On a friday morning in Queens, Duke Hauser rubbed his leg through his clothes. He sat in the passenger seat of a black sedan, parked just across the street from a 7-Eleven.
Beside him, Stanley Jaffe was rubbing his hands together, his breath fogging the window as he checked his watch.
"5:03 AM," Jaffe muttered. "If the drivers are on schedule, the Post truck should be turning the corner right about... now."
As if summoned by the logic of logistics, a heavy box truck rumbled down the avenue.
The truck hissed to a halt in front of the convenience store. The driver jumped out, carrying heavy, twine-bound bricks of daily newspapers.
And right on top of the stack of New York Posts, sitting there was a bundle of PULSE Weekly.
"There it is," Duke said softly.
They watched as the driver dropped the bundle inside the vestibule. The clerk stacked the thick, newsprint books right next to the register, flanking the chewing gum and lighters.
"Now we wait," Duke said.
Ten minutes later, the door chimed. A kid, maybe thirteen, wearing a parka shuffled in. He grabbed a Big Gulp cup and headed for the Slurpee machine.
Duke watched intently, this was their market, kids this age were PULSE main market, in a shonen way.
(I have written and rewriten this phrase so many times cause i dont want it to sound dirty)
The kid walked to the counter, reached into his pocket for change. Then, his eyes dropped. He saw the cover of PULSE.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't flip through it. He didn't check the price. He grabbed a copy, threw it on the counter with his drink, and paid.
As he walked out, he didn't drink the Slurpee.
He ripped the plastic wrap off the book with his teeth and pulled out the card. He looked at it, a holographic image of Rogue Sun and punched the air in anger.
"Did you see that?" Jaffe whispered, sounding like he'd just witnessed a miracle. "He didn't even look at the content. Just the card."
"That's the data, Stanley," Duke said, signaling for the driver to start the car. "I have a feeling this is going to sell well."
By the time they reached their rented office in Manhattan, the sun had come out.
The office was warm, a sharp contrast to the Queens street corner. Duke stood by the window, looking out, while Jaffe read the reports from the regional managers.
"It's staggering, Duke," Jaffe said, holding the paper in disbelief. "We're tracking a 400% increase in sell-through compared to the newstands. The 7/11 strategy is working. By putting the product in the path of the daily routine, we've eliminated the friction of the purchase."
"And the cards?" Duke asked.
"The secondary market is already forming," Jaffe reported. "We have reports from schoolyards in Jersey and Connecticut. Kids are trading the Ben 10 cards for Transformers cards. The rarer cards we put in some magazine? They're practically currency among kids."
Duke nodded. This was the "Sticky Factor." A comic book was a story you read once. A trading card game was an ecosystem you lived in. By bundling them, he hoped to turn PULSE into a necessity for kids and increase sales.
"Keep the pressure on," Duke said.
The phone on his desk buzzed. It was the private line.
"Mr. Hauser," his secretary's voice came through, crisp and professional. "Mr. Bushnell is on line one. He says it's about Speedway."
Duke picked up the receiver. "Nolan. Tell me Atari is holding up."
"It's better than holding up, Duke," Nolan Bushnell's voice was filled with excitement from California.
"Explain."
"We installed the force-feedback motors in the test units at the Santa Monica pier," Nolan said. "When you take a corner too fast in Speedway, the wheel jerks. It resists you."
"We had a line of twenty people waiting to play last night. I watched a guy sweat, Duke. He was actually sweating because the machine was making him work for the turn."
"Great," Duke said, smiling. "So, how fast can we scale production?"
"I can have five thousand units ready for the rollout by March," Nolan promised.
"Make them," Duke said. "By the way, i want to speak with this company named Intel to buy the chips from them for our future arcades."
___
The afternoon brought a different kind of visitor.
The meeting had been on the books for weeks, but Duke had kept moving it, testing the patience of the man on the other side.
Today, however, there was no avoiding it.
Steve Ross walked into Duke's office like he was stepping onto a yacht.
