Alyse:
What???
Ty:
. . . different from any girl I know.
Alyse:
Is that a good thing??
Ty:
For you or for me?
Alyse:
Both.
Ty:
Yeah, it is.
Alyse:
Thank you, Ty.
Ty:
No, thank YOU.
Alyse:
Good night.
Ty:
Sweet dreams.
I sat there for a while, staring at my phone.
Something was starting between me and Alyse. Something real.
THE DATE
I knocked on her door at 8 p.m. sharp, rocking phat gear with everything—jersey, pants, socks, watch, and do-rag—matching perfect. I topped it off with an expensive diamond and sapphire earring I bought last week.
No way she wouldn’t think I was fly.
The door swung open.
The air whooshed out of my lungs. Lord, I never seen anything so fine in my life.
This wasn’t the jeans-and-T-shirt Alyse I was used to. She just cranked herself up from pretty to gorgeous. She wore a tight pink tank top under a black jacket, and a matching miniskirt showing off two of the finest legs I ever seen. On her feet she wore black heels. Her jewelry was dangly and gold. Her lips were shiny and pink. I was gonna kiss those sweet lips if it was the last thing I did.
“Alyse, you sooo fine.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Come in.”
I followed her in, almost dropping to my knees and begging for mercy when I saw how good she was looking round back in that skirt.
We went into the kitchen, where she poured me some orange soda.
“I know I promised to make you dinner, but I thought we could go out instead. Gavin’s sleeping over at a friend’s.”
“Two-year-olds is going to sleepovers now?”
“His mom’s my neighbor and a good friend. Maria’s always offering to take him for a night, you know, so I can have a life.”
“Nice lady.”
“Yeah. So”—she looked down at the books and papers on the kitchen table—“we’ll do this another time?”
“Sure.”
She grabbed her coat and handbag, and we left the apartment. In the elevator, she said, “I’ve got a two-for-one coupon for an Italian place on Court Street.”
“Save the coupon for another time. I got somewhere in mind. You got your MetroCard with you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“ ’Cause I’m taking you into the city.”
Her mouth opened like she was gonna ask where, but then she closed it. I think she liked surprises. I was hyped to see the look on her face when she saw where I was taking her.
We hopped the 2 train into Manhattan, riding it for half an hour to Columbus Circle. After walking three blocks, we were at Chez Gigi.
She stayed back. “This place looks expensive. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”
“I been here before. The food is the best. It’s on me, Alyse.”
“But—”
“Come on. I promise you ain’t gonna regret it.”
“Well . . . okay.”
I opened the door for her.
She looked around at the classy place. “You sure about this?”
“Don’t I look sure?” I turned to the slick-haired maître d’. “For two, please.”
“Follow me, monsieur, madame.”
I had to tug Alyse’s hand to make her follow the maître d’ to the table. When we sat down, the maître d’ handed us a wine list and two menus. “Your waiter will be with you momentarily.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“This is the most beautiful restaurant I’ve ever seen, Ty!”
“Trust me, once you taste the food, you’ll know why this restaurant is so famous.”
“It’s famous? Wait till I tell Maria. She won’t believe it!” Opening the menu, I saw her excitement die. “This is way too much. I can’t let you do this. We can still leave, since we haven’t ordered anything.”
I took her hand. “I told you before that I work part-time at the gym. I wanna make the most of my money. Don’t you think everybody should live the good life sometimes?”
“I guess so, if you’re sure. . . . ” She squeezed my hand.
“What do you say we order some wine?” I put the wine list in front of her. “Your choice, shorty.”
She leaned forward and whispered, “You think they’ll let us order wine?”
“Hell, yeah. Places like this don’t ask for I.D., and they don’t give you the check until you ask for it.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with places like this.”
“Nah. Now choose us a wine, will ya?”
She looked down at the wine list. “I don’t know much about wine, but I think I like red best. I had some at my grandparents’ last Christmas, and it was great. It might’ve been . . . merlot?”
“Merlot, you got it. Which merlot?”
“Hmmm . . . There are a million here. French, Australian, Californian . . . I want something exotic. How about South African?”
“I hear that. For Mother Africa.”
The waiter came, and I ordered the wine. When the waiter said, “Excellent choice,” I winked at Alyse.
We took our time, studying the menu like we were cramming for an exam.
“What’s foie gras, Ty?”
“It’s good stuff. We’ll get some.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Duck fat.”
“You serious?”
“Don’t I look serious?”
“I don’t know. You always say, ‘Don’t I look serious?’ But deep down, I think you’re laughing.”
“You think I’m laughing at you?”
“No, not at me. At everything. It’s like you know the punch line to a joke and you’re not telling. You’ve got this—this mystery about you.”
The side of my mouth went up. “I do?”
“Am I right or am I right?”
“Are you ever wrong?”
“That’s you being mysterious again!”
“You like it when I’m mysterious?”
“It’s not the mystery I like, it’s you.” She looked away, embarrassed. “What I mean is, you’re a cool guy, you know?”
