by Edward Goble
Chapter 16
He rolled out of bed at the crack of 10:00 am starving and still exhausted from Tuesday. He hadn’t dreamed at all, hadn’t even moved as far as he could tell. He really didn’t feel like going out for food but realized that his rampage had left little in the house to eat. “I’ll have to shop today, I suppose,” he thought as he made his way through the shower. Laundry made the ‘to-do’ list as well when he realized that his wardrobe was down to a few tee shirts and a pair of jeans that had to be held up with one hand while he walked. He’d learned the hard way climbing some stairs that if left unattended they would dislodge from his belly and drop to his ankles as if there were stones in the pockets. He had nightmares of his pants deserting him on a stairwell as he led a group of female fans up to a second floor book signing. He always awoke to the sound of their cameras clicking and winding furiously amidst the laughter.
He drove to a local market and replenished his pantry and freezer, replacing a lot of the things he had thrown away but satisfying his conscience by including a box of oatmeal, a case of Slimfast Chocolate Royale and some boneless chicken breasts to replace the frost bitten bag he’d pryed out of the freezer. Seven days after his commitment to make good choices and lose some unwanted weight; and there had been exactly zero noticeable progress. He pondered what the problem over a Lumberjack Breakfast at a greasy Denny’s knock-off near his market.
“Normally,” he thought, “I would have been able to do this, to be disciplined and make the good choices. But this past few days has been nuts. Between the Martins and the book and...” His excuses were thin, even to his easily convinced mind, and he finally admitted what he really believed. “I just can’t do it. I can make good choices in some areas, but not in others. I’ve just got to let myself off the hook and live my life. I’ll just live it a little bigger than I would prefer... Okay, a lot bigger than I would prefer.” He chuckled to himself as he spread a 2nd container of jam on an unsuspecting biscuit.
After lugging the groceries up from the garage one-handed, he brought his iBook into the living room to write from his favorite chair. A change of scenery might do his mind some good.
Andy’s Weblog - November 7th
Letting Myself Down Easy
It’s been a week since I made the pact. Each entry is here, I can scroll down, myself, and see the words I wrote - “I will commit to making good choices and be accountable to this page.” Turns out that’s been a challenge, not the honesty part, I’m good at that. It’s the good choices part that I can’t do. I don’t know why. I am okay for an hour or two, but give me a whole day and I’ve taken three steps backward for every one I’ve taken forward. So I’m letting myself down easy. I decided that over breakfast. I can’t do it. Oh, I’m still going to try, don’t get me wrong. And I’m still going to be sick every time I look in the mirror, but I’m going to attempt a new tactic. I’m going to try that whole, “Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative” thing. I’m going to just relax and not worry too much about my weight problem right now because I have some other issues pressing in that need my full attention. I can’t screw them up or I’ll really be depressed. I’ve got to at least keep that plate spinning, if my work crashes and burns... I can’t imagine. So I hope to make good choices, I will try to make good choices and I don’t really expect to make good choices most of the time. I’ll plan on being pleasantly surprised when I do. How’s that? I think if I reread what I’ve written that I’ll probably barf and delete the whole thing. So I’m going to post it and try to maintain what I already know is flawed thinking.
Your screwed up blogger - and I’m okay with that...
Andy
He stared out the window for a long time, his mind alternating between images of Debbie Williams, the confident young schoolteacher that stuck up for his writing in front of his own mother. “What a woman she must be,” he thought. And he thought about the two thugs at Martin’s deli and how intimidated he was, listening to them, wishing he were more like the hero in his stories so he could stand up to them and really help Mr. Martin. He thought about John Sanchez, out in the Daniel Boone Forest surrounded by a million acres of trees and maybe some really bad people. He was just about to open his story document when the phone rang, he didn’t want to be bothered, so he looked at the caller id screen. He didn’t recognize the number so he let it go to voicemail where he could screen the call.
“Hi, this is Andy, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message - sorry I can’t think of anything more original right now.” Beep.
