Georgie...

"When's the last I see you, Giaco?" Georgie almost always calls you Giacomo, or some variation, which you understand is the Italian form of James.
"I don't know, Georgie? A year, two?" It had been 18 months ago. Georgie was wearing plaid pants and a plain white polo, but a fine gold chain rested around his neck, and a pinky ring on his left hand showed the trinacria, the medusa's head surrounded by three running legs and three stalks of wheat: the symbol of Sicily. Georgie was, and probably always would be, a good family man. He had been born in Catania, and came to America when he was four. Though, to hear him speak, you would think he'd lived his whole life in Sicilia. "How's Hawaii?"
"Dull, ragazzo mio. Very dull. Nothing but palm trees and beautiful women in bikinis who don't want to fuck." He laughs, and you laugh nervously along with him. Georgie still holds a 30% ownership stake in FSC, making him, technically, your business partner. "I can't stand it for another day, Giaco. Luckily, business brings me back home to this beautiful town."
Your gut drops. "Business?"
"Yes, Giacomino. Business. In fact, why don't you walk with me for a bit. I need to talk to you." Your gut drops even harder. No. no. no. no. This can't be happening. Since even before your dad died, Georgie has, supposedly, been retired. Not just from his work as a real estate investor and developer, but from any other... extracurricular activities. The FBI and the Riverside Country Sheriff's have not just conveniently forgotten who he is, and neither have many local businessmen{if OffKilter = 1}, as your little encounter with the manager of the Off-Kilter proved the other night{endif}.
You have no real choice but to follow along as Georgie walks out of the locker room and out through the pro shop, taking a leisurely path through the tennis courts. "I need a favor, Giaco. A friend of mine is in need of some renovation work. Nothing too serious, but I need guys who can be trusted. And no paperwork, either. Strictly quid pro quo. I promise, you'll get reimbursed for their time." Georgie doesn't even look at you while he talks. His tone is exactly as you expect: this is not a request, and the illusion of consent on your part is merely a formality.