Chapter 10

The end of the year came and with it the sale of our restaurant and a successful conclusion to my investment with Frank. It was a sad time for me because I enjoyed immensely the experience of a business partnership with my son. Amidst my ’postpartum’ melancholy there was one bright moment. Frank invited me to his house for dinner “so we can drink a little wine and be happy” he said. After dinner Frank was telling a story about when he was ‘The Don’ in Vancouver, how he dressed in thousand dollar suits and had 4 bodyguards protecting him. When I mentioned that I had never owned a suit that cost more than $200 he insisted on showing me what was left of his Kingly wardrobe. There were 3 suits and all were of good quality, I particularly admired one of them, which was a dark blue silk fabric tailored by Giordano Basso. Frank immediately insisted that I try on the jacket, and it was a perfect fit. 

“Looks like this suit was made for you Giovanni, so I give it to you” Frank declared generously.

“No!” I protested, “ I can’t accept such an expensive gift. And besides, you may need it again some day”.

“It’s yours my friend so don’t argue! Anyway it’s too big for me now and I was thinking of throwing it out with the garbage” he said with finality.

I received the gift with much gratitude and admiration for this rough edged gemstone I called Frank.

There was very little work at that time and Frank decided January was a washout; so home renovation activities were suspended until mid February. This was fine with me as I had little enthusiasm for doing anything; perhaps I was grieving the passing of the restaurant that had been such a pleasure for me both as an owner and a patron. In the first week of February Frank approached me with another investment opportunity. The terms of this investment were $35,000 to yield $52,000 due on January 14th of the following year. By this time I had known Frank for a year and a half and during that time had developed a kind of confidence in him. He told me that he needed to know my answer in 24 hours or else he would have to give it to Bill. The following day I agreed to take it and told Frank I would give him a cheque for that amount. 

“Fuck man! You know we deal in cash only” he replied with a high level of consternation in his voice.

“You know my bank account is in Winnipeg. To get $35,000 in cash will be too much of a hassle for me” I said resolutely.

“How long would it take you to get it in cash?” he questioned.

“Too much time and too much effort” I retorted, “ you can either take a cheque or give the investment to Bill”.

“Fuck man, let me think for a minute“ and there was a pause “O.K. I think I have an idea to get the cheque cashed. You know how the people in Van feel about cheques” Frank paused for a moment then said “When can you bring it over?”

“I’ll bring it over to your place tomorrow morning” I replied.

“O.K. there’s one thing, don’t make it payable to anyone ‘cause I’ll fill that in when I get it” were his instructions.

The following day I gave the cheque to Frank. He exuded pleasure and optimism, saying how glad he was that it was I who would reap a benefit rather than one of the other ‘pricks’ that had already made too much on his efforts. He assured me that this was a guaranteed venture and repeated his speech about ‘his promise is a debt of honour’ and ‘he would rather rot in hell than let one of his friends down‘. 

About a week later an incident occurred which was a little unsettling. Mark, the younger of his two henchmen whom I had met occasionally, joined us in a coffee shop where Frank and I were discussing future work projects. Mark appeared to be agitated. He whispered something in Frank’s ear. Frank immediately got up and ushered Mark outside where they appeared to have an animated conversation. There was a sense of calmness when they returned and a normal conversation ensued. After a while Mark said to Frank “I need a ride to my apartment, can you take me?”

“For fuck sake man, why don’t you take a bus? Anyway I got a meeting with Dennis in 10 minutes” answered Frank.

I interjected with “I can take you Mark, where do you live?”

“It’s close by, only take 15 minutes” replied Mark.

We went our separate ways, Frank to his real or fictitious meeting with Dennis, Mark and I to wherever Mark lived. On our way Mark, who had been quite and obviously preoccupied with his thoughts, blurted out “I gotta get out of this racket. I can’t take any more of this bull shit”.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, “something amiss between you and Frank?” I knew first hand how difficult working with Frank could be, especially when one appeared compliant as Mark would surely be, given that he depended on Frank for his livelihood and who knows what else.

“It’s a whole lot of stuff you don’t want to know about, and I’ve had enough” he paused and then added “I’d appreciate if you didn’t say anything to Frank about this until I decide what to do”.

I assured Mark that it was none of my business and didn’t want to make it my business. We arrived at his place and he got out and said “Thanks Giovanni, you’re a good man”.

We said goodbye and I never saw him again.

A week later Frank told me that Mark had disappeared. I pressed him on the circumstances of the situation and he said that Mark went missing with about $70,000 of his organization’s money. I asked him how Mark would have had that much money in hand to make off with. Frank’s reply was, as always, vague “He was collecting money for us and not turning it in. When we went to the guys who we thought still owed us they said Mark had been collecting it regularly. We checked out their stories and they were telling the truth”.

