by Ice-T
Petrosian smiled thinly. “The news of your ‘alleged’ former partner Rono’s demise was quite the talk on the street. Word is that he got a bit choked up as he went out.”
Casey nodded once; this guy was well informed, chose his words carefully, and was confident but not arrogant. Definitely not your average street cat or flash-in-the-pan Eurotrash. “I, of course, had nothing to do with that.”
“Of course … I also hear that you have been forming quite a few alliances since your return to the fair city.”
Now, how the fuck does he know that! The Armenian had Casey’s full attention. He’d known word would eventually get out about his syndicate—he just didn’t expect it to be this fast.
“Well, there is power in friendships.”
“Indeed, but in war, numbers alone confer no advantage.”
Casey recognized the Sun Tzu quote and countered with his own: “True, ‘Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.’ And as a result, for men like us, our greatest asset is our alliances to ensure both these things.”
Petrosian smiled again, this time with a shade more warmth. “It would seem we read the same books.”
“We also have reputations that precede us. From what I hear, you move some weight, as well as some other shit.”
Petrosian shrugged his worsted-draped shoulders. “There are a lot of rumors out there.”
Casey nodded in agreement—they were both on the same page, and he was sure Petrosian knew what time it was. The time for bullshitting was over. “I’m building something big, an organization where the power is greater than the sum of its parts.”
“I give orders, I don’t take them, Mr. Casey.”
“Spoken like a true leader. I’m not looking to be the center of the wheel, just the chain that makes it more efficient.”
Alek raised an eyebrow. “Men who have power always desire more—it is in their nature.”
“You talk an interesting game, however, I have business to tend to, so I gotta go. Let’s connect on Monday in the A.M. if you’re free,” Casey said.
“Sure, why not? At the very least, it will be an interesting conversation.”
The men exchanged cell numbers and walked out on the floor. Alek went out the front and Casey went over to speak to Hans, who was talking to one of his employees and dismissed the man with a flick of his wrist when he saw Casey approach.
“Well—?”
“Well, I was sure surprised when I walked in and saw the dude standin’ right there.”
“He came by early, he’s a car freak and impatient, like many of my clients.”
“I figured as much,” Casey said.
Hans turned and called out to one of his salesmen. “Has Mr. Petrosian settled his account?”
“Yes, sir, he just left.”
“Good, I will be in my office and do not wish to be disturbed.”
Hans led Casey back to his office, where he locked the door behind him. Casey sat down in the plush leather chair this time, while Hans deposited himself on the bright red couch.
“So, Champa told me an interesting story about some cars coming in next week.”
“It is a nice payday if you can pull it off, Crush.”
“True, but doesn’t it seem a little odd that this guy is bringing all his cars here just to have them at his summer crib?”
“The filthy rich are very different from you and me, my friend. I have seen much crazier stuff than that. These guys have so much money, they don’t know what to do with it.”
“Do you know this mark well, is he mob-connected at all?”
“Salvatore Mariano? No, never met him. As far as I know, he’s not connected, but who can tell nowadays?”
Casey was satisfied with Hans’s answers. In the end, he knew that the German simply wanted his 5 percent, and would never cross him up. Friend or not, nobody fucked with Casey without thinking there would be hell to pay afterwards.
“So, how tight are you with Petrosian?”
“Not at all. In the last three years, I have done four cars for him, but that is it. I do not socialize with the man; it is just business. He definitely does not know about my past with you.”
“He may know more than you think—this guy has good intel and isn’t sloppy.”
“You think he knew your being here was not a coincidence?”
“I’m sure he figured it out—guys in our line of work generally don’t believe in coincidences—but whatever. I’ma keep you out of any shit, so don’t worry ’bout it.”
Casey knew Hans may have been out of the game, but he still liked playing from a safe distance, high-bling, legit shop notwithstanding. That’s why he’d turned Champa on to the car job.
“What can you tell me about the buyer?”
