Hoodlum

by K'wan

  “Tommy,” Mike shouted, raising a meaty palm. “Over here.”

  Tommy led the way to the table, with Here in tow and Shai bringing up the rear. Mike was seated at the table with Nicky at his side. Tommy exchanged handshakes with the men, while Here folded his arms aggressively. Shai just nodded.

  “Sit down, fellas.” Mike smiled. “Youz guys hungry?”

  “Nah,” Tommy said, sitting in the seat opposite Mike. “We’re good. You said you wanted to talk, here I am. What's good?”

  “Geez, Tommy,” Nicky cut in. “Now is that any way to greet two pals?”

  “Don’t play wit’ me, kid,” Tommy said coldly. “We ain’t never been friends, so save that slimy shit for the next bird, ya heard? Now as I was saying”—he turned back to Mike—”you wanted to talk to me?”

  “Direct and to the point as ever,” Mike said with a shake of his head. “Yeah, Tommy. I got a few things I need to talk to you about. The first being my man Freddy. What's up with that?”

  “You should be more careful who you send to parley with me,” Tommy said with ice in his voice. “That little mutha fucka came into my place talking out his ass. If a man comes into my domain and doesn’t show the proper respect, then he gets dealt with accordingly. This goes for anyone.”

  Mike didn’t miss the light threat. He let it go for the time being. “I can understand that, Tommy. But Freddy is a friend of mine and you beat him pretty bad.”

  “He got what his hand called for,” Tommy responded dryly.

  “Still,” Mike said sternly, “he was one of my soldiers. Meaning he was under my protection. How does that look on me if I don’t do anything?”

  “Mike,” Tommy said, matching his tone, “I ain’t got nothing to do with what's going on in ya camp, or how it looks if one of yours gets stomped out. He disrespected me and I beat his ass. Period. Now however you wanna deal with that, is on you.” Tommy made sure he was looking Mike square in the eye when he said this.

  Here had noticed his boss's tone and let his hands slide to where his twin .375s were tucked. Nicky had caught his motion and slid his hand to the Glock in his belt. Both men knew that their bosses could be hotheaded, so neither one knew what would come of the stare down. Either way they were both ready to do their jobs efficiently.

  “Come on, T,” Mike said, trying to defuse the situation. “You know I ain’t one to raise a stink. I understand why you did what you did, but understand my position: Freddy is one of my soldiers. That means he's supposed to be untouchable to any and all outside of our order. I gotta have some type of restitution.”

  “Restitution?” Tommy asked, as if he had never heard the word before. “Fuck is you talking about? You want me to pay this nigga? Hell nah, son. I ain’t wit’ all that.”

  “Nah, not money. Maybe you could settle up some other kinda way? Maybe if you apologized to Freddy in front of our crew—”

  “Fuck outta here,” Tommy cut him off. “I ain’t apologizing to that rat fuck. Fuck Freddy. Mike, I know you didn’t call me downhere for this shit. I thought you wanted to talk about that other thing.”

  Mike was beginning to get frustrated and Tommy knew it. It had been his plan since he returned Mike's phone call. He intended to get the Italian mad enough to do or say something stupid, then he would have a legit reason to cut him off. Freddy's ass whipping had been the result of poor judgment, but Tommy was going to turn that to his advantage.

  “Okay,” Mike said, gritting his teeth. “What's this I hear about you won’t take my dope?”

  “And? It's just like I told Freddy's bitch ass, we’re getting shorted on that bunk you gave us. We gotta recoup.”

  “Tommy, did I miss something here? You boys sell dope for us, right?”

  “No,” Tommy said flatly. “My men sling heroin for my father and me. We buy it from you. We don’t work for y’all, son. Please don’t get it fucked up.”

  “Tommy.” Mike raised his voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You forget your place?”

  “Hell nah.” Tommy smiled. “Actually, I’m just starting to learn it. And it ain’t at the foot of your table, homie. We’re an independent, just like y’all, baby. Treat us with some respect.”

  “Tommy, this shit you’re talking is fucking the game up.”

  “No, you’re fucking the game up!” Tommy shouted at the big man. “We, soldiers and captains, deal amongst each other, not civilians. Who the fuck gave you the right to approach my brother?”

