Chapter 31

Paul Halman was not, by nature, a risk taking man. He was a quiet, confident, college educated traditional business man who operated with a machine-like meticulous efficiency when he was left to his own devices. However, as it would happen in the course of business in the big city, he was not left to his own devices. He was pressured, cajoled, and intimidated into courses of action he would never have dreamed of. Necessity being the mother of invention, he re-invented himself into the type of man who took more than calculated risks. He invented an image of a man who flaunts his risk, displaying it on the cuffs of his custom-fitted suits. He had made himself appear as the opposite of his nature, and that became his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. He was an island unto himself, able to deceive and manipulate whomever he wished. But there was one person who he trusted to show through the facade. One true partner in business.

John Letters didn’t share Paul’s temperance for risk-taking. He had built his life from a foundation based on overcoming struggles, and that required real effort. It required sweat, blood, cunning, and to make decisions others were incapable of. It required courage, which is why Paul was only mildly surprised when he got the phone call from county. John had a reputation for misadventure, which is what made him such a good partner in business. People genuinely liked him because he was exciting. Paul needed a man like that to be the face of his business, so he brought him slowly closer into his circle. John started as a weekend bartender at The Rooster. Soon, he was full time, then the bar manager, and then the general manager. He inspired confidence and workmanship in his fellow employees, and as he rose higher, Paul confided more and more in him. John had a special talent for earning people’s trust, as he did with Jesus. John also had a number of vices, none of which Paul didn’t share. John smoked, drank, and gambled, all of which Paul looked down upon with disdain. However, he managed to pass along one of those habits, gambling.

John Letters, Paul Halman, Dana Greymaker, and Chris Waters occupied a private box at the Green Quarter horse racing arena on a balmy Tuesday in early August. The betting was a backdrop for more serious financial discussion.

“I am to understand,” Paul said, “That the Ridgeland Post is in dire need of writing staff, as well as in serious financial woes?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put—” Chris started, but Dana cut him off.

“You understand correctly,” He said.

“I don’t know if woes is the word I would see,” Said Chris, avoidant of admitting any issue facing the company.

“I see. And I am to believe that this is due in part to the draft. You’ve lost a number of your best writers to the war. Is that not true?”

“Yes, of course, but we’ve had great interest from many women who want to write in support of the war.” Chris answered.

“I see, and how is this angle of blind support working for your younger audience, and for minorities?” Paul offered.

“Our primary client base has responded very well to all of our political opinion pieces,” Chris said, “But am I to understand that your subscription numbers are going down?

“Do you have a proposition for me, Mr. Halman?” Dana interjected, before Chris could answer.

“Two, actually,” He said, “But before I give them to you, let me ask you a question.”

John watched the race with mild interest as his horse took the lead.

“What would you do to save your company?” Paul asked.

“I’m not sure I understand the question, but I’d definitely be willing to do quite a bit,” Replied Dana tactfully.

“Would you be willing to break that law?” Said Paul. Nobody moved. Even over the roaring crowds, the powerful silence was palpable within the booth.

“What are you suggesting?” Dana said.

“What if I could give you money just to artificially inflate your profit margins?” Paul said.

“Paul, I hardly think that’s appropriate for-” Chris began.

Dana cut him off again, “How much money are you talking about.”

“Starting off small, somewhere around fifty grand a month.”

Silence again.

“What percentage?”

“Eight.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten and a half.”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Paul agreed, “We can start next month. I’ll deliver it personally. I’ll collect and deposit on the first of each month around noon. No one else besides these four people need know about this, even my clients.”

“The next order of business is more mundane, but has the potential to affect your business in an even worse dramatic manner,” Paul continued, “John, I believe this is your part.”

“I have a young writer, fresh out of college. He’s just what you need to attract a new audience.

Have him do a weekly liberal-focused section. He can talk about the war, and as long as he doesn’t openly condemn the troops, no one will care. It will make The Ridgeland Post appear more well-rounded and diverse.”

“An interesting proposal. Why isn’t he employed writing now?” Dana asked.

“He works at a pizza parlor. Just got into town. Give the kid a shot. If he screws the pooch, I’ll personally pay his first months’ salary. You can’t lose.”

Dana sat in silence for a moment. On the track, his horse was pulling ahead into the lead.

“I’ll agree to your proposition under one condition,” He said.

“He takes the fall if this money laundering business goes south.”

It took John three phone calls over two days to get in touch with Jesus. The first time, he was at work, and Andrea simply neglected to answer. The second, he and Andrea were making love. He had intended to call John back, but instead got stoned and completely forgot. It was early Thursday afternoon before he was scheduled to work that he received the call from John.

