Read Online On the Ropes: A Duffy Dombrowski Mystery by Tom Schreck - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Schreck
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we had a mutual understanding about each other. It’s hard to explain, but I think people can tell when you really respect them and when you’re just trying to make an impression.
The various board members were filing in and I had yet to see Hymie. L. T. Espidera, the guy who owned six car dealerships in Crawford, came in, making his usual loud and obnoxious entrance. He epitomized the type of board member I despised. I was convinced that his entire motivation for being on the board was to get on Hymie’s good side so that eventually Hymie would sell him his dry cleaning headquarters. That shop happened to take up prime real estate on Main Avenue in the heart of the city. If Espidera had that piece of land, he would have not only the majority of car dealerships in town, he would also have them all in ideal locations.
Espidera liked people to call him “LT” because he thought it sounded macho. He was a late thirty-something guy who kept in what I call “gym shape,” meaning his body looked good but you could tell that if you hit him in the gut he would puke for a month. Just to piss him off, I always called him by his given name, Lawrence.
“Hi Lawrence,” I said. “How are the Hondas moving?”
“Fantastic, Duff, couldn’t be better,” he said. “Hey Duff—getting any Ws in the ol’ squared circle?” It was a dig because I knew he knew my record.
“Oh yeah—didn’t you hear?” I said. “I knocked out Mike Tyson. First, I bit him, then I knocked him out.”
Espidera shot me with his thumb and forefinger. He winked at me and ran his fingers through his mulletted, jet-black hair. His skin was a ridiculous tanning-hut brown.
Claudia came out of her office, hearing a board member and not wanting to miss an opportunity to suck up.
“Good morning, LT,” she said. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problemo, Claud,” LT shot back.
“Duffy, did LT tell you about the new committee?” Claudia said. It startled me because she never acknowledged my presence when board members were in. It was as if being just a lowly staff member in the presence of greatness made me unworthy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Claudia,” I said.
“LT is going to be the board representative on our Quality Assurance Ad Hoc Committee. The committee will oversee things like record-keeping and risk management. After we have our emergency meeting, we’ll invite you in for the first of what will be bi-monthly meetings.”
Now her talking to me made sense. It was another opportunity to stick the whole paperwork thing to me, only this time, with the added strength of throwing in a board member. It was just an extra special treat that Espidera was going to be involved.
Recently, Espidera donated an old piece of property that at one time had been an old hotel. It was in disrepair and way out in the middle of nowhere, and several agencies had gotten together to convert it into a women’s shelter. The plan was to make the old hotel a halfway house for addicted women and their children. I was convinced that Espidera donated it for the tax break. Also, because of its location, it had no marketable value.
Next in was Dr. Gabbibb. I was figuring he was going to come right over and chew me out with a series of DAT, DAT, DATs, but he surprised me.
“Good morning, Doofy,” he flashed me a big toothy smile. He had on a Jason Giambi jersey today. “Notar feeleends I hepe?” He extended his hand.
This was pretty bizarre for the most arrogant man I ever met.
“Sure, Doc,” I said.
“Doofy—you dar dinto du Yankees, no?”
“What’s that, Doc?” I asked.
“DAT, DAT, DAT, DAT, shit … excuse me,” he yelled.
“Oh yeah—sure, I love the Yanks.”
“Ere’s two teeckits I can’t use,” he said.
I loved the Yanks and the tickets were for the September 11 game against the Mariners, right behind the dugout, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t know what his motive was, and I didn’t
The various board members were filing in and I had yet to see Hymie. L. T. Espidera, the guy who owned six car dealerships in Crawford, came in, making his usual loud and obnoxious entrance. He epitomized the type of board member I despised. I was convinced that his entire motivation for being on the board was to get on Hymie’s good side so that eventually Hymie would sell him his dry cleaning headquarters. That shop happened to take up prime real estate on Main Avenue in the heart of the city. If Espidera had that piece of land, he would have not only the majority of car dealerships in town, he would also have them all in ideal locations.
Espidera liked people to call him “LT” because he thought it sounded macho. He was a late thirty-something guy who kept in what I call “gym shape,” meaning his body looked good but you could tell that if you hit him in the gut he would puke for a month. Just to piss him off, I always called him by his given name, Lawrence.
“Hi Lawrence,” I said. “How are the Hondas moving?”
“Fantastic, Duff, couldn’t be better,” he said. “Hey Duff—getting any Ws in the ol’ squared circle?” It was a dig because I knew he knew my record.
“Oh yeah—didn’t you hear?” I said. “I knocked out Mike Tyson. First, I bit him, then I knocked him out.”
Espidera shot me with his thumb and forefinger. He winked at me and ran his fingers through his mulletted, jet-black hair. His skin was a ridiculous tanning-hut brown.
Claudia came out of her office, hearing a board member and not wanting to miss an opportunity to suck up.
“Good morning, LT,” she said. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”
“No problemo, Claud,” LT shot back.
“Duffy, did LT tell you about the new committee?” Claudia said. It startled me because she never acknowledged my presence when board members were in. It was as if being just a lowly staff member in the presence of greatness made me unworthy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Claudia,” I said.
“LT is going to be the board representative on our Quality Assurance Ad Hoc Committee. The committee will oversee things like record-keeping and risk management. After we have our emergency meeting, we’ll invite you in for the first of what will be bi-monthly meetings.”
Now her talking to me made sense. It was another opportunity to stick the whole paperwork thing to me, only this time, with the added strength of throwing in a board member. It was just an extra special treat that Espidera was going to be involved.
Recently, Espidera donated an old piece of property that at one time had been an old hotel. It was in disrepair and way out in the middle of nowhere, and several agencies had gotten together to convert it into a women’s shelter. The plan was to make the old hotel a halfway house for addicted women and their children. I was convinced that Espidera donated it for the tax break. Also, because of its location, it had no marketable value.
Next in was Dr. Gabbibb. I was figuring he was going to come right over and chew me out with a series of DAT, DAT, DATs, but he surprised me.
“Good morning, Doofy,” he flashed me a big toothy smile. He had on a Jason Giambi jersey today. “Notar feeleends I hepe?” He extended his hand.
This was pretty bizarre for the most arrogant man I ever met.
“Sure, Doc,” I said.
“Doofy—you dar dinto du Yankees, no?”
“What’s that, Doc?” I asked.
“DAT, DAT, DAT, DAT, shit … excuse me,” he yelled.
“Oh yeah—sure, I love the Yanks.”
“Ere’s two teeckits I can’t use,” he said.
I loved the Yanks and the tickets were for the September 11 game against the Mariners, right behind the dugout, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t know what his motive was, and I didn’t
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