Nicolas: A MissTaken Story - Ch7

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Chapter 7

The rest of the weekend passed quietly. Oscar and his father showed up on Sunday morning with a carload of Oscar’s things. His father stared in awe—and perhaps a touch of envy—at the condo, but asked no questions as he helped move boxes in. When the last box was in the condo, he shook Oscar’s hand awkwardly, and left the three boys to their amusements.

Luis arrived with a knock on the door on Monday in the early afternoon, along with a small pack of rather unpleasant-looking ruffians, who he introduced as the delivery men. Luis presented Nicolas with a ledger for tracking inventory and money, and then walked him through the process of cataloging incoming inventory as the ruffians shuttled crates of product into the designated storage room in the condo.

“You must be meticulous in your record-keeping,” Luis emphasized, “clerical errors are unnecessarily costly to the business.”

“Okay.” Nicolas fidgeted nervously.

“You’ll do fine. I have complete confidence in your abilities.” Luis smiled reassuringly.

“That takes care of the first part of your responsibilities, and you’ve met the delivery team. Now we must introduce you to the customer service team. How about we throw a party this weekend? You are, of course, welcome to invite a few friends if you wish. I will introduce you to each of the dealers, so you will know their faces, and they will know yours.”

Nicolas glanced at Javier, who grinned triumphantly.

* * *

The week passed slowly, with little to do but sit in the apartment. Nicolas was too worried about the safety of the recently stocked storeroom to go any farther than the pool, and even that only for a half hour at a time.

“Are we supposed to be hosting this party?” Oscar asked on Saturday afternoon, as he and Nicolas sat on the balcony. “Do we need to go get stuff? Food and drinks, decorations or something?”

Nicolas’s face fell. “I don’t know.”

A knock at the door made Nicolas jump.

“I’ve got it!” Javier’s voice came from inside.

Oscar and Nicolas stood still, staring uncertainly at each other.

A minute later Javier strode onto the balcony followed by a youthful looking man in a perfectly pressed suit, with perfect skin, perfect hair, and perfect teeth. He was followed by a man and a woman, both dressed in executive attire.

“These guys are here to set stuff up for the party tonight,” Javier announced.

“Excellent.” The impossibly perfect man scanned the balcony. “We will get started on decorations and furniture right way. You can go ahead and do whatever it is you have planned for this morning.”

The man dismissed the boys with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t have any plans,” Nicolas stubbornly replied.

The man stared down his nose at Nicolas. Nicolas met and held the man’s gaze, unblinking.

“We need this space clear, so that we may get everything prepared.” The man spoke in a condescending tone. His voice was tight with poorly disguised annoyance.

“I won’t be in your way.” Nicolas planted his feet firmly and folded his arms across his chest.

“Fine.” The man huffed, turned on his heels and strode back into the condo. He snapped his fingers, and the man and woman who were with him raced to him like trained dogs.

Oscar fidgeted uncomfortably. “I gotta go do some shopping, you okay without me?”

“Fine.” Nicolas continued to stare icily at the entry to the condo.

“Okay if I come with?” Javier asked.

“Uhm, sure.”

Nicolas followed Oscar and Javier to the main room and plopped down on the couch, where he had a clear view to the door of the storage room. He turned on the television.

“Okay, laters.” Javier gave a quick wave and jogged out of the condo. Oscar stood uncertainly for a moment, then turned and followed.

Nicolas fumed. He was annoyed that after spending hours saying no to Javier, Javier ultimately got his way. The Templarios recruited him. The condo was offered to him. Javier and Oscar were tag-alongs. Didn’t that mean he should be in charge? And now here he was, responsible for storing and distributing an expensive, illegal product, and he had seemingly no control over his circumstances. Strangers coming and going, trying to bully him into leaving his own house, into leaving his inventory unattended. The nerve!

The next several minutes were uncomfortable for the workers, and mildly entertaining for Nicolas. He met each with a hard stare as they entered the room, from which they visibly flinched. One nearly dropped the armload of decorations she was carrying. Before long, however, the workers carefully avoided meeting Nicolas’s gaze. In time, Nicolas grew bored and turned his attention to the football game on the television.

Nicolas wasn’t really all that into sports, but once he started watching a game, he had to see it to the end. He didn’t know the teams; he’d usually pick a team to cheer for based on which color of uniform, or which logo he liked better. He knew the basics of the rules, and he knew a good play when he saw it.

