Urban Renewal

by Andrew Vachss

  “Come on, Tiger!” Princess said excitedly. “We’ve gotta get you an outfit.”

  “Princess—”

  “And you can meet my puppy, too.”

  Tiger shrugged her shoulders, shot Cross a death-ray look, and followed the huge child out of the room.

  AS SOON as the others had cleared out, Cross turned to the two men he had known since they were locked down together as juveniles.

  “It comes down to this,” he said. “If it’s gangs that want to play turf war, there’s no way we can hold that block. But if they’re doing business that’s too heavy for street-side, there could be a way.”

  “Tax,” Ace said.

  Cross nodded.

  Rhino looked a question at the two of them.

  “We could shake them down,” Cross explained. “I’ve been thinking about this, and it doesn’t add up. There’s gangs on each side of that area, but none of them move in? There’s only one thing that could mean.”

  Rhino’s face showed he still wasn’t following.

  “The real businessmen aren’t gang boys, they’re mob guys. Which means gambling. And everything that goes along with it. Bookmaking, numbers, loan-sharking, and whores anyplace they’ve got a casino or two. You know what I mean: looks like a low-rent dive on the outside, but it’s all Vegas on the inside.”

  “Expansion wouldn’t do them any good,” Rhino squeaked, showing that he understood where this was going. “It would just spread them thin. But they’re used to collecting tax, not paying it. So, if we make it hard for them to work unless they pay us, we could maybe negotiate some kind of deal.”

  “If we want them to stay where they are, we can’t let them see what we want,” Ace added.

  “Yeah,” Cross said. “It’s just about that simple.”

  “There’s black gangs on one side, Latinos on the other,” the assassin who always checked for a pulse answered. “And you think the Outfit is cutting a few blocks out of each side? So that ‘buffer’ thing, it wasn’t an accident?”

  “The way I heard it from Mac—and the guy he heard it from was … reliable—in New York, the mob kept rolling in Harlem at least up to the end of Vietnam. They had a joint on Pleasant Avenue—some name, huh? What’s important is this: Plenty of gangs in Harlem, right? They all knew what was going on, but none of them ever did anything about it. Never even tried to.”

  “Like a peace treaty?”

  “Sort of,” Cross answered Rhino. “But it was more about the pad than anything else. They were paying the cops, so any gang moving on them would be a suicide mission. And the gangs—black on one side, Spanish on the other, just like here—they were too busy fighting each other to really give a damn if some old white guys wanted to run a candy store. Some of the candy the Italians kept there got so old it was rotting right on the shelves.”

  “Nothing like that around here,” Ace said.

  “You sure, brother? When the city took down the high-rises, they fractured the gangs, just like they wanted. Only thing is, they didn’t break them, they just broke them up.”

  Rhino gestured a request for more information.

  “Used to be—what?—five thousand Vice Lords? All under one command.”

  “True,” Ace said. “But you coming up way short on the number. Could have been twice that, back in the day.”

  “And the Stones? They kept changing their name, but …”

  “Not their game,” Ace finished the line. “And most folks don’t know that the Latin gangs ain’t no new thing. Go far back as you want, they was organized. Zoot suits, pachucos, all self-defense. Between the cops—they had that Red Squad deal in the sixties—and the black gangs, they wasn’t lying about this town, either.”

  “Red Squad?” Rhino squeaked.

  “Sure. The Panthers and the FALN—”

  “The—”

  “Puerto Rican independistas,” Cross told the giant. “They didn’t get the press the Panthers did, but they were a whole lot more serious. Bombing was their specialty.”

  “And they didn’t need to take no Spanish course when they got to Cuba,” Ace added.

  “Okay. But here’s how it is now: instead of fighting over control of the South Side, or even just Englewood, now it’s micro-gangs, fighting over blocks. No central leadership, no ‘Main Twenty-One,’ no leadership charts.

  “In L.A., they break down into what they call ‘sets,’ but there’s still some kind of broad allegiance: Crips and Bloods, La Eme and La Familia, like that. Not in this town. Nobody’s taxing these little groups, and they’re not paying the cops, either.

