I know I'm a dead man if you fire me. You can't afford to have what I know about your books runnin' loose on the streets. So I've made provisions to make sure that happens, happens in a big way, if I'm suddenly missing. You got that?" Rosenthal leaned over the table to deliver this message right into the Pastor's face.

"Hey! Hey! Hang on to your knickers, Jew boy. I was only kiddin'. I think we all know that we gotta' work together for the Glory of God. Right?" Buck was leaning back now and his filthy feet seemed to smell worse than before. Stratton was glad he had disabled the security link to the conference room. At least he'd cleared the air with these college boys. He didn't trust smart people. "Now you tell me what's hangin' us up. What's all these here papers about?"

"The papers are five of our standard purchase agreements for products you're offering on the air. Let's see flameproof Bibles, three of 'em are for stuff to make Marks of God, and, believe it or not, we have to print more copies of your book, The Naked Truth About Martha Stratton. 

The listeners caught us by surprise on that one. The last one is a biggie. It's a not-to-exceed contract for legal services with a limit of one and a half million." Andy Rosenthal was pointing to the signature blocks on the purchase orders as he went through the papers. "I've marked each place where you need to sign with a highlight."

"What in the hell do I need a million dollars worth of lawyers for? Those bastards tanned my hide when, you know, Martha decided to leave." Stratton's voice trailed off a bit as he spoke of his ex-wife.

"Pastor, we have lawsuits out the ass. Jesus' lawyers sues us for slander or defamation every time you say anything about Him on the air. We have one hundred sixty-one actions pending against us everywhere from Washington to Southern California. You gotta' remember that the son-of-a-bitch has no end of money for litigation." Rosenthal pointed to the last pile of papers.

"Okay, I'll sign it." Buck Stratton leaned forward to scrawl his signature on the last service agreement. "Its a hell of note when I've got to slander the bastard and get sued in order to have the dough to pay the damages."

"Don't worry, Pastor. We all live on the margin." Andy Rosenthal gathered up the papers, rising to leave.