“I met him about three years ago with Sabrina on a trip we took to China. He is one of the biggest guys in the Internet over there, and he is a serious car nut. The guy has his own private track in the middle of a forest on the mainland.”
“Da-yamn!”
“While we were there, he took Sabrina and me out to it via helicopter. It is fifteen square miles of private tarmac, eight miles of it straight. He has an insane crib in the middle of it and invites friends out to drive his collection of cars. Dude, I was in heaven. He has this warehouse that has the capacity to hold two hundred cars, and has four full-time mechanics.”
“Why doesn’t he just buy the cars he wants?”
“Well, a lot of these cars you cannot buy on the market anymore, or it would take a while to get because people never sell them. Look, he is very rich and very impatient, so he figures out a way to get what he wants—legally or otherwise—when he wants it.”
Casey shot the shit with him for a few more minutes, then bounced back to his crib.
When he got there, he thought he noticed some guys in a van checking him out, but it took off right away. At first he thought it was the cops, but what if they were Petrosian’s guys?
Casey made a mental note to be more aware of his surroundings—fucking with this Armenian guy could be tricky, even terminally so.
10
That weekend, Casey hit the streets while waiting for the call from Petrosian. It was still important to be seen and heard amongst his guys so they were reminded that he was back and rollin’.
On Monday, Casey got a call from Petrosian around noon.
“You know where Davilla Bar and Grill is?”
“Yeah, on Crescent.”
“Why don’t you meet me there in thirty.”
“Yeah, I can do that, peace,” Casey replied, and then hung up the phone.
The Davilla Bar and Grill was next to Romano’s Social Club, a known hangout for guys in the “family.” Casey didn’t think the Armenian was connected with the mob, but anything was possible. Normally, he would have reached out to Shin and Champa, as having some backup on the street was always a good idea. But they were out on Long Island, talking to a dude that worked on the docks where the cars were coming in. Fuck it, I’ll go solo—probably better, anyway.
Casey put on a shoulder holster and grabbed a Glock 19 that held seventeen rounds, more than enough if shit went down. He felt like he was being a little paranoid, but better that than dead. He put his jacket on and headed out the door.
When he arrived at the restaurant, he saw Alek sitting outside at a table by himself with his two Armenian goons at a separate table. Petrosian’s black Rolls was parked in front, and it seemed like everyone who walked by stopped to admire it.
Casey parked his Escalade in a lot across the street and walked to the restaurant. The two goons got up with hard looks on their faces and met Casey. “We’re gonna need to pat you down.”
Casey smirked as he opened his jacket to show them his piece. “Don’t bother, I’m packin’, but I don’t plan on killin’ your boss or lettin’ you two hold my piece.”
Caught off guard by Casey’s frankness, the pair turned to their boss for instructions.
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Petrosian witnessed all this go down and laughed. “Let him through. I’m sure Mr. Casey has bigger plans for today.”
Casey sat down at the table while the other two men took their positions and put on their ill-fitting masks of intimidation. Alek waved the waitress over, and a pretty sista in a tight-fitting outfit came over and asked if she could take Casey’s drink order. He smiled at the young woman, who looked to be about nineteen, and ordered a soft drink.
Once she was gone, Casey took off his sunglasses and started immediately talking about his plan for a unified crew that would eventually run all the boroughs. “If there is no cooperation and consolidation, then there will be limited success. A strategic alliance means we’d all be less vulnerable and more powerful.”
Alek stared at him, his gaze level. “Like I said before: I give orders, I don’t take them, and this sounds like you would want me to answer to you. That is never gonna happen.”
“In that respect, you’re no different than any of the other top cats I’m dealing with. Everyone’s down with this ’cause it means more paper and less drama from the cops. If we don’t run this shit like a military operation, then it’s just a matter of time before we get taken down.”
“I understand what you are saying, and what you believe. I happen to think that it is precisely our lack of unity that makes it harder for the cops to take us down. By not being centralized, they have to deal with guerrilla operations, striking when and where any of us choose. We make them play our game.”
