by Ice-T
“Well, he’s a bit new to the inner circle, Crush—”
“Yeah, well, he showed a lotta heart when the Rono shit went down. He could have gone left, but didn’t.”
“True dat, I don’t want you to think I’m hatin’ or anythin’—I mean, I like the dude, I’m just not a hundred percent sure on the nigga at the moment.”
“You obviously goin’ somewhere with this shit, so spit it the fuck out.”
“Look, I’m just asking the question, tha’s all.”
“Okay, well, he reports to you, and if he doesn’t work out, then handle it how you see fit, but you talk to me first before any shit goes down, Champa.”
“Okay, I feel you.”
Crush rose from his desk and headed for the door with Champa falling into step beside him. As they left the office, Champa chuckled and said, “What, no password or eye scanner to leave?”
Shaking his head, Casey laughed, too, and said, “That’s actually a good idea.”
Shin met Casey and Champa in the lobby, and the three men walked back to the conference room. Inside were Casey’s six generals—all were ruthless, street smart, and complete egomaniacs. When Casey walked in the room, every guy there gave him a “whassup, nigga,” and did their gangsta hugs with him.
Casey sat at the head of the table, with Shin and Champa on either side of him. He surveyed the room, looking at New York’s criminal elite in front of him. Most of them he’d known for thirty years or more; they were all down because they believed that Casey was the one guy that could keep the peace and make everyone big paper. Smiling slowly, he leaned forward and said, “Man, this is a fuckin’ treacherous crew if I ever saw one.”
The room erupted with laughter, and someone hollered, “You got that shit right, nigga!”
Casey let the laughter die down before continuing. “Okay, before we get down to ‘serious’ business, I wanna let you all know ’bout a little hiccup that happened last night that we handled. Big Rich’s guys, Rodrigo and Ernesto, got busted being stupid. Now, I got my college baller on the case, so they out now, but I need you guys to make sure all these baby OGs don’t bring any extra heat to this situation.”
Big Rich raised his hand and spoke. “Crush, I hear what you sayin’ and I agree one hundred percent. I’m gonna deal with those niggas and make ’em an example so the rest of my crew understands the situation.” Big Rich was probably the biggest player in the room, and he was certainly the best dressed. His suits were always custom tailored and his nails exquisitely manicured. He was known for having a strong pimp hand and was always talking that pimp shit. The nigga was no joke.
Sitting next to Big Rich was Sean E Sean, who gave him a look and asked what everyone else was thinking. “Damn, nigga, you gonna take ’em out cold like that?” Sean E Sean had actually known Crush longer than anyone else in the room, even Champa. He would’ve been Crush’s right-hand man, but he wasn’t around enough, because he was too busy boosting shit all over the city. Regardless, he was a trusted accomplice who put in the work and had a bullshit detector that was second to none. Unlike a lotta Casey’s crew, he didn’t speak much, but when he did, everyone shut the fuck up and listened.
Big Rich laughed. “Nah, I’m just gonna scare the shit outta ’em. But my point is that we all know what it’s like to be young and cocky, and the fact is, there’s only so much influence we got on these young ballers, y’all feel me?”
Casey looked at Big Rich and nodded. “Yeah, I do, but control is the key to us all making bigger paper, so you do what you gotta do. All I’ma say is I can only bail out so many niggas, and that’s real talk.”
“Speaking of paper, what’s the next big payday?” Mick Benzo asked. Mick was about five foot eight, all muscle, and tended to always be pissed off about something or at someone. He got his name because when he was younger, he drove a Benz that was always breaking down. When anyone would say anything about it, his reply was always, “Yeah, nigga, but it’s a Benz—what, you think I’ma drive a Chevy?”
“Inna minute, Mick, we got an agenda we need to follow. The paper’s gonna come, believe that, but first up is protocol. Now, you all know Champa. Well, from this point on, he’s gonna be my right-hand guy—”
Mick cut Casey off with a sneer. “Are you sayin’ I gotta talk to him insteada you? Nigga, please, that’s some bullshit right there. How you gonna tell me—?”
