A Dying Wish

by Henry Roi

  I grinned back until I noticed Blondie looking at me pointedly. She quirked a brow, inclined her head at the TV, hint-hinting, and it dawned on me she took Eddy's mentioning of kids to heart. Jolted as if stuck with an ice pick, my smile vanished. It was hard not to glare and curse at Eddy's virtual presence. That old bastard!

  “You were a sore spot in my life,” he told me. “But Pete Eagleclaw taught you well. Turned you into the criminal mastermind you are today.” His jaw kicked to the side, and I remembered the expression as being the one he wore for exaggerating or sarcasm. “The infamous hustler known by every crime family and street gang from Florida to Texas.”

  I groaned, ignoring the odd looks I got. That old bastard!

  Eddy turned serious. “Even though I got away from that style of life two decades ago, the crook in me grew fond of your achievements in the underground. When I heard you quit I didn't believe it. I wanted to, but… couldn't. I just knew you were going to end up in the joint. For once I was glad to be wrong.” He gave a sigh-hum of satisfaction, a wan smile.

  I glanced at the others, feeling embarrassed. No one has ever talked to me like that. Eddy sounded like some soap opera father gushing after reuniting with his estranged son. My system wasn't wired to process this shit. My fists balled, and I swear I would have KO'd anybody that tried to hug me right then.

  I growled, tried to relax. Blondie wisely kept a neutral expression.

  Eddy looked to my side, at Blondie, his uncanny knowing of our positions unnerving. The man was dead, yet here he was talking to us like we were really standing in front of him. “And my beautiful Blondie. I had high hopes for you after you won the World Championships. With your jab and knockout looks you could have been a celebrity among celebrities.” He shook his head wistfully. “You were another disappointment though. At first I thought your love for Razor blinded you, that you were under his influence. But I changed that view. It was I who was blinded; your appearance and sweetheart personality has probably fooled countless old geezers like me, huh? Who'd of thought you were a natural born crook. I must apologize for trying to convince you to leave Razor.”

  “He told you to leave me?!” I sputtered to my girl. I couldn't keep the shock off my face. She had never mentioned it.

  She waved me off, wiping tears from her big glistening eyes. The shock registered full-tilt upon seeing this. She never cried. Still looking at Eddy she said, “He thought I would end up in prison if I stayed with you.”

  Everyone but her gave me suspicious looks. I scowled Mind your own fucking business at them, pointed at the TV.

  Eddy said, “Now that I've told my children how I feel, all hard feelings aside, we can get to the meat of this sandwich.” He cleared his throat of emotion, clasped his hands in front. All we could see was his head, his shoulders in his U.S. Boxing jacket, and a white wall behind him. “A couple years ago I began working on a project with far-reaching implications. It became dangerous, and I knew there was a chance I would be killed. Hence the will and this pleasant video.” He gave a lopsided smile, turned serious again. “This job needs to be done. I can't think of a better crew to punch this out than you guys. I could handle it solo for the most part, gathering intel and pulling strings here and there. But I'm dead now. Forget about it.” He shrugged. “I felt confident my kids would pick up where I left off. All of you are well-off to the point monetary gain holds little interest to you. You are all retired from your various professions, and likely bored stupid. You are far too young to travel the country in an RV or play out the rest of your days on a golf course.” He made a sound of disgust at that thought. “So what better inheritance could I possibly give you? I asked myself. A chance to make a difference in the world. You can do that with this job.”

  “What the hell is the job, Coach?” Shocker shouted, frustrated in a way I could relate to. I smirked.

  Eddy pointed at her. “I knew you'd ask that.” He laughed. I looked at Perry, briefly thinking this was some kind of prank, that Eddy was alive, in the next room screwing with us. My conspiracy theory faded. Eddy said, “Serious business now. The organized crime on our Coast is rarely anything major, but it affects nearly everyone, if only indirectly. The problem is, it's becoming unorganized. And that means serious trouble for everyone from politicians to soccer moms.

