The Insurance Man

by Wayne Lerner

“Whopper minus the onions.”

“Double cheeseburger, ketchup only.”

“Three kids meals, two chocolate shakes, one vanilla shake, and a water.”

Sam repeated the orders as he put them in the register. He had to make sure he got it right the first time. He had no time for an argument when the customer got their food. It was lunchtime.

The place was loaded with ravenous carnivores.

Sam knew the system wasn’t dummy-proof, even though it was designed to be. A fast food restaurant staffed by teenagers and managed by 20 year olds who couldn't find another job had to be. Everyone knew it worked best when they weren’t busy. This same crew struggled to satisfy everyone’s needs during heavy times. Today was Sam’s “turn in the barrel.” He was the swing manager for the day and pm shifts.

“Did you guys get the orders?” Sam yelled.

Jeff, the pusher, collected the items and handed them to the customer. “Yeah, I got ‘em. Stop yelling. I’m right behind you.”

“Whaddaya mean stop yelling.You can’t hear me over the broiler and the fries sizzling in the fryer. We’ve screwed up two orders already. By the way, who’s got the shake machine today?”

Jeff looked over to his right. “It’s Max. He’s on it.”

“Who put him there? Me? He should be on garbage. Max’s 16. He can’t handle the shake machine.”

Jeff looked at Sam and shrugged his shoulders. “C’mon, Sam. We gotta work with what we got and we ain’t got much.”

The customers’ clamor required Sam’s singular attention, or so they thought. Any delay in the process, loud voices would get louder and those waiting in line would get testier. Fast food couldn’t be fast enough for the hungry, the aged, the impatient, and parents with whiny kids.

Henry, one of the regular senior citizens, shuffled up to the register. Sam grimaced.

Here’s twenty minutes I won’t get back. And that’s when he’s on his game.

Henry’s hearing issues didn’t help the situation, especially when the place was jammed.

“I’ll have a junior Whopper, no cheese and no lettuce.”

“Anything else. Fries, a drink?”

“What? I said, a junior Whopper, no cheese, no lettuce. Maybe I’ll have fries with that. Just a minute, I have to see how much money I brought.”

A loud commotion in the dining room seized Sam’s attention. He left the register and Henry, who was still trying to decide if he was going to have anything else with his junior Whopper.

“Jeff, man the register. Max, you’re pushing now. I've got to see what’s going on.”

Sam hopped over the counter much to the shock of those in line. He ran to the toilets in the back of the store.

Smoke poured out from behind the bathroom door. The fire alarm horn bellowed its signal, 4 x 4 x 4, and a strobe light lit up the area. If anyone was epileptic, the strobe was certain to bring on an acute seizure.

The customers in line and those eating in the dining room were flash frozen where they were.

No one expects a fire in a fast food restaurant unless it’s from the broiler or the fryer. This one was in the men’s room.

“Jeff, I've got the fire extinguisher from the office. Call the Fire Department. Those fuckers from River Forest did it again.”

Sam wrestled with the extinguisher to get it to work. The hose and its contents seemed to have a mind of their own. He held it tight to his chest and sprayed the toilet area, hoping the firemen would arrive soon.

“It’s ok, folks, the Fire Department’s on its way,” Sam shouted over the loud noise.

The back door alarm shrieked in response to being left open by the agitators. It joined with the blaring fire alarm horn and the strobe light which continued to flash. To add to the cacophony of noise, sirens from the firetrucks wailed as they got closer to the restaurant.

The customers barreled out the front door, bumping into the firemen rushing in with their equipment but not Henry. He was still fishing in his pockets, counting up his loose change.

Orders pushed onto the counter disappeared in the chaos.

“Thank god it’s only paper and not a grease fire,” the fire captain said to Sam. “All these people in here, it would have been bedlam.

The captain hollered into his two way radio. “Truck 6, go ‘round back and water down the area.”

“The fire will be put down in nothing short,” the captain said to Sam. “You did a good job with the extinguisher. With the clean up, you’ll be back in business in 30 minutes.”

Moments later, the fire was out and the firemen went about collecting their equipment.

“Max, grab Louie and start cleaning up the toilet, wouldya? Everyone else back to your positions in case anyone still wants to eat. I’ll call the Jerry and let him know what happened. He’s not going to be happy. Nor is the big guy.”