  “What?” Mike asked, startled. “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie.” Tommy cut him off. “Shai”—he spun to his brother—”did this nigga approach you the other night?”

  Shai was caught totally off guard by the question. When he had told Tommy about his meeting with Mike he didn’t expect him to put it out there like that. Everyone was looking at Shai, waiting for his response. The air was so thick that he felt light-headed. He looked from his brother to Mike and nodded.

  “What's up with that shit, Mike?” Tommy asked angrily.

  “You got it wrong, T,” Mike assured him. “I just asked Shai to see if he could get you to talk to me. Nothing more. And if I were you, I’d watch my tone.”

  “Well, you ain’t me, Mike. And I’ll talk at whatever fucking octave I choose. I ain’t one of ya goombas, so don’t try to play me.”

  “Tommy, I think you need to slow down and think about the way you’re sounding right now.”

  “Oh.” Tommy smirked. “I know just how I sound. Like a nigga that's fed up. Honestly, y’all been shitting on us for a while and disguising it as friendship and fucking handouts. We know our worth now, Mike. Things are gonna have to change or we can’t do business anymore.”

  Mike's face turned beet red with anger. He couldn’t believe that the same kid he had seen running around playing corners was talking to him like a fucking nobody. It was obvious to Mike what was going on: the little prick had found another dope connect and was trying to cut him out of his taste. Before he could respond, Nicky was on his feet.

  “You ungrateful nigger,” Nicky shouted. “We put you on the fucking map. You fucking—”

  “Go ahead,” Here said, raising his .357s. “Say it again.”

  Shai looked at the exchange in pure shock. The incident with Bone was intense, but it was nothing compared to this. Shai would’ve shot Bone if he had to, but he wasn’t a killer. On the other hand, each of the four men locked in the current conflict were. If something didn’t happen to stop it, there was gonna be some shit in the seafood restaurant.

  “Gentlemen,” Shai spoke up, startling everyone. “I don’t mean to get in your business, ‘cause I ain’t got nothing to do with this street shit, but I think we should put the weapons away and talk about this. It wouldn’t do either side any good if the police come up in here and find them hammers.”

  “Mind ya business, Shai,” Tommy warned.

  “No,” Mike cut in. “The kid's got a point.” Mike tried to sound like he was in control, but he was actually relieved that Shai had interjected. He really didn’t want to bang out with Tommy, especially on even ground.

  Everyone looked at Shai. The youngster was totally out of pocket for putting his mouth in their business, but he was right. They were about to get themselves caught up in some shit that they really didn’t need. Mike and Tommy gave each other a final stare before waving their men down.

  “Tommy,” Mike said in a low tone, “when has it ever been a problem with you taking dope from me?”

  “Since y’all started trying to clown us,” Tommy responded defiantly. “That shit y’all been dumping on us for the last few months ain’t been worth nothing. It had so much cut on it already, we couldn’t even break even. With all due respect, why should our children go hungry, ‘cause some guinea mutha fucka got a lil’ greedy? That shit just don’t add up to me, Mike.”

  “Listen.” Mike smiled. “You take this weight as a favor to me and we’ll settle up down the line, eh?”

  Sha
i and Here tensed. They knew by the undertone of Mike's voice that he was trying to give Tommy an ultimatum and they both knew that Tommy would respond by laying down the gauntlet.

  “Fuck I look like to you?” Tommy snarled.

  The glove had been thrown.

  “You must not have heard shit I just said, Mike. We ain’t fo’ that shit, man. The Clarks can’t afford to take too many losses. It's bad for business. You understand, don’t you?” Tommy smiled coldly at Mike.

  “You’re making a mistake, Tommy,” Mike hissed. “Don’t do it like this.”

  “Y’all niggaz need to learn some respect,” Tommy said slyly as he lit his cigarette. “We’ve been your watchdogs for too long, Mike. You mutha fuckas can’t show us a little respect, then fuck it. Our business is concluded.”

