Landfall - 23. Let's Be Practical

Thank God it's Friday! Been a week filled with lots of stops and starts—periods of busy followed by idle time. It's been a practical, productive week. After the hurricane of activity that's been my life, feel like I'm finally settling into a real life. Had one incident of note, though.

Tuesday, got the wire done for the earnest money deposit. Stopped by title company to give them a copy of the bank's wire transfer order/confirmation number. Met with the title attorney who'll be closing the transaction. Nice guy. Told him I needed an attorney to set up a limited liability corporation—and that's the name the bar would operate under when we close on Friday. Also told him I needed to set up some personal stuff; primarily estate planning and some tax management.

He introduced me their corporate attorney, who quizzed me for a few minutes. He'll do the records search at the secretary of state's office, but a quick look up on line showed that there's no one using the name of “Bubba and Bulldog Enterprises, LLC.”. That'll make Dave laugh. He's always calling me “Bulldog” now--guess we're at the point of pet names. Since I found out about his truck and cowboy duds, I've kidded him a few times about being a “bubba” and he just grins. Guess that's my pet name for him now.

After the corporate attorney finished up with me, he took me to meet the estate-planning attorney. Bennett Cornell. “Just call me Ben,” he said with a firm handshake. Youngish guy, mid-30's or so. Longish dirty blonde hair, clean-shaven face, gym-fit body. An avid biker, based on the wall-mounted pictures of him competing in some bike race. Moved here to get out of a large corporate firm and its politics. Now has his practice associated with this small attorneys' group and seems to think it's a good fit.

Went over the things I was thinking about: setting up a will, a medical power of attorney, a “do not resuscitate” order, general power of attorney in case I'm incapacitated, and all the other documents you gotta have in a state without gay marriage. Yeah, there's a lot of 'em required, and since Louisiana is based on Napoleonic law, it's different from other states. Good thing I've got a little money; cost over $1500 to have everything drawn up—and I'll hafta come in annually at additional cost to reaffirm my choices.

The annual “re-affirmation” is just to build a “chain of evidence” and confirm my intentions if anyone were to contest the docs. Don't think there's anyone who could contest anything, but if something happens to me, Dave will be my beneficiary/executor/whatever-title-the-documents-require and can do whatever it takes to handle any situation if I can't.

I reviewed my assets with Ben, and when I mentioned the bar, he lit up. “Yeah, love that place; everyone's friendly, they all get along, great hangout bar.” Guess he bats for the team, but hell, I've got no gaydar. We'll see. Didn't mention anything about having a partner, and no wedding ring, so guess he's single. “You'll see me out there a couple of times a week, Barry. Glad you're buying it!”

“Look forward to your business, Ben. Just one request—please don't tell anyone I'm the owner of the bar. You do, and I'll get hit up with all kinds of folks hitting me up for free drinks, cash loans, open bar tabs, and so forth. Plus, people love to say they know the owner, as though that buys you special privileges. If you can't dodge the questions, just tell 'em I'm acting as the agent for an investment corporation. I just don't wanna deal with the hassles.”

“Not a problem, Barry. Just make sure you mention the same thing to the others here in the office. That way, no one will know.”

Left the office mid-afternoon, had some time to kill. Dave's in his new office in New Orleans, so he'll be back maybe around 6ish or so, we can figure out evening plans then.

Drove out to the mall, just planning on walking around, learning the shopping available and it dawns on me: I have nothing. Literally everything I own is in my suitcase at the hotel. Depressing for a guy in his mid-40's, but fight off those negative thoughts.

There's a nice big regional department store in the mall, in addition to the mass retailers of Sears, JC Penney, and smaller boutique stores. Head to the department store. A couple of hours later, I'm out of there with bags of jeans, some nice khakis, a few dress shirts, a handful of Polo-type shirts, plus a few shorts, socks, and a couple of pair of shoes. Splurged on a nice navy suit and some ties. May not wear it that much, but it's important—every man needs a go-to navy suit.

Lugged it all to the car, threw it in the Chrysler's big trunk—and realize I've “over-shopped”. Trunk is full. Where the hell am I gonna put all this stuff? Not that much room in the hotel.

Saw a Western store across the street and headed there. Just walked through, but was amazed at the selection. And amazed at the prices of some of the boots. Boots with exotic skins, such as snake, buffalo, ostrich, alligator, and others were going at prices up to $1000.00, with more exotic boots going higher! Never knew boots were priced like that. Might make a good birthday gift for Dave, though—his birthday is coming up in a couple of months.

