It was a Wednesday afternoon in mid-April. I was sitting in the backroom of PanStar, taking care of some “civilian” work, reconciling shipping invoices against manifests.
The necessity of this thin veneer of legitimate commerce was two-fold. Running a blatantly obvious center for illegal trade was tantamount to a death sentence on that part of Nostrand Avenue- I had to keep up appearances on the block. And the fact that I’d been strong-armed into “giving up” Black Star was never far from my mind. This last shred of honest income was what allowed me to sleep at night. If not for that, the dream demons would’ve devoured me. I did what I had to in my waking life to keep the bad spirits at bay.
The phone on my desk rang. I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 4:45 p.m. I was not expecting to hear from anyone. I picked the call up on the third ring.
“Panamanian Star Shipping & Logistics,” I answered in an all-business tone.
“Hopeton, bwoyyyyyyyy,” a voice roared out on the other end. “You haffi come check me.”
“Prentiss?” I asked, slightly on guard. “Whagwan?”
Prentiss never rang me unless it was an emergency.
“Tings is cool,” he replied. “Pass through, nah? Something came up that I think you’re going to like.”
“Alright,” I told him. “Later.”
I finished up my paperwork, locked PanStar up for the night and drove my BMW over to Clarendon Collision.
By the time I pulled in the shop was quiet. Only a few kids working on personal projects- a racing bike modification here, a sports car engine rebuild there. All of the grey area work took place after regular business hours.
Prentiss and I went into his office and sat down across from each other.
I cut to the chase.
“What’s on your mind, friend?” I asked.
“I found you a business opportunity,” Prentiss replied.
“Oh yeah? Something big? Real?”
Prentiss knew I was ready to take on something substantial. Like I’d told Osvald, no petty money, no small-time lending. Those days were done.
“Very real,” Prentiss assured me. “Mi breden from day one, Lloydie. He owns a grip of commercial parking lots from here to Rockaway and Flatlands. He found a new lot off Ralph Avenue that he wants to grab, but he can’t go to the banks for it.”
“Really now,” I mused. “And why not?”
I leaned back in my seat. Prentiss had never lied to me, as far as I could tell. But this was the first time he’d ever approached me about a real business deal.
“Well, he’s been here on a tourist visa for the past twelve years,” Prentiss explained.
“How long ago did it expire?” I asked.
“Nine years ago.”
I narrowed my eyes and searched Prentiss’s face.
He smiled at me and shrugged.
I asked the next logical question, “Who’s been routing his money?”
“His older sister,” Prentiss replied. “She works at the bankruptcy courts downtown and she has her citizenship. Half the lots this man owns is because his sister pulled up records and let him know they were coming up on foreclosure,” he laughed.
I had to laugh, too. This man’s sister sounded like she was no joke.
“So, what’s the play?”
“He needs a hundred and fifty k, cash on the barrel,” Prentiss said, “and he’s willing to put up another one of his properties as collateral.”
“Is it in his sister’s name?” I asked.
I wasn’t too thrilled at the thought of lending a complete stranger a large sum of cash and having to deal with that person’s sister for repayment.
“Yeah,” Prentiss confirmed, “but every single thing he has here in the States is in his sister’s name. But she’s good. She doesn’t need anything from anyone. All she is is a legal name, address and tax ID number.”
“And how do you know that?” I asked.
“Because she was the one who bought this building for me before my shit was straight.”
That was the best referral I could ever ask for. This was a legitimate opportunity. One that could set me on my path towards a stable future. A future officially edging itself out of the shadows.
