“Why don’t we finish our conversation in the back room?” Bolo suggested. “That way I could begin to show you what types of processes you’ll have to put into place, to accommodate the business I’ll be bringing you into.”
I nodded assent and used my key to open the solid knob-lock I’d had put in on the door leading to the backroom — it wasn’t a deadbolt, but certainly enough. At the same time, I could feel Bolo taking stock of the space’s insufficient level of security.
“We’ll have to make some upgrades to this place,” he noted as we entered the spartan backroom area.
“You may want to tell me what I’m going to be getting myself into with you before we worry about locksmiths and security systems,” I suggested.
This time it was Bolo’s turn to offer a tight smile.
I led him to a white Formica-topped card table and motioned for him to take a seat at one of the four metal folding chairs arranged around it. I sat across from him, clasped my hands and rested them on the table in front of me.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Bolo asked as he pulled a cigar out of a leather case that had been tucked in a jacket pocket.
“Not at all,” I replied.
“Care to join me?” he asked.
I gave a brief shake of my head and flicked a wrist from side to side, rejecting his offer.
“Well,” he said, then paused to light his cigar. It was a finely made specimen, the type of cigar I’d hear the old men back in Cuba joking about being “hand rolled against the right thigh of a beautiful virgin.”
“Yes?” I prompted. I didn’t want this man to think he could control the pace of our conversation. We were in the back room of my establishment. My name was on the lease.
“Well,” Bolo continued, “I have a business that is similar to yours.” He gestured across the room towards a group of cardboard shipping barrels, taped up, labelled and awaiting pick-up. “However, my main concentration is on the import side, and the product I deal in is, how should I say? Of a more discreet nature. And of a bulk volume.”
Bolo paused, waiting to receive my initial reaction. I had no problem speaking my mind- it wasn’t necessary to weigh my options here.
“As you can see, Bolo, I’m just a small, grassroots shipping company,” I said. “People from the neighborhood come to me when they need to ship basic things back home. Car batteries, TV sets, baby formula. Simple, everyday needs. Nothing risky.”
“No?” Bolo asked. “Nothing risky?”
I shook my head.
“Never?” Bolo took a large draw off of his cigar. Its ember glowed cherry red in the dim light of the back room.
I smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what problem you’re trying to solve?”
Bolo exhaled a large cloud of smoke and then plunged back into his tale of commerce.
“Our warehouse in Panama is solid- absolutely secure,” he began. “Our U.S. entry point is a known entity- we have many inside contacts who’ve eliminated most of the dangers one might find with getting product in. But, after that is where I feel like we’re starting to falter.”
I could tell where he was steering us. It was in my nature to start asking questions- test his pain points, look for weaknesses, but I knew I had to present this man with a stone wall. He had to do all the talking. I was there to absorb. If not, the fuckery would have a chance to slip through and I’d lose before I even had a chance to learn this man’s game.
“Right now, we have our receiving staged in Queens,” Bolo continued. “But the route from the point of pick-up is too long, too dangerous. And I’m finding there’s been a shift in our customer base. Locations are moving away from our usual markets- Far Rockaway, East New York. Now we’re getting calls from White Plains, Albany. Brooklyn seems better, from a logistics point of view.”
I was able to poke a thousand and one holes in this man’s story, but I kept my mouth shut about that and allowed myself a single question.
“Are you buying this building so you can take control of my space?”
This was the crux of our discussion. Bolo didn’t even blink.
“I’m buying this building as an investment property,” he replied. “And I plan to invest in the growth of my company via this space.”
I nodded.
I waited.
“I would like you to remain the tenant, but I would also like to bring you into my business,” Bolo continued. “You’ll still run your shipping and logistics company, but you’ll also store my product, keep inventory for me, and coordinate distribution. It’s best for you to manage both businesses. That way you’ll be able to maintain your own entity while controlling who comes in and out of this space. I can already tell you’re a man of discretion and sense.”
He wasn’t wrong- I was a man of discretion and sense. I was also a man who recognized the delicate balance between opportunity and autonomy.
Elleguá, this was a crossroads.
“And if I accept your terms and choose to remain a tenant in this space, what would I have to give up?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” Bolo replied. “Except your name. I would want you to rename the business.”
“What would I have to be?” I asked.
“Panamanian Star.”
I looked down at my hands, still clasped and resting on the desk.
“And I suppose this is a non-negotiable,” I said, not asked.
“Correct,” Bolo replied. “I need something less inflammatory. A name our clientele will trust.”
Our clientele.
“Okay, let’s pause the palaver for now,” I suggested. “Come back to me in 3 days and we can get down to brass tacks.”
Bolo nodded in agreement.
“In the meantime, let’s share a drink.” I stood up, walked across the room, opened the top drawer of a decrepit file cabinet, pulled out an unopened bottle of white rum and two glasses.
Back at the card table, I tapped the top of the bottle, handed it to Bolo and signaled him to do the same.
Once the ritual was completed, I cracked the bottle open and poured out generous shots.
“Salud!”
“Salud!”
Bolo downed his drink in one gulp. He looked at the bottle on the table, reading its green and yellow label.
“Wray and Nephew?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s Jamaican.”
“Claro que sí,” he replied with a smile.
That was the only Spanish that had passed his lips since we’d begun our negotiations.