“Nigga, will you let me finish saying what the fuck I got to say! You all got access to me, that ain’t changing. It’s just that Champa’s gonna make sure everyone’s on the same page and that if anything needs to get done, it gets done. I’m not always gonna be available, but Champa will be, so if I can’t be reached, talk to Champa so he can make shit happen.”
Mick nodded, but he didn’t seem completely satisfied. Ultimately, Casey knew he was a down dude, it was just his personality to be fucking sour. That nigga was either on cloud nine or pissed off, and most of the time it was the latter.
“Now, I’m gonna have Shin as my man in the streets. He’s gonna be doing pickups and drop-offs and handling some other sensitive shit. Shin is relatively new to our group, but he’s a real nigga.”
Hen Gee from the Garcia brothers slowly stood and held up his hand. “Crush, you know you my brotha and I respect what you sayin’ and all, and we been down for years and shit, but we don’t really know this cat, so if it’s all the same to you, we’d rather handle that business with you or Champa.” Hen Gee and his brother Big E came from a prominent Honduran family. Both were big, about six feet three inches, and dark skinned. They controlled Crown Heights and Bed–Stuy; Hen Gee was the brains and Big E was the muscle. They worked out of their family-owned restaurant called Casa de Honduras.
Casey looked at Hen and didn’t say anything right away; the two men had a lot of history and a lot of respect for each other. Casey knew the same rules needed to apply to everyone, otherwise there’d be chaos, but at the same time, Hen brought up a valid point.
Casey checked Shinzo out of the corner of his eye; he was just sittin’ there like he didn’t have a care in the world—calm, cool, and collected. My nigga, Crush thought, knowing he’d made the right choice and smiling a little at it. “Shinzo’s my man, Hen, and he’s the guy I tapped for this gig.”
Hen nodded and exchanged a glance with his brother before looking back at Casey. “A’ight, Crush, on your word. Let’s see how this goes.”
Casey kept his stare even on Hen. “Thanks, brotha. For the next few weeks, Champa’s gonna roll with Shin, but after that, he’ll be ridin’ solo.” Having Champa shadow Shin was not a part of Casey’s original plan, but from his guys’ reactions, he’d realized he’d need some insurance to make sure everybody’s shit ran smooth and that Shin would be accepted. He had no doubt that these cats would test his boy in the field to make sure he was worthy—and he had no doubt that Shin would handle himself just fine.
Sean E Sean said, “Okay, it seems like we all down with your plan, but speakin’ to what Mick brought up earlier, what’s the recipe for some major paper? I mean the whole reason we got this collective up and running in the first place was to leverage it for big shit. Am I right, or am I right?”
Casey nodded. “True dat, but I need all y’all niggas to hang tight for a minute or two while the logistics get worked out. We’re not gonna be doing any more of that nickel-and-dime, smash-and-grab shit. I’m engineering this for over-the-top success, ya feel me? That kind of business don’t shake itself out in a day or two. So till then, it’s business as usual.”
With that, everyone got up and mingled with each other and talked a little bullshit. Mick wandered over to Crush, cheesed up and gave him a hug, laughed and said, “Nigga, it’s good to see your black ass back in good form.”
Casey smiled. “Good to see you, too, Willie Dynamite.” Mick laughed his ass off at that. Casey addressed the group: “Look here, this the only nigga I know who wears a mink coat with matching hat when it’s ninety muthafuckin’ degrees out
.” The whole room, including Mick, erupted in laughter.
Big Rich came up to Champa and Casey and said, “Whassup, playas, good to see you, Crush, it’s been a minute.”
“Yeah, man, thanks. I see you keeping it dapper as always,” Casey said as the men embraced.
Rich smiled. “Well, you know there no business like ho business.”
Casey tossed his head back and laughed. “True dat, my brotha.”
Champa stepped up to Rich and gave him a pound and asked what the latest was on his cousin Jacob.
“He’s still around, still doin’ that computer shit. Every once in a while, he does some covert shit for me, fixin’ tickets and bullshit like that.”
“Cool, can you do me a solid and gimme his math? Let him know I’ma reach out to him soon.”
“Yeah, no sweat, I’ll text him now,” Rich replied as he took out his phone. After texting, he gave Champa his cell to copy the number, then bounced with everyone else.