Did go ahead and get him a nice black Western-cut shirt, with mother of pearl snaps instead of buttons on the shirt-front and cuffs. It did have a nice scrolled embroidery design across the shoulder, running almost sleeve-to-sleeve in back in multi-color thread. Think he'll like it, and it'll look good on him in his Wranglers.

Dinner with Dave that night was good. Got a recommendation from the desk clerk for a great seafood place, so headed there. Incredible stuff--big servings, well-priced, good service. And it's all fresh, since we're so close to the coast.

“I'm gonna spend the rest of the week trying to get my office set up, Barry. I've got a private office they're giving me. That's a change from the workstations I've been in, so I can go ahead and get it sorted out before I move the stuff down from Dallas.”

“How are the people? Are they an OK group?”

“Yeah, they're great folks,” Dave says between mouthfuls of shrimp etouffee, that Louisiana stew of shrimp, served in a rich brown sauce, spicily seasoned, with onion, green peppers, green onions, and celery all over a big mound of steaming rice. “Everyone's been friendly, they've taken me to lunch both days, and are planning a 'welcome to the office' happy hour on Friday. And if you want to join me for the happy hour, I'd love it.

I'm meeting with the manager of the office tomorrow, going over the project I'm working on. It'll take a little while for me to get up to speed on it, so I'll be working with him for the next few days, just getting a feel for what's going on. Think I'm gonna like it.

“What'd you do today, Bulldog?”

“Got some stuff done at the title company, met with attorneys to get the corporation set up to own the bar, and maybe other assets we allocate there for tax purposes.“

“Cool. What's the name of the corporation, Barry?”

“Bubba and Bulldog Enterprises.”

Dave looks at me, breaks into a big smile, then a rolling, hard belly laugh. “Really? Seriously?” He's still laughing. Great sound to hear from my big lug of a lawman. Join him in the laugh.

“Yup. Figure we're in this together, so had to do it. And, met with another attorney, Ben. He's a regular at the bar, and he does estate planning. Got all that set up, too—so if anything happens to me, it's all yours, Dave.”

“What? Wait....” He's adorable when he's befuddled like this.

“You got an issue with that, Dave? Let's be practical; just figure it's good business, and like I said, we're in this together. And who else am I gonna leave it all to? Like I said, we're in this together, and from what I'm seeing, that's forever.”

Dave looks like he's about to cry. “I just hadn't thought that far ahead, and yeah, I see us forever, too. Just, you've caught me off guard on this.” He reaches across the table, grabs my hand, and squeezes it as a single tear rolls down his cheek. “Man, do I ever love you. But I don't want it all, Barry...that'd mean I'd be without you.”

My turn to develop the blurry vision that comes from watering eyes. Squeeze his hand back.

“Fuck, never figured I'd ever fall in love with a man. But here I am, with the hottest man around. I love you too, Dave.”

I'm either going to be a sobbing mess or we're gonna fuck on the table top in a minute. Gotta get control here, be practical.

“Ok, Bubba, keep that up, and I'll have the waterworks goin' too. The other thing I did was shop for a few things. I really don't have anything other than shorts and t-shirts, and I figure I needed something a little more dressy. We can unload the stuff when we're back at the hotel.”

“You bought that much stuff?” Dave's looking at me with a bemused smile.

“Well, not that much, but I'd appreciate the help.” He laughs again as I'm sure my cheeks redden. Yeah, I spent a little more than I first thought I would, but it's needed.

Unloaded the trunk at the hotel, Dave helped me carry it all in. He loved his shirt.

Wednesday morning talked with Rex about looking at some houses. Dave and I talked about it last night while we were drifting off to sleep, and he agreed we needed to get out of the hotel. First question out of Rex's mouth was about price range and financing—yeah, he's a pro at this.

Tossed out a figure I was comfortable with, based on my liquid assets and projected income from the bar, and really don't know how much Dave makes, but figure we can find a place based on my income alone to qualify for a loan. Besides, we can use Dave's income as a bonus, so we always have a cushion, and can cover either repairs or renovations easily. Just hafta talk with Sid about how I'm gonna come up with tax returns and income documentation for the loan.

Rex spent the next half-hour or so interviewing me by phone. Everything from size of the place we needed, features we liked, and so on to “What are your social habits? Do you entertain a lot? Are you more formal or more casual in your social events?” Fucker even had a questionnaire and was making notes as we talked.

We're going to look at places on Saturday at lunch. Rex has a couple or three places in mind for us already. That's all subject to whether Dave is working or not--don't know his weekend plans yet.