“I better be if I’m here with you.”
We looked at each other. Whoa.
The waiter came back, pouring each of us a glass of wine. We picked them up for a toast.
“What should we toast?” she asked.
“To making more money than we could ever spend.”
She laughed. “Be serious!”
I was serious. But, instead, I said, “To a happy life.”
She clinked my glass. “To a happy life.”
* * *
The meal was da bomb. I never had so much fun with a girl. Our conversation flowed like the wine we were drinking. And her beauty blew a brother away. Most ghetto girls didn’t have the class for a place like Chez Gigi. But Alyse was Park Avenue all the way.
Feeling full and a little drunk, we headed back to Brooklyn. Back at her place, we sat on the couch and put on MTV.
Sliding an arm around her, I leaned back into the couch, smiling to myself. A well-trained athlete knew his game, and when it was time to shoot from the three-point line, a real playa couldn’t miss.
I tucked a curl behind her ear, stroking two fingers down the curve of her cheek to her chin. She made a little noise and moved closer to me, laying her head on my chest. I lifted her chin until she was looking in my eyes, and kissed her.
She stiffened at first, but gradually she relaxed and kissed me back, nice and slow. I deepened the kiss. When our tongues touched, we both moaned.
She pulled her lips away, and my mouth moved across her face. I whispered in her ear, “You so sexy, boo.”
“Thanks . . . It’s pretty late.”
I pulled back so I could look at her face. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time . . . ” for us to go to bed. But I could see in her eyes that she didn’t want me to say it. For her, me leaving now would be a perfect ending to the night. And even though my body was fired up, I didn’t want to disappoint her. “Maybe it’s time for me to go.”
“I think so too.”
I stepped into the hallway. She took my hand. “Thank you, Ty. This was the greatest night I’ve had in a long time. It was wonderful.”
“You made it wonderful.” I bent down and kissed her.
“See you Monday.” Giving me a little wave, she closed the door.
* * *
On the cab ride home, I leaned my head against the leather seat, closed my eyes, and wished that Alyse was in my arms again. I could still smell her perfume, still taste those soft lips. . . .
My cell phone rang. I was so sure it was Alyse calling to whisper in my ear, I didn’t even check the caller ID. “Hello.”
“Ty? That you?” Sonny’s voice.
“It’s me.”
“Damn, boy, haven’t you been checking your messages?” His shouting couldn’t cover up the shakiness in his voice. “Carlos got jumped. He’s hurt real bad. We got people tryna bring us down. I don’t know what the fuck they’ll do next!”
“Sonny, calm down.” I told the cabbie, “Take a right at the next light. We going to East Flatbush—13 Mulgrew Place.” Into the phone I said, “Hang on, Sonny. I’m coming over.”
THE COMPETITOR
Giving the driver his cash, I ran inside the building and hit the button. Sonny buzzed me up. He was standing in the doorway of his apartment in sweat pants and a wife-beater. “Get in here.”
The apartment was huge, with sleek tiled floors, leather couches, and a hot entertainment system. I barely sat down when Sonny said, “Carlos got jumped tonight when he was making deliveries. They fucked him up, took the stuff, and made him cough up the names of the customers he was delivering to.”
“You talked to Carlos?”
“No, his girl called me. Them bitches who messed him up told him to give us a message: ‘Darkman’s in town and he’s shutting us down.’ ”
“Darkman? He some sorta comic character?”
“Whoever the fuck he is, he knows who we are. Carlos can’t hold in a fucking fart.”
“Shit, I got warned about this.”
“Huh? Who warned you?”
“Monfrey. Said there was some shady niggas around. I didn’t take him serious.”
I was all about Alyse then, I remembered. Damn, I was right that women were a distraction.
I said, “Anybody new in the hood can tell that Carlos is probably running for someone. That skinny cat ain’t sly. So we don’t know how much Darkman knows about us. He could’ve been lying low for weeks, getting ready to strike.”
I heard Sonny swallow.
“We gonna hold it down,” I said. “First thing we have to worry about is that he knows the names of some customers. He might try to sweet-talk them into buying from him. We gotta get to them first and let ’em know we still the best deal in town.”
“I been all over that. Carlos’s girl told me the names of the three customers he gave up, and I spoke to them. They’ll get their next hit half price. We cool with them.”
“Good, you stay on it. We have to remind our peeps that we still their number one. Keep ’em happy. I’ll deal with the other side of this. I’m gonna find out who this Darkman is.”
“And then what?”
“We wait for him on the battlefield.”
* * *
I didn’t have to open up Sun Tzu’s The Art of War to figure out what to do about Darkman. I’d lived and breathed that book for years.
Knowledge of the enemy’s dispositions can only be obtained from other men.
It is always necessary to begin by finding the names of the attendants, aides, the door-keepers, and sentries of the general in command. We must commission spies to discover these.
I found Rob Monfrey the next morning on a park bench, smoking up.
“Ty, what it be like?”
“We got trouble.” I scanned the bench for bird shit and sat down.
