Pointing at the sheets of paper spread out on the hood, each representing a contact with Ralph, I asked, “Can you single out the point in time when his attitude shifted?”
After sifting through the papers for a moment, Marge held up a single sheet and said, “I guess if I had to pinpoint the shift in his attitude, from seeming to sincerely want to help us to becoming an obstructionist, I would say it was here.”
Taking the sheet from her, I looked at the date. It was the day I’d left for Michigan, a couple days after Percy Strickland first made his purchase offer. Looking at the sheet in my hand, I made a decision on the spot. We’d rebuild Cap’s Place. Now all I had to figure out was how to leverage the needed funds out of the insurance company.
I handed the sheet of paper back to Marge and was just about to tell her about my observations at Jack’s when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Well, look at this, he did come back. You owe me five bucks, Moe, you said he’d never come back.” There stood Justin, wearing a faded tee shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops. His wild hair and growing beard made him look like a real beach bum. He thrust out his hand and said, “Welcome back, friend.”
Moe protested, “I never said any such thing. You may have taken on honest work, Justin, but you haven’t lost your gift for lying.”
We all laughed as Justin and I shook hands. I said, “I thought this place was fenced; how the hell did you get in the back way?”
Laughing his deep rumble, Moe said, “Geez, Jack, you weren’t gone that long. This is Justin you’re talking about.”
We all made small talk for a few minutes as Justin told me about the progress they had made in restoring the marina. It was obvious that he was taking pride in the accomplishments, and he seemed more relaxed than at any time since I’d met him. I could see that nearly half of the slips had boats in them again and the small office had been rebuilt. Justin said that it was going to take a little longer to restore bathhouse facilities due to city and state permitting requirements.
Our conversation was interrupted as a Ford Taurus drove into the parking lot and parked behind Moe’s car. Marge said, “He’s early. That’s Ralph Ambrose, Jack.” I hadn’t met Ambrose. Even in the days between the storm and my leaving for Michigan, Marge had handled all of the contact with the insurance company and Ambrose, our assigned adjuster. Though I hadn’t met him, there was no doubt that he was the person meeting with Percy Strickland not more than an hour ago.
As Ambrose approached the four of us, Justin said, “Time for me to get back to work. We’ll catch up later, Jack.” He turned and walked toward the back of the parking lot. I would have liked to watch and see how he was traversing the fence, but my attention was drawn back toward Ambrose by Marge’s greeting.
“Good morning, Ralph. Thanks for meeting us here. I’d like to introduce you to Jack Nolan.”
We shook hands. His handshake was much like grasping a limp fish. Cold and totally devoid of resistance. I said, “Nice to finally meet you, Ralph. Marge has told me so much about you.”
Attempting to sound officious and in charge, he replied, “Yes, pleased to meet you, Mr. Nolan. Unfortunately, my time is very limited today. Marge, you said you had a couple of issues you wanted to discuss?”
I said, “Before you get started, could I have one of your business cards, Ralph? Since I’m back now, I would expect that you and I will talk on occasion.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the confusion on Marge’s face.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Opening the leather portfolio he was carrying, he withdrew a business card and handed it to me.
As I took the card, I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen as if it had just vibrated to alert me. I said, “I really need to take this. You three go ahead and get started. I’ll join you shortly.” Now the confusion on Marge’s face turned into exasperation. I couldn’t blame her. After finally returning, I immediately ducked out of what she anticipated would be another contentious meeting with the future of Cap’s Place hanging in the balance. Hopefully, she’ll understand when I explain. I strode away from the three of them and said, “Hello, this is Jack Nolan,” into a silent phone.
Once I’d gotten out of their range of hearing, I called the main office number listed on Ambrose’s business card. I identified myself and politely asked the person who answered to connect me with Ralph Ambrose’s immediate supervisor. “May I tell Mr. Hobart what it is in regards to?” I replied that I thought it best if I spoke directly to Mr. Hobart about the matter.
A few seconds later a male voice came on the line. “Eric Hobart. How may I help you, Mr. Nolan?”
“Well, Mr. Hobart, I’m calling to help you. I believe that one of your employees, Ralph Ambrose, is involved in an effort to defraud me of my property. At the bidding of a developer, who is attempting to purchase the property, Ambrose is making it difficult, if not impossible, for me to obtain a reasonable settlement and rebuild. I’m calling you as a courtesy to you and your company. I have an appointment with the Office of Insurance Regulation this afternoon. Previously, I’ve always had a good relationship with your company and felt compelled to give you a heads up.”
