He texted them. He texted them on my phone, because he was to be at my office at five o'clock, after missing a lot of meetings. He was to be there at five o'clock. I waited and waited until 5:30.
What he was doing to me was this. I know what his game was. I'm a bad-tempered guy some days. I don't like being pushed around. So I would phone him, and his message machine would come on and say he was very busy today closing a deal, and so on, and to leave a message. I'd leave a message and he never called. Then I finally phoned his cellphone. One of his flunkies picked up his cellphone and answered it. He knew it was me, and he wouldn't talk to me. I said I was fed up with this and told them to get this thing straight, that I wasn't interested in this. He said, “We're coming at five o'clock tomorrow”, and so on. So I said okay, because I like nothing better than telling somebody right to their eye, “You're finished.” I really don't like to do it on the phone. I'd rather belt them in the mouth, to tell you the truth, anyway. Sorry.
He didn't show up at 5:30. I had smoke coming out of my ears. I really did. I was so angry. I said to Stephen—because I can't text—“Use my phone, text him, and tell him he's unprofessional; it's over.”
Within three minutes, that Frank guy, whose name you've heard mentioned here, with one of his associates, phoned back and said, “Jim, we texted you at 3:30”—they hadn't—“to say we wouldn't make it.” I said, “It doesn't matter, Frank. What do you not understand about over? It's over. You tell the guy it's over; I'm finished with him.” We were well finished. Frank phoned me two or three times, and I said, “Frank, it's over.” And it was. We've never spoken again.