Tricky Business by Dave Barry Read Free Book Online Page A

you.”
    â€œI got my suppliers,” said Kemp. “I got my own people. I got a bank.”
    Tarant turned to face Kemp. “I know that. But I’m telling you, you definitely are better off with us.”
    Kemp sighed. “Listen, Guido,” he said.
    â€œIt’s Lou,” said Tarant. “Lou Tarant.”
    â€œI know who you are, Guido,” said Kemp. “I seen The Godfather. ”
    â€œNever heard of it,” said Tarant.
    â€œFunny,” said Kemp. “Ha-ha. Now you listen to me, Guido. You don’t come here, you don’t come into my office and break my balls. I’m not some little shitball just got into town and opened up a hot-dog stand. I got a very successful operation. I know people in this town, people wouldn’t let you take out their garbage. I tell a city commissioner I want a blow job, five minutes later he’s in here on his knees. And I got friends in your line. Food and beverage, let’s call it. I tell my friends you came in here, my office, tried to lean on me, they are not gonna be happy. And if they’re not happy, believe me, you’re not gonna be happy. Capeesh, Guido?”
    â€œLemme guess,” said Tarant. “You’re talking about Jimmy Avocado and Sammy Three Nostrils, am I right?”
    Kemp said nothing, but those were, in fact, the people he’d been talking about.
    â€œWe work with them guys all the time,” said Tarant. “We can have a nice smooth transit.”
    â€œGet the fuck out of my office,” said Kemp.
    â€œSure,” said Tarant. “I got a two P.M. tee time at Doral anyways. You play golf? I can get you on the Blue Monster, name a day.”
    â€œFuck you, Guido.”
    â€œOK, then,” said Tarant. “How about we get together again tomorrow, hammer out the details? I’ll just drop by.”
    â€œYou know what’s good for you, you won’t even . . .”
    Kemp was interrupted by the entrance of Dee Dee, with a security guard.
    â€œI found one!” she said.
    â€œI want you to escort this man out of the building immediately,” Kemp told the guard. “And don’t let him back in, ever. You understand?”
    The guard tore his gaze away from Dee Dee’s chest and looked at Kemp, then at Tarant.
    â€œOh, hi, Mr. T,” he said.
    â€œHi, Vinny,” said Tarant.
    â€œWait a fucking minute here,” said Kemp. “I’m the goddamn tenant, and I’m telling you to escort this man out.”
    The guard, speaking to Tarant, said: “Is there a problem, Mr. T?”
    â€œNo problem at all, Vinny,” said Tarant. “I was just leaving. Thanks for stopping by.”
    â€œNo problem, Mr. T,” said the guard, leaving.
    â€œOK, then, Bobby,” said Tarant. “See you tomorrow. You mind if I call you Bobby?”
    Kemp said nothing.
    â€œFeel free to call me Lou, Bobby,” said Tarant. He left.
    Dee Dee said, “The guard told me next time, I could just dial extension one-two-seven.”
    â€œGet my lawyer on the phone,” said Kemp.
    â€œWhich one is that?” said Dee Dee.
    â€œJesus, never mind,” said Kemp, picking up the phone.
    â€œYou don’t hafta get snippy,” said Dee Dee, leaving.
    Kemp’s lawyer advised him to ignore Tarant.
    â€œHe can’t make you do business with him,” said the lawyer, a Harvard Law School graduate who knew his torts. “He’s just upset about losing a customer. If he comes back, we’ll threaten to file a complaint, and believe me, that’s the last you’ll ever hear from him.”
    That reassuring advice, plus five ounces of Belvedere, eased Kemp’s worries. He fell asleep that night convinced that he had nothing to worry about, that Tarant was just a big-armed hustler, trying to scare him. Well, fuck that. Bobby Kemp didn’t scare.
    The next morning, every Happy Conch restaurant—every single