13
They met in Snyder’s suite. Kerry arrived first, Chad showed up next, and Warner and Michel entered together. Everyone was on time, as Snyder was known to go nuts when kept waiting.
Snyder pumped Warner’s hand enthusiastically. “George, why don’t you visit New York more often?”
“Well, I last went to the annual conference, Carl,” said Warner, “but since then I’ve had no reason and no invitation. London’s been my limit west, and Dubai’s always good.”
“And you’ve got to be Michel Chamoun, team member number five,” said Snyder, going up to Michel and shaking hands.
“Actually, if you go by seniority, he’s number four,” pointed out Warner.
“That’s right,” agreed Snyder emphatically. “Can’t have a newbie leapfrogging the queue. Understand, everyone? The paramount rule of Snyder’s Spiders - no queue jumping.” They shrieked with laughter, at the name given their secret society.
A wide variety of snacks lay on the table. “Let’s have drinks and get acquainted and reacquainted. This is a new team inside Citizenbank, and our mission is difficult, if not impossible. We’ll have a late dinner. I’ve booked a table in the French restaurant, and told them they’d better not tell me it’s closed because we’re late. The night manager has sworn to keep it open.”
For the next hour they chatted, avoiding business. Snyder was a good host when in the mood, and the evening had a party feel to it.
“You’re being very quiet, Bob,” observed Warner.
“He’s concentrating on his itching dick,” said Snyder. “He had to have another two bitches last night, and he’s gonna be the cause of the spread of a mystery ailment of the private parts, delivered by his hookers to all of Dubai. Think positive, Bob; maybe it’s something brand new. Maybe you’re in luck and they name it after you. The Bob Knob Syndrome.” Everybody burst into laughter, including Kerry.
When an hour had passed, Kerry said, “Guys, it’s getting on. Let’s get into the business, finish it, and then total ourselves, okay?”
It was a sound observation. They were here to work on a project that would make them millions.
“What do you think of it, George - Credit Shield Insurance?” asked Snyder, when all were seated in the living room.
“If we succeed in running the gauntlet of our customers, there’s nothing like it that I have ever imagined.”
“Would it be impossible?”
“Guys,” interrupted Kerry. “Guys, false start. Let’s not jump the gun. We’ve been working very hard, Carl, so let us structure the meeting, Chad mainly. Let us place the current position of research, ideas and game plan on the table. Then, general discussion will make sense, else we’ll be losing time, getting drunk and headed into senseless talk. Remember the motto introduced by our supreme leader, Carl Snyder himself - delegate and wait.” Kerry grinned mutinously.
Snyder looked sheepish. “Okay, Bob, it’s your show.”
“That’s what we want,” said Kerry. “Chad, Citizenbank has conducted a survey. Walk us through it, please.”
“Sure,” said Chad, opening a folder he had brought along.
“Results in?” asked Michel.
“Yes, delivered to my office two days ago. I didn’t show it to you, because we want to discuss in a forum, without preconceived notions and without mindset. Hope you don’t mind?”
“I’m looking at money, Chad,” said Michel. “I don’t mind. I’ve okayed both survey and discount schemes, but never interfered, because I absolutely cannot see how to push Credit Shield Insurance through and somehow have a meaningful number of subscribers in my grasp. I’m more than happy if someone else can.”
“That’s the attitude,” said Snyder approvingly.
Chad began. “Citizenbank conducted a survey of its credit card customers. The survey was carried out mainly by SSC, which is a company specialising in that sort of thing - opinion polls and what not - yet, to make doubly sure we really had genuine data, and not bullshit put together to send us a bill, we laid down extremely strict guidelines. Control groups were also formed, made up of customer service employees, overseen by customer service heads.
“I decided to take an extraordinarily large sample by common survey standards. You know that bull where they poll a thousand people and claim projections to be accurate on three hundred million? None of that crap. The brief was to survey a minimum of one percent of cardholders. Citizenbank has around two million cardholders in the territory, and the survey result is the end product of 23,411 interviews. Everyone with me?” He looked around at his rapt, silent audience.