* * *
After everyone had left, Shin and Champa sat back down at the table and started chopping it up. Casey looked at Shinzo. “You just gotta whole eyeful of who you gonna be dealin’ with, brotha. Now, you know I got your back, but you gonna have to prove yourself to those cats if you want their respect. Believe me, they gonna be watchin’ your ass close for the next few weeks.”
“I read you loud and clear, Crush. Don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna disappoint.”
“Nigga, you say that like it’s gonna be easy.” Champa sounded a bit annoyed.
Casey was about to say something but decided to see how Shin would handle his shit with the OG.
Shin turned to him. “Look, I ain’t gonna bullshit anyone, I’m confident. I got no distractions and I’m all about this shit. I’m gonna keep it one hunded and take no bullshit. At the same time, I’ma give you and these other triple OGs the respect you all earned. I know this is my shot, and I know you got jewels for me. So all I’m sayin’ is give a nigga a shot and I’ll show and prove.”
Champa looked at Shin, sizing him up. “You got heart, nigga, I’ll give you that. Now let’s see if you can walk that talk.”
Casey stood up and grabbed his keys off the desk. “Okay, it’s quittin’ time, let’s get the fuck outta here. Do me a favor, Shin, check all the doors and lock up.”
Casey and Champa took the elevator down. “So, what you think about that meeting?” Champa asked.
“These guys are down ’cause they respect my pedigree and ’cause they believe I can bring them big paper and make their lives less dramatic, so … if I don’t deliver some serious shit just like I promised, then they’ll bounce,” Casey replied.
“How much time you got till that happens—two, three weeks?” asked Champa.
“Maybe not even that long, we’ll see. In the meantime, put some feelers out there and see what’s good.”
The elevator doors opened, and the guys clicked the alarms on their key fobs, their vehicles chirping in response.
“Okay, I got some shit I’m investigatin’, but I don’t wanna speak on it just yet. You wanna get something to eat?” Champa asked.
“Nah, I promised Carla we’d do dinner.”
“A’ight, in a minute.”
* * *
It was 10:30 P.M., so technically Casey was supposed to be at home per his parole, but he figured with the unspoken agreement he had with Lomax, he could risk being out late every once in a while. He speed-dialed Carla and let her know he was a few minutes away.
When he pulled up to her building, Carla was waiting behind the glass doors of the lobby. She came out and jumped in Casey’s ride and gave him a kiss and said, “What’s for dinner, baby?”
“I was thinking … Casa de Honduras.”
“Ohhh, baby, I heard about that place. How fun!” Carla said as she buckled her seat belt.
Casey hit the BQE and was at the restaurant in ten minutes. They pulled up and valet-parked the SUV. Casa de Honduras was a small restaurant with about nine tables, but was always packed with notables, actors, businessmen, politicians, or anyone else with pull. The front door had a prominent sign that said CASH ONLY, and the decor inside was like your grandmother’s living room, but the food was legendary. Outside, there was always at least a half-dozen paparazzi wanting to pounce on the hottest celebrity. Crush and Carla walked in and were greeted by a pretty Latin girl; she smiled and said hello politely and then excused herself.
Carla looked at Casey and said, “Wow, that was strange. She didn’t ask if we had a reservation or if we wanted to be seated.” At that moment, Big E walked out with a big smile and loudly said, “What’s up, fam, who is this gorgeous lady? A present for me, you shouldn’t have!”
“Carla, this is Big E, and this restaurant has been in his family for over seventy-five years.”
Carla smiled and said, “I’ve heard so much about this place, I’m so excited to be here.”
Big E gave Carla an extra-long hug, winking at Casey as he did. Casey smiled and pretended to be hot. “Nigga, do I gotta put a cap in yo’ ass at your own damn restaurant?” Big E held his hands up and laughed as he led them back to the kitchen. As they walked, Casey could hear Hen arguing with his mother in rapid-fire Spanish. Although Hen towered over his tiny mother, he was trying to calm her down, holding up his hands in an attempt to placate her. All around them, cooks and assistants ran everywhere, creating huge plates of the food the restaurant was famous for across the city.
When Hen saw Casey, he gave him a dap as he rolled his eyes and smiled from ear to ear. “Whassup, man, good to see you, do you see what I’m dealing with here?”
