CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
2009 - The Bottom Line
I parked the zo reken in the parking lot on Baxter, then Hopeton and I took a leisurely stroll through the heart of Chinatown, over to Mott Street. It was a dark, chilly February night, yet Christopher Columbus Park was still filled with people living life.
Hopeton and I ducked and dived, bobbed and weaved our way down Mott Street until we got to Hop Lee.
Hop Lee was an old, old school Chinatown standard. When I was in elementary school, I went to summer day camp with a kid whose father was a waiter there. That’s how I first learned about Hop Lee. Back then, it was located on Bayard Street- but the food never changed.
We’d gotten to the restaurant minutes before the impending dinner rush, so I was able to ask for my favorite booth at the front, right by the cash register.
“You ever eaten here before?” I asked Hopeton.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t make it to Chinatown that often, but I trust your judgement.”
“I got you,” I said, then ordered all of my favorites starting with ice cold Tsing Taos.
I ordered from memory when the waiter arrived. “Chicken and salt fish fried rice, crispy Cantonese chicken with garlic sauce, steamed sea bass with ginger and scallion and sauteed green beans with garlic sauce, please. And if you can, please make the sauce on the fish spicy.”
I dipped a fried wonton into some duck sauce.
“Now that I’ve been psychoanalyzed and we are both aware of my pain points, can we now discuss why you think I need to go to Panama and what it’s going to do for me?” I asked.
Hopeton chugged his Tsing Tao. I flagged down a waiter and asked for one more beer. Not two. I was driving and I was on my best behavior. The waiter slid a fresh beer in front of Hopeton.
“Here is where we’re at, ‘Brón,” Hopeton began. “Mundo is working down there alone. Bolo and alllll of Bolo’s support system has been dismantled. We’re in, as you know, an international economic crisis. There are very few foreign concerns who are going to want to spend any more money building luxury gated communities in Panama right now. Mundo tried to pivot to getting government contracts a while ago, but he was too late.”
‘So, if he has nothing going on really, what exactly am I going down to project manage?” I asked.
“You’re going down there to make sure he doesn’t fuck up the last remaining work he has going on,” Hopeton explained. “You’re there to make sure that if he tries to cut some shady deals or feels like he can jump into bed with the big boys, you’re flagging it to his father.”
I shook my head and let loose with a big-ass, Biz level sigh.
“I’m being sent down there to babysit, Hopeton?” I asked.
“Yes, I-dren, you are,” he confirmed. “ou are going to be the world’s most expensive fucking babysitter. And you are going to love it.”
“So, wait,” I backed it up for a minute. “Is Bolo not involved? I’m supposed to go to Mr. Henriques if- when,” I corrected myself, “Olmando starts whyling out and getting in over his head?”
“Yes, on both counts,” Hopeton said. “Mundo and I both paid Bolo out. He has nothing to do with this at all. And Mr. Henriques is very interested in making sure Mundo doesn’t fuck up at this particular juncture. There is a lot on the line. For him. For Mundo. For me.”
“And for me?” I asked. I felt like playing dumb for a minute.
“Yes, for you, too,” replied Hopeton. “But not nearly as much as the rest of us. Plus, what you’re going to do right now is negotiate a huge contract directly with Mr. Henriques. One with all the salary, perks and kill clauses your little master’s degree holding American heart could ever dream of.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’m almost fully caught up.”
Right at that moment the waiter slid all of our food onto the table. It was a lot of food. And it was good.
Hopeton piled a bunch of fried rice onto his plate, grabbed a pair of chopsticks and took a bite.
He looked up at me with wonder in his eyes.
“This is bringing me back to Barrio Chino in the seventies.”
“Glad I could assist you on your trip down el camino de los recuerdos,” I joked, then turned my attention to deboning the sea bass.
“But seriously, Pierre,” Hopeton said. “This is a real job in that you’re looking at over $200k in salary, plus you make them give you a decent place to live, health insurance, a car and driver, and any other little thing you can think of.”
“Yeah,” I said, right off the dome, “I’d want them to pay for me to take classes down there, give me 4 weeks off for vacation and reimburse me for flights to and from the States.”
“Combat pay,” intoned Hopeton.
“Motherfuckin’ right,” I agreed. “Combat pay.”
We drank jasmine tea and ate sweet oranges while we waited for the credit card to come back. I cracked open a fortune cookie and laughed when I read my fortune: “you will take an overseas trip soon.”
I took the time to tell Hopeton straight up, “I don't really want to talk about this on the ride home, but I'm fully aware that I have no idea really what you're doing in Panama, and I need to know that before I fully commit.”
Hopeton nodded and said, “Just know that it does ladder back up to PanStar, and it's nothing that you'd be disappointed to be a part of. Also, Pierre, it’s mine alone. Once you’re in, you’re going to be in.”
