Bolo, recognizing- finally- that I was losing interest, took to calling me every few days with relatively unimportant status updates- it’s on its way… it’s halfway to North America… any day now…
I tuned it all out and told him I’d let him know when my people at the port gave me the go-ahead to arrange pick-up.
I spent this unexpected pocket of downtime preparing my house for my sister’s imminent arrival. The immigration lawyer called and said he had it on good word that she and my niece would be called for their interview no later than October. I wanted to ensure Lincoln Road would be ready for them when they were finally free to travel.
I was wrapping up a call with Hetty one afternoon, when Pierre entered the back room. He took a seat on the couch, grabbed the remote control and started flipping through channels.
“Okay,” I said, “we can sort that out closer to your arrival. Tell Yasmin I said to make sure she helps you get ready. I have to go- one of my employees just showed up.”
I hung up my cellphone and turned my attention to Pierre. He’d settled on a cable access channel showing dancehall videos. Shabba Ranks. Bedroom Bully.
“Cabrón,” I said.
Pierre looked up, switched the tv off and stood up.
“Alright, I found the space,” he told me.
“The space?” I asked. I wanted him to spell it out for me.
“Yeaaaah,” he replied, peeved. “The space. You know, HQ?”
“Oh, yes. The space.”
“Anyway,” Pierre continued. “I found this space. It's a basement apartment over on Pacific and Classon, and the rent is, like, $700 a month.”
“Below budget,” I mused. “I like that.”
I knew Pierre was aware that I was giving him a hard time, simply because I could.
“So, what do we need to do now?” Pierre asked.
“You need to tell me more about this,” I said. “What’s this apartment? And who’s the landlord?”
“Oh, it’s just this guy who has a house on Pacific, over by Classon,” Cabrón explained. “He wants to rent out his basement and he said he’d do month-to-month. I don’t think he really cares that much.”
“Just this guy?” I asked, shaking my head. “Does anybody know this guy?”
“Yeah, it's someone on Biz's uncle's side, somehow,” Pierre said, unhelpfully. “You know, like sort of a family type deal. They've been on the block for like, you know, 30 or 40 years. The guy works for the MTA.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. He was going to have to give up some actual information before I’d play along with him.
Pierre let a small sigh escape. He knew I was going to drill down until I got what I wanted.
“He's got a job- you know!” he began. “He just keeps his parents' house- they’re dead, and he wants to rent the basement and we can take it. It can be month to month.”
I probably should have checked Pierre’s story out, but I refused to babysit those kids. If they wanted to play at being able to handle big people business and Bolo cosigned it, then that was fine. It was not my business.
I told Pierre that I’d give him a money order for $700 as soon as he got some sort of paperwork from this guy. Pierre said he’d head over to Pacific this evening and get some sort of lease-like object for me.
“What’s this guy’s name?” I asked. I really didn’t want to know, but I had to have some sort of information on hand, in case anything dangerous went down.
“Garfield,” Pierre replied. “I don’t know his last name. Let me ask him tonight.”
I shook my head. This was not going to end well. I already knew it. But it wasn’t my fight.
“I am telling you now, Pierre. If any fuckery goes down over there, make sure to keep my name out of it.”
