I loved Miami. I loved the sunshine. I loved the beaches. I loved seeing the women in their bikinis walking the boardwalks. I loved the different varieties of street food everywhere.
What I didn’t love was the crappy job I had stocking shelves at Mr. Hooper’s corner grocery store or the fact that I had hardly any money left over when all my bills were paid.
I walked into the crappy 2nd floor apartment that I shared with my best friend, George. He and I had been best friends since high school in Newark, New Jersey. We both hated the cold Jersey winters and as soon as we had finished high school, we came south planning to hook up with some sugar mamas and enjoy our lives in the Florida sun. That didn’t work out, and after 5 years, I ended up working for Mr. Hooper and George continued trying his luck with one hustle or another.
As soon as I opened the door, I knew there was something wrong. Maybe it was the two big guys standing in my kitchenette, or maybe it was the sound of George having the crap beat out of him in the bedroom.
Seeing me, one of the guys put his finger to his lips and moved his jacket out of the way, showing me the pistol in his waistband, while the other closed and locked the door behind me. I was pushed into the living room and onto our sofa. All I could do was sit there and listen to the pounding that George was taking.
Finally, the bedroom door opened, and a man came out. I could see George sprawled out on the bedroom floor.
“Get me some water, would you, Jimmy?”, said the man as he sat down on the sofa with me.
One of the guys came back with a glass of tap water for the man sitting on the sofa.
“No bottled?”, asked the man of Jimmy, “Never mind.”
“And who might you be?”, asked the man, turning his attention to me.
“Me? I’m nobody.”, I squeaked.
The man chuckled and said, “Everybody’s somebody. Who are you?”
“My…My name is Joe Fisher. I’m George’s roommate.”, I stammered.
The man smiled and said, “See, that wasn’t so hard now was it.”
He pulled out his phone and made a call.
“Yeah, it’s me…. We found Georgy boy….No, he’s in no condition. He has a roommate, name’s Joe Fisher….Okay…Yep…Will do.”, I heard him say before hanging up the call.
The man sighed, looked me up and down and said, “So here’s the thing, Joe. George has a big mouth. He made some promises to our boss that he couldn’t keep. Our boss doesn’t like it when that happens. A man’s word is his bond, you understand, Joe?”
I nodded.
“We want you to do something for us and if you don’t, we’re gonna take George deep sea fishing. You understand what we’re saying, Joe?”, he asked.
Again, I nodded.
“Good. In that bag over there is $1 million dollars. You’ve got 24 hours to invest all of it for us. We don’t care how or where as long as it can’t be tracked. So, no depositing it into any bank, or anywhere else the feds can track it. Also, no cutting into the boss’s other investments, so no investing in guns, drugs, gambling, strip clubs, or hookers. And the boss wants a return on his investment of $25k every week.”, said the man.
“You invest it all within the 24-hour window and follow the rules, and George stays out of the water and after a year, both you and he are free and clear.”, continued the man.
My mind was spinning. What was I going to do? George’s life depended on me, but I was just a stock-boy. How was I going to invest $1 million in cash in untraceable transactions?
“Now, you’re not in this alone, Joe. Jimmy, Travis, and I are gong to help you. I’m Mike, by the way.”, said the man, holding out his blood-speckled hand.
Not knowing what else to do, I shook Mike’s hand.
“Let’s think about where you can invest this money, Joe. Where do you work?”, asked Mike.
“I work for Mr. Hooper. He owns a corner grocery store just up the road.”, I reply.
“Great. Do you think Mr. Hooper could use some extra cash?”, he asked.
“Yeah, everybody can, I guess.”, I said.
Mike let out a little laugh and said, “Sure, everybody can, you’re right. Is there a neighborhood bar you and George go to sometimes?”
“There’s a sports bar we go to sometimes. It’s called The End Zone. It’s a couple of blocks away.”, I said.
“Hey Jimmy, the End Zone. Is that one of ours?”, asked Mike.
Jimmy just shook his head.
“See Joe? There’s two. Is there any coffee shop or anything like that around here?”, asked Mike.
“Well, there’s a Dunkin’ close by, but we probably want to stay away from that. There’s an independent place three blocks down, close to the beach called Tastee Donuts we could try.”, I said.
