“All right now, player,” I said with approval.
Henny escaped to the back room shouting, “And I haven’t even shown you the accessories yet. You gonna trip.”
Just when I started to wonder where Priest was the apartment’s hallway was given a spotlight by the opening of the bathroom door. Stepping out into the light was Priest; draped in a powder white three-piece suit. His tie was gold, matching the buttons on his vest and jacket. From his wrist hung a gold Rolex. He was standing in a pair of snow-white big block gators. He had a nickel size diamond wrapped around his finger and a dime size diamond in his left earlobe. His cornrows were in perfect formation, and his once-rounded goatee cut with sharp angles. He looked like a the-twenty-first-century angel of death. His face covered with quiet confidence handed down to him through wisdom fathered from lessons born out of failure.
“My man Moses. I like that.” Priest said, referring to my outfit. “You look like a bad-ass Count Dracula.”
Just then Henny ran out the back with a gold necklace dangling from his neck, silver and gold pinkie ring and a wine colored walking cane.
“Let’s ride fellas,” Henny said like he was driving.
I grabbed Slim’s gift, and we stepped into the sweltering summer night and slid into the classic Caddie.
Priest popped in an old-school cassette that was kicked off by
“Float On” by the Floaters.
Henny lit and puffed a Black & Mild that sent a sweet smelling hovering aroma through the air-conditioned interior.
“Hey Moses,” Henny said. “Do you think we're going to see a lot of people who knew my father?”
He sounded seven years younger. He was like a kid asking would there be a lion at the circus. He knew that they would be there, but still, he sought the comfort of adult confirmation.
“Most definitely, Lil’ bruh,” I said.
Watching through the side mirror, I could see him trying to contain his smile.
Then Priest, slowly stroking his goatee, looked at me and said, “I wonder if Willie Spade is going to be there.”
Now that was a name I hadn’t heard in years. Willie Spade was one of the few guys that both Slim and Bird spoke of with reverence. He was about ten, maybe fifteen years older than they were, seldom seen but often talked about, he was like the big brother to Bird and Slim. If he showed up, it would be wild to get a chance to sit down and break bread and pick the brain of the master who taught our teachers.
We had been riding for twenty minutes and still weren’t there.
Slim being into real estate moved all the time, and only Henny had been to Slim’s current crib before.
“I think this is the street,” Henny said.
After another twenty minutes,” Priest yelled.
“Well, where is it?”
Henny was looking like he was on the witness stand.
“I never said this is the street. I said I think this the street.”
I looked back, a little annoyed myself. “Well, which one is it?”
Henny looked at me like I was Helen Keller.” I said this the street.
Matter a fact the house is right there!”
Henny was pointing across the street to the most prominent house on the block. There were loads of cars parked in the circular driveway. The brick home was lit up and packed. You could see the people through a twenty-foot glass window.
Priest slammed on the breaks.
“Man, he’s living like this?” Priest looked dumbfounded.
“Now you see why he’s ready to retire,” I said.
Priest kept shaking his head.
We found a place to park on the block. Which put us a pleasant walk from the house.
When we finally got to the driveway, our eyes tantalized by all the customized rides parked out front. We got to the giant front door and did some last minute straightening our cuffs and collars. I rang the bell. As the door open you could hear the sound of the Stylistics, filtering throughout high fidelity speakers. Smiling answering the door was Slim’s oldest daughter, Simone. She was twenty-seven, her sister was Stacy she was twenty-three. The last time we saw each other we were teenagers. For the first time, we saw each other as adults.
“You are looking good, Simone,” Priest said.
He wasn’t lying either, Simone had gone from brainiac to bombshell since the last time we saw her.
“Thanks, you all do too,” Simone said.
Although we hadn’t seen each other for a long time, we were still ecstatic to see each other win.
“I can’t believe Henry is so big since I saw him last. I use to babysit him,” Simone said.
“So where’s you momma at girl?” Priest asked.
“She’s back by the dining room.”
We zigzagged through the older crowd of partygoers’ with paper plates and napkins. We found our way to the dining-room where Slim’s wife Sylvia was sitting at the table holding a hand of cards.
“You reneged! Coco threw out hearts, and you played a spade.
Check your cards if you want to, that’s my book.”
You would have thought you walked in on a U.N meeting the way she politicked over cards. Coco turned to us. “Hey Moses, Priest.”
That’s when Sylvia turned around and at the sight of us went from dictator to homemaker.
“My baby boys! Come over here! Give me some love.”
We all gave her a big hug. She made mine extra tight then pulled me back and looked into my eyes.
“I’m sorry about your mother, Moses. You know if you ever need anything.”
I kissed her on the cheek and told her to thank you. She then reached around me and grabbed Henny.
“Coco, you remember Henry?”
Coco tapped her cards on her cheek to think. “I don’t think so,”
“This is Bird’s son. This boy used to be this high.”
You could tell Henny was getting fed up fast with the knee-high to
a grasshopper conversation.
“Where’s Uncle Slim?” Henny said, trying to break Sylvia's waist lock she had on him.