“Hi, Andy. This is Debbie Williams, from last night? I got your number from your mother...” Andy froze. Should he grab the phone and pretend he was just walking in from the gym or something, should he call her right back after the message? What if she didn’t leave a number? He couldn’t breathe.
“Anyway, she thought it would be okay if I called, ‘just not too early’ was her only suggestion. Well, I just wanted to say hi. If you get a chance, give me a call back. My number is 415-555-3434. So, uh, bye.” Click.
Andy sat motionless in the living room, the answering machine began it’s incessant beeping from behind him in the kitchen announcing that there was a message. There is no way he would be able to concentrate on writing now, not until he called her back. He sat the computer down and stood to pace around the house. He looked in the refrigerator for answers - it held none. He took his computer back into the office and hooked up the power supply, he washed off his face with some cold water and mustered what little confidence he had, and walked to the phone to return the call, his chubby fingers carefully tapping out the numbers.
“Hello?”
“Debbie? It’s Andy Boyd.”
“Andy...”
“Sorry I missed your call. I was, uh...”
“It’s okay. How are you?”
“Uh, okay. Yourself?” Andy said, this was strange to him; he didn’t talk with women much, and never without a particular agenda, maybe a marketing call or setting up a book signing. Sometimes he chatted with the girl that worked the phones at his pizza place, but nothing like this.
“Oh, fine. Just got home from school. Listen, I was thinking. I’d really like to have you come in to my honors class sometime and talk, you know, just tell the students what you do and let them ask some questions. It’s a pretty good group.”
“Well, I... I’ve never really done anything like that before. I’m sure they’ve never read anything I’ve written.”
“Oh, I don’t know. But even if they haven’t, the idea of having a New York Times Bestselling Author in the class room would be amazing.”
“Yeah, they might think, ‘Gosh, if he can do it, anybody can do it.’
“That’s not what I mean, absolutely not. But really, what do you think, the students would love it, we all would.”
“I don’t know.”
“Hey, would you be interested in getting together, for coffee or something? To talk about it?”
“Uh...”
“My treat, come on,” she said.
“Well, sure, I guess,” he said. This was as surreal as anything in his odd life. If his ears weren’t playing tricks on him, it sounded as if he was just asked to coffee by a single young woman.
“How about Saturday?” she said.
“Uh, sure,” he said, wishing she had said ‘how about in an hour.’
“I can come up that way. Where should we meet?”
Andy eventually hung up the phone and replayed the conversation in his mind several times to make certain that it had all really just happened. Everything he had said sounded idiotic, of course, which made him grimace to think about. But the fact was that Debbie Williams had called him. She asked him out for coffee. She was coming to the City on Saturday morning to be with him. Three days from now. They were meeting at 10:00 am, at the Daily Grind. Andy’s mouth was dry and his mind spinning with excitement. He couldn’t consider the possibility that her call was strictly professional. May
be she thought he was okay, maybe she liked him. He couldn’t get ahead of himself, but unfortunately, he always did. It took two full hours for his heart rate and mind to settle down enough to get some work done.
----------
Appalachian Malady -
Broadback/Pena rented a puddle-jumper from a county airport outside of Knoxville and flew to New Castle airport in Wilmington where he took Amtrak into D.C. He made it to Curious Georgetown at 8:55 pm where he was certain to beat his date by at least ten minutes. It was actually more like fifteen.
“Sorry I’m late, Ran. It just takes forever to get through Dulles these days,” Tami said as she approached the table. Rance stood and took her coat, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I like to get here first so I can watch you walk in.” His flattery was not lost on her. Even though they had never been intimate, each was the closest thing the other had to a serious relationship. To say they loved each other was probably close, although the course of their lives may never allow their affection to be consummated.
“Flirting with a reporter is dangerous, mister,” she smiled. “You might find yourself on the front page.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said. “Let’s eat tonight, huh?” Rance waved over a server and asked for two menus and they ordered drinks—wine for Tami Beatty and a tea for her date.
“You on the job?” she asked as the server disappeared.
