The gun dropped to the floor and made a sound like light weight plastic instead of heavy metal. Immediately Tommy lifted the punk into the air then furiously sent him crashing through a glass freezer in the blink of an eye. Sometime later after the police took away the wannabe stick up kid and statements were taken, a cop with sergeant stripes had to ask Tommy, “Hey kid, how’d you know?”
“How’d I know what?” Tommy asked confused.
“That the gun wasn’t real? It was a cap gun.”
Tommy shrugged and shook his head with no reply. Because he didn’t. Impressed and eternally grateful, the storeowner offered Tommy whatever wanted from the shelves as gratitude for his heroics. Tommy nodded thanks playing down what he did then grabbed a pint of orange sherbet for his wife and filled a couple shopping bags with ice cream bars to hand out to the neighborhood kids. That evening after his wife finished ranting about the insane risk he took she joked about him beating down small-time crooks on a full-time basis since he hated his construction job so much. She even created a name for it. Trouble Consulting.
Later that night he found himself dozing in front of the television when an animated voice said, ‘Hello, my name is Tom Vu and I quit my dead-end job as a bus boy and followed my dreams. Now I’m happy and successful and you can be too!’ Tommy’s eyes opened to a hyper Vietnamese man on a yacht dancing in a conga line with beautiful blonde women in bikinis rambling about his rags to riches idea that turned his life around. As the shyster on the infomercial continued hawking his ridiculously priced bogus seminars on how to sell distressed properties at a hefty profit so, ‘You too can be a millionaire like me!’ Tommy’s mind drifted to how he could turn his life around with his own legitimate idea. But he kept coming up blank. Then he glanced over at the melted bowl of sherbet and a lightbulb went off in his head.
His wife might have been joking about him becoming a Trouble Consultant but the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was a good idea. And why not? In America, a crime is committed every two minutes. But in Brooklyn, it was more like every two seconds. And as rough and tumble as his beloved borough was, his services were definitely needed. The time it took for the police to finally arrive, after the store robbery he prevented, was proof of that. True it would be dangerous but it wasn’t like he was a stranger to fighting. Besides when he thought about it he’d never lost a fight in his entire life. And he’d been in quite a few serious brawls in his heyday. From his first three o’clock high slug match against the so-called school yard bully, to the countless barfights and constantly having his cousin Bug-Out’s back when his mouth wrote a check his ass couldn’t cash. The couple of times he got out his aggression while making some extra cash in illegal underground matches, right on up to the clown he handled at the bodega earlier. He was undefeated thanks to the brutal skills he honed on the streets of Brooklyn and perfected at Gleason’s Boxing Gym. In fact, he was often told by trainers he was a natural and had what it took to go pro if he was interested. Which he wasn’t when he saw how many didn’t make it compared to the chosen few that did. There’s only one Mike Tyson and plenty of Mitch Greens. But the more he thought about it, what he was considering wasn’t any more dangerous than his current gig where he handled hazardous cancer-causing toxins as well as corrosive, flammable and explosive gasses. In fact, it was less dangerous.
But the truth of the matter was, Tommy was at his lowest point. He was tired. Tired of stretching his meager paycheck around his neck three times and still being broke. Tired of robbing Peter to pay Paul and dipping in their cookie savings jar that had nothing left but pennies and prayers. Tired of the groove his life had fallen into that ran so deep, it would take an eight-pointer on the Richter Scale to knock him off that track. And above all tired of the misery and paralyzing stress he felt when the alarm woke him up every morning to get up for a job he despised. A job he was supposed to be grateful for having because if nothing else it was safe and reliable. So, against his wife’s wishes he made a U-turn in life and replaced a period with a question mark. He quit his safe and reliable job. Trusted his gut and began a new and exciting career cruising Brooklyn’s shadowy districts as the Trouble Consultant.