Sam ran into the office. Sweat poured down his face, his shirt was drenched.

“Jerry, it’s Sam at Oak Park.... We just had a fire, again...Yeah, I know it’s the third time this summer... What do you want me to do, go to old man Garafina’s house and accuse his kids of starting the fire? I’m making a buck seventy five an hour, Jerry, and I ain’t got life insurance yet...

‘Yeah, I’m sure... What? No. The only blacks in the store were in line for their food. It had to be Matteo and his buddies... Listen, I gotta get back to work. File the claim and let the boss know...

‘No, I’m not calling him, that’s your job. I’ve got enough problems right here. I don't need him exploding and calling me names again. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

Sam slammed the phone down on the receiver and sat back to collect his thoughts.

I gotta get another job. This one’s a dead end. It’s going to kill me if the mob kids don’t do it first.

Jerry and Gillepsie are worried about the blacks. I’m not. I’m terrified about the families across Harlem in River Forest. What’s worse, that asshole, Matteo, knows where I live.

Sam left the office to see how Max and Louie were doing cleaning the men's bathroom. He looked towards the front door and saw customers returning to the restaurant. A men’s room fire wasn’t going to keep them from a 2-for-1 Whopper sale. Nor would the smoke stains visible in the bathroom hallway and on the dining room walls.

“Ok, everyone back to their stations. Jeff, you push and do fries. I’ll take the orders and man the shake machine. Trent, you handle the pop machine until Louie and Max get back. Thanks, guys, appreciate your help.”

Sam took a long, deep breath and let it out real slow like his Mom told him to do when he was stressed.

12:30. Man, it’s going to be a long fucking day.

“Sam, the phone’s ringing in the office,” hollered Max. “You can’t hear shit over the noise in the restaurant. I’ll cover for you at the register.”

Sam ran back into the office, picking up the phone as he slammed shut the door. “This is Sam, what can I do for you?... Oh, hello Mr. Gillespie. I hope you’re doing well today... You’re shouting and I can’t understand what you’re saying... Yes, that's right, another bathroom fire...

Yeah, I suspect the guys across the street started it... I saw Matteo’s cycle pull into the lot earlier today but lost sight of him when I had to man the register... No, I told Jerry I didn’t think it was the guys from Austin...Yes, I’m sure it wasn’t them... No need to call everyone names, Mr.

Gillespie. I really don’t like being called that name... The police? Of course, I called the police to make a report... Yes, I’ll call River Forest as well. You called Mr. K to start the insurance going?

He’ll be here today? Great. Thanks. Always a pleasure talking with you.”

Sam smashed down the phone so loud the guys in front thought he was throwing things at the wall of the office. He started to leave and go back to the front when the phone rang again.

“Hello, it's Sam... Mr. Gillespie, what can I do for you now?... Paint the what?.. .The interior walls?...When?...Tonight after close?... The smoke stains aren’t bad....How about if I call the handyman and have him do the work?... Insurance will cover the cost... Stop screaming, Mr. Gillespie, and stop using those words. Ok, we’ll get it done tonight. Is that all?... Have a pleasant day. Goodbye!”

Sam banged the phone down for a second time.

That son of a bitch. Pays us less than minimum, treats us like fucking slaves. Such a bigot but only on the phone. Hasn’t got the balls to stand up to the gangs from Austin or the mob guys across the street. Need to call home. Gonna be late tonight.

*********************************

“Hey, Sam,” Jeff hollered. “Come out here. The cops are pulling up.”

Two brand new, blue and white ‘67 Ford Galaxies screeched into the lot, the drivers stomping on the brakes right in front of the main door.

“Must be nice to be able to buy new stuff every year,” said Sam to no one in particular. “Not like Chicago. Their old Impalas are on their last legs.”

“What can I do for you, Officers?”

“I’m Sergeant Ryan and him there’s Officer Scott. Who the hell might you be, kid?”

“I’m Sam, the swing manager. I’m in charge today. We’re the ones who called in the fire. The big boss said we have to make a police report, too.”

“You’re the manager for this place? You’ve got to be kidding. Who would trust a cash business like this to a kid like you?”

“The owner, Mr. Gillespie and Jerry, the regional manager, do. I’ve been here for three years.”

“What does this place make in a week, 3-4 thousand?”

“Closer to 6.”

