My meeting with Bolo and Téo took place on the first Sunday of May.
Téo turned up exactly at one thirty, just as I’d requested.
“I hope you have some liquor ready, because I’m not driving today,” Téo said.
I couldn’t suss out whether he was serious or joking.
“Car in the shop?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I had Lali drive me over, in case I don’t make it home from here. That way, she’d know where to start looking.”
I glanced up from the rum I’d been pouring.
Téo shrugged.
“Well, I’m assuming this isn’t a social event,” he said.
“More like a summit,” I replied. “I need to talk to Bolo about PanStar and to both of you about Olmando. Neither are particularly stable and the three of us have to get things set straight.”
I handed Téo his rum and offered him a cigar.
“You know, we need to talk about Mundo’s future,” I said, “But I also need you to help me get Bolo to see the logic behind pulling out of drugs.”
Téo started to protest but I cut him short.
“I know, I know, you’re not involved in anything you wouldn’t be comfortable talking about in polite society,” I agreed. “But your son is part of the business. And that means you’re indirectly very involved.”
Téo took a deep breath but kept quiet.
“Now, you and I keep talking amongst ourselves about how things aren’t going to hold much longer,” I reminded him. “And that instability’s going to come and bite us in the ass if we don’t make a move into something new. So, when Bolo arrives, I need you to act as my consultant on this, okay?”
“Okay,” Téo agreed, reluctantly.
“I need you to reason with Bolo and tell him that what we're dealing with is heading into the danger zone, and that there's got to be something we could pick up that's not going to blow up in our face.”
Téo downed his rum and asked for a refill.
We were standing on the sidewalk, smoking cigars when the towncar I’d ordered for Bolo pulled up.
I handed the driver a twenty then watched Bolo exit the car. Téo and I escorted him into Panamanian Star.
“You haven’t been around these parts for five years,” I reminded Bolo. “And you,” I said, turning to Téo, “you’ve never even been here at all.”
Bolo was slowly absorbing all the changes I’d made since he’d last been in Brooklyn.
“I repainted, because it was starting to look shabby,” I said. “People were starting to notice.”
Bolo nodded.
“I upgraded the security system. Fully digital. And I added cameras throughout all of the store. There’s a monitor upstairs so I can keep an eye on things at night.”
Bolo nodded again.
“But we’re in good shape with ‘round the clock security in back.”
I ushered the two men towards the locked entrance to the back room.
“And here’s the same keypad we’ve always had,” I said, as I punched in the security code. “Same code as ever- you and I are still the only ones who have it.”
We walked into the back room.
“Here’s our security guard,” I said, rather unnecessarily.
The security guard said hello.
“Here are all the Black Star barrels,” I said, pointing to a smallish pallet of shipping barrels waiting to be sent out.
“And Bolo, here’s where we keep the PanStar inventory.”
I steered us towards the secluded area where all of Bolo’s product was kept.
“Mundo did a fairly respectable job of managing your assets while he was here,” I told Bolo. “But now it’s Pierre. He’s got a keen eye for detail. Really good with paperwork. So, thank you for the increased manpower, gentlemen.”
The tour was over.
I led Téo and Bolo over to my desk.
I opened my drawer and pulled out a bottle of Ron Abuelo.
“Neat or on the rocks?” I asked.
I handed out cigars.
We got to it.
I broke it down to Bolo:
The coming instability that would render our current supply chain pipeline untenable.
The DEA initiatives.
The Coast Guard crackdowns.
The pivot that was, by this point, long overdue.
I looked directly at Téo. It was time for him to back me up.
Téo noddd his head and took a puff of his ecigar before responding.
“Hopeton’s speaking the truth,” he said. “I’ve been studying the trade journals religiously this past year or so and everyone’s predicting major blockage of all maritime cargo. Double that up with how hot Colombia and Peru are right now, and it’s very clear your supply chain is close to breaking down.”
“And that’s why I truly believe we owe it to ourselves to start winding down this operation and start planning for the next thing,” I concluded.
“I’m not completely disagreeing with you, Hopeton,” Bolo said in a slightly placatory tone. “But what is this next thing?”
“You tell me,” I replied. “There's got to be something, Bolo. And I know that over in your neck of the woods your friends are talking about this very issue all the time. What do you think?”
“I’ll need to do a little research,” Bolo told me. “Let’s give it another six months and revisit it then.”
“That’s what you told me this time last year,” I reminded him.
“I have to agree with Hopeton,” Téo interjected. “It’s getting very unstable, Bolo, and I do think you should pull out. Switch it up.”
Bolo opened his mouth to speak, then thought the better of it.
“But, it’s not my business and I’ll let the two of you decide,” Téo concluded, backing off.
I cut my eye at Téo. He’d get his in a minute.
I returned full attention to my business partner.
“Rafael, it’s true that ultimately this is your show. You're the front end of the pipeline. But I'm the back end- and I'm telling you right now, even in Brooklyn, this is all feeling very shaky.”
Bolo smiled and said, “Alright, well, it's early May. Let's revisit this in a few months. You come out to Panama and we can sit down and discuss again.”
“That's not going to solve the problem,” I argued.
“True,” Bolo conceded. “I assure you, I am taking your concerns seriously. But I’d like to hold on through 1999, if possible.”
I knew that was as far as I would get that day, so I moved on to topic number two.
“Well, Mundo did do a good job when he was in my back room,” I began.
Téo visibly tensed up, then caught himself. Bolo appeared to be unaware of the information I was about to lay out.
“But he's not containable,” I continued. “And it's not safe for him to be out here like that.”
Téo grabbed the bottle of rum and poured himself a shot.
Bolo took a big draw on his cigar.
“What are the concerns?” Téo asked, ever the diplomat.
“He's driving from Brooklyn to Harlem, Westchester, Connecticut almost every day. He's running cash for us. And he’s been lobbying to take over Far Rock. I don't think either of you want this for him.”
That caught Bolo’s attention. Rafael Montilla had spent the bulk of his Queens exile trying to make inroads at The Edge and other projects along Far Rockaway, and the last thing he’d want is for his de facto heir to look upon that particular jurisdiction as his rightful inheritance.
“What are you trying to say, exactly?” Bolo asked me. “What do you really think could happen to Mundo?”
“I'm telling you right now, if I get any whiff of Olmando doing anything reckless- if I catch on that he's skimming money or drugs or that he’s making sales on his own, I'm telling you both right now, I'm throwing him out of here, and you will need to take him over to Panama. For good.”
Bolo and Téo looked at each other, like I had turned into a stark, raving lunatic.
But I was deadly serious.
“Mek wi understand each other. You both control Mundo. And Bolo, you ultimately decide what's best in Panama. But I control Brooklyn.”
Utter silence. Not a movement.
I continued.
“And I’m letting you know now that Pierre is working out for me. Regardless of how things with Olmando net out, I’m keeping Pierre. Nothing needs to be said to either of these kids, but from now on I’m paying attention to how they move. And I will alert you to any changes that need to be made.”