  “Let me talk to Mike Mac. If I can reach him, I’ll be back soon.”

  “WHAT?” A blunt question from a man who questioned everything. His face was a map of Ireland and told of a life spent in fight rings.

  “I just want to check some things.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, Mac.”

  “I’ll listen.”

  Cross briefly summarized what he’d told Ace and Rhino. Then said, “That about right?”

  “Yeah. That’s why the murder rate is so high now. One punk knows where he can get some coke—even that’s easier now, with no one crew in charge of supply. You hear about that, too?”

  “No,” Cross said, flat-faced, ignoring that the cop had just told him he knew who was responsible for the disappearance of several local kingpins. And that those cases were never going to be cases as far as the police were concerned.

  “Okay. It doesn’t take a degree in chemistry to brew up some rock. Another punk, he’s got some crappy TEC-9. Add three, four more, plus one car, and that’s a gang today.”

  “Not looking to expand?”

  “No. And that’s your answer to the next question, too—they’re too small-time to have anyone on their payroll. Even those killer-clowns know there’s no point taking territory you can’t hold. You’d lose more than the territory; you’d lose face.”

  “Then they’re a lot smarter than—”

  “Yeah. I know. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “Not right now.”

  McNamara let out a laugh so short it could have passed for a snort through his broken-too-often-to-repair nose.

  “What?” Cross said, knowing what was coming.

  “Just over a year ago, a car got blown to bits out in the Badlands. Now we got another, almost the same place. Only difference was the size of the cars—and we could estimate that only because one was a stretch limo and the other was much smaller.”

  “Huh!”

  “You think—this is just your opinion I’m asking for—those two could have been connected in some way?”

  “I couldn’t even guess.”

  “Yeah? See, if those were connected, it might make a little more sense. We’d have to figure it for someone trying to send a message.”

  “Beats a vat of acid.”

  “Or a river dump. And ever since the supply line got cut, all those Central American guys disappearing, the Outfit could decide it was time to go back into business.”

  “It’s something they’d do. Greed rules.”

  “Uh-huh. I guess it’s a job for the OC Unit.”

  “If the police figured that, I wouldn’t be arguing with them.”

  “You’re not giving me much.”

  “I didn’t ask for much.”

  “You never do, Cross. But, somehow, every time I talk to you, I feel like a guy who got shorted on the split.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. We’re not on opposite sides of the table. Anyone asked, I’d say we were friends. You?”

  “Depends on who was asking,” the cop said. He turned smoothly and was back inside his unmarked car while his last words were still hanging in the air.

  “DIDN’T TAKE long,” Ace said.

  “Wasn’t a lot to say,” Cross told the two men who had been awaiting his return. Then he quickly summarized what he’d been told.

  “You think Buddha and Tracker can sniff that out?”r />
  “If Mac said that was the scene, that’s good enough for me.”

  Ace nodded. He didn’t know how Cross and the cop they called Mike Mac had reached their détente many years back, but that glue had held for so long he’d taken it for granted that their leader could get the kind of information they needed—confirming that cops were on the take in a certain area wouldn’t have violated McNamara’s personal code. So when he’d said they weren’t, it was taken for gospel.

  “Can I ask something?” the assassin said.

  Cross and Rhino reacted as one man: Why would Ace say anything like that? Ask a question? After all they’d been through. Been through together. What the hell was that about?

  Ace looked from Rhino to Cross, then back again. Greeted with noncommittal silence, the man who had practiced his trade for decades, despite the short life span of others who had chosen the same path, took a breath. Then:

  “I want to get Sharyn and the kids out of where they are,” he said.

  “Why?” Cross asked, genuinely puzzled. Sure, Ace’s family lived in one of the few remaining projects in Chicago, but their safety was not at risk—nobody takes a long drink from a bottle with a skull-and-crossbones on its label. And the interior of the four-bedroom, top-floor apartment was beautifully decorated, from the plush carpeting to the soundproofed walls. Even the inside-facing bulletproof door was a single slab of fine teak, and the Lexan windows each had a set of Levolor blinds between two panes of tinted glass. None of the kids had ever learned to sleep in the bathtub—there had been no need to teach them that basic survival skill.