  “The Vietnamese street gangs are the culprit, encroaching on everyone's territory, taking over rackets and squandering them carelessly. They are making it hard for the old Viet Mafia to keep the peace. It's Bad Business,” he growled, then looked at me. “As the Alpha criminal in this group I'm sure you're wondering why I give a rat's furry ass about the Vietnamese. The answer is complicated. I care about my home, and that includes all the good and bad of it. The entire economy of the Coast. Think about how many businesses the Viet Mafia has their clever chopsticks in. It's substantial. If they lose control of that empire to these saggy pants, water-head thugs, it will collapse, taking everyone connected down with them. Hundreds of jobs will be lost. Maybe thousands. Kids will be homeless. People will be killed. The ramifications are impossible to calculate.”

  “I could calculate it,” Ace muttered. Shocker elbowed him into silence, as if he were revealing a secret. Bobby nodded at him with a Damn Right frown. Blondie and I looked at them curiously, back at the TV.

  “There's quite a lot more to this story. The bottom line is, the old Viet Mafia knows how to take care of business. Sure, they run dope, work prostitutes, launder money and evade taxes. All the goodies. But they do it economically. Everyone benefits. These new kids don't have a clue. And, to add gas to the fire, they are breaking truces with the black gangs. Banging, doing drive-by's and nonsense like that. They have no respect for what's left of the Dixie Mafia or the Italians, and are on the verge of outright war with La Familia, the latest crime family to claim a chunk of our turf.” His sullen grimace showed what he felt about that.

  “El Maestro's people?” Shocker said uneasily. Ace and Bobby both looked like deer caught in headlights. Shocker glanced at me. “I'd hate to be in the middle of a war with them.”

  “You know El Maestro?” I queried. This girl really gets around. I wasn't really surprised she knew the leader of a major drug cartel. She boxed professionally all over Mexico, and a dozen other countries run by organized crime.

  “Unfortunately,” she grumbled.

  “The Two-Eleven are the main instigators,” Eddy informed us. “They have allies of similar brands. All of them lack brains, though they have the muscle and audacity to cause serious damage, possibly even take over the Mafia. We can't allow that to happen.”

  Eddy paused to consider a conclusion to his dying wish. I pondered how any of this could affect me, my bitch or my bike, and if I even cared. With stunning clarity I realized that I did care. This was my home. My stomping grounds. The thought of it becoming more dangerous bothered me not in the least - that was perversely exciting. Though I knew in the long run it would be too much to deal with. We had more than enough winos, crackheads and idiots around already. And I didn't want to see any kids suffering, hungry or traumatized because their parents lost their jobs or homes or were scuffed by some gangster with an AK and no I.Q.

  You wouldn't want to raise your kids in a place like that, right? my subconscious threw in my face.

  Goosed, I couldn't keep my expression neutral. Blondie looked at me, similar thoughts running through her pretty head. We stared into each other's eyes, no words necessary, our minds churning the same gears. She saw that I was worried, a rarity for me, and knew it wasn't apprehension over thugs with guns. She deduced that my concern was about our future, and everything that entailed. She turned and hugged me, assuming far too much for my comfort. My fists balled autonomously. I wanted to curse her for the pressure gnawing at my bones. I wanted to spank her. But in the end I just sighed acceptance and squeezed back.

  She smells so good, my Johnson noted.

  We let go and turned back to the TV. Shocker and Ace were holding hands. E
ddy had a devious look, a master in front of a camera, showing off his years of experience of being filmed at boxing promotions. In a formal tone he said, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to neutralize the Two-Eleven, their allies, and restore the old Viet Mafia to power. As always,” he chuckled, “if you are apprehended, I will deny any association to you or the mission. This message will self-destruct in five seconds.” He stepped closer to the camera and suddenly punched it.

  The screen went black and we all laughed. Except Shocker. She darted forward, hit OPEN on the DVD player, waited impatiently for the tray to eject, and snatched the smoldering disc out, shouts of surprise echoing off the tall ceiling as she frisbeed it into the hallway. It landed on the tiles, barely missing an expensive rug, smoking, burnt plastic filling the air. The cordite in the disc would have ignited the carpet under our feet. The girl was a quick thinker. My esteem for the legend rose a little further.