“I get that and respect it, but they have unlimited resources and will never stop. My point being that if you look at campaigns where guerrilla warfare has worked, it’s only been in foreign territories where the invading army was burning too many resources for too few results, and public support evaporated. That’s not what we’re dealing with here.”
Alek nodded. “A valid point, but an organization like you are suggesting creates many links of varying strengths. If one goes, it could take the entire chain with it. A smaller group is always harder to target, let alone hit.”
“No doubt, however, our nature is to grow our businesses, thus we become bigger targets.”
The waitress politely interrupted their debate to deliver their drinks—Alek was drinking something clear and odorless—and took their orders. After she left, Casey sat quietly for a beat, drinking his soda before speaking. “I know you see the value in this, and I feel like you’re just makin’ sure that it’s been well thought out … or maybe you have questions about my abilities to pull it off?”
Alek stared at Casey for several seconds before picking his cell phone off the table and holding it up. “Communication—good communication—is hard to come by. A lot of those guys aren’t known for that.” He set the phone back on the table and leaned forward. “I know all about you, Crush Casey. And although I have no doubt of your ability to be heard and respected, I’m not so sure about whether these other cats truly understand or care that their going rogue will fuck shit up and take everyone down.”
Casey felt a glimmer of hope. If I can just keep him thinking about it, I can bring him around. “If everything is compartmentalized, that won’t happen. On the big jobs there will be that risk, but again, for men like us, there’s risk in livin’ every day. My point is that everyone’s day-to-day shit is still their own concern. They just have to go about it and not cause any drama, that’s all.”
Alek shook his head. “I’m not feeling it, man. I’m seeing where you’re coming from, but I’m not feeling your plan. Look, you’re obviously a smart cat, and it took some serious brainpower to come up with this, and some serious balls to get it to where it’s at now. But the truth—and you should know this better than anyone—is that it takes only one person to go left and you end up either dead, or doing time in Attica.”
Casey showed no emotion at the Attica remark, aware that the Armenian had said it as a reference to Rono fuckin’ him over and sendin’ him to jail for twenty years. He leaned back in his chair. In that moment, he didn’t see how he could get Petrosian to play ball, let alone stop his lucrative operations of selling heroin and sex-trafficking.
Casey’s train of thought was derailed when, as their waitress came to the table with their food, chaos exploded.
A white van barreled down the street and slammed on its brakes to stop in front of Davilla’s. Its side door slid open, and three men wearing coveralls and black masks and carrying automatic weapons jumped out and began shooting.
Casey saw the waitress catch a blast across her chest. Instinctively, he hit the ground, rolled, and drew his piece from his shoulder holster in one fluid movement. With no place to take cover, his options were either to return fire or run. He stayed low, aimed at the closest gunman, and started letting off shots. He tagged the first guy three times in the chest, making him stagger and fall back into the van. However, the shooter regained his composure, stood up again, and kept firing.
What the fuck? Casey quickly realized they were all wearing bulletproof vests. Just then, one of Petrosian’s goons fell next to him in a bloody heap. He saw the Armenian scrambling, keeping cool, and squeezing off aimed rounds. The rest of the customers, on the other hand, were screaming and were either running away or curled up on the ground, frozen in fear. Glasses exploded above him, raining down liquid and shards of glass.
Casey screamed, “They’re wearing vests!” He grabbed the gun from Petrosian’s fallen man and rolled left, firing both guns as he went to keep the gunners’ heads down. As he rolled onto his stomach, he nailed the first guy in the head. The driver of the van wasn’t visible; he was probably taking cover. The second hit man had been shot in the leg, and he hobbled into the van while the third one tried to hunt down Petrosian. Casey carefully aimed and took him out with a shot to the head, while Petrosian nailed the other guy in the neck with two bullets, turning him into a human fountain.