  “You know one thing my kids never had? A yard. I mean, a yard that was theirs, where they could play without some dirtbag watching them from the sidewalk. Or some punks throwing lead with their eyes closed. And my Sharyn, she’s a country girl. Always growing things inside the place. But she never had what she really wants.

  “She never said a word to me, but she don’t have to—I know she wants a garden. Not for flowers, for food. Wants to grow her own corn, or potatoes or … hell, I don’t know. And it don’t matter. That woman deserves more than I ever gave her. She don’t want diamonds and furs, you feel me? She wants some ground. That’s what she always calls it, ‘ground.’ Wants some ground that’s hers. Her people were sharecroppers, before I got her old man to take some cash and buy himself out.

  “Now, her father, he was a proud man. Wouldn’t touch charity, not from nothing or nobody. I had to tell him it would be a tax dodge for me, and it would belong to Sharyn when him and his woman left. All he wanted to know he already knew—I never made no baby-mama out of his daughter; I wasn’t the kind of slimy punk who buys Pampers every so often and acts like it’s not the Welfare who’s feeding his own children.”

  Ace took a breath—for him, this was a very lengthy speech. “I want one of the houses. One of those five, I’m saying. I want Sharyn to have her garden. I want my kids to have a place to play where she don’t need a damn telescope just to watch them from the windows. I don’t care about no schools; Sharyn wouldn’t let me send the kids to any public school in this town. I got the coin stashed. Maybe not the price So Long wants them to go for, but I damn sure got the price she paid.”

  “That won’t work. Asking So Long for a discount would be like asking a whore for a free ride. Besides, it’s too much information for her to have.”

  “I know,” said the man whose business card was the ace of spades. His only jewelry was the 12-gauge sawed-off he always wore on a rawhide string necklace.

  “How much can you put your hands on? Without going into your case money.”

  “Somewhere around one and a half. Damn, you know I make money, bro. But with all those kids … And if I check out before Buddha does, no way that evil little—”

  “I can put my hands on two full,” Cross interrupted.

  “I can do better than that,” Rhino squeaked. “And you only need around five.”

  Ace went very still. Then he held out his right hand, balled into a fist. Cross put his own fist on top. And Rhino’s hand opened like a giant umbrella over both, repeating a blood oath they’d taken when they were all prisoners.

  “Do you hate them?” Cross asked.

  Rhino nodded.

  “Do you hate them ALL?”

  “Yes,” Rhino said, so softly his squeak was barely audible.

  “Then you’re my brother,” all three men said, together.

  CROSS WAS on the middle drag of his third cigarette when Princess walked in, holding Tiger’s hand.

  “She won’t wear what I picked out,” the huge child complained.

  “Princess,” the deadly Amazon said, soothingly, “that’s a Las Vegas getup. For a chorus girl, not a stripper.”

  “But it’s so pretty!”

  Cross shot Tiger a look.

  “I am not going on any stage in a peacock-feather headdress!”

  “Not tonight, you mean, right? Someday …”

  Catching on immediately, Tiger turned to Princess. “It’s a lovely outfit, baby. But it’s the wrong crowd for it. Tonight, I’m saying. But for a special occasion …”

  “All right!”

  “A special occasion,” she warned.

  Princess grinned happily. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Just paperwork,” Rhino told him. “Ace is buying a house.”

  “Oh boy! It’ll have a backyard and everything?”

  Ace gave Rhino a look that would turn most men into jelly. “Yeah,” he told Princess. “A backyard.”

  “Then I can bring my dog over to play with your kids! That’ll be great!”

  “You think I’m letting my children within a hundred yards of that—?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a fussbudget,” Tiger said. “Sweetie wouldn’t hurt a child. Would you, honey?”

