Page 99 of College Town

Julius’s proves to be the first of many hands he shakes that night. He doesn’t play the asshole quite so much from then on, but as his nerves relax – Frank allows him one more drink – he’s able to fall back on instinct and react to each new acquaintance accordingly. Some are smarmy, and some are cool and don’t need to be taken down a notch or two.

When he can, he seeks out Tommy in the crowd, drifting from group to group, shaking hands and shaking his head and frowning sternly like a little wind-up power broker doll. (Tommy wouldhatethe doll comparison, but oh well, he’s Lawson’s doll.) It becomes apparent that Frank and Noah don’t intend to move, and that the room’s other occupants are meant to come to them, which they do. Lawson shakes hands until he’s wishing for a wet wipe, and knows he won’t have a chance of remembering all the names.

Finally, Tommy comes to collect them for the Zoom call. He’s ruddy-cheeked from the heat of the room, from his obvious, outward agitation while talking to the others. He spares Lawson a quick scrutiny, and nods at whatever he finds there. “We ready?”

Frank slides off his stool and hands him a fresh drink.

They go through a door, down a hall, and into a small room set up like an office. There’s a TV mounted on the wall behind the desk, and four chairs situated across from it. Tommy takes one of the center ones, and Lawson slots in next to him before one of the others can instruct him to do otherwise.

Noah goes around the desk and starts tapping at the computer keyboard. The TV turns on, its screen fuzzy blue as he presumably gets things booted up and prepares the call.

When the door’s shut, Frank drops into the seat next to Lawson and says, “Not bad, barista.”

Lawson sends him a flat look. “Your approval means the world to me, you know.”

“You did well,” Tommy says. His tone is matter-of-fact, edged with readiness. He’s focused on the task at hand, his praise genuine, but absent. He straightens his cuffs and smooths his tie, regarding his reflection in the TV screen. “Julius liked you, especially, but most everyone had something positive to say.”

“Most everyone,” Lawson notes.

“You’re a very annoying person,” Noah says, eyes trained on the computer.

Tommy says, “No. But you were bolder than I anticipated. It was a risk, but it worked, in this instance.”

“Cool,” Lawson says. “And what, exactly,worked? What was Idoing?”

It’s Frank who answers, with the air of a man taking pity on someone. At last. “No one back there” – he jerks his thumb toward the main room – “has ever been in town before. Businesses like ours operate out of big cities. West from New York, Philly’s been the hub – but Giacoletti thought he’d shift it here to Eastman under our noses. Tonight, Tommy got all the Philly buyers here for the first time so they can see the city, get a feel for the place, and decide that it’s worth sending purchasing agents here to buy from us.”

“It cements us here,” Tommy says. “And if Gino agrees to use us, then it takes all of his players off the board here.”

Lawson mulls that over, and disappointment sinks heavy as a stone in his belly. “That doesn’t sound like you’re wrapping things up and getting the dealers out of Eastman.”

Tommy makes a face.

“Think of it this way,” Frank says. “Somebody’s dealing something in every city, neighborhood, trailer park and parking lot in the whole goddamn country. At least this way you know who’s doing it.”

Lawson sighs, not comforted.

There’s a beep from the computer, and Noah says, “Here we go.”

He moves back around the desk to take the chair beside Tommy just as the TV flickers and fills with light.

Their view – made huge by the size of the screen – is of a dark-paneled study that looks very like the one they’re in now, masculine and Old World and so cliché it makes Lawson’s teeth hurt. The chair at the desk sits empty a moment, and then a man in a suit steps into view and sinks down so he’s face-to-face with them.

Gino Giacoletti is a formidable, craggy-faced figure who looks to be in his sixties, with silver sideburns, and deep lines at the corners of his eyes, an expression as stoic and forbidding as a Roman general. The contrast between him and the three Giacolettis Lawson met previously is striking.

“Tom,” he greets, in a voice straight from a Hollywood ADR booth. All the little hairs on Lawson’s arms stand on end beneath his sleeves.

“Gino,” Tommy returns, andhisvoice has dropped an octave.

“What’s going on in Eastman? I let Sal and Stefan handle the Philly contracts.” He gives a wave of dismissal. “And now they say you’re fucking them over.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy says, and gives a quick rundown of what’s been happening.

Gino frowns. “Who’s their dealer?”

“I don’t have a clue. But they said if you agreed to our terms, they’d yank on his leash and let us handle the distribution. With you getting a cut, of course.”

Lawson sits, and listens, and watches, more than a little awed, as Tommy slowly convinces Gino not only to agree to the original deal, but to agree to a trial run of further expansion west. By the end of it, it’s clear Sal and co. will be recalled to the city, and Tommy will serve as the Giacoletti rep in the Midwest.

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