He nodded slightly, “So, tell me about Kentucky.”
She wondered, momentarily about the nature of his assignment, but knew better than to ask. “First, I love it there. Ran, it is so peaceful and beautiful.” She shook her head, almost in disbelief, “I had forgotten how nice it really is. You know, when you are from a place, its beauty is sometimes lost on you.”
“I know what you mean.”
“The sky is the deepest blue, and, this time of year the trees, oh,” she raised her eyebrows and her eyes got big as saucers reliving the image, “the leaves were mostly down already, but the colors were still amazing.”
“Georgetown’s not bad either.”
“Oh, I know, it’s not that. It’s just, you know, the whole package, the whole Southern charm and all. I just love it.”
“Well, I for one am glad you decided to come back,” he smiled and tipped his glass.
“No worries there, Ran. It’s like, a nice place to visit, but... You know what I mean? Not enough action for me, I need the city. I’m wired for D.C.”
“Maybe some day, though, huh?”
“Someday when we’re old and grey, right? And you come riding in and sweep me off my feet and buy me a big southern mansion with the white pillars and the tree-lined drive. I can see that.”
“I’ve heard there are some nice places down there,” he said, thinking of the palatial estate of James Rafferty.
“Very nice places,” she confirmed. The meal came and Tami ate like she’d never seen a decent steak, Mm-ing and Ah-ing in a way that would have been comical had it not been so endearing to Rance Broadback. He loved to watch her and couldn’t help but smile.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing. You just get your money’s worth out of a good steak - more than anyone I know.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know. I love it.”
“I get to be myself around you, Ran. No pretense, no reporter hat. Just me.” she said between bites, holding her steak knife in one hand and fork in the other. She cocked her head and smiled at him in a way that said he was her only real ‘boy’ friend, and he laughed.
“Maybe we shouldn’t wait till we’re old and grey,” he said.
“I’ve heard that before, Mr. Commitment.” She smiled and bit an asparagus spear in half.
They finished their meal and ordered coffee before Tami began downloading her findings from the trip. The crowded room was filled with students and staff from the college, artists from the downtown loft studios and some political underlings. Everyone was either off-loading from a long day, flirting, scheming or working some kind of angle. The house band was playing classic rock and the dim lights of the dance floor revealed a handful of couples that were reliving the glory days.
“Like I said on the phone, I think my contact out there is betting on a long-shot,” she said.
”I’ve done that before,” Rance smiled. “So he’s thinking there’s some connection between Hagin and the horse guy?”
She nodded, stirring a bit of cream in to her coffee, “Big time.” She sipped at the edge of the hot mug and continued. “He said he had followed Hagin out to Rafferty’s place at several times in the past few months. I guess Rafferty’s got this high security horse ranch slash mansion outside of Lexington somewhere.” Rance nodded as she spoke. “So Hagin comes and goes from Rafferty’s place for, like two months.”
“Okay...”
“And in the meantime, Hagin starts really pushing the marijuana legalization thing. I mean, it was always a pet issue of his, but now it’s his whole soapbox. It’s all over the state and national news. He’s going on all the Sunday morning news shows, the whole thing. According to my guy, Rafferty is trying to get Hagin to get off the soapbox. But Hagin won’t do it. And it becomes this big pissing match. The more Rafferty pushes him to stop, the louder Hagin gets... And then Hagin winds up DOA.” Tami held the coffee mug in both hands and sipped at the edge, licking her lips and setting the cup on the table. Her eyes never left Broadbacks.
“But aren’t they working it as a suicide?”
“That’s what I mean. The connection is too thin. This Rafferty guy is Teflon, I’ll tell you that. If he was involved I would bet there would be fifty layers between him and whoever pulled the trigger, if it wasn’t Hagin, himself, I mean.”
“So why does your guy think Rafferty was pushing the Senator, in general? Did he say?”
