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On a steamy Sunday morning, Dario approached Micola’s front door and rang the doorbell. Eddie opened it and walked away, leaving Dario at the entrance.
Dario followed him into the living room. “You wanted to see me, Eddie?”
Eddie sat on the sofa and waved him in. Dario sat in the chair across from him.
“I met your uncle, or whoever he is, last night. Terrence? He came into the restaurant with his family.”
Dario smiled. “Oh yeah. I told him to come by, check out the restaurant. I told you I’d send the customers, Mr. B.”
Eddie smiled. “Yeah, ya’ did.” He plucked Terrence’s hundred dollar bills from his shirt pocket and flipped them in the air. “He gave me this. Said he owed it to ya’. He said you fronted him some cash for the game.”
Dario reached across the coffee table, smiling, but Eddie shook his head and shoved the cash back into his pocket.
“Come on, man. Gimme’ my money. That’s mine. Terrence owed me.”
“Your first mistake,” Eddie said, “was lettin’ anybody ‘owe’ you. You always get all the money up front. Uncle or no uncle.”
Dario’s shoulders sank. “But—”
“Shut-up. Your second mistake was bringin’ your street business into my fuckin’ restaurant. That guy took me by surprise. I ought-a’ slap you across your fuckin’ head right now for that stupid shit. If you-was around last night, I would’ve.”
Dario giggled nervously. “Ey-man. Sorry. I got busy last night and ran outta’ time. But, like I said, I told my uncle to come into the restaurant, didn’t I? Told-him he couldn’t deal with me unless he ate at your restaurant. You-know. Give you some-a-that business you’re always pressurin’ me about.”
Eddie shrugged. “Don’t have people comin’ into the restaurant tryna’ to do street business, you got that? It can’t happen.”
“I got it, man. It won’t happen again. Now, can I get my two hundred?”
“No fuckin’ way. Deal with it.”
Dario frowned as he looked at the floor and shook his head.
“Now,” Eddie said, “about these customers you’re bringin’ in, you did good on that. I see you’re workin’ on that part.”
Dario whipped his hand across his body. “Man, I know a lot-a people. A lot.”
“Alright. Keep-em comin’. And as far as the street work goes, you keep that comin’ and I’ll keep splittin’ any profit with you’se two seventy-thirty.”
Dario’s eyes bugged out, his arms spread outward. Eddie laughed because he knew Dario’s high-pitched voice was about to reach an even higher level. He was right.
“Seventy-thirty? Still? Man, you’re killin’ me—and Tau. You said you was gonna’ change it to sixty-forty. I’m doin’ all the grunt-work. You gotta do better-n that.” He made a psst sound and flapped his hand at Eddie, whispering, “seventy-thirty.”
Eddie’s eyes narrowed and his lip snarled, as he jabbed his finger in Dario’s direction.
“Don’t you disrespect me, Dario. That attitude-a yours is why you ain’t movin’ up. It’ll be sixty-forty soon. But, you gotta’ short fuckin’ memory. I’m the one coverin’ the up-front on all-a this shit.” He paused and then pointed at Dario. “Do you want to cover it?”
Dario opened his mouth to argue, but Eddie put up his hand.
“You also seem to forget that you ain’t got shit without me.”
He watched as Dario’s fight drained from his face.
Eddie continued. “Now, if things start comin’ around, we’ll talk. We could start the sixty-forty. And maybe we’ll do fifty-fifty. Later. For now, stop your fuckin’ whinin’ and get back-ta work.”
Dario stood to leave. “Okay. Don’t worry, man. You can trust me.”
Eddie gave Dario an angry laugh. “I barely trust you, Dario. This is no fuckin’ joke.”
Dario frowned as he waited to be excused.
Eddie flipped his hand. “Get the fuck outta’ here.”
Dario paused, but Eddie had nothing more to say, so he left.
When the front door closed behind Dario, Eddie picked up his burner phone and dialed.
“Primo. Eddie. You get my FedEx yet?”
Primo let out a mucus-filled cough into the mouthpiece. Eddie frowned, as he pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Got it. Nice work.”
“Told you, ‘eh? Things’ve been good.”
“I see that. You stay out there a while longer. Let’s see how things go.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Eddie said. “I guess I don’t mind. I’d hate to leave Micola until I found a decent replacement. Those books are a lotta’ work.”
“Yeah.” Primo let out another hacking cough.
“What about you, Primo? How’s business? You keepin’ an eye on Freddy? Who’s handling my books?”
“I’m handlin’ your books. Things are slow. You’re better off where you’re at.”
“Slow, ‘eh?”
“Yeah. Slow. Did I fuckin’ stutter?”
“Alright then, Primo. I’ll be in touch.”
Primo hung up.
“Slow, my ass,” Eddie said to himself. No doubt Primo was screwin’ him. But that was fine, cuz’ Eddie was screwin’ Primo, too. If Primo had half an idea of the amount of cash that was comin’ in, he’d have Eddie’s head.
Fuck Primo.
Eddie smiled and went upstairs to finish dressing for the day.
Autumn