“Of this, SSC brought in 21,102 to meet its goal of one percent minimum. Our teams brought in the rest, over ten percent of SSC’s number, which is a very large percentage control component.”
“Big job, very big job,” said Snyder, most impressed.
“Every single customer interviewed is recorded by name,” continued Chad. “No bullshit at all. There’s a completed form on each one. As a matter of fact, from data sheets of surveyed customers we should be able to quite accurately predict who will be in our scheme and who will not. By name. It’s all in my office. Of course, I have only briefly glanced through a few, as it’s not our goal to get them by name.”
“No,” agreed Snyder, interrupting. “Only by breed.”
“Dumbfucks,” said Warner.
After a short pause, to let the laughter die down, Chad spoke on. “Surveyors were given instructions on how to introduce themselves. Cardholders were told that Citizenbank planned to review policies to make it more customer friendly, let customers have faster information, create foolproof systems for this, that and what not. Those willing to cooperate, and there were no refusals, were interviewed. Surveyors were required to enter all information into a form. That is the data sheet in my office - each one an original. The protocol was rigidly implemented, and we got whatever information we sought. Any questions?”
The group had none. “It depends on results, I guess,” said Warner, shrugging.
“That’s right,” agreed Snyder. “Results rule, Chad.”
“Then,” said Chad, “if you’re satisfied that we’ve undertaken a major, absolutely foolproof first step, I shall proceed to the results.” He pulled out the single sheet of paper in his open folder.
“The secret and sole aim of our survey was to ascertain what exactly customers do with statements.” Chad looked at Michel. “Yes, Michel, literally. We really want to know if it’s used as toilet paper. It’s very important, because that is the net with which we intend to catch our fish.”
“I was amazed when Chad first outlined the nature of the survey,” Michel explained. “I could not understand what difference it made, as long as the dumbfucks paid up.” He shook his head, marvelling. “But you haven’t really used the guidance committee, Chad, else we’d have already known.”
“Yes, Michel, I decided to play a lone hand, except info to Bob, when I realised the difficulties in implementation. The guidance committee, I feared, would have shot the project down if made aware. It’s been a heck of a tough job figuring it out. I apologise if anyone feels offended.”
“No need, Chad. No one’s been offended,” said Snyder. “If the end is achieved, the means are justified.”
“Yes, Chad,” agreed Michel. “It’s end results that matter.”
“Onward then, to end results,” said Chad, grinning.
“Credit card customers fall into four clear groups. There is a fifth, a sub group of unbelievable dumbfucks, but, for our purposes, it’s the same as Group Four.
“We start with Group One, 38 percent of the entire customer base. This group reads its statements almost immediately on receipt. But, of course, our survey was not conducted to discover that. Our goal was to uncover what they do. Surprisingly, 19 percent of Group One are habitual late payers, despite being eager to read statements. The late payers were asked why they read statements immediately.
“There’s a common thread. They read to check remaining credit, number of missed installments, and whether anything remains for cash withdrawal. And what about checking billing? Nothing. This 19 percent does not check statements for any other reason. That’s also true of some additional percentage of the entire group. Statements are taken, for granted, to be accurate, and, except when a customer suspects misuse, there’s a tendency to ignore details. Everyone okay? Any questions?" They were silent, spellbound.
“Group Two, 26 percent,” continued Chad. “It reads statements not as promptly as Group One, but does read within payment due date. In Group Two, 72 percent are timely, and the remaining 28 percent habitual late payers. Late payers of Group Two check statements for exactly the same reasons as late payers of Group One.”
“Group Three, 22 percent - stashes statements away without caring to check anything, throwing away flyers and promo offers, and chucking statements into plastic bags, envelopes or drawers. Eventually some may file them, but that is an exception rather than a rule. In any case, Group Three never examines statements, and, of course, never reads enclosures. Those fools rely entirely on our girls to call and hassle for payment, which is when they ask questions about limits and whatever else happens to be bothering them. It’s quite strange. If you notice, Group Two reads statements, but from Group Three on, nobody does. There’s no middle ground, grey area or fade out. If not within validity, then not at all. Or perhaps quite logical; why read yesterday’s newspaper? Anyway, everyone okay?” Chad paused and looked around. Everyone was okay. “And so, on to Group Four.”
