by DW Davis
“Yes!” Mr. DeLuca said emphatically, apparently glad the cop finally understood the situation.
Jason looked around the room, finally catching his wife’s eye. She was trying to hide a smile. We all wondered if Mr. DeLuca had any idea at all of how ridiculous he sounded. I looked at Maeve, but she wouldn’t look my way. Later she said that she was afraid if she looked at me she would start laughing and wouldn’t be able to stop.
Mr. McHale wasn’t laughing. I thought he was going to explode, and realized I needed to do something.
“Sgt. Lewis, I think I should take Mr. McHale here outside and get his side of the story.”
Jason looked at me in confusion at first. After all, I wasn’t a cop. But he went along.
“Good idea, Lanier. Detective Patrick and I will stay here and keep an eye on the rest of these suspects.”
Jason barely managed to keep a straight face as he said this. Mr. DeLuca stood there fuming. The teachers were talking quietly among themselves. They all knew who Jason, Paul Patrick, and I were, especially that those two were cops.
Mr. McHale wasn’t sure what to think, but he followed me outside. “Michael, when did you join the Police Department?”
I looked back toward the banquet room to be sure we were out of earshot. “About thirty seconds ago, sir. I think I’ve been deputized by silent consent. Mr. DeLuca doesn’t know that. Come on, let’s you and I go use the payphone. I assume you won’t be staying here for lunch.”
Mr. McHale made a derisive noise deep in his throat. “You assume correctly, young man. Who are you going to call?”
There was only one person I could think of who could handle a group like that on short notice, Alfred Dupree.
“I am going to call an old friend of mine. Your staff wanted Italian. I hope they’ll settle for pizza.”
I called Alfred and asked him if, as a personal favor to me, he could make up enough pizza to feed the staff at Laney High and do so in the next hour. All he asked was if they were coming there or if I needed them delivered.
“I can’t imagine you’ve got room for all of them,” I said.
“Nonsense, Michael. The lunch crowd has started thinning out. You bring them over, and I’ll have a place for them,” Alfred assured me.
“Thank you so much for this, Alfred. I really owe you one.”
“Don’t be silly, Michael. It’s the least I can do for such a good friend as you.”
Mr. McHale seemed relieved to hear the situation had been taken care of, at least that part of the situation.
My next call was to my father. “Dad, I need to know the details of Mr. DeLuca’s lease on the Primavera’s building.”
“What in the world for, son?” my father asked, surprise evident in his voice.
If I was going to get the teachers out of there before the situation became any more ridiculous, I couldn't take the time to go into detail. “I promise I’ll explain later. I just need to know if there’s anything in the terms that would allow me to evict him.”
Astonished, my father said, “You want to evict him? What’s going on?”
“I promise, Dad, I’ll explain later. Right now I just need to know if there is a clause or something that will allow me to threaten him with eviction.”
My father, trusting that I knew what I was doing, asked me, “Has he damaged the building, done something illegal, impaired his ability to do business in some way that would keep him from being able to pay the rent? I’m not sure of the exact terms of his lease, but those are fairly standard things.”
Nodding to myself, I replied, “Oh, you could say he has impaired his ability to do business. Once word gets out of how he treated the Laney teachers today, he may never get another customer through the door. Thanks, Dad, I have to go.”
Mr. McHale was eying me skeptically as I hung up the phone. “Michael, I know you have connections, but how are you going to evict DeLuca?” Disdain dripped from his voice as he said the restaurateur’s name.
I gave him a brief explanation. “It’s easy, Mr. McHale. I own the building, and Mr. DeLuca just severely impacted his ability to meet the rent in a very negative way.”
“Oh.” That was all Mr. McHale said, but a big smile spread across his face.
I told him that as soon as he could get the staff back on the bus he should take them to Dupree’s Pizza. Alfred would be expecting them. Then it was time for me to have a little fun.
As Mr. McHale and I returned to the banquet room, we heard Jason trying to explain to an irate Mr. DeLuca why he couldn't arrest the teachers.
“Mr. DeLuca, sir, please understand that you have no cause to arrest anyone here. It isn’t a crime to change your mind about eating at a restaurant.”
Before Mr. DeLuca could respond, I intervened.
“DeLuca,” I said, harshly and with deliberate disrespect, “you have more important things to worry about right now than this fine group of educators. You need to start trying to find another location for your restaurant.”
Eleven
Mr. DeLuca turned toward me so fast he almost lost his balance.
“What do you mean? Who do you think you are? You’re just a lousy cop.”
I felt a chilling smile cross my face. “That was probably a poor choice of words, DeLuca. I am not a police officer, nor did I ever claim to be. I merely offered to take Mr. McHale to the other room as I needed to talk to him. If I were a cop, however, I could probably make a good case against you for unlawful detention. Several good cases in fact, as many cases as there are teachers in this room.”
I turned to Jason and asked him, “Am I right about that, Sergeant Lewis?”
“I’m sure the District Attorney would want to at least look into the allegations, should any of these fine educators choose to press the issue,” Jason said with a barely suppressed grin.
Confusion showed on Mr. DeLuca's face. “What, what, wait a minute here! Who are you then, if you’re not a cop?”