“I know. Heard they fucked up Carlos.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me everything you know about this Darkman.”
“All I know is, he used to run a big-time operation down in Miami. Don’t know why he came up here. The guys working for him, they from Miami too.”
“I hope he bought them return tickets. They try to sell to you?”
“Yeah, last night. One of ’em saw me smoking. Asked where I got the stuff. Said I found it in a mailbox. He said he’d sell me some real cheap. I told him I don’t smoke regular like. He said, ‘Yeah, right,’ and walked away.”
“I like how you handled that. But next time, do it different. If you stay visible, one of those guys is gonna approach you again. Let ’em know you can’t afford to pay for no weed. But if they need shit done, you can swing that.”
“Sounds like you asking me to be a spy.” Monfrey grinned. “I like it, son.”
“Make yourself mad helpful to them. I want you to find out everything you can about their leader and their operation. Find out Darkman’s real name, how many men he got working for him, where he goes to eat—anything.”
“Easy peasy.”
“You a natural, Monfrey, but these guys are dangerous. If you think they suspect you, get away from them fast—got that?”
“I got you.”
“You can name your price for this job.”
“The new PlayStation?”
That was the thing about Monfrey. He had no fucking idea how much he was worth.
“The new PlayStation, ten of the hottest games, and a pair of Jordans. How about that?”
He slapped my hand. “We got a deal.”
* * *
I didn’t go to school on Monday. No time. I had to secure my ops, and that meant talking to every member of my team, from the big players to the small-time runners, to make sure there weren’t any cracks.
I was straight-up with my peeps. We had a competitor and we had to be ready. Since I didn’t want to leave anything important on voice mail, I called each one until I talked to them. I didn’t go see them face-to-face. I wasn’t gonna make Darkman’s job any easier by leading him to my peeps.
Just when I was about to call Sonny to see if he set up a meeting with our suppliers, my cell rang.
“Yo.”
“Ty, it’s Alyse. I’m calling from school. Where are you?”
“At home. I ain’t feeling well. Got a bad headache.”
“Oh, no. I hope it goes away soon. Look, you should get a doctor’s note. If you don’t, they’ll say you were cutting and—”
“Chill. I’ll get a doctor’s note tomorrow.”
“Good. I don’t want to see you get kicked out over this. They’re mad strict around here.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks for the advice.”
“I’ll let you go. You should get some rest.”
“I will. Holler at you later.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Click.
Man, I wished I could talk to her about Darkman. It felt wack, lying to Alyse. But there was no way I could tell her my business, because there was no way she’d back me up.
* * *
My work was just getting started. I stopped by a few choice spots: pool halls, take-outs, barbershops, delis, bars—all places where they knew me. Places where new faces would get noticed. Places where I could ask questions and get the straight-up goods.
I learned enough about my enemy to start a profile of him on my phone.
Darkman:
• late twenties
• first name Kevin
• cocky
• Miami Crip connection
• family is big in Miami drug scene
• brought three guys with him from Florida (two black, one Hispanic, probably Cuban)
• has a high-maintenance girlfriend named Leanne
The question bugging me the most was why he was here in the first place. If he was so big in Miami, why did he leave?
Maybe the stories about him being a Florida big shot were made up. Or maybe his family was running the show and he decided to go off on his own. Maybe he came to Brooklyn because he had something to prove.
One thing was for sure: If Darkman thought he could just come to BK and crown himself a kingpin, he was wrong.
I was thinking of all this when I walked through the door at 11:30 that night. Mom wasn’t home, lucky for me. I needed to be alone to do some serious planning.
There was a postcard on the kitchen table.
Hey Ty,
How about them Giants? What a great game last night! I’m missing your letters. Don’t forget to write when you get time.
Your dad
Anything about a sports team was our emergency code.
Dad wanted me there ASAP.
ORLANDO’S SOLUTION
What I gotta say couldn’t be said over no phone.” Just like my dad to get right to the point. “Word is, Kevin King’s tryna take over. Calls himself Darkman.”
“How’d you know?”
“Ain’t no secret. I know the family. They too ambitious for they own good.”
“Why the hell did he come to Brooklyn?”
“A few years back, his brother Max tried to run me outta business. Thought because I wasn’t backed by a gang that he could set up shop right on top of me. He was wrong.”
“What you do?”
“Brought him in. Fucked him up till he was almost dead. Sent him back to Miami.”
“Shit. So this is Max’s revenge?”
“I don’t think this was Max’s idea. He knows it would be setting up his brother for certain death. Nah, this is about Kevin wanting to show up his brothers. Kevin thinks if he can take over the Johnson territory—something Max couldn’t do—he’ll be on top.”
“Do they know you’re still in the picture?”
“Trust me, son, they know.”
“You don’t have to worry, Dad. We ain’t giving up nothing to them. The situation is under control.”
“No, it ain’t. Not as long as Kevin King’s around.” Taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket, he passed it under the table. I slipped it into my pocket.
Street Pharm Page 6
