by AP Jermaine
Stepping off the bus at the address on Cook Road, I saw a large sign that read David’s Auto Sales. A much smaller sign was under that one that read (I PETS- Dogs and Cats). As soon as I walked into the building there was Slumdog. Or shall I say Ishmeel. Sitting behind a desk, tallying something on a calculator, while a rather large white woman sat in front of him, seemingly waiting anxiously. If Ishmeel saw me, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Alright Ms. Johnson. With the down payment you have now, I will be able to make your monthly payments lower than usual. In six-months you should have the car paid off. Now, I’m giving you a chance because you know your credit is not good. Don’t make me sorry I helped you. Pay your payments on time. Okay?” The small round woman said a few words, shook Ishmeel hand vigorously and skipped out the door. “Theodore…. No excuse me. Mr. Banks. It’s good to see you. Hopefully this is a pleasant visit.” His laid-back demeanor was always the same.
“You said you owe me a favor.”
“Yes. I did.”
“I need something and I was hoping you might be able to help me. If so, we can call it even.”
“Fair enough. What is it you need?”
“Guns.”
“Guns?” I don’t deal with guns Banks. Only cars, dogs and cats.”
“Man fuck a car! I can catch a cab! You came to me talking that Mr. Smooth bullshit! I thought you could help!”
“You want revenge. It’s in your eyes.”
“Man, you don’t know shit about me.” His sudden intrusion into my life angered me.
“I know you want to go after the person or persons you feel are responsible for your family’s death.”
“Oh yeah? Well if you know all that then you know why. And you know this won’t be over until either me or them is dead. So, you got some ratchets or not, cause if you don’t I got some searching to do.”
“Banks, I could own a thousand guns, and still would hope to not have to use even one of them.”
This nigga was on some peace, save the world shit; and I’m not trying to hear it! “Look Ishmeel, I thank you for getting me outta them charges. But right now, I’m on a mission. I’m out.”
“Wait a minute!” Ishmeel yelled from behind me just as I reached the door. “Come back. Speak with me.”
“Man, I gotta….!”
“Fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask.” He watched me like a hawk as I contemplated his request.
“Fuck it. Fifteen minutes and we’re even.”
“Fine. Come sit down.”
Walking over to his desk, I sat down in the chair that the fat lady had just recently occupied. “Clocks ticking,” I announced as I looked at my watch.
“Very well Banks. Let me start bluntly by saying that what you are on the verge of doing, is nothing short of idiotic.” I leaned up to curse this motherfucker out but he quickly kept talking. “Actually Banks, it’s not what you wish to do, but the way you wish to do it. I know about pain. Trust me I’ve experienced enough of it in my life for the both of us. What happened to your family was evil, and those responsible deserve to be punished; Severely. But as the old saying goes Mr. Banks. Revenge is a dish best served cold. If you want to do it right, then you will listen to me.” Suddenly he had my attention. “Do not be foolish. To run out in the streets like a cowboy in the wild west, would only prove fatal in the end. Whether you destroy those responsible or not, you won’t be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Your family’s death would then still be in vain.”
“So, what are you saying man? Let the slide? No way.”
“By no means is that what I am referring to. But it’s not what you do in life Banks, but how you do it. Come. Take a walk with me and let’s talk.” Seeing the doubt in my eye he continued.
“Trust me, if I didn’t see something in you as Tika said that I would, I would not be wasting my time. Now, come on, let’s walk.” Reluctantly I stood and followed him out the door.
“So, where’s your pet shop? I only see these cars.”
“My pet shop is located in the back. I only have a few dogs and cats though.”
“You sell em?”
“Most of the time yes.”
“And what about the rest of the time?”
“I can usually find a good home for them, but I’m very selective of who I sell them to. People are so angry these days and I couldn’t stand to think that the animal would be mistreated.” Ishmeel spoke as he took the “For Sale” sign out of the front windshield of a royal blue Jeep Grand Cherokee.
