“I guess I should’ve. I’m really not doing well at my bar.”
“Incidentally,” Mrs. Fortiago says, “if you prefer, because of what I said Tuesday about my emotions occasionally motivating my mind after I’ve been verbally assaulted, we can postpone this hearing till next week when there’ll be a different examiner.”
“If we postpone can I get my place opened till then?”
“Not till you’ve had your hearing.”
“Just being here, showing I came when called and right on time, that doesn’t count in my favor?”
“Perhaps with my decision later, but you still have to be heard first.”
“Then it’d just be one more no-money week if I waited and I’ve no feelings you won’t be anything but fair. But you know, I saw all those lawyers in the hall, so you think my chances here would be better with one?”
“Since your business isn’t incorporated, no lawyer’s required unless you wish to be represented.”
“Then I’d have to postpone this for a few more days and pay through the nose for one. No, let’s get it over with. Whatever wrong my summons says I did I’ll go along with, because all I want to do’s reopen.”
I’m sworn in and she reads my Health Code violations. Refuse and rubbish stored in cellar…. No physical separation of food storage and cellar waste area in question…. Claiming to health inspector that previous day’s garbage had been disposed of and then withdrawing that claim when offered contradictory evidence by inspector. “You’ve any defense against these violations?”
“Could you read them again?” Stenographer starts to. “No, forget it, because I’m only wasting all of your times now by saying I don’t understand them when I do but am just trying to come up with much better reasons to defend myself. Because how far am I going to get by saying I’ve no proof and nobody to vouch for me here that this same gangster company I told you about Tuesday who wanted me to have my garbage picked up by them, then stopped me from having my garbage picked up by anybody when I refused them?”
“There were other ways to have your garbage removed.”
“I know, and I knew that’s what you’d say and I’m not denying these violations that I didn’t do them. But I tried all those other ways to the point of getting my head bashed, apartment torched, arrested by the police, hundreds of bar dollars stolen and probably my business ruined and a huge fine heaped on me now by your department for these violations I can’t defend and for lying to your inspector. And what did it all get me except your probably saying now that this denial of my rights to get my garbage removed and run a legitimate business isn’t this tribunal’s jurisdiction but one for the civil or criminal or whatever courts we have for this, all of who it’ll also be of no use to go to, and that I’m still in violation of your Health Code, now isn’t that so?”
“Is that your defense?”
“Yes. Those are them, what do I have that’s better? Strongarm stuff so nobody would do my pickup, etcetera. I must’ve left lots out, but how’ll it help me? And everything I did to get rid of the trash worked in reverse to the point as I said of this long scar and metal plate in my head that I can show you.” I bend over. “So how about just fining me what you have to, returning my health permit and letting me make a living again and thinking of ways to deal with my garbage problem so I won’t have to come here anymore?”
“What your conflict with this private carter might mean to me personally is another matter. All the tribunal can be concerned with is if you presented a valid reason for operating in violation of the Health Code. You haven’t, so I’ll have to fine you”—her finger runs down a page—“three hundred and twenty-five dollars. I also—”
“Three twenty-five? I thought one twenty-five, one-fifty at the most. You’ll have to lower it.”
“You can appeal the fine and ruling. You’ll still have to pay the fine to get your permit back today, but if you win the appeal, the fine or reduction of it will be refunded plus the minimum savings bank interest for the time we held it.”
“Where will an appeal get me? No proof, so same business. Few people who feel for me and can speak with information about my case will run into the same trouble I did with this company if I used a subpoena to drag them here to talk, which they’d be too afraid to anyway. No, three-twenty-five’s got to be okay, though how’d you reach that figure? Forget it. Just hope my check doesn’t bounce, for that’s how far into hock I am with this garbage, but thanks. Have a nice day. You too, gentlemen. Where do I pay — the clerk outside?”
“Not so fast. Your final inspection’s in three weeks. Fail it and your place will be subject to being closed for a month. You’ll have to show the inspector that your violations have been corrected and refuse is being removed regularly. Manage that any way you want to long as you get it out of there: by hand, van, dump, private carters of any criminal background or even burning it on the street if the smoke doesn’t go in your bar and end up a health hazard to your customers and so a violation from us. I also suggest suing that carter if what you say about it is true — this is off the record, stenographer. If you win it’ll have to reimburse you for your fines it was responsible for and probably pay heavy compensatory damages to you. I also wasn’t serious about burning garbage on the street. That would only be another violation of a city statute, but one regulated by Sanitation, Fire or Police.”
“Don’t worry. I know what to do with my trash now without making a fool of myself again, so it’s going to be okay.”
“Fine. Goodbye.”
Guard hands me a slip to give to the clerk and opens the door for me. I write out a check for her, get back my health permit and keys and start for the elevator.
“That was stiffer than I thought it’d be,” she says.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. I was calling the next customer. Eugene Smit? Mr. Smit?” Man stands. I leave the building and go to my bar.
I phone a barowner I know and say “Know of a good cheap linen service?” and he says “Who rents linens anymore?” and I say “Not for me, it’s for the son of a dear friend who’s opening a bar not anywheres near us. But it’s going to be much higher class than ours — the new look: stained glass—”
“That’s new?”
“Then the new old look or old new. Hanging live plants and brown ceilings and walls and younger clientele — backgammon, fancy dried sunflowers in the shithole and stuff. He’s got a few estimates but thinks they’re steep and wants me to see if it’s because he’s new in the business he’s being cheated much more than an oldtimer would.”
“This dear friend or son of one isn’t you by chance? Because you still have troubles with an unnamed company I won’t name and want to cut down on your garbage bulk, wrong?”
“All right, it’s me and you’re right, that’s why, but you know of a good cheap one?”
“I don’t know if you heard but word’s out you’re bad news and even a worse troublemaker and nobody’s supposed to touch you even by phone.”
“Who told you that?”
“Skywriting. You can see it on any clear day.”
“It’s been snowing mostly and I never learnt to read skywriting. Who?”
“Then the stars in the sky one night when it didn’t snow coming together to light up your name and reasons why, so just look up, it’s there.”
“Come on, let’s see how gutsy you can be. Name names.”
“Brains, not guts. And where you come off with this gutsy stuff when you lied to me about linen service for that son without caring one way what this unnamed company might do if they found I not only spoke to you but helped. Not that I know anything about them or could with linens for you, because if you ever find a service both good and cheap not to say dependable and I didn’t in the future for now want to hear from you, let me know. For now, try the yellow pages.”