The Rooster Club

by N. M. Catalano

  As Michael and Paul exited the Queen’s Midtown Tunnel in Natalie’s brand new black Firebird, Michael asked Paul for the third time, “Are you sure Antoine’s expecting us?”

  “He was expecting us when you asked me fifteen minutes ago, I’m sure nothing has changed, bro,” Paul said, getting a little annoyed with Michael’s nervousness.

  “I just didn’t see you call him, and if I didn’t see it, I’m not certain of it,” Michael explained, as he merged into the city traffic.

  “I’m not an asshole, Mike. Chill-out, everything’s going to be fine,” Paul tried to assure him.

  “After what happened last time, I don’t know if I can. But I’d better, or they might shoot me, thinking I’m setting them up.” He tried to hide his nervousness behind humor, but it wasn’t working. “Where are we meeting him?” Michael asked as he stopped at a traffic light.

  “Uptown, same place,” Paul answered Michael absently.

  “Good, I don’t want to put his scanky ass in Natalie’s car,” Michael snapped, unable to hide his gnawing agitation.

  “It is a really nice car. And that girl, in a couple of years, she is going to be the smokin’est chick around. I might just come back for a piece of that,” Paul told him with a sleazy smile.

  “You are not to even think of Natalie like that!” Michael warned him, with a dangerous tone to his voice, “and if I find out you said one disrespectful word to her, I’ll rip your fucking head off!” Michael turned to face Paul, his eyes full of the impending threat, “Understood?”

  “Damn, Mike, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? Yeah, I got it, stay away from her, I hear you.” Paul shifted in his seat and pushed his body against the door.

  “Good.”

  The thought of Paul touching Natalie with his filthy hands made Michael’s skin crawl. It was bad enough he touched her, wanted her, took her, with the dirt that was on his hands. There was no way in hell he would let her be defiled by Paul. He would beat him to the point of death first.

  Michael turned his eyes back to the road as the light turned green. He headed towards the West Side Highway, and to the fucking shit-hole that was supposed to change his life.

  Michael drove around the block and parked the car on W. 117th Street this time. They searched the faces of the people on the street looking for Antoine. He was nowhere to be seen, but they were five minutes early, so they waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was still no Antoine. Paul appeared to be unaffected by the wait, but Michael was crawling out of his skin. He could tell some of the people were eyeing them warily. They knew exactly when they’d pulled up, and every move that was made inside the car since then. Some of them placed their hands on various parts of their bodies, like sliding it inside their jacket, or on the crook of their backs, or on top of the waistband of their pants, everywhere they might have a gun.

  “Fuck this, I’m going in,” Michael growled.

  “You’re not gonna wait for Antoine?” Paul asked him nervously.

  “He’s not here! And these people don’t like us sitting here. When I get out, lock all the doors. If anyone comes around, move. Just drive. We’ll find each other just like before,” Michael barked.

  “Mike, you’re going to have four ounces of blow on you, bro, these mother fuckers don’t play around!”

  “Then don’t give them a reason to. Keep an eye on all of them, know where each one of them is because somebody might wait for me to come out. Hopefully I’ll be in and out this time,” Michael said while opening the door. He turned and gave Paul a nod, reminding him to lock the doors.

  Michael took a deep calming breath, then turned and crossed 7th Avenue towards the run-down apartment building.

  It’s sad that Harlem had deteriorated to the state it was in. The architecture of a lot of the buildings was beautiful, the apartments were huge, and the proximity to the George Washington Bridge made it ideal for commuting. It was a real estate investor’s paradise.

  But Michael didn’t think about any of these things. He didn’t see the hand carved detailing that graced the exterior of the building beneath each floor, he didn’t notice the gable windows at the top, and he didn’t see the van that was parked at the end of the block on the side-street.

  Because he was alone, he was being eyed suspiciously by the men leaning against the cars in front of the building. He approached with a false sense of confidence and pushed the button that Antoine had pushed before. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking uncontrollably. Finally, the grating noise answered his call, making him jump.

  “It’s Michael,” he said firmly in front of the box.

  No reply came. But it hadn’t the last time either. He stood patiently waiting for the sound of the heavy footsteps to come down the steps.

  The few seconds he stood there unmoving seemed like an eternity. Finally, the sweetest sound filled his ears; thud, thud, thud. He mouthed a silent, ‘thank you.’

  Michael recognized the man who opened the door, he was the same one as before. Seeing the familiar face allowed him to release a quiet breath of relief.

  He didn’t ask Michael what he wanted when he pushed open the door and let him. Michael was only there for one reason, just like everybody else. The man turned his big back to him, as if he wasn’t there, but aware of Michael’s every move behind him. He led Michael to the same apartment he had before, while feelings of apprehension grew inside him, the same fear he had while he sat frozen in the closet. Michael focused his attention on what he was here to do, ‘Get the blow and get out. Quickly. Neatly. In one piece. With no bullet holes.’

  The big man led Michael through the first room and didn’t stop until he was in the second, as he held the door open for him, with a look of annoyed impatience. The same three familiar civilian militia men were at their posts standing guard over the same rude journal man.