“So what are you going to do now?” I asked.

“We’ll find him and that will be the end of him” Frank replied matter-of-factly.

I certainly felt very uncomfortable with this situation. Unaccustomed to having friends or acquaintances unnaturally terminated I wanted to do something to mitigate Mark’s predicament. I said “You know Mark was under a lot of stress last week. He told me that he wanted out because of all the bull shit, perhaps he’s just taking a break for a while”. 

“He’s a fucking yak. He know the rules and he know the consequences. I got people watching his house 24 hours a day. We told his girlfriend she’s in big fucking trouble if she don’t tell us where he is”. I hadn’t seen Frank this intensely worried before.

We went about our business, which at this time was re-cementing another outside stair well at the hotel. Progress was slow due to constant interruptions from Frank’s cell phone and his frequent need to take care of business in other places. Eight or nine days had passed when Frank’s mood took an upturn. He announced that he knew where Mark was and “it’s just a matter of time to finish the business”. The story he gave me was that Mark had gone to the police in a town just 150 kilometres away. He had asked for police protection in exchange for information regarding some criminal activities within their jurisdiction. Smugly Frank declared, “The prick can run but he can’t hide”.

The stairwell job was by this time finished and we were gearing up to start another, only much bigger, cement job at the hotel. This job required us to replace the concrete walk way on an entire wing of the second level. To do this we had first to break up the existing concrete, throw the broken pieces into a dumpster built for this purpose and prepare the area for new cement to be pumped in. For practical reasons we would not be pouring the cement this time. The area was large and the equipment needed for this task was a little more sophisticated than our shovel, 2-bag mixer and ex-detergent bucket to handle efficiently. 

Frank rented a jackhammer to break-up the eight-inch deep concrete. I followed behind with a sledgehammer, a wheelbarrow and leather work gloves. 

I was amused by Frank as he tackled the responsibility of the jackhammer. He was, of course, an expert who had done this a million times. He would not let me near the thing even though I was most anxious to get some experience, having never before used one of these machines. The first time he fired it up it leapt out of his hands. Frank’s obsession with gorilla like maleness would not allow him to be viewed as a comic figure and while I did not laugh audibly, there was a huge smile on my face, which obviously offended him.

“What the fuck are you grinning at you fucking yak?” he uttered with hurt pride, “the assholes at ‘Mainline’ put in the wrong bit”. As he said this he walked over to the toolbox that had accompanied the jackhammer. He opened it and took out two more bits. The three bits that were at his disposal had distinct shapes and presumably functions. The one he had used had a tapered blunt chisel type end maybe two inches wide, another was a round tapered end rather like a giant nail, and the third had a conventional screwdriver type end. He picked out the round tapered bit and snapped it in the jackhammer.

Without making a comment he resumed the task. This time the jackhammer seemed to make an impression in the concrete. He stopped the machine and said “There, what did I tell you, those pricks don’t know their ass from their elbow and I gotta think of everything!”

Most of the time I needed to use the sledge hammer to break up the pieces into a manageable size. The concrete receptacle had been placed at the mid-point of the work area, so I had to fill the wheel barrow and then walk it to a point where I could throw the pieces one by one over the wall and into the dumpster. This was hard physical work and I loved it. 

I continued to find the view of Frank doing his jackhammer work amusing. There was something wrong, like the two were not compatible. His entire body would be shaking but appeared to be out of sync with the hammer. It crossed my mind that brain damage could occur from a prolonged spell of this work. When I pointed out to Frank that he was leaving some large holes in the double layer of three quarter inch plywood each time he broke through the concrete, he irritably stated that “it’s not my fault, the bit’s too long. We’ll just have to fill the holes with tar!”

Though I didn’t argue with him it did seem to me undesirable to have this supporting structure peppered with holes when it would be holding up a few tons of concrete.

During this time I was informed that I could say goodbye to my friend Mark because he no longer existed. I was saddened by this news.

Other than a few spats between us, the job was uneventful. We were admonished on two occasions by Dennis for putting too much of the broken cement into the dumpster. Apparently there had been a mark placed on the inside of the container that indicated the maximum load capacity. Even after the first warning Frank’s only comment was “fuck them, we can’t stop and wait for the bin to be emptied so they can go fuck themselves”. It is true that our schedule would have been interrupted at a cost of maybe a days waiting time, but Frank’s theory that rules are made for other people was an indication of his arrogance.