“Six grand a week! Jesus fuck, did you hear that Danny?” Ryan turned to his partner, a look of amazement on his face. “6 thousand a week and they have this punk running the show. We made a wrong turn somewhere, I’m telling you.”

“I’m a junior in college, sir, and a business major. Running this place isn’t that hard, just tedious. You’ve just got to understand the system.”

“Nice," remarked Officer Scott. “Now the college boy is saying any fool can do it.”

“That’s not what I mean. The hard part’s dealing with ornery customers and the shit caused by the troublemakers from across the street. I’m sure you could do it if you wanted to.”

Sergeant Ryan shook his head in amazement. “What a day! First, we got to deal with Sammyboy, here. Then he insults us ‘cause he thinks we’re dumb cops.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” said Sam. “You’re taking my words wrong.”

“We understand English, Sammy, and we know you’re putting down the good families across Harlem. What do you think, Danny? You married into that family. You know Mr. Garafina, don’t you?”

Officer Scott was quiet but his face told a different story. “If I was you, kid, I’d keep my mouth shut and do your job. Otherwise, something might just happen to you and your family...and it won’t be pleasant.”

Sam stepped backwards towards the restaurant, then stopped. “I’m sorry if I misspoke, sirs. It’s been a helluva day already. Are you ready to write up your report? I’ve got to help my guys. Lunch is running late and the line’s backing up.”

“Ok kid, back to your burgers. We’ll look around and start on our report. You gonna file an insurance report?”

“Yes sir, that’s the plan. We’ve called our insurance man, Mr. K. He’ll be out later today.”

“Mr. K, huh? We know him. This is his territory. He’s tight with the Garafina and Inendino families you just called names. Maybe he can teach you some manners? What do you think, Danny?”

“I think it’s been a while since we had them donuts this morning. Cheeseburgers and fries sure would be nice right now.”

Sam looked at the cops, their arms folded across their chests, smirks on their faces. Sam knew the score.

“What’ll you have to drink, sirs? I’ll have everything brought back to you.”

“That’s the spirit, Sammy. College boy getting smarter by the minute.”

“Yeah,” said Sergeant Ryan. “I’ll call in a code 7 so we can eat in peace.”

Sam brought the cops their food and retired to the office to do the morning's paperwork.

Ordering supplies was a pain but it was better than running out of things at meal time.

“Sam,” Max shouted. “Mr. K is here. He’s waiting for you in the back booth.”

Sam opened the door to the dining room to greet his visitor. “Hi, Mr. K. You’re looking spiffy as always.”

Always impeccable in his appearance, Mr. K. wore a black suit, pressed collar white shirt and black and white tie, Mr. K. stood to greet Sam, a close friend of his son, Isaac. Standing not a millimeter over 5’5”, Mr. K. presented taller. He always wore a black Stetson fedora with a wide gray band. Mr. K.’s head was never bare in accordance with his religion.

“Hi, Sam,” chortled Mr. K. “So, again we meet. Isaac told me you were working today. What happened this time?”

Mr. K.’s salt and pepper mustache moved in time with his words, sometimes. Often, it seemed to have a life of its own. A voice tinged with cheerfulness but an accent born of another country,

Sam knew the horrific road Mr. K. took to get to America. Besides his head, his right arm was never uncovered.

“Mr. K, I think the boys from River Forest did the deed again. We saw their cycles roll in just before the lunch rush. They knew what they were doing. Start the fire and leave through the alarmed back door. Took me a while to shut that damn thing off.”

“Mr. Gillepsie said something about Negroes when he called me. Nothing about the River Forest youngsters.”

“You know him, Mr. K. He’s afraid of the Italians and hates the blacks. Likes to blow off his mouth when he's miles away.”

Mr. K. shook his head in agreement. “Yes, I know Gillepsie and his shortcomings. I’m sure you get as irritated with him as I do.”

“Does he call you names, too?”

“Not to my face but I am aware of his prejudices. They will come back to haunt him, I assure you. But enough about that putz, let’s get to business. Start at the beginning.”

Mr. K. wrote his report from Sam’s description of what had transpired.

“I think I’ve got enough to file the claim. I'll let Gillepsie know how helpful you were. Can I use your office phone for a quick call?”

“Of course. Please take as long as you want. I’ve got to check on who’s manning dinner and who can stay tonight to paint.”