Rex told me he'd arranged with the owners to get all the bar info that I hadn't seen yet, such as personnel records, vendor information, and so forth on Friday afternoon when we close the transaction. Hard to believe I'll be back to work after all this time off.

Spent the afternoon cruising around town, still trying to get my bearings. The town is easy enough to navigate, just a few key streets to learn with everything easily found off those key streets.

Called Dave, told him I wanted to check out the bar, see what the crowd was like on a “hump day”. He and Chuck, our friendly deputy, will meet me there when they leave his office.

Showered, cleaned up, pulled on one of the new Polo shirts, jeans, and Topsiders, headed to the bar, got there at 6. There were six or eight people there, Bryant chatting with folks, as he served up a pitcher of beer. He eyes me warily.

“What can I get for you, Barry?” Not his normal friendly voice—distant, cold.

“Johnny Walker Red and soda, please.” Hasn't served me enough to learn I'm a regular scotch drinker.

Brings the filled glass back over, looks at me funny for a little too long.

“Everything ok, Bryant?”

He leans across the bar, speaking in a low whisper. “Understand you're buying the place? Owners talked with me today.”

“I'll be working for an investment company that owns the bar. Hell, I'm a working guy just like you. But, if you're wondering, your job here is safe—nothing will change with that. Just don't let anyone know I'm associated with the ownership company. Don't want those hassles. But, I do want to learn what you're doing behind the bar. May get to the point I can substitute if you're out, or another bartender can't work.”

He looks relieved. “Good...I didn't wanna hafta start looking for another job—I like it here. And yeah, no one will know you're associated with the ownership company. Maybe I can get ya back here after your drink; most of these folks will head out for dinner, and it'll get quiet before the next slug of folks arrive.”

Bryant was right, the crowd dwindled down. He'd just finished showing me the cash register operation, and going over how to pour and serve a drink when Dave and Chuck came in.

“Damn, new bartender behind the bar! This is gonna be fun!” Dave's laughing as he kids me. “Now, what exotic mix-intensive drink can I order … “ Chuck is chuckling as Dave keeps it going.

“I'm simple, how about a Bud Light?” Serve Chuck his beer quickly, while Dave scans the shelves looking at all the liquors.

“Oh, hell, I'll figure out how to stump him later. How about a bourbon and water?” Dave's grinning and I know he's got something up his sleeve; if not tonight, then later. Give him his drink. Bryant shows me how to log it on their tabs, and goes over how to run it through the register if they'd been paying in cash.

Went back over to the fun side of the bar, sat by Chuck, made small talk about the day. Some other customers come in, I jump up, run around behind the bar, and serve them under Bryant's supervision. Bar stays steady with customers coming and going, and I'm learning a lot.

“On anything you don't know how to make, just look it up on your phone. We've got free wi-fi here, so it's fast, and you don't burn your airtime. Or, just ask the customer directly what's in the drink—even if you think you know what goes in the drink the customer ought to know what he's drinking, or maybe has a preference on what ingredients are used.

“And, it's important that you know what you're serving. So if it's an unknown drink, grab one of the drink stirrers and put your finger over the end while it's in the drink. Keep your finger in place and pull it up and taste it. It may not be what you'd normally drink, but you'll know if it's a good drink.” Bryant is full of information.

By 9pm, the bar is getting busier, and I know Dave hasn't eaten. “Bryant, is there a good place to grab a burger or something? I'm hungry as hell, haven't eaten since lunch.” Bryant tells me about a place, I grab Dave and we head out. Chuck had headed out earlier, otherwise I'd have bought him dinner too.

Dave heads back to his new office the next morning, and I've nothing planned. Get cleaned up for the day, head over to the far side of the parish, just to say I'd been there, drove around for a while. It's got a couple of stores that aren't in my new hometown, and looks like a good alternate place to shop.

Late in the afternoon, Bryant calls. “I know this is a lot to throw on you, but Randy, the other bartender, just called—he can't work tonight. Gave some kind of bullshit excuse.” Bryant's pissed, and find out later that Randy is something of a flake, basically hired by the owners for his good looks, but has no personality, no bartending experience, apparently the owners thought younger customers would relate to his younger (he's twenty-five) age. Totally unreliable. “I can't work—my car's in the shop, won't be out till tomorrow. Would you please consider working the bar tonight?”

“Damn …. “ I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I'll try, the worst is that the bar may hafta buy a few drinks for customers if I fuck up.”