“He’s downstairs in the basement. Trading war stories.”
She didn’t have to say anything more. That’s where we were headed.
“You got to fix your plates. I ’m not serving anybody in here today.”
By the time she said that we were on our way to finding the basement.
We followed the scent of cigar smoke to the basement door. Going down the stairs, you could hear the loud talking and laughter of what sounded to be several men.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we saw that all the lights were out except for the one above the table, where six men were sitting with their back to us.
The factory—thick cigar smoke was slowly rising toward the light.
Standing in the front of the six men keeping them captivated was an auburn colored brother around forty years old, with long wavy hair tied into a ponytail. He had a pencil—thin mustache and sleepy eyes.
He was wearing a fire—engine red double-breasted suit. It was as if we had stepped into the devil’s lair. I figured out who this guy was when I heard the tail end of his speech.
“I told that motherfucker! I’ve thrown away more cat than you’ve macked.”
The men busted into laughter.
This man was Vegas; He was around my age when he first started hanging out at the bar. He was always on some hustle, selling hot suits or stolen watches out of the trunk of his Buick. Credit card fraud, check scams, you name it, but his masterpiece was when he counterfeited foreign money and had it laundered by this broad he was screwing, who worked at the bank.
He left town about ten years ago and would visit from time to time to tell us these wild stories about his scams. He was the first to see us walk up.
He picked up his shot glass, shot it back, made a sour face and stomped two times.
“Look a’ here, look a’ here. If these ain’t the cleanest three wise men since
baby Jesus, my momma ain’t cook!”
All the men turned around. Two of them were Slim and Walt. Out of the four left, I recognized two. One was Black Jack, and the other was Earl Hayes. Black Jack was about six feet six and two hundred seventy pounds, and if that wasn’t enough, he always had this look on his face like he wanted to spit on you.
After selling smack for fifteen years, he parlayed his money into five profitable dry cleaners throughout town. He had been legit for about seven years now; he had lost the lousy attitude and developed a comical side that needed a lot of work. So much so that half the time you wished he was still mad at the world.
Earl was in his late forties a slender man about six foot three. He had a super thick beard and a big smile that shone snow-white teeth. He always was legit. He used to throw cabarets for cash and strip shows. He would round up enough money to book top acts to perform at his parties.
The cabarets became so notorious and lucrative he eventually opened two nightclubs. He claimed to be a ladies man but had been divorced enough times to be able to fill up both his hands with wed- ding bands.
All of the dudes were smiling as Slim stood up with open arms to greet us. He looked sharp in his royal blue suit a white silk shirt, classic smile and toothpick. He had a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other.
“My pride and joy, what’s up fellas?”
Henny and I gave Slim a warm greeting while Priest just nodded.
We shook the hands of Earl Hayes and Black Jack as Slim proceeded to introduce us to the other two dudes.
“This here is Priest, Bird’s nephew, this is Henny, Bird’s son and this guy is Moses, my nephew.”
I wasn’t his nephew, but that was how he always introduced me.
The two men smiled.
“Fellas,” Slim continued the introductions. “This here is Fleet-wood,” he said, turning to the short round dark-skinned dude with a full beard.
We all shook his hand.
“And at last but not certainly least,” Slim continued, “Mr. Willie
Spade.”
Our eyes lit up. It was like taking kids to see Santa Clause. Willie
Spade looked to be in his late sixties. A small, skinny man with tiny rectangle glasses hanging off his nose.
He was the only one besides Slim to stand to greet us. He gave us each a very sincere, “Nice to meet you.”
When he got to Henny, he stopped and looked at Slim.
“He’s the spitting image of Bird.”
“Willie you ain’t lied.” Fleetwood agreed.
“I tell you what,” Earl Hayes said. “These boys are sharp as razor blades.”
“Grab a seat, young-bloods” Black Jack said. We’re sitting here reminiscing.”
Earl started in; “I remember when it was me, Bird and Black-Jack. I had just bought a brand new nineteen seventy-one Buick Electra Two Twenty Five.
“I love those cars,” Fleetwood interjected.
Earl continued, “I had just placed a bet with Bird when Black-
Jack’s big ass comes up to my ride with some Olive Oyle skinny type broad. So Black Jack looks down at me like the Grim Reaper and says, ‘we need a ride!’” Earl was deepening his voice imitating Black
Jack, who had a silly look on his face. Earl continued, “I had a cabaret that night, and I was wearing the most exquisite vine I had bought that year. So I wasn’t about to tussle with his big ass. So we tell Bird ‘later,’ and we get on. We were riding for about five minutes when this broad, start telling me to roll down my window she was getting sick. Now I didn’t take to kindly to her dictating to me in my new ride. I mean I left two wives for that shit. So I’m thinking, I’ll play it cool cause maybe Jacks mean ass is sweet on her. But what he neglected to tell me this was some junkie broad who had just fixed.
We ride for two more blocks, and this girl starts upchucking all over my interior.”
We all busted out into laughter. Holding our heads and stomachs trying not to fall out of our seats.
