I froze. He was looking at something in his hand, a picture perhaps. A picture of me probably. If I had my wits about me, I might have taken that opportunity to duck out of there before he looked up, but instead I was caught in a moment of indecision and panic. He looked up. He saw me, and there was an unmistakable moment of recognition. He tucked the picture into a pocket and walked over.
“Barry Buetrero?” he asked as he approached. His voice was nothing like the Brooklyn mobster stereotype I was expecting.
I nodded yes without thinking.
“You were at the courthouse yesterday, yes?” It was more a statement than a question. He continued, “You bid on a particular property, a property my employer is quite interested in.”
“I... ah... didn't actually bid on that,” I answered, “I was just sort of there.”
“Well then, my employer would very much like to discuss this matter with your employer,” the Mook continued. He reached into his jacket. My heart froze. His hand emerged holding a business card. My heart started beating again.
“Call the main switchboard any time to schedule an appointment,” he instructed, “I think you will find my employer's offer very fair. This will be the best for everyone, really. I think you will find owning such a property to be very... challenging. These old buildings, they can be dangerous even. Better to take a fast profit and not risk injury, yes?”
Did he just make a veiled threat? I swallowed and took the offered card. It read Hillsburrow Capital Investments. The logo was reminiscent of a hotel game piece from the board game Monopoly. “Well, um, thanks... I should really get going now.” I turned to leave, but felt his massive hand clamp down on my shoulder. I turned back.
“I think you will be wanting this, yes?” He handed me my blue binder. I took it, muttered a thanks, and hurried away without looking back.