BLACK Is Back

by Russell Blake

  Todd looked confused. Stan cleared that confusion up.

  “I, on the other hand, am your biggest nightmare, Todd. You want to know why? Ask me why.”

  “What is this?” Todd demanded, and Black punched him in the solar plexus. Todd doubled over, and the two men waited while he got his breath back and finally straightened up.

  “That was the wrong question,” Black said.

  “Okay. Why are you my biggest nightmare?”

  “Because you’re a punk whose been busted twice before for drugs, and you’re dealing. And I’m a cop. And I don’t like dope dealers. That’s reason number one,” Stan hissed.

  “I’m not–”

  Black made to punch him again, and Todd flinched, afraid of the blow. That was more like it.

  “Todd, you sold that young lady over there a gram of cocaine, which is a felony. Given your record, any judge in the land will correctly assume that your last convictions were pled down, and you haven’t given up your evil ways. That’s a recipe for winding up tossing salads doing hard time. Pretty little thing like you would be real popular inside,” Black said.

  “I asked if she was a cop and she said no. It’ll never stand up.”

  “She’s not a cop. She’s a good Samaritan. And I have a vial with your prints all over it. How stupid are you? Do you not get that you’re screwed?” Stan asked.

  They could see Todd trying to calculate an angle.

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “That would be entirely appropriate if I was arresting you. But I’m not. Not yet,” Stan said, and then he rolled his head around, trying to get the stiffness to go away.

  “Todd? Tonight’s your lucky night. Because my friend here is feeling generous,” Black said.

  “My lucky night?”

  “Yes indeed. Tonight you’re going to be given a choice. It’s a choice between going to jail for a long time, or being able to start fresh. How does that sound, Todd?” Stan asked.

  “I don’t understand. If you’re not arresting me…”

  “You aren’t very smart, are you, Todd? Here’s my suggestion. Listen to what I say, and then make your choice. It’s a simple one,” Black began, and confident he had Todd’s complete attention, continued: “You are a lowlife dope dealer. I know it, and the police know it, and with your prints and our young friend over there’s sworn testimony, you’re going to be someone’s prison bitch for a long time. Smooth-skinned young fella like yourself will be prime meat in the hard time facilities, which I know from your record you were never in. Don’t confuse it with county lockup. It’s a whole different level of ugly. Lots of guys go in, but never come out, or if they do, they’re…changed.”

  Todd swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

  “So that’s your first possible outcome. The other is that you pack up and leave town. Disappear. Go somewhere else. Out of California. I don’t really care where, but it shouldn’t be here. Cut off all your ties – girlfriends, galleries, dope suppliers. Leave, and don’t come back.”

  “I don’t understand,” Todd stammered.

  “Really? I thought I was speaking pretty good English,” Black said, and then punched him. When Todd finally was able to stand again, Stan looked him over like he’d just wiped Todd off his shoe.

  “Todd. I’m a cop. I’m old, and I’m mean, and I’ve decided to make you my special project. Either you’re gone by tomorrow morning, or I’m going to be back – with cuffs. Maybe not tomorrow. You’re an idiot, but not that stupid, so you’ll probably clean out your pad. But I’ll be watching, so wherever you stash your dope, I’ll know. Worse, since you’re a dealer, you won’t be able to support yourself for very long without dealing, so you’ll be right back at it soon enough – maybe a week, maybe a month. Whatever. So I’ll bust you when you least expect it, using the vial as probable cause to get a warrant, and not only get you for selling a gram, but for whatever else we find. Might be many years in the joint by the time I’m done with you, maybe only one or two because of the G. Either way, you’re dead.”

  Black nodded, and then released his hold on Todd’s shirt and fixed him with a hard glare.

  “I think you need to do some soul searching, because when LAPD takes a special interest in you, you’re not operating under the radar anymore, Todd. You’re front and center, and you will go down. It’s not deal a little here and there to make ends meet. It’s you’re public enemy number one. Do you want that, Todd?”