  Tommy was the only one smiling. Shai glanced away while Here kept looking from the Italian to his friend. People in the streets always said Tommy might be a lil’ crazy, but Here was sure that he was full crazy. He had just possibly started a war with the Cissarro family, A war that would record many casualties. This was bad.

  Mike watched in shock as Tommy got up and turned for the door. He couldn’t believe the balls on this nigger, but it was playing out just as Nicky had said. The Clarks were getting too big and something would have to be done about it.

  “Okay, T,” Mike said behind him. “We’ll see about this shit.”

  Tommy never turned around to respond. He just kept walking for the door. Here backed out, with his ,357s at his sides, but still ready. Shai looked from Mike to Tommy and back again, trying to figure out what the hell went down.

  CHAPTER 18

  AS SOON AS SWAM returned to New York, he was brought to see Poppa. He was tired and his nerves were shot, but one didn’t refuse a summons from Poppa Clark. When he came into Poppa's study, it was only Poppa, Butch, and Angelo. Swan's palms sweated rivers as anticipation swept over him.

  “Come on in here.” Poppa waved him in. Swan timidly stepped forward. “You did good, son. Real good.”

  “Thanks, Poppa,” Swan said in a low tone.

  “I know you done some stupid shit in the past, but it's all a part of a process. We make mistakes and we learn from them. Have you learned from yours?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Swan, this is a great responsibility I’m about to lay on you. You will be the boss of the hoods assigned to you, answering directly to Tommy. You will be responsible for your soldiers, your turf, and Tommy's money. Do you understand and accept this responsibilityof your own free will? Will you swear on the life of your child to put none before this family?”

  “Yes,” Swan said confidently. “I will lay down my life for this family, Poppa. All I want is a chance to prove myself.”

  “Come here,” Poppa said, spreading his arms. Swan stepped forward and accepted Poppa's embrace. “You’re in now,” Poppa whispered in his ear. “Remain loyal and strong and you will prosper. Waiver and you will die.”

  Swan buried his face in Poppa's chest so he couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. He wasn’t crying because he was scared, he was crying because he was happy. Poppa had always treated Swan like a son. He showed him more love than his real father. Now Swan would be able to return the favor. He would murder or die for the love of his new family.

  “I think that was a bad move, Tommy,” Here voiced.

  “Here you go with that shit,” Tommy said, irritated. “Fuck that greaseball mutha fucka. What he gonna do? That nigga got some frog in him, then let's do it. Fuck you mean you think it's a bad move?”

  “Here's right,” Shai added. “I don’t think Poppa would’ve approved of the way you handled that.”

  “What is this, a fucking mutiny?” Tommy looked from Here to Shai. “The last I heard, I was running things in the streets, while Poppa is building castles in the sky. I say how things get handled on the streets. I might’ve been a lil’ brass about it, but fuck it. Them Italians don’t respect us, kid. Why should we keep fucking with them?”

  “You could’ve at least waited until things were secure with the Wongs,” Shai suggested. “They say they’ll make good on it, but who the fuck are they?”

  “Get a load of this shit,” Tommy said, icing Shai. “You spend one day in the streets and you’re giving me advice? Let me hip you to something, little brother. You might know the game, but remember who schooled you.”

  “You schooled him,” Here picked up. “But he's making more sense than you right now. Poppa's gonna flip if this shit blows up.”

  “So fucking what!” Tommy barked. “This is my show. Let the old man focus on retirement, I can handle this shit myself. I need some time to think on it. For right now, everybody just be cool and keep ya traps closed. I’ll call a meeting of the street lieutenants tomorrow night. Before the meeting, I’ll speak to Poppa. For right now, nobody says anything.”

  “The nerve of those fucking jigs,” Nicky vented. “Tommy has got to go, Mike.”

  “Why don’t you relax and let me think, Nicky!” Mike barked. He leaned back in the booth and massaged his temples. He cursed himself silently for not seeing this coming. That little prick Tommy had gotten another dope connect right under his nose. Mike had other outlets for his dope, but nobody was moving weight like Tommy. Now that outlet was gone. Mike had a serious problem.

  “Fucking prick,” Mike said out loud. “This fucking boot has gone too far.”

  “He's gotta go, Mike.”