“That’s where it gets just silly. According to him, behind the scenes Rafferty is some huge drug kingpin,” she smiled and raised her eyebrows, “ooooh, right? And he doesn’t want Hagin; “A,” to draw attention to the issue of illegal drugs, and “B,” he doesn’t want to open the market up to competition... Crazy. He says that capitalists talk about competition all day long, but they would always rather have a monopoly if they can get it.”
“That part makes sense, I guess. Human nature and all,” Rance shrugged. “But the drug-lord thing… that’s out there… What about all the Mary Jane that the feds seize out there? Wouldn’t that problem go away if there were legalization? You’d think Rafferty, or whoever, would welcome that.”
“I know. But my friend said all those huge crop busts are all just a front. They actually plant all this stuff knowing it will be found and destroyed. Then the DEA gets all this credit for the tons of drugs that were seized, or whatever, and they go pick on someone else. All the while the main production and distribution pipeline is never touched, never even noticed.”
“But where?”
“He doesn’t know, he thinks it’s all smuggled in. But he said this, and this is the only thing that makes sense to me. He said, ‘If the feds are eradicating all these drugs, then how come exports linked to the region are up exponentially in the past few years?’ In other words, if they are constantly watching for the stuff, and then swooping in to confiscate it, how is production increasing instead of decreasing?”
“Good question. So why not just arrest Rafferty and squeeze him a little? If you’re the feds, why not just shake his tree?”
“I guess he’s pretty connected.”
“Mob?”
“D.C.” she said, now glancing around, realizing where she is sitting.
“What’s your angle going to be?”
“Don’t have one. As far as I’m concerned, he made no compelling connection to Hagin’s death, which is my story. I’ve got to keep the two things separate unless the dots connect themselves.”
“Of course.” Rance leaned in and reached across the table to whisper.
If anyone was watching, and he was never quite sure that they weren’t, he wanted it to appear that he was expressing his affection. He took her left hand in both of his. “Listen,” he smiled romantically, causing his date to lean forward and look deeply in to his eyes, “you might want to look at Phyllis Lecter.”
Tami didn’t really expect a diamond ring, but she didn’t expect a lead, either. Her smile faded and she looked carefully at Rance’s face. She knew she shouldn’t ask any questions. When all was said and done she knew that he was in another league and only passed her information that was solid.
She sat up a little straighter, still holding his gaze and his hands. “Rance Broadback,” she said, “are you flirting with me?”
He knew she got the message and smiled, looking down at his own coffee cup and shrugging, “I guess I am... but I know you’ve got to get going. And so do I.” They sat for a few more minutes watching people and enjoying each other’s company.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said with a sigh.
“I know.”
----------
Daylight had slipped away. The sun was setting over the western skyline and his mind reluctantly returned to the real world. He stood and stretched and pulled on his jacket and hat. Traffic was thick on Chestnut as commuters and tourists looked for short cuts through the City. Horns blasted and brakes squealed as people engaged in their daily escape. Others waited for buses at crowded corners that would take them to a BART station for a long train ride to a parking lot where they would find their car and drive the rest of the way home. A short line of customers was in Martin’s Deli getting drinks for the ride home and maybe a loaf of fresh bread for the family. Andy took a seat by the window and watched the madness. It was like an evacuation had been declared that only some had heard. And they each wanted to be the first one out. Finally, during a break in the flow of deli customers, he stepped to the counter, “Hey Mr. Martin.”
“Andy, how are you?”
“Good. And Mrs. Martin?”
Mr. Martin, who had aged five years in the past week, nodded with a weary smile. “She is doing good. Thank you for asking. She is eating. She is starting physical therapy. She is going to be okay.”
“Great. That’s good news.” Andy stepped aside so more commuters could do business. After people disbursed he returned to the counter.
“I called my brother. The boy never called him... I don’t know what to do with him. Nothing? Right? I can do nothing?”
“Maybe he just figured it out another way,” Andy said.
“I hope so,” Mr. Martin shook his head, “Sometimes you wonder what it takes for some people to learn a lesson. You know?”
Andy couldn’t help but apply those words to his own life. ‘I know what I need to be doing, but I don’t do it... I’m just like that idiot kid,’ he thought. Finally he responded, “A lot of people are like that.”
