“Téo,” I replied, in a decidedly more subdued tone.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked. “You should come over for dinner. Lali is roasting a joint of mutton and she’s going to make her world-famous shrimp chow mein!”
I begged off, saying I’d accepted an invitation to dinner from one of my church friends- a lie.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Téo told me. “We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll stop by soon,” I promised.
Téo gave a brief sigh, then said, “I also wanted to give you a heads up, Hopeton. Mundo’s been back in Brooklyn for a while, and I told him he needs to start at PanStar within the next two weeks.”
Neither of us said a word- silence hung over the line for several heavy seconds.
“Alright, then,” I said, breaking the stalemate. “Let him know to show up on a Monday, no later than nine a.m. I’ll be looking out for him.”
Téo said he’d pass the information on to his son.
“And should I be expecting Pierre as well?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Téo said, sounding a bit uncertain.
“But if he shows up, I shouldn’t be surprised?” A question, not a statement.
“We’ll see how it shakes out,” Téo replied.
“Please send Lali my regrets,” I said. “And tell Mundo no matter what Monday he decides to show up on, it’s to be no later than nine a.m.”
As soon as I hung up, I remembered that Bolo had promised to give me two weeks’ notice before Mundo was sent to me. This all was starting to smack of game playing, and I had little patience.
I knew it behooved me to spend the next few weeks coming up with some sort of strategy for Mundo’s integration into the PanStar labor pool, but I couldn’t bring myself to deal with that task.
Instead, I bought an inexpensive futon, installed it in the living room over at Lincoln Road and started sleeping there every so often, just to get the feel of the house at various hours of the day. I also went back to the cricket oval in Prospect Park, in an effort to get to know some of the teams. I was looking forward to the moment when my life in Flatbush was a full-time, everyday thing, and Crown Heights was something to step in and out of, as needed.
Three weeks after Thanksgiving, I was in the PanStar backroom when I heard the buzzer ringing. I went out to the front of the shop and saw Mundo outside, peering in.
I glanced at my Rolex. It was 9:45 a.m.
I was sorely tempted to tell him to come back on time the next day, but shook my head and let him in.
“Mundo,” I said in a dry tone. I extended my hand.
“Hopeton,” Mundo said. “What’s the haps?”
He ignored my outstretched hand and instead threw one arm around my shoulder in a quick half hug.
I shook my head again.
“Okay, so what’ve we got going on here?” Mundo asked, looking around the small space.
I tried to recall if Olmando had ever actually been inside Panamanian Star before, and couldn’t remember anything, other than one or two times when Bolo had stopped by quickly to pick something up or drop something off and he’d mentioned he had Mundo in the car, waiting for him.
“We have a business,” I told him. “A business with regular hours and set expectations for how tasks are carried out.”
I waited, as Mundo attempted to work out how best to respond to my obvious refusal to let him skate by on sheer youthfulness and charm.
“That’s why I’m here, Hopeton,” Mundo replied. “Bolo wants me to help out with the business. What are you gonna have me do?”
“I’m going to start you out on inventory management,” I said. “And you’ll also be responsible for taking care of the shipping counter, whenever we get a regular customer coming in.”
Mundo looked unimpressed with the job description.
I escorted him to the door leading to the back room.
“This is where you’ll working, mainly,” I said, as I punched the code into the security pad.
A buzzer sounded and the door unlocked.
Olmando and I entered the heart of PanStar’s operation.
