Page 68 - Just Deserts

TotalCare

“Yes, sir, you did, and it looks just great over my fireplace at
home, but I hope someday to get a crack at wide-spectrum antibiotics
in the domestic market. That’s where the real profit is.”
Thomas Purdue frowned, a transient crease in his permanently
pressed brow. “Now, Harry, that’s not exactly true. Every medicine
we sell has a margin; it’s simply up to you to get the volume up to a
level we can live with. If we can’t move the product in one area, then
we look elsewhere in the world; that’s why we’re multinational.”
“But the bribes and kickbacks aren’t the same down there.” Harry
Covair’s eyes bulged. “When you net those two items, it barely pays
me to deal with anyone south of the border. But that’s not my beef. I
could live with the commission structure a little longer. No, what I
just learned at the Expo is an entirely new problem: the scuttlebutt is
that a bunch of the Central American nations are about to sign a
convention outlawing the importation of several classes of drugs, and
about a dozen of them are my top sellers!”
“What! Outlaw them?” Purdue was outraged; banana republic
government officials did not often tempt the fates by interfering with
the course of commerce, a shunt from which provided their life’s
blood.
“That’s right, sir. And of those, only a few can be sold in the
United States; the rest have long been prohibited. You know, the
same old story: a few bad reactions and the whole country is up in
arms. Why, just consider one of these drugs, Panasol: we still have
proprietary rights on it for six more years; after that point any two-bit
lab can crank out its own cheap version of hydrazine tetrachloride
and undercut us until we’re driven out of the market. Of course, the
market for Panasol isn’t that large in this country; a lot of other
compounds have demonstrated the same benefits without the side
effects. But those newer drugs weren’t available down south until
recently. Now I’m stuck with seven million units of Panasol and very
little demand for it here at home.”
Brimstone’s chief executive leaned back in his chair and stared at
the tips of his manicured fingernails.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I’m aware of Panasol’s problems
domestically. So we’ve overproduced the damned stuff: this isn’t the
end of the world, Harry. Beyond supply and demand, beyond the free
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