Hobart interrupted my yarn. “Mr. Nolan, I’m sure there has been some misunderstanding.”
Before he could continue, I exercised my own powers of interruption. “No, there is no misunderstanding. In fact, there is video evidence from the security cameras at the restaurant they met at only an hour ago. I plan to turn the video over to the insurance investigators when I meet with them. I refuse to be victimized by the company I have been paying all of these years to insure my interests.”
“Please, Mr. Nolan, let’s discuss this situation. If what you say is accurate, I assure you our company wants to make it right. We don’t want you to feel that you need to involve the regulators. We want to make it right for you ourselves. Now, please give me more background on your claim and the situation you are describing.”
Thirty minutes later, my call ended, and I walked back around the corner of the building just in time to see Ambrose getting into his car. Marge was standing with her hands on her hips and an expression of total disgust on her face. Moe was standing off to one side as if he wanted to be outside of the blast zone in case Marge exploded. I couldn’t take any such precautions. I owed her an explanation. I walked up to her and said, “I’m about to make your day, so give me a couple of minutes before you bite my head off.” The glare I received in return would have melted the polar ice caps.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It had been two weeks since I returned to Florida. I had settled in living with Moe, and though neither of us would ever admit it aloud, it was working well. The afternoon of my call with Eric Hobart, Ralph Ambrose had been replaced as our adjuster. We had quickly established a good working relationship with his replacement and within days had agreed on all outstanding issues. Not selling to Percy Strickland had turned out to be an easy decision. I wasn’t about to sell to someone who had employed the tactics he had. The only hurdle remaining in the path to rebuilding was identifying a reputable company that would be available to take on the job in the near future. I had a meeting in an hour with the owner of a company that could possibly solve our problem. At least that was how it had been characterized when the owner first contacted me.
I was flipping through the channels on the flatscreen TV prominently mounted on the wall of Moe’s living room while I had one last cup of morning coffee. I crossed a news channel with the talking head alongside a large picture of Robert Armstrong. Several times since my return I had seen his picture on a TV somewhere, here at Moe’s, in a restaurant or a bar, but I could never hear what was being said. It was as if his smug smile was continuously mocking me. Not a day had gone by since I’d gotten back that I hadn’t wondered if there was something different I could have done. This time I flipped back to the channel and hit the volume. The talking head was saying, “Party officials seemed to be taken completely off guard with today’s
startling announcement by Governor Armstrong that he was totally withdrawing from political life. He had been very active on the campaign trail and was the odds on favorite to emerge from the primaries as their next presidential candidate, but now it’s back to the drawing board for the party leadership.”
An unseen voice asked, “What do you make of Governor Armstrong’s statement that he is going to devote one-hundred percent of his time and energy to furthering the mission of the Global Institute for Pediatric Health?”
“Well, as we are all aware, the Global Institute for Pediatric Health was the creation, and now passion, of Governor Armstrong’s wife, Christine Wyatt. I guess even in today’s world of cynical politics, people sometimes find their way to a higher calling.”
I clicked off the TV as the report transitioned to something else. Motionless, I stared at the black screen. I was stunned. Obviously, Christine Wyatt had intervened and redirected the future plans of Robert Armstrong. Looking at the ceiling and presumably heaven above, I said, “Hope you’re watching, Benjamin.”
Coming into the room from the back of the house, Moe asked, “Who you talking to, Boss?”
Smiling, I said, “Long story, Moe. Remind me sometime over a beer and I’ll tell you, but now we’d better get going. This is one meeting we don’t want to be late for.
Thirty minutes later, Moe and I were leaning against his rental car in the parking lot of Cap’s Place when a Cadillac Escalade pulled in and stopped. It was impossible to see the occupants through the deeply tinted windows, but I knew exactly who was inside. Both front doors and one of the back doors opened simultaneously. The man who emerged from the back said, “That’s fine, boys. You can wait in the truck.” With that, Lorenzo Mancuso strode toward us, his face wearing a broad smile, hand outstretched. As usual, he was dressed in a tailored gray suit with an open-collared white shirt. Law enforcement circles considered him the crime boss of South Florida, but he had never been charged with anything illegal. He’d maintained to me that he’d distanced himself from his organized crime heritage and ran nothing but legitimate businesses.