Bryant laughs. “You'll do fine. I went ahead, cleared it with the owners, and they're fine with it. Hell, it'll be your bar tomorrow.” Drove to his place to pick up keys and the code for the security system.

Called Dave to let him know I'd be working. “You go get 'em, Bulldog! You'll do great! I'll bring ya dinner after I get off, so grab a bite to eat before you go on, and you won't be tempted to eat the bar itself!” True to his word, he appeared around 8:30pm or so with a pizza. He'd even ordered an extra one for the cabby that brought him to the bar, and gave it to him when they picked up mine. And yeah, hungry as hell by the time he got there, even though I'd snacked at 4pm.

Dave took my car back to the hotel when he left at 10:30pm. Told him I'd take a cab after I shut the bar down—really didn't know how long it'd take to close out the register, balance, restock, and clean after the 2:00am closing. And he needs some sleep; apparently the case they're turning over to him involves lots of details and the turnover is pretty intense.

About 11:30pm or so, I can see headlights of a car pulling in near the front door. In walks a guy in his late 30's, maybe early 40's, bald, maybe my height of 6'1” or so, but a good 40 pounds on me. He's wearing a sport coat, slacks, white dress shirt open at the collar.

He's followed by a man and a woman, both in their 50's. She's expensively dressed, nice jewelry, already drunk, weaving as she walks, her platinum blonde hair worrying her face as she subtly weaves into the bar.. Maybe 5'7 or so, matronly figure.

Her partner is in suit and tie, big bucks spent on the suit. Rolex. Italian leather shoes. Tie open at the neck, walks in like he owns the place, shouts hello to the 2 or 3 folks still in the bar. Maybe 5'10, 190 or so. Hair graying at the temples, receding hairline on top.

He walks to the bar, pulling out a credit card as he steps up. “I'm Vincent Arnould. And you are …?”

“Barry Evans. Good to meet ya, Vincent,” as I shake his hand. “I'm new here--what can I get you and your posse, Vincent?”

He laughs when I use the word “posse”. “Not a full posse tonight, Barry. But for me, a Grey Goose on the rocks with a twist,” he points to the woman, “my wife will have a Coke, and Sammy will have a Coors Light.”

Serve 'em their drinks, they all move to the pool table, and the guys start shooting a game.

“I want something to drink, Vinnie,” his wife slurs, “this Coke isn't doing it.” She swipes the blonde bangs back away from her eyes again. “I told you I didn't want this, but you didn't listen. You never listen to me.” She walks up and hits him with her fist in his back as he's bent to make a shot. “You never pay attention to me lately, Vinnie.” Her drunken whine doesn't seem to faze him.

“Aw, honey, you know I do, I've just been so busy with the job. But we'll get that shipment in Wednesday night, and things will settle down. Maybe we can get out of town, go to the Bahamas or something. How does that sound, baby? We can lie on the beach somewhere and relax for a week or so. Does that sound good?”

“That'd be wunnerful,” the wife slurs. “You promise?”

“You bet, honey,” Vincent says as he makes another shot. “Hell, Sammy can use a week off, too; I've kept him busy.”

Sammy's leaning over the pool table, about to make a shot, and pauses. “Yeah, a week off would be great, Mr. A.” The sport coat gapes open and I can see its lining as he speaks.

He's got a gun in a shoulder holster tucked against his left armpit.

“Sammy, one more beer, ok? Then we gotta get out of here.” I'm already started getting another round poured for them when Vinnie steps to the bar to retrieve 'em.

“Thanks, Barry. Your car out there?” Since it's now 1am, and no one else is left in the bar, his is the only one in the lot.

“Nah, loaned it to a buddy. Just got a Chrysler 300, kinda splurged on it, but really like it so far. It rides well, big enough so I can take it on the highway back to Florida to visit friends if I want. Haven't had a chance to check the mileage yet, though.”

“You'll love the car, Barry. It's the same car Lancia uses in Europe for their big sedan. My nephew was in Europe last summer, and he had one there and loved it. He'd be running from Madrid to Munich to Rome, and it handled everything he threw at it, didn't it, Sammy.”

“Yeah, Mr. A. It was a good car for him.” Sammy's not a conversationalist tonight; he's trying to re-rack the pool table and talk to Mr. A.'s wife—who's looking more and more like she's about to pass out slumped over the table next to the pool table.

Vincent is obviously a car guy, and he's killing time while he's waiting for me to serve the rest of the round.

“What about you, Vincent? What are you driving?” I'm curious now.

