Vartan placed both hands on the table and looked me directly in the eye.
“Because,” he said, “Clarence taught me everything of importance that I ever learned.”
I smiled, while my two young charges shifted with mild discomfort.
“You’re his son and you deserve to know the truth,” Vartan said. “You have been working for me because... this is my debt — now paid.”
He ate a little more.
The young men remained silent, and so did I, for a time.
“Iran here has a problem with a stupid man,” I said halfway through Vartan’s meal.
“Oh?”
“If you owe me something I’d like you to solve that problem.”
“Give him Hamish’s number and consider it done.”
After that the ice was broken and Harris engaged Twill and Iran in a conversation about basketball. I listened, mostly. The words meant nothing to any of us.
When the meal was over we all walked out onto Forty-eighth Street and Harris got into a limo sedan.
“Who was that guy?” Iran asked me.
“Nobody,” I said.
“What now, Pops?” Twill asked.
“I’d like to offer both you boys jobs working for me,” I said.
“Sorry, Mr. McGill,” Iran said. “Gordo already said he wants me to be a part-time manager at the gym. I think I’m better suited for that kinda work. I mean, I’ll be happy to help out if you need anything, but the gym’s a better place for a guy like me.”
“Okay. You do what you think is right.”
Iran shook my hand and punched Twill’s arm. He ducked his head and turned to walk away.
“You really want me to work for you, Pop?” Twill said when Iran was out of earshot.
“More than anything, son.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re the finest man I’ve ever met, and because I’m your father.”