“I suppose so, Andy... Hey, it’s about time for me to lock up. It’s been a long day, I’ll tell you that.” Mr. Martin stepped through the saloon doors and fished in a pants pocket for the keys to the front door. “You want to have a sandwich or something, I’m going to take something to Maria, she won’t eat the hospital food.”
“Are you going to eat?” Andy said, not wanting to impose.
“Yeah, we will take some bread up to my house, huh? I’ll make us a little sandwich.” Mr. Martin located the proper key and started to reach for the door when it was pulled away from him and opened wide. “I’m sorry, we are clos...” he started to say as he looked up and saw the smiling face of Top Coat who stepped through the door as if he owned the place. Johnny followed him, scowling at Mr. Martin as he walked passed. He looked a lot bigger since the last time, Andy thought.
Top Coat spoke to Andy first, “Do you work here or something?” his smile never leaving his face.
“Just a friend,” Andy managed.
Top Coat nodded and said, “We have a little business to conduct with Mr. Martin. So, if you don’t mind...” he motioned for the door. Andy looked at Mr. Martin who was still standing at the door with his keys in his hand.
“I, uh, we have plans,” Andy said. “I can wait.”
“It wasn’t exactly a question,” Top Coat said firmly, glancing at Johnny who stood from the seat he had quickly taken to enjoy a cookie. Johnny scowled at Andy in a way Andy remembered well from Junior High. He didn’t like the look. Mr. Martin stepped forward.
“He will stay. What do you want?”
Top Coat shrugged and unbuttoned his coat. He took it off and handed it to his sidekick who had already returned to his seat. “Suit yourself.” He said in a way that Andy didn’t like. As soon as he was in a comfortable stance he focused on Mr. Martin and got straight to business. “Sir. Your nephew has become delinquent on his obligation and he has failed to contact us regarding the status of our arrangement.”
“He told me he owes you some money,” Mr. Martin said without humor.
“Oh, you have spoken to young Mr. Martin. Good.”
“I talked to him. He doesn’t have the money. He got arrested.”
Top Coat shook his head sympathetically. “Possibly the young man was planning to use the loaned funds for some untoward reason,” he suggested.
“Whatever it was, he doesn’t have it. He will have to make arrangements with you to pay back the loan on time.”
Top Coat again shook his head, this time he sucked in his lips and squinted his steely eyes. “I am afraid our company just deals in short-term programs, Mr. Martin. With the interest rates our customers agree to, it would be much better to borrow the money from somewhere else, an uncle perhaps, and pay this debt first. Then make arrangements to pay back the relative or whomsoever.”
The way he emphasized paying him first caused Andy to miss the rest of what he said. No Neck Johnny had begun pulling apart a fresh loaf of bread while his boss negotiated payment with the Deli owner. Andy noticed that Johnny had tossed a twenty on the counter to cover the costs of his grazing. Andy decided that now was as good a time as any for him to speak. He tried and his voice cracked. His mouth was dry and he realized he hadn’t taken a breath for a while. He wasn’t used to this kind of drama.
“Wha... Excuse me,” he swallowed hard, “What, exactly, does the nephew owe? Do you have a copy of the contract?” Andy finally got it out. Mr. Martin looked at him, then back at Top Coat who was grinning with an ‘I should shoot you in the face’ look that caused the little wrinkles on the outsides of his eyes to arc down toward his cheeks. He tilted his head slightly while Andy spoke and then addressed Mr. Martin again. He slowly reached in to an inside jacket pocket causing both Andy and Mr. Martin to suck in a quick breath, Andy now wished he could have gone to the restroom before this started. Top Coat produced a letter envelope, the top of which was tucked under instead of sealed. He carefully opened the envelope and removed a folded piece of copy paper.
“Our contracts are quite simple,” Top Coat said as he stepped forward, very close to Andy and Mr. Martin who were now standing together by the cash register. “This,” he shook the paper in his hand as if cooling it, “is a copy of the contract. The original is at my office.”