“Oh, it's just a German car. Nice enough, but a little flashy for me—but the missus wanted it, so ….” He shrugs his shoulders, then grins. “Whatcha gonna do?”

Vinnie grabs the drinks, goes back to the pool table, shoots the break, and the game picks back up. “Yeah, honey, we'll get out of town after this job. You can get your hair done, pick out some new clothes for the trip, we'll just relax, just the two of us. You doing ok over there?”

She looks up, kinda nods, gives a weak smile, then slumps back down.

Vince looks over at Sammy. “Let's finish the game and these drinks pretty quick. Think it's time to get the missus home.” True to his word, the game ends in just a few minutes, Sammy holding up his hands in a boxer's winner's pose, walking around the table. I see his gun again as he kids Vince about winning.

“Ok, Sammy, let's get out of here. You don't need anything else to drink since you're driving, and I need to get the missus in bed.”

He comes over to me as I present him with the credit card slip to sign. “Thanks, Barry, always a pleasure to be here. We'll be back.” He leaves a nice tip on the receipt for me. Hand him his MasterCard and receipt for the sale back. Notice the card is in his name and underneath it is his company name, “Arnould Imports/Exports”.

“Glad y'all came in tonight. Drive carefully on your way home.” Sammy waves goodbye as they all leave, and I'm walking to the window to close the blinds since it's 1:50am and the bar closes at 2:00am. Look out the window as Sammy climbs into the driver's seat, and Vince and his wife sit in back. Doing well—they're driving a white Bentley sedan. And yeah, Bentley is owned by Volkswagen, so guess it is a German car.

Close down the bar, and do all the stuff to get ready for the next night's business. By the time I'd balanced out, cleaned and restocked, it was a little after 4am. Called the cab company, they said they'd be out in 15 minutes or so.

Actually took almost 40 minutes. Called 'em back after I'd been waiting for 30 minutes, figured the cabby had arrived, seen the closed business, and left. “I'm sorry, sir, we're in the middle of shift change, but we'll get someone there as soon as we can. Maybe another 15 minutes or so,” the dispatcher apologized.

By the time the cabby got there, picked me up, and got me to the hotel, it's 5am. Dave's already headed out—there's a note underneath my car keys on the dresser.

“Sweet ride! Love the car! Chuck and I headed to the gym,” the note read. “Good luck with the closing today, let me know if you're coming to the office happy hour they're throwing for me. Get some sleep. X0X0X0 Dave.”

Yeah, dead on my feet, been up 20 hours with no sleep. The life of a bartender, I guess. And I'm hungry. Gonna go to McDonalds, get something, then shower, and hit the sack. But first, need to talk to Dave.

Send him a text. “Call me when you break free. Just home, but we need to talk.”

I'm in my car, pulling out from Mickey D's with my Egg McMuffin when Dave's call comes through—see it on the touchscreen in the dash. Hit the button on the steering wheel to answer the call over my iPhone that's bluetooth-synced to the infotainment system in the Chrysler. “Morning, Dave, you're starting off early.”

“Yeah, needed to get my ass back in the gym.” He's sounding energetic over the car's speakerphone—who's got that much energy at this hour? “Outside now to take your call, and it's going to be a scorcher of a day. Muggy as hell, and already 80 degrees. What's going on? You just now getting in from the bar?”

“Yeah, just grabbing an Egg McMuffin, about to go back to the hotel, shower, and get some sleep. But wanted to tell ya about someone that was in the bar tonight—and they just didn't fit the typical bar patron profile. You got a minute?”

“Sure, shoot.”

Filled him in on Vincent and his wife and driver. When I mentioned the guy's name and his description, Dave let out a low whistle. “And he said they had a shipment Wednesday night?”

“Yup. And after the shipment is done, they're going to the Bahamas. Is he someone I should watch?”

“Yeah. He's one of the target families on the case I'm working on. You did good on this, Barry.”

Went on, gave him a description of the driver and his first name—the only name I heard him called—Dave whistled again. “Yeah, that's Sammy Jenkins. He's one of the lieutenants in the family, manages some of their legal businesses plus some of the illegal ones. He's something of an enforcer. Anything else?”

“Yeah, he mentioned a nephew who lived in Europe last summer. Had a car like mine, used to to run around The Continent. Didn't get a name; that's all I know.”

“OK, Barry, you're now telling me something I didn't know. Hafta do some research on that guy. Damn, you did good tonight, Bulldog!” Can hear Dave's pride in my just paying attention to what's going on.

“And Bubba, never though I'd hafta do this, but let's be practical … I'm gonna need a gun.”