by Paul Watkins
Jennifer listens and nods in understanding.
“I agree. I’m still undecided whether I should stick with Philip or get a dog.”
Alicia turns and looks at me with a critical eye.
“What kind of dog?”
“I’m already housebroken,” I offer meekly, but then switch quickly to offense. “Look you two, the only reason I’m sitting here listening to this nonsense is that I understand you serve pretty good food and drink. Once I’ve sampled some of it I think I’ll go some place where I’m less well known and better appreciated.”
“Don’t worry, Philip,” Alicia says with a laugh, “we aren’t going to let you get away so easily. You’re the only eligible man for miles. All the men who live in Naples are old… and every month they drive to St. Petersburg to visit their parents. This is the weekend they are all away. Everything is completely quiet andwill remain so for the next few days. In other words, it’s dead… but we never use that word around here if we can help it.”
I lean back and look at the ceiling.
“You girls sure know how to make a man feelwanted. I feel better already.”
***
The long weekend is gone in a flash, filled with shopping trips, wonderful dinners and moonlit walks on the beach. Tuesday morning we find ourselves back at the airport where it seems we arrived only a few hours ago. I have been gently and persistently interrogated for the past three days. The message: I love my daughter and don’t forget it. Regardless of her feelings or lack of them for me, I found Jennifer’s mother to be a delightful woman and I genuinely like her… I might even miss the questions, but I don’t think so.
I did get a peek at how the very wealthy conduct their lives on a day-to-day basis… mother and daughter, shopping, going to restaurants, talking and just being together. The answer is quite simple: they’re just like everyone else. They’ve missed one another and they relish their time with one another. They worry about eating fatty foods and paying too much for clothing, but do it anyway. They laugh at the things going on in the nation’s capitol and shake their heads in frustration. The evening news is often frightening and most of the rest of television is boring. Who was it who said wealthy people are just like everyone else, except they have more money?
The bottom line for me, I guess, is that Jennifer is a real person. She has a brain and she uses it. She thinks about everything she does and takes full responsibility for her defeats and credit for her victories. Not given to flights of fancy, her feet are firmly on the ground. If there’s something about her I don’t like, I have yet to find it.
Contrary to my nature, I find it difficult to keep things cool and not suddenly rush to a more serious level. No, if ever there has been a time to exercise patience, that time is now. Instead of thinking about how much I like Jennifer and care for her, I should concentrate on my work and just let things happen as they may. Of course, things one should do and things one actually does are often quite different… aren’t they? Especially when it comes to that four-lettered word called love.
CHAPTER 24
Currently there are three restaurants under construction, the first due for completion in about four months. We should have been further along than this by now, but there have been the inevitable delays. More restaurants will follow in the wake of these openings assuming everything continues to go well. We have decided that the next unit will not start until one of the three opens and goes on revenue. Although money is not an issue, we feel certain we will not get overextended if we do not have more than three units in the building stage at any one time.
Fortunately A.J. never made any attempt to tie his restaurants in with his rap image, so there should be no conflict with his career change to country music, assuming it follows its present course. In fact I’m sure there are many restaurant customers who don’t even know who A.J. is, or much about rap for that matter.
There’s another issue involving the restaurants, but I don’t even want to broach the subject so soon after the debacle with A.J.’s friends. Two days ago we received a call from one of A.J.’s managers in the city, John Taylor. John manages the restaurant in Queens. He called me to set up a meeting with ‘an interested party’ who would like to become a partner in the restaurants… all of them.
I asked John for more information, but he was circumspect, saying only that we should talk to the individual and get the information from the horse’s mouth. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I smell a rat. Perhaps it’s the taste in my mouth leftover from the other night with A.J.’s pals, or simply the air of mystery lingering about… but something isn’t right with this deal. I’ve decided to check it out before saying anything to A.J., and I’ve asked John to put a lid on it until I get more information.
The drive into the city gives me a little time to reflect on things in general, but the increase in traffic soon requires all my attention and there’s no time to daydream. I make my way to the restaurant and park in a lot that’s less than a block from my destination. It’s only eleven A.M. and the restaurant is virtually empty. John has reserved a booth for us in the back, well out of the way of the lunchtime crowd.
I hang up my coat and sit in the booth opposite John. This is the first time I have spent any time alone with him and I notice he’s rather hyper this day. Perhaps he has a reason to be nervous, but it would seem there’s little I can do about it. John is a tall, slender man. Well groomed and impeccably dressed. His nails manicured, everything in its place, John would normally exude confidence… but not today. It’s obvious this meeting has knocked him off-center and if that’s the case, then maybe there’s more to this than what he has told me so far. Mr. Ralph Espy, the man I’m here to meet has not yet arrived.
“What’s the deal, John?” I ask. “What do you know about this guy?”
John looks away and then over his shoulder as though he’s about to tell an ethnic joke or some story he doesn’t want overheard.