John Letters was very excited to tell him something, but wanted to save the news until he was present in person.

“What evenings do you and Andrea have off?”

“We work the next two nights, but we’re off Sunday.”

“Great,” John said, “Come by the bar Sunday around seven or eight.”

“What is this for?” Jesus asked.

“You’ll see. Bring Andrea, by the way.”

“All right, I’ll see you then.”

Jesus hung up the phone with a strange cross of uneasiness, excitement, and nervous anticipation.

It sounded like whatever John had to say was a good thing, but if so, why the secrecy?

Friday and Saturday came and went. Just like in Baja Leai, Jesus and Andrea had established a familiar routine and rhythm to their work schedules, which afforded them enough time and money to enjoy the big city. Luke was a good manager, and always paid them fairly. He only asked them to come in and work extra shifts when absolutely necessary, and he paid overtime.

When Sunday arrived and Jesus brought Andrea to The Rooster, Stars and Lily were already there sitting at the bar talking to John. Stars was wearing tattered jeans and a brown T-shirt with the logo, “Peace Rocks,” Lily had a short pink ruffled shirt and a white blouse, a play on 50’s fashion, and John was wearing a neutral, dark brown sweater vest over a black button up. It must have been a sight to see all three dressed so differently, huddled together speaking animatedly in a nearly-empty bar.

Jesus and Andrea were dressed more conservatively like John, by virtue that most of Jesus clothes had come from Superintendent Lopez.

“It’s good to see you,” John greeted them warmly, “Let’s grab a table. Karla can take care of the bar.”

Karla was a round second generation Guatemalan woman with a knack for talking customers out of their wallets. She was more than capable of manning the bar alone on a Sunday night. The five of them sat down at a table nestled in a protective alcove at the side of the room. John poured beers for everyone.

“First of all, I want to congratulate Jesus on his new job writing a column for The Ridgeland Post,” John said.

Jesus was dumbfounded. He had no idea he had been offered a job. He had no experience writing professionally, and yet John seemed too enthusiastic for it to be a joke.

“I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t apply for a position. Well, the owner of the Post needed a writer because half of his staff was drafted, and I know you wanted a job as a writer, so I put two and two together and made it happen,” John said. He was unusually cheery.

“Wow, thank you. I don’t know what to say,” Jesus said.

“You don’t have to say anything. Now, it’s time to celebrate,” John said.

Stars cheered to Jesus’ new job and broke out a small baggie of cocaine.

So that’s why people like going here.

Jesus reluctantly shared a few lines of the stuff. It burned going up, and tasted like gasoline dripping down his throat. Jesus felt incredibly focused, like he could sit down and write an entire essay in an hour. Andrea and Lily were chattering away at a hundred miles an hour.

“John, how did you get this job for me? And why? I barely know you. You haven’t even seen my writing.”

“Actually, I have seen your writing, and it’s fantastic. Andrea brought me this from your notes.

She wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d be too shy to show me,” John produced a paper Jesus recognized as a poem he had written earlier that week.

“I think you should read it,” Said Stars.

“It’s not finished,” Said Jesus.

“Nothing is ever finished,” John said.

“Everybody listen up! Jesus has something for us,” Stars said. The girls’ chatter stopped mid-sentence. Jesus glared at Andrea. She gave him a cheeky smile.

“When John called the first time, I actually did pick up. I found it in the kitchen. Let’s hear it, my love.”

Put on the spot, Jesus had no choice but to read:

A sniper, a widow, black as night

Red spots on the belly. a baby in blight

A crimson red lake in the highest totem pole

With the lowest rung of ladders. as death rakes its toll A telescopic ray for due process to take place Technology created to mask another face Blatantly negating tales told so common As cold warms the blood with the whispers of a shaman Cast by the wrath of a landlord, but not Jesus himself Seeding the air so they can please us But we’re drones from time alone And only trends can follow by telegraph and telephone He seeks an admirer, and even merely a pen pal But as the numbers grow, all they receive are stakeouts They buy into intentions, cumbersome at the very least So they can embark on their journey to the never-ending feast

“That’s far out, man,” Said Stars.

“What does it mean?” Asked Lily.

“It’s about Vietnam, and the manipulation of young soldiers into committing horrible war crimes.

It’s about the pain and suffering caused on both sides by agent orange, snipers, politicians, and technology.

The destruction of the natural way of life,” Jesus said.

“Wow, that’s deep,” Lily said. John beamed approvingly.

“You’re so talented, love,” Andrea said, “Is there any more coke?”