by Carey Lewis
CHAPTER TWO
“Why don’t you just get rid of them?” The Boss asked.
“They’re stupid but they’re loyal. Ain’t never been one to agree putting a horse to pasture. Horse can’t race no more, no reason he got to die, you feel me?”
“No. I never know what the hell you’re saying.”
“Horse can’t race, alright, that’s one purpose of the horse. It ain’t his life, running around with a tiny man strapped to his back, I mean, that’s not all he has to offer. There’s other things a horse can do. They can come in handy with something you didn’t even know you had a use for.”
“Like glue?”
Cyrus laughed. “You pull a horse because it’s not as fast as the other horses, starts losing races. Doesn’t mean the horse ain’t fast, he’s just not as fast. Ain’t no reason to get killed over, just because he lost a step. He’s still just as fast as other horses, maybe more so. Just no longer the fastest.”
“You think this explains anything to me?”
“Best I can describe it.”
“That’s why we don’t talk.”
The Boss was referring to the Boppers, the gang Cyrus ran, outfitted with big hair and red plaid. About as useful as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, that’s what The Boss thought of them. But they came through for Cyrus, accidentally providing him in a roundabout way of getting twenty-five grand together so Cyrus could take this venture with The Boss. The venture of running the biggest drug trafficking ring the region had ever seen.
“I want to talk things over, why I asked you here,” Cyrus said. They were sitting in Cyrus’s grandmothers basement, where he preferred to do business.
“You in a poker game, blackjack, all the luck running your way, you walk?”
“Just get to it,” The Boss said.
“You keep getting twenty-one, the cards going your way, you don’t walk, that’d be crazy. You keep playing those cards, keep getting your score, but you bet carefully in case your luck starts to turn. On a hot streak, you keep betting.”
“Maybe I should come back in fifteen minutes when you’re rounding out to a point.”
They didn’t talk much, one of The Boss’s rules. All communication was done through third parties, and that was only when they had to communicate, which was rarely. Once they had the operation figured out, the gears running smoothly, there was no need to talk after that. Everyone knew what they had to do and when. They could just sit back and enjoy the fruits of their labor.
“My point being that I think it’s time we expand.”
The Boss started to get up from his chair. He heard it before, this argument to expand, and it frustrated him.
“Hear me out,” Cyrus said and The Boss sat back down, crossing his arms on his massive chest. He was the definition of short and powerful. The shaved head and scar across his face only added to the mean persona he gave out.
“Our thing here, this operation, it’s a huge success,” Cyrus said.
“Because of me.”
“And no one’s taking that away from you,” Cyrus said. It’s not that The Boss was wrong, it was successful because of him, but also because of Cyrus. The Boss handled the bribes and checkpoints to get the drug shipments up and through the canal to be loaded off. It was Cyrus that had the supplier down south. Payments were handled through shell accounts, bouncing around the world to become untraceable until it finally landed in their laps.
What protected one from the other was they kept their resources a secret. Cyrus never revealed who his source for the dope was, and The Boss never revealed who the people were he bribed to allow the drugs to pass through the checkpoints. It kept both of them honest.
“What I’m saying is we have the network and the infrastructure to keep building. My man’s got more weight for us to move, all we got to do is order it. Everything you taught me, you know I’m going to be careful.”
“What’s wrong with what we have? You just said things were good.”
“What’s wrong with things being better? With things being better than good?”
“In my experience, you start reaching for more than you can grab, that’s when you fall. Or die,” The Boss let that word hang in the air.
Cyrus stared at him, this stocky bald man with the affinity for golf shirts and khaki shorts, tried not to lose his cool, show his aggravation. The Boss had been on top before, running the criminal enterprise in the area. Then he fell. He was only back on top now thanks to Cyrus. Cyrus was the one that picked him up, dusted him off, then put him back on the mantel. And now this piece on his mantel was telling him he couldn’t do something.
“It’s the dream to better yourself,” Cyrus said.
“It’s the dream to know when you got it good enough,” The Boss said.
Cyrus watched him as he walked up the stairs and out of his grandmother’s basement, knowing if he was going to see his full potential, it would be without The Boss.
This woman was clutching on her purse for dear life, the son of a bitch. She was literally on the ground, screaming, being dragged, getting attention from everyone at 7-11. No matter how many times Cochise told her to let go, she didn’t listen. Cleon just laughed, his hands on his knees, until he had no more breath in his lungs.
It wasn’t until Snow ran up and kicked her in the face that she let go. The sole of his boot hit flush against her face and Cochise heard a crack, probably her neck. He already yelled at Ajax not to use his lead pipe on her when he had that thing poised above his head, ready to bring it down, so why did Snow think a boot to the face was a better idea?
At that point she let go of the purse and started crying, blood coming out of her nose, and they ran off down the street, running into a pool hall and then out the back, going through the contents beside a dumpster. Cleon hadn’t stopped laughing.
“She had old man strength,” Cochise said.
“It was an old lady,” Cleon said, still laughing.
“They can get it too. It’s an age thing more than a sex thing.”
