“Like a fuckin’ security detail. Your men accompany our drivers, make sure everything goes smooth.”
I picked up my pencil and flipped it between my fingers as I focused on Jimmy. He sat expressionless, waiting for my response. I weighed the pros and the cons of such an arrangement, and came up with many more cons than pros.
“And if something happens? If the cargo is threatened?”
Cupcake shrugged.
I shifted my eyes to Agrioli. He shrugged and unsuccessfully attempted to hide his smile.
“It’s not really what I do. Not my forte,” I said.
I watched as the pencil flipped from finger to finger. It was relaxing for me, and something I had perfected, starting when I was a bored kid of twelve years old. I had spent countless hours flipping a pencil between my fingers, often driving whoever was trying to talk to me insane before finally stopping.
Cupcake’s eyes darted back and forth between the pencil and Agrioli. Agrioli inhaled a deep breath through his nose, held it, and exhaled slowly. “You’re a businessman, no?”
I considered myself so. I glanced around my office and nodded proudly. “I like to think so.”
Agrioli gave the office a quick visual survey. “Successful?”
“Again,” I said. “I like to think so.”
“Your success. Do you measure in customer satisfaction, or in earned profit?”
Cupcake chuckled.
I didn’t find it humorous. I glanced at Cupcake. He stopped laughing. I met Agrioli’s gaze. “Profit.”
Agrioli nodded. “A percentage of revenue from each safe delivery.”
His habit of beating around the proverbial bush was driving me insane. I shot him a half-assed glare. “You’re offering me a percentage of your revenue? Is that what you’re saying?”
He shrugged and glanced at Cupcake. Cupcake shrugged.
I had very little, if any, interest in being involved in the mafia’s many business transactions. Being considered a man of honor was one thing, but actually being involved was another altogether. Illicit activities brought the watchful eye of the law, and along with it, the potential threat of imprisonment.
And I doubted there was much the mafia was involved in that I would be able to embrace as being morally acceptable.
Agrioli sighed. “Last month. We lost three trucks.”
Cupcake turned his palms up in agreement to the loss.
“Hijacked?” I asked.
They glanced at each other.
It seemed like a simple question. Obviously, there was more to their operation than they wanted to reveal.
“Your drivers were hijacked? While in transit?”
Cupcake looked at Agrioli. Agrioli studied me. I felt lost. Terra was on her way to meet me for lunch, and I really didn’t want two of the mob’s upper echelon in my office when she arrived. I glanced at my watch.
I had fifteen minutes.
The pencil continued to flip through my fingers while I alternated glances between the two men. I was done with the mafia secrecy and the guessing games. “Look, I’m afraid there isn’t going to be much I can do to help. I appreciate your offer, though.”
Agrioli adjusted himself in the chair. “Cigarettes. Each truck delivered, fifty thousand dollars.”
He had my attention. “My way? Fifty grand?”
Agrioli nodded.
“How many deliveries a month?”
Cupcake responded. “Four? Six?”
I stopped the pencil in my palm. That was two-and-a-half million bucks a year in cigarette delivery security detail. I doubted Agrioli had a license with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, so I was left to wonder about the legitimacy of the deliveries.
I glanced at my watch.
Ten minutes.
“You pay in cargo, or in cash? I don’t need a warehouse full of Marlboros.”
Agrioli laughed out loud. Cupcake joined in. “Cash,” Agrioli said when he finally caught his breath.
I stood. “Let me consider it, and talk to my men. I’ll have a response to you by the end of the week.”
I planned on shaking the men’s hands, but realized when they stood that we were going to do the hugging thing again. I walked around the edge of my desk, hugged each of them and walked them to the door.
I watched as their Cadillac backed out of the parking spot, but my mind was elsewhere. It seemed like a lot of money to assure safe delivery of a truckload of cigarettes. I decided there had to be more to it than what they were telling me, but felt not knowing might have been best.
I stood in the warm sun for several seconds and considered their offer. A few hundred thousand dollars extra a month would allow me to retire in Belize a lot sooner than I originally expected.
My eyes came into focus at the sight of Terra’s Mercedes approaching the entrance to my parking lot as the Cadillac pulled out. Instead of pulling in, she simply drove past. The Cadillac went left, toward the highway, and Terra drove off to the right. After she drove a half mile down the street, I lost sight of her car.