Five months later, it was a new year. The building on Nostrand had transferred ownership, I was an American citizen and my little slice of professional autonomy had been rebranded Panamanian Star.
Bolo had honored his word and quickly arranged my meeting with his lawyer/silent partner/close family friend. It’s funny to me how simply he summed up their relationship. Only the passage of time could show me how entangled everything truly was.
It had been a Saturday afternoon in early September, 1990 when I arrived at the address Bolo had given me. I stood before a large mansion in the “up and coming” neighborhood of Clinton Hill. The building obviously undergoing long-term and extensive remodeling. It was equally obvious that whoever this Teófilo was, he either had deep pockets or was going to need them.
I rang the doorbell. An elaborate chime resounded from inside.
The front door was opened by a man who was instantly familiar to me even though we’d never met before.
“Hopeton!” the man exclaimed. “I’m Teófilo Henriques, but please call me Teó.”
He stuck his hand out for a formal, business-style handshake. I resisted the urge to turn it into a more complicated Kingston/Crown Heights over/under grip. No need to throw this man off balance at his own doorstep.
Teó Henriques ushered me inside.
I glanced to my right and saw two teenaged boys sitting in a formal living room, playing a game of Risk. Video Music Box was blaring hip hop videos from a nearby television.
“That’s my son, Olmando, and his ever-present best friend, Pierre,” Teó said as we passed by.
The boys looked up and nodded at me.
“Let’s sit in the kitchen,” Teó said as he led me towards the back of the house. “This isn’t a formal meeting, so let’s keep it comfortable.”
“I thought kids that age were all about the video games,” I said quietly, as we entered the kitchen.
Teófilo told me he and his wife were trying to keep their son from getting overstimulated, so they limited his access. “Olmando has a restless nature,” he said, with a soft smile.
He then switched gears and said, “I’ve heard I need to help you fast track your citizenship.”
I nodded, pulled my greencard out of my wallet and slid it across the table.
Teó picked it up, examined it briefly then slid it back to me.
“Nice picture,” he quipped.
Internally, I shook my head. Now this man was going to make me like him.
Outwardly, I kept it strictly business.
“Do you see anything that will hold me up from getting my paperwork processed quickly?” I asked. “Mr. Montilla seems very eager to have me take over management of a large part of his New York operation.”
“I can’t see it taking any longer than a few months,” Teó replied. “You should be up and running by February at the latest. And we should also talk about some of your business documentation- Bolo wants to have Black Star hooked up to the PanStar financial pipeline wherever possible.”
“Just let me know what paperwork you’d like me to show you and I can come back with everything you need,” I assured him. “Do you anticipate our needing to set up regular status meetings?”
"I want to make something clear from the beginning, Hopeton," Teó said in a ‘let's cut to the chase’ tone of voice. "I don't work for Bolo. I don't even really work with Bolo."
I nodded. I was listening intently for both what he was saying and what might be hiding between his words.
“I’ve known Bolo since I was born- our grandparents had deep social and business connections, from back in, I don’t know…” he broke off with a laugh, doing some quick math in his head, “the late 1930s? A long time ago. But I came here to go to university, then I met my wife, and then I went to law school… And before I knew it, I was living here with no plans to leave.”
“America does that to a man,” I replied.
“It does,” he agreed. “And it caught me by surprise. Bolo’s story is different. He’s here because he has to be. Conditions in Panama dictate it. But he won’t be here forever. As soon as it’s safe for him to return he will. And until he does, I’m just lending my support. Making sure he stays safe and prosperous. The way he’s used to doing things back home.”
“And I’m assuming there’s a reason I’ve been sent to you,” I said. “Aside from your helping me with my papers.
“Yes, that’s true,” Teó confirmed. “But not for any deep, mysterious reason. Bolo let me know that you’re a player- you know what you want, you are very clear with how you need to manage risks and you’ve clearly gone above and beyond to set your little business up in a way that it can grow as quickly as you need it to.”
Again, I did nothing more than nod. His assessment was accurate.
“That’s what’s been missing from Bolo’s New York operation- he had a weak link in his chain and Black Star could fill that role.”
This was all confirmation of what I’d guessed was behind this meeting.
“And I’m sure you’ve already figured out for yourself that your role will most likely become much more important, if managed properly. Why else would you allow Rafael Montilla to rename your business to Panamanian Star?”
I barked out a solitary stone of a laugh. We both knew what it was.
“Y tú eres un negro jamaicano y hablas el español como si fueras de España,” Teó added.
“My secret weapon,” I said, zero inflection in my voice.
