Don't Sweat the Small Stuff Read Free

Bradley rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it. “And what do you know about carnivals?”
    “Stay with me, brother. Moe and the two ladies own these four carnivals, and they need someone to market them.”
    “Market them?” I hated carnivals. And I hated carnies. Carnies are the guys who run the rides, the ones who hand you the baseball and dare you to knock over the milk bottles. Carnies sell you the waffle cones that are fried in ten-day-old grease, and they’re the ones who leave you hanging at the top of the Ferris wheel while they take a smoke break. That’s what a carnie is. I suppose some of them were all right, but my father had always warned me about these traveling bums. They were gypsies who would just as soon shoot you as look at you. They’d steal a woman’s purse and her baby and never think anything of it. That’s what my alcoholic father said.
    On second thought, maybe he didn’t know so much.
    “Let’s say that one of the carnivals is playing in Jacksonville. I get on the Web and find a chain of grocery stores up there. Then I call those stores and offer them free kids’ tickets for the rides on Tuesday. They’re the good guys, giving away free tickets for all the kiddies.”
    “Okay.” I pulled the ugly yellow Ford Taurus away from the curb and headed back toward the highway. “You give away free tickets. How does that make anyone any money?”
    “Amigo,” I could hear the change in his voice, “you’re not going to do a drive-by at Em’s place? This is more serious than I thought.” Looking at me with squinted eyes, he motioned back over his shoulder toward Bayshore, where Emily’s condo looked out over the water at South Beach.
    I shook my head. “No.”
    Emily often played “She loves me, she loves me not.” I’d saved her life and she pledged undying love. Then she had second thoughts. This time she was going through one of thosephases where she thought I was too immature and she had to reevaluate our relationship. The trouble was, she was quite right. I was too immature. I was still hanging out with James, and that proved it. Anyway, it was better not to see her until she worked it out. So far, I always came out on top. I was praying.
    James rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Your problem, amigo.”
    And it was. My problem.
    “So anyway, they give away the kids’ tickets, and we get a huge crowd of
paying
parents on Tuesday. You see? Kids get free admission, but the parents have to pay for all the extras. Cotton candy, slurpies, those big doughy elephant ears—you know. So we have a great Tuesday.”
    Keeping my eyes on the road, I nodded. “Paying parents. That doesn’t sound like rocket science.”
    “Moe wants me to...”
    “Moe? Already it’s Moe?” What was it about that name? Something in the news recently?
    “Down to earth guy, Skip. But very classy. I want to be him someday. Says ‘call me Moe.’ So I did. I do. Moe wants me to find new ways to promote the carnivals. I’ve got a list of all the rides, all the promotions they’ve done in the past, and I’ve just got to study them and find new ways for the man to get revenue.”
    Actually, it sounded right up James’s alley. He was very creative and the little shtick with Agent Hot Pants proved it.
    “Angie Clark, Skip. She is so hot. She’s part of the carnival so I’ll get a chance to see her on a regular basis.”
    “You’ve had one date. One.”
    “She wants to know all about me, man. Very interested. Very involved.”
    “So you’ll see this Angie on a regular basis. And what’s a regular basis?”
    “Three days a week. And I get paid a percentage of any increase in revenue. Pretty cool, uh?”
    “This guy Moe. He’s going to show you the books?”
    James studied me for a moment. “You think he’ll try to cheat me?”
    “He’s a carnie, James.”
    He was quiet, thinking it through. “Nah. His two sisters. They wouldn’t let it happen. I mean these ladies are all business. Tough.