  She sighed, wiped her hands on her shorts, turned to look at us. Shrugged. “Coach never left behind any incriminating evidence.”

  Blondie and I shared a surprised look. “Pete Eagleclaw,” we said together. Our engineering mentor made that DVD for Eddy.

  What the hell?

  IV. Team's First Job

  It was entirely too much food. The table sat twelve in the spacious dining room, white floor shining, dimly reflecting the dark green walls, plain except for a seascape painting hanging behind Perry at the head of the table. The six of us were spaced out evenly, Bobby facing Perry at the other end, Blondie and I facing the girl-beast and geek. 70s rock played from the living room, the guitar riffs making my foot tap and head nod without thought. Pans and bowls mounded with steaming delights were picked over with gusto by a dozen hungry hands. Crab claws and asparagus were passed politely, melted butter summoning much appreciated saliva to my coke-cotton mouth. We munched chopped rib eye steak in pita wraps, crunchy fixings of salad and strong cheddar falling to my plate after every bite. I wolfed it down. The food overpowered the drug, and I began to feel privileged for being here.

  I sipped a tall glass of sweet tea, unable to keep from comparing the women's eating habits. Blondie took her time between bites, talking and laughing with Perry, Bobby, and would eat maybe two-thirds of her plate. The girl-beast was all business, no talk, having eaten her steak wrap as quickly as I had, eyeing another as she cut asparagus into bite-size pieces. Perry and Bobby, both giants, were able to talk while consuming inordinate portions.

  Perry stood and excused himself, returning a moment later with a stack of manila folders, important looking files an inch thick. I realized what they must be right as he said, “Files on Eddy's project.” He flipped through one at random. “Looks like photos of individuals, homes and businesses. Lots of detailed notes. This was a year of work, at least.”

  Shocker and I reached for them at the same time. We grabbed an end of the stack and pulled, neither willing to let go.

  Perry grinned, swatted at our hands. “I'll hold these for now, until you figure out an arrangement.”

  I looked at her, trying to project reason. “It's unlikely anyone in this room knows more about the Viet underground than I do.”

  Blondie folded her arms, looked at Shocker, lips pursed in a Let my man run this shit attitude. Bobby and Ace seemed indecisive, evidently used to following the girl-beast, though knowing what I said was true. Shocker looked like she had eaten something foul. She nodded to Perry, who chuffed amusement before setting the files in front of my plate.

  I wiped my hands. Took up the folder on top, opened it, not intending to read it just yet. “What Eddy said about the OGs was correct. They take care of business and make sure no unnecessary BS results from their enterprises. But I don't agree with what he said about the Two-Eleven and their allies.” I closed the files.

  “What do you mean?” Bobby said, pushing his plate away, wiping his mouth and hands.

  “They aren't all water heads. Some of them are very smart.”

  “OGs? That's the Old Viet Mafia leaders, right?” Ace wanted to clarify.

  “Right,” I said. “I know one of the OGs. He can help us. But I can't go see him without an escort.” I looked at my girl.

  “Big Guns?” Blondie raised a perfect brow, tapping a napkin to her full lips.

  I nodded, balling my fist to keep from slipping my hand under her shirt. “Text him, will you? We need to set up a meeting with Trung.”

  Shocker frowned. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “Trung is one of the more common Vietnamese names, though there's nothing common about this guy. He runs the Dragon Family.”

  “Sounds like a big deal,” Shocker said.

  I looked at her. “The Dragon Family is huge, with many subsets and thousands of members in most major cities. Their counterparts, the Tiger Society, are equally as powerful and ubiquitous. The Two-Eleven are a subset of the Tiger Society.”

  “That sounds like something you'd see on TV, not around here,” Perry declared.

  “Oh, they're very real. Those organizations are largely in legit business, but have numerous factions involved in every criminal activity you can think of, and then some. Think about all the cocaine, marijuana and ecstasy on the Coast. These guys have been the main suppliers and distributors for over a decade, yet you rarely hear of them getting busted. They're smart. They pay off the Narcotics Task Force to avoid raids, and can usually get their guys off the hook, if they do get popped. They take care of their own.”