  “N-no…”

  “And now we come to the choice part. Decide whether you’re going to stay and suffer the full wrath of LAPD making it personal to fry you, or whether you’re going to go to greener pastures, cut off all contact, and start over somewhere else. Maybe New York. I hear New York loves artists,” Black said. “So what’s it going to be, Todd? Anal rape for breakfast for the foreseeable future, or a nice trip somewhere else where you can ply your wares?”

  Todd looked pale, probably due to the punches, as well as the reality of his plight.

  It really wasn’t a hard choice.

  He didn’t take long.

  Back in the car, Roxie leaned forward as they pulled away from the curb. “Nice technique there, boss.”

  “Thanks. It helps if you’ve had a bad couple of days.”

  “And a lot of anger, right, buddy?” Stan asked.

  “Who, me? I’m a teddy bear,” Black said.

  “With a good right hook.”

  Roxie sat back. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she said.

  “Does that mean you’ll start being nicer to me?” Black asked.

  “What do you think?”

  Chapter 30

  The park where the barbecue was being held was just east of I-5, somewhat ironically named South Park. The neighborhood was as ominous as they came: the streets reeked of disrepair, huge graffiti murals were everywhere, and few on the streets weren’t part of the flotsam of humanity or obvious criminals on the hunt for easy prey. Sylvia drew closer to Black as they rounded the final corner and pulled into the parking lot, where some of B-Side’s crew were hanging out near several low-rider vehicles, bass beats thumping at jet-takeoff volume. Black backed into one of the open slots and squeezed Sylvia’s hand before they got out of the car. One of the toughs recognized Black and nodded guardedly, then pointed at the park area where several grills had been set up, along with a portable stage.

  The day was idyllic, ribbons of high clouds streaking the sky, the temperature warm, like summer anywhere else in the state even though it was only spring. Small children ran screaming through the gathering, dodging around their parents’ legs as they chased one another, peals of delight rising into the smoggy haze like hopeful prayers. Several dogs joined in the sport and added their barks to the celebratory din of raucous laughter, shouted greetings, and high-spirited revelry.

  B-Side’s security team was out in force. Six men stood around the perimeter with their hands in their jacket pockets, ready to take down any threat before it had a chance to do harm. Two LAPD squad cars were parked at either end of the field, providing additional disincentive for mischief should one of the local denizens decide to amuse himself by attempting to cap a celebrity. Smoke rich with the savory aroma of barbecue sauce rose from the cooking area, where ice chests stood sentry on the freshly mown grass by the busy ad hoc chefs, their aprons boasting drawings of muscular men and toned women, not easily mistaken for the more generous physiques behind the illustrations.

  Black and Sylvia strode toward B-Side, who for the first time since Black had been around him was dressed in unassuming street clothes, virtually identical to those of most of the rest of his peers at the park – a black Fila jogging suit topped with a black NY Yankees baseball cap. He was surrounded by what Black presumed were relatives, and Black caught a glimpse of Mama Fajah nearby, sipping on a bottle of iced tea. B-Side and his clique were all drinking beer, as were most of the men, and Black relaxed, figuring that if nothing else, he could take the edge off the day with a few f
rosty cold ones.

  B-Side saw Black and waved him over.

  “Yo, Black. What up?” B-Side asked, holding a beer aloft in greeting. “You need to get yourself something to drink. Man gets dehydrated out in the sun, ain’t that right?”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Who that?” B-Side asked, giving Sylvia the once-over.

  “This is Sylvia.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sylvia said, taking B-Side’s extended hand and shaking it.

  B-Side lowered his sunglasses and appraised her before giving Black a wolfish grin. “You all right, my man.”

  Black would have been more playful if he hadn’t just caught sight of Genesis, looking like something out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog in white hip-hugger shorts and a lemon yellow tank top, standing near the barbecues talking to Reggie. The sun seemed to favor her, lending her skin a kind of glow, and Black had to tear his eyes away. He noted that every other male in the area had the same issue, which didn’t diminish his guilt but at least made him feel more human.

