Lawn Boy(68)

“Every stinking day I think about them. Every week, they getting bigger, they growing further away from me. I feel like pinche Santa Claus, like some myth, you know? He lives up north, he sends gifts to the children. But don’t nobody ever see him. I tell you what, Miguel. Don’t have kids, don’t do it. They tear your pinche heart out. What about your family?”

I told him how Nate had lost a bunch of weight and how my mom was about the same as ever, except maybe a little happier. I asked him how things were at the trailer with Rocindo and Ramiro, and he said he was moving out, splitting a one-bedroom apartment with his cousin Sergio and his friend Ernesto in Silverdale, near the mall. I told him that sounded great, and that I was still living with my mom, but he didn’t make fun of me this time.

“Shit, Miguel, at least she don’t fart like Ernesto.”

Right around the time I was choking down the last of my tamale, we finally got around to business.

“So, what are we’re talking about here?” I said.

Tino looked me right in the eye and held my gaze.

“Look,” he said. “For three years, we doing all the work. Lacy, he’s no good, you know it. He used to be but no more. Most of the accounts, they don’t like him anymore. He pads the hours. He charges for product we don’t use. They not always happy. And the shit, it all roll downhill, you know?”

“So what are you saying?”

“On Sundays, I already been working my own accounts, old ones that dropped Lacy. Larsen, Buchholz, and sometimes Fetters. They not much, but they pay.”

“And?”

“And I wanna find more, ese. I want you to be my partner. T&M Landscaping—you know, for Tino and Miguel.”

“Mike,” I said. “Mike. And why would you want me to be your partner? I don’t even have a truck.”

“Because you the best, Holmes. Nobody mow like you. Your edges are muy bueno. Your pruning, it’s fantástico—like the best I’ve seen. You an artist, ese.”

“What about a truck?”

“I’ll get to that, amigo.”

“You got any money for start-up?”

“A little bit.”

As much as I wanted to believe I was some kind of lawn-mowing savant, I knew from experience there had to be more to this. Nobody ever complimented me without asking me for something.

“No, really, why me? Why not Rocindo or Ernesto or Che?”

Tino looked down at the bar top, softly drumming his fingers on it once before letting out a sigh.

“Because you’re not Rocindo or Ernesto or Che. Because you’re Mike, man, you’re white—whiter than me, anyway. The clients, they lowball me every time, ese. They think they can pay less for a Mexican. That’s just how it is. If you wanna get in touch with your inner Mexican, cut your salary in half.”

“No, thanks. Already been there.”

“Miguel, you could be like the face of the business. I give you fifty percent. And I be calling you Mike all the time. We can even put Mike first, if you want. You know, like M&T Landscaping.”

I don’t know why, but all I could think of was Goble and his shopping carts and how I never wanted to be the guy that leveraged himself at the cost of everything else. I didn’t want my life to be a negotiation, where the sole point was to come out on top of the other guy.

“I’ll take forty-five,” I said. “And T&M sounds better.”

Tino took a bite of tamale and chewed it deliberately as he searched my face.

“Nah, ese. I give you fifty. But you right, T&M sounds better.”

“Forty-five,” I said.

He stabbed his tamale a few times and mopped up some hot sauce with it, shaking his head side to side.

“But I came to you, Miguel.”

“Exactly.”

“I dunno, ese. Why you wanna take less? It don’t make no sense.”

“It’s how I negotiate,” I insisted. “Besides, you’ve already got accounts, you already laid some of the groundwork.”

“Yeah, ese, but you white. They pay you more. It gonna even out quick.”

“I’ll take forty-five,” I said. “And that’s my final offer.”

Tino did his best to act like he wasn’t altogether comfortable with the terms, but he couldn’t belie a sly little grin.

“Deal,” he said, extending a hand.

We made it official. Then I raised my Mexican soda, some flavor I’d never heard of called tamarindo, which, as far as I could tell, was a mix between orange soda and ditch water.

“To T&M Landscaping,” I said.

“We gonna kill it, ese.”

We clinked bottles, and suddenly my mind was racing with possibilities.

“You know, we should poach Knowlton,” I said. “Lacy never did move that pergola like he said he would.”

“Hell yes. And the old lady, we should take her, too.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m done cleaning her garage and jockeying her cars around. Only the mellow ones for T&M.”

“If you say so, ese. Also, I got my eye on some new accounts, on this side of the bridge. Not so much competition over here. And Silverdale is caliente right now. They building like crazy—big yards!”

“I like it.”