In the beginning while following his intuition and figuring out this whole Trouble Consulting thing, jobs were few and far between which meant no money was coming in. It was then Tommy started worrying he might have played himself when he told his boss to take his job and shove it! But instead of turning down the doubt, he turned up the faith, in himself. He had a well thought out plan and followed it. Referring to himself as Mister Fix-it, he spent his days in the gym to prepare for his nights in the streets. When the sun set he was out on the blocks, in the projects, strip clubs and seedy joints to make connections, pass out business cards and build his reputation. After a couple of successful consulting gigs word began to spread like butter on toast throughout the hood about the brother, half man half amazing, who was ‘settling beef for a fee’. That’s when the calls started pouring in, followed by the cash!
Now that the Trouble Consultant was confident that he found his calling, he needed a better street name than what he was presently going by. He didn’t feel Mister Fix-it sounded rugged enough nor defined him. In fact, some people called mistaking him for a plumber. He wanted a name that made his enemies as uncomfortable as a circumcision. Then ironically got it from the unlikeliest of places. The low-life he was hired to step to that was preying on senior-citizens cashing their Social-Security checks. After molly-whopping the piece of garbage until he saw quadruple, the punk dubbed his two-fisted Karma with the name ‘Havoc’ as he recounted his story while being packed into an ambulance, “All I remember was this big guy with a shaved head and a voice like Arizona sand appeared dressed in red, then HAVOC followed!”
After receiving the rest of his payment plus the new name folks were already referring to him by, the Trouble Consultant strolled into a random bar to celebrate another victory and his new and appropriately given moniker. Mainly a Guinness Stout connoisseur, he jokingly referred to the bartender as Isaac from the Love Boat asking what he’d recommend for a momentous occasion. Taking the ribbing in stride, Isaac suggested a two-finger shot of his personal favorite top shelf scotch Johnnie Walker, leaving him to decide if he wanted black or red label. While pondering Havoc, dressed in all red from head to toe stared back at his reflection in the mirror and took notice of how superbly the color hid blood stains from his recent consulting gig.
“…Gimme a shot of both,” he finally answered unable to decide. After tossing back both shots and experiencing the sweet and spicy flavor and robust smoke with a warm finish from each, he vowed he’d always wear red when he was working, he’d only drink red label when he was and black label when he wasn’t.
A few hours later Havoc stumbled out of the bar and into ‘Irie’ the local Caribbean spot for a bite to eat. On the way out, he heard a whimper coming from behind a dumpster in the neighboring alley. He went over to investigate and behind the dumpster discovered a filthy, frightened, malnourished puppy living on the street. She was cold, shivering and had difficulty standing on its injured front paw. The sizeable puppy didn’t seem like the typical stray and instantly reminded him of the Italian Stallion’s companion Butkus from his favorite movie Rocky. When he held out his hand, the puppy backed away growling defensively. After promising he wouldn’t hurt it, he proved it by offering the rest of his ox tails and rice. Starving, the pup took a gamble and limped forward, sniffed and licked his hand affectionally, wagged its tail then feasted. Once he gained her trust he brought her home.
That night she hid under the table afraid of everything and Tommy could see how tough life for her had been. Finally, he said, “I’m just going to take her to bed.” He carried her upstairs and placed her in a crate beside him. And in the morning, it was like a different dog. She was connected to Tommy and a mystical bond between them was formed.
It wasn’t long before she was healthy and runn
ing around like she owned the house causing ‘Mayhem’, snapping at pants legs and gnawing on anything. Mayhem wasn’t like any dog either Tommy or Nicky had ever encountered. She had her own unique personality and attitude. She was also very smart, and with patience her master was able to train her to do simple commands like sit and get him a beer out of the refrigerator. Eventually she graduated to more serious ones like tackling an enemy and tossing a weapon. Never purposely far from her the man who saved her life, Mayhem began accompanying Havoc on trouble consulting gigs, proved her value and became his loyal companion.