The three of us shook hands. After our initial greetings concluded, Mancuso pointed at Cap’s Place and said, “Elena told me you guys got hit pretty hard.”
Looking back at the blue tarps that were serving as a roof for much of the building, I said, “Yeah, could have been worse, though.”
“You rode it out, huh? Bet you won’t choose to do that again.”
Moe boomed. “You got that right.”
Mancuso clapped his hands together. “Okay, you got a problem, and I’ve got a solution. You need a decent construction company to get you back on your feet, and no one fitting that description is available until long after your business will be a mere memory. I’ve seen this time and again after these storms.” One thing about dealing with a guy like Mancuso, there was no small talk. He continued, “You may recall that among my business holdings is a sizable construction company. My company doesn’t usually do anything as small as this. No offense, Jack, we just do larger projects, shopping malls, high-rise business buildings, stuff like that.” I nodded, and he continued, “Here’s my offer. I’ll have enough guys pulled off one of my projects to provide a crew that can put this place back together as fast as possible. We’ll do it at the rates approved by your insurance company. There will be no price gouging. Everything will be on the up and up. In fact, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll create an entirely new company for these guys to work under. Provide another layer of separation between you and me. You know, for appearances’ sake. I know that association with me can sully a guy’s name in some circles.” He paused, and when I didn’t immediately respond, he extended his hand and said, “Take the deal, Jack. It’s the least I can do; I owe you. I don’t know how you did it, but your relationship with Elena was a major turning point for her. Got her back on her feet. This is my way of saying thank you.”
My mind was spinning at top speed, attempting to analyze his words and the situation they created. I had thrust myself into the world of Lorenzo Mancuso some time ago when a New Jersey mobster was attempting to muscle in on Cap’s Place. In the process, without realizing she was his daughter, I had started seeing Elena. Turned out she was overly possessive and maybe a little wacky. In my recollection, our parting had not been that amicable, but if Mancuso recalls it differently, I’m certainly not going to argue the issue. In the end, I’d felt lucky to have successfully severed the relationship with both him and his daughter without finding out the hard way if he was a mobster. Now he was proposing a solution to the last impediment to rebuilding Cap’s Place, but the situation would again pull us into his solar system.
Thrusting my hand out, I said, “I appreciate your offer, Enzo.” Enzo was the name his friends called him. “Let’s see if we can’t get this place back up and running before people forget we were ever here.”
Mancuso grasped my hand and slapped me on the back. “Great, Jack. I promise you won’t be sorry. I’ll take good care of you. I take care of my friends.” His smile faded just a bit. “Oh, one thing. I’d like to use Elena’s company for the architectural work. She’s familiar with the building and can develop the construction drawings we’ll need to get the city permits faster than if we brought in another company. Don’t worry about any personal problems, she’ll work through my construction foreman. There will be no need for you to interact with her at all.” Elena was an architect and left Mancuso’s company and opened her own firm during the period we dated. A remodel and small expansion of Cap’s Place had been one of her first independent jobs. So, now I was not only getting pulled back into his solar system, but one of the planets was going to be Elena.
A hollow spot developed in the pit of my stomach. The kind that occurs when you know you’re making a bad decision but go ahead anyway. “Sure, that won’t be a problem.”
We talked a few more minutes. Mancuso said he’d have his attorneys file the paperwork to form the new company that afternoon and a crew would be picked and assigned tomorrow. He said I could expect a call from the project manager tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Again, I expressed my appreciation, and he again called me his friend and pledged to take good care of me.
As the Escalade disappeared from sight on South Ocean Boulevard, Moe said, “Sure hope you know what you’re doing, Boss.”
“I sure as hell hope I do, too, Moe.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My sincere gratitude to all of my friends and readers who have encouraged me to continue the adventures of the cast of characters who bring Cap’s Place to life. Special thanks to Jessica Benbow for her review and suggestions. Final edits and proofreading were provided by the amazing Parisa Zolfaghari.
My wonderful wife, Karen, continues to support me every step of the journey. She is the keystone of my life.
Of course, try as all of these folks did, they were unable to prevent me from making mistakes. The mistakes are mine, and mine alone.
Cap’s Place Series
Cap’s Place
Nimble Be Jack
Quick Be Jack
Driven Be Jack
Chaotic Be Jack
Loyal Be Jack
Loyal Be Jack Page 25