Pierre let me know in November that he was about to start a six-week GRE study course, and that he’d have limited availability. I told him that would be fine.
“PanStar is down for now, but I’m going to need to get with you in December to talk about the next thing,” I said.
“Bolo has it moving already?” Cabrón asked, surprised.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “And I predict it will be short, hot and intense. But you won’t have to worry about any of that. You’re strictly front facing.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Pierre let me know.
“You’ll have so much else going on with our real estate work and getting ready for school, you’ll barely notice this other thing. Just play it to the back,” I advised.
By December, Bolo had confirmed that he’d finalized a deal with a broker who could work with us on inventory, quantity and frequency. PanStar 2.0 was a go.
“Expect to receive your first delivery early January,” Bolo told me. “And I’m assuming you’re going to engage a more senior level resource to oversee the upfront.”
“Never you worry about who’s doing what,” I said. “That’s my responsibility.”
I wondered if Bolo ever got tired of himself.
I’d already started looking for someone to handle port runs for us. It wasn’t for me to take on that role, and aside from the fact that he’d clearly rejected the possibility, Pierre was not temperamentally suited for the assignment.
I needed a mercenary. A freelancer.
The next few weeks were spent making preparatory rounds- my connections out at Port Newark, my Surinamese trucking vendor out in Cypress Hills, Ever-Sure Security Solutions over at Restoration Plaza. I had a feeling that if anyone could help me find someone to handle port runs, it would be Ever.
And I was correct.
Everton confirmed that he had just the man I was looking for.
“Puerto Rican. Late forties. From the Bronx,” he said.
“Sounds promising,” I replied.
“It gets better,” Ever told me. “Ex-military- Special Forces or thereabouts. Very into keeping himself in top form. Spends a month every year back in Puerto Rico holing up in the mountains and running around with a backpack full of bricks strapped to his back.”
I laughed at the thought.
“And he loves guns,” Ever finished.
“Set it up,” I told him.
I let Cabrón be until December third.
He answered his cell on the second ring.
“Boss Man.”
“Cabrón. Can you meet me at PanStar this afternoon? I’ll bring the rotis.”
A few hours later, we were sitting in the PanStar back room, at my mahogany desk.
“How is your class going?” I asked.
“Small talk, Hopeton?” Pierre asked. “Really?”
“I’m not a robot, Pierre,” I replied.
Pierre pulled a face and told me it was going fine.
“It finishes in two weeks,” he said. “And I’m registered to take the test in February.”
“That’s perfect timing,” I replied. “Our first shipment comes into Newark in January, so I need you to take a few meetings this month.”
“So much for small talk,” Pierre said with a sigh.
I reached for my cola champagne.
“Are you in or out, Cabrón? I need to know, because this is serious business.”
“I’m in,” he said, no hesitation in his voice. “I just need to know what the fuck I need to do, and how often. I have other things to think about now.”
It seemed as if Cabrón was making an attempt to lock himself off from the bullshit while he worked on fashioning a civilian life for himself. I was hopeful for him, but not certain.
“And what’s going on with S-T Real Estate?” he asked. “That’s what I really care about.”
“I’m glad you asked,” I replied. “Because that’s all you really need to care about. And getting into grad school.”
I gave him an update on where I was with getting our real estate venture up and running.
“One of my cricket buddies is a real estate lawyer. He’s in process of getting us set up and running, which is good, because I have a couple of leads on some families with properties they need to off-load that I think we could flip quickly.”
“Okay cool,” Pierre replied. “And I talked to my father. He told me he’d be happy to keep our accounting straight.”
I had a feeling Mr. Taveras agreed to it mainly so he could keep an eye on Pierre- make sure there’s no funny business going on. And that made sense to me, especially since Cabrón’s parents had no idea who I was, other than “a friend of Mundo’s father.” I assumed that at some point I’d be invited over for dinner or for a family party. Inevitably they’d want to properly vet me. I could respect that.
“I’m going to take a look at those properties next week,” I said. “I’ll grab some videos and we can decide if they’re worth buying.”
“What you got going on the rest of this afternoon?” Pierre asked.
“Nothing right now, but I’m meeting with the potential new Cabrón this evening.”
“What?” Pierre was confused.
“The guy who’s going to handle port runs,” I explained. “Our hired man. The freelancer.”
“Oh,” Pierre replied. “Just make sure whoever you get, that mofo has nerves of steel. Y que hable español. If he doesn’t, it’s gonna be a headache for us.”
“I’m two steps ahead of you,” I said.
“Per usual,” Pierre shot at me. “All jokes aside, since we’re talking staffing, there’s something I wanna float by you.”
“Sounds serious,” I remarked.
“Not really,” Pierre replied. “But you’re not gonna like it, even if it is the best solution.”
I pulled a bottle of Appleton 151 out of my drawer and motioned to Pierre to go grab some glasses. Whatever he had in his head, it would require a rum chaser.
“A’ight, hear me out,” Pierre began, as he poured me a generous shot of Appleton.
I took a strong sip and told Cabrón to move it along. The suspense was killing me.
“I know you’ve got all of the roughneck shit on lock, but I bet you don’t have the day-to-day admin shit sorted out yet.”
“And?” I asked.
“And I know you’re not Biz’s biggest fan,” he continued at a rapid rate, “but he is fucking amazing with paperwork, and I’m guessing that this shit in particular is gonna require some crazy intricate subterfuge.”
I noticed Pierre hadn’t touched his glass since he’d sat back down. I motioned for him to catch up. He picked it up and took a massive gulp.
“How will this work?” I asked. At this point, Pierre should have known that he needed to come to me with a fully thought-out plan.
And he had.
After he walked me through it all, step by step, I had to admit I was unable to poke any holes in his plan.
However, the human factor still remained. Biz had already proven himself to be unable to follow basic standard operating procedures.
“Biz is organized chaos, as long as you understand how to finesse him,” Pierre insisted. “He’s a bureaucrat. You just gotta explain to him, step-by-step, what he needs to do, exactly how he needs to do it and when it needs to be done. And then you gotta ride his ass until he’s used to doing it that exact same way on a set schedule.”
“We tried that with the EBT scheme,” I reminded him. “And look what happened there. He couldn’t even keep a backpack out of that little girl’s apartment like I told him to do.”
“Yeah, but you told him once,” Pierre argued. “And I admit, I dropped the ball, too. I needed to be more up his ass. But I promise, he’ll know better this time.”
Cabrón could see I remained skeptical.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let’s have a dinner meeting at Madiba on Thursday. You, me and Biz.”
I remained skeptical.
“You can treat it like a job interview,” he suggested. “If he doesn’t pass your standards, then he’s out.”
“Alright, alright!” I said, giving in. “Set it up.”