“I don’t know what to say, Phil. It came out of the blue.” John’s right eyelid is jumping, a nervous tic I hadn’t noticed before. “This guy, Espy, came in the other day and said he wants a meeting with the boss. He’s decided to come in. That’s the way he said it, like he’s made up his mind and now it’s a done deal just ‘cause he thought of it. Naturally I asked around.” John shakes his head in dismay. “We’re in trouble, Phil. Espy is connected. If these guys want in, there’s going to be trouble. I don’t know a lot about the mob. That is, I don’t know any more than anyone else… but I know what I hear and Espy and his pals are bad news.”
“When you say the mob, are you sure it’s one of the crime families? Maybe he’s just some jerk freelancing, or a mob guy who’s doing a little moonlighting. It’s hard to believe a small operation like ours is going to attract any serious attention. I mean, we do a good business and all, but we’re certainly not at the level where we’re going to become the heart’s desire of the organization.”
“I know what you’re saying and I don’t have a good answer for you. It could be them, or it could be an entrepreneur. The word is the guy’s connected… that’s all I know. I don’t even know how high he goes or if he’s just a wannabe. I didn’t want to ask too many questions and draw a crowd… know what I mean?”
“Good point. Well, let’s meet with him and see what comes of it.”
“Phil? There’s something else… “
John looks around again, this time with a pained expression on his face.
“Would you mind if I didn’t sit in on the meeting? I think it would be better if I appeared to be on the outside of this deal. I mean, I have to continue working here and I don’t want him to think he can lean on me for information. I mean… what the hell… I really won’t be in on the final decision anyway, so why make it appear otherwise?”
“I think that’s a good idea, John,” I reply. “It would be better to cut
you out of the loop now, because it wouldn’t work later on. I’ll make it plain to him that you’re nothing more than a messenger… at this point your job is done. I think he’ll buy it.”
“Thanks, Phil. I don’t need any heat from these guys if things start cooking. I know A.J. will never go for any deal with the mob, if that’s what it is. And forget doing a deal with some jerk trying to cut his way in. A.J. would laugh him out of the restaurant… and then all hell will break loose.”
I’m about to answer when I look up and see a short, heavy-set man enter the restaurant and look our way before heading in our direction.
“I think our friend is here,” I say in a conversational tone. “Why don’t you stick around and make the introductions… then excuse yourself and go into the kitchen. Whatever you do, stay out of earshot. Don’t let him see you again while he’s here unless you are out front working. Generally it would be better if you stay out of sight. Okay?”
John nods in agreement and slides out of the booth.
Espy shrugs out of his coat as he crosses the restaurant. He throws the garment in the next booth and stands expectantly as John extends his hand in greeting. Espy is a stocky man who looks bull-strong. Thick necked and balding, he’s breathing heavily from his short walk.
I assume he thinks of himself as a fashion plate, but unfortunately the fashion is slightly out of date… by forty or fifty years. He’s probably a victim of watching too many old gangster movies. The double-breasted suit is a bit too tight and the French cuffs are straining with the weight of the large links holding the sleeves together. A fold of flesh hangs over his shirt collar and his labored breathing accentuates the look of strangulation. The black wingtip shoes shine brightly from the ritual of the daily visit to the shoeshine stand. Even the cool morning is unable to stop him from sweating. He is obviously a man who lets his goons do all the real work.
“Hello, Mr. Espy,” John says in a quiet and respectful manner. He holds his hands in a prayerful attitude, then rubs them together several times before shaking hands. “I’d like you to meet Philip Richards. He’s the general manager for all the restaurants. I told him you wanted to meet with Mr. Jackson, but I figured you could fill him in with the details. Ah, I really don’t… “ Espy ignores whatever John is about to say and turns towards me. John doesn’t bother to finish his sentence and instead steps back in an unspoken attempt to gain distance from this whole affair.
By now I’m on my feet and I extend my hand in greeting. Espy grasps my hand and executes a brief, perfunctory handshake.
“Hi… where’s Jackson? He’s the real boss, isn’t he?”
It’s a good opening and, I suppose, a reasonable question.
“Mr. Jackson won’t be here for this meeting,” I answer. “It’s my job to gather the necessary information for his review. If we waited for an opening in his schedule right now, it would be quite a while before we would be able to get together, so I thought it would be better this way. Maybe save us all some time.”
Espy considers this for a moment and then slides into the booth. John takes this as his signal to depart and does so without further comment. I sit across from Espy and wait for him to begin. He watches John’s departure and seems to require no further explanation.
Turning back to me he stares for a moment before speaking.
“Richards … is that your name?”
I nod and he continues.
“Okay, Richards, here’s the deal. I’ve decided to get into the restaurant business and I like the looks of your operation. I’m a partner in a number of different operations around town and a few more won’t hurt.”
“What kind of arrangement are you proposing?”