The Chairman of Kinney National Services, soon to be Warner Communications was a man of immense charm.
He wore a suit that cost more than most of the cars in the Paramount lot, and he smelled of expensive cologne.
Ross wasn't a Hollywood guy, not really. He was a New York guy.
He had started with funeral homes, moved into parking lots, and then, through a series of brilliant, complex mergers, had swallowed Warner Bros. and Seven Arts whole.
He was a dealmaker, a financial architect who viewed movies as just another asset to be bundled and sold.
"Duke," Ross said, extending a hand that was perfectly manicured. "Or should I say, the 'Boy Wonder' of Texas? It is a pleasure to finally see the face behind the chaos in the industry."
"Steve," Duke replied, shaking the hand. The grip was firm. "I appreciate you coming uptown. I know the Kinney offices are busy these days. Mergers are exhausting work."
Ross laughed, a warm, booming sound that filled the room. He sat down in one of the leather armchairs without waiting to be asked, crossing his legs with an easy elegance.
"Exhausting? No, Duke. Exhausting is digging ditches. Mergers? Mergers are just heavy lifting with a fountain pen. But you know that. You bought this place when Bludghorn was panicking."
Ross looked around the office, his eyes lingering on the Atari prototype on the side table and the stack of PULSE comics on the desk.
"You have a lot of... toys," Ross observed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "It's charming really. It reminds me of when I was starting out. Before the parking lots took off."
"Parking lots are a steady business," Duke said, sitting behind his desk. He kept his voice neutral, but the jab was intentional. "Low overhead. High margin. You don't have to worry about the cars asking for a residual check."
Ross chuckled, leaning forward. "That's the beauty of it, Duke. Cars don't complain and neither do the dead. Funeral homes and parking lots that's where the real cash flow is. It's New York money."
He let the phrase hang in the air. New York money. It was a subtle code.
Everyone in the country knew that the parking lot business and the funeral business were industries where the the mob had deep roots. Ross wasn't threatening Duke, he was just reminding him.
"But we aren't here to talk about asphalt," Ross continued, smoothing his tie. "We're here to talk about synergy."
"You know, I made an offer for Ithaca Productions some time ago. Back before you... ascended. Forty million dollars. It was a generous number."
"It was a number," Duke corrected. "That I wouldn't call it generous. I'd call it a low ball value offer."
"Perhaps," Ross conceded. "But think of where you'd be. Retired on a beach. Instead, you're here, fighting with unions and trying to sell comic books to grocery stores. Which brings me to my point."
Ross gestured toward the Atari machine.
"That electronic thing. The ping-pong box. I hear you're putting a lot of capital into it. My engineers tell me it's a fad. A novelty. Like the hula hoop. But I like novelties. They amuse me."
Ross paused, his eyes locking onto Duke's.
"Sell it to me, Duke. Kinney has a division for amusements. We can put it next to the comic books we own. I'll give you a fair price."
"You can clear a part of the debt on Paramount and focus on making movies. You're a movie man, aren't you? Leave the toys to the big boys."
Duke leaned back in his chair. The condescension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Atari isn't for sale, Steve," Duke said quietly. "And it's not a toy. It's an arcade machine."
"Everything is for sale," Ross countered, his voice hardening slightly. "It's just a matter of what are the numbers on the check."
"And you should also consider the... legalities. Technology is a messy field, Duke. Patents are fragile."
"My lawyers, and they are very, very good lawyers, some would even call them the best in New York they tell me that electronic amusement patents are notoriously difficult to defend."
"It would be a shame if you spent all this money building a market only to find yourself tied up in court for a decade."
The velvet glove had slipped and the iron fist was visible. Ross was threatening to bury Atari in litigation if he couldn't buy it.
"My patents are solid," Duke smiled slightly and said, "And i have lawyers, they aren't from New York, but they are from Washington. They prefer antitrust law to contract disputes."
