Hoodlum Page 19

  The two detectives glanced at each other devilishly. Jackson had just released two rabid dogs into the streets and he knew it. He knew that even though they had orders to bring him back in cuffs or a box, they would most likely do the latter. The two detectives rushed off so quickly that they almost knocked over a file clerk who was standing by the water cooler.

  “You wanted to see me, Uncle T?” Gator asked, strolling into Poppa's office.

  “Yeah, sit down.” Poppa put away the documents he was reading and addressed his nephew. “I got something I want you to handle for me.”

  “Anything, Poppa,” Gator said excitedly.

  “Angelo's gonna pick you up and take you into the City. A little mutha fucka ‘round there has gotten beside himself and I want y’all to put him in his place.”

  “I’ll fix him up real nice for you,” Gator said, clamping his gold teeth down, sounding like two knives clashing together.

  “I’m sure you will.” Poppa smiled. “But that's a minor part of what I need you to do. Gator, I want you to spend some time with your cousin Shai. Things are getting restless on the streets, and I want to make sure he doesn’t get caught up.”

  “You mean like a babysitter?”

  “Yes and no. You and Shai are close enough in age where it shouldn’t be an awkward situation. Swan is a good kid, but he's hot on the streets. Everybody knows he's running with Tommy's crew. You, on the other hand, are a fresh face. Nobody knows you, so you shouldn’t be singled out. The important thing is that Shai doesn’t think that I have you watching over him. He’d never go for it.”

  “I got you, Uncle T.” Gator winked.

  “Gator, y’all be careful out there. I’m trusting you with Shai's safety. If anything should happen to him …”

  “You ain’t even gotta say it.” Gator flashed the Glock that Angelo had given him. “Me and cuz gonna be straight.”

  CHAPTER 16

  HONEY HAP MANAGED TO successfully clean her house, knock out half her laundry, and prepare lunch for Star and her sister. Not bad after the night she had. But even after accomplishing all this, she still hadn’t heard from Shai. It wasn’t like she was sweating him, but she thought that she would’ve heard from him by then. She wasn’t about to go out like a groupie and call him again. She was going to use this time to relax. That was when the phone rang. Honey rushed to the phone, knowing that Shai had finally come to his senses. She was thoroughly disappointed when she answered.

  Shai sat in the back of the truck, listening to Here rip Tommy. It seemed that Tommy thought he would have to swoop in and save his little brother, but this wasn’t the case. Shai had handled the situation, without using violence, at the same time showing Tommy that he knew a thing or two about street etiquette.

  Tommy's little outing was intended to deter Shai from getting caught up in the streets, but it backfired. All it had succeeded in doing so far was cause Shai to consider Swan's theory. Could Shai be an asset to the family?

  Shai pulled his cell from his pocket and realized that he hadn’t turned it on since the night before. When he hit the ON switch, the screen read six new messages. He called the voice service and listened to them. Two were hang-ups, two were from Jane, one was from Swan, wondering about his whereabouts. None of the messages really stirred anything in Shai except the last one.

  The message was very short. In fact, whoever it was didn’t really leave a message at all. It was just a name: Melissa. At first it confused Shai, because he couldn’t catch the voice, but as he listened to it again, he caught it. It was Honey.

  “Melissa,” he said under his breath.

  “What was that, Slim?” Tommy asked from the front seat.

  “Nothing,” Shai dismissed him.

  He listened to the message twice more with a wide grin on his lips. When he caught himself smiling, he quickly straightened his face before Tommy or Here caught him. He was beginning to earn their favor and didn’t need to do anything stupid to change that. Shai dialed the number that Honey had called him from and waited.

  Honey had a secret. A secret that very few people knew. After about an hour or two of half-ass sex and snorting girl, Honey was zoned out. She couldn’t understand what it was about Bone that would always make her go against her principles. It was as if he had some kind of hold over her or something. She flexed her still numb fingers, trying to find a warmth that didn’t seem to come. Cocaine always made her numb.