“Now you’re thinkin’.”, said Mike, with a smile, “Let’s get moving. You’d be surprised how fast 24 hours goes by.”
With that, Mike stood up and Jimmy and Travis went into the bedroom to get George.
“Umm, can I use the bathroom first?”, I asked, showing Mike the blood on my hand.
Mike smirked and said, “Sure, go ahead. Just leave the door open.”
I went into the bathroom, washed my hands, and splashed some cold water on my face.
What was I doing? Could I do it? I had to otherwise they were going to kill George. I had to.
When I came out, Mike was on the phone, Jimmy was holding up George, and Travis was already gone.
Finishing his call, Mike picked up the bag, smiled, and said, “Let’s start.”
It was a little after 9 so I knew Mr. Hooper would be in the back of the store checking the day’s receipts. I unlocked the door and let myself and Mike in before locking it behind me.
“Mr. Hooper? It’s me, Joe.”, I called out.
As Mike and I walked towards the back of the store, Mr. Hooper popped his head out the back office.
“Joe, what’s going on and who is this man?”, he asked, confused.
“Mr. Hooper. My name is Mike. I’m a friend of Joe’s. We’d like to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”, said Mike as we came to the door of the back office.
“Joe, what is this?”, asked Mr. Hooper.
“You see, Mr. Hooper. Joe came into some money and would like to use some of it to invest in your grocery store.”, said Mike, not allowing me to speak.
“Joe, is this true?”, asked Mr. Hooper, searchingly.
“Yes, Mr. Hooper.”, I responded.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I don’t think I would be interested in you offer. I’m happy with the way things are.”, said Mr. Hooper, warily.
“Well, that’s disappointing, Mr. Hooper. Joe was so looking to being partners with you in your establishment. But, before we go, can I show you something?”, asked Mike, “Let’s go out back.”
Mike, Mr. Hooper, and I made our way to the back door of the store which opened up to the alley where Mike’s SUV was standing. When Mike opened the door, Jimmy opened the back door of the SUV. Mr. Hooper was able to see George’s battered and bruised unconscious body in the back seat.
“Mr. Hooper.”, said Mike, quietly, “This is the last person who declined our offer. Shall we go back inside and continue our negotiations?”
Soon, the negotiations were completed. Mr. Hooper would sell me 40% of the shares of the corporation which owned the grocery store for $100,000 cash. The shares would be sold for a nominal price of $1 which would appear on the contract between Mr. Hooper and myself. Mr. Hooper would pay me 30% of all cash received in the store with a minimum payment of $3,000 per week. Mr. Hooper was concerned that he wouldn’t be able to come up with $3,000 every week, but would sign the shares over, nonetheless. Mike had a notary public come to the store, prepared and printed off copies of the share sale agreement, and notarized them. Mr. Hooper kept one copy, I received another, and Mike had the third.
The next stop was the End Zone sports bar. We spoke to the owner, Janice Coltrane, about the sale of shares. At first she declined, but again after seeing George, she complied. She received $150,000 cash for 40% ownership and the agreed weekly payment of $7,500.
We were successful with Tastee Donuts for $75,000 and weekly cash payments of $2,500 for $30% ownership.
As we were driving, I noticed a small nightclub called Blue Moon.
“Let’s try there.”, I said.
Sure enough, it was owner operated and received leads from some of the boutique hotels in the area. When we arrived close to midnight, it was teaming with tourists and drinks and cash was flowing.
Within an hour, I had invested another $350,000 with weekly takes of $10,000 cash.
When we walked out of the nightclub, I saw an ice cream truck parked on the street with a long lineup of tourists.
“That one.”, I said to Mike, my confidence building.
A half hour later, I had invested $20,000 in Kreemy Ice cream for a weekly take of $400.
On and on it went through the night, with 12 more food truck owners on the strip getting injections of cash of between $20,000 and $30,000.
We were also able to negotiate that all the companies would buy their meat and produce from Mr. Hooper’s store with a 5% discount for paying by cash.
By 6 in the morning, I was able to negotiate all the money away except $105,000 and guaranteed weekly takes of $29,000. I was exhausted, sitting in the back of the SUV next to George.
“You did good, kid.”, said Mike, “but you still need to get rid of the rest of the cash.”