Now Cleon was rolling on the ground, holding his belly and laughing.
“You didn’t have to kick her in the face,” Cochise said to Snow.
“She wasn’t letting go.”
“She would have. She couldn’t hold it forever.”
“An old lady,” Cleon laughed again. “A bag from an old lady.”
Snow was the newest member of the Boppers which was why he was wearing blue plaid instead of the red plaid shirt the other three were wearing. The other requirement of being a Bopper was having big hair, something Snow had to work on for half an hour every morning with a lot of hair spray.
“Candy from a baby,” Cleon laughed. “That’s what you do next. Candy from a baby.”
“What’s the score?” Ajax asked, watching Cochise rummage through the purse.
“Sixty-seven bucks? Some glue…”
“That’s not glue, that’s the shit they put on their teeth, make sure they stay there. My grandma uses it,” Snow said, so Cochise handed him the tube and he put it in his back pocket.
“Some keys,” Cochise kept going through the purse, “mints, candy bar, receipts, another wallet,” Cochise opened it and a bunch of pictures fell out.
“Let me see the keys,” Ajax said. Looking at the keyring, “it’s a Volvo.”
“How do you know?”
“The picture on the key. That’s Volvo right?”
Cleon snatched the keys out of Ajax’s hand, a big smile on his face.
“Think Cyrus’ll like a Volvo?” Cochise asked.
“Cyrus don’t care,” and Cleon’s happy attitude disappeared. Ajax found Cleon temperamental lately, he was sure the others saw it too. It was because Cyrus seemed to not have a need for them anymore. Not since he started working with The Boss. He treated them like an after-thought no matter how much they tried to please him.
“You don’t want to bring it back to Cyrus?” Cochise asked.
“What’s Cyrus do
ne with the other things we brought him?”
When Cleon’s attitude changed was when he wanted to bring Snow in, telling Cyrus he had a perfect new recruit for the Boppers. Cyrus dismissed him, saying they weren’t bringing anyone else in for the time being. That rubbed Cleon the wrong way, practically taking away the very existence of the Boppers. Cleon brought Snow in anyway, an act of rebellion.
“I know a guy pay us money for that,” Snow said.
“Yeah?” Cleon’s eyes lit up.
“Chops them up for parts. We can take it there, get some cash.”
“Nothing else in here,” Cochise tossed the purse in the dumpster.
“You know what else we do? We take the car back to the old lady, tell her to pay us for a ride home,” Ajax said.
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” the voice came from the pool hall. They turned around to see Dax and Lex walking toward them. The Boppers cowered like a dog getting caught eating food from the table.
“You think she hasn’t called the cops yet? You think she’s going to pay to take a ride in her own car?” Lex asked.
“Just an idea,” Ajax said.
“You’d think Dax’s little brother would have more sense to him,” he rubbed his fingers through Ajax’s bushy hair. Ajax pulled his head away.
“Let’s go get that car before the cops pull up on this shit.”
“It’s our car,” Cleon said, putting the keys behind his back.
“Man, we don’t want your old lady Volvo. You take us to Cyrus then do what you want with the ride.”
Bulldog looked back on his old life and wondered if he was the same person. He used to break into people’s houses while they were at work and drink all the booze he could find, leaving right before they would come back home. At one point, he had as many as three houses he would stay in at any given time. The Boss had taken him in, yet again, asked him what happened to him, reminded Bulldog of what he used to be.
When Bulldog sobered up long enough to see his reflection in the mirror, he didn’t like what he saw. He looked homeless and remembered himself being good looking once. He sweat it out, the booze, determined to go right this time. The Boss took him in as long as he stayed that way.
Throughout his tenure of working for The Boss, he had always stayed loyal. Sure, he quit from time to time and The Boss fired him from time to time, but they never betrayed each other - The Boss said that was the reason he took him back - for this last time.
And Bulldog was grateful for it. Things were back the way they were when it first started. His beard was trimmed, his hair short. And he was focused, his mind clean - that was the important part.
The Boss needed a bodyguard, a loyal one, and the position was Bulldog’s again if he cleaned himself up. Loyalty was key with The Boss. As a reward, The Boss started paying for Mixed Martial Arts lessons.
“I just don’t see myself rolling on the ground with some dude while he’s trying to grab my dick,” Bulldog told The Boss when he brought up the idea.
“Let’s just go down there, see what it’s about.”
So they went down there, the studio or whatever you call it, some tiny Brazilian greeting them, big shit-eating grin on his face. He was too friendly Bulldog remembered thinking at the time. He never did like overly friendly people.
“Give me everything you got,” the tiny Brazilian told him. No way this guy was serious, Bulldog being triple the guy’s size. He decided to go half ass and the Brazilian started slapping him, calling him a pussy.
Bulldog lost his cool and started throwing these lazy hay-makers, getting put on his ass with the guys balls in his face. That’s exactly why Bulldog didn’t like Mixed Martial Arts. They got up to try again and Bulldog found himself on his back unable to breathe. He didn’t even know where the guy was, just knew he must’ve been choking him.