“Ach, I forgot the painting. I’m so sorry you have to stay tonight. I’ll send Isaac over after dinner to keep you company.”

“That would be great. Maybe I can get him to pitch in.”

“Good luck with that,” Mr. K. laughed. “You know how much he likes work.”

Sam paused as he got up from the booth, a quizzical look on his face.

“When you’re done with your call, would you have a few minutes? I have a couple of questions I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time.”

“Of course,” said Mr. K.,, entering the office to make his calls. “Close the door on your way out, would you?”

Sam left the office but the door did not shut completely.

Mr. K. dialed a number he knew by heart. “Hello, Maria. It’s Herman... I’m fine. How are you and your beautiful daughter on this fine day? Is Mr. Garafina available? I need to have a short conversation with him.... Certainly, I’ll hold on.”

Sam walked by the office getting the supplies from the storeroom for dinner. With the door ajar, he overheard snippets of the phone call.

“Hi Mario...Yes, I’m fine.... Bertha’s fine too. And with you? How’s the family? Thank you for inviting me to your granddaughter’s baptism. That was a glorious and joyous occasion.... Let me get to business. I think we’ve got a little trouble brewing again....Yes, with Matteo. I suspect he and his friends may have started the fire in the Burger King today. You may have heard about the commotion over here....No, I don’t have proof but the restaurant workers saw the group of them ride their motorcycles into the back parking lot just before the fire started....Yes, I know he doesn’t like Sam and the other kids....They told me that’s because they wouldn’t give him free food....Regardless, it looks like he’s on a vendetta and I’m afraid of what might happen next....I would appreciate it if you could check around and let me know what you find out....I’m going to submit my report to the insurance company but no names will be mentioned....Thanks, Mario.

I’m so sorry to have to make this call. Give Isabella my love....lui Ci vediamo alla riunione regolare la prossima settimana. Yes. Anche lui si unirà a me. Ciao.

Stunned, Sam was unable to move. When he heard Mr. K. get up from the desk, he hurried back to the storeroom and shut the door. He had to think.

Jesus Christ! Mr. K. speaking Italian to Mr. Garafina! What could this mean?

He had heard Mr. K. worked with the families on Forest Avenue, but is he involved too?

Does Isaac know about this? Maybe that’s what he meant when he joked that their new

refrigerator “fell off the truck.” Now, for sure, I gotta have that talk with Mr. K.

The after-lunch lull allowed the teenage staff to get ready for the dinner rush and engage in shenanigans known only to fast food workers. Jeff challenged Max to see who could make the smallest and biggest Whoppers using the required ingredients. Trent brought skirt steak from home to cook in the broiler. Louie dropped hot dogs into the fryer, one for each guy on the shift.

It was a good time for Sam and Mr. K to take a walk in the parking lot.

“When we were young, Isaac and I used to talk about our parents’ work. Rumors about you and my Dad would travel the neighborhood. Isaac ignored them but I’ve always wondered whether they were true.”

Sam looked down as he spoke, embarrassed about the subject at hand. Kicking at the gravel, he continued.

“Why are you hesitant to talk about this?” asked Mr. K. “Asking questions brings new knowledge and new perspectives.”

“OK, “ said Sam. “But it’s not something I like to share.”

“Please do,” said Mr. K. “This time is yours.”

As I got older, my friends would ask if my Dad was a bookie. I had to explain the difference between a bookkeeper and a bookie a zillion times. That’s why I got kicked out of Cub Scouts when I was 8. I told the scoutmaster my Dad was a bookie. What did I know?”

Mr. K. laughed at that image. “I’ve known your Father for decades now. In fact, we refer business to each other often. A bookie he isn’t. He is a highly qualified bookkeeper. One of the smartest men I know. His clients respect and trust him. And so do I, without qualification. There are more questions?”

“Yes,” replied Sam, still not able to face his close friend’s father. “Isaac dodged comments about your work and your special clients, the ones in River Forest, the gangsters. He would try and laugh them off, but now I’m even more confused.”

Sam looked into Mr. K’s eyes and, with a voice tinged with guilt, came clean. “I’m really sorry, Mr. K., but I overheard more than a bit of your phone conversation.”

“With Mr. Garafina?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded. “And the fact that you spoke Italian to him at the end. Doesn’t it worry you to work with the families on Forest Avenue? Were the rumors true after all?”

