CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
2000 – Overproof
In October, I decided to check in on Bolo. The scales of micromanagement had tipped in my favor, and I needed to make sure Rafael wasn’t shirking his duty. He had a lot of things to pull together to help us get the revamped PanStar up and running.
“And here you are again,” Bolo remarked, when he saw me standing at the front door of his villa in Clayton, bottle of scotch in one hand, a bunch of flowers in the other. I’d decided to frame my visit more as a social call, and wouldn’t mind catching up with Carolina.
Dinner was the usual pleasant, al fresco affair. After coffee was served, Carolina and I caught up on things- it had been a while since I’d seen her and she had a lot of family news to share.
Their oldest daughter, Olivia, was pregnant with her second child.
Their middle daughter, Jennifer, had recently gotten a serious promotion at her marketing job.
And Isabela, the youngest, was starting her junior year at Boston College.
“She tells me she’s happiest on the East Coast,” Bolo remarked.
Carolina reached over and patted him on the shoulder consolingly, lightly rolling her eyes at the same time.
“You should be proud that we’ve raised such good, productive girls,” she said.
Bolo nodded and sighed- he hated not having his family within arm’s reach at all times.
“Well, I’m going to leave the two of you to get to it,” Carolina said as she stood up to go back in the house. “I’m sure you have a lot of business to discuss. Hopeton, please don’t be a stranger. We miss seeing you here.”
As soon as Carolina closed the patio doors, Bolo broke out the scotch and cigars. I hoped he was ready for all the information I was about to hit him with. But I was a patient man- I’d wait until I was sure it had all sunk in.
I started with the tangibles. Rafael preferred things he could quantify.
“I’ve made significant updates to PanStar,” I began. “I had central air conditioning installed so it won’t be hot and dusty in the back room anymore. I had your back storage locked up like a cage. You can’t get in there without a code, and if you enter the wrong code three times an alarm goes off.”
“That’s a good move,” Bolo agreed. “I knew you’d take this transition seriously, and it’s good to know I don’t have to check up on it. I know you have it all under control.”
I let Bolo have his little moment of pettiness, then I moved on.
“I'm going to double up on security at all times,” I continued. “I think it makes sense to put someone upstairs in the studio, just to sit there and watch the monitor. An extra layer of surveillance.”
Bolo nodded his approval.
“Next week when I’m back, I’ll have the back door reinforced. And the front's been shut down for, you know, months now. We’re completely done with public business up front.”
I took a big draw off of my cigar, then moved on to our next item of business.
“What's going on with the front end of the pipeline? Have you sourced anything viable?”
Bolo tossed back a slug of scotch and smiled.
“Surprisingly, Hopeton,” he said, “I have to admit you were right. I've had far more productive conversations about our new line of business than I ever had dealing with the Colombians. I’ve found some brokers here in Panama who are confident they can work with us at the scale we need.”
“Local resources,” I noted. “Are they ready to go?”
“Everybody is champing at the bit to do new business,” Bolo replied. “Anyone who knows what I used to do is happy that I'm branching into new territory.”
I internally savored my own little moment of pettiness. And then I moved our discussion to a place of great discomfort.
“That's encouraging to hear,” I replied. “But I need to be clear- we cannot do this for longer than a year. January first, 2001 to December thirty-first, 2001.”
Bolo was taken by surprise, it was obvious.
I slid my glass over and motioned for him to pour me another shot.
“I'm being very firm on this,” I continued. “And I'm not going to change my mind. I want to start on New Year’s Day, and I want to end it on New Year’s Eve.”
I drank the scotch down- it cleared my head as it burned the back of my throat.
“Why would you want to spend so much money on something that you think is going to be a quick burn?” Rafael asked.
“It's too hot, it's too dangerous, Brooklyn is changing too much,” I said, simply. “We cannot go into New Year's 2002 doing this business.”
“This makes no sense to me,” Bolo said, his voice raising. “You spent years trying to get me to diversify, and when I finally agree to it, you come here to tell me it’s already over before it’s even started?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” I replied, patiently. “What I’m telling you is this is a very limited operation. I need you to decide how much money you need to make in order for you to make this feel like it was worth your time. Once you have that number, we sit down and we figure how many loads it will take to make that money. And once that money is made, we are done. I'm telling you, Rafael- this is it.”
“Why are you being so serious about this?” Bolo asked. “I thought this was all you’ve ever wanted!”
“I know you always talk shit about my medicine man voodoo shit,” I explained, “but I'm telling you, this has a shelf life of a year, and then it needs to be done.”
“Why?” Rafael persisted.
“Panamanian Star is a dying star, Rafael. We need to let it go. Make your money and get out.”
I’d said my piece. And it was clear to Bolo that I could not be argued into submission.
Bolo looked at me, flicked ash off his cigar and asked, “So once this year is up, what are you going to do? Retire to the beach?”
I laughed softly. This was obviously not the time to goad me into tipping my hand, but Rafael Montilla would not let that stop him from trying.
“No,” I said. “I actually have another idea, but I think it’s best for me to sit on it for now. I don't trust you’ll be able to hold onto that information for a year and not get crazy about it.”
Bolo opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.
“When the year is up, I'll come back to you and we can figure it out together. Decide if what I’m thinking of now still makes sense.”
Bolo asked me to hold my thought for a moment. He went inside his house then came back out with a bottle of chirrisco.
He wanted to go shot for shot. I was ready.
“Right now, let's just agree that you need to know what money you want to make, and then we will work together to make that number,” I told him. “And I’m sure that whatever money you're going to want to make is going to be more than what I think I’ll need.”
Bolo laughed at that last sentence. He knew I was speaking truth.
“So, I'm not worried about the number. That's something you need to figure out.”
Bolo told me to meet him at his office the next day.
He was onboard.
Reluctantly.