Earl continued. “All over my floor mats. My brand new suit, I mean she wasn’t just vomiting she was erupting. It was like her head exploded. I hadn’t seen that much runny macaroni since my second wife catered my cabaret!”
“It wasn’t macaroni; it was chicken.” Black Jack said, trying to make a comical collaboration.
“It was macaroni!” Earl said defiantly, “I was finding pieces of noodle four months later.”
Everybody was laughing, Slim was clapping, and Willie Spade had taken his glasses off, and Fleetwood was almost in tears. This story went on for another hour, each one telling a different story, many of which involved Bird, which had Henny grinning from ear to ear.
After one such story, Willie Spade got everybody’s attention. “Gentlemen fill your glasses were about to make a toast,”
Vegas went to the freezer, pulled out a bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass.
Willie Spade continued. “Your Uncle and your father,” Willie
Spade pointed in our direction.
“Was one of the most together dudes I ever had the pleasure of hustle with?”
When he said it, we straightened up in our seats and listened like we would be tested on it later.
He continued, “Bird was the epitome of everything that was right with the rackets, an absolute original. Never to be forgotten.”
When everyone was sure Willie was done we let out a course of here there's, touched glasses and drank in silence for a few moments.
Henny looked overwhelmed by the praise his father received. I was happy for him. He was again finding comfort from adults about things he hoped were right but wasn’t sure.
“So tell me, Mr. Spade.” Priest piped in.
“Call me Willie, I ain’t that old am I?”
“Forgive me, Willie. Do you ever remember my Uncle selling out?
I just shook my head; I knew he was trying to throw stones at
Slim. Even Henny looked disappointed at Priest. Willie Spade thoughtfully analyzed the loaded question before responding. “Not that I could remember, Youngblood,”
Slim looked troubled, and Willie Spade recognized it.
“What’s wrong, Slim? “Slim looked like a man on the brink of suicide.
“I’m fine; I’m just gonna go check on the rest of the guests.”
Slim got up and went upstairs; all six men were looking at each other trying to figure out what was wrong. Then Black Jack got up.
“I’m gonna go talk to him.”
When he left Willie Spade turned to us.
“Do you all know what’s eating at Slim?”
Priest, to my surprise, didn’t hesitate.
“He’s just feeling guilty for selling out, that’s all.”
All the men turned and looked at Priest like he had just grown horns, Willie Spade, took his glasses off.
“What are you talking about, selling out?”
“I don’t know if you all knew, but I wanted to buy the bar.”
Priest was talking like he was complaining to the board of directors.
“And instead of selling it to me, he sold it to some outsiders.”
Priest folded his arms. He must have thought he had their support. The first one to speak was Fleetwood.
“And how much did you bid?”
“He didn’t even give me a chance to bid, can you believe that.”
Then Henny jumped in.
“That’s because he already gave his word to the other dude.”
Priest gave Henny an evil look.
“If he gave his word then. That’s it,” Fleetwood said.
Willie Spade followed, “Longevity exist in this clique because we’ve made decisions based on merit. The game has nothing to do with waking up one morning and feeling lucky and deciding you want the world on a platter. No, it’s about being persistent against failure, positioning yourself for success.
Records, not rules are made to be broken, but you young cats don’t seem to understand
that; there are no senses of honor amongst you, if a cat is not taking food from your plate then respect his decision you dig.”
Priest lightweight seemed to be listening. He looked to be having a tug-a-war with opinions he respected and his grudge, then Earl started in on him.
“Now, if I remember correctly, Bird didn’t want you to take over the wheel. No way, said you were to green.”
“That’s right!” Vegas added.
Earl continued. “He wanted to leave it to Slim. But Slim convinced him you were ready. You ought’ to learn your history, young- blood.”
Vegas jumped back in. “Do you know how many seasoned hustlers were salivating to take over Bird’s book. But didn’t out of respect for Slim?”
Priest was not getting the response he expected and was looking like he regretted opening his mouth at all.
Fleetwood spoke again. “What’s killing me is Slim has done more favors than a politician up for re-election, and he gets repaid by being called a sellout. Boy, you must be crazy!”
“Your Uncle is probably turning in his grave watching you,” Earl said.
“I know that’s right!” Vegas cosigned.
Willie Spade finally puts an end to Priest-bashing when he said.
“They should be about ready to cut the cake now. We better get up there before it’s all gone.”
Everybody rose from their seat, taking the last puff from their cigars and finishing off their drinks. Everyone except Priest and me. When I didn’t see him getting up; I didn’t either; I knew there was nothing he could say. Bird might have been his Uncle, but these dudes had known Bird for thirty years plus, even before his street philosophies formed. They knew him when he was green as a golf course lusting to learn the game. Priest knew this and still thought they would agree with him and was close to devastated when they didn’t.
Priest never handled being wrong to well; I sat with him while everyone went upstairs to let him know that right or wrong, weak or strong we were still on the same team.
We finished off the champagne in silence. Wearing a stone expression Priest said,
Moses Scriptures Page 10