Time had passed and Nicky still could not believe all this began as a result of a stupid joke she made. In fact, after Tommy became a Trouble Consultant whenever she made a joke depending on its severity, she made it a point to let him know that she was only playing and for him not to take her seriously! She hated him taking on one death-defying mission after another. She hated how many candle lit dinners went uneaten. She hated lying to everyone about what her husband did and she especially hated how jaded her husband was becoming from all the violence.
Tommy on the other hand saw things differently. He loved his new job and assumed he had everything under control. But he learned the hard way that assumption was the motherfucker of all mistakes!
It was their anniversary and Tommy and Nicky celebrated with dinner and a movie. Later that evening they decided to take a romantic stroll to the Promenade. As they held each other under the moon reflecting on the time between their first date and the present, a man who Havoc recently consulted happened upon them looking for payback. With revenge in his bitter eyes he cowardly snuck up and attacked Tommy from behind. Nicky was terrified and screamed as the two men tussled. But she was even more frightened and shocked by how violent her husband could be. Unable to watch anymore she begged Tommy to stop beating his attacker before he killed him. Furious, Tommy obeyed his beloved but not before ordering the half-conscious man to apologize to his wife for ruining their evening.
That night after Nicky finished cleaning and dressing Tommy’s wounds with trembling hands, she told him she always thought she could cope with what he did if she ever had to experience it firsthand, but she was wrong. She said she wanted kids in the future and worried what would happen if the father of her children went out one night and did not return. The only logical thing for him to do was quit being a Trouble Consultant, immediately! Tommy disagreed, arguing that there was no way he could go out and find a job that would pay him the kind of money he was making as a Trouble Consultant. And since his pride wouldn’t allow him to borrow money from their parents or a bank to pay the mortgage and college tuition, he saw no other alternative. Nicky argued that she didn’t care if they rented a room and lived off of boxed macaroni and cheese, as long as they were together. But he did.
Tommy felt like he was on Let’s Make A Deal. Behind curtain one was a backbreaking job with shitty pay and shittier benefits. Behind curtain two, long cash, thrills, chills and adventure! The way he saw it, money may not be everything, but it was way ahead of what was ever in second place. And he could not go back to his old life.
Nicky looked at him as if to say, ‘So what was it going to be? Curtain one, or Curtain two?’
So, after some serious fussing, fighting, crying and arguing, Tommy chose curtain two. Nicky was so angry with Tommy that it was a year before she could even say his name without cursing. Whenever Carla called to see what she could do about getting her and her son back together Nicky remained respectful but let her ex-mother in-law know that she did not want to talk about it. Eventually she began going out with her girlfriends after work and that’s when she met Corbin Ramsey at a Grant’s Tomb jazz concert.
There were plenty of men fronting like they were there to hear jazz but were actually there to pick up women. What made Corbin stand out was that he actually came to enjoy the music. Nicky surprised herself and made the first move and before she knew it, they were sipping wine and conversing like old friends in the back of a cozy little jazz club in the East Village.
Corbin Ramsey the Third was definitely not the type of man Nicky was used to dealing with. For starters he was nine years her senior. He very rarely wore anything but a tailor-made suit and when he did dress casually the furthest he would take it was a pair of penny loafers, khakis and an open collared shirt. Sometimes if he was feeling a little daring he would put pennies in his loafers but that was the extent. Nicky admitted to her girls that sometimes he could be a bit dull but she also felt that maybe an older mature gentleman, who appreciated Miles Davis more than Big Daddy Kane, was just what she needed. A few months passed and although she was not in love, she believed she was over Tommy.
“Come on Latrell. You’re smarter than this! You just aren’t applying yourself!” Nicky vented aloud to herself as she went down her student’s math test marking bold red X’s.
Corbin looked up from his newspaper at Latrell’s test and sighed shaking his head, “Thirty-two? My goodness! Is that his test score or the age the little car-jacker will be when he graduates? This is why I will never again use brain surgery as the bar against which intelligence is measured.”