Nicolas noticed a couple of the workers were football fans. Two in particular made frequent trips to the living space and walked very slowly whenever they had a view of the screen. At one point, one let out an involuntary cheer when a goal was scored, and Nicolas turned abruptly, staring as the red-faced young man scurried out of the room and back to his assigned duties.

The game ended and Nicolas thumbed through the channels a few times, but finding nothing to watch, he finally turned the television off and sat silently, observing the caterers who by now had grown sufficiently accustomed to his presence that they simply ignored him as they scurried about.

Nicolas occupied himself by counting the floor tiles, and by looking for patterns within the patterns of the tiles—faces or other shapes the manufacturer had not intended, but which were nonetheless visible to the sufficiently creative mind.

His exploration was interrupted much later in the day by familiar voices approaching.

“Good afternoon, Nicolas.”

Luis spied Nicolas on the couch as soon as he entered the room and flashed a warm smile in greeting. Javier and Oscar followed close behind.

“Oscar tells me I caused you some distress this morning, sending the caterers in unannounced.” Luis shook his head slowly, bowing slightly in a gesture of humility. “Please accept my apology, this is, after all, your home. It was rude of me not to consult with you.”

“It’s okay,” Nicolas murmured, “I was just nervous about the … inventory is all.”

Luis grinned. “Good boy, ever attentive to your responsibilities. Admirable.”

Nicolas flushed at the praise Luis heaped on him.

“Dude, guess what?” Javier broke in, “Oscar bought a scooter. Can you believe it? Like, where did he get the money?”

Oscar blushed. “I don’t spend my money like you do, Javier, I’ve been saving it up. It’s not a new scooter,” he confided, “it’s a bit rusty and clunky, but it runs well enough. Pretty sure I can fix it up.”

“I’m gonna wait for a sports car,” Javier declared, “the chicas dig a man in a sports car.”

“Oh yeah,” Oscar retorted, “you gonna buy it with all that money you’re not saving, huh?”

“Shut up, man.” Javier made a loose fist and swatted Oscar’s arm.

The guests arrived, a few at a time, and Luis introduced Nicolas to each of the individuals he would be distributing product to. Nicolas was surprised by the amount of diversity. Some were well-dressed, sophisticated-looking individuals, with pretty girls hanging on their arms. Others were scruffy-looking beach bums, still others were intimidating tattooed men. There were a few women as well, including an elderly woman who looked more like a sweet grandmother than a drug dealer.

“We cater to a broad demographic,” Luis explained, “different people are more comfortable doing business with certain types of suppliers.”

What surprised Nicolas even more was that Luis knew each one by name. Not only that, but he knew the names of their families—mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, and children.

Nicolas had gone to work with his father once several summers ago. His father’s supervisor struggled to remember his father’s name. Of course, the fact that he was probably drunk was a factor. Nine o’clock in the morning and the man reeked of tequila.

The more time Nicolas spent around Luis, the more he admired him. He’d always heard stories about the brutality of the cartels—of their complete disregard for human life. Perhaps those who spun such tales were merely jealous. Luis was one of the most civilized men Nicolas had ever met.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. There were a few discreet inventory transactions, which Luis observed, and on which he provided feedback. It was a simple enough process, Nicolas concluded. He’d just need to be disciplined about record-keeping.

A handful of stray vacationers passed through as well. A few appeared to be customers of one or more of the distributors he’d met. Nicolas found it necessary to shift his perception of them somewhat, setting aside his usual disdain for them as targets, and extending a degree of gracious hospitality to them as paying customers. It felt awkward, unnatural.

Diplomacy. The word popped into his mind. The art of saying ‘nice doggy’ until you can find a big stick.

He couldn’t remember where he’d heard that. His history teacher maybe? At any rate, it was cynically fitting for the current circumstance. They were still the same spoiled, selfish, obnoxious brats that he and his friends used to steal from. Only now they were customers, participating in a legitimate business transaction. Maybe legitimate was a stretch, but a traditional exchange of cash for goods, at any rate.

“You know,” Nicolas observed, speaking to Luis, “these kids like booze as much as, or more, than the other stuff. Maybe we should keep some of that on hand if we’re going to have parties like this very often. I think they’d pay more just for the convenience.”

“No.” Luis shook his head. “We don’t wish to compete with the nightclubs and bars. That is their business. We leave that alone, and in return, they make it easier for us to access their customers. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Luis tapped a finger to his head. “Remember, Nicolas, you’ve got to think long-term.”

Nicolas was exhausted when the party finally ended, just two hours before sunrise. They closed the door as the last guest left, and then crashed, sleeping late into Sunday afternoon.