  Michael knew the routine; stand and wait to speak when spoken to. He had to concentrate on holding himself still, tightening every muscle in his body so he wouldn’t fidget. The sound of water dripping from a leaky faucet somewhere was a welcome distraction to the nerve-wracking wait, giving Michael something else to focus on.

  “Michael,” the seated man finally said silkily, as he closed his journal. “What can I do for you today?” sitting back in his chair and looking up at him.

  “I need four ounces,” Michael said, more shortly than he would have cared to. His apprehension was getting the better of him.

  The man lifted an eyebrow at Michael, while every other part of him remained perfectly still.

  “I apologize for my shortness. We were supposed to meet Antoine and…,”

  The man held up a hand, silencing Michael.

  The words caught in Michael’s throat as his jaw hung open.

  A deep baritone voice spoke from behind the table. Michael’s eyes moved to the source, and silently admired the soothing quality of it.

  “Don’t ask for Antoine, he’s not with us anymore,” the big man stated simply.

  Michael’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “He got his head blown off for moving the competitor’s product,” the soothing sound delivered the news, his smooth voice softening the shock.

  Michael couldn’t stop the “Holy shit!” from blurting out.

  “Business is business, Michael, I’m sure you understand,” the boss said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Completely,” Michael managed to choke out evenly.

  Michael’s faced paled as his mind screamed at him to get the fuck out. He remained still, willing his body to stay where it was, and to relax.

  “Now, back to you. Business must be good…in Brooklyn?” he asked, smirking, giving the impression that he knew Michael wasn’t selling in Brooklyn.

  “Yes, it is, the customers like your product.”

  Michael didn’t deny or confirm the innuendo, as he stayed focused on the deal.

  “Alright then, tha
t makes me very happy. Let’s not keep the customers waiting, shall we?” he said.

  Michael shook himself internally and pulled the money from his pocket and held it out for the man take again. He didn’t bother to say how much was there, it seemed redundant.

  “2.4k here,” he confirmed after counting it.

  “Excellent. Hopefully it won’t be as long as last time, assuming no ‘unexpected guests’ arrive,” the bossman stated, while pushing his chair from the table as the same two goons flanked his sides and escorted him out.

  Michael began to sweat. In his mind he was reliving the scene that had started the last time at that precise moment.

  The minutes ticked by as the two men stood face to face. Michael knew he was being assessed, studied to see how much he could be trusted, every detail about him memorized. He jumped when the three men returned moments later with a brown paper bag.

  They handed it to Michael without a word.

  “I’m glad we can do business together. Here’s a number of a new contact for you,” boss man informed him, while handing him a piece of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it. “It’s not, um, wise for you to come here unannounced. We did see you through the window though. That’s a pretty car you have,” he smiled sickly, his meaning clear.

  They knew more about him than he wanted them to. A tremor traveled up Michael’s spine. He had to get out of there.

  “Thank you very much, I look forward to seeing you again,” he nodded, trying to present a face of gratitude towards the shorter man as he tucked the paper in his front pants pocket and slid the paper bag inside his jacket. Michael looked at the man who had ordered him to go down the fire-escape the last time, “Do I leave the same way again?” Michael joked.

  “Hah, I like you, Michael. No, not at all. He’ll lead you out,” boss man said, then he seated himself and turned his attention to his book again, dismissing Michael.

  The big man was already at the door and walking out. Michael followed briskly, catching up to him. When they reached the ground level, he opened the door. Michael didn’t pause, didn’t miss a beat, as he stepped out the door and across the street to the car. Paul was cowering in the car watching him approach.

  A man dressed in the same black DEA uniform shot up from the other side of the car and laid his arms across the hood. With a gun pointing straight at Michael.

  Michael froze.

  “Get in the fucking car. NOW!” the silhouette quietly roared.

  Michael walked as fast as he could, without running, the rest of the way to the car. He pulled on the handle. It was locked.

  “Open the fucking door!” Michael hissed.

  Paul’s eyes were fixed on the man. The sound of Michael’s voice jolted him, and spurred him to action. He reached across the seat and flipped the lock.

  Movement down at the other end of the street caught Michael’s attention. Swarms of agents were piling out of buildings and vehicles, and moving towards the building Michael had just exited.

  Panic began to set in as Michael started the engine.

  “Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back! We won’t let you leave again,” the agent growled as he lifted his arms and yanked down his mask.

  Michael threw the gear shift into drive and took off.

  “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” Michael bellowed as he drove down 7th Avenue, his hand pounding the steering wheel.

  “I can’t fucking believe it!” Paul was saying. “Two times in a row, that’s impossible!”

  “Believe it ‘cause it happened!” Michael yelled at him.

  “Did you get the blow?” Paul asked.

  “Yeah, I got it,” he answered, as his head whipped around before changing lanes, with his eyes wide with terror.

  Michael drove blindly, following his instincts, much like he’d done before. They headed to Greenpoint. His old demons of self-loathing washed over him, consuming him.

  This time they didn’t joke while they pounded glass after glass of scotch, and poured shot after shot of tequila down their throats.

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to go to Natalie now?’ he growled to himself.