  Bone was like a badass habit that she just couldn’t shake. Whenever she was around him, she had no control over herself. Coke wasn’t really her thing, but he could always seem to gas her to do it. For her, it was just something that she did from time to time. For him, it was something that he did to get through to the next day. Honey might’ve bumped a little, but she knew that it couldn’t become a habit. Coke could make you look old and haggard, and Honey got paid off her looks. She had to check it before it got out of hand.

  Speaking of work, Honey looked over at the digital clock and saw it was almost time for her to do her thing. Back to the plantation. Night in and night out, shake your ass, get some tips. It was all routine to Honey. A routine that she was getting tired of. She had to find a better way.

  Honey pulled herself away from Bone and stood over his sleeping form. There were times when she hated him with a passion and there were times when she felt for him. The coke that was racing through her brain told her to take his pistol and shoot him. With Bone dead, no one would have a hold on her. But that would be stupid. If she went to jail, who would take care of Star? Instead, Honey took some money from his pocket, slid on her clothes, and left.

  Fat Mike sat in the passenger seat of the Caddy, chewing a cigar. He should’ve been pleased that he had finally got ahold of Tommy and got the street prince to meet with him. But this couldn’t dull the ache of Gee-Gee's words. They stung him to the quick and put the Cissarro capo in a dark mood.

  “So, you finally got ahold of that fucking boot, Tommy, huh?” Nicky asked.

  “Yeah. Prick calls me this morning, talking about he's returning my phone call.”

  “So the kid brother got you in?”

  “I dunno. Either that or he mentioned the fact that I approached him and Tommy got nervous. Either way, we’ll finally get a chance to sit down.”

  “Hmm, what are ya gonna do, Mike?”

  “I dunno. I’ll see how Tommy acts when we meet. I’ll move based on that.”

  “Fucking niggers,” Nicky chuckled. “Mr. G let Poppa get too big, man. That spade has got too much power. Too much.”

  “You’re right about that, Nick. Poppa has a lot of weight in this city. Even without the connections we sent his way, Tom Clark would be a heavy hitter in the game. The white faces on his coattail only double that power.”

  “Maybe we should talk to Mr. G about getting rid of Poppa?”

  “That’ll be our last resort,” Mike told him. “Poppa is damn near a made guy. If it wasn’t for his black skin, he might have already been sponsored into our thing.”

  “Thank God for small miracles.” Nicky chuckled. “So, you think he's gonna move the dope?”

  “If he knows what's good for him, he will.”

  “I hear Poppa's retiring soon. Gonna leave everything to Tommy officially.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Mike said, slapping his forehead. “Things will really go to shit then. The only thing keeping that fucking baboon Tommy in check is Poppa. If the kid gets free rein of the streets it’ll be like the fucking thirties.”

  “So what does Mr. G think about all this, ah?” Nicky asked curiously.

  “He ain’t no fan of Tommy, but he doesn’t give a shit which Clark is running the show. As long as the niggers are kept in check and he gets his tribute once a month, he's cool.”

  Nicky let a few ideas roll around in his head, before asking the next line of questions. “Okay, so we can’t kill Poppa. What if we clip Tommy?”

  “Hmm.” Mike thought deeply on it. “That's always a
possibility. But that’d be risky too. Poppa's still as vicious as ever. If we kill his boy, he's gonna come at us hard.”

  “Fuck him,” Nicky said slyly. “We got the whole fucking Cis- sarro family behind us. We’d blow those fucking spear chuckers clean back to Africa.”

  “Don’t underestimate those guys,” Mike warned. “Poppa's got his shit together. He's got an army behind him and some friends in very high places. You don’t get to be a boss without knowing how to play this game. Even if it is a crew of niggers. Besides that, what do you think Mr. G is gonna do to us when he finds out what our little war is about? You know the rules, Nicky,” he said seriously. “Deal and you die.”

  “Mike, all I’m saying is somebody's gonna have to go. This girlie bullshit between us and them is gonna crumble sooner or later.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I know, pal. Poppa's crew is getting too strong and personalities are bound to clash. But when it happens, I plan to be ready. I got a few people that I’ve been looking at for the last few months. I have a number of candidates lined up if this thing with the Clarks goes sour.”