“So, what’s really good? You got some guns for me?”
“No. You’re totally misunderstanding my point. Do not let your anger cause you to make foolish decisions. An angry man does not think things through. They act on impulse, which is never under any circumstances the right way to go about things. Think calmly and move wisely, and you will be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. As part of the favor I owe you I am going to enlighten you on some things. Do you know who Albert Anastasia was?”
“No, why? Who the fuck is he?”
“A wise man. A Sicilian whom arrived in the United States during the first World War. He was also one of the founding fathers of the New York Mafias infamous crew of hired killers, more commonly known as, Murder Incorporated. A man said to be responsible for hundreds of murders, yet who’s only brush with the law came in the year 1940, when a man named Abe Reles, one of his killers for hire turned stool pigeon, implicated him in over a dozen murders. Yet and still, this proved to be only a minor inconvenience for Anastasia, for in 1941 Mr. Reles had a very unfortunate accident when he fell six stories from the hotel in which the Brooklyn district attorney’s office had him hidden under supposedly police protection. Or what about Al Capone? Do you know anything about him?”
“Yeah I’ve heard of him.” I was interested to see where he was going with this.
“Al Capone, also Sicilian, started out his career as a small - time bouncer in a Brooklyn brothel, where in a knife fight over a woman he’d disrespected, he’d been slashed across the cheek, instantly earning himself the infamous name, “Scarface.” By the time prohibition hit, Big Al was heavily up in the ranks of the mafia, and equally heavy into a beef with one Bugs Moran. In 1929 Moran, who just as Scarface had made his fortune bootlegging liquor, got word of a huge load of hijacked booze that could be picked up from the garage on N. Clark Street on Valentine’s Day. When Moran’s men showed up to pick up the load though, they were ambushed by Capone’s two men dressed up as policeman. Moran’s men were ordered to line up against the wall and prepare themselves to be searched, but as soon as they did, they were machine gunned to their deaths by Capone’s two fake cops. The event became known as none other than the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Moran whom the hit was mainly meant for, narrowly escaped his demise, simply because he was late to the pick-up. By the time he showed up, his men were already dead. At the actual time of the slaughter at the SMC Cartage Company Garage, Capone was on vacation in Biscayne Bay Florida, on the telephone with the Miami D.A.”
“That was a gangster move. A lot of people wouldn’t have planned that deeply.”
“Exactly! I could tell you about a man named John Wayne Gacy. A baby - faced gentleman from Chicago, whom was considered the pillar of his community. Prosperous and well connected, Mr. Gacy, owned a Mega earning construction business with a vast number of employees, a huge and expensive house, and was something of a local celebrity. He would dress up as Pogo the clown and entertain at childrens parties and in parades. Gacy married twice, although no one actually knew that he was a raving homosexual. After a series of events led police to this seemingly humble gentleman living the so called “American Dream,” his home was searched. And one by one, the police would discover the
bodies of twenty - eight men. Buried inside, and around the house. Gacy would soon confess that during a span of twelve years, he had sodomized, tortured, and murdered them all. All different scenerios Banks, with the same base answer to your problem. It