  “Yeah.” Mike rubbed his chin. “I think it's time to set the wheels in motion. I just wanna avoid an all-out war.”

  “So, what are we gonna do, let this spade spit in out faces?” Nicky asked heatedly.

  “Hell no,” Mike said, flipping his cell phone open. “Obviously there's no reasoning with Tommy. I plan to approach Poppa about it, but in the meantime, I’m gonna make sure my ass is covered.”

  “Who you calling?” Nicky asked.

  “My insurance policy.” Mike smiled.

  “We always getting the bullshit jobs,” Fritz complained.

  “Why you always complaining about some shit?” Angelo said, annoyed. “Every time I turn around, you’re complaining.”

  “I’m saying, yo, we always putting in work and never reap the revyards. Shit, I didn’t even get invited to the meeting at Poppa's house.”

  “The meeting was for lieutenants. You ain’t a lieutenant.”

  “I don’t see why not. We put in more work than anybody Poppa has rolling with him. You got bumped up, why the fuck didn’t I?”

  “Maybe ‘cause you complain so fucking much,” Gator said from the backseat. “Ever since I got here you ain’t did nothing but complain. You niggaz is living like kings under my cousin and you’re beefing. You need to bring yo’ ass down to Florida. We’ll show you sweet-ass niggaz how to grind.”

  “Ain’t nothing sweet about me, kid,” Fritz assured him. “You better hold that shit down.”

  “Why don’t both of y’all be cool,” Angelo cut in. “We came here to do a job, so let's do it and get the fuck gone.”

  The tension between Gator and Fritz was obvious. For some reason Gator was distrustful of Fritz and vice versa. Neither man really wanted to be around the other, but they had been put together for this job. They would settle their differences down the line, but for right now Angelo was in charge and no one wanted to argue with him.

  “Shane,” Angelo addressed the fourth occupant of the car. “You see this nigga come out?”

  “No,” Shane said. “When I saw him go in, I called. While I waited for you guys I had a crackhead watching the door. He hasn’t come out yet.”

  “And you’re sure about what you told Poppa?” Fritz added, wanting to feel like he was saying something.

  “As sure as my ass is black,” Shane assured him. “That mutha fucka Frost is violating.”

  “Then he gotta get dealt with,” Angelo said.

  “Man,” Gator sighed, as he got out of the car. “Fuck this waiting shit.”<
br />
  “Gator, what the hell are you doing?” Angelo called after him.

  “Man, I got this. Y’all niggaz wait like five minutes, then followme inside.” Without another word, Gator slipped inside the bar. Angelo looked at Fritz who looked at Shane. Each man held the same confused expression. None of them knew exactly what Gator was up to, but they were sure it was going to be colorful.

  Bone sat with Ahmad inside of Pan-Pan's, watching the traffic. There was a time when their visits this far south would’ve been short and to the point. But times were changing. Their crew was getting larger, so they were becoming increasingly bold. Tommy didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere. It was in these blind spots that Bone and his followers lurked, spreading their influence. They had infected a good number of Tommy's lesser soldiers and he had his head too far up his ass to notice.

  Bone turned around and saw the huge form of Fat Mike appear in the doorway. He was led by a weasel-faced man wearing a pair of green polyester slacks that looked like they were a size too small. He damn near tackled a woman who was coming out, trying to make sure that he was the one to open the door for Mike.

  Mike stepped into the spot and looked around as if he had smelled something rancid. He squeezed past the tiny line of people waiting for their orders and made his way to where Bone was sitting. Bone had noticed him come in, but he acted surprised when Mike's shadow loomed over him.

  “Oh,” Bone said. “I didn’t see you come in. What up, Mike?” He extended his hand.

  “How's it going, Bone?” Mike replied, taking the young man's hand. “Glad you decided to come and speak to me.”

  “Hey, you said you had something that might interest me,” Bone said with a shrug, “so here I am.”

  “Sure, sure, kid. See, I got something that I think will work out for the both of us.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Sure do,” Mike said as he plopped onto the two stools to Bone's right. “We’ve got a common interest,” he whispered, “NewYork and all the riches in it. There's a lot of dough on the streets, man.”