Scotty Proper

Scotty Proper’s job was to sail the boat
Antonio’s job was to pick up the phone
Matilda transferred the money

It’s not every day that an opportunity drops into your lap like the one offered to Scott P. Levork yesterday. A music student at the prestigious University of Miami, Scott was struggling with money and looking for a job. As a resident advisor, he got his room and board for free in exchange for taking care of some of the students on his floor, and most of all, keeping them in line.

Day after day, slaving away practicing scales, Scott heard his floor mates tales of flying to New York, Abu Dabi, and Switzerland—all for the weekend. “Where do these kids get all this money?” Scott asked himself, checking his waning bank account with only $37.43 left.

As a child, Scott grew up on boats and was quite skilled at sailing. Hearing this and seeing many of his sailing posters, one day Antonio, one of his floor mates, stopped by his room, “Hey, you still know how to sail?” To which Scott modestly replied, “Yes.” Scott had won the Junior Harbormaster Championship when he was 19, and was still coasting off the success and fame this had brought him back home.

“I may have a job for you,” Antonio said. Scott’s eyes shot at Antionio, “A job, hey man, I’m really strapped for cash, what is it?” Antonio didn’t answer, but put his finger over his lips and said, “Meet me at Clark’s Marina at 7 p.m.”

Scott showed up at 6:55 and waited 45 minutes for Antonio to stumble out of the Marina’s bar, sloppy drunk, “Hey, you never checked at the bar man!” Scott didn’t find any of this funny, “I thought you had a job for me.”

“Oh, right,” Antonio says with a smile. “My family,” Antonio stops to pick his brain, making sure he doesn't reveal too much,“is a very large one.” Scott nods his head, waiting for more, which takes some time and effort given Antonio’s state. “We are in the business, of,” he laughs, but catches himself, “square grouper, comprende?”

Scott shook his head, “I’m not doing that man, I’ll end up dead, or in jail.” Antonio’s eyes popped open wide, “No, no, no, no, my friend. We will pay you $500 for each square grouper you catch, and give you a boat, I promise, this is a legitimate business we have set up here.” Scott was astounded at the prospect of $500, his mind raced through of all the things he could buy with that much money.

“Scotty, what’s your last name?”
“Levork.”
“Hey, your classy man, how about we call you Scotty Proper?”
“Alright, say, Antonio, how many square groupers are out there tonight, you think?”

Antonio chuckles so hard he vomits in the back of his mouth, “About 30.”

Scott could barely do the math with all those zeroes involved, but remembered these kids flew all over the world, bought cocaine every weekend, and drove brand new sports cars. “That’s $15,000 you’ll give me, if I can ‘catch’ them?”

“Scotty, Scotty P, Scotty Proper, if you can get all of them tonight, I’ll get Matilda to give you $25,000.”
“Who is Matilda?”
“You’ll see.”

The next morning at 5 am, Scott met Antonio on the pier, Antonio again was very drunk, his eyes crazed with a poisonous glare, “Good morning,” Scott said. Antonio ignored him and walked to a pristine 50 foot yacht and tossed Scott the keys, “Drive.”

Scott ignored all of the ornate luxuries the boat had to offer; a full size bar, dining room table, gold plated silverware, for he knew it was drug money. He got a text message from Karolina, his girlfriend: hey, how’d your concert go? Lets hang out!

“Scotty, what, what the fuck was that?”
“This?” Scott says holding up his phone, “just a text message.”
“From who?”
“My girlfriend.”


Antonio showed him how to operate the GPS that would guide him to the drop points. “Turn your phone off,” he said. Scott turned it off. “And take the battery out.”

The work was easy for Scott, after Antonio got a call on his phone confirming the ‘fish’ were his, he would drive the boat, which drove itself, over to the spot, retrieve the lobster pot and load it into a hidden compartment underneath the toilet in the bathroom. After about three hours they were done, all 30 packages secured.

“You can turn your phone back on,” Antonio said, “and take this number down.” It was the number for Matilda, the woman who would be paying Scott. “Call her in an hour and do exactly what she says.”


Back in Scott's dorm room, Karolina was waiting for him in his bed. “Hey where have you been all this time?” Scott flicked off his shoes and laid next to her in the bed, “I was out in the bay with Antonio.”

“You’re hanging out with Antonio now, doesn’t he sell drugs?”
“How did you know that?”
“Everyone does, that’s why he flies all over the world and has a safe full of cash in his dorm room," Karolina pauses, "among other things.”
“How do you know so much about him?” Scott asked, but Karolina began kissing him on the neck and flicked off the light.


Antonio is pounding on the door, its 3:30 am. Scott opens the door and Antonio motions for him to follow, blasting away in Spanish over the phone. He slams his flip-phone shut, “Scott, we have a big shipment coming in my friend,” he smiles, “300 packages at 3 drop points.”

“You know Antonio I was thinking, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“Anymore? What you think you can make some money and then just leave, you are part of this family now, don’t you see? You want me to tell Matilda this?”
“No, please don’t tell Matilda I said that.” Matilda was very beautiful, but insane. While she handed Scott a brown paper bag with $25,000 in cash, she made him watch as she killed a man, thought to be an informant, in mid-sentence, sitting in the chair next to his in her office.
“Are you coming or not Scotty Proper,” Antonio says, a decision that could very well cost him his life, “Yeah, I’m in Antonio," jumbling his words he gets up, "whatever you say.”


They go to a different pier this time, with a brand new boat, Antonio pulls into a parking space, “You go, I have to stay here and lookout for the Police.”
“What? I don’t even know which boat to go on,” Scott says and Antonio points to the biggest boat on the dock, “That one.”

Scott gets on the boat, turns its engine on and puts it into reverse when he hears a gun cock behind his head, “Don’t move another inch, this is Captain Yossarin with the DEA, you are under arrest for the trafficking of narcotics connected with the Oturo crime family, and the towing and bodywork company associated with your new friend Antonio. You have the right to remain silent anything you say can and will be used against you…