He smiles briefly and then his face quickly returns to the normal hard lines.
“I will be a partner… the silent kind. I’ll make sure you have plenty of business. I’ll be putting money in, but it will just be passing through, as the saying goes. We may make a few cosmetic changes and put a few of our people on the payroll, but basically nothing much will change except we’ll take over running the finances from here on in. Don’t worry. you people will get a cut. You just won’t be making as much as you were before. In return for your cooperation, we will make certain you have a trouble-free operation. No problems… guaranteed. You maybe don’t know how much trouble there can be in this business. Lots of things can happen.” He looks me in eye before continuing. “Do I have to spell it out?”
Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I shake my head, declining the opportunity to hear all the terrible plagues he and his organization could visit upon us.
“Maybe I don’t have to say this,” he continues, “but I assume you know I can back up anything I say.”
I sit quietly for a time, taking all this in. He stares intensely across the table. I’m sure this is his version of pre-fight intimidation. I’d like to reach out and snuff this guy right now, but that probably wouldn’t be a very politic course of action. Whatever sewer he crawled out of will have an inexhaustible supply of his kind of slime-ball.
“Forgive me for being a little slow,” I begin, my voice shaking slightly, “but I’m afraid I need a little more information than you’re giving me. It’s my understanding that you have a reputation for being connected, but I will need to know more. For instance, to whom are you connected? And how can I be sure you aren’t just opening a little sideline on your own?”
Espy laughs.
“What… are you crazy? You must be. First of all, I don’t answer questions, I ask them… just so you know. Second, I don’t have to prove anything to you. You either do what I say, or you’ll regret it. For that I have plenty of references.” He chuckles again and shakes his head in wonder at my lack of underworld savvy.
I try to appear impressed and maybe even a little frightened, but it wouldn’t do to overplay any reaction right now. I’m sure he assumes I’m filling my drawers just being in his awesome presence. His kind is usually so full of themselves that they can’t imagine anyone not being impressed, frightened or awed by their reputation and physical intimidation. I hold up my hand to signal my appeal for forgiveness.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll take your message back to Mr. Jackson.” I reach into my jacket and pull out a business card. “Here’s my card… it would be best to talk directly to me from here on out. Don’t bother calling or talking to Taylor anymore… he doesn’t know anything and he won’t be able to tell you anything in the future. There’s no reason to bring him into any of this. But how do we get back to you? I’ll need a telephone number and an address in case we have to send anything or talk again for any reason. Also, if you can give us any other names or we canmeet any other people in your organization… someone we can contact in the event you’re away… that would help.”
“No more names now. You’ll meet everyone the next time.”
“When’s that going to be?”
“One week… our place. Here’s the address.”
He hands a small slip of paper to me with a two-line address written on it.
“It’s out on the island… you won’t have any trouble finding it. Figure eight o’clock… at night. Don’t be late. And tell your boss to not ask any damn fool questions like you did. My partner isn’t very understanding about these things. We’ll put everything together then.”
Espy slides out of the booth and picks up his coat.
“Don’t worry… you won’t feel a thing… completely painless.”
Espy throws his head back and laughs, delighted with his humor. He picks up his coat from the booth and then turns and leaves without further comment. Walking out the door he smiles and waves like an old friend.
A week isn’t much and we have a lot to do to prepare for the meeting.
I want to be certain we can finish this thing once and for all, and right now, the fewer pe
ople who knowabout it, the better.
***
Hudson’s demeanor is intense while listening to my description of the brief meeting I had in the city earlier today. It’s easy to get angry about this thing, but the tough part is what we are going to do about it? Indeed, just what can we do about it? For openers, what do we tell A.J.? Everything? Anything? My inclination is to tell him nothing about it… not now, not later. He’s too unpredictable.
I think we take care of it and get it over with, or we’re going to be saddled with this one for a long, long time. However, in order to take care of it now, we’re going to have to act quickly and decisively.
“So what do you think,” I ask, “go in, guns blazing… frag ‘em and then go to a movie?”
Hudson looks at me and smiles, “Sounds like a plan. What’s playing?”
“Seriously, Hud, we have to decide what we’re going to do and who’s going to do it. I want to take these guys out early in the game. I don’t know why, but I think Espy’s running a number on us. I think he’s an enterprising little schmuck who thinks he’s ready to move up to the big time. He either wants to strike out on his own, or, perhaps, start a little operation and hand it over as a present to his boss… hoping it will do wonders for his career in the business. From what little I know about these things, I can’t imagine him running a sideline for any length of time. That alone would be a death sentence. Bottom line, unfortunately, Espy isn’t going to go away. For whatever reason, he has decided to make a move on A.J.’s business.”
Hudson nods his agreement.
“Do you have anything to go on other than your gut?”
“Not right now, but I think there’s a way we can find out in a hurry. Maybe not this minute, but soon after we get to the meeting.”