He had worked hard to get both Nolan Bushnell and Ralph Baer on his side specifically cause of patents. The least worrying thing for him was a patent litigation.
Of course that didn't mean he would take threats laying down.
Ross stared at him for a long moment. Then, the smile returned, bright and artificial.
"Antitrust. A sharp word. You... you really are a fighter, aren't you? I respect that. I really do."
Ross stood up, buttoning his jacket. "Well, the offer stands. If you ever decide you want to get out of the arcade business and back to the serious business of cinema, give me a call."
"Maybe we can co-produce something. I have a lot of idle cash from the parking lots looking for a home."
"I'll keep that in mind," Duke said, standing up but not offering his hand this time. "B
Ross laughed, shaking his head but also not offering his hand. "Well, good to see you, Duke. Give my regards to the unions. I'll see you around New York."
When the door clicked shut, the office stayed in silence.
Duke walked to the window and watched Steve Ross exit the building and get into a limousine that was parked in the 'No Standing' zone.
A police officer walked by, saw the car, and kept walking.
Duke felt a cold knot of anger in his stomach. It wasn't the threat of the lawsuit that bothered him. It was the dismissal. The arrogance.
Duke turned back to his desk.
He picked up the copy of PULSE, then looked at the other book sitting beside it, a copy of Detective Comics featuring Batman, published by National Periodical Publications.
National Periodical Publications. The company that would eventually become DC Comics in 1977.
Currently, it was a subsidiary of Kinney National.
A forgotten, neglected corner of Steve Ross's empire. Ross didn't read comics.
To him, Batman and Superman were just old trademarks that sold a few lunchboxes. He had no idea that in Thirty years, they would be the foundation of a billion-dollar cinematic universe.
Duke sat down and pulled a legal pad toward him.
"You want to talk about parking lots, Steve?" Duke whispered to the empty room. "Let's see what happens when I tow your car."
He picked up the phone and dialed his consultant on legal, a professor named Paul Goldstein who operated out of an office in Standord Law School.
"Goldstein. It's Hauser."
"Duke. What's the matter?"
"I hoped to get your help to get a full audit," Duke said, "I want to know everything about the corporate structure of National Periodical Publications."
"I want to know who sits on the board, and I want to know if or when the licensing deals expire. Also the same for the Termite Terrace."
"Termite Terrace?" Goldstein asked. "You mean the Looney Tunes? Bugs Bunny?"
"Yes. Kinney owns the company, but I bet they don't know what they own, and the contracts must be a mess from the Seven Arts merger. I want you to find every loophole, every lapsed copyright, and every disgruntled creator."
"Are you attacking them, Duke?"
"I'm not going to war with Kinney," Duke said. "But me and Steve Ross had a dissagrement. So i'm trying to learn about it."
"That's aggressive, Duke. Maybe Steve Ross won't like it."
"Ross won't even notice it," Duke said. "He thinks comics are for kids and doesnt care about DC."
Duke hung up the phone. He looked at the Pulse magazine again.
In his previous life, Warner Bros. had become a titan because they owned the DC library, the Looney Tunes, Batman, Harry Potter, The Matrix, Lord of the Rings, Dune, etc.
But this was 1970. Harry Potter wasn't written. The Matrix creators have barely even been born. And Batman? Batman was trapped in a campy TV reputation.
Duke took a pen and circled the words National Periodical Publications on his notepad. Then, he drew a line through them and wrote AJAX.
"Stanley!" Duke yelled through the open door.
Jaffe appeared in the doorway, looking startled. "Yeah, Duke?"
"Get me a meeting with the Siegel and Shuster estates," Duke said. "The creators of Superman. I hear they're unhappy with their royalties. I think it's time the Ajax Group made a donation to the 'Creator Rights' cause."
Jaffe's eyes went wide. "Duke... you're poking the bear. If you fund a lawsuit against Kinney regarding the Superman copyright..."
"I'm just secretly supporting Creator Rights, Stanley," Duke said plainly.
___
Hello