On my way to the airport, I swung by Rio Abajo to grab Wilkie. It was the weekend, so I was driving the Prado myself. Having a weekday chauffeur was no doubt convenient, but it felt good to be behind the wheel for a change.
I asked Wilkie if he had any music with him- that kid was always up on all the new shit the second anything hit the streets. He smiled, said, “¡Claro que sí!” and popped a mix CD into the console. A remix of Los Locos Somos Mas boomed out of the speakers. I nodded and gave him a brief thumbs up before I turned my attention back to the road ahead.
I hadn’t given Wilkie any hint as to why I needed him to come with me to get Hopeton from the airport. I knew this was giving off the same type of cloak and dagger vibes that Hopeton used to pull on me in my younger years, but if it all worked out, the pay-off would be worth it for him. I could tell the kid was smart and ambitious but Panama was a rough country and getting stuck in neutral with low pay and a shitty job title was an inevitability if he stayed working for the likes of Mundo for too long.
We were about to come up on the airport and I just wanted to throw a few words Wilkie’s way that would give him a very loose idea of why he was along with me on this seemingly random out-of-office errand. I leaned over and turned the music down.
“So, listen,” I said. “I wanted to bring you along today to meet Hopeton. He’s been working with Mundo’s family since the ‘80s and he has a lot of business going on in Panama City.”
Wilkie nodded. He’d obviously decided that the way to play it was to keep his mouth shut and act like he was just along for the ride but we both knew he was running all the angles through his head in an effort to see exactly what the fuck I was leading him towards. Poor kid. I remembered those days, and couldn’t say I missed them.
“The things that he and I focus on are the money aspects, like how I’ve been asking you to pull actuals and run audits across projects,” I continued.
“Yeah, that’s the type of stuff I love,” Wilkie said. Hopeton was right- he really was Biz, minus the shitty American attitude.
“Well, in our line of business that type of work never ends,” I replied. “I want to make sure you understand how deep it goes and the best ways to control all that information. Hopeton will be a good person for you to know.”
I turned the music back up. That’s all I was going to give him.
Hopeton texted as soon as I’d pulled into the airport parking lot.
Already off plane. Heading to Immigration.
I sent him a picture of where the truck was parked and told him to text me if he wanted me to swing to the front and grab him.
Twenty minutes later he was walking up.
“Hop in the back,” I told him as I threw his suitcase in the cargo area. “We have company today.”
Wilkie jumped out to shake hands and introduce himself to Hopeton.
“Hola, yute, ¿cómo estás?” Hopeton said. That made me laugh to myself- it was nice to know that we had someone new to take over my role in the Yute category.
“Pierre,” Hopeton greeted me. “How you holding up, man?” We’d texted a little over the past few days but hadn’t gotten too deep into the whole Haiti situation. But he knew I was struggling.
“Taking it day by day,” I said. “My mom’s not doing too good, but she’s keeping herself busy organizing shipments to Haiti with her church. They’re taking donations of clothing and medical supplies, if you want to contribute. And I need you to drop off a check that Gianina gave me.”
“I’ll make sure to stop by your parents as soon as I’m back in BK,” he replied.
When we got to the Intercontinental, I gave Hopeton my usual “take your time then meet me in the bar” speech, then shepherded Wilkie away from the reception area.
Once at the bar, we grabbed a table and ordered a pitcher of beer and a bunch of different appetizers. Fútbol highlights were playing on a nearby television.
“Are you into sports?” I asked Wilkie.
“I like watching fútbol, but I was really into skateboarding as a kid,” he replied.
“You were a skater?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I used to watch all of those American movies and thought it looked so cool. I was able to get myself a board when I was around fifteen and I got to be pretty good!”
“Why’d you stop?” I asked.
“I broke my arm skating a half pipe and my step-father had to pay a big hospital bill, so he took away my skateboard.”
I made a “that sucks” face and changed the subject to work-related stuff.
About an hour later, Hopeton made it down to the bar. Wilkie and I had already killed the pitcher and demolished all the food.
“You want to stay here or get a table outside in the restaurant?” I asked, knowing Hopeton would opt for outside seating and a more formal menu.
“Let’s go to the restaurant.”
What followed was a replay of so many of my earliest dinners with Hopeton- food, drink, subtly probing questions from Hopeton followed by a few choice, unexpected information reveals. But this time, I was Hopeton’s equal and someone else was on the receiving end of the vetting.
And I’m happy to say, Wilkie held up well.
By the time our little shadow interview was completed, Hopeton and I had confirmed that Wilkie was hungry for a real job with earning potential beyond his wildest dreams, he lived for the paperwork game in all its permutations and understood the need for absolute discretion.
And Wilkie walked away with the understanding that Hopeton was a businessman with many ongoing concerns and that while certain things might not be one-hundred-percent on the up and up, the accounting aspect of these endeavors required skill and discipline. Any further information would be disseminated on a “need to know” basis.
After our heavily coded business meeting, Hopeton and I returned to our earlier discussion of Haiti.
“Now that my getting you there in April is off the table, I’m going to ask Mistou to come and visit me here for Easter,” I told him.
“That’s a good idea,” Hopeton replied. “She’ll be with you for your birthday, then.”
“Yes, she will.” I wasn’t sure if Hopeton was implying there was anything deeply significant and was too tired to really try to read into his comment.
“Semana Santa,” Wilkie said. “That’s a good time to be in Panama City. Lots of religious processions in the street, but also a lot of parties.”
“Yeah, just like in Haiti,” I replied. “We call it Fèt Pak.”
A miserable feeling suddenly washed over me. I shook it off and turned to Hopeton. “I predict we’ll be able to get to Haiti by July. Keep your summer open for me.”
