Mano sat in silence as I laid out the bare bones structure of my exit plan for his review.
“Remember when I first met you and I was all bent out of shape because that cane juice seller laughed at me with my big American bills?” I asked.
Mano nodded.
“And then you took me down to where the cab drivers go, so I could change my money into balboa?”
He nodded again.
“Well, that got me to thinking. I have a legitimate business in New York that’s operating as a cover for something highly illegal. What if I cut to the chase, eliminate product from the equation and just start moving money?”
Mano squinted at me, trying to see where I was going with this line of reasoning.
“Hear me out,” I continued. “I’m not asking you to help me set up anything highly illegal. I just need a little guidance. Someone to steer me in the right direction. And I promise, this is something Bolo and his cronies would have zero interest in.”
“Okay, Hopeton, okay,” Mano said. “If you’re going to cut to the chase, then please just cut to the chase. What are you talking about here?”
“I want to buy a legitimate wire transfer business in New York,” I explained. “A Ria license, most likely. I’ve been doing research on it for years, and I think that with my background and banking history, it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to purchase one.”
Mano knew all about wire transfers, as did I. For people like us, wire transfers made the world go ‘round. And I was sure he could make the leap to what I could do with a Ria license beyond helping people send money to their loved ones.
And I jumped back in before he could issue any sort of protest.
“I am not asking you to involve yourself in anything illegal,” I clarified. “All I need is some introductions. Who do you know who deals in legitimate business but also has a cash sideline that needs to be layered into something else? Someone who may already deal with street banking but would prefer something a little more formal.”
“What’s your endgame?” Mano asked.
“Well, I’m not going to be the person standing on the corner with a wad of US dollars making change for taxi drivers, but I’d like to be the one who’s supplying those guys’ bosses’ bosses,” I replied. “And the legitimate end of any transfers will be running out of New York.”
I quickly glanced at Mano, to see how all of this was hitting. He didn’t look outraged or scandalized, so I continued.
“I’ve had legitimate business interests in Panama City for years. So, it won’t be impossible for me to dress this all up as strictly legal transactions. What do you think?”
Mano took a beat before responding, but I could tell he was going to come through for me.
“Alright, I see what you’re getting at here, and I’m pretty sure I can steer you towards the right people,” he told me. “But I want to know why you’re so sure this is something you’ll be able to pull off without Bolo ever catching onto it.”
“Bolo?” I said, with a bitter laugh. “This is street level bullshit to Bolo. The only dirty money that man cares about is the pretty, laundered kind that flows back to him from Brooklyn. And it’s not like any of his country club buddies are going to catch wind of it and report back to him. I can handle Bolo.”
“You’ve put in seven years with the man,” Mano reminded me.
“Ten, actually,” I corrected him. “And at this point, all I’m looking for is the day where I’m finally my own boss. I had that for a brief moment in time, and Bolo took it from me.”
“So, you can understand why I’d rather stand all day in the hot sun, running a construction site than shovel Rafael’s shit for him,” Mano remarked.
