The Dryline. Jack Grubbs
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in deep red, was the lettering Santa Fe. The Burlington Northern logo could not compete with the Santa Fe Railroad. The visitors—particularly Nancy, who had seen it in San Antonio during retrofitting—marveled at the glorious relic.
Hanging from the steps, Tom glowed. “The original inside was god-awful so I made some changes. I decided to mix the mind of an old fart with that of an eight-year-old kid. Come on in and see what I got.”
Over the next twenty minutes the guests studied the light-paneled walls, the larger-than-manufactured windows, a double deck bed, a small toilet and shower combination, a small kitchenette with stove, a game table for six, a small flat-screen television, and a refrigerator full of soft drinks for the kids and beer for the adults. He could have spent the whole night in his caboose, but enough was enough. Time to get back to the party.
Elam tapped Tom on the shoulder as they walked back toward the hangar. “Tom, I’ve got to run. How about you, Don, and I talking a few things out?”
Don agreed. “Good idea. Elam’s got to head out pretty quick and we ought to just figure out exactly where we are with the JETS.”
Tom called to the others. “I’ll catch up with everybody. These two want to ruin the day with business talk.”
Tom, Don, and Elam peeled off from the main group and walked to Tom’s office.
“Elam, you’re a wuss. The party’s just getting started. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal, my friend, is that I have a date with a very fine woman.”
“Is this Sarah, the new love of your life?”
Elam grinned. “Sure is. She deserves better ‘n me, but I’m not telling.”
Don interjected, “I ought to tell her what a sorry SOB she’s dating.” Don scratched at his ear. “But she’ll figure it out soon enough.” He shook his head and smiled down at his cane.
Tom said, “Don, have you noticed how this societal derelict is talking differently about her than the other poor women he’s dated?” He turned back to Elam. “I think she’s got you totally under control. Sort of like a lap dog. Hell, you’re even dressing as though you know what looks acceptable.”
They entered the office and pulled up stools to the larger drafting table.
Tom asked, “OK, where are you two on the JETS?”
Elam rubbed the palm of his right hand across his forehead and started briefing the other two. “Both JETS prototypes arrived from Odessa on Tuesday. We started putting one down-hole Wednesday morning. The other one and the display model are in the shed.” Elam had a twinkle in his eye and a skip in his step. “They’re both impressive just sitting there. I’ll use the display for my briefings to clients.”
“How’s the down-hole system holding up?”
“Absolutely rock-solid.” Elam’s voice picked up. “I mean dead-on rock-solid. We tested it yesterday at twenty-five hundred feet.” Elam stood up. He looked at his partners through emblazoned eyes. “It seemed to be a typical stripper well, or so we thought. We pumped twenty-three barrels of oil yesterday. Just for discussion’s sake, at a hundred dollars a barrel that would make $2,300. Try multiplying that by some 350 days a year.” Then his smile covered his entire face. “This morning we pumped eight barrels by ten o’clock. I told the guys to knock off early and enjoy the weekend.”
“Are you going to be ready for Wellington Oil’s visit on Tuesday?” Don spoke of the first demonstration of the new version.
“Better than that. We’ll be ready for Wellington on Tuesday and two others the following week.” Elam continued. “Even Exxon and a Saudi Arabian delegation are looking at their schedules as we speak.”
Tom reacted quickly, his speech measured. “This is where we need to talk about ethics.”
Don and Elam responded differently. Don’s face wrinkled with questioning; Elam’s face wrinkled with irritation.
“I’ve heard you talking about Chinese, Pakistanis, and now the Saudis. Are you interested in strictly money where the highest bidder gets your patent?” Tom’s words slowed slightly. “China is eating our lunch with some of the stupid trade agreements we’ve made, the Saudis are a theocracy hell-bent on hating the United States, and the Pakistanis harbor more militant Muslims than you could imagine. If you’re getting solid American interest, and it looks like you are, then I say the hell with the foreigners.”
Tom’s comment sucked the wind from Elam’s mouth. But only for two seconds.
“Look, I didn’t work on this device for half my life in order to go bankrupt. One device isn’t going to change American fortunes one bit. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
Don didn’t know which way to turn. Tom did.
“Look, Elam. It belongs to you and Don and you have every right to do what you want with it. I have every right to tell you that I think it is a mistake to give up a patent to foreign enterprises.” He leaned closer to Elam, almost violating Elam’s personal space. “And since I mentioned the Saudis, did you stop to think that, at this point in history, they don’t even need the device? They’re still dealing with almost infinite supplies of oil. Any interest they have in JETS is for some bad-assed purpose. Guaranteed.”
Elam’s uncomfortable silence signaled agreement with Tom’s statement.
Don recovered and steered the discussion. “We don’t have to sell the patent. If we deal with foreigners, we can do what you said, keep the patent and just sell or lease individual units.”
Tom beat Elam in responding. “That’s a damn good idea if you’re dealing with honest people. But you’re not. Don’t think for a minute that these foreign companies, including state-owned, won’t screw you in a heartbeat. Whether you sell the patent or lease systems, they’ll get you. Are you familiar with what the Chinese have done to the intellectual property of our country?” He moved even closer to Elam, face to face. “They’ve stolen it like they’re in one big candy store. As for you, once they get the first JETS system, they’ll mass-produce them out the wazoo. We all know that.”
Elam’s impenetrable belief that he was the toughest son of a bitch in the valley held tight. “I can handle these people. No, I don’t trust them, but I could put together an agreement that is airtight.”
It was Don’s turn to get into Elam’s face. “We’re partners on this, Elam. Everyone has a say. Don’t make any unilateral decisions.”
Tom added, “I’ve talked this whole thing over with some pretty smart people. The consensus is that you’d both be better off setting it up so that you get residual income. The best contract would be one in which you get a sum of money up front, a small chunk of money for each unit built, and a small percentage of gross revenues associated with each barrel of oil recovered.”
The conversation slowly meandered over to the status of the patent.
“We’re finally making real progress on the patent. I’ve got something to show you.” Elam pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “It’s a letter of patentability from Barrister and Associates.”
He opened it up and gave it to Donald. Tom looked over Don’s shoulder. The letter read:
March 16, 2010 Barrister and Associates Intellectual Property Attorneys 5718 Westheimer Road, Suite 1400 Houston, Texas 77057
Invention: Jet Extraction Technology System
Inventors: Elam Duquette & Donald H. Seiler
To Whom It May Concern: We have concluded a patent search on the Jet Extraction Technology System.
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