At that point I knew I had him. “That, DeLuca, I think we should discuss in private.”
Something in my tone must have gotten through that thick skull of his. “Very well, we will go to my office.”
There were some things I wanted made clear first. “And the teachers, they are free to go,” I asked, “without any more threats or accusations?”
Mr. DeLuca did not look as though he liked that idea. “Yes, alright, get them out of here. I won’t press charges.”
Jason looked at me with a puzzled expression, but Mr. McHale took him aside and whispered something to him. Jason looked up and gave me a nod. Paul began ushering the staff out the door. Maeve started to come over to me, but I waved her off. I mouthed to her that I would tell her later. She shrugged and followed the rest of the staff out the door.
At least there had been no other customers in the restaurant. Primavera’s usually only opened at lunch time for special parties - parties like a teacher’s luncheon.
Mr. DeLuca and I went to his office.
“Okay, so who are you that McHale and those lousy cops let you take charge of things that way?” he asked, trying to regain some of his bluster.
I walked past him, sat down in his chair, and folded my hands on his desk. Looking up at him as if he was a misbehaving child, I said, “He is Mr. McHale to you, and those two cops are fine law enforcement officers. You, on the other hand, run a gussied-up, tomato-paste diner and have a way too overinflated opinion of yourself and your out-of-a-can culinary concoctions.”
Mr. DeLuca turned scarlet and raged, “How dare you, you young punk?”
In a calm, icy, voice I replied, “I dare, DeLuca, because I can. You see, your lease is with Coastal Carolina Realty Trust. My name is Michael Lanier. I own Coastal Carolina Realty Trust.”
For the first time, Mr. DeLuca had no quick come-back. A worried look flitted across his face.
“I also own the Coastal Carolina Small Business Fund, the company that loaned you the money to get this place up and running. That
loan is callable at any time, DeLuca. I’m calling it.”
Mr. DeLuca slumped into one of the uncomfortable chairs he no doubt made his employees sit in when they came into his office. “Impossible, I cannot pay.”
With a shark’s grin and cold hard eyes, I informed him, “Then, if you cannot pay the note, once you have paid what you can, you will not be able to pay the rent. Consider this your notice that I am commencing eviction actions against you per the terms of your lease.”
“You cannot do this. You are a child,” Mr. DeLuca said, but there was no resolve in his voice. He had no fight left.
Toning down my predatory posture, I said in a more business-like tone, “Call the SBF offices, call the Realty office, or call your lawyer. I assure you, Mr. Deluca, I can and will do this.”
Mr. DeLuca sat quietly for what seemed like hours but was really only a moment.
“There must be some way to avoid this. What do you want of me?”
Leaning back in his chair and allowing myself to relax, I told him, “First, I want to know what you have against teachers.”
Mr. DeLuca shook his head slowly. “No, that I will not discuss. Suffice it to say I have my reasons, personal reasons. If that is your offer, evict me then.”
He surprised me. I’d expected a rant about how a teacher had treated him unfairly or spanked him too enthusiastically or something. A refusal to discuss it followed by a welling of tears I had not expected.
“No, Mr. DeLuca, I won’t evict you for that alone, though perhaps I should. You see, my wife was one of those teachers you so thoroughly insulted.”
Mr. DeLuca looked at me in a different way. Something in his demeanor changed.
“Mr. Lanier, I did not realize you interfered as a question of honor. I thought you were butting in where you had no business. Please accept my apologies to you and your bride.”
He stared into his lap for a moment, almost as if he was praying. With a deep sigh he looked up. “Let me tell you a story.
“Fifteen years ago, before I lived in North Carolina, my wife Carlita and I had a son. He was a beautiful baby boy. We thought he was perfect. But there had been complications during the delivery which, while not terrible, caused him to be a little slow to learn.
“We loved Dominick, and it never seemed to us that there was a problem. Then he started school. We tried to tell the teachers that he just needed a little more time, a little more direction, to be able to do the things they were supposed to teach him.
“‘No,’ they said. ‘He was slow. He was stupid.’
“They didn’t want to take the time. But my wife took the time. Dommie would come home from school each day in tears. Carlita would sit with him and go over his work. She would find ways to help him understand it. He would regain his confidence, only to have it struck down again by the teacher the next day when he couldn’t grasp the next thing quickly enough.
“My Carlita tried to talk to the teachers, the principals, but no one would listen, no one would help.
“Three years ago, after all those years of struggling, I received a call at the restaurant and came home to find Carlita in tears. Our precious boy had killed himself. One week later, Carlita took her own life. It is a wonder that I didn’t take mine.
“I blamed his teachers. All his life they had run him down and made him feel worthless. No matter what his mother and I tried to do, they did nothing but hurt him. Do you still wonder why I don’t like teachers?
“Eventually, I recovered enough of myself to want to start over. Several months ago I met a woman who began to help my heart heal. She encouraged me to leave that place and come here. She had gone to the university here and told me what a wonderful city this was. So, I came and with the help of…well, I guess with your help though I didn’t know it, I was able to start Primavera’s. Everything was going wonderfully until today. You see, Mr. Lanier, it was three years ago today that…that…my little boy…”
Mr. DeLuca could not continue the story through his tears. “I should not have come to work today. Linda told me not to. I should have listened to her. Now I am ruined.”