’s not what you do in this life, it’s how you do it. You’re smart I can tell. And brains, is what it takes to obtain longevity in anything you do. If you went and found a gun, ran out in the streets and killed this person, would they feel your pain? No. They would be dead. I know pain Banks. I know the feeling of desolution. I’ll share something with you and I hope that you will agree with my assumption of the fact, that you can emphasize with me. I was married. To a breathtakingly beautiful and pure hearted queen. We were high school sweethearts back in Brooklyn. With her parent’s permission, we married. I was eighteen, she would be eighteen in five months. We didn’t want to wait. I had a job in North Carolina. My grandfather’s car dealership. The same one we stand in now. We were married for twenty - six glorious years. She was the love of my life. She had breast cancer. My beautiful Rosa. The angel in my life full of demons. She died holding my hand, telling me how much she would miss me. We had no kids, though we tried so hard. When my nephew Muhammed was born, he was the closest thing Rosa and I had to a child, so we treated him as such. His death came six days after my wife’s. I broke down. My mind couldn’t comprehend the loss. I was crushed to say the least. I gave up on life. Literally. Everything I had worked so hard to acquire during my lifetime, I was rapidly letting slip away. And I didn’t care. I felt only emptiness. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t leave my house for over four months. My sister Mishka would come to my rescue. She wouldn’t accept no for an answer. She was sending someone to clean up, cook me a good meal, and listen if I wanted to talk. Her name was Tika. I’d grown tired of watching the same movies over and over alone. I only watched Rosa’s favorites. Tika was refreshing. She didn’t push. She tended to my needs and sat watching the same movies over and over with me. In fact, she would often make popcorn. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. She was a luxurious listener. She never judged me. She comforted me. And then she told me her story. I was intrigued by her innocence. She told me that I was too much of a man to take life lying down, and that I should stand up and walk like a man. Something I dearly needed to be told. She gave me the inspiration to stand back up. Live life for life itself, and her. This amazing human being fell from the clouds and captured my heart. She made me want to live again. I owe her everything. So, with that being said, I’m going to offer you a job.” The smell of animals suddenly invaded my nose as we walked inside some sort of small kennel. Dogs occupied one side, while cats occupied the other. They all seemed to be meowing and barking accordingly. Probably begging for their evening meal. “I need someone to help me keep these cages clean. The pay is not glamorous, but it should keep you busy.”
Now was the time for me to laugh. “Brother Ishmeel, you spoke some real sit today and I really do appreciate you opening my eyes to some shit, but I don’t have time to be scraping up no dog shit. I got shit I gotta do.”
“Always keep a job Banks. Even if you only work one hour a day. Police despise a man that doesn’t work. Especially if he feels you’re living better than him.”
“Man, motherfuck the police.” I was starting to get angry again.
“That’s no way for a businessman to talk.”
“What? Businessman?”
“If you take the job, you will become part of my business, so in turn, that makes you a businessman.”
“Say what?”
“I’m talking about my business.” Ismeel stated as he grabbed the dog and cat food to prepare their meal.
“What? Selling cars?”
“No.” He kneeled down and lifted the bottom of an empty cage, coming back up with two sandwich sized packages wrapped in brown paper bag.
“So, what the fuck is that?”
Placing the package in his right hand up on the metal table, he pointed to it and said, “Dogs.” Placing the other package beside the first, he looked over at me and said, “Cats. This is,” Ishmeel spoke as he unwrapped the first package, “Raw, opium based heroin straight from Afghanistan. 91% percent pure. A straight shot to the vein, would kill a horse in under five seconds. The stuff they sell on the street is no more than 55 to 60% pure. And that’s top quality.” Reaching out and unwrapping the second package, Ishmeel placed it on the table in front of me and continued his informatal speech. “This, is 94% pure Peruvian flake. Guaranteed best in the country. Only my people in Miami have it. Dogs and cats. So, do you want the job cleaning the kennels?”
“Well…., a lil hard work ain’t never killed nobody.” This time it was Ishmeel’s turn to laugh.
“Right, right. How are you financially?”
I thought about the measly ninety - six dollars I had in my pocket. “I’m good.” I looked away as I answered.