  “I knew you’d have a plan, Mike,” Nicky said admiringly. “Anybody I might know?”

  “A few people,” Mike said, thinking on it. “One prime candidate though. Bone from Two Hundred and Fourth.”

  “I heard of Bone,” Nicky said. “Mean son of a bitch.”

  “Mean indeed,” Mike agreed. “But the question is, can he be controlled? Niggers like Bone ain’t got shit to live for but the hustle. They’d sooner sell their mother's shit than do an honest day's work. Put a nigger like him in power and he might get crazy with it.”

  “At least he’d be easier to control than Tommy.”

  “That's what I’m hoping. Besides that, there's already bad blood between Bone and the Clarks. I’m sure he's just looking for a reason.”

  Nicky bit his bottom lip and eyed his boss wearily. He had a question on his lips, but was hesitant about asking it. Figuring it was something that needed to be addressed, Nicky just came out with it. “What if we could kill two birds with one stone?”

  “How do you mean, Nick?” Mike asked.

  “What if we could get rid of Poppa and Tommy in one shot?”

  “How do you figure we do that?”

  “Well,” Nicky continued, “it's like you said before: We can’t whack Tommy without having to worry about Poppa making a move, but what if we whacked Poppa instead?”

  “Nicky, are you high?” Mike asked, seriously. “If we were to whack Poppa, Tommy would come after us with everything he had. Not to mention that we’d have to come up with one hell of a lie to tell Mr. G.”

  “Mike, you and I both know that Heath was connected. He ran numbers for Mr. G and Tommy had him wacked. If we could convince Mr. G that Poppa gave the order, that would give us a little leverage.”

  “True,” Mike agreed, “but what about Tommy? He’d go ape shit. That could cause a lot of bloodshed.”

  “Yeah,” Nicky smiled devilishly. “That's why we get someone else to do the dirt for us.”

  “Nicky, Poppa's like the fucking president. Who the hell are we gonna get to whack him out?”

  “Bone,” Nicky said seriously. “You said yourself, he's looking for a reason. Why don’t we give him one? We tell Bone that if he whacks Poppa, he can have the City with our blessing. With our own pawn in the seat, you can still move your H, Mike.”

  “So far so good, Nicky. But there's still the Tommy factor. He’d come at Bone with everything he's got. Bone and his crew are strong, but no match for the Clarks.”

  “Yeah, Tommy's strong, but he's the one that gave the order to hit Heath. The police already got a hard-on for Tommy. If they can somehow be pushed in the right direction …”

  “They’d put Tommy away,” Mike said, catching on.

  “Now you see where I’m going with it. Either way, we’re rid of Tommy.”

  “Nicky,” Mike said smiling broadly, “I’m glad you’re on our side. We’ll try talking to the Clarks first, but if they still don’t go along with us, we’ll put our plan into motion.”

  CHAPTER 17

  SWAN SAT THE beat-up dodge, smoking a cigarette and waiting. He looked at the picture Mo's watcher had provided him with and shook his head. The kid he had been sent to speak with was tall and lanky, with a mouth full of gold. He sported one of those jail caesars with the half-moon and had a silly expression on his face. The kid didn’t look very intimidating at all. But looks could be deceiving. It didn’t really make a difference. He had no intentions of speaking with the young man. He was going to kill him.

  Swan sat up when he saw the target bop out of the building, giving his crew dap. He was with a young white girl, acting like he was Poppa Clark himself. A few seconds later, he was joined by a huge man, whom Swan assumed was his bodyguard. Mo's watcher had never mentioned the target having a bodyguard. This was just another obstacle that he would have to get over.

  Swan removed his .40s and placed one in each pocket of his leather jacket. He gave one more cautious sweep of the block and got out of the car. He walked at a normal pace, keeping his head down.

  Blending with the crackheads that were coming and going, Swan got right up on the target before anyone even noticed he was there.

  “What up?” Swan addressed the group.

  “What you need?” a skinny hustler asked.