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Chad could not help laughing. “Group four, ah, Group Four - 14 percent. What can be said about this lot? Sad cases; utter dumbfucks. Survey teams saw numerous unopened statements dating back several months. Many from this group say they throw statements away, trash unopened envelopes on receipt! Group Four treats credit card statements as junk mail.
“But within Group Four is Subgroup Five, 43 percent, over 6 percent of all cardholders - one out of every sixteen! If there’s a degree beyond dumbfuck, these are the guys.” Chad paused for dramatic effect. “They do not receive statements!”
“How? Why?” blurted Michel, alarmed that this could lead to something against his department.
“Why? Because they’ve changed mailing addresses and not informed us. Some have not had mail in years.”
The survey results had exceeded their wildest expectations, and they were overjoyed. The figures still needed explanation, but Snyder’s newly christened Spiders sensed it was all headed in the right direction.
“Analysis, Chad, analysis,” urged Snyder, excited. “What do the figures show?”
“Okay,” said Chad. “Analysis - from the point of view of Credit Shield Insurance.” He took his paper up again. “Group Four, with its subgroup, is a confirmed subscriber. That’s 14 percent straight in the bag. Let’s now eliminate confirmed non-subscribers. That’s 81 percent of Group One plus 72 percent of Group Two, adding up to 49.5 percent of the total, and leaving us with another 36.5 percent who are very likely to be subscribers. The final figure? We can expect exactly half of Citizenbank’s cardholders to be default subscribed to Credit Shield Insurance - the percentage that basically does not read its statements. One million subscribers, plus whatever part of the rest that lets it pass. Shall we call them bonus dumbfucks?”
“Fantastic, Chad, simply fantastic,” said Snyder.
“But there’s also the Trojan Horse program, concluded yesterday.”
“More? There’s more? Trojan Horse?”
“Last month, we ran a campaign in Dubai only, targeting customers who had been cardholders at least three months. The reason we excluded brand new cardholders is obvious - statements would be unfamiliar things, requiring minute scrutiny. We wanted to find out how many customers read the small print. Of course, had survey results been in hand, we wouldn’t have bothered. It has however been done, and throws more light on the pattern behaviour we will exploit.
“The promotion was designed to be extremely rewarding. In the small print, a one-off printing job, we inserted a short new clause. It read that, for the installment due in that very statement, every customer paying by enclosing a cheque in an envelope - and dropping it into special promotion boxes at Citizenbank’s branches - would be refunded a quarter the payment made. To ensure we tracked response from statements only and not from any very visible boxes, no such boxes were actually placed in our branches. Michel?”
“Not one customer has either paid or asked about the scheme,” said Michel. “The option has expired.”
The meeting adjourned to allow its participants to reload glasses. Snyder popped a bottle of champagne from some he found in the fridge. The mood was festive.
Then, Michel threw a spanner in the works. “No matter what the survey reveals, Chad, it only goes to prove that customers trust us,” he said. “They expect Citizenbank to abide by its status as one of the world’s largest banks. Cardholders ignore statements because they know there will be no wrongdoing on our part, and that’s why they don’t give new mailing addresses. They don’t care, they know. Yes, a Trojan Horse has escaped notice. It has some significance, no doubt, but put a brand new charge in, under a brand new head, and for sure the market will be buzzing with the news. Imagine an office environment with half a dozen Citizenbank cardholders. One guy spots the charge and tells the others. It’ll spread like wildfire. There’s no hope of sneaking it through. We’ll have to subscribe customers the traditional way. I’m sorry, but I cannot see forced default subscription working, other than with Group Four - and probably that lot, too, will get wind of it.”
“Unless we use invisible ink,” said Warner, but his joke could not revive the mood, extinguished, by Michel’s little speech, like a candle being snuffed out. The open bottle of champagne suddenly looked completely out of place.
Gloom settled in.
