One time one of his drivers told me that he owns a club in the Carribean, or a piece of one.
“‘Dirty scoundrels’ tried to run him out, he told us. He’s pretty hush hush about it, you can ask him about it if you want I guess.”
I felt like I was being told there was a swimming pool on the roof but I decided to go for it anyway.
“What’s this I hear about a discotheque in Havana?” I proferred meakly, one day during a break from his recording session. He shot me a curt side-glance and held it for a moment, and I thought he was going to show me the door.
“Why, you want to get in on this? I can probably pull some strings for you.” I don’t think it was a serious offer, as he didn’t wait for answer before continuing. “Who told you about that? Nevermind, I bet I know and I’ll take care of him later. I fatten rats with aged cheese, you know… stanky as you can handle.” I took that threat to be metaphoric. He turned and walked back inside without another word. The others were still milling around the lobby as he fiddled with knobs and settings, seemingly changing nothing, and he piped up suddenly.
“See, the thing is.. you gotta go where the opportunity is, follow the money. In the early 2000’s I did a couple tours around the islands and I saw 3 things, Frankie: coca paste, petty bribes, and lots of booty shaking. Well one night after a particularly amazing show I find myself on a barstool at 3am convincing the owner to let me buy in, that I’d be the perfect business partner. We made it official over some mojitos. It was a couple days later that I met our silent partner, a meat grinder who didn’t like to stay so silent. Especially about me and my unwelcome presence. My money, he assured me though, was more than welcome to stay.”