“Uh huh. Just as I thought. You’re broke. Never leave all your eggs in one basket. Spread them around. That way if one batch goes bad, you still have the others. One kilo of 60% pure heroin will cost you a minimum of $95,000 in New York City, $90,000 in Florida, and $110,000 right here in Durham. What I have is as I’ve said, 91% pure, and I will let you have for starters, nine ounces for $18,000. You’ll have to cut it at least three times or you’ll be killing people. Nine ounces for $18,000 is $2,000 an ounce, and equals out to $72,000 a kilogram. I’m sure you can see the advantages. Now, the cocaine on the streets right now, is selling for anywhere from $27,000 to $32,000 a kilo, for sixty to seventy - five percent pure. The Peruvian I have here is 94% pure. I’ll let you have it for $19,000 a kilo. If you agree, we keep this arrangement for one month. Which should be enough time for you to stand up. Be smart Banks. Make yourself unlike the others. This is the one thing that I couldn’t get through to my nephew. Why paint a sign on yourself that says look at me, with unnecessary things that draw attention? Don’t misunderstand me, because I myself do love nice things, but Banks, there is simply no sense in dressing up a pig. Remember the character in The Usual Suspects, Kyzer Sozay. The biggest trick the devil ever pulled, was convincing the world he didn’t exist. I’ll see you at work in the morning at 8:30.”
Ishmeel announced as he placed into the bag of dog food, what I now knew was nine ounces of heroin, and a kilo of cocaine; and handed it to me.
“Eight thirty?” I asked to be sure.
“Yes. Eight thirty. Wear your work clothes. And boots.”
I thought about the power that had just been bestowed to me, with what I now held inside this dog food bag. My mind was already plotting. I knew now that everything would be alright. No more rules. No more boundaries. No love. It was a good feeling to be hollow. It was time to play chess in these streets. Don’t get shit twisted though. The reality of the situation is that connects don’t fall into your lap like this often. Rarely ever! But today, God smiled down on me when he knew I desperately needed a blessing. “I’ll be here at eight.”
“Very good. And Banks?”
“Yeah?”
“Turn your phone back on. Tika’s been trying to reach you. Your time isolated from the world needs to be over.
“Tika doesn’t have my number.”
“Yes, she does. I gave it to her.”
“How’d you get my number?”
“I told you. I know people. But that’s neither here nor there. I do not wish you any harm. Turn your phone back on.”
“No problem.” I answered before asking him to call me a cab. I needed to drop this stuff off and then go relieve some stress. Tomorrow, I had work to do.
After dropping off and stashing the work at mom dukes spot, I headed out. Twenty minutes later I was walking inside Keisha’s apartment. Peaches was there once again. No sooner than I’d sat down, my phone rang and it was Tika. I told her that I saw her number and that I’d get back with her and hung up. Two minutes later Lauryn was on the line. I promised to get up with her tomorrow. I had to keep her. She would always be an asset. As soon as I hung up with Lauryn, Latifah made her appearance on my phone. I needed her too, but for different reasons. My motives were my own. I told her I’d stop by her job in the morning and bring her lunch.
“Oh my god!
Baby are you okay?” Keisha asked as soon as my phone stopped ringing for a minute. “Did you get my messages?” The weed smoke smelled sweet in the air. Definitely some exotic. Peaches was on the couch looking like she’d either just awakened from a deep sleep, or she was high as a motherfucker. They were drinking Patron from two shot glasses. Keisha slid over close to me and began massaging the back of my neck. “You want a drink baby?” She asked.
“Yeah, go get me one of them shot glasses.”
“O.k. baby.”
“Hey Teddy.” Peaches called out from her seat across the room. Clearly using a seductive tone with me.
“Bitch you don’t be calling him no damn Teddy! I hear you! Call him Banks!” Keisha screamed.
“Whatever. Hey Banks.” Peaches peeped up to make sure Keisha had gone into the kitchen before lowering her voice a few octaves. “Damn nigga. You got my girl all fucked up in the head. Got this place locked down won’t let nobody in. That dick that good?” Peaches stood up and stretched, revealing that oh so beautiful stupid phat ass, in a pair of see through white stretch pants and a tiny yellow thong. Good God Almighty!
“I specialize in making pussies sore. I cover a lotta ground. Far and wide.”
Keisha walked swiftly back into the room with the shot glass. “What yall over here talking all low about?” Keisha stared at Peaches accusingly. Monique said she thought they were diking. Tonight, I’d find out.