“Corbin, I asked you before not to talk about my kids like that.” Nicky said defensively.
“You said yourself the boy sits in the back off your class goofing off and covers his hands with Elmer’s glue just to peel it off. Look, all I’m saying is if these little imps want to be nothing, that’s just what they are going to be.”
Nicky sighed. “You don’t understand Corbin-”
Corbin chuckled inwardly. “Honey I don’t mean to come off condescending but, ‘Don’t understand?’ I have an IQ in the triple digits. Graduated magna cum laude from Harvard University. I can even speak Latin fluently. So what don’t you think I understand?” he asked in the same pompous manor Tommy disliked him for.
Nicky rolled her eyes. “What you don’t understand is that we are in a state of emergency, with the AIDS and crack epidemic, we simply cannot afford to raise a generation on ignorance under Nixon’s benign and neglect policies. Unfortunately, our young culture frowns on people who think too much. They have this perverted sense of authenticity and fear of being seen as rejecting their roots in favor of trying to be what they believe is selling out or white.”
“So basically, who cares about where the universe came from or how the Greeks hammered Troy, when rappers like Iced Tea have a new album out in the stores?”
Nicky nodded not even bothering to give him the correct pronunciation of Ice-T’s name. “Yeah, basically. But don’t put the entire blame on my kids. There are a lot of things wrong with the way the educational system is set up. Like for Instance, our schools are overcrowded and dilapidated and we public school teachers do not get the support and the conditions we need to help children meet higher standards not to mention our salaries lag far behind teachers in the suburbs and private institutions. As for the children, the majority of them are misunderstood. They know their calling is greater than poverty. That the ghetto they live in is a third world country within America. They want a decent future and they understand that the only way they’ll get it is if they study hard. But unfortunately, the textbooks they’re issued are outdated and it’s kinda hard to concentrate on fractions when drug dealing, threats of violence and gang fights are a part of everyday life.”
Corbin held up his hand and rubbed his thumb and pointing finger together with an unsympathetic look. “Shh, I’m playing the world’s smallest violin.” Corbin said in a compassionless voice.
That’s not even funny.” Nicky griped.
“I apologize if I sound disparaging but I have a real hard time buying the homeboy from the streets with a chip on their shoulder and a quip in their heart act. Look Nicolette, you know as well as I do if not better, that you could give those heathens an entire university’s worth of up to date mint condition text books and within a week the pages would be defaced with misspelled graffiti. Face it the only D,
C, B or A coming their way is if they’re standing on a subway platform.” Corbin said making himself laugh.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” Nicky said.
“Why because I’m as your ex-Tommy would say, ‘Keeping it real?’”
“You know something Corbin, when it comes to the corporate world I’ll give it to you, you are on the top of your game. But when it comes to life, you’re so lost that you’re wandering around in the daytime with a flashlight. It’s obvious their plan is to keep brothers on lock down because if you’ve been to jail then you cannot vote. And that means fewer minority votes. And fewer minority votes means no Blacks and no Latinos are voted into office. So ultimately what happens is that only whites will be elected because you know they aren’t voting for a Black or Spanish person so he or she can be given all that power and responsibility.” Nicky said breaking it down for him.
Corbin chuckled and shook his head like something was funny. “Christ Nicolette not you too!”
“Not me too, what?”
“You sound like one of those angry militants who see everything through race tinted glasses. They stand around downtown with their paranoia and silly conspiracies trying to think of an alternative way to spread their revolutionary ideology to the masses and keep McCarthyism alive. They’re so incredibly laughable because they fail to realize that they’re only a threat to themselves. When it comes down to it, no matter how passionate they are about their beliefs they lack intelligence, direction and focus and are basically just saying a whole lot of nothing.”
“Whoa, back up! I know you did not just call me a joke in my own damn house!” Nicky asked pointing a long finger his way.
Havoc and Mayhem Page 17