Mama Garcia, barely five feet tall, came up to Casey and gave him a big kiss on both cheeks. “Hola, Casey, you came at the perfect time. My son is driving me to an early grave—he wants to tear down my restaurant!” At that, Hen and his mother started goin’ at it again louder than before, and talking even faster.
Big E managed to squeeze between his mother and brother. “Hey hey hey, come on, you two, let’s do this later—we don’t often see Casey anymore.”
“True, true,” Mama Garcia said, turning to Carla with a broad smile. “So, Casey, who is this lovely lady? Your wife, I hope?”
Casey cocked his head slyly to the side and smiled and said, “Mrs. Garcia, are you trying to get me in trouble? This is Carla Aquila, Carla, this is Mama Garcia, and that other big stump is Hen Gee, Big E’s brother. By the way, Mama, I’m on your side. I don’t think you should tear this place down.”
Mama Garcia glanced at Carla slyly and said, “Casey, always the charmer, no? You best watch out for him, darling. Come with me, let me show you the restaurant before my son ruins it.” Without waiting for an answer, she took Carla by the hand and went back into the dining room.
With a sigh, Hen Gee turned back to Casey. “I’m glad you came by, man. C’mon, let’s go in the back.” He led Casey to the back office, which looked like it’d been hit by a tornado. Hen sat down behind the desk, and Casey sat in a chair against the wall.
“You really thinking of tearin’ this place down, dude?” Casey asked.
“Hell no, just redecorate, maybe expand it a little, but she always likes to spin it like I wanna level the place! Christ, dealing with my mom is a full-time job. She only just let me do a Web site last month!”
“Did you run down the meeting we had tonight with her?” Casey asked, knowing Mama Garcia was really the boss of their outfit. That little five-foot-nothing old woman had been running both the restaurant and their crime business since before her sons were born. Beneath her motherly facade was a stone-cold criminal, who was no joke.
“Of course I did. She’s cool, she likes you, dude, always has. Knowing Champa’s gonna be Shin’s training wheels didn’t hurt either. I appreciate that, by the way.”
“Yeah, well, we gotta make sure it’s smooth if we’re gonna make this shit big, right?”
“I heard you gonna have a ‘no hard drugs’ rule, that true?”
> “Where’d you hear that?”
“Come on, Case, I’m just doing the math in my head, let me have that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s comin’ down the pike.”
“That’s cool with us, you know we don’t play with that shit anyway, so it ain’t gonna affect our biz, but people like that bullheaded Micky Benzo gonna lose their cool over it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about him. He’ll be making enough loot to keep him only mildly pissed off.”
Hen Gee laughed and said, “Same old Crush, you a funny nigga, man.”
“Come on, let’s go to my table before your mom puts my ass in the mix with Carla.”
Both men walked to the front of the restaurant, where Casey took a seat next to Carla.
Mama Garcia was still talking a mile a minute to Carla. When Casey appeared, she looked hard at him and said, “You … I will talk to later. Don’t blow it.” She walked back to the kitchen, her big ass swaying back and forth.
Carla looked at Casey and smiled and said, “Wow, I love her! Okay. She’s a trip.”
“You have no idea,” Casey said.
Carla scanned the menu and frowned after a few seconds. “That’s weird—there’s no prices listed.”
Casey laughed. “Yeah, Mama Garcia arbitrarily decides what to charge, based on whether or not she likes the people she’s serving. I remember back in the day when Mike Tyson came in here, a week after he was defeated by Buster Douglas. She gave him a bill for a thousand dollars. Hen and E were losin’ their minds, tryin’ to tell her she couldn’t do that. She was pissed ’cause she bet a lot of money on him and he lost.”
“Oh my God, what happened?”
“He told her to bet big on his next fight and guaranteed he would win and he did against Tillman.”
Carla laughed with him. “What are you getting?”
Casey smiled again—he hadn’t even touched his menu. “That’s another thing: You can order whatever you want, but Mama Garcia’s gonna serve you what she thinks you should eat.”
“Jesus, this woman! I mean, I love it, but damn!” Carla said.
“It’s all part of what makes this place great. It’s not just the food, it’s the experience,” Casey replied.