To add insult to injury, the guy told Bulldog he’d start on his back, let Bulldog go on top to do what he could. Thinking he was getting payback, Bulldog happily obliged, but again, before he knew it, Bulldog got his arm trapped, the guys balls were in his face again, and for a third time he couldn’t breathe. Only difference was, this time he thought his arm was going to snap too.
“That’s why I don’t like this monkey shit, it’s all about putting your balls on the other guy’s face.”
That made the Brazilian laugh, told Bulldog he’d show him how he did it.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed Bulldog, he’s just better at something than you are.” And that’s how The Boss taught Bulldog humility.
“I can show you how I did it, choke you out I mean. Or if you like, I can do it without putting my balls in your face.”
“Let’s start with that,” Bulldog said. From that point on, Bulldog was free to train in Mixed Martial Arts as much as he wanted, The Boss picking up the tab.
Now he was working on The Boss’s yard. He’d tell himself stories like that, how nice The Boss was to him, how he was saved, when he was doing things he didn’t enjoy. But how could he repay The Boss for all he did? He couldn’t, so he’d find himself cleaning The Boss’s house, doing his errands, or even working on the man’s lawn when he could, just to show his appreciation.
And much more than that, he knew he still had a lot to learn from The Boss. Take for example this Cyrus situation The Boss was working on, telling Bulldog he knew Cyrus was going to make his move soon. The Boss had been talking about it, knowing it wasn’t a matter of why, but when, and it seemed the time was now.
“He do that expansion talk again?” Bulldog asked as he placed The Boss’s tea in front of him. He stopped the yard work as soon as The Boss returned and now they were sitting on The Boss’s deck, The Boss thumbing through the newspaper. That’s another thing The Boss taught him - reporters print the stories, it’s up to you to see the writing between the lines.
“What’s different this time?”
“Different this time because there wasn’t supposed to be a ‘this time.’ He’s getting antsy.”
“So what do we do? Want us to take him out?”
“He’s still got the source. We got to figure out the ‘how’ of what he’s planning before we can figure out our ‘how.’ And before we figure that out, we need to know his ‘who.’”
“But you know it’s going to be soon, his play.”
“I saw it. He might’ve saw me see it. It’ll be soon.”
“So we wait? See what he’s got planned?”
“You and Mick, you go on the streets and see if there’s any change. I’ll call the Cowboy.”
It hurt Bulldog a little bit, The Boss thinking he needed more protection than Bulldog could offer. Through all this, Bulldog liked to think he and The Boss had a father/son relationship. To him, it felt like he was being told he wasn’t good enough.
“You sure we need that much muscle?” Bulldog asked.
“Cyrus will make this ugly, son. He’s not going to shoot unless he’s got his ducks in a row.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dax didn’t know what Lex had planned with the Boppers, but he knew he didn’t want his brother involved in it. He still wasn’t sure about the killing of Zax, if it was real or not. He was sure it was, it had to be, even if it did feel more like a dream to him.
“Get a go-bag ready, like what I got,” Lex told him as they were walking back to his house, crawled through the window. Lex picked up the X-Box controller, started playing Call of Duty again like nothing happened. It wasn’t long before he started screaming at kids over the headset.
Dax lit a joint, saw that he was still shaking. “What do you mean, a go-bag?”
“A bag to pick up and go dumb shit,” laughing at Dax. “Put the shit you need in there, like when you run, you know. I showed you mine.”
“What do I need a go-bag for Lex?”
“Explains itself don’t it?”
“Why don’t you explain it to me.”
He took off the headset and threw the controller down, spun on the
bed to face Dax. “The police are going to come around asking questions. We got our stories, you being here, Zax wanting to fuck Kenzie all weekend making sure we don’t come around. They ask more than that, we might need to go.”
“Now?”
“Are you serious? Are you serious Dax?”
He didn’t know what to say so he stood there, shaking.
“They’re going to ask their questions how they do, we don’t say nothing and we don’t give them nothing, that’s the important part. We start pointing them in directions, saying it was Satan’s Sons, or the Western Hill Boys, it’s just going to make them look at us.”
“We don’t say nothing.”
“Let them figure the shit out on their own, what they’re paid for. We don’t say nothing because we’re innocent. They’ll look at us, we don’t know shit, they start looking at the other gangs find more than enough of them would want to do harm to Zax. It’s when we offer to help they start looking at us. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“That’s right.”
“Why do we need a go-bag then if they’re not looking at us?”
“You never know. Sometimes they’re clever. Saw this movie, guy said you have to be ready to leave everything behind in five minutes you feel the fuzz coming. That’s what the go-bag’s for.”
Dax nodded, trying to get everything straight in his brain, smoking the joint. It was finally having an effect, mellowing him out. Or maybe it was just how eerily calm Zax was being about all this.
“Don’t worry, you stay here tonight, tomorrow we go get your go-bag squared away before we do our other things.”
“What other things?”
“Don’t you worry about that. Got it all taken care of.” And then Lex went back to playing the video game and they didn’t talk for the rest of the night.