Only Chad remained unmoved, and Snyder eventually noticed. “Got something up your sleeve, Chad?” he asked.
“Of course, boss. Else I’d have been wasting everybody’s time, wouldn’t I?”
Hope stirred anew in breasts, and drooping heads and shoulders began lifting again. “Chad to the rescue,” said Warner.
“Chad to the rescue,” said Chad. “It’s not that bad, but yes there is the danger of a wildfire, a mass movement, and therefore our strategy is clearly defined. We must somehow structure actions to evade detection, that’s all.”
“You have a way forward?” asked Snyder eagerly.
“Yes, of course. It’s all about method, boss. Method, call it strategy, and nothing else. It should be simple and easy to fuck dumbfucks. It’s what they’re there for.”
“Hear, hear,” said Warner, raising his glass.
“The way forward? The strategy? The method?” Chad looked about, pausing for effect. “Give and take!” he screamed, electrifying the atmosphere.
They panted, faces flushed, waiting. Chad paced the room, this tall, blond, good looking young man. He spoke strongly now, with conviction, waving a finger about.
“First we exclude new cardholders – we’ll nail them later. Anyone who has held our credit card less than six months is out. No big deal, as it still leaves over two million cardholders to screw. The Trojan Horse project proves that after three months customers begin maturing. What does maturing mean? Maturing means ignoring statements, and exhibiting pattern behaviour, so, to be doubly safe, we go to six months to weed out risky elements. Then we introduce Credit Shield Insurance in a very special way.
“Here is what I propose we do. The first three months we charge default subscription to Credit Shield Insurance, and we also reverse the charge. We make it free. We get dumbfucks accustomed to seeing the name and the charge in credit card statements.
“We charge without reversal in month four. Dumbfucks will anticipate another charge reversal at some future date, and we let them hope, ignore and forget, forever and ever. All we have to do is give and take!
“Give and take, give and take, give and take!”
The bankers leapt for joy, Snyder pumping Chad’s hand vigorously, exclaiming, congratulations, congratulations, Michel hugging and kissing him on both cheeks, Warner and Kerry exchanging high fives, setting everyone off exchanging high fives, and Snyder popping another bottle of champagne, abandoning questions and discussions, and embracing solely the lust for gold, and they got very drunk and rowdy, going to the closed French restaurant and having a fine meal, opening the most expensive wines to go with dinner, Snyder tipping extravagantly when leaving, deciding that he too would go to the Cyclone and choose his own girls, fuck the reporters, but he need not have worried, because in the Cyclone you find no reporters, only shopkeepers, insisting that Warner and Michel join in the festivities and forcing them to call their wives and tell lies, which they did, and in drunkenness neglected to coordinate, which would give them endless trouble with their wives, who were best friends, Snyder commandeering a 15-seater hotel bus for the expedition, as it discharged new arrivals at the front door, whose driver ran in to complain, causing the night manager to rush out with the intention of accosting the rowdy gang, but instead, on spotting Snyder, the gang-leader, already fiddling with the controls and searching compartments for the key the driver had taken with him, instructing the driver to do whatever they told him, and fuck the guests stranded at hotel and airport, the gang singing a rousing song, to a nursery rhyme tune, that Snyder made up, on the way to the Cyclone, whose chorus went, come out dumbfuck, come out dumbfuck, where’re you hid, where’re you hid, don’t you know we love you, far more than your mother, ever did, ever did, Snyder passing around a bottle of expensive wine illegally taken out of the French restaurant, Warner trying and failing to pee at the back of the bus, as Kerry, mindful of his own penile problems, and now the keeper of everybody’s cock, kept interfering with his concentration, and at the Cyclone picking up the best looking girls, mistakenly including two from the first night, without noticing, loading the bus with ten, and singing the same rousing song on the drive back to the hotel, the girls getting the chorus wrong, singing bum fuck for dumbfuck, because what else did the poor darlings know anyway, the disorderly mob disembarking in disarray at a side entrance, as ordered by a momentarily sensible Warner, after all it was his hometown, and being drunk was one thing but wandering around hotel lobbies with beautiful boisterous hookers was another, which circumspection backfired immediately for they were instantly lost, unable to find the route to their quarters, stumbling into the lobby from some other direction, tarts in their