One of the more astonishing stories in entrepreneur Luke Burgis‘s new book, Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire in Everyday Life – and there are many – is his unexpectedly moving tale about his interlude with a hitman. “My e-commerce company was flailing after a buyout deal fell through thanks to the Great Recession. I’d already maxed out my credit to keep the company afloat while I figured out next steps.” He concocted a “debt triage” plan. Fyre pharmaceutical wasn’t on it the shortlist.
An excerpt about what followed:
My decision to exclude Fyre Pharmaceutical from my list of priority payments would have been different had I known that the company’s founders were rumored to have connections with organized crime, that they were said to be involved in gun trafficking, and that one of my competitors mysteriously vanished after crossing them.
I had interacted with Dave three times before. The first was an unpleasant phone call during which he informed me that my payment was late; offended, I snapped back with a full-throated defense of my excellent payment history. The second was an unannounced visit to my office, where he confronted me and told me that he wasn’t a patient man; he threw a pair of dice on my desk and left. The third was when he showed up at a local bar during Sunday football—no idea how he’d known I was there—and told me that he “means what he says” while beating one of his fists against his palm like he was tenderizing meat; the bouncers escorted Dave out. As he left, he made the figure of a pistol with his thumb and forefinger, and pointed it at me.
This was now the fourth visit from Dave, and I didn’t know what it meant.
He seemed different this time. He began with small talk. He asked me how I was doing. He commented on the weather. Is this how it goes? I wondered. Was it the happy-go-lucky backslapping before a guy gets whacked on The Sopranos?
I bumbled nervous replies. I stood taking up as much space in the front door as I could to prevent my dog Axel, who was standing behind me, hair on end, from slipping out. Dave was standing too close, seeming like he wanted to slip in.
He drew even closer and lowered his voice. “Can you please, um, quick handle this bill by Monday morning so I don’t have to … come back?” He spoke quietly, calmly, and courteously while he twisted one of the gaudy rings on his left hand.
There was no way that I could pay him that soon.
Before I had a chance to respond, he continued: “I hear you’re having a big company barbecue here tomorrow night.”
It was true. I hosted a monthly party at my house with rolling invitations to people at my company. This time, though, I had invited everyone. I worried that it might be our last rendezvous if things didn’t turn around.
But how did Dave Romero know about it?
“Mind if I come?” he asked.
It didn’t seem like a question. I was growing increasingly confused and nervous. I just wanted Dave off my porch. “No, I mean yeah, sure, people start showing up at seven, you can stop by.” The words came out of my mouth. I’d never refused a request to come to one of my parties—certainly not to anyone’s face. I didn’t know how.
And now I had invited a hitman into my home.
Read the rest of the story over at Arc Digital here.
Tags: Luke Burgis