“Which rumors, specifically?”

“The ones which say you are doing illegal things with those families.”

“I sell them insurance, you know that. And, yes, I’m aware of the rumors but they’re just rumors.”

“Has anyone got proof about these rumors?”

“No, I don’t believe so,“ said Sam.

“No. No proof of any wrongdoing by my clients, my associates or me.”

Mr. K. grabbed Sam’s hand, squeezing it a bit harder than necessary to make his point. “It’s just idle talk you heard. Idle talk by meshuggeneh, troublemakers, crazy people with nothing to do but pry into other people’s lives.”

“Aren't those families involved in illegal things, Mr. K.?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Why are the police over at their houses all the time?

“Let me explain it this way. Mr. Garafina runs several types of businesses. I’m involved in the ones he thinks would be beneficial for him and us. He’s very generous with those who work with him.”

“Ok, I get it but why can’t Matteo participate in afterschool events, like football or homecoming?

He’s told other guys he feels like he lives in a prison.”

“Every family has issues which they have to address, by themselves. I do and so do you.

That’s not my concern. How they raise their children is none of my business either.”

Mr. K. paused and took a deep breath. “Let me ask you something.”

“Sure, anything,” said Sam as he and Mr. K. started their second loop of the parking lot. “I hope you’re not mad at me for asking these questions.”

“Not at all. I know kids talk. It’s good to get the truth on the table. Now, my question. Do you give Richie or Charlie or Isaac free food when the store’s closed?”

Sam looked down at the pavement, considering the question and its implications. “Well, yeah, but only fries and shakes which we would have to throw out anyway.”

Sam looked away, stammering. “That’s not illegal, is it?”

“What do you think?”

“Yes, technically, I guess it’s stealing, isn’t it? But we all do it. The owner knows this stuff goes on. As long as the daily cash deposit matches, he looks the other way at this small stuff.”

“It’s still wrong, Sam. No excuses, no rationalizations will change that.” Mr. K. reached up, put his arm around Sam’s shoulder and continued.

“There’s right and there’s wrong and a lot of gray area between them which remains undefined.

Undefined until a court of law determines them to be right or wrong.” Mr. K. stopped walking and peered into Sam’s eyes.

“What I and my associates do is counsel families like the Garafina’s and the Inendino's, help them operate their business correctly. Perhaps in the gray zone, but not in the wrong. After all these years, they trust me, they know I have their best interests in mind.”

Sam and Mr. K. continued their walk towards the front door. Stooping to pick up some trash, Sam put it in a garbage receptacle and turned to face Mr. K. one last time. “So, the rumors don’t bother you? You're comfortable with what others may see as a conflict position.”

Sam stopped to face Mr. K. with the ethical dilemma written all over his face.

“This is the kind of stuff I’m studying in school. Conflicts of interest.”

“A wonderful subject with many lessons to be learned,” said Mr. K., pausing to look up at the cloudless sky as if to receive a message from the heavens.

“Let me put it this way. When you start your career, I know you will work to the best of your ability. It may be for a boss like Gillepsie, a large company with lots of politics or families with private businesses like the Garafina’s or the Inendino’s. It doesn't matter. What does is that each boss learns to trust you to do the best job possible.”

Mr. K. placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders, squared them and helped Sam stand erect. He could tell the job’s responsibilities, the conflicts with Gillepsie and the kids in River Forest and the conversation they were having were weighing heavy on Sam’s 20 year-old-mind.

“Mr. K., I'm a bit confused. I thought it would be easy to tell right from wrong. You’re saying that there are many ways to look at a situation, at a job. How am I supposed to know which is the best way to go?”

“Sam, to succeed your boss needs to know you’re smart, that you have particular expertise and you’re loyal to those you serve. If they see you do the best job possible, help them succeed and stay out of trouble, they will be loyal to you and respect what you have to offer.”

Sam remained motionless and pondered Mr. K’s words. “I think I understand what you’re saying. Always do the right thing,”

“And?”

“And...” Sam thought for a moment. “Avoid obvious wrong actions?”

“Good. What else?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Look inside, see who’s saying it, to learn the truth.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“Facts lead you to the right conclusion, not rumors.”