He handed the paper to Mr. Martin who gave it to Andy, “I need my glasses.” Mr. Martin disappeared for a moment through the saloon doors and re-entered while they were still swinging; he reached for the paper again which he received from Andy. “What is all this, it’s just numbers.”
As patiently as he could, Top Coat explained the numbers to Mr. Martin. “This figure, the $2000, is what young Mr. Martin borrowed from our firm. It was a short term loan due this past Monday as shown here by the hand written date, and the amount of 2500.”
“Wait a minute. Five hundred in interest for a three day loan?” Mr. Martin said.
“It was actually a five day term. But yes,” Top Coat confirmed. The rest of the numbers and dates you see are the amounts due if the loan becomes delinquent. There is a $500 per day interest ch
arge, billable each day, until the debt is cleared.” He said firmly and clearly.
“This is robbery. This is illegal. You can’t do this,” Mr. Martin looked over his glasses as if to inform the professional loan shark of something he didn’t know.
“It is a grey business, I’ll admit. But we did not force young Albert to sign the paper, which, as you see, he did. He came to us and I explained the terms as clearly as I am now, Johnny?” Top Coat said.
“Yeah boss, you were very clear. Clear as crystal.”
“Mr. Martin, I’ve been doing this a long time and I have many, for the most part, very satisfied customers who pay a generous fee for the privilege of obtaining short term financing. It’s a win-win, really. That is, until someone like young Mr. Martin decides that he doesn’t have to meet his obligation,” he said, his face visibly changing from pleasant to cold. “When that happens, we approach the persons that were given as references and try to work something out - before we take further action against our client.” Top Coat had a way of making threats that was both intimidating and well spoken.
“According to this Albert owes you $3500. Today?” Mr. Martin said in disbelief.
“And an even $4000 tomorrow, yes, you are reading it correctly,” Top Coat affirmed without apology. “You can see why it is usually better if the primary borrower find a solution to settle this debt by arranging terms with someone whose rates are not so, shall we say, aggressive,” he said, the greedy smile returning.
“I’m not going to pay this,” Mr. Martin announced. “This is my nephews debt, he’s burned enough bridges with my family recently, I’m not bailing him out of this one.”
Top Coats face curled in to a sorrowful frown. “I’m sorry to hear you say that Mr. Martin. I came here like a reasonable businessman, hoping to speak frankly with another mature, intelligent man. Hoping to make some kind of arrangement that would cause this debt to be remedied and young Albert to be released from the lien. And you say this.” He shook his head and looked out the front windows as if thinking of how to break the following news. “You leave us no choice but to pursue further action against young Albert Martin.”
“Good luck,” Mr. Martin said, assuming Top Coat was referring to legal action.
“Oh, he will be the one who is in need of luck, Mr. Martin,” Top Coat said coldly.
“But...” Mr. Martin began to say before being cut off by a raised hand.
“I need to tell you though, sir, that this debt will remain. And, it will continue to accrue interest. If young Albert accidentally falls out a window or steps in front of a train, while it would be sad and unfortunate, the fact will remain that he has an unpaid debt that must be collected, one way or another. That is our only concern. So, again, if young Albert demonstrates a further unwillingness to pay, we will return to you. Unfortunately, if we have to come back here and revisit this issue our approach may become somewhat less congenial. Because, and I’m sure you appreciate this, we don’t need the bad public relations that occurs when these things drag on and on. Our clients begin to think our terms are negotiable when, of course, they are not.”