  For the first time, all three seated men noticed the black-headed Akita. He was in a sitting position between Tiger and Princess, as if he’d been valedictorian of his obedience-school class.

  “He’s pinning us,” Cross said.

  “Well, he doesn’t know you, does he?” Tiger said. “Go introduce them, Princess.”

  The once-caged beast stepped over to the table. “This is Cross,” he said, beckoning to the dog as he emphasized the gang leader’s name.

  When the dog approached, Princess said, “He’s my friend. Like Tiger. And this is Ace.”

  As the dog was getting the scent of both men, Princess said, “And this is Rhino. You know him. He’s my best friend. We even live in the same place. But don’t worry, Sweetie. There’s plenty of room for you, too.”

  The hyper-muscled man didn’t see Tiger pull one of her throwing daggers from the sheath around her thigh, telling the others not to react if the dog growled—if anything went wrong, she had it covered.

  “Go on, pat him,” Princess told the seated men. “He loves that.”

  Cross reached down and ran his hand over the beast’s head. Ace was a lot more reluctant, but he finally gave in.

  “See?” Princess crowed, walking around to the far side of the three men. “Come on, Sweetie.”

  The monster’s hand was about the same size as the dog’s head, but his touch was gentle.

  “I always wanted a dog,” Princess said, unaware of the tears running from his eyes. “I love him.”

  “You should have told me,” Rhino gently chided.

  “I … I wanted to. Lots of times. But … I don’t know.”

  “It’s all right, honey,” Tiger said, patting Princess on his right biceps. “I understand. Some things, they just take time.”

  At the word “time” all three seated men looked at Tiger. Her eyes widened in a deliberate parody of innocence.

  “Please?” Princess said to Ace.

  “That ain’t my call, bro. That’s up to my woman.”

  “Oh, Sharyn likes me,” Princess said confidently. “We’re friends.”

  “She likes her babies better, I promise you.”

&
nbsp; “That’s only fair,” Rhino put in.

  “That’s what a mother’s supposed to do,” Tiger assured him. “Protect her children, right?”

  “I … guess,” the man whose mother had sold him to a warlord at birth answered. The warlord knew the value of a baby who weighed thirteen pounds plus, but never lived to collect.

  How that baby had survived for years alone in the surrounding jungle was a mystery no man was interested in investigating.

  “I’m not bringing my kids to this place,” Ace said, flatly. “And don’t even think about the spot.”

  “Our poolroom? I brought Sweetie with me, and nobody said anything.”

  Cross and Rhino exchanged looks. The idea of anyone being stupid enough to challenge Princess and that killer dog, never mind inside Red 71, was too ludicrous even to contemplate.

  “Okay, here’s how it happens,” Cross said, using a voice that accented every word with “done deal” italics. “After Ace gets his house, and everybody gets moved in, you bring that dog—”

  “Sweetie.”

  “Sweetie, yeah.” Ace jumped in, on the cutting edge of his patience supply. “You bring that dog over. If the kids like him, then we’ll see, okay?”

  “What if they don’t like him?”

  “Then he never comes back. One chance, that’s all he gets.”

  “I guess that’s fair. Right, Rhino?”

  “Of course,” the giant squeaked. “We wouldn’t want anyone playing with Sweetie unless they liked him.”

  “Okay!”

  “I’ll be there, too.”

  “Well, sure,” Princess said, not understanding what Ace had just told everyone else in the room. Tiger sheathed her dagger. Ace took his hand out from inside his coat.

  A tiny orange fiber-optic dot showed above the door.

  “They’re back,” Cross said.

  BUDDHA SHAMBLED into the back room, a now habitual stride he had worked many years to develop. Anything that caused an enemy to hesitate even for tenths of a second could be a lifesaver. Or life-taker.

  “I warn you, now,” Condor had instructed his gang when he first took over, “their driver, this Buddha guy, he looks like a guy who don’t even belong out here. And while you’re still trying to figure out what he’s doing, he’s gonna do you, understand?”