“You listen well, Sam,” smiled Mr. K. “Our conversation today will continue another time but

you’ve got to get ready for evening rush and late night painting, and I have to stop at the butcher

so Mrs. K. can make Isaac his dinner.”

“Thanks, Mr. K., you've given me a lot to think about. I would like to talk with you again. You

have taught me a lot, stuff not covered in school. And please stop spoiling Isaac or I’ll never get

him to help me tonight.”

With Harlem almost deserted, the boys could hear the church bells peel nine times from the Seminary a block west of the restaurant, setting into motion a new choreography. Staff began tearing down the machinery and readying it for the following day. Sam gave the assignments.

Whoever screwed up the most that day would get the worst task- emptying the fryer, cleaning it, and filling the basin with new oil.

“Jeff, you start taking the broiler apart. Louie, give him a hand. Max, your job tonight, empty the shake and ice machines. Get rid of the old stuff and clean the insides real well. We don’t need any bugs taking up residence in our machines. We’re on the hook to the department of health for another unannounced survey any time now. Trent, start washing down the tables, chairs and counters.”

“We’re gonna need more hands to get the job finished tonight, Sam,” said Jeff.

“Right you are. I’m going to call the Seminary and ask Marco and Christian to help us out with the painting and cleaning the men’s bathroom.”

“Aren’t they leading services right now?” asked Jeff.

“No, they’re off tonight. I know they had a basketball game scheduled but I’m going to offer them enough to make it worth their while to give us a hand.”

“Why do they have to work?” asked Max. “They're going to be priests, aren’t they?”

“They have to pay for their religious education at the Seminary. That’s why so many of them choose to work over here.”

“Wait a minute," said Max. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. They have to pay to become a priest to make little or no money throughout their lifetime. Is that right?”

Louie, one of the seminarians, chimed in. “Religious education is expensive even if you’re not going to make much money throughout your life. We do get a small salary to buy secular clothes and personal goods.”

“What if you want to go out and have a beer or a good meal?” asked Jeff.

“I’m sure you hear a lot of stories about priests and how they get this kind of stuff,” said Louie.

“But that’s for another time and place. I guarantee you, you’ll enjoy the dirt I’ve got on these guys!”

“OK, enough with the babble,” said Sam. “We've got to get going with the painting otherwise we'll be here all night. Start the closing assignments, would’ya? I’m gonna get the ladders and paint.”

Sam went into the office to call Marco and Christian. He knew how much they looked forward to their basketball game so this one was going to cost him. Much to his dismay, he knew he had to check in with Jerry and Gillespie as well.

“Hi Jerry, it’s Sam. We’re already shut down and will begin painting as soon as I get a couple more guys over here. Hey, how about if you call Gillepsie and let him know all is in order...

What do you mean you don’t want to call Gillespie?... I know it’s late but he’s going to wonder what’s going on here. Neither of you showed up today...Yeah, great support. Thanks! I know he’s going to be upset with a call this late. Too fucking bad. It’s his restaurant...OK, ok, I’ll call him but you owe me.”

Sam dialed Gillespie‘s number. Much to his joy, no one picked up the phone.

Great, no answer. Now I don’t have to listen to his ranting. Got to set up the equipment for the painting party. Marco and Christian will show up around 9:45, for the right price. If everybody works hard, we could be done by 2 or 3.

The boys congregated by the bathrooms to begin painting as the church bells tolled ten times.

Sam and Jeff, the oldest, climbed the ladders and began priming the walls from the ceilings down.

“Thank god no damage was done to the ceilings,” said Sam. “Painting them without scaffolding would’ve been impossible.

Louie, Trent and Christian were assigned to the interior toilet rooms.

“Make sure they’re clean before you paint,” said Sam. “We’ve made this mistake before which cost us lots of time and paint.”

Marco and Max, too young for dangerous jobs, were the night’s gophers and coffee brewers.

Standing on the ladders, their heads hitting the ceiling, Sam and Jeff heard pounding at the front door. So did the rest of the crew.

“Who could that be?” Sam said, “especially at this hour? Marco, go see who’s there.”

Marco went to the front door. “Sam, you better get down here real quick. We got some visitors and I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.”

Sam climbed down from the ladder, shouting orders to the rest of the crew. “I’ll find out what the issue is now, you keep doing your work. I want to get out of here before the sun rises.”