“I’m tapped out, Mike.”, I said, “We were able to lock in the $25,000 weekly. Can’t you just give the rest back to your boss?”
“That’s not how this works, Joe. The boss needed to get rid of the whole million.”, said Mike.
I slumped down in my seat and sighed.
“I like you, kid. You’ve got gumption, so I’m gonna help you out. I’ve got a cousin who owns a high end place and he’s looking to expand. I say we give me the rest of the cash, he gets you a couple of food trucks, all licensed up. You bring in a couple of his sous-chefs to work it. He pushes catering and other jobs to you. He takes 30% off the top and you keep the rest. Does that work for you?”, asked Mike.
And that’s how I became the food truck king of Miami.
A year goes by without me knowing it. Mr. Hooper’s store is much busier with the additional cash sales to all my food trucks. Cash was flowing. Some of my “partners” actually paid more than the guaranteed minimum weekly payments. A few times, a couple of them decided that they didn’t want to make their weekly payments. I had to bring in Mike and his associates, for a fee, to convince my partners to make their payments. On occasion, a partner would have difficulties like a broken down truck, an ice machine that needed repairs, or scratches and dents on their vehicles. Being a good partner, I took care of all of these items. I had gotten George involved with the catering business and he was running it pretty smoothly. It was doing well, we were able to do a few high profile gigs, and I even had my picture taken with some celebrities. George wanted to start living the high life, getting a more upscale apartment, and partying. A quick conversation with me and Mike changed his attitude. I still worked at Mr. Hooper’s grocery store, but instead of stocking shelves, I was more involved with ordering product for my food trucks and counting the cash. I even invested some of my extra cash into a couple of tourist shops that sold t-shirts, cheap sun glasses, flip flops, and knickknacks to out-of-towners.
As I was making my weekly payment to Mike, he suggested we go for a drive. He said the boss wanted to talk.
I sat in silence on the drive to a large estate on the water. Pulling into the front of the house, Mike stopped and one of the boss’s men opened the door for me.
“Go through the house, he’s waiting for you out back by the pool.”, was all the man said.
The house was immaculate with glistening marble floors, a circular staircase leading to the second floor, and a high end kitchen looking out onto a beautifully manicured and landscaped private back yard.
Making my way outside, I saw a man sitting on a chaise lounger. There was a second lounger beside it with a small table between them. On the table was a pitcher of some kind of cocktail and several glasses.
Hearing me walk out onto the patio, the man looked up at me and smiled.
I was expecting a large man, but what I saw instead was a man, about 5’8” tall, and 160 lbs, in his late forties with short black hair wearing a cotton polo shirt, long shorts, and leather flip flops.
“Ah, you must be Joe.”, said the man as he rose, “Please come and sit. Would you like a margarita?”
Without waiting for an answer, the man poured me a glass of the concoction.
“Joe, we’ve been watching you and we like what we see.”, said the man, after taking a sip of his drink, “You stayed quiet, and under the radar. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I liked your business model of investing in cash businesses. I liked is so much I copied it in Tampa, Orlando, and Lauderdale.”
“Thank you, sir”, was all I could think of saying.
“Please, call me Vince.”, said the man, even though I already knew his reputation, “When we started this little experiment, we said that it was only going to last a year. Well, the year’s up and you’re done.”
Vince took a sip of his drink and I just gulped to keep from puking.
“Umm.. What does that mean?”, I asked, softly.
“It means you’re done, you’re out. You sign over the shares of your corporations to one of my companies and you walk away with whatever cash you’ve got left over. You can keep the novelty shops, those weren’t part of the original agreement.”, said Vince, “Or…”
“Or?”, I ask.
“Or you stay on with me, on the legit side of the business, of course. We start a holding company with would hold the shares of your corporations and the shares of the other corporation in the other locations. You would get shares of the holding company and one of my other associates would get the rest of the shares. We pitch the business model with all actual financials to a private equity firm, which I know would be more than happy to spend their cash, actually my cash, to invest in it for additional shares. You would run the consolidated company as CEO and hire a team to manage it. I want to expand the business across the country. Wherever tourists spend cash at independent food trucks, coffee shops, sports bars, or night clubs, I want a cut of the action, legally of course.”, explained Vince.
And that’s how I became the food truck king of America and got my picture on the cover of Fortune magazine.