Two lies, Minerva; I've run restaurants on five planets-plus a silent lie as to my reasons for not being willing to inspect the joint. Two-no, three-reasons: First, I had gone over the place in cynical detail before I optioned it; second, that fry cook was bound to remember me; third, since I was selling it to them, through a dummy, I could neither vouch for it nor urge them to buy. Minerva, if I sell a horse, I won't guarantee that it has a leg on each corner; the buyer must count them himself.
Having disclaimed any knowledge of restaurant business, I then lectured them about it. Llita started taking notes, then asked to be allowed to start the recorder. So I went into detaiclass="underline" Why 100 percent gross profit on the cost of food might not break even after she figured costs and overhead-amortization, depreciation, taxes, insurance, wages for them as if they were employees, etc. Where the farmers' market was and how early they had to be there each morning. Why Joe must learn to cut meat, not buy it by the piece-and where he could learn how. How a long menu could ruin them. What to do about rats, mice, roaches, and some dillies Landfall has but, thank heaven, Secundus does not. Why-
(Omitted)
-chopped the umbilical, Minerva. I don't think they ever guessed that they were dealing with me. I neither cheated nor helped them; that amortized sales contract simply passed on the price I had to pay for the dump, plus a load representing time I had spent dickering the price downward, plus legal and escrow fees and a fee to the dummy, plus the interest a bank would charge me-two points cheaper than they could get, at least. But no charity, none-I made nothing, lost nothing, and charged for only a day of my time.
Llita turned out to be tighter than a bull's arse in fly time; I think she broke even the first month despite closing down while they cleaned and refurbished. Certainly she did not miss that first month's payment on the mortgage, nor any after that. Miss one? Dear, they paid that five-year loan in three years.
Not too surprising. Oh, a long spell of illness could have wrecked them. But they were healthy and young and worked seven days a week until they were free and clear. Joe cooked and Llita handled the cashbox and smiled at customers and helped at the counter, and J.A. lived in a basket at his mother's elbow until he was old enough to toddle.
Until I married Laura and left New Canaveral to be a country gentleman, I stopped in their joint fairly often- not too often, as Llita would not let me pay, and that was proper, part of standing tall and proud; they had eaten my food, now I ate theirs. So I usually stopped just for a cup of coffee and checked on my godson-while checking on them. I steered custom their way, too; Joe was a good cook and got steadily better, and word got around that Estelle's Kitchen was the place if you appreciated good food. Word-of-mouth is the best advertising; people tend to be smug about having "discovered" that sort of eatery.
It did no harm with customers, male especially, that Estelle herself presided over the cashbox, young and pretty and with a baby in her arm. If she was nursing him as she made change-as was often the case at first-it practically guaranteed a lavish tip.
J.A. gave up the dairy business presently, but when he was about two his job was taken over by a baby girl, Libby Long. I didn't deliver that one, and her red hair had nothing to do with me. Joe was blond, and I assume that Llita carried the gene as a recessive-doubt if she had time to branch out. Libby was a number-one tip-inducer, and I credit her with helping pay off .the mortgage early.
A few years later Estelle's Kitchen moved uptown to the financial district, was somewhat larger and Llita hired a waitress, a pretty one of course-
(Omitted)
-Maison Long was swank, but it had a corner in it, a coffee shop, named "Estelle's Kitchen" and Estelle was hostess there as well as in the main dining room-smiling, dressed fit to kill in clothes that showed her superb figure, calling regulars by name and getting the names of their guests and remembering them. Joe had three chefs and a number of helpers, and they met his high standards or he fired them. But before they opened Maison Long, something happened that showed that my kids were even smarter than I thought they were-or at least remembered everything and figured things out later. Mind you, when I bought them, they were too ignorant to pound sand and I don't think either one had ever touched money at any time.
Letter from a lawyer- Inside was a bank draft, with it was an accounting: Two passages, Blessed to Valhalla to 'Landfall, second leg taken from tariffs of Transtellar Migration Corporation, Ltd. (New Canaveral) and first leg arbitrarily equated to second leg; certain monies accruing from share in sale of cargo; five thousand blessings expressed as bucks at an estimated exchange rate based on assumptions as to equivalent buying power, see enclosure; total of above gross sums; interest on gross compounded semiannually for thirteen years at the going commercial rate for each year for unsecured loans-and grand total same as the bank draft, a sum I'm not sure I remember, Minerva, but it would not mean anything in Secundus crowns anyhow. It was a sizable sum.
There was no mention of Llita or Joe, and the draft was signed by this lawyer. So I called him.
He turned out to be stuffy, which did not impress me as I was a lawyer there myself, although not practicing. All he would say was that he was acting for an undisclosed client.
So I fired legalese at him, and he loosened up to the extent of informing me that he had instructions to cover the contingency that I might refuse the draft: He was then to pay the draft sum to a designated foundation and so inform me after it was paid. But he declined to tell me what foundation.
I signed off and called Estelle's Kitchen. Llita answered, then cut in video and smiled her best. "Aaron! We haven't seen you in much too long."
I agreed and added that apparently they had gone out of their silly minds while I wasn't watching. "I have here a bunch of nonsense from a lawyer, along with a ridiculous draft. If I could reach you, dear, I would paddle you. 'Better let me talk with Joe."
She smiled happily and told me that I was welcome to paddle her any time and that I could talk to Joe in a moment but that he was locking up. Then she stopped smiling and said with sober dignity, "Aaron, our oldest and dearest friend, that draft is not ridiculous. Some debts cannot be paid. So you taught me, years ago. But the money part of a debt can be paid. "This we are doing, as closely as we have been able to figure it."
I said, "God damn it, you stupid little bitch, you kids don't owe me a bloody penny!"-or words to that effect.
She answered, "Aaron, our beloved master-"
At the word "master" I blew my overloads, Minerva. I used language guaranteed to scorch the hide of the lead mules in a team of six.
She let me run down, then said softly, "Our master until you free us by letting us pay this-Captain."
Dear, I skidded to a halt.
She added, "But even then you will still be our master in my heart, Captain. And in Joe's heart, I know. Even though we stand free and proud, as you taught us. Even though- thanks always to you-our children, and the children I still will bear, will never know that we were ever anything but free...and proud."