Sam approached the door and stopped dead in his tracks. There was Matteo and Mr. K. and, behind them, a limo and driver.

Holy fuck, what now?

Sam unlocked the door and, with a quiver in his voice, asked the unexpected visitors to come into the store.

Matteo looked at the boys working on the back walls. “We’re gonna stay out here and talk. Step away from the door, would’ya?””

“I’m not looking for trouble tonight, Matteo. We’ve got a lot of painting to do. And we gotta get it done before the morning crew shows up,” said Sam, exhibiting more bravery than his insides were allowing. “This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”

“No need to be an asshole," responded Matteo. “I came to give you a hand.” Mateo looked at Mr. K. who nodded in agreement.

“Let me get this straight, you want to help us paint the walls tonight? What’s the catch?”

Mr. K. gives Matteo a nudge on his shoulder.

“No catch. For the sake of the family, I’ve got to make good for some of the shitty things I’ve done. I can’t continue to depend on my dad and Mr. K. to clean up after me.”

Sam's mouth dropped open, his eyes wide with amazement. He looked at Mr. K. who smiled at what was occurring.

The limo driver got out of the car and opened the back door. Mr. Garafina exited and moved next to Matteo. “I want to be sure this has been handled right. Have you told him your plans for tonight?”

“Yes, he sure did,” interjected Mr. K. “He handled himself with forthrightness and honor. You would have been proud of him.”

Sam couldn’t imagine what was happening. Years of animus between Sam and Matteo was melting before his eyes.

This has to be a dream.

“Hello Sam, I’m Marcello Garafina,” said Mr. Garafina, stepping forward and extending his hand.

“Mr. K. has told me a lot about you. You can imagine so has Matteo,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry for the aggravation we have caused you. You can be sure nothing like this will happen again.”

Sam's eyes moved from Mr. Garafina to Matteo to Mr. K as he tried to compose himself.

What do I do now? I’ve gotta trust Mr. K. No other way to handle this.

“Mr. Garafina,” Sam said, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much for coming out so late at night. And, Matteo, thank you for your offer to help.”

Sam took a step forward to face the group. “I, too, had a long talk today, with Mr. K. He gave me plenty to think about. If you would like to join us, Matteo, we would welcome your help but it’s not necessary. Your apology is more than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Sam offered his hand to Matteo. “I hope this means we can begin a new, more respectful relationship.”

Mr. K smiled at Sam. “Sam, you are a mensch, a good guy just like Isaac has been saying all these years. And a smart guy. I know that you and Matteo will work well together in the future.”

Mr. K. turned to Mr. Garafina and continued. “Mr. Garafina and I have been talking about career paths for both of you.” Matteo and Sam looked at Mr. K and Mr. Garafina in amazement.

“What are you talking about, career paths? I'm still in college, Mr. K.,” said Sam.

“And I have a job with one of my dad’s companies,” said Matteo.

“Yes, both statements are true, but subject to revision,” said Mr. Garafina. “Opportunities for advancement have presented themselves for both of you. Let me explain. I’ve decided that it’s time to think about my future, the future of my family and my business associates.” Mr. Garafina paused and moved next to Mr. K.

“I’m impressed with the mentorship Mr. K has provided you, Sam. I believe, under the right circumstances, he and my other business associate can be of similar assistance to Matteo. You see, I own dozens of businesses and managing them has begun to wear me down. It’s time for succession planning and I’ve got ideas for both you and Matteo.”

“Dad, why haven’t we spoken about this before?” asked Matteo.

“Mr. K,” said Sam. “We just talked today. Why didn’t you say something then? Besides, I want to go to grad school. Let me call my Dad. I need his advice.”

Mr. Garafina smiled, looking at Matteo and Sam. “We weren’t sure you two could work together until tonight.”

“That’s right,” added Mr. K. “The plan requires the cooperation and trust of both of you. Based on how you two handled yourselves tonight, I think we are on the right path.”

Mr Garafina put his arms around Matteo and Sam. “I’ve created a team of advisors who will guide you until you can stand on your own. You will be impressed with them as I have been.

There will be three of us monitoring your progress.”

“Three, huh,” said Sam. “You, Mr. K and who else?”

Mr. Garafina gestured toward the limo as the driver opened the back door.

In the dark, they saw a figure exit the car

“Sam, say hello to your Father.”