Rudy said, "Go ahead and bid on the farm. I ain't gonna try ta out bid ya. It's all yer's. I just hope for one thing, and that is ya work yerself ta death on it and go ta an early grave."
From that day Rudy never set foot in the Rainy Day Inn and never acknowledged Fuzzy whenever their paths crossed.
In a malefic way, it amused Fuzzy, for it seemed Rudy was fearful of him.
The Rainy Day Inn is a jumping little joint two miles this side of the state line. All the Catholic farmers gathered there to talk, laugh, and drink. It is situated on "ole route twenty-two" where it intersects with County Road 5. The bar sat alone like an oasis surrounded by wheat, oats, beans, blue skies above, and rich black soil below. It was a safe haven for those who did not mix well with farmers from other townships or men from town. Strangers were looked upon with suspicion. They were not tolerated by Fuzzy Gerheart. He was short, shaped like a fire hydrant with bristly hair like a wire brush. He was an enforcer. If there was trouble or a disagreement, Fuzzy handled it. If something got out of line, Fuzzy put it back in line. His reputation as a brawler was nearly state-wide.
Fuzzy owned 612 acres of tillable land. He started with 80, gradually purchasing older farmers when they came up for sale or auction. Surrounding his original farm was 300 acres of the best soil in the township, it was rich, black, and had good drainage. Pete Hollinger owned it, but he overextended himself with the bank and had to file bankruptcy. Fuzzy was making known the land was all but his and everyone was willing to bow to his determination.
The Monday before the sale of the Holinger farm Rudy was invited to meet with the bank president. The subject of the meeting was unknown to Rudy.
Rudy's lanky and leather-skinned body, dressed in bib overalls walked effortlessly through the lobby of the bank. He greeted each clerk with a slow-developing smile. It was a smile that only a sincere heart could produce. He extended his hand to the bank president, Marshall Fike.
Fike was a frail man with thin wisps of light hair and a scalp reflecting like a new wax job. He was neat, trim, lily white skin, and not a speck of dirt under his fingernails.
He graciously directed Rudy to his office and sat him in a fine leather chair. Fike sat in a leather swivel chair behind his desk and leaned back confidently with his hand's clasp behind his head. "How's the corn look this year?"
Rudy nodded, "It's good."
Fike rocked in his chair and closed his eyes slowly to concentrate on his words. It was a delicate issue he was about to discuss and he wanted no misunderstandings. Small talk was the way he chose to ease into his hidden reason for the conversation. "About everybody got forty-five bushels to the acre in wheat this year. How'd you do?"
"Fifty."
"Fifty! That's good, very good indeed. How's that combine ya got a couple of years ago holding up?"
Rudy relieved an imaginary itch in his ear and said, "Did a hundred and thirty of my own and contracted another five fifty. Not a bit of trouble with it, other than a broken belt here and there."
Fike tightened his lower lip and squinted as if he could visualize something or had some special incite that no one else comprehended. "Tough business, farming. I frankly don't see how some of them make it."
”I know," said Rudy shifting buttocks in his chair.
Fike spun in his chair to gaze through his window. From his office, he saw at least five farms. He studied them. He counted the wagons of grain and calculated each farmer's ability to pay a mortgage or the amount of collateral available. He invested wisely and discreetly, but none of the investments were local. People thought his wealth came from a frugal lifestyle. In reality, he had a voracious appetite for vintage sports cars and thoroughbred horses, none of which he stored locally.
"Ya know," Fike began, "yer not like a lot of farmers I know, ya move cautiously, weighing assets and liabilities. With you a deal has ta be better than "sounding good" or a question of being able to "swing it" or not. It has to be sound. Yer shrewd! I like that."
"I've had some breaks other farmers haven't. Just let farmers farm. That's what they do best. The problem is when bankers stick their noses into farmin'."
Fike laughed smugly "Let me tell ya somethin' Rudy, I know more about farmin' than people give me credit for, in fact, a lot more."
"Ya better know somethin'. I wouldn't expect ya ta know nothin'," Rudy said. "In fact, Mr. Fike I know a little something about you and your investments - buying and selling property over in Winslow County. I hear tell ya got some rental property there that nearly qualifies ya as a slum lord."
Fike rapped his pencil on the desktop like a snare drum. Although he enjoyed knowing other people's affairs it was an uncomfortable experience that someone knew of his private practices.
Rudy smiled and gazed through the window. "I sometimes wondered, just whose money ya usin' anyway. If me and a few others decide ta take our money ta 'nother
bank, would the money be there?"
Fike stiffened and became indignant. "Just what are you implying? I run an honest bank." His face became flush. "No one can come in here and make such an accusation.
I've been aggressive in my investments, but used only my capital. Me and my money only are at risk and not the depositors of this bank. I've borrowed only what is allowed by law. I resent that kind of talk and it better not go beyond this room!"