  “So, they're organized with vast resources and manpower, and us five are going to spank them and clean up their mess?” Shocker said in a tone that was more playful than skeptical. Bobby and Ace looked at her and smiled.

  “Us six,” Perry corrected. Shocker grinned at him.

  “I've got nothing better to do at the moment,” I replied, trying not to show how excited I was. This promised to be a complicated bitch of danger, and I couldn't wait to get started. I rubbed my hands together. Blondie, an addict for peril herself, smiled and wriggled next to me. I stuck my hand on her leg, squeezed. She pinched it merrily.

  Perry raised his glass of tea. “To Eddy's project. May that bastard's mission not get us all killed.” Smiles and glasses raised around the table.

  Shocker drank, looked at her guys. “I hope I don't regret this. I'm still not sure about following the President of the United Streets of America.” She jerked a thumb at me.

  I pushed my shoulders back, smoothed the front of my shirt, straightened an imaginary tie. In a tone dripping with ego I said, “President, bitch.”

  Perry insisted on cleaning the dishes, and we all thanked him for the exquisite meal before heading out the front door, the girls hugging him, guys gripping his hand. He held it for us. “Keep me informed. When you guys need first-aid or some extra muscle you know where to find me.”

  “Will do, Unc.” I said shaking his hand. Turned to walk to my bike. Recalling something, I spun back around, face apologetic. “The hall bathroom?”

  “What about it?” Perry scowled.

  “Sanitize the sink.”

  “Damn kids,” he muttered, closing the door.

  The driveway looked like we were getting ready for a Cruisin' the Coast event. Shocker, Ace and Big Swoll rolled out of the garage in a bad ass '59 El Camino, red and gray with 20” custom wheels. The garage door cycled down, shutting. The sound of the engine made me want to run over and hump the hood. The big block monster under there, breathing at least 550hp, caressed every part of me that loves to go fast.

  Blondie admired Shocker's ride with that jealous-envious glower I was unused to but was beginning to like. Reminded me of days before I knew her, when girls competed for my attention, doing everything short of cutting each other's throats. Ah…lovely memories.

  Blondie's '52 Ford was a beautiful machine, the dark purple shining, fluent tones reflecting stars in the black sky. She climbed in, shut the door. Started and revved the 600hp Ford Racing engine, Flowmaster turbo mu
fflers roaring, alive and eagerly seeking her touch on the throttle.

  My grin decided it was permanent. I waved at Blondie, made a motion for her to roll down the window. Handed Eddy's files in, then held my bag of coke open in front of her boobies. My pinkie darted out and stole a tickle. One long green nail thumped my hand, then disappeared into the baggie, to her nose, her sniffing of the bump delicate and precise. She blew me a kiss, flipped me off, and I loaded up two large bumps for myself before pocketing the drug, donning my helmet, mounting the Suzuki. “Here comes trouble!” I warned the public.

  Shocker shouted at me. “Where's the garage?”

  “Off ninety, in Pass Christian.”

  She waved, executed a three-point turn with ease, the El Camino's fat dual exhaust pipes hyperventilating a big cam lope as she shifted gears, sound deafening as she raced down the long driveway, onto the road next to the beach, Blondie hot on her tail.

  Reveling in the fresh drip that raped my senses, I had to exercise great restraint in not leaving black marks on the cement, speeding after the two crazy women that will surely attract every law enforcement officer between here and Hancock County.

  We caught a red light at the intersection of Highway 90 and Washington Avenue. The F100 and El Camino lined up side by side at the wide white strip. I stopped several car lengths behind them to avoid flying debris from their massive tires. The girls glanced at each other, profiles a collage of reds, yellows, from the play of lights, eyes indistinct though abstractly determined. They kept a close eye on the traffic, anticipating the green flash that would start their drag race.

  What is it about red lights that makes us want to race the driver next to us? It was a thrilling pleasure to be sure, but one they shouldn't indulge at this point. Shocker and Ace were major fugitives, and Blondie wasn't exactly loved by the local heat herself. I just shook my head, amazed by the energy women have when competing against each other. And they have the nerve to scoff at men who do incredibly stupid things in the name of status.