  That might be what had pissed him off the most. Drug dealers, DEA, one or the other could be following them, he had no idea. The dealer probably thought Michael had set them up, and if that were the case, they sure as hell won’t ask him about it before they killed him. They knew the car he was driving, and had probably written down the license plate number. He was frantic, scared to death, and furious. He couldn’t go get her tonight with a shit-load of blow on him, and everything hanging over his head. He felt completely helpless. And enraged.

  When Michael’s nerves had finally settled enough, and his hands stopped shaking, he and Paul looked at each other. A silent message passed between them.

  They got in the car and headed to Susan’s apartment.

  He hated himself for doing this, because something had taken control of him, and pulled him blindly. His alter mother-fucking ego. The beast. He hated it, and he was disgusted with himself because it was the only thing that brought him relief from the hell of his life and all his demons, clawing and scratching inside him, tearing him apart. Besides Natalie. And there was no way he was going to subject her to the shit that had gone down, and especially to any dangers that might follow. Or himself like this. He felt worthless, and utterly destroyed.

  Michael fucked Angela like the beast, angry, raw and primal. He needed to vent the rest of his emotions, purge himself of all his nightmares, before he did something that he would regret even more, like putting Natalie in danger. And with every thrust, every bead of sweat, the rage seeped through him, along with the high.

  Natalie was sitting with her cousin Jeanette in her bedroom. The older woman had done Natalie’s makeup and was going to lend her one of her outfits.

  Natalie looked up to her, she’d always wanted to be just like her when she got out of school; get a job in the city, dress polished and glamorous, and be able to pull off the red lipstick as well as she did.

  Tonight Natalie was heartbroken. Michael hadn’t called.

  She felt abandoned, and more humiliated than she’d ever had in her life.

  ‘He probably has a collection of women’s panties…,’ the words echoed in her head.

  “Don’t worry, honey, something probably came up,” Jeanette tried to cheer her up.

  Natalie was too ashamed to tell her that this was Michael’s MO; he shows up, pulls her in with his words and his kisses, then disappears. But this time he’d left her. In the city. And took her car.

  “You’re probably right,” Natalie said, as she held back the tears.

  “Well, I know Lemon Tree, I go there all the time, and I love it there. We don’t need anyone else to have a good time. You and me are going.”

  Natalie loved her cousin for understanding her shame and heart-ache. And for getting her out before she broke down.

  The next day when Michael finally called, Natalie couldn’t speak to him. She knew if she did, all the anger, rage, and humiliation bottled up inside her would burst, and she would sob uncontrollably.

  “She wants to know when you’re going to be here,” Jeanette was telling him on her yellow rotary dial desktop phone. There was a pause, then, “I’ll tell her but I don’t think she really cares. I took her out.” Another pause. “Don’t thank me, I didn’t do it for you,” she told him with ice in her words. “Ok, she’ll be ready in an hour.” Jeanette hung up the phone without saying goodbye. She turned to Natalie and asked, even though she knew she didn’t have to, “Did you get that? He’ll be here in an hour.”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Natalie replied curtly.

  “He also said he was sorry, that something came up,” Jeanette added.

  “What the fuck else is new,” Natalie grumbled to herself.

  When Michael arrived an hour later, Natalie didn’t let him come up. She kissed her family and went downstairs alone. She didn’t want them to see the face that
had caused her humiliation. But more than that, she didn’t trust herself, and how she was going to react when she and Michael did come face to face.

  Michael was leaning against Natalie’s car when she rounded the corner to the street. He had a worried expression on his face. Natalie didn’t care, she hated him. But she hated herself more for still loving him.

  He straightened himself and moved to open the trunk. They didn’t say a word to each other as she refused to give him her bag, and threw it in herself. She was already seated when he got in the car.

  “Natalie…,” he began in a strangled, quiet voice. The pain emanating from her washed over him in waves.

  “DON’T. Say. A word. I want to go home.”

  “I’m sorry, something happened…,” the words rushed from his mouth.

  “YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR,” Natalie yelled at him, then she looked back at Paul, “BOTH of you. Just drive!” she ordered.

  Natalie turned the radio up full blast, daring them both to try her.

  Michael had thought he’d hated himself before. That was nothing compared to how he felt about himself now.

  That was the longest and most painful two hours of her life.

  11 CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The world was waking up from its long winter’s sleep as flowers burst through the thawed ground, and buds began to sprout from the trees. Spring was here, a revival of life was all around, and it was time for everything to awaken.

  Natalie was planning for Formal, the annual spring school dance. Joe had agreed to go with her, while Vinnie and Joey were getting ready to graduate. Her birthday was coming up, she was going to turn seventeen. But she didn’t care about anything. She didn’t give a shit about her birthday, and she definitely wasn’t looking forward to Formal. In fact, she was feeling guilty about it because she thought she was using Joe to have a cool, good-looking, older guy by her side. Originally, Natalie had thought she was going to enjoy rubbing all the stuck-up bitches noses in it, but now, she wasn’t so sure.

  Whatever possibility Natalie’d had with Joe was watered down that night Michael had come to see her when she was alone. His touch, his possession of her, stole any chance she had of giving herself to anyone else.