You’re Not Who I Think He Is #3
“There is no Micah! And don’t you dare compare yourself to DSquared2.
I may have considered it before, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Ware Wear people expect me to show up and impress!
You’re just an old man who went to his closet this morning and selected a dowdy, cerulean cardigan that you’d previously fished out of some tragic clearance bin while day dreaming about being someone bigger and better than you’ll ever be,” Japheth snarled, the heartache spilling out frothy and fierce.
“And what about you three?” Weinus fired back from across the desk.
“Three middle-aged wannabes trying to flip the script at the local radio station and dreaming you’ve got enough talent to catch the attention of real big city celebrities?
Do you think you’ll ever walk a red carpet with Bryan Adams or the Barenaked Ladies? Or win a Juno with your drivel?”
“We are getting the attention we deserve–from Ricky Martin! And Sarah McLaughlin, Sugar Ray, and the Crash Test Dummies!” Rebekkah stammered. Just then, the bells on the front door jingled.
“Who could that be?” Betty said to herself and darted out of the room.
“My eleven o’clock?” Weinus guessed, grateful for the opportunity to end this unscheduled ambush and with dread slowly rising at the realization he hadn’t finished his homework for his arriving client.
Heavy footsteps crossed the creaky old wooden boards of the lobby, which groaned under the muscled mass of Mr. Rino Ferrari.
His lavish scent arrived a moment before him as he strode in the door.
He looked from person to person as if trying to piece together what kind of meeting might be taking place and why.
“Rino!” Trinity gasped.
“What are you doing here?” Japheth asked, suddenly aware of his posture.
“What am I doing here? I was on hold for fifteen minutes, so I decided to just drive over,” Rino said cooly, spreading his hands as if presenting the solution to a math problem.
“Mr. Ferrari, sir. I am so sorry. I meant to get right back to you and then these meddling kids…” Betty stammered, trailing in the door.
“We’re not meddling! We’re fixing a muddled mix-up!” Rebekkah protested.
“Wait. Are you following us?” Ronald asked, suspicion flirting with worry.
“This is all Weinus’ fault. If he’s even a Weinus?! He’s not who we thought he is,” Japheth said solemnly and crossed his arms, nailing Stanford with another death glare.
“Then who is he?” Rino asked, successfully hiding his amusement at Japheth’s bombast and bluster.
“He’s our lawyer! Or… we thought he was our lawyer!” Japheth replied.
“Well, that’s cozy isn’t it, Mi Tesoro? Weinus, Weinus, and Ware are my lawyers, too,” Rino said, smiling at Japheth and then at Weinus. It was a hard smile, without joy.
“Which one?” Japheth dared to ask.
“Stanford Weinus, this one right here. And this one right here is late. Again.” Rino said, jabbing a finger onto Stanford’s desk and leaving it there to make a point.
“Mr. Ferrari. I, ummm… I have those release forms for you. Yes! Don’t mind the coffee rings. If you just sign here… and here… and here!” Weinus said, producing documents that looked like they had already lived several lives.
“So, it’s done now? Fully executed?” Rino asked.
“Oh my God!” Rebekkah hissed in a whispered yell, clutching Japheth’s sleeve.
“Fully executed!” Weinus said proudly. “Well, half-executed. But I assure you, Betty and I will finish them off.”
“My family gives your family a lot of business, Stanford. Don’t we?” Rino asked, conversational as a loaded gun.
“Yes, of course you do!” Weinus swallowed hard.
“I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to wait on hold for fifteen minutes during my workday–just let me know that you’re busy and call me back.
I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to call you and leave you messages for weeks–just to get a few little things executed,” Rino continued and gestured around the room at Trinity, every syllable polished and punctuated with Italian musicality.
“Oh my God!” Rebekkah whispered again, because when in fear of your life, call the Big Guy on repeat.
“I’m a reasonable man. Don’t make me do something unreasonable. Like taking my family’s business to another law firm in Greater Napanee and the Land O’Lakes region. Capisce?” Rino said, his patient smile never moving.
“Capisce!” Stanford squeaked.
“And my little friends here. I miei piccoli amici. They’ve received a few demand letters from some record labels and musicians who have bees in their bonnets about some sampled music, so I need you to help them out, pronto.
Put together responses–today–outlining their rights as parody performance artists and how the demands are frivolous.
Capisce?” Rino instructed, his iron pointer finger still denting the desk with his demand to ensure he was indeed understood.
“Capisce!” Stanford repeated.
“Okay. That settles everything. Except for this,” Rino said, slamming the papers back down on the desk with the ceremony of a knighthood.
“I think I’ve waited long enough. I’ve been very patient but delaying my gratification for so long really puts me on edge.
Let’s take the edge off, shall we? It’s gonna feel good to finish. Weinus? Do you have a pen?”
“Uh… I have a pencil. It’s perfectly legal to execute them with a pencil,” Stanford answered, producing a No. 2 from his cardigan’s pocket. “Just push really hard.”
“Rebekkah? Ronald? Cucciolo?” Rino said, turning to them, eyes suddenly soft.
“Yes?” Rebekkah said warily but dutifully stepping forward.
“Yes?” Ronald echoed, dimples on display, trying to distract from thoughts of death.
“Mio Capitano?” Japheth floated forward, nostrils flaring hungrily at the man’s cologne and oblivious to being such an easy mark.
“Sign here. And here. And here,” Rino directed, indicating where to scratch their signatures.
“What is this?” Rebekkah asked, scanning the agreement as if it might indeed still end her in some murderous mob mystery. A paper cut of death? Lead poisoning?
“A release form. You won the 1999 WWJD Not Short on Talent talent show right?” Rino asked.
“Yeah, we did!” Ronald confirmed, pride breaking through the panic.
“And part of the prize was a 1999 five-door hatchback, front wheel drive, metallic grey Kia Rio, right?” Rino continued, voice like silk sheets.
“It was…” Rebekkah said, heart doing cartwheels.
“So, I’m a man of my word. We would have had them for you earlier, but our lawyer was playing tiddlywinks instead of doing his job,” Rino said, side-eying Stanford like a medium rare steak.
“Won’t happen again! Definitely won’t happen again,” Weinus squealed while buttoning and then unbuttoning his cardigan. The urge to look presentable was overridden by his belly’s protesting protrusion.