  “Thanks for the invite, B-Side. What’s the agenda?” he asked.

  “No agenda. Just eat and drink too much. Later, we’ll shoot some hoops, and maybe bust out a rap or two. If anyone can still walk after Clifton’s done with the ribs. Man’s got a hoodoo gift, he does.”

  “Is everyone here a relative?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “Wow. Big family.”

  “That’s no joke. Hey, nice watch.”

  “Thanks,” Black said.

  “That real?”

  “I guess so. It was a gift.”

  “Who’s giving you gifts like that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Black unclasped the bracelet and handed B-Side the Rolex. He inspected it with the trained eyes of a jeweler before handing it back to him.

  “Nice. I gotta get one of those. I like the blue dial.”

  “So do I.”

  Their common interests exhausted, B-Side gestured to the cooking area. “It’s already getting hot. Go get yourselves drinks and enjoy. Nice day for it.”

  “Best idea I’ve heard in a while.”

  Black and Sylvia moved to the ice chests, where cases of Miller, Coors, Bud, and Samuel Adams chilled atop bags of ice. Black fished out a Sam for Sylvia and handed it to her, and then got one for himself. One of the women in the cooking area came over and popped the bottle tops off for them and they toasted with a clink of glass.

  “Mmm. These are good,” Sylvia said appreciatively.

  “They are, aren’t they?”

  Sylvia’s eyes followed Black’s gaze until they settled on Genesis, who was laughing at something Reggie had said, her teeth iridescent, her complexion flawless.

  “She certainly knows how to attract attention, doesn’t she? That outfit would be at home in one of B-Side’s videos.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “No, of course not. Nobody here has. That’s why she has the male population humming around her like bees.”

  “You’re all the woman I want, Sylvia.”

  “That’s good to know. But what’s that saying? It never hurts to look?”

  “I wasn’t looking at her.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I’m more interested in the guy she’s talking to.”

  She squinted skeptically at him. “Who is he?”

  “Reggie. B-Side’s uncle. We had a few drinks the other day, but didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “What happened?”

  Black gave her an abridged version of his afternoon with Reggie. She knew the rest – the dinner and shooting would probably stay with her for a long time. Some things lingered on like fungus. Being a human target was one of them.

  “Maybe he’s over it,” Sylvia said.

  “That would be nice. Could be pretty awkward if not. Then again, he was hammered by the end of our discussion, so it’s hard to tell how much was the booze talking.”

  “Are you going to go over and say hi?”

  “I’m thinking that I’ll finish a dozen of these beers first.”

  Genesis saw him and waved. Black chugged his beer and retrieved another from the cooler before walking over with Sylvia.

  “Ah, Black. You made it,” Genesis said, and then smiled at Sylvia. “Welcome. Do you know Reggie? He works at the label. B-Side’s uncle.”

  Reggie stared stone-faced at Black for an uncomfortable second, and then his face cracked into a showman’s professional grin.

  “Why, sure. What was the name, again? White?” Reggie asked.

  “Close. Black.” Black paused. “Listen, Reggie. I’m sorry about the other day.”

  Reggie dismissed the apology with a shake of his head, and Black could see from his eyes that he was already half in the bag.

  “No big thang. Just caught me by surprise, is all.”

  “We good?”

  “Sure. Never better.”

  Black realized that he hadn’t introduced Sylvia yet. “Reggie, this is Sylvia.”

  Reggie drank her in with greedy eyes. “You a lucky man, Black.”

  “That I am.”

  Reggie’s demeanor changed from the court jester to a more serious mood, and Black wondered how much he’d knocked back before they’d arrived.

  “Hey, will you excuse me? I need another beer. Everyone okay on theirs?” Reggie asked.

  Sylvia and Black nodded, and Reggie wove his way around the standing groups to find something to quench his bottomless thirst.

  “So what do you think?” Genesis asked, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

  “Nice. Great weather, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” Black said.

  “Yeah, they always start out calm. But it can get pretty rowdy by the end of the day.”