Rudy observed the perspiration gather above Fike's lip. "Take it easy Fike, if I thought ya was anything other than honest, I wouldn't have been bankin' here for twenty years. I just wanted ta see a banker sweat. Never seen one sweat before. Guess ya just have ta give 'um somethin' ta sweat about. Now, ya know what it feels like ta be a farmer, they sweat a whole lot, and not necessarily from work. They worry some too."
Fike appeared agitated but regained his composure and slouched deep into his chair. Fike wiped the perspiration from his lip and dragged his hand down over his mouth and across his chin. He breathed deeply through his nostrils sounding like a whistling teapot.
Before Fike had a chance to control the conversation Rudy spoke, "What's it all bout?"
Fike pretended to be ignorant of the concept. "What's it all about, what do you mean?"
"Come on Fike. Ya didn't ask me here ta talk farmin'."
Fike's face fell expressionless and cold as a Greek statue. He confessed, "It's the Holinger farm."
"Ain't interested," Rudy replied almost before Fike was through.
Fike planted his elbows firmly on the desk. "Hear me out, Rudy."
"Talk, but I ain't interested," Rudy said briskly.
Fike puckered his lips like a fish. "Yer my biggest saver. Ya got seventy-five thousand in yer account and if ya got fifty an acre like ya said on wheat and an average year in corn and beans you'd probably be able to sock away another um...um, sixteen ta seventeen five this year. The only person to express interest in the Holinger place is Gerheart and frankly, I think it's a danger to the best interest of the community for a man like him to control that much land. The purchase of that land will make him the largest landowner in the county. You are the only one with the capital ta stop him"
"Why do you think that is dangerous?"
"A man like him gets a little prestige and then he assumes too much power and too many around here will just let him do it. Having large amounts of land will make him better suited to influence trustees and commissioners. He lacks the intellect, sensitivity, and concern for the public well-being to have that type of influence. It's dangerous Rudy."
"What makes ya think he would misuse his influence?"
"Come on, you know the man, perhaps better than I do. Make no mistake about it, I've seen him chisel away at officials before and he works for nobody's good but his own."
He mulled Fike's words. "I agree with ya, but where do I fit in? I got all the land I can handle right now," Rudy said. "And the last time I was gonna bid against him, he broke my nose. No sir, I'm gittin' too old for that kind of stuff."
"Ya got two sons. The place could be theirs in a few years. Think of their future."
Rudy rubbed the side of his face and combed his hair with his hand. Fike had a twinge of glee for it seemed Rudy was seriously considering the proposal.
Rudy said, "Nah, one boy wants to be a school teacher, and the other one," he hesitated, cocked his head, and clicked his cheek. "The other one wants ta be a banker. Now that's the one I gotta worry about."
Fike was amazed at his lack of concern. The conversation was going nowhere. He sighed and said, "Bids will be opened Saturday morning, nine o'clock sharp. All bids will be accepted up till that time."
Rudy was not done, he wanted to keep the fire lit under Fike. He said, "Now this is a sealed bid, right?"
"That's correct."
"Yer not supposed ta know what the figure in Fuzzy's bid is, but ya do know how big a loan he's got, right?"
Fike was stolid.
Rudy continued, "That kind of information would be valuable ta me if I were to bid on the property, right?"
Fike stiffened like a corpse and reared in his chair like he was trying to mount a bronc. "Mr. Betz, please! That is the second time you have accused me of some sort of impropriety and ..."
"Hold on Fike," Rudy interrupted, "just funnin' ya. Besides I would've liked ta see how far you'd go."
"This is not a matter for jesting, it is serious, so please consider it Rudy."
Rudy politely smiled, stood, and extended his hand. Fike did likewise.
"Remember the opening of the bids will be Saturday morning at nine o'clock in the lobby. The public is invited. If I can help you at all, well...well I can lend money on my say-so alone."
Rudy acknowledged the sincerity with a kind nod and a warm smile. He walked to the door, but Fike remained behind his desk. Fike was dumbfounded by their conversation and how he almost lowered himself to begging.
Rudy was about to shut the door. He snapped his finger and turned to face Fike. "Oh by the way yer talkin' a bit ago about Fuzzy havin' too much influence on trustees, commissioners, and the like, I think what yer most worried about is the influence he'll have over you. Let's say a man owes the bank three-quarters of a million or so. That man is in a lot better position ta influence than a depositor. That banker would be willin' ta do just about anything ta keep him happy and out of default. Cus if he goes sour a lot of depositors are out and the bank is out and maybe even the president." Just as Rudy's head was disappearing behind the door he winked and said, "I think if this farmin' don't pan out for me I got a pretty good mind for bankin'."
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