Literally minutes after I’d sent Mr. Henriques my first invoice, for services not yet rendered.
His first message hit my phone at 11:30am.
Hey, bro. Send me your mailing address.
100 Lefferts Ave, BK NY, 11225. Why?
Sending you a black card.
My birthday’s in April.
I’m gonna call you in a few. Will explain then.
I’d been working from home when the texts came through, finalizing my canal expansion study. We were coming up on July 4th and the office was dead- most people had already bailed for the holiday.
By the time Mundo finally got around to calling me several hours later, I was sitting on my couch pecking away at my work laptop, Carimi’s latest album playing in the background.
“Whaddup, Mundo?” I couldn’t wait to find out what this black card nonsense was all about.
“Bredda! Where you at?” Mundo asked, all chipper and shit.
“My apartment,” I replied. “I’m finishing up a big report for your pops- a canal expansion strategy analysis deck.”
“Fascinating shit.”
“It is if you’re a politician, or a Senior Policy Analyst,” I retorted.
“Well, let go of that title, bredren. You’re about to become my Senior Project Management Lead.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Anyway, Doe- what’s this about you’re sending me a black card? Why? What are you trying to rope me into now?”
“C’mon, son!” Mundo was trying to come at me like it was 1989 and we were bullshitting in our high school cafeteria. “Don’t worry, it’s not anything you’re gonna mind doing.”
“Okay, but what is it?” I asked. “Just cut to the chase! I got Excel spreadsheets to build.”
“I have several people passing through New York this month and August, and I figured you’d be able to be my proxy,” Doe said, still using that chipper tone.
I smacked my forehead with my palm and shook my head.
“So, what- back to face man?”
“I mean… yeah, sorta. But not for very long and not very often, ‘Brón. Just three or four times until you get to Panama.”
“I’m kinda busy right now, Doe.”
Mundo decided to run an offensive press.
“All I need is for you to do exactly what you did that night at the Mandarin,” he explained. “Show up, have a few drinks, pick up the tab. If the group wants to move on to something else, you help facilitate it. That’s it! No big deal at all,” he finished.
“So, that’s what the black card’s for.”
“Yeah!” he replied. “And of course, if you see something you want while you’re out and about, I promise my accountant won’t look too closely at the statements.”
“Okay, Doe, I don’t really have time to focus on this right now. Email me a list of dates. I need names, times and where you need me to meet these people. Give me a summary of what you need me to do at these get togethers. Until then, this is not real to me.” Hopefully that would keep him off my ass for a few days.
“Sounds good, fre’m. Look out for my email,” he replied. “Oh, one more thing- I got you a six-month membership to the Norwood Club. I was considering hooking you up with the SoHo House, but I figured that Norwood Club is more your scene- brooding artists and philosophers and whatnot. Look out for the black card. You’ll need to sign for it. Lemme know when you get it.”
Then he hung up without saying good-bye.
I didn’t have time to think about Mundo’s bullshit- my real work was at a crucial point and I needed to focus. I switched my music from Carimi to Raekwon, clicked on Excel and started jamming on my report.
By 3am, I’d completed Spellcheck and grammar edits and emailed it to Mr. Henriques for feedback.