  “We probably won’t be staying that long. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Reggie had found someone else to talk to by the ice chests, leaving Genesis and Sylvia faced off like ultimate fighters, the tension between them enough to power a small town. Black tried a few more stabs at conversation but fell flat, and then Genesis excused herself to use the restroom. Sylvia watched her walk away without comment, then turned to Black.

  “I don’t like her. There’s something about her…”

  “She seems nice enough.”

  “Completely phony.”

  “She’s in the PR business. That’s how they all are.”

  “Then she’s probably very good at her job.”

  Black couldn’t disagree, but he didn’t want to continue the discussion, guilty memories flaring up as he remembered her lips on his, the feel of her tight body against his chest, her smell…

  The main cook rang an old brass ship’s bell to cut through the clamor of conversation and music and signal that lunch was ready. The sound was galvanizing, and there were few who didn’t immediately head for the food line, anxious to get their portions while the fixings were still piping hot. A stout woman with hands the size of catchers’ mitts handed them Styrofoam platters as they reached the first table, where they were assaulted by a dizzying array of culinary bounty, with a heavy emphasis on pork: heaping trays of ribs slathered with three types of barbeque sauce, another with only a spice rub, cutlets, and for the less adventurous, mounds of barbequed chicken and strip steaks. Potato and macaroni salad abounded, as did rice and beans and a bevy of fried items that had been prepared earlier, and had Black’s cholesterol in the danger zone just thinking about them.

  They loaded up and moved to one of several dozen picnic tables and took a seat. Mama Fajah sat down next to them and elbowed Black.

  “So, youngblood, you got every ting you wan’ there?”

  Black, whose fingers and face were smeared with thick, spicy red sauce from his first rib, nodded, his mouth full and doing a five-alarm boogie at the amount of heat in the rub. He pawed at a napkin and wiped the crusting of rust-colored fir
e from his lips and blinked, eyes watering.

  “Yes. Wow. These are spicy.”

  “You don’ know what spicy is till you have dem in tha islands.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I think I need to go to the burn center after this for first aid,” Black said, but nevertheless lifted another rib to his mouth and gnawed the fatty flesh from the bone.

  “I like a man who know how to eat. You too skinny, boy. Have that girl of yours fatten you up. She need something to hold onto, you know?”

  Sylvia piped in, apparently unaffected by the spice level of the meal. “He eats like a bird. Three times his body weight every day.”

  Mama Fajah laughed, a deep, genuine mirth that made the table shake. “Whoo. You got a live one theh, huh, mon? Good for you. Wheh you from, honey?”

  “Switzerland.”

  “Dat a long way from South Central.”

  Sylvia and Mama Fajah chatted as Black consumed a pound of pork, then segued to his chicken, which was milder. Just when he thought he’d suffered the worst, he forked a heaping helping of beans and dirty rice into his mouth and was instantly assaulted by a feeling not unlike swallowing a mouthful of angry fire ants.

  “Good Christ,” he exclaimed, drawing an annoyed look from Sylvia, and he pounded half his beer in two gulps. “What the hell is that?”

  “Good, ain’t it? Wake you up, dat for sure. Specialty of the Caribbean. Keep a man honest, that do.”

  “Probably sterilizes him, too,” Black complained.

  Mama Fajah cackled in amusement again and returned to her meal. Black cleaned his plate, not wanting to disrespect the cooks. He was so concerned about his praise that he went back for a second helping, this time selecting a steak in addition to some more ribs, not wanting to appear rude.

  As he turned, his plate heavy, he took in the gathering, the relatives all seated at tables or beneath shade trees, and wondered what it must be like to have so many family members. Remorse over his annoyance with his parents surfaced as he saw three generations at one bench, and he made a mental note to call his mother and thank her for organizing the dinner, even if she had been scheming to get Nina back into his life. As Roxie always pointed out, they weren’t getting any younger, and the time he had left with them was slipping by like sand through his fingers. And there was no way of knowing when the end of the ride was.