I was originally going to suggest Patois to Hopeton, but I looked online and saw it’d shut down the year before. Too bad- it used to be my go-to spot when I was young and dumb. I think the last time I was there was with that girl from my GRE class, Laís. The one who saw through my bullshit and ultimately couldn’t be bothered to date me. Can’t say I blame her. That was so long ago.
Hopeton and I took a seat inside the restaurant this evening. The place was crowded, but it seemed as if my well-connected friend had the hook-up there- we were seated immediately.
When the waiter showed up, Hopeton ordered a bottle of some sort of Tuscan wine and a plate of bread and olive oil.
“You should really start paying attention to wines, Pierre,” Hopeton pontificated. “The knowledge will come in handy one day.”
I ignored him.
“I think I’ll have the escarole salad and ribeye- medium rare,” I said when the waiter returned with our wine.
Hopeton ordered a roasted vegetable appetizer and pappardelle with braised lamb.
“What are we celebrating tonight?” I asked Hopeton.
“Panama,” he replied and raised his glass.
I raised mine in return. Let the reasoning begin.
I stuck to my plan of making Hopeton do the talking. He told me he’d heard all about my sit-down with Mr. Henriques. That Mr. Henriques was not stretching the truth when he promised me that Hopeton would be my back-up muscle in Panama. That he was glad I hadn’t started negotiations with Mr. Henriques yet, because he wanted to fill me in on a few things that might help me decide what I really needed to be included in the contract.
“Wait a minute, Hopeton,” I said. “Is it true that you’re going to be in Panama City three days a week, every other week, strictly to help me run point on Mundo’s trife ass?”
I found that so hard to believe.
“And are you really gonna do your own reconnaissance work to make sure Mundo’s not slipping? I can’t be the only one in charge of making sure my bredda doesn’t fuck up behind my back and leave me holding the bag.”
That was my biggest fear, and Hopeton knew it.
Hopeton reached for a piece of bread and gave me one of his classic Bond villain smiles. He held up a single finger, indicating that he would continue once he’d finished his bread. Anything to drag the moment out. That was Hopeton’s way.
“Okay, Pierre. I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been doing in Panama for years, behind everyone’s backs but in broad daylight.”
I made a “wrap it up” motion with my right hand and took a big sip of wine out of the glass I held in my left hand.
“Aside from making sure Olmando doesn’t get you thrown into prison again, the reason why I agreed to be down there so often is because I’ve been building up a little money changing empire and it’s time for you to get onboard.”
“Money changing empire?” I asked, blankly.
“Yes, a money changing empire,” he repeated. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about currency changers on the street. Surely Haiti has them.”
“Yeah, cambistes,” I said. “I barely deal with ATMs when I’m there. I always just hit the street.”
“Exactly,” Hopeton agreed. “And that’s what I’ve been dealing with in Panama- mainly in Panama City. I used connections I made while working for Bolo and developed my own cambiste network. I’ve been cultivating it since right before you went away, and now I’m ready for you to join me.”
I was stunned. I mean, I knew that whatever grey area shit Hopeton was dealing with had to tie back to Panstar and the Ria license, but an entire network of street level currency dealers? That was some major league dondada shit.
I knew I’d told myself I was gonna let Hopeton do all the talking, but I couldn’t help it- I started trying to piece the play together for myself.
“Sooooo, Mr. Henriques is asking me to do a real job- project manage Mundo’s existing jobs back into decent shape, and a shadow job- stop Mundo from going off the deep end without letting myself get taken down by him.”
Hopeton nodded and said, “Go on.”
“And now you’re coming down to do a fake/real job- babysit me as I attempt to babysit Mundo, and a real/shadow job- run this secret network of street-level money changers. Which means Mr. Henriques is sort of my real boss, but in all actuality, you’re my real-real boss.”
“Correct, Pierre,” Hopeton nodded.
“And Bolo knows nothing about this? And Mr. Henriques has no idea?”
Hopeton shook his head and gave me an “oh well!” shrug.
Then he started explaining to me what he thought I should negotiate. I agreed with all of it:
·A healthy yearly salary, invoiced at the first of each month
·A robust monthly apartment and utilities stipend
·Daily car and driver, Monday through Friday
·Four weeks’ vacation, plus all national Panamanian holidays
·Health insurance
·An at will clause that would allow me to quit without notice and still receive a full month’s salary
“That last clause is the most important one,” Hopeton explained. “That gives you an immediate legal out if Mundo starts any fuckery.”
“Okay, this all makes sense to me.”
“But I want to be clear about two things,” he continued. “You’re there primarily to learn the money changing business from me, but I want you to do a good job for Mr. Henriques, as far as the project management part of this whole puzzle is concerned.”
I nodded- that tracked with how I felt about this whole convoluted, Secret Squirrel bullshit.
“You need to go down there and get those five or six projects this kid is fucking up back on track. That's the only thing you need to do there that is tied to the salary you're getting, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Okay,” I replied. “That’s what I was planning on doing, anyway- especially since you’ve already gone out of your way to beat me in the head that all of our S-T work would be good training for Panama.”
“And here we are,” Hopeton said simply.
“Here we are,” I echoed. “And you know I’m making them give me a 10-99. I am strictly contracting out of this piece. No one is gonna be my boss on this.”
Hopeton laughed in my face.
“Fine,” I conceded. “Maybe you’ll kinda be my boss.”
Hopeton called the waiter over and asked for two limoncello shots and two shots of espresso.