wake, discovering the night manager behind some plants, failing to recognise him, though it would not have mattered if they had, and forcing him to lead them to the elevators and on to the suites, offering him a shot at the whores, because he seemed a nice enough fellow, some girls beginning to undress, others hitting the bottle, the night manager escaping from their clutches, in the melee inside Snyder’s suite, and after instructing his deputies to make sure the rowdies were not disturbed in any way, secreting himself behind a different bunch of potted plants the remainder of the night, while writing his report on the disgraceful guest in the presidential suite, the main report embellished frequently all night by lesser reports of spies, brought to him by runners, of screeching girls wandering stark naked between Snyder’s and Kerry’s suites, of them riding elevators for fun, of the trashing of both suites, of Kerry studying his dick with a torch a girl had on her mobile, of him eventually recognising her as the slut of two nights ago and accusing her of giving him an itch and making her examine his dick by torchlight, which resulted in an illuminating blowjob, of the ruckus that erupted when Snyder and Kerry fell into a shouting match, which ruckus had been sparked by Warner wondering whether dumbfucks were born or made, Kerry saying made, Snyder insistent born, the squabble leading nowhere, as both bankers clung most obstinately to their stances, and mere chance sorted that quarrel out, as at that very moment the television was on some science channel showing a birth, which Michel drew their attention to, and they quietened down watching transfixed as the newborn emerged, and when the doctor got the tiny thing and flipped it over to slap it alive, all bore witness that the nasty little critter had dumbfuck written in fiery letters on its forehead, and so that settled the matter, the night manager the next morning sending his voluminous report, which included the earlier offences and most certainly the slaps, to the manager of the hotel, who was outraged and sent it off higher to the manager of the company that ran the entire group of hotels, who was in his turn outraged, forwarding it off to the sheikh who ran the whole show, who was out, and so it reached the Sheikh himself, who was truly outraged, that here in my city of multiple construction projects is the boss of Citizenbank, with all the money I need, so much to do, so much to build, islands in the sea, castles in the sky, and the information reaches me only when he slaps an insignificant fool in a hotel, and there has been a huge failure of the entire security system, the next thing you know there’ll be assassins in Dubai, and no one will alert me until they slap someone and when did he reach and on which flight did he arrive, and on discovering that the man had actually flown in by magnificent private jet even now parked at the airport, took the sheikh in charge of the airport to task, who blamed the non-sheikh boss of the airport, who began to finger his deputy, and so they conducted a full investigation immediately while frantically passing the buck, to identify the cause of the appalling breach of security, and finally pinned it all down on a toilet cleaner who had a duty he did not know, having been told once long ago to look sharp and inform, you’re with the CID now, the Sheikh going to the hotel that afternoon and meeting Snyder in a special room, to make Snyder think he had come to meet the Sheikh and not the other way around, discussing finance for his grandiose projects, which as it amounted to talking shop was easy enough for a groggy and bemused Snyder, encouraging him to trash his suite repeatedly if he was so minded, and girls from the Cyclone did you say, stay tonight and I’ll send you Arab virgins, which he did, stay, and which he did, send, the fake virgins with cunts sewn up so that men could have blood as proof, very satisfying, the Sheikh on his way out bumping into the night manager who had made a day of it to see Snyder put in his place and maybe jailed for ruining his suite and for violence, but instead receiving a mighty slap from the almighty Sheikh, who is a great exponent of the martial arts against unresisting opponents, slapping all and sundry, and for a truly sound slap you have to deliver from the hip, don’t you know, here let me show you how, ordering immediate deportation of the unfortunate night manager who discovered finally, shackled in an aircraft alongside an illiterate toilet cleaner who knew not the cause of his own misfortune, the truth in what his dear departed wise father had revealed shortly before death claimed him, that only if you seek diligently, only if you never say die and only if you leave no stone unturned, then, my son, and only then will you succeed, and find in the end that there is injustice in this world.