His story was tragic. I don't know that it justified how he had acted, but I knew that I wasn't going to put him out of business.
“No, Mr. DeLuca, you are not ruined. I’m very sorry about what happened to your family, but those teachers who failed Dominick were not in your banquet room today. I know those teachers who were in there today, each and every one of them. They are not the unfeeling, uncaring losers who failed your son. They are devoted, dedicated teachers who put their students first. I went to school where they teach. My wife teaches there now. Most of those people are my friends. Mr. DeLuca, they are not the people who hurt you.”
“I realize that now. Too late do I realize that,” Mr. DeLuca said sadly. “How can I ever make right what I have done this day?”
“Mr. DeLuca, you could apologize to them. If you want, I will talk to them. I won’t tell them anymore than you want me to, and then you can apologize.”
He looked at me sadly, and asked, “Will that be enough?”
Hoping to lighten his mood, I ventured with a smile, “Maybe a gift certificate for a meal?”
Now Mr. DeLuca smiled too, a wan smile, but a smile. “That I think I can do, yes. Mr. Lanier, thank you.”
“Mr. DeLuca, you are welcome. And I apologize for the things I said about you and your restaurant.” I rose and came around the desk.
“Nonsense,” Mr. DeLuca said, standing also. “It was the shock I needed to make me come around.”
We discussed briefly how we could get the staff together for him to offer his apology, and he decided to invite them all to a free New Year’s Eve dinner there at the restaurant.
Twelve
I caught up to Maeve and the teachers at Dupree’s just as they were being served their pizzas. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the place besides them. That’s when I noticed the sign on the door, CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY. Alfred had closed the place down for them. I owed him big time.
“Alfred, I didn’t expect you to do that. I’ll make it up to you,” I said.
Alfred put his arm around my shoulder and laughed, “What, so a few people have to wait to have some of my pizza another day. They’ll come back. You don’t owe me a thing, Michael. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here to be closed, if you get my meaning.”
I eyed him suspiciously, “What do you mean, if it wasn’t for me?”
Shaking his head and clasping his hands in front of him almost as if in prayer, Alfred replied, “Michael, Michael, I talked to you about wanting to open my own place. You say you think it is a good idea and maybe it can happen. Suddenly I hear from some people who want to help me start my own business with terms too good to be true, and it’s on the level. I may just be a poor purveyor of pretty good pizza, Michael, but I can put two and two together.”
I smiled and shook the hand he held out to me. “Officially, I have no idea what you are talking about. As a friend, thank you again.”
Alfred went back to work, and I went to find Maeve. As I walked up to the table, she put a piece of pizza in my mouth.
“Did you tell Alfred to kick everyone out for us?” she asked me with a disapproving frown.
I held up my hands as if warding her off. “All I asked him to do was make up a few extra pizzas. I expected you guys to eat them on the bus.”
“On the bus, huh,” Maeve said with something between annoyance and amusement. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t. We’ve got to clean that bus out before we give it back.”
Turning more serious, she asked, “What happened with DeLuca?”
Taking a deep breath I motioned toward an empty table near the back of the room. “That will take some telling,” I said.
Mr. McHale joined us as we sat down, and I told them what I’d learned when I talked to Mr. DeLuca. When I finished, there were tears in Maeve’s eyes.
“Michael, may I share that story with my sta
ff?” Mr. McHale asked solemnly.
Nodding slowly, I told Mr. McHale that Mr. DeLuca said it would be all right to tell enough to help them understand why he acted the way he did.
“He also asked that I make sure you all understand how sorry he is for what happened,” I added.
Mr. McHale related the story and the apology to the staff. He told them Mr. DeLuca would like to apologize to them all in person and that they had all been invited back for a complimentary New Year’s Eve dinner. After some discussion it was decided that they would accept both the apology and the invitation.
Thirteen
My final exams were finally over, and Maeve's first semester as a high school teacher drew to a close. It was time to plan for Christmas. It turned out we didn't have that much to plan. Grandma Lillian had decided she wanted to bring back the tradition of hosting a family Christmas Eve and had convinced my aunt to go along.
Since their house would be a bit small for such a large gathering, the family arranged to have the party in the Berne Restaurant at the corner of Glenn Burnie and Neuse Boulevard in New Bern. The restaurant had a sizable banquet room and a nice buffet. All the family would have to do was show up and enjoy.
That worked out well for Maeve and me since we’d left for River Dream as soon as school was out and planned to stay there until New Year's Eve. We’d be going back to Wilmington for New Year's Eve at Primavera's.
Christmas Eve at the Berne wasn’t quite like the ones I remembered as a kid, but the whole family seemed to enjoy themselves at Grandma Lillian's party. When Maeve and I got back to River Dream, after Maeve fell asleep, I slipped out to the living room and put a special present under the tree. Maeve had made me promise not to be as extravagant for Christmas as I had been the year before when I bought her the Porsche. I kept my promise, in terms of dollars anyway.
