at lunch time for
special parties - parties like a teacher’s luncheon.
Mr. DeLuca and I went to his
office.
“ Okay, so who are you that McHale
and those lousy cops let you take charge of things that way?” he
asked, trying to regain some of his bluster.
I walked past him, sat down in his chair, and
folded my hands on his desk. Looking up at him as if he was a
misbehaving child, I said, “He is Mr. McHale to you, and those two
cops are fine law enforcement officers. You, on the other hand, run
a gussied-up, tomato-paste diner and have a way too overinflated
opinion of yourself and your out-of-a-can culinary
concoctions.”
Mr. DeLuca turned scarlet and raged, “How dare
you, you young punk?”
In a calm, icy, voice I replied, “I dare,
DeLuca, because I can. You see, your lease is with Coastal Carolina
Realty Trust. My name is Michael Lanier. I own Coastal Carolina
Realty Trust.”
For the first time, Mr. DeLuca had no quick
come-back. A worried look flitted across his face.
“ I also own the Coastal Carolina
Small Business Fund, the company that loaned you the money to get
this place up and running. That loan is callable at any time,
DeLuca. I’m calling it.”
Mr. DeLuca slumped into one of the
uncomfortable chairs he no doubt made his employees sit in when
they came into his office. “Impossible, I cannot pay.”
With a shark’s grin and cold hard eyes, I
informed him, “Then, if you cannot pay the note, once you have paid
what you can, you will not be able to pay the rent. Consider this
your notice that I am commencing eviction actions against you per
the terms of your lease.”
“ You cannot do this. You are a
child,” Mr. DeLuca said, but there was no resolve in his voice. He
had no fight left.
Toning down my predatory posture, I said in a
more business-like tone, “Call the SBF offices, call the Realty
office, or call your lawyer. I assure you, Mr. Deluca, I can and
will do this.”
Mr. DeLuca sat quietly for what seemed like
hours but was really only a moment.
“ There must be some way to avoid
this. What do you want of me?”
Leaning back in his chair and allowing myself
to relax, I told him, “First, I want to know what you have against
teachers.”
Mr. DeLuca shook his head slowly. “No, that I
will not discuss. Suffice it to say I have my reasons, personal
reasons. If that is your offer, evict me then.”
He surprised me. I’d expected a rant about how
a teacher had treated him unfairly or spanked him too
enthusiastically or something. A refusal to discuss it followed by
a welling of tears I had not expected.
“ No, Mr. DeLuca, I won’t evict you
for that alone, though perhaps I should. You see, my wife was one
of those teachers you so thoroughly insulted.”
Mr. DeLuca looked at me in a different way.
Something in his demeanor changed.
“ Mr. Lanier, I did not realize you
interfered as a question of honor. I thought you were butting in
where you had no business. Please accept my apologies to you and
your bride.”
He stared into his lap for a moment, almost as
if he was praying. With a deep sigh he looked up. “Let me tell you
a story.
“ Fifteen years ago, before I lived
in North Carolina, my wife Carlita and I had a son. He was a
beautiful baby boy. We thought he was perfect. But there had been
complications during the delivery which, while not terrible, caused
him to be a little slow to learn.
“ We loved Dominick, and it never
seemed to us that there was a problem. Then he started school. We
tried to tell the teachers that he just needed a little more time,
a little more direction, to be able to do the things they were
supposed to teach him.
“‘ No,’ they said. ‘He was slow. He
was stupid.’
“ They didn’t want to take the
time. But my wife took the time. Dommie would come home from school
each day in tears. Carlita would sit with him and go over his work.
She would find ways to help him understand it. He would regain his
confidence, only to have it
special parties - parties like a teacher’s luncheon.
Mr. DeLuca and I went to his
office.
“ Okay, so who are you that McHale
and those lousy cops let you take charge of things that way?” he
asked, trying to regain some of his bluster.
I walked past him, sat down in his chair, and
folded my hands on his desk. Looking up at him as if he was a
misbehaving child, I said, “He is Mr. McHale to you, and those two
cops are fine law enforcement officers. You, on the other hand, run
a gussied-up, tomato-paste diner and have a way too overinflated
opinion of yourself and your out-of-a-can culinary
concoctions.”
Mr. DeLuca turned scarlet and raged, “How dare
you, you young punk?”
In a calm, icy, voice I replied, “I dare,
DeLuca, because I can. You see, your lease is with Coastal Carolina
Realty Trust. My name is Michael Lanier. I own Coastal Carolina
Realty Trust.”
For the first time, Mr. DeLuca had no quick
come-back. A worried look flitted across his face.
“ I also own the Coastal Carolina
Small Business Fund, the company that loaned you the money to get
this place up and running. That loan is callable at any time,
DeLuca. I’m calling it.”
Mr. DeLuca slumped into one of the
uncomfortable chairs he no doubt made his employees sit in when
they came into his office. “Impossible, I cannot pay.”
With a shark’s grin and cold hard eyes, I
informed him, “Then, if you cannot pay the note, once you have paid
what you can, you will not be able to pay the rent. Consider this
your notice that I am commencing eviction actions against you per
the terms of your lease.”
“ You cannot do this. You are a
child,” Mr. DeLuca said, but there was no resolve in his voice. He
had no fight left.
Toning down my predatory posture, I said in a
more business-like tone, “Call the SBF offices, call the Realty
office, or call your lawyer. I assure you, Mr. Deluca, I can and
will do this.”
Mr. DeLuca sat quietly for what seemed like
hours but was really only a moment.
“ There must be some way to avoid
this. What do you want of me?”
Leaning back in his chair and allowing myself
to relax, I told him, “First, I want to know what you have against
teachers.”
Mr. DeLuca shook his head slowly. “No, that I
will not discuss. Suffice it to say I have my reasons, personal
reasons. If that is your offer, evict me then.”
He surprised me. I’d expected a rant about how
a teacher had treated him unfairly or spanked him too
enthusiastically or something. A refusal to discuss it followed by
a welling of tears I had not expected.
“ No, Mr. DeLuca, I won’t evict you
for that alone, though perhaps I should. You see, my wife was one
of those teachers you so thoroughly insulted.”
Mr. DeLuca looked at me in a different way.
Something in his demeanor changed.
“ Mr. Lanier, I did not realize you
interfered as a question of honor. I thought you were butting in
where you had no business. Please accept my apologies to you and
your bride.”
He stared into his lap for a moment, almost as
if he was praying. With a deep sigh he looked up. “Let me tell you
a story.
“ Fifteen years ago, before I lived
in North Carolina, my wife Carlita and I had a son. He was a
beautiful baby boy. We thought he was perfect. But there had been
complications during the delivery which, while not terrible, caused
him to be a little slow to learn.
“ We loved Dominick, and it never
seemed to us that there was a problem. Then he started school. We
tried to tell the teachers that he just needed a little more time,
a little more direction, to be able to do the things they were
supposed to teach him.
“‘ No,’ they said. ‘He was slow. He
was stupid.’
“ They didn’t want to take the
time. But my wife took the time. Dommie would come home from school
each day in tears. Carlita would sit with him and go over his work.
She would find ways to help him understand it. He would regain his
confidence, only to have it
Similar Books