Johnny draped his boss’s coat over an outstretched arm and the two walked to the door. Johnny motioned to the bill on the counter with a grunt. He held the door for his boss and the two walked out in to the night. Mr. Martin stared at the floor. This was getting progressively worse and Andy was afraid that the Deli owner would be the next one in the hospital with a nervous breakdown or a heart attack. Without saying a word Andy left Mr. Martin’s side and followed the two loan sharks out the door. The dark Lincoln was parked down the street and the two men had just stepped up to the car, Johnny had walked to the passenger side to open the door for Top Coat.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Andy called as he hiked up his jeans and walked over as fast as he could. He kept a hand in his pocket so the pants wouldn’t get any ideas about heading south. As he approached, Johnny saw that his hand was buried in his jeans pocket, and returned the gesture by putting his meaty paw inside his coat jacket and held it there, ready to match any heat that Andy might reveal. Andy wanted to hold up his hands and show that he wasn’t packing, but he was more afraid of his pants falling to his ankles at the moment than he was of being shot. Top Coat stepped to the back of the car as Andy approached.
“Thanks,” Andy said, trying to catch his breath and figure out what in the world he was doing out here on the dark side street with two men who had just threatened his neighbor.
“How can I help you?” Top Coat said, absent his usual charm.
“Listen,” Andy began. “I don’t agree with your tactics. But, I admit, I’ve never, you know, I...”
“You have no idea what we do,” Top Coat finished his sentence for him and was becoming impatient.
“Right, well, yeah... Anyway. What if,” he hesitated and then thought, why not, what’s the worst thing that can happen, they shoot me? “What if I pay the bill, you know? Not for Albert, he’s a scumbag. But for the Martin’s… Would they be clear? Would you guys leave them alone?”
Top Coat straightened up at the thought, “My friend,” he said with a return of his suave charm, “when the note is paid in full, we disappear. That is how the process works. We really don’t care who pays or where the money comes from.”
“Do you have a number where I can call you in the morning? I’ve got to check some things and go to the bank,” Andy said.
Top Coat removed a glove and took a business card out of his wallet. “So, we will meet tomorrow morning?”
“Right. I’ll call you and we’ll meet. And I’ll pay the debt and this whole thing will go away, agreed?”
Top Coat smiled cautiously, “We are still going to do our research and locate the whereabouts of young Mr. Martin. Just in case your benevolence does not materialize.” He assured Andy.
“Whatever, just be expecting my call tomorrow morning. Around 10:00 am,” Andy said. Top Coat shrugged and nodded his head as if agreeable. Andy turned back toward the Deli and walked back with his hand in his pocket to hold up his drawers. Top Coat called after him.
“Pardon me, Mr. Generous,” he said. Andy turned, he felt like the Sheriff that was turning to face the showdown with the evil gunslinger.
Top Coat smiled, “If you are planning to bring the authorities to our morning rendezvous, I would strongly advise against it.” Andy hadn’t thought of that, but now that the bad guy mentioned it, it sounded like a pretty good idea. It must have shown on his face.
“Because,” Top Coat continued, “Such a scenario would not bode well for your friend there, or his family… I’m certain you understand my meaning.”
“I’ll be coming alone and bringing the money,” Andy said. “I keep my word. It will be up to you to keep yours.”
Top Coat nodded slightly with a tilt of his head and watched as the heavy man turned and scurried back to the deli, his right hand still buried deep in his pants pocket.
Mr. Martin was still standing at the counter. “Andy, what am I going to do? The boy has no money. So these guys bust him up, so what? He deserves it? Maybe. But...” Mr. Martin was at a loss.
“Mr. Martin. I’m going to pay the debt,” Andy said directly.
“You? No. No way. I won’t have it.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want to see you hurt and I don’t want you to have to deal with this mess. You’re right; your nephew won’t pay them. They’ll find him and they’ll hurt him, or worse, and you’ll still be involved. I pay them and they go away.”
“I don’t know Andy, I couldn’t ask you...”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. No strings. It’s not a loan. I want to do it.”
Mr. Martin shook his head; his puffy grey eyes were moist. He looked at his watch, “My Maria. She is waiting.”
“I’ll drive you, I wanted to see her,” Andy said.
“My friend... Okay. You get the car, I will make dinner for us all.”
Andy smiled and left the del
i. He felt like he had done some good for once in his life, but at this point it was just a commitment, he hadn’t really done anything yet. He was starving and hoped Mr. Martin was making something really good, “A lot of something really good,” he corrected himself.