“Good,” he said to Orlando, “because we made you and your father a very reasonable offer before he was shot, and we haven’t heard back. It’s customary to at least get a reply, especially since I hear your brother Vegas is running all around town trying to recruit help when we offered our help from the start.”
“To be honest, Bernie, all I can say is I’m sorry. We meant no disrespect to you or your people.” A mother with three young kids had settled in at a nearby table, so Orlando leaned in and lowered his voice to keep our conversation private. “To be honest, I liked your offer. I liked it a year ago when you proposed it, and I liked it even more three weeks ago. I thought it was a win-win for all of us, especially with you offering to take care of our little Muslim problem in your most recent proposal. But as you know, Pop was against it.” He paused for a minute then added, “The crazy thing is that if he had agreed, he’d probably be sitting here talking to you instead of me.”
Bernie didn’t disagree with Orlando’s assessment of the situation. This really got me thinking. What was the proposal that this guy had made, and why had Pop not accepted it? And was this all somehow tied to him getting shot? Damn it, I hated being kept in the dark like this.
Bernie and Orlando kept right on talking as if I weren’t there.
“Well,” Bernie said, “with LC’s health situation being what it is, that should give you even more reason to accept our offer.”
“You would think so, but we have a saying in our family: A man has got to know his limitations. And me, I know mine—which is why, three nights ago with my blessing, Vegas was voted in by the family to run the . . . shall we say . . . the less legitimate side of our business. I am now second in command and CEO of our other businesses.”
Bernie did not look pleased. “What does that mean for our proposal? Should I be talking to Vegas right now?”
“No, Vegas asked me to speak to you because we have already established a relationship. And I trust that we can continue our relationship, but our answer to your proposal is still no.”
Forget “not pleased.” Bernie had gone past that straight to “pissed the fuck off.”
“We got a half billion on the table,” he said, barely restraining his anger.
I almost choked when I heard the amount. Orlando, on the other hand, stayed totally cool, like we were talking about pennies, instead of millions of dollars.
“I realize that,” Orlando said. “But I am only telling you what our family has decided.”
Bernie still looked pissed, but incredibly, he upped the offer even more. “Let’s say we add ten percent. Will that get us a deal?”
I had to do a hell of an acting job to contain myself. I could not believe my brother was sitting here turning down more money than the gross domestic product of some small countries. What the fuck was going on here?
“I’ll bring your offer back to Vegas,” Orlando said, “but no promises.”
“Make sure you do,” Bernie said with an edge to his tone, and then he got up. Before he left, he said, “And please make sure your brother knows we can help end this war and return your cousin.”
When Bernie was out of sight, I grabbed Orlando’s arm and said, “What the hell did you just do?”
“I just turned down half a billion dollars.” His answer was matter-of-fact, but there was still some uncertainty in his tone. Then he expressed his true concern: “The real question is, at what price?”
Vegas
43
Minister Farah raised his glass of ice tea. “Congratulations are in order, my friend. To fatherhood.”
I raised my wine in a gesture of thanks, and we toasted once again to my good news. I’d invited Minister Farah out to dinner at this Thai spot on the border of Queens and Long Island to catch him up on everything that was going on with Pop, Sasha, the war with X, and of course, with my new son. I’d also been hoping to surprise him with another visitor, but the visitor didn’t show up.
“Thank you, Minister. I can barely believe it myself. Me, a father?”
“So, your son—will he be attending the academy like you?”