There was the sound of whimpering and crying from the back of the restaurant, but other than that, silence reigned. Petrosian’s other guy had also been shot; he wasn’t dead, but was bleeding so heavily, it would only be a matter of seconds. Casey and Petrosian exchanged looks and checked themselves; neither had been hit.
“Did you get the driver?” Casey asked.
“I don’t think so. That motherfucker is probably still in the van?”
“Okay, I’ll get to the passenger side and open the door, you draw down on the nigga.”
Alek nodded, and the two men jumped up and ran to the van twenty feet away, stepping over people, tables, and chairs. They passed the side open door, but didn’t see anything inside.
Casey knelt and grabbed the passenger door handle and gave Alek a head nod that the Armenian returned as he lifted his pistol on the ready. Casey swung the door open, and with four rapid shots, Petrosian blasted the driver, who was huddled down in the well of the passenger seat. Alek reached in and pulled off the black ski mask to reveal a woman’s face.
Casey looked in and was surprised and said, “Do you know her?”
“No, do you?”
“Nah.”
They did the same drill on the other three, and neither of them recognized anyone on the hit team. In the distance, they heard the sound of cop cars with their sirens screaming. Petrosian’s car was littered with bullet holes, and one of the front tires had been blown out.
Casey holstered his piece and put the other gun in his waistband. “I’m gettin’ the fuck out of here, you comin’?” Not waiting for an answer, Casey ran across the street to his Escalade, with Petrosian following. He started the car and punched it, driving through the alley on the side of Davilla’s, then turning onto 187th Street. After three blocks, he glanced in his rearview: Nobody was in pursuit. Casey slowed down to blend with the light afternoon traffic and asked, “So, who the fuck’s trying to take you out?”
“Me? Why do you think I was the target?”
Casey turned and looked at him like he was crazy. “’Cause I’m fresh out the fuckin’
pen, and the only nigga I know that wants me dead is six feet unda.”
Petrosian shot him back the same look and said, “Says the man who’s trying to put all of the gangs in NYC under his thumb. I’m sure you’ve made your share of enemies, Casey, especially given your rep. Regardless, I got two dead men and my shit is all shot up in front of that fuckin’ joint.”
Petrosian was talking while he was checking his pockets looking for his cell phone. “Fuck! I left my phone at the goddamn restaurant. Shit!”
Casey clucked his tongue. “That’s gonna put you at the scene of the crime. At least with your car, you coulda said your guys had taken it to get washed or some shit.”
“Motherfucker, I’m totally fucked!”
Casey let that thought sink into the other man’s brain before he said, “Not really.”
Petrosian narrowed his eyes at him in disbelief. “How the hell you figure that?”
At the next red light, Casey reached into his pocket, pulled out Petrosian’s phone, and handed it to him. At first, Petrosian thought he might be grabbing his piece and started to react, but he relaxed when he saw what the other man was holding.
“Easy … some cats know how to think on their feet, thasall.”
Petrosian nodded, obviously impressed and relieved. Casey had just saved his ass a lot of unwanted heat, and the Armenian knew it. “Okay, so I owe you one.”
“You sure do. Did you see any security cameras at that spot? If there was, we’re both fuckin’ done, phone or no phone,” Casey said.
“There weren’t any. I don’t go places where there are cameras if I can help it.”
“Smart. So, where am I taking you?”
“St. James Park, my son’s at basketball practice, and I want to make sure he’s okay.”
Casey steered the SUV in that direction and punched it while Alek called one of his boys and instructed him to bring another one of his whips to the park, pronto. They arrived at the park in ten minutes and pulled up next to the basketball courts. There were a bunch of little kids on the court running drills as the coach blew his whistle. Petrosian got out of the car and jogged to the fence, surveying the area while keeping a hand close to his piece. Casey stayed in the SUV, figuring he’d let him draw fire if there was gonna be any. When he felt the coast was clear, Casey walked over as well. As the practice broke up, Alek called out to his kid in Armenian. Surprised, Alek’s boy ran around the fence to meet him, giving him a big hug.