  “I need to holla at y’all cats,” Swan responded, keeping his hands tucked inside his jacket pockets.

  “Fuck you wanna talk to us about?” the target asked, trying to look mean.

  “This shit y’all got going on”—Swan motioned to the flow of people—”I need y’all to shut it down.”

  “Shut it down?” the target asked, looking at his crew. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “Not crazy, fam’,” Swan said, looking him dead in the eye. “A messenger. Y’all probably heard of my boss, Poppa Clark?”

  “From out of New York,” the target said. “I heard of him. And?”

  “And he's sent me here to talk to you. This thing y’all got is fucking up our business. I need you to shut it down or get on with us.”

  The target looked at Swan for a minute, then burst out laughing. His crew joined in and they had a laugh at Swan's expense. Swan wanted to wild out, but he had to play it cool. He was out-manned and probably out-gunned, but this had never stopped him before. Swan liked those kind of odds.

  “Miss me wit’ that bullshit,” the target told him. “This ain’t the City, fam’. Poppa don’t run this. This is my shit. I say when we open and close.”

  “Dawg”—Swan tightened his jaw—”you ain’t hearing me, are you?”

  “Nigga, I heard you,” the target shot back, “but that don’t mean I’m listening. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here before something happens to you, shorty.”

  It had become obvious that these fake-ass hustlers weren’t going to listen to reason, but Swan had planned for this. He fired two shots from his left pocket. The first one caught the target in the gut and the second one severed an artery in his neck. The target dropped to the ground, choking on his own blood.

  The bodyguard moved for his gun, but Swan was ready for him too. He removed the other .40 from his right pocket and popped him in the head. He too slumped to the ground. The white girl began to scream, while the target's crew stood there, frozen in place.

  “Let's try this again,” Swan said, waving the two smoking guns. “This shit is shut down! Ain’t nothing popping. If I hear that you niggaz is still up here trying to sling, I’m dumping on the whole block. Women and children included. You silly mutha fuckas understand me?” The crew nodded their heads in unison. “Good.”

  Swan backed away from the crew and headed back to the car. As he walked back to the auto, he tried to contain his laughter. Mo had acted like these kids had a tight operation, but Swan was able to murder their leader with little effort. He couldn’t wait until he got back to the block to tell Tommy about
it.

  Swan had just opened the car door when something slammed into his left shoulder. He fell against the car and tried to turn himself, when he was hit in the back. Swan slid down the side of the car and collapsed, partially inside. He looked over his shoulder and saw the skinny hustler coming toward him, holding a pistol.

  Swan fought to stay focused. The pain from the gunshots almost caused him to black out, but he held it together. The slugs hit his vest, so he was good, but they still knocked the wind out of him. It seemed that the hustlers had a little more heart than Swan had given them credit for. The skinny hustler moved in for the kill, but Swan was waiting for him.

  “Sucka-ass nigga,” the skinny hustler said, advancing on Swan. “Trying to come up here with that shit. Who's shut down now?”

  Swan had an answer for him when he popped up from behind the car door, holding the shotgun. He pulled the slide, then squeezed the trigger. The shotgun roared and spit fire into the skinny hustler's face. Before he could hit the ground, Swan hit him in the chest, sending the skinny hustler skidding into the street.

  Without taking the time to admire his handiwork, Swan stepped over the body and began to fire at the crew. He caught one of themin the back, but the rest scattered. “Punk-ass niggaz,” Swan spat. He limped back to the ride and flopped behind the wheel. The engine came to life and Swan got up out of there. He would make a brief stop at the motel to gather his things, then he was on the next thing smoking back to New York.

  Tommy and his team walked into the restaurant on 93rd Street looking around suspiciously. He had finally decided to meet with Mike and get it out of the way. The fat man wasn’t going to like what Tommy said, but he had to respect it. In case he didn’t, he made sure he and Here were strapped.

  Tommy looked over at his little brother and tried to read his facial expression. He couldn’t see a thing. Shai wore a mask of complete calm. He was neither excited nor scared. Tommy also noticed how his brother was making a mental